072. fixed.
Nam Mellitus Erat, 072. fixed.
October.
090. tighten.
"Aw shit!"
Cesc flails up, and Iker's head falls from his lap and hits the mattress. He groans.
"Your computer clock's wrong!"
The bed lifts as Cesc scrabbles off and Iker rolls over, pushing his face in the comforter. He doesn't even know why he's trying. There's no way he'll be able to go back to sleep.
"It's like an hour behind," Cesc continues. "An hour."
Iker squints open his eyes. Cesc is hopping on one foot, trying to pull his shoe on without untying it.
Iker blinks hard a few times and tugs his laptop over from where Cesc set it down. He looks at the time. 9:07. It's definitely ten.
He makes a sound that's supposed to tell Cesc, "Yeah, I forgot, it does this sometimes, some kind of time zone thing-I can't figure out how to fix it." But he's tired and Cesc is busy frantically digging through drawers, looking for something clean to wear. Luckily all of his gear is still packed and sitting by the door. (Iker had ambushed him after practice the afternoon before.)
Iker watches him give up on his own drawer and start into Iker's. He seems to settle on one of his t-shirts, an old Speech and Debate one from high-school that Iker keeps meaning to get rid of. Cesc rests it over his shoulder, then grabs a pair of his own shorts.
"Coach is gonna kill me," he tells the wall, shutting drawers. "He is. He's gonna kill me."
Iker closes his eyes, too tired to deal. Cesc's feet patter around on the floor. The fridge opens and slams closed, then the front door clicks shut.
After a while, Iker sits up. His spine pops when he stretches, shifts again when he slouches. His back protests the bad posture, but he doesn't care. His laptop is about two seconds from hibernating and he rubs his eyes and passes his finger on the touchpad, waking it up as he pulls it on his lap.
Cesc's half-written essay stares back at him. It's about the Massacre at Wounded Knee, and Iker has no idea what class it's for. He notices a spelling mistake and automatically goes to correct it, but then thinks better of it and minimizes the document. He'll see if Cesc wants to go over it later.
Cesc had been on his computer for most of the night. "Wake me up in twenty, okay?" he'd said, panting and rolling on his back (after Iker had ambushed him). "I have to write a paper tonight."
(It hadn't really been an ambush. Iker had been drinking a glass of orange juice, watching Cesc pull his sweatshirt off, then Cesc had come up and taken the glass and finished it off without asking. He'd looked up at Iker and licked his top lip and noticed the way Iker was looking at him, and that was that.)
After the handjob, Cesc had been determined. He'd worked all night. Iker had gone to a guest lecture on nonverbal communication in the big hall on the other side of campus and when he'd come back, Cesc was still working. Iker ate dinner, took a shower, and fell asleep to the sound of his fingers tapping the keyboard. This morning, he'd woken up to the same sound again, Cesc on the other end of the bed this time, still tapping. Somewhere inbetween, he'd found Cesc sleeping on his chest in the dark, nose pressed in his ribs.
Iker pulls up his web browser and opens his emails. Ten campus-wide ones about the Moon Festival, voting for Homecoming Court, all-nighters for UNICEF. Two from his crazy aunt who forwards him every piece of chain mail ever. One from Dr. Beckham. Iker clicks it with the same mix of curiosity and dread he has ever time Dr. Beckham emails him something.
Iker,
Your Miller source is a good one, but the volume number you cited appears to be wrong. Do you have the correct volume number?
db
Iker panics, suddenly wide awake. That was JSTOR, maybe, but he has no idea where- He clicks open his history and starts scrolling.
Somehow, Iker forgot that Cesc being on his computer all night meant Cesc was on his internet all night. At first, there's a lot of iterations of "Wounded Knee". Google searches for "synonym battle", "meal peanut butter banana", "arsenal cehlsea score". "arsenal chelsea score", right after the first. A hit on Hulu. Then, out of the blue, a single porn entry at 3:45 in the morning. There's no referring link, like Cesc typed it in manually, already knew exactly where to go.
Iker taps his fingers next to his keyboard, thinking. Then he plugs in headphones and clicks the link.
The video is called "submissive1". Iker was expecting bright colors and extreme close-ups and fake moans, the usual stuff teenagers jerk off to, but the setting's very dull. Most of the room is nondescript. There are books on the bookshelves, blue bedsheets, a Fear and Loathing poster on the wall. It's just a normal bedroom. The whole scene has a grayish tint to it: shitty handheld camera, Iker thinks.
The shot shifts. Some lifts the camera up and sets it up higher than it was, and now Iker can see that there's someone on the bed.
He's completely naked. Iker can't make out what's around his wrists, but he's tied down.
Someone else-whoever moved the camera-climbs on next to him. Spreads his legs apart. Then he pushes into him. Just like that. The smaller one's back arches up off the mattress. His fingers curl around his bonds, holding on tight.
"Don't open your eyes," the bigger one says. Then something lower and inaudible. The smaller one nods furiously.
Iker understands where this is going. He braces for crass slapping, "slut" and "whore" and everything else that makes this kind of thing painfully embarrassing to watch. He waits for it-and none of it happens.
He watches the smaller one's arms pull at the bonds. After a few minutes of steady movement and no touching, no speaking, he curls up to try and kiss the bigger one, head craning up past his biceps, beyond self-awareness. The bigger one doesn't kiss him, but he brushes his hair back. Cups his hand above his cheek. Iker understands. He's blocking his face from the camera.
After a while, the bigger one pulls back, sits on his heels.
"Turn over."
