FIC: the ocean, standalone.
Happy Monday everyone! Hope it's going good & all.
the ocean, inspired by mae's song of the same name
cesc fabregas/gerard pique, pg-13. written after the 2nd CL leg in 2011, barca vs. arsenal game.
author's note: It's been a while since I've posted, but that's because I like to have a backlog of fics to post and right now I don't, but here is this anyway to hold myself over! :D Lyrics at the bottom. Enjoy!
Gerard goes out with Carles after the match for a beer or two to celebrate Barcelona’s advance in the Champions League, but he keeps his cell phone in the left pocket of his jeans instead of his jacket, held tight against his thigh by the fabric in case of emergency calls. The two defenders pick a quiet bar on the corner of Gerard’s apartment block, three-quarters empty save for a handful of middle-aged men staring longingly at their drinks. For Piqué his drink is slightly bittersweet; much like the lingering aftertaste of tonight’s game. Watching from the sidelines, he felt the itching in the arches of his feet to run out there and play, the knot in his trapezius muscles from seeing Cesc don such a vivid yellow as a painfully blatant reminder of their distance apart, and the burning heat in the small of his back inflaming his irritation of his life’s current situation; all of his niggling problems are still there even when Barcelona is up 3-1. As they sit here on comfy leather barstools, Gerard glares at the bottom of his glass. Next to him, Carles consumes his beer at a leisurely pace, a contemplating yet hopeful look painted across his face. They’re silent in their company, an unspoken understanding to avoid all despairing topics, to keep them under wraps at least for tonight. When they’re slightly more level-headed, and in Carles’ case, sober, they’ll tackle their issues head on. But for now, Carles and Gerard savor the much-needed break from hounding journalists and chipper teammates. Right now, Gerard wants to lament his long-distance relationship in peace, without having Xavi nudge him and attempt to comfort him with good intentions but the wrong words, like ‘you’ve got me in midfield, you don’t need him!’ and or Bojan genuinely smiling, saying ‘it will all be okay’. Gerard’s jealous of the blinding happiness Bojan so easily displays, wishes he had reason to grin like that.
It’s strange, because for the most part, Gerard’s usually okay with the arrangement; but tonight, seeing Cesc so close but yet so far, it feels like someone’s stabbed him and twisted the knife, the blade pinching his heart tighter as it rotates.
Holding his cup to his forehead, he lets the condensation cool against his face and his eyes flutter shut for a second at the soothing temperature. A sudden vibration near his hip shocks him and the beer nearly jumps out of the glass and onto the countertops. Carles pointedly looks at Gerard and takes the drink out of his hand, and downs the remaining fourth. Piqué’s grateful for the extra hand as he fumbles for his cell, afraid he won’t answer before the caller gives up. When he squeezes the offending device out of his pants, he recognizes the number and urgently punches at the green button.
“Hello? Cesc?”
His voice is timid, doesn’t filter through his phone very well and breaks in a couple of places.
“Hi. Uhm. Are you home right now?”
Gerard shifts in his seat, pulls at the collar of his t-shirt.
“No, I’m not. I thought you were going to be at your mother’s? Look, Cesc, are you okay?”
There’s a silence, and if Gerard closes his eyes, he can see Cesc shrinking, kicking at his own ankles and shuffling on the balls of his feet.
“Oh. Uhm. Yeah I was going to stay there, but I couldn’t. I’m. Uhm. I’m currently outside your apartment?”
Gerard curses audibly and hops off the stool, throwing a couple of bills for his share of moping. He waves at Carles while backing out of the bar, mouthing ‘Cesc’ and pointing wildly at his phone. Puyol toasts him with his fifth drink as he runs out the door and toward his building.
“Stay there, okay? Cesc, I won’t be five minutes, I promise,” and he hangs up.
He dashes back and arrives at the lobby, panting and out of breath. The receptionist smiles knowingly at Gerard and he’s thankful that the employees here are discreet.
“I sent him upstairs, Mr. Piqué. Hope that’s okay,” she whispers. Gerard nods in thanks.
