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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Villa/Silva, Figo/Mutu. Implied Raúl/Cesc/Iker.
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: This is absolutely fiction and not real and I don’t know these people at all. Any resemblance to any real-life magazine is completely accidental.
Notes: Titled after the song by Snow Patrol. Dedicated to the anonymous who bought me paid time and extra userpics.
Summary: The Villa actually talks to David Silva, Mutu deservedly flips out and Morientes gets a villain and a potential love interest without even asking for either.
***
Fernando came slowly back to the world, mostly aware that his head and neck was one big aching mess. He moved a little and groaned at the result, throwing an arm over his face. Then he felt vague relief that he still had an arm to throw over anything. Then he felt a lot of pain again as he bolted upright on the couch, memories flooding into his head. “Valdés!”
“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. He’s fine. Passed out in your bathroom, but we moved his head so he’s not going to choke on anything. You might have to look into replacing a few tiles in there, though—I’m not sure what he was drinking, but it clashes horribly with your color scheme,” said somebody to Fernando’s left.
The world was still distorted and weirdly muffled, so Fernando took a few deep breaths to try and straighten that out. Then he looked to his left. He whipped his head back and stared straight in front of himself. A man was sitting on his coffee table. Fernando didn’t recognize his face, but overall he seemed familiar: early twenties, sharp suit, large diamond rings in both ears, a certain way of tilting the chin…Fernando looked left again. He groaned again.
“That’s really no way to greet an old friend, no?” Giuly said, beaming widely. He was perched on the couch arm, legs crossed, but he uncrossed those now and slapped his knees. “Pleased to see me?”
“First of all, we’re not friends. Second, why…what are you doing in my hotel room?” Fernando asked. His head still hurt and he had…he had drool on his chin. Disgusted, he reached up and wiped that off while warily eyeing the other man. “Third—never mind on number two. I’m not taking visitors right now, so—”
The man on the coffee table stuck his hand into his suit-jacket and Fernando froze, half-up from the sofa. He glanced quickly at Giuly again, but Giuly was just grinning in that insanely gleeful way of his. Fernando had never had much to do with the man—he’d left all that up to Lehmann and the other FC suits, back when he’d been with the label—but he’d seen and heard plenty. He’d also had his share of messy tangles and wasn’t a stranger to getting out of them, but since he didn’t know a single damn thing right now, the sensible thing seemed to be sitting back down. Which he did.
“I’m not visiting you, Morientes.” For a moment Giuly dropped the friendly act and showed a frighteningly blank face. Then he laughed. He hopped off the couch and then put his hands on his hips to roll the kinks out of them. Then he nodded to his man. “If you don’t believe me about your friend, you can go on ahead and check. I’m not in a hurry.”
Fernando started to say that Valdés wasn’t his friend either, but a sudden sharp throb in the head made him shut up. Then he realized that there was really no good reason to let Giuly know anything about his current life and kept quiet. He just went across the room and looked into the bathroom.
Somebody had pushed Victor up against the wall. He was lying on his side, one arm pulled haphazardly under his head, with a thin trail running from his head to a puddle of purplish vomit about half a meter away. When Fernando bent down, Victor stirred and grunted before Fernando had even touched him. He was fine.
“I have to say, you really surprised me,” Giuly said from behind Fernando. He made a mock jump back from Fernando’s start, then settled with one hand loosely hooked into his coat pocket. He had on a long tan trenchcoat, which rang a faint bell in Fernando’s head. “From what I’d heard, you gave up the wild party life a long time ago.”
“From what I heard, you were dead or writing horrible poetry in France or looking into London,” Fernando replied after a moment. He stepped out of the bathroom and put his hand back for the doorknob.
Giuly shook his head, smiling. “Ah ah ah.”
After a moment, Fernando pulled his arm back. He took a look at the man taking up his coffeetable again, then reluctantly leaned against the side of the bathroom doorway. “Just what is it you want? If it’s about FC—”
“Well, I would be talking to Jens then, wouldn’t I? You weren’t FC even when you were there.” Somehow Giuly managed to say that without sounding accusing or mocking or even patronizing. He just told it straight through that ridiculous smile of his. “No, I’m here to see you, handsome. I heard you were coming back to town and thought we should catch up.”
“Catch up?” Fernando repeated slowly. “What’s there to catch up on?”
Giuly’s smile just got wider.
* * *
“Coming! I’m—I’m coming, just give me a—oh, fuck.” The floor came up and cracked David hard on the right knee and right palm. It hurt so much that he couldn’t get up right away, but just had to crouch there and breathe hard.
The knock came again, like it was going to tear the door off its hinges. David cursed again and got back onto his feet. He kicked aside the magazine that’d made him trip in the first place, then scrambled to the door. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t even bother to see who it was.
He also didn’t remember to take off the chain, which made the door jerk so hard to a stop that his hand came off the knob. David stumbled back a bit, then caught himself against the wall. Then he pushed himself forward, swearing under his breath, and peeked through the crack.
“Can we talk?” David Villa said, shifting spastically on his feet. Huge dark bags hung under each eye, and his face was gaunt like he’d been living on coffee and the smell of food for the past few weeks. Though oddly enough, his hair was damp and he himself smelled like he’d just had a shower. He squeezed his face towards the crack, then pulled back with a grimace. The door had left a red crease on the side of his forehead and he rubbed at it. “I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk to you.”
For a moment David just…really didn’t know what to do. His mind was a literal complete blank. He looked around, then ran his hand over his head. When he brought his arm down, he accidentally banged the door with his elbow and nearly shut it; he just glimpsed the other man flinching away. And that—well, David still didn’t know what to do, but he knew he didn’t want that.
After another second, David reached up and took the chain off the door. He opened it a little wider and edged out of its way, so they were facing each other. “Okay.”
“Oh.” David Villa blinked. A lot. He sort of gulped like a fish a few times too, before awkwardly clearing his throat. Then he threw back his shoulders and looked David right in the eye, standing ramrod straight like he was facing down Figo over another suspension. “I’m sorry.”
