Fic: gangsters don't love 14/15 [Pep/Bojan]
Title: gangsters don’t love 14/15
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Pep Guardiola/Bojan Krkić, Cesc Fabregas/Gennaro Gattuso, Danny Agger/Martin Skrtle, mentioned: Florintino Pérez and Pepe Reina
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 8,860
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summary: Pep Guardiola is the head of one of the largest mafia groups in Spain. But what’s a gangster to do when he gets his own personal hostage in the form of the grandson of his biggest enemy?
Disclaimer part 2: I don’t know anything about the mafia, Spanish or otherwise. This is all made up like a made up thing. Also I realize that Bojan is not really Pérez’s grandson, but see the disclaimer about this being made up. These are not real people; they are fictional characters with fictional families and fictional lives.
Note: Hey everyone! I'm done with school, which means fic for youuuu. Now I know I said this would be the last chapter, but then it started getting stupidly long. So there will be 15 chapters instead of 14. I don’t think too many people will mind. Chapter 15 will absolutely for sure be the final chapter though, and it should be done soon! For those of you waiting for more If I Go Crazy, I will start working on it again as soon as I’m done with this fic.
Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4a | 4b | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10a | 10b | 11 | 12 | 13
“What do you mean?” Pep asks.
Bojan gives him a look. “You’re Josep Guardiola. You’re one of the most powerful men in Spain. And judging by how you need a shave, and you’re still in the same clothes as yesterday, you just spent the night sleeping in a very uncomfortable orange plastic chair.”
Pep isn’t one to skirt around conversations. But then he isn’t one to have this kind of conversation. “The chairs really are an unfortunate color, aren’t they?”
“Pep.”
Evade, evade, evade, evade. “I don’t know what you want. Do you want me to apologize for staying?”
“I want the truth.”
“The truth.” Pep runs his hand over his face, and yes, he does need to shave. “The truth is not a simple thing …”
Bojan’s look is steely. “Make it simple.”
The easiest way to get out of this conversation would be to declare it over, and leave. But Pep doesn’t do that. Bojan deserves answers, even if Pep doesn’t have any to give. “… Ask me,” he finally says. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“Why do you care so much about me? Why do you even care about me at all?”
Pep looks away. “I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.”
“Liar,” Bojan says, the word soft, almost fond.
Pep looks at Bojan, eyes hooded. “What if I’m just trying to manipulate you?”
“Maybe,” Bojan concedes. “But I don’t think you would have spent the night sleeping in an ugly plastic chair just to manipulate me, not when you could have just as easily taken over one of the hospital’s beds.”
“… No.” Pep lets out a sigh. “Then … I care.” He looks up at Bojan. “It doesn’t matter though. I thought I could help you, but I can’t. I can only get you more hurt. The best thing for me would be to get out of your life.”
Bojan’s gaze is hard. “Do you really think that would work? I would have to leave Spain again, to get back out from under my grandfather’s influence. I would have to move somewhere else, maybe even change my name, to get away from all this. I don’t want to do that again. I’m not gonna uproot my entire life, leave behind all my friends and family again, just so I can try to get away from this stupid mobster shit. And who’s to say it would work? Who’s to say someone wouldn’t track me down, come find me where I’m unprotected somewhere, and get me again?”
Pep runs his hands over his face, over the rasp of stubble. “I don’t know what you want then.” He pulls his hands away to look at Bojan. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know either!” Bojan frowns, frustrated. “I want to get off this stupid merry-go-round with you and my grandfather and this whole criminal thing.”
Pep looks down at his hands. “… You can’t change the family you were born into, just like I can’t change the family I was born into.”
“So, what?” Bojan clenches his jaw. “Are you saying I don’t have a choice?”
“I’m saying …” Pep looks away. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Just like I don’t know how to fix this. I would if I could, sweetheart.”
The endearment slips off his tongue without him even realizing, and Pep’s eyes go slightly wide, just as Bojan’s eyes do. “Have you been with anyone since Cesc?” Bojan suddenly asks.
Pep blinks at the sudden change in topic. “… I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Answer the question,” Bojan says, and it’s not a command, or a demand, it’s just a simple expectation that Pep will comply.
Pep looks away. “It’s hard to get partners you can trust to be discreet, when you’re in my position. Especially given the homophobia in the community, and my orientation.”
Bojan nods. “How many?” he repeats.
There’s a long pause. “No one,” Pep finally admits.
Bojan eyes him. “So what, I’m a replacement for Cesc? Or I was just convenient?”
“No!” Pep says, startled by his own vehemence. He forces his tone to even out. “In case you hadn’t noticed you’re rather different from Cesc.” He quirks a smile, and Bojan smiles too. “As for convenience … I wouldn’t have invited you back to Spain if it was just about convenience, would I? I would have made a move on you much faster when I had you in the first place.”
“Hm,” Bojan says. He looks down at his hands for a while, the one in the cast and the one not. “… what are you going to do with the people,” he asks, “who … did this to me? Are you going to turn them in to the police.”
Pep looks away. “No.”
Bojan’s gaze turns harder. “So what are you going to do with them?”
“They’ll be taken care of,” Pep says shortly, some of his anger creeping back into his voice.
“Josep,” Bojan says sharply. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.” Pep’s not used to being talked to like this. He glares. Bojan glares back. “You can’t tell me it’s none of my business.”
Pep deflates. “No, I suppose I can’t. They’ll be punished. Made an example of.”
“Punished how?”
Pep stares at Bojan’s black eye, at his broken arm. At all the cuts and bruises. “They’ll get twice of everything they did to you,” he says, voice soft but deadly. He looks up, meeting Bojan’s eyes. “I’ll have Martin and Danny and Pepe and Gattuso take care of it. They’ll be happy to.”
Bojan’s intake of breath is a hiss. “That doesn’t … That doesn’t fix anything. That doesn’t make anything better! I won’t get healed just because they’re hurt.” He stares at Pep. “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”
“I know,” Pep says, fingers tightening on the arms of the chair. “I know it won’t fix anything but I have to make an example of them.” His eyes when he meets Bojan’s eyes, are guilty and pained. “I have to make sure nothing like this happens again.”
“And breaking all their arms is going to do that?” Bojan demands. “Putting them all in the hospital with serious concussions and broken ribs is going to help how, exactly?”
Pep looks away, jaw clenched. “I have to make them pay. They touched something that’s …” Pep abruptly stops, cutting himself off.
“Something that’s what? Something that’s what, Pep?”
“… Something that’s mine,” he says in a whisper, almost too quiet for Bojan to hear. He stares down at the rumpled blankets on Bojan’s bed. “They touched something that’s mine.” The words are as much a revelation to Pep as they are to Bojan, and he stares fixedly at the blanket, refusing to raise his gaze.
“… Jesus.” Bojan puts his hands over his eyes, wincing as he touches his black eye. He runs his hands through his hair and stares at Pep’s blank expression. “I am not a thing,” he finally says. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”
“I know,” Pep says softly. He gives a helpless little shrug as he looks up at Bojan. “I know. But I still want you to be mine.”
The admission hangs in the air between them like a tangible thing, like a third presence in the room.
Bojan shuts his eyes, giving a weak little chuckle. “So much for not caring,” he mumbles.
“Yeah.” Pep looks away.
Bojan opens his eyes, looking over at Pep. “I’m not safe with you,” he says softly.
“I know. I know.” Pep looks down.
“But I’m not really safe without you either.”
Pep looks up again. “… What are you saying?”
Bojan sighs, face showing frustration. “I’m saying I’m tired of not having choices. I’m tired of my life being determined by other people, by things completely outside my control. I want choices, damn it.”
There’s a long pause. “Sometimes we don’t get choices,” Pep says regretfully.
“I refuse to believe that,” Bojan says firmly.
Pep shakes his head. “Ah, the idealism of youth.”
The look Bojan gives him is unfriendly. “Come over here so I can punch you.”
Pep smiles, but it’s a sad smile. He scooches his chair closer to the bed, and reaches out offering his hand to Bojan. After a hesitation, Bojan reaches out with his unbroken arm, twining his fingers with Pep’s. He stares down at their joined hands. “…Do you have to be a crime boss?”
“It’s the family I was born into.” Pep smiles, but it’s all regret. “From the position I’m in now, there’s no way I could leave. My competitors would never let me get away. If I changed careers, my life wouldn’t be worth the oxygen I breathe. Besides.” He strokes his thumb over the backs of Bojan’s fingers. “If I left, someone else would just take over, and you would have to deal with a new mob boss in Barcelona who hated your grandfather. Nothing would change.”
“Do you like it?” Bojan asks suddenly, looking up to meet Pep’s eyes. “The work you do? Do you like hurting people?”
Pep shrugs one shouldered. “I’m good at my job. … And yes, sometimes I like it.” He thinks about the 5 guards still being held by Gattuso and Pepe. “Sometimes I like hurting people very much.” He looks at Bojan steadily. “I told you niño, I am a bad man.”
“I don’t believe that,” Bojan says. “I don’t think you’re as bad as you like to say.”
Pep chuckles, but it’s forced. “Wishful thinking. You haven’t even seen one quarter, one eighth of the things I am capable of.”
“And instead of going and doing your bad things, you stay by my bed and feed me juice.”
“Just because I’m a bad man, doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart.” Pep looks at Bojan. “I do have a heart.”
“I know.” Bojan squeezes Pep’s hand lightly. Then he looks thoughtful. “What if … what if you declared Barcelona a neutral zone? What if you didn’t let any other mobsters move in?”
Pep laughs. “Sweetheart, I'm powerful, but I’m not that powerful. Even I couldn’t stop all the business in Barcelona.”
Bojan looks at Pep steadily. “Could you get that much power?”
Pep stops laughing. “… I don’t know. What you’re asking …” He shakes his head. “I would say it’s impossible. Nature abhors a vacuum. If I stopped all the underside dealings in Barcelona … operators would just be constantly trying to move in.” His eyes when he looks at Bojan are full of emotion. “They would constantly be trying to take me out. Me … and anyone close to me.”
Bojan lets out a long slow breath. “But that’s always going to be the way, isn’t it? As Perez’s grandson, I’m actually lucky no one was successful a getting to me until I was 19.”
“… True,” Pep concedes.
Bojan looks at Pep. “I refuse to live my life on the run, I refuse to abandon everything I care about, I refuse to live the rest of my life jumping at shadows. If I have to fight, I want to be on terms I choose, and not anyone else.”
“What are you saying?” Pep asks slowly. He refuses to hope. Hope is not a luxury he has, not something he’s allowed to have.
“I’m saying keeping Barcelona gangster free would be something worth fighting for.”
Pep can’t meet Bojan’s eyes anymore. He has to look away. “You ask too much,” he says softly.
“No,” Bojan says, “I don’t. I’m saying I’m going to live my life on my terms. That’s how it’s going to be. What you choose to do …” He trails off.
Pep stares down at their two hands, still lying joined on top of the blanket. Being a mobster is what he was raised to do. It was what his father did, what his grandfather did. What his family has done for countless generations. It has been Pep’s entire life. Of course, Pep has always considered himself a businessman who is just more honest about the methods he employs. So-called legitimate business are just as dirty, only they hide the nasty bits away, often in third world countries, and pretend they aren’t happening. Pep’s always prided himself on being up front about who he is and what he does. He runs his business and he takes care of his people, and if he has to blow a few people’s brains out to do it, well, that’s just how the world works. He’s killed a man before, in cold blood. It’s not something he’s proud of, but it’s not something he’s ashamed of either. It’s just who he is, and how his world works. And now Bojan is asking him to turn his world upside down, to throw who he is and everything he’s ever known away … except Bojan isn’t, not really. It’s not about the power and the money. The power and the money are just means to an end. Who Pep is, on the most fundamental level, is someone who takes care of his people. And there’s no way Pep can’t think of Bojan as one of his people.
