Pepe doesn’t need Fernando to say the words to understand how his friend feels. But when Fernando finally talks, he listens.
“I know I should be ashamed of myself complaining like I have something to complain about and I know the risk comes with the job, but Pepe, I want to play. I see the boys on the field and I want to be with them. I want to run and do neat little tricks and see how Stevie’s in the perfect position to score or work myself free from two defenders, get the ball from one of Xabi’s brilliant passes and try for the net.”
Fernando blushes when he continues. “I miss the celebrations.”
Pepe smiles innocently. “Nice, isn’t it, when they go wild on the stands and start singing your song, chanting your name?”
“That too, yes.” Fernando blushes even more.
Pepe decides to stop teasing him.
“You know what I think? I think you’re missing a man’s touch.”
Fernando hardly dares looking in Pepe’s direction when he nods his heads up and down like a shy little boy.
But when Pepe says: “Well, come here then,” he let himself happily be pressed against the big, warm body that’s Pepe’s, welcoming arms keeping him safe.
The first kiss feels as natural as the second and the third and every single one that follows.
“Pepe?” Fernando asks, between kiss nine and ten, “Would you mind doing the touching without clothes?”
Pepe grins. “I’ll carry you to the bedroom.”
And he does.