tr_fic | Behold, I bring Barca Fic. :D (Miss me?)

Title: What Happens When You Leave, You’ll Never Know
Characters: Lionel Messi/Xavi, Lionel Messi/Bojan Krkic implied, mentions various Barcelona squad
Rating: R for the warning (and sex)
Summary: Bojan leaves and Lionel is left to pick up the pieces.
Words: 2,628
Warning: allusion to possible dubcon (I don’t think it’s that bad of dubcon, but I’ll warn for it anyway)
A/N: I bring fic, and yes, I was trying to avoid that terrible subject, but alas, I was going to give this prompt to

spartan_muse originally, but then I liked it so much I kept it for me. So yes, it is about Bojan leaving but…I still hope it’s a huge rumor and not actually true. Um…also, reading over this once I finished it…this turned out a little bit darker than I intended, and yet there’s still some humor in it. WTF me?

One, two, three and it was done.

One signature, on one piece of paper, and one dream died while one new one took its place.

Two hearts that broke, two teams involved in changing of numbers and players, two cities in two different countries that were completely different.

Three words that weren’t said, three words that were, a three-second hug and then it was over and all that was left was the ghost of those three words that had been said so long ago with so much love behind them and the red of taillights fading into the distance.

One. Two. Three. And it was over. After almost five years together, as friends, as teammates, as lovers, as so much more than all of those things and it was over with a simple transfer request and documentation to confirm it.

That had been four days ago. Four days and each day had turned out as different as the one that had preceded it.

On the first day, Lionel had woken up but he was positive he was still dreaming. He did not get out of bed immediately. Instead, he took the time to enjoy the delicious softness of his bed and the way the sun warmed his skin as it flooded in through the morning window. Something was missing, the warmth of Bojan’s body on his as the boy tried to use him for a pillow, and he didn’t want to remember how that felt.

He couldn’t remember how long he simply laid there, waiting for something to change, but nothing did except the positioning of the sun in the window. Somehow, he eventually managed to pull himself up from bed and, after a few moments sitting on the side of it, he did his morning—or by that time, afternoon—rituals. He was surprised; he didn’t usually sleep in so long, even during the off-season.

Lionel had managed to lie to himself, convincing himself that it was still earlier in the off-season and that everything was fine. Bojan still played the number nine, would still be next to him in the dressing room, and he would still come round later and they would hang out the rest of the day. Nothing had changed, it was all still the same. It was a beautiful, wonderful, generous lie—a lie he almost believed, but in the end, it still was a lie nevertheless.

It was confirmed with the morning’s headline. Any thought of normal daily routines ended when Lionel simply sat on his sofa for a seemingly endless amount of time just staring at the words and pictures on the page. Somehow he couldn’t read the article; the words had gone mysteriously blurry.

The second day faired only a little better, except it was a weekday, a Monday at last, so he had to return to training with the others. Except not every one was there, were they? It was hard, he admitted it grudgingly, to see that spot next to him on the bench empty. The others were kind, albeit pitying with their half-smiles and sheepish looks of apology. Not one of them said a word, mercifully. Lionel wouldn’t have liked to hear a half-interested apology for something nobody could change.

Day three had turned out only a little different. As he had lain awake the night before, trying to fight off the memories that overcame him when his eyes closed, Lionel had worked out some definitely accurate reasoning. The truth was, obviously, that there was someone terribly at fault here. Someone that had caused all this mess in the first place. Someone who’s name was Pep and who was the manager of the first team. Someone who would bench his arse without a moment’s hesitation if he acted up. Somehow that fact did escape his reasoning when he had developed this little plot.

As he trained the next day, he was deliberately off pace and made things harder for some of the others. For the first time in years, Lionel Messi did not give one-thousand percent during a training session. For the first time in years, he deliberately missed receiving passes, missed shots, and intentionally sent passes wide to the others. He purposely missed his own penalties. As Pep glared at him, Lionel glared back.

It was obvious to anyone that bothered to look, Lionel reasoned. If Pep had played Bojan more, then he wouldn’t have ever gone looking for another team. If Pep had given Bojan more chances, then Bojan never would’ve felt as lonely and left-out as he did. If Pep had let him have more time on the pitch, then Bojan wouldn’t have felt like he had to leave. If Pep had done, if only, if…so many if’s. Couldn’t anyone else see them? Leo wondered but didn’t dare ask. He didn’t want to be the only nutter looking into the past and hoping for it all to be a dream, a terrible, terrible dream.