David breathed out and it went out for a surprisingly long time, and then he realized he’d been holding it in for at least a minute. He wrapped one arm around himself. “Oh…okay. I—”
“And I know why now!” David Villa blurted out. He jerked forward and David stepped back, but the other man didn’t even seem to notice. Instead he grabbed the side of the door and leaned even farther into the room. “I’m not apologizing just because I think it’s what you want me to do. I’m apologizing because I actually feel sorry. Because look, I’m sorry, but Morientes still makes me nervous about me. I mean, us—no, I mean me.”
“I—but I keep telling you, I’m not going to dump you for him. I did dump you and I didn’t go right to him, did I?” David couldn’t help bringing up. Then he grimaced and grabbed a fistful of hair. So not the way to do this conversation.
But the other man didn’t even notice. He did yank at David’s door frame so hard that it groaned and David almost thought it was ripping off, but that was because he was so…passionately deep into what he was saying. The wide, bulging eyes, the lips pulling back from the teeth, the hair almost twitching with pent-up emotion—David belatedly understood he was confronting a genuine, full-blown David Villa Speech.
“It’s me, all right? Look, I do know you love me and not him, and I trust you, it’s not like I think you’re going to be that shallow. But—I’m fucking shallow, okay?” David Villa was saying. Half-begging, half-yelling. “I can’t believe that I’m actually worth your time and every time that asshole shows up, he just makes it that much more…well…”
“You’re not shallow,” David said.
“I am too. I completely am. If I wasn’t, I would’ve figured out a long time ago that you’re not just my go-fer. But I’m an idiot and insecure, and even though I’m trying, I’m really trying, I’m just—I’m really fucking bad at being a good guy.” The door rattled as David Villa threw out his hand and hit it. He didn’t seem to notice, but instead took a step into David’s place, still looking like somebody had taken a cattle prod to him. “And Morientes is an asshole, but he’s still better than me since he actually saw you for a good thing and did something about it. So I should be at least as good as him, except I can’t even manage that. And that’s why I keep bringing him up. I’m sorry. Really.”
By now they were both back in the apartment and somewhere in the hall one of David’s neighbors was telling them to shut up and take it inside. Thankfully David Villa was busy recovering from his long speech, so David was able to dart past him and slam the door closed before the other man could yell anything about them already being indoors. David did up the locks for good measure, then turned around.
He jumped, then sank hard against the door, grabbing at his hair. Well, of course David Villa was still there and had every right to look at David like he was a moron, because he was being one right now. David wrenched at his hair some more, then tried out breathing. That was a pretty good idea. Now he wasn’t seeing black spots so maybe he could try saying something. “What about the paranoid thing with getting rid of Morientes?”
Or maybe not; that definitely came out accusing and accusing wasn’t the way David wanted to go. David grabbed at his mouth and groaned.
Strangely enough, David Villa didn’t seem to take offense. He blinked a few times, then looked at his feet while scratching at the side of his face. “Yeah. Well. I really honestly don’t like him, even past the bit where he makes me feel like shit. Something about him just—” he stopped, breathed in deeply and then raised his head to look David tiredly, apologetically in the eye “—but that’s just me being me. I don’t cope well with having to be around shit I hate.”
“Yeah, I know,” David said. He tried to soften it with a smile. “Since, y’know, I helped out with that for three years.”
Well, that wasn’t a good way to go about it too. David Villa winced so hard that he nearly fell over his own feet, and once again David was reminded of how absolutely trashed that the other man looked. He stuck his hand out and caught David Villa by the elbow, and helped the man back up. Then they both looked at David’s hand. David took it off, immediately felt like he’d screwed up again, and backed up a bit. He pulled at his hair again. “I mean—”
“I can’t tell you I’m not going to be paranoid and a bastard, and not going to have a fit every time Morientes comes up,” David Villa said quietly, firmly. He was looking at their feet. He put up his hand and scratched at his face, and when he put his hand down, there were red lines left on his cheek. “But I’m—I’m trying. I’ll keep trying. Not just to get you back, but because I really…I really want to make this about you, and not about him. I don’t want to think about him at all. But it’s just fucking hard, you know.”
“Yeah, I…well, I don’t know, because it’s you and not me. But I trust you when you say that that’s how it is.” After a moment, David took a step towards the other man. He stopped, watching David Villa stiffen up. Then he stretched out his hand and touched the back of the man’s arm. “I just want you to try. I…if you thought that it was because you couldn’t do it right away, I’m sorry for that. I never was trying to give you an ultimatum. But it just seemed like you weren’t even trying.”
A sour, crooked little smile crossed David Villa’s face as he tilted his head. Then he looked away, laughing a bit under his breath. “Well, I wasn’t really.” He looked back at David, eyes suddenly serious. “But I am now.”
David took another step, so that they were well within each other’s space. He lifted his hands; his fingers brushed the side of David Villa’s chest and the other man almost flinched, which made David bite the inside of his mouth. But he took a deep breath and put his hands on David Villa’s shoulders, and looked the other man in the eye. “Then that’s enough for me.”
The way David Villa breathed in right then hurt to look at, to just feel as the man’s shoulders rose and fell under David’s hands. Unable to take it, David closed his eyes. He felt something on his side pushing at him and leaned forward, and against his mouth another sharp breath gusted. He wanted to breathe out hard himself but he thought maybe if he did, he’d break it all and he didn’t want that. So he didn’t, and instead David Villa kissed him and the phone rang.
David Villa twitched and David yanked the other man forward, gluing their mouths together. “No,” he mumbled. “Not even Figo.”
For some reason David Villa thought that that was funny and laughed, breaking them apart. He held David back at arm’s length for a moment, looking like the sun had risen after forty days of darkness. Then he pulled David up and wrapped his arms around David, thankful and fierce, and the phone just rang away.
* * *
“Nobody’s picking up,” Adrian said, frowning at the phone in his hand. He scratched his temple, then glanced over his shoulder. “Want me to try again?”