The smaller one trips over himself to obey. He uses the bondage for leverage and gets on all fours, hands still tied together above him. Iker notices it when others might not: the bigger one's eyes dart up, checking that his wrists aren't pinched. Then he drags his hips back and fucks into him again.
The smaller one whimpers, makes this embarrassing sound that no-one could stage. His head is hanging between his arms. The bigger one leans over him, their bodies fitted together. He mutters something in his ear. The smaller one's mouth opens. He turns his face in his elbow.
When he comes, the bigger one fucks him through his orgasm. Then he unties his hands, rubs feeling back into his fingers, eases him onto his side and away from the camera. The video cuts off just when he brings his wrists up to his lips.
Iker hasn't gotten this hard from porn since he was a teenager.
He shuts his laptop, lies back and stares at the ceiling. Finally he gives up and opens his pants. When he comes, he's thinking about Cesc watching the video. Plugging in headphones at four in the morning while Iker's sleeping right next to him, sneaking in the bathroom to jerk off before coming back to curl up next to him, to sleep on Iker's side for a few hours before getting back to work.
Iker's tutoring runs over. A freshman couldn't wrap his mind around participles and he's almost late to the game, but he isn't late. He huffs in his hands, scanning the stands for a seat. It's cold. The bleachers are mostly filled, groups of friends or couples bundled together. Then there's one guy sitting by himself-Iker recognizes him. It's Ricky.
Iker weighs the pros and cons. Would it be more awkward for him if he has to sit alone, or if he has to sit by an RA?
He feels like he made the right choice when Ricky gives him a grateful, beaming smile, scoots over on the bench. He's wearing a hat lined with fur and a scarf that looks scratchy.
"Hello, Iker." Ricky isn't skittish or anything. He's just shy. "How are you?"
Iker buys a cup of hot cider from a vendor. "I'm good, thanks. How are you?"
"I am fine."
Ricky has this funny way of speaking. His cadence is odd and he doesn't use contractions, but there isn't an identifiable accent at all. Iker can't figure out if he's foreign or if that's just the way he talks.
"I don't think I've ever seen you at a game before," he says.
"Yes, I have not been before. But I think, you know, I should do all of these things while I am at college."
"Yeah, you're right." Iker takes a drink of his cider. "How's your rabbit?"
"She is better. The open space at home is better for her, you know."
Iker opens his mouth to respond, then notices Cesc sprinting in for a pass. He freezes mid-gape, watching. Cesc stops the ball with his foot and reorients-he looks up and Iker sees his face change when he sees the opening-he crosses over everyone to Ronaldo, who smashes it in. Five minutes into the game.
Iker's on his feet with everyone else. Ronaldo slides on the grass like the asshole he tends to be, sometimes, and a group of girls to their left go crazy. Iker's looking at Pique and Leo crushing Cesc in a hug. Cesc laughing so hard his eyes are squinted shut, grabbing at their jerseys. Iker feels stupidly giddy when he sits back down.
"I'm sorry, Ricky," he says.
Ricky shakes his head, grinning. "He is very good, the number 7?" He's still looking at the throng of girls, like he's amazed that they can be so amazed.
"Yeah, he is." Iker isn't really looking at number 7 at all, but that's predictable.
Lecture is canceled and Iker gets in early. He's watering the plant on the window with a half-empty water bottle when he hears a muted metal clicking noise, a sound he kind of recognizes, but can't place. He picks up on it and listens, then traces it to the bathroom.
Cesc is standing in front of the mirror, towel loose around his shoulders. He's trimming his hair. There are soft black clumps scattered all around his socks.
"You cut your own hair?" Iker asks.
Cesc looks at him in the mirror before going back to work. He shrugs.
"It's getting too long," he replies simply.
Iker doesn't push it. He leans in the doorway and watches for a while, hands in his pockets. Cesc is concentrating very hard. His eyes go a little crossed when he looks up in the mirror, snipping at his bangs. He scrubs at his face, itchy, when a bit of hair falls on his nose. After a bit, he combs it all forward with his fingers and messes it up, checking to see if things are even enough. Then:
"Help me with the back?"
Cesc holds out the scissors to him.
Without thinking, Iker takes them.
They're cold and light in his hand, warmer were Cesc was touching them. Iker runs his fingers up the back of his hair like he always does and Cesc grins-he's ticklish there, Iker knows, from the way he hunches his shoulders up.
Iker suddenly doesn't feel qualified to do this. At all. He hesitates, thinking, then notices Cesc watching him in the mirror, eyes open and waiting.
"Hold still," Iker says quietly.
It just something people say, but hearing it, Cesc relaxes all over. He rests his hands on the sink. Iker flips the first lock of his hair up between his fingers, then cuts it away.
It's easier once he's started. He takes his time, rubbing up with the palm of his hand and tugging, making sure everything's even. At one point he rests his thumb in the dip at the base of Cesc's skull, presses forward the slightest bit. Cesc bows his head, no resistance, and Iker smooths his hair down and cuts at the bottom, makes a straight, clean line. Cesc never moves, even when the cold sharp metal touches the back of his neck.
By the time Iker's done, Cesc is leaning on the counter, half-hard in his jeans. Iker feels like he should be surprised by that. He isn't. Cesc doesn't ask for anything, and nothing in his body language asks for anything either. He's just hard. He's quiet and pliant and sways a bit when Iker kisses his mouth, chaste and brief.
"I'm going to the library," Iker says. "Do you need me to check anything out for you?"
Cesc shakes his head. He runs his hand up in the back of his hair, feeling it out. He isn't checking it in the mirror or anything. He's just curious.
