039. trainer.
Nam Mellitus Erat, 039. trainer.
early September.
002. middles
It's still dark outside, and the alarm on Iker's cellphone beeps. Sometimes he'll hear someone else using the midi as a ringtone. It always makes him cringe.
He fumbles for the phone on the bedside table, turning his face into the pillow.
He's in pain. He's really tempted to skip. It's six and he was up until three, finishing a week's worth of translations. Cesc went to bed hours earlier but left half of the mattress for him and it's harder for Iker to get out of bed than it used to be, with Cesc sleeping against his back. But Iker doesn't skip. He gets up as quietly as he can.
A 6:30 library run to finish citations before class doesn't really deserve an Outfit. He blindly grabs a shirt and a pair of jeans and a hoodie from the laundry basket and gets dressed. He pulls his shirt on backwards the first time. There's only one granola bar left in the box. He needs to buy more.
He runs his hand through his hair like that will fix it and slings his bag on his shoulder. When goes back to the bedside table for his keys, Cesc's eyes are half open. He's confused.
"You're not just gonna skip it?" he asks, his voice croaky. He shifts in the pile of blankets, slow stilted movements, then curls against the cold spot where Iker used to be. Iker bites the granola bar wrapper to free his hands and pulls the comforter up to Cesc's ears, then holds the granola bar again. He adjusts his bag higher on his shoulder. He hopes it's not raining outside.
"No."
A few days later, Iker is showering after his morning run and Cesc edges in behind him, naked and hunched over and looking rushed and giddy at the same time.
"Hi, I have class at, like, quarter to."
He hurries under the water and wets his hair, turns the dial about 20 degrees hotter. Iker watches his shoulders pink under the spray.
"At 6:45?" Iker isn't sure if he's more surprised at the weird start time or the fact that Cesc actually rolled out of bed to make it.
"Yeah, it's a lab." His words are jumbled in the spray and Iker reaches out to rub some suds into a spot he missed on his neck. He lathers the back of his hair. Cesc's shoulders scrunch up a bit and some part of Iker's brain logs it: Cesc likes his hair touched. It makes Cesc scrunch his shoulders. "It's a bird class."
Cesc turns around and starts rinsing his hair out with quick fingers. It's 6:35 and somehow he still finds time to make a soap mohawk once-then another. Iker is pointedly not oogling his dick.
"Birds?"
"Yeah, like, we go watch birds."
"You're lucky you don't have to shave every day," Iker says, apropos of nothing. He's not sure if it's the exercise or the steam or the closeness of Cesc's naked body or knowing he can touch it that's scrambling his brain.
Cesc grins his shit-eating grin and rubs the beard on Iker's chin with his thumb, then gives him a drive-by kiss, presses against his chest and and swipes his tongue past his lips. His mouth is pleasantly cool, cooler than his skin, and they stick together for a second-Iker's skin mostly dry, Cesc's slick and wet. Then Cesc peels away and edges out of the shower, sticking his toothbrush in his mouth and pulling on a shirt. Iker notices a line of soap down the back of his thigh. He stares until Cesc covers it with his jeans.
"Class is by Jittery Joe's, you want a coffee on the way back?" Cesc pulls on a beanie over his wet hair.
"No. ...Wait." Abstract due tomorrow. "Yes."
"'Kay. Later."
It's 12:30 at night and Iker is more or less awake, hopped up on a latte. He's propped up on a pillow, thumbing through Cesc's ornithology journal. Cesc sat next to him to tell him what was what, and now he's either sleeping or dozing, his head resting on Iker's shoulder. His hair is fluffy. Iker used the hat head as an excuse to touch it for a while.
Cesc is a really bad artist. The birds are too beady in the eyes, too round in the belly and short in the legs, and he's written notes next to them that Iker's pretty sure are completely useless. "hopped twice, sat. flew away." "pecked dirt. ate dirt?" "stood on tree." Iker sees that he spent particular time on the sparrow, on the tuft on its head.
He reaches down to stroke at Cesc's hair, imitating the shape.
