Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roque had just stepped out of his second shower of the day when the knock on his door came. 

With the vent still running, he thought he was hearing things until he opened the bathroom door. He stepped out, steam billowing behind him, and made it halfway to his bed before he heard it again. 

This time, there was no mistaking the sound for anything else. Someone was at the door. Roque frowned, eyeing it. That of course gave him no hints as to who the hell might be on the other side. 

Mentally, he formed a list of candidates and ran through it as he slowly crept closer. Maybe it was Javier, here to lecture him about his post-match interview. Or maybe it was another reporter, having slipped past hotel security to try and get another quote. As if Roque hadn’t run his mouth enough today. 

He hoped it might be Cristian, who he hadn't heard from at all since Iker came to collect him from the HPC. There was a fourth, more obvious option that he didn’t dare let himself consider. 

That decision ended up backfiring entirely, as it meant that Roque was completely unprepared for what he found waiting for him in the hall. 

Not what. Who. 

Sebas blinked at him, mouth dropping open right as Roque’s pressed into a tight line. He cursed himself inwardly for not looking through the peephole first, then cursed himself again for not bothering to put clothes on. Sebas’ eyes had drifted down, taking in Roque’s bare, damp chest and the towel still wrapped snugly around his hips. 

He swallowed, hard enough for Roque to notice his throat bob. When he spoke, his voice betrayed what Roque already suspected. 

“What are you doing?” The words were slurred together with more than just his rush to get them out. 

“You aren’t the one who gets to ask that,” Roque finally recovered enough to say. He shifted on his feet, resting his weight on the doorframe as he looked the younger man over from head to toe. 

He didn’t have shoes on, only socks. The loose shorts and oversized shirt he wore made it look like he’d just come from the gym rather than the club Roque had overheard Abad talking about dragging the team to earlier. Whatever drinking Sebas had done tonight, he must’ve done most of it inside the hotel. 

He wasn’t alone on that front. Roque had his own bottle of vodka sitting out on the table. Sipping at it by himself had only made him feel even more pathetic. 

Based on the slump of Sebas’ shoulders, he gleaned he wasn’t alone on that front either. 

“What are you doing here, Sebas? Are you lost? I can take you back to your room if you’ve forgotten how to find it.”

Sebas scoffed as if he’d been insulted, although Roque hadn’t asked at all unkindly. “I know where I am.”

“Okay,” Roque countered easily. “Let me rephrase. Why are you here? Can I help you with something?”

Now, Sebas laughed. There was little humor in it. If anything, the pitch of it was almost hysterical. “You, help me?” He scoffed again and brought a hand up, pressing the heel of it against his eye. “Like you tried to do with my leg?”

Roque stared at him. He did his best to keep expression blank, but something must have shown through on his face for Sebas to take a step closer. 

“Like you tried to do in the locker room?” he continued. 

“Sebas,” Roque warned as calmly as he could.

Sebas only took another step. He was almost at the threshold. “How else would you try and help me, Captain?”

Roque couldn’t tell if Sebas was trying to pick a fight or do something very, very different. He wondered if Sebas knew the answer to that himself. He doubted it. The look in his eyes was wild. That left Roque as the one who needed to maintain control. 

“You’ve been drinking.”

Sebas shook his head stubbornly. “I’ve been celebrating.”

Under any other circumstance, Roque might have found his petulance amusing. Under these ones, it made him consider slamming the door in Sebas’ face. He wasn’t sure what kept him from doing so. It wasn’t as if Sebas wouldn’t deserve it. 

“Then go back to it,” Roque sighed. He waved his hand towards the empty end of the hall, where Sebas’ and Charlie’s room was just around the corner. “Celebrate all you’d like. Yes? Goodnight, Sebas.” He stepped back, reaching for the door handle. 

As if by reflex, Sebas lunged towards him. His outstretched hand landed not on Roque, but on the door. “Wait!”

Roque’s exasperation finally flared into anger. He firmly ignored the fear that laced it. If Sebas were planning to hit him, he would have done so in the showers. “Back off.”

To his surprise, Sebas did. Just as quickly as he’d moved forward, he shrank back, hands wringing nervously at his waist. His eyes were still wild, only now they were wide, too. 

He wet his lips with his tongue and stammered out another pleading “wait” that Roque couldn’t help but give into. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to collect himself. Sebas’ behavior didn’t make sense to him, but he was still Roque’s teammate. Whatever was wrong, he didn’t want to leave him to handle it alone. 

He stepped back again, this time nudging the door behind him. “Okay,” he muttered, mostly to himself. His next comment was for Sebas. “Come in.”

The look Sebas gave him was wary and his movements slow, like he thought Roque might take it back. He didn’t. All he did was watch as Sebas slipped past him. 

The sound of the door latching echoed around the room. Roque turned and found that Sebas was watching him too. 

Now that they were inside, Roque was even more at a loss as to what he was supposed to do. He cleared his throat, painfully aware that he was one scrap of fabric away from baring himself completely, and even more painfully aware that it’d been only a few hours since they’d both been in that exact state. 

He tried not to think of it, or anything else related to where or how they’d seen each other last. 

“Sit down,” he settled on saying, pointing to the only chair the room had to offer. “I need to get dressed.”

Sebas nodded curtly. By the time Roque had gathered a clean outfit, he’d done as he was asked. The switch from volatile to malleable was so sudden Roque’s head spun. He stepped into the bathroom and took more time than necessary in dressing. 

When he came out, Sebas was almost exactly as he’d left him. The only change was in the angle of his head, turned to stare out the window. Roque glanced in the same direction. As beautiful as the city lights were where they twinkled in the dark, he didn’t get the feeling it was what Sebas’ mind was truly on. 

He wasn’t sure Sebas had even noticed his return until he whispered, “It must be nice to have your own room.”

Roque’s initial reaction was to bristle. It wasn’t as if he’d had much of a choice in the matter. Every other time before this, he’d been paired with Cristian. Only Cristian wasn’t here anymore, and no one else on the team wanted to be alone in a room with their faggot ex-captain. 

Except Sebas, apparently. He was back to looking at Roque. There was something skittish in his expression that gave Roque pause. His defensiveness deflated. 

He took a cautious step closer to where Sebas was sitting. “I thought you would be out with the rest of them.”

“I was,” Sebas said, but his voice was distant. “I went to a bar with Charlie and some of the others. Charlie… He brought some girls back to the room.”

Suddenly, Roque understood. He sighed and sat down on the end of his bed, facing Sebas’ chair. 

It was hard to pretend. He knew that better than most. It seemed the exhaustion was finally beginning to catch up with them both. 

“Won’t he wonder where you went?”

“At the rate they were drinking? Probably not.” Sebas leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. He dropped his head down so that all Roque could see was the top of it. His next words were whispered to the floor. “Why did you do it?”

A long moment passed, the silence sharp and held long enough for the tension to begin bleeding out. 

What the hell was Roque supposed to say to that? 

In the end, all he could come up with was the truth. “I was tired of holding back.”

“Javier will have your head.”

Roque shrugged. “At least everyone will know the real reason this time.” 

Sebas didn’t answer. He didn’t move at all. He was so still Roque wondered if he was even breathing. 

Roque sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it as he continued to study the man in front of him. Sebas had gotten to ask his question. Roque decided it was only fair that he got to do the same. 

