Counting
Title: Counting
Pairing: Fabrique
Wordcount: 1,633
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: So untrue that it almost hurts.
Writer: gingerjunkie
Summary: He deletes Cesc from his contacts, knows that it’s useless because he knows his phone numbers, all of them, by heart either way. He types them back in when Cesc scores; deletes them again when Cesc doesn’t call.
So this is really my first time writing this pairing. I don't really percieve their relationship to be like this, but it just kind of happened. Anyway I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think. Thanks. :)
There are lapses. These foreign lapses in their, whatever it is. There are these blank moments where there is this indistinguishable nonsense that flits through the air. These lapses, they happen enough that Cesc has become accustomed to them, but will never really be prepared for them. They know that the too comfortable touches sometimes become overwhelming and sometimes it’s Gerard who shoves away first and others it’s Cesc. While there is this understanding of why it happens neither really understands why it has not become less of a surprise.
Sometimes it lasts merely a few seconds, minutes at most. More often than not it lasts months. Months of mutual silence where Cesc’s phone could just be off but either way it is not as if Gerard has called to check. Seasons and off seasons of hardly knowing one another, and it always feels the same. This in-descript feeling of things being blatantly over, if they ever really began.
Gerard watches any Arsenal match that he can catch, half drunk and heavy limbed from a feeling he didn’t know he could ever feel. He crosses off days on his blackberry calendar, counts one hundred and thirteen since he’d last spoken to Cesc, three days that he’s been okay with that, one hundred and ten that he doesn’t want to remember. He deletes Cesc from his contacts, knows that it’s useless because he knows his phone numbers, all of them, by heart either way. He types them back in when Cesc scores; deletes them again when Cesc doesn’t call.
More often than not he doesn’t catch the matches, and as a result spends the night watching highlights through half lidded eyes and resilient snores, and he thinks maybe it is better that way because he’s always hated that damned club anyway.
Two hundred and twenty seven days of something that isn’t really avoidance, but more indifference. Cesc’s name is ever missing in Gerard’s contacts and call log alike. The air is still thick between them, Gerard still drags his limbs in any which direction towards or away from Cesc, because it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. It becomes routine, gets familiar, two hundred and twenty seven days apart, two hundred and twenty seven nights Gerard hasn’t called to say goodnight, two hundred and twenty eight nights since Cesc has bothered to check why.
Gerard gives in first, because Gerard always gives in first. He jokes, touches Cesc’s ear, asks about his health. Cesc has never been simple enough though, can’t give in because he feels guilty and he knows there’s probably a reason they’d stopped talking even if he can’t exactly recall what it is. He slaps blindly at Gerard’s other hand because he doesn’t have the mind to slap the one stroking his ear.
He can see Gerard’s demeanor change, catches the slight humiliation at being slapped away. Gerard recognizes the feeling of smacking Cesc across the face, even if he’s never done it with much force. Knows even better what it’s like to be slapped away angrily by Cesc, and simply steps back when he realizes that maybe this time is really it.
Gerard stops watching Arsenal matches altogether. Stops falling asleep to the call of; “Fabregas! Fabregas!” Stops calling Cesc’s mom to see how she’s doing. Stops going over there for dinner. Gerard stops counting after day three hundred and sixty five.
Cesc calls on what could have been day four hundred and seventy if Gerard had still been counting. For a second Gerard doesn’t recognize the number but it is a fleeting moment and when he does his heart doesn’t flutter or palpitate embarrassingly, but it stings a little and he feels betrayed because things were starting to get easier.
“Hello,” It comes out gentler than he’d imagined, but he’s almost certain Cesc knows what he’s feeling.
“You answered,” Cesc says a shameful attempt at feigning surprise. Gerard curls further into himself, long limbs speckled with field grass, soil and Madrid dirt. He hates Madrid just a little bit. He can’t find a thing to say to Cesc, finds it a shock that after so much silence he has nothing to say. He feels foreign in his own body, in this hotel room just far enough from home to feel home sick.
“Tonight is just like any other night,” Gerard mutters and he doesn’t really know what it means, figures it wouldn’t matter anyway because it’s not his turn to fix this, and it’s no longer his turn to speak.
“Geri,” Cesc half whines, but he’s not certain why, and Gerard can’t comprehend why he’s even making an effort because he knows how it ends either way. “It’s cold in London,” He mumbles in what should have been an offhand remark.
