fic: Thirteen Years and Nine Days (Thierry Henry/Bojan Krkić, PG-13)
Title: Thirteen Years and Nine Days
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football, FC Barcelona
Pairing: Thierry Henry/Bojan Krkić
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: Bojan is thirteen years and nine days younger than Thierry.
Dedication: For dfotw, who requested this pairing when I offered drabbles. (Yep, still can't write proper drabbles. *sigh*) Hope it's okay!
Word Count: 1,489
A/N: Set somewhere during the first half of the 2007/2008 season, after Thierry joined Barcelona and Bojan was promoted to the first team.
Thanks to the wonderful jennis_footie for the once again superfast beta. <3!
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from glomps to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Thirteen years and nine days.
Bojan is thirteen years and nine days younger than Thierry. Born in 1990, the same year as Thierry was spotted by AS Monaco and instantly signed.
And now, eighteen years later, Thierry is the reputable, successful striker Bojan wants to become.
There are so many reasons why Thierry shouldn't become too attached to the youngster and why their relationship should be nothing but professional. He has an exemplary function to fulfil. He's the older, the wiser one. And Bojan trusts him blindly. Very eager to please, the young Catalan gives his best attention to him, doing everything he can to get Thierry's approval.
Sometimes, he reminds Thierry of himself when he was still a teenager, a young talent at Monaco, eagerly chasing Youri Djorkaeff and Sonny Anderson and hanging on their every word when they gave him advice or told him about their careers.
Bojan does the same whenever he gets the chance to approach him alone during training breaks. He sits down on the grass next to him and asks questions. About his personal ups and downs. Titles. Injuries. Endorsement deals and social projects. And Thierry talks. Gives advice on certain techniques and manoeuvres when Bojan asks for it (which he does often). Teaches him his secret trick to deal with nervousness before big matches. Tells him about big players, world-class defenders who might seem unbeatable but weren't.
He tells him everything he knows, and Bojan listens, memorises, learns. And still wants to know more, insatiable for information, ambitious to grow up as a professional footballer and make a name for himself.
Sometimes, Bojan reminds Thierry of a former schoolmate in Les Ulis. They roomed together during trips with the class, spent their afternoons together, and talked about everything and nothing. Films. Sports. Music. Parents. Pranks. Girls.
Bojan has a different approach on these topics, being a couple of years older than Thierry and his mate were back then, but the topics themselves haven't changed. At first, Thierry is surprised when Bojan asks him about his favourite band, and his favourite film. He would have expected him to discuss these things with players of his own age group, like Piqué or Messi. He doesn't even know what to answer at first, feeling ancient all of a sudden and wondering if Bojan has actually heard of his favourite band or film in the first place. Also, Thierry isn't so sure if it's a good idea to introduce Bojan to his cultural interests. The boy should develop his own, and there's no accounting for taste, either. Thierry has his pride; he doesn't want to be laughed at for something he likes, especially not by Bojan.
It turns out the Catalan has never heard of Thierry's favourite band, but he looks rather dejected when he admits it and manages to surprise the Frenchman yet again by promising to fill the gap in his knowledge as soon as possible. As if he's convinced Thierry can teach him about more than just football.
Most recently, however, Bojan reminds Thierry of a girl he used to fancy during his first year at Monaco. Of course, Bojan is very much not a girl, and Thierry is quite aware of the fact, but he uses the same tricks as she when he wants Thierry's attention. He taps his finger on Thierry's nose when he's reading on the bus, or squeezes his sides and then quickly runs away, laughing cheekily as Thierry winces. He puts his arms around Thierry during training and jumps him for a hug after goals or victorious matches.
However, unlike the girl in Monaco, he doesn't need an audience to show his affectionate nature. Thinking back now, Thierry knew she was just using him to make her other suitors jealous. Bojan is different. He plops on Thierry's bed when they're rooming together and crawls towards him before nestling down next to him, an arm over his stomach, looking at him with big eyes and a smile on his face.
