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If anyone asks, Raphinha would say having hybrids in the club is a bit weird.
He doesn’t discriminate, no. They’re all nice and funny, cute and affectionate in ways humans forget how to be sometimes and maybe Raphinha is looking at Fermin more than he should, but what else can he do? Especially when the puppy hybrid is all over him, all the time.
Fermin is the affectionate type, just like Gavi. But while Gavi is affectionate with everyone —slinging arms around shoulders, pressing quick friendly kisses, curling into any lap within reach—, Fermin seems to keep his affection only for one person, Raphinha.
He nuzzles the older man’s neck anytime he can, dropping wet open-mouthed kisses along his throat or shoulder. Sometimes, if he feels brave, he lands one on his cheek, before his face goes red all the way to the tips of his ears, yet he never breaks eye contact with Raphinha. As if staying on business, he did what he did, so what?
Sometimes, Fermin uses Raphinha to stretch his body, planting both palms on his shoulders, leaning his full weight forward until his arms are straight and his spine curves into a long, lazy bow. His head tips back, throat bared and his hips push out behind him, the arch of his lower back deepening as he rolls through the movement.
And Raphinha just lets him, until Fermin gives up the pretense entirely and throws himself forward, chest to chest, arms locked around Raphinha’s neck.
Raphinha reciprocates all of it with enthusiasm, hands finding Fermin’s waist, squeezing but he can’t help feeling weird.
While he throws a butt slap here and there, pats on the back for the rest of his teammates, he cannot do the same towards Fermin. It’s almost like his brain doesn't put him in the same category as the rest of them. Instead, when Fermin’s close, Raphinha’s hand finds the back of his neck, pulling him in, kissing his neck and breathing him in.
It’s both liberating and suffocating, especially when Raphinha decides to act normal, that there is no reason for Fermin to receive special treatment. Or for his focus to immediately snap to attention the second Fermin speaks, or for his resolve to crumble the moment those big eyes go pleading. There is no reason he should treat him better than everybody else.
So he makes up his mind. He draws the line, and promises himself he won’t cross it. No soft touches, or extra kisses and touches. Nothing.
He doesn’t look at the younger twice. When Fermin drifts too close during warm-ups, Raphinha steps aside. When the whistle blows and the rest of the guys start shuffling back inside, he even manages to reach out and push Fermin along with the others, not gently, not carefully. Just a nudge, like Fermin is anyone else and needed to go back to training.
It lasts exactly one day.
One agonizing day of clenched fists and averted eyes, and the second Raphinha tries to stay normal, after that tough day, he locks eyes with Fermin.
Soft sad eyes greet him, with a trembling pout and a bottom lip pushed out just enough to make Raphinha’s chest ache. Just a hybrid puppy whose ears are pinned flat on his head, while those same floppy puppy ears usually perk up the second Raphinha as much as glances his way. And a tail hanging low, tucked sadly between his legs, like he’s been scolded. Like he’s been punished and doesn’t understand what he did wrong.
The guilt immediately hits Raphinha like a wave.
He’s in the middle of the pitch, grass damp beneath his boots, the rest of the team scattered around him in a lazy post-training sprawl, while Fermin stands on the sideline, next to the rows of water bottles, next to the empty stands. One hand fidgeting with the hem of his jersey, the other pressed flat against his thigh, fingers twitching like he’s holding himself back from reaching out.
Raphinha’s feet are moving before his brain catches up, taking few strides and closing the distance. He doesn’t think and just reaches out, hand immediately going to the younger’s head. Raphinha’s fingers card through Fermin’s hair, ruffling the messy strands before his thumb finds the base of those soft puppy ears and scratches the way Fermin loves.
Fermin melts into him like he’s been starved, his hands fly up, locking around Raphinha’s waist then blinks at him.
“Did I do something?” He asks, voice small and cracked at the edges. And Raphinha wants to curse himself and take the last twenty-four hours and scrub them from existence.
“Of course not.” He immediately refutes.
“Then what happened?” Fermin bites his lip, worrying the soft pink flesh between his teeth. He never gets cute with the other guys —never pouts, never pleads, only to him and Raphinha can’t help but soften.
He brings him closer, guiding Fermin’s head to rest against his chest softly, palm cradling the back of his skull. “Nothing you need to worry about, baby.”
The pet name slips out like it’s been living on his tongue for ages, waiting for the right moment to escape, like there was no other option but to let it free.
Fermin doesn’t react to it immediately, he doesn’t freeze or push away, he doesn’t make it weird, maybe because it already is. Instead, he links his hands tighter behind Raphinha’s waist and pulls closer.
“So we’re good?” He asks, just to make sure, even though if he got any closer to Raphinha he’d melt right into him.
“A hundred percent.”
Fermin lifts his head slowly, smiling at Raphinha like he hangs the moon and lightens the stars.
“Ay, lovebirds!” A voice shouts from behind. “Back to training.”