“No, just leave it.” Luís tossed aside the printout he’d been examining and was promptly reminded that he’d been sitting on his couch for the better part of two hours. He grimaced and pushed the heel of his hand into his neck, which ached the worst, and then rolled his shoulders. “If Silva’s not picking up, they’re either having make-up sex or he’s killed Villa. I can wait to see who comes in tomorrow morning to figure out which it is.”
Adrian snorted. From the sound of it he was coming over, but when Luís looked, the other man wasn’t there. Then Luís heard a rattle in the kitchen. He went back to looking at the proofs for the next issue and sure enough, a minute later Adrian showed up with a fresh mug of coffee. He handed it to Luís and then perched on the sofa-arm, peering over Luís’ shoulder. “You must be really sure it’s the sex. I thought you said you couldn’t take any more workplace drama this week.”
“I can’t,” Luís muttered. He felt Adrian’s breath on his ear and moved his head so they wouldn’t hit each other. Then he reached up. At first he just got Adrian’s arm, but then Adrian moved and Luís’ fingers felt out the curve of a cheek. He shifted his hand back a bit to lie across Adrian’s neck. “It’s bad enough I had a phone-call from Raúl about Villa. I don’t think he’s going to cause any trouble about it now, but trust me, that’s going to come up again and I’m not looking forward to when it does.”
The other man hummed sympathetically in Luís’ ear, nuzzling the flesh just behind it. Then he grunted a bit. The couch behind Luís creaked and Adrian’s mouth reappeared, applying itself to the side of Luís’ neck. It ran warmly over the stubble trailing down from Luís’ hairline, dipped beneath Luís’ collar, then edged back up as Luís’ fingers stroked back into Adrian’s hair. Which felt a little long, almost enough for Luís to twist completely around his thumb.
This month’s proofs needed to be reworked, Luís decided. All credit to Adrian, he was very good at being distracting, but Luís should still have been having more of an attention struggle between the other man and the mock-ups. They were missing their headline-grabber, the story that would yank people out of whatever they were doing to buy a copy and then sit down with it.
A sharp prick at Luís’ ear made him wince. He clamped his hand down on Adrian’s neck, then threw the proofs on the coffee table. The mug of coffee shortly followed. His other hand now free, he reached around and pulled Adrian down off the couch top. Adrian’s legs swung towards the other end, twisting so he landed mostly on his stomach, with a studied grace that rather undercut his annoyed expression. “I haven’t had one nervous fit all week, I’ve been very nice while you worried over Villa and Silva, and I know you don’t have to work on those right now,” Adrian said. He pulled himself over Luís’ lap and then up a bit, so he could lean his arms on Luís’ chest. “You know what we talked about, with me being more clear about what I want from you?”
Luís grinned. “Yes, and?”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. He knew pretty damn well Luís was just teasing, but he just sighed. And put his hand down on Luís’ belt-buckle, fingers trailing further south. “And right now, what I want is for you to—”
After a moment, Luís pushed Adrian off and got off the sofa, kissing the other man apologetically on the temple as he went. “I’m sorry, but that one’s an emergency.”
A long, muttered string of Romanian curses spewed out in reply, but Adrian sounded more exasperated than enraged so Luís just hunted up his mobile. He found it and knelt on the floor by the couch; Adrian’s hand flopped over the couch arm, then was followed by Adrian’s tousled, irritated head. “I’ve never heard that ringtone before,” he mumbled.
“You wouldn’t have, it’s…” Luís got the phone to his ear “…Zinedine? Not that you’re not welcome to call, but it’s a bit past your curfew, no?”
Out of the corner of Luís’ eye, he caught Adrian shifting a little. The other man propped his head up on his arm, attention completely fixed on the phone. He wasn’t even really looking at Luís, and all the annoyance had disappeared from his face.
*Are you busy?* Zinedine said gruffly. *I’m sorry, but I’d like to come over.*
Luís blinked. “Now?”
*Are you busy?* Zinedine asked again.
“I…well, not really,” Luís reluctantly said. He found himself looking at Adrian and then felt surprisingly relieved to find the other man not looking back in recrimination. Then he felt an odd pang in his chest. He cleared his throat. “But listen, Zizou, I do have—Adi’s here.”
“Does he want to talk to you?” Adrian said. “I can stay in the bedroom?”
The man asked it instead of suggested it, and then left his voice wavering a little. His eyes said he was being reasonable and understood, but that slight shake in his voice said he still hoped a bit that Luís wouldn’t put him out for the night.
*Oh.* Zinedine was quiet for a moment. Then his voice came back more strongly, apologetic but not retreating. *We need to talk. Can we still do that?*
Luís rubbed at his temple and used his hand to shield his grimace. “How long will it take for you to get here?”
*Fifteen minutes,* Zinedine said crisply. There was a rustling and then a belated ‘thanks’ just as the line went dead.
After a couple seconds, Luís flipped shut his phone. He started to put it into his pocket, then took it out and tossed it onto the table, on top of the proofs. It wasn’t like he’d be using it till after Zinedine left, after all.
“Should I cook something?” Adrian asked. When Luís looked at him, he ducked his head in embarrassment and shrugged helplessly. “Or…I don’t know, what do I…what do you want…”
“I’m sorry,” Luís said. He reached out, but Adrian raised his head so sharply that Luís stopped his arm, so he wouldn’t startle the other man. Luís paused a little longer, then ran his hand over the top of Adrian’s head as he walked around the couch. “I think we’ll take my office. That way if you need anything, you won’t have to interrupt us.”
Adrian didn’t reply. Luís spent nearly a minute looking around the room, trying to figure out if he needed to change any of it, before he noticed. Then he looked back, but Adrian was bent over the coffee table. Neatening up the proofs, Luís realized. Almost in the same moment, Adrian looked up. He saw Luís, stiffened, and then gave a curt nod of the head. Then he scooped up the proofs and took them into the bedroom, just like Luís would’ve if they hadn’t had an interruption and he’d had to pick up his work afterward. Luís grimaced again and this time he didn’t hide it from anyone.
