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Pedri is fucking freezing.
As much as it’s absolutely not helping in the slightest, he shifts on the stiff hotel mattress for the hundredth time. Shockingly, not only is Pedri still cold, but he now has a clear view over to Ferran's bed. More specifically, his bare, tattooed back that’s slowly rising and falling as if it weren’t about 2 degrees in their shared hotel room. The fucker runs warm and Pedri has never been more jealous, staring bitterly at the inked wings and defined muscles that lie underneath the smooth skin out of pure annoyance. And no other reason.
Pedri shifts his head on the stiff pillow yet again - for fucks sake, Barça’s broke, but surely not this broke.
He tries to zone out and relax into sleep, scenes from the week’s training sessions flicking across his mind, unimportant and melding together. The only images that stick are unfortunately of the man sleeping blissfully across from him. Ferran, stood over him after he’d flopped on the grass after sprints, grinning and holding a water bottle. Ferran exchanging him sharp, precise passes with a wink that did not make his chest flutter. Not even when he had slung an arm across Pedri’s shoulders - “nice touch Pepi, finally learning from me” - before he was playfully pushed away. The way the sun gleamed off the sweat on his shoulders really should have been disgusting, but apparently Pedri is absolutely depraved and had instead imagined licking it off.
Fuck, umm… Offside drills. Man marking. Gavi’s bleached hair. Flick’s face after he found out Pau had been using a screenshot of him as a reaction image.
Anything to fill his thoughts but the dangerous territory he could feel himself slipping into. Not only was it stupidly self pitying, daydreaming about your best friend (who also flirts with you all the time, by the way) while he slept not 4 metres away from you, but also, Pedri could not afford to have a boner right now.
A rustle across the room had Pedri’s eyes flicking upwards in time to see Ferran shift a little, as as he did, a dull rumble echoed from outside. In the instant it took Pedri to register the noise as faint thunder, a downpouring of rain hit the city like a switch had been flipped, instantly engulfing the room in the steady white noise of droplets thudding against the window. It made up most of the wall that lay beyond Ferran's bed, and their shared space abruptly felt smaller, cosier, as if they were blocked from the rest of the world. Pedri curled up further under the covers, instantly more at ease. He’d always loved the rain. Now, hopefully, it would block out his stupidly distracting thoughts and allow him some rest.
—
Ferran kind of wishes he’d worn a shirt to bed.
Despite Pedri’s complaining, Ferran swears their tiny room hadn’t been that cold at first, but now he’s very much regretting letting Pedri use both of the hotel's spare blankets. Then again, he’s sure Pedri had grumbled something about shitty fabric and stingy managers as he retrieved them from the closet, so maybe it wouldn’t have made much difference. Ferran’s not entirely sure on that one, he’d kind of been distracted watching Pedri’s shoulders as he had begrudgingly reached on his tiptoes for the blankets on the top shelf. He’s cute when he’s annoyed, gets this tiny scowl that Ferran loves turning into a reluctant smile.
Clearly the cheap blankets weren’t providing much warmth, because Pedri’s been tossing and turning for hours at this point. Ferran feels bad, sure, but it’s preventing him from falling back asleep, and now the cold certainly isn’t helping. With nothing to do but lay still and try to preserve body heat, Ferran’s mind unfortunately has been left to wander. Mostly in the direction of the man laying across the room from him.
Ferran had scored today. The feelings of pride for his team, of relief in quieting the whispers of doubt about his place in the squad had been euphoric, of course, they always were. But the moment playing on loop in Ferran's mind is of Pedri finding his eyes in the sea of jerseys. The smile on his face, Ferran swears, had silenced every single fan in the stadium. His stomach twists just thinking about it and fuck, thats so embarrassing. The temptation to grab Pedri by the shoulders and kiss him stupid is getting stronger by the day, and Ferran had been so sure that if he just had enough willpower, he could move on from the world's most inconvenient crush. But Ferran is just a man. And Pedri blushes way too easily, damn him.
Sometimes (like today), Ferran wants to get on his knees for Pedri in front of the entire crowd. If only to show them who he really belongs to.
