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It was supposed to be a laid-back practice. But of course once the first domino fell for Sergio Ramos, there was no stopping the whirlwind of his rage. The problem was that Real Madrid was struggling. It was shocking for fans and players alike but with Cris’s leave still heavy on everyone’s mind, their sudden change in management and their players worn out, Real was hurting. Sergio was beyond frustrated, the brunt of the frustration poured onto himself. As captain he always took partial blame in his inadequacy to perform to their fullest.
The mid-August sun simmered hot on his skin, in the Bernabéu. They were set to play Getafe in a few days, on schedule to be their first game of the season. Even if they were better statistically and physically, that didn’t mean they would not give it their all. Their recent loss to Atletico Madrid in the UEFA Super Cup burned like a fresh blistering wound. Their loss was only theirs to blame and for Sergio that meant training non-stop until he believed he and his teammates were ready and could compensate for their failure.
They were in the midst of a heated scrimmage, with Sergio taking lead of half the team and Luka the other, when Sergio felt the hot creeping rage seep into his chest. His side was down 3-0 with 20 minutes left on the clock. His breath was ragged, as he tracked the ball like a hawk and waited for a pass from Reguilón. The kid was new, he hadn’t officially debuted on the team yet but Lopetegui saw potential in him. He had pulled Sergio aside a few days ago urging Sergio to play with him and feel him out. To “give him a chance” as he had phrased.
Sergio had argued in the moment, doubts rising to the forefront of his mind. They really could not afford to bring in a fresh new player, not so early in the season and not if he was not a hundred percent Madridista flesh and blood.
“It’s too risky to bring in a child when Marcelo is more than capable,” he chided, arms crossed defensively.
“Sergio please he’s not a child he’s 22, come on mijo you’re being too harsh no?” Lopetegui placed a hand on Sergio’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. He shook it off, turning away not wanting the contact at the moment. He respected Lopetegui, no matter how much people gossiped about the manager's controversial decisions. But Sergio had his limits too. He sighed knowing he would have to submit to his manager’s request without a substantial explanation as to why he didn’t want Reguilón to play.
“Tell him to meet us early at the pitch,” he conceded, glancing at the pleased look on Lopetegui’s face. He prayed the kid lived up to his expectations.
Almost an hour later and he regretted his words. The kid was talented no doubt, but he lacked tact. He was sloppy and egotistical, in a way reminiscent of Sergio’s own career start. He had already barked at him countless times throughout the match when he had failed to uphold their tight defensive form, allowing Luka’s lithe form to slip between and deliver crucial passes to Karim and the others. If they kept playing like this their game next week was screwed in blunt terms.
He saw Toni in his peripheral vision before it happened, and in a flash Reguilón pressed him, delivering a risky foul to tackle the ball away. Sergio cringed, while he would have done the same in his youth with years of experience under his belt as captain of both his national team and Real, he knew now when and how to deliver a foul this was not that time.
He heard Lopetergui blow the whistle and Sergio rushed over to Toni, Casemiro and Reguilón both standing at his side. Sergio was seething, anger bubbling in his gut. Toni gave him a smile nodding, he may have been okay but this wasn’t over.
“What the hell was that!??” He bellowed out, his voice piercing through his teammates. He saw them flinch immediately, the other two turning away heading off the pitch.
The kid, Reguilón, looked sheepishly down at the ground. Apparently going for the silent treatment. This angered Sergio even more. He grabbed the kid’s jersey in his fist hauling him up to face him.
“Listen here. You are to never do that again, especially not in a scrimmage like this.” He let go pushing him back, feeling slightly sympathetic at the sheer fear in the kid’s eyes. “That was dangerous and we can’t afford any mistakes. Clear?” They had gathered a small crowd now, the rest of the players silently watching.
Reguilón stayed quiet, and Sergio wasn’t sure he preferred that. He was used to a smart mouthed outburst, this silence was not in his playing field.
“Hey, chaval, was that clear?” He pressed, closer, urging to get a reaction out. He was well aware of his physical intimidation, he used his giant form to his advantage with teammates and opponents alike. But the kid kept his head down and his mouth shut. Sergio could not control the branding hot anger that surged through him suddenly, at the gall of this young boy. He kicked a loose ball in front of him at his feet, in a gesture to dispel the fury in his bones. It flew off in the opposite direction almost hitting their kit staff, and Sergio flushed embarrassed at his own inability to hold himself back.
