whereas I am merely in disguise.
Title: Seven Solid Light Years of Lead (2/?)
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Cesc Fabregas
Rating: R
Word Count: 1400+
Notes: AU.
Previous Chapters: One.
He shouldn't have let himself get roped into this. It was blatant coercion, the way Cesc begged without actually asking. He had never been to Madrid. He had no one to show him around. No one to even suggest particularly good sights. That Iker fell for it is his own fault, of course. With boredom as an aid, Cesc made himself interesting. Sort of funny, kind of smart, almost cute. His strongest feature was his constant, hovering presence. How was Iker supposed to resist such boldfaced flirtation? It came packaged so nicely with flattery. He barely hesitated at all before they exchanged phone numbers.
Now, of course, he's paying for it.
Cesc didn't blow up his mobile with calls. He didn't even send a deluge of text messages. Just one, tentative and nervous, damningly charming.
-hi. it's cesc. unai's friend. will you still show me around? i'll pay for everything.
He felt like such a monstrous jerk that he replied almost immediately, faking enthusiasm with the ease of just a few exclamation points. Sure he still wanted to! No need to pay! How about Sunday after next?
He had to wait so long for a response he started feeling like the pushy one. He talked himself out of resending the message twice. He managed to feel relieved instead of just guilty. And then, a full day later:
-sounds good. five? can you meet me at the station?
For the rest of the week he complains loudly about the whole ordeal. He should be working that evening. It's not as if he has so much time free. He should be going out, at the very least.
He is resentful right up until he sees Cesc, young and a lot shorter than he remembered. He checks his watch, then the clock on the wall, almost moving to one of the oversized maps to make sure he's in the right place, but staying rooted. He's practically shaking with nerves.
Iker rescues him.
"Hey." He puts on his most friendly smile. He touches Cesc's elbow, kisses his cheek on instinct. "I'm not late, am I?"
Cesc eagerly returns the greeting, the kiss. Relief nearly flattens him. "No."
"Sure? You were really into this thing." Iker cranes to try and see the face of his watch, and Cesc jams his hands into his back pockets.
"It was wrong," he says. "I was resetting it."
Iker nods, smiles, lets him get away with it. "Well, mine says we've got an hour before we can go to the museum. Are you hungry?"
"No. If you are, we can get something, though."
Iker shrugs. "Not really. How about drinks?"
"Sure."
"What do you want? Pick something good. Your first taste of Madrid has to be excellent."
Cesc looks away for inspiration, distraction, and then sneaks a glance at Iker's mouth. "Coffee?"
"Really?"
"I like coffee."
"I guess I pegged you for a tea man."
Cesc laughs, puffs up his nerve. "No you didn't. You pegged me for a boy."
"Maybe." Iker touches his elbow again, ushers him in closer. "But if it's coffee you want, I can provide."
The request is easier met than Cesc thought possible. They pass directly from the station and into a mall much busier than only the train's passengers could supply. The transition to the sharp glitter of marketing is decidedly less than that of Iker in it. They are not seated at the cafe more than a minute before nearby teenaged girls are twittering. He's torn between pride and self-consciousness.
"It's too late for a bullfight, but if you want to see Las Ventas we can go. Or," he tries unsuccessfully to contain a smirk, "the Bernabéu?"
Cesc sneers the precise expression Iker had been hoping for. "No. I'll go to hell when Satan drags me, and not a minute sooner."
Iker leans forward, folds his hands around his mug. He beams. "It's on our way back here, but if you're sure."
"Positive." Cesc fakes a dry heave. "What else is there?"
"Not a bullfighting fan either?"
"I've never been, but I'm fine with that."
"Well." Iker doesn't look away as he considers it. "So far it's coffee and art. Should we go to Almundena Cathedral? Round out the wholesome?"
"I was thinking we could have dinner. Anything you recommend," Cesc says, only slightly wheedling.
"I might be able to come up with something."
Cesc smiles into the rim of his cup. "Just if you want to."
"Finish your coffee, minyó."
They waste twenty minutes there in the cafe and on the leisurely stroll back onto the platform. Iker directs them onto the right train and through the changeover. They chat idly through the few stops, about Cesc's move to Ávila from Barcelona, about what he likes versus what he misses, and where he'll go to university.
They wait for six o'clock on the green in front of the museum, moving idly through each other's orbit, comparing the second hands of their watches.
"Now," Iker declares, though no particular moment has been hit that Cesc can place. Distantly, church bells ring through the constant clamor of traffic. His smile is all self-congratulation.
Inside the lobby, they consult a map, but choose their direction randomly. They wander through the Prado's extensive history of Dutch paintings, ignorant, enjoying themselves. They don't pause for real inspection until suddenly they are in the garden of earthly delights.
