090. tighten.
Nam Mellitus Erat, 090. tighten.
Early October.
061. stumble.
Iker's in a bad mood. He just got back from room 310, taking care of a pet infraction. The roommates had apparently agreed not to tell anyone about the rabbit until they realized that rabbits smell bad, no matter how often you clean the cage, and someone (Gonzalo, Iker thinks) slid an anonymous complaint under his door this morning.
Iker went in mad but Ricky's a nice kid, really, even if he's a bit of a home-schooled Jesus freak. He was holding the rabbit when he opened the door and panicked, caught red-handed, and then the rabbit panicked too. Iker herded them both inside so the rabbit wouldn't escape down the hall and fall in a garbage chute or something, and then he told Ricky that he'd need to write him up, that the rabbit needs to be gone by Friday. Ricky's mouth had turned down. Iker remembered that his family lives a couple towns over, but that they don't have much money to visit often.
"...By the weekend after this one, Ricky," Iker rectified.
The rabbit kicked uselessly against Ricky's stomach, a shredded pine shaving stuck to its leg. Ricky pushed his glasses up and carefully supported it under its tail. He nodded. He seemed sad, but a little less hopeless than before.
Now Iker smells like wood chips. He's clicking around in his documents, looking for the pet infraction form, when he gets a notification on Facebook. He's been tagged in a picture. He leans on his hand and clicks through the path of links.
It's a riot of color, taken on the side of the pitch after one of Cesc's games. Iker tries to remember which one.
They aren't the focal point of the picture. The camera was focusing on the team's star player (tall guy, orange skin, too much hair gel), and Cesc and him are behind the action, off to the side by the bleachers. They're a little blurry. Cesc clearly just launched himself at Iker-he still hasn't completely hit the ground-and it's like Iker only just managed to get his arms open before they collided.
Iker remembers now. Cesc made four assists that day. Cesc's face isn't visible, tucked in Iker's neck, but Iker's is, and he isn't sure if he's ever seen himself so happy. It's not even happy, really, as much as excited and proud and disbelieving. One of his arms is hauling Cesc up against him, fist tight in his jersey.
It's weird seeing all the shit he feels for Cesc immortalized in a shitty cell-phone picture in someone's album called "~*~FaLl SeMeStEr~*~". He considers untagging himself. He doesn't.
It's a freakishly cold night. It's been chilly all week, but not cold. Cesc was out getting math tutoring at the library and when he comes back in his jeans and his threadbare Emirates t-shirt, he's shaking all over.
"It's not this cold at home." His speech is weird and restrained, like he's trying not to let his teeth chatter. He stuffs his hands under his armpits.
"It's the air off the lake." Iker finds what he's looking for in his drawer and goes back to the door. Cesc is still stamping, shoulders hunched up. "Hands."
Cesc gives him his hands, and Iker puts his extra pair of gloves on him. They're dark red, made of soft yarn. Iker wears gloves made of leather, but he's had these around as long as he can remember. Cesc tries them, opens and closes his fists a few times. Iker rubs the cold tips of his ears between his thumb and his fingers, warming them up.
"Better?"
"Yeah."
Later, Iker is kneeling. He's sitting back on his heels with his thighs spread, and Cesc on his lap, settled on his cock. His hips are notched above Iker's, two points of pressure flush against his abdomen, but the rest of his torso is leaned back, spine curved up. One arm is holding on to Iker, the other supporting his weight on the mattress. (Iker can hit his spot better, this way.) Their mouths are too far apart to kiss. Iker's hands are under Cesc's knees, keeping him steady and anchored.
There are running footsteps outside in the hallway, laughing and doors slamming. Saturday night. They have to turn the lights off when they fuck after seven, especially on weekends, so nobody will come knocking, looking for an RA. Cesc helps him come up with hypothetical places where they were. "At the store." "Getting dinner." "Fucking in the backseat."
Iker vetoes the last one.
They make it work (they fuck a lot in the afternoons), but it gets frustrating sometimes. Not being able to see very well. To have to feel out if he's doing something right with sensory information alone: by how frantic Cesc's breath feels in his shoulder, what pitch he's moaning at when he muffles himself with his wrist. How weak his legs are when his knees fall open.
