#piquira x serard

[longeyelashedtragedy]

tinc una cadena al llit

if anyone wants the intro to another stupid piquira x serard fic it is below:

“My heart bleeds blaugrana,” Shak says on the call.  “By necessity...And so when Geri’s blaugrana heart breaks, my heart breaks too.  I don’t know if I can play any games with you if you win El Clásico, Sergio.”

“It won’t need to break,” Geri says, elbowing Shak in the side.  That’s not easy to do while you’re lying next to someone on a bed, but come on.  “We’re winning.”

Sergio laughs.  “Oh, you’re winning, huh?  Last I checked you had like, five guys left on your first team, and one of them runs slower than Sergio Jr.”  He looks off into the distance and cups his hands around his mouth.  “Sorry to insult your friend, Luka!”

“Hmm,” Shak says.  “You have a point.  I guess playing with you a little if you win could soften the blow, hmm, Geri?”

But Geri’s kind of distracted by Sergio, because he has to be a pain in the ass no matter what. He’s wearing a leopard-print shirt that’s so tight it’s probably actually a leotard or something.  It’s clinging to every stupid muscle on his perfect fucking chest. Sure, Geri works out.  To stay in shape.  Sergio works out to look like this.  But he’s not jealous . Why would he be jealous of Sergio fucking R—

“I don’t think he heard a thing you said,” Sergio’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he flinches a little on the bed. 

“Huh?” Shak stares at him.  “No, I don’t think he did,” she says.  “It’s probably your shirt.”

It’s kind of embarrassing to be known.

“We’ve decided what we’re going to do for El Clásico,” Shak says.

“Without my consent?  Seriously?”

“You snooze, you lose.”  Sergio leans back in his chair and takes a huge slurp of a nasty-looking green smoothie.  Another reason why he has those muscles.  Not that he’s jealous.  

“If we win—” Shak starts.

“When.  Fucking…when we win, Shak.  Come on.”

“When we win, later that night you can handcuff Sergio to the bed and have your way with him.  Wrists and ankles, even, if you want.”

Sergio shoots him a thumbs-up, but there’s clearly another half to this, and Geri’s suspicious.

“And if for some reason we lose?”

“If you lose….” Sergio says.  “Then don’t worry about it.  I just get to choose, that’s all.”

Oh, Geri’s definitely going to worry.  But this is the thing.  If he worries, that means he’s acknowledging that Barça might lose, and there’s no way—no fucking way, especially not after the dismal weekday classio in December—no way Barça’s going to lose to those smug assholes with their hideous white kits.  So there’s nothing to fucking worry about, and Sergio’s going to be spending the night of March 1st with all four limbs handcuffed to his and Shak’s hotel bed.  Right?  Right.

There’s definitely nothing to worry about.