Los Gatos 8/? part 2
Title: Los Gatos (Chapter 8)
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Villa/Silva, others
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I certainly don't claim any of that has ever happened.
Chapter 8 part 2
He didn’t run to Villa’s flat. He flew to it.
“Your heart’s fluttering like a bird”, the man pushed him against the wall as soon as he stepped in, “Been hurrying to me?”
“Just from work”, David teased with his eyes lowered, then watched closely for a reaction from underneath his fringe.
Villa smirked and picked him up.
“Let me change your mind”, he began to nib at David’s neck, “Pay attention”, he bit harder, efficiently rendering him incoherent, “When you make me hear what I want to hear, you get a reward…”
“A-and when I don’t?”, David completely relaxed. Villa’s pretended aggressiveness was familiar and much preferred to Casillas’ not-so-faux one.
“Then I get angry”, the man had already moved them to the bedroom, “Like when you don’t answer my calls”, he pushed David onto the bed.
Hard.
For a second, David didn’t know what to do. Villa looked positively pissed. He had seen Gitano furious like that, gun-threatening-backhanding furious, but that was Villa, not the pimp. He may be terrified of the Andalusian, he may have been petrified of Casillas who had the law behind him, but Villa? A man he slept with almost every night?
“I left my mobile in the club”, he shrugged to alleviate the tension. Which didn’t seem to work with Villa who just crossed his arms. Just like his father used to when he would try to visit Kun before vacuuming, “I realised it when I was already at the metro. I decided I’d rather go to you than back”, he ended with a shy smile, stretching himself on the bed, “Come on”, he giggled at the glaring man, “You act like my parent.”
“An old, wrinkled parent?”, the corner of Villa’s mouth twitched.
“Yeah”, the weight disappeared from David’s heart, “Do something about it.”
God, he must be still high on the adrenaline, he would have never made a come-on like that otherwise. Villa didn’t comment, but must have found it strange too. Instead of pouncing on him as usual, he kept on appraising him with gleaming eyes.
“You can start with getting me drunk”, David licked his lips, remembering their first time.
“And end up with an alcohol poisoning case?”, Villa snorted. His face remained devoid of any emotion, which was a little disturbing. Sure that his facial expressions were those from a Greek play on a normal day, but at least he tended to scowl occasionally. This stone-carved concentration made David more self-aware than catcalls at Insomnia.
“You could oversee it”, he slipped off the bed and approached the man steadily. He could sympathise with matadors now, “I wouldn’t take more than you give me”, he blushed, because it was a strangely fitting declaration. He hadn’t asked for a millimetre more than the man had been giving from the moment they’d met.
Villa grabbed him and tilted his face up. It was like looking at a face of a god. A being that held life and death in his hands. And he hadn’t even drunk a glass yet.
“No, you wouldn’t”, the man kissed him, surprisingly gently.
Then he just went away.
David almost fell over at the sudden loss of contact but realised that Villa was going through a cabinet in the living room. He returned with a bottle of scotch which he now knew from Reina was one of the best in the country.
“No glasses?”, David pouted because he kind of wanted to show Villa his new-found bartender skills.
“No”, Villa opened the bottle, “Cool young people drink straight from the bottle, don’t they?”, he sounded awfully pleased with the fact David could never in billion years qualify as a ‘cool young person’.
“I guess”, he giggled awkwardly when the man took a big swing.
“So”, Villa put the scotch aside, “Let me demonstrate you exactly how much energy I still have left”, he pushed the boy onto the mattress.
Maybe David should have clarified that he’d never doubted the man’s prowess.
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He felt the mattress dip and unwillingly opened his eyes. He had a massive headache but had to admit the scotch had nothing to do with it - that was, it’d been Villa who’d drunk 90% of it.
And was apparently more than ready to face the day, while David spontaneously decided to take a day-off. It was 10 a.m. so it’d be probably polite to inform Valverde he wouldn’t be coming today, in case the man hadn’t deduced that in the past two hours.
He whined in protest when Villa nuzzled at his cheek.
“Go away”, he moaned, then snickered, “You’re itching…”
“You don’t like my stubble”, he was flipped onto his back, his hands pinned above his head. Villa shouldn’t really take everything that personally, even though he honestly resembled a Wood Man.
“It’s… Funny”, he tried placatingly, “Will take some time to get used to…”
“You said my perilla was funny too”, the man pointed out.
Oh. Oh. So Villa had grown his beard to appease him? It was almost… Cute. Of course the man would never admit it, so he just hid it with extreme solemnity in his heart.
“You may always shave me back”, Villa continued at David looked at him as if he’d lost his brain in favour of the beard, “Get up”, he was being picked up.
For a moment, he just hugged the man tightly and enjoyed the warm solidity of his chest. Then it hit him they were indeed nearing the bathroom so he started to wriggle. Villa just shook him into complacence (he obviously didn’t know it actually hurt David a bit) and lowered onto a bath edge.
He was watching with growing trepidation as the man located shaving cream and a razor.
A razor. Who used razors these days? David always bought some woman depilatory cream himself, which was saying something about his facial hair quality and his trust in his motor skills.
“I’m not going to stab you with that”, Villa arched an eyebrow at him, “In fact”, he crouched in front of David, “You’re going to wield it.”
The boy began to object but a razor found itself in his hand.
“Come on, cream first”, Villa sprayed it on David’s other hand, “Fucking look at me”, he growled and forced David’s head into its desired place.
David looked at him apologetically and began to apply the cream. Talk about a short temper.
“Wait”, he stuttered and almost put his finger in Villa’s nose when the man sighed in impatience, “I mean, what about your work?”
“I don’t have a meeting till one”, Villa snapped, “Get down to it.”
It wasn’t very helpful that Villa had manoeuvred them so now David was sitting onto his lap and felt every single muscle in his thighs. It was… Distracting.
“I don’t know how to use a razor”, he blurted, “I don’t want to hurt you…”
“That’s a sweet sentiment”, Villa’s eyes warmed up, “But you can’t shy from everything till death”, he didn’t mind David’s skittishness before, “Here”, he took a hold of David’s wrist, “I’ll show you”, he all but purred.
David had to concede that it wasn’t that hard with the man guiding his hand. It was almost… Pleasant, seeing how the black hair vanished from Villa’s face, leaving it clean and soft.
“Now on your own”, the man released his wrist and put his both hand around David’s waist.
The boy blushed at the touch, but carefully continued the shaving. He was allowed to shape the infamous perilla how he pleased, Villa’s only demand being that he still had it in the end. He aimed for something most similar to the one the man had had at Insomnia that fateful night, automatically reminiscing how he had moved then, unsure yet controlled, lost yet arrogant…
“What’re you smiling at?”
He jumped, startled by the question. The razor met the skin at the wrong angle and blood immediately pooled from the cut.
“Virgin!”, David let go of the razor. It scattered to the floor, clinking on the tiles in the silence that descended.