He passed a palm over his face, groaning in frustration and wiped the sweat sticking to his forehead. He thought of Luka in the moment, his unofficial co-captain would have handled the situation with a stark difference. He was probably soothing things over with Lopetergui at this very moment. He wished he had the Croat’s grace at times like this. He turned around walking towards Reguilón, just as he was about to apologize, he heard a mumble come from the kid’s mouth.
He leaned forward, “What was that?”
“You were clear,” the kid said meekly, looking towards the grass, not offering any other explanation for his behavior on the pitch.
Madre mía, Sergio needed to take a deep breath. The irritation that simmered under his skin flaring up for the hundredth time today. It wasn't just the kid he knew, it was a culmination of all the previous events of the weeks prior.
He kicked a second stray ball in his path and this one bounced off Reguilón’s foot. The kid glanced at him and skirted away. Sergio immediately brandished himself for his childish outburst, he needed to get a grip on his anger. It was something he had always struggled with. They called it his fatal flaw; it was the talk of all his critics and naysayers. Sergio Ramos was too hotheaded to lead, he wasn’t here to play football but rather fight to death. It was a complete distortion of his character and skills.
He just needed to be seen in the moment, he craved that recognition. And while he loved his teammates when he got all worked up like this they all knew to avoid his wrath and rightfully so. Still for the second time that day he wished for Luka to assuage this mess of a situation. Luka had a way of making the situation right, inherently understanding Sergio in a way the others did not.
He saw the blonde Croat before he heard him, running a few steps ahead to match his stride. Sergio folded immediately, dropping his palms from his face and met Luka’s sharp gaze. His shoulder length curls wrapped around his ears, with a visible sheen likely damp from sweat.
“Sergio, que pasó?” His voice was soft, eyebrows furrowed but a hint of a smirk spotted his mouth. Though his lips were raised his eyes were telling, Sergio knew he had messed up. It was hard not to smile at Luka though, he was weak when it came to the Croatian. Luka shifted closer bringing a hand to the back of his neck. He latched onto the strip of golden skin at Sergio’s tense shoulders. His thumb traced soft circles against Sergio’s thundering pulse point. A burst of warmth shot through him.
“Meet me after practice okay?” the blonde squeezed his shoulder. He didn’t have to say any other words, the action alone instantaneously calmed Sergio down from the rage that had just threatened to take over. He watched Luka bounce forward, toward Tony selfishly watching him continue the conversation so easily.
The rest of practice continued without a hitch, after they pivoted to tactical drills. It was easy to get lost in the repetitive actions, succumbing to the sweet ache in his muscles from the exercise.
He would need to have a word with both Reguilón and Lopetergui at some point. The headache that had been looming at his mind intensified. In the locker rooms the mood was stilted. Not just because of his outburst but also because of the general frustration of their recent loss.
He headed straight to the showers ignoring the burning eyes of his teammates, he knew they were upset at him. Sergio desperately needed to cool off and rid himself of the heat clinging to his body. Only after getting into the stall he had informally claimed did he realize it was occupied. Luka had his back turned under the spray of water, arms raised to tangle in his soft hair. Sergio admired the pale expanse of his back, unblemished save for the splatter of beauty marks scattered throughout his torso. Luka’s lean frame was in every way a stark difference from his own tattooed muscled body, yet his body held immense presence. Most people underestimated the man at first sight, chalking him up to be small and weak. But Sergio knew the magnitude of Luka’s strength, on the pitch he was both an anchor standing still and a bullet shooting across the field with grace when needed.
And here in private Sergio had access to this unfiltered display of corded muscles highlighting his brute strength and delicate nature. He tracked the droplets of water that cascaded down the slender planes of his scapula, and dipped down around his plump alabaster thighs and sinewy calves. He suppressed an urge to lick at the marks littered across his shoulders, wondering would they taste of rain, Sergio suppressed a shiver. He had seen the man bare countless of times but it never failed to take his breath away. Sergio stopped himself from ogling his friend any further. Luka had turned to him, flashing him a soft smile. He didn’t seem surprised at all by Sergio’s presence, which was a testament to how close they were.
Luka wordlessly held out the small bottle of his fancy conditioner, this was a ritual they often did after rough days on the pitch. Luka was meticulous about his hair care. Sergio would constantly tease him, but on and off the field his hair shone it was one of his most defining features.
Sergio quickly slipped out of his briefs, and joined Luka under the spray of water. He relished the warmth of the moment, letting his eyes slip shut, Ay Diós he could stand here forever. The waves of tension that had been building up in his temples soothed down. After what felt like minutes, cool hands pressed against his cheeks bringing him back.