Iker knows that Cesc likes this kind of position. Being on top. At first Iker thought it was the inexperience. Cesc tends to be tight all over, to take a while for Iker to open up with slicked-up fingers and quiet words in his ear, and this position offers more control. He can set the pace and brace himself on Iker's shoulders, lower himself down as slow and stuttered as he wants to.
But in reality, Cesc comes faster and harder when Iker's on top of him. When Iker bends him over the edge of the bed or the table or (especially) when he hitches Cesc's legs up, Cesc's heels in his back-when Iker plows into him hard enough to move his body a few inches up the mattress.
Cesc makes a sound, like he knows what Iker's thinking about. Iker looks down across his body, takes in as much of it as he can make out. The gentle lines of his ribs under his skin. The way his belly tightens every time Iker rolls right inside of him. He brushes the back of two fingers up the faint line of Cesc's happy trail and looks up, notices Cesc is watching him, pupils dilated in the dark, completely rapt. As soon as their eyes meet, Cesc winces and reaches down fast, forms a makeshift cockring with his hand. He squeezes.
(Iker taught him how to do that.
It was a Wednesday afternoon and he didn't look at Cesc's face, his nipples, the thin line across his abdomen where the elastic of his shorts left a mark. It was already hard enough to be an objective teacher, sitting there in his jeans and hoodie with Cesc naked and worked up next to him. He remembers the sound of Cesc panting very quietly, his cock pink and heavy in Iker's palm.
"Okay?" Iker asked.
Cesc took a moment, eyes shut, then nodded hard. That's when Iker knows he's really turned on. When he stops trying to answer out loud. Iker remembers thinking, seeing the flush across his shoulders, the dazed look in his eyes, that he should have started sooner. That he shouldn't have let Cesc jerk off as long as he did. But it was hard to bring himself to stop his hand, once he'd started.
"So what you do-are you close?"
Cesc had nodded furiously at that, looking down at Iker's hand on his dick like he can't even comprehend it. There was an odd dichotomy between the expressions on his face: turned-on almost past understanding, and attentive. Concentrated. Wanting to learn.
"Okay." Iker tried to keep his hand as still as he could. "When you feel like you're gonna come, right before, you make your finger and your thumb a circle, like this." He gestured. Cesc's eyes followed his hand. "And you squeeze at the base. Really tight."
Cesc looked up and met his eyes, (hair wet from the shower), and it was clear that he kind of got it, kind of didn't.
"I'm gonna do it on you now, alright," Iker said. "It might feel kind of weird, but it shouldn't hurt."
He started jacking Cesc off. Easy and loose. There was nothing sudden or surprising about it, but Cesc bit his lip as soon as his hand started moving. Iker remembers little things: how tight Cesc held on to his thigh, how fast he breathed out his nose-it was only half a minute, maybe less, before his spine went stiff and straight and his eyes went big and wide-Iker squeezed.
Cesc curled up in surprise. Made a winded, gutted sound. Iker remembers how his hips kept rolling up uselessly into Iker's hand, rutting against him, body pushing for something even when his mind knew he wouldn't get it, that he didn't even want it. Iker let him push until the springs creaked, solid and still on the bed, and he didn't let go, even when Cesc pressed his face in his neck and whined. He waited until he felt Cesc stop twitching against his palm.
He remembers running his spare hand up the back of Cesc's hair. He can never get over how thick and black it is.
"...See?" he asked gently, nudging Cesc out of his neck. He loosened his fingers-a heavy drip of precome dribbled down Cesc's dick, but he was still hard. Cesc didn't move, but he turned his face and looked down. He laughed when he saw, half confusion and half amazement.
"Wow," he said, like Iker just taught him a really cool trick, or how to ride a bike.)
Cesc clutches at him in the dark. Iker tries to picture what his face looks like. He can feel from the way Cesc flutters around him-he managed to stop the orgasm.
(He's gotten better at it. The details, like the timing and the grip. He's been practicing a lot. Iker doesn't think he's ever dated a guy who isn't embarrassed about coming early, but Cesc isn't. It seems like he never has been. He'll spurt two minutes in and laugh about it, kind of helpless and awed, then he'll stay as responsive and affectionate for Iker as he can remember to, even when he has to be painfully sensitive all over. Sometimes he'll manage to get hard again. Usually he doesn't.
