#one old and grumpy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paperultra · 8 months

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mise en rose.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 3,806 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use

The tune that your father used to whistle now leaves your lips the same way it left his.

Notes skip offkey across the water as your boat rocks gently, waves lapping up against the wooden sides. The moon shines brightly overhead. You shift in place and wait for a tug on your fishing line, the basket at your feet waiting patiently for its first meal.

Archy will be happy if you actually catch something for once. There’s not a lot of fish around here, and you’re not exactly sure why; something about the aquatic plants in the area, or if you were to believe the old man in the village square, a curse that swallows anything with fins that swims too close. The last time you caught something was months ago, and it was tiny and more bone than flesh.

You don’t really care. It’s enough to just sit out here and feel the waves.

Cheeks puffing up with air for another round of music, you let your gaze drift out towards the ocean and abruptly freeze.

There’s something floating in the distance.

A piece of debris. Wood from a hull, a scrap of sail perhaps?

The thought that it may be the remnant of a ship destroyed at sea is enough for you to reel in your line and start rowing towards it, anticipation bubbling up and drowning out any thoughts of a midnight snack.

You get close enough and your anticipation gives way to shock.

“Oh, shit.”

The guy clinging to the chunk of wood stirs and lifts his head, and you almost hit him upside the head with your oar.

“Oh, shit. You’re alive.”

—

“You say you’re going out fishing and you come back with a half-dead man with three swords?” Archy looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, but this time, you don’t blame him. This is certainly uncharted territory and your older brother is hopeless without a map. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What was I supposed to do, leave him to die?”

“I dunno! Yeah!” he gestures to the waterlogged man lying halfway on the living room couch, one arm and leg hanging off the side. “Look at him. He’s probably a pirate!”

“Damn, you think?” Crouching down, you drag your eyes across Swordsman’s ragged clothing and grin. You might’ve just rescued someone with a bounty on his head. “That’d be so cool.”

“That would not be cool.”

You shrug. “Well, I brought him in already, so you might as well help me unless you want a dead body in our living room.”

“You little –” Taking a deep breath, Archy pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long, loud groan, and you know that you’ve won once more. “Fine. But as soon as he’s even a little bit better, we’re calling the Marines.”

“Okay,” you agree amicably. “So, what do we do first?”

“We have to undress him and warm him up.”

“Got it.” Your eager fingers go straight for the swords.

The man comes to life without warning. Seizing your wrist, he cracks one eye open and speaks in a low and rasping voice.

“Don’t. Touch. My swords.”

“Uh,” you say.

“We got to get everything off, mate,” Archy grumbles, and your guest turns his glare onto your brother. “I know how to clean swords and scabbards. I’ll dry them off and put them under the couch afterward.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

With a grunt, Swordsman pushes you away and attempts to sit up. He struggles for a full minute, jaw clenched and muscles trembling; his arms, strong and sturdy as they are, look like they’ll buckle at any moment.

Your eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling when he actually manages to prop himself up.

“Well, that’s impressive,” you mutter, making eye contact with Archy. He rolls his eyes. “Can you remove your clothes and wrap yourself up too?”

It takes a few moments before Swordsman has enough breath to respond. “I’m fine,” he says once he can.

“You’re really not,” Archy replies.

“You’re probably really dehydrated,” you say. “How long were you out there?”

The man stares at you, opens his mouth, pauses.

“Three days. Maybe.”

You gape. “You spent three days floating in the East Blue and you’re not dead?” You look at his neck for gills. “Are you a fishman or something?”

“No.”

“Really? I mean, I never met any fishmen before, so …”

His eye twitches. “I’m not a fishman.”

“Well, okay, if you say so.”

What a weird guy. Then again, you’ve heard that all sorts of characters traverse the Blue Sea. Devil fruit users, talking animals, clowns. A person who can survive the ocean for a couple days on a piece of wood is hardly out of the question.

“You’re dehydrated, in any case,” you conclude. “I’ll get you some water.”