“It’s cold in Madrid,” Gerard replies even though it’s a lie and he’s certain that Cesc knows, but its easier to pretend he’s with him if he pretends they’re both freezing. He tugs at his long suddenly heavy limbs to wrap around an array of pillows, boots spreading grass and dirt all over them.
“No it’s not,” Cesc replies already smiling. Gerard unwraps himself from the pillows when he realizes that Cesc thinks he’s being silly. Gerard damns his boy who cried wolf reputation, wonders if he’ll ever be taken seriously before he hangs up and turns off his phone pretending that it had died, or that he’d lost signal. He kicks off his boots and falls asleep with his socks on, body pressed against no one.
Cesc doesn’t call back when Gerard turns his phone on again. Gerard doesn’t call to see why not, figures he wouldn’t want to know either way.
Cesc shows up at his door during a break. Gerard looks him over once before Cesc reaches out to hold the door open.
“Don’t close the door,” He demands, Gerard wonders if they even know each other anymore.
“I wouldn’t have,” Cesc doesn’t look impressed.
“You hung up on me,” He doesn’t press the door issue any further, but Gerard wishes that he would. He is in a bit of a mood to argue.
“No,” He doesn’t make an attempt to be convincing.
“Why?” Cesc asks, and it seems as if the word is in a language other than his own. Gerard shrugs, he still doesn’t know why, weeks later.
“Oh.” Gerard feels like the conversation might be over so he eases the door forward a few centimeters before Cesc is pushing it back further.
“I told you, you were going to shut the door,” Cesc points out. Gerard can only shrug again. It’s awkward for more than a moment. Cesc hardly breathes, Gerard doesn’t look interested. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Oh.”
Cesc takes a step forward into the doorway. Gerard doesn’t step back.
“You smacked me,” Cesc defends after a moment.
“I know,” Gerard sounds annoyed, “You deserved it.”
“Yeah,” Cesc glances around for assistance. “Geri, I’m sorry. I’ve been a git.”
“I didn’t call you.” Gerard states.
“What?” Cesc is confused as to why that matters.
“You said I’d come crawling back. Look who’s come crawling.” Cesc makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. Gerard can see Cesc waver and it’s not something he’s used to seeing. Cesc shuffles further into the door body almost skimming against Gerard’s. The air is tense and Gerard is holding his breath.
“Please.” Gerard is slightly startled by the strain in Cesc’s voice, scared of the way he can almost feel Cesc’s knees straining against his weight. He’s begging to be held up and suddenly Gerard’s arms feel too short to extend forward and grasp at Cesc’s hips.
Gerard gives in first, because he always gives in first. He can’t count the seconds, the moment feels out of control. He does what he can to rein things back into an even playing field. Grabs Cesc and pushes him into the wall by the door that rattles with the force. He can feel Cesc’s breath leaving his body in a smooth woosh. The warm air tickles at his neck.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cesc pleads, smaller hands fumbling to brace himself on Gerard’s shoulders. Gerard shakes his hands off and shoves him further into the wall, low grumble at the back of his throat. Cesc shivers at how animalistic it sounds, gasps at the terrified pace of his heart. His body aches and Gerard is relentless in his force.
“Geri, you’re hurting me,” Cesc pleads again and Gerard deflates. Loses his grasp on Cesc, lets him fall against him for a guilty second. He stumbles back on heavy limbs, covers his face, turns blindly away from Cesc. He’s afraid the shaking in his bones won’t stop, ever.
Cesc reaches again, grabbing desperately at Gerard before he’s too many steps away to fix this. Gerard shakes him off and steps further into the flat. Both of them understand that they shouldn’t be near each other at that instant. Cesc wraps himself around Gerard desperately, leaching onto him from behind. Gerard turns to scold him, but Cesc doesn’t give him a chance, takes over by pulling himself up to nuzzle into Gerard’s neck.
“I want you,” Cesc mumbles against the short stubble of Gerard’s facial hair. Gerard’s arms move on their own to pull Cesc harder into him, burying his face in Cesc’s fragrant hair. He loses count of how long they’re there when Cesc presses frantic kisses to his neck and chin.
“I’m sorry.” Cesc already knows he is. Already knows that sometimes Gerard loses control, knows that most of the time he provokes him, knows that they probably aren’t good together, but despite all that he knows they feel good together and he hasn’t ever known when that wasn’t the only thing that mattered.