It doesn't look bad. Iker guides him into tousling it, getting the loose bits to drop to the floor.
A few days later, Iker is reading when his phone vibes. It's Sergio.
"Come over. Both of you."
Cesc is doing his math homework.
"Do you want to go to Sergio's?" Iker asks him.
Cesc looks up. He bites his lip, tapping his pencil on the paper. Sometimes Iker forgets how he was before they knew each other, and that he's still that way with everyone he doesn't know very well.
Sergio is omniscient.
"Tell him I have FIFA 11."
"He has FIFA 11."
"FIFA 11?" Cesc asks, wide-eyed.
Cesc destroys them. Over and over and over. Sergio and Iker teamed up on the last game and Cesc still wrecked them, 4-1. Sergio's digging in the fridge for something to drink and Cesc is telling Iker about a girl in his class who was caught passing notes.
"And I was like, who even passes notes in college, you know? Who even does that? It's like can't you wait?"
Sergio taps the top of his head with a can of soda.
Cesc blindly reaches up and accepts it with both hands. "Thanks."
Sergio sits next to him and Cesc sinks back further into the futon, completely comfortable with the proximity.
"You can't win every time, you know," Sergio says.
"I can," Cesc replies, still smiling to himself. He cracks open his can. "I will."
"Hold on," Sergio says, getting up. He sits at his desk and signs into instant messenger. Almost immediately, a box pops up. Sergio grins and starts typing. Cesc messes around with settings while he's busy.
Suddenly, someone signs into Xbox Live. locke9.
"Play him," Sergio says, gesturing to the TV with his can.
Cesc has already selected Arsenal. locke9 chooses Liverpool. Cesc frowns and switches to Barcelona, and locke9 changes to Atlético Madrid.
Cesc laughs. "I'm gonna kill this guy."
This game is a lot closer than the others. Cesc scoots forward to the edge of the couch when Diego Forlan scores on him for the second time. "Not even," he says, "Not even."
In the end, locke9 scrapes by on penalties.
"Will you ask him if he wants a rematch?" Cesc asks Sergio. "And all of us can play?"
Sergio rolls back to the computer, and Cesc hands Iker a controller.
"Play as keeper, okay?"
"Keeper?"
"Yeah. Just try it."
Combined, Sergio and locke9 make an insane amount of attempts on target, but only two get by Victor Valdes. Cesc scores three.
"I can't believe this," Sergio says, groaning. "Iker saving goals. For Barcelona."
"You don't like Barcelona?" Cesc asks. He looks Iker like he just curbstomped a puppy.
"He's a madridista," Sergio supplies.
Cesc looks at him for a long moment. Then, "I forgive you."
"One more?" Sergio asks.
"One more?" Cesc asks Iker.
"Okay."
A week goes by. It's getting colder and darker earlier and earlier. It's only five when Iker gets home from lecture, but the sun's already almost completely set.
The light in the room is more purple and gray than orange. Cesc is sitting on the edge of the bed, playing his Gameboy. Iker doesn't even know how he can see it. There aren't any plates around or jars of peanut butter left open on the table, so he hasn't eaten yet. Iker can hardly make out his face, but he's pretty sure nothing has changed since the morning. That he's still chronically still and quiet.
"We can go out to eat," Iker says, sitting down next to him. He feels heavy. "What do you want?"
Cesc rubs at the string bracelet on his wrist. It takes him a long time to respond. Then, "You choose."
He paused his game as soon as Iker down next to him (he always does), so he isn't distracted. But he isn't looking up either.
Iker's immediate reaction, the one he feels like has been socialized into him since he was a kid, tells him that he should insist that Cesc pick. That he's having a bad day, and that this is the nice thing to do.
But.
"Greek food," he decides. "C'mon."
Cesc's shoulders relax the tiniest bit. Iker gets up to find his coat.
The longer they're together, the more Iker notices it. At first he thinks it's something to do with him, or them, the whole situation. He worries. But then he remembers how Cesc was before he met him, or knew him really, and thinks that maybe Cesc just gets this way sometimes. That this is who he is and he'd either been hiding it before and can't keep up the charade, or he's starting to trust Iker enough to not want to hide it anymore. Iker hopes it's the latter, but it's probably a bit of both.
Usually it happens after they lose a game, or after Cesc talks to his mom. Neither has happened lately, so Iker isn't really sure what's wrong. That doesn't bother him. The whole thing doesn't bother him. Cesc is like a battery that runs on full power all the time. It only makes sense that sometimes, he doesn't have any charge left.
Cesc is struggling with one of his boots. They're brown and new (hand-me-downs from Sergio), and it's clear he hasn't ever owned a pair that tie up like these, with the hooks and horizontal lacing. He's on his third try. It's like he's too sore or tired to even bend over all the way. Iker walks over and drops to a knee and laces it up, pulling the strings tight. He ties with a double-knot.
"We'll drive, okay," he says, looking up. "It's too cold to walk."
Cesc zips up his jacket and nods.
The restaurant clinks with silverware and glasses. People are talking, laughing. Normally Cesc would have put away a couple baklavas and a gyro by now, but he's only eaten one shishkebab (for show, Iker thinks) and picked at the pita chips. Iker considers touching their shoes under the table, or taking his hand. It not that he wouldn't. It's just that it isn't them.
The drive home is quiet. Cesc hasn't touched the radio since they got in, so it's stuck on whatever Sergio changed it to on his last beer run. Some kind of flamenco shit.