His plan to ignore Pep and do the complete opposite of what anyone wanted, regardless of his concerns over his own professional form, went quite successfully during that day’s training. It did earn him some looks off the others, though. Every look from annoyed (Villa, having to run off after another intentionally wide pass) to concerned (Gerard whose mouth was always poised to ask the question, but Carles always nudged him before he could) to amused (Pedro, always waiting on the wings to take over in case he messed up, worse than usual).

As Lionel left the training ground that day, he felt pleased with himself. Pep was frustrated for what he had not done correctly that day and that was all that Lionel wanted, for a start.
He was so pleased that he did the same exact thing on day four’s training. Only this time, he did not get away with it.

Xavi made sure to tackle him hard after the third missed pass, and he was not kind about it either.

“I know what you’re doing, fucking quit,” he spat, eyes flashing.

Lionel glared. “What do you know of it? Nothing.”

Xavi pulled himself off the ground and glared down at him. “Quit it, or I’ll quit it for you.”

With one more moment’s glare, Xavi turned sharply and moved back into his proper position in midfield. Lionel’s eyes narrowed and watched him walk away with dark, angry eyes. He picked himself up, dusted off his backside, and sighed, relenting at Xavi’s order. After all, he didn’t want to start the season off with an injury. And it wasn’t exactly like Xavi was incapable of hurting somebody if he really wanted to.

When the final whistle blew for the day, Lionel turned and followed the others to go into the locker room. He did not look at Pep as he walked by him; he marched proudly with his chin lifted and eyes firmly planted on Victor’s shining head. However, Pep noticed him.

“Messi, five extra laps, to cool down.” Pep’s tone was short, abrupt, and threatening.

Lionel glared at him, but Pep was already following the others inside. As he turned to pick up a jog, Lionel grumbled the whole way around about ways to murder Pep and manage to get away with it.

By the time Lionel got into the changing rooms, most of the others had already gone. Only Xavi and Carles were left and both of them were in Pep’s office having a formalized speech, or something. Lionel didn’t care enough to eavesdrop.

With the luxury of having done five extra laps, his already tired body was begging for the release of cool water on his heated skin. The desire to get naked as fast as possible and under the water was so large that Lionel didn’t waste any time. He started stripping on the way to the showers, uncaring of where his clothes went. After all, there was nobody left that needed to shower, he could act as messy as he felt like. Right?

Lionel’s eyes closed the minute the water ran over his body. He groaned in relief at the feeling of all the dirt and sweat wash away. He enjoyed simple things, he thought. But as he thought about simple pleasures, something horrible rose to mind. Another simple pleasure, one Bojan used to do for him: wash his hair. Not that he would ever admit it, he would be too embarrassed, but Bojan liked to take the shampoo from him and wash his hair. The boy was always eager to do a good job and something about the way he would smile with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth always made it worth the small amount of soap that Bojan would almost always get into his eyes. Leo swallowed stiffly. Such memories were only a ghost now. They wouldn’t happen again.

“I’m glad to know you still respect me, even if you don’t respect the manager.”

The voice was cold, detached, and sudden enough to cause him to jump and his heart to pound furiously. Lionel turned at the words and saw a redressed Xavi leaning against the tiles of the far side of the showers, smirking at him.

A glare crossed Lionel’s face. “I just didn’t want an injury, thanks.”

Xavi shrugged before his eyes darkened and his tone hardened. “Makes no difference to me what you want. All I know is that if you don’t start playing the way you usually do, you’re going to fuck this team up and that will not happen while I still play in this uniform.”

“What are you going to do about it? Run off to whine to Daddy?” Lionel asked shortly, uncaring of the answer as he turned around to continue his shower.

He did not hear Xavi’s approach but he certainly did feel the force when Xavi pushed him forward against the tiles of the shower so that he was completely pressed against the tiles.

“You listen now, Messi,” Xavi started sharply by his ear. “Grow up, your boyfriend left, we get it. But he’s gone now and you’re still here. He is not going to come back. This is not a dream. It’s real life and while it sucks for you, it happened. Grow up. This little tantrum you’re throwing is only hurting you, not anyone else. It’s quite amusing actually to see you having a child’s fit. You really think that Pep is going to be bothered by this sulking of yours?”