“And you?” he prompted. “Why did you… do it?”

Between his knees, Sebas’ hands twisted together, nails biting into skin so hard Roque almost winced at the sight. The nervous habit was something he’d noticed in the locker room— the first time, when he’d gone after Sebas and found him on the bench, looking smaller than he would have thought possible for a man of his stature. 

He was strong and broad and built like a tank. Roque still wondered if he’d ever seen anything more fragile than Sebas was as he finally lifted his head and met Roque’s gaze. 

“Please,” he said softly. “Don’t make me answer that.”

With everything that had happened between them today, Roque found it baffling that Sebas still appeared to believe that Roque could make him do anything. After all, it was Roque who had said no. 

On the other hand, it was also Roque who’d kissed him back. Roque, who’d guided Sebas’ hands down and shown him where to put them. Roque, who’d had to rush out of the showers just to keep from asking Sebas if he would ever want to do it again. 

He was a hypocrite. So was Sebas. Maybe that was what kept drawing them together. 

He knew better than to share the theory aloud. “I won’t force you to stay,” he told him instead. He tipped his head towards the door. “Go, if that’s what you want.”

Sebas had gone still again. This time, his eyes were fixed on Roque rather than the floor, wide and unblinking. His lashes cast a shadow over his cheeks in the low lamplight as he darted them down and back up again. 

“That’s not what I want. I don’t—” He made a sound of helpless frustration and lifted both hands to scrub over his face. They failed to wipe away his frown. “I can’t.”

His voice was ragged. He sounded close to tears. Something painful twisted in Roque’s chest. He stood and stepped towards without thinking. By the time his brain caught up to his body, he was in front of Sebas, lowering to his knees. 

He set his hand on one of Sebas’, squeezing gently. “Hey.”

Sebas shook his head, but Roque didn’t move. If Sebas wanted him to, he could make him. If Sebas wanted to, he could do a lot of things. 

Roque reached up and used his other hand to grip Sebas’ shoulder. He squeezed him there too, trying to ground him to the present. Wherever Sebas’ head was lost, it wasn’t doing either of them any good. 

“Sebas,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Sebas did, lifting his head just enough for Roque to catch sight of his dark, damp eyes and trembling lower lip. This close, Roque could smell the alcohol on his breath. He wondered if Sebas was thinking the same of him.

He brushed the question off to focus on the matter at hand. “You can stay. But only if that’s what you want. Do you understand?”

You have to choose this, he didn’t say. You have to choose me. The thought of doing so frightened him just as much as it surely would have frightened Sebas to hear it. 

A few seconds passed where all Sebas did was stare. Roque could tell he wasn’t torn. He’d already made his choice. The battle came from acknowledging it to someone other than himself. 

Eventually, he nodded. One of his hands lowered to wrap around Roque’s wrist in a loose grip. 

Roque remained on his knees, waiting for Sebas to move. There was nothing lewd about it. They’d burned through that hours ago. These were merely the embers of the aftermath. 

It took nearly a full minute for Sebas to finally let go. He released Roque’s wrist in tandem with an unsteady breath and slowly rose to his feet. Roque followed suit. It left them standing face to face, barely two centimeters left between them. 

He could have counted every freckle dotting Sebas’ skin. He didn’t miss the way Sebas’ eyes flicked down to his mouth. The temptation was impossible to ignore, but he pushed past it, not wanting to start something he knew neither of them would be able to handle. Not tonight. Not like this. 

He turned and waved towards the bed initially meant for Cristian. Sebas glanced at it, then back at Roque. He opened his mouth. No words came out, but his expression did all the talking for him. 

Roque exhaled. “Fine.” He changed the angle of his arm to wave again. “Go on.”

He wished he could chalk the concession to pure pity. It would’ve made things so much easier than the selfish satisfaction he felt curl in his chest as Sebas curled up in his bed. After a moment of hesitation, Roque slowly moved to do the same. 

He settled against the mattress without slipping under the covers, leaving a safe amount of space between them. Even with the additional layer acting as a barrier, he was wary. 

Do you understand? He’d asked Sebas that. Now, he asked himself. The answer was a resounding no. 

“How is Cristian?”

Roque tipped his head back against the pillows and folded his hands over his stomach, determined not to look at Sebas directly. “I haven’t heard anything bad.” Or anything at all, he didn’t add. 

Sebas must have read between the lines, because he sighed. The mattress dipped as he rolled onto his side. “You miss him.”

It wasn’t a question. Roque closed his eyes and nodded anyway. “Wouldn’t you miss Charlie?”

“Some days, I don’t know.”

It was a more honest answer than Roque had been expecting. He hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. 

The mattress dipped again. When Sebas spoke up again, his voice was noticeably closer. “And Diego? Do you miss him?”

Roque’s eyes snapped open at the same time his head snapped to the side. “Excuse me?”

Sebas seemed taken aback by Roque’s sharp reaction. “I didn’t mean—”

He silenced him with a glare, shoving up into a sitting position. “What right do you think you have to ask me that?” He didn’t give Sebas time to respond. “You show up drunk, crawl into my bed, and want to talk about Diego? What do you think is going to happen here, Sebas?”

“That’s not fair,” Sebas said, far too softly for someone who’d just provoked so much anger. 

Life isn’t fair, Roque wanted to scream. 

Nothing was fair for someone like him. Not in this world. The games they played, the rules they followed— it hadn’t been designed with either of them in mind. Sebas couldn’t be that naive. He had to know, to be looking at Roque so sadly. 

The silence that passed between them stretched to the point of discomfort. 

“No, I don’t miss him,” Roque finally responded, just to chip away at some of the tension. 

There was nothing to miss. He and Diego were never serious, which had only made the uproar over their photo even more embarrassing. Roque had put himself through all of this for someone who didn’t even want him. 

“It was just sex.” 

He didn’t bother trying to disguise the bitterness in his tone. He was still angry, but he wasn’t cruel enough to say the rest of what came to mind: You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?

He held onto that thought for a moment, letting it go alongside a slow exhale as he laid back down. 

“I don’t care,” he muttered. He hoped that if he told himself that enough times, it would eventually become the truth. 

Beside him, Sebas was quiet. Roque risked a glance at him and found that there was much less space between them than he remembered leaving. His head was almost at Roque’s pillow. Roque could feel the heat of his body warming the sheet separating their skin. 

Sebas had soft skin. The freckles extended over most of it; or at least the parts that Roque had touched. With his hands. With his mouth. The latter suddenly felt dry.

He swallowed, wetting his lips with his tongue. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of this, Roque tried to remind himself. Not how Sebas felt. Not how he sounded, how he looked, how he tasted, how he smelled— not any of it. 

Sebas wasn’t supposed to be here to remind him, but he was. 

Roque needed to tell him to go, or at least to move to the other bed. There was no excuse for them to be this close. His mind was crowded with memories of the locker room, where they hadn’t needed an excuse at all. 

“You were wrong.”

He blinked, then frowned. “What?”

Sebas was still on his side, his knees drawn up far enough for one to press against the outside of Roque’s thigh. “You were wrong,” he repeated in a whisper. “I’m not drunk.”

Roque was beginning to regret putting down the vodka himself. Being drunk would’ve made this so much easier. His head was spinning so fast he may as well have been. 

He couldn’t move. 

