Los Gatos 17/? part 2
Pairing: David Villa/David Silva (main), Sernando (???), others
Characters: David Silva, David Villa, Fábio Coentrão, Cristiano Ronaldo, Cesc Fàbregas, Mesut Özil, Jesús Navas, Paulo Bento, Kaká (this part of the chapter)
Rating: R (?)
Warnings: AU
Disclaimer: I don't claim it has ever happened.
Chapter 17
David slipped into the ‘main room’, as Özil had called it, under the watchful eyes of the bouncers? Bodyguards? Security? He didn’t quite know what to make of those stone-faced men in dark suits that seemed a bit too serious and definitely too sober to be patrons.
He had never seen so many drunk people in his life. Compared to how some of them were behaving, Reina could call himself a head of an AA group.
Lingering at the door, he tried to convince himself that he was simply testing the waters, determining which course of action would be the most efficient but it fact his head was spinning with the overload of sensual stimulation: lights, music, smells (some of them pleasant and some not but all of them completely unknown), voices drifting from every direction, movements too quick for the brain to register and too subtle to give them any importance…
He wrapped his arms around himself. Shit, he hadn’t envisioned that and Fábio certainly hadn’t warned him or maybe he had and he had ignored it, but the place was nothing like he had expected.
Not that he could say what he had been expecting precisely. Scantily clad girls and boys throwing themselves at dangerously-looking businessmen? It wasn’t a Roman feast for fuck’s sake, wine wouldn’t be flowing like rivers, neither would there be sex going on on the tables and by the way, he really shouldn’t have read all those novels and articles. And to assume that all of the patrons would be of Villa’s cut - well, it wasn’t as if he had smelt something off with the man at first. Besides, he had to admit that it was highly unlikely that Madrid had such a high percentage of gangsters…
Finally gathering the courage he unglued himself from the wall, telling himself again and again that sticking there was slightly under-productive. Wary of not bumping into anyone (which probably made him the only one with such care in the room) he navigated towards the bar. Bars were safe, relatively. Bars tended to have people like Reina behind them, at least he figured they did, because someone had to have that minimal control over the drunk-like-swine, overly-grabby patrons… And maybe, if he was really lucky, that guy behind the counter may have a voice as booming as the madrileño and patience as thin as him. Not that he could see many reasons for the man to lose it anyway.
What he was trying to say was that all things considered the people were… Shockingly normal. Sure, remembering Fábio’s words about it being a street-walkers’ hang-out and being aware of who exactly Özil was he had his suspicions about certain individuals, especially those overly cheerful, overly chatty ones smiling at everyone and never quite paying for their drinks, at least not when he was looking-
Suddenly he started as a bulky body obscured his vision. Where had the man come from?
“Hey sweety”, it was probably meant to be a purr but worked like a tiger growl on David, “Offering good time, eh?”
“Sorry, not right now”, it didn’t even cross David’s mind to sound flirtatious. He was too busy gulping down that something that had worked its way up his throat, “I’m waiting for a…”, his eyes slipped down, towards the floor because he had no idea what should he call his imaginary client.
He took a step back when the man’s hand touched his shoulder.
“A scheduled appointment?”, he supplied, his fingers grazing over David’s skin.
He nodded mutely, scared stiff of the man’s reaction. Shit, what if he was of the kind who didn’t take ‘no’ as the answer? What if he tried something and no one would move a finger because he was just a dumb boy toy who got fucked on daily basis anyway and what if Özil hadn’t had time to inform his men to look out for him or oh fuck, what if the Turk found this whole thing too suspicious and had contacted Villa-
“What about later?”, the man’s words brought him back to Earth.
“Later?”, he mumbled, not really registering the meaning. He didn’t give a crap about the meaning. He just wanted the man’s hand gone.
“After you’re finished with your first… Partner for the night, hmmm, cutie?”, a wink accompanied the ‘partner’ part.
“I don’t know how long it’s going to take, sorry”, he managed to get out stiffly, still not daring to look in the man’s face.
It was awfully difficult to look into a face of a person who took you for… For a prostitute. For someone who sold their body for money, who could be bought and most probably thrown out later. Someone who you could just talk up at the bar, getting to the point without sparing a second to a regular conversation.
When the fingers finally disappeared, he felt his too-tight t-shirt clinging to him like fish scales, suffocating him.
“Pity”, with that, the man walked away.
Head dizzy like a bottle of champagne, David sagged against the counter, earning himself a pissed glare of the bartender.
He hadn’t been counting on getting propositioned that soon. Was it even a right word? Proposition assumed some level of respect for the propositioned party, not that… Haughty arrogance of a person who knew they had all the power and held all the cards.
He felt himself being watched, that goose-bumps sensation he often fell the victim of at Insomnia, when the patrons couldn’t quite make anything of him or worse, when they scrutinised the guanche rumoured to have caught the fancy of El Guaje…
Laying his head on his folded arms, he tilted his face a bit to the side from where the glances were coming, hiding behind a veil of hair.
There, five or six barstools away, was standing a group of young people, possible older than him but not much, not even bothering to pretend not to observe him.
His stomach fell. Customers or bystanders? Hookers? Their choice of clothes was pretty similar to his but he couldn’t be sure, they didn’t seem vulgar in any way and a lot of girls wore heavy make-up even to work…
One of the guys left the group and sauntered over to him.
Time to find out.
“Hello, bambino”, he cooed, propping himself on a barstool, “Waiting for someone?”
“Most likely not you”, David’s confidence grew once he realised that they had caught the attention of the bartender.
“No need to be rude”, the guy rolled his eyes, leaning over the counter and blocking David’s view of the rest, “You’re from Chus or Chema?”
“Ehm… What?”, were they some code words?
Certainly something important, given the serious expression of the guy.
“You work under Chus or Chema?”, he repeated slowly as if wondering if there was something wrong with David’s head.
“Oh, that”, so they simply meant people, “No, neither.”
“A freelancer”, the guy intoned mockingly, appraising David from head to toe, “You’d better get the fuck out before they help you find the door”, he finished with a sour quirk of his mouth.
Was it advice? A threat?
“But”, David started carefully, spotting that the rest of the group were slowly making their way towards them, “I’ve been told to wait here…”
“Our dear host doesn’t accept competition here”, a raise of an eyebrow, “And I doubt you’d be of much use to your client beaten black and blue.”
“But it was Mr Özil who told me to wait here”, David blurted out, only half of his desperation an act, then promptly shut his mouth up unsure how many people addressed the Turk by his surname. Maybe he had some ‘business pseudonym’ like Ramos or Villa…
“Özil?”, his interlocutor’s eyes widened, “He told you to wait here?”
“You’re working for Özil, buddy?”, another guy peeked at him over the shoulder of the first one. He seemed much more pleasant so David tried to maintain the eye contact with him.
