Request Fic -- Pep/Bo

[tempered-rose.livejournal.com]

Title: My Tortured Heart
Pairing: Pep Guardiola/Bojan Krkic
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2,668
A/N: First of all, this was requested by the charming and AWESOME ibuyu who wanted to see a) angst; b) Pep & Bo; c) sex!; and d) Pep discovering that Bojan loves him. Well…this is a tweaked view of that but I hope that it works for you darling *bites lip* I’m also pretty damn proud of this one so…I hope you enjoy it because I do. =-)



Pep can clearly remember that day when he had discovered that the boy’s eyes were not watching him with admiration, and more than a little bit of intimidation, the way the others’ were. At first, he had not been able to recognize what exactly was swimming in the boy’s jade eyes. As time had progressed forward, he had come to realize with horrible temptation that it was lust entwined with something more.

That particular moment had happened at the beginning of training before the Valencia match, two and a half years ago. He had been talking to the team, reminding them of their duties and not to rejoice in their latest victory because they still had work that needed to be done if they wanted to maintain their high standard of representing Catalonia. His eyes had sought out his team and he had made eye contact with each player. It had all been going well…until his eyes caught Bojan’s.

A thousand times before whenever Pep had looked at the boy he had been blind. He had never really seen that which was so blatantly obvious now. In that moment of time, however, the desire was as clear as if the boy had yelled it to the skies. Pep had avoided him as best he could in the days, weeks, after out of fear of what would happen. In the end, the boy had cornered him, almost quite literally, in his office.

He had been charming and sweet as always. Pep had been deceived by the kind, caring personality. He had crashed back to Earth violently when the boy had made his move and had pressed those devastatingly soft lips against his. Pep had been alarmed for a long time after, he wasn’t sure how long, that he had not pushed the boy away immediately. He had enjoyed it, encouraged it before he even fully realized what it was that he was doing. Pep had pushed him back, mumbling an apology for what he wasn’t entirely sure. He could have been apologizing to his wife for even thinking about infidelity, to Bojan for pushing him away, or to God himself.

No matter how much he told himself, and told Bojan, otherwise, his startled reaction seemed to only increase the boy’s attempts at getting him somewhere private to have his way with him. Pep tried harder than he thought possible to resist, no matter how tempting the boy was. For months, the image of youthful flesh and vibrant energy teased and tortured his mind. He noticed with painful clarity the way Bojan touched him and let his fingers linger when he did so. They would both look at each other and see the desire and lust in their eyes.

Pep can pull from his mind with amazing clarity the way the boy had worn him down until that one night he had been much too tired, too tense, too much of everything to resist him any longer. It had felt like a large river of pressure was being extracted from his mind, his shoulders, when Bojan’s fingers had pulled his tie out from the knot that had been loosened as the day had gone on. His heart rate had speed up when Bojan’s fingers had pried the buttons loose. Pep had thought it sinful then, and he still does, how easily the boy had undressed him. His lips had never really been away from Pep’s except to inhale small puffs of air to replenish his lungs.

Bojan had begged shamelessly once he had undressed Pep for him to take him. On the sturdy oak desk, on the leather couch in the corner, standing up against the wall, even on the floor, Bojan had not cared. The boy had begged for anything, something until Pep had picked him up and sat him on the desk. The boy’s clothes had disappeared just like his had; Pep found it funny he could remember the exact sensation of the boy’s ass muscles clenched around his hard cock but he could not remember what he had done with Bojan’s shirt.

Pep could remember vividly the way Bojan had been so cock hungry that he had practically screamed in pleasure when Pep had finally thrust into him. Pep had worried if he had not prepared the boy enough and if that was the real reason Bojan had been screaming, despite the assurances to the contrary. Pep had moved carefully and slowly at first as a result. But still Bojan begged for more. A dam broke inside of Pep’s tortured spirit until the months of frustration and tension and just pure lust faded into the background. All that mattered was that boy, the annoyingly perfect angel that was sent from heaven to corrupt him, and the fact that that boy was begging for him to fuck him into oblivion.

