morning comes in paradise by meretricula (PG-13)

[flywoman.livejournal.com]

Hi all, it's my third turn at the wheel, and I'll be reccing for Football RPF this month! You can expect fic focused on members of the Spain NT, Barcelona, and Real Madrid, but I plan to include some of my favorite rare pairings rather than just sticking to the usual suspects, this first fic being a perfect example.

I discovered Football RPF thanks to meretricula, who was the first to rec this fandom on crack_van and also maintains a long list of favorite fics on her personal LJ. But since authors aren't allowed to rec ourselves (and meretricula's much too classy to do so in any case), you may not know that she has also written some wonderful stories in her own right, with excellent characterization and plenty of well-researched details to warm my canon-loving heart.

Fandom: FOOTBALL (SOCCER) RPF
Pairing: Victor Valdes/Andres Iniesta
Length: ~4000 words
Author on LJ: meretricula
Author Website: RPF fic
Why this must be read: Barcelona teammates Valdes and Iniesta have been inseparable since they were troubled teens in La Masia together, yet the pairing doesn't get nearly the love that it deserves. This fic contrasts tall, handsome, charismatic Victor with shy, plain, preternaturally talented Andres just beautifully, and gives us a frank, realistic, yet hopeful look at the consequences of a teenage crush on one's affectionate, protective, but apparently straight best friend. Plus, Pepe Reina tries to be helpful, and what's not to love about that?


Andres hated losing—he was a footballer, of course he hated to lose—but it wasn't so bad for away matches. When they won everyone was excited and loud on the bus home, and that was good, of course. That was the best. Victor and Pepe were always in the thick of it, egging each other on, but Andres liked to sit by the window and listen.

When they lost, Victor was unbearable. He snapped at anyone who talked to him if he answered at all, and he sulked and stomped around the dorm for hours. He'd never snapped at Andres, though, not once in all the years they'd known each other, and now that they were finally on the same team, if they played away and lost, Andres could curl up between him and the window and sleep on his shoulder on the way home; Victor always let him, no matter how upset he was. And that was good, too.

They'd only drawn this time, but the other team had equalized on a last-minute penalty and Victor was angry he hadn't saved it, so Andres headed for the very back of the bus, ignoring Pepe's frantic gesture to sit with him instead. Victor dropped down beside him a few minutes later, his face like a storm cloud, predictable as clockwork. Andres leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

He dreamed—something; he didn't remember much of it except that it was nice, about someone with dark eyes and a warm mouth that they didn't mind using in ways he'd heard the older boys joking about in the locker room, and he was hard when he woke up. That had been happening more often lately, though at least he hadn't come in his pants, Andres thought with resignation. It had come later for him than most of the boys in his year, but puberty had finally struck with a vengeance, and it sucked.

Beside him, Victor was fast asleep and possibly drooling on his shirt. He'd fallen over onto Andres' shoulder at some point and now he was teetering on the verge of tipping all the way into his lap; that was probably what had woken Andres up. He shifted Victor so he was resting more securely against his shoulder and took advantage of the unaccustomed quiet to look at him, really look.

All the girls who came to watch their games were crazy about Victor, though he would ignore them when they swarmed around to talk to him after matches if Andres came to tell him he'd played well, and Andres knew it wasn't nice but it always made him feel a little smug when Victor would shoulder past his fans to meet him, so pleased just that Andres had come to watch. It wasn't hard to see why they liked him. Victor was maybe the handsomest person Andres had ever seen—more handsome, even, a treacherous part of him whispered, than Laudrup and Guardiola—and he was so kind, so determined to protect the people he cared about. Maybe the girls didn't see that part of him, but Andres did. Nobody was a better friend than Victor, Andres thought, watching the sweep of his lashes flutter slightly against his cheek with a strange sense of deja vu.

It came to him with a terrible sinking feeling, where he had seen this before. He'd dreamt about those lashes, about the eyes behind them looking up at him. He was remembering it more now, in bits and pieces.

He'd been dreaming about having sex with Victor. He'd dreamt that Victor kissed him and knelt in front of him and put his mouth—

And he still wanted it, Andres realized, horrified. He wanted Victor to look at him and never at the girls after matches and kiss him and do all the things the other boys talked about doing with their girlfriends and love him back.

He was in love with Victor. Andres wanted to throw up.


I dare you to read this without fighting a lump in your throat - or rooting for a sequel in which, in the author's words, Andres wages a lolita-esque campaign of seduction and breaks Victor's resistance to his sweet-natured wiles.

morning comes in paradise