 |
|
|
|
|
Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. Some bondage and d/s stuff.
Pairing: Figo/Adrian Mutu, one-sided Figo/C. Ronaldo. Implied C. Ronaldo/Van Nistelrooy.
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 record company is completely accidental.
Notes: Titled after the song by Leonard Cohen (Jeff Buckley cover).
Summary: Figo is a grumpy, grumpy bastard.
***
Victor lifted his head just enough to find out it wasn’t a party of drummers in his head. It was a party of drummers with jackhammers. “Son of a bitch…” he mumbled, letting his face flop back into the—couch.
Couch. And when he wriggled his toes, he found that they weren’t encased in disgusting shoes still stinking of vomit, and it looked like somebody had even taken off his belt as well. So he’d made it to safety before the night had gone down the toilet. Great.
“Luís?” The couch tasted awful, so Victor summoned up the energy to turn his head. “Luís?”
It looked like Figo’s apartment, at least as far as the general placement and color of the blurry shapes around the couch went. Victor grunted, pushing himself up, and began to rub the crusts out of his eyes as one shape started to move towards him. But then the drummers in his head began to drive a jackhammer directly into the backs of his eyes, and Victor had to drop his head back onto the sofa, hand firmly over his mouth to prevent the vomit from coming out. God knew Figo already scolded plenty just when Victor showed up, and for somebody whose voice had made him a radio idol in his distant youth, he did a damn good harridan imitation.
Something clinked nearby and Victor winced, but then he smelled coffee. Which was an incredibly nauseating odor right now, but he was a goddamn music journalist. He was trained like a dog to respond to coffee, and so his head went up and his hand went out. It bumped the cup, then wrapped around it and carefully carried the precious liquid back to his mouth, which gratefully sucked down about half of it before he noticed his tongue was burning. “Fuck!”
Soft suppressed chuckling.
Victor scrubbed at his eyes a last time, then painfully hauled himself upright. “I was wondering when your sadistic side was going to kick in. Appreciate the coffee, but this does mean that you’re having me—holy mother of God who the hell are you?”
It—wasn’t Figo. Not unless Figo had bleached himself, dyed his hair brown and…actually, no amount of cosmetic surgery could’ve converted Figo into the man standing before Victor, because whoever the fuck he was, this guy actually looked sorry. He put up his hands palms-first, mumbling something, and then quickly walked off into the other room.
A moment later, Figo appeared. He glanced at Victor, then rolled his eyes and turned into the foyer, where he retrieved the mail from the doormat. “Nice to see your head’s still intact, Valdés. Too bad it still doesn’t have anything in it.”
“Who—him!” Victor pointed, then looked frantically at Figo. “Did you see him?”
“What, Adrian?” Figo came back in a meandering way that miraculously didn’t take him into any pieces of furniture, considering that he was busy sorting his mail and hadn’t even looked up to reply to Victor. “Don’t point. This is my apartment, you’ve got no business scaring him. Now, I haven’t had my coffee yet, so if you’re smart, you’ll tell me about the damage now.”
After another wary peek, Adrian slipped out of the hall and crossed the room behind Figo. He kept his head down and kept rubbing his wrists together, but he wasn’t so nervous that he couldn’t take a few quick peeks before he disappeared into the kitchen. He was Figo’s height, but skinnier, though he still filled out his white muscle shirt and khakis. Victor drank more coffee and pressed at his temple. “Luís, you know and I know I function best in a certain kind of world. And in that world, you don’t randomly…randomly…come on, you aren’t that desperate, are you?”
Figo finally looked up from his mail, but just to look startled and faintly disgusted. “You’re off concerts till you stop thinking like a tabloid reporter. You’re a reviewer, damn it.”
“Figo,” Victor muttered. Okay, whined. He wasn’t done with his coffee yet.
“Oh, for…it’s nothing like your trashy little mind is thinking. He’s a guest.” After he’d snorted at the contents of one envelope, Figo lowered his mail enough for Victor to watch the man pause and actually think about it. “Last launch party I had to go to. He was passed out in the back and the staff didn’t know what to do with him, and couldn’t recognize an OD when its nose was bleeding on their damn hands, so I took him to a clinic and checked him in. Yesterday I came home and he was just sitting outside the door. I think I was in the middle of asking how he was doing when I fell asleep on the couch.”
“In other words, charity case?” Victor felt the coffee slurp into dry air, then took down his cup. He mourned its emptiness for a moment. “Oh, well, that’s better. For a moment I thought you were having some mid-life crisis on me. Anyway, I couldn’t take the commercialism any more and left early last night. Don’t worry, I already had my column done and I’m pretty sure I stopped at an Internet café to email it to you.”
Figo closed his eyes, then slowly put his head in his hand. He grimaced, pulling at the bridge of his nose, then jerked up and around, clearly ready to snap off somebody’s head.
Except Adrian held out the cup of coffee first. So Figo blinked, shut his mouth, and then took the cup. And stared rather bemusedly as Adrian bobbed his head, said something and then scooted off to the kitchen again. After a moment, Figo shrugged and sipped his coffee. And frowned. “Adrian! Something something something!”
Adrian called back, and then Figo turned about, looking considerably more pleased with himself. He even grinned at Victor’s arched brow.
“He speaks Italian, though I think he said he was Romanian? Anyway, I’m having crepes with strawberries for breakfast.” Nodding contentedly to himself, Figo tossed the remainder of the mail to the side and then took a seat in the armchair across from Victor. He flopped back, making a dent in the headrest, before sighing. Then, like a cat hearing a mouse, his eyes slitted open. “You, on the other hand, have a lot of explaining to do. I did get an email from you last night, and it was absolutely incoherent. And that damn column’s due at three A. M.”
Victor looked at his empty cup. Then he put it on the coffee table. “Shit.”
“I’m waiting…”
* * *
Some days, Luís thought, it just wasn’t worth getting out of bed. And he knew that for a fact, because the company had just updated his benefits and he would get a hell of a lot more just faxing in a resignation letter than dealing with the shit he…well, dealt with. “Fine, fine, just take a shower. The aspirin’s where it always is. Remember to hang the towel straight, and don’t touch my aftershave.”
“But—”
“Victor.” Luís pinched the bridge of his nose so he’d have an excuse not to look at the man. “Take the damn shower before I throw you in there.”
After a moment, the sound of feet scuffing desperately over the floor came to Luís’ ears. He listened till they disappeared into the hall, then opened his eyes and slumped back in the chair. He sighed.