* * *
“It’s nice of you to join us for lunch,” Andrés tried.
Mutu twitched up his head, eyes wide. Then he seemed to realize it was just a friendly comment and nodded absently before dropping straight back into his one-man black hole of broodiness. He poked at his sushi. Granted, Juan hadn’t seen a whole lot of him but for that little bit that he had seen of Mutu, this seemed weird.
The sad thing was, Mutu’s weirdness fit right in with the rest of the table. Andrés was glancing desperately to Xavi, who was frowning at everything like he wasn’t a relative unknown himself in the place. And like Andrés had a reason to be looking to him. Iker was pulling the silent moody act too, only he kept stabbing his chopsticks into his rice in an obviously suppressed-rage kind of way. Silva wasn’t around to lighten things up because he was on public pudding-eating duty, but Villa had shown up for the first time in two weeks and he looked happy. That alone would’ve put Juan on red alert, but taken with the rest, Juan was almost too busy watching for the apocalypse to even eat.
“Thanks,” Xavi eventually said. He looked cautiously around the table. “I just…hope you all know it’s not because of some legal problem. We’re just waiting for Figo. He was supposed to…be in.”
Villa…didn’t make a snarky comment. Mutu, however, sighed like one, he was taking it as a personal slight, and two, his taking it was contributing greatly to some eventual martyrdom.
“This is all your fault,” Iker suddenly said to Villa. He shoved his sushi tray away and then shook his chopsticks in Villa’s genuinely surprised face. “If you’d just—”
“Wait a minute, you hijacked me, you asshole,” Villa yelped. Well, never mind his newfound smugness; he was right back to wounded dignity, as usual. “You’re just damn lucky that González has a couple brain-cells in his head.”
Iker sort of twitched and Xavi grabbed one shoulder while Andrés nearly knocked Mutu out of his chair getting over to the other side. Andrés threw himself down on Iker’s lap, startling the man out of the cloud of rage gathering around him. “Listen, can we just eat?” Andrés asked desperately. “I don’t even want to know what was hijacked—”
“If he hadn’t been up waiting for you to bring him, he would’ve had a better night,” Mutu abruptly added. He jabbed a finger at Iker, then at Villa, and then glowered at both of them. “I don’t see why you always have to involve him in your…your personal things.”
“What, Figo? Hey, I’d be perfectly fucking happy if he kept his nose out of my shit, so don’t you go accusing me of dragging him into my life,” Villa snapped. “What the fuck are you mad about anyway? He forget to kiss you goodnight ‘cause Iker screwed up a fucking kidnapping?”
The door banged open just as Juan was about to call out. Victor glowered into the room. His eyes were bloodshot and he was holding a large icepack to the side of his head. “Can you keep it down? Some of us here are trying to—”
“—then go back to Figo’s couch, why don’t you?” Villa slouched nearly under the table, with only his spiked hair and rudely-gesturing hand visible.
Mutu rolled his eyes. “He wasn’t there. He’s always coming round, just falling onto the couch, no explanation, like it isn’t strange. Except when he isn’t.”
Nobody really understood that one, including Victor. But it did distract Victor from Villa; he stared instead at Mutu, pursing his lip in and out. Then he got his icepack-holding arm up against the jamb and used his free hand to point at Mutu, only to suddenly jerk his finger over to Villa. “Wait a minute, you’re here.”
“Yeah, so?” said Villa’s hair.
Somebody kicked Juan under the table and he ducked his head to hide his hiss. Then he glared over at whoever was interrupting this fantastic piece of drama, and found Andrés staring at him. Andrés made the signal to call Silva and Juan shook his head. Maybe Villa had come back to work, but they didn’t know what that had to do with him and Silva, and that was one can of worms that Juan wasn’t going to pop open without knowing what was up.
“You’re—” Victor grimaced, shook his head, and looked back at Mutu “—anyway, whatever you said about me and Figo, I wasn’t even there last night. I was on Morientes’ couch.”
Iker had been moodily swigging his drink, but now he slammed down the bottle while sputtering wildly. He got some on Mutu, who jerked away from him and then had to grab the table to keep from falling off his chair. Villa shoved himself back up and damn near onto the table. “Morientes? What the hell were you doing with hi—wait, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to fucking know.”
Victor ignored that. “I was very, very drunk, all right? I don’t really know and Morientes hustled me into a taxi this morning so fast that I couldn’t even ask him how he knows my home address. Chalk it up to your conspiracy.”
“There’s no fucking conspiracy!” Villa yelped, slapping his hands over his ears. He put his head down just shy of his food. “I don’t fucking care, don’t tell me, he just doesn’t even exist for me now, okay? Go away.”
“What conspiracy?” Mutu asked sharply, looking around them. “What’s going on? What are you making Luís deal with now?”
Xavi was waving his hands and trying to get people’s attention, while Andrés had gotten off Iker and was dialing frantically. Iker, meanwhile, had finished wiping off his face and was now eyeing Victor just as suspiciously as Mutu was. “You were doing something for Figo, weren’t you?” Iker accused Victor. “He’s got some new idea about Morientes. He runs all those past you and that’s why you get drunk all the time, only—”
“If I’m getting drunk over it, then why would I be helping it along?” Victor snarled. He jerked off the door and took a step into the room, only to freeze when Iker slammed his hands down on the table and stood up.
Right about then, Juan decided it’d gone from drama to potential ambulance-call. “Okay, guys, let’s just stop yelling for a sec and—”
“You…you were with Morientes last night and that has to do with Figo, and that’s the same time as Zidane,” Mutu suddenly blurted out. He sounded horrified enough to make everyone stop in their tracks. “This is all connected! Those three all did the music together back then, and now they all show up on the same night! Last night!”
The man was upset enough for his Spanish to be going fuzzy in weird ways, but he still got the Z-word out and that was plenty.
It was dead silent for a couple seconds. Victor and Iker both on their feet, locked in the act of starting assaults on each other. Andrés’ pained look of doom, Xavi’s bugged-out eyes, Villa’s rare expression of complete confusion, and Mutu slowly turning a sickly grey.