“I guess”, David stuttered, smiling shyly. A shy prostitute? Why the hell not, it may turn out for the better for him, “It’s giving me too much credit, it’s… It’s my first time, actually”, he bit his lip.
Fábio’s opinion was that he should stick to a version that he had been simply working in another part of the city previously because being a first-timer would attract an unwanted attention.
Well, that was Fábio’s point of view, David definitely didn’t find attention unwanted. He needed to find the Catalan and who knew, maybe the guy was an insatiably curious one. Plus, first-timer screamed innocence and ignorance, two things that didn’t encourage to weigh one’s words.
“First time?”, a girl elbowed the guys to make her some room, “Oh my poor thing, let me hug you”, before he could notice her move, he was being squashed in her arms.
“Let him be”, he heard the first guy speak but the girl didn’t pay him any mind.
“I think you’ve had enough”, the other coughed meaningfully and finally the girl released him.
“I’ve had nowhere near enough, Paco”, she wagged her finger at him, then whirled back to David, hitting Paco with her long blonde hair, “I’m Bibi”, she leaned towards him to kiss him but David hid his face from her.
Kissing was reserved for Villa.
“No kissing rule?”, the first guy whose name was still a secret drawled, “You’ve been watching too much ‘Pretty Woman’.”
“Don’t be mean, Toni”, Bibi lightly punched his arm, “He has every right to be scared.”
“I’m not scared”, David protested but even to his own ears it lacked conviction.
“We understand you, sweetie”, Bibi attached herself to his back and he was assaulted by the odour of alcohol. How could he have missed it before, “We’ve all been through that, I still remember my first time as if it’d happened yesterday-”
“We know you do”, Paco cut in, half-sternly, half-jokingly, “We all remember it down to every detail too…”
Bibi was clearly too intoxicated to get the implication.
“It was my first-first time guys and-”
“How comes Özil’s arranging you clients?”, Toni didn’t let her elaborate, pining David with a hard dark gaze.
“He’s… He’s made me an offer”, David fought with himself not to lower his eyes and admit he was lying, “I used to work at a café before…”, he hoped they would conclude it was too embarrassing and painful to talk about rather than he had no clue what he was actually trying to be talking about.
“An offer you couldn’t refuse?”, Paco sounded sour but not disbelieving, “Yeah, we all know those.”
“He won’t keep you too long”, Toni stated decisively, “It’s not his kind of business.”
“Oh, you mean-”
“Make sure not to land under Callejón”, Paco shuddered pointedly, “He’s a bastard.”
“As if you had experience”, Toni scoffed, “And as if he had a choice”, he looked fleetingly at David with something akin to pite in his eyes, “Oh, here comes our Panecito”, he grinned teasingly at a slightly plump girl who suddenly materialised behind Bibi.
She made him feel a lot better about his own bits of extra flesh.
“Fucking idiot thinks he can buy me drinks all night long”, the new girl cursed loudly in the direction of a neatly dressed man at the other end of a long counter, “Get yourself a wife for that!”
“Yeah, the worst part about this place, kid”, Paco shrugged at David when Toni was sternly calming the girl down, “You won’t make your quota here.”
“Poor man, as if Navas wasn’t letting you off with only a part of it every week”, Panecito crossed her arms.
“Well, not every week”, Paco made a face, “He has to give the cash on time too…”
“And if he has to choose between beating you and getting on Gitano’s bad side, one guess what he’ll choose”, Toni leered at Paco and only then did David notice a dark bruise colouring the guy’s cheek, “Still, stick closer to Navas if you can, newbie”, he winked at David, “He’s too lazy to hit more than once.”
“Or to chase you if you run”, Paco winked, “Chema would follow you to the end of the world just to demand the ten euros you’re short on.”
David had managed to work out, somewhere on the way, that Chus and Chema were Navas and Callejón. Those sounded somewhat familiar, having come up in Reina and Gitano’s conversations (mostly as two beings Ramos would gladly spare the world the trouble of dealing with).
“At least you won’t end up with Gitano himself”, Panecito’s smile was probably meant to be encouraging, “What’s your name anyway, baby?”
“Mr Özil told me to introduce myself as Chino”, David said quickly, settling for Kun’s favourite nickname for him. He wasn’t that stupid to give his real name, not anymore.
“So obedient”, Toni mocked again, “You’re going to be such a diligent worker.”
“At least he may stay in one piece”, Paco shot back.
“He’s right, darling”, Bibi clung to him once more, almost bringing David down to his knees with her weight, “Better not to fight them, you’re not going to win anyway.”
“And that way, you may still fool yourself you’re going to make it to the retirement age”, Panecito added.
“What’s-”, David somehow manoeuvred Bibi onto a barstool, then propped himself next to it to help her keep her balance, “What’s the retirement age?”
Paco and Toni exchanged amused glances.
“There’s none”, Toni shook his head as if at David’s naivety, “Once you’re not bringing enough money you’re not really useful.”
David froze in his attempts to stop Bibi from falling down.
“You mean-”, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. Surly he was getting something wrong…
“I mean those bastards are pretty efficient with their Human Resources policy”, Toni began to swing his leg back and fro.
“Don’t worry about it”, Panecito must have spotted his alarmed expression, “It’s not always true-”
“Yeah, not true if you find the right person to sleep with, like some people out there”, Toni barked, “Don’t fool the kid”, he looked at David almost challengingly.
This time, David hung his head. He was assaulted by the memories of his talk with Gitano about getting a job as one of his boys. To think what could have happened if he hadn't met Villa first...
“Hey”, someone nudged his arm, “You wanna smoke one?”
Shaking his head slightly to escape the grim thoughts, he saw Paco holding something out to him, something resembling a cigarette but not quite.
“No, thanks”, he worried as his lip, “I’d rather be sober for that”, he almost laughed at his attempt to keep himself in character.
“Suit yourself, you’re going to start soon enough”, Toni declared when Paco made a crestfallen face.
“And trust me, you’d rather not be sober”, Bibi wrung her arms around his neck, “You don’t want to remember your first time, darling, I’m telling you, I was a virgin too when I started-”
“I’m not a virgin”, David protested hotly as if it fucking mattered, as if he didn’t sound like a daft high school kid boasting that he had already had sex.
“Good for you”, Panecito smiled tightly, “When I told my first pimp that I’d never done it before he told me I could either find someone soon to take care of that, that he could take care of that though he wasn’t exactly feeling like touching me or I could wait for a client. The first two wouldn’t have made me feel any less of a whore than the third one.”
“And pay-days?”, Bibi caught on, “I was always scared shitless of seeing him, I never fucking knew if he was going to kiss me or knife me!”
“Knife you?”, David took an unconscious step back.
“Not me or her, but a lot of people ended this way”, Panecito sighed, “He was one crazy psycho.”
“But you didn’t even think of fucking cheating him like Navas, eh?”, Toni chuckled darkly.
