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flywomanTitle: no te duermas (que no hemos acabado)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 980
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Xavi Hernández
Disclaimer: While inspired by real persons and events, this is a work of fiction.
Summary: In which Xavi suggests a solution to Iker's bench-warming blues after Barcelona plays the Supercopa in Madrid.
"You're slowing down, old man."
Xavi raised himself indignantly on an elbow as Iker shut his eyes in sleepy satisfaction. "And? I thought that was supposed to be a good thing. In fact, I seem to recall that a certain person used to complain quite a lot about my, er, lack of staying power."
"You were kind of quick on the draw for the first few years," Iker acknowledged with a yawn, reaching out to stroke his friend's thigh. Xavi swatted his hand away.
"Hmph. Maybe it's not because I've gotten older. Maybe it's because now that you're wrinkled, chubby, and balding, you just don't drive me wild like you used to," Xavi huffed.
"What was that?" Iker asked, cupping his hand to his ear. "Were you just saying that you really wanted to sleep alone on the sofa tonight?"
"Deaf, too," Xavi grumbled, but he could feel the corner of his mouth quirking up. He poked Iker in the side, pinched the incipient love handle gently between his thumb and forefinger. "But seriously, you need to lay off the cañas. You're not twenty anymore."
"Nice," Iker said, eyes still closed. "You make me wait until after the Supercopa, drag me out to wine and dine me, and now you're calling me fat?"
"Wine and dine you? Anyone would think that I had an ulterior motive," Xavi husked, and slid his hand further down Iker's side and around back to caress the dimples above his buttocks. "Rematch?"
Iker sucked in an eager breath, then frowned slightly and shook his head. "As arousing as your insults are, I need to call it a night."
"But it's only..." Xavi squinted at Iker's bedside clock. "Shit."
"Yeah," Iker mumbled, flinging an arm over his eyes. "Last thing I need is to show up late for training."
"Not the best way to get yourself back off the bench," Xavi agreed, and got up to go to the bathroom without waiting for a response.
When he slipped back into bed, Iker was pretending to be asleep, his back muscles tense, his breathing determinedly regular. Xavi slid an arm around Iker's softening waist and nuzzled his neck in apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't think-" he took a deep breath, fumbled for the right words. "Listen. You're still world-class. You'll be back in no time, I know it."
He felt Iker shudder against his chest, heard the soft sounds that his friend was struggling vainly to swallow. "Oh, cariño," he said helplessly, and rested his forehead against the back of Iker's neck, waiting for him to finish.
At last Iker snuffled, rolled away to reach for a tissue and blow his nose. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Xavi said fondly. "You always get maudlin after sex." He paused. "Also before sex. During probably would not surprise me."
"It's just," Iker said slowly, "I thought... with Mourinho gone..."
"Damn Diego Lopez for being such a great goalkeeper," Xavi said, so seriously that Iker gave in and cracked a wry smile.
"I'm not saying that he doesn't deserve to start," Iker began.
"Well, then I'll say it. It's a damned disgrace, that's what it is. Putting Spain's best keeper on the bench and letting the media chalk it up to bad form." Xavi forgot himself, sat up, and began gesticulating wildly. "And they know that you're so fucking loyal that you'll just sit there and take it!"
Iker turned over to squint up at him. "Pelopo," he said, sounding so soul-weary that Xavi wanted to cry himself, "what do you want me to do?"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Come to Barcelona."
Iker closed his eyes. "Jesus. Not this again."
He could have backpedaled, apologized once more, but instead he insisted, "Just listen for a second. Lopez isn't going anywhere. He just made it back to Real, and he has plenty of good years left in him. You're obviously still loved... but you're not needed here."
Iker opened his mouth to protest, but Xavi held up his hand and steamrolled over him. "I'm not finished. You know where you are needed? Victor's leaving at the end of the season. Pinto's still spry for someone old enough to be a grandfather, but first choice keeper? No, after being all noble about waiting for his contract to expire, we're going to let Victor go for free and then run around looking for a replacement with our tongues hanging out. And why shouldn't it be you?"
Iker sighed. "You know why. I don't see why we're even talking about this."
"We are talking about this," Xavi replied with great dignity, "because my best friend cries himself to sleep at night when he's not allowed to play for the team that he loves."
Iker was quiet for a moment. "Stop trying to out-stubborn me," Xavi warned him, only half-joking.
Then, "If I came to Barcelona, I would have to keep goal behind Piqué," Iker pointed out in an aggrieved tone. "He's only any good when he's partnered with Sergio."
"Bring Ramos with you," Xavi said in all seriousness. "We need a new defender, too." Iker caught his eye, Xavi's lips twitched, and then suddenly they were both chuckling, clutching at each other and getting tangled in the damp sheets.
When they had quieted, Xavi fit himself snugly against Iker's side, wrapping his arm around his waist and tucking his head into the hollow above Iker's armpit.
"Pelopo," Iker began.
Xavi smiled, craned his neck, and pressed a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek. "Shh, I don't need an answer now. Sometimes it's better to sleep on these things," he reasoned drowsily as his eyelids drifted shut.
"Pelopo?" Iker whispered again, more urgently this time.
"Hmm?" Xavi cracked one eye open.
"Don't go to sleep," Iker suggested, slipping a warm, calloused hand between his thighs. "We haven't finished yet."