And then, when he starts talking, telling Thierry about his latest problem with girls, or a CD he's been told to listen to, or a new film at the cinema that he's planning to watch, or his mother annoying him with his studies, Thierry can hardly keep up with everything Bojan is saying, too distracted by the closeness of him and the way his fingers lazily, casually rub over Thierry's stomach.
He wants to kiss Bojan whenever he gives him that bright, contagious smile or cheekily winks at him. He wants to run his fingers over his naked chest, lick the soft skin on the inside of his thighs, taste the small of his back. He wants to feel Bojan's tongue against his, wants to drink him in, to feel him writhe against him, to see the look on his face when he comes.
The Frenchman knows that he shouldn't let his mind wander in these situations, shouldn't think of things that are wrong and immoral and would never happen in the first place, but he can't help it. His mind practically shuts itself off the moment Bojan gets too close to him when they're alone, and he's just glad that he hasn't said or done anything stupid so far because he doesn't want Bojan to know what he's thinking.
But then, one evening, as they are rooming together again during a training camp, Bojan suddenly stops talking, tilts his head and looks at him with those big eyes, half questioning, half shy, tongue darting out almost casually and quickly sliding over his dry lips.
Before Thierry actually realises what he's doing, he has leaned in already and pressed his lips against Bojan's, and almost lost his mind from their softness and sweet taste.
It lasts just a couple of seconds. The moment Thierry realises what's happening, he jerks backwards and pushes Bojan away, his face flushed, his heart pounding in his chest, and his mind frantically searching for an excuse even though he knows there is none. What he's done cannot be excused.
He doesn't even dare to face his younger teammate, can't bring himself to look into the eyes of his protégé whose trust he's just betrayed.
Maybe he should just leave, and return when he's come up with a proper apology that wouldn't make things undone but might at least persuade Bojan to forgive him.
Yet, as he is about to get up, Bojan grabs Thierry's arm and holds him back. "No," he says. "Stay."
Thierry spins around. "What?" he splutters, staring at Bojan in disbelief.
A blush crawls over the younger striker's cheeks as he clears his throat and gives him a shy look. "Please," he says huskily, shifting closer to Thierry. "Teach me everything you know."
"But…" Thierry trails off, shrugs helplessly. "I know nothing of this. I've never…"
And it's true; he's fallen for guys before but never done anything about it, too certain they weren't interested. He can't get his head around the idea of Bojan being interested in him either, despite the way he is looking at him. Bojan could have anyone he wants, and Thierry is thirteen years (and nine days) his senior. He knows he's in good shape and all, but honestly, what appeal can he possibly hold for Spain's most promising young talent?
He moves to get off the bed and end this madness before it became even more humiliating for him, hoping Bojan will forgive and forget the next morning, but the Catalan suddenly climbs into his lap and straddles his hips.
"Then let me teach you."
The Catalan's words and the sparkle in his dark eyes as he says them nearly make Thierry despair. What a most convenient pretext, offered to him on a silver plate. He's taught Bojan about football, about life, about culture, and now Bojan is offering to return the favour, as if it was a deal and the youngster needed to keep his side of it.
There has never been a deal. Bojan doesn't owe him anything. Accepting his offer would mean betraying his trust, taking advantage of him, and Thierry knows he must decline. He cannot allow Bojan to seduce him, no matter how much he wants it, craves it, deep inside.
But then, the younger striker leans in for another kiss, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and Thierry gasps into his mouth, eyes fluttering close, and his hands curl around Bojan's ass of their own accord, squeezing his firm buttocks as Thierry finally kisses him back.
Willing spirit, weak flesh.
A heart, lost somewhere in the middle of it all.
When Bojan breathlessly asks him how far he wants to go, Thierry just flashes him a smile and kisses him softly, gently, making it perfectly clear that he'll do anything Bojan wants him to do.