—

After gruffly accepting a glass of water and putting on some dry clothes, Swordsman proceeds to “sleep it off” for the next twenty-four hours. When he finally wakes up, it’s in the middle of the night and you’ve just started rereading your favorite book.

“Oh, he’s awake,” you say when he stirs, swinging your feet off the coffee table and leaning forward in your chair to observe.

He grimaces under the dim light of your lamp, lifting an arm to press it over his eyes. “How long was I out,” he grouses.

“’Bout a day.”

“Shit.” He wriggles around in the fuzzy blanket you’ve wrapped around him. Once he’s loosened its hold enough, he sits up slowly and looks around, expression equal parts drowsy and wary. “Where –”

“Archy took your swords and cleaned them. They’re under the couch.”

“I told you not to touch them.”

“I didn’t. My brother did.”

Casting you the most unamused glare, Swordsman bends over to look underneath the couch. He pulls his swords out and places them in his lap, inspecting the white one first with a care that makes you rest your chin in your hand, curious and charmed. His brow furrows and you know that he finds your brother’s work to be satisfactory when he moves on to inspect the other two.

“Our uncle was a bladesmith in Loguetown. He taught Archy a thing or two before he passed.”

“You’re bladesmiths?”

“Coopers. Uncle was the rebel, I guess.” You close your book and stand up. “There’s leftover soup in the fridge. I’ll heat up the broth for you.”

This time, the man does not refuse your help and only nods. As you head to the kitchen and start to reheat the soup, you glance over and catch him sipping from the glass of water you’d topped off while he was asleep. Somehow, even that small action intrigues you. You smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Ladling the steaming broth into a small bowl, you stick a spoon in and walk back to where Swordsman is, sitting beside him. “Here you go. Don’t drink it too fast, and all that.”

He takes the soup, blows on a spoonful, tastes it. His eyes close, and something funny happens in your stomach when he opens them again to look at you.

“’S good.”

“Really?” He nods and puts the bowl to his lips to drink directly from it. “Thanks.”

You let him finish the miso broth in silence. It gives you time to stare at him some more; even with the horrible sunburn and petroleum jelly smeared everywhere, he’s a very handsome man, that much you can tell, with broad shoulders and a pretty face and hair as green as forest moss. The three earrings on his left ear gleam gold and sway with every movement he makes.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna ask me questions?”

“Hm? Oh!” Shaking your head in slight bewilderment, you smile. “Yeah, I guess it would be good to ask some questions … so, what’s your name, anyway?”

“Roronoa Zoro.”

You tilt your head with a frown. “Roronoa Zoro.” You taste the name in your mouth. “That sounds really familiar. Are you a pirate?”

“No. I hunt them.”

“You hunt them?”

“That’s what I said.”

You look at his swords again. His earrings. Three and three.

Shooting up from the couch, you dash to Archy’s room and slam the door open.

“Archimead! Wake up!” You grab your brother’s shoulders and rattle him.

“Shit – what?!” he gargles, pushing your face away with one meaty hand and sitting up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s Roronoa Zoro!”

“What?”

“The guy in our living room,” you shriek at him, practically shaking, “is the Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro. I fished Roronoa Zoro out of the fucking ocean.”

Archy stops rubbing his eye. “What.”

Soon enough, Zoro faces both you and your brother in the living room once more.

“You’re Roronoa Zoro? For real?” Archy asks him.

Zoro blinks up him. “Yeah.”

“Can you prove it?”

“‘Can you prove it’ – Archy, look at him. He’s got three earrings in his left ear and three fucking swords.”

“He could be some sort of copycat. We have no idea what Roronoa Zoro actually looks like.”

“You’re such a pessimist. Nobody would lug around three swords if they couldn’t use all of them at once.” You turn your attention back onto Zoro. “How the hell did you get stranded out there?”

He looks between the two of you, waiting for a moment before crossing his arms. “I was headed to Mirror Ball Island, but the boat I was on got caught in a whirlpool,” he says, displeased. “Then I got separated from the rest of the crew. Don’t know if they survived or not.”