He seems to look at the whole thing like a challenge. Like he's missing hurdles or mistiming drills on the pitch, like it's something he can to work at, that he can train his body to do. Iker's walked in on him jacking off before, trying to practice. He's seen him make it, and he's seen him get too into it and reach down too late, clumsily cut himself off after he's already started coming.
That's the hardest to watch. Iker remembers the look on his face-somewhere between confusion and disappointment and intense discomfort. He also remembers taking off his coat and rolling Cesc on his back while he was still shaking, rubbing his hands up and down his sides and kissing between his hips. Ducking between his legs and gently sucking at his cock until Cesc got hard again in his mouth, until he could have a real orgasm on Iker's tongue.)
Cesc is moving faster now. He's pointedly not touching himself. There's something hot about it that Iker doesn't understand-the self-denial, maybe. The restraint. He feels Cesc's pulse pounding under his skin and for some reason, he lifts his hand and cups the side of his neck, in the vulnerable dip under his jaw. It's compulsive. He wants to.
Cesc opens his eyes. He looks down at him through his lashes, curious.
Iker presses his thumb against his heartbeat. Hard.
The effect is instantaneous, and unexpected. Cesc groans and goes impossibly tight around him, gritting his teeth and clenching and unclenching and clenching again-Iker tightens his grip because he's fucking surprised, and then Cesc's hand fumbles down again but it's too late, he's coming, he seems almost panicked at how hard and fast he's coming. Iker is pushed over the edge just hearing the sounds he makes. He doesn't choose to come, but he does. It's overwhelming.
Cesc sucks in air when Iker lets go. It's only then that Iker realizes how hard he was holding him. He lays Cesc on his back and carefully pulls out of his body. Gets rid of the condom, walks over to turn on the lamp. His head is buzzing. His legs don't feel like they're working right.
Cesc is sprawled out on the bed. His neck is pink. It's obvious that he was completely turned on by the whole thing. He's wrecked. Iker lies down next to him and touches his hip, and Cesc scoots forward to press against him like he always does. He's panting harder than usual. Iker knows why.
"Okay," he hears himself say. He isn't sure if he's asking or reassuring or acknowledging or-something.
He almost doesn't trust himself to get near Cesc's neck. But instinctively, he feels like he's supposed to. When he covers the mark with his hand, Cesc relaxes. They lie there for a long while.
"Okay."
"Are you ready for it?"
"Iker, I'm interviewing for a cashier job at a grocery store. I think I'm pretty ready for it," Unai responds. Iker can sense him edging in for a subject change, and it's too late to stop him. Iker's taught him too well. "So who's the guy in the Facebook picture?"
"Which one?" Iker says.
"The one that was taken right before you exchanged vows and adopted a dog."
Iker weighs the options. Cesc doesn't have a Facebook for him to stalk. Iker thinks he's mentioned him, like, once. Offhand. Safe enough. "Cesc."
"That's the guy you're rooming with, right?"
Iker can hardly hear him. The door's rattling and then Cesc laughs, really loud. He scuttles in and starts trying to shoving it shut behind him but Pique's on the other side, pushing just as hard to get in. Iker can see Leo laughing back against the wall.
Somehow, Cesc manages to get the door shut-it locks with a very final sounding click. Pique bangs the wood a few times before heading off.
"That's him, isn't it," Unai says. "Let me talk to him."
Cesc is all flushed smiles and exhaustion, sweaty in his practice uniform. He trips himself up on a loose shoelace.
"No."
"Cesc, if you can hear me, get on now!" Except Unai yelled it, actually yelled it. His voice is small and tinny, but loud.
Cesc rights himself and makes wide eyes at the phone. Iker sighs, his ear ringing. He hands the phone to Cesc.
"...Hello?" Cesc asks, holding it like it might burst into flames any second.
Unai says something fast and level.
"Uh. Yeah." Cesc kicks at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I guess."
Unai rattles something off that sounds accusatory and Cesc's face goes hard and he says, "Yes, I am," with more conviction.
