Alright then.
Title: Summer in the City
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Cesc Fabregas/Iker Casillas
Rating: NC17 for the works - graphic sex, language, and light incest (oh my gosh, what have I done)
Disclaimer: I wish this was true. It really isn't.
Words: ~3500
Summary: High school AU: boys get bored so easily. It's the summer! It's hot! It's a threesome fic! Footballkink owns every last bit of my heart.
The early summer months are torturous for a high schooler: the sun glinting off the slick sheen of the desktops, pencils racing over notebooks and sweat sliding down backs. Heat wafts up from the pavement out the windows; everything outside is hotter than the surface of the sun, but anything is better than a stuffy classroom and the sticky pages of textbooks. Cesc can’t deal with this much longer. He reaches across the aisle and pokes Fernando’s elbow with his eraser. His friend’s eyes shift over to him but he keeps his head down, continues taking notes.
“Home? After 8th? I don’t feel like going to psych,” Cesc whispers, uninterested in the looping diagram on the board. Something about energy exchanges and the flow of something or other. For all he’s worth, Professor Gerrard just isn’t holding Cesc’s attention at the moment. It’s too much. It’s too hot.
“Shhhh,” Fernando hisses, shoulders slumping in to hide his face. “I gotta hear this.” Cesc knows that he’s speaking witha genuine concern for his education, not malice. Cesc envies his dedication a little. Sometimes.
“You’re gonna read the chapter tonight anyway, I know it! C’mon,” Cesc pleads. “Fuckin’ boring as shit, FIFA’s calling our names.”
Fernando sighs quietly, putting his pencil down. He can’t win. “Fine, okay. Fine. We’re stopping at Coldstone though, and you’re buying.”
Cesc leans back in his chair, victorious and wrung out by both the heat and the science. “Hell yeah!”
“Fabregas, shut it,” Professor Gerrard barks from the front of the room. Cesc apologizes with a nod and Fernando can’t help but smile.
//
They’ve been playing video games in Fernando’s basement for ten years. They always sit the same way: Fernando on the futon, Indian-style, relaxed almost to the point of looking uninterested with Cesc sitting at the base of the couch, leaning toward the television screen as if magnetized. Sometimes when they both shift at the same time - their bodies are in tune in a weird way that Fernando chooses to leave unacknowledged and Cesc, always having been a fan of coincidences, never really picked up on - Fernando’s knee will bump into Cesc’s shoulder and Cesc will push back into him with a grunt, thinking Fernando did it on purpose to rip his concentration away from the too-green grass and the little players jittering around on the screen. Fernando will smile slowly and poke at the soft spot toward the nape of Cesc’s neck - in the crevasse of his collarbone - because he knows it makes his friend twitch and Cesc will shout, throwing down his controller and whipping his arms over his head. They push each other and laugh like they did ten years ago, still in elementary school.
Fernando usually wins and Cesc usually sulks, but everything is always back to normal in time for dinner. Or, in time to skip dinner and go to Coldstone. Cesc really likes Coldstone.
//
Ninety percent of their lives are spent together. The other ten percent are spent wondering what they’re gonna do next time they’re together.
Cesc is always fucking with the ringers on Fernando’s phone. Sometimes it starts playing a song he’s never heard, and he soon realizes that Cesc changes his text ringtone to whatever his favorite is song at the moment: Viva la Vida becomes Stereo Love and soon Fernando just assumes every message is from Cesc because, well … every message is from Cesc. The noise coming out of his phone doesn’t matter: it’s always Cesc.
One day while they’re studying - Fernando really is, while Cesc is adhering to the term more loosely - on the floor of Fernando’s room, Cesc rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
“What,” Fernando asks without looking up. He knows Cesc is bored.
“Remember our first football team?” Cesc starts, and Fernando puts his pencil down. It’s a common theme.
“Those kits were bad.” In spite of the distraction, Fernando smiles at the memory. “Fluorescent pink.”
“And you thought you were a goalkeeper.”
“Don’t pick on seven-year-old me. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Cesc smiles up at the ceiling fan. “Remember some of those guys? David? Leo? Gerard? What do you think happened to those stupid motherfuckers?”
“They go to high school across town. Or, David and Leo do. Gerard might be in jail.”
Cesc snorts. “Wouldn’t doubt it.” He thinks. “That was fun.”
Fernando picks up his pencil but doesn’t go back to his books. He pokes at the carpet next to Cesc’s ear. “Keyword: was. Now I’ve got trigonometry to worry about.” Cesc doesn’t move. He’s still thinking.
“Remember that time I threw your bike in the pond?”
Fernando laughs. Everything Cesc says makes him laugh.
//
There are moments of perfection in Cesc that Fernando is pretty sure only he sees.
When he leans down to tie his sneaker but ends up licking his thumb and rubbing out the scuff marks around the sole of his shoe instead of actually retying the lace, only to take another few steps before feeling the string whip him in the ankle. He always says, “Oh, wait -” in a way that sounds like he genuinely forgot that he knelt down to fix his shoelace in the first place. Fernando wonders how he makes it through the day in one piece, rolls his eyes as Cesc bends down again.
