Work Text:
Pablo is going to get wasted tonight.
Freshly eighteen, Pablo is looking forward to finally being able to drink (legally). Like any teenager, he’s had sneaky sips of beer and pretended to be unfazed by shots, but today Pablo is finally old enough to party.
He and the rest of the team had celebrated his birthday earlier with cake and videos for the social media accounts, but Pablo wants to do more. He’s finally legal, and he is intent on getting drunk out of his mind and having a good time at a nightclub.
And he would currently be doing that if not for the stubborn bouncer who won’t let him inside.
“I already told you. My friends are waiting for me in there,” Pablo says, and it's true. Ansu reserved a table for them, and Pedro had texted Pablo asking where he is and how much longer he’ll take.
“No minors allowed.” The bouncer stares down at him, unimpressed. He’s tall, abnormally so. He's broad and muscular and has cropped salt and pepper hair. If Pablo had to guess, he would place the guy in his mid to late thirties.
“I’m eighteen.” Pablo really regrets shaving earlier. If he had known the bouncer would be like this, he would've kept his growing stubble. Contrary to what Pedro says, Pablo is capable of growing a mustache. “It's literally my birthday today.”
The bouncer rolls his eyes. What a dick. Pablo knows that it's bad and immature to call people names, but this guy is such a dick— a big one at that. “Don't lie to me, kid. Just go home. Come back when you're older.”
Pablo bristles. He's glad no one else is in line to witness this. The last thing he needs is to get caught and recorded arguing with a bouncer at a nightclub— even if it isn't his fault.
“This is my ID,” Pablo says, handing the card over to the man. There, in visible black ink, is the date of Pablo’s birthday exactly eighteen years ago.
Squinting, the bouncer looks over his ID, going as far as to flip it over and hold it up to the light. “This is fake.”
Pablo is going to lose his mind. He really doesn’t want to pull the do-you-know-who-I-am card, but what else is he supposed to do in this situation?
It isn't like Pablo is asking for freebies or special treatment because he plays for Barcelona, he just wants to be let inside the club because he's an adult and it is well within his human rights to enter a nightclub and have a few drinks.
Irritated, Pablo pulls out his phone, mentally cursing the guy as he opens Google and pulls up his own Wikipedia page where his date of birth is displayed in big bold letters for the bouncer to see. “Here,” he says, all but shoving his phone in the guy’s face.
The bouncer narrows his eyes at his phone. “That isn’t you.”
“What?” This is getting ridiculous. How the fuck is Pablo supposed to make this guy believe that he's telling the truth? “What do you mean that isn't me?”
“There is no way you’re a football player,” the bouncer says dryly. “You’re too small and skinny.”
Offended, Pablo opens his mouth to respond to that. He never takes shit from bigger and older guys and he isn’t about to start. Who does this guy think he is? He has no right to take away Pablo’s rights to have fun just because he’s old and built like Superman.
Pablo is just about to give this man a piece of his mind and tell him to stop being an asshole when a new voice interrupts him.
“Pablo?” comes the new voice, and Pablo is relieved to see none other than Pedro on the other side of the club’s double doors. “What are you doing? We've been waiting for you inside.”
“Pedro,” Pablo says, letting out a sigh of relief. He can always trust Pedro to help him out of trouble. “Help me.”
Pedro looks confused. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is there a problem?”
“The problem is that this man,” Pablo starts, gesturing at the ridiculously tall bouncer beside him. How is he so tall anyway? What right does he have to be such a giant? “Thinks that I am not even old enough to go inside.”
Instead of showing outrage like a good friend should, Pedro lets out a laugh. “Robert thinks you aren’t old enough?”
“Robert? You know this guy’s name?” Pablo shouldn’t even be surprised. Of course Pedro is friends with the club’s bouncer. Pedro seems to be friends with everyone.
“Of course. Robert is the best,” Pedro says. He turns to speak to the older man. “Don’t worry, Robert. Our Pablo might look like a baby, but he really just turned eighteen today. It’s his birthday, and we want him to have fun.”
Pablo is affronted about being called a baby, but he isn’t going to argue. Pedro is on his side after all.
The bouncer— Robert folds his arms over his wide chest. As much as Pablo hates to admit it, the tight black shirt he’s wearing hugs his big biceps quite nicely. “Are you sure?”
“You know we wouldn't bring someone who isn't legal here,” Pedro says in the nice and polite way that Pablo could never manage to do with his own voice. “We’ll be with him the whole time.”
Robert hesitates. He moves his icy blue eyes over to Pablo, assessing him from head to toe. “Fine,” he says after a moment. “Just… be careful.”
Pablo huffs. He is a strong independent adult. He is going to be careful because he wants to be careful, not because this old dude told him to be.
Thankfully, Robert steps aside to let them through. Pablo feels like bumping his shoulder into Robert's, even if the bouncer's shoulder is much higher up.
Used to Pablo’s short temper, Pedro hooks his arm around Pablo’s shoulders to calm him down. “Relax,” he says. “Robert is just doing his job. You can't blame him for making sure you won't get hurt.”