“I want to see you live your life on your terms,” Pep says softly, very softly. He looks up and his eyes are shining with vulnerability. “I … want to be a part of that life.” It’s the truth, plain and simple, and now that Pep’s said it, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest.
Bojan reaches out with his left arm, training his fingers down Pep’s cheek. Pep turns his face, pressing a kiss into Bojan’s hand right above where his hand disappears into the cast. “Could you really do this?” Bojan asks softly. “Could you really make it work?”
“Probably not,” Pep says with a sad lopsided smile as he thinks about how many lives his choice would disrupt. Everyone from his personal bodyguards on down would have their life suddenly ripped out from under them. Pep can’t imagine that people would react … well. “Probably it would end up getting me killed. But … I could try.”
“You’re good though aren’t you?” Bojan says. “You’re the best. If anyone could make this work …”
Pep’s smile grows more lopsided. “Don’t raise me up so high. I’m just a man. A powerful man, yes, but still. I would have to deal with all the families who owe allegiance to the Guardiola family and then …” He grimaces just thinking about it. This would make Valdes’ try at his throne look like peanuts. Every single family would probably be clamoring for his head.
“I don’t expect miracles,” Bojan says a little hesitantly.
Pep looks at him steadily. “Sweetheart, you do.” Bojan’s asking him to remake the world. To remake the way life in Barcelona works. To upset the entire house of cards and then rebuild it on a foundation built on sand. Really, Pep is sure Bojan doesn’t actually understand what he is asking at all.
Bojan meanwhile is ducking his head, blushing a little. “Can you stop calling me sweetheart?” Pep raises an eyebrow. “People who are … close to me call me Kiki.”
“Kiki.” Pep turns the word over on his tongue. “From Krkic?”
Bojan shrugs. “Yeah.”
Pep smiles. “I like it. It suits you. … But then so does sweetheart.”
Bojan points a finger at Pep. “No one else,” he says sternly. “If anyone else tries to call me that, I’ll …”
Pep huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, “you’re only sweetheart for me.”
Bojan looks away, blushing more. “… Okay.”
Pep sighs as he looks at Bojan’s battered profile, his swollen purple eye. He’d been so innocent when Pep met him, five years ago, but he isn’t anymore, and a lot of that is Pep’s fault. Pep can never give that innocence back, and he’s not sure he’d have it another way. He likes the person Bojan is now, likes how Bojan stands up to him and won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Bojan does remind him of Cesc, in a way, but as someone with a mature confidence that comes from having to face the world in a way that Cesc never has had to. Bojan is an amazing young man, and what Pep had said before is true. He wants Bojan, wants Bojan to be his, in every possible way. It has nothing to do with feeling guilty, feeling like he owes Bojan something, and everything to do with how looking at that pointed little nose, that delicate profile makes Pep smile, makes places inside of him that he never even knew existed warm and soothed and content and so full he’s overflowing. Pep’s not willing to put a name on this feeling, not yet, but he’s not willing to let it get away from him either. Now that he has Bojan Krkic Perez back in his life, he’s going to do whatever it takes to keep him there. Even if it means an overthrow of the criminal underworld. Even if it means picking a fight with almost every single mobster in Spain, including the ones who are supposed to be on Pep’s side. Their loyalty is to the family, not to Pep himself. They won’t let the organization go legitimate without a fight. This whole mad thing would probably end with an assassin’s bullet between his eyebrows, but honestly Pep doesn’t care. He still wants Bojan.
And that’s it, really. That's the whole ball game. Pep’s decision has already been made without him even realizing it. “I don't know if what you’re asking is even feasible,” he says softly. “But I’ll figure out how to make it work.”
Bojan looks up at him then, unswollen eye wide and bright with something that looks like hope, and Pep clenches his free hand into a fist for how intensely he feels it. “Seriously?” Bojan says as if he can’t quite believe it.
Pep’s smile is very lopsided. “I was going to beat five of my employees within an inch of their lives for you. Surely I can try to do something good for you as well.”
Bojan frowns. “Don’t beat them. Give them to the police.”
Pep sighs. “A leopard can’t change its spots so quickly. What you ask … I will do what I can. But you can’t expect change over night.”
Bojan clenches his jaw.
“If you want me, you’re going to have to take me the way I am,” Pep says. “I can’t leave them unpunished for what they did. I just can’t. Besides it would make me look weak if I didn’t, and weakness is the fastest way to lose power. And without power, your whole little plan is doomed.” Pep looks at Bojan. “What you’re asking me to do … I’m still going to have to do bad things to make it work. You understand that, right? I can’t become more powerful without breaking a few heads along the way.”
Bojan looks away, swallowing. “Isn’t there some other way?”
“No,” Pep says flatly. “If you’re asking me to do this, I’m going to do it in a way I know works.”
Bojan slips his hand out of Pep’s grasp so that he can press his hands gingerly to his eyes.
“I want to give you everything, Kiki,” Pep says gently. “But I can’t. That’s just not how the world works.”
“I know,” Bojan says pulling his hands away from his eyes. His uninjured eye is suspiciously bright. “I know.”
Pep reaches out, cupping Bojan’s face with the lightest of touches. “You wanted choices,” he says softly. “This is your choice.”
Bojan stares at Pep for a long time, tears glittering unshed in his lashes. “I tried to forget you,” he whispers finally. “In New York, I tried to forget you. I dated all kinds of men. But I could never get you out of my head. You were always there, always in the back of my mind. Your kiss, your voice, your presence …” Bojan swallows.
Pep cups Bojan’s cheek more closely, and Bojan leans in to the touch. “Tell me this isn’t come kind of trauma,” Pep says, voice cracking. “Tell me I didn’t scar you in a way that couldn’t be fixed.”
“This isn’t some kind of trauma,” Bojan whispers. “I promise.” And then he’s leaning forward, pressing his bruised and battered lips against Pep’s in the lightest of kisses. Pep holds completely still, afraid to move least he hurt Bojan in some way. He lets Bojan kiss him how he wants, lets Bojan pull away when he wants. Pep lets out a long low breath when Bojan pulls back, as things in his chest feel like they’re sliding into place, like everything is the way it should be.
“You should be able to come home today,” Pep says softly.
“Home. … You mean the penthouse.”
Pep blinks. “What else would I mean?”
Bojan frowns. “I’m not going to be some kind of kept boy-toy, living off your money.”
“I could never mistake you for a boy-toy,” Pep assures him.
“I’m still not going to let myself be dependant on you.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“I need a job of my own, income of my own.”
Pep frowns. “Don’t you want to paint for a living?”
Bojan gives him a look. “I’m not going to let you be the sugar-daddy who supports me in my little painting hobby.”
Pep coughs at the phrase ‘sugar-daddy.’ “I would never think of it that way.”
“It’s how everyone else would think of it,” Bojan says stiffly. “I would never be taken seriously on my own merits.”
Pep sighs. “Then what’s your alternative?”
Bojan shrugs. “My friend Sergio was going to see if our friend Mesut could get me a job as a waiter at the place he works.”
“A waiter?” Pep stares. “Don’t be absurd.”
The look Bojan gives Pep is very hard, even only coming from one eye. “Don’t you ever think you can tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Pep pinches the bridge of his nose. “But can’t you find something better than a waiter?”
“It’s what I did in New York,” Bojan says. “I didn’t suddenly become too good to wait tables or something.”
There’s a silence.
Bojan gives Pep a look. “Pep! I’m not suddenly better than other people if I start ... seeing you.”
“… You’re not?” Pep’s expression says he clearly thinks so.
Bojan reaches over, punching Pep in the forearm with his uninjured hand. “You are unbelievable. Unbelievable! If you think your … boyfriend or whatever is too good to do an honest day’s work, then …”
“Not boyfriend,” Pep says, making an expression of distaste. “Lover. Or partner.”
Bojan makes a face of his own. “Not lover. … Partner, then.”
“What’s wrong with lover?” Pep purrs, just to see if Bojan will blush. Bojan does.
“Partner is better anyway,” Bojan says quickly. “It has better connotations.”
“Mm.” Secretly, Pep agrees, though he’s not going to say so out loud.
“Anyway,” Bojan says. “Being your partner wouldn’t make me too good to do an honest day’s work.”
“It makes you too good to wait tables.”
Bojan puffs his cheeks out at Pep, as if he’s getting frustrated. It’s an expression Pep finds strangely endearing.
“You look like a fish,” Pep says fondly.
Bojan hits him again. “I will wait tables if I want to wait tables!”
“Let me find you a better job.”
Bojan throws his hands up in the air, making a noise of exasperation, and then one of pain as the movement strains his ribs.
“Bojan …”
“No.” Bojan points a finger at Pep. “I won’t have you hovering over me like I’m some fragile china doll, and I won’t have you handing jobs to me on silver platters. That defeats the entire point of me working!”
“… What is the point of you working, again?” Pep’s only half joking.
“C’mmer,” Bojan says. Pep scoots obligingly closer. He’s half expecting it when Bojan hits him upside the head, but it still comes as a bit of a surprise. “Idiot,” Bojan says, “why would I want to date someone so dense?” But Pep can see the fondness in his eyes. “The point of me working is I’m not going to be your kept pet.”
“… What about living in the penthouse?”
Bojan makes a face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says. “Not to start.” He sighs as he looks at Pep. “It’s too easy to get sucked in by you when I see you every day. I start getting pulled into your orbit and I forget about everything else.”
Pep looks down so Bojan can’t see how pleased he looks. Then he looks up again, expression concerned. “Where would you live?”
“… I’ve rented a place.” Bojan gives him the address and Pep’s eyes go hard.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“What did I just say about you not being able to order my life?”
“That does not extend to letting you live in what is basically a slum.”
“It’s not that bad …” Bojan sighs. “But it’s the best I can afford right now!”
“I will not let you live there,” Pep says, “my lover or not. It’s just not safe.”
“Partner,” Bojan mumbles.
Pep waves a hand. “If you insist on living somewhere on your own, I’ll rent you a place.” Bojan opens his mouth to protest, but Pep holds up a hand. “You’re also going to need bodyguards.” Pep gives Bojan a sober look. “You’re going to be in more danger, a lot more danger now, and your safety isn’t something I would play around with.”
“But-“ Bojan starts to say.
“No buts,” Pep tells him. “If you want me to shake up the underworld of Barcelona, I’ll do it, but I cannot speak for what is going to be shaken loose. You can get a job- that isn’t waiting tables. But you living somewhere secure is a condition I absolutely will not budge on.”
“It will be a loan,” Bojan finally says. “I’ll pay you back.”
“I’m not going to take your money-“ Pep starts to say, but Bojan interrupts him.
“I’ll pay you back.” His expression is one that does not leave room for argument.
Pep sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “It would be better, safer, if you stayed at the penthouse …”
“No,” Bojan tells him flatly. “And another thing, you’re not going to date me without, well, dating me.”
“What do you mean?” Pep asks suspiciously.
“Take me out to dinner. A movie. I don’t know, where to mobsters go on dates?”
