8.
For pendules
Title: Points A and B
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cesc Fàbregas/Fernando Torres
Disclaimer: Complete fiction
Fernando isn’t sure how he ends up talking to Cesc. They’ve been roommates before, but most of their conversations usually consist of smack talk about whether Liverpool or Arsenal is the better team.
It usually starts with Cesc, and ends with him too because a) Fernando can’t really be bothered and Cesc cannot seem to grasp the concept of let’s agree to disagree, and b) Xabi had once said something to him about how ‘the lady doth protest too much’, and Fernando knows he’s twisting it around to fit his situation, but it’s appropriate enough and why should he argue with Cesc when he knows his team is better.
When he had found out what their rooming arrangements were, he didn’t complain too much because Cesc is never actually in their room, he’s either hanging out with Piqué or Silva or someone, or terrorizing Iker or Xabi- or both of them together.
The room is mostly his, and he spends most of his time with Sergio, until Cesc returns and unceremoniously announces that if Sergio is going to spend the night, they should turn off the lights before they continue their “activities” and “for god’s sake, Sergio, can you try to be quiet? It’s so awkward to look you in the face and try to have a conversation with you the next day.”
Every time he said it. Every. Time.
So when Fernando comes out of the bathroom and finds Cesc lying on his bed, looking forlorn, he’s surprised. “Why aren’t you out somewhere?” he asks, nudging Cesc’s foot to grab the T-shirt that it’s covering.
“Didn’t feel like it.” He sighs heavily and sits up. “Are you going out?”
“No,” Fernando answers, pulling the T-shirt over his head. “I’m tired and I just want to relax.” He gives Cesc a pointed look.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Cesc asks, defensively. “I won’t bother you.”
Fernando snorts in derision.
Cesc makes a face and scrambles off his bed. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll leave you alone.”
Fernando blinks. Cesc actually sounds offended and even a little hurt. He hadn’t expected that. “Wait.” He almost has to lunge across the bed to grab Cesc’s arm. “What’s wrong with you?” He’s surprised when Cesc doesn’t resist and let’s himself be pulled in a bit.
“I’m just tired,” he says, sitting back on the bed.
Fernando raises an eyebrow and wonders if he should point out that Cesc has his own bed. “No, you’re sulking,” he says, letting go of Cesc’s arm and pushing himself off the bed.
“Because I’m tired.”
“That’s never stopped you from being some sort of social butterfly before,” Fernando replies, toweling his hair. “What’s your problem, Fàbregas? You don’t usually sit in your room pouting.”
Cesc rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to subtly get rid of me so you can get Sergio here and you guys can touch each other inappropriately? Because I can leave.”
Fernando takes a deep breath at that and then turns to look at Cesc. “No, I told you, I'm tired so I'm just going to relax. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re being a cranky little bitch so I can either fix it or pass you on to Xabi or Iker.”
“I’m not cranky,” Cesc grumbles, punching one of Fernando’s pillows.
Fernando groans, silently. God. Cesc was going to make this hard, wasn’t he? He pushes Cesc slightly so there’s room for him on the bed too.
It starts with him going, “Talk to me, Fàbregas, what’s the drama?”
Cesc is quiet for a while and finally, he lets out a big sigh and starts to talk. He talks about how he wishes he could start more, or just play in general. Fernando can understand that. He supposes it must be hard to go from being a captain at your club to just warming the bench and hoping for even five minutes of playing time.
“At least you can’t disappoint people from the bench,” Fernando mumbles mostly to himself.
Cesc turns on his side and props himself up on his elbow. “What are you talking about?”
Fernando gives him a look. “Don’t patronize me. I know what everyone thinks with every game that goes by without me scoring. They want me off the pitch, and maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just a waste of space out there.”
Cesc is too busy patting Fernando’s hair to answer. “Fluffy,” he says, sounding pleased. He draws his hand back when he sees the look on Fernando’s face. “We don’t think anything, we know you’re coming back from an injury. You’ll be okay. Once you score that first goal, the floodgates will open. You’ll see.”
“You think?” Fernando leans up on his elbow, mirroring Cesc.