“No one in their right mind would cheat Gitano”, Bibi all but whined, “I’ll never forget how that bastard sold me to that sicko just because I wanted a week off when I was ill!”
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Fábio had already exhausted himself with walking from one side of the alley to another plus he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure if Özil men wouldn’t get pisssed with him throwing himself from corner to corner so he was doing his best to sit still on a small pile of bricks.
David had been gone for over two hours. It was too long. It was too long and the Canarian was all alone and probably scared, not knowing what to do and how to behave, and if anything happened to him Villa would have his head.
There wouldn’t be many doubts about whose idea it was. And even if there were, it would be easier to punish him rather than David.
He really, truly wanted to be there with Silvita. Silvita was bright, hell, he was a genius compared to Fábio even though it still didn’t give him justice but he could sometimes act as if he didn’t know anything about the world.
Though… He did know enough to realise a junkie couldn’t be trusted. It hadn’t taken him long to come to a conclusion that he must have stolen that fucking money, just because he apparently had to pay for his drugs. Never mind he didn’t. Never mind he wasn’t allowed to have that much money, never mind he fucking loved Silvita like no one else in his life, he had been fucking risking his hide all that time, hiding more and more from Ronaldo and making sure to never, ever, give him any information on David…
He closed his eyes, relaxing against a building behind him. Worrying would get him nothing. He had no control over what David was going to learn and what he was going to do with that knowledge. If he truly found the mole, then it would be better for them all to get rid of him. It would be. Honestly. Where would he be himself without Cristiano? Dying in some ditch or long dead? No matter how sourly it tasted on his tongue, he must prefer to see that unknown person, as David had put it, gone, rather than Cristiano getting arrested. Cristiano and David. He was sure Villa had already secured it that once he was brought down, David would be dragged with him. The man had never let go of anything he considered his, unless it had been his own decision to part with it.
He felt his hands shake and reluctantly, he glanced at them.
Talking about feeling, he felt like shit. His head ached. His belly hurt. He was almost sure there was something eating him from the inside and his arms were itching, the crooks of his arms burning and he knew very well what they all wanted. Needed.
What he needed.
He took a peek at the back door he had been escorted through. Still no side of David.
Fuck, what if he had decided to get out some other way? Left him there in his hurry to run back to Villa? He wouldn’t dare ask, Özil didn’t seem to rejoice at his presence in his office.
Huh, since when anyone did. They all wanted him gone from their sight, all but David. David liked to keep him close as long as the drugs didn’t come up. He wondered if one day, Silvita would disagree to take him back because of them.
The last time he had fucked up so much that Cristiano had kept him craving for over a week he had been positive he had been dying. Later, he had promised and begged and sworn he would never mess up like that and had more or less managed not to.
But maybe, if it meant that Silvita would keep him, he was going to stay off the drugs long enough to get clean.
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“If you wish, Boss, we could go and rough him up a bit.”
Mesut’s head jerked up at one of his men’s voice and he almost demanded to know what on Earth had possessed him to suggest a thing like that but then he realised he had his gun in his hands.
Shit, he must have taken it out while watching Cristiano’s junkie.
Ashamed with being caught at that show of unfunded jealousy, he quickly put the gun back into the holster.
“Leave him be”, he sighed, pinching his nose. The kid wasn’t responsible for Cristiano’s actions. He couldn’t be made pay for them, no matter how alluring it seemed.
He had just enough time to inspect the blonde one last time when his phone buzzed.
“Özil”, he left the boy to his own devices.
“Ronaldo”, he heard from the other side and had few very hard seconds to school his features into naturally indifferent.
“Why, hello-”, he started only to be cut short with an irritated huff.
“It’s not a private call, for fuck’s sake”, the Portuguese tone dripped of mocking and Mesut gritted his teeth, “It’s about the King’s Cargo.”
“What about it?”, Mesut didn’t quite know what to make of Ronaldo’s clipped voice. As the man never talked to him those days, he had little comparison material, “It was supposed to arrive this evening, wasn’t it?”
“It was only it apparently hasn’t fucking arrived”, Cristiano sounded ready to bite some heads off, “Your men were there to oversee the transport.”
“And Kaká”, Mesut was already standing up, collecting his stuff and reaching for a jacket, “We were providing a safe way to Barcelona, nothing more-”
“Come to the Lolita”, Ronaldo interrupted with a growl, “Kaká’s already on his way, and with a good explanation if he knows what’s good for him too.”
Mesut nodded, on some level relieved that Ronaldo and Villa were blaming the Brazilian rather than him because for now he had no idea what may have gone wrong. He had sent his most trusted men there. Sure, they weren’t numerous but, for Allah’s sake, they had only been there to bribe their friendly customs duty control, not to pilot the ships.
“I’m leaving”, he motioned for the men to follow him, then, when he was opening the door, he cussed, “Fuck, wait, I need to take care of something first”, he needed to get that Villa’s boy out.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing”, he was already walking into the main room, “I’m calling Sami right away.”
“Just hurry up.”
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He scanned the room with frustration, the boy nowhere in sight. If he had got into trouble and the security hadn’t thought of informing him-
Oh, there he was. Huh, seemed that he had made some friends, given the fact he was surrounded by a tight circle of whores. Maybe he actually knew what he was doing.
He made his way towards them, not even reacting to apologies spluttered by people he was crashing into.
“Hey”, he called out when he was close enough to be heard, suddenly remembering they hadn’t come up with any way in which he was to call the boy, “Small and fluffy, we’re going”, he gestured for the boy to follow him.
He saw the boy took several steps in his direction, but so fucking slowly he really didn’t have time for it.
“Get going”, he grabbed his arm and the guanche yelped, reeling slightly back, “Hurry up”, he had no idea how Villa dealt with a kid who was this jumpy, especially given the man’s infamously rough handling of his bed-warmers.
Because he himself derived no pleasure from arousing terror in people who were of no threat to him, he loosened the hold on the Canarian as soon as he was sure he was trotting after him docilely.
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“David, finally, pá”, Fábio jumped to his feet when a small figure exited the club.
He didn’t know what to do when Silvita threw himself onto him and burst into tears, so he just hugged him awkwardly.
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David let himself be led to the nearest metro station and then onto a right train, though to be totally honest he wasn’t all that sure where it was heading to or which direction he considered right at the moment, probably the Canarias or better yet, Antarctica, pathetically grateful that the blonde wasn’t asking any questions but slightly irritated with the knowing look in his soft brown eyes.
He didn’t deserve being looked at with softness, certainly not by Fábio whose experience with Gitano and the rest was similar to that of Toni or Bibi…
He didn’t resist being pulled to the back of the train, didn’t register the dark scowls the other passengers were sending him… He realised how they had to look like though: he in his tight clothes and painted eyes, the black kohl now smeared all over his cheeks, hiccupping with tears and hanging onto Fábio’s thin frame, the blonde appearing more and more panicked with every passing second, fighting to keep them both up, propping David straight despite his trembling hands… They fucking looked like what they were.
