#doomasta

Vince's Seduction Tactic

extras (closeups, ???) under the cut! ^_^

food for doomasta nation and tried to draw dooma on (I frgt)

She's gonna save me, call me "baby"/Run her hands through my hair/She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily/Better yet, she wouldn't care/We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives/Ride 'round picking up clues/We'll name our children/Jackie and Wilson/Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

June was hot. The sun was so scorching that you could have hung yourself.The air was thick, and a shimmering haze rose above the ground, from which a strip of horizon descended, rippling like a snake running along a well-trodden road.

Supa strikas, trying to escape the heat, went into the nearest café.

“So what happened in the end?” asks North, pouring a drink into an empty cup.

Tiger bites his lower lip resentfully. He fixes his thick red hair, which has become tousled due to the terrible heat.“And Miko didn't say anything to me!” he complains. “He saw me talking to someone else and didn't say a word.”

He furrows his brow and takes a sip of sake. He grimaces and covers his face with his hands, roughened by old calluses.

“And the other one...” asks Shakes. North eagerly agrees.

“My ex!” exclaims Tiger, jumping up so suddenly that his empty cup falls to the floor. “Can you believe it? Sometimes it feels like he doesn't care...”He plops back down on the bench, shaking his head, and his thick hair becomes unruly with a new wave. Beads of sweat gather on his forehead.

“Why does it matter?” Cool Joe tries to comfort the guy.But Tiger, consumed by resentment, doesn't listen.“And he says he trusts me. What's the point of reprimanding me if he knows we love each other...”

“So what's the problem, Tiger?” Rasta, who had been sitting silently until then, finally decides to speak up.At first, Tiger seems somewhat lost. He blinks a couple of times, looking at the captain as if seeing him for the first time, and freezes mid-sentence. It's clear that he feels uncomfortable.

“If a person isn't jealous, it means they don't care,” explains Tiger, looking shyly at his feet. “How can he not care?”

Rasta bursts out laughing. How people love to find problems where there are none, and then suffer from them.

It would seem that here you have a loving guy who trusts you and doesn't throw tantrums over nothing, and you're sulking. And you would sulk if he did throw a tantrum. People say they are jealous because of love, but people say a lot of things.

Especially nonsense.

“Miko trusts you. He explained it himself.”“That's easy for you to say!”

El Matador rolls his eyes. “Your Dooma is jealous of every lamppost.”Matador crosses his arms over his chest and glares at him so viciously that he looks like he's about to burn a hole through him. “You've gotten too big for your britches. How does it feel to be loved so much?.”

Rasta wants to answer, “Terrible.” But instead, he shrugs and finishes his drink in one gulp, so that his temples throb and his blood boils in his skull.To forget for a second that he is only sitting here because Dooma is not here, who is now stubbornly preparing for the match.

Because there is only one week when Rasta can come home at any time and not be subjected to biased questioning, can talk to friends, none of whom will accuse him of betrayal, and breathe deeply, left alone with himself.You'd think that time will heal all wounds. But nothing of the sort.

Duma loves in a language that Rasta does not speak — the language of possessiveness, impulse, restriction, and painful, burning jealousy.

***

For a while, Rasta and Dooma didn't talk about the status of their relationship, but it wasn't really necessary — everything was clear to everyone anyway.The coaches clearly wouldn't approve of a relationship between rivals, but as long as Dooma and Rasta pretend that nothing is happening, everything is fine.As usual, they were content with the appearance of well-being, not wanting to dig deeper.

Rasta didn't complain. It didn't bother them.

Sometimes Dooma looked at him as if he wanted to kill him. Right here and right now, without even changing out of his United uniform, soaked in sweat and dirt.

But when they were alone, and as soon as Rasta wrapped his arms around his strong shoulders and whispered “I missed you” in his ear, he relaxed, hanging on him like a heavy weight. He buried his nose in his hair and calmed down as soon as he smelled his familiar scent.