Cesc smiles. “What, Sergio doesn’t fluff up that ego for you?”
Fernando shrugs. “I don’t tell him. I don’t want him to know that I worry about this stuff because then he’ll worry and I don’t want him to. He tries to bring it up and I just say that I’m not concerned, that I know my goal will come.”
Cesc pats him on the arm. “It will. But you should talk to Sergio anyway. I’m sure he’d want to know.”
“Yeah? Have you told van Persie you feel like crap being left on the bench?” Before Cesc can answer, Fernando goes on. “I hear your end of the conversation. ‘No, Robin, I don’t feel bad. I understand. It’s what’s best for the team and that’s all that matters.’ Hypocrite.”
Cesc flushes. “That’s different,” he argues. “And true. I do understand that it’s what’s best for the team and that’s what’s important.”
“But?” Fernando prods.
“I just wish I could help is all,” Cesc says, flopping back on the bed. “Even when I get to play, it’s just to let me play, it’s not important. I want to go on the pitch and make a difference.”
Fernando laughs. “You make a difference,” he says. “Every time you come on, you bring something with you.”
He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. Maybe it’s because Cesc looks so pathetic and he’s not used to seeing Cesc like that or maybe it’s because Cesc had made him feel better and he wants to return the favour, he’s not exactly sure. All he knows is that the next second, he’s leaning down and kissing Cesc.
Cesc tastes like regret and tiredness and everything that is the exact opposite of what Fernando usually associates with him, and he almost can’t stand it. So he brings his hand to Cesc’s face, his thumb brushing across his jaw and he kisses Cesc harder.
Afterwards they lay beside each other, the silence enveloping them.
“That was weird,” Cesc finally says.
“Yeah.” Fernando pauses. “Let’s never do that again.”
“No. Ever.”
“Unless we’re ridiculously drunk.”
“Cant-remember-our-names drunk.”
“Yes.”
Cesc sits up. “I’m going to move back to my bed now.”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
Cesc leans in slightly and brushes his lips against Fernando’s jaw. “I don’t think you’re a waste of space on the pitch,” he says. “I think you try really hard and that matters.” Before Fernando can react, he scrabbles off the bed. “Should I be worried about Sergio kicking my ass?” he asks, sitting on his own bed.
“No.” Fernando turns to look at him. “Should I be concerned about van Persie trying to tackle me to the ground the next time Liverpool plays Arsenal?”
Cesc smirks. “Maybe. But not because of tonight.”
~
When they win, they’re both swept away in the celebrations and they don’t really get to see each other until the very end of the night. They’re both a little drunk, but tired and happy.
“You’re glowing a little,” Fernando says, giggling a bit, as he takes Cesc’s hand and pulls him closer.
“Glow of happiness,” Cesc says, beaming. “You have it too.” His smile deepens as Fernando puts both his hands on Cesc’s face. “We’re not ridiculously drunk.”
“No, I know,” Fernando says. “You’re Cesc, I’m Fernando, I’m completely aware of who we are.”
“Right. And we agreed-”
“You’re Cesc Fàbregas,” Fernando interrupts.
“Yes, okay, I already know you’re aware of who we are.”
“You’re Cesc Fàbregas,” Fernando starts again.
Cesc pulls back slightly, freeing his face from Fernando’s grasp. “Maybe you are drunk.”
Fernando lets out an exasperated sigh. “Would you shut up and let me finish?” He pulls Cesc forward by the front of his shirt. “You’re Cesc Fàbregas,” he repeats, brushing his lips lightly against Cesc’s. “You set up the goal that won Spain the World Cup for the first time ever.”
Cesc smiles into the kiss, his hands grasping Fernando’s shoulders.
“You’re Cesc Fàbregas, and you make a difference.” Fernando pulls him in even closer, surprising Cesc, and he kisses him one more time.