There's more talking. Sometimes Cesc says 'yes', sometimes 'no'. Then, "Uh. Yeah. Right. Okay. Yeah, you too. Bye."
Cesc hands the phone back to Iker, pulls a really funny face that Iker has a hard time describing before heading into the kitchen.
"He's passed the test," Unai says, mock serious.
"Great. Tell mom that the scarf was really nice but she doesn't need to send money, okay." He covers the receiver. "On the left," he tells Cesc, who's searching cabinets for Powerade.
"Is she still sending brownies too?"
"Yes," Iker replies.
"Don't they go bad before they get there?"
Iker sighs and falls back on the bed, rubbing his temple. "Yes. But don't tell her that."
Unai's laughing.
"I'm serious, Unai."
"Alright, alright, alright. I'm gonna let you go, you're getting all testy. It must be hard for Cesc with you on the rag all the time."
"Yeah, okay. Hey!" Iker remembers suddenly. "Call me this weekend about the interview."
"Sure. I'll fax you an annotated transcript of the whole thing right after I leave."
"Call me."
"I'll call you, jesus."
"Okay. Good luck."
"Thanks," Unai says, sounding put-on exasperated but mostly happy. "Bye."
"Bye."
Cesc sits down next to him, cracking open the flavor that makes his mouth blue.
"How old is he again?"
"Sixteen."
"He's funny."
"He's an asshole," Iker corrects.
"He reminds me of you."
Iker grunts noncommittally and Cesc is smiling, drinking his Powerade. There's the slightest bruise on his neck. A small spot that's a little green and yellow, right next to his pulse. Iker kisses him before he gets up to pick up his laundry. It's compulsive, but he wants to.
072. fixed.
Author's notes:
-I was briefly a home-schooled Jesus freak, so I feel comfortable with the term.
-Exhibit NSFW A. I can't believe I actually found an image of the position I was imagining, which is very difficult to describe with words.
-I want Cristiano and Kaka to be in a secret relationship which is defiant of social strata. ...I need to add some straight characters or this is going to devolve into anime insert cute Japanese word repeated twice territory. uguu~
-Unai Casillas' increased presence due to him giving me some serious issues. filename: godalmighty.jpg
Early October.
061. stumble.
Iker's in a bad mood. He just got back from room 310, taking care of a pet infraction. The roommates had apparently agreed not to tell anyone about the rabbit until they realized that rabbits smell bad, no matter how often you clean the cage, and someone (Gonzalo, Iker thinks) slid an anonymous complaint under his door this morning.
Iker went in mad but Ricky's a nice kid, really, even if he's a bit of a home-schooled Jesus freak. He was holding the rabbit when he opened the door and panicked, caught red-handed, and then the rabbit panicked too. Iker herded them both inside so the rabbit wouldn't escape down the hall and fall in a garbage chute or something, and then he told Ricky that he'd need to write him up, that the rabbit needs to be gone by Friday. Ricky's mouth had turned down. Iker remembered that his family lives a couple towns over, but that they don't have much money to visit often.
"...By the weekend after this one, Ricky," Iker rectified.
The rabbit kicked uselessly against Ricky's stomach, a shredded pine shaving stuck to its leg. Ricky pushed his glasses up and carefully supported it under its tail. He nodded. He seemed sad, but a little less hopeless than before.
Now Iker smells like wood chips. He's clicking around in his documents, looking for the pet infraction form, when he gets a notification on Facebook. He's been tagged in a picture. He leans on his hand and clicks through the path of links.
It's a riot of color, taken on the side of the pitch after one of Cesc's games. Iker tries to remember which one.
They aren't the focal point of the picture. The camera was focusing on the team's star player (tall guy, orange skin, too much hair gel), and Cesc and him are behind the action, off to the side by the bleachers. They're a little blurry. Cesc clearly just launched himself at Iker-he still hasn't completely hit the ground-and it's like Iker only just managed to get his arms open before they collided.
Iker remembers now. Cesc made four assists that day. Cesc's face isn't visible, tucked in Iker's neck, but Iker's is, and he isn't sure if he's ever seen himself so happy. It's not even happy, really, as much as excited and proud and disbelieving. One of his arms is hauling Cesc up against him, fist tight in his jersey.