His cell-phone rang.
“I am going to kill somebody today,” Luís said thoughtfully. Then he rolled his eyes and dug his cell out from his bathrobe. By the time he got it the right way up, open and against his ear, it’d already cut off once and started ringing again without leaving a voicemail in between. So some starlet; his staff were all trained to go to email, or if it was a genuine, Hollywood-movie emergency, to run over and kick in his door. “Hello?”
*About time.* Cristiano’s pout could be heard loud and clear. *I know you get up before this.*
Sooner or later, the perpetual irritation Luís felt at the boy’s lack of social awareness was going to override his bemusement at the whole situation. It should’ve done so about fifteen minutes after the pseudo-punk had shown up in Luís’ office, but Luís was getting on—not that that was really making him more patient, he thought. Just a lot more easily amused. Also, Iker wasn’t nearly so interesting now that he had a stable threesome, so something had to fill the void. “I didn’t like what my radio clock woke me up with, so I went back to sleep. Keep it short, Ronaldo. I have work.”
*Yeah, yeah, you always have work. Well, I’m gonna help with that, so you should be glad you picked up. I hear you’re sending somebody to review Aguero tonight at Premier.*
Scratch the killing, Luís thought. That’d let Victor get off too easily, when clearly he deserved prolonged torment for forgetting the first fucking rule about getting a good review: don’t let them know you’re going. “Maybe.”
“You want more?”
Luís blinked, then twisted around to find Adrian standing there with another plate of crepes. The other man gestured towards the one on Luís’ lap, which had been cleaned off to the point that only a few traces of fruit syrup were left. “Oh…”
*…idiots, but what do you expect? Anyway, I told the doorman so you don’t need to do anything, they’ll look out…*
“Er, no, that’s fine,” Luís hastily said, springing into action as Adrian hesitantly reached out. He batted away the other man’s hand, then picked up the plate and—well, he meant to carry it into the kitchen, but Cristiano snapped something and instead Luís just shoved it at Adrian. “What? Look, thanks, but I told you already, I don’t allow kickbacks like that. It compromises journalistic integrity.”
Adrian fumbled the plate a bit, but then turned and quietly vanished into the kitchen, much to Luís’ relief. Then the shower came on down the hall and Luís instinctively turned towards that before finally paying attention to the phone again.
*…just trying to be nice.*
“I know, but there are better ways to go about it. Ways that don’t diminish my credibility as a reviewer,” Luís retorted. He actually had no idea what Cristiano had just said, but their conversations generally followed one of three lines: what Cristiano thought was great, what Cristiano thought should be done, and what Cristiano didn’t want to say about FC but couldn’t help darkly hinting about. So his answer should work for any of them. “Listen, I need to go but I’ll be on email later. Drop me a line.”
Phone off, Luís headed into his bedroom. He put his hand on the bathroom door before remembering it was occupied—Adrian’s coffee tasted wonderful, but needed to be about three times more concentrated in caffeine—then gave himself a good shake and opened up his closet.
“Did you want more coffee?”
“Huh? Oh, that’s nice,” Luís mumbled, taking the cup thrust before him. He drained about half of it, wondering whether he should bother with the jacket when he knew it’d need dry-cleaning by the end of the day. Then he shrugged, grabbed it, and threw it onto the bed. By then Victor would be feeling frisky again, and could take it down for Luís instead of getting kicked out of some art-house theater.
Luís did notice a noise as he stripped off the bathrobe, but when he looked around, nobody else was in the room. So he shrugged and, after considering the little devils on his boxers, changed out of those for a pair of conservative black ones. Of course, Victor opened the door in the middle of the process.
Five minutes later, Luís had on jeans, a dress shirt that was his concession to being head editor, and his favorite leather coat slung over one shoulder. And one whiny Spanish twat on his back, dripping water everywhere as he stalked after Luís. “All I’m saying is, my eyes are not meant to see things like that—”
“For the love of God, you came out of that giallo marathon last week with your eyes intact. And if you didn’t think the only alternative to pinch-hitting for—”
“I’m a movie reviewer! You sent me to a concert!”
Upon the first step they took into Luís’ office, a cascade of CDs, papers and other crap slid off his desk onto the floor. He stared at it for a moment, belatedly remembering that wiggly board that ran from the door to the desk, then grunted and stepped around the mess. When the one o’clock insomnia hit, he’d clean it up. “Victor, it was supposed to be a live report for the blog. All you had to do was sit there and critique the performance. Everyone knows what the music is like. It’s just like a movie, only without the screen in between.”
“Exactly! The fourth wall is very important!”
Luís paused, his satchel dangling from his hand. Then he screwed his eyes shut and just shoveled stuff into the bag till it was full. “Victor?”
When he turned around, Victor scuffled back a few steps, then held his ground. Though the man’s hands were wrapped a lot tighter around the towel at his waist than they needed to be in order to hold that on—for that matter, a lot tighter than decency required. “Er.”
“Just get into working condition and get that damn summer preview done,” Luís sighed. He slapped the bag’s flap over, then hiked the bag up into his arm when he couldn’t get the buckle to snap shut on the first try. While Victor was still running on at the mouth, Luís stepped around him and went for the doorway.
The front doorway, that was. Adrian happened to be in the living room doing something and he looked up, then took a step towards Luís, who furiously waved him off.
“No, no, it’s okay. Victor’ll let you out. Oh, and breakfast was great,” Luís called over a shoulder. Then he got himself the hell out.
* * *
Work was more mundane, except that Luís could only get any given project halfway done because he’d left the important bits at home. But the next edition was going out in a week and people were having breakdowns left and right trying to meet their deadlines, so he couldn’t get away till after one, and even that took Iker and a feather-duster. Which Luís felt somewhat guilty about, but he’d signed off on a raise for Iker yesterday and anyway, the man had already finished his work so he could go home early to his terribly good-looking boyfriends. On the other hand, Luís did wonder why there was a feather-duster in the emergency liquor supply.
He was still frowning over that as he pushed open the door and walked into his apartment, but he noticed right away. Mostly because he was instantly blinded. “Shit!”
Luís slapped his hand over his face, but—trained by so many damn rock concerts his doctor had given up on his tinnitus—didn’t make the mistake of stumbling backward till he fell over something. Instead he stood still, rubbed hard at his eyes, and after counting to ten, warily squinted out between his fingers.
Well. It was his apartment. He did remember it looking like this, back when the realtor had first showed him around.