-----
A/N: Fic title mostly refers to 'Teleport: A&B' by The Spill Canvas. As in: Hypothetically if you were point A / and theoretically if I was point B / we would be, we would be frantically melting, because it reminds me of this but it's too long for a fic title. XD
Title: Points A and B
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cesc Fàbregas/Fernando Torres
Disclaimer: Complete fiction
Fernando isn’t sure how he ends up talking to Cesc. They’ve been roommates before, but most of their conversations usually consist of smack talk about whether Liverpool or Arsenal is the better team.
It usually starts with Cesc, and ends with him too because a) Fernando can’t really be bothered and Cesc cannot seem to grasp the concept of let’s agree to disagree, and b) Xabi had once said something to him about how ‘the lady doth protest too much’, and Fernando knows he’s twisting it around to fit his situation, but it’s appropriate enough and why should he argue with Cesc when he knows his team is better.
When he had found out what their rooming arrangements were, he didn’t complain too much because Cesc is never actually in their room, he’s either hanging out with Piqué or Silva or someone, or terrorizing Iker or Xabi- or both of them together.
The room is mostly his, and he spends most of his time with Sergio, until Cesc returns and unceremoniously announces that if Sergio is going to spend the night, they should turn off the lights before they continue their “activities” and “for god’s sake, Sergio, can you try to be quiet? It’s so awkward to look you in the face and try to have a conversation with you the next day.”
Every time he said it. Every. Time.
So when Fernando comes out of the bathroom and finds Cesc lying on his bed, looking forlorn, he’s surprised. “Why aren’t you out somewhere?” he asks, nudging Cesc’s foot to grab the T-shirt that it’s covering.
“Didn’t feel like it.” He sighs heavily and sits up. “Are you going out?”
“No,” Fernando answers, pulling the T-shirt over his head. “I’m tired and I just want to relax.” He gives Cesc a pointed look.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Cesc asks, defensively. “I won’t bother you.”
Fernando snorts in derision.
Cesc makes a face and scrambles off his bed. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll leave you alone.”
Fernando blinks. Cesc actually sounds offended and even a little hurt. He hadn’t expected that. “Wait.” He almost has to lunge across the bed to grab Cesc’s arm. “What’s wrong with you?” He’s surprised when Cesc doesn’t resist and let’s himself be pulled in a bit.
“I’m just tired,” he says, sitting back on the bed.
Fernando raises an eyebrow and wonders if he should point out that Cesc has his own bed. “No, you’re sulking,” he says, letting go of Cesc’s arm and pushing himself off the bed.
“Because I’m tired.”
“That’s never stopped you from being some sort of social butterfly before,” Fernando replies, toweling his hair. “What’s your problem, Fàbregas? You don’t usually sit in your room pouting.”
Cesc rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to subtly get rid of me so you can get Sergio here and you guys can touch each other inappropriately? Because I can leave.”
Fernando takes a deep breath at that and then turns to look at Cesc. “No, I told you, I'm tired so I'm just going to relax. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re being a cranky little bitch so I can either fix it or pass you on to Xabi or Iker.”
“I’m not cranky,” Cesc grumbles, punching one of Fernando’s pillows.
Fernando groans, silently. God. Cesc was going to make this hard, wasn’t he? He pushes Cesc slightly so there’s room for him on the bed too.
It starts with him going, “Talk to me, Fàbregas, what’s the drama?”
Cesc is quiet for a while and finally, he lets out a big sigh and starts to talk. He talks about how he wishes he could start more, or just play in general. Fernando can understand that. He supposes it must be hard to go from being a captain at your club to just warming the bench and hoping for even five minutes of playing time.
“At least you can’t disappoint people from the bench,” Fernando mumbles mostly to himself.
Cesc turns on his side and props himself up on his elbow. “What are you talking about?”
Fernando gives him a look. “Don’t patronize me. I know what everyone thinks with every game that goes by without me scoring. They want me off the pitch, and maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just a waste of space out there.”
Cesc is too busy patting Fernando’s hair to answer. “Fluffy,” he says, sounding pleased. He draws his hand back when he sees the look on Fernando’s face. “We don’t think anything, we know you’re coming back from an injury. You’ll be okay. Once you score that first goal, the floodgates will open. You’ll see.”
“You think?” Fernando leans up on his elbow, mirroring Cesc.