Somebody pushed at Victor. He stumbled, then turned around and out of the way, and Figo stared irritably at them all. “What now? I can’t even have a meeting run over time without worrying that you all are starting the next world war by text, and being proven right about it?”
* * *
“So you really aren’t interested in what Morientes is doing now,” Iker said.
David closed his eyes and thumped his head against the back of his chair. It didn’t help with the sense he had of stupidity closing in all around him. “No, I’m not. For fuck’s sake, what do you want me to do? Find a priest and swear on the fate of my eternal soul?”
It was dead silent for a couple minutes. Eventually a soft clicking started up; David opened his eyes and caught Iker typing away at his computer. The other man didn’t notice for a moment, but then he did and he jerked his hands off the keyboard, looking embarrassed. Then he paused. He visibly thought about it, shook his head and sighed. “Do you still have a soul?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” David finally asked.
“Sorry, never mind. Just a lot of horror movies this week,” Iker muttered. He slouched in his chair and stared at his computer screen. Then he stuck his arm out over his desk, dug around in the piles of stuff on it, and pulled out a DVD case. He tossed it over his chair and grimaced when it inevitably clunked to the floor. “Well, good. That means you’re not going to engineer any more weird situations that might make Raúl flashback.”
David dropped his head onto the desk. There was so much stuff in the way that he didn’t actually touch the desk, and some damn plastic thing was grinding into his forehead, but even that was preferable to dealing with Iker’s…Iker’s…whatever. “For the last time, Casillas. You kidnapped me.”
“Only because you decided to become an urban hermit and made Figo make me drag you out,” Iker said. “Anyway. Okay. I won’t kill you for that.”
“Hey, I—you know, just forget it. I don’t even want to deal with it anymore,” David snapped, pushing his head up. Then he twisted out of his chair and turned towards the door. “You just keep thinking real actual people have mini-home movies playing in their skulls. I’m going to go find David and remember that not everybody in this place is fucking insane.”
“Just how do I know you aren’t just saying that to get back with Silva?” Iker retorted. “That’s what it was last time, wasn’t it?”
David about-faced before he even knew what he was doing, let alone remembered that the chair was there. His knee rammed right into its back and he fell onto it, scrabbling for a grip. It took him a good minute to get his balance back, and that was the only reason Iker didn’t get a death-hold around his neck. One minute was long enough to recall that getting thrown into jail for homicide wasn’t a good idea the day after he and David Silva had made up.
Iker still didn’t seem to realize how close he’d come to losing his life, and was just sitting there, staring at David through narrowed eyes. “You have said this before. And Highlander’s not real, but even the really bad romcoms have a little bit of truth to them.”
“There are so many things wrong with what you just said that I’m—I can’t even,” David said after a moment. He straightened up and glanced towards the door. Iker’s chair creaked and David rolled his eyes, exhaling irritably. “But I’m gonna try, and the only reason is because I want you and your crazy to stop bothering me, too. I’m not saying it just to make David forgive me. First of all, you think David wouldn’t notice? He’s no idiot. Secondly…second, I just realized that whatever Morientes’ problem is, it isn’t mine. So there’s no reason for me to get into his shit. Okay?”
For a long time Iker stared at him, expression unchanging. To be honest, it was a little genuinely unnerving and David had to admit he’d never seen Iker be quite that intense before. It didn’t really jibe with the geeky, twitchy movie obsessive David knew; Valdés had always been the more aggressive of the two weirdos. Maybe it was dating a man who could blackmail David for being forcibly made to use his shower.
“Okay,” Iker finally said. Then he reached for his keyboard and David thankfully started towards the door again. But Iker suddenly swung around and jabbed his finger at David. “But I’m watching out. I even think there’s a sequel coming and I’m—”
“Oh, my God.” David slammed the door behind him.
* * *
“I’m sorry, but this is important,” Fernando said, clutching at the jamb. The wood groaned under his fingers and Raúl looked at the spot, but the other man didn’t. Instead he kept his eyes fixed on Raúl.
After another moment, Raúl stripped the latex glove off his left hand and stuffed it into the wastebin beside the door. He stepped back and let the other man in, then shut the door behind him. Then he held up his hand, stopping Fernando’s flow of words, and went into the clinic to do some tidying up.
When he came back about five minutes later, Fernando was slumped against the wall and staring into space. One hand absently rubbed at the side of his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept, though his cheeks were freshly-shaved and he didn’t smell like he’d come in last night’s clothes.
“Is it about Villa?” Raúl asked, and he knew it wasn’t from the way Fernando blinked.
“No. No. I have no idea why you’d bring him up, but—no. It’s not about him.” Fernando paused, then laughed roughly. “I’m so sorry about him if you’ve had to run into him because of me, by the way. But if it was about him, I’d have taken care of it myself.”
Raúl nodded and motioned with his hand for Fernando to continue.
The other man swallowed a few times. The corners of his mouth drew back in a grimacing smile. Then he hissed and half-turned away, jerking his head this way and that as he muttered to himself. He raked one hand through his hand, then looked sharply, desperately at Raúl. “Giuly came to see me last night.”
For the second time Raúl threw up a hand. Then he shook his head. “No, no, I’m—I’ll listen,” he said as Fernando stiffened up. “But—in the kitchen. All right?”
At first Fernando seemed about to object. But then he pulled himself in and put his shoulders back, and even managed a wry smile. “I can wait for you to make up some coffee too, if you still…”
Raúl snorted before he could help himself. Then he shook his head and pointed the way.
* * *
Luís rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Look, Adi.”
“Don’t ‘look’ me!” Adrian snapped, waving his hands around. They didn’t actually seem to convey any meaning, but they made it a little difficult for him to flop backwards into the chair. One hand swung too far back and hit his head so he winced. He grabbed a fistful of hair, then abruptly sighed and slumped, looking away. The anger suddenly wasn’t there anymore.
