Fic: Shy (Xavi Hernández/Andrés Iniesta)
Jan. 6th, 2010 11:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dfotwTitle: Shy
Summary: after the FIFA World Player Award gala, Xavi has to deal with Andrés.
Pairing: Xaviesta (Xavi Hernández/Andrés Iniesta)
Warnings: Slash.
Rating: PG-13, at most.
Wordcount: 1,800 and change.
Disclaimers: this isn’t real, because I made it all up in my head, and I’m not getting any money out of it (more’s the pity!).
A/N: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drbillbongo; it was originally going to be a Christmas fic, but the muse saw a deadline and ran off, so I post it today, at the Día de Reyes, the day where Spanish children traditionally get their presents... good excuse for being late, isn't it? XD
I blame Xavi's leather jacket for everything, but both looked adorable that night.
They say he’s shy. It’s a well-established fact, not only with the press and the public at large, but with your own teammates too. That’s why his (admittedly rare) outbursts catch you all by surprise whenever they happen (his mad roar of triumph after scoring at Stamford Bridge, his heated words with Cristiano Ronaldo at the Clásico). That’s why you barely believe your eyes as you watch him stumble against you and giggle just a little, his famed paleness replaced by a becoming blush that speaks of a drink or two too many.
“Me llevo a Leo, [I’m taking Leo]” Dani Alves tells you, and only now you see he has been the one who has shepherded both your flushed, giggling teammates towards the quiet corner you had stationed yourself in. “¿Te encargas tú de Andrés? [Will you deal with Andrés?]”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, but turns around at once, strong arm curled protectively around the short Argentinean boy who has just been crowned (once again) the best footballer in the world and who, at the moment, appears to have trouble putting one foot in front of the other. You watch them walk away from a moment and then turn towards Andrés, who is staring at you with eyes that are far too bright for the situation and a distracted smile on lips that you imagine (and then force yourself to stop imagining) taste like alcohol and orange juice.
You have to play the Catalunya-Argentina friendly in a matter of hours, not days, so you have stuck to water for the long and weary afterparty of the FIFA World Player gala. As a result, your hand is steady as you take hold of Andrés’ arm and start steering him through the crowd.
“¿Tienes la llave de tu habitación? [Do you have the key to your room?]” you remember to ask as you emerge into the lobby of the hotel you’re thankful FIFA chose both for the cocktail party and your accommodation.
Andrés hesitates, looking at you with those over-bright eyes, and you fear you’re going to have to go through his pockets and examine first-hand the clean lines of that grey suit you’ve been admiring all night. But then he looks down and moves and it’s with a mixture of relief and disappointment that you take the card from his fingers and start walking towards the elevators.
A well-dressed, older woman takes the elevator with you, and you flush under her gaze as Andrés first looks at you and then runs a hand up and down the one of your arms which is not holding him upright.
“¿Por qué te has puesto traje? La cazadora de cuero te quedaba muy bien… [Why are you wearing a suit? That leather jacket looked really good on you…]”
You blush even more, but whether at the touch, the compliment or the woman’s pointed look away from you, you don’t know.
“Nos tuvimos que cambiar todos después de la rueda de prensa, para la gala, [We all had to change after the press conference, for the gala]” you remind, noticing your voice sounds hoarse even to your own ears. “Tú también, Andrew. [You too, Andrew.]”
He smiles at the endearment like he always does, only that even more so, and you completely fail to register the woman’s offended sniff until after the elevator’s doors have closed behind her.
There’s only the two of you now, standing far too close, with your hand on his shoulder and his hand resting on your forearm, both of you looking equally flushed under the elevator’s golden light. Andrés is staring at you, and you are staring at his reflection in the mirror.
“Aquí estamos, [Here we are]” you announce when the elevator doors open again.
He resists your hand on his arm a little, body as heavy and slow as agile it is on the field, so you settle for Dani’s earlier example and put an arm around his slim waist to lead him out of the elevator and towards his room.
They say he is shy, but there is nothing shy now in the way his walks, in the way his hips sway under your arm, in his smile as he watches you fumble with his keycard.
“¿Me ayudarás con éstos otra vez? [Will you help me with these again?]” he asks you as you open the door to his room, showing you his wrists and the cufflinks you helped him fasten earlier in the evening, when it was his fingers, and not yours, that trembled out of nerves.