Fermin laughs, bright and easy, but his hands stay locked around Raphinha’s waist as they start walking back toward the pitch. He doesn’t even seem to consider letting go and just shuffles sideways, pressed against Raphinha’s side, tail brushing lazily against his hip.
And Raphinha’s brain is fogged, thick and hazy, but his mind is stuck on one word. Lovebirds. He wouldn’t mind being lovebirds, he wouldn’t mind being anything with Fermin, any word that fits. The realization settles in his chest, warm and terrifying.
After their training session ends, the locker room is in chaos as usual with a blur of damp towels and sharp laughter, and Gavi baring his teeth at anyone annoying him while simultaneously annoying everyone else. Raphinha moves through it all on autopilot, showering, changing and by the time he finally escapes to the parking lot, the evening air is cool against his skin.
He slides into his car, then the passenger.
Fermin slides into the seat and settles back with a soft thump of the door closing behind him.
Raphinha blinks, confusion flickering across his face. Did they talk about this? Did he promise Fermin a ride and completely forget about it?
He opens his mouth to ask but Fermin is already looking at him, huge smile on his face, eyes wide and sparkly, tail thumping softly against the seat. And Raphinha’s question dies on his tongue, because how can he refuse that face?
“Ready?” He asks instead, voice softer than intended. His palm finds Fermin’s cheek, cupping it, thumb brushing his skin.
Fermin nuzzles into the touch immediately, before nodding, his pretty smile never fading.
Neither of them asks where they’re going, and Raphinha just starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, then takes the road to his house, one hand on the wheel and the other still reaching across the console, fingers tangled with Fermin’s where they rest of his thigh.
The drive isn’t long —just a few turns and a couple of stoplights. Raphinha’s hand only leaves Fermin’s when he needs it for the gear shift, fingers reluctantly untangling before finding their way back, slotting between Fermin’s like they belong there.
Fermin’s thumb traces patterns across Raphinha’s knuckles the whole way, small absent circles, a gentle pressure serving as a reminder that he’s there.
Once they arrived, Raphinha parks in the driveway and kills the engine. He lifts Fermin’s hand that’s still in his, to his lips and presses a slow kiss to his knuckles, before letting go.
Then he steps out.
The second Fermin hops off the car, he’s at Raphinha’s side like he was pulled by gravity. Raphinha’s palm finds his instinctively, like he is a man starved of touch and Fermin’s hand is the only thing keeping him alive.
The rhythm they settle into is soft and easy. They kick their bags off at the entrance as Raphinha pushes the door open, then they drift to the living room, sinking into the couch like they’ve done a hundred times.
Fermin curls into him without hesitation, tucking his face into the warm curve of Raphinha’s neck, letting out a content little sigh.
Raphinha wraps his arm around him, and presses a kiss to the top of Fermin’s head.
Fermin immediately takes it as a signal —a door cracked open just wide enough for him to slip through, breathing deep before dragging his mouth across the older’s skin, lingering, his lips parted, the barest hint of his tongue just barely there.
And Raphinha’s heart skips a beat and then he flips them.
One moment Fermin i curled against him, soft and warm, the next he’s on his back, pressed into the cushions, with Raphinha braced above him with hungry eyes, burning down like he’s about to devour him whole at that moment.
Instead he tries, he really tries to control himself. His jaw tenses, breathing goes shallow and forces himself to pull back just enough to breath, but then Fermin whimpers, small and broken and desperate.
And suddenly all of Raphinha’s self control flies out the window.
He moves on autopilot, body taking over where his mind has gone blank. His mouth finds Fermin’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his throat, teeth grazing just enough to make Fermin gasp.
His hands fly under the youngest’s shirt, palm flat against his warm skin, too hungry to rationally think. Then he finds Fermin’s mouth, finally tasting it.
The first kiss is slow, almost tentative. Soft lips sliding together in a gentle press, but then Fermin’s fingers dig into Raphinha’s shoulder and it gets hungrier, all teeth and tongue.
They pant into each other’s mouths, breath hot and ragged, both of them achingly aroused, pressed together in a way that leaves nothing to imagination. But the need for air eventually wins and they break apart just enough to lean their foreheads together, noses brushing.
Raphinha’s eyes are half-lidded and Fermin blinks at him, lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed all the way to his ears. And still—still— that little tail wags against the couch cushion, like even now, even in this position, Fermin can’t help but show him exactly how happy he is.
“I like this.” Fermin comments, looking at him with those heart eyes.
“Yeah?” Raphinha asks, just to make sure.
His heart is beating a new rhythm now, wild and unfamiliar. The sight in front of him, of Fermin sprawled beneath him flushed and breathless, makes him go a little insane, and a possessive thing claws up his throat.
He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, hear those little sounds, feel that soft skin under their hands. He doesn’t want anyone to ever look at Fermin again,
His Fermin, he finds himself thinking.
And maybe, just maybe it’s not as weird as he thought it’d be. Maybe the thought isn’t strange at all, just new.
Just them.