Iker reads aloud from their program of museum highlights. "'A triptych illustrating the history of mankind according to medieval Christian doctrine.'"
"It's really big." Cesc cocks his head to one side and squints. "Hey look. A flying fish!"
Iker moves in against his back to follow his pointing finger. He laughs, low, very close to his ear. "The buildings look pretty... anatomical."
"Probably because they're so pink."
"Probably. Even if it was blue, though." He motions toward a particular spire. He whispers. "That's a dick."
Cesc chokes down a too loud laugh. He pinches the arm dangling from his shoulder. "Obscene minds see vulgar things everywhere they look."
"Tell me that doesn't look like a dick." Iker pulls him in close. Snug. "I dare you."
Cesc touches Iker's wrist where it sits against his heart. "A little."
"A little dick?" Iker jostles him, forces his chuckle into something stronger. "Is that really what you see? That might mean something."
Cesc shrugs him off to appease the guard glaring disapproval only a few meters away. "Shh," he chides. "That's what the internet is for."
Iker lets Cesc lead the way through painting after painting, but plants a hand against the small of his back. He finds it there again and again until the gentle voice of the intercom tells them it's time to go.
They wander out onto the lawn, heads full of brushstrokes and each other. They watch the mingling parade of tourists and locals meander out of the museum and back into the hard city. They avoid the pavement entirely.
"Well," Iker asks finally. "Are you having fun?"
Cesc speaks more to the streetlights flickering on than Iker. "Yeah."
"Hungry?"
"Maybe. What did you have in mind?"
Iker toes the plush, too green grass. "Sonia is good," he says. "But not really close. Do you mind the metro one more time?"
"No." Cesc wanders closer, fixes him with a smile. "Not if it's really good."
"I promise."
Iker herds him toward the street, the way they came, completely different in the orange pink glow of sunset.
"We can go by Las Ventas, if you're not opposed. It's more or less on the way."
"You really like that place, huh?"
Iker finds his back again as they cross the street. "You don't want to even see it?"
"From how close?"
"How about half a kilometer?"
"I don't know. That seems close."
"Think about it anyway."
Cesc shrugs, grins. "Promise the food is excellent, and I will."
"Excellent is asking for a lot."
"So it isn't?"
"I'm trying to gauge the severity of the lie. Give me a second. Will you go, or just think about going?"
"What's half a kilometer? Put it into perspective."
Iker curls his fingers until he is fisting the back of Cesc's jacket.
"My apartment."
Part three.
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Cesc Fabregas
Rating: R
Word Count: 1400+
Notes: AU.
Previous Chapters: One.
He shouldn't have let himself get roped into this. It was blatant coercion, the way Cesc begged without actually asking. He had never been to Madrid. He had no one to show him around. No one to even suggest particularly good sights. That Iker fell for it is his own fault, of course. With boredom as an aid, Cesc made himself interesting. Sort of funny, kind of smart, almost cute. His strongest feature was his constant, hovering presence. How was Iker supposed to resist such boldfaced flirtation? It came packaged so nicely with flattery. He barely hesitated at all before they exchanged phone numbers.
Now, of course, he's paying for it.
Cesc didn't blow up his mobile with calls. He didn't even send a deluge of text messages. Just one, tentative and nervous, damningly charming.
-hi. it's cesc. unai's friend. will you still show me around? i'll pay for everything.
He felt like such a monstrous jerk that he replied almost immediately, faking enthusiasm with the ease of just a few exclamation points. Sure he still wanted to! No need to pay! How about Sunday after next?
He had to wait so long for a response he started feeling like the pushy one. He talked himself out of resending the message twice. He managed to feel relieved instead of just guilty. And then, a full day later:
-sounds good. five? can you meet me at the station?
For the rest of the week he complains loudly about the whole ordeal. He should be working that evening. It's not as if he has so much time free. He should be going out, at the very least.
He is resentful right up until he sees Cesc, young and a lot shorter than he remembered. He checks his watch, then the clock on the wall, almost moving to one of the oversized maps to make sure he's in the right place, but staying rooted. He's practically shaking with nerves.
Iker rescues him.
"Hey." He puts on his most friendly smile. He touches Cesc's elbow, kisses his cheek on instinct. "I'm not late, am I?"
Cesc eagerly returns the greeting, the kiss. Relief nearly flattens him. "No."
"Sure? You were really into this thing." Iker cranes to try and see the face of his watch, and Cesc jams his hands into his back pockets.
"It was wrong," he says. "I was resetting it."
Iker nods, smiles, lets him get away with it. "Well, mine says we've got an hour before we can go to the museum. Are you hungry?"
"No. If you are, we can get something, though."
Iker shrugs. "Not really. How about drinks?"
"Sure."
"What do you want? Pick something good. Your first taste of Madrid has to be excellent."