Pep’s eyebrow is heading towards his invisible hairline. “You want me to take you out on dates?”
Bojan looks faintly embarrassed. “Well, we haven’t really had a chance to see each other in normal circumstances, have we? To like … get to know each other better? That isn’t too much to ask.”
“Hn,” Pep says. Bojan does have a point. He knows how Bojan looks fresh out of bed in the morning, knows how Bojan feels in his arms mostly naked, knows how Bojan kisses. But he doesn’t know what Bojan’s favorite music is, or whether he likes cats or dogs, or if he cries at movies. He knows how Bojan reacts under pressure, but Pep doesn’t know what his laugh sounds like when he’s truly relaxed and happy. “Okay. Dates.” Pep quirks an eyebrow. “Any other conditions you care to share?”
“I want Martin and Danny as my guards.”
Pep thinks about it, then nods. “I’ll assign Pique and Pepe to you as well.”
Bojan looks dubious. “Do I really need four guards?”
Pep shrugs. “They’ll have to work in shifts after all.”
“Oh. I suppose.”
“Anything else?” Pep asks, faintly amused.
“Um. I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” Bojan mumbles, a little bit embarrassed now.
Pep’s look is the definition of soft. “Let’s get you home then, okay?”
“And then breakfast?”
“And then breakfast.”
+++
Back at the penthouse, Bojan has to endure Cesc crying over him and Martin fussing over him, and even Danny looking concerned.
“Okay, okay that’s enough,” Pep interrupts, steering Bojan towards the kitchen. “Get him breakfast, okay, whatever he wants. I have some business to attend to.”
The look Bojan sends Pep is sharp. “Pep …”
Pep meets Bojan’s gaze steadily. “I have to take care of this. I’ll be back in a while, okay? Danny? Come on.”
“Pep-“ But Pep is already walking out of the room, Danny following him. Bojan’s shoulders slump and he puts his right hand up to rub at his un-bruised eye.
Cesc and Martin exchange looks. “You hungry?” Cesc says with exaggerated chipperness. “What do you want to eat?”
Bojan settles onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, wincing as he does. “I’m not really hungry now.”
“You need to eat to heal,” Martin tells him firmly. Finally Bojan agrees to some ham and some bread rolls. Aware of the watchful eyes of Cesc and Martin, he forces the food down.
“I want to go back to Martin’s apartment,” Bojan says when he is done.
Martin and Cesc exchange glances again. “But … wouldn’t it be better if you stay here? Pep’s place is much nicer than Martins!” Cesc puts on a big smile that is obviously fake, as Martin nods his head.
Bojan looks away. “I’m stuck here again, aren’t I?”
Cesc looks immediately flustered. “Pep felt it would be best if-“
Bojan waves a hand, interrupting Cesc’s explanations. “Whatever. I don’t care. I just want to rest somewhere quiet, watch some TV, and maybe take a nap.” He sighs as he looks at Cesc. “Can you at least get my stuff?”
“Yeah! Sure, of course!” Cesc exchanges more worried looks with Martin as the older man hands Cesc his room key.
“And you.” Bojan turns to Martin as Cesc hurries out of the room. Bojan raises an eyebrow as he looks up at the taller man. “I’m not going to die or something. You don’t have to hover over every breath I take.”
Martin bites his lip. “You say that, kid, but …” He reaches out, running a finger gently down Bojan’s less injured cheek. “Look at you. I can’t-“ he shakes his head, looking away. “Those fuckers are going to pay for what they did. I only wish I could be there to help.”
“So that is the ‘business’ Pep had to take care of,” Bojan says. It’s not a question.
Martin looks down at him with sad eyes. “You don’t understand, Bo. He was crazy with worry and rage. If he doesn’t kill those men, it’s because he’s being kind.”
“Kind.” Bojan spits the word. “Beating people within an inch of their lives is kind?”
“He won’t do them permanent damage.” Martin surveys Bojan’s cuts, bruises, and broken arm. “… I don’t think.”
“And you agree with him?”
Martin shrugs, barely trying to look apologetic. “We all care about you kiddo, we …” he trails off, and shrugs again, as if the sentiments and the solution are obvious.
Bojan looks away, clenching his jaw as he does. “… I want somewhere to lie down, or I may be sick.”
He slides off the stole and Martin hurries forward. “Do you need any medicine, can I get you anything or-“
“No,” Bojan says, then shuts his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry Martin, I just can’t right now, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I understand.” Martin does his best not to look hurt, but Bojan’s not looking at him anyway. “Where do you want to lay down?”
The guest room is clearly out of the question, as is Pep’s room. “The couch.”
Bojan settles down on the plush leather expanse, picking up the remote and flicking the TV on. He chooses a football match, turns the volume on low. When Martin reappears with blankets and pillows, Bojan sighs, but lets the bodyguard arrange him to Martin’s satisfaction. In spite of the pain in his body and the discomforted thoughts in his head, Bojan falls into a light doze, lulled by the soothing sounds of Spanish football.
+++
When Bojan awakes, it is to the sound of a door opening, and then low voices which he can just make out over the quiet sound of the TV.
“He’s asleep on the sofa!” Martin is hissing to someone.
“Oh. Oh,” comes Pep’s voice, and then softer, as footsteps approach, “how’s he doing?”
“He seemed kind of upset …”
Martin and Pep now must be standing behind the back couch, where it sits in the middle of the room, facing the TV. Bojan hears Pep sigh, and he has to know what the other man’s expression is, so he cracks his good eye open to peer upwards.
Pep notices immediately. “Hey,” he says crouching down so that he’s closer to Bojan’s eye level. “Sorry, did we wake you?”
“Mm, no.” Bojan sits up rubbing sleep out of his unbruised eye with his right hand. It’s only after that that he gets a proper look at Pep.
Pep’s jacked is off, held by Danny, Bojan notices with a distracted part of his mind. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing powerful lean forearms, which, along with his hands, are spattered with blood. Bojan stares the bruised and broken skin on the backs of Pep’s knuckles, at the blood there, and he knows all of it isn’t Pep’s. Probably most of it isn’t Pep’s. Bojan claps his hand over his mouth, and then he bolts.
He’s kneeling in Pep’s bathroom, losing all the breakfast he had forced himself to consume, when suddenly he feels soft fingers at his temples, stroking at his hair. He pulls up, turning to look over his shoulder at Pep. “… What?”
Pep’s eyes look sad as he hands Bojan a tissue. “I’m holding back your hair,” he explains softly.
Bojan wipes at drool on his lower lip and chin. He winces at the not yet healed cuts on his lip, but continues. It’s mostly bile and spit now, but that doesn’t make it any less gross. Bojan stares at Pep and then suddenly turns, stomach deciding to give one last heave.
He’s coughing into the porcelain bowl, spluttering and trying to spit the sour taste out of his mouth as he hangs miserably on to the edges (thank God Pep’s bathroom is immaculately clean) when he feels a sudden warmth on his back. It’s Pep’s hand, and the older man just leaves it there, a warm and comforting presence. Bojan shuts his eyes and tries not to think about the blood on those knuckles even as he tries not to lean into the contact.
Pep stands up from where he was kneeling behind Bojan as Bojan climbs stiffly to his feet. He waits silently as Bojan makes his way to one of the three sinks the bathroom boasts.
Bojan sniffles and then coughs roughly as he takes in his appearance in the mirror. He’d looked plenty bad before, but now he looks worse, his one good eye bloodshot and wet with tears, his nose running his mouth and chin wet with drool despite his efforts with the tissue. Bojan turns on the faucet and shuts his eyes as he bends over the sink bringing the warm water up to rinse the sour taste out of his mouth, and wash his face. It’s not like it matters what he looks like anyway. It’s not like any of this matters, because ...
When he straightens, Pep is there, holding out a towel. Bojan stares at it for a long time, stares at the hand that is holding it. The blood on Pep’s hands must be mostly dry by now, because it’s not staining the towel, Bojan thinks abstractly, as he reaches out to take the fluffy white terrycloth. He puts the towel over his face, patting gingerly at his tender skin, and Pep disappears from view. When he lowers the towel again, Pep is still there, standing at another sink as he washes the blood from his hands and forearms.
Bojan watches the pink water swirl as it goes down the drain. When he looks up, Pep meets his eyes in the mirror. There’s a silence as Pep simply holds his gaze. It’s somehow worse like this, somehow more intimate, even though he’s looking at Pep in the mirror, not into his eyes directly, and Bojan has to fight not to look away.
“I told you I was a bad man,” Pep says. Bojan looks away, and Pep looks down, turning off the faucet and then flicking the excess water off his hands into the sink. He picks up a towel of his own and then turns to face Bojan as he dries his hands.
Bojan tries to swallow once, twice; his throat feels raw. “… What happened?” he finally forces himself to ask.
The corner of Pep’s mouth quirks up, but its not a smile. “No one died, don’t worry.” Bojan swallows. The corner of Pep’s mouth goes upward once more, and this time it’s more like a sneer. His voice though, when he speaks, is soft. “I know how to inflict pain without causing permanent damage … I know a lot of ways to inflict pain without causing permanent damage. Not all of them, but enough.”
Bojan has to shut his eyes against that, against Pep’s words, against the soft matter of fact tone of Pep’s voice. He’s suddenly fighting back tears and he hates it, hates himself for it.
“Kiki …” Pep’s voice is even softer, and Bojan opens his eyes once more, blinking furiously. Pep sighs and looks down before looking back at Bojan again. “This is who I am,” he says gently. “This is me. If you want to … be with me, you have to accept all of it. Everything. You don’t get to choose only the nice parts.” He smiles faintly, but his eyes are full of regret. “You can change your mind, you can walk away. You wanted a choice … this is your choice to make.”
Bojan sniffs again, and Pep reaches over, holding out the box of tissue. Bojan takes one, wiping his nose as he stares up at Pep. “Why do you do that?” he asks finally. Pep frowns in confusion. “Why do you … you do these terrible things, but then you’re so kind …”
Pep’s mouth twists. “I just take care of what’s mine. That’s all.”
“No … it’s more than that.” Bojan lets out a long breath, then shakes his head. “You could have washed your hands before you came back up here, you could have wrapped your knuckles or beat them with … I don’t know, a stick or something. You didn't have to come in here with literal blood on your hands.” Bojan stares at Pep, a crease between his brows. “What do you … what, do you think you’re punishing yourself? Are you trying to drive me away?”
Pep continues to look at Bojan, but says nothing.
Bojan sighs and rolls his unswollen eye, crossing his arms over his chest. He winces, then gives Pep an aggravated look. “This isn’t all about your guilt complex, you know.”
Pep chuckles as he looks away. “Guilt complex. Is that something they taught you in therapy?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Bojan huffs. “It doesn’t matter, ‘cause it’s true, isn’t it? You were trying to push me away.”
“… I just want you to understand the reality of things. To see how untenable the situation is.”
“How untenable the-“ Bojan glares. “And what, that’s for you to decide? It’s impossible because you say so?”
Pep sighs. “It’s impossible because that’s how reality is.”
Bojan warps his arms tighter around himself, still glaring. “That’s not what you said before. You said you would try.”
“I said it would probably end up with me dead,” Pep points out.
“Is that really true?” Pep nods. “Then why did you say yes, you moron?” Bojan’s glaring, but his eyes are wet with impending tears again.
“I said yes because I think you’re worth it,” Pep says softly.