“Whatever,” Pablo huffs, sending one last heated glare at the jerk of a bouncer before following Pedro inside.
Regardless of what Pedro says, Pablo has already made up his mind. Robert is an asshole.
Pablo has severely overestimated his alcohol tolerance.
Pedro told him to pace himself and slow down, but Pablo, determined to prove that he was not a baby, clearly did not listen. He wanted to show that he could handle his alcohol, that it would take more than a couple sips of beer to make him drunk.
He regrets it now that his vision is glassy and his face is flaming red after downing so much alcohol. Much to Pablo’s embarrassment, he really is a lightweight.
Three (Four? Five? Pablo lost track of time three shots ago) hours later, Pablo has lost Pedro and Ansu somewhere in the throng of sweaty dancing bodies.
It’s fine. Pablo is eighteen. He doesn’t need them. He can take care of himself.
And so he drags himself outside to get some fresh air and hopefully sober up a little. The last thing he wants is to puke all over himself and the dance floor.
Head spinning, Pablo stumbles out of the club, nearly tripping over his feet with the grace of a newborn deer.
The patterns on the stone pavement are a lot more fascinating than they were hours ago. Pablo is suddenly hit with the urge to see them up close.
Giggling, Pablo surrenders to gravity and lets himself go down, down, down. He really would have gotten up close and personal with the pavement if not for the appearance of a pair of strong arms around his torso.
“Woah, easy there,” rumbles a deep voice in Pablo’s ear. “You almost broke your face.”
Confused, Pablo squints through the bright neon lights to look at his savior.
It’s Robert. Robert from earlier. Robert the asshole bouncer with the foreign accent and the nice muscular arms.
“Robert!” Pablo exclaims, several decibels louder than necessary. He leans his body back against the older man’s solid frame of muscle. “Robert! It's you! I remember you! You almost didn't let me in!”
“Pablo. Calm down. You're drunk.” Robert remembers Pablo’s name, which makes Pablo giggle. He really likes the way Robert pronounces his name in his strange accent.
“Your hands are big,” Pablo says, his brain to mouth filter completely gone from how drunk he is. “Why are you so big?”
He isn’t exaggerating. Robert’s hands are fucking huge— fingers twice the length of Pablo’s and palms large enough to completely wrap around his waist.
Next to Robert, Pablo is tiny. It should wound his pride, but at the moment, all Pablo can think about is how easy it would be for Robert to manhandle him— to pick him up and slam him against the closest wall before kissing him.
Fuck. Pablo must be really drunk if he’s thinking about a stranger like that.
But can you blame Pablo? Robert is a handsome man, heavy emphasis on man and not boy. Robert is older, way more mature, and calm and collected in a way that Pablo could never be in a thousand years.
Pablo is pretty sure he hated this man a few hours ago, but the Robert from earlier was mean and cold. This Robert is nice and warm.
Happy, Pablo moves his arms to circle them around Robert’s neck. “You smell nice,” he tells him. It's true. Even Robert’s scent is masculine— all woodsy and musky.
“Where are your friends, Pablo?” Robert questions, concerned. “Didn’t they see they would be with you?”
“I dunno,” Pablo slurs. The last thing he remembers is Pedro skipping off to get more drinks, and Ansu ditching them for a pretty blonde girl.
“Come on, Pablo. Pull yourself together,” Robert says, sounding very much like a strict teacher. “I’ll call a taxi to bring you home.”
Going home sounds nice. Pablo has had a lot of fun, especially out here alone with Robert, but curling up in his comfortable bed sounds even more fun. If Pablo is lucky, maybe Robert can join him in bed next time.
Pablo is so lost in his own thoughts, he doesn't register the taxi parking in front of them until Robert is ushering him inside.
“Nooooooo,” Pablo whines loudly as Robert opens the taxi door for him, giving the driver instructions to bring Pablo home in one piece. “Don't wanna goooooo. Wanna stay with youuuuuu.”
“You can see me next time. Hopefully, you'll be more sober,” Robert says, helping Pablo sit up inside the car. “Make sure to drink lots of water when you get home.”
Pablo obediently nods his head, immediately regretting it when he feels his brain shaking up and down inside his skull. He hopes he won't forget to drink lots of water later.
“I’ll let Pedro know where you are,” Robert says, gently patting the top of Pablo’s hair. “Try to get some rest once you're home, okay?”
“Okay,” Pablo says, like it's a promise.
The smile Robert gives him is small but stunning. Pablo wishes he was sober enough to pull out his phone and take a picture, to capture and preserve the moment butterflies start fluttering in his stomach. Or at least he thinks those are butterflies and not vomit.
“Bye, Pablo. Take care,” Robert says, shutting the car door before Pablo can do something stupid like jump out and dive into the hard pavement.
Pablo can’t help but look out the window as the taxi drives away into the night. Much to his surprise, he finds Robert looking back at him.
Huh. Pablo knows that it’s literally the man’s job to keep people safe, but oddly enough, Pablo feels touched. Robert really didn’t have to do that much for him.
Maybe Robert isn't so bad after all.