Iker looks over at him when they stop at a light. Cesc doesn't notice. His forehead is braced on the window as he looks at the people outside. His breath has fogged up the glass. The takeout box sitting in his lap, untouched-usually he pokes holes in the top with a toothpick, but he forgot to pick one up at the cashier.
When they get into the room, Iker unwinds Cesc's scarf and unzips his jacket, starts kissing at his neck in the dark.
Cesc sets the box down and touches his shoulders, then his chest, like he's forgotten how to do this. Iker backs him up to the bed. Cesc grapples at him when the back of his knees hit the mattress, caught off balance-Iker doesn't help him and he falls backwards, pulls Iker down on top of him.
Cesc's breath catches when Iker pushes up against him, sets his teeth in his shoulder. He clutches at the back of Iker's coat. His adrenaline is already racing-Iker can feel it in the way he's moving, shifting underneath him like he can't sit still. He lets Cesc try to sit up, fumbling fingers unbuttoning Iker's coat, then he takes his hands. He pushes him flat on his back, smooth and firm, and presses his arms down to the bed. Pins him at the joints of his wrists.
Cesc smiles a little, dizzy. He curls his fingers and pushes back up. Squirms. He thinks they're wrestling, maybe. Iker doesn't smile back. He doesn't let him up.
Cesc's eyes widen. Iker presses his thumb against one of his wrists and he feels the heartbeat underneath go stuttered, and then fast.
"Iker," Cesc says.
Iker leans down to kiss him. Cesc immediately presses up to touch their mouths together and Iker holds back, just out of reach, until he gives up. Then he takes his mouth rough, rougher than he ever has. When he pulls away, Cesc is panting. He looks completely dazed.
"Iker," he says again.
Iker crosses his wrists and holds them down with one hand. He flicks open the button of Cesc's jeans and rips his zipper down, yanks his pants down to his thighs. Cesc isn't wearing boxers. He's completely hard.
"Wide," Iker says, reaching for the lube on the bedside table. Cesc spreads as best as he can. Iker lets go of him for a minute to slick up his fingers, then he closes the cap and pins him again. Cesc sucks in a few fast inhales when Iker pushes two fingers into him, struggling weakly in his pants. Iker watches his face as adds a third. He nudges Cesc's spot once, but doesn't give him anything more than that. Cesc bites his lip when he curls his fingers.
Iker reaches back for his foot and unties a boot, pulling it off and jerking Cesc's pants off one of his legs. He doesn't care about the other. He just needs him spread.
It's ridiculous how good he's gotten good at opening a condom with one hand and his teeth. Cesc watches him put it on and slick himself up, eyes big and disbelieving. Iker pulls one leg up on his shoulder.
"Don't come," he says. Cesc opens his mouth and Iker shoves into him.
A beat goes by. Cesc says, "Oh god."
Iker fucks him. He brings his spare hand up, slick with lube, and pins Cesc's wrists separately again, bearing down on him hard. The mattress creaks. Cesc's leg is limp on his shoulder, the heel of his boot nudging Iker's back with every thrust. His eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open and slack. He whimpers every time he breathes.
After a few minutes, maybe five, he jerks and comes all over his shirt. His face wrenches up like it hurts. He's never come without anything touching him before. Iker doesn't stop. He doesn't even pause. He only comes when Cesc finally opens his eyes and looks up at him. He looks at Iker like he can't even believe he exists. Iker shoves forward and finishes.
It's quiet except for their breathing. Cesc tries to move his leg, then gives up. He coughs.
Iker's too hot in his coat and his jeans. Cesc's hair is mussy with sweat, his arms are still raised his head. He didn't move them, even after Iker reached down to vice his hips. Iker looks at him for a while. His face is pink. He's panting, completely blissed out. Somehow, he managed to get hard again. Iker wants him more than he's ever wanted him before.
He sets Cesc's boot down on the bed and slowly pulls out. Cesc ripples under his hand when he runs his palm down his side, sensitive all over.
Iker kisses the inside of his knee, watching him. He touches his dick. Cesc mewls, shaky, and Iker ducks down to take him in his mouth.
Cesc makes a sound Iker has never heard him make before. He comes close to kneeing Iker in the back of the head and Iker holds his hips down-Cesc curls around him, holding on tight to his hair. He struggles against Iker's hands, pushing up to fuck Iker's mouth. When he squirms and sobs and comes, Iker swallows.
Iker stays there for a while, catching his breath. He rubs Cesc's dick with the heel of his hand, his nose pressed in Cesc's stomach. Then he extricates himself from the tangle of arms and legs-sits up, moves to the edge of the bed. Cesc grabs at him, irrational, like he thinks he's leaving.
"It's okay," Iker says. His own voice sounds foreign to him, but Cesc goes still hearing it.
Iker leans over and drops the condom in the waste basket by the desk. Zips up his pants. He takes off his coat and shoes, then unties Cesc's other boot. He sets it on the floor and pulls Cesc's pants off too, leaves them in a heap on the tile.
Cesc wraps around him as soon as he comes back, all arms and legs and small warm torso. Iker fixes his jacket with his free arm, tucking it in where he can, then hitches him up so he can get closer. Cesc crushes his nose in Iker's neck, says something silent against his skin.
054. air.
Author's notes:
-Late night post because I accidentally erased all of this and had to rewrite it tonight. This was me, basically. Today is the worst day.
-Every time I think of Kaka speaking English, it sounds like this. Which is stupid, but, you know.
-Man, my insane desire to play FIFA 11. Seriously, I'm frothing. The commentary, how even. Lol at Sergio's hair.