“And do you think I want to be responsible for getting you killed?” Bojan snaps.
“Do you think I want to see you hurt in any way at all?”
Bojan takes in a long breath and lets it out slowly as a tear trickles down his cheek. “… Why can’t there be another way?” he asks, and his voice sounds broken.
“Sweetheart-“ And Pep is at his side in an instant, pulling Bojan into his arms. “I know baby,” he says as he presses kisses into Bojan’s hair. “I wish there was too.”
Bojan’s got both his arms around Pep, clinging to the taller man. He pulls back a little though so he can meet Pep’s eyes. “Don’t try to push me away again,” he says severely. “This is hard enough as it is, without you being a moron.”
Pep shuts his eyes and snorts gently. “I’ll try,” he says, “not to be a moron.” Bending over he presses a kiss to Bojan’s nose.
Bojan turns quickly away. “Don’t, I'm all snotty and gross now and I’m probably bright red …” he’s squirming, trying to get out of Pep’s arms so he can get to the tissue.
Pep laughs and holds on. “You are gross.” Bojan glares, and Pep laughs more. “Do you think I care?” He reaches out, tucking Bojan’s hair behind his ear, smile only fond. “I don’t care.”
Bojan’s gaze goes soft and he bites at his lip, but then he squints up at Pep suspiciously. “What if I do nothing but eat fries and milk shakes all day long and get fat?”
Pep laughs, then eyes Bojan. “… Don’t do that.”
Bojan rolls his eyes. “Duh. How would I play football?”
“Brat,” Pep says with a smirk as he lets Bojan go with one arm so that the younger man can grab some tissue.
Runny nose taken care of, Bojan returns to Pep’s embrace. He sighs as he leans his head against Pep’s chest. Pep reaches up, threading his fingers through Bojan’s hair so he can cradle Bojan there. “… What are we gonna do?”
Pep leans over so his cheek is resting on the top of Bojan’s head. “I don’t know.”
Bojan lets his eyes slide shut and he just stands there, soaking in Pep’s warmth, feeling the movement as his chest rises and falls, listening to the steady beat of Pep’s heart. Pep must wear some kind of cologne, something subtle but masculine. Pep doesn’t need any help to seem masculine, Bojan thinks. There’s an aura Pep projects, something confident and powerful, and something unmistakably male. Bojan has on occasion been called a girl, by friends, by classmates, by people who barely know him. No one would ever call Pep a girl.
As Bojan stands there, cataloging Pep’s qualities, his scent, the sound of his heartbeat, how he feels in Bojan’s arms, a realization slowly dawns on him. I don’t want to give this up mingles with mine, mine, he is mine. Bojan takes in a very long slow breath, and Pep stills.
“Kiki?”
Bojan pulls back, leaning back in Pep’s arms just enough that he can see Pep’s face. “I choose.”
Pep’s eyes ask the question.
“Bad … stuff and everything. I don’t care.” Bojan sets his mouth in a firm stubborn line. “I want you.”
Pep looks silently down at Bojan for a long time, and Bojan tries not to hold his breath. “I’ll only hurt you, in the end,” Pep says softly.
Bojan swallows. “I don’t care. … You said this is my choice, and I’m making it.”
Pep’s eyes slide shut and he lets out a breath. “I should send you away, for your own good. I should get you as far away from me as possible …” His eyes slide open again. “… But I can’t.”
And then he’s framing Bojan’s face in his hands as he bends over, slotting their mouths together as if that’s how they’ve belong all along. Bojan’s mouth opens easily under Pep’s, and he twines his arms around Pep’s neck, ignoring the awkwardness of his cast as he’s taken away in a wave of lush warmth. Pep’s mouth is perfect against his, taking as well as giving, Pep’s tongue like velvet against his, firm, but also gentle.
“Mmmm,” Bojan sighs when the kiss breaks, and Pep quirks a smile before leaning back in to press gentle chaste kisses along Bojan’s injured lips.
“Okay?” Pep asks softly.
“Perfect.”
+++
When they emerge from the bathroom, Cesc is loitering in the hall, attempting to look inconspicuous. Bojan and Pep exchange glances, and then both snort with laughter.
“What?” Cesc demands, looking put out.
Pep raises an eyebrow as he looks down at Bojan. “Should we give him what he wants?”
Bojan shrugs, and tries not to look embarrassed. “Sure …” If he’s going to date Pep, Cesc will end up knowing about it anyway, so they might as well tell him now.
Bojan looks up at Pep to convey this, but the smile that greets him is enough to make his other thoughts melt away. And then Pep is bending over, hand cupping Bojan’s jaw as he presses a soft kiss to Bojan’s lips.
The high-pitched noise Cesc emits can only be termed a squeal. Bojan claps his hands over his ears and glares at Cesc, pretending to be offended. “What are you, a dying antelope or something?”
“A dying pig,” Pep suggests blandly.
Cesc isn’t paying them the slightest bit of attention though, he’s too busy jumping up and down, clapping his hands together. “Ohmygosh, fiiiiinally!” he trills. He bounds over to them, first throwing his arms around Pep, then around Bojan. “Congratulations!” Cesc wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “We’re going to be brothers,” he tells Bojan.
It takes Bojan a minute to parse what Cesc has said. Pep tries to keep a straight face, but finally gives in and starts to chuckle at Bojan’s indignant expression.
“One, eww. Two, never mention that again. Three, eww! And you!” Bojan turns, bopping Pep with his cast. “Don’t encourage him.”
“… Right,” Pep says, attempting to look serious before giving one last chuckle. Bojan makes a noise of disgust and hits Pep with his cast again.
“Ahhh, I’m so happy!” Cesc grabs Bojan’s hands. “We have to start planning the honeymoon!”
“Uh.” Bojan stares at Cesc, who seems deadly earnest. Bojan casts desperate eyes at Pep. “Help!”
Pep shakes his head, covering his face with his hand to hide his resigned smile. “You two go have fun, I’ve got some work to do." Pep knows how futile it is to fight Cesc once the young man has an idea in his head.
“Coward!” Bojan yells over his shoulder as Cesc drags him away, but Pep only chuckles. He watches until Bojan has disappeared around the corner before he turns, heading for his office.
Time to figure out how … best to tell Perez that Pep is going to be fucking his grandson.
+++
Out in the living room, Danny and Martin are waiting for them. “Ladies and other ladies!” Cesc tells them with a dramatic flourish. Danny snorts and rolls his eyes. “May I present …” Cesc pauses for effect. “The new Mrs. Guardiola!”
Bojan puts a hand over his face. “Can you really not?” he asks Cesc. “It’s not like Pep and I pledged our undying love or anything.”
“That will come soon enough.” Cesc nods sagely, and Bojan groans.
Danny meanwhile, is eyeing Bojan appraisingly. “Is he actually right? Are you and the boss … you know?”
Bojan sighs, and tries to fight back his blush. “… Yeah. You know.” Danny gives a wolf whistle. “Don’t spread it around!” Bojan quickly says. “Everyone and their … everyone doesn’t need to know!” He shoots Cesc a hard look.
“Well I have to tell Rino,” Cesc says innocently. “And Pepe will probably want to know. And all of Pep’s personal body guards will know sooner or later …”
Bojan groans as he sinks into the couch. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“The boss’ pants, evidently,” Danny says. “Congrats, he’s fit.”
Martin rolls his eyes. “What would you know about it? You’re straight.”
Danny gives Martin a look. “Yeah, straight, that’s me, straight as a …”
“Oh come on,” Bojan interrupts impatiently. “Obviously Danny’s as gay as Cesc.”
Bojan gets two offended glares for that. “Okay, okay, maybe not as gay as Cesc,” he hastily amends. “As gay as anyone though.”
“He’s not though,” Martin says.
Danny snorts. “How would you know what’s gay and what isn’t, Mr. straight and narrow?”
“Oh for the love of!” Bojan throws his hands up in the air. “Is this why the two of you have never hooked up? Because you’re both morons?”
“Why would we hook up?” Danny asks sullenly. “He’s not interested.”
“You’re not interested!” Martin says.
Danny turns. “What do you mean, I’m not interested, how would you even know if I am or not?”
“You’re too busy going to clubs and picking up girls!” Martin says hotly.
“Because I have nothing to do! And who says I pick up girls?” Danny points his finger accusingly. “Have I ever brought a girl home?”
“Well … no, but you always come home with lipstick on your collar and your clothes all in a disarray, saying what a good time you had!”
Danny snorts. “Some people have no concept of personal space, that’s all.”
“And you expect me to believe that.” Martin snaps.
Danny throws his hands up in the air. “Believe whatever you want, you’ve clearly got it all already figured out!”
Bojan makes a noise of disgust. “You are such children.”
Cesc meanwhile looks amazed. “You’re totally right!” he tells Bojan. “They’re both clearly crazy about each other! It’s so obvious, why did I not notice it before?”
“Because you were too busy trying to set people up with Pep.”
“Oh.” Cesc thinks about it. “… That’s probably true. Rino’s kept me busy too.” He winks at Bojan and Bojan shakes his head and sighs.
Danny and Martin are eyeing the pair of them like they’ve grown extra heads. “No one is crazy about anyone,” Danny says. “We’re just buds, right Martin?”
He turns to look at the bald man for confirmation, but Martin looks away.
“… Martin?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Martin shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to walk away.
“Hey wait a minute.” Danny reaches out and grabs Martin’s arm. “I think I deserve an answer here.”
The laugh Martin gives is bitter. “Deserve, why? Because you’re the great Daniel Agger and everyone should just fall at your feet?”
“Because I’ve been in love with you for years,” Danny says. “For years and years, and I never thought …”
Martin’s voice has gone all stiff and strange. “This isn’t a very funny joke, Danny. It isn’t funny at all.”
“I’m not joking. Come on please, Mart, will you just look at me?” Danny tugs on Martin’s arm.
Martin turns slowly. “I hate when you call me that.”
Danny smiles lopsidedly. “I know. That’s why I do it.”
Martin stares at Danny for a long time. “… In love with me?” he finally asks.
“I swear on my mother,” Danny says. “I swear it on the boss’ life. I swear-“
“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get too crazy there,” Martin says. “… Why did you never tell me?”
Danny gives a sad smile. “I didn’t want to wreck our friendship. I didn’t want to drive you away. I would rather have stayed friends forever than risk losing you.”
Martin reaches out, fingers ghosting over Danny’s cheek. “You wouldn’t have lost me.”
“… And my answer?”
Martin laughs softly as he looks at Danny ruefully. “I love you. Of course I love you. How could I not?”
Danny bites his lip as he reaches out, wrapping his hand around Martin’s neck. “Then we …” he breathes.
Martin reaches up, putting his hand over Danny’s. “We …”
“Kiss! Kiss!” Cesc stage whispers. “Now is when you kiss!”
Danny and Martin pull away from each other. “You are the ruiner of everything ever,” Bojan tells Cesc.
Danny smirks down at Cesc. “If you want a free show, then film yourself with Gattuso.”
“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea ...” Cesc says. He starts to dig out his phone.
Danny leans over and brushes a split second kiss over Martin’s lips. “Later,” he whispers in the other man’s ear, and Martin blushes.
“Finally!” Bojan claps, and Cesc looks up.
“What? Oh my god no, did I miss the good stuff?” He pushes Bojan. “You are the worst co-conspirator ever.”
“Pretty sure it’s your own fault,” Bojan tells Cesc with a smirk.
“Ugh! You all suck!”