“Mirror Ball Island?” you repeat. “That’s a three-day journey from here, at least.”

“Where’s here?”

“Dokusha Village.” You open one of the books on the table and point to a tiny strip of coast you’d labeled on the edge of the East Blue map. “Right there. You could buy a boat and sail west, straight to Mirror Ball Island.”

“I don’t have any beri on me right now,” Zoro says.

“Oh, yeah. Of course you don’t.” Archy puts his hands on his hips. “Well, the merchant ship is coming by in two weeks. If you’re all good by then, you can hitch a ride.”

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow night.”

You snort, closing the book and reclining back. “The rate you’re going, I don’t doubt it. Does that mean you want to leave earlier? You’ll still need a boat and supplies. Food, water, towels, sleeping gear. That all costs money. I mean, we could lend you some, but still.”

“I’ll work for it,” Zoro replies. “I don’t take and give nothing in return.”

Both you and Archy give a hum of approval.

—

True to his word, Roronoa Zoro is up and off the couch by the fourth day.

He doesn’t have a clue as to how to make barrels or buckets, which is expected, so he ends up helping with the grunt work of carrying staves into the workshop and stacking finished barrels. Other than that, there’s not much for him to do.

“Sorry if it’s boring,” you apologize during lunch, speaking through a mouthful of sandwich. “You’re kind of just hired muscle.”

Zoro shrugs, chewing on his own sandwich. Two girls walking by – Phoebe and Iris, the blacksmith’s daughters – spot him on the bench and giggle, hurrying past with glances over their shoulders. He appears not to care. “It’s fine.”

“I think you’re even stronger than my brother. Is it because of your training as a swordsman?”

“Probably,” he says.

“When did you start?”

“When I was eight.”

You nod sagely. “Not surprised. I’ve been helping around the workshop since I was a kid, and I only just finished my apprenticeship a few weeks ago. It’s good to start young.”

It seems that Zoro agrees by the way he grunts, stuffing the last piece of crust into his mouth.

When he’s done, you muster the courage to ask, “What’s it like, being a bounty hunter?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow at you. Then he gazes back out at the street. “It’s fine,” he responds. “Makes good money.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Yeah, but, like, is it fun? Do you spend a lot of time at sea? See a lot of different places? Stuff like that.”

“I don’t do it for fun. My only goal is to become the world’s greatest swordsman.” He leans back and puts his hands behind his head. “It’s a shitton of traveling, both on ships and on land. I’ve been all over the East Blue.”

“Wow.” The word comes out as a sigh. You crunch longingly on a carrot stick. “That sounds amazing. It’s my dream to travel all over the world on a ship.”

“How come you’re here, then?”

You wince, hushing him hastily. Glancing behind you, you clear your throat and lean in to speak softly. “Archy hates the ocean. He worked on a merchant ship for a few months when he was eighteen and got super sick.” Upon reading Zoro’s blank expression, you clarify, “I can’t just leave him. I’m the only family he’s got now, and his younger sibling to boot. So Dokusha Village it is.”

“You’re staying because of your brother.”

“Yeah. I love him, so it’s fine.” There’s a familiar ache in your chest, but you push it down and elbow Zoro’s ribs in jest. (He doesn’t even move a muscle. Geez.) “Makes okay money. I got a bunch of adventure books to live through, anyway.”

It’s a little hard to meet your lunch companion’s eyes after that. You eat the rest of your carrots in silence, pretending to be occupied with finishing them. Zoro doesn’t utter another word.

But as the two of you get back to work, he seems a little warmer, a little less stiff. You make a silly joke and Zoro huffs out something that almost sounds like a laugh while Archy threatens to stick you in a rum barrel and roll you down a hill.

Perhaps you’ve made another friend.

—

“What are you making?”

You blow off the wood dust, closing one eye to cut a fin just right. “Shark. See?”