Lionel swallowed thickly at the amused lilt in Xavi’s voice at the end. He wanted to shout, to curse, to scream but that wouldn’t do any good. He’d already tried that, in his head (he didn’t want to cause a fuss or be sent to the hospital’s psych ward thank you very much).

“So what are you, his messenger?” Lionel returned.

Xavi laughed darkly. “Oh no, Leo, I’m not his messenger at all.”

Lionel felt his body being turned, a nice change from the flat-fronted squashed feeling of being pressed against the tiles. However, he did not like the look on Xavi’s face. His eyes were darker than usual, and there was something even more sinister there, echoed by the smirk still on his lips. Leo swallowed.

“Then what are you?”

Xavi pressed Lionel closer against the tiles, his forearm pushing against his chest.

“Nothing he can control.”

Xavi’s expression changed to more of a leer and he pressed closer, uncaring that his shirt was now getting soaked enough to become transparent. Lionel’s eyes widened, but Xavi either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he moved forward and bit Lionel’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark.

Lionel groaned in pain, which intensified when Xavi turned him quickly again to press him back against the tiles. He swallowed stiffly and felt Xavi press against him. He felt the other man’s fingers run down his spine and he shivered, though whether it was from the act or the thought that Xavi might be about to—he wasn’t sure. All he really knew was that the water was now too cold, the tiles were too cool against his skin, his heart was pounding against his ribs, and he had an erection beginning to form.

Leo swallowed again as he felt Xavi’s lips nibble across his shoulder. The feelings stirring in his groin weren’t unpleasant. But this whole entire idea was crazy. He wasn’t the sort to have shower rendezvous with just anyone, or at all! He wasn’t that outgoing or that public of an exhibitionist. The most public form of sex he’d ever done was fuck Bojan against the wall with the blinds open.

Xavi pulled back after one last nibble. “You’re not worth the effort.”

He shook his head and started to leave when Lionel growled softly. His arm flew backwards and pulled Xavi back closer. His eyes flashed with pride when he looked at the older man, his friend in any other circumstance.

“I most certainly am!”

Xavi smirked. “Prove it.”

Lionel wasn’t sure why he did it. Perhaps it was to get the smirk off Xavi’s face. Perhaps it was because he was horny and Xavi was smirking at him and calling him unworthy. Perhaps it was because he wanted to do it, maybe to forget, or maybe because he simply just wanted to do it.

Whatever the reason was, Lionel did slide to his knees and open Xavi’s trousers. He did slide his hand, and later his mouth, over the thick hardness that created the bulge there. He did cause Xavi to get completely soaked in the water from the shower as his fingers tightened in Lionel’s hair. He did get Xavi to call his name when he came. He did all those things, and he enjoyed the power he felt when Xavi’s knees gave out just a little and he had to lean against the wall while his chest heaved with much-needed air.

Lionel did let Xavi have him in the shower. He did help Xavi get hard again and prepare himself so that it was easy for the older man to slide into him. Lionel did moan and stroke himself quickly to come. He did groan Xavi’s name when he finally came. He did enjoy it.

What Lionel did not do was feel guilty. He told himself he would think about what transpired in the shower later, though when that later would be he wasn’t quite sure. But it wasn’t going to be that day. No, not when Xavi still had a firm hold of his shoulder and was leading him out towards his car. Not when the look in Xavi’s eyes was one that had every intention of getting him home, pushing him against the nearest wall, and making him come as hard as he could. Not when he actually felt thrilled by that idea.

No, he didn’t feel guilty, yet. He didn’t think yet. Maybe he would later that night, or in the morning. Maybe he would on the way home or the way into training. Maybe he would some other time, but not now. Not when for the first time in four days he actually anticipated something.

Lionel didn’t allow himself to cause himself pain. He would let Xavi physically bruise him, but he wouldn’t mind. Perhaps he would even grow to enjoy that kind of pain. Xavi made it interesting more than painful. A curious difference, he thought as the city flashed by from the other side of the windows.

Leo let his eyes close and he smiled a little. Barcelona may not have been Rome, but it did have more interesting things that could happen inside its walls than the ancient city in Italy ever could.