Where the wind whispers

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Title: The Eternal Heartache, Chapter 33 of ???
Characters (this part only): Iker Casillas/Cesc Fabregas; Pep Guardiola/Raul Gonzalez, Bojan Krkic, Vicente Rodriguez, David Villa/Silva, OFC, Cristiano Ronaldo implied
Rating: PG-13, slightly graphic but not really
Words: this part: 2,152 overall total: 82,299
A/N: Anybody remember this story? Anybody remember Iker in this story? No? Oh, well then I guess you won’t want to read this part then…XD Teasing! Sorry, I’m a month late again, but the good news is, it’s an update! More to come soon, I swear it since I’m almost done with school. :D



Last part here. All previous parts listed here.


The darkness of the room wasn’t impenetrable. Around the edges of the drawn drapes, sunlight peered through for a vision as to what had taken place inside. The red of the digital numbers on the bedside clock glowed into the room, creating a beam of reddish haze to interrupt the blackness.

The room wasn’t silent either. From just outside the closed door, the ticking of the clock on the mantle floated inside the bedroom. The refrigerator was running; the low hum was barely audible and not unpleasant in its consistency. The television was still on, though its volume had been reduced considerably. It was something that they had remembered to do before they had stumbled through the living room and into the bedroom.

But it wasn’t the clock, or the TV, or even the refrigerator on which Cesc was focusing his attention.

It was the smooth dance of fingers along his skin that he was more intently focused on. Iker’s breathing had slowed from his climax to rhythmic puffs of air on Cesc’s neck. Iker’s breath was warm and sent shivers down Cesc’s spine. The combination of soft, teasing touches and warm, steady breathing was sending Cesc into a state of excited laziness.

He shifted backwards into the elder man and pulled the sheet up to make an effort at half-covering themselves. There was enough light in the room to make things easy to see and for that he was a little shy. He knew that he had no reason to be; Iker had already seen him naked several times. But now Iker was going to talk to him, that’s what they always did after sex. And just like every time before, Cesc would pull the sheet up to cover himself while they spoke.

Iker’s arm moved around Cesc’s waist and pulled him closer against his body. Cesc went willingly and reveled in the warm strength of Iker’s body against his own. Iker’s strength was another thing he had fallen for, Cesc had realized long ago. Iker was dark, mysterious, and held so many secrets. But he also was kind, generous, and very talented in bed—Cesc guessed. There was a strength, not only of Iker’s character, but in his body as well. He was toned, muscular. He was so very different from the boys Cesc’s age; but then again he shouldn’t be surprised. Iker was a man, pure and simple. There was nothing of a boy left in him.

“What are you thinking?” Iker murmured softly by his ear.

“I’m thinking about you.” Cesc replied honestly. He could lie to Iker, he’d also learned that about himself, but he didn’t like it. Lying wasn’t something he enjoyed, ever. But with Iker, he could. He shifted every time at the thought that he could so easily keep secrets from him, much the way Iker was definitely keeping secrets from him.

“And what about me?” Iker asked quietly.

Cesc swallowed and pressed closer against Iker’s back, earning a tighter hold around his body.

“Just how much things have progressed between us.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but nor was it the truth.

Cesc had come to realize that he cared for him, but he wasn’t sure how much. He was afraid to seriously look into his feelings for him. Sure, he had fallen for a few habits of Iker’s, but wasn’t that to be expected? They had fucked several times now, surely he was allowed a few preferences of Iker’s. After all, Iker was going to be married to someone else soon enough. How could that be a good thing for their ‘relationship’? No, Cesc had decided long ago, he wasn’t in love with Iker. He wasn’t against the idea of love, but how could he love a man that was engaged to someone that wasn’t him?

He had never considered what he and Iker had as a relationship. He had known from the start that this was nothing of the kind. Relationships were supposed to be between people that could be in each other’s company on a regular basis, enjoy the laughter and happiness and assortment of emotions from that person. A relationship was something not to be conducted in shadows or hidden behind doors for a few short hours. Relationships should be proudly known; not a secret, never a secret.

But if it wasn’t a relationship, then what was it exactly?

Was he a constant companion who Iker sought for camaraderie? No, Iker had other friends for those kinds of things. Was he someone that Iker needed when he had a bad day and needed someone to talk to? No, Iker turned to his best friends for that, if he did at all. Was he someone that Iker just needed desperately above rhyme and reason? No, he wasn’t that either. Was he only an occasional fuck for Iker? Yes.

The truth was plain, painfully and glaringly obvious, but crystal clear perfection. Iker had never said something so explicitly, but Cesc knew the truth. Iker had always politely invited him over, provided that Cesc call first. Cesc had also been given instructions to never just show up at the door or to call on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

For the first time since he had arrived that afternoon, Cesc wanted to be away from Iker.

He suddenly felt repulsed by his presence. Iker’s strength was now crushing him and he just needed to get away. But Iker wasn’t letting go. He was the mouse caught in the trap, the fish in the net. Once caught and never released unscathed.

So why was he still coming back?

“Cesc?” Iker called his name, but Cesc was too lost inside his own head to realize.

What was it about Iker that made him so special from anyone else? What did he have that entranced him so?