Villa touched his chin. His hand came back entirely red.
“I’m so sorry”, David squeaked, “I’ll get a towel, I mean, I didn’t want to, I told you it’s going to happen, Virgin, is it going to scar?”, he babbled as the man simply inspected the cut in the mirror, “I’m so sorry, shall I get a first aid kit? Do you have a first aid kit? Where? I’m sorry…”
“Shut up”, Villa ordered calmly.
David froze. The man walked up to him.
“It’s a cut. A small cut”, he snorted, “Have you heard of someone dying from a shaving cut? I believe I may survive too.”
David smiled uncomfortably.
“You may always kiss it better”, Villa pulled him to himself, “And hope I won’t call the insurance company.”
David giggled at that because he doubted an insurance company would find it a case worthy of attention and obediently kissed the cut. The taste of blood scathed his tongue. He knew it was an exaggeration, but it felt as if he’d spilt somebody’s blood.That if you added it to the interrogation stunt, it amounted to crossing some line.
Villa chuckled and kissed him back, unwittingly sharing the blood and he wondered if there’d be a coming back to the right side of that line.
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“What the hell happened to you?”, Sergio demanded at the sight of a cut on Guaje’s face. The boss hadn’t cut himself in years.
“Silvita happened”, Villa’s hand went to the cut, “The thing’s gonna scar.”
“What the fuck was he doing with something sharp near your face?”, he wasn’t letting it go. Guaje wanted to keep a pet, fine with him. But pets should have some boundaries and the little guanche was slowly turning into a lapdog that didn’t know the word ‘no’. He wanted to pretend to be independent, Guaje permitted him to play at Insomnia, he wanted to try a new cuisine, Guaje reserved tables, he wanted to spend every night with him, Guaje took him and let him sleep at his side.
“Shaving me”, Villa’s tone implied ‘drop it’.
As if ever.
“What!? You let Silvita-I-trip-on-my-own-foot shave you? You’ve lost you fucking mind?”, the kid would probably puncture an artery with his luck.
“Not enough since I still realise you should be paying a visit to Navas now”, Guaje deadpanned.
Navas could fucking wait. He did nothing but sleep and fuck around anyway, he doubted he could ever interrupt him.
“Villa”, Sergio grabbed his boss’ shoulders, ignoring the scowl, “I understand you like him. He’s a great pet material, I get it. But have it crossed your fucking mind he may hurt you?”
“I’ve known him for months”, Guaje shrugged his hands off, “I know what to expect from him…”
“And what if he actually meant to hurt you!?”, Sergio exploded. He and fucking Piqué were breaking their fucking backs to ensure Villa’s safety, spent hours trying to plan the bodyguards’ schedule without Guaje’s knowledge and protests and he simply went and gave a stranger a blade and let him put it to his neck!?
“Silvita?”, Villa gave him an infuriatingly incredulous stare, “He wouldn’t wittingly hurt a fly.”
But unwittingly he’d burn a house down.
“That’s the impression he’s fucking giving”, Sergio insisted as he couldn’t really bang his boss’ head, “Villa”, he tried to calm down, “You can’t trust him.”
“Of course I can”, Villa smirked, “He loves me.”
Oh please, fucking not that.
“No”, he hissed, “He loves a fucking ad exec who takes him places and barks but never bites. Not a man who kills without barking.”
“Why, that was almost poetical of you, Ramos”, Villa chuckled, “Stop worrying about fucking Silvita, he’s mine, okay?”, he fished out his mobile, “Will that calm you down?”
Reluctantly, Sergio scanned the presented text.
“Who sent that?”
“My friend”, Villa must have meant his hacker, “So, you see, Silvita may actually prove useful for more than warming my bed.”
“Maybe”, Sergio was far from convinced, but try reasoning with a mix between a bull and a mule. He sometimes suspected the sole reason why everyone listened to Villa was because arguing with him was as successful as re-rooting a mountain, “He has a potential. You’re gonna encourage it?”
“He’s already far further down that he thinks”, Villa shrugged.
That he could buy. He’d been watching Silvita closely and noticed the increasing influence of Villa: his convictions put into different words, his gestures copied in a gentler manner. But that he had lied to Casillas and tricked the whole Bureau was unexpected. Silvita did have a potential.
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As he thought, finding Navas was easy. He always hang out at the same places and never did anything useful in Sergio’s eyes but Villa insisted that his innate diplomacy could prove more efficient than Callejón’s preferred method of scaring or beating the whores into submission. Maybe they both lacked experience, as Pepe had suggested once, but they’d better gain it quickly or he’d be more convincing in advocating against them.
His pimping days were long over, but he could remember well that he’d got very fast when to threaten, when to negotiate and when to hit. They feared and felt protected by him which ensured complete loyalty and few problems. It’d been almost a piece of cake unless you took Morientes’ constant supervision under consideration. Fearing for your life 24/7 was a pretty bitter cake.
“Nothing”, he summarized the impromptu report of Navas.
“Look, Gitano, I’m trying, okay?”, Navas sounded as if he meant it and Sergio suspected he did.
“How are you fucking trying in that shithole?”, not even Gatito would wander into such a sleazy bar.
“I’m taking a break”, that was Navas’ main defect, “But trust me, I’m collecting evidence.”
“You have a day to contribute something fucking useful”, Sergio could do nothing more, “If you don’t, we’ll talk a bit differently”, he knew that it was most likely impossible to determine which whore was a mole in a day, but that may still make Navas move his fucking arse.
“Sure, Gitano”, Navas got the implication.
As soon as the other man disappeared, someone stepped out from the shadowy booth of the club.
“We’ve got a day?”, the man-boy slipped onto a seat next to Navas.
“Yeah… You’ve got something?”
“I’m talking with the guys”, the other shrugged, “I can’t be too open about it, but they’re disclosing some information, more or less…”
“Good”, Navas gave him a peck on the lips, “You’re doing great, Cescito.”
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Sergio entertained the thought of driving to Insomnia but he suspected that Reina may not be in a mood to talk after a battle he must have had with Guaje, so he just stopped on a deserted car park.
He took a bag from the back and changed quickly, his dark attire replaced by a pair of green jeans and a navy blue hoodie. He had always liked bright colours but they hardly befitted his position. Still, they were perfect for a role he was intending to play. He was unsure about the earrings, in the end he took them out. Better safe than sorry.
He rolled his old clothes up and hid in the bag. Then, he drove off towards a building of a certain magazine.
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He left the car and walked to the right street. Really, Niño had been very helpful with providing all that information about his ‘girlfriend’. All that had been missing had been her name, but it hadn’t been that hard to find a woman working for a fashion magazine, of slight built, who had recently written an article about the newest baroque-inspired collection of Dolce and Gabbana. He had had to buy a ridiculous number of fashion magazines but he was more than willing to sacrifice few hours of his life to going through them if that gave him a chance with Niño.