October.
090. tighten.
"Aw shit!"
Cesc flails up, and Iker's head falls from his lap and hits the mattress. He groans.
"Your computer clock's wrong!"
The bed lifts as Cesc scrabbles off and Iker rolls over, pushing his face in the comforter. He doesn't even know why he's trying. There's no way he'll be able to go back to sleep.
"It's like an hour behind," Cesc continues. "An hour."
Iker squints open his eyes. Cesc is hopping on one foot, trying to pull his shoe on without untying it.
Iker blinks hard a few times and tugs his laptop over from where Cesc set it down. He looks at the time. 9:07. It's definitely ten.
He makes a sound that's supposed to tell Cesc, "Yeah, I forgot, it does this sometimes, some kind of time zone thing-I can't figure out how to fix it." But he's tired and Cesc is busy frantically digging through drawers, looking for something clean to wear. Luckily all of his gear is still packed and sitting by the door. (Iker had ambushed him after practice the afternoon before.)
Iker watches him give up on his own drawer and start into Iker's. He seems to settle on one of his t-shirts, an old Speech and Debate one from high-school that Iker keeps meaning to get rid of. Cesc rests it over his shoulder, then grabs a pair of his own shorts.
"Coach is gonna kill me," he tells the wall, shutting drawers. "He is. He's gonna kill me."
Iker closes his eyes, too tired to deal. Cesc's feet patter around on the floor. The fridge opens and slams closed, then the front door clicks shut.
After a while, Iker sits up. His spine pops when he stretches, shifts again when he slouches. His back protests the bad posture, but he doesn't care. His laptop is about two seconds from hibernating and he rubs his eyes and passes his finger on the touchpad, waking it up as he pulls it on his lap.
Cesc's half-written essay stares back at him. It's about the Massacre at Wounded Knee, and Iker has no idea what class it's for. He notices a spelling mistake and automatically goes to correct it, but then thinks better of it and minimizes the document. He'll see if Cesc wants to go over it later.
Cesc had been on his computer for most of the night. "Wake me up in twenty, okay?" he'd said, panting and rolling on his back (after Iker had ambushed him). "I have to write a paper tonight."
(It hadn't really been an ambush. Iker had been drinking a glass of orange juice, watching Cesc pull his sweatshirt off, then Cesc had come up and taken the glass and finished it off without asking. He'd looked up at Iker and licked his top lip and noticed the way Iker was looking at him, and that was that.)
After the handjob, Cesc had been determined. He'd worked all night. Iker had gone to a guest lecture on nonverbal communication in the big hall on the other side of campus and when he'd come back, Cesc was still working. Iker ate dinner, took a shower, and fell asleep to the sound of his fingers tapping the keyboard. This morning, he'd woken up to the same sound again, Cesc on the other end of the bed this time, still tapping. Somewhere inbetween, he'd found Cesc sleeping on his chest in the dark, nose pressed in his ribs.
Iker pulls up his web browser and opens his emails. Ten campus-wide ones about the Moon Festival, voting for Homecoming Court, all-nighters for UNICEF. Two from his crazy aunt who forwards him every piece of chain mail ever. One from Dr. Beckham. Iker clicks it with the same mix of curiosity and dread he has ever time Dr. Beckham emails him something.
Iker,
Your Miller source is a good one, but the volume number you cited appears to be wrong. Do you have the correct volume number?
db
Iker panics, suddenly wide awake. That was JSTOR, maybe, but he has no idea where- He clicks open his history and starts scrolling.
Somehow, Iker forgot that Cesc being on his computer all night meant Cesc was on his internet all night. At first, there's a lot of iterations of "Wounded Knee". Google searches for "synonym battle", "meal peanut butter banana", "arsenal cehlsea score". "arsenal chelsea score", right after the first. A hit on Hulu. Then, out of the blue, a single porn entry at 3:45 in the morning. There's no referring link, like Cesc typed it in manually, already knew exactly where to go.
Iker taps his fingers next to his keyboard, thinking. Then he plugs in headphones and clicks the link.
The video is called "submissive1". Iker was expecting bright colors and extreme close-ups and fake moans, the usual stuff teenagers jerk off to, but the setting's very dull. Most of the room is nondescript. There are books on the bookshelves, blue bedsheets, a Fear and Loathing poster on the wall. It's just a normal bedroom. The whole scene has a grayish tint to it: shitty handheld camera, Iker thinks.
The shot shifts. Some lifts the camera up and sets it up higher than it was, and now Iker can see that there's someone on the bed.
He's completely naked. Iker can't make out what's around his wrists, but he's tied down.
Someone else-whoever moved the camera-climbs on next to him. Spreads his legs apart. Then he pushes into him. Just like that. The smaller one's back arches up off the mattress. His fingers curl around his bonds, holding on tight.
"Don't open your eyes," the bigger one says. Then something lower and inaudible. The smaller one nods furiously.
Iker understands where this is going. He braces for crass slapping, "slut" and "whore" and everything else that makes this kind of thing painfully embarrassing to watch. He waits for it-and none of it happens.
He watches the smaller one's arms pull at the bonds. After a few minutes of steady movement and no touching, no speaking, he curls up to try and kiss the bigger one, head craning up past his biceps, beyond self-awareness. The bigger one doesn't kiss him, but he brushes his hair back. Cups his hand above his cheek. Iker understands. He's blocking his face from the camera.
After a while, the bigger one pulls back, sits on his heels.
"Turn over."