The bonfire you’d made crackles just a few feet away as you place the half-finished carving into Zoro’s palm. He picks it up with his other hand and twists it around, touching with intention, and you almost feel self-conscious with the way he’s examining it.

“Nice,” he finally says, and the praise makes you giddy. He hands the shark back to you.

“Thanks. I had a lot of practice.”

Zoro rests his elbows on the rock behind him and takes another swig of sake. You resume carving the shark’s fins, bare feet buried in the cool sand.

Archy’s on a date for once, so he left the two of you to your own devices for the night with a distracted wave goodbye and a warning that he’ll be back late. You took that as a chance to break into the alcohol after supper and drag Zoro down to the beach. The swordsman was willing to come along, though you suspect it was mostly for the sake.

“Ain’t that your third bottle?”

“I can hold my liquor.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “No need to brag.”

He wipes his mouth, dark brown eyes black in the firelight. They glint like steel when he looks over at you, but he doesn’t say anything – not that you’re surprised; sometimes Zoro just looks at whatever he wants without any reason. He’s not particularly complicated in that sense.

(You like that. Too many things in life are complicated.)

“Hey, Zoro.”

“Hm.”

Your lips purse. “Do you think my brother will get married one day?”

“How am I supposed to know?” His tone is flat.

“Well, I dunno! It’s just a question.” You frown, slowing in your work. “It’s just that after our parents died, he’s been too busy looking after me and the shop to court someone. He’s turning thirty next year and most people his age have settled down already. I feel kind of bad.”

“It’s not your fault,” Zoro says. “Wouldn’t he have more time now, anyway, since you can take care of yourself?”

“I think he’s been out for so long he doesn’t know how to date anymore.”

Zoro downs the rest of his sake. You know that there’s no advice he can give you regarding Archy’s marriage prospects, which doesn’t surprise you either. You suppose you just need someone to listen. It’s not like you can talk to Archy about it.

“Hell,” you remember, “I’m expected to be married by now, too. I’ve never even been on a date.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Why, are you surprised?”

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Zoro yawns and closes his eyes. “You just seem like the type.”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk a lot,” he says.

You burst out laughing. “Yeah, I do. Would that make me a good date?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I’m guessing you’ve never been on one, either?”

Zoro shrugs. He doesn’t look too torn up about it. “Waste of time,” he mutters.

Your grin widens. “Figured you’d say that,” you drawl, digging your blade into the shark’s mouth. “Dating doesn’t really help you become the world’s greatest swordsman, does it?”

“Nope.”

“I still think it might be fun, though. If you’re with the right person.” With that, you brush away the last curl of wood from your carving. After admiring it for a few seconds, you offer the shark to Zoro, bumping the nose softly against his cheek. He opens his eyes and turns his head to squint at it. “Here you go. All yours.”

His brow furrows as he takes it.

“It’s a going away gift. Since you’re leaving tomorrow,” you say. Folding your knife and putting it down beside you, you grab your bottle of sake and gulp down half of what remains. “Don’t forget it.”

One of the logs in the bonfire crumbles, falling into the coals. Orange sparks fly up into the smoke and disappear just as quickly. You poke at the fire with a stick, trying not to think about how sad you’re going to be tomorrow morning.

“I won’t forget,” Zoro says.

“I know.”

—

It’s almost dawn, and the family boat is packed up and ready to set sail.

“Got everything?” Archy asks, lowering into a squat to scan over all the supplies.

“Yeah.” The swordsman drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks again for the boat.”

“It’s nothing.” Your brother elbows your arm, and you sway. “Oi. He said thank you.”

“I know,” you mumble. For the first time this morning, you spare Zoro a glance and smile at him, but it’s shaky and fake and you really hate how your voice wobbles when you say, “You don’t have to thank us. Just have a safe – have a safe –” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your feet, eyes burning. “Have a safe trip,” you finish quietly.

You can feel two pairs of eyes on you as your vision goes blurry. Shit. This is so embarrassing.