When they’re at Sergio’s for a party and Fernando is talking casually to a girl in his history class, cracking the cap off a beer on the edge of the kitchen counter because, for as quiet and calculated as he is, he’s actually the smoothest motherfucker around. Looking up he sees Cesc, through a sea of unfamiliar faces, keeping an unwavering eye on him, distractedly talking out of the side of his mouth. Even when they’re both doing their own thing Cesc isn’t afraid to wink at Fernando across a crowded room, which is both ridiculously endearing and absolutely disarming.
When he teases Carlota and Fernando about getting married because there’s no way they’re not: how could Fernando let a smart, witty, gorgeous girl like this pass him by? Cesc takes her by the hand and twirls her around and Carlota and Fernando just laugh, Fernando saying, “Of course she’s stunning, dude, but you? As a brother? Ick.”
But … he doesn’t really want to be Carlota’s husband - with all due respect, of course - or Cesc’s brother.
He gathers these moments up, keeps them to himself, and comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t want to be Cesc’s brother because he is too busy falling in love with him.
//
And then Fernando gets a brother … but it isn’t Cesc.
Fernando blinks and he has a whole new family.
It’s not his mom’s fault at all, really - she sat him and his brother and sister down and made it clear that she was going to try to make her marriage as “seamless” a union as possible - it’s just something of a shock. New family members abound. Fernando and Cesc are in the middle of virtual penalty kicks when there are unfamiliar footsteps on the stairs.
Fernando turns and Cesc gets his shot by Fernando’s goalie, but the whooping of elation stops when Cesc’s eyes alight on the bearded face with smooth brown eyes.
“Hey ‘Nando,” his stepbrother starts, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m, uh. Here. I’m back. No, I guess I’m here. For good, for the first time.”
Cesc stares.
“C’mere Iker, hey,” Fernando says, and for some reason Cesc stands up very quickly, stumbling almost, overbalancing and awkwardly tilting forward on one leg. “Hi!” he says, blinking. Iker comes over to shake his hand. Fernando remains sitting. He can’t tell if he’s making this better or worse.
“This is Cesc, my best friend. “ He unconsciously decides worse, apparently, lining his player up for the next kick while Cesc and Iker stand above him. “Cesc, Iker. Iker, Cesc. You’re right in front of the TV.” Cesc doesn’t move. “Dude.”
“How old are you?” Cesc blurts, and Fernando rolls his eyes, pulls Cesc down next to him on the couch and hands him his controller. Iker laughs, sits down on the floor with his back to the television. He clearly isn’t interested in the game.
“Almost 20. Finally home for the summer.” Cesc’s fingers fall from the buttons and Fernando quits the game, feeling cheated by the anti-climacticness of it all. “These last few weeks of school wrecked me.”
Cesc looks incredulous. “Fuck! You’re done? We have another month! Fucking high school,” he spits.
“You’ll be saying the same thing about college when you’re there, don’t even kid yourself,” Iker says. “It’s a million times the amount of work. But it is more fun than high school,” he reasons.
“That’s what they all say,” Fernando sighs. Iker laughs again. It fills up the entire room in the most pleasant way.
“Is this what you guys do?” Iker kicks lightly at Fernando’s foot to get his attention. “Sit in the basement and play FIFA?” He’s asking in the most unaccusing tone. Fernando nods.
“Not a bad life,” Iker says. “Wanna go do something, though? I think I passed a Coldstone on the way into town and it’s fucking hot, yeah?”
Cesc’s spine straightens, his mouth falling open and slowly curving into a smile. Fernando laughs a little. In five minutes, Iker’s won them both over. How’s that for a new addition to the family?
//
Fernando didn’t think the cool-older-brother-coming-home-from-college would do it for him, but he doesn’t mind Iker being around as much as he had anticipated. For one thing, he never has to fear for his life with Cesc behind the wheel of the car, jamming on the gas and stabbing at the radio simultaneously - Iker drives them everywhere. He buys them ice cream and sports magazines and other shit like they’re twelve, but Fernando doesn’t mind. It’s kinda fun. And Cesc sure likes it. Likes him.
They’re sitting at a picnic table one day, deep into the summer, watching Girl Scouts wash Iker’s car in their high school’s parking lot. “How can I not pay them three dollars to throw soapy sponges at my windshield? They’re adorable,” Iker had said. Fernando smiled.
“Hey.” Iker nudges Fernando’s foot under the table, a method of getting his stepbrother’s attention that he’s become very fond of. “How am I doing with this?” He waves his hands around, encompassing what seems like the entire world.
“With this picnic table? This air?” Cesc snorts louder than necessary.
“No, asshole, with the new-stepbrother thing. Am I doing alright? Keeping you in check and still tricking you into thinking I’m cool?” Iker is trying very hard to make it sound like he’s kidding.