“Oh, you do come back for lunch,” Adrian said. A wedge-shaped segment of his left cheek came into view. “So you can have the sandwich I just made, and I’ll make another one.”
Luís took down his hand. He stared around his gleaming apartment, then pushed his hand against his temple. “Victor?”
“He left at eleven. Needed another computer?” Adrian tried to gesture with his hands like he was typing with melons tied to his fingertips—which was not a bad imitation of frustrated Victor, actually. “I think he…he was going back to his place? He didn’t leave a note.”
“He’s over enough that he doesn’t need to. He knows I’ll boot his ass into the Atlantic if he doesn’t get that damn preview in,” Luís muttered. He rubbed at his head for another few seconds, trying to think, and then just gave up. It was too bright in here. “I don’t need lunch. I’m just here to pick up some things. And why is my apartment clean?”
Adrian stared at him, brows a little up, but mostly out of surprise. “Because it was dirty? You should fire your maid service.”
“I know, I did when I caught one snooping through my private files about five years ago, and never bothered to get a replacement.” Luís slipped his satchel off his shoulder, then unzipped his coat and pulled that off. He started to toss it over the chair like he usually did, but then yanked it back when Adrian made a grab for it. “Look, just stop—”
Actually, Adrian had grabbed it, and now he was all over Luís. For a couple seconds they grappled with each other. Then Luís finally just let go of the coat, and after that they both had hands free to get disentangled. Which Adrian promptly did and then hopped back, his head bowed and his hand snapping back to scrub at the back of his head in embarrassment. He was cute when he blushed.
“Er, sorry. I just meant to—”
Luís closed his eyes. “I know, but really, it’s fine. You don’t owe me anything, I’m not interested in whatever was the matter, I talk way too much to the tabloids without needing more of those shitheads in my life, and it’s totally all right with me if we just go our separate ways.”
Adrian stopped pawing at his head and looked up, frowning. Then he pulled down his hand. “They said at the clinic you’d paid for the whole thing.”
“Well, you didn’t have a wallet on you and they said they had to have a deposit,” Luís said. He wrapped up the strap of his bag around his arm, winching it up, then flicked open the flap and began digging around inside. After a moment, he half-turned towards his office. “Listen, I make plenty of money and I didn’t even notice. And I can deduct it from my taxes.”
“But still, that’s…” Adrian helplessly spread his hands “…I mean, well, I should say thank-you first…”
“Yeah, but I got that breakfast was thank-you. The coffee was really excellent, by the way.” Why the hell had Luís grabbed that? He plucked out the CD and tossed it into the trashcan as he neared it, then stuck his arm back into his bag. He was carrying around way too much crap, come to think of it. His back was killing him. “So we’re even and all that.”
The other man followed him into the next room, sputtering a little. “But you can’t make breakfast and a rehab clinic equal! I mean, you saved my life!”
“It’s just part of my job,” Luís sighed, dropping his bag onto his desk. When it made a crisp clunking noise, he froze. Then he frowned and looked down around it, and good God, was that the color desk he had? “Look, if you’ve got an identity-theft problem or a cash-flow problem, just give me a sec and I’ll call up a friend of mine. Then—”
“No,” Adrian said forcefully. He looked a good deal less certain when Luís glanced up, but he stayed where he was, swallowing hard, his fists nervously pressed into his hips. “That’s—that’s okay.”
Luís cocked his head. “So you have a wallet now?”
“No—okay, I do have a couple problems there, but—” Adrian started getting flustered, caught himself and gave himself a shake, then turned a stern look on Luís “—no, I mean, I don’t want to just leave it. I…you did me this huge favor, you have no idea…I was really…fucked up, first of all, and then they told me when I woke that I would’ve died if you hadn’t stepped in…”
“You’re welcome,” Luís said.
“Thanks, but I’m not done yet.” Adrian blinked a few times, like he expected to get it, but when he didn’t, he…started fidgeting, glancing back and forth between Luís and the floor. “So that really made me think—not just about what I was doing, but about you, and the fact that you’d go out of your way to help a total stranger…”
This was exactly why Luís didn’t do charity these days. God, the babbling.
“…and when they let me out, I got your address from them because I really had to see you. If I’d wanted to just leave it, I would’ve sent you a card or something,” Adrian finished. Awkwardly. Sort of moving his hands around and struggling for a better ending, and flushing up again when he couldn’t find one. “Er. So—”
“I’m not a life counselor. No, shut up and listen, since I’m so important to you now.” Luís looked down at his bag, then sighed and took his hands off it. He put them palms-down on the table, then leaned hard on them. “I’m divorced. You cleaned up my apartment, you can probably guess why. I have an unhealthy dedication to my job and I’m not going to change that for anyone. I really loved my ex-wife and I couldn’t do it for her. So I won’t for you, and whatever you think now, you need more support than what I can give you.”
After the first ten seconds had passed by with no comment from Adrian, Luís pushed himself off the desk and resumed unpacking his bag. His hands were oddly clumsy and slow for a little bit, but then he shook it off. He got things straightened out inside, then reached off to the side for the first paper he needed. Of course, then he remembered that Adrian had apparently reorganized his desk, too, and Luís bit back the curses as he yanked up what he had.
Then he was going to put it aside, but he happened to get a peek at it. He stopped, then brought it up to his face. And somehow it was exactly what he’d been looking for, where he thought he’d find it. He tried it again, and it worked again. His desk was organized, but he…could understand the organization the same way he’d intuitively understood its chaotic state. And so, still stunned, Luís looked up and found Adrian quietly sorting the stuff Luís had just taken out of his bag.
The other man’s shoulders twitched, feeling Luís’ stare, but Adrian’s hands didn’t stop moving and he didn’t look up. “I know you can’t,” he said softly. “I’ve been through rehab before. I didn’t finish it last time. I did this time—I knew I had to. I’m trying to get better for myself, not for anyone else. But…still, I wanted to see you, and do something for you, and that’s what I came here for.”
“Well, I consider myself well-thanked,” Luís said. He paused, then suppressed a sigh and went on with getting what he needed. He did have work, regardless of this mess.
“Good, because I thought that that was what breakfast was, too. And also I’ll pay you back, when I have a job.” Adrian did glance up then, but so quickly that Luís couldn’t read his face before the man ducked his head again. He finished sticking the last paper into the last inbox, then stepped hesitantly back. “But…I can’t just leave, okay? I was going to—I was going to tell you thanks and figure out how I could get repayments to you, but that wasn’t…enough…”
Luís put his hand over his face.