The fact of the matter is that Roronoa Zoro has been in Dokusha Village for only a week, and you’re already missing him like he’s been in your life for years. You’re going to watch him get into your family’s fishing boat and sail away, the wind at his back, the East Blue before him, and you will remain on the dock with your big brother beside you and your dream in your head.

You’re being selfish, but it’s not … it’s not fair.

Archy puts his hand on your shoulder and says your name.

You wipe your nose. “What?”

“… I’ve been thinking.” He sounds hesitant, taking in a deep breath and letting it go slowly, carefully. “You’ve always wanted to travel the world on a ship.”

It’s like the world tilts on its axis.

Rigidly, you look up at your brother, eyes wide.

“I’m not dumb, you know. You’ve only stayed here because of me,” Archy says. “I’m the one who’s supposed to look after you and protect you. But you’ve been able to do that for yourself for a while, now. Right?”

“Archy.” You swallow. “What are you …?”

“I talked with Zoro last night. He’s willing to take you to Mirror Ball Island, if you want.” His smile is crooked, but it trembles at the corners as he continues. “You know how to sail, how to navigate. We’ll just have to add some extra stuff to the boat.”

You can barely breathe.

“There’s plenty of merchant ships there,” Zoro adds, leaning on his sword. “Your skills are valuable. Just be willing to pull your own weight, and they’ll take you on board. If not, I’ll tell them to.”

“You don’t have to –” Now you’re full-on bawling. You throw your arms around Archy, who wraps you in a bear hug, and then around Zoro, who stiffens. “Thank you so much. Thank you thank you thank you.”

“No problem,” Zoro mumbles, patting you on the back. When you let go to beam at him, he averts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “Just hurry up.”

Nodding, you dash back up to your house, Archy following close behind. You grab your bag, throw what you need into it, snatch your hat from your bedpost. Less than twenty minutes pass before you’re all ready to go.

“Got everything?” Archy asks once more at the dock. You nod and look at Zoro, who nods as well. “All right.”

You hug Archy for the last time. Tears spill over and down your cheeks. “Thank you for everything, big bro. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, kid.” His voice is rough and trembly, muffled against your head. “Come back to visit sometime, okay?”

“Okay.”

Getting into the boat with Zoro, you help him check the rigging and hoist the sail. Archy unties the vessel and pushes the two of you off. As you float away, he waves, and you wave back, staring as he gets smaller and smaller.

“I’m not turning back,” Zoro tells you as you eventually settle in your seat. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Is it?

You cast one last glance back at Dokusha Village, at the small point of your brother. Then you look out at the broad expanse of the ocean. And you feel many things – joy, sadness, apprehension – but above all that, you feel –

Free.

“Yes,” you say firmly. You push your hat down and smile at Zoro, and this time, it’s genuine. “It is.”

Zoro smiles back. And as the sun begins to warm your face, you whistle your father’s song and think about the journey to come.

#opla #one piece #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #opla zoro #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #once again i underestimated how long this would take. hoowee #opla zoro my grumpy old man :)#good thing reader is coming along otherwise he'd NEVER make it to mirror ball island rip

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somethingsomethingwords · 2 months

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Good whatever-time-of-the-day-is-over-there. Here's a new thing. I played a little with their characterisation in this one. Stay safe out there. Enjoy 💜

Lance is bothered. And what's worse, Fernando is bothered that Lance is bothered. Not that caring about someone is wrong or strange and, while personally it isn't his MO, neither is caring about your teammates.

No, Fernando cares because of reasons that are still not clear. And that's what is driving him mad. And also the frown on Lance's face, but he'll face one problem at a time.

First point on the list, why does he care about this kid.

It had been easy signing the contract, even when Lawrence had heavily hinted at his mentor's duties.

He obviously had heard about Lawrence's son, about his achievements in the minor categories, and his average results in Formula 1.

And he couldn't escape the rumours about his rich spoiled kid behaviour, his lack of a strong personality or his evident disinterest in the sport.