Fernando leans into Cesc, pushes his elbow into Cesc’s ribs playfully. “All you have to do with this one is keep buying him ice cream.” Cesc scoffs, affronted and almost girlish. He flicks the Coldstone spoon he’s been chewing on at Fernando, unaware of the irony. “And you’re doing okay by me too, I guess,” Fernando adds.
“Good.” Iker smiles. He’s got the perfect face for an older brother: adult and knowing, somehow, but still open and fresh. Fernando can’t help but smile when he sees Iker’s teeth glinting in the sun.
A little girl with soft blonde hair wobbles over to the table, Iker’s keys in the palms of her cupped hands. “We’re done!” she says gleefully.
Fernando swings his legs out from under the table and kneels down next to her. He adjusts her brown sash, making sure the round little badges and her embroidered name are right in the front - Nora. He takes the keys from her gently. “Thank you,” he says quietly. She smiles and rushes off.
“Not to kill the tender vibe,” Iker starts after a beat, “but I’ve got a plan for the night.” Cesc shifts his eyes from Fernando, knees still in the dirt next to the table, to Iker. “Yeah?” Cesc asks.
“You two drink whiskey?”
//
The bottle is square and fits perfectly into his palm. It’s like Fernando’s body was made to drink liquor straight from the bottle. Cesc is smaller and has to use both hands when he tips his head back, bottle looming above his head, amber liquid sloshing. It’s childlike in the most inappropriate way, and every single time Fernando and Iker look at each other, smiling. Cesc finishes his pull and swears. “You said you like whiskey,” Iker reminds him.
“I don’t know what I like,” Cesc answers, shaking his head like there’s something between his ears that doesn’t belong there. Cotton, Fernando thinks wisely. He feels it too.
“I like it,” Fernando announces. “I like it.”
“Proud,” Iker says, letting the ‘I’m’ fall away. They’re sitting on the couch in Fernando’s basement, aligned like symmetry was important - Iker in the middle with the high schoolers flanking him. The television is on in a very noncommittal way. No one even bothered to change it from the Food Network to sports. Who was even watching the Food Network? Fernando makes a mental note: ask everyone who lives in this house if they were watching the Food Network.
“Were you watching the Food Network?” Fernando asks Iker suddenly, as if he was continuing a logical train of thought. Iker laughs. Fernando laughs because Iker laughs. Iker laughs more. Cesc looks like he might be in pain.
Iker takes the bottle from Cesc. “You need to be relieved, son.” He tips it back, head leaning against the top of the couch, and Fernando just watches the bubbles rise to the bottom of the bottle, watches Iker’s throat move. None of this is really that riveting, but Fernando can’t look away. Iker sets the bottle down against Fernando’s knee.
The bone of Iker’s wrist suddenly becomes extremely important.
Fernando reaches down and Iker begins to lift his hand in preparation for passing off the whiskey, but Fernando is more interested in Iker’s hand itself. He pushes his thumb against the knob on the inside of his wrist, testing the bone. He presses harder, the rest of his fingers curling into Iker’s palm. Fernando’s thumb begins to move in circles around the point of Iker’s wrist. It’s a smooth motion.
Iker breathes in. Slowly.
“Hey.” Fernando looks up. No words are exchanged. Something in Iker’s eyes is dark and recessed; they ask, This is an okay thing to do? and somehow Fernando manages to respond, Sure.
With Fernando’s fingers still wrapped around his wrist, Iker takes his hands up to Fernando’s cheek and pulls him in. Cesc sucks in air audibly, but quietly.
Fernando has never kissed anyone this carefully before. It’s a kiss from an 80s movies, complete with fingertips gently brushing faces followed by hands moving across necks and a repositioning head-tilt halfway through. Fernando breathes out into Iker’s mouth and instead of making it awkward, Iker just takes the moment to press his teeth into Fernando’s bottom lip. Fernando pulls back, slowly short circuiting, puts his hand on Iker’s thigh and pants a little.
“What,” Iker asks flatly. “Did I, what.”
“Hey!” Cesc howls indignantly, coming to life, and Fernando takes a brief moment to roll his eyes. He picks up the bottle and drinks, mouthful after mouthful, and before the bottle hits the couch again Cesc is reaching, fingers in his collar. Their teeth hit and Fernando yelps, one hand still wrapped around the bottle neck and the other pressing into Iker’s thigh. They’re kissing messily over him and he laughs, leans in and lets his lips drift over Fernando’s ear, taunting, “You don’t even know what I’m going to do to you, those long fingers and legs and this neck, and both of you, still in fucking high school, you have no idea what I can do, I’ll teach you, you can’t even imagine - ” and Cesc stretches back as Iker’s train of thought stalls, eyes blazing as hot as the feeling in the pit of Fernando’s stomach. “Oh - oh my god,” Cesc stutters.
Buttons are lost and zippers are separated and as soon as Fernando sees his best friend without a shirt he can’t be stopped; he pins a half-undressed Cesc to the couch with his hips and fists a hand in his hair, tilting his head back to get at his neck. He picks a spot and decides the situation calls for marks, for a bruise, and he bites Cesc gently. To piss him off he presses his fingers into that soft spot just below the front of his collarbone, only because he knows Cesc would never in his right mind allow Fernando to get away with that. Cesc laughs breathily and returns the favor by getting his hands around Fernando’s ass, fingernails like pins sticking in Fernando’s skin, solidly pushing their bodies together.