The smaller one trips over himself to obey. He uses the bondage for leverage and gets on all fours, hands still tied together above him. Iker notices it when others might not: the bigger one's eyes dart up, checking that his wrists aren't pinched. Then he drags his hips back and fucks into him again.
The smaller one whimpers, makes this embarrassing sound that no-one could stage. His head is hanging between his arms. The bigger one leans over him, their bodies fitted together. He mutters something in his ear. The smaller one's mouth opens. He turns his face in his elbow.
When he comes, the bigger one fucks him through his orgasm. Then he unties his hands, rubs feeling back into his fingers, eases him onto his side and away from the camera. The video cuts off just when he brings his wrists up to his lips.
Iker hasn't gotten this hard from porn since he was a teenager.
He shuts his laptop, lies back and stares at the ceiling. Finally he gives up and opens his pants. When he comes, he's thinking about Cesc watching the video. Plugging in headphones at four in the morning while Iker's sleeping right next to him, sneaking in the bathroom to jerk off before coming back to curl up next to him, to sleep on Iker's side for a few hours before getting back to work.
Iker's tutoring runs over. A freshman couldn't wrap his mind around participles and he's almost late to the game, but he isn't late. He huffs in his hands, scanning the stands for a seat. It's cold. The bleachers are mostly filled, groups of friends or couples bundled together. Then there's one guy sitting by himself-Iker recognizes him. It's Ricky.
Iker weighs the pros and cons. Would it be more awkward for him if he has to sit alone, or if he has to sit by an RA?
He feels like he made the right choice when Ricky gives him a grateful, beaming smile, scoots over on the bench. He's wearing a hat lined with fur and a scarf that looks scratchy.
"Hello, Iker." Ricky isn't skittish or anything. He's just shy. "How are you?"
Iker buys a cup of hot cider from a vendor. "I'm good, thanks. How are you?"
"I am fine."
Ricky has this funny way of speaking. His cadence is odd and he doesn't use contractions, but there isn't an identifiable accent at all. Iker can't figure out if he's foreign or if that's just the way he talks.
"I don't think I've ever seen you at a game before," he says.
"Yes, I have not been before. But I think, you know, I should do all of these things while I am at college."
"Yeah, you're right." Iker takes a drink of his cider. "How's your rabbit?"
"She is better. The open space at home is better for her, you know."
Iker opens his mouth to respond, then notices Cesc sprinting in for a pass. He freezes mid-gape, watching. Cesc stops the ball with his foot and reorients-he looks up and Iker sees his face change when he sees the opening-he crosses over everyone to Ronaldo, who smashes it in. Five minutes into the game.
Iker's on his feet with everyone else. Ronaldo slides on the grass like the asshole he tends to be, sometimes, and a group of girls to their left go crazy. Iker's looking at Pique and Leo crushing Cesc in a hug. Cesc laughing so hard his eyes are squinted shut, grabbing at their jerseys. Iker feels stupidly giddy when he sits back down.
"I'm sorry, Ricky," he says.
Ricky shakes his head, grinning. "He is very good, the number 7?" He's still looking at the throng of girls, like he's amazed that they can be so amazed.
"Yeah, he is." Iker isn't really looking at number 7 at all, but that's predictable.
Lecture is canceled and Iker gets in early. He's watering the plant on the window with a half-empty water bottle when he hears a muted metal clicking noise, a sound he kind of recognizes, but can't place. He picks up on it and listens, then traces it to the bathroom.
Cesc is standing in front of the mirror, towel loose around his shoulders. He's trimming his hair. There are soft black clumps scattered all around his socks.
"You cut your own hair?" Iker asks.
Cesc looks at him in the mirror before going back to work. He shrugs.
"It's getting too long," he replies simply.
Iker doesn't push it. He leans in the doorway and watches for a while, hands in his pockets. Cesc is concentrating very hard. His eyes go a little crossed when he looks up in the mirror, snipping at his bangs. He scrubs at his face, itchy, when a bit of hair falls on his nose. After a bit, he combs it all forward with his fingers and messes it up, checking to see if things are even enough. Then:
"Help me with the back?"
Cesc holds out the scissors to him.
Without thinking, Iker takes them.
They're cold and light in his hand, warmer were Cesc was touching them. Iker runs his fingers up the back of his hair like he always does and Cesc grins-he's ticklish there, Iker knows, from the way he hunches his shoulders up.
Iker suddenly doesn't feel qualified to do this. At all. He hesitates, thinking, then notices Cesc watching him in the mirror, eyes open and waiting.
"Hold still," Iker says quietly.
It just something people say, but hearing it, Cesc relaxes all over. He rests his hands on the sink. Iker flips the first lock of his hair up between his fingers, then cuts it away.
It's easier once he's started. He takes his time, rubbing up with the palm of his hand and tugging, making sure everything's even. At one point he rests his thumb in the dip at the base of Cesc's skull, presses forward the slightest bit. Cesc bows his head, no resistance, and Iker smooths his hair down and cuts at the bottom, makes a straight, clean line. Cesc never moves, even when the cold sharp metal touches the back of his neck.
By the time Iker's done, Cesc is leaning on the counter, half-hard in his jeans. Iker feels like he should be surprised by that. He isn't. Cesc doesn't ask for anything, and nothing in his body language asks for anything either. He's just hard. He's quiet and pliant and sways a bit when Iker kisses his mouth, chaste and brief.
"I'm going to the library," Iker says. "Do you need me to check anything out for you?"
Cesc shakes his head. He runs his hand up in the back of his hair, feeling it out. He isn't checking it in the mirror or anything. He's just curious.