Pairing: Fabrique
Wordcount: 1,633
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: So untrue that it almost hurts.
Writer: gingerjunkie
Summary: He deletes Cesc from his contacts, knows that it’s useless because he knows his phone numbers, all of them, by heart either way. He types them back in when Cesc scores; deletes them again when Cesc doesn’t call.
So this is really my first time writing this pairing. I don't really percieve their relationship to be like this, but it just kind of happened. Anyway I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think. Thanks. :)
There are lapses. These foreign lapses in their, whatever it is. There are these blank moments where there is this indistinguishable nonsense that flits through the air. These lapses, they happen enough that Cesc has become accustomed to them, but will never really be prepared for them. They know that the too comfortable touches sometimes become overwhelming and sometimes it’s Gerard who shoves away first and others it’s Cesc. While there is this understanding of why it happens neither really understands why it has not become less of a surprise.
Sometimes it lasts merely a few seconds, minutes at most. More often than not it lasts months. Months of mutual silence where Cesc’s phone could just be off but either way it is not as if Gerard has called to check. Seasons and off seasons of hardly knowing one another, and it always feels the same. This in-descript feeling of things being blatantly over, if they ever really began.
Gerard watches any Arsenal match that he can catch, half drunk and heavy limbed from a feeling he didn’t know he could ever feel. He crosses off days on his blackberry calendar, counts one hundred and thirteen since he’d last spoken to Cesc, three days that he’s been okay with that, one hundred and ten that he doesn’t want to remember. He deletes Cesc from his contacts, knows that it’s useless because he knows his phone numbers, all of them, by heart either way. He types them back in when Cesc scores; deletes them again when Cesc doesn’t call.
More often than not he doesn’t catch the matches, and as a result spends the night watching highlights through half lidded eyes and resilient snores, and he thinks maybe it is better that way because he’s always hated that damned club anyway.
Two hundred and twenty seven days of something that isn’t really avoidance, but more indifference. Cesc’s name is ever missing in Gerard’s contacts and call log alike. The air is still thick between them, Gerard still drags his limbs in any which direction towards or away from Cesc, because it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. It becomes routine, gets familiar, two hundred and twenty seven days apart, two hundred and twenty seven nights Gerard hasn’t called to say goodnight, two hundred and twenty eight nights since Cesc has bothered to check why.
Gerard gives in first, because Gerard always gives in first. He jokes, touches Cesc’s ear, asks about his health. Cesc has never been simple enough though, can’t give in because he feels guilty and he knows there’s probably a reason they’d stopped talking even if he can’t exactly recall what it is. He slaps blindly at Gerard’s other hand because he doesn’t have the mind to slap the one stroking his ear.
He can see Gerard’s demeanor change, catches the slight humiliation at being slapped away. Gerard recognizes the feeling of smacking Cesc across the face, even if he’s never done it with much force. Knows even better what it’s like to be slapped away angrily by Cesc, and simply steps back when he realizes that maybe this time is really it.
Gerard stops watching Arsenal matches altogether. Stops falling asleep to the call of; “Fabregas! Fabregas!” Stops calling Cesc’s mom to see how she’s doing. Stops going over there for dinner. Gerard stops counting after day three hundred and sixty five.
Cesc calls on what could have been day four hundred and seventy if Gerard had still been counting. For a second Gerard doesn’t recognize the number but it is a fleeting moment and when he does his heart doesn’t flutter or palpitate embarrassingly, but it stings a little and he feels betrayed because things were starting to get easier.
“Hello,” It comes out gentler than he’d imagined, but he’s almost certain Cesc knows what he’s feeling.
“You answered,” Cesc says a shameful attempt at feigning surprise. Gerard curls further into himself, long limbs speckled with field grass, soil and Madrid dirt. He hates Madrid just a little bit. He can’t find a thing to say to Cesc, finds it a shock that after so much silence he has nothing to say. He feels foreign in his own body, in this hotel room just far enough from home to feel home sick.
“Tonight is just like any other night,” Gerard mutters and he doesn’t really know what it means, figures it wouldn’t matter anyway because it’s not his turn to fix this, and it’s no longer his turn to speak.
“Geri,” Cesc half whines, but he’s not certain why, and Gerard can’t comprehend why he’s even making an effort because he knows how it ends either way. “It’s cold in London,” He mumbles in what should have been an offhand remark.