Bojan, Danny, and Martin all laugh.
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Pep Guardiola/Bojan Krkić, Cesc Fabregas/Gennaro Gattuso, Danny Agger/Martin Skrtle, mentioned: Florintino Pérez and Pepe Reina
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 8,860
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summary: Pep Guardiola is the head of one of the largest mafia groups in Spain. But what’s a gangster to do when he gets his own personal hostage in the form of the grandson of his biggest enemy?
Disclaimer part 2: I don’t know anything about the mafia, Spanish or otherwise. This is all made up like a made up thing. Also I realize that Bojan is not really Pérez’s grandson, but see the disclaimer about this being made up. These are not real people; they are fictional characters with fictional families and fictional lives.
Note: Hey everyone! I'm done with school, which means fic for youuuu. Now I know I said this would be the last chapter, but then it started getting stupidly long. So there will be 15 chapters instead of 14. I don’t think too many people will mind. Chapter 15 will absolutely for sure be the final chapter though, and it should be done soon! For those of you waiting for more If I Go Crazy, I will start working on it again as soon as I’m done with this fic.
Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4a | 4b | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10a | 10b | 11 | 12 | 13
“What do you mean?” Pep asks.
Bojan gives him a look. “You’re Josep Guardiola. You’re one of the most powerful men in Spain. And judging by how you need a shave, and you’re still in the same clothes as yesterday, you just spent the night sleeping in a very uncomfortable orange plastic chair.”
Pep isn’t one to skirt around conversations. But then he isn’t one to have this kind of conversation. “The chairs really are an unfortunate color, aren’t they?”
“Pep.”
Evade, evade, evade, evade. “I don’t know what you want. Do you want me to apologize for staying?”
“I want the truth.”
“The truth.” Pep runs his hand over his face, and yes, he does need to shave. “The truth is not a simple thing …”
Bojan’s look is steely. “Make it simple.”
The easiest way to get out of this conversation would be to declare it over, and leave. But Pep doesn’t do that. Bojan deserves answers, even if Pep doesn’t have any to give. “… Ask me,” he finally says. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“Why do you care so much about me? Why do you even care about me at all?”
Pep looks away. “I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.”
“Liar,” Bojan says, the word soft, almost fond.
Pep looks at Bojan, eyes hooded. “What if I’m just trying to manipulate you?”
“Maybe,” Bojan concedes. “But I don’t think you would have spent the night sleeping in an ugly plastic chair just to manipulate me, not when you could have just as easily taken over one of the hospital’s beds.”
“… No.” Pep lets out a sigh. “Then … I care.” He looks up at Bojan. “It doesn’t matter though. I thought I could help you, but I can’t. I can only get you more hurt. The best thing for me would be to get out of your life.”
Bojan’s gaze is hard. “Do you really think that would work? I would have to leave Spain again, to get back out from under my grandfather’s influence. I would have to move somewhere else, maybe even change my name, to get away from all this. I don’t want to do that again. I’m not gonna uproot my entire life, leave behind all my friends and family again, just so I can try to get away from this stupid mobster shit. And who’s to say it would work? Who’s to say someone wouldn’t track me down, come find me where I’m unprotected somewhere, and get me again?”
Pep runs his hands over his face, over the rasp of stubble. “I don’t know what you want then.” He pulls his hands away to look at Bojan. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know either!” Bojan frowns, frustrated. “I want to get off this stupid merry-go-round with you and my grandfather and this whole criminal thing.”
Pep looks down at his hands. “… You can’t change the family you were born into, just like I can’t change the family I was born into.”
“So, what?” Bojan clenches his jaw. “Are you saying I don’t have a choice?”
“I’m saying …” Pep looks away. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Just like I don’t know how to fix this. I would if I could, sweetheart.”
The endearment slips off his tongue without him even realizing, and Pep’s eyes go slightly wide, just as Bojan’s eyes do. “Have you been with anyone since Cesc?” Bojan suddenly asks.
Pep blinks at the sudden change in topic. “… I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Answer the question,” Bojan says, and it’s not a command, or a demand, it’s just a simple expectation that Pep will comply.
Pep looks away. “It’s hard to get partners you can trust to be discreet, when you’re in my position. Especially given the homophobia in the community, and my orientation.”
Bojan nods. “How many?” he repeats.
There’s a long pause. “No one,” Pep finally admits.
Bojan eyes him. “So what, I’m a replacement for Cesc? Or I was just convenient?”
“No!” Pep says, startled by his own vehemence. He forces his tone to even out. “In case you hadn’t noticed you’re rather different from Cesc.” He quirks a smile, and Bojan smiles too. “As for convenience … I wouldn’t have invited you back to Spain if it was just about convenience, would I? I would have made a move on you much faster when I had you in the first place.”
“Hm,” Bojan says. He looks down at his hands for a while, the one in the cast and the one not. “… what are you going to do with the people,” he asks, “who … did this to me? Are you going to turn them in to the police.”
Pep looks away. “No.”
Bojan’s gaze turns harder. “So what are you going to do with them?”
“They’ll be taken care of,” Pep says shortly, some of his anger creeping back into his voice.
“Josep,” Bojan says sharply. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.” Pep’s not used to being talked to like this. He glares. Bojan glares back. “You can’t tell me it’s none of my business.”
Pep deflates. “No, I suppose I can’t. They’ll be punished. Made an example of.”
“Punished how?”
Pep stares at Bojan’s black eye, at his broken arm. At all the cuts and bruises. “They’ll get twice of everything they did to you,” he says, voice soft but deadly. He looks up, meeting Bojan’s eyes. “I’ll have Martin and Danny and Pepe and Gattuso take care of it. They’ll be happy to.”
Bojan’s intake of breath is a hiss. “That doesn’t … That doesn’t fix anything. That doesn’t make anything better! I won’t get healed just because they’re hurt.” He stares at Pep. “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”
“I know,” Pep says, fingers tightening on the arms of the chair. “I know it won’t fix anything but I have to make an example of them.” His eyes when he meets Bojan’s eyes, are guilty and pained. “I have to make sure nothing like this happens again.”
“And breaking all their arms is going to do that?” Bojan demands. “Putting them all in the hospital with serious concussions and broken ribs is going to help how, exactly?”
Pep looks away, jaw clenched. “I have to make them pay. They touched something that’s …” Pep abruptly stops, cutting himself off.
“Something that’s what? Something that’s what, Pep?”
“… Something that’s mine,” he says in a whisper, almost too quiet for Bojan to hear. He stares down at the rumpled blankets on Bojan’s bed. “They touched something that’s mine.” The words are as much a revelation to Pep as they are to Bojan, and he stares fixedly at the blanket, refusing to raise his gaze.
“… Jesus.” Bojan puts his hands over his eyes, wincing as he touches his black eye. He runs his hands through his hair and stares at Pep’s blank expression. “I am not a thing,” he finally says. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”
“I know,” Pep says softly. He gives a helpless little shrug as he looks up at Bojan. “I know. But I still want you to be mine.”
The admission hangs in the air between them like a tangible thing, like a third presence in the room.
Bojan shuts his eyes, giving a weak little chuckle. “So much for not caring,” he mumbles.
“Yeah.” Pep looks away.
Bojan opens his eyes, looking over at Pep. “I’m not safe with you,” he says softly.
“I know. I know.” Pep looks down.
“But I’m not really safe without you either.”
Pep looks up again. “… What are you saying?”
Bojan sighs, face showing frustration. “I’m saying I’m tired of not having choices. I’m tired of my life being determined by other people, by things completely outside my control. I want choices, damn it.”
There’s a long pause. “Sometimes we don’t get choices,” Pep says regretfully.
“I refuse to believe that,” Bojan says firmly.
Pep shakes his head. “Ah, the idealism of youth.”
The look Bojan gives him is unfriendly. “Come over here so I can punch you.”
Pep smiles, but it’s a sad smile. He scooches his chair closer to the bed, and reaches out offering his hand to Bojan. After a hesitation, Bojan reaches out with his unbroken arm, twining his fingers with Pep’s. He stares down at their joined hands. “…Do you have to be a crime boss?”
“It’s the family I was born into.” Pep smiles, but it’s all regret. “From the position I’m in now, there’s no way I could leave. My competitors would never let me get away. If I changed careers, my life wouldn’t be worth the oxygen I breathe. Besides.” He strokes his thumb over the backs of Bojan’s fingers. “If I left, someone else would just take over, and you would have to deal with a new mob boss in Barcelona who hated your grandfather. Nothing would change.”
“Do you like it?” Bojan asks suddenly, looking up to meet Pep’s eyes. “The work you do? Do you like hurting people?”
Pep shrugs one shouldered. “I’m good at my job. … And yes, sometimes I like it.” He thinks about the 5 guards still being held by Gattuso and Pepe. “Sometimes I like hurting people very much.” He looks at Bojan steadily. “I told you niño, I am a bad man.”
“I don’t believe that,” Bojan says. “I don’t think you’re as bad as you like to say.”
Pep chuckles, but it’s forced. “Wishful thinking. You haven’t even seen one quarter, one eighth of the things I am capable of.”
“And instead of going and doing your bad things, you stay by my bed and feed me juice.”
“Just because I’m a bad man, doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart.” Pep looks at Bojan. “I do have a heart.”
“I know.” Bojan squeezes Pep’s hand lightly. Then he looks thoughtful. “What if … what if you declared Barcelona a neutral zone? What if you didn’t let any other mobsters move in?”
Pep laughs. “Sweetheart, I'm powerful, but I’m not that powerful. Even I couldn’t stop all the business in Barcelona.”
Bojan looks at Pep steadily. “Could you get that much power?”
Pep stops laughing. “… I don’t know. What you’re asking …” He shakes his head. “I would say it’s impossible. Nature abhors a vacuum. If I stopped all the underside dealings in Barcelona … operators would just be constantly trying to move in.” His eyes when he looks at Bojan are full of emotion. “They would constantly be trying to take me out. Me … and anyone close to me.”
Bojan lets out a long slow breath. “But that’s always going to be the way, isn’t it? As Perez’s grandson, I’m actually lucky no one was successful a getting to me until I was 19.”
“… True,” Pep concedes.
Bojan looks at Pep. “I refuse to live my life on the run, I refuse to abandon everything I care about, I refuse to live the rest of my life jumping at shadows. If I have to fight, I want to be on terms I choose, and not anyone else.”
“What are you saying?” Pep asks slowly. He refuses to hope. Hope is not a luxury he has, not something he’s allowed to have.
“I’m saying keeping Barcelona gangster free would be something worth fighting for.”
Pep can’t meet Bojan’s eyes anymore. He has to look away. “You ask too much,” he says softly.
“No,” Bojan says, “I don’t. I’m saying I’m going to live my life on my terms. That’s how it’s going to be. What you choose to do …” He trails off.
Pep stares down at their two hands, still lying joined on top of the blanket. Being a mobster is what he was raised to do. It was what his father did, what his grandfather did. What his family has done for countless generations. It has been Pep’s entire life. Of course, Pep has always considered himself a businessman who is just more honest about the methods he employs. So-called legitimate business are just as dirty, only they hide the nasty bits away, often in third world countries, and pretend they aren’t happening. Pep’s always prided himself on being up front about who he is and what he does. He runs his business and he takes care of his people, and if he has to blow a few people’s brains out to do it, well, that’s just how the world works. He’s killed a man before, in cold blood. It’s not something he’s proud of, but it’s not something he’s ashamed of either. It’s just who he is, and how his world works. And now Bojan is asking him to turn his world upside down, to throw who he is and everything he’s ever known away … except Bojan isn’t, not really. It’s not about the power and the money. The power and the money are just means to an end. Who Pep is, on the most fundamental level, is someone who takes care of his people. And there’s no way Pep can’t think of Bojan as one of his people.