“Sit down there, pá”, Fábio himself sounded close to tears when he managed to deposit him onto a seat with the last burst of strength.
David sagged down and against a window, hiding his face in a corner between the seat and the glass.
For some time, they were both silent, trying to catch their breath.
“Ora… You alright, é?”, he felt a light touch on his forearm and looked down only to see Fábio shyly petting his skin there.
He had rolled his sleeves up which meant that he was either that hot or that nervous, because when something was eating at him, the Portuguese would forget about being careful with hiding the track marks.
David glanced around, searching for something that would prevent him from answering that question because while he was positive he was everything but alright he didn’t intend to share his reasons with anyone. That would equal acknowledging them.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask”, he began in a whisper, “Who’s Victoria?”
“Victoria?”, Fábio repeated, withdrawing his bold hand.
“From your tattoo?”, David clarified, catching the blonde’s forearm for an emphasis.
“Aah”, Fábio’s arm stilled between his fingers, “A Vitória”, he corrected gently.
“Vitória”, David did his best to copy the pronunciation, “Who’s she?”
Fábio’s eyes fluttered close as he leaned back, resting his head on the seat. He was quiet for so long that David had lost all hope for getting an answer.
“She’s my daughter”, came a barely audible confession.
“What?”, David started, mouth agape, “A daughter? You’ve got a daughter?”
“Suitably scandalised”, Fábio snorted and he blushed, “No, not a daughter, luckily I haven’t hurt any children by being their father”, he scratched his hair, “I just keep calling her that, pois? She’s a daughter of my friend, a best friend I used to have as a kid, pá.”
“Oh, I see…”, David didn’t, not really, “Can I meet her?”, he didn’t really know how to proceed, Fábio had never mentioned anything about his childhood before other than that his father was a fisherman.
“She lives in Portugal”, Fábio shrugged, “I haven’t seen her for years.”
“Why do you have her name tattooed then?”, David frowned.
“Because”, the blonde waved his hands, “Look, I did it soon after she was born, pois? Her mum, Andreia, was my best friend… Actually, she was my borther’s friend, she’s some four-five years older than me”, David hid his surprise at learning that Fábio had a brother, “I had that monstrous crush on her when I was like, nine”, he snickered, “She valiantly dealt with my advances then. Then she somehow managed to get it into my thick childish skull that she wasn’t interested in dating a guy who still found football much more exciting than girls. I still maintained that we’re going to marry each other one day and have beautiful children”, he shook his head.
“You grew out of that?”, he himself had never had any ideas about girls but he knew some people needed more time to figure out who and what was for them.
“I guess, pá”, Fábio pursed his lips minutely, “We fell out, so to speak, later”, he didn’t offer anything more, “But she still asked me to be a godfather when Vitória was born. Her husband didn’t approve, though, he’d never been very accepting of me…”, he trailed off, scratching at a crook of his elbow and David got the clue, “So I just bought her this enormous bear but didn’t come to the church…”
“I’m-”
“Ó, pá, our station!”, Fábio sprang to his feet, pulling David after him.
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“Where are we going?”, David couldn’t recognise the street.
“There’s a 24-hour petrol station just around the corner”, Fábio pointed ahead, “You can take a shower there, pois?”
David shuddered and it had nothing to do with the night air. It was suffocating-ly hot.
“I’d rather do it at your place”, he suggested, tugging at the blonde’s sleeve.
“So would I, pá”, Fábio didn’t even slow down, “Only, fuck, I don’t have a place.”
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Cesc inched closer to the door and crouched down there, painstakingly slowly, careful not to produce the smallest of sounds. From there he could hear almost every single word uttered downstairs and judging by the voices, everyone had already arrived.
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“I warned you I may not be able to secure this year’s transport for you”, Kaká stared straight back into Cristiano’s blazing eyes, “You should have put more effort into that, not everything’s going to be as you want it to just because you’re Cristiano Ronaldo.”
Cristiano wished he could ask Guaje what was so fucking funny that he was arching his eyebrow like that. It was his damn money they had lost too.
“This year, El Tigre’s offer was simply better, and he had been negotiating for months. My boss wouldn’t be swayed by my insistence that you’ve been working with us since forever”, Kaká discreetly adjusted his tie, “I’m sure the situation would have gone differently had Villa participated in those talks himself.”
“Sorry, drugs are his field”, Villa gestured with his chin to Ronaldo.
Kaká gave a non-committal grunt, then glanced to Cristiano with keen eyes.
“Is there something you’d like to add?”, he inquired.
“Yes”, Cristiano barely managed to stop himself from cursing the damn pristine Brazilian to hell and back, “Could you please stop calling this bastard El fucking Tigre? We all fucking know that Jesus-obsessed fucker’s Falcao!”, he whirled back when he heard the first signs of someone cracking up.
Bento and Villa. Fucking figures.
“So, now that Ronaldo’s got his frustrations with never earning himself a scary nickname out of his system, could we proceed with ensuring that the next transport will land safely in Barcelona?”, the lawyer calmly addressed Kaká.
“Of course”, the Brazilian assured smoothly, “The King’s Cargo is more of a token than a real profit, therefore I didn’t find it that necessary to argue your case. Where the cocaine is concerned, however, I guarantee it will be for your hands only”, he nodded courteously towards Cristiano.
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When they were finished, Cesc promptly scurried back to a bed, covering himself with a blanket but leaving one leg sticking out invitingly from underneath it, pretending to be fast asleep.
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“Head up, Ronaldo”, Villa brusquely patted his shoulder, “At least with Falcao we know it had nothing to do with Figo.”
Cristiano did pick his head up, but only to glare down at the Asturian.
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The door crept open. One, two, three…
“What the hell are you doing here?”, the blanket was jerked away, exposing his nude skin, “What the fuck did I tell you about staying here?”, Navas grabbed his arm in a bruising hold and threw him out of the bed.
“That I’m welcome to, as long as I pay for a room?”, he grinned cheekily and seductively at the same time, reaching out to caress the man’s sides.
His head snapped to the right with the force of the blow.
“I told you to get the fuck out, you stupid whore”, the Andalusian growled, backing him into a corner.
“But you always say so, and then you let me stay…”, Cesc pouted.
“Get out”, Navas took a good hold of him and dragged him towards the door, “Get out before I do something I may regret.”
“But, Chus, my clothes”, Cesc tried to bend down to pick up his discarded jeans and a shirt but only earned himself a second swift slap.
Once he was out of the door, Navas grabbed his stuff but didn’t hand it back to him until he had escorted him down the stairs and out of the club.
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Putting his clothes back behind a dustbin was degrading in the ways Cesc didn’t even wish to begin to ponder. Fortunately he was done before anyone could walk on him, not that there was a lot of nightlife in this particular part of the barrio.
Fishing out his mobile, he started to type a message to Mr Iker.