“…I think I like you,” Adrian said very, very quietly. “I kept thinking about you the whole time, and then I meet you and you’re even better than I remember.”
“You had blood coming from your nose and froth from your mouth, and your eyes were rolled back into your head. I’d be shocked if you had any idea what I looked like,” Luís muttered. He pulled at his face with his hand.
Adrian made an embarrassed, awkward noise. “Uh, yeah. There’s…that. But I already knew you—who you were, I mean, because obviously we didn’t meet before that.”
Luís took off his hand, looked up, and raised his brows.
And Adrian immediately stared at the floor. “I a—was a musician. And have a subscription. Loved your reviews—” he seemed to sense Luís’ hackles rising and jerked up his head, eyes wide and pleading, hands waving wildly in denial “—but no, no, that’s got nothing to do with it. It just means I knew who you were and that’s how I got into that party. I’m not a crazy fan. And I’m not trying to—I don’t even have a band now, and I’m not sure I want to go back to playing, because that’s what got me in trouble in the first place, and I’m not trying to get anything from you. I just like you.”
“I hate it when this happens,” Luís finally muttered. He glanced around, then put his hands on his satchel and shut the top.
Adrian half-lifted his hand, but then pulled it back. He held his arm across himself for a moment, staring hard at Luís. Then he sighed and wrapped both arms around himself, rubbing his hands up and down his biceps as he gazed off to the side. “Okay, this would sound a lot more believable if I wasn’t right out of the clinic. And had a job. And…but I mean it. And in a couple weeks, when I have a job, and don’t seem so sketchy, I’ll come back and tell you so.”
Luís had been lifting his bag to his shoulder, but he put it back on the desk. He stared at it for a few seconds, then slowly lifted his head to look at Adrian again. He waited for the man to notice, flinch, and get over it. “You’re really going to come back?”
A lot of things went over Adrian’s face right then, but indecisiveness wasn’t one of them. His hands tightened on his arms till the knuckles whitened. “Yes.”
“Oh, fuck,” Luís sighed. He glanced at his bag, then grimaced as his phone started to go off in it. He’d told Iker he’d be back in twenty minutes and it definitely had been longer than that now. “Okay. Make me a damn sandwich.”
* * *
*He stayed for about fifteen minutes, then stormed off, and his assistant scared one of the interns,* Iker said, disapproval so thick it could’ve doubled as mayo. *We all told him you were busy, but he just got pissed off.*
Luís swallowed that last bite of sandwich, which hadn’t had mayo but which had been wonderful, then began to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. Then he remembered he had company and lifted his hand, only to have Adrian give him a napkin. He stared at it, then wiped his mouth and his fingers on it. “He’s Cristiano Ronaldo. If he wasn’t pissed off all the time, then he’d lose his diva membership.”
Adrian snorted, then ducked behind his sandwich when Luís looked at him. On the phone, Iker’s disapproval increased in viscosity. *Figo. I saw at least one paparazzi lurking around outside as he left. Do you really want to end up in the gossip column yourself?*
“Isn’t it Victor’s job to bitch at me for this kind of thing?” Luís asked. He pulled over his glass of juice and took a healthy gulp of it, then pushed it back and picked up his printout.
*Yeah, but Victor messaged to say he was hung-over again, and I’m supposed to be home snuggling on the couch with the newest Desperate Housewives episode, not trying to do your job,* Iker snapped. He paused, then sighed. *And yes, I know, I get a backbone when I haven’t had sex. But as interesting as I apparently am like that, wouldn’t you rather I have sex and leave you alone?*
Luís thought about it while he scanned the night’s line-up at Premier. “Okay, point.”
*What?*
“You’re better at bitching than Victor is. He just would’ve pointed out Cristiano Ronaldo’s awful fashion sense,” Luís said. He retrieved his pen and circled the one line-up he had to watch, since he was too damn known to hang about Premier for too long. And he didn’t like dealing with the various agents and hangers-on of the industry any more than Victor did. “Listen, I just finished lunch and I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. I promise. And I’ve been meaning to explain to Cristiano for a while that I’m not his producer, agent or whatever the hell he thinks I am. I’ll get to that. Just hold on for a little bit, all right?”
Iker let Luís hang for a moment before finally muttering a ‘yes’; that threesome really was doing wonders for his people-interaction skills, especially the “getting angry at assholes” part. Luís snapped shut his phone, nearly sending it flying because the damn things were impractically small these days, and stuffed it into his pocket.
“You know Cristiano Ronaldo?” Adrian asked. He’d just finished his sandwich and was now twisting his napkin over his fingertips. He had a breadcrumb to the left corner of his mouth.
“In a manner of speaking. Why, were you looking for an autograph?” Luís riposted. He’d done his level best to be grumpy and non-communicative all through lunch, and after the first two tries at conversation, Adrian had shut up and let Luís work.
Now Adrian just looked back at Luís, not challenging or smug, but not exactly frightened either. “No, not really. He’s good, but he’s not my taste.”
“What is?” Luís slotted the printout into his bag, then picked up the satchel and put it on his lap, so he could better see inside. He started checking the inside, making sure he wouldn’t have to run home again.
“Old-fashioned stuff, actually. I grew up on Vieri’s stuff, and then Zidane…” Adrian jerked back, brows shooting up. Then he got off his chair and began to gather up all the things that had fallen out of Luís’ bag, which Luís had stupidly let fall. “Sorry, that a bad thing to say?”
After a long moment, Luís shook his head. He pushed back his chair and got down himself, turning the bag right-side up. “No. Actually, I’m friends with Zizou.”
“Really?” Adrian said. He stopped with CDs fanned out in his hand, a little bit of awe in his eyes.
“Bastard broke my heart,” Luís muttered. He reached over and pulled a few CDs from Adrian’s fingers, then stuck them in his satchel. “Yeah, really. Vieri—good choice, too.”
Adrian grinned. “Thanks. I’m glad that meets your approval, anyway.”
“Though he is one hell of a headcase in person,” Luís added. A highlighter skittered out of his hand and he swore and stretched after it, only to lose his balance.
He caught himself before his nose smashed against the floor, then pushed himself up and Adrian kissed him. It wasn’t that long or hard, not much more than a graze, but it was enough to be deliberate and meaningful.