Hell, he had even met the guy in the paddock before arriving at Aston Martin.

And then he met Lance, with his goofy smile, his sweet personality, his seriousness about the job, the fire that burnt when getting inside the car and the evident hard created persona for the media that completely melted when in private, the spark of a prankster spirit with Mick and Esteban.

(Ugh, he already couldn't stand the Frenchman when they were teammates, and now it was even worse when he saw how close the two young men were.)

The point is, when he started he didn't think highly of baby Stroll, and now here he is, knocking on the door of Lance's hotel room, because there is something wrong with the Canadian, and that meant Fernando cares because. Just. Because.

So, here he is, ready to find out what's going on.

He hears some muffled words behind the door, and then it's opened by Lance, his hair really messy and his shorts really short.

He is slowly losing his mind, when the younger one starts talking.

"Hey, Fernando. Do you come here often?" he says, languid and with those big doe eyes of his.

Fernando is completely baffled. They don't flirt, that's not how they are. He is usually the one that lightly teases Lance, just to see him blushing, and jokes around, just to see his smile and make sure that he is happy, but nothing more than that. He doesn't understand this sudden change.

Lance must see his confusion on his face, because he chuckles and shakes his head.

"Sorry, just the painkillers, they are kicking my ass. Also I'm tired as fuck and I'm really thirsty" he says, with an adorable snort.

Lance isn't exactly shy, but he has always seemed to like keeping to himself, and to contribute to a conversation rather than starting it. All this openness and honesty are very surprising, and somehow even a little bit worrying.

"Don't worry. You ok?"

And Fernando is winning dumbest person ever, because the answer is staring right at him, eyes glassy and unnaturally red cheeks, the aura of sweat and sick all over Lance. But the younger doesn't stop smiling.

"Yeah, it's all good, just high temperature and sore wrists"

And that's what Fernando had first noticed. Lance had been particularly careful with his wrists all day, never actually wrapping them in bandages, but massaging and rubbing them continuously, discomfort clear on his face.

ok, now you know, now you can leave he thinks, but something won't make him move. He had always been attentive, after all.

"You have a fever?" he asks, starting to worry.

Lance shrugs, but everything about him is screaming tired and sick.

"It's nothing serious, really" as he says this, Lance has to grip the door because of the sudden dizziness.

Fernando, now seriously worrying, just stares at him, until the other sighs.

"Ok, it may be a little bit serious, but everything is fine. I just need some sleep. Goodnight" and goes to close the door, but Fernando is faster. He puts his foot in between the door and its frame.

"Let me help you" he simply says.

He finds himself being looked through as if he was inconsistent by Lance's unfocused eyes. And then they refocus, and they are starting deep into his soul.

"Why?" Lance says simply, and Fernando feels like this is a test. Lance won't let him in if he fails, and Fernando has no intention of failing.

"Can see you're not well. Want to help. Because... I care" the admission tears something in him, something that has been hardened after all the years on track. Something that starts feeling warm and light and bright when Lance smiles softly and lets him in.

He enters and then closes the door, leaving behind the last vestiges of embarrassment and doubt. He has a job, a mission, and he won't make mistakes nor disappoint.

Looking around, the only sign of life is the crumpled blanket on the couch.

"You were sleeping on that?" ask Fernando, looking at the small sofa and his tall teammate.

"It was closer to the door" answers the other, shrugging again.

"Must have been uncomfortable" because even if it was of the right size, which it wasn't, it still looks stiff and leather cold.

"What's a little more pain when your whole body tingles and your wrists feel on fire?"

It's the simplicity with which Lance speaks, as if nothing bothers him, as if pain is inevitable and he shouldn't complain. That doesn't sit right with Fernando. Lance deserves the world's softest blankets, its warmest beds and its coziest socks. Fernando could give him everything. Fernando wants to give him everything. That's terrifying. But admitting it is also freeing, somehow.

soul shattering revelations later, nurse duty now he thinks, not without fondness.