Adrian just sat there for a few minutes, not talking. He eventually let go of his hair, but only to let his arms fall limply to either side of the chair. Every bit of him, from rumpled suit to crushed hair, spoke of disappointment.
“I wasn’t any happier to see Zizou last night than you were,” Luís said.
The other man glanced over, then snorted. “That’s what you’d think would upset me.”
After a moment, Luís got out from behind his desk. He grabbed the arm of his chair and pulled it with him; Adrian flicked his eyes tiredly over, then sat up when he realized what Luís was doing. His eyes widened a bit and Luís paused to make sure that the man wasn’t about to bolt. But Adrian kept to his seat, even if he was trembling with the effort, so Luís finished dragging his chair over. Then he turned it so it was facing the other man and sat down in it.
“I did tell you that you’d get the whole story at some point,” Luís started.
“And you always keep your promises,” Adrian muttered, looking at the floor.
“And I never promised that it’d be a pleasant story.”
Adrian jumped a little at Luís’ raised voice. He grimaced and started to settle back, then stopped. His hands flexed on the chair arms, and then he pushed himself up and off the chair, just as Luís was going on. He got his hand on Luís’ knee and Luís blinked, which gave Adrian the time to get his hand up to Luís’ neck and his mouth on Luís’ mouth. He went into the kiss teeth-first, hard and painful, and when Luís tried to twist his head away, Adrian’s fingers closed down on his shoulders like vises.
Luís got his hands up and shoved them hard into Adrian’s chest, which was enough to break the lock of their mouths, but which wasn’t enough to get Adrian’s hands off him. The other man pulled them both out of the seat and onto the floor. Some part of Adrian hit his chair and sent it rolling into the wall, and that had to hurt even if hitting the floor didn’t, but Adrian didn’t miss a beat in wrenching his legs up and around Luís’ waist. His fingers skidded down Luís’ front, clawing off at least one button, and suddenly Adrian was begging, slipping in and out of Italian, his mouth pressing desperately at Luís’ chin, neck, arm, even watch. Anything that he could reach, he kissed. “Goddamn it, now, now, please, at least this, please, please.”
“I—wait, you need—” Finally Luís got a hand free. He wedged it against Adrian’s right shoulder and pinned it to the ground. “Damn it, if it’s about fucking—”
Adrian screamed something in Romanian at Luís. Anger flushed his face so the whites of his eyes were unnervingly bright against his skin. He shoved Luís, then suddenly yanked Luís back, pressing his face into Luís’ chest. His hands ran up and down Luís’ back, pleading in a different way. He was still talking in Romanian, but soft and stuttering, and he wouldn’t get his head up to meet Luís’ eyes.
Luís tried one more time to shake Adrian out of it, but the man just let out an awful hiccupping noise that made Luís swear reflexively. For a moment he didn’t move, his hand still holding Adrian down on the floor. Then he swore again. He dragged Adrian’s left arm off and down and Adrian gasped a denial, but then saw that Luís was bending towards him, not away. The gratefulness in Adrian’s eyes made Luís jerk his head aside. Instead he went for Adrian’s neck. He bit it and Adrian arched, hitched his ankles further up Luís’ back. Luís reached behind himself and forced them back down, sucking hard over the marks his teeth had left. Then he felt Adrian’s hand on his back and he got the man’s arm again and slammed it onto the floor.
It made Adrian gasp, but this time he left his arm down. He stared up at Luís, chewing his own lip so hard that it was bleeding. His other arm had fallen to the floor at an awkward angle, but he didn’t make any attempt to shift it to a more comfortable position. He just laid there while Luís undid his belt and fly and then pulled his trousers down around his hips. Then his leg twitched and it was irritating and Luís slapped at it. Adrian hissed, his head going back, and it grated even more on Luís. He looked at the man spread out under him, that willing to take whatever he had.
Then he looked away. He pulled himself back up and bit Adrian’s shoulder through the suit, while between them his hands were yanking Adrian’s thighs back together, were jerking the belt tight around them. Adrian protested, or maybe it was at how hard Luís was chewing at him, but whatever it was, Luís wasn’t listening. He slid his hands over Adrian’s knees, letting Adrian push them up into the touch, and then forced them down. Then he raked his teeth across Adrian’s shoulder, up to the neck again and he bit the same spot he had last time. His hand rode Adrian’s twisting till it had wrapped around the man’s prick. He squeezed it till Adrian finally took his hand off the floor; the moment Luís felt something touch his back, he let go and got Adrian’s by the shoulders instead. He kissed Adrian hard on the mouth, then pushed himself up on his arms and jerked Adrian over onto his back.
Adrian couldn’t balance easily because of his tied legs and he started to fall onto his side. Luís wrapped an arm around the man’s waist, but Adrian tried to grab Luís’ wrist and instead Luís had to use his hand to lock Adrian’s arm to his side. He put his other arm around Adrian and the same thing happened, and finally Luís just shoved their hands down into Adrian’s groin, pressing Adrian’s knuckles into his own cock. He dragged his teeth over the back of Adrian’s neck, not bothering to lick away the sting. Adrian bucked and twisted, hissing a whine between his clenched teeth. Luís wouldn’t move their hands any more than he already had, so Adrian contorted himself, forcing the side of his prick up and across Luís’ wrists. His breathing came shorter and shorter, till it was nothing more than a stutter, and then he came violently. He managed to tear himself loose from Luís’ grip.
When he fell, Adrian hit his head and shoulder against the side of Luís’ desk. Luís saw it but his mind only noticed a second later. He snarled at himself and reached out, but lost his balance and had to grab the edge of the desk. He steadied himself, then put his hand out again.
“Figo, you’re such a bastard,” Victor said, coming in the door.
Luís froze. Then he grimaced and just shuffled over a step so he could actually reach Adrian’s head. He felt at it and Adrian pushed an elbow into his foot, while over at the door, the sputtering went back outside. Then Adrian turned over. He met Luís’ eyes for the briefest possible time, then slowly pushed himself up against the side of the desk.