“I know you’re trying to be a bastard, but we met when I was overdosing on cocaine,” Adrian said. His chin was up and his eyes were level and steady on Luís, but there were red patches in his cheeks. “Come on.”
Luís looked at him, then snorted and scooped up that damn highlighter. That was the last of it, so Luís shut his bag, slung it over his shoulder and got up without answering. As he twisted on his heel, he heard Adrian sigh. The other man was still straightening up as Luís walked out of the kitchen.
It wasn’t that Luís wouldn’t have enjoyed it, because Adrian was quite attractive, with the pale skin and dark eyes, and the charming accent. On top of being quick and clever, and apparently able to understand Luís well enough to organize his things for him, and—well, a fucking former cokehead musician. And Luís had watched too many of those for him to count crash and burn over the years, and had learned not to get too attached—even to the ones who managed to drag themselves out of it, because what they did for a living was what made him get out of his chair and forget he was a tired jaded old asshole. But between all those whats, there wasn’t much room for the person. Which he’d actually gotten taught by a star who’d never made the mistake of taking up anything stronger than cigarettes.
Okay, that was bullshit. True, in that he’d gone through it all and thought that at certain points in his life, but Luís was old enough to admit that he was going to keep doing stupid things, no matter what lessons he’d learned before, if he thought it was worth it. He’d even go through the hassle of shouldering a drug addict through recovery; he had to do that every couple of years for a staff writer anyway. So mostly, Luís didn’t want his life complicated by other people without his say-so. If he was going to put up with shit, he at least wanted it on his terms.
He stopped with his hand on the knob. Then he groaned and leaned forward till his head thumped on the door. He stood like that for a moment, till he heard a tentative shuffling, and then he turned. “What are you doing with that?”
Adrian opened his mouth, then glanced at the rag and screwdriver in his hand as if he didn’t know either. “Oh, your stove burner is broken, and I thought I’d take a look—”
He already had streaks of grease on his shirt, Luís belatedly noticed. “Do you have anything else? To wear, besides that?”
“No. This is from the clinic,” Adrian said slowly, frowning. “Why?”
* * *
Victor opened the door, looking shaven but somehow more haggard than in the morning. “What the—”
“If I have to go to Premier to cover your ass, then you can get him some clothes. You’re not that much taller,” Luís said, shoving Adrian inside. Then he grabbed the knob and jerked the door shut over Victor’s protest. “Do something about his shoes, too! Back at nine!”
* * *
At nine o’clock, Luís looked up from the cover mock-up that had just been approved, then leaned back in his chair as Victor stormed into the room. The other man slapped down a fistful of papers, then attempted to do the same to a CD. Unfortunately, the CD was a little too wide to slide easily out of his pocket, so he almost ended up tearing off his coat. Then Victor tried to jerk it free, but only managed to get it more stuck, and finally he had to forcibly control himself and ease the thing out, swearing in Catalan the entire time.
When it was finally out, he tossed that on top of the papers. “There. That’s the preview.”
Luís nodded. “Good—”
“And here’s him,” Victor snarled, twisting on his heel. He grabbed something, then yanked Adrian into the room as he stormed back out.
Adrian stumbled, then caught himself against a chair and straightened up. He looked after Victor, rubbing at one arm. “I only didn’t hit him because I got the impression you told him to do something, and I didn’t want to slow him down.”
“Well, I told him to do something, all right,” Luís said slowly. “I didn’t know Victor had that much leather in his closet.”
Adrian jerked around, then hunched in on himself before he seemed to realize he was a grown man. He put his shoulders back, but kept his arm crossed over his chest, blushing furiously. “I kept trying to tell him that I didn’t think you meant this, but he…I don’t know, I can’t tell if he just can’t understand me or if he was ignoring me.”
Slick black waist-length leather coat, appearing seamless as it flowed down over Adrian’s shoulders, hugging the lines of his body. He had it unzipped, probably because it’d be impossible to breathe otherwise, and under it he had on a violet buttondown, which wasn’t tucked into the black leather trousers that took over from the waist down. When Luís got up, he noted that Victor had also exchanged the ratty sneakers for what looked like motorcycle boots.
“Probably both.” Luís got up and grabbed his coat from the side, then tossed it over his shoulder. Then he came around the desk, hooked Adrian’s arm, and drew the man out the door while Adrian was still trying to apologize for Victor’s bitchiness. “Don’t worry about it, we’re actually going to a club anyway.”
Adrian stopped talking and just went a couple paces with Luís. His eyes shot up and down Luís, who hadn’t changed his own clothes. “What kind of club?”
“Premier. Victor fucked up an assignment, I’m the only one free to cover it, and I hate going to Premier so I figured I could use the company.” Luís walked them back through the workroom, making a note to harangue the whispering staff tomorrow. “Also, I don’t want to get mobbed by press agents, so if they’re all busy staring at you, then that’s fine.”
“Oh.” Just before they hit the elevator, Adrian’s stride loosened up a little. He ambled inside, then turned around and stared up at the lighted numbers above the door, like everything was normal. “All right. So you like leather?”
Luís looked sharply at him, but Adrian continued to idly watch the numbers changing. The man’s eye didn’t even twitch.
“Generally people with nice asses know it,” Luís finally said. He coughed as the doors opened, then walked out. “Just stay with me, don’t talk to people if you can’t help it, and don’t wander off because I won’t look for you. Also, if somebody asks if you know who I am—”
“I’ll babble in Romanian and look really confused,” Adrian dryly replied. He tugged at the sides of his coat, then pushed one hand back to slide it under his collar; it wasn’t summer yet but it was getting a bit warm in the evenings. “Luís? I’m just curious—it’s not really your job to save people, is it?”
Luís flicked a look at him.
After a moment, Adrian tipped back his head and laughed quietly. “I think I like you even better this way.”
“Just get in the damn car,” Luís muttered.
* * *
The doorman just waved them in before Luís even flashed an ID, which puzzled Luís for a moment, since it’d been long enough since his last visit so that he shouldn’t be in the system any more. And while the agents and stars would be happy to see him, the powers-that-be wouldn’t want him to have a VIP entry, given that he still wrote what he thought.
“Huh,” Adrian said, looking around. He edged so close to Luís that he bumped into Luís’ hip. Then he stepped back, apologizing under his breath. “Looks the same.”
They’d entered during a lull, but just then the music kicked on again, thundering and heavy. Luís tugged at Adrian’s arm, then gestured towards a dark corner. Then he started off through the crowd, trying to stick close to the edges and keep his head down. He stepped on somebody’s toes, dodged a waitress with a brimming tray of drinks, and then emerged into a empty spot about halfway there. And then he was spotted as the music cut off again.