It doesn't look bad. Iker guides him into tousling it, getting the loose bits to drop to the floor.
A few days later, Iker is reading when his phone vibes. It's Sergio.
"Come over. Both of you."
Cesc is doing his math homework.
"Do you want to go to Sergio's?" Iker asks him.
Cesc looks up. He bites his lip, tapping his pencil on the paper. Sometimes Iker forgets how he was before they knew each other, and that he's still that way with everyone he doesn't know very well.
Sergio is omniscient.
"Tell him I have FIFA 11."
"He has FIFA 11."
"FIFA 11?" Cesc asks, wide-eyed.
Cesc destroys them. Over and over and over. Sergio and Iker teamed up on the last game and Cesc still wrecked them, 4-1. Sergio's digging in the fridge for something to drink and Cesc is telling Iker about a girl in his class who was caught passing notes.
"And I was like, who even passes notes in college, you know? Who even does that? It's like can't you wait?"
Sergio taps the top of his head with a can of soda.
Cesc blindly reaches up and accepts it with both hands. "Thanks."
Sergio sits next to him and Cesc sinks back further into the futon, completely comfortable with the proximity.
"You can't win every time, you know," Sergio says.
"I can," Cesc replies, still smiling to himself. He cracks open his can. "I will."
"Hold on," Sergio says, getting up. He sits at his desk and signs into instant messenger. Almost immediately, a box pops up. Sergio grins and starts typing. Cesc messes around with settings while he's busy.
Suddenly, someone signs into Xbox Live. locke9.
"Play him," Sergio says, gesturing to the TV with his can.
Cesc has already selected Arsenal. locke9 chooses Liverpool. Cesc frowns and switches to Barcelona, and locke9 changes to Atlético Madrid.
Cesc laughs. "I'm gonna kill this guy."
This game is a lot closer than the others. Cesc scoots forward to the edge of the couch when Diego Forlan scores on him for the second time. "Not even," he says, "Not even."
In the end, locke9 scrapes by on penalties.
"Will you ask him if he wants a rematch?" Cesc asks Sergio. "And all of us can play?"
Sergio rolls back to the computer, and Cesc hands Iker a controller.
"Play as keeper, okay?"
"Keeper?"
"Yeah. Just try it."
Combined, Sergio and locke9 make an insane amount of attempts on target, but only two get by Victor Valdes. Cesc scores three.
"I can't believe this," Sergio says, groaning. "Iker saving goals. For Barcelona."
"You don't like Barcelona?" Cesc asks. He looks Iker like he just curbstomped a puppy.
"He's a madridista," Sergio supplies.
Cesc looks at him for a long moment. Then, "I forgive you."
"One more?" Sergio asks.
"One more?" Cesc asks Iker.
"Okay."
A week goes by. It's getting colder and darker earlier and earlier. It's only five when Iker gets home from lecture, but the sun's already almost completely set.
The light in the room is more purple and gray than orange. Cesc is sitting on the edge of the bed, playing his Gameboy. Iker doesn't even know how he can see it. There aren't any plates around or jars of peanut butter left open on the table, so he hasn't eaten yet. Iker can hardly make out his face, but he's pretty sure nothing has changed since the morning. That he's still chronically still and quiet.
"We can go out to eat," Iker says, sitting down next to him. He feels heavy. "What do you want?"
Cesc rubs at the string bracelet on his wrist. It takes him a long time to respond. Then, "You choose."
He paused his game as soon as Iker down next to him (he always does), so he isn't distracted. But he isn't looking up either.
Iker's immediate reaction, the one he feels like has been socialized into him since he was a kid, tells him that he should insist that Cesc pick. That he's having a bad day, and that this is the nice thing to do.
But.
"Greek food," he decides. "C'mon."
Cesc's shoulders relax the tiniest bit. Iker gets up to find his coat.
The longer they're together, the more Iker notices it. At first he thinks it's something to do with him, or them, the whole situation. He worries. But then he remembers how Cesc was before he met him, or knew him really, and thinks that maybe Cesc just gets this way sometimes. That this is who he is and he'd either been hiding it before and can't keep up the charade, or he's starting to trust Iker enough to not want to hide it anymore. Iker hopes it's the latter, but it's probably a bit of both.
Usually it happens after they lose a game, or after Cesc talks to his mom. Neither has happened lately, so Iker isn't really sure what's wrong. That doesn't bother him. The whole thing doesn't bother him. Cesc is like a battery that runs on full power all the time. It only makes sense that sometimes, he doesn't have any charge left.
Cesc is struggling with one of his boots. They're brown and new (hand-me-downs from Sergio), and it's clear he hasn't ever owned a pair that tie up like these, with the hooks and horizontal lacing. He's on his third try. It's like he's too sore or tired to even bend over all the way. Iker walks over and drops to a knee and laces it up, pulling the strings tight. He ties with a double-knot.
"We'll drive, okay," he says, looking up. "It's too cold to walk."
Cesc zips up his jacket and nods.
The restaurant clinks with silverware and glasses. People are talking, laughing. Normally Cesc would have put away a couple baklavas and a gyro by now, but he's only eaten one shishkebab (for show, Iker thinks) and picked at the pita chips. Iker considers touching their shoes under the table, or taking his hand. It not that he wouldn't. It's just that it isn't them.
The drive home is quiet. Cesc hasn't touched the radio since they got in, so it's stuck on whatever Sergio changed it to on his last beer run. Some kind of flamenco shit.