It's weird seeing all the shit he feels for Cesc immortalized in a shitty cell-phone picture in someone's album called "~*~FaLl SeMeStEr~*~". He considers untagging himself. He doesn't.
It's a freakishly cold night. It's been chilly all week, but not cold. Cesc was out getting math tutoring at the library and when he comes back in his jeans and his threadbare Emirates t-shirt, he's shaking all over.
"It's not this cold at home." His speech is weird and restrained, like he's trying not to let his teeth chatter. He stuffs his hands under his armpits.
"It's the air off the lake." Iker finds what he's looking for in his drawer and goes back to the door. Cesc is still stamping, shoulders hunched up. "Hands."
Cesc gives him his hands, and Iker puts his extra pair of gloves on him. They're dark red, made of soft yarn. Iker wears gloves made of leather, but he's had these around as long as he can remember. Cesc tries them, opens and closes his fists a few times. Iker rubs the cold tips of his ears between his thumb and his fingers, warming them up.
"Better?"
"Yeah."
Later, Iker is kneeling. He's sitting back on his heels with his thighs spread, and Cesc on his lap, settled on his cock. His hips are notched above Iker's, two points of pressure flush against his abdomen, but the rest of his torso is leaned back, spine curved up. One arm is holding on to Iker, the other supporting his weight on the mattress. (Iker can hit his spot better, this way.) Their mouths are too far apart to kiss. Iker's hands are under Cesc's knees, keeping him steady and anchored.
There are running footsteps outside in the hallway, laughing and doors slamming. Saturday night. They have to turn the lights off when they fuck after seven, especially on weekends, so nobody will come knocking, looking for an RA. Cesc helps him come up with hypothetical places where they were. "At the store." "Getting dinner." "Fucking in the backseat."
Iker vetoes the last one.
They make it work (they fuck a lot in the afternoons), but it gets frustrating sometimes. Not being able to see very well. To have to feel out if he's doing something right with sensory information alone: by how frantic Cesc's breath feels in his shoulder, what pitch he's moaning at when he muffles himself with his wrist. How weak his legs are when his knees fall open.
Iker knows that Cesc likes this kind of position. Being on top. At first Iker thought it was the inexperience. Cesc tends to be tight all over, to take a while for Iker to open up with slicked-up fingers and quiet words in his ear, and this position offers more control. He can set the pace and brace himself on Iker's shoulders, lower himself down as slow and stuttered as he wants to.
But in reality, Cesc comes faster and harder when Iker's on top of him. When Iker bends him over the edge of the bed or the table or (especially) when he hitches Cesc's legs up, Cesc's heels in his back-when Iker plows into him hard enough to move his body a few inches up the mattress.
Cesc makes a sound, like he knows what Iker's thinking about. Iker looks down across his body, takes in as much of it as he can make out. The gentle lines of his ribs under his skin. The way his belly tightens every time Iker rolls right inside of him. He brushes the back of two fingers up the faint line of Cesc's happy trail and looks up, notices Cesc is watching him, pupils dilated in the dark, completely rapt. As soon as their eyes meet, Cesc winces and reaches down fast, forms a makeshift cockring with his hand. He squeezes.
(Iker taught him how to do that.
It was a Wednesday afternoon and he didn't look at Cesc's face, his nipples, the thin line across his abdomen where the elastic of his shorts left a mark. It was already hard enough to be an objective teacher, sitting there in his jeans and hoodie with Cesc naked and worked up next to him. He remembers the sound of Cesc panting very quietly, his cock pink and heavy in Iker's palm.
"Okay?" Iker asked.
Cesc took a moment, eyes shut, then nodded hard. That's when Iker knows he's really turned on. When he stops trying to answer out loud. Iker remembers thinking, seeing the flush across his shoulders, the dazed look in his eyes, that he should have started sooner. That he shouldn't have let Cesc jerk off as long as he did. But it was hard to bring himself to stop his hand, once he'd started.
"So what you do-are you close?"
Cesc had nodded furiously at that, looking down at Iker's hand on his dick like he can't even comprehend it. There was an odd dichotomy between the expressions on his face: turned-on almost past understanding, and attentive. Concentrated. Wanting to learn.