“It’s cold in Madrid,” Gerard replies even though it’s a lie and he’s certain that Cesc knows, but its easier to pretend he’s with him if he pretends they’re both freezing. He tugs at his long suddenly heavy limbs to wrap around an array of pillows, boots spreading grass and dirt all over them.
“No it’s not,” Cesc replies already smiling. Gerard unwraps himself from the pillows when he realizes that Cesc thinks he’s being silly. Gerard damns his boy who cried wolf reputation, wonders if he’ll ever be taken seriously before he hangs up and turns off his phone pretending that it had died, or that he’d lost signal. He kicks off his boots and falls asleep with his socks on, body pressed against no one.
Cesc doesn’t call back when Gerard turns his phone on again. Gerard doesn’t call to see why not, figures he wouldn’t want to know either way.
Cesc shows up at his door during a break. Gerard looks him over once before Cesc reaches out to hold the door open.
“Don’t close the door,” He demands, Gerard wonders if they even know each other anymore.
“I wouldn’t have,” Cesc doesn’t look impressed.
“You hung up on me,” He doesn’t press the door issue any further, but Gerard wishes that he would. He is in a bit of a mood to argue.
“No,” He doesn’t make an attempt to be convincing.
“Why?” Cesc asks, and it seems as if the word is in a language other than his own. Gerard shrugs, he still doesn’t know why, weeks later.
“Oh.” Gerard feels like the conversation might be over so he eases the door forward a few centimeters before Cesc is pushing it back further.
“I told you, you were going to shut the door,” Cesc points out. Gerard can only shrug again. It’s awkward for more than a moment. Cesc hardly breathes, Gerard doesn’t look interested. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Oh.”
Cesc takes a step forward into the doorway. Gerard doesn’t step back.
“You smacked me,” Cesc defends after a moment.
“I know,” Gerard sounds annoyed, “You deserved it.”
“Yeah,” Cesc glances around for assistance. “Geri, I’m sorry. I’ve been a git.”
“I didn’t call you.” Gerard states.
“What?” Cesc is confused as to why that matters.
“You said I’d come crawling back. Look who’s come crawling.” Cesc makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. Gerard can see Cesc waver and it’s not something he’s used to seeing. Cesc shuffles further into the door body almost skimming against Gerard’s. The air is tense and Gerard is holding his breath.
“Please.” Gerard is slightly startled by the strain in Cesc’s voice, scared of the way he can almost feel Cesc’s knees straining against his weight. He’s begging to be held up and suddenly Gerard’s arms feel too short to extend forward and grasp at Cesc’s hips.
Gerard gives in first, because he always gives in first. He can’t count the seconds, the moment feels out of control. He does what he can to rein things back into an even playing field. Grabs Cesc and pushes him into the wall by the door that rattles with the force. He can feel Cesc’s breath leaving his body in a smooth woosh. The warm air tickles at his neck.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cesc pleads, smaller hands fumbling to brace himself on Gerard’s shoulders. Gerard shakes his hands off and shoves him further into the wall, low grumble at the back of his throat. Cesc shivers at how animalistic it sounds, gasps at the terrified pace of his heart. His body aches and Gerard is relentless in his force.
“Geri, you’re hurting me,” Cesc pleads again and Gerard deflates. Loses his grasp on Cesc, lets him fall against him for a guilty second. He stumbles back on heavy limbs, covers his face, turns blindly away from Cesc. He’s afraid the shaking in his bones won’t stop, ever.
Cesc reaches again, grabbing desperately at Gerard before he’s too many steps away to fix this. Gerard shakes him off and steps further into the flat. Both of them understand that they shouldn’t be near each other at that instant. Cesc wraps himself around Gerard desperately, leaching onto him from behind. Gerard turns to scold him, but Cesc doesn’t give him a chance, takes over by pulling himself up to nuzzle into Gerard’s neck.
“I want you,” Cesc mumbles against the short stubble of Gerard’s facial hair. Gerard’s arms move on their own to pull Cesc harder into him, burying his face in Cesc’s fragrant hair. He loses count of how long they’re there when Cesc presses frantic kisses to his neck and chin.
“I’m sorry.” Cesc already knows he is. Already knows that sometimes Gerard loses control, knows that most of the time he provokes him, knows that they probably aren’t good together, but despite all that he knows they feel good together and he hasn’t ever known when that wasn’t the only thing that mattered.