Sometime after two, Miss Olalla Domínguez exited the building in a company of three friends. He waited till they passed him, then ran after them. He neared them enough to be heard, then stopped, took a few steps forwards and stopped again. Then, positive he had made a show of being shy and uncertain, he called out.
“Miss Domínguez?”
Olalla immediately turned to him, a small smile on her face. She was just as Niño had said, vibrant with energy and friendly. All the better for him.
“I’m Sergio Ramos”, it had been so long since he had had to introduce himself that it was refreshing. He didn't have to fear being recognised - he had it from a trustworthy source that Niño never, ever, discussed work with anyone, “I have a… Favour to ask from you…”, he glanced to the other women, implying it was a favour not meant for the strangers’ ears.
“Uhm… Sure”, Olalla left her friends’ side and came to him, “Has something happened?”
“No”, he hastily assured, “It’s about Fernando… He’s your friend, right?”
Her expression turned alarmed.
“God, something’s wrong with Nando?”
He liked that diminutive. It couldn’t rival Niño, but it was something to replace it with from time to time.
“No, no, no”, he even added a hands wave, “It’s just that…”, she visibly relaxed, “We’ve been kind of meeting for a while…”
“Meeting?”, her eyes lit up, “You’re his boyfriend?”
He knew it was a good idea to seek her out.
“Not exactly”, he saw her face fell a little, “But I’d really like to ask him out. You see, we’ve been seeing each other almost every day in this café and just when I worked up the nerve to make the first move he stopped coming”, he grinned lop-sidedly at his awful timing.
“You haven’t even talked to him?”, Olalla had a crestfallen expression, “You’re as hopeless as him!”
“We have talked”, Sergio clarified. It was true - they had talked quite a lot, “But I’d like to get to know him better and now I don’t know how to find him… Could you perhaps give me his e-mail or a number?”, he prayed Olalla wasn’t over-cautious.
“Of course!”, she clapped her hands, “I’m sorry”, she folded them in front of her, “I’m just so happy he’s finally found himself a date! He’s such a great guy, honestly, but so shy around people… You seem to have boldness for the two of you, though”, she elbowed him and winked.
“Oh”, he shook his head, “You don’t begin to imagine how much nerves it cost me to speak up to you…”
“Exactly!”, she put her hand on her hip, “How did you find me?”
He’d gone through all the fashion magazines in Spain.
“Fernando mentioned you once or twice. He said you’re his best friend”, he applied a tone of voice of a person who wanted to do a very good first impression on his future-maybe-boyfriend’s best friend.
“I guess I am”, she accepted the explanation, “Here, let me give you his number”, she took out her mobile and read Niño’s number aloud.
Sergio had to bite his cheek to stop a self-satisfied grin from forming. It was better to act pathetically grateful for now.
“I wish you all the luck in the world”, Olalla straightened her dress, “But I have to go. My parents are coming tonight and my flat looks as if something’s exploded there.”
Sergio laughed. He could like this girl.
“In that case, I’ll give you a ride. I know something about parents’ visit”, mostly that he had to act like a respectable businessman around his mother.
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He didn’t want to be rude to the girl and point it out, but he had fucking told her that the Gran Vía would be completely blocked at that hour.
“Don’t you know of some short-cut or something?”, they finally crawled to a cross-road.
“Sorry, I just take the metro”, Olalla had opened the window and was now leaning halfway through it.
“We’ll try this way”, he turned right. They would get to her housing estate from the other side but everything was better than the Gran Atasco.
They were driving up a one-way street when suddenly a car going at full speed appeared in front of them.
Olalla shrieked. Sergio jerked the steering wheel left, missing the car by an inch but crashing straight into a letter box.
“Fuck!”, he fought with the seat belt to jump out of the car, hand automatically going for a hidden gun.
Too late. The other car was already too far away to notice the plate or the make. A silver sedan meant nothing but at least it wasn’t coming back.
“Fuck”, he repeated when he noticed the smashed hood of his SUV. Who the hell would have thought a fucking letter box could do such a damage.
“Oh my God”, Olalla had to prop herself on the car to stay up, “Oh. My. God.”
“You alright?”, he guessed that breaking a car couldn’t compare to ‘breaking’ Niño’s friend.
“I think so”, she primped her hair shakily, “You’ve got quite a reflex.”
“I still hit the only obstacle in the whole fucking street”, he noticed with contempt that beside the damn letter box there was nothing else on the pavement. Not even trees.
Olalla followed his line of sight and began to laugh hysterically. There went a good first impression.
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“Let’s play”, Alexis hopped from somewhere with a pack of cards.
They were having their customary siesta time so of course Alexis wanted to play. He always wanted to play cards. David suspected he derived unspeakably pleasure from beating him on regular basis.
“Later”, he replied empathetically because they had far more pressing things to do, namely repairing the coffee machine that had started to leak. Fortunately it had been Valverde who had most probably broken it.
“Well”, Alexis didn’t relent, “It’s not physically possible for the three of us to be repairing it at the same time.”
“Don’t let me be in your way”, Fábio stuck his bleached head out of the insides of the machine.
David shook his head. Ever since the Portuguese had taken to visiting him at Mestalla Alexis had been doing his best to show him he wasn’t welcome. Although, he had agreed that he probably stood the greatest chance at fixing the coffee machine.
“Do you know what’s leaking?”, David hurried to his side in hopes of preventing another quarrel. The worst was the allow them to get started. The Portuguese never knew when to back down and Alexis loved to provoke him.
“This”, Fábio stretched a tiny pipe.
“What’s that?”
“Fuck if I know”, the Portuguese gave it an experimental tug, “But it’s connected to the thing that controls the water pressure…”
“So why is the leaking water brown?”, Alexis interjected.
“Because it’s fucking rusty”, Fábio pushed him to the machine by his shirt.
Rusty. Virgin. Good that the customers hadn’t known.
“Can you do something with it?”, the Portuguese might have been elected to fix it but David had no delusions who would be the lucky one to inform Valverde of their failure. Especially since technically, Fábio shouldn’t even be there.
“I’d rather not”, the blonde inspected the pipe for the last time, “I may do it wrong, it’ll be better to just call the service. You have a guarantee?”
“Maybe Valverde”, Alexis shrugged, “So you can’t fix it”, he threw arrogantly, “David, you’re up for a game?”
David honestly didn’t wish to lose again. He had only twenty euros left and he could invest them better than in a card game.
“I’m in”, Fábio snatched the cards from Alexis’ hands.
The waiter scowled at that but was too bored to object. Maybe he rejoiced at the prospect of beating the loud Portuguese.
David calmly returned to segregating the coffee bags. That was a perfect solution in his opinion.
“Silvita, lend me a twenty.”
Or maybe not.