He blinked open, Luka had shifted to face him, the bottle pressed to his cheeks now.
“What’s on your mind, capitán?” Sergio was amused by the nickname. He took the bottle out of Luka’s grasp, squeezing a small dollop into his palm. He didn’t know how to answer Luka’s question. All that was on his mind were thoughts of his bed and sweet rest. He sighed, lathering the product together and finally carding his fingers through Luka’s silky strands. He massaged the product into the curled ends, and relished the blissed out look on his friend’s face. Luka usually held his guard high as an impenetrable fortress, but right now eyes half lidded he looked completely relaxed and at ease. “You can tell me,” Luka urged, coming a step closer, holding his gaze. Sergio felt his heart catch.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered, voice laced with insecurity. His gaze dropped to the jut of Luka’s collarbone, unable to keep the contact. The pitter patter of the shower spray hitting the tiled floor continued around them. “I don’t know Lukita, I just let my anger get the best of me, I keep failing everyone.” he confided solemnly.
Luka pursed his lips, frowning slightly, he reached out tilting Sergio’s face back up to meet his. “Sergio, you know our performance as a team, it is not solely dependent on you,” Luka’s palm curled against his jaw. “Or any one person for that matter.” They were words Sergio had heard countless times.
“Yes I know,” he sighed, closing his eyes again. The words were true but hard to grasp.
“So anger aside, you know you haven’t failed any of us” Luka adamantly pressed. He dropped his hand to rest at the swell of Sergio’s chest, right above his pectoral. Sergio brought his hand over Luka’s preening at their size difference, and how his tan skin made Luka’s glow in comparison.
Sergio examined Luka’s expression. His full mouth was set in a subdued pout, the shadow of a stubble lined his sharp jaw. The hollowed out space under his eyes gave away his exhaustion although his eyes were bright. These past few weeks had been extremely tough on the man. He had taken his national team all the way to the finals of the World Cup but the immense weight of the loss rested on his shoulders. Thousands and millions of people counted on them to deliver and the crushing defeat was grueling. It was the plight of being a captain that Sergio knew all too well, he was feeling the same remorse and guilt.
“Luka I—“ Before he could say anything he was cut off by slender fingers against his lips. Luka must have caught the distress on his face.
“We can talk about it later if you want,” He shifted, turning his back to Sergio. “Let’s finish washing up I’m getting cold,” He bared his neck, a way to give access to the back of his hair. Sergio grinned, and instead abruptly brought his arms around the Croat, feeling a wave of affection warm and tender. The jut of his chin dug into the other man’s shoulder, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his exposed neck. The familiar notes of sandalwood and amber flooded his senses as slivers of wet hair stuck to the side of his face.
“Ay, claro que sí, Lukita mío,” He teased, his voice was honey sweet. Luka laughed softly, letting Sergio cling onto him for a few seconds before wiggling out of his grasp and stepping back into the spray of water. Sergio found himself surprised when Luka allowed him to push the boundaries of their friendship. Although Sergio was more outwardly affectionate, Luka never turned down his touch, always finding a way to reciprocate. He never made Sergio feel like their relationship was one-sided. Their friendship was incredibly intimate, and while to many that seemed incomprehensible, it worked for them.
They continued washing off, making small talk about the mundane events that happened throughout the day. By the time they had finished drying off and getting their clothes on, the locker room was empty. It was peaceful, it had been a while since they had spent time like this. It made Sergio realize the extent to how much he craved Luka’s presence both emotionally and physically.
“Luka,” he called out. The blonde paused his stride and peered at him expectantly.
“Yes,?” He tilted his head, the confusion spreading adorably across his features. Sergio caught his wrist, entangling their fingers together and tugged him close.
“Luka,” Sergio repeated, wanting to stretch the moment, he slid his arms around Luka’s petite waist.
“Yes,” This time the answer was tepid, said with a hidden smile. His face was tilted upwards. Sergio leaned forward bringing the blonde completely in his embrace.
“Te quiero mucho,” he murmured against the crown of Luka’s skull, still damp and smelling of linen and sandalwood. Luka wrapped his own arms tentatively around his hips, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Sergio’s shorts
His response was muffled against the heat of Sergio’s broad chest, but Sergio didn't need to hear the words to understand the meaning.
He would eventually have to face the consequences of his actions today at practice and work out a plan of action for Real’s upcoming season. But for now Sergio could lose himself in the sweet bliss of this shared moment, with one of the most important people in his life.