Fernando follows Lance to his bed, and when the taller man just falls into the bed, not bothering with his clothes or the sheets, Nando realises he's going to have to work hard. He's always loved a good challenge.

Fernando reaches for the other's luggage, easily finding his pajama and fresh underwear. Then he returns to the side of the bed.

"Now, get up. Take a shower, dry, new clothes and bed. Can you do it?"

He infuses a bit of a challenge at the end, just to rile the man up.

What he doesn't expect is Lance's laugh at his words.

"Dude, I can't feel my legs. I'm not gonna reach the bathroom on them. I think I'll just skip everything and just go to bed" he says, burrowing further into the covers, which still aren't actually covering him.

"Ok, I'll help you" he says, as if it's something they do normally.

Fernando basically drags Lance to the bathroom, sitting him on the closed lid of the toilet. When he looks at Lance's face, he worries. It is redder than before, and his eyes are strangely focused on his arm for no apparent reason.

"Lance, everything ok?" he is starting to feel like a mother hen, but Lance's behaviour is really messing him up. And his answer really doesn't help.

"So strong" says Lance, completely spaced out and lightly stroking his bicep.

The caress is absolutely doing nothing to him, no sir.

Fernando gently takes Lance's hand, and waits until his eyes are focused on him.

"It's ok. Just a quick shower and then to bed, no?"

Lance nods, but Fernando can tell he's not completely there. So he quickly removes his clothes, leaving the underwear, and after turning on the water at a lukewarm temperature, he guides him into the bath.

It's not even ten seconds later that Lance starts shaking. Fernando is immediately grabbing his hand.

"What's going on, Lance? What's wrong?"

"The water... Is hot... It hurts" he is shivering and biting his bottom lip so hard Fernando can already see blood.

"Lance I need you to listen to me. The water is not hot. Your body is not feeling it right. Let me wash you and then it's the bed" he says, feeling like he is kicking a puppy, but he knows the lukewarm bath will help Lance in the long run. So he washes him as fast as he can, and then turns off the water. He starts wrapping the younger man in the preheated towel, gentle and careful.

He can see the other is losing himself faster than he'd like. So, when Lance seems dry enough, he wastes no time taking off his boxers and putting on a new pair, without peeking, he swears.

All dressed up, he carries him to the bed, where the other can finally sleep under the covers. He's just about to go get Lance some water, when the other starts.

"Thank you,,, for being here,,, but don't leave,,, it hurts" he says with his eyes closed and a pained frown, his breath moving his chest with a staccato rhythm.

Fernando kneels on the floor, so he is face to face with Lance, and starts stroking his hair.

"Am not leaving. Just going to get some water, then we sleep. I know it hurts, but it's going to be ok. Trust me" and the last sentence came out more like a question, and he worries for a second. Then he sees the other relax before opening his eyes and looking him in the eyes, whispering "Always" and closing them.

Fernando feels a weight lifting from his chest, but also a growing responsibility. For the first time in a while, he isn't scared of committing to whatever this is.

He shakes his head, a soft smile gracing his face, before standing up and retrieving two bottles of water from the mini fridge in the kitchenette.

He deposits them, one on each of the nightstands, and lies on the free side of the bed.

He tries to keep a modicum of distance, but Lance is having none of it. He simply turns towards him, and hugs him, reminding Nando of an overgrown squid.

He is out like a light in five seconds flat.

cute, he thinks, and for the first time in what seems like months of their dance, Fernando allows himself to properly drink Lance's sight, his long eyelashes and his strong nose and his pink mouth, slightly open in his sleep. He allows himself to think about how he likes being with the other man, how he likes to make him laugh, how he can't stand seeing him upset.

He allows himself to simply be, to simply feel whatever he feels for Lance. And it feels good.

#lance stroll #fernando alonso #strollonso #grumpy cat boy x besotted old man #but not quite #more like flirty boi x in denial old man #caring through silent actions may be one of my favourite tropes #just something short and sweet

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