“I want to see you live your life on your terms,” Pep says softly, very softly. He looks up and his eyes are shining with vulnerability. “I … want to be a part of that life.” It’s the truth, plain and simple, and now that Pep’s said it, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest.
Bojan reaches out with his left arm, training his fingers down Pep’s cheek. Pep turns his face, pressing a kiss into Bojan’s hand right above where his hand disappears into the cast. “Could you really do this?” Bojan asks softly. “Could you really make it work?”
“Probably not,” Pep says with a sad lopsided smile as he thinks about how many lives his choice would disrupt. Everyone from his personal bodyguards on down would have their life suddenly ripped out from under them. Pep can’t imagine that people would react … well. “Probably it would end up getting me killed. But … I could try.”
“You’re good though aren’t you?” Bojan says. “You’re the best. If anyone could make this work …”
Pep’s smile grows more lopsided. “Don’t raise me up so high. I’m just a man. A powerful man, yes, but still. I would have to deal with all the families who owe allegiance to the Guardiola family and then …” He grimaces just thinking about it. This would make Valdes’ try at his throne look like peanuts. Every single family would probably be clamoring for his head.
“I don’t expect miracles,” Bojan says a little hesitantly.
Pep looks at him steadily. “Sweetheart, you do.” Bojan’s asking him to remake the world. To remake the way life in Barcelona works. To upset the entire house of cards and then rebuild it on a foundation built on sand. Really, Pep is sure Bojan doesn’t actually understand what he is asking at all.
Bojan meanwhile is ducking his head, blushing a little. “Can you stop calling me sweetheart?” Pep raises an eyebrow. “People who are … close to me call me Kiki.”
“Kiki.” Pep turns the word over on his tongue. “From Krkic?”
Bojan shrugs. “Yeah.”
Pep smiles. “I like it. It suits you. … But then so does sweetheart.”
Bojan points a finger at Pep. “No one else,” he says sternly. “If anyone else tries to call me that, I’ll …”
Pep huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, “you’re only sweetheart for me.”
Bojan looks away, blushing more. “… Okay.”
Pep sighs as he looks at Bojan’s battered profile, his swollen purple eye. He’d been so innocent when Pep met him, five years ago, but he isn’t anymore, and a lot of that is Pep’s fault. Pep can never give that innocence back, and he’s not sure he’d have it another way. He likes the person Bojan is now, likes how Bojan stands up to him and won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Bojan does remind him of Cesc, in a way, but as someone with a mature confidence that comes from having to face the world in a way that Cesc never has had to. Bojan is an amazing young man, and what Pep had said before is true. He wants Bojan, wants Bojan to be his, in every possible way. It has nothing to do with feeling guilty, feeling like he owes Bojan something, and everything to do with how looking at that pointed little nose, that delicate profile makes Pep smile, makes places inside of him that he never even knew existed warm and soothed and content and so full he’s overflowing. Pep’s not willing to put a name on this feeling, not yet, but he’s not willing to let it get away from him either. Now that he has Bojan Krkic Perez back in his life, he’s going to do whatever it takes to keep him there. Even if it means an overthrow of the criminal underworld. Even if it means picking a fight with almost every single mobster in Spain, including the ones who are supposed to be on Pep’s side. Their loyalty is to the family, not to Pep himself. They won’t let the organization go legitimate without a fight. This whole mad thing would probably end with an assassin’s bullet between his eyebrows, but honestly Pep doesn’t care. He still wants Bojan.
And that’s it, really. That's the whole ball game. Pep’s decision has already been made without him even realizing it. “I don't know if what you’re asking is even feasible,” he says softly. “But I’ll figure out how to make it work.”
Bojan looks up at him then, unswollen eye wide and bright with something that looks like hope, and Pep clenches his free hand into a fist for how intensely he feels it. “Seriously?” Bojan says as if he can’t quite believe it.
Pep’s smile is very lopsided. “I was going to beat five of my employees within an inch of their lives for you. Surely I can try to do something good for you as well.”
Bojan frowns. “Don’t beat them. Give them to the police.”
Pep sighs. “A leopard can’t change its spots so quickly. What you ask … I will do what I can. But you can’t expect change over night.”
Bojan clenches his jaw.
“If you want me, you’re going to have to take me the way I am,” Pep says. “I can’t leave them unpunished for what they did. I just can’t. Besides it would make me look weak if I didn’t, and weakness is the fastest way to lose power. And without power, your whole little plan is doomed.” Pep looks at Bojan. “What you’re asking me to do … I’m still going to have to do bad things to make it work. You understand that, right? I can’t become more powerful without breaking a few heads along the way.”
Bojan looks away, swallowing. “Isn’t there some other way?”
“No,” Pep says flatly. “If you’re asking me to do this, I’m going to do it in a way I know works.”
Bojan slips his hand out of Pep’s grasp so that he can press his hands gingerly to his eyes.
“I want to give you everything, Kiki,” Pep says gently. “But I can’t. That’s just not how the world works.”
“I know,” Bojan says pulling his hands away from his eyes. His uninjured eye is suspiciously bright. “I know.”
Pep reaches out, cupping Bojan’s face with the lightest of touches. “You wanted choices,” he says softly. “This is your choice.”
Bojan stares at Pep for a long time, tears glittering unshed in his lashes. “I tried to forget you,” he whispers finally. “In New York, I tried to forget you. I dated all kinds of men. But I could never get you out of my head. You were always there, always in the back of my mind. Your kiss, your voice, your presence …” Bojan swallows.
Pep cups Bojan’s cheek more closely, and Bojan leans in to the touch. “Tell me this isn’t come kind of trauma,” Pep says, voice cracking. “Tell me I didn’t scar you in a way that couldn’t be fixed.”
“This isn’t some kind of trauma,” Bojan whispers. “I promise.” And then he’s leaning forward, pressing his bruised and battered lips against Pep’s in the lightest of kisses. Pep holds completely still, afraid to move least he hurt Bojan in some way. He lets Bojan kiss him how he wants, lets Bojan pull away when he wants. Pep lets out a long low breath when Bojan pulls back, as things in his chest feel like they’re sliding into place, like everything is the way it should be.
“You should be able to come home today,” Pep says softly.
“Home. … You mean the penthouse.”
Pep blinks. “What else would I mean?”
Bojan frowns. “I’m not going to be some kind of kept boy-toy, living off your money.”
“I could never mistake you for a boy-toy,” Pep assures him.
“I’m still not going to let myself be dependant on you.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“I need a job of my own, income of my own.”
Pep frowns. “Don’t you want to paint for a living?”
Bojan gives him a look. “I’m not going to let you be the sugar-daddy who supports me in my little painting hobby.”
Pep coughs at the phrase ‘sugar-daddy.’ “I would never think of it that way.”
“It’s how everyone else would think of it,” Bojan says stiffly. “I would never be taken seriously on my own merits.”
Pep sighs. “Then what’s your alternative?”
Bojan shrugs. “My friend Sergio was going to see if our friend Mesut could get me a job as a waiter at the place he works.”
“A waiter?” Pep stares. “Don’t be absurd.”
The look Bojan gives Pep is very hard, even only coming from one eye. “Don’t you ever think you can tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Pep pinches the bridge of his nose. “But can’t you find something better than a waiter?”
“It’s what I did in New York,” Bojan says. “I didn’t suddenly become too good to wait tables or something.”
There’s a silence.
Bojan gives Pep a look. “Pep! I’m not suddenly better than other people if I start ... seeing you.”
“… You’re not?” Pep’s expression says he clearly thinks so.
Bojan reaches over, punching Pep in the forearm with his uninjured hand. “You are unbelievable. Unbelievable! If you think your … boyfriend or whatever is too good to do an honest day’s work, then …”
“Not boyfriend,” Pep says, making an expression of distaste. “Lover. Or partner.”
Bojan makes a face of his own. “Not lover. … Partner, then.”
“What’s wrong with lover?” Pep purrs, just to see if Bojan will blush. Bojan does.
“Partner is better anyway,” Bojan says quickly. “It has better connotations.”
“Mm.” Secretly, Pep agrees, though he’s not going to say so out loud.
“Anyway,” Bojan says. “Being your partner wouldn’t make me too good to do an honest day’s work.”
“It makes you too good to wait tables.”
Bojan puffs his cheeks out at Pep, as if he’s getting frustrated. It’s an expression Pep finds strangely endearing.
“You look like a fish,” Pep says fondly.
Bojan hits him again. “I will wait tables if I want to wait tables!”
“Let me find you a better job.”
Bojan throws his hands up in the air, making a noise of exasperation, and then one of pain as the movement strains his ribs.
“Bojan …”
“No.” Bojan points a finger at Pep. “I won’t have you hovering over me like I’m some fragile china doll, and I won’t have you handing jobs to me on silver platters. That defeats the entire point of me working!”
“… What is the point of you working, again?” Pep’s only half joking.
“C’mmer,” Bojan says. Pep scoots obligingly closer. He’s half expecting it when Bojan hits him upside the head, but it still comes as a bit of a surprise. “Idiot,” Bojan says, “why would I want to date someone so dense?” But Pep can see the fondness in his eyes. “The point of me working is I’m not going to be your kept pet.”
“… What about living in the penthouse?”
Bojan makes a face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says. “Not to start.” He sighs as he looks at Pep. “It’s too easy to get sucked in by you when I see you every day. I start getting pulled into your orbit and I forget about everything else.”
Pep looks down so Bojan can’t see how pleased he looks. Then he looks up again, expression concerned. “Where would you live?”
“… I’ve rented a place.” Bojan gives him the address and Pep’s eyes go hard.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“What did I just say about you not being able to order my life?”
“That does not extend to letting you live in what is basically a slum.”
“It’s not that bad …” Bojan sighs. “But it’s the best I can afford right now!”
“I will not let you live there,” Pep says, “my lover or not. It’s just not safe.”
“Partner,” Bojan mumbles.
Pep waves a hand. “If you insist on living somewhere on your own, I’ll rent you a place.” Bojan opens his mouth to protest, but Pep holds up a hand. “You’re also going to need bodyguards.” Pep gives Bojan a sober look. “You’re going to be in more danger, a lot more danger now, and your safety isn’t something I would play around with.”
“But-“ Bojan starts to say.
“No buts,” Pep tells him. “If you want me to shake up the underworld of Barcelona, I’ll do it, but I cannot speak for what is going to be shaken loose. You can get a job- that isn’t waiting tables. But you living somewhere secure is a condition I absolutely will not budge on.”
“It will be a loan,” Bojan finally says. “I’ll pay you back.”
“I’m not going to take your money-“ Pep starts to say, but Bojan interrupts him.
“I’ll pay you back.” His expression is one that does not leave room for argument.
Pep sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “It would be better, safer, if you stayed at the penthouse …”
“No,” Bojan tells him flatly. “And another thing, you’re not going to date me without, well, dating me.”
“What do you mean?” Pep asks suspiciously.
“Take me out to dinner. A movie. I don’t know, where to mobsters go on dates?”