In the lift, Gerard’s stomach sinks in dread as his mind runs rampant with worst-case scenarios: what if Cesc came over to say that this wasn’t going to work, or if he had found someone else better? Gerard honestly panics as he passes the third floor. True, they’ve both struggled with the distance in between but that meant nothing in comparison to how much he relied on Cesc to motivate him, to push him higher, to inspire him every day. Without Cesc, Gerard didn’t know what to aim for. Cesc, and only Cesc, could color his world in beautiful shades of blue and red, he clarified all the details in life, gave every action a purpose. Maybe it was wrong, that he depended so thoroughly on one person, but he didn’t care - it felt too right when he was in Cesc’s presence to give it all up.
Seeing Cesc looking so tiny on his welcome mat, Gerard relinquishes his control and gives into his urges; he scoops Cesc into his arms, ignores the voice that tells him it could very well be the last time he does this, Gerard holds on as long as he can justify. Releasing Cesc, he fishes for his keys and opens the front door to let them both inside. Once the door seals their privacy, Gerard pulls Cesc back into him, wants to hold him until Cesc understands through almost-crushed bones that he couldn’t live without this, without him. He can feel Cesc’s fingers crawling up the back of his shirt, stroking his skin and Gerard involuntarily relaxes a little, can feel his body reacting against his will; wishes that Cesc didn’t know him so well but immediately takes that back. He can feel Cesc’s wet breaths against his neck and almost misses his muffled sentence, thinks about how much he needs this.
“So, I can’t be that far away from you anymore; I don’t want to hurt like that ever again.”
Gerard holds him closer, threads his fingers in Cesc’s hair, can hear the same need in Cesc’s voice and wishes he could squeeze away all of the pain. He nods in agreement and mumbles into the crook of Cesc’s neck.
“So what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
~
Am I alone in this?
Never a night where I can sleep myself 'til day
We must try to figure it out, figure it out
It won't be that easy
We lost it somehow
Fall around me now
Like stars that shine and brighten the way
I need you here tonight
Just like this night it needs the rain
You come over unannounced
Silence broken by your voice in the dark
I need you here tonight,
Just like the ocean needs the waves
- The Ocean, Mae
Thanks for reading!
the ocean, inspired by mae's song of the same name
cesc fabregas/gerard pique, pg-13. written after the 2nd CL leg in 2011, barca vs. arsenal game.
author's note: It's been a while since I've posted, but that's because I like to have a backlog of fics to post and right now I don't, but here is this anyway to hold myself over! :D Lyrics at the bottom. Enjoy!
Gerard goes out with Carles after the match for a beer or two to celebrate Barcelona’s advance in the Champions League, but he keeps his cell phone in the left pocket of his jeans instead of his jacket, held tight against his thigh by the fabric in case of emergency calls. The two defenders pick a quiet bar on the corner of Gerard’s apartment block, three-quarters empty save for a handful of middle-aged men staring longingly at their drinks. For Piqué his drink is slightly bittersweet; much like the lingering aftertaste of tonight’s game. Watching from the sidelines, he felt the itching in the arches of his feet to run out there and play, the knot in his trapezius muscles from seeing Cesc don such a vivid yellow as a painfully blatant reminder of their distance apart, and the burning heat in the small of his back inflaming his irritation of his life’s current situation; all of his niggling problems are still there even when Barcelona is up 3-1. As they sit here on comfy leather barstools, Gerard glares at the bottom of his glass. Next to him, Carles consumes his beer at a leisurely pace, a contemplating yet hopeful look painted across his face. They’re silent in their company, an unspoken understanding to avoid all despairing topics, to keep them under wraps at least for tonight. When they’re slightly more level-headed, and in Carles’ case, sober, they’ll tackle their issues head on. But for now, Carles and Gerard savor the much-needed break from hounding journalists and chipper teammates. Right now, Gerard wants to lament his long-distance relationship in peace, without having Xavi nudge him and attempt to comfort him with good intentions but the wrong words, like ‘you’ve got me in midfield, you don’t need him!’ and or Bojan genuinely smiling, saying ‘it will all be okay’. Gerard’s jealous of the blinding happiness Bojan so easily displays, wishes he had reason to grin like that.