“At least it isn’t drugs again,” Luís said.
“Don’t joke like that.” Adrian absently passed his hand over his mouth, then knocked it into the side of his head. He grunted from the blow, shook himself and then let out a long, miserable exhale. “It’s not that but it has to be something for me, doesn’t it? Once you have a habit, you don’t really get rid of it. You just move it to something else. It could be hiding at your place, could be letting my old bandmates fuck me over, could be going insane…”
Luís touched Adrian’s cheek and the other man went still. Then he jerked his face away so hard that he hit the other side of it into the desk. He winced, then slumped. Then he tried to put up his hand so Luís couldn’t feel at his cheek.
It wasn’t much of a try. When Luís knocked his hand away, Adrian just put it on the floor and sat there, letting Luís turn his head this way and that. No concussion or broken cheekbone, Luís finally concluded. He let go of Adrian’s chin and sat back to look at the other man. “Adi, that’s not failure. That’s coping.”
“I told you, stop joking—” Then Adrian shut his mouth and frowned at the hold Luís had on his hand. He tried to tug it loose, gave up and looked Luís in the eyes. Then he realized what he’d done and flinched, but Luís had his other hand up to hold Adrian’s chin in place. Adrian’s jaw pushed down hard into it as he swallowed. He smiled like it was killing him. “I do like it when we do it…when it’s rough, you know? It’s not all just because I can’t…it’s just that a moment ago, it wasn’t even really about being rough.”
“I know. And I do appreciate your willingness to indulge my midlife crisis issues,” Luís said dryly. He grinned a little at Adrian’s automatic protest. “Or at least Helen’s idea of what my midlife crisis issues should be. I know she sends you far too many leather catalogs.”
Adrian winced, then laughed quietly. He tilted his head into Luís’ hand and rubbed his cheek against Luís’ palm a few times. Then he looked back up at Luís. He breathed in sharply, putting up his hand to wrap over Luís’ forearm. “Have you ever actually told him you’re in love with him?”
Luís didn’t answer.
“No, sorry, I know…I know it’s not like that now. You’re not…I don’t know how to say it, exactly, but you’re not going to him,” Adrian muttered, glancing away. He shifted against the desk, irritated with himself. Then he raised his head again. “But before, when you were…when you and he…”
“No,” Luís said. He left his mouth open a moment, then closed it. He shook his head. “No, and I don’t plan to.”
Adrian snorted. He put his head back and gazed up at Luís. “Well, he knows.”
“He doesn’t—”
“He does. You can’t see him with you, but I did, last night,” Adrian said, with the same kind of strange confidence that a drunken man would have. He chuckled to himself, then rubbed his hand against Luís’ arm, like a pet seeking reassurance. “I love you. It’s not frightening to say that, even though it scares the hell out of me. But it doesn’t scare you, and you’ll talk me through it. I think the only thing that does scare you is having it yourself.”
Luís squatted there for a few more moments. He exhaled once, to no point since he was hardly going to use it for a reply. Adrian kept looking at him, steady and understanding, and finally Luís just kissed him on the mouth, careful not to pull at the bloody ragged tear on his lip. Then Luís sat back and ran his hand down the side of Adrian’s face. “Can you go home and wait for me?” he asked. “I have to finish the working day, and then I have to talk to Zinedine.”
“I can.” Adrian pushed himself off the desk. A little embarrassment touched him when he took in his current appearance, but then he just shrugged. “Well, I can, but give me a…”
“You can have the office. I’ll borrow someone else’s for Victor,” Luís said, kissing Adrian again.
* * *
“FC can’t get into this,” Fernando said sharply. “Not them, not anybody in the business. I’d rather jump off a bridge and die with honor.”
Raúl opened his mouth. Then he just shook his head and drank more coffee.
The other man looked at him for a moment, then took a carefully controlled breath. Fernando twiddled his fingers before shoving himself back from the table. “You do remember how crazy he is, don’t you?”
“Yes. And since I had to patch up the results of his crazy, I think I know even better than you how seriously we should take this,” Raúl said.
“Then what—”
“And you being over-dramatic isn’t going to help at all, so calm down,” Raúl added. He put his cup down and stared hard at Fernando’s wounded, accusing expression.
After a moment, Fernando twisted away and sighed irritably. He ran his hand through his hair, looked at it, and unexpectedly broke out into a laugh. Then he turned back, still grinning a little. “Sorry. You know how I get.”
“I have to tell Cesc, though.” Raúl grabbed Fernando’s arm just as the other man started to jerk out of his seat. Then he leaned on it as he looked Fernando in the eye. “In his position as my—my significant other. One of them. He’ll keep it a secret—I’ll give you my word. But if I’m going to help you, I’m not going to keep it a secret from him and Iker. I don’t want to start sneaking around their backs with you for any reason.”
“You know, I’m starting to think you did run into Villa,” Fernando said bitterly. “Why is it you can’t even trust me? I said I wasn’t going to try for you anymore and I meant it. I gave you my word.”
“I know, and I do trust you to keep it. But you’re not the one I’m seeing now, ‘Nando. I’m sorry, but you’re not the one I have to worry about,” Raúl said. He let go of Fernando and sat back down. “I’m not doing it because I’m—”
Fernando was already waving his hand in resignation. “No, no. I know it’s not about revenge for you. And it’s not like I have a right to tell you what to do here. It’s just that I didn’t realize you were so…never mind. I didn’t come here to rehash things with us—I came because Giuly is absolutely insane. I can’t believe I ever liked him.”
“Well, he’s—wait.” Raúl frowned. “I know you thought he was funny, but you…liked him?”
“I thought he was fun to be around before I found out he wasn’t just some lackey of Lehmann’s. And I know, I know, I must have been dense to not notice how dead people kept turning up around him, but that was when I was young and stupid. Now I’m older and I’d like to not be so stupid, so I need a way to tell Giuly that I can’t do this for him.” Then Fernando had to gulp a bit for air. He looked embarrassed about it and ruffled at his hair as he leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, he’s a gangster. If he has a problem with Cristiano Ronaldo, why on earth would he have to come to me to deal with it? Doesn’t he have his own people?”