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A/N Please, give me feedback ;)
Characters: David Silva, David Villa, Fábio Coentrão, Cristiano Ronaldo, Cesc Fàbregas, Mesut Özil, Jesús Navas, Paulo Bento, Kaká (this part of the chapter)
Rating: R (?)
Warnings: AU
Disclaimer: I don't claim it has ever happened.
Chapter 17
David slipped into the ‘main room’, as Özil had called it, under the watchful eyes of the bouncers? Bodyguards? Security? He didn’t quite know what to make of those stone-faced men in dark suits that seemed a bit too serious and definitely too sober to be patrons.
He had never seen so many drunk people in his life. Compared to how some of them were behaving, Reina could call himself a head of an AA group.
Lingering at the door, he tried to convince himself that he was simply testing the waters, determining which course of action would be the most efficient but it fact his head was spinning with the overload of sensual stimulation: lights, music, smells (some of them pleasant and some not but all of them completely unknown), voices drifting from every direction, movements too quick for the brain to register and too subtle to give them any importance…
He wrapped his arms around himself. Shit, he hadn’t envisioned that and Fábio certainly hadn’t warned him or maybe he had and he had ignored it, but the place was nothing like he had expected.
Not that he could say what he had been expecting precisely. Scantily clad girls and boys throwing themselves at dangerously-looking businessmen? It wasn’t a Roman feast for fuck’s sake, wine wouldn’t be flowing like rivers, neither would there be sex going on on the tables and by the way, he really shouldn’t have read all those novels and articles. And to assume that all of the patrons would be of Villa’s cut - well, it wasn’t as if he had smelt something off with the man at first. Besides, he had to admit that it was highly unlikely that Madrid had such a high percentage of gangsters…
Finally gathering the courage he unglued himself from the wall, telling himself again and again that sticking there was slightly under-productive. Wary of not bumping into anyone (which probably made him the only one with such care in the room) he navigated towards the bar. Bars were safe, relatively. Bars tended to have people like Reina behind them, at least he figured they did, because someone had to have that minimal control over the drunk-like-swine, overly-grabby patrons… And maybe, if he was really lucky, that guy behind the counter may have a voice as booming as the madrileño and patience as thin as him. Not that he could see many reasons for the man to lose it anyway.
What he was trying to say was that all things considered the people were… Shockingly normal. Sure, remembering Fábio’s words about it being a street-walkers’ hang-out and being aware of who exactly Özil was he had his suspicions about certain individuals, especially those overly cheerful, overly chatty ones smiling at everyone and never quite paying for their drinks, at least not when he was looking-
Suddenly he started as a bulky body obscured his vision. Where had the man come from?
“Hey sweety”, it was probably meant to be a purr but worked like a tiger growl on David, “Offering good time, eh?”
“Sorry, not right now”, it didn’t even cross David’s mind to sound flirtatious. He was too busy gulping down that something that had worked its way up his throat, “I’m waiting for a…”, his eyes slipped down, towards the floor because he had no idea what should he call his imaginary client.
He took a step back when the man’s hand touched his shoulder.
“A scheduled appointment?”, he supplied, his fingers grazing over David’s skin.
He nodded mutely, scared stiff of the man’s reaction. Shit, what if he was of the kind who didn’t take ‘no’ as the answer? What if he tried something and no one would move a finger because he was just a dumb boy toy who got fucked on daily basis anyway and what if Özil hadn’t had time to inform his men to look out for him or oh fuck, what if the Turk found this whole thing too suspicious and had contacted Villa-
“What about later?”, the man’s words brought him back to Earth.
“Later?”, he mumbled, not really registering the meaning. He didn’t give a crap about the meaning. He just wanted the man’s hand gone.
“After you’re finished with your first… Partner for the night, hmmm, cutie?”, a wink accompanied the ‘partner’ part.
“I don’t know how long it’s going to take, sorry”, he managed to get out stiffly, still not daring to look in the man’s face.
It was awfully difficult to look into a face of a person who took you for… For a prostitute. For someone who sold their body for money, who could be bought and most probably thrown out later. Someone who you could just talk up at the bar, getting to the point without sparing a second to a regular conversation.
When the fingers finally disappeared, he felt his too-tight t-shirt clinging to him like fish scales, suffocating him.
“Pity”, with that, the man walked away.
Head dizzy like a bottle of champagne, David sagged against the counter, earning himself a pissed glare of the bartender.
He hadn’t been counting on getting propositioned that soon. Was it even a right word? Proposition assumed some level of respect for the propositioned party, not that… Haughty arrogance of a person who knew they had all the power and held all the cards.
He felt himself being watched, that goose-bumps sensation he often fell the victim of at Insomnia, when the patrons couldn’t quite make anything of him or worse, when they scrutinised the guanche rumoured to have caught the fancy of El Guaje…
Laying his head on his folded arms, he tilted his face a bit to the side from where the glances were coming, hiding behind a veil of hair.
There, five or six barstools away, was standing a group of young people, possible older than him but not much, not even bothering to pretend not to observe him.
His stomach fell. Customers or bystanders? Hookers? Their choice of clothes was pretty similar to his but he couldn’t be sure, they didn’t seem vulgar in any way and a lot of girls wore heavy make-up even to work…
One of the guys left the group and sauntered over to him.
Time to find out.
“Hello, bambino”, he cooed, propping himself on a barstool, “Waiting for someone?”
“Most likely not you”, David’s confidence grew once he realised that they had caught the attention of the bartender.
“No need to be rude”, the guy rolled his eyes, leaning over the counter and blocking David’s view of the rest, “You’re from Chus or Chema?”
“Ehm… What?”, were they some code words?
Certainly something important, given the serious expression of the guy.
“You work under Chus or Chema?”, he repeated slowly as if wondering if there was something wrong with David’s head.
“Oh, that”, so they simply meant people, “No, neither.”
“A freelancer”, the guy intoned mockingly, appraising David from head to toe, “You’d better get the fuck out before they help you find the door”, he finished with a sour quirk of his mouth.
Was it advice? A threat?
“But”, David started carefully, spotting that the rest of the group were slowly making their way towards them, “I’ve been told to wait here…”
“Our dear host doesn’t accept competition here”, a raise of an eyebrow, “And I doubt you’d be of much use to your client beaten black and blue.”
“But it was Mr Özil who told me to wait here”, David blurted out, only half of his desperation an act, then promptly shut his mouth up unsure how many people addressed the Turk by his surname. Maybe he had some ‘business pseudonym’ like Ramos or Villa…
“Özil?”, his interlocutor’s eyes widened, “He told you to wait here?”
“You’re working for Özil, buddy?”, another guy peeked at him over the shoulder of the first one. He seemed much more pleasant so David tried to maintain the eye contact with him.
“I guess”, David stuttered, smiling shyly. A shy prostitute? Why the hell not, it may turn out for the better for him, “It’s giving me too much credit, it’s… It’s my first time, actually”, he bit his lip.
