the motion picture
Title: The Motion Picture
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cesc Fàbregas/Robin van Persie
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary:
The petty thieves are apparently out of luck - even the combination of ruthless London rain and, thus, slippery English rooftops cannot seem to stop his pursuit and their inevitable capture. After all, Super Catalan is faster than Cristiano Ronaldo, more powerful than Didier Drogba, and able to leap tall Kop-stands in a single bound.
"Hah!" the hero in red glam spandex cries triumphantly as he chases the two masked men to the edge of a roof. "Now I say pun and you yield." He hesitates and deliberates. "Um, wait. I'm kind of new at this, so if you'll just give me a moment..." Don't do the time if you can't do the crime? Clichéd - clearly not his style. "'Something, something...priceless.' No. Think - Catalan, Barcelona...um, 'now you can never get a loan-a...from the bank'...no. Um, h-hey - !" Super Catalan looks around the deserted rooftop helplessly - the thieves have gone.
He groans. "Not again."
Disheartened by yet another anticlimactic action sequence, Super Catalan is contemplating retiring for the night when his super-hearing detects footsteps displacing rain water below. He peers over the side of the house precariously, the slant of the structure against his favor, and before he can ascertain the source of the sounds, the hero Super Catalan slips - slides off the roof and falls heavily onto the lid of the dumpster below. Super Catalan moans and rubs his head, which hangs over the brim.
"S-Super Catalan?"
Robin...? Huh. His house looks different from the rooftop. And inverted.
"Oh. Yes. Hi," Super Catalan says. "Just your friendly neighborhood Catalan. Doing Catalonian crime-fighting. Sorry for the disturbance."
"It's no problem," his alter-ego's handsome teammate assures, smiling modestly. "Actually, I'm glad you're here...lying over my trash. I just - " he glances quickly back to the dark house, " - I didn't get a chance to say thanks earlier when you saved Arsenal from the evil Spurs." Robin puts down his trash bag carefully and takes a step closer to the capsized Catalan. He caresses a wet cheek and gently traces his finger along the trim of Super Catalan's sequined red cat eye mask. "You were so brave, and so beautiful, and..." And it feels like the right moment, especially since Robin doesn't know what else to say, so he presses his lips against Super Catalan's and lets the rain fall cinematically around them.
“That was...familiar,” Robin says thoughtfully when they break apart.
Super Catalan wheezes (it's difficult and not as hot as it must look, kissing upside-down in the rain, Cesc decides later, because tongue and teeth clash clumsily and it's much, much too wet, and - well, maybe it would have been nicer if not breathing doesn't lead to suffocation) and sputters, “F-familiar? What, um, how do you mean? There is no familiarity because we are strangers, who are not familiar by definition, who snogged.”
“I think I saw this in Spider-Man.”
“Oh!” Super Catalan chuckles in relief, easing himself onto the ground. “Yeah, and The O.C.”
“What?”
“Shit. Nothing. Gotta go. Bye!”
+ a bonus drabble, "the end" -
Cesc halts his pacing, growls, marches over to the Dutchman and cups his face with surprisingly gentle hands. "Robin, why do you want Spider-Man when you can have Peter Parker?"
"What?"
"I mean, don’t you prefer Tony Stark to that hunk of metal?"
"Cesc, I don’t - "
"Oh, FOR THE LOVE OF BRUCE WAYNE - " Cesc closes the distance between their lips and lets them reunite passionately, this time: warm, right-side up, and familiar in the common sense.
"You’re Super Catalan," Robin says breathlessly.
Cesc wheezes (and suspects later that maybe, conditions aside, Robin is just a really good kisser).
Next: The Summer Sequel
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cesc Fàbregas/Robin van Persie
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary:
The petty thieves are apparently out of luck - even the combination of ruthless London rain and, thus, slippery English rooftops cannot seem to stop his pursuit and their inevitable capture. After all, Super Catalan is faster than Cristiano Ronaldo, more powerful than Didier Drogba, and able to leap tall Kop-stands in a single bound.
"Hah!" the hero in red glam spandex cries triumphantly as he chases the two masked men to the edge of a roof. "Now I say pun and you yield." He hesitates and deliberates. "Um, wait. I'm kind of new at this, so if you'll just give me a moment..." Don't do the time if you can't do the crime? Clichéd - clearly not his style. "'Something, something...priceless.' No. Think - Catalan, Barcelona...um, 'now you can never get a loan-a...from the bank'...no. Um, h-hey - !" Super Catalan looks around the deserted rooftop helplessly - the thieves have gone.
He groans. "Not again."
Disheartened by yet another anticlimactic action sequence, Super Catalan is contemplating retiring for the night when his super-hearing detects footsteps displacing rain water below. He peers over the side of the house precariously, the slant of the structure against his favor, and before he can ascertain the source of the sounds, the hero Super Catalan slips - slides off the roof and falls heavily onto the lid of the dumpster below. Super Catalan moans and rubs his head, which hangs over the brim.
"S-Super Catalan?"
Robin...? Huh. His house looks different from the rooftop. And inverted.
"Oh. Yes. Hi," Super Catalan says. "Just your friendly neighborhood Catalan. Doing Catalonian crime-fighting. Sorry for the disturbance."
"It's no problem," his alter-ego's handsome teammate assures, smiling modestly. "Actually, I'm glad you're here...lying over my trash. I just - " he glances quickly back to the dark house, " - I didn't get a chance to say thanks earlier when you saved Arsenal from the evil Spurs." Robin puts down his trash bag carefully and takes a step closer to the capsized Catalan. He caresses a wet cheek and gently traces his finger along the trim of Super Catalan's sequined red cat eye mask. "You were so brave, and so beautiful, and..." And it feels like the right moment, especially since Robin doesn't know what else to say, so he presses his lips against Super Catalan's and lets the rain fall cinematically around them.
“That was...familiar,” Robin says thoughtfully when they break apart.
Super Catalan wheezes (it's difficult and not as hot as it must look, kissing upside-down in the rain, Cesc decides later, because tongue and teeth clash clumsily and it's much, much too wet, and - well, maybe it would have been nicer if not breathing doesn't lead to suffocation) and sputters, “F-familiar? What, um, how do you mean? There is no familiarity because we are strangers, who are not familiar by definition, who snogged.”
“I think I saw this in Spider-Man.”
“Oh!” Super Catalan chuckles in relief, easing himself onto the ground. “Yeah, and The O.C.”
“What?”
“Shit. Nothing. Gotta go. Bye!”
+ a bonus drabble, "the end" -
Cesc halts his pacing, growls, marches over to the Dutchman and cups his face with surprisingly gentle hands. "Robin, why do you want Spider-Man when you can have Peter Parker?"
"What?"
"I mean, don’t you prefer Tony Stark to that hunk of metal?"
"Cesc, I don’t - "
"Oh, FOR THE LOVE OF BRUCE WAYNE - " Cesc closes the distance between their lips and lets them reunite passionately, this time: warm, right-side up, and familiar in the common sense.
"You’re Super Catalan," Robin says breathlessly.
Cesc wheezes (and suspects later that maybe, conditions aside, Robin is just a really good kisser).
Next: The Summer Sequel