Cesc smiles. “What, Sergio doesn’t fluff up that ego for you?”
Fernando shrugs. “I don’t tell him. I don’t want him to know that I worry about this stuff because then he’ll worry and I don’t want him to. He tries to bring it up and I just say that I’m not concerned, that I know my goal will come.”
Cesc pats him on the arm. “It will. But you should talk to Sergio anyway. I’m sure he’d want to know.”
“Yeah? Have you told van Persie you feel like crap being left on the bench?” Before Cesc can answer, Fernando goes on. “I hear your end of the conversation. ‘No, Robin, I don’t feel bad. I understand. It’s what’s best for the team and that’s all that matters.’ Hypocrite.”
Cesc flushes. “That’s different,” he argues. “And true. I do understand that it’s what’s best for the team and that’s what’s important.”
“But?” Fernando prods.
“I just wish I could help is all,” Cesc says, flopping back on the bed. “Even when I get to play, it’s just to let me play, it’s not important. I want to go on the pitch and make a difference.”
Fernando laughs. “You make a difference,” he says. “Every time you come on, you bring something with you.”
He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. Maybe it’s because Cesc looks so pathetic and he’s not used to seeing Cesc like that or maybe it’s because Cesc had made him feel better and he wants to return the favour, he’s not exactly sure. All he knows is that the next second, he’s leaning down and kissing Cesc.
Cesc tastes like regret and tiredness and everything that is the exact opposite of what Fernando usually associates with him, and he almost can’t stand it. So he brings his hand to Cesc’s face, his thumb brushing across his jaw and he kisses Cesc harder.
Afterwards they lay beside each other, the silence enveloping them.
“That was weird,” Cesc finally says.
“Yeah.” Fernando pauses. “Let’s never do that again.”
“No. Ever.”
“Unless we’re ridiculously drunk.”
“Cant-remember-our-names drunk.”
“Yes.”
Cesc sits up. “I’m going to move back to my bed now.”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
Cesc leans in slightly and brushes his lips against Fernando’s jaw. “I don’t think you’re a waste of space on the pitch,” he says. “I think you try really hard and that matters.” Before Fernando can react, he scrabbles off the bed. “Should I be worried about Sergio kicking my ass?” he asks, sitting on his own bed.
“No.” Fernando turns to look at him. “Should I be concerned about van Persie trying to tackle me to the ground the next time Liverpool plays Arsenal?”
Cesc smirks. “Maybe. But not because of tonight.”
~
When they win, they’re both swept away in the celebrations and they don’t really get to see each other until the very end of the night. They’re both a little drunk, but tired and happy.
“You’re glowing a little,” Fernando says, giggling a bit, as he takes Cesc’s hand and pulls him closer.
“Glow of happiness,” Cesc says, beaming. “You have it too.” His smile deepens as Fernando puts both his hands on Cesc’s face. “We’re not ridiculously drunk.”
“No, I know,” Fernando says. “You’re Cesc, I’m Fernando, I’m completely aware of who we are.”
“Right. And we agreed-”
“You’re Cesc Fàbregas,” Fernando interrupts.
“Yes, okay, I already know you’re aware of who we are.”
“You’re Cesc Fàbregas,” Fernando starts again.
Cesc pulls back slightly, freeing his face from Fernando’s grasp. “Maybe you are drunk.”
Fernando lets out an exasperated sigh. “Would you shut up and let me finish?” He pulls Cesc forward by the front of his shirt. “You’re Cesc Fàbregas,” he repeats, brushing his lips lightly against Cesc’s. “You set up the goal that won Spain the World Cup for the first time ever.”
Cesc smiles into the kiss, his hands grasping Fernando’s shoulders.
“You’re Cesc Fàbregas, and you make a difference.” Fernando pulls him in even closer, surprising Cesc, and he kisses him one more time.
-----
A/N: Fic title mostly refers to 'Teleport: A&B' by The Spill Canvas. As in: Hypothetically if you were point A / and theoretically if I was point B / we would be, we would be frantically melting, because it reminds me of this but it's too long for a fic title. XD