Iker looks over at him when they stop at a light. Cesc doesn't notice. His forehead is braced on the window as he looks at the people outside. His breath has fogged up the glass. The takeout box sitting in his lap, untouched-usually he pokes holes in the top with a toothpick, but he forgot to pick one up at the cashier.
When they get into the room, Iker unwinds Cesc's scarf and unzips his jacket, starts kissing at his neck in the dark.
Cesc sets the box down and touches his shoulders, then his chest, like he's forgotten how to do this. Iker backs him up to the bed. Cesc grapples at him when the back of his knees hit the mattress, caught off balance-Iker doesn't help him and he falls backwards, pulls Iker down on top of him.
Cesc's breath catches when Iker pushes up against him, sets his teeth in his shoulder. He clutches at the back of Iker's coat. His adrenaline is already racing-Iker can feel it in the way he's moving, shifting underneath him like he can't sit still. He lets Cesc try to sit up, fumbling fingers unbuttoning Iker's coat, then he takes his hands. He pushes him flat on his back, smooth and firm, and presses his arms down to the bed. Pins him at the joints of his wrists.
Cesc smiles a little, dizzy. He curls his fingers and pushes back up. Squirms. He thinks they're wrestling, maybe. Iker doesn't smile back. He doesn't let him up.
Cesc's eyes widen. Iker presses his thumb against one of his wrists and he feels the heartbeat underneath go stuttered, and then fast.
"Iker," Cesc says.
Iker leans down to kiss him. Cesc immediately presses up to touch their mouths together and Iker holds back, just out of reach, until he gives up. Then he takes his mouth rough, rougher than he ever has. When he pulls away, Cesc is panting. He looks completely dazed.
"Iker," he says again.
Iker crosses his wrists and holds them down with one hand. He flicks open the button of Cesc's jeans and rips his zipper down, yanks his pants down to his thighs. Cesc isn't wearing boxers. He's completely hard.
"Wide," Iker says, reaching for the lube on the bedside table. Cesc spreads as best as he can. Iker lets go of him for a minute to slick up his fingers, then he closes the cap and pins him again. Cesc sucks in a few fast inhales when Iker pushes two fingers into him, struggling weakly in his pants. Iker watches his face as adds a third. He nudges Cesc's spot once, but doesn't give him anything more than that. Cesc bites his lip when he curls his fingers.
Iker reaches back for his foot and unties a boot, pulling it off and jerking Cesc's pants off one of his legs. He doesn't care about the other. He just needs him spread.
It's ridiculous how good he's gotten good at opening a condom with one hand and his teeth. Cesc watches him put it on and slick himself up, eyes big and disbelieving. Iker pulls one leg up on his shoulder.
"Don't come," he says. Cesc opens his mouth and Iker shoves into him.
A beat goes by. Cesc says, "Oh god."
Iker fucks him. He brings his spare hand up, slick with lube, and pins Cesc's wrists separately again, bearing down on him hard. The mattress creaks. Cesc's leg is limp on his shoulder, the heel of his boot nudging Iker's back with every thrust. His eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open and slack. He whimpers every time he breathes.
After a few minutes, maybe five, he jerks and comes all over his shirt. His face wrenches up like it hurts. He's never come without anything touching him before. Iker doesn't stop. He doesn't even pause. He only comes when Cesc finally opens his eyes and looks up at him. He looks at Iker like he can't even believe he exists. Iker shoves forward and finishes.
It's quiet except for their breathing. Cesc tries to move his leg, then gives up. He coughs.
Iker's too hot in his coat and his jeans. Cesc's hair is mussy with sweat, his arms are still raised his head. He didn't move them, even after Iker reached down to vice his hips. Iker looks at him for a while. His face is pink. He's panting, completely blissed out. Somehow, he managed to get hard again. Iker wants him more than he's ever wanted him before.
He sets Cesc's boot down on the bed and slowly pulls out. Cesc ripples under his hand when he runs his palm down his side, sensitive all over.
Iker kisses the inside of his knee, watching him. He touches his dick. Cesc mewls, shaky, and Iker ducks down to take him in his mouth.
Cesc makes a sound Iker has never heard him make before. He comes close to kneeing Iker in the back of the head and Iker holds his hips down-Cesc curls around him, holding on tight to his hair. He struggles against Iker's hands, pushing up to fuck Iker's mouth. When he squirms and sobs and comes, Iker swallows.
Iker stays there for a while, catching his breath. He rubs Cesc's dick with the heel of his hand, his nose pressed in Cesc's stomach. Then he extricates himself from the tangle of arms and legs-sits up, moves to the edge of the bed. Cesc grabs at him, irrational, like he thinks he's leaving.
"It's okay," Iker says. His own voice sounds foreign to him, but Cesc goes still hearing it.
Iker leans over and drops the condom in the waste basket by the desk. Zips up his pants. He takes off his coat and shoes, then unties Cesc's other boot. He sets it on the floor and pulls Cesc's pants off too, leaves them in a heap on the tile.
Cesc wraps around him as soon as he comes back, all arms and legs and small warm torso. Iker fixes his jacket with his free arm, tucking it in where he can, then hitches him up so he can get closer. Cesc crushes his nose in Iker's neck, says something silent against his skin.
054. air.
Author's notes:
-Late night post because I accidentally erased all of this and had to rewrite it tonight. This was me, basically. Today is the worst day.
-Every time I think of Kaka speaking English, it sounds like this. Which is stupid, but, you know.
-Man, my insane desire to play FIFA 11. Seriously, I'm frothing. The commentary, how even. Lol at Sergio's hair.