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The second part of the shift went as well as one could have expected with Valverde realising the guarantee had expired last month and Alexis losing a hundred to Fábio. Somehow they both blamed him for those.
He fled from the café as if the Devil himself was at his heels.
“Ó pá!”, a hand grabbed him when he was scurrying down the street.
He had somehow grown used to being manhandled by now, so he didn’t even yelp. People seemed to be under impression he couldn’t listen without a physical prompting.
“Fábio”, he breathed in relief because he had also come to identify tattooed arms with Gitano.
“Your cash”, the blonde pushed some bills into David’s pocket.
“But you won it”, he protested, “Or rather, cheated Alexis out of it”, he chuckled at the memory of the waiter’s indignant face.
“It was yours to begin with and he didn't catch me”, the Portuguese shrugged, “Don’t tell me you have too much money”, he knew damn well he didn’t, David had explained his situation to Fábio in all painful details.
He just didn’t get it how the blonde could be so charitable. He always gave him everything, from sweets to newspapers he had read. He had even finally solved the mystery of the Mestalla’s bat (with additional notes on how pathetic David was for not asking anyone earlier, because not knowing something was less idiotic than purposefully staying in the dark). Thanks to him David had also learnt that he had been using the longest route from his flat to Mestalla possible.
“Come on, you can treat me to an ice-cream”, Fábio grinned and hugged him, steering him towards a small ice-cream shop.
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“You’re free tonight, não és?”
They were walking down the street, licking their sweets leisurely. They had no reason to hurry up: Villa had been out of the city again and Fábio… Well, David had never seen Fábio anything other than completely chilled-out.
“Yeah”, David caught a chocolate drop running down his thumb.
“I’ll pick you up at eight, bem?”
“Sure”, since he had come to Madrid he hadn’t gone out with a friend once. Alexis obviously didn’t count because going out with a friend implied they didn’t ditch you the moment a pretty girl appeared on the horizon.
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They didn’t go to a club or anything like that because David was still weary of them. Fábio didn’t seem to mind just fooling around, ordering ice-cream at every corner shop, watching lights and street performers.
“The first on the other side gets a beer!”, Fábio pointed to a rectangular fountain cutting a small square in half.
David was opening his mouth to explain he wasn’t really into running, but the Portuguese was already jumping on the fountain’s edge. He followed him in an energetic march, not keen on causing his knee to hurt.
He was halfway through his side of the fountain when he heard a loud splash. Giggling, he trotted to the ‘winning line’ just in case Fábio objected to his victory, then went to help the Portuguese get out of the fountain.
He got a mouthful of cold water to his face for the trouble.
“You look like a drowned cat”, he laughed wiping off his eyes, “Only cats usually fall onto four legs…”
“Ha-ha-ha, I’m dying of laughter here”, Fábio ran a hand through his hair, making it stick to his forehead.
“Maybe you’d better go home”, funny as it was, he didn’t fancy seeing the blonde catching a cold.
“The wind will help me dry. I promised to show you the bridge, não?”
The Portuguese had been adamant about taking him to some bridge that, according to him, was a wonderful setting for the Titanic scenes. David hadn’t had the heart to tell him he had never watched the film till the end, always freaking out the moment the ship hit the iceberg.
But he had to admit the bridge was breath-taking. Rather small, old, maybe from the 19th century, decorated with subtle ornaments and lightened by ten solitary lamps. In the middle of it there was a kind of a pedestal overlooking the river.
His blood ran cold when Fábio pulled himself up onto it.
“See? Just like the Titanic!”, he outstretched his arms. Maybe the effect would have been more captivating had his clothes been dry and David less frightened.
“Just like it”, the other hastily reassured, “Can you come down now?”, he added in a weak tone.
The blonde did a pirouette to face him. David was so going to kill him, unless he fell into the river first.
“Nope”, he showed him his tongue and rolled up his sleeves, “You’re coming up!”, he crouched and gave David his hand.
He must be mad. David was nauseous from just seeing him up there.
And David must be even madder for taking his hand.
“And hop!”, he got pulled onto the pedestal.
From up there it wasn’t all that high. And actually quite wide, it would take some trying to lose one’s footing on it.
“You can’t be afraid of fucking everything”, the blonde was arranging them into a ‘Jack&Rose’ pose, “You’re so bright, you should know what’s truly dangerous…”
“I have a fear of heights, just so you knew”, David pushed himself closer to Fábio, “If I have a heart attack you’ll be personally responsible for- What’s that?”, he caught a flash of something on the other’s forearm. It definitely wasn’t a tattoo.
Fábio’s eyes flickered to the crook of his elbow, then he looked up straight into David’s face.
“You know what’s that”, he stated simply.
David would have rather heard a negation.
“Drugs?”, he stepped back from the blonde suddenly feeling betrayed, “You’re selling yourself for drugs?”
“I’m not a whore”, Fábio had a nerve to sound insulted.
It’s nice to know he held such disgust for people like David. And he had thought he had finally found a friend in Madrid who shared at least a part of his life.
“Sure I put out once in a while, but I’m no hooker”, the blonde carried on, “I’m a bit better than that.”
“You’re constantly at Insomnia, I thought…”, David hugged himself. It was chilly up there, funny he only noticed it now.
“Silvita-”, Fábio started.
“Don’t call me that!”
“David”, the blonde snapped, “Or shall I call you Mr Silva?”, why so venomous?, “I go to Insomnia to bring Gitano news or carry some info from him back. Of course as he’s been recently trying to kill me after you almost set the club on fire I had to keep my fucking head down!”
“News?”, the pieces fell into place, “So Casillas was right to want to arrest you!”, Virgin, he had though he’d been helping an innocent in a sticky situation just like him, “You’re willingly aiding criminals for drugs!?”
“As if you’re any better, you lapdog”, Fábio opened his arms but his voice turned incredulous, “What did you tell them? ‘No, Mr Officer, I don’t know this sexy dark man but I’m sure I’d run away at the mere sight of him, certainly not straight into his arms’!?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”, David’s mouth fell open. Was he being accused of sleeping with Gitano?
“I’m not going to let you treat me like shit”, Fábio lost some of his previous venom, “I thought that you of all people would…”
“Would what?”, David cut in, his own anger raising, “Like you? I believed I did, but excuse me for not approving of doing drugs and helping mafiosos”, he lowered himself from the pedestal, furiously blinking the tears away, “I may have sold myself to Gitano, but I’d never hang out with a criminal on my own free will!”, Fábio seemed ready to interject, so he continued marching away, “I certainly wished I hadn’t helped you then, you junkie!”
"David, I didn't-"
The blonde was shouting something after him but he tuned him off, all but fleeing from the bridge. How deep into the underground had he sunken to be surrounded by criminals only? Drugs, prostitutes, police? What would he do if Villa ever found out?
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A/N Thoughts, anyone?
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Villa/Silva, others
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I certainly don't claim any of that has ever happened.