048. diamond.
early September.
002. middles
It's still dark outside, and the alarm on Iker's cellphone beeps. Sometimes he'll hear someone else using the midi as a ringtone. It always makes him cringe.
He fumbles for the phone on the bedside table, turning his face into the pillow.
He's in pain. He's really tempted to skip. It's six and he was up until three, finishing a week's worth of translations. Cesc went to bed hours earlier but left half of the mattress for him and it's harder for Iker to get out of bed than it used to be, with Cesc sleeping against his back. But Iker doesn't skip. He gets up as quietly as he can.
A 6:30 library run to finish citations before class doesn't really deserve an Outfit. He blindly grabs a shirt and a pair of jeans and a hoodie from the laundry basket and gets dressed. He pulls his shirt on backwards the first time. There's only one granola bar left in the box. He needs to buy more.
He runs his hand through his hair like that will fix it and slings his bag on his shoulder. When goes back to the bedside table for his keys, Cesc's eyes are half open. He's confused.
"You're not just gonna skip it?" he asks, his voice croaky. He shifts in the pile of blankets, slow stilted movements, then curls against the cold spot where Iker used to be. Iker bites the granola bar wrapper to free his hands and pulls the comforter up to Cesc's ears, then holds the granola bar again. He adjusts his bag higher on his shoulder. He hopes it's not raining outside.
"No."
A few days later, Iker is showering after his morning run and Cesc edges in behind him, naked and hunched over and looking rushed and giddy at the same time.
"Hi, I have class at, like, quarter to."
He hurries under the water and wets his hair, turns the dial about 20 degrees hotter. Iker watches his shoulders pink under the spray.
"At 6:45?" Iker isn't sure if he's more surprised at the weird start time or the fact that Cesc actually rolled out of bed to make it.
"Yeah, it's a lab." His words are jumbled in the spray and Iker reaches out to rub some suds into a spot he missed on his neck. He lathers the back of his hair. Cesc's shoulders scrunch up a bit and some part of Iker's brain logs it: Cesc likes his hair touched. It makes Cesc scrunch his shoulders. "It's a bird class."
Cesc turns around and starts rinsing his hair out with quick fingers. It's 6:35 and somehow he still finds time to make a soap mohawk once-then another. Iker is pointedly not oogling his dick.
"Birds?"
"Yeah, like, we go watch birds."
"You're lucky you don't have to shave every day," Iker says, apropos of nothing. He's not sure if it's the exercise or the steam or the closeness of Cesc's naked body or knowing he can touch it that's scrambling his brain.
Cesc grins his shit-eating grin and rubs the beard on Iker's chin with his thumb, then gives him a drive-by kiss, presses against his chest and and swipes his tongue past his lips. His mouth is pleasantly cool, cooler than his skin, and they stick together for a second-Iker's skin mostly dry, Cesc's slick and wet. Then Cesc peels away and edges out of the shower, sticking his toothbrush in his mouth and pulling on a shirt. Iker notices a line of soap down the back of his thigh. He stares until Cesc covers it with his jeans.
"Class is by Jittery Joe's, you want a coffee on the way back?" Cesc pulls on a beanie over his wet hair.
"No. ...Wait." Abstract due tomorrow. "Yes."
"'Kay. Later."
It's 12:30 at night and Iker is more or less awake, hopped up on a latte. He's propped up on a pillow, thumbing through Cesc's ornithology journal. Cesc sat next to him to tell him what was what, and now he's either sleeping or dozing, his head resting on Iker's shoulder. His hair is fluffy. Iker used the hat head as an excuse to touch it for a while.
Cesc is a really bad artist. The birds are too beady in the eyes, too round in the belly and short in the legs, and he's written notes next to them that Iker's pretty sure are completely useless. "hopped twice, sat. flew away." "pecked dirt. ate dirt?" "stood on tree." Iker sees that he spent particular time on the sparrow, on the tuft on its head.
He reaches down to stroke at Cesc's hair, imitating the shape.
048. diamond.