He had complied by forcefully taking hold of Bojan’s hips and roughly pounding into him. Bojan had screamed in delight when Pep found his prostrate with the head of his cock. It had all ended too soon for Pep’s pride, he was still embarrassed at his own lack of stamina. The boy brought himself over by his own hand, eyes boring into Pep’s very soul as he came. The tightening around his shaft had Pep arching backwards. With one final thrust inside, Pep came harder than he had ever come in his life. White stars had danced the can-can behind his eyelids and he was certain that there truly was a heaven and that he had found it.

When reality had pressed her ugly head back into the picture, Pep had reeled at the thought of what he had done. He was married with a family and Bojan was a great player, he was the boy’s coach! He had stepped back, fumbled for his clothes and had haphazardly redressed himself, ordering Bojan out. Pep had not dared to bring himself to look at the boy and his hasty departure but he had a rather strong feeling that Bojan’s face had been contorted into a mixture of confusion, anger, insecurity, and pain.

The boy’s ordered departure had done nothing to settle Pep’s mind; it had probably made it worse. The smell of sex was everywhere, in everything. Pep had been certain that the smell would never leave his office. What was more disturbing than that, he had thought, was that he wasn’t so sure that he wanted that smell to be gone. He had done no more work that night; the boy’s presence still very much there despite that the flesh and bones had walked out the door several hours earlier.

Bojan had not been so trusting with him after that but he still lingered around Pep as often as he could without it becoming too obvious. Pep made sure that he was never completely alone with the boy, as that could lead to a potential disaster for them both. If Bojan would come to him in the corridor, Pep would make sure an aide or other staff member was on hand to deflect the solitary attention. In training, Pep would let another trainer answer the boy’s questions or show him how to do something unless he had absolutely had to go assist them. Bojan tried to combat this new challenge and succeeded to an extent before Pep found another solution to block the advances. Continuous months of sparring finally revealed the flaw in his plan, his office.

The place where it had started the previous season was the only place that Pep could not summon another person at will. Bojan discovered the crack in Pep’s foundation one night when he had forgotten something and doubled back for it, at least that is the excuse he had given Pep. Pep felt his presence before the boy’s face appeared in his doorway. Bojan’s sweet voice had asked if he could come in and once again, Pep was too tired to say no.

However, instead of the blatant touches and sensual caresses that he expected the boy to pounce on him with, he was surprised to see the genuine care in which Bojan used when he touched his face. Pep had had a throbbing headache but remarkably at Bojan’s touch, it was forgotten. The only things Pep can remember about that night apart from the light touch were the piercingly stunning green of Bojan’s eyes and the softness of his lips against his own.

Bojan had taken that night to signify that Pep had surrendered to whatever demons which had kept him away and had thus began to push harder. It was as if the months of trying to gain Pep’s undivided attention in the months prior had been simple practice. Bojan forced himself into Pep’s radar, as if he had been ignored for those months. Perhaps he had been tired, but Pep found himself giving in time after time when it came to Bojan’s need for his attention. However, he drew the line at anything past kissing.

No matter how desperate and fervent Bojan’s kisses became, Pep would force himself to separate himself from Bojan’s needy hands. With each different experience, the harder it got to remember why he wanted to step away in the first place. When Bojan was in the room, Pep was under the boy’s complete control. With the boy in charge of his mind, Pep found himself struggling to remember his responsibilities and duties to his family, to the team.

At night, however, when Bojan was not there to torture him visually or physically, Pep’s mind refused to let him sleep in peace. He could hear his wife’s breathing next to him in their bed; the guilt wound around his mind and his heart so tightly that it suffocated rational and clear thought and left the permanent ghosts of shame, betrayal, doubt, and suspicion in its wake. He could not think or breathe without being reminded of that one night when he had not been able to control himself and the thousand other moments where Bojan had kissed or touched him. Every place where the boy’s lips had been on his skin felt exactly like the searing scars of shame that they were. Yet he could not stop surrendering to the boy’s will. Pep wondered constantly if Bojan knew exactly what he was doing to him or if his mask of innocence was not just a mask.

