Perfecto || lukamos [english]

Where Is My Mind?

Sergio woke up panting, sweaty, with his eyes wide open and sitting up as a reflection of his dream.

Sweat ran down his face and fell down his chin to his hands that tightened the sheet that covered his legs, he felt drugged by the change between the unreal and the real processing everything he had just dreamed, then he was aware of the discomfort that he felt between his legs and the bulge in his pajamas.

He ran his hand over his face, pulling his cheeks as he groaned, with his free hand he took and turned on his cell phone to check the time. It was too early in the morning and it was the day of the match against Atlético Madrid, he wouldn't have training until two and a half hours later.

He let out the closest thing to a grunt, embarrassed for not only having just had an indecent dream, but that his fellow Croatian midfielder was its protagonist.

He was doing a lousy job of removing his feelings and now he didn't even know how he would look into the blond's eyes without feeling guilty or uncomfortable. When he closed his eyes he could still see fragments of his dream tormenting his eyelids, seeing the image of Luka made a mess because of him and in his ears he could hear the ghost of moans caused by the older man.

He got up so fast that he nearly twisted his ankle in the process and ran to the bathroom to take the coldest shower possible, as he turned on the cold water he pinched the bridge of his nose trying to ignore the sensation below his pelvis. It was going to be a long day for sure.

...

He left too early for his liking and now he was alone in the Real Madrid changing rooms in his workout clothes.

He remained seated on one of the benches with his legs open, looking at the ring that he and Luka shared, mentally berating himself for having imagined his friend the way he did, he felt wrong, incorrect and like a disgusting pervert, no matter how hard he tried to think of something else, the dream always came back to be his main attraction.

He got up to put the box in his things with a loud groan, ran his hand through his hair pulling strands of it and let his gaze rest on a dead center on the wall.

- "I never thought I'd see you be the first to arrive"- he heard a voice with a Croatian accent that it was impossible for him not to recognize, his whole body tensed because fate was laughing at him and he turned around to face it because he didn't see what was funny of it.

- "Hi, Sese" - Luka spoke again, approaching to greet his friend with a kiss on the cheek,
Sergio, tense as a rock, turned his face away, stepping back and perplexing the older man, who, after showing surprise on his face, frowned in confusion.

- "Hey, Lukita" - he greeted as normal as possible while he patted the foreigner on the shoulder, fully stretching his arm and avoiding as much contact as possible.

-"Is everything fine?- asked with calm Luka, still frowning.

No -"yeah!"- lied 'cause he couldn't tell him that the reason he was strange was because his dreams where they were the protagonists.

Luka didn't answer 'cuz he knew it's a lie and every word he knew died on his tongue. Still hesitating, he went to his locker to put away his ring, at the same time he ran his hand through his hair and placed his ribbon to avoid discomfort in training, all under the watchful eye of the Sevillian. A flash of his dream passed through Sergio's eyes remembering his friend's face below him, panting with red; that was the only signal he needed to get out on the field instead of being locked up with just the Croatian.

He focused on stretching trying to clear his mind of all unwanted thoughts, he felt like a high school student and that at the same time made him feel stupid, «I'm 31 years old, my God! I shouldn't let a dream affect me so much», he thought.