That’s definitely not a safe place to be going right now. Surely the cold is doing something to his brain, hypothermia and all that. Sleeping on the bus tomorrow is honestly looking like his best option, although he might have to steal Lamine’s speaker first, and that kid has eyes like a hawk. Ferran is halfway through reciting the Cant del Barça in his head when the rain starts drumming on the window, startling him back to full consciousness. Because of course.
Ferran rolls over, half debating whether to get up and grab a shirt or even go for a walk, and glances over to Pedri’s bed. Of course now he’s sleeping soundly. Or wait–
Maybe Ferran’s hallucinating - he wouldn't rule it out at this point - but he swears Pedri’s eyes just flicked shut. Ferran narrows his own and watches the form of the other's chest under the thin blankets. Still as a statue.
“Pedri?”
—
Just as Pedri felt his eyes slip closed came the rustle of Ferran shifting across the room. On instinct, Pedri peeked one open before firmly shutting it upon realising that Ferran was now facing him. Shit. Surely he didn't see that?
“Pedri?”
Shit.
Ferran definitely thinks he’s a weirdo who’s been staring at his back all night. Which is so not true, it was like 5 minutes. Anyway, it’s Flick’s fault for evidently blowing their hotel budget on PR and a fucking Ed Sheeran partnership. Pedri realises he’s frozen and draws a deep, measured breath, exhaling into the chilly air in what hopefully passes off as realistic sleep.
“Pedri, ‘re you awake?” Ferran’s voice, rough with sleep, mumbles from across the room.
Yeah nice one. A deep, deep corner of Pedri’s mind notes that Ferran’s scratchy voice is horrifically attractive, a thought that is quickly kicked away like a spare ball. But his cover’s firmly blown.
“Yeah, ‘s too cold in here,”
“Fuck, I know,” Ferrans voice is almost lost under the constant drum of raindrops, “Think my toes have frozen off,”
Pedri smirks despite himself.
“They have not, idiot,”
He’s sure that he hears Ferran wiggling his feet under the blanket. Maybe Pedri would have a little more sympathy if he hadn’t seen Ferran put on his shark printed socks before he went to bed. A birthday gift from Pedri, of course.
“Dunno Pepi, you might have to come keep me warm,” Pedri can hear the teasing smirk in his voice, but the suggestion still drops a pit in his stomach. Obviously, Ferran’s joking. But something about their proximity, or maybe the second of silence that lingers, makes the offer feel loaded. That stupid man has no idea what he’s doing to Pedri, and god, he wants so badly to crawl under the covers with Ferran. Curl up beside him and share body heat like they were… what, a couple? Yeah, not likely. Pedri realised he’d probably been silent for a beat too long, and was about to give Ferran some “in your dreams” remark back, when the other grumbled.
“You can, if you want,” A beat of silence. Ferran’s tone remained light, but was now stilted with slight hesitancy. Before Pedri had the chance to respond, he continued.
“I’ve heard you tossing around all night, just– we can both get some rest,”
Pedri sat up slightly, exposing his neck to the cool air. The rain continued to pour, and as Pedri looked over, the dim light from the window cast itself over the striker's shoulder and through his hair. Pedri couldn’t quite make out his expression, but it felt like something in Pedri’s chest was tugging him across the room like a fish on a line.
Fuck it, why not? Ferran had offered, and call it a stupid crush or pre-pneumonic delusion or left-over horniness or whatever, but Pedri was still freezing and the human heater himself had just offered his warm bed. Who was Pedri to say no? How many times had they fallen asleep together on buses and planes, this was really no different.
“Yeah, okay,”
Pushing off the useless blankets, Pedri padded the two steps across the room before he had time to think about it. Because if he did think about it, he’d get too far in his head about the point where their joking touchiness would stop classifying as ‘bro behaviour’. Pedri wasn’t exactly clambering to share a bed with Frenkie, as much as he loved him. He did, however, get shivers when Ferran slung an arm around him in training, and now he was crawling into the other's bed. See, he knew he’d overthink this.
Ferran lifted the covers and Pedri lay down. The bed felt tiny, but Pedri felt the few centimetres Ferran shifted back as if there were acres between them. Being able to feel Ferran's body heat but somehow not be touching him? Pedri was grateful for the rain, or his heartbeats would surely be audible, racing like he were making a last minute run.
“You’re shivering,”
Pedri hadn’t even realised he had been, he felt like he was under a spell.