For his part, Sebas couldn’t seem to stop. He shoved the duvet down to free his legs. The closer he got, the harder it was for Roque to breathe. 

Sebas was having a similar difficulty. He let out a heavy breath that rattled through his chest. Roque felt the humid heat of it brush over his cheek. 

No. No, not again. A replica of his plea from the showers began to take shape in his throat. There wasn’t time to get it out. He got as far as opening his mouth before Sebas leaned in and pressed his against it. 

Roque’s head spun even faster as Sebas’ fingers found his jaw. His body moved as if on autopilot; all ability for rational thought melted beneath the warm weight of Sebas rolling on top of him. A firm thigh found its way between his knees. The room could have been burning around them and Roque wouldn’t have noticed, too consumed by the hungry press of Sebas’ lips and the soft moan that slipped out alongside his tongue. 

He tasted like cheap beer and something much sweeter. It was impossible for Roque to keep his hands off him. His self restraint was usually a point of pride. 

For the second time in a day, Sebas tore straight through it. 

He made another plaintive sound. Roque responded to it with a gasp and palms that slid down to grab his ass, back arching in correspondence with Sebas’ searching hips. The friction they found made Sebas shudder.

He was shaking. Roque’s heart was beating so hard he felt it everywhere. In his chest. In his ears. Between his legs. He felt Sebas’ lips moving before his brain registered the sound of him speaking. It took another moment for Roque to make out what he was saying. 

“Please.” Sebas hadn’t stopped shaking. His mouth was still slotted with Roque’s as he whispered, “Please.”

Reality hit Roque like a slap to the face. 

“Please,” Sebas said again, begging with both his words and his body. Roque’s stomach twisted and turned, torn between warring arousal and nausea. 

He tried to slow down the kissing, but Sebas’ desperation made it difficult. It made Roque feel even sicker. It made him want more. 

“Sebas,” he managed to get out. “Sebas, stop.”

He was surprised at how quickly Sebas listened. He froze. Roque used it as an opportunity to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. 

Even so, he didn’t know what to say in response to Sebas’ quiet question of, “What’s wrong?”

Me, Roque wanted to say. I’m wrong. He didn’t, because he’d been selfish enough times tonight. 

“You aren’t thinking straight,” he settled on instead. “Neither of us are.”

That much was true, at least. 

Sebas certainly sounded confused. “What?”

Roque drew in a steadying breath as Sebas pulled away, far enough for Roque to see the hurt shadowing across his expression. “I think…” He allowed himself one last selfish act. “Maybe we should just go to sleep.”

A better man would have told Sebas to leave, but that wasn’t Roque. He was struggling to even feel remorse for letting Sebas in. He’d kept things from going further, though. That was what mattered. 

“I don’t…” Sebas trailed off. “I’m—”

Roque shook his head. If Sebas said he was sorry, Roque was going to actually be sick. Sebas didn’t need to be sorry. Roque was the one who’d let all of this happen when he was supposed to keep things under control. 

“You’re tired. I’m tired. It’s been… a big day,” he finished lamely. His hands fell away from Sebas’ body, held to the side in a self-imposed surrender. 

Sebas rolling off of him left Roque feeling cold all over. His voice was just as frigid. “Right.”

He was nearly at the edge of the bed now. Something like panic flashed through Roque at the thought of him leaving.  

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, desperate to fix whatever damage he’d just done. “Everything is fine.” Having let Sebas go, he clung to that thought like a lifeline.

Sebas stopped, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge him. He simply laid there, unmoving. All Roque could see of him was his back. 

His tone was devoid of all emotion once he finally responded. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

That stung more than it should’ve. Roque pressed his lips together and bit his tongue, using the pain as a distraction. It didn’t work for long. 

The sheets rustled as Sebas pulled them back up. Roque switched the lamp off and quietly followed his lead. The space between them may as well have been a chasm. Roque felt dangerously close to the edge. 

He didn’t want to know what he’d find if he looked across it. Listening to the soft rise and fall of Sebas’ breathing was hard enough. 

Fuck. 

Roque’s jaw tensed against the wave of disappointment and longing that washed over him. It didn’t make sense that he could miss something he’d had for the first time only hours before. 

He wasn't sure which he regretted more. Allowing Sebas to start something, or forcing himself to stop before it finished. 

It was a long time before Roque was able to fall asleep. 

-

When he woke in the morning, Sebas was gone. 

Chapter Text

Because the universe was cruel, that night, Sebas dreamt of Roque.

His mind didn’t recognize it as a cruelty. Not at first. Cushioned by sleep, the images conjured by his subconscious were… pleasurable, and contrary to when he was awake, lacking in shame. 

He dreamt of calloused fingers sliding up his thighs, and of dark eyes that looked down upon him with the same burning desire he felt in his core. He dreamt of a hot mouth pressing to his own, and a hotter tongue sliding along his teeth. He dreamt of reassuring hums, heavy breathing, and steady hands that showed him exactly what to do.

Sebas dreamt of Roque and woke with a gasp. Even the soft sound was startlingly loud compared to the quiet stillness of the hotel room. 

Of Roque’s hotel room. Sebas squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the sight of Roque’s duffel bag, sitting on the empty bed that Sebas had passed up on taking. Darkness did nothing to make him forget that. Even if it had, the quiet rise and fall of Roque’s breath served as a stark reminder as to what had transpired the night before. 

Or, more accurately, what had almost transpired. 

Maybe he should’ve been relieved that Roque stopped him, but it wasn’t relief that Sebas felt curdling in his gut. His bitterness distracted from but didn’t deter the much different sensation pooled between his legs. 

Fuck. Sebas mouthed the word, eyes still tightly closed. Now that his attention was on it, he couldn’t keep his hips from flexing down in a halfhearted grind against the mattress. As if he wasn’t already humiliated enough. 

He pressed his face into the pillow and willed himself to stop. He had more self control than this. He was one of the best sevens players in all of Spain, for fuck’s sake.

“Never fuck a groupie,” Javier had once advised him, early on in Sebas’ days at the HPC. “If you can’t get rid of them in under a week, the sex isn’t worth the risk.”

What would he say about fucking a teammate?

Sebas grit his teeth to keep from imagining the specifics and focused on the matter at hand: getting the hell out of here without waking Roque up. If that made him a coward, so be it. Better to be a coward than have to face Roque’s sympathetic understanding. Better to run than to be caught in bed with his captain. 

Ex-captain, he reminded himself as he carefully folded his half of the duvet back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

Even Roque’s abilities on the field weren’t enough to save him from the media’s wrath, or their coach’s. Once Javier caught wind of what he’d said to that reporter after yesterday’s last match, Roque could kiss his starting position goodbye.

Sebas shook his head, glaring over his shoulder at Roque’s slumbering form. The man was too stubborn for his own good. He and Amaia both were. Why couldn’t they understand that something being right wasn’t always what mattered the most?

Against his better judgement, Sebas lingered at the foot of the bed, studying the picture Roque made in his sleep. He looked so much softer than what Sebas was used to seeing; his features relaxed in a way that made the bruise around his eye appear even harsher. Staring at the line of split skin Diego had left on his nose made something similarly jagged slice through Sebas’ chest.

It throbbed in tandem with the ache at the base of his skull. Two nights of drinking in a row paired with the tournament, a frenzied fuck, and an aborted attempt at repeating the encounter was finally taking its toll on his body. He winced, rubbing a thumb in between his brows. 