Cesc looks away for inspiration, distraction, and then sneaks a glance at Iker's mouth. "Coffee?"
"Really?"
"I like coffee."
"I guess I pegged you for a tea man."
Cesc laughs, puffs up his nerve. "No you didn't. You pegged me for a boy."
"Maybe." Iker touches his elbow again, ushers him in closer. "But if it's coffee you want, I can provide."
The request is easier met than Cesc thought possible. They pass directly from the station and into a mall much busier than only the train's passengers could supply. The transition to the sharp glitter of marketing is decidedly less than that of Iker in it. They are not seated at the cafe more than a minute before nearby teenaged girls are twittering. He's torn between pride and self-consciousness.
"It's too late for a bullfight, but if you want to see Las Ventas we can go. Or," he tries unsuccessfully to contain a smirk, "the Bernabéu?"
Cesc sneers the precise expression Iker had been hoping for. "No. I'll go to hell when Satan drags me, and not a minute sooner."
Iker leans forward, folds his hands around his mug. He beams. "It's on our way back here, but if you're sure."
"Positive." Cesc fakes a dry heave. "What else is there?"
"Not a bullfighting fan either?"
"I've never been, but I'm fine with that."
"Well." Iker doesn't look away as he considers it. "So far it's coffee and art. Should we go to Almundena Cathedral? Round out the wholesome?"
"I was thinking we could have dinner. Anything you recommend," Cesc says, only slightly wheedling.
"I might be able to come up with something."
Cesc smiles into the rim of his cup. "Just if you want to."
"Finish your coffee, minyó."
They waste twenty minutes there in the cafe and on the leisurely stroll back onto the platform. Iker directs them onto the right train and through the changeover. They chat idly through the few stops, about Cesc's move to Ávila from Barcelona, about what he likes versus what he misses, and where he'll go to university.
They wait for six o'clock on the green in front of the museum, moving idly through each other's orbit, comparing the second hands of their watches.
"Now," Iker declares, though no particular moment has been hit that Cesc can place. Distantly, church bells ring through the constant clamor of traffic. His smile is all self-congratulation.
Inside the lobby, they consult a map, but choose their direction randomly. They wander through the Prado's extensive history of Dutch paintings, ignorant, enjoying themselves. They don't pause for real inspection until suddenly they are in the garden of earthly delights.
Iker reads aloud from their program of museum highlights. "'A triptych illustrating the history of mankind according to medieval Christian doctrine.'"
"It's really big." Cesc cocks his head to one side and squints. "Hey look. A flying fish!"
Iker moves in against his back to follow his pointing finger. He laughs, low, very close to his ear. "The buildings look pretty... anatomical."
"Probably because they're so pink."
"Probably. Even if it was blue, though." He motions toward a particular spire. He whispers. "That's a dick."
Cesc chokes down a too loud laugh. He pinches the arm dangling from his shoulder. "Obscene minds see vulgar things everywhere they look."
"Tell me that doesn't look like a dick." Iker pulls him in close. Snug. "I dare you."
Cesc touches Iker's wrist where it sits against his heart. "A little."
"A little dick?" Iker jostles him, forces his chuckle into something stronger. "Is that really what you see? That might mean something."
Cesc shrugs him off to appease the guard glaring disapproval only a few meters away. "Shh," he chides. "That's what the internet is for."
Iker lets Cesc lead the way through painting after painting, but plants a hand against the small of his back. He finds it there again and again until the gentle voice of the intercom tells them it's time to go.
They wander out onto the lawn, heads full of brushstrokes and each other. They watch the mingling parade of tourists and locals meander out of the museum and back into the hard city. They avoid the pavement entirely.
"Well," Iker asks finally. "Are you having fun?"
Cesc speaks more to the streetlights flickering on than Iker. "Yeah."
"Hungry?"
"Maybe. What did you have in mind?"
Iker toes the plush, too green grass. "Sonia is good," he says. "But not really close. Do you mind the metro one more time?"
"No." Cesc wanders closer, fixes him with a smile. "Not if it's really good."
"I promise."
Iker herds him toward the street, the way they came, completely different in the orange pink glow of sunset.
"We can go by Las Ventas, if you're not opposed. It's more or less on the way."
"You really like that place, huh?"
Iker finds his back again as they cross the street. "You don't want to even see it?"
"From how close?"
"How about half a kilometer?"
"I don't know. That seems close."
"Think about it anyway."
Cesc shrugs, grins. "Promise the food is excellent, and I will."
"Excellent is asking for a lot."
"So it isn't?"
"I'm trying to gauge the severity of the lie. Give me a second. Will you go, or just think about going?"
"What's half a kilometer? Put it into perspective."
Iker curls his fingers until he is fisting the back of Cesc's jacket.
"My apartment."
Part three.