Pep’s eyebrow is heading towards his invisible hairline. “You want me to take you out on dates?”
Bojan looks faintly embarrassed. “Well, we haven’t really had a chance to see each other in normal circumstances, have we? To like … get to know each other better? That isn’t too much to ask.”
“Hn,” Pep says. Bojan does have a point. He knows how Bojan looks fresh out of bed in the morning, knows how Bojan feels in his arms mostly naked, knows how Bojan kisses. But he doesn’t know what Bojan’s favorite music is, or whether he likes cats or dogs, or if he cries at movies. He knows how Bojan reacts under pressure, but Pep doesn’t know what his laugh sounds like when he’s truly relaxed and happy. “Okay. Dates.” Pep quirks an eyebrow. “Any other conditions you care to share?”
“I want Martin and Danny as my guards.”
Pep thinks about it, then nods. “I’ll assign Pique and Pepe to you as well.”
Bojan looks dubious. “Do I really need four guards?”
Pep shrugs. “They’ll have to work in shifts after all.”
“Oh. I suppose.”
“Anything else?” Pep asks, faintly amused.
“Um. I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” Bojan mumbles, a little bit embarrassed now.
Pep’s look is the definition of soft. “Let’s get you home then, okay?”
“And then breakfast?”
“And then breakfast.”
+++
Back at the penthouse, Bojan has to endure Cesc crying over him and Martin fussing over him, and even Danny looking concerned.
“Okay, okay that’s enough,” Pep interrupts, steering Bojan towards the kitchen. “Get him breakfast, okay, whatever he wants. I have some business to attend to.”
The look Bojan sends Pep is sharp. “Pep …”
Pep meets Bojan’s gaze steadily. “I have to take care of this. I’ll be back in a while, okay? Danny? Come on.”
“Pep-“ But Pep is already walking out of the room, Danny following him. Bojan’s shoulders slump and he puts his right hand up to rub at his un-bruised eye.
Cesc and Martin exchange looks. “You hungry?” Cesc says with exaggerated chipperness. “What do you want to eat?”
Bojan settles onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, wincing as he does. “I’m not really hungry now.”
“You need to eat to heal,” Martin tells him firmly. Finally Bojan agrees to some ham and some bread rolls. Aware of the watchful eyes of Cesc and Martin, he forces the food down.
“I want to go back to Martin’s apartment,” Bojan says when he is done.
Martin and Cesc exchange glances again. “But … wouldn’t it be better if you stay here? Pep’s place is much nicer than Martins!” Cesc puts on a big smile that is obviously fake, as Martin nods his head.
Bojan looks away. “I’m stuck here again, aren’t I?”
Cesc looks immediately flustered. “Pep felt it would be best if-“
Bojan waves a hand, interrupting Cesc’s explanations. “Whatever. I don’t care. I just want to rest somewhere quiet, watch some TV, and maybe take a nap.” He sighs as he looks at Cesc. “Can you at least get my stuff?”
“Yeah! Sure, of course!” Cesc exchanges more worried looks with Martin as the older man hands Cesc his room key.
“And you.” Bojan turns to Martin as Cesc hurries out of the room. Bojan raises an eyebrow as he looks up at the taller man. “I’m not going to die or something. You don’t have to hover over every breath I take.”
Martin bites his lip. “You say that, kid, but …” He reaches out, running a finger gently down Bojan’s less injured cheek. “Look at you. I can’t-“ he shakes his head, looking away. “Those fuckers are going to pay for what they did. I only wish I could be there to help.”
“So that is the ‘business’ Pep had to take care of,” Bojan says. It’s not a question.
Martin looks down at him with sad eyes. “You don’t understand, Bo. He was crazy with worry and rage. If he doesn’t kill those men, it’s because he’s being kind.”
“Kind.” Bojan spits the word. “Beating people within an inch of their lives is kind?”
“He won’t do them permanent damage.” Martin surveys Bojan’s cuts, bruises, and broken arm. “… I don’t think.”
“And you agree with him?”
Martin shrugs, barely trying to look apologetic. “We all care about you kiddo, we …” he trails off, and shrugs again, as if the sentiments and the solution are obvious.
Bojan looks away, clenching his jaw as he does. “… I want somewhere to lie down, or I may be sick.”
He slides off the stole and Martin hurries forward. “Do you need any medicine, can I get you anything or-“
“No,” Bojan says, then shuts his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry Martin, I just can’t right now, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I understand.” Martin does his best not to look hurt, but Bojan’s not looking at him anyway. “Where do you want to lay down?”
The guest room is clearly out of the question, as is Pep’s room. “The couch.”
Bojan settles down on the plush leather expanse, picking up the remote and flicking the TV on. He chooses a football match, turns the volume on low. When Martin reappears with blankets and pillows, Bojan sighs, but lets the bodyguard arrange him to Martin’s satisfaction. In spite of the pain in his body and the discomforted thoughts in his head, Bojan falls into a light doze, lulled by the soothing sounds of Spanish football.
+++
When Bojan awakes, it is to the sound of a door opening, and then low voices which he can just make out over the quiet sound of the TV.
“He’s asleep on the sofa!” Martin is hissing to someone.
“Oh. Oh,” comes Pep’s voice, and then softer, as footsteps approach, “how’s he doing?”
“He seemed kind of upset …”
Martin and Pep now must be standing behind the back couch, where it sits in the middle of the room, facing the TV. Bojan hears Pep sigh, and he has to know what the other man’s expression is, so he cracks his good eye open to peer upwards.
Pep notices immediately. “Hey,” he says crouching down so that he’s closer to Bojan’s eye level. “Sorry, did we wake you?”
“Mm, no.” Bojan sits up rubbing sleep out of his unbruised eye with his right hand. It’s only after that that he gets a proper look at Pep.
Pep’s jacked is off, held by Danny, Bojan notices with a distracted part of his mind. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing powerful lean forearms, which, along with his hands, are spattered with blood. Bojan stares the bruised and broken skin on the backs of Pep’s knuckles, at the blood there, and he knows all of it isn’t Pep’s. Probably most of it isn’t Pep’s. Bojan claps his hand over his mouth, and then he bolts.
He’s kneeling in Pep’s bathroom, losing all the breakfast he had forced himself to consume, when suddenly he feels soft fingers at his temples, stroking at his hair. He pulls up, turning to look over his shoulder at Pep. “… What?”
Pep’s eyes look sad as he hands Bojan a tissue. “I’m holding back your hair,” he explains softly.
Bojan wipes at drool on his lower lip and chin. He winces at the not yet healed cuts on his lip, but continues. It’s mostly bile and spit now, but that doesn’t make it any less gross. Bojan stares at Pep and then suddenly turns, stomach deciding to give one last heave.
He’s coughing into the porcelain bowl, spluttering and trying to spit the sour taste out of his mouth as he hangs miserably on to the edges (thank God Pep’s bathroom is immaculately clean) when he feels a sudden warmth on his back. It’s Pep’s hand, and the older man just leaves it there, a warm and comforting presence. Bojan shuts his eyes and tries not to think about the blood on those knuckles even as he tries not to lean into the contact.
Pep stands up from where he was kneeling behind Bojan as Bojan climbs stiffly to his feet. He waits silently as Bojan makes his way to one of the three sinks the bathroom boasts.
Bojan sniffles and then coughs roughly as he takes in his appearance in the mirror. He’d looked plenty bad before, but now he looks worse, his one good eye bloodshot and wet with tears, his nose running his mouth and chin wet with drool despite his efforts with the tissue. Bojan turns on the faucet and shuts his eyes as he bends over the sink bringing the warm water up to rinse the sour taste out of his mouth, and wash his face. It’s not like it matters what he looks like anyway. It’s not like any of this matters, because ...
When he straightens, Pep is there, holding out a towel. Bojan stares at it for a long time, stares at the hand that is holding it. The blood on Pep’s hands must be mostly dry by now, because it’s not staining the towel, Bojan thinks abstractly, as he reaches out to take the fluffy white terrycloth. He puts the towel over his face, patting gingerly at his tender skin, and Pep disappears from view. When he lowers the towel again, Pep is still there, standing at another sink as he washes the blood from his hands and forearms.
Bojan watches the pink water swirl as it goes down the drain. When he looks up, Pep meets his eyes in the mirror. There’s a silence as Pep simply holds his gaze. It’s somehow worse like this, somehow more intimate, even though he’s looking at Pep in the mirror, not into his eyes directly, and Bojan has to fight not to look away.
“I told you I was a bad man,” Pep says. Bojan looks away, and Pep looks down, turning off the faucet and then flicking the excess water off his hands into the sink. He picks up a towel of his own and then turns to face Bojan as he dries his hands.
Bojan tries to swallow once, twice; his throat feels raw. “… What happened?” he finally forces himself to ask.
The corner of Pep’s mouth quirks up, but its not a smile. “No one died, don’t worry.” Bojan swallows. The corner of Pep’s mouth goes upward once more, and this time it’s more like a sneer. His voice though, when he speaks, is soft. “I know how to inflict pain without causing permanent damage … I know a lot of ways to inflict pain without causing permanent damage. Not all of them, but enough.”
Bojan has to shut his eyes against that, against Pep’s words, against the soft matter of fact tone of Pep’s voice. He’s suddenly fighting back tears and he hates it, hates himself for it.
“Kiki …” Pep’s voice is even softer, and Bojan opens his eyes once more, blinking furiously. Pep sighs and looks down before looking back at Bojan again. “This is who I am,” he says gently. “This is me. If you want to … be with me, you have to accept all of it. Everything. You don’t get to choose only the nice parts.” He smiles faintly, but his eyes are full of regret. “You can change your mind, you can walk away. You wanted a choice … this is your choice to make.”
Bojan sniffs again, and Pep reaches over, holding out the box of tissue. Bojan takes one, wiping his nose as he stares up at Pep. “Why do you do that?” he asks finally. Pep frowns in confusion. “Why do you … you do these terrible things, but then you’re so kind …”
Pep’s mouth twists. “I just take care of what’s mine. That’s all.”
“No … it’s more than that.” Bojan lets out a long breath, then shakes his head. “You could have washed your hands before you came back up here, you could have wrapped your knuckles or beat them with … I don’t know, a stick or something. You didn't have to come in here with literal blood on your hands.” Bojan stares at Pep, a crease between his brows. “What do you … what, do you think you’re punishing yourself? Are you trying to drive me away?”
Pep continues to look at Bojan, but says nothing.
Bojan sighs and rolls his unswollen eye, crossing his arms over his chest. He winces, then gives Pep an aggravated look. “This isn’t all about your guilt complex, you know.”
Pep chuckles as he looks away. “Guilt complex. Is that something they taught you in therapy?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Bojan huffs. “It doesn’t matter, ‘cause it’s true, isn’t it? You were trying to push me away.”
“… I just want you to understand the reality of things. To see how untenable the situation is.”
“How untenable the-“ Bojan glares. “And what, that’s for you to decide? It’s impossible because you say so?”
Pep sighs. “It’s impossible because that’s how reality is.”
Bojan warps his arms tighter around himself, still glaring. “That’s not what you said before. You said you would try.”
“I said it would probably end up with me dead,” Pep points out.
“Is that really true?” Pep nods. “Then why did you say yes, you moron?” Bojan’s glaring, but his eyes are wet with impending tears again.
“I said yes because I think you’re worth it,” Pep says softly.
“And do you think I want to be responsible for getting you killed?” Bojan snaps.