Thirteen years and nine days.
Tonight they don't matter in the least.
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football, FC Barcelona
Pairing: Thierry Henry/Bojan Krkić
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: Bojan is thirteen years and nine days younger than Thierry.
Dedication: For dfotw, who requested this pairing when I offered drabbles. (Yep, still can't write proper drabbles. *sigh*) Hope it's okay!
Word Count: 1,489
A/N: Set somewhere during the first half of the 2007/2008 season, after Thierry joined Barcelona and Bojan was promoted to the first team.
Thanks to the wonderful jennis_footie for the once again superfast beta. <3!
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from glomps to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Thirteen years and nine days.
Bojan is thirteen years and nine days younger than Thierry. Born in 1990, the same year as Thierry was spotted by AS Monaco and instantly signed.
And now, eighteen years later, Thierry is the reputable, successful striker Bojan wants to become.
There are so many reasons why Thierry shouldn't become too attached to the youngster and why their relationship should be nothing but professional. He has an exemplary function to fulfil. He's the older, the wiser one. And Bojan trusts him blindly. Very eager to please, the young Catalan gives his best attention to him, doing everything he can to get Thierry's approval.
Sometimes, he reminds Thierry of himself when he was still a teenager, a young talent at Monaco, eagerly chasing Youri Djorkaeff and Sonny Anderson and hanging on their every word when they gave him advice or told him about their careers.
Bojan does the same whenever he gets the chance to approach him alone during training breaks. He sits down on the grass next to him and asks questions. About his personal ups and downs. Titles. Injuries. Endorsement deals and social projects. And Thierry talks. Gives advice on certain techniques and manoeuvres when Bojan asks for it (which he does often). Teaches him his secret trick to deal with nervousness before big matches. Tells him about big players, world-class defenders who might seem unbeatable but weren't.
He tells him everything he knows, and Bojan listens, memorises, learns. And still wants to know more, insatiable for information, ambitious to grow up as a professional footballer and make a name for himself.
Sometimes, Bojan reminds Thierry of a former schoolmate in Les Ulis. They roomed together during trips with the class, spent their afternoons together, and talked about everything and nothing. Films. Sports. Music. Parents. Pranks. Girls.
Bojan has a different approach on these topics, being a couple of years older than Thierry and his mate were back then, but the topics themselves haven't changed. At first, Thierry is surprised when Bojan asks him about his favourite band, and his favourite film. He would have expected him to discuss these things with players of his own age group, like Piqué or Messi. He doesn't even know what to answer at first, feeling ancient all of a sudden and wondering if Bojan has actually heard of his favourite band or film in the first place. Also, Thierry isn't so sure if it's a good idea to introduce Bojan to his cultural interests. The boy should develop his own, and there's no accounting for taste, either. Thierry has his pride; he doesn't want to be laughed at for something he likes, especially not by Bojan.
It turns out the Catalan has never heard of Thierry's favourite band, but he looks rather dejected when he admits it and manages to surprise the Frenchman yet again by promising to fill the gap in his knowledge as soon as possible. As if he's convinced Thierry can teach him about more than just football.
Most recently, however, Bojan reminds Thierry of a girl he used to fancy during his first year at Monaco. Of course, Bojan is very much not a girl, and Thierry is quite aware of the fact, but he uses the same tricks as she when he wants Thierry's attention. He taps his finger on Thierry's nose when he's reading on the bus, or squeezes his sides and then quickly runs away, laughing cheekily as Thierry winces. He puts his arms around Thierry during training and jumps him for a hug after goals or victorious matches.
However, unlike the girl in Monaco, he doesn't need an audience to show his affectionate nature. Thinking back now, Thierry knew she was just using him to make her other suitors jealous. Bojan is different. He plops on Thierry's bed when they're rooming together and crawls towards him before nestling down next to him, an arm over his stomach, looking at him with big eyes and a smile on his face.
