12 of ???

[tempered-rose.livejournal.com]

Title: The Captain & The Kid, Part Twelve
Characters: Bojan Krkic/Iker Casillas ; Gerard Pique/Carles Puyol, Lionel Messi, Raul Gonzalez, Sergio Ramos, David Villa implied
Rating: PG-13
Words: this part: 1,928 ; total: 17,411
A/N: I was working on one of my kinkbingo prompts and got stuck on it, so I decided to update this instead. Once again for spartan_muse and all the others who like this story. I’m very glad you guys remember it, let alone read and commented to tell me so. :3 Thank you all *hugs* I hope you enjoy! :D
Previous Parts: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven

Somehow, Bojan wasn’t sure how but boy was he grateful, his nerves and anxieties had faded away in the next few hours. As the messages came to his phone faster without much delay after he sent a reply, Bojan smiled and relaxed completely, as if he were simply texting Leo about a potential FIFA tournament or Gerard about going to dinner some place. Things came naturally, and Bojan was so very glad that it was so.

Iker had at first told him to give him a few minutes so that he could leave Madrid’s training ground and return home before he would message again. Bojan had impatiently waited the necessary half-hour and had heaved a sigh of relief when Iker’s next message came with a few seconds to spare.

They had started off standard for a texting conversation. Questions like ‘what are you doing tonight?’ and ‘what are you having for dinner?’ floated around with their counterpart answers following. Bojan learned that Iker was going to have a quiet night in with some pasta, fish, and some wine ordered from the take-away place around the corner. When Bojan had nervously asked if that was a regular occurrence, Iker had replied yes. When Iker had asked what Bojan was going to watch on TV, Bojan had been very happy to tell him. When he worried if his choice selections had been lame, Iker had laughed and agreed that they liked some of the same shows.

Bojan was very surprised to find that they got on so well. For some reason that he couldn’t recall now, he had thought Iker would be a serious-minded person who rarely went out to have fun and lived like a monk. He blushed when he realized that he hadn’t been quite fair to the man, and had quickly changed his mind because the Iker he was meeting now, the private, personal Iker, was far more open and private than he had realized. It didn’t take Bojan long to notice that Iker was trusting him and letting him in a little bit. He thought himself naively privileged for being trusted with such a precious key to a garden as secret as this. He thought it, but wouldn’t tell Iker that. He didn’t want to think him a dork or a nerd or simply what he was, a shy nervous boy who had a crush on one of the greatest goalkeeper’s ever.

Time passed slowly that afternoon as they conversed about things via text message. Bojan could only guess what Iker was doing as they texted, but he pictured the Madridista in his house—one Bojan made up because he had never seen it—and liked what he saw. He could see Iker sitting in a big leather chair, in his socks and shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt, watching some program on the television while his phone he kept in his lap and replied whenever it buzzed with a new message. Bojan didn’t know how spot on he was with his mental image; he didn’t care. He liked what he thought he knew Iker was doing and that’s how it was going to stay.

For him though, he at first left the sofa after about an hour and went to grab some food from the kitchen. He ate at the counter and put his dishes back in the sink, promising to wash them later, before he meandered his way towards his bedroom where he flopped onto his bed. He didn’t pay any attention to the slowly-creeping darkness that overtook the outside, or the way the lights came on from cars below as they travelled home. He didn’t notice the light drizzle of rain that started a short while later. All he knew was that Iker was on the other end of that phone, as interested in talking to him as he was in return. It felt good, nerve-wracking and good at the same time. Bojan had his fears and anxieties under control because he was delighted that he could entertain Iker for so long and to keep the conversation going.

It all went without a hitch until Iker asked one tiny little question, and Bojan’s breath caught in his throat.

‘What’s a boy like you staying in all night talking to an old man like me for?’

Bojan stared at the question and for the first time in several hours, he didn’t know how to reply. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Did he go for the bored with nothing to do young man, or did he tell the truth about wanting to talk to Iker without seeming too shy? What did Iker want him to say?

He swallowed nervously and hoped he hadn’t taken too long to reply.

Bojan said the words softly to himself as he typed them into his phone. “What do you mean?”

Iker did not seem to have any problem with immediate replies because it was only a few long seconds before his explanation came back.

“You’re young. Of all the things you could do tonight, why did you stay in?”

Bojan laid the phone down on the bed as he scooted away from it. His nerves, fears, anxieties, and the newly added panic started to flood back faster than he could blink. Had he misread something? Perhaps he hadn’t been entertaining Iker at all, maybe he had just been holding him up from something he had to do. Maybe someone had come over recently and Iker was looking for a way to get rid of him. Maybe somebody had called and he wanted to talk to them more than he wanted to be relieved of boredom by Bojan. Maybe…maybe there were a hundred other scenarios that Bojan wouldn’t ever know the answer to.