He was a fucking idiot, and that was selling it short. 

Beneath the covers, Roque’s leg twitched. A quiet grumble followed. Heart leaping to his throat, Sebas bolted for the door, relieved beyond words that he didn’t have to dress along the way. 

Everything is fine. Echoing Roque’s words from the previous night came with an irony Sebas chose to ignore. 

Everything was fine. As far as he was concerned, once they were back at the HPC, it would be as if none of this had ever happened at all. 

-

“Where the fuck did you disappear to, bro? I thought me and Rikov were going to have to file a missing persons report!”

Sebas scraped together a weak smile, holding himself deliberately still so that he wouldn’t flinch away from the hand Charlie clapped on his shoulder after dropping his bag to land on the sidewalk beside Sebas’ own. They were the first two of the team that had made it out front to wait on the bus. 

“Ah, you know. I thought our room was getting a little bit… crowded, so I…” He trailed off, searching for a suitable lie. 

In a moment of unintended kindness, Charlie supplied one for him. “I get it. You wanted to pick out your own prize, eh?”

Nausea swirled in his stomach. “Something like that.”

“Well, was it any good?” Charlie released his shoulder only to jab an elbow against his ribs with a playful smirk.

Sebas did his best to mirror it, grateful that Charlie was seemingly still in too high spirits to notice anything was off. “Not as good as yours, I’m sure.”

The flattery earned him a sage nod. “Local girls always put out for the winning team. It’s tradition. They should add it to the Federation rulebook.”

“That’s kind of fucked up, man.”

As expected, Charlie waved him off. “You know what’s really fucked up? Seeing Javier hungover. I ran into him at the breakfast bar and I swear he was still buzzed!”

Sebas’ laughter was genuine, though his amusement was quick to fade with the second question Charlie posed. 

“Have you seen Roque? After that interview, I wouldn’t be surprised if Javier snuck up to his room last night and killed him.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” He let out an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. “You should’ve seen how pissed he was when Abad showed him the clip.”

“When did he watch it?” Sebas fought to ask past the lump in his throat. 

“In the locker room, after Goldfarb almost dropped the trophy. I think you were showering.” 

At that, Sebas had to close his eyes. He folded his arms and hugged them to his body. The comfort he got from the gesture was minimal. Inside his eyelids, he found yesterday’s events playing out in an entirely different way: with a furious Javier, storming into the showers, looking to inflict his rage upon Roque only to find two targets instead of one. 

Sebas was weak. Worse than that, he was reckless. 

Everything is fine. He’d repeated the phrase enough times in the past hour for it to be ingrained into the matter of his brain. He ran over it another time for good measure, forcing out a chuckle and opening his eyes back up. 

“At least we won.”

That was a feat they’d pulled off all thanks to Roque, but Sebas knew better than to acknowledge that out loud. Like so many other things, he kept it to himself. 

The rest of their teammates began to slowly trickle out of the hotel. Most of them came in the same pairs they had roomed in. Following the trend, when Roque finally showed up, he was by himself. 

Sebas couldn’t help but glance in his direction as he approached. His gaze was glued to his phone screen; thumb rapidly tapping out what Sebas assumed was a text to Cristian, or maybe Amaia. He doubted it was Diego. The way Roque had spoken of him in the privacy of his room suggested Diego would be lucky if Roque were to ever speak to him again. Sebas found it unlikely that he would try. 

The screeching sound of the bus rolling to a stop in front of them caused Roque to look up. His eyes drifted towards Sebas, who quickly aimed his at the ground. Roque would do well to ignore Diego, just as Sebas would do well to ignore him. 

This time upon boarding the bus, Sebas intentionally filled the seat beside him with his bag. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, and there was no need to put on another show with a woman when he knew that Roque would see straight through it. 

The thought of having anyone’s eyes on him was suddenly too much to bear. Sebas slouched down in his seat, tugging his hood up on his head, feigning the need for a nap. 

He didn’t know what it was that he did need, but he knew better than to dwell on things he couldn’t have. 

-

The more people that congratulated him, the less Sebas cared about their win. 

No, that wasn’t true. Of course he was happy they’d won, and proud of himself for having played a part in it. What he was really getting tired of was being asked about Roque running his mouth immediately after. 

The questions were always the same. Had he seen it? Was it true? How did it make him feel? The only one Sebas was willing to answer was the first. How he felt about Roque was a topic best left unexplored. 

What happened in Italy would stay there forever. That was what he’d decided. That decision had held up so far. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that inevitably, the other shoe was going to drop. 

-

It took a whole two days for his suspicions to come to a head. His mother was always saying that he had good intuition. This was just another case of them both being proven correct. 

“I need your help.”

Despite only being halfway finished with lacing his cleat, the sound of Roque’s voice made Sebas freeze. He didn’t dare look up. This was their first direct interaction since returning to the center. 

An irritated note emerged in Roque’s clarifying remark. “Javier asked us to carry the tackle bags out onto the field.”

“Oh,” Sebas said dumbly. “Okay.” When he managed to lift his head, he found that Roque was still looking at him. He watched silently as Sebas finished tying his shoe and rose to his feet, turning to head towards the equipment room with Sebas trailing behind him. 

Not a single word passed between them save for a quiet “here” when Roque nudged the first of the tackle bags into Sebas’ waiting arms. 

His black eye had finally faded, Sebas noted while Roque was preoccupied with wrestling the second bag free from where it had been wedged beside the shelf holding their spare sets of pads. The cut across his nose was yet to totally heal, but it was barely noticeable now. Sebas noticed it only because he knew what to look for. 

“Hurry up! We don’t have all day!” Javier called from his position on the halfway line. A few members of the team were already surrounding him. 

Roque’s pace didn’t change. Sebas sped his up enough to reach Javier ahead of him, depositing the tackle bag onto the ground and joining the others in stretching. 

It was strange to see Roque warming up on his own. Without Cristian there, he was a man alone. Sebas watched him out of the corner of his eye and told himself it was a warning. If he slipped up again, he would end up the same way.

-

The universe was cruel, but it certainly had a sense of humor. Sebas couldn’t think of another explanation as to why he would be seeing Roque standing behind him in the mirror. 

He just barely kept himself from whirling around and demanding to know why he was here. Which would have been a ridiculous question. This was a public restroom. The entire HPC had just been forced to piss in cups. Roque was here for the same reason Sebas was: to wash his hands. 

Roque didn’t speak up the way he’d tried to in the gym only minutes before. This time, he didn’t so much as look Sebas’ way. 

Sebas swallowed something down shaped suspiciously like disappointment, settling his gaze on his hands, lathered with suds beneath a stream of scalding water. He wished he could do the same to his brain. Maybe then, he’d be able to cleanse himself of Roque.

As things were, he couldn’t even keep himself from remembering what had happened the last time he’d been alone with Roque, surrounded by the sound of running water. 

“Are you nervous?”

Sebas fought again to keep himself from flinching. “About?” he asked, his mouth moving ahead of his mind. 

Roque didn’t leave time for the regret to set in. “Do you think anyone on the team will test positive?”

A frown pulled Sebas’ lips tight, his shoulders following suit. “Do you?” The shrug he saw reflected in the mirror made him bristle. He scoffed in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.” 