“Claro, [Of course]” you say, helplessly following him into the room and turning on the lights. “Déjame ver... [Let me see... ]”
You did expect him to turn around and hold out his hands towards you, but you didn’t expect the gesture to look so... inviting. It takes you a moment to recover your composure, but by the time you reach for the first cufflink, he’s already smiling at you.
“Eh...” you mumble as you fix your eyes determinately on his cufflink and try to think of something to say to distract him from your own distraction. “¿Así que te gustó mi cazadora? [So, you liked my jacket?]”
If your hands weren’t busy with his cufflink, you’d smack yourself. Of all the inane, provocative comments...
Andrés laughs a little, careful not to jostle his hand.
“Claro que me gustó... y era mucho mejor que la de Ronaldo, además… [Of course I liked it… and it was much better than Ronaldo’s, besides…]”
You smile up at him, with the first cufflink resting safely in your hand, thankful that he has decided to let go of your comment instead of pushing you both off the precipice you’ve both been dancing on for so long it’s stopped being a challenge and became a habit: you flirt, he flirts, you remember who you are and backtrack, he smiles and lets you retreat... until the next time you let your emotions get the better of your judgement and his smile shifts from shy to hopeful and you wonder if this, if this will be the time you finally slip and fall (in love, in bed, in his arms).
He smiles back and holds out his other hand; his face, in the light from the bedside lamp, looks paler, more thoughtful than it looked downstairs.
You focus on what your hands are doing, instead, and try to think of who could have gotten Andrés the expensive designer cufflinks and not of how soft and vulnerable the skin of the inside of his wrist looks and how much you’d like to kiss the pulse point there.
“Fueron un regalo de Pep, [They were a present from Pep,]” he says, reading your mind in that odd way he sometimes has. “Sabes que a mí todo esto de los trajes y eso no me va... [You know that I don’t like all this stuff about suits and things…]”
You’ve been jealous of Pep for so long (for reasons strictly related to football) that it doesn’t surprise you to feel jealous of him for this.
“¿Y el traje también fue un regalo? Te queda muy bien… [And the suit was a present too? It looks very good on you…]”
Andrés looks almost as surprised as you at the compliment, but then he smiles and the low blush returns to his face.
“No, pero en la tienda me ayudaron a elegirlo… me gustó el detalle del cuello… [No, but they helped me choose it at the store… I liked the bit in the neck…]”
You’re holding the second cufflink on the palm of your hand, so you don’t have any excuse not to look up at Andrés and at the dark velvet he’s touching with his free hand. You, however, do not strictly need to reach out and touch it too, letting your fingers brush against his.
He watches you carefully and you can see he’s holding his breath as your fingers slide down to grasp the lapel of his suit. You lower your gaze in time to see his throat work as he swallows nervously and then it flares in your chest again, the panic at what you’re doing, at the many things that could, will go wrong if you don’t step back now and make a joke and walk away and...
And Andrés steps forwards and kisses you firmly, nothing the slightest bit shy in his lips or in the hands that tangle in your hair to bring you closer to him.
He doesn’t taste as much of alcohol as you expected and for a moment you think he must be far less tipsy than what he made appear. Then, you feel the tip of his tongue touch yours and you stop thinking because, you’re kissing, at last, and if you’re going to go to hell and put both your careers in peril and risk everything, then you’re going to *make* it worth it.
“¿... sí? [... yes?]” Andrés asks you in a whisper after the kiss ends, moving away just enough to look you in the eye and not an inch more.
“Sí, [Yes,]” you answer, without really thinking about what you’re saying, because how are you going to tell him ‘no’, after knowing what his kiss tastes like?
His smile lights up his whole face and his eyes and you could spend the whole night watching it, or at least you think so until Andrés leans in to kiss you again, his mouth firm against yours.
Damn the elegant lines of his suit, the endearing way his open cuffs flop against his hands, the narrow tie you’re sure Pep chose for him. You can’t think now of the many reasons why you denied yourself this in the past and you’re certainly not going to deny yourself this now, even if Andrés’ determination (that you can taste in the way he has of kissing you) would let you.
Andrés laughs a little when you break this second kiss to come up for air, your hands now undoing his tie.