And then, when he starts talking, telling Thierry about his latest problem with girls, or a CD he's been told to listen to, or a new film at the cinema that he's planning to watch, or his mother annoying him with his studies, Thierry can hardly keep up with everything Bojan is saying, too distracted by the closeness of him and the way his fingers lazily, casually rub over Thierry's stomach.
He wants to kiss Bojan whenever he gives him that bright, contagious smile or cheekily winks at him. He wants to run his fingers over his naked chest, lick the soft skin on the inside of his thighs, taste the small of his back. He wants to feel Bojan's tongue against his, wants to drink him in, to feel him writhe against him, to see the look on his face when he comes.
The Frenchman knows that he shouldn't let his mind wander in these situations, shouldn't think of things that are wrong and immoral and would never happen in the first place, but he can't help it. His mind practically shuts itself off the moment Bojan gets too close to him when they're alone, and he's just glad that he hasn't said or done anything stupid so far because he doesn't want Bojan to know what he's thinking.
But then, one evening, as they are rooming together again during a training camp, Bojan suddenly stops talking, tilts his head and looks at him with those big eyes, half questioning, half shy, tongue darting out almost casually and quickly sliding over his dry lips.
Before Thierry actually realises what he's doing, he has leaned in already and pressed his lips against Bojan's, and almost lost his mind from their softness and sweet taste.
It lasts just a couple of seconds. The moment Thierry realises what's happening, he jerks backwards and pushes Bojan away, his face flushed, his heart pounding in his chest, and his mind frantically searching for an excuse even though he knows there is none. What he's done cannot be excused.
He doesn't even dare to face his younger teammate, can't bring himself to look into the eyes of his protégé whose trust he's just betrayed.
Maybe he should just leave, and return when he's come up with a proper apology that wouldn't make things undone but might at least persuade Bojan to forgive him.
Yet, as he is about to get up, Bojan grabs Thierry's arm and holds him back. "No," he says. "Stay."
Thierry spins around. "What?" he splutters, staring at Bojan in disbelief.
A blush crawls over the younger striker's cheeks as he clears his throat and gives him a shy look. "Please," he says huskily, shifting closer to Thierry. "Teach me everything you know."
"But…" Thierry trails off, shrugs helplessly. "I know nothing of this. I've never…"
And it's true; he's fallen for guys before but never done anything about it, too certain they weren't interested. He can't get his head around the idea of Bojan being interested in him either, despite the way he is looking at him. Bojan could have anyone he wants, and Thierry is thirteen years (and nine days) his senior. He knows he's in good shape and all, but honestly, what appeal can he possibly hold for Spain's most promising young talent?
He moves to get off the bed and end this madness before it became even more humiliating for him, hoping Bojan will forgive and forget the next morning, but the Catalan suddenly climbs into his lap and straddles his hips.
"Then let me teach you."
The Catalan's words and the sparkle in his dark eyes as he says them nearly make Thierry despair. What a most convenient pretext, offered to him on a silver plate. He's taught Bojan about football, about life, about culture, and now Bojan is offering to return the favour, as if it was a deal and the youngster needed to keep his side of it.
There has never been a deal. Bojan doesn't owe him anything. Accepting his offer would mean betraying his trust, taking advantage of him, and Thierry knows he must decline. He cannot allow Bojan to seduce him, no matter how much he wants it, craves it, deep inside.
But then, the younger striker leans in for another kiss, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and Thierry gasps into his mouth, eyes fluttering close, and his hands curl around Bojan's ass of their own accord, squeezing his firm buttocks as Thierry finally kisses him back.
Willing spirit, weak flesh.
A heart, lost somewhere in the middle of it all.
When Bojan breathlessly asks him how far he wants to go, Thierry just flashes him a smile and kisses him softly, gently, making it perfectly clear that he'll do anything Bojan wants him to do.
Thirteen years and nine days.
Tonight they don't matter in the least.