It’s strange, because for the most part, Gerard’s usually okay with the arrangement; but tonight, seeing Cesc so close but yet so far, it feels like someone’s stabbed him and twisted the knife, the blade pinching his heart tighter as it rotates.
Holding his cup to his forehead, he lets the condensation cool against his face and his eyes flutter shut for a second at the soothing temperature. A sudden vibration near his hip shocks him and the beer nearly jumps out of the glass and onto the countertops. Carles pointedly looks at Gerard and takes the drink out of his hand, and downs the remaining fourth. Piqué’s grateful for the extra hand as he fumbles for his cell, afraid he won’t answer before the caller gives up. When he squeezes the offending device out of his pants, he recognizes the number and urgently punches at the green button.
“Hello? Cesc?”
His voice is timid, doesn’t filter through his phone very well and breaks in a couple of places.
“Hi. Uhm. Are you home right now?”
Gerard shifts in his seat, pulls at the collar of his t-shirt.
“No, I’m not. I thought you were going to be at your mother’s? Look, Cesc, are you okay?”
There’s a silence, and if Gerard closes his eyes, he can see Cesc shrinking, kicking at his own ankles and shuffling on the balls of his feet.
“Oh. Uhm. Yeah I was going to stay there, but I couldn’t. I’m. Uhm. I’m currently outside your apartment?”
Gerard curses audibly and hops off the stool, throwing a couple of bills for his share of moping. He waves at Carles while backing out of the bar, mouthing ‘Cesc’ and pointing wildly at his phone. Puyol toasts him with his fifth drink as he runs out the door and toward his building.
“Stay there, okay? Cesc, I won’t be five minutes, I promise,” and he hangs up.
He dashes back and arrives at the lobby, panting and out of breath. The receptionist smiles knowingly at Gerard and he’s thankful that the employees here are discreet.
“I sent him upstairs, Mr. Piqué. Hope that’s okay,” she whispers. Gerard nods in thanks.
In the lift, Gerard’s stomach sinks in dread as his mind runs rampant with worst-case scenarios: what if Cesc came over to say that this wasn’t going to work, or if he had found someone else better? Gerard honestly panics as he passes the third floor. True, they’ve both struggled with the distance in between but that meant nothing in comparison to how much he relied on Cesc to motivate him, to push him higher, to inspire him every day. Without Cesc, Gerard didn’t know what to aim for. Cesc, and only Cesc, could color his world in beautiful shades of blue and red, he clarified all the details in life, gave every action a purpose. Maybe it was wrong, that he depended so thoroughly on one person, but he didn’t care - it felt too right when he was in Cesc’s presence to give it all up.
Seeing Cesc looking so tiny on his welcome mat, Gerard relinquishes his control and gives into his urges; he scoops Cesc into his arms, ignores the voice that tells him it could very well be the last time he does this, Gerard holds on as long as he can justify. Releasing Cesc, he fishes for his keys and opens the front door to let them both inside. Once the door seals their privacy, Gerard pulls Cesc back into him, wants to hold him until Cesc understands through almost-crushed bones that he couldn’t live without this, without him. He can feel Cesc’s fingers crawling up the back of his shirt, stroking his skin and Gerard involuntarily relaxes a little, can feel his body reacting against his will; wishes that Cesc didn’t know him so well but immediately takes that back. He can feel Cesc’s wet breaths against his neck and almost misses his muffled sentence, thinks about how much he needs this.
“So, I can’t be that far away from you anymore; I don’t want to hurt like that ever again.”
Gerard holds him closer, threads his fingers in Cesc’s hair, can hear the same need in Cesc’s voice and wishes he could squeeze away all of the pain. He nods in agreement and mumbles into the crook of Cesc’s neck.
“So what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
~
Am I alone in this?
Never a night where I can sleep myself 'til day
We must try to figure it out, figure it out
It won't be that easy
We lost it somehow
Fall around me now
Like stars that shine and brighten the way
I need you here tonight
Just like this night it needs the rain
You come over unannounced
Silence broken by your voice in the dark
I need you here tonight,
Just like the ocean needs the waves
- The Ocean, Mae
Thanks for reading!