Another shrug. I can, the motion said. “People are full of surprises,” said Roque. “You know that, don’t you?” He turned the faucet off, flicking excess water from his fingers and stepping back once finished. 

Sebas remained frozen in place. For such a thinly veiled jibe, its weight upon Sebas was suffocating. He knew what Roque was getting at, but after a lifetime of practice, denial came as a reflex.  

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think anyone on the team is doping.”

The hum Roque let out didn’t indicate what his position on the matter was. Glancing at his reflection didn’t either. All Sebas saw was Roque’s raised brows as he angled his chin downward. 

“You’re wasting water.”

Sebas twisted the faucet off with violence. A look at his palms showed them to be bright red. He pressed them angrily against his thighs, uncaring of the damp spots that spread through the fabric of his shorts. 

“If you have concerns, I’m sure Javier would be happy to listen,” he bit out.

Roque snorted, which was one thing Sebas couldn’t blame him for. Since their return from Italy, Javier hadn’t been happy about anything. “You really think so?”

They both knew the answer to that. 

Sebas’ hands balled into fists. He backed away from the sink and crammed them beneath his biceps, arms crossed over his chest. “Everything is fine. Isn’t that what you said, Captain?”

He held Roque’s stare in the mirror for a long moment, unwilling and unable to face him directly. With so much tension mounted between them, the last thing on earth Sebas expected Roque to do was soften, but there was no other way to describe the look in his eye as he stepped towards him. 

“Sebas,” he began. “That wasn’t—”

The chance to finish was stolen from him. The door banged open and Sebas jumped with it, although the trio of cyclists that walked through it didn’t seem to notice anything strange. 

“Hey,” one greeted them both. “It’s a shitshow out there, yes?”

“Yes, it is,” Roque said pleasantly. 

It was infuriating, how easy all of this was for him. Sebas’ jaw clenched, his stomach roiling with a slew of emotions he didn’t dare try to name. He made his move for the door, praying to God that Roque wouldn’t follow.

He didn’t. An empty win, Sebas found, was just as unsatisfying as a loss. 

-

Roque’s hand closing around his forearm burned in the same way as a brand. The heat of it thawed out a handful of memories Sebas had tried his hardest to bury. 

That same hand, curled around the back of his thigh to hold him in place. The sharp taste of sweat beneath his tongue and the deep ache of Roque’s fingers, pressing against the freshly-blossomed bruise on his shoulder. Sebas had made a shameful attempt at doing the same the night after their return to no avail. It wasn’t the same. In the dark, he’d wondered if anything would be the same ever again now that he knew exactly what it was he was holding back from. 

“I have to tell you something.” Roque made the statement in a serious whisper. “It’s not about what happened over there. It’s important, alright?”

Sebas’ determination to ignore him flickered. He finally spun around, waving a hand to emphasize his rebuttal. “Not at the HPC,” he said harshly. 

He turned and walked away. This time, Roque didn’t follow. 

-

With little else to do but sit and wait for his name to be called, Sebas couldn’t help but grow curious about what Roque had to tell him. 

They weren’t exactly enemies, but to call them friends would have been a stretch. They were teammates. It didn’t make sense for Roque to confide in him about anything. The one secret they already shared was more than enough. 

Roque had changed out of the shirt and shorts he’d worn to training, now clad in one of the HPC’s standard tracksuits. He wore it with the collar popped. Sebas still found himself having to tear his wandering gaze away from his neck. 

The mark he’d left on his nape must’ve been long gone. He wondered if Roque had even noticed it. The shape of Sebas’ teeth, etched into his skin. An unintentional side effect of his desperate attempt to keep quiet. 

He tried and very nearly failed to pull it off again as the sound of Cristian’s voice cut through the quiet of the room. 

It was filled with disbelief. “You’re with Olympo?”

Shock widened both Sebas’ eyes and his mouth. He wasn’t the only one. He could see the betrayal bleeding through on Cristian’s face. Sebas’ heart twisted with phantom pain. It was an unreasonable hurt. 

One that became much more real once Roque’s attention turned his way. “I wanted to tell you,” he began. “But—”

That sentence could’ve ended in a number of ways. Each possibility terrified Sebas more than the last. He shook his head and got to his feet. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Sebas—”

“You and I are nothing.”

Roque flinched back as if he’d been stuck instead of snapped at, wearing the same fragile expression he’d worn watching Diego storm out of the locker room. There was no blood seeping out of his nose this time. Sebas’ stomach turned anyway, then dropped with the introduction of a new voice. 

“What’s up with you?” asked Charlie. “What does he want?”

Sebas recognized the curiosity disguised as concern. He could only provide an answer to one of those questions. “Just attention, as always.”

Charlie nodded, satisfied enough to let him go. Sebas took his freedom and ran with it as far as he could, which wasn’t very far at all. With every exit still blocked off, the further he could go was the opposite side of the room. 

They weren’t friends. He didn’t understand why the revelation of Roque’s sponsorship stung so much. Truth be told, he didn’t understand most of what Roque made him feel, but he knew one thing for sure: to get involved with him now would jeopardize everything. 

Sebas slumped down in his new seat and watched Diego cross over to where Roque still stood before the window. His jaw clenched. Good. Let someone else walk into Roque’s trap. 

It wasn’t worth it. Not when he knew exactly what it would cost. 

-

Tonight, the universe wasn’t the only one that was laughing, although the sound knocked loose from Sebas’ chest may not have come across as laughter so much as it did something much sadder. 

Sebas wasn’t crying, though. His face remained dry, even as his shoulders shook and his throat convulsed around another chuckle. 

He didn’t have his fucking key. As if the night couldn’t get any worse. 

Some people, he knew, didn’t lock their doors at all. At the HPC, they saw no need, especially now that there were cameras installed around every corner. As Sebas saw it, ensuring some semblance of privacy was necessary now more than ever. It didn’t matter to him if it was an illusion. What did he care, if Jana had someone break in while he and Charlie were away?

The secrets Sebas had to hide weren’t of the physical nature. 

Unfortunately, the lock on their door was proving to be much more sound than the one on his mind. The drinking he’d done at the cabin hadn’t helped matters much. At least seeing Jana’s face, scowling behind the parade of officers sent to drag them out had begun to sober him up. 

He wasn’t crying, and he wasn’t drunk, either. He was just tired. So damn tired of it all. 

Sebas closed his eyes and lolled his head back. It landed with a dull thud against the wall. Logically, he knew he should text Charlie about his predicament, but that was a task that required more energy than he felt had left. 

As things were, he barely had enough to open his eyes at the soft sound of his name being called. 

“Sebas.”

Sebas’ laughter came to an abrupt halt. He opened his eyes, but didn’t dare look up. He already knew what he would find. 

Of course it was Roque. Why wouldn’t it be?

The universe could go fuck itself, Sebas decided. 

“Sebas.” Light footsteps made the floor creak and Sebas’ heartbeat quicken. “Are you okay?”

Was he okay? Inexplicably, the question raised Sebas’s defenses. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” There was a pause during which Roque didn’t retreat. “What are you doing out here?”

“You aren’t the one who gets to ask that.”

Another pause, followed by the sound of a slow breath being let out as Roque recognized his own words being thrown back at him. “I think I am. You’re the one sitting in the floor.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Why isn’t Charlie here?”

Why don’t you leave me the fuck alone? Sebas bit his tongue and shook his head. “He’s with a girl,” he said instead. “I was the last one out, so the door is locked. And I don’t have my key.”