“Luís!” Cristiano squeezed out of the crowd, absently shrugging off some fawning woman, eyes bright with excitement. He threw out his arm towards Luís and Luís instinctively stepped back, then stood still as Cristiano drew himself up, beaming. And then not, as Cristiano saw something. He frowned. “Who the fuck is that?”
Luís blinked, then turned to find Adrian giving Cristiano a very good blank-faced stare. “Friend of mine. Why?”
“Why? Why? Because I—” Cristiano bit at his lip, then rubbed one hand quickly over his face. His shoulders heaved a few times as he tried to control himself. “Luís. I didn’t even know you were going to be here. I thought you were sending somebody.”
“Well, that’s not surprising, since you don’t work for me and therefore don’t get updated on my schedule. Actually, even the people who work for me don’t always get updates, so don’t make a big deal out of it,” Luís said. He started to say more, but then decided it’d be better left there and took a step forward. But Cristiano slid over to block him and Luís fell back, beginning to feel annoyance buzzing in the back of his head. He only had about ten minutes till that damn set started. “Cris. I’m working. I can’t talk now.”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s hard to talk,” mumbled that assistant of Cristiano’s. He came up to stand slightly behind Cristiano, staring hard at Luís. “I thought you were married.”
Cristiano went stiff, then jerked his head around to stare at the man. Then back to stare at Luís, who shrugged. “I was. Not that it’s any business of yours. Excuse me—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cristiano asked harshly. He dug his fingers into his arms. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Jerking me around? With the—”
God. God, that was it? And God, Luís hated when this happened. He closed his eyes and pulled at his nose, then dropped his hand to look Cristiano straight in the eye. “Cris. I actually find you likeable at times, when you get your head out of the business and are yourself. So I’ll explain this. I was under the impression that you wanted advice on your music, that you and I shared an interest in certain types of music—and that’s absolutely all. And to prove that, I never invited you to anything. You always invited me, and I told you every time that I could be at most a friend, because first of all, I have a conflict of interest as a conscientious journalist.”
“But—”
“But no, that’s it. And if you thought there was more, then I’m sorry, but there wasn’t. And also, if you think you have any sort of claim on me whatsoever, then…then I really hope you get the help you need. Because that’s not healthy, that’s not true, and that’s certainly not something I’m going to put up with. I have a lawyer. He’s good.” Luís waited a moment, then took a step forward and then one to the side.
The assistant made a move towards him, but the crowd forced him back. Cristiano, on the other hand, didn’t move at all. His eyes didn’t even slide over to follow Luís.
For a moment Luís felt sympathetic, because he knew what an artificial, pathologically dependent life Cristiano probably had. With so many people willing to do everything and anything based on Cristiano’s slightest whim, the boy was going to forget how to figure out what he really wanted and, more importantly, what somebody looked like when they were truly enjoying themselves.
But just for a moment. Then Adrian showed up with a glass of something, and the sympathy went away and Luís was just pissed off. Because honestly, what the hell was it about him? Was it the nose? The bad posture? What?
He grabbed the glass while Adrian was trying to say something, downed it, and then slammed it down on the tray of a passing waiter. Who expertly balanced against the impact, and goddamn it, they had everything calculated down to perfection around here.
“Lu—”
Luís looked Adrian over, then put his hands on the man’s hips and shoved him back till they hit something. And when they hit something, Luís’ mouth hit Adrian’s. He crushed the startled exhale back, then jammed in his tongue before Adrian could close his mouth. Adrian went rigid, then sagged. Then he tried to raise his hands, and one of them did brush Luís’ arm before Luís forced them back against the wall. He pinned them there, leaned his weight on them, and then kissed Adrian till the man went limp.
Then Luís pulled off, letting their mouths pop apart. He looked at Adrian’s dazed eyes. “Still like me?”
Adrian opened and closed his mouth a few times, then let his head fall back in seeming frustration. And it took a lot more than one shot to screw with Luís’ head—at least, more than it’d already been screwed with—and so Luís started to pull back. Except Adrian tipped his chin up more, showing his throat to Luís, and that wasn’t a nod of the head but a nod wouldn’t have worked nearly as well. A stroke of heat flashed through Luís as he sucked in a breath.
He leaned in, till his lips nearly touched Adrian’s throat, till Adrian was starting to gasp in anticipation, and then jerked back. He took Adrian with him, and then continued to drag the other man by the arm as Adrian cursed and stumbled, trying to keep up.
Luís headed into the back halls, then behind the stage, where the walls were shaking from the woofers. Other people had the same idea and were taking up wallspace, so he kept on going; in the back of his head, he knew he was going to miss the set he needed to see, but he didn’t care. It was a puff-piece anyway, and he was the damn editor and he could make an editorial decision to replace it with something else. In fact, he was.
He was seeing a couple stacks of chairs, piled higher than his head, blocking off a corner. He made for them, found nobody there and shoved Adrian between two of them. The other man fell heavily against the wall, that jacket of his sliding down one shoulder, eyes wide and glittering. Adrian put out his hand and caught the back of a chair, then dragged himself up a few inches. “Luís,” he gasped. “Luís—listen—that was water.”
“I tasted that, and good. I don’t really need a hangover on top of anything else.” Luís just stood there, eying Adrian. From head to toe, and then back up as Adrian swallowed hard. Then he put his hand over his face. “I am in such a bad mood right now.”
The music clicked off, then switched to a live feed. Something jangly and poppy, but back here the top notes weren’t that audible and mostly it was the bass line, low and bone-shaking. Something touched Luís’ chest, then skittered down to rest at his waist. The fingertips squirmed at his belt, hooking under it and then tugging him forward, till he was pressed up against a warm, lean body. A light touch slicked over the edge of his jaw, just nudging at his wrist. Then it returned, licking up the side of his hand, catching some of his cheek.
Luís lowered his hand a little, and Adrian twisted in to kiss the side of Luís’ mouth. The belt loosened, and then its ends flopped open as Adrian’s hands pushed up under Luís’ shirt instead. The buckle-end tapped at Luís’ thigh and he reached down and pulled till the whole thing came free of the belt-loops, then flipped it over the back of his hand. Adrian hooked an arm over Luís’ neck, rising up a little so his thighs slid pointedly against Luís, the leather whispering over the denim of Luís’ jeans.