Raúl pursed his lips a few times. “I think they only know how to beat up people and kill them.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Fernando demanded.
They sat at the table for a couple moments of silence. Then Raúl noticed Fernando’s mug was empty. He refilled it while Fernando winced, slapped both hands over his face and groaned into them.
“Not that I wish Cristiano any real harm,” Fernando muttered. “He might be an ass, but even he shouldn’t suffer that.”
“Having his ass kicked like you want, or being publicly humiliated like Giuly wants?” Raúl asked. The narrow-eyed, put-upon look he got in reply made him chuckle and he had to gesture his apology. “If I didn’t agree with you about having higher morals, I’d have to admire Giuly for sheer creativity. This idea of his puts anything Cesc could come up with to shame.”
“But sadly, we do have higher morals, so what—do we do? I mean, do I do?” Fernando replied. “While I’m trying to revamp my life, I’d also like to have the chance to see it through. And Giuly’s people…”
“I’m thinking about it.” Raúl didn’t even have to look at the other man. “’Nando, you just told me today and you don’t want Lehmann in on this. This is not my specialty here.”
Fernando blew out his breath, then apologized for that and for rushing Raúl. Then he fell silent. He had his arm across his chest and he tightened it, as if already protecting himself from a blow.
“He’s not going to send his people after you, and I’m not going to leave you alone in this,” Raúl said quietly. When Fernando looked at him in surprise, Raúl offered up a small, wry smile. “We might be over as a relationship, but I think we’d both be idiots at this point to not admit that that’s not the end.”
“You know, your mother told me something once,” Fernando said after a moment. “She said that once you come into the family, you never really leave it.”
Raúl snorted. “She still asks about you. She loves Iker and thinks Cesc might still grow up, but she likes you, too. She even says, since I don’t want you anymore, maybe you should meet—”
“Don’t you dare set me up with a relative of yours. Or let your mother do that.” Fernando jabbed his finger in Raúl’s direction, then dropped back with a laugh. He looked down at the table and some hair fell into his eyes; he swept it back before looking at Raúl again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Raúl said, getting up. “So let me call Cesc—he should be on his way over for lunch by now—and get that conversation over with. Then I can think about this better. It’s just…very strange.”
“I know,” Fernando said under his breath. “Why me? I’m not exactly the best person for getting near Cristiano. And why Cristiano anyway? I don’t think his balls had even dropped when Giuly was around last.”
Raúl paused, then finished taking out his phone. “Fernando. You…weren’t in town, but Giuly’s actually been back since then. It’s a long…listen, I’ll call Cesc and then we’ll sit down again.”
* * *
“I do not get paid to be your lookout!” Victor hissed. “I know! After I heard about the Villa-napping, I checked my contract and there’s nothing in there about that!”
Figo visibly had to forgo asking about the “Villa-napping” and he didn’t like it. “Victor. Victor, you look hung-over but you didn’t show up last night.”
“No, and thank God for that, because Morientes was enough without throwing Zidane in there too!” Victor snarled.
The ringing on the other end finally stopped and Xavi heard Gerard’s voice in his ear. “Find Pep and tell him it’s a Code Red,” he told the other man.
*Oh, fuck,* Gerard replied, heartfelt. Then he hung up.
“So…what was it you wanted to talk to Figo about?” Andrés asked from beside Xavi. The other man was chewing on a fingernail in between words. “It’s not…worse than what’s already going on, right?”
Xavi tried to look reassuring. “No, it was just some forms he needed to sign. Well, that and Pep thought Adi was being too quiet and wanted to make sure Figo wasn’t being relationship-adverse again.”
“Morientes? What now? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly taken Villa’s side in this ridiculous—” Figo was saying.
“No! No, I haven’t, I’ve just woken up on his damn couch and I don’t remember what happened!”
Andrés breathed out in relief, then grimaced and scrubbed at his head. “Wait, can I be relieved yet?”
“Adi hasn’t come storming out too and we have Zidane scares all the time, so to me it doesn’t look too bad,” Xavi ventured after a moment. “But I don’t work here, so…is this normal?”
He gestured towards Figo and Victor just as Figo grabbed his face in despair. “Victor, did you sleep with Morientes?”
Victor looked horrified. Andrés looked horrified. Then Victor gathered up some dignity from somewhere and glowered at Figo. “I said I don’t remember.”
“Victor, I—” Figo’s stance suddenly firmed up and he dropped the hand from his face “—I am not responsible for keeping you out of drunken one-night-stands. I run a magazine. If I happen to rescue people from themselves, it’s strictly for recreational amusement and right now I’m not amused.”
“And neither am I, since if I hadn’t been blanking out with Morientes, I’d have been watching you go through your zillionth Zidane-induced relationship breakdown,” Victor snapped back. “Why is it you can tell Villa to take it to the back but you can’t just once tell Zidane to go fix his own shit?”
Figo pursed his lips a few times. He stood there with one hand on one hip and looked at Victor.
“Oh, fine. But anyway, I’m not here to take care of Mutu every time you fail to deal with the fact that you and Zidane never happened. I don’t even know what he’s saying. God.” Victor threw up his hands and turned around. He went off a step. His hands came down on his head and knotted up in his hair, and then he spun on his heel and came back towards Figo, eyes wide. “And why are Morientes and Zidane both around now? You even think about that yet? I heard a rumor Morientes got Zidane to come in for Pepe Reina’s party—what else are they up to? Did you even ask Zidane about that? Did you?”
“No,” Figo said slowly, with a rare note of hesitation in his voice. He didn’t seem to be nearly as worried as Victor, but…he did seem to be thinking about it.
“That’s not norm—” Andrés started.
Xavi was already redialing. This time he got Pep, who was a little cranky at being pulled out of a meeting but who went silent as soon as Xavi got it out. “Code Z. I’m serious, it’s a Code Z.”
***