“Do you think I want to see you hurt in any way at all?”
Bojan takes in a long breath and lets it out slowly as a tear trickles down his cheek. “… Why can’t there be another way?” he asks, and his voice sounds broken.
“Sweetheart-“ And Pep is at his side in an instant, pulling Bojan into his arms. “I know baby,” he says as he presses kisses into Bojan’s hair. “I wish there was too.”
Bojan’s got both his arms around Pep, clinging to the taller man. He pulls back a little though so he can meet Pep’s eyes. “Don’t try to push me away again,” he says severely. “This is hard enough as it is, without you being a moron.”
Pep shuts his eyes and snorts gently. “I’ll try,” he says, “not to be a moron.” Bending over he presses a kiss to Bojan’s nose.
Bojan turns quickly away. “Don’t, I'm all snotty and gross now and I’m probably bright red …” he’s squirming, trying to get out of Pep’s arms so he can get to the tissue.
Pep laughs and holds on. “You are gross.” Bojan glares, and Pep laughs more. “Do you think I care?” He reaches out, tucking Bojan’s hair behind his ear, smile only fond. “I don’t care.”
Bojan’s gaze goes soft and he bites at his lip, but then he squints up at Pep suspiciously. “What if I do nothing but eat fries and milk shakes all day long and get fat?”
Pep laughs, then eyes Bojan. “… Don’t do that.”
Bojan rolls his eyes. “Duh. How would I play football?”
“Brat,” Pep says with a smirk as he lets Bojan go with one arm so that the younger man can grab some tissue.
Runny nose taken care of, Bojan returns to Pep’s embrace. He sighs as he leans his head against Pep’s chest. Pep reaches up, threading his fingers through Bojan’s hair so he can cradle Bojan there. “… What are we gonna do?”
Pep leans over so his cheek is resting on the top of Bojan’s head. “I don’t know.”
Bojan lets his eyes slide shut and he just stands there, soaking in Pep’s warmth, feeling the movement as his chest rises and falls, listening to the steady beat of Pep’s heart. Pep must wear some kind of cologne, something subtle but masculine. Pep doesn’t need any help to seem masculine, Bojan thinks. There’s an aura Pep projects, something confident and powerful, and something unmistakably male. Bojan has on occasion been called a girl, by friends, by classmates, by people who barely know him. No one would ever call Pep a girl.
As Bojan stands there, cataloging Pep’s qualities, his scent, the sound of his heartbeat, how he feels in Bojan’s arms, a realization slowly dawns on him. I don’t want to give this up mingles with mine, mine, he is mine. Bojan takes in a very long slow breath, and Pep stills.
“Kiki?”
Bojan pulls back, leaning back in Pep’s arms just enough that he can see Pep’s face. “I choose.”
Pep’s eyes ask the question.
“Bad … stuff and everything. I don’t care.” Bojan sets his mouth in a firm stubborn line. “I want you.”
Pep looks silently down at Bojan for a long time, and Bojan tries not to hold his breath. “I’ll only hurt you, in the end,” Pep says softly.
Bojan swallows. “I don’t care. … You said this is my choice, and I’m making it.”
Pep’s eyes slide shut and he lets out a breath. “I should send you away, for your own good. I should get you as far away from me as possible …” His eyes slide open again. “… But I can’t.”
And then he’s framing Bojan’s face in his hands as he bends over, slotting their mouths together as if that’s how they’ve belong all along. Bojan’s mouth opens easily under Pep’s, and he twines his arms around Pep’s neck, ignoring the awkwardness of his cast as he’s taken away in a wave of lush warmth. Pep’s mouth is perfect against his, taking as well as giving, Pep’s tongue like velvet against his, firm, but also gentle.
“Mmmm,” Bojan sighs when the kiss breaks, and Pep quirks a smile before leaning back in to press gentle chaste kisses along Bojan’s injured lips.
“Okay?” Pep asks softly.
“Perfect.”
+++
When they emerge from the bathroom, Cesc is loitering in the hall, attempting to look inconspicuous. Bojan and Pep exchange glances, and then both snort with laughter.
“What?” Cesc demands, looking put out.
Pep raises an eyebrow as he looks down at Bojan. “Should we give him what he wants?”
Bojan shrugs, and tries not to look embarrassed. “Sure …” If he’s going to date Pep, Cesc will end up knowing about it anyway, so they might as well tell him now.
Bojan looks up at Pep to convey this, but the smile that greets him is enough to make his other thoughts melt away. And then Pep is bending over, hand cupping Bojan’s jaw as he presses a soft kiss to Bojan’s lips.
The high-pitched noise Cesc emits can only be termed a squeal. Bojan claps his hands over his ears and glares at Cesc, pretending to be offended. “What are you, a dying antelope or something?”
“A dying pig,” Pep suggests blandly.
Cesc isn’t paying them the slightest bit of attention though, he’s too busy jumping up and down, clapping his hands together. “Ohmygosh, fiiiiinally!” he trills. He bounds over to them, first throwing his arms around Pep, then around Bojan. “Congratulations!” Cesc wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “We’re going to be brothers,” he tells Bojan.
It takes Bojan a minute to parse what Cesc has said. Pep tries to keep a straight face, but finally gives in and starts to chuckle at Bojan’s indignant expression.
“One, eww. Two, never mention that again. Three, eww! And you!” Bojan turns, bopping Pep with his cast. “Don’t encourage him.”
“… Right,” Pep says, attempting to look serious before giving one last chuckle. Bojan makes a noise of disgust and hits Pep with his cast again.
“Ahhh, I’m so happy!” Cesc grabs Bojan’s hands. “We have to start planning the honeymoon!”
“Uh.” Bojan stares at Cesc, who seems deadly earnest. Bojan casts desperate eyes at Pep. “Help!”
Pep shakes his head, covering his face with his hand to hide his resigned smile. “You two go have fun, I’ve got some work to do." Pep knows how futile it is to fight Cesc once the young man has an idea in his head.
“Coward!” Bojan yells over his shoulder as Cesc drags him away, but Pep only chuckles. He watches until Bojan has disappeared around the corner before he turns, heading for his office.
Time to figure out how … best to tell Perez that Pep is going to be fucking his grandson.
+++
Out in the living room, Danny and Martin are waiting for them. “Ladies and other ladies!” Cesc tells them with a dramatic flourish. Danny snorts and rolls his eyes. “May I present …” Cesc pauses for effect. “The new Mrs. Guardiola!”
Bojan puts a hand over his face. “Can you really not?” he asks Cesc. “It’s not like Pep and I pledged our undying love or anything.”
“That will come soon enough.” Cesc nods sagely, and Bojan groans.
Danny meanwhile, is eyeing Bojan appraisingly. “Is he actually right? Are you and the boss … you know?”
Bojan sighs, and tries to fight back his blush. “… Yeah. You know.” Danny gives a wolf whistle. “Don’t spread it around!” Bojan quickly says. “Everyone and their … everyone doesn’t need to know!” He shoots Cesc a hard look.
“Well I have to tell Rino,” Cesc says innocently. “And Pepe will probably want to know. And all of Pep’s personal body guards will know sooner or later …”
Bojan groans as he sinks into the couch. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“The boss’ pants, evidently,” Danny says. “Congrats, he’s fit.”
Martin rolls his eyes. “What would you know about it? You’re straight.”
Danny gives Martin a look. “Yeah, straight, that’s me, straight as a …”
“Oh come on,” Bojan interrupts impatiently. “Obviously Danny’s as gay as Cesc.”
Bojan gets two offended glares for that. “Okay, okay, maybe not as gay as Cesc,” he hastily amends. “As gay as anyone though.”
“He’s not though,” Martin says.
Danny snorts. “How would you know what’s gay and what isn’t, Mr. straight and narrow?”
“Oh for the love of!” Bojan throws his hands up in the air. “Is this why the two of you have never hooked up? Because you’re both morons?”
“Why would we hook up?” Danny asks sullenly. “He’s not interested.”
“You’re not interested!” Martin says.
Danny turns. “What do you mean, I’m not interested, how would you even know if I am or not?”
“You’re too busy going to clubs and picking up girls!” Martin says hotly.
“Because I have nothing to do! And who says I pick up girls?” Danny points his finger accusingly. “Have I ever brought a girl home?”
“Well … no, but you always come home with lipstick on your collar and your clothes all in a disarray, saying what a good time you had!”
Danny snorts. “Some people have no concept of personal space, that’s all.”
“And you expect me to believe that.” Martin snaps.
Danny throws his hands up in the air. “Believe whatever you want, you’ve clearly got it all already figured out!”
Bojan makes a noise of disgust. “You are such children.”
Cesc meanwhile looks amazed. “You’re totally right!” he tells Bojan. “They’re both clearly crazy about each other! It’s so obvious, why did I not notice it before?”
“Because you were too busy trying to set people up with Pep.”
“Oh.” Cesc thinks about it. “… That’s probably true. Rino’s kept me busy too.” He winks at Bojan and Bojan shakes his head and sighs.
Danny and Martin are eyeing the pair of them like they’ve grown extra heads. “No one is crazy about anyone,” Danny says. “We’re just buds, right Martin?”
He turns to look at the bald man for confirmation, but Martin looks away.
“… Martin?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Martin shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to walk away.
“Hey wait a minute.” Danny reaches out and grabs Martin’s arm. “I think I deserve an answer here.”
The laugh Martin gives is bitter. “Deserve, why? Because you’re the great Daniel Agger and everyone should just fall at your feet?”
“Because I’ve been in love with you for years,” Danny says. “For years and years, and I never thought …”
Martin’s voice has gone all stiff and strange. “This isn’t a very funny joke, Danny. It isn’t funny at all.”
“I’m not joking. Come on please, Mart, will you just look at me?” Danny tugs on Martin’s arm.
Martin turns slowly. “I hate when you call me that.”
Danny smiles lopsidedly. “I know. That’s why I do it.”
Martin stares at Danny for a long time. “… In love with me?” he finally asks.
“I swear on my mother,” Danny says. “I swear it on the boss’ life. I swear-“
“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get too crazy there,” Martin says. “… Why did you never tell me?”
Danny gives a sad smile. “I didn’t want to wreck our friendship. I didn’t want to drive you away. I would rather have stayed friends forever than risk losing you.”
Martin reaches out, fingers ghosting over Danny’s cheek. “You wouldn’t have lost me.”
“… And my answer?”
Martin laughs softly as he looks at Danny ruefully. “I love you. Of course I love you. How could I not?”
Danny bites his lip as he reaches out, wrapping his hand around Martin’s neck. “Then we …” he breathes.
Martin reaches up, putting his hand over Danny’s. “We …”
“Kiss! Kiss!” Cesc stage whispers. “Now is when you kiss!”
Danny and Martin pull away from each other. “You are the ruiner of everything ever,” Bojan tells Cesc.
Danny smirks down at Cesc. “If you want a free show, then film yourself with Gattuso.”
“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea ...” Cesc says. He starts to dig out his phone.
Danny leans over and brushes a split second kiss over Martin’s lips. “Later,” he whispers in the other man’s ear, and Martin blushes.
“Finally!” Bojan claps, and Cesc looks up.
“What? Oh my god no, did I miss the good stuff?” He pushes Bojan. “You are the worst co-conspirator ever.”
“Pretty sure it’s your own fault,” Bojan tells Cesc with a smirk.
“Ugh! You all suck!”
Bojan, Danny, and Martin all laugh.