Maybe Iker was just too nice to say ‘get lost’ in so many words.


“I can let you go if you need to. I didn’t mean to tie you up all night.”

Iker raised his eyebrow. It hadn’t been the reply he was looking for. He replied a little bit slower as he thought up an answer to what Bojan had said.

“No, I’m not busy. I just wanted to know why you’d stayed talking to me. That’s all.”

He waited for a reply but it didn’t come. Not that minute, or the next, or the next. Frowning a little, Iker pulled himself up from the slouched position on the sofa he hadn’t realized he’d slid into and picked up the phone to send another text.

“Bojan? I mean it; you aren’t bothering me.”

He waited again for a reply, but it, too, didn’t come.

Confused and curious as to why Bojan was now ignoring him, Iker pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear. He listened to it ring over and over again and waited for Bojan to answer. After the fourth ring, Iker expected to hear Bojan’s voicemail announce itself, but to his surprise, a timid little voice asked, “…hello?”

“Bojan?”

“…yes…?”

Settling back into the sofa, Iker felt confident he would get the answers to settle his curiosity.

“Why did you stop answering?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Bojan replied a little too quickly. Iker frowned a little.

“I said you weren’t, and you aren’t. I’m not doing anything except watching the ceiling fan go round and round. You’re far more interesting than that.” He smiled a little and hoped Bojan would smile at his joke.

“…oh.”

Iker’s smile faded. He rethought what he had said and then decided to rephrase. “I want to talk to you because you are a nice, interesting person Bojan. Not because I’m in desperate need of a distraction from my ceiling fan. I want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess you could just call anyone if you wanted another kind of distraction.”

Iker wondered if there was something to that accusation, or statement as Bojan had undoubtedly meant it to be, but he shook his head. Surely Bojan wasn’t the type to do passive aggressive. Iker wasn’t and Bojan didn’t appear to be.

“I could call a good fair number, yes.” Iker agreed. “So why did you talk to me all night when you could have been doing something far more interesting? I’m sure you and Pique or Messi could’ve gone out on the town or to a movie or something.”

“We could have. Gerard invited me for dinner, but I didn’t want to go.” Iker heard the hesitancy in Bojan’s voice as he first started speaking. It faded after a few words, but Iker still wanted to know why Bojan was so hesitant and nervous all of a sudden.

“Your injury?” Iker asked, remembering what Bojan had told him earlier in their original conversation.

“Yeah.”

“Want me to come kiss it better?” Iker teased innocently with a grin. He heard Bojan’s silence on the phone and he raised an eyebrow, filing that information away for future use.

“…I’m fine.” Bojan finally replied. “Besides, I’m not sure Geri would like his position usurped.”

“Oh, so Gerard’s the one you call when you need something kissed better, I’ll be sure not to tell Carles that…”

“You know what I mean, Iker.” Bojan said with a sigh, and Iker smiled a little.

“I’m only teasing you, kid.” Iker drawled and relaxed again.

“I hate it when people call me that.” Bojan muttered and then he went completely silent. Iker guessed he didn’t mean to speak aloud.

“I hated it too. Raul called me that a lot.” Iker confessed softly.

“Really?” Bojan whispered.

Iker smiled, fondness for his former captain returning effortlessly. “Yeah. He stopped after I had made the first team more consistently than a few appearances. He still did it sometimes after that to tease me. Since you don’t like it, I won’t call you that again.”

He could hear Bojan shift on the other end of the phone and Iker wondered what he was doing. Not for the first time that night, he wanted to just be in the same room with Bojan having this conversation and not miles away in Madrid. He was still as surprised as the first time he had that realization though. He guessed he liked the kid—Bojan—more than he had first thought.

“Thank you, Iker.” Bojan said softly, humbly.

Iker smiled softly. “You’re welcome.”

Iker considered that his newfound interest in the Catalan was perhaps the first step in a new direction. Perhaps it would mean something greater than he had thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t last, maybe it would. Perhaps, maybe, possibly…

So many questions, and Iker was content enough to be patient and find out where they were headed.


Villa lay awake that night and watched the shadows change on his ceiling. He could stop the boy from being in training and make him feel isolated, yes. But he couldn’t do anything about him being at home and alone. The only thing he could do was make sure Iker was kept busy and occupied so that he wouldn’t have any free time to spend chattering away with Bojan anymore.

His Madrid informant had noted that Iker had stayed in, and mostly on the phone, all that night. David could only assume it was Bojan he was talking to. That thought made his insides burn with disgust.

Bojan was a kid, nothing. Anxious and stupid. He, Villa, was everything Iker could need.

David would make him realize that, just as he would make Bojan see that he didn’t belong in Iker’s world at all.