“Me tomé un par de copas para coger valor, pero esto no es lo que esperaba… [I had a couple of drinks to gather my courage, but this isn’t what I was expecting…]” He sees your hands freeze mid-way through unbuttoning his shirt and covers them with his own. “No estoy borracho, Xavi... y aunque lo estuviera, sabes que he querido esto desde... desde hace mucho tiempo… [I’m not drunk, Xavi… and even if I were, you know I’ve wanted this since… for a very long time…]”
You flush at the reminder of your indecision.
“Lo sé, Andrew, [I know, Andrew,]” you say in response to his reassurance.
“¿Entonces? [So?]” he asks you with a smile, his hands continuing the work of unbuttoning his shirt where yours let off.
Shy indeed...
You're right, Bill, they're very obvious, it's a wonder we don't ship them more...
Summary: after the FIFA World Player Award gala, Xavi has to deal with Andrés.
Pairing: Xaviesta (Xavi Hernández/Andrés Iniesta)
Warnings: Slash.
Rating: PG-13, at most.
Wordcount: 1,800 and change.
Disclaimers: this isn’t real, because I made it all up in my head, and I’m not getting any money out of it (more’s the pity!).
A/N: for
drbillbongo; it was originally going to be a Christmas fic, but the muse saw a deadline and ran off, so I post it today, at the Día de Reyes, the day where Spanish children traditionally get their presents... good excuse for being late, isn't it? XD I blame Xavi's leather jacket for everything, but both looked adorable that night.
They say he’s shy. It’s a well-established fact, not only with the press and the public at large, but with your own teammates too. That’s why his (admittedly rare) outbursts catch you all by surprise whenever they happen (his mad roar of triumph after scoring at Stamford Bridge, his heated words with Cristiano Ronaldo at the Clásico). That’s why you barely believe your eyes as you watch him stumble against you and giggle just a little, his famed paleness replaced by a becoming blush that speaks of a drink or two too many.
“Me llevo a Leo, [I’m taking Leo]” Dani Alves tells you, and only now you see he has been the one who has shepherded both your flushed, giggling teammates towards the quiet corner you had stationed yourself in. “¿Te encargas tú de Andrés? [Will you deal with Andrés?]”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, but turns around at once, strong arm curled protectively around the short Argentinean boy who has just been crowned (once again) the best footballer in the world and who, at the moment, appears to have trouble putting one foot in front of the other. You watch them walk away from a moment and then turn towards Andrés, who is staring at you with eyes that are far too bright for the situation and a distracted smile on lips that you imagine (and then force yourself to stop imagining) taste like alcohol and orange juice.
You have to play the Catalunya-Argentina friendly in a matter of hours, not days, so you have stuck to water for the long and weary afterparty of the FIFA World Player gala. As a result, your hand is steady as you take hold of Andrés’ arm and start steering him through the crowd.
“¿Tienes la llave de tu habitación? [Do you have the key to your room?]” you remember to ask as you emerge into the lobby of the hotel you’re thankful FIFA chose both for the cocktail party and your accommodation.
Andrés hesitates, looking at you with those over-bright eyes, and you fear you’re going to have to go through his pockets and examine first-hand the clean lines of that grey suit you’ve been admiring all night. But then he looks down and moves and it’s with a mixture of relief and disappointment that you take the card from his fingers and start walking towards the elevators.
A well-dressed, older woman takes the elevator with you, and you flush under her gaze as Andrés first looks at you and then runs a hand up and down the one of your arms which is not holding him upright.
“¿Por qué te has puesto traje? La cazadora de cuero te quedaba muy bien… [Why are you wearing a suit? That leather jacket looked really good on you…]”
You blush even more, but whether at the touch, the compliment or the woman’s pointed look away from you, you don’t know.
“Nos tuvimos que cambiar todos después de la rueda de prensa, para la gala, [We all had to change after the press conference, for the gala]” you remind, noticing your voice sounds hoarse even to your own ears. “Tú también, Andrew. [You too, Andrew.]”
He smiles at the endearment like he always does, only that even more so, and you completely fail to register the woman’s offended sniff until after the elevator’s doors have closed behind her.
There’s only the two of you now, standing far too close, with your hand on his shoulder and his hand resting on your forearm, both of you looking equally flushed under the elevator’s golden light. Andrés is staring at you, and you are staring at his reflection in the mirror.
“Aquí estamos, [Here we are]” you announce when the elevator doors open again.
He resists your hand on his arm a little, body as heavy and slow as agile it is on the field, so you settle for Dani’s earlier example and put an arm around his slim waist to lead him out of the elevator and towards his room.