"Okay." Iker tried to keep his hand as still as he could. "When you feel like you're gonna come, right before, you make your finger and your thumb a circle, like this." He gestured. Cesc's eyes followed his hand. "And you squeeze at the base. Really tight."
Cesc looked up and met his eyes, (hair wet from the shower), and it was clear that he kind of got it, kind of didn't.
"I'm gonna do it on you now, alright," Iker said. "It might feel kind of weird, but it shouldn't hurt."
He started jacking Cesc off. Easy and loose. There was nothing sudden or surprising about it, but Cesc bit his lip as soon as his hand started moving. Iker remembers little things: how tight Cesc held on to his thigh, how fast he breathed out his nose-it was only half a minute, maybe less, before his spine went stiff and straight and his eyes went big and wide-Iker squeezed.
Cesc curled up in surprise. Made a winded, gutted sound. Iker remembers how his hips kept rolling up uselessly into Iker's hand, rutting against him, body pushing for something even when his mind knew he wouldn't get it, that he didn't even want it. Iker let him push until the springs creaked, solid and still on the bed, and he didn't let go, even when Cesc pressed his face in his neck and whined. He waited until he felt Cesc stop twitching against his palm.
He remembers running his spare hand up the back of Cesc's hair. He can never get over how thick and black it is.
"...See?" he asked gently, nudging Cesc out of his neck. He loosened his fingers-a heavy drip of precome dribbled down Cesc's dick, but he was still hard. Cesc didn't move, but he turned his face and looked down. He laughed when he saw, half confusion and half amazement.
"Wow," he said, like Iker just taught him a really cool trick, or how to ride a bike.)
Cesc clutches at him in the dark. Iker tries to picture what his face looks like. He can feel from the way Cesc flutters around him-he managed to stop the orgasm.
(He's gotten better at it. The details, like the timing and the grip. He's been practicing a lot. Iker doesn't think he's ever dated a guy who isn't embarrassed about coming early, but Cesc isn't. It seems like he never has been. He'll spurt two minutes in and laugh about it, kind of helpless and awed, then he'll stay as responsive and affectionate for Iker as he can remember to, even when he has to be painfully sensitive all over. Sometimes he'll manage to get hard again. Usually he doesn't.
He seems to look at the whole thing like a challenge. Like he's missing hurdles or mistiming drills on the pitch, like it's something he can to work at, that he can train his body to do. Iker's walked in on him jacking off before, trying to practice. He's seen him make it, and he's seen him get too into it and reach down too late, clumsily cut himself off after he's already started coming.
That's the hardest to watch. Iker remembers the look on his face-somewhere between confusion and disappointment and intense discomfort. He also remembers taking off his coat and rolling Cesc on his back while he was still shaking, rubbing his hands up and down his sides and kissing between his hips. Ducking between his legs and gently sucking at his cock until Cesc got hard again in his mouth, until he could have a real orgasm on Iker's tongue.)
Cesc is moving faster now. He's pointedly not touching himself. There's something hot about it that Iker doesn't understand-the self-denial, maybe. The restraint. He feels Cesc's pulse pounding under his skin and for some reason, he lifts his hand and cups the side of his neck, in the vulnerable dip under his jaw. It's compulsive. He wants to.
Cesc opens his eyes. He looks down at him through his lashes, curious.
Iker presses his thumb against his heartbeat. Hard.
The effect is instantaneous, and unexpected. Cesc groans and goes impossibly tight around him, gritting his teeth and clenching and unclenching and clenching again-Iker tightens his grip because he's fucking surprised, and then Cesc's hand fumbles down again but it's too late, he's coming, he seems almost panicked at how hard and fast he's coming. Iker is pushed over the edge just hearing the sounds he makes. He doesn't choose to come, but he does. It's overwhelming.
Cesc sucks in air when Iker lets go. It's only then that Iker realizes how hard he was holding him. He lays Cesc on his back and carefully pulls out of his body. Gets rid of the condom, walks over to turn on the lamp. His head is buzzing. His legs don't feel like they're working right.
Cesc is sprawled out on the bed. His neck is pink. It's obvious that he was completely turned on by the whole thing. He's wrecked. Iker lies down next to him and touches his hip, and Cesc scoots forward to press against him like he always does. He's panting harder than usual. Iker knows why.
