A Cute one for today :-)
Jul. 17th, 2009 06:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tempered-rose.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tr_ficTitle: As Time Goes By
Pairing: Iker Casillas / Cesc Fabregas (I promise one of these days I’ll write a different Iker pairing)
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 090. Home
Word Count: 799
A/N: Prompt set for one of the best songs EVER. Many variations of it, so pick one and listen {I personally recommend going with Frankie, Sinatra that is ;-) or an instrumental version :-)}
When they had first met, Iker hadn’t been too sure of the younger Spaniard. For one thing, the boy liked Barcelona. That alone made Iker question his sanity. Cesc is what they called him, Francesc Fabregas from the coast, somewhere near Barcelona, was all that Iker knew of him.
Okay, well he’d noticed other things. For instance, the boy did not shut up. He had tried the patience of a saint, Raul could handle anybody or at least Iker had thought. Raul had given the glare of death, one not even anyone on the Real squad had seen (except for Guti that one time…), to the boy which had caused Cesc to shrink back inside himself and turn as red as the color on the flag.
Cesc had another problem in the sense that he could not gauge a fellow teammate’s mood very well. This problem resulted in him being snapped at and getting that pitiful puppy-eyed expression as his eyes would fill with water. The extension of that reaction was to make the person feel guilty which, in turn, made them feel even worse. Or at least that’s how Iker felt about it.
And potentially worst of all, he was a practical joker. Iker, among several others, were going to hold a meeting one of these times to find ways to kill him and hide the body if they found another whoopee cushion in their chair during an interview.
That had been in 2006 during the World Cup. Spain and her sons had put in a decent performance but none could lie about the jealousy of watching Italy raise the cup high above their heads. The summer matches one year later found Iker really watching the developing player. He was growing in skills, not only for Arsenal but for Spain as well.
Iker watched from the goal of the Euros as Cesc repeatedly challenged the defenders and acted a very capable midfielder. Then, when they were the Champions of Europe, Iker never had planned on anything happening. He wasn’t even aware he felt that way about men in general, let alone for Cesc.
Cesc had kissed him. And he’d enjoyed it. Promptly after, Cesc had run off yelling apologies over his shoulder. Iker had stood in the same spot for at least ten minutes with a stupid expression on his face. He didn’t know whether he was happy that it had happened, angry that it had, but he did know that he felt confused.
Iker had found the midfielder hiding out in Fernando’s room when he had gone to look for him. Fernando had just shrugged and mentioned something about going to find Villa for poker. Cesc scowled at the blonde’s back before shrinking into the corner.
Cesc confessed that he thought Iker would be mad at him for kissing him, that he wouldn’t want to see him again. Iker asked him why would he be so worried about such a thing because he himself had missed everything. Cesc gaped at him, replaying all the pranks, looks, and sighs that he’d done trying to get Iker’s attention. Cesc had looked down embarrassed because Iker hadn’t seen what he’d wanted him too but Iker couldn’t bear to see him look so forlornly lost.
Iker had moved forward then, intending for a hug, but Cesc had looked up at hearing him move. Their lips had met on complete accident but Cesc reacted by throwing his arms around Iker and moving them till they fell to the floor. Iker had been shocked; he hadn’t known what to do. He made a split-second decision to just feel and go with what felt right. Cesc and he had been together ever since.
And that had been forty-two years ago.
Iker sat silver haired in his reclining chair waiting for his grandchildren to show up. He sat impatiently, a trait usually associated with his husband, but he was just so anxious to see if little Jose had actually managed to make the youth squad. He also wondered if Rosa had gotten the part in the school play.
“They will be here soon amor.” Cesc appeared, fixing his hair. In his sixty-four years on this planet, Cesc had never been able to be satisfied with it.
“But I want to see them! I want to know how they are!” Iker mumbled as he stared out the window of their home.
“Just wait a few more minutes and you can see not only our son but his children and his wife as well.” Cesc sighed a faux-annoyed sigh. “Honestly, you’re worse than I am!”
Iker scoffed at that but turned his gaze back to the window and Cesc shook his head and smiled happily. No wonder how many years passed, things would always remain the same.