There was no reason for him to tell Roque the truth. Roque had done nothing to deserve it. What the hell had he been thinking, cornering Sebas at the cabin that way? What the hell had Sebas been thinking to follow him down the hall?

Trying to come up with an answer only made his head ache. He scrubbed a hand over his face and finally pushed to his feet, wishing the rest of him could be as numb as his ass. He turned towards the door and realized with a start that Roque was standing much closer than he’d initially expected. 

He’d changed out of the tank top and track pants Sebas had seen him sporting at the party. Sebas spotted the gold of his Olympo medallion glinting above the collar of his sweatshirt. It made his head throb again. He winced, which was a mistake. 

Suddenly, Roque was right beside him. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t have to let you do anything.” 

The vehemence in his voice carried the same sting as venom. It surprised Sebas as much as it did Roque. They both blinked, though Roque was the only one who recoiled. 

“I didn’t think,” began Roque. 

Sebas didn’t let him finish. “No,” he snapped. “You never do.” 

He knew it was harsh, and on top of that, unfair. Then again, that was the problem, wasn’t it? None of this was fair. Not for Roque. Definitely not for Sebas. Sometimes, it felt as if it never had been. 

Pity didn’t help either of them, so Sebas relied on his anger to give him a leg up. He shook his head and kept going, not wanting to know how Roque would respond to the accusation. 

“You have no idea what it took for me to get here. No idea. Do you seriously expect me to throw it all away?” 

It was foolish to phrase it as a question. That realization came too late. 

“I’ve never asked you to do anything, Sebas.” Roque’s eyes were large and solemn in the low light of the hallway. “And it’s pretty shitty to make me feel like I forced you into what we did. I’m not a monster.”

That hurt more than Sebas wanted to admit. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? To admit to anything meant he was losing control. To lose control meant he was weak. 

Weakness had no place in the worst of sevens. In his experience, displaying weakness almost always led to far worse things. 

“I don’t need your help,” was all he could muster. “I told you I’m fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.” Now, Roque was the one that shook his head as he leaned in. 

Distantly, Sebas thought of Jana’s cameras, and then Roque was so close that he couldn’t think of anything at all. His ears were ringing. The only sound that made it through was that of Roque’s breath, brushing warm against Sebas’ cheek. 

The quiet sigh that escaped him echoed in his ears, amplifying his body’s betrayal. No, he pleaded with himself. He wasn’t supposed to let this happen. He couldn’t let it happen. Not again. 

Roque smelled of beer, sweat, and a faint remnant of spiced aftershave. Sebas’ nostrils flared of their own accord, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“I’m not lying,” he whispered, unsure of who he was trying to convince more. Roque, or himself. 

“Then tell me to stop.”

“I—” Sebas swallowed with a dry click, his eyes fluttering shut.  

“Say it.” Roque’s voice was like a hand between Sebas’ legs; low and coaxing. 

He wasn’t touching him. Somehow, that made all of this even more difficult than if he were. That, at least, Sebas could be angry about. He’d told Roque not to touch him again, and Roque hadn’t. He’d listened. He was giving Sebas exactly what he wanted, and still, Sebas wanted more. 

Stop, Sebas thought helplessly, but what came out was “please.”

Roque drew in a sharp breath. With less than a centimeter left between their faces, Sebas felt just as much as heard the slow exhale he let out. He opened his eyes and found that Roque’s were still on him, mouth parted in preparation to speak. 

Whatever he planned to say was interrupted by the buzz of Sebas’ phone. 

The vibration against his thigh made Sebas jump. He reached for it on instinct, freezing with his fingers stuck down the front pocket of his jeans. 

Roque sighed and stepped back with a wave of his hand. “Go on.”

This girl is a prude. I’ll be back in 10. Sebas pressed his lips into a thin line. Charlie was as charming over text as he was in person.

“It’s Charlie. He’s on his way back.”

“Ah. Lucky for you.”

Was it? It certainly didn’t feel that way. Sebas tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, looking everywhere but Roque. Neither of them moved.

Sebas knew they needed to. Roque more than him. Charlie couldn’t find them like this— whatever this was. Sebas knew he’d been compromised. The fact that Roque hadn’t even needed to lay a hand on him to do it was terrifying. 

I’m not a monster, Roque had said, and he wasn’t. He was simply a man. He and Sebas both were. 

“I told you I didn’t need your help,” Sebas said with his eyes trained over one of Roque’s broad shoulders. “You can go now, Captain.”

If Roque found the dismissal to be insulting, he didn’t show it. Even with his gaze lowered, Sebas recognized the small smile on his lips as the same one Roque utilized at press events and in interviews. 

The tone he took was just as carefully controlled. “Goodnight, Sebas. I’ll see you at training tomorrow.” With that, he took his leave. 

Sebas’ jaw tightened as he watched him walk away. He waited until he heard the click of Roque shutting the door to slide back down to the floor, releasing a shaking sigh. He wrapped his arms around his calves, forehead pressed to his knees. 

The universe was cruel. It would’ve made things so much easier if Roque were too. 

Chapter Text

The phrase broken bone echoed around Roque’s head, just as jagged and wrong as the images on his hand Pepa was pointing at. 

His entire body flinched at the thought of what it meant. Four months to recover, and that was the best case scenario. 

Four months without rugby. What would happen if he lost Olympo’s support? If they handed him back over to the Federation and its fines? Rugby wasn’t just his career. It was the essence of his life. How was he supposed to stop something that on most days felt like the only thing he was ever meant for?

Panic and anger made for a nauseating combination. The bitter taste of it curdled in his mouth. “I think I might be sick,” he managed to rasp.

For Pepa and her assistant, those were magic words. Both of them sprang into action, one grabbing a trash can and the other Roque’s shoulder, holding him in place even as dry heaves began to take hold of his upper half. He retched, fingers gripping desperately at the can's edge, but nothing came out. 

The sickness he felt wasn’t physical. There was nothing he could do to purge his body of what was wrong when the problem was him. Maybe, he thought dizzily, it always had been.

“Roque,” Pepa said. Her voice was very gentle. He shook his head, but she pressed on anyway. “Love, please. You have to tell me. Who did this to you?”

He shook his head again. He had no answer to that question. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure that he would’ve told her even if he did know. 

Charlie. Cristian. Sebas. Even Lobo. It could have been any one of them. He couldn’t determine which possibility he dreaded the most. Cristian, his supposed best friend? Charlie, who had always hated him? Sebas, who—

He retched again, squeezing his eyes shut so tight that the tears welling up finally leaked out of the edges. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, swiping at them with furious fingers he fought to hold steady when pushing the can away. “I’m okay. I’m okay, really.”

He wasn’t. He knew it, and they did, too. The small room suddenly felt suffocating. 

Roque shoved to his feet with a renewed vigor that Pepa must have recognized as poorly-concealed desperation. She gave a disapproving click of her tongue and kept a firm grip on his shoulder. 

Her instructions were just as firm. “Sit down and stay still. I have to wrap it. There’ll be no getting better if you don’t protect yourself first.” 

It was too late for that, but there was nothing else to do except let Pepa tend to what she could. He blinked hard and nodded, allowing himself to be guided back towards the examination table. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, wishing desperately that his pain would turn to numbness. 