At one point - at what point, none of them will ever be sure - Iker decides he’s had enough watching, enough palming his cock absently. He leans down to Cesc, head still back in the throes of teenage pleasure, and says gently, “I want you to suck his dick. He wants you to suck his dick.” Fernando, teeth bared against his friend’s neck, pulls away in surprise.
“You do, don’t you?” Iker asks Fernando unsteadily. “Don’t you?”
Fernando looks at Cesc. The alcohol has made him bold. Fucking whiskey. “I do.”
“Jesus,” Cesc moans. “I - Jesus.”
Fernando cedes Cesc his dramatic moment. Iker looks at him, smiling. He knows. Fernando knows. This is what they both want.
Cesc pushes Fernando off of him, gets him into a sitting position on the couch and leans down to kiss the spot right next to Fernando’s belly button. He finishes working his friend’s pant leg off - how did he manage that? One leg in and one leg out? Doesn’t matter - and slides a hand under the fabric of Fernando’s boxers, pulling his cock out from underneath. Fernando looks down, incredulous, Cesc’s hand motionless around his dick.
Cesc smiles. “Hi.” The tension no longer exists.
Fernando smiles back. “You say ‘hi’ a lot.”
“You mad?” Cesc feigns being offended.
“No.”
“Alright then.” Cesc wets his lips and lets his head fall just as Iker edges up behind him, one hand slick and pumping his cock and the other massaging Cesc’s ass. It’s a scene and a half, but Fernando can’t tear his eyes away. Iker spreads Cesc, rubbing him cautiously, sliding a finger in and Cesc hums pleasantly. The vibrations cause Fernando to grab at Cesc’s hair, only deepening the hum and Fernando is so hard and Cesc looks so good, he almost can’t believe it. Cesc looks up at him as if he likes the hands flattened against his skull, and Fernando begins to guide him, push and pull, lips giving Fernando’s cock a beautiful sheen.
Iker uses a second finger to work Cesc open and finds that he is surprisingly relaxed, thrilled by how little he objects to the intrusion. He quickly leans up to press a kiss to the back of Cesc’s neck, gives himself a second to revel in the moment before pushing in.
Fernando feels Cesc’s lips tighten, feels the edge of his teeth and it’s just the right side of wrong, of painful. He bucks his hips and Cesc brackets his waist, keeps him pinned to the couch, loosens his throat even more and Fernando’s cock is enveloped in warmth. He starts to feel a push, feel the couch and the body around him shifting a little, and through a haze he realizes he’s watching Cesc get fucked by Iker. It doesn’t hit him as hard as he thought it would. In fact, he can’t rip his eyes away. Iker’s hips moving fast, his fingers tight around Cesc’s sides. Fingernails white. Cheeks red. It’s almost beautiful.
Fernando runs his hands over Cesc’s ears, pulling him as close as possible, knowing he’s almost at his peak. “I’m coming,” he whispers to Cesc, and it would be delicate if it wasn’t so dirty. He archs his back and releases with a shout but Cesc continues to lick him, Fernando raking his hands through Cesc’s hair, tugging and groaning. When Cesc finally pulls off he just smiles, head bobbing a little as Iker continues to fuck him from behind. Fernando reaches out and rubs at Cesc’s lip gently.
“Jesus Christ, get your hand on my cock, Fer, I’m hard as fuck and you owe - ah, fuck,” Cesc demands quickly, breaking off when Iker thrusts particularly hard. Fernando only lets his hand linger for another second before sliding off the couch and leaning down between Iker and Cesc, licking his palm quickly and wrapping his fingers around Cesc’s dick. He starts jerking Cesc off as Iker leans down to breathe in his ear.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he says, and Fernando smiles tiredly. “You two are so fucking gorgeous, everything about you, and the way you look at him,” Iker pants, “you two are perfect.”
Cesc and Iker come at the same moment - Cesc’s come drips across Fernando’s hand, his back slackening, wrung out, and Iker tenses inside of Cesc, buried as deeply as he can be, mouth gaping open in a soundless gasp - and it really is perfect.
Author's notes:
- In this ~AU world,~ the age difference between Cesc and Fernando is (most obviously) to be ignored.
- Donuts = Coldstone. (As if that wasn't obvious enough.)
- Cameos are cameos are cameos. No harm intended.
- Druken hand-holding and wrist-touching moments were drawn from my own misguided experiences. Fernando likes to touch people when he's drunk just as much as I do. (Read: a lot.)
- Regarding the actual fic: I've never written a threesome before? (Question mark?)
- It's also very prose-y. My apologies.
- Fuck tense.
If Cesc isn't embarrassed about this, then I'm not either! Shameville: POPULATION: NONE. (Smutville: population: one.)