Chapter 8 part 2
He didn’t run to Villa’s flat. He flew to it.
“Your heart’s fluttering like a bird”, the man pushed him against the wall as soon as he stepped in, “Been hurrying to me?”
“Just from work”, David teased with his eyes lowered, then watched closely for a reaction from underneath his fringe.
Villa smirked and picked him up.
“Let me change your mind”, he began to nib at David’s neck, “Pay attention”, he bit harder, efficiently rendering him incoherent, “When you make me hear what I want to hear, you get a reward…”
“A-and when I don’t?”, David completely relaxed. Villa’s pretended aggressiveness was familiar and much preferred to Casillas’ not-so-faux one.
“Then I get angry”, the man had already moved them to the bedroom, “Like when you don’t answer my calls”, he pushed David onto the bed.
Hard.
For a second, David didn’t know what to do. Villa looked positively pissed. He had seen Gitano furious like that, gun-threatening-backhanding furious, but that was Villa, not the pimp. He may be terrified of the Andalusian, he may have been petrified of Casillas who had the law behind him, but Villa? A man he slept with almost every night?
“I left my mobile in the club”, he shrugged to alleviate the tension. Which didn’t seem to work with Villa who just crossed his arms. Just like his father used to when he would try to visit Kun before vacuuming, “I realised it when I was already at the metro. I decided I’d rather go to you than back”, he ended with a shy smile, stretching himself on the bed, “Come on”, he giggled at the glaring man, “You act like my parent.”
“An old, wrinkled parent?”, the corner of Villa’s mouth twitched.
“Yeah”, the weight disappeared from David’s heart, “Do something about it.”
God, he must be still high on the adrenaline, he would have never made a come-on like that otherwise. Villa didn’t comment, but must have found it strange too. Instead of pouncing on him as usual, he kept on appraising him with gleaming eyes.
“You can start with getting me drunk”, David licked his lips, remembering their first time.
“And end up with an alcohol poisoning case?”, Villa snorted. His face remained devoid of any emotion, which was a little disturbing. Sure that his facial expressions were those from a Greek play on a normal day, but at least he tended to scowl occasionally. This stone-carved concentration made David more self-aware than catcalls at Insomnia.
“You could oversee it”, he slipped off the bed and approached the man steadily. He could sympathise with matadors now, “I wouldn’t take more than you give me”, he blushed, because it was a strangely fitting declaration. He hadn’t asked for a millimetre more than the man had been giving from the moment they’d met.
Villa grabbed him and tilted his face up. It was like looking at a face of a god. A being that held life and death in his hands. And he hadn’t even drunk a glass yet.
“No, you wouldn’t”, the man kissed him, surprisingly gently.
Then he just went away.
David almost fell over at the sudden loss of contact but realised that Villa was going through a cabinet in the living room. He returned with a bottle of scotch which he now knew from Reina was one of the best in the country.
“No glasses?”, David pouted because he kind of wanted to show Villa his new-found bartender skills.
“No”, Villa opened the bottle, “Cool young people drink straight from the bottle, don’t they?”, he sounded awfully pleased with the fact David could never in billion years qualify as a ‘cool young person’.
“I guess”, he giggled awkwardly when the man took a big swing.
“So”, Villa put the scotch aside, “Let me demonstrate you exactly how much energy I still have left”, he pushed the boy onto the mattress.
Maybe David should have clarified that he’d never doubted the man’s prowess.
.............................................................................................................................
He felt the mattress dip and unwillingly opened his eyes. He had a massive headache but had to admit the scotch had nothing to do with it - that was, it’d been Villa who’d drunk 90% of it.
And was apparently more than ready to face the day, while David spontaneously decided to take a day-off. It was 10 a.m. so it’d be probably polite to inform Valverde he wouldn’t be coming today, in case the man hadn’t deduced that in the past two hours.
He whined in protest when Villa nuzzled at his cheek.
“Go away”, he moaned, then snickered, “You’re itching…”
“You don’t like my stubble”, he was flipped onto his back, his hands pinned above his head. Villa shouldn’t really take everything that personally, even though he honestly resembled a Wood Man.
“It’s… Funny”, he tried placatingly, “Will take some time to get used to…”
“You said my perilla was funny too”, the man pointed out.
Oh. Oh. So Villa had grown his beard to appease him? It was almost… Cute. Of course the man would never admit it, so he just hid it with extreme solemnity in his heart.
“You may always shave me back”, Villa continued at David looked at him as if he’d lost his brain in favour of the beard, “Get up”, he was being picked up.
For a moment, he just hugged the man tightly and enjoyed the warm solidity of his chest. Then it hit him they were indeed nearing the bathroom so he started to wriggle. Villa just shook him into complacence (he obviously didn’t know it actually hurt David a bit) and lowered onto a bath edge.
He was watching with growing trepidation as the man located shaving cream and a razor.
A razor. Who used razors these days? David always bought some woman depilatory cream himself, which was saying something about his facial hair quality and his trust in his motor skills.
“I’m not going to stab you with that”, Villa arched an eyebrow at him, “In fact”, he crouched in front of David, “You’re going to wield it.”
The boy began to object but a razor found itself in his hand.
“Come on, cream first”, Villa sprayed it on David’s other hand, “Fucking look at me”, he growled and forced David’s head into its desired place.
David looked at him apologetically and began to apply the cream. Talk about a short temper.
“Wait”, he stuttered and almost put his finger in Villa’s nose when the man sighed in impatience, “I mean, what about your work?”
“I don’t have a meeting till one”, Villa snapped, “Get down to it.”
It wasn’t very helpful that Villa had manoeuvred them so now David was sitting onto his lap and felt every single muscle in his thighs. It was… Distracting.
“I don’t know how to use a razor”, he blurted, “I don’t want to hurt you…”
“That’s a sweet sentiment”, Villa’s eyes warmed up, “But you can’t shy from everything till death”, he didn’t mind David’s skittishness before, “Here”, he took a hold of David’s wrist, “I’ll show you”, he all but purred.
David had to concede that it wasn’t that hard with the man guiding his hand. It was almost… Pleasant, seeing how the black hair vanished from Villa’s face, leaving it clean and soft.
“Now on your own”, the man released his wrist and put his both hand around David’s waist.
The boy blushed at the touch, but carefully continued the shaving. He was allowed to shape the infamous perilla how he pleased, Villa’s only demand being that he still had it in the end. He aimed for something most similar to the one the man had had at Insomnia that fateful night, automatically reminiscing how he had moved then, unsure yet controlled, lost yet arrogant…
“What’re you smiling at?”
He jumped, startled by the question. The razor met the skin at the wrong angle and blood immediately pooled from the cut.
“Virgin!”, David let go of the razor. It scattered to the floor, clinking on the tiles in the silence that descended.
Villa touched his chin. His hand came back entirely red.