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 980
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Xavi Hernández
Disclaimer: While inspired by real persons and events, this is a work of fiction.
Summary: In which Xavi suggests a solution to Iker's bench-warming blues after Barcelona plays the Supercopa in Madrid.
"You're slowing down, old man."
Xavi raised himself indignantly on an elbow as Iker shut his eyes in sleepy satisfaction. "And? I thought that was supposed to be a good thing. In fact, I seem to recall that a certain person used to complain quite a lot about my, er, lack of staying power."
"You were kind of quick on the draw for the first few years," Iker acknowledged with a yawn, reaching out to stroke his friend's thigh. Xavi swatted his hand away.
"Hmph. Maybe it's not because I've gotten older. Maybe it's because now that you're wrinkled, chubby, and balding, you just don't drive me wild like you used to," Xavi huffed.
"What was that?" Iker asked, cupping his hand to his ear. "Were you just saying that you really wanted to sleep alone on the sofa tonight?"
"Deaf, too," Xavi grumbled, but he could feel the corner of his mouth quirking up. He poked Iker in the side, pinched the incipient love handle gently between his thumb and forefinger. "But seriously, you need to lay off the cañas. You're not twenty anymore."
"Nice," Iker said, eyes still closed. "You make me wait until after the Supercopa, drag me out to wine and dine me, and now you're calling me fat?"
"Wine and dine you? Anyone would think that I had an ulterior motive," Xavi husked, and slid his hand further down Iker's side and around back to caress the dimples above his buttocks. "Rematch?"
Iker sucked in an eager breath, then frowned slightly and shook his head. "As arousing as your insults are, I need to call it a night."
"But it's only..." Xavi squinted at Iker's bedside clock. "Shit."
"Yeah," Iker mumbled, flinging an arm over his eyes. "Last thing I need is to show up late for training."
"Not the best way to get yourself back off the bench," Xavi agreed, and got up to go to the bathroom without waiting for a response.
When he slipped back into bed, Iker was pretending to be asleep, his back muscles tense, his breathing determinedly regular. Xavi slid an arm around Iker's softening waist and nuzzled his neck in apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't think-" he took a deep breath, fumbled for the right words. "Listen. You're still world-class. You'll be back in no time, I know it."
He felt Iker shudder against his chest, heard the soft sounds that his friend was struggling vainly to swallow. "Oh, cariño," he said helplessly, and rested his forehead against the back of Iker's neck, waiting for him to finish.
At last Iker snuffled, rolled away to reach for a tissue and blow his nose. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Xavi said fondly. "You always get maudlin after sex." He paused. "Also before sex. During probably would not surprise me."
"It's just," Iker said slowly, "I thought... with Mourinho gone..."
"Damn Diego Lopez for being such a great goalkeeper," Xavi said, so seriously that Iker gave in and cracked a wry smile.
"I'm not saying that he doesn't deserve to start," Iker began.
"Well, then I'll say it. It's a damned disgrace, that's what it is. Putting Spain's best keeper on the bench and letting the media chalk it up to bad form." Xavi forgot himself, sat up, and began gesticulating wildly. "And they know that you're so fucking loyal that you'll just sit there and take it!"
Iker turned over to squint up at him. "Pelopo," he said, sounding so soul-weary that Xavi wanted to cry himself, "what do you want me to do?"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Come to Barcelona."
Iker closed his eyes. "Jesus. Not this again."
He could have backpedaled, apologized once more, but instead he insisted, "Just listen for a second. Lopez isn't going anywhere. He just made it back to Real, and he has plenty of good years left in him. You're obviously still loved... but you're not needed here."
Iker opened his mouth to protest, but Xavi held up his hand and steamrolled over him. "I'm not finished. You know where you are needed? Victor's leaving at the end of the season. Pinto's still spry for someone old enough to be a grandfather, but first choice keeper? No, after being all noble about waiting for his contract to expire, we're going to let Victor go for free and then run around looking for a replacement with our tongues hanging out. And why shouldn't it be you?"
Iker sighed. "You know why. I don't see why we're even talking about this."
"We are talking about this," Xavi replied with great dignity, "because my best friend cries himself to sleep at night when he's not allowed to play for the team that he loves."
Iker was quiet for a moment. "Stop trying to out-stubborn me," Xavi warned him, only half-joking.
Then, "If I came to Barcelona, I would have to keep goal behind Piqué," Iker pointed out in an aggrieved tone. "He's only any good when he's partnered with Sergio."
"Bring Ramos with you," Xavi said in all seriousness. "We need a new defender, too." Iker caught his eye, Xavi's lips twitched, and then suddenly they were both chuckling, clutching at each other and getting tangled in the damp sheets.
When they had quieted, Xavi fit himself snugly against Iker's side, wrapping his arm around his waist and tucking his head into the hollow above Iker's armpit.
"Pelopo," Iker began.
Xavi smiled, craned his neck, and pressed a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek. "Shh, I don't need an answer now. Sometimes it's better to sleep on these things," he reasoned drowsily as his eyelids drifted shut.
"Pelopo?" Iker whispered again, more urgently this time.
"Hmm?" Xavi cracked one eye open.
"Don't go to sleep," Iker suggested, slipping a warm, calloused hand between his thighs. "We haven't finished yet."
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no subject
Date: 2013-08-25 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-25 11:37 pm (UTC)These two are just so much fun for me to write.