-

Everything hurt, inside and out. 

The last shred of dignity Roque had been able to salvage from the ruins of his right side had kept him from taking the bottle of pills Pepa procured on his way out the door. Pain killers. Totally legal. Totally understandable, for someone who’d been through what he had today. 

Roque had refused them. Hours later, it’d grown much harder to remember why. 

He didn’t need them, he reminded himself for what must have been the thirtieth time since returning to his room. He didn’t need anything or anyone. Which was good, because a look around confirmed that he had neither. 

He would give Amaia the benefit of the doubt. It was possible she didn’t know of his injury, but Cristian? Cristian, who had been there when it happened, who might have even been the one who had—

No. Roque lowered his head, staring into the shadow cast on his lap by the low lamplight illuminating the room. Cristian hadn’t come back yet. Roque didn’t know what he’d do when— if, his traitorous subconscious taunted— he did. 

He didn’t know what to do about anything anymore. 

Was this how Sebas felt, he wondered, drifting through his days? Terrified that one wrong move would shatter everything he’d built for himself?

“Do you seriously expect me to throw it all away?” he’d asked Roque just one night before. 

Less than a day later and already, it felt like a lifetime ago. Roque’s fingers twitched with a hot, painful pulse as if to remind him: he was a changed man. It may as well have been someone else who found Sebas curled on the floor. 

He’d looked so small. Just as shockingly vulnerable as he’d been in Roque’s hotel room. Roque remembered more than he wished to from that night. It kept coming back to him in flashes, fleeting in the same way as every touch and look between them. 

Sebas’ eyes, wide and wet. His palms, pressing feverishly hot to Roque’s cheeks and chest. His mouth, forming desperately around the word “please”, over and over again. 

He was angry about that encounter, more so than the rest. Roque had tried and failed to understand why. Sebas couldn't bring himself to speak of what they'd done. What was one rebuff compared to the handful Roque had under his belt? 

It made no sense for Sebas to be so hurt, but Roque wasn’t blind and Sebas wasn’t as talented at concealing his emotions as he thought. He’d seen it written across Sebas’ face at the hotel, and then again in the dining hall after learning that Roque was with Olympo. 

Roque didn’t need a mirror to know he’d find that same look on his own face now. 

The door opened without warning. It was a testament to how tired Roque was that he didn’t flinch. 

“Get out, Cristian,” he said, glancing dismissively towards the figure standing at his threshold. The staunch silence he was met with made him stiffen. “I said get out!” 

The fire in his voice fizzled out into nothing as he recognized that the man standing before him wasn’t Cristian at all. Roque stared, stricken with shock. 

It took a long moment for him to regain the composure to speak. “What do you want?”

Sebas shifted uncomfortably on his feet, shutting the door quietly behind him. “To know how you’re doing.”

Roque’s throat clenched too tight for him to say what he was thinking. You aren’t the one who gets to ask that. Their conversation in the hall had made it clear that Sebas didn’t want anything to do with Roque at all.

And yet, here he was.

Roque sniffed, dropping his head to avoid catching sight of Sebas’ slow approach. He remained silent, even as Sebas sat down on the bed.

He could see the answer to that question for himself. They both could. 

He could feel Sebas looking. A few seconds was long enough. No matter what Sebas had to say about it, Roque wasn’t a sideshow. 

“I want to be alone right now.” He turned and held Sebas’ gaze with the intention of making him squirm. 

It worked. Sebas ducked his chin, but evidently, his roused shame didn’t make him any less stubborn. 

“Will you make the World Cup?” he pressed. Roque shook his head and Sebas had the gall to let out a sigh. “Let me see your hand. Let me see how it’s doing.”

Roque jerked away from Sebas’ extended arm. It was a pathetic attempt at following Pepa’s earlier advice: protect yourself first. Too little, too late. 

“Just go. Seriously.” He forced himself to meet Sebas’ gaze once more. The words were too hoarse to have the same effect as an order. If anything, they had the opposite effect to what he’d intended. 

Sebas froze. A myriad of emotions flickered across his face. “Do you think it was me?” he asked, so utterly baffled that Roque wanted to grab his shoulders and shake. 

What gave him the right to act as if he had been the one who was betrayed? Who was he, to come here and check on Roque as if he cared?

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Roque let the bitterness seep through his tone without trying to dilute it, wiping at his face with another sniff. 

“It was that son of a bitch, Charlie.” 

The vehemence with which Sebas made the declaration drew Roque’s attention back towards him. He looked up and found that Sebas’ eyes were burning with something fierce and fervent. The truth, if Roque was to believe the words coming from his mouth. 

“I saw everything.”

“It was Charlie?” Roque whispered, searching Sebas expression for the familiar signs of a lie. 

He found none. Sebas answered him with an honesty that was impossible to feign. “It was Charlie. Now let me see your hand. Please.” He reached again for Roque’s hand, faltering just short of making contact. 

He was waiting for permission, Roque realized.

He swallowed and before he could talk himself out of it, unclipped the end of his bandage and began to unwrap it. For the first few moments, Sebas only watched. Roque hissed and the sound made Sebas’ fingers twitch as if he felt the pain for himself. 

Finally, the first patch of Roque’s swollen skin was revealed. Roque let out a heavy breath, his lower lashline brimming with tears that threatened to spill over as Sebas carefully took his hand and leaned down to give it a proper examination. 

After another long moment, he made a sharp sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Roque felt that he was watching him, but didn’t dare look up until Sebas broke the tense silence that had settled between them. 

“What happened to you today has happened to me my whole life, man.”

Confusion drew Roque’s brows together. He wasn’t sure what Sebas was referring to, but the earnestness in his expression kept Roque from questioning it. There was something raw in the way Sebas looked at him— always, but especially now. 

It showed in his voice as well. “But it’s okay now. It’s done.”

Roque’s throat closed around a silent sob. Maybe that was true for Sebas, but for Roque? He wasn’t sure things were going to be okay ever again. Without his hand, he was useless. Without rugby, he was nothing. 

“Look at me.” 

Sebas’ fingers fitting around his chin directed Roque back to the present. Roque stared at him. Amidst all the noise in his head, one thought stood out: Sebas was beautiful, peering at Roque through long lashes, eyes bright and dark and wet. Just as they’d been at the hotel, yet at the same time, so very different. 

It felt inevitable that Sebas kissed him. Roque knew it was coming even before Sebas leaned in, curling a hand around the nape of his neck and using the leverage to pull himself onto Roque’s lap. 

He was shaking again. Roque felt it, then heard it too as they parted for air. Sebas released a tremulous exhale that sent twin bolts of heat to the pit of Roque’s stomach and the center of his chest. 

Beautiful, he thought again, raking his eyes over the miles of tan, golden skin bared by the swift removal of Sebas’ sweatshirt. Sebas was gentle in bringing their mouths back together and even gentler in nudging Roque to lay against the pillows; carefully positioning himself to avoid putting pressure on Roque’s injured hand where it lay between their stomachs.  

His waist was a perfect fit for the cradle of Roque’s thighs. The temptation to lock his legs around it and squeeze in silent demand that Sebas give him what he wanted bordered on irresistible, but Roque knew that wasn’t how this game between them was meant to be played. 

He wasn’t in the position to make demands. At this point, he was well versed in what the men who sought him out were after. And so, he rolled onto his stomach, reaching up with his good hand to fumble for the small leather bag he always kept on the shelf above his bed. He plucked out one of the plastic packets tucked within it and silently passed it back. 