(PS - Anon commenting is on!)
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Cesc Fabregas/Iker Casillas
Rating: NC17 for the works - graphic sex, language, and light incest (oh my gosh, what have I done)
Disclaimer: I wish this was true. It really isn't.
Words: ~3500
Summary: High school AU: boys get bored so easily. It's the summer! It's hot! It's a threesome fic! Footballkink owns every last bit of my heart.
The early summer months are torturous for a high schooler: the sun glinting off the slick sheen of the desktops, pencils racing over notebooks and sweat sliding down backs. Heat wafts up from the pavement out the windows; everything outside is hotter than the surface of the sun, but anything is better than a stuffy classroom and the sticky pages of textbooks. Cesc can’t deal with this much longer. He reaches across the aisle and pokes Fernando’s elbow with his eraser. His friend’s eyes shift over to him but he keeps his head down, continues taking notes.
“Home? After 8th? I don’t feel like going to psych,” Cesc whispers, uninterested in the looping diagram on the board. Something about energy exchanges and the flow of something or other. For all he’s worth, Professor Gerrard just isn’t holding Cesc’s attention at the moment. It’s too much. It’s too hot.
“Shhhh,” Fernando hisses, shoulders slumping in to hide his face. “I gotta hear this.” Cesc knows that he’s speaking witha genuine concern for his education, not malice. Cesc envies his dedication a little. Sometimes.
“You’re gonna read the chapter tonight anyway, I know it! C’mon,” Cesc pleads. “Fuckin’ boring as shit, FIFA’s calling our names.”
Fernando sighs quietly, putting his pencil down. He can’t win. “Fine, okay. Fine. We’re stopping at Coldstone though, and you’re buying.”
Cesc leans back in his chair, victorious and wrung out by both the heat and the science. “Hell yeah!”
“Fabregas, shut it,” Professor Gerrard barks from the front of the room. Cesc apologizes with a nod and Fernando can’t help but smile.
//
They’ve been playing video games in Fernando’s basement for ten years. They always sit the same way: Fernando on the futon, Indian-style, relaxed almost to the point of looking uninterested with Cesc sitting at the base of the couch, leaning toward the television screen as if magnetized. Sometimes when they both shift at the same time - their bodies are in tune in a weird way that Fernando chooses to leave unacknowledged and Cesc, always having been a fan of coincidences, never really picked up on - Fernando’s knee will bump into Cesc’s shoulder and Cesc will push back into him with a grunt, thinking Fernando did it on purpose to rip his concentration away from the too-green grass and the little players jittering around on the screen. Fernando will smile slowly and poke at the soft spot toward the nape of Cesc’s neck - in the crevasse of his collarbone - because he knows it makes his friend twitch and Cesc will shout, throwing down his controller and whipping his arms over his head. They push each other and laugh like they did ten years ago, still in elementary school.
Fernando usually wins and Cesc usually sulks, but everything is always back to normal in time for dinner. Or, in time to skip dinner and go to Coldstone. Cesc really likes Coldstone.
//
Ninety percent of their lives are spent together. The other ten percent are spent wondering what they’re gonna do next time they’re together.
Cesc is always fucking with the ringers on Fernando’s phone. Sometimes it starts playing a song he’s never heard, and he soon realizes that Cesc changes his text ringtone to whatever his favorite is song at the moment: Viva la Vida becomes Stereo Love and soon Fernando just assumes every message is from Cesc because, well … every message is from Cesc. The noise coming out of his phone doesn’t matter: it’s always Cesc.
One day while they’re studying - Fernando really is, while Cesc is adhering to the term more loosely - on the floor of Fernando’s room, Cesc rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
“What,” Fernando asks without looking up. He knows Cesc is bored.
“Remember our first football team?” Cesc starts, and Fernando puts his pencil down. It’s a common theme.
“Those kits were bad.” In spite of the distraction, Fernando smiles at the memory. “Fluorescent pink.”
“And you thought you were a goalkeeper.”
“Don’t pick on seven-year-old me. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Cesc smiles up at the ceiling fan. “Remember some of those guys? David? Leo? Gerard? What do you think happened to those stupid motherfuckers?”
“They go to high school across town. Or, David and Leo do. Gerard might be in jail.”
Cesc snorts. “Wouldn’t doubt it.” He thinks. “That was fun.”
Fernando picks up his pencil but doesn’t go back to his books. He pokes at the carpet next to Cesc’s ear. “Keyword: was. Now I’ve got trigonometry to worry about.” Cesc doesn’t move. He’s still thinking.
“Remember that time I threw your bike in the pond?”
Fernando laughs. Everything Cesc says makes him laugh.
//
There are moments of perfection in Cesc that Fernando is pretty sure only he sees.
When he leans down to tie his sneaker but ends up licking his thumb and rubbing out the scuff marks around the sole of his shoe instead of actually retying the lace, only to take another few steps before feeling the string whip him in the ankle. He always says, “Oh, wait -” in a way that sounds like he genuinely forgot that he knelt down to fix his shoelace in the first place. Fernando wonders how he makes it through the day in one piece, rolls his eyes as Cesc bends down again.