Fábio’s opinion was that he should stick to a version that he had been simply working in another part of the city previously because being a first-timer would attract an unwanted attention.
Well, that was Fábio’s point of view, David definitely didn’t find attention unwanted. He needed to find the Catalan and who knew, maybe the guy was an insatiably curious one. Plus, first-timer screamed innocence and ignorance, two things that didn’t encourage to weigh one’s words.
“First time?”, a girl elbowed the guys to make her some room, “Oh my poor thing, let me hug you”, before he could notice her move, he was being squashed in her arms.
“Let him be”, he heard the first guy speak but the girl didn’t pay him any mind.
“I think you’ve had enough”, the other coughed meaningfully and finally the girl released him.
“I’ve had nowhere near enough, Paco”, she wagged her finger at him, then whirled back to David, hitting Paco with her long blonde hair, “I’m Bibi”, she leaned towards him to kiss him but David hid his face from her.
Kissing was reserved for Villa.
“No kissing rule?”, the first guy whose name was still a secret drawled, “You’ve been watching too much ‘Pretty Woman’.”
“Don’t be mean, Toni”, Bibi lightly punched his arm, “He has every right to be scared.”
“I’m not scared”, David protested but even to his own ears it lacked conviction.
“We understand you, sweetie”, Bibi attached herself to his back and he was assaulted by the odour of alcohol. How could he have missed it before, “We’ve all been through that, I still remember my first time as if it’d happened yesterday-”
“We know you do”, Paco cut in, half-sternly, half-jokingly, “We all remember it down to every detail too…”
Bibi was clearly too intoxicated to get the implication.
“It was my first-first time guys and-”
“How comes Özil’s arranging you clients?”, Toni didn’t let her elaborate, pining David with a hard dark gaze.
“He’s… He’s made me an offer”, David fought with himself not to lower his eyes and admit he was lying, “I used to work at a café before…”, he hoped they would conclude it was too embarrassing and painful to talk about rather than he had no clue what he was actually trying to be talking about.
“An offer you couldn’t refuse?”, Paco sounded sour but not disbelieving, “Yeah, we all know those.”
“He won’t keep you too long”, Toni stated decisively, “It’s not his kind of business.”
“Oh, you mean-”
“Make sure not to land under Callejón”, Paco shuddered pointedly, “He’s a bastard.”
“As if you had experience”, Toni scoffed, “And as if he had a choice”, he looked fleetingly at David with something akin to pite in his eyes, “Oh, here comes our Panecito”, he grinned teasingly at a slightly plump girl who suddenly materialised behind Bibi.
She made him feel a lot better about his own bits of extra flesh.
“Fucking idiot thinks he can buy me drinks all night long”, the new girl cursed loudly in the direction of a neatly dressed man at the other end of a long counter, “Get yourself a wife for that!”
“Yeah, the worst part about this place, kid”, Paco shrugged at David when Toni was sternly calming the girl down, “You won’t make your quota here.”
“Poor man, as if Navas wasn’t letting you off with only a part of it every week”, Panecito crossed her arms.
“Well, not every week”, Paco made a face, “He has to give the cash on time too…”
“And if he has to choose between beating you and getting on Gitano’s bad side, one guess what he’ll choose”, Toni leered at Paco and only then did David notice a dark bruise colouring the guy’s cheek, “Still, stick closer to Navas if you can, newbie”, he winked at David, “He’s too lazy to hit more than once.”
“Or to chase you if you run”, Paco winked, “Chema would follow you to the end of the world just to demand the ten euros you’re short on.”
David had managed to work out, somewhere on the way, that Chus and Chema were Navas and Callejón. Those sounded somewhat familiar, having come up in Reina and Gitano’s conversations (mostly as two beings Ramos would gladly spare the world the trouble of dealing with).
“At least you won’t end up with Gitano himself”, Panecito’s smile was probably meant to be encouraging, “What’s your name anyway, baby?”
“Mr Özil told me to introduce myself as Chino”, David said quickly, settling for Kun’s favourite nickname for him. He wasn’t that stupid to give his real name, not anymore.
“So obedient”, Toni mocked again, “You’re going to be such a diligent worker.”
“At least he may stay in one piece”, Paco shot back.
“He’s right, darling”, Bibi clung to him once more, almost bringing David down to his knees with her weight, “Better not to fight them, you’re not going to win anyway.”
“And that way, you may still fool yourself you’re going to make it to the retirement age”, Panecito added.
“What’s-”, David somehow manoeuvred Bibi onto a barstool, then propped himself next to it to help her keep her balance, “What’s the retirement age?”
Paco and Toni exchanged amused glances.
“There’s none”, Toni shook his head as if at David’s naivety, “Once you’re not bringing enough money you’re not really useful.”
David froze in his attempts to stop Bibi from falling down.
“You mean-”, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. Surly he was getting something wrong…
“I mean those bastards are pretty efficient with their Human Resources policy”, Toni began to swing his leg back and fro.
“Don’t worry about it”, Panecito must have spotted his alarmed expression, “It’s not always true-”
“Yeah, not true if you find the right person to sleep with, like some people out there”, Toni barked, “Don’t fool the kid”, he looked at David almost challengingly.
This time, David hung his head. He was assaulted by the memories of his talk with Gitano about getting a job as one of his boys. To think what could have happened if he hadn't met Villa first...
“Hey”, someone nudged his arm, “You wanna smoke one?”
Shaking his head slightly to escape the grim thoughts, he saw Paco holding something out to him, something resembling a cigarette but not quite.
“No, thanks”, he worried as his lip, “I’d rather be sober for that”, he almost laughed at his attempt to keep himself in character.
“Suit yourself, you’re going to start soon enough”, Toni declared when Paco made a crestfallen face.
“And trust me, you’d rather not be sober”, Bibi wrung her arms around his neck, “You don’t want to remember your first time, darling, I’m telling you, I was a virgin too when I started-”
“I’m not a virgin”, David protested hotly as if it fucking mattered, as if he didn’t sound like a daft high school kid boasting that he had already had sex.
“Good for you”, Panecito smiled tightly, “When I told my first pimp that I’d never done it before he told me I could either find someone soon to take care of that, that he could take care of that though he wasn’t exactly feeling like touching me or I could wait for a client. The first two wouldn’t have made me feel any less of a whore than the third one.”
“And pay-days?”, Bibi caught on, “I was always scared shitless of seeing him, I never fucking knew if he was going to kiss me or knife me!”
“Knife you?”, David took an unconscious step back.
“Not me or her, but a lot of people ended this way”, Panecito sighed, “He was one crazy psycho.”
“But you didn’t even think of fucking cheating him like Navas, eh?”, Toni chuckled darkly.
“No one in their right mind would cheat Gitano”, Bibi all but whined, “I’ll never forget how that bastard sold me to that sicko just because I wanted a week off when I was ill!”