“I’m so sorry”, David squeaked, “I’ll get a towel, I mean, I didn’t want to, I told you it’s going to happen, Virgin, is it going to scar?”, he babbled as the man simply inspected the cut in the mirror, “I’m so sorry, shall I get a first aid kit? Do you have a first aid kit? Where? I’m sorry…”
“Shut up”, Villa ordered calmly.
David froze. The man walked up to him.
“It’s a cut. A small cut”, he snorted, “Have you heard of someone dying from a shaving cut? I believe I may survive too.”
David smiled uncomfortably.
“You may always kiss it better”, Villa pulled him to himself, “And hope I won’t call the insurance company.”
David giggled at that because he doubted an insurance company would find it a case worthy of attention and obediently kissed the cut. The taste of blood scathed his tongue. He knew it was an exaggeration, but it felt as if he’d spilt somebody’s blood.That if you added it to the interrogation stunt, it amounted to crossing some line.
Villa chuckled and kissed him back, unwittingly sharing the blood and he wondered if there’d be a coming back to the right side of that line.
...............................................................................................
“What the hell happened to you?”, Sergio demanded at the sight of a cut on Guaje’s face. The boss hadn’t cut himself in years.
“Silvita happened”, Villa’s hand went to the cut, “The thing’s gonna scar.”
“What the fuck was he doing with something sharp near your face?”, he wasn’t letting it go. Guaje wanted to keep a pet, fine with him. But pets should have some boundaries and the little guanche was slowly turning into a lapdog that didn’t know the word ‘no’. He wanted to pretend to be independent, Guaje permitted him to play at Insomnia, he wanted to try a new cuisine, Guaje reserved tables, he wanted to spend every night with him, Guaje took him and let him sleep at his side.
“Shaving me”, Villa’s tone implied ‘drop it’.
As if ever.
“What!? You let Silvita-I-trip-on-my-own-foot shave you? You’ve lost you fucking mind?”, the kid would probably puncture an artery with his luck.
“Not enough since I still realise you should be paying a visit to Navas now”, Guaje deadpanned.
Navas could fucking wait. He did nothing but sleep and fuck around anyway, he doubted he could ever interrupt him.
“Villa”, Sergio grabbed his boss’ shoulders, ignoring the scowl, “I understand you like him. He’s a great pet material, I get it. But have it crossed your fucking mind he may hurt you?”
“I’ve known him for months”, Guaje shrugged his hands off, “I know what to expect from him…”
“And what if he actually meant to hurt you!?”, Sergio exploded. He and fucking Piqué were breaking their fucking backs to ensure Villa’s safety, spent hours trying to plan the bodyguards’ schedule without Guaje’s knowledge and protests and he simply went and gave a stranger a blade and let him put it to his neck!?
“Silvita?”, Villa gave him an infuriatingly incredulous stare, “He wouldn’t wittingly hurt a fly.”
But unwittingly he’d burn a house down.
“That’s the impression he’s fucking giving”, Sergio insisted as he couldn’t really bang his boss’ head, “Villa”, he tried to calm down, “You can’t trust him.”
“Of course I can”, Villa smirked, “He loves me.”
Oh please, fucking not that.
“No”, he hissed, “He loves a fucking ad exec who takes him places and barks but never bites. Not a man who kills without barking.”
“Why, that was almost poetical of you, Ramos”, Villa chuckled, “Stop worrying about fucking Silvita, he’s mine, okay?”, he fished out his mobile, “Will that calm you down?”
Reluctantly, Sergio scanned the presented text.
“Who sent that?”
“My friend”, Villa must have meant his hacker, “So, you see, Silvita may actually prove useful for more than warming my bed.”
“Maybe”, Sergio was far from convinced, but try reasoning with a mix between a bull and a mule. He sometimes suspected the sole reason why everyone listened to Villa was because arguing with him was as successful as re-rooting a mountain, “He has a potential. You’re gonna encourage it?”
“He’s already far further down that he thinks”, Villa shrugged.
That he could buy. He’d been watching Silvita closely and noticed the increasing influence of Villa: his convictions put into different words, his gestures copied in a gentler manner. But that he had lied to Casillas and tricked the whole Bureau was unexpected. Silvita did have a potential.
.....................................................................................................................................
As he thought, finding Navas was easy. He always hang out at the same places and never did anything useful in Sergio’s eyes but Villa insisted that his innate diplomacy could prove more efficient than Callejón’s preferred method of scaring or beating the whores into submission. Maybe they both lacked experience, as Pepe had suggested once, but they’d better gain it quickly or he’d be more convincing in advocating against them.
His pimping days were long over, but he could remember well that he’d got very fast when to threaten, when to negotiate and when to hit. They feared and felt protected by him which ensured complete loyalty and few problems. It’d been almost a piece of cake unless you took Morientes’ constant supervision under consideration. Fearing for your life 24/7 was a pretty bitter cake.
“Nothing”, he summarized the impromptu report of Navas.
“Look, Gitano, I’m trying, okay?”, Navas sounded as if he meant it and Sergio suspected he did.
“How are you fucking trying in that shithole?”, not even Gatito would wander into such a sleazy bar.
“I’m taking a break”, that was Navas’ main defect, “But trust me, I’m collecting evidence.”
“You have a day to contribute something fucking useful”, Sergio could do nothing more, “If you don’t, we’ll talk a bit differently”, he knew that it was most likely impossible to determine which whore was a mole in a day, but that may still make Navas move his fucking arse.
“Sure, Gitano”, Navas got the implication.
As soon as the other man disappeared, someone stepped out from the shadowy booth of the club.
“We’ve got a day?”, the man-boy slipped onto a seat next to Navas.
“Yeah… You’ve got something?”
“I’m talking with the guys”, the other shrugged, “I can’t be too open about it, but they’re disclosing some information, more or less…”
“Good”, Navas gave him a peck on the lips, “You’re doing great, Cescito.”
.............................................................................................................
Sergio entertained the thought of driving to Insomnia but he suspected that Reina may not be in a mood to talk after a battle he must have had with Guaje, so he just stopped on a deserted car park.
He took a bag from the back and changed quickly, his dark attire replaced by a pair of green jeans and a navy blue hoodie. He had always liked bright colours but they hardly befitted his position. Still, they were perfect for a role he was intending to play. He was unsure about the earrings, in the end he took them out. Better safe than sorry.
He rolled his old clothes up and hid in the bag. Then, he drove off towards a building of a certain magazine.
........................................................................................................................
He left the car and walked to the right street. Really, Niño had been very helpful with providing all that information about his ‘girlfriend’. All that had been missing had been her name, but it hadn’t been that hard to find a woman working for a fashion magazine, of slight built, who had recently written an article about the newest baroque-inspired collection of Dolce and Gabbana. He had had to buy a ridiculous number of fashion magazines but he was more than willing to sacrifice few hours of his life to going through them if that gave him a chance with Niño.