When they’re at Sergio’s for a party and Fernando is talking casually to a girl in his history class, cracking the cap off a beer on the edge of the kitchen counter because, for as quiet and calculated as he is, he’s actually the smoothest motherfucker around. Looking up he sees Cesc, through a sea of unfamiliar faces, keeping an unwavering eye on him, distractedly talking out of the side of his mouth. Even when they’re both doing their own thing Cesc isn’t afraid to wink at Fernando across a crowded room, which is both ridiculously endearing and absolutely disarming.
When he teases Carlota and Fernando about getting married because there’s no way they’re not: how could Fernando let a smart, witty, gorgeous girl like this pass him by? Cesc takes her by the hand and twirls her around and Carlota and Fernando just laugh, Fernando saying, “Of course she’s stunning, dude, but you? As a brother? Ick.”
But … he doesn’t really want to be Carlota’s husband - with all due respect, of course - or Cesc’s brother.
He gathers these moments up, keeps them to himself, and comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t want to be Cesc’s brother because he is too busy falling in love with him.
//
And then Fernando gets a brother … but it isn’t Cesc.
Fernando blinks and he has a whole new family.
It’s not his mom’s fault at all, really - she sat him and his brother and sister down and made it clear that she was going to try to make her marriage as “seamless” a union as possible - it’s just something of a shock. New family members abound. Fernando and Cesc are in the middle of virtual penalty kicks when there are unfamiliar footsteps on the stairs.
Fernando turns and Cesc gets his shot by Fernando’s goalie, but the whooping of elation stops when Cesc’s eyes alight on the bearded face with smooth brown eyes.
“Hey ‘Nando,” his stepbrother starts, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m, uh. Here. I’m back. No, I guess I’m here. For good, for the first time.”
Cesc stares.
“C’mere Iker, hey,” Fernando says, and for some reason Cesc stands up very quickly, stumbling almost, overbalancing and awkwardly tilting forward on one leg. “Hi!” he says, blinking. Iker comes over to shake his hand. Fernando remains sitting. He can’t tell if he’s making this better or worse.
“This is Cesc, my best friend. “ He unconsciously decides worse, apparently, lining his player up for the next kick while Cesc and Iker stand above him. “Cesc, Iker. Iker, Cesc. You’re right in front of the TV.” Cesc doesn’t move. “Dude.”
“How old are you?” Cesc blurts, and Fernando rolls his eyes, pulls Cesc down next to him on the couch and hands him his controller. Iker laughs, sits down on the floor with his back to the television. He clearly isn’t interested in the game.
“Almost 20. Finally home for the summer.” Cesc’s fingers fall from the buttons and Fernando quits the game, feeling cheated by the anti-climacticness of it all. “These last few weeks of school wrecked me.”
Cesc looks incredulous. “Fuck! You’re done? We have another month! Fucking high school,” he spits.
“You’ll be saying the same thing about college when you’re there, don’t even kid yourself,” Iker says. “It’s a million times the amount of work. But it is more fun than high school,” he reasons.
“That’s what they all say,” Fernando sighs. Iker laughs again. It fills up the entire room in the most pleasant way.
“Is this what you guys do?” Iker kicks lightly at Fernando’s foot to get his attention. “Sit in the basement and play FIFA?” He’s asking in the most unaccusing tone. Fernando nods.
“Not a bad life,” Iker says. “Wanna go do something, though? I think I passed a Coldstone on the way into town and it’s fucking hot, yeah?”
Cesc’s spine straightens, his mouth falling open and slowly curving into a smile. Fernando laughs a little. In five minutes, Iker’s won them both over. How’s that for a new addition to the family?
//
Fernando didn’t think the cool-older-brother-coming-home-from-college would do it for him, but he doesn’t mind Iker being around as much as he had anticipated. For one thing, he never has to fear for his life with Cesc behind the wheel of the car, jamming on the gas and stabbing at the radio simultaneously - Iker drives them everywhere. He buys them ice cream and sports magazines and other shit like they’re twelve, but Fernando doesn’t mind. It’s kinda fun. And Cesc sure likes it. Likes him.
They’re sitting at a picnic table one day, deep into the summer, watching Girl Scouts wash Iker’s car in their high school’s parking lot. “How can I not pay them three dollars to throw soapy sponges at my windshield? They’re adorable,” Iker had said. Fernando smiled.
“Hey.” Iker nudges Fernando’s foot under the table, a method of getting his stepbrother’s attention that he’s become very fond of. “How am I doing with this?” He waves his hands around, encompassing what seems like the entire world.
“With this picnic table? This air?” Cesc snorts louder than necessary.
“No, asshole, with the new-stepbrother thing. Am I doing alright? Keeping you in check and still tricking you into thinking I’m cool?” Iker is trying very hard to make it sound like he’s kidding.