They say he is shy, but there is nothing shy now in the way his walks, in the way his hips sway under your arm, in his smile as he watches you fumble with his keycard.
“¿Me ayudarás con éstos otra vez? [Will you help me with these again?]” he asks you as you open the door to his room, showing you his wrists and the cufflinks you helped him fasten earlier in the evening, when it was his fingers, and not yours, that trembled out of nerves.
“Claro, [Of course]” you say, helplessly following him into the room and turning on the lights. “Déjame ver... [Let me see... ]”
You did expect him to turn around and hold out his hands towards you, but you didn’t expect the gesture to look so... inviting. It takes you a moment to recover your composure, but by the time you reach for the first cufflink, he’s already smiling at you.
“Eh...” you mumble as you fix your eyes determinately on his cufflink and try to think of something to say to distract him from your own distraction. “¿Así que te gustó mi cazadora? [So, you liked my jacket?]”
If your hands weren’t busy with his cufflink, you’d smack yourself. Of all the inane, provocative comments...
Andrés laughs a little, careful not to jostle his hand.
“Claro que me gustó... y era mucho mejor que la de Ronaldo, además… [Of course I liked it… and it was much better than Ronaldo’s, besides…]”
You smile up at him, with the first cufflink resting safely in your hand, thankful that he has decided to let go of your comment instead of pushing you both off the precipice you’ve both been dancing on for so long it’s stopped being a challenge and became a habit: you flirt, he flirts, you remember who you are and backtrack, he smiles and lets you retreat... until the next time you let your emotions get the better of your judgement and his smile shifts from shy to hopeful and you wonder if this, if this will be the time you finally slip and fall (in love, in bed, in his arms).
He smiles back and holds out his other hand; his face, in the light from the bedside lamp, looks paler, more thoughtful than it looked downstairs.
You focus on what your hands are doing, instead, and try to think of who could have gotten Andrés the expensive designer cufflinks and not of how soft and vulnerable the skin of the inside of his wrist looks and how much you’d like to kiss the pulse point there.
“Fueron un regalo de Pep, [They were a present from Pep,]” he says, reading your mind in that odd way he sometimes has. “Sabes que a mí todo esto de los trajes y eso no me va... [You know that I don’t like all this stuff about suits and things…]”
You’ve been jealous of Pep for so long (for reasons strictly related to football) that it doesn’t surprise you to feel jealous of him for this.
“¿Y el traje también fue un regalo? Te queda muy bien… [And the suit was a present too? It looks very good on you…]”
Andrés looks almost as surprised as you at the compliment, but then he smiles and the low blush returns to his face.
“No, pero en la tienda me ayudaron a elegirlo… me gustó el detalle del cuello… [No, but they helped me choose it at the store… I liked the bit in the neck…]”
You’re holding the second cufflink on the palm of your hand, so you don’t have any excuse not to look up at Andrés and at the dark velvet he’s touching with his free hand. You, however, do not strictly need to reach out and touch it too, letting your fingers brush against his.
He watches you carefully and you can see he’s holding his breath as your fingers slide down to grasp the lapel of his suit. You lower your gaze in time to see his throat work as he swallows nervously and then it flares in your chest again, the panic at what you’re doing, at the many things that could, will go wrong if you don’t step back now and make a joke and walk away and...
And Andrés steps forwards and kisses you firmly, nothing the slightest bit shy in his lips or in the hands that tangle in your hair to bring you closer to him.
He doesn’t taste as much of alcohol as you expected and for a moment you think he must be far less tipsy than what he made appear. Then, you feel the tip of his tongue touch yours and you stop thinking because, you’re kissing, at last, and if you’re going to go to hell and put both your careers in peril and risk everything, then you’re going to *make* it worth it.
“¿... sí? [... yes?]” Andrés asks you in a whisper after the kiss ends, moving away just enough to look you in the eye and not an inch more.
“Sí, [Yes,]” you answer, without really thinking about what you’re saying, because how are you going to tell him ‘no’, after knowing what his kiss tastes like?
His smile lights up his whole face and his eyes and you could spend the whole night watching it, or at least you think so until Andrés leans in to kiss you again, his mouth firm against yours.