"Okay," he hears himself say. He isn't sure if he's asking or reassuring or acknowledging or-something.
He almost doesn't trust himself to get near Cesc's neck. But instinctively, he feels like he's supposed to. When he covers the mark with his hand, Cesc relaxes. They lie there for a long while.
"Okay."
"Are you ready for it?"
"Iker, I'm interviewing for a cashier job at a grocery store. I think I'm pretty ready for it," Unai responds. Iker can sense him edging in for a subject change, and it's too late to stop him. Iker's taught him too well. "So who's the guy in the Facebook picture?"
"Which one?" Iker says.
"The one that was taken right before you exchanged vows and adopted a dog."
Iker weighs the options. Cesc doesn't have a Facebook for him to stalk. Iker thinks he's mentioned him, like, once. Offhand. Safe enough. "Cesc."
"That's the guy you're rooming with, right?"
Iker can hardly hear him. The door's rattling and then Cesc laughs, really loud. He scuttles in and starts trying to shoving it shut behind him but Pique's on the other side, pushing just as hard to get in. Iker can see Leo laughing back against the wall.
Somehow, Cesc manages to get the door shut-it locks with a very final sounding click. Pique bangs the wood a few times before heading off.
"That's him, isn't it," Unai says. "Let me talk to him."
Cesc is all flushed smiles and exhaustion, sweaty in his practice uniform. He trips himself up on a loose shoelace.
"No."
"Cesc, if you can hear me, get on now!" Except Unai yelled it, actually yelled it. His voice is small and tinny, but loud.
Cesc rights himself and makes wide eyes at the phone. Iker sighs, his ear ringing. He hands the phone to Cesc.
"...Hello?" Cesc asks, holding it like it might burst into flames any second.
Unai says something fast and level.
"Uh. Yeah." Cesc kicks at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I guess."
Unai rattles something off that sounds accusatory and Cesc's face goes hard and he says, "Yes, I am," with more conviction.
There's more talking. Sometimes Cesc says 'yes', sometimes 'no'. Then, "Uh. Yeah. Right. Okay. Yeah, you too. Bye."
Cesc hands the phone back to Iker, pulls a really funny face that Iker has a hard time describing before heading into the kitchen.
"He's passed the test," Unai says, mock serious.
"Great. Tell mom that the scarf was really nice but she doesn't need to send money, okay." He covers the receiver. "On the left," he tells Cesc, who's searching cabinets for Powerade.
"Is she still sending brownies too?"
"Yes," Iker replies.
"Don't they go bad before they get there?"
Iker sighs and falls back on the bed, rubbing his temple. "Yes. But don't tell her that."
Unai's laughing.
"I'm serious, Unai."
"Alright, alright, alright. I'm gonna let you go, you're getting all testy. It must be hard for Cesc with you on the rag all the time."
"Yeah, okay. Hey!" Iker remembers suddenly. "Call me this weekend about the interview."
"Sure. I'll fax you an annotated transcript of the whole thing right after I leave."
"Call me."
"I'll call you, jesus."
"Okay. Good luck."
"Thanks," Unai says, sounding put-on exasperated but mostly happy. "Bye."
"Bye."
Cesc sits down next to him, cracking open the flavor that makes his mouth blue.
"How old is he again?"
"Sixteen."
"He's funny."
"He's an asshole," Iker corrects.
"He reminds me of you."
Iker grunts noncommittally and Cesc is smiling, drinking his Powerade. There's the slightest bruise on his neck. A small spot that's a little green and yellow, right next to his pulse. Iker kisses him before he gets up to pick up his laundry. It's compulsive, but he wants to.
072. fixed.
Author's notes:
-I was briefly a home-schooled Jesus freak, so I feel comfortable with the term.
-Exhibit NSFW A. I can't believe I actually found an image of the position I was imagining, which is very difficult to describe with words.
-I want Cristiano and Kaka to be in a secret relationship which is defiant of social strata. ...I need to add some straight characters or this is going to devolve into anime insert cute Japanese word repeated twice territory. uguu~
-Unai Casillas' increased presence due to him giving me some serious issues. filename: godalmighty.jpg