The anniversary of that night in his office came and went with only a few sighs of contentment and hot, passionate kisses stolen in the corridor. Bojan disappeared, his scent the only thing that reminded Pep that he had indeed actually been there. The boy was a walking nightmarish fantasy and Pep desperately wanted to wake up and forget as well as stay and enjoy the sensation.

For over sixteen months, Pep had tried to fight what he adamantly refused to feel for the boy and had somehow duped himself into believing that he was successful in his campaign to not care for the boy. Far back in the recesses of his mind that he only visited at night due to the guilt, he knew he was lying. It scared him to know that he had no control over how he felt and he knew what would happen in the end. He knew that he could run but he knew that his conscious was only giving him a head start. He could not win.

Bojan was injured in the winter against Getafe due to a faulty tackle that left the boy on the ground immobile. For a few brief moments, Pep’s heart rested firmly in his throat. Those moments where Bojan lay unmoving on the ground made Pep’s mind recount every touch, look, glance, tease, taunt, desire, wish, and hope that had happened in all those months. The word sprang to his mind but he dare not to think it then; he only prayed that Bojan would move just so Pep knew that the boy was okay. It took a lifetime, in reality only five minutes, for the trainers to get Bojan sitting up and another half a moment to get him limping back to the sideline. As he passed his coach, Bojan’s eyes locked onto Pep’s and neither one of them looked away for those precious seconds. Bojan knew that Pep had realized how he felt and his lips twitched upwards in a small smile of victory. Pep swallowed and recognized what he had known all along, he had lost.

After the match, Barcelona wrapped up a victory of three to one, Pep stopped by the medical room to check on his striker. The doctor excused himself after a moment so that the two were alone. Bojan’s face was thankfully free of pain, most likely to the medicine the doctors had given him to take away the sharp sting of discomfort. Pep watched Bojan watch him carefully, anticipating the boy’s words to let him know that he knew. The words never came. All Bojan had asked was for a kiss, a small one. Pep felt his heart squeeze as it had so many times before as he leaned down to brush his lips across Bojan’s in a small peck. When he pulled back, Bojan smiled and closed his eyes, thanking him softly. Pep nodded, turned, and left the room without looking back.

Bojan was forced to sit on the bench and watch for three months while his ankle healed. Pep felt his eyes often on him instead of the match but he forced it from his mind. His team needed him to focus one thousand percent on them and not on the boy who had begun to ask him to say it. The new challenge was for Pep to avoid saying the words that would mean the most to the boy. Pep could not say them, he could not. It would mean admitting to everything; the one night together, the thoughts, the deeds, it would be a confession of his infidelity and the perfectionist in him refused to be marred by such an action.

On the second ‘anniversary’ it happened again, only under different circumstances. Bojan had been needy, begging to be used for a substitute just to get his match fitness back up. Pep had been grateful that at least this argument was about something normal, not about veiled hints and agonizing innuendo. Bojan was no longer limping and in duress, his ankle had been healed for almost a month now. He had been demanding to know why Pep was ignoring him completely when Pep had rushed forward and forced his mouth against Bojan’s roughly. He had responded immediately, his hands fisting in Pep’s shirt as he clung to him. The moan that Bojan emitted into Pep’s mouth had the older man lifting Bojan back on his desk. He stepped between the boy’s thighs and kissed him into temporary submission.

Bojan forced Pep to stop before skin could be revealed by putting his hands on Pep’s as they went to undo his pants. Pep sighed and looked questioningly at him. He asks if this wasn’t what Bojan had wanted for so long? Bojan kisses him again and murmurs his agreement before he pulls back again.

“Say it. I need to hear you say it.”

Pep sighs and looks down at the boy. He saw the sweet face, beautiful jade green eyes, pouty soft lips, and the youthful innocence that continued to radiate from every inch of Bojan’s body. He brushes the brown hair off his face and lets his fingers trail down his cheek as his thumb brushes over his lips.

And finally, after the weeks and months and years of trying to push it all away, he surrenders his body, his mind, and his heart to that devastatingly sweet boy who had not left his mind since that moment, all those years ago. His head lowers and he brushes his lips against Bojan’s.

“I love you.”