“I’m too fucking old for this, too,” Luís mumbled. His teeth nicked Adrian’s tongue as the other man suddenly shoved that into Luís’ mouth. Which made Luís gag a little, and he didn’t like gagging, and all right, he had Adrian up against a wall. And Adrian was much more Luís’ type, lowkey and smart without acting smart-ass about it.
Though the desperation could be a little annoying, a little too edged, and Luís gave Adrian’s wrist an extra twist as he forced it from his fly, just for that. He pinned it to the wall and shoved his knee between the man’s legs, then leaned forward as he worked Adrian’s other hand out from under his shirt. His mouth slipped down Adrian’s jaw, but he latched it just underneath, at the join of the throat and Adrian seemed to like that just fine. At least, he spent all his time moaning instead of trying to keep Luís from looping the belt around his wrists.
His breath did hitch when Luís yanked the belt tight. His head jerked down and his hands came up as Luís let them go, but they got about as far as Luís’ shoulder before Adrian jerked forward, gasping. Then he went sharply boneless, just hanging by his hands, which had clutched up fistfuls of Luís’ coat. He buried his face in Luís’ shoulder, his hips rolling frantically up into Luís, into the hand Luís had between his legs, shaping his cock through his trousers. He whined a little, twisting around, and Luís pressed him back against the wall, letting a finger graze over Adrian’s fly before pushing his hand further down, just teasing again.
Adrian grunted something, sounding almost furious, but then Luís bit his neck and the man turned to choking pleas instead. Anyway, that was what it sounded like—Adrian wasn’t speaking Italian anymore, and even if he had been, the music was too damn loud. Loud and lousy, and Luís just corkscrewed his fingers up between Adrian’s legs, pushing them as hard as he could. Whimpering, Adrian ripped his hands down Luís’ chest till the belt-buckle caught something. Even then, Luís heard ripping cloth before the other man made his hands stop.
“Luís,” Adrian rasped, drawing out the vowels. He wrenched his head around and licked at Luís’ throat, then sucked hard at the line of Luís’ jaw. Ran his tongue over and under it, then groaned when Luís finally jerked open his trousers.
His cock was already leaking at the tip, and damn, there was more dry-cleaning. But then, it was Victor, and Luís was still pissed off at the man. And come to think of it, he was pissed off at Adrian too, for being fucking stubborn and hanging around like some hopeful puppy, doing all those fucking things. Things, and why couldn’t he be like Cristiano, not knowing what he was doing instead of being smart and figuring Luís out and fuck, Luís had to be getting old if somebody could see through him that easily.
Fuck. They might as well, Luís thought, and jerked down Adrian’s trousers. He batted the man’s cock with the back of his hand, listening to Adrian’s wheezing groan, before abruptly twisting the man around. They weren’t facing the wall any more but they were facing a table, and Luís shoved Adrian face-down onto it; the table rattled and shook as Adrian stopped himself with his elbows. His bare ass rose out of the black leather, pale and round and Luís couldn’t help it: he bent over and bit one buttock.
Adrian jerked and whined, his nails scrabbling over the table. He pushed himself back and Luís twisted his head around to avoid getting his nose crushed, but instead ended up slotting it between the man’s buttocks. His teeth scratched flesh again and Adrian moaned, and Luís shrugged and stuck out his tongue. He had to swirl it around a little before it slipped inside the other man, but then Adrian was shuddering and gasping, and Luís seriously began to think about finding something like lube, or oil, or…he came out with a bottle of hand lotion from his coat pocket. Took a moment to roll his eyes over Helen, still trying to get his hands into shape, and then shook out some over his fingers.
Then Luís got up, jammed two fingers into Adrian, and waited for the man to stop bucking into the edge of the table. Jerked open his fly while he was standing around, and when Adrian had calmed down a little, pulled out his fingers, pushed in his cock, and then fucked the man till the table somehow fell over.
Which was just short of what Luís needed, though Adrian was in the grips of what looked and sounded like a brutally amazing climax, and so he was damn lucky Luís was, apparently, getting slow in everything. Luís managed to hold the man up long enough for Adrian to get a grip on a stack of chairs, then slammed back into Adrian, and okay, that did it. It was the angle, apparently. Figured.
“Luís! I thought it was you! The photo was blurry but I’d know that nose anywhere.”
Adrian’s hair smelled nice, Luís blearily thought. He laid on the other man for a little longer, though Adrian was now past the startled stiffening—and clenching—stage, and now was making little nervous noises.
“And I’m not going away just because you’ve got your cock in someone else. About time, too. You haven’t had a date in months, and I—”
“I thought you had a show in Milan?” Luís groaned, pulling himself up. He braced a hand against the chair-pile and eased himself out of Adrian. “Helen, Adrian, an unemployed musician recovering from addiction. Adrian, Helen, my ex-wife.”
* * *
“Are you sure?” Adrian asked again, pulling over two chairs. He stopped to wince, then pushed one towards Helen. Then he shifted his weight towards the other one, but had to stop again to watch as Helen plopped in one and put up her feet in the other.
She sighed and stretched out her legs, her silk skirt slipping off those wonderful curvy limbs. Then she started to unstrap her heels, but she noticed Adrian was watching. With a warm smile, she waved towards the couch. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine with it. He actually looked like he was enjoying himself for once—oh, no, sit with him. He likes snuggling. The whole grumpy thing is just an act.”
“You see, this is why I wanted to have a forty-eight hours’ advance notice clause in the divorce agreement,” Luís muttered. He dropped his coat on the couch arm, then sighed. “Just sit on the couch, Adrian.”
After another moment’s hesitation, Adrian went around to the other end of the couch. Which, since this was a Premier private room, was really more like a loveseat and had cushions designed to sink people together, and that completely didn’t explain why Adrian’s head ended up on Luís’ shoulder.
“So you two are still friends?” he asked. He stared innocently back at Luís, like he was just interested in the answer.
“Actually, we’re still together.” When Adrian jerked up his head in surprise, Luís took the chance to slouch back against the couch. They hadn’t had a hell of a lot—actually, any time to really clean up, and so now Luís’ jeans didn’t seem to fit right and he couldn’t seem to fix the problem just by squirming around. He jammed his hands against the cushions to keep from grabbing at his crotch, then rolled his eyes at Helen’s arched brow. “Marriage just doesn’t work, for some reason. So we got divorced, see each other when we’re in the same city, and—”
“—and are also seeing other people. Well, at least I am. And I’ve been trying to get him to socialize more for ages now, if only to find someone who’ll do something about his desk. I truly believe that that thing could eat puppies,” Helen said. She put up an arm to pull her hair around her neck, then turned her head to look at Adrian. “You’ve seen that thing, right?”