Fernando leans into Cesc, pushes his elbow into Cesc’s ribs playfully. “All you have to do with this one is keep buying him ice cream.” Cesc scoffs, affronted and almost girlish. He flicks the Coldstone spoon he’s been chewing on at Fernando, unaware of the irony. “And you’re doing okay by me too, I guess,” Fernando adds.
“Good.” Iker smiles. He’s got the perfect face for an older brother: adult and knowing, somehow, but still open and fresh. Fernando can’t help but smile when he sees Iker’s teeth glinting in the sun.
A little girl with soft blonde hair wobbles over to the table, Iker’s keys in the palms of her cupped hands. “We’re done!” she says gleefully.
Fernando swings his legs out from under the table and kneels down next to her. He adjusts her brown sash, making sure the round little badges and her embroidered name are right in the front - Nora. He takes the keys from her gently. “Thank you,” he says quietly. She smiles and rushes off.
“Not to kill the tender vibe,” Iker starts after a beat, “but I’ve got a plan for the night.” Cesc shifts his eyes from Fernando, knees still in the dirt next to the table, to Iker. “Yeah?” Cesc asks.
“You two drink whiskey?”
//
The bottle is square and fits perfectly into his palm. It’s like Fernando’s body was made to drink liquor straight from the bottle. Cesc is smaller and has to use both hands when he tips his head back, bottle looming above his head, amber liquid sloshing. It’s childlike in the most inappropriate way, and every single time Fernando and Iker look at each other, smiling. Cesc finishes his pull and swears. “You said you like whiskey,” Iker reminds him.
“I don’t know what I like,” Cesc answers, shaking his head like there’s something between his ears that doesn’t belong there. Cotton, Fernando thinks wisely. He feels it too.
“I like it,” Fernando announces. “I like it.”
“Proud,” Iker says, letting the ‘I’m’ fall away. They’re sitting on the couch in Fernando’s basement, aligned like symmetry was important - Iker in the middle with the high schoolers flanking him. The television is on in a very noncommittal way. No one even bothered to change it from the Food Network to sports. Who was even watching the Food Network? Fernando makes a mental note: ask everyone who lives in this house if they were watching the Food Network.
“Were you watching the Food Network?” Fernando asks Iker suddenly, as if he was continuing a logical train of thought. Iker laughs. Fernando laughs because Iker laughs. Iker laughs more. Cesc looks like he might be in pain.
Iker takes the bottle from Cesc. “You need to be relieved, son.” He tips it back, head leaning against the top of the couch, and Fernando just watches the bubbles rise to the bottom of the bottle, watches Iker’s throat move. None of this is really that riveting, but Fernando can’t look away. Iker sets the bottle down against Fernando’s knee.
The bone of Iker’s wrist suddenly becomes extremely important.
Fernando reaches down and Iker begins to lift his hand in preparation for passing off the whiskey, but Fernando is more interested in Iker’s hand itself. He pushes his thumb against the knob on the inside of his wrist, testing the bone. He presses harder, the rest of his fingers curling into Iker’s palm. Fernando’s thumb begins to move in circles around the point of Iker’s wrist. It’s a smooth motion.
Iker breathes in. Slowly.
“Hey.” Fernando looks up. No words are exchanged. Something in Iker’s eyes is dark and recessed; they ask, This is an okay thing to do? and somehow Fernando manages to respond, Sure.
With Fernando’s fingers still wrapped around his wrist, Iker takes his hands up to Fernando’s cheek and pulls him in. Cesc sucks in air audibly, but quietly.
Fernando has never kissed anyone this carefully before. It’s a kiss from an 80s movies, complete with fingertips gently brushing faces followed by hands moving across necks and a repositioning head-tilt halfway through. Fernando breathes out into Iker’s mouth and instead of making it awkward, Iker just takes the moment to press his teeth into Fernando’s bottom lip. Fernando pulls back, slowly short circuiting, puts his hand on Iker’s thigh and pants a little.
“What,” Iker asks flatly. “Did I, what.”
“Hey!” Cesc howls indignantly, coming to life, and Fernando takes a brief moment to roll his eyes. He picks up the bottle and drinks, mouthful after mouthful, and before the bottle hits the couch again Cesc is reaching, fingers in his collar. Their teeth hit and Fernando yelps, one hand still wrapped around the bottle neck and the other pressing into Iker’s thigh. They’re kissing messily over him and he laughs, leans in and lets his lips drift over Fernando’s ear, taunting, “You don’t even know what I’m going to do to you, those long fingers and legs and this neck, and both of you, still in fucking high school, you have no idea what I can do, I’ll teach you, you can’t even imagine - ” and Cesc stretches back as Iker’s train of thought stalls, eyes blazing as hot as the feeling in the pit of Fernando’s stomach. “Oh - oh my god,” Cesc stutters.
Buttons are lost and zippers are separated and as soon as Fernando sees his best friend without a shirt he can’t be stopped; he pins a half-undressed Cesc to the couch with his hips and fists a hand in his hair, tilting his head back to get at his neck. He picks a spot and decides the situation calls for marks, for a bruise, and he bites Cesc gently. To piss him off he presses his fingers into that soft spot just below the front of his collarbone, only because he knows Cesc would never in his right mind allow Fernando to get away with that. Cesc laughs breathily and returns the favor by getting his hands around Fernando’s ass, fingernails like pins sticking in Fernando’s skin, solidly pushing their bodies together.