Damn the elegant lines of his suit, the endearing way his open cuffs flop against his hands, the narrow tie you’re sure Pep chose for him. You can’t think now of the many reasons why you denied yourself this in the past and you’re certainly not going to deny yourself this now, even if Andrés’ determination (that you can taste in the way he has of kissing you) would let you.
Andrés laughs a little when you break this second kiss to come up for air, your hands now undoing his tie.
“Me tomé un par de copas para coger valor, pero esto no es lo que esperaba… [I had a couple of drinks to gather my courage, but this isn’t what I was expecting…]” He sees your hands freeze mid-way through unbuttoning his shirt and covers them with his own. “No estoy borracho, Xavi... y aunque lo estuviera, sabes que he querido esto desde... desde hace mucho tiempo… [I’m not drunk, Xavi… and even if I were, you know I’ve wanted this since… for a very long time…]”
You flush at the reminder of your indecision.
“Lo sé, Andrew, [I know, Andrew,]” you say in response to his reassurance.
“¿Entonces? [So?]” he asks you with a smile, his hands continuing the work of unbuttoning his shirt where yours let off.
Shy indeed...
You're right, Bill, they're very obvious, it's a wonder we don't ship them more...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 10:48 pm (UTC)As a Xaviesta, I love reading fics about both of them <3 I don't know why, but I loved that reference of Malves ("Me llevo a Leo", aw!). Okay, I do know why, they are one of my favourite pairings in Can Barça!
Moreover, I laughed so much at contentillo!Iniesta (never drunk, Andrew, of course not). And it's all so nice, that unexpected kiss for Xavi... and the confession at the end of the fic is wonderful, oh yeah <3
((OMG at Xavi's leather jacket! º_____º))
I loved it! ♥ :D
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 10:54 pm (UTC)Contentillo!Iniesta FTW! XD
(Xavi's leather jacket is responsible for everything, I swear I didn't fancy him that much before I saw it!)
Thank you very much, I'm glad you liked it!
:)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-07 12:44 am (UTC)Dfotw, tu ser mala malosa con Sweet Nyx!!
Ejem... Asumo que es genial, porque todo lo que sea escrito de sobre este par es AMOR XDD Pero aún así me voy triste, el inglés me separa de leer esta maravilla >.<
Seh, bueno, solo he venido a quejarme ya que no puedo opinar, sorry XDD
PD: Gracias por las fotos LOL
no subject
Date: 2010-01-07 12:57 pm (UTC)Y de nada por las fotos... un placer!
:)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-07 08:32 am (UTC)Si es que son un amor! Cada vez me gusta más y más esta pareja *hearts*
Y gracias por las fotos... como le queda la cazadora
no subject
Date: 2010-01-07 01:01 pm (UTC)De nada por las fotos!
:)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-07 08:38 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for this!! I'm all asquee, so please forgive me if I'm not exactly coherent here. :D
*glomptackles you*
*adds this to memories*
*wanders off, grinning like an idiot* :D
no subject
Date: 2010-01-07 10:03 pm (UTC)When I saw them that night at the gala I immediately thought of what you'd told me about them being so obvious and I knew I just had to write them for you! And I've read a couple of interviews they've given, and they always like to dance around each other, throwing compliments here and there, so the conversation was easy to write, after I made up my mind about what I wanted! (I also remembered you liked the dialogues in Spanish, so that's why!)
I think that Andrés' shyness is overestimated. He is shy, yes, but not always (his fight with CRon, for example!) and with a bit of Dutch courage, I'm sure he could take on Xavi! ;)
I'm glad you liked it, even if it was horribly late. Thank you for the inspiration and for the fic you wrote me and for your lovely, incoherent comment, and for everything!
*glomps*
:)
no subject
Date: 2010-03-13 10:39 pm (UTC)Okay, I'm not sure how to explain this, but I had this feeling in my stomach while reading it - like I was watching this scene live, I could almost feel the emotions. I'm seriously amazed! This is one of the best Xavi/Iniesta stories I've ever read. You're a very good writer, let me say :)
I really, really hope you'll write more about them - in English since understand zero Spanish :P
Love it <3
no subject
Date: 2010-03-13 10:57 pm (UTC)And I really appreciate your comments (and your compliments)... thank you for reading!
:)
no subject
Date: 2010-03-14 01:18 pm (UTC)May I add you, btw?
no subject
Date: 2010-03-14 01:36 pm (UTC):)
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Date: 2011-11-28 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-29 08:39 am (UTC):)