Pairing: Iker Casillas / Cesc Fabregas (I promise one of these days I’ll write a different Iker pairing)
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 090. Home
Word Count: 799
A/N: Prompt set for one of the best songs EVER. Many variations of it, so pick one and listen {I personally recommend going with Frankie, Sinatra that is ;-) or an instrumental version :-)}
When they had first met, Iker hadn’t been too sure of the younger Spaniard. For one thing, the boy liked Barcelona. That alone made Iker question his sanity. Cesc is what they called him, Francesc Fabregas from the coast, somewhere near Barcelona, was all that Iker knew of him.
Okay, well he’d noticed other things. For instance, the boy did not shut up. He had tried the patience of a saint, Raul could handle anybody or at least Iker had thought. Raul had given the glare of death, one not even anyone on the Real squad had seen (except for Guti that one time…), to the boy which had caused Cesc to shrink back inside himself and turn as red as the color on the flag.
Cesc had another problem in the sense that he could not gauge a fellow teammate’s mood very well. This problem resulted in him being snapped at and getting that pitiful puppy-eyed expression as his eyes would fill with water. The extension of that reaction was to make the person feel guilty which, in turn, made them feel even worse. Or at least that’s how Iker felt about it.
And potentially worst of all, he was a practical joker. Iker, among several others, were going to hold a meeting one of these times to find ways to kill him and hide the body if they found another whoopee cushion in their chair during an interview.
That had been in 2006 during the World Cup. Spain and her sons had put in a decent performance but none could lie about the jealousy of watching Italy raise the cup high above their heads. The summer matches one year later found Iker really watching the developing player. He was growing in skills, not only for Arsenal but for Spain as well.
Iker watched from the goal of the Euros as Cesc repeatedly challenged the defenders and acted a very capable midfielder. Then, when they were the Champions of Europe, Iker never had planned on anything happening. He wasn’t even aware he felt that way about men in general, let alone for Cesc.
Cesc had kissed him. And he’d enjoyed it. Promptly after, Cesc had run off yelling apologies over his shoulder. Iker had stood in the same spot for at least ten minutes with a stupid expression on his face. He didn’t know whether he was happy that it had happened, angry that it had, but he did know that he felt confused.
Iker had found the midfielder hiding out in Fernando’s room when he had gone to look for him. Fernando had just shrugged and mentioned something about going to find Villa for poker. Cesc scowled at the blonde’s back before shrinking into the corner.
Cesc confessed that he thought Iker would be mad at him for kissing him, that he wouldn’t want to see him again. Iker asked him why would he be so worried about such a thing because he himself had missed everything. Cesc gaped at him, replaying all the pranks, looks, and sighs that he’d done trying to get Iker’s attention. Cesc had looked down embarrassed because Iker hadn’t seen what he’d wanted him too but Iker couldn’t bear to see him look so forlornly lost.
Iker had moved forward then, intending for a hug, but Cesc had looked up at hearing him move. Their lips had met on complete accident but Cesc reacted by throwing his arms around Iker and moving them till they fell to the floor. Iker had been shocked; he hadn’t known what to do. He made a split-second decision to just feel and go with what felt right. Cesc and he had been together ever since.
And that had been forty-two years ago.
Iker sat silver haired in his reclining chair waiting for his grandchildren to show up. He sat impatiently, a trait usually associated with his husband, but he was just so anxious to see if little Jose had actually managed to make the youth squad. He also wondered if Rosa had gotten the part in the school play.
“They will be here soon amor.” Cesc appeared, fixing his hair. In his sixty-four years on this planet, Cesc had never been able to be satisfied with it.
“But I want to see them! I want to know how they are!” Iker mumbled as he stared out the window of their home.
“Just wait a few more minutes and you can see not only our son but his children and his wife as well.” Cesc sighed a faux-annoyed sigh. “Honestly, you’re worse than I am!”
Iker scoffed at that but turned his gaze back to the window and Cesc shook his head and smiled happily. No wonder how many years passed, things would always remain the same.
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