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Fábio had already exhausted himself with walking from one side of the alley to another plus he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure if Özil men wouldn’t get pisssed with him throwing himself from corner to corner so he was doing his best to sit still on a small pile of bricks.
David had been gone for over two hours. It was too long. It was too long and the Canarian was all alone and probably scared, not knowing what to do and how to behave, and if anything happened to him Villa would have his head.
There wouldn’t be many doubts about whose idea it was. And even if there were, it would be easier to punish him rather than David.
He really, truly wanted to be there with Silvita. Silvita was bright, hell, he was a genius compared to Fábio even though it still didn’t give him justice but he could sometimes act as if he didn’t know anything about the world.
Though… He did know enough to realise a junkie couldn’t be trusted. It hadn’t taken him long to come to a conclusion that he must have stolen that fucking money, just because he apparently had to pay for his drugs. Never mind he didn’t. Never mind he wasn’t allowed to have that much money, never mind he fucking loved Silvita like no one else in his life, he had been fucking risking his hide all that time, hiding more and more from Ronaldo and making sure to never, ever, give him any information on David…
He closed his eyes, relaxing against a building behind him. Worrying would get him nothing. He had no control over what David was going to learn and what he was going to do with that knowledge. If he truly found the mole, then it would be better for them all to get rid of him. It would be. Honestly. Where would he be himself without Cristiano? Dying in some ditch or long dead? No matter how sourly it tasted on his tongue, he must prefer to see that unknown person, as David had put it, gone, rather than Cristiano getting arrested. Cristiano and David. He was sure Villa had already secured it that once he was brought down, David would be dragged with him. The man had never let go of anything he considered his, unless it had been his own decision to part with it.
He felt his hands shake and reluctantly, he glanced at them.
Talking about feeling, he felt like shit. His head ached. His belly hurt. He was almost sure there was something eating him from the inside and his arms were itching, the crooks of his arms burning and he knew very well what they all wanted. Needed.
What he needed.
He took a peek at the back door he had been escorted through. Still no side of David.
Fuck, what if he had decided to get out some other way? Left him there in his hurry to run back to Villa? He wouldn’t dare ask, Özil didn’t seem to rejoice at his presence in his office.
Huh, since when anyone did. They all wanted him gone from their sight, all but David. David liked to keep him close as long as the drugs didn’t come up. He wondered if one day, Silvita would disagree to take him back because of them.
The last time he had fucked up so much that Cristiano had kept him craving for over a week he had been positive he had been dying. Later, he had promised and begged and sworn he would never mess up like that and had more or less managed not to.
But maybe, if it meant that Silvita would keep him, he was going to stay off the drugs long enough to get clean.
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“If you wish, Boss, we could go and rough him up a bit.”
Mesut’s head jerked up at one of his men’s voice and he almost demanded to know what on Earth had possessed him to suggest a thing like that but then he realised he had his gun in his hands.
Shit, he must have taken it out while watching Cristiano’s junkie.
Ashamed with being caught at that show of unfunded jealousy, he quickly put the gun back into the holster.
“Leave him be”, he sighed, pinching his nose. The kid wasn’t responsible for Cristiano’s actions. He couldn’t be made pay for them, no matter how alluring it seemed.
He had just enough time to inspect the blonde one last time when his phone buzzed.
“Özil”, he left the boy to his own devices.
“Ronaldo”, he heard from the other side and had few very hard seconds to school his features into naturally indifferent.
“Why, hello-”, he started only to be cut short with an irritated huff.
“It’s not a private call, for fuck’s sake”, the Portuguese tone dripped of mocking and Mesut gritted his teeth, “It’s about the King’s Cargo.”
“What about it?”, Mesut didn’t quite know what to make of Ronaldo’s clipped voice. As the man never talked to him those days, he had little comparison material, “It was supposed to arrive this evening, wasn’t it?”
“It was only it apparently hasn’t fucking arrived”, Cristiano sounded ready to bite some heads off, “Your men were there to oversee the transport.”
“And Kaká”, Mesut was already standing up, collecting his stuff and reaching for a jacket, “We were providing a safe way to Barcelona, nothing more-”
“Come to the Lolita”, Ronaldo interrupted with a growl, “Kaká’s already on his way, and with a good explanation if he knows what’s good for him too.”
Mesut nodded, on some level relieved that Ronaldo and Villa were blaming the Brazilian rather than him because for now he had no idea what may have gone wrong. He had sent his most trusted men there. Sure, they weren’t numerous but, for Allah’s sake, they had only been there to bribe their friendly customs duty control, not to pilot the ships.
“I’m leaving”, he motioned for the men to follow him, then, when he was opening the door, he cussed, “Fuck, wait, I need to take care of something first”, he needed to get that Villa’s boy out.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing”, he was already walking into the main room, “I’m calling Sami right away.”
“Just hurry up.”
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He scanned the room with frustration, the boy nowhere in sight. If he had got into trouble and the security hadn’t thought of informing him-
Oh, there he was. Huh, seemed that he had made some friends, given the fact he was surrounded by a tight circle of whores. Maybe he actually knew what he was doing.
He made his way towards them, not even reacting to apologies spluttered by people he was crashing into.
“Hey”, he called out when he was close enough to be heard, suddenly remembering they hadn’t come up with any way in which he was to call the boy, “Small and fluffy, we’re going”, he gestured for the boy to follow him.
He saw the boy took several steps in his direction, but so fucking slowly he really didn’t have time for it.
“Get going”, he grabbed his arm and the guanche yelped, reeling slightly back, “Hurry up”, he had no idea how Villa dealt with a kid who was this jumpy, especially given the man’s infamously rough handling of his bed-warmers.
Because he himself derived no pleasure from arousing terror in people who were of no threat to him, he loosened the hold on the Canarian as soon as he was sure he was trotting after him docilely.
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“David, finally, pá”, Fábio jumped to his feet when a small figure exited the club.
He didn’t know what to do when Silvita threw himself onto him and burst into tears, so he just hugged him awkwardly.
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David let himself be led to the nearest metro station and then onto a right train, though to be totally honest he wasn’t all that sure where it was heading to or which direction he considered right at the moment, probably the Canarias or better yet, Antarctica, pathetically grateful that the blonde wasn’t asking any questions but slightly irritated with the knowing look in his soft brown eyes.
He didn’t deserve being looked at with softness, certainly not by Fábio whose experience with Gitano and the rest was similar to that of Toni or Bibi…
He didn’t resist being pulled to the back of the train, didn’t register the dark scowls the other passengers were sending him… He realised how they had to look like though: he in his tight clothes and painted eyes, the black kohl now smeared all over his cheeks, hiccupping with tears and hanging onto Fábio’s thin frame, the blonde appearing more and more panicked with every passing second, fighting to keep them both up, propping David straight despite his trembling hands… They fucking looked like what they were.
