Work Text:
Luka loved Sergio. Like a player ought to love his captain, like a member of a team the leader. Perhaps even more. It wasn't solely dictated by job duty. It was a genuine affection that stretched outside the stadium grass.
Sergio had his flaws, could be infuriating, could be annoying but was also loyal, passionate and caring for his own. And he certainly counted Luka as his own. Perhaps a bit too much.
Protectiveness sometimes turned possessiveness bordering on jealousy, and jealousy on the pitch was becoming problematic.
Luka hadn’t realized what it is at first, he had wrote it off to Sergio’s legendary temper. But it didn’t make sense for it to be anger, even for Sergio, when they were on a winning streak.
*
The first time he recalled it happened was when he took off his shirt at the end of the match. He did it many times before and the climate change was taking its toll on him still, weather in Emirates at this time of a year was so hot compared to winter at home.
It didn’t take long until an aggravated Sergio materialized out of nowhere right before him.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” Luka was genuinely surprised.
“Why’d you handed your shirt over to that guy?”
“Custom?” Luka shrugged. “He gave me his in return.” He indicated a red cloth slung over his shoulder.
Sergio was fuming.
“You shouldn’t gave it away that easily. It has Real’s badge on it.”
“Like any of the others I play for this club in. It’s not like I’d run out of stock.”
“It’s not about the stock. It’s about principles!” Sergio threw his hands in the air.
Luka laughed uncertainly. Was he being played? But Sergio lacked his trademark grin that might suggest it was just a joke.
“I guess it must be exceptional for you to be able to trade clothes with the same size man given how tiny these Japanese guys are but that’s not reason enough to be undressing yourself before the whole stadium!”
After the outburst Sergio stormed past him, leaving Luka confused and undecided whether he shall be more amused or worried.
*
The second time was when Luka scored the opening goal at finale’s fourteen minute. Marcelo was at him in a second, spreading his arms invitingly, lifting Luka off the air as the Croatian hoped into his embrace. Through the bush of Marcelo’s hair Luka saw Sergio’s expression. It was a scowl totally unmatching the fact they were leading the game at the moment. He was obviously approaching but stopped in the midway.
Then, no matter whose goal it was, Sergio was always first at Luka’s side. It didn’t matter neither he nor Luka scored that time, Sergio always run to him, hugged him, whirled around, raised off the grass or at least simply flung an arm across Luka’s waist.
Congratulating the actual scorer didn’t hinder these actions in the slightest. He simply clapped the hero of the moment with one hand on the shoulder or head while the other was still hatched on Luka. Sometimes, overjoyed by someone else’s goal, he kissed Luka on the cheek.
That could be written off to temporary exhilaration and Luka being the closest person. Though Sergio always made sure he was the closest person, running restlessly from his position on the pitch to the midfield.
*
Luka understood it only when it became really problematic. Favoring one of your own during goal celebrations wasn’t anything particular. But tackling the opponent during the game just because he got too close to Luka – that was a bit too much.
They were in the middle of the pitch, running together, odds were at their side both in number of scores and Real players nearby. They would outrun the other guy without a problem, dribble around him would be easier than on the training grounds. Just a pleasure of a fair play, doing what they loved the most.
And then Sergio tackled the guy pushing him off the line, obviously going for him and not the ball.
Luka halted in his trot, the penetrating whistle sound cut the air.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, blowing the strands of his hair out of his eyes that got there despite bandana, too tired to even shout at Sergio.
It didn’t make any sense. They were far from any goal, completely safe zone in the middle of the pitch, about to take the ball over in accordance to the rules. That way they just lost the ball to the opponent.
The coach approached before Sergio answered him and the Spaniard’s agitation turned to the newly arrived. Luka hurried to try to mend situation somehow before Sergio would turn it into a red card.
The coach, thankfully, drew just yellow.
“What?” Sergio barked in answer to Luka’s speculating gaze as the opponent player set the ball for a free kick.
Luka shook his head.
“Not now.”
*
Being a captain meant having duties, not only the taxing ones but also the pleasant like lifting up the freshly won trophy, posing with it before cameras and receiving congratulations in the name of the whole team from various officials present. In all that post-finale commotion Sergio was near unreachable.
Unreachable in private, that is, for he was still unglued from Luka’s side, one step behind or embracing arm during a group photo.
Finally Luka judged others were occupied enough with Marcelo cutting the goal net to pay the two of them much attention and the trophy was out of sight for a moment too, so it wouldn’t attract anyone’s focus to them. He tugged at Sergio’s shirt. The captain’s questioning eyes were at him in an instant, his tall figure leaning closer, posture attentive.
“You’re jealous,” Luka said.
“Wha-”
“Of guys whose names I don’t even know, of people from the stands sitting too far to discern their faces, of the players from our own team, even of Marcelo from all people for God’s sake! And that doesn’t make sense. None of this actually makes any sense but Marcelo is some serious exaggeration. He’s like the nicest person I know, the best friend of everyone. But that’s it, Sergio, they’re all my friends!”
“I’m not jealous.” Sergio sounded mildly annoyed.
“Oh, really?”
Luka moved one step away and begun to pull his sweated t-shirt up but before so much as his waist was exposed, there were bigger palms on his own, stilling his movements.
“Don’t.”
“Why? It’s hot here.”
“I don’t want others to see you like that.”
Luka stared mockingly up at him, they stood chest to chest, with Sergio’s hands resting on his hips.
“Okay, maybe I am a bit jealous.” Sergio relented.
Luka climbed to his tiptoes to place a kiss on Sergio’s cheek, just above the stubble.
“You have no reason to be. They are not you, they’re not my captain.”
Sergio’s grip on him shifted and the next moment Luka felt his feet leaving the ground, so he wrapped his arms around Sergio’s neck, clinging to him. Staring down he looked straight into the wide smile warm like Andalusian sun and smiled in return. In the corner of his eye he could see Marcelo wearing the mien that promised no-ending jokes about couples in love on next week’s trainings.