Sometime after two, Miss Olalla Domínguez exited the building in a company of three friends. He waited till they passed him, then ran after them. He neared them enough to be heard, then stopped, took a few steps forwards and stopped again. Then, positive he had made a show of being shy and uncertain, he called out.
“Miss Domínguez?”
Olalla immediately turned to him, a small smile on her face. She was just as Niño had said, vibrant with energy and friendly. All the better for him.
“I’m Sergio Ramos”, it had been so long since he had had to introduce himself that it was refreshing. He didn't have to fear being recognised - he had it from a trustworthy source that Niño never, ever, discussed work with anyone, “I have a… Favour to ask from you…”, he glanced to the other women, implying it was a favour not meant for the strangers’ ears.
“Uhm… Sure”, Olalla left her friends’ side and came to him, “Has something happened?”
“No”, he hastily assured, “It’s about Fernando… He’s your friend, right?”
Her expression turned alarmed.
“God, something’s wrong with Nando?”
He liked that diminutive. It couldn’t rival Niño, but it was something to replace it with from time to time.
“No, no, no”, he even added a hands wave, “It’s just that…”, she visibly relaxed, “We’ve been kind of meeting for a while…”
“Meeting?”, her eyes lit up, “You’re his boyfriend?”
He knew it was a good idea to seek her out.
“Not exactly”, he saw her face fell a little, “But I’d really like to ask him out. You see, we’ve been seeing each other almost every day in this café and just when I worked up the nerve to make the first move he stopped coming”, he grinned lop-sidedly at his awful timing.
“You haven’t even talked to him?”, Olalla had a crestfallen expression, “You’re as hopeless as him!”
“We have talked”, Sergio clarified. It was true - they had talked quite a lot, “But I’d like to get to know him better and now I don’t know how to find him… Could you perhaps give me his e-mail or a number?”, he prayed Olalla wasn’t over-cautious.
“Of course!”, she clapped her hands, “I’m sorry”, she folded them in front of her, “I’m just so happy he’s finally found himself a date! He’s such a great guy, honestly, but so shy around people… You seem to have boldness for the two of you, though”, she elbowed him and winked.
“Oh”, he shook his head, “You don’t begin to imagine how much nerves it cost me to speak up to you…”
“Exactly!”, she put her hand on her hip, “How did you find me?”
He’d gone through all the fashion magazines in Spain.
“Fernando mentioned you once or twice. He said you’re his best friend”, he applied a tone of voice of a person who wanted to do a very good first impression on his future-maybe-boyfriend’s best friend.
“I guess I am”, she accepted the explanation, “Here, let me give you his number”, she took out her mobile and read Niño’s number aloud.
Sergio had to bite his cheek to stop a self-satisfied grin from forming. It was better to act pathetically grateful for now.
“I wish you all the luck in the world”, Olalla straightened her dress, “But I have to go. My parents are coming tonight and my flat looks as if something’s exploded there.”
Sergio laughed. He could like this girl.
“In that case, I’ll give you a ride. I know something about parents’ visit”, mostly that he had to act like a respectable businessman around his mother.
......................................................................................................
He didn’t want to be rude to the girl and point it out, but he had fucking told her that the Gran Vía would be completely blocked at that hour.
“Don’t you know of some short-cut or something?”, they finally crawled to a cross-road.
“Sorry, I just take the metro”, Olalla had opened the window and was now leaning halfway through it.
“We’ll try this way”, he turned right. They would get to her housing estate from the other side but everything was better than the Gran Atasco.
They were driving up a one-way street when suddenly a car going at full speed appeared in front of them.
Olalla shrieked. Sergio jerked the steering wheel left, missing the car by an inch but crashing straight into a letter box.
“Fuck!”, he fought with the seat belt to jump out of the car, hand automatically going for a hidden gun.
Too late. The other car was already too far away to notice the plate or the make. A silver sedan meant nothing but at least it wasn’t coming back.
“Fuck”, he repeated when he noticed the smashed hood of his SUV. Who the hell would have thought a fucking letter box could do such a damage.
“Oh my God”, Olalla had to prop herself on the car to stay up, “Oh. My. God.”
“You alright?”, he guessed that breaking a car couldn’t compare to ‘breaking’ Niño’s friend.
“I think so”, she primped her hair shakily, “You’ve got quite a reflex.”
“I still hit the only obstacle in the whole fucking street”, he noticed with contempt that beside the damn letter box there was nothing else on the pavement. Not even trees.
Olalla followed his line of sight and began to laugh hysterically. There went a good first impression.
..................................................................................................................
“Let’s play”, Alexis hopped from somewhere with a pack of cards.
They were having their customary siesta time so of course Alexis wanted to play. He always wanted to play cards. David suspected he derived unspeakably pleasure from beating him on regular basis.
“Later”, he replied empathetically because they had far more pressing things to do, namely repairing the coffee machine that had started to leak. Fortunately it had been Valverde who had most probably broken it.
“Well”, Alexis didn’t relent, “It’s not physically possible for the three of us to be repairing it at the same time.”
“Don’t let me be in your way”, Fábio stuck his bleached head out of the insides of the machine.
David shook his head. Ever since the Portuguese had taken to visiting him at Mestalla Alexis had been doing his best to show him he wasn’t welcome. Although, he had agreed that he probably stood the greatest chance at fixing the coffee machine.
“Do you know what’s leaking?”, David hurried to his side in hopes of preventing another quarrel. The worst was the allow them to get started. The Portuguese never knew when to back down and Alexis loved to provoke him.
“This”, Fábio stretched a tiny pipe.
“What’s that?”
“Fuck if I know”, the Portuguese gave it an experimental tug, “But it’s connected to the thing that controls the water pressure…”
“So why is the leaking water brown?”, Alexis interjected.
“Because it’s fucking rusty”, Fábio pushed him to the machine by his shirt.
Rusty. Virgin. Good that the customers hadn’t known.
“Can you do something with it?”, the Portuguese might have been elected to fix it but David had no delusions who would be the lucky one to inform Valverde of their failure. Especially since technically, Fábio shouldn’t even be there.
“I’d rather not”, the blonde inspected the pipe for the last time, “I may do it wrong, it’ll be better to just call the service. You have a guarantee?”
“Maybe Valverde”, Alexis shrugged, “So you can’t fix it”, he threw arrogantly, “David, you’re up for a game?”
David honestly didn’t wish to lose again. He had only twenty euros left and he could invest them better than in a card game.
“I’m in”, Fábio snatched the cards from Alexis’ hands.
The waiter scowled at that but was too bored to object. Maybe he rejoiced at the prospect of beating the loud Portuguese.
David calmly returned to segregating the coffee bags. That was a perfect solution in his opinion.
“Silvita, lend me a twenty.”
Or maybe not.
.............................................................................................................