At one point - at what point, none of them will ever be sure - Iker decides he’s had enough watching, enough palming his cock absently. He leans down to Cesc, head still back in the throes of teenage pleasure, and says gently, “I want you to suck his dick. He wants you to suck his dick.” Fernando, teeth bared against his friend’s neck, pulls away in surprise.
“You do, don’t you?” Iker asks Fernando unsteadily. “Don’t you?”
Fernando looks at Cesc. The alcohol has made him bold. Fucking whiskey. “I do.”
“Jesus,” Cesc moans. “I - Jesus.”
Fernando cedes Cesc his dramatic moment. Iker looks at him, smiling. He knows. Fernando knows. This is what they both want.
Cesc pushes Fernando off of him, gets him into a sitting position on the couch and leans down to kiss the spot right next to Fernando’s belly button. He finishes working his friend’s pant leg off - how did he manage that? One leg in and one leg out? Doesn’t matter - and slides a hand under the fabric of Fernando’s boxers, pulling his cock out from underneath. Fernando looks down, incredulous, Cesc’s hand motionless around his dick.
Cesc smiles. “Hi.” The tension no longer exists.
Fernando smiles back. “You say ‘hi’ a lot.”
“You mad?” Cesc feigns being offended.
“No.”
“Alright then.” Cesc wets his lips and lets his head fall just as Iker edges up behind him, one hand slick and pumping his cock and the other massaging Cesc’s ass. It’s a scene and a half, but Fernando can’t tear his eyes away. Iker spreads Cesc, rubbing him cautiously, sliding a finger in and Cesc hums pleasantly. The vibrations cause Fernando to grab at Cesc’s hair, only deepening the hum and Fernando is so hard and Cesc looks so good, he almost can’t believe it. Cesc looks up at him as if he likes the hands flattened against his skull, and Fernando begins to guide him, push and pull, lips giving Fernando’s cock a beautiful sheen.
Iker uses a second finger to work Cesc open and finds that he is surprisingly relaxed, thrilled by how little he objects to the intrusion. He quickly leans up to press a kiss to the back of Cesc’s neck, gives himself a second to revel in the moment before pushing in.
Fernando feels Cesc’s lips tighten, feels the edge of his teeth and it’s just the right side of wrong, of painful. He bucks his hips and Cesc brackets his waist, keeps him pinned to the couch, loosens his throat even more and Fernando’s cock is enveloped in warmth. He starts to feel a push, feel the couch and the body around him shifting a little, and through a haze he realizes he’s watching Cesc get fucked by Iker. It doesn’t hit him as hard as he thought it would. In fact, he can’t rip his eyes away. Iker’s hips moving fast, his fingers tight around Cesc’s sides. Fingernails white. Cheeks red. It’s almost beautiful.
Fernando runs his hands over Cesc’s ears, pulling him as close as possible, knowing he’s almost at his peak. “I’m coming,” he whispers to Cesc, and it would be delicate if it wasn’t so dirty. He archs his back and releases with a shout but Cesc continues to lick him, Fernando raking his hands through Cesc’s hair, tugging and groaning. When Cesc finally pulls off he just smiles, head bobbing a little as Iker continues to fuck him from behind. Fernando reaches out and rubs at Cesc’s lip gently.
“Jesus Christ, get your hand on my cock, Fer, I’m hard as fuck and you owe - ah, fuck,” Cesc demands quickly, breaking off when Iker thrusts particularly hard. Fernando only lets his hand linger for another second before sliding off the couch and leaning down between Iker and Cesc, licking his palm quickly and wrapping his fingers around Cesc’s dick. He starts jerking Cesc off as Iker leans down to breathe in his ear.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he says, and Fernando smiles tiredly. “You two are so fucking gorgeous, everything about you, and the way you look at him,” Iker pants, “you two are perfect.”
Cesc and Iker come at the same moment - Cesc’s come drips across Fernando’s hand, his back slackening, wrung out, and Iker tenses inside of Cesc, buried as deeply as he can be, mouth gaping open in a soundless gasp - and it really is perfect.
Author's notes:
- In this ~AU world,~ the age difference between Cesc and Fernando is (most obviously) to be ignored.
- Donuts = Coldstone. (As if that wasn't obvious enough.)
- Cameos are cameos are cameos. No harm intended.
- Druken hand-holding and wrist-touching moments were drawn from my own misguided experiences. Fernando likes to touch people when he's drunk just as much as I do. (Read: a lot.)
- Regarding the actual fic: I've never written a threesome before? (Question mark?)
- It's also very prose-y. My apologies.
- Fuck tense.
If Cesc isn't embarrassed about this, then I'm not either! Shameville: POPULATION: NONE. (Smutville: population: one.)
(PS - Anon commenting is on!)