“Sit down there, pá”, Fábio himself sounded close to tears when he managed to deposit him onto a seat with the last burst of strength.
David sagged down and against a window, hiding his face in a corner between the seat and the glass.
For some time, they were both silent, trying to catch their breath.
“Ora… You alright, é?”, he felt a light touch on his forearm and looked down only to see Fábio shyly petting his skin there.
He had rolled his sleeves up which meant that he was either that hot or that nervous, because when something was eating at him, the Portuguese would forget about being careful with hiding the track marks.
David glanced around, searching for something that would prevent him from answering that question because while he was positive he was everything but alright he didn’t intend to share his reasons with anyone. That would equal acknowledging them.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask”, he began in a whisper, “Who’s Victoria?”
“Victoria?”, Fábio repeated, withdrawing his bold hand.
“From your tattoo?”, David clarified, catching the blonde’s forearm for an emphasis.
“Aah”, Fábio’s arm stilled between his fingers, “A Vitória”, he corrected gently.
“Vitória”, David did his best to copy the pronunciation, “Who’s she?”
Fábio’s eyes fluttered close as he leaned back, resting his head on the seat. He was quiet for so long that David had lost all hope for getting an answer.
“She’s my daughter”, came a barely audible confession.
“What?”, David started, mouth agape, “A daughter? You’ve got a daughter?”
“Suitably scandalised”, Fábio snorted and he blushed, “No, not a daughter, luckily I haven’t hurt any children by being their father”, he scratched his hair, “I just keep calling her that, pois? She’s a daughter of my friend, a best friend I used to have as a kid, pá.”
“Oh, I see…”, David didn’t, not really, “Can I meet her?”, he didn’t really know how to proceed, Fábio had never mentioned anything about his childhood before other than that his father was a fisherman.
“She lives in Portugal”, Fábio shrugged, “I haven’t seen her for years.”
“Why do you have her name tattooed then?”, David frowned.
“Because”, the blonde waved his hands, “Look, I did it soon after she was born, pois? Her mum, Andreia, was my best friend… Actually, she was my borther’s friend, she’s some four-five years older than me”, David hid his surprise at learning that Fábio had a brother, “I had that monstrous crush on her when I was like, nine”, he snickered, “She valiantly dealt with my advances then. Then she somehow managed to get it into my thick childish skull that she wasn’t interested in dating a guy who still found football much more exciting than girls. I still maintained that we’re going to marry each other one day and have beautiful children”, he shook his head.
“You grew out of that?”, he himself had never had any ideas about girls but he knew some people needed more time to figure out who and what was for them.
“I guess, pá”, Fábio pursed his lips minutely, “We fell out, so to speak, later”, he didn’t offer anything more, “But she still asked me to be a godfather when Vitória was born. Her husband didn’t approve, though, he’d never been very accepting of me…”, he trailed off, scratching at a crook of his elbow and David got the clue, “So I just bought her this enormous bear but didn’t come to the church…”
“I’m-”
“Ó, pá, our station!”, Fábio sprang to his feet, pulling David after him.
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“Where are we going?”, David couldn’t recognise the street.
“There’s a 24-hour petrol station just around the corner”, Fábio pointed ahead, “You can take a shower there, pois?”
David shuddered and it had nothing to do with the night air. It was suffocating-ly hot.
“I’d rather do it at your place”, he suggested, tugging at the blonde’s sleeve.
“So would I, pá”, Fábio didn’t even slow down, “Only, fuck, I don’t have a place.”
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Cesc inched closer to the door and crouched down there, painstakingly slowly, careful not to produce the smallest of sounds. From there he could hear almost every single word uttered downstairs and judging by the voices, everyone had already arrived.
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“I warned you I may not be able to secure this year’s transport for you”, Kaká stared straight back into Cristiano’s blazing eyes, “You should have put more effort into that, not everything’s going to be as you want it to just because you’re Cristiano Ronaldo.”
Cristiano wished he could ask Guaje what was so fucking funny that he was arching his eyebrow like that. It was his damn money they had lost too.
“This year, El Tigre’s offer was simply better, and he had been negotiating for months. My boss wouldn’t be swayed by my insistence that you’ve been working with us since forever”, Kaká discreetly adjusted his tie, “I’m sure the situation would have gone differently had Villa participated in those talks himself.”
“Sorry, drugs are his field”, Villa gestured with his chin to Ronaldo.
Kaká gave a non-committal grunt, then glanced to Cristiano with keen eyes.
“Is there something you’d like to add?”, he inquired.
“Yes”, Cristiano barely managed to stop himself from cursing the damn pristine Brazilian to hell and back, “Could you please stop calling this bastard El fucking Tigre? We all fucking know that Jesus-obsessed fucker’s Falcao!”, he whirled back when he heard the first signs of someone cracking up.
Bento and Villa. Fucking figures.
“So, now that Ronaldo’s got his frustrations with never earning himself a scary nickname out of his system, could we proceed with ensuring that the next transport will land safely in Barcelona?”, the lawyer calmly addressed Kaká.
“Of course”, the Brazilian assured smoothly, “The King’s Cargo is more of a token than a real profit, therefore I didn’t find it that necessary to argue your case. Where the cocaine is concerned, however, I guarantee it will be for your hands only”, he nodded courteously towards Cristiano.
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When they were finished, Cesc promptly scurried back to a bed, covering himself with a blanket but leaving one leg sticking out invitingly from underneath it, pretending to be fast asleep.
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“Head up, Ronaldo”, Villa brusquely patted his shoulder, “At least with Falcao we know it had nothing to do with Figo.”
Cristiano did pick his head up, but only to glare down at the Asturian.
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The door crept open. One, two, three…
“What the hell are you doing here?”, the blanket was jerked away, exposing his nude skin, “What the fuck did I tell you about staying here?”, Navas grabbed his arm in a bruising hold and threw him out of the bed.
“That I’m welcome to, as long as I pay for a room?”, he grinned cheekily and seductively at the same time, reaching out to caress the man’s sides.
His head snapped to the right with the force of the blow.
“I told you to get the fuck out, you stupid whore”, the Andalusian growled, backing him into a corner.
“But you always say so, and then you let me stay…”, Cesc pouted.
“Get out”, Navas took a good hold of him and dragged him towards the door, “Get out before I do something I may regret.”
“But, Chus, my clothes”, Cesc tried to bend down to pick up his discarded jeans and a shirt but only earned himself a second swift slap.
Once he was out of the door, Navas grabbed his stuff but didn’t hand it back to him until he had escorted him down the stairs and out of the club.
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Putting his clothes back behind a dustbin was degrading in the ways Cesc didn’t even wish to begin to ponder. Fortunately he was done before anyone could walk on him, not that there was a lot of nightlife in this particular part of the barrio.
Fishing out his mobile, he started to type a message to Mr Iker.
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A/N Please, give me feedback ;)