Adrian blinked, then seemed to realize he was being spoken to and jerked to attention. “Oh! Right, yeah. I cleaned it.”
“He did.” Luís sank further into the couch. “I can still find things. I don’t understand.”
Helen needed a few moments to take that in, but once she had, she sat up and faced Adrian, suddenly stern. It really was amazing how she could change in an eye-blink like that, one moment soft and beautiful, the next the epitome of the true Nordic goddess, so awe-inspiring that it was impossible to look away from her. “Can you cook?”
“I made breakfast,” Adrian said after a moment, brow furrowed. He wasn’t quite following. “And lunch. And coffee. I think he liked it.”
“Hmm…wait, he said you were an addict—”
Luís put back his elbow, then pushed himself up, suppressing his groan. “All right, all right. He was, we met because he’d overdosed and the staff were just walking around him, I paid for his rehab stay and I’m not paying for another one, so if you ever touch anything stronger than coffee again, I’ll personally make sure you don’t need rehab.”
That, of course, was to Adrian, who blinked, then bundled his arms across his chest and nodded vigorously, eyes wide. Then he jumped a little as Helen let out a laugh.
“I love you,” she said, standing up. She teetered, then bent down, and when Luís reached to help her with her shoes, she peeked him on the mouth. Her fingers brushed his aside, took care of it, and then used his shoulder to help herself up. Then she leaned over and gave Adrian’s hair a ruffle. “And you seem like a very nice boy. I’m in town for an emergency so I have to go now, but I’ll be properly visiting in a month and am looking forward to getting to know you.”
Luís cleared his throat. “Helen, I don’t really do that now.”
“I keep telling you to see a chiropractor for your back, but…you’ll do something about that, yes?” Helen said, flicking a glance at Adrian for the second part. She brushed down her skirt as she turned. “And Luís, you didn’t lose the handcuffs either. You left them at my place again, and I haven’t gotten around to sending them back, but I’ll bring them next time. Ciao!”
She was…Luís gave up on trying to describe her in a fitting manner and just watched her hips sway as she let herself out of the room. Then he rubbed at the side of his head.
“So…I saw a counselor before they let me out, and he said it seems like I need more structure in my life,” Adrian said slowly. He shifted around, wincing a little. “Though you did say you don’t do that.”
“Adrian, I say a lot of bullshit.”
“I know, I noticed.” Adrian glanced at Luís, then looked away quickly. “Er. I’m sor—”
Luís glanced heavenward, then sighed and pulled Adrian over by the waist. He soundly kissed the man, and after the initial muffled grunt of surprise, Adrian softened into it, putting his hands up on Luís’ shoulders. Then he slid one down over Luís’ back, fingers trailing in a caress.
“All right,” Luís muttered, pulling back. “Let’s go.”
* * *
“No, I’m—” Frowning, Luís twisted back around.
Adrian ducked his head, then awkwardly shrugged; he’d borrowed one of Luís’ dress shirts and it was a little baggy on him. He fingered the collar around his neck. “I found it when I was cleaning out your desk. Is it okay?”
“You…” Luís faced forward again, then put his head back on the sofa top. He felt the papers in his lap starting to slide and grabbed at them just as the couch shook and the cushion next to him dipped. “Okay, I give up. It’s nice.”
“Really?” Nuzzle at Luís’ cheek, and then Adrian leaned back. When Luís opened his eyes, the other man had sat down cross-legged next to Luís and was trying to sort Luís’ work again. “Hey, so earlier? When I said I wasn’t really looking for you to help me with—”
“Yeah, that was bullshit. I noticed,” Luís sighed. He pushed at his temple, then reached over and took back his work, replacing it in with the TV remote. Then he grabbed Adrian’s neck and pushed the other man down while Adrian was still trying to figure it out.
After a moment, Adrian got it and twisted over, stretching out his legs towards the other end of the couch and pillowing his head on Luís’ thigh. He clicked on the TV, then began channel-surfing. “That was the only part that was, though.”
“I know.” Luís paused, then let his thumb drift in a circle over the nape of Adrian’s neck, going from the leather of the collar to the silk of the man’s skin. “It’s okay. As long as you don’t do it again. Find me some entertainment news, would you?”
Adrian murmured something and obligingly clicked around, letting Luís get back to work. Something still had to replace that blog report, but Luís was figuring it was time for a serious post, so maybe he could do something on the…the ethics of entertainment reporting—
And in breaking news—live from Premier, we’re bringing you an exclusive on the newest dramatic turn in the troubled private life of CRISTIANO. Just minutes ago, the red-hot star, who’s due to leave for his latest tour in Portugal any day now, stormed out of this VIP nightclub after having a very public altercation with his former agent, Ruud van Nistelrooy. It’s said that the two had a violent argument, which ended in Cristiano’s assistant receiving a black eye from the influential Dutch music power-broker.
And WHERE was Cristiano’s actual agent during all of this? It appears he wasn’t even here! In fact, we’ve just heard that Deco has quit his job due to MEDICAL concerns, and is this moment fighting for his life in a hospital. So what does this mean? Is Van Nistelrooy trying to hook up again with his former, and still biggest, client? Stay tuned! We’ll keep you up to date on this hot, HOT story.
Followed by grainy footage of Cristiano shoving off a reporter as that assistant of his, hand cupped over one eye, got into a car.
“…that’s the guy who told Ronaldo you were married, wasn’t it?” Adrian asked.
“Oh, fuck.” Luís stared at the TV for a moment longer, then looked at his lap. Then he grabbed up the papers, which were all useless now, and pulled his phone from the side-table. He didn’t even hear a full ring before the night editor picked up, already hysterical. “No, call publishing and cancel. Now. We can’t use that damn cover, it’s fucking obsolete. Put out a Code Red. And calm down, for God’s sake.”
As Luís flipped his phone shut, Adrian lifted his head off Luís’ lap. “I’ll go make coffee,” he said, climbing over the sofa back.
Luís opened his mouth. Closed it, stared at Adrian’s retreating back, and okay, for a second he thought it wasn’t such a shit day after all.
Then the phone rang. Sighing, Luís closed his eyes, fought back the migraine, and answered it.
***