Where the wind whispers

This is the first thing I wrote for fslashexchange. I'll post the other in a minute :)

Title: If It Makes You Feel Good
Characters/Pairing: Andres Iniesta/Xavi, Pep Guardiola
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: not mine, sadly
Word Count: 1,458
Author's Note: I hope you like it :-)

After many years of being able to perfectly time and anticipate the other’s movements on the pitch, it wasn’t very surprising to learn that they could do the same off the pitch as accurately as they could on it. Small things like knowing what they liked to order at the same restaurants grew to larger things like knowing the perfect thing to say to comfort their partner. All of those things happened before they even became lovers.

Xavi was older, more reserved. It was no secret that he loved football beyond everything else, even concerns for himself sometimes. His dedication for the sport had become something that was as second nature to him as breathing. He adored the smell of fresh cut grass as much as he would have adored the touches of a lover; he needed the ball under his feet the way others would need to be touched during the day. Football was his life, his love, and his mistress; to say that it was only his passion greatly undervalued what it really meant to him. Football was everything, and anyone who knew him would say the same in reply.

Andres was shy, modest, and humble, but very skillful. He moved like water around rocks in a stream when he had the ball under his feet. His sainted idol had praised him when he was young and those words he carried with him in every match he entered, hoping to live up to those sacred words. He always tried to be better during matches, improving his abilities to pick a perfect pass that would lead to a goal, whether it was Spain, Catalonia, or favored Barça. While football meant a very, very great deal to him, it was not all he thought about at the end of the day. He desired a family, someone who would love him and who he could love in return. He needed those small touches and those caring words because they reminded him of his value, not as a footballer, but as a man. He wanted to be the one person somebody missed when he went to work and the source of the smile on their face when he returned home at the end of the day. He wanted companionship, love, and a life not only in football, but at home as well.

Together, they became a formidable foe. Their devotions to football combined into an overwhelming strength so that they moved as one, knew the movements that the other would make as if they would make it themselves. They never worked as well with the other midfielders if one was absent; they worked just as hard and they might have succeeded in doing their duty, but something was noticeably absent from each of those matches. The fluidity wasn’t as strong; the movements had become more viscous and more obvious.

It wasn’t until one day not so long ago when Pep and Xavi walked the touchline during training one afternoon. They had done this before, many times in the past, but not as many as lately as they used to do. They were both older now, no more advanced first-team player and kid that wanted to be just like him. Now there was an air of professionalism about both of them that had always been there, just not as strong. Pep was the manager, and had been for several months now. Xavi was his player. They were still friends, but now there was something that was different. Pep was in a position of power, and Xavi was never able to completely forget that, despite Pep’s assurances of the fact he would always, always have a place on the first team.

“I was right, wasn’t I? He will retire us both.” Pep said, hands clasped behind his back as they walked the perimeter of the pitch.

“Most likely.” Xavi replied. He didn’t like talking about Andres to anyone. It made him feel as if he was sharing special parts of him that should only belong to him.

“I know what you have been doing, Xavi. I have known it for some time.” Pep added with a small twinkle in his eye.

Xavi paused, mouth open to speak but the words did not come. Pep continued.

“I don’t mind; you both certainly seem to have a connection that goes beyond any sort of footballing aspect. I just ask that you keep it discrete and that it doesn’t interfere with the first-team.”

It didn’t matter that Pep was essentially granting them permission. Xavi knew that he and Andres were both consenting adults that were hardly young teenagers fumbling around a locker room, Pep’s permission be damned. It wasn’t required. But the feeling of acceptance and almost approval coming from his mentor had another feeling stirring inside him. There was now a warmth that rested at the bottom of his stomach. It was comfortable, light.

“You should go home to him, Xavi. You should tell him you love him.” Pep spoke gently, a tone he only used when trying to instill new knowledge upon his squad. “I know that you have not.”

Xavi paused and looked at Pep. They stood at the farthest corner, away from the rest of the team, and looked at one another. Pep’s expression was non-judgmental and Xavi looked into his face. He saw kindness, but a sense of patient expectation rested in his eyes.

“How do you know these things?” Xavi deferred and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know everything about my squad, Xavi. I also know that he cares about you and that you care about him. You should tell him.” Pep resumed walking and left Xavi to think. As he left, he gave a rueful little smile to himself and continued walking back to the rest of the squad.


That night Xavi tiredly sank onto the sofa. He closed his eyes and listened. He could hear Andres moving around the kitchen before he heard the distinct ‘click’ of the lights being turned off followed by his footsteps on the floor. He felt the sofa dip as well as the clinking of dishes being moved around. Xavi could smell that Andres had brought his dinner, Chinese take-away, into the living room.

He listened as Andres fiddled a bit more until he was comfortable and then the television channels changed. It was a Wednesday night and he could hear the beginnings of his favorite television program beginning.

Xavi slowly opened his eyes and looked at Andres with a raised eyebrow. “You hate this show.”

“It’s not so bad.” He smiled a little. Xavi paused and Andres shifted. Xavi recognized the beginnings of his discomfort when put into a situation where he wasn’t entirely sure what to do or what to say.

“Why do you watch something you don’t like for me?” Xavi asked.

Andres lowered his eyes to the plate before looking up shyly. “Because you like it.”

Xavi paused before the first thing he could say came blurting out of his mouth faster than he could stop it. “I love you, you know.”

Andres smiled another shy smile. “I know.”

Xavi couldn’t help but frown. “How do you know? I don’t say it at all! I don’t do things you like simply because you like them. I don’t hug you all the times you want. I don’t call sometimes. I’m not a very good partner for you simply because I’m too absorbed in—”

“You try, Xavi.” Andres interrupted, looking into his eyes. Only a small amount of shyness remained. “And because you try, you do other things so well. Like when you do hold me at night, you don’t like to let me go. You get jealous of others when they try to take my attention away and you want it. You don’t like others around me if you cannot be. You know what I like to eat, so you get it for me and I don’t have to. You know how to touch me so that I only want to be closer to you. Of course you’re not the most perfect of lovers, or of boyfriends, but you do try. And because you try, I love you even more than the day before. I don’t mind if you aren’t perfect, I’m not perfect either.”

Xavi watched Andres carefully before he shifted over the small expanse of sofa. He leaned in closer and kissed him softly, tasting the sweet and sour sauce that Andres had been eating. The familiar taste of Andres took over from any Oriental dish and Xavi pressed closer.

When the kisses ended, Xavi rested his forehead against Andres’.

“I love you.”

He felt Andres’ smile against his lips. “I love you too.”