It wasn’t the money, or the posh surroundings. It wasn’t the fact that Iker was a man and he was still a boy. It wasn’t even the sex.

Cesc didn’t know what it was exactly, but some thread, some connection, between them refused to be severed. It was a thread made of steel, unwavering and unbending. The only way it would die would be to be burned and destroyed in a lake of fiery damnation.

It was a paradox and Cesc didn’t have the answer or the escape plan. He was trapped in a web of his own creation. And he couldn’t escape.

Sure, he could leave Iker’s embrace and never return. He could run, flee from the man. Disappear off into the night like a ghost, as if he had never existed. It would possibly be painful to Iker, Cesc wasn’t even sure about that, but it would be done. Finite. Complete. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

The only problem was that while he could run from Iker, he couldn’t run from himself. Every day he would have to look himself in the eyes in the mirror or in his reflection in a fountain or pane of glass. Every day he would have to live with the nagging in his conscious about the wrongs he had committed.

No, his heart did not belong to Iker, but his mind, his soul, certainly did. Perhaps Iker was the devil and he had sold himself the first day he had come. Perhaps Iker was a fallen angel, sent to take him to Hell and never release him again. Perhaps he himself was his own fallen angel, his own prince of darkness, and he had just fallen further and further into a pit of woe.

For the second time in his life, and possibly the worse of the two, he was stuck.

He heard his name fall from Iker’s lips again, a concerned tone tainted it. Confusion reigned inside his mind. Was Iker genuinely concerned or was he playing a role? Polar opposites about Iker’s behavior swamped him and Cesc just wanted to run and flee from this place. He wanted to clamp his hands over his ears and just scream until his throat was hoarse. He wanted the thoughts to go away and just leave him alone. He just wanted everything to be back the same way it had been when he was still a boy that sat by his father’s knee. Everything, everything, was so much simpler then.

Why had he hurt himself so badly now? What was he thinking? He didn’t even know anymore; so many thoughts swirled inside his head and he could not stop them, no matter how desperately he wanted silence and peace inside his mind. He had messed up, disastrously, and he had to find a way to fix it.

“Iker, I need to go.” Cesc replied suddenly.

Iker was silent. It was only a few moments’ hesitation before the hold on Cesc’s waist was released. For a second, Cesc allowed himself to believe that it could truly be this easy for Iker to let him go. Perhaps it was for him. But for Cesc? No. The hold Iker had on his waist was a drop of water to the flood that was inside his head.

“All right. I will see you later I guess.” Iker replied and Cesc moved to sit up quickly. His tone was reserved, distantly polite. Cesc thought he could hear a hint of despondency in it, but that was probably wishful thinking.

Cesc was quick about grabbing his clothes and redressing. He forced himself to slow down; Iker was watching his movements. His hands trembled, whether it was from anger at himself or nervousness for the unknown, he wasn’t sure. He started for the door, stumbling only once, before he turned back in the doorway. He saw that Iker had sat up and was reclining against his pillows, watching his every move.

“Goodbye Iker.” Cesc spoke firmly before turning to walk out.

As he left the apartment, he wished he had truly meant what he had said. Instead, all he had done was set a stone house upon the sand.


He did not take Iker’s car home. Instead, he walked and used the metro. He also didn’t go straight home. Cesc allowed himself to wander the city just a little; he still hadn’t explored Barcelona as much as he would have liked. Pep and Raul had taken him and Bojan to see the tourist sights, of course. He had even gone to see several of the museums on his own. He had not seen the city though, not as well as he should have, and he wished that he could go back and change that as well.

It was a struggle to remember why he had even been so taken by Iker in the first place. The day in the shop, Iker had been nervous and shy, but somehow he had changed his composure entirely the next time he had seen him. ‘His father’s rules’ he had said. Who was this terrible person that made Iker do things he didn’t want to do? What kind of cold person could so easily remove themselves from the knowledge of what their children wanted? Cesc shivered. Thank God Pep wasn’t like that.

Cesc wanted to talk to someone, but he didn’t know who he could speak to. Pep was busy with the legalities against Maria and Cristiano. Raul was busy at work and trying to take care of their family at home. Cesc wouldn’t dare tarnish Bojan’s innocence with his stupid problems. Vicente was a loyal friend, but Cesc was too ashamed and embarrassed to speak to him about these sorts of things. Silva just wasn’t someone he would share intimate details about his life with. And Villa, well…perhaps Villa would understand. But what if one of the coolest boys in school decided that everyone should know about poor Cesc’s problems? No, he wouldn’t risk it. He would rather torture himself in silence before letting anyone with an ear for gossip in on his problems.

It was late by the time he turned onto the street in which he lived. The streetlamps had come on, though it was not completely sundown yet. He stopped at the bottom of the front steps and just looked up at the building. He had thought himself so wonderfully intelligent and fresh with possibility when he had come through these doors only a few months ago. Now, he was afraid to go inside. His shame would surely stain the purity of this house. How could his uncle be proud of him after what he had done? How could his brother still consider him a role model after his imbecilic indiscretions? How could he ever live up to the family name again?

With his shoulders slumped in defeat of his stupidity, Cesc sank to the steps in front of the house and considered that maybe even this act was already dulling the brilliance of the house behind him.