The second part of the shift went as well as one could have expected with Valverde realising the guarantee had expired last month and Alexis losing a hundred to Fábio. Somehow they both blamed him for those.
He fled from the café as if the Devil himself was at his heels.
“Ó pá!”, a hand grabbed him when he was scurrying down the street.
He had somehow grown used to being manhandled by now, so he didn’t even yelp. People seemed to be under impression he couldn’t listen without a physical prompting.
“Fábio”, he breathed in relief because he had also come to identify tattooed arms with Gitano.
“Your cash”, the blonde pushed some bills into David’s pocket.
“But you won it”, he protested, “Or rather, cheated Alexis out of it”, he chuckled at the memory of the waiter’s indignant face.
“It was yours to begin with and he didn't catch me”, the Portuguese shrugged, “Don’t tell me you have too much money”, he knew damn well he didn’t, David had explained his situation to Fábio in all painful details.
He just didn’t get it how the blonde could be so charitable. He always gave him everything, from sweets to newspapers he had read. He had even finally solved the mystery of the Mestalla’s bat (with additional notes on how pathetic David was for not asking anyone earlier, because not knowing something was less idiotic than purposefully staying in the dark). Thanks to him David had also learnt that he had been using the longest route from his flat to Mestalla possible.
“Come on, you can treat me to an ice-cream”, Fábio grinned and hugged him, steering him towards a small ice-cream shop.
.....................................................................................................................
“You’re free tonight, não és?”
They were walking down the street, licking their sweets leisurely. They had no reason to hurry up: Villa had been out of the city again and Fábio… Well, David had never seen Fábio anything other than completely chilled-out.
“Yeah”, David caught a chocolate drop running down his thumb.
“I’ll pick you up at eight, bem?”
“Sure”, since he had come to Madrid he hadn’t gone out with a friend once. Alexis obviously didn’t count because going out with a friend implied they didn’t ditch you the moment a pretty girl appeared on the horizon.
..............................................................................................................................................
They didn’t go to a club or anything like that because David was still weary of them. Fábio didn’t seem to mind just fooling around, ordering ice-cream at every corner shop, watching lights and street performers.
“The first on the other side gets a beer!”, Fábio pointed to a rectangular fountain cutting a small square in half.
David was opening his mouth to explain he wasn’t really into running, but the Portuguese was already jumping on the fountain’s edge. He followed him in an energetic march, not keen on causing his knee to hurt.
He was halfway through his side of the fountain when he heard a loud splash. Giggling, he trotted to the ‘winning line’ just in case Fábio objected to his victory, then went to help the Portuguese get out of the fountain.
He got a mouthful of cold water to his face for the trouble.
“You look like a drowned cat”, he laughed wiping off his eyes, “Only cats usually fall onto four legs…”
“Ha-ha-ha, I’m dying of laughter here”, Fábio ran a hand through his hair, making it stick to his forehead.
“Maybe you’d better go home”, funny as it was, he didn’t fancy seeing the blonde catching a cold.
“The wind will help me dry. I promised to show you the bridge, não?”
The Portuguese had been adamant about taking him to some bridge that, according to him, was a wonderful setting for the Titanic scenes. David hadn’t had the heart to tell him he had never watched the film till the end, always freaking out the moment the ship hit the iceberg.
But he had to admit the bridge was breath-taking. Rather small, old, maybe from the 19th century, decorated with subtle ornaments and lightened by ten solitary lamps. In the middle of it there was a kind of a pedestal overlooking the river.
His blood ran cold when Fábio pulled himself up onto it.
“See? Just like the Titanic!”, he outstretched his arms. Maybe the effect would have been more captivating had his clothes been dry and David less frightened.
“Just like it”, the other hastily reassured, “Can you come down now?”, he added in a weak tone.
The blonde did a pirouette to face him. David was so going to kill him, unless he fell into the river first.
“Nope”, he showed him his tongue and rolled up his sleeves, “You’re coming up!”, he crouched and gave David his hand.
He must be mad. David was nauseous from just seeing him up there.
And David must be even madder for taking his hand.
“And hop!”, he got pulled onto the pedestal.
From up there it wasn’t all that high. And actually quite wide, it would take some trying to lose one’s footing on it.
“You can’t be afraid of fucking everything”, the blonde was arranging them into a ‘Jack&Rose’ pose, “You’re so bright, you should know what’s truly dangerous…”
“I have a fear of heights, just so you knew”, David pushed himself closer to Fábio, “If I have a heart attack you’ll be personally responsible for- What’s that?”, he caught a flash of something on the other’s forearm. It definitely wasn’t a tattoo.
Fábio’s eyes flickered to the crook of his elbow, then he looked up straight into David’s face.
“You know what’s that”, he stated simply.
David would have rather heard a negation.
“Drugs?”, he stepped back from the blonde suddenly feeling betrayed, “You’re selling yourself for drugs?”
“I’m not a whore”, Fábio had a nerve to sound insulted.
It’s nice to know he held such disgust for people like David. And he had thought he had finally found a friend in Madrid who shared at least a part of his life.
“Sure I put out once in a while, but I’m no hooker”, the blonde carried on, “I’m a bit better than that.”
“You’re constantly at Insomnia, I thought…”, David hugged himself. It was chilly up there, funny he only noticed it now.
“Silvita-”, Fábio started.
“Don’t call me that!”
“David”, the blonde snapped, “Or shall I call you Mr Silva?”, why so venomous?, “I go to Insomnia to bring Gitano news or carry some info from him back. Of course as he’s been recently trying to kill me after you almost set the club on fire I had to keep my fucking head down!”
“News?”, the pieces fell into place, “So Casillas was right to want to arrest you!”, Virgin, he had though he’d been helping an innocent in a sticky situation just like him, “You’re willingly aiding criminals for drugs!?”
“As if you’re any better, you lapdog”, Fábio opened his arms but his voice turned incredulous, “What did you tell them? ‘No, Mr Officer, I don’t know this sexy dark man but I’m sure I’d run away at the mere sight of him, certainly not straight into his arms’!?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”, David’s mouth fell open. Was he being accused of sleeping with Gitano?
“I’m not going to let you treat me like shit”, Fábio lost some of his previous venom, “I thought that you of all people would…”
“Would what?”, David cut in, his own anger raising, “Like you? I believed I did, but excuse me for not approving of doing drugs and helping mafiosos”, he lowered himself from the pedestal, furiously blinking the tears away, “I may have sold myself to Gitano, but I’d never hang out with a criminal on my own free will!”, Fábio seemed ready to interject, so he continued marching away, “I certainly wished I hadn’t helped you then, you junkie!”
"David, I didn't-"
The blonde was shouting something after him but he tuned him off, all but fleeing from the bridge. How deep into the underground had he sunken to be surrounded by criminals only? Drugs, prostitutes, police? What would he do if Villa ever found out?
........................................................................
A/N Thoughts, anyone?