“I hate this hotel,” Ferran chuckled at that, and suddenly the miniscule bubble of tension popped. Pedri felt his body relax into the thin sheets and he stretched his legs out, looking up to meet Ferran’s eyes for the first time that night. The man was practically a furnace, heat radiating off him and warming Pedri to the core.
“How are you so hot?”
You’ve got to be joking.
Pedri felt a flush creep up his neck and across his ears as Ferran’s face stretched into a shit eating grin.
“Nice of you to finally notice Pepi. You know, I knew one day– hey!” Ferran burst out a laugh as Pedri kicked him under the blankets, reaching over with his hands as well to try and cover that stupid handsome mouth.
“Shh” Pedri protested, finally managing to cover Ferran’s mouth with one hand while his other arm leaned on Ferran’s bare chest, pressing some of his body weight into the man. Upper hand gained, Pedri opened his mouth to continue making his case, but as he did so Ferran opened his mouth and licked Pedri’s palm like a friendly dog, grinning all the while.
“Eww Ferri, you're disgusting,” Pedri groaned, wiping his hand on the bad sheets.
“Disgusting and hot,” Ferran smirked up at him. Fuck, Ferran had no idea how right he was. The way he was staring up at Pedri, messy hair and soft eyes, deserved to be immortalised forever. Pedri, in that moment, wished he was a painter instead of a footballer.
“I’m sleep deprived,” was the best excuse he could muster. He couldn’t even force himself to break eye contact, the rain casting ethereal shadows on Ferran's face below him. The silence stretched for several heartbeats - Pedri would know, his was pounding in his ears - but it was comfortable, and when Ferran spoke, Pedri was almost sad to let it go.
“Let’s sleep then,” Ferran’s face almost seemed to flicker with sadness, but that was probably the lighting. Pedri, for his part, froze once again, unsure and hazy. Ferran looked across Pedri’s face once more, searching for something Pedri couldn’t even guess, before whispering.
“Turn around, Pedri,”
An electric shock sparked in Pedri’s chest, travelling to his stomach and even further down at Ferrans’s words. At the husky but careful tone in which he had murmured them. Pedri turned back to face his bed, and felt the deep warmth of Ferran’s body as his chest pressed along Pedri’s back, lightly tangling their legs together. Pedri could swear he hadn’t taken a breath in hours, trying helplessly to both comprehend that reality and gravity of the situation, and appreciate it in case it was all a fantastical dream. His heartbeat, at this point, was drowning out the rain.
Ferran's forehead leaned against the back of Pedri’s neck, and the overwhelming scent of him made Pedri dizzy.
“Is this ok?” Ferran pressed the words into the back of his neck, sending shivers along it.
“Perfect,” and it really was.
“Then relax, yeah?”
As if on command, his muscles softened, melting into Ferrans’ as he felt an arm softly wrap around his waist. Where Pedri ended and Ferran began, he wouldn’t have been able to say, for all he cared, there was no line anymore. But–
“Ferran,”
“Mm,”
Pedri turned his head back slightly, hoping to quell that last sliver of doubt. He had to be reading this right. Ferran's head lifted off his neck and he met Pedri’s eyes before glancing at his lips.
“Kiss me,” Pedri murmured, so quietly his lips barely moved and for a moment he wondered if he’d gotten the words out at all. Until the corner of Ferran's mouth twitched upward, and he closed the gap.
Ferran kissed him like a summer afternoon, sweet and slow, as if to resist the rain surging around them. The angle was slightly awkward, but Pedri felt the arm around his body tighten as if Ferran couldn’t bear any distance. Pedri couldn’t bear it either, falling into the sweet rhythm like a well practised passage of play. Ferran’s lips, like he’d imagined, were as soft and warm as the rest of him.
Breaking for air felt like a deep, wrenching loss, but they had to. Pedri met Ferran's eyes once again, noses still brushing, and a tidal wave of emotion crashed full force into his chest. Ferran, of course, seemed to greet him with complete understanding. He beamed a quiet smile at Pedri before kissing his lips once more and curling back around him. Content and sleepy, Pedri let his head fall back onto the pillow as Ferran placed a final kiss to the back of his neck.
The rain continued to pour, but Pedri was so warm.