The removal of Sebas’ mouth pressing between his shoulders left Roque cold. The unintentional shudder that passed through him made it all the more noticeable that Sebas had gone completely still. 

Dread cut through his burgeoning arousal like a drop of water rolling down frosted glass. If Sebas left him hanging again, he didn’t know how he would bear it. 

Desperate to prevent the possibility, Roque canted his hips back and grabbed one of Sebas’ to pull him forward. For good measure, he turned and captured him into another heated kiss. He lost himself to it more than intended. 

It was Sebas’ voice that brought him back. 

“Here,” he whispered. 

Roque blinked, belatedly realizing that he’d rolled them over; Sebas now pinned beneath him with dark hair fanned out over Roque’s pillowcase. That was certainly one way of making sure that he stayed. 

“Take it,” he was saying, brandishing something between them. “Take it.”

Roque took it. Something as small and mundane as a condom shouldn’t have felt so significant— it definitely hadn’t when Roque had been the one to hand it to him— but it did. How could it not, with Sebas smiling at him so shyly? When he was looking up at Roque with eyes so trusting it was as if he were giving up a piece of his soul instead? 

Sebas let out a soft laugh. Roque couldn’t help but kiss him again, reflecting the shape of Sebas’ smile back at him as he brought their mouths together. 

“You’re beautiful.” He finally allowed the thought to slip out, waiting until he had Sebas spread out, loose and lax in every way possible so he could see the words work their magic in full. 

Sebas, still flushed and breathless, couldn’t manage anything more than a playful knock of his heel against Roque’s ass. The hand he had braced on Roque’s sternum slid down to rest over the center of his chest, fingers pressing into the plush skin of his pecs. 

Roque shifted his weight back onto his haunches and his focus onto the condom. He fumbled with it for a moment, a low huff of frustration escaping him as he tried and failed to tear it open one-handed. Sebas covered it with a chuckle. 

“Give it here.” 

His embarrassment at being rendered helpless in even the smallest of tasks was quelled by the feeling of Sebas’ fingers tracing the line of his flank as Roque settled back between his legs. 

“Careful,” Sebas spoke in the same worshipful whisper as before. “Careful, careful, careful.”

Roque was. He would have been even if Sebas hadn’t requested it. Instead of telling him this, he nodded, cradling the back of Sebas’ thigh in his palm. He guided it up and to the side, creating space that he filled with his own body; adjusting the angle of his hips and beginning the slow press forward. Sebas followed the smooth motion with his own palm pressed to the small of Roque’s back. 

A moan rippled through him. Roque wished he could take the sound and bottle it. This was better than any medicine Pepa could have given him. The pain in his hand was nothing compared to the white-hot need crackling inside of him. 

Beneath it, a softer warmth simmered. Roque nudged his lips against the corner Sebas’ mouth, dropped open on a heavy exhale. 

“Careful,” he promised, not trusting his voice any further. 

For a long time after, he didn’t need to use it. After so many years sharing the field, treating Sebas’ body as an extension of his own came as second nature. The context was markedly different, but Roque found that the ease with which they moved together was the same as it was in training and during matches. 

He felt himself winding tighter and tighter, desire coiled like a spring in his core. Every gasp and whimper wrung from Sebas’ chest added to the pressure building within him. The world narrowed to nothing more than the sensation of Sebas underneath him, around him; the tight heat of his body pulling Roque in. His hands, clutching at every centimeter of Roque within his reach. They found a home in his hair, fingers pressing desperately to his sweat-damp scalp as the pace of Roque’s hips turned frantic. 

“Oh,” Sebas gasped. 

His back arched so far off the bed that it nearly lifted Roque, too. He made a noise Roque might’ve mistaken for agony if it weren’t for the pleasured shudder that wracked through them both. 

“Please.” 

Roque felt Sebas’ lips moving before the sound of his voice actually made it through the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Blunt fingernails bit into the taught skin behind his ears as Sebas gripped his head closer. 

“Please,” he said again. “Please.”

Anything. Roque made the vow not with words, but with a kiss, and his palm curling around Sebas’ throat. He felt Sebas’ pulse fluttering beneath the thin skin, frantic and erratic against the faint pressure of his thumb. 

Sebas cried out again, letting out a sob that sounded like it was meant to be Roque’s name. His hips drove up to meet Roque’s where they fucked forward, once, twice, three times. 

On the fourth, the coil inside of him finally released. The burst of pleasure was so intense it seized what felt like every muscle in his body. Sebas’ thighs did the same around his waist, his grip on Roque’s hair locking to the point of pain as he spilled between their stomachs. 

Roque barely registered the sting. For the next minute, it was all he could do to remember how to breathe. It was only once Sebas stroked a hand down his back that he saw fit to move. If not for the mess cooling against their skin, he thought he might’ve been content to stay there forever. As things were, he didn’t want Sebas to be uncomfortable. 

“Hold on.”

He was careful in pulling out and quick in his task of swiping the pack of wet-wipes he kept in his nightstand. He handed one to Sebas and tossed it towards the trash along with the condom once they were both some semblance of clean.

Sebas wiggled until there was enough room on the mattress for Roque to settle in beside him. Roque did so silently. Words were hard, but accepting Sebas’ silent offer to tuck against his chest was easy. He kept track of the slowing rhythm of Sebas’ heartbeat rather than the time. For all he knew, it could’ve taken a matter of minutes to hours for Sebas to finally speak up. 

“So…” he trailed off. 

Roque stifled a laugh. So. That summed it up well enough. “We don’t have to talk about it tonight.” 

If he was being honest, he didn’t want to. Winding up here was more than he ever could have imagined. 

Sebas’ agreement was similarly relieved. “Not tonight. But maybe tomorrow?”

“Hugo said there’s an event we have to attend. They’re sending a driver for us in the morning. I’ll have to leave early. Assuming they still want me to go, looking like this.” 

Roque held his injured hand up. The bandage hung down, still halfway unwound. He hated to taint what was meant to be a happy moment, but the truth wasn’t always a pretty thing. 

“I don’t know what any of this means,” he forced himself to admit, because he really, truly didn’t. For himself. For Sebas. For them, as foreign and fragile as the premise was. 

Sebas hummed. When Roque glanced over at him, he found Sebas already looking back. “Me either, man.”

It was a small comfort to know he wasn’t alone in his uncertainty, or for the night. He’d decided around the same time Sebas entered that it was unlikely Cristian would return at all. They were all cowards in their own way, weren’t they?

It didn’t matter. Sebas was splayed out in a manner that didn’t suggest he planned on moving anytime soon. 

Roque smiled and rolled to smother it against the side of Sebas’ neck. “I don’t think we have to decide right now. We’ll talk when I get back tomorrow. Yes?”

He felt Sebas nod, then shiver beneath the tender path of kisses Roque pressed from his jaw to his chin, pausing a hair’s breadth above his lips to tell him, “I never really thought it was you.”

Sebas’ eyes softened, then warmed with a smile thats shape transferred to Roque’s own face as he brought their mouths together. 

“Tomorrow,” Sebas whispered after.

Roque hummed his assent into a second kiss. Tomorrow, they would talk, and Roque would tell him how grateful he was that there was nothing left to hide.