Come back when you can
Chapter Nine
Pairing and characters: Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard; Daniel Agger, Martin Skrtel, Esteban Granero, Harry Kewell. Other characters mentioned (like Jüergen Klopp... and some others).
Type: is an AU based in real events of someone's life... adapted for this fandom.
Rating: R... in general... still...
Disclaimer: This is just for fun ok? There's not others intentions.
Doing the beta thing ... an_only_tree
~.~
“We’re half-awake in a fake empire…”
~.~
6 years earlier…
Steven’s saying goodbye to Dan and Martin by the front door. They spent a good part of the afternoon moving Steven’s things to his new flat, an exercise in spending most of the afternoon indulging in beer and pizza in the flat since Steven only has a couple of boxes and two big suitcases with all his clothes, on top of most of his stuff he’d previously brought in with Xabi’s help. Dan teases Steven about being an official, by the letter, yuppie now, complete with chic apartment and in the near future minimalistic (for sure) furniture, considering his boyfriend's tastes. He whispers “Please, let him do the decorating…” before he goes. Martin just chuckles at it, possibly imagining Steven buying drapes, and Steven sees both of them out with his middle finger up in the air and a smile on his face.
He goes upstairs, inhaling the new place smell, the aroma of second floor in the heart of East London. The rent is not cheap at all, but he’s got a job that pays well enough to give him the liberty to rent a place in this part of the city. It’s a small flat, but it suits him, according to Xabi’s verdict when they went to look at it.
Before Harry decided to pop the question to Sheree, which Steven still suspects was done under duress, they shared an even smaller flat for a while after graduation, so Steven’s glad to have a bit more space for himself.
Settled in London after university wasn’t exactly where he’d seen himself in the immediate future, but Steven’s learning that there’s certain rungs up the ladder you just can’t skip in your career and when it comes down to it, it’s not too bad at all. He actually likes his job, he’s still learning a lot and he can wait for his big opportunity. He’s patient enough. And there’s… Xabi; and that’s a good enough reason for Steven to be seriously contemplating his priorities. He knows for a fact that he wants Xabi in his life, in this present. Steven feels secretly relieved that he doesn’t need to reconcile Xabi with his professional ambitions. Mostly because there’s nothing irresistible enough to at least make him think about it... yet.
He’s not waiting for such a break either… yet.
For his reassurance, having a sight of Xabi walking barefoot around his apartment, hands on his hips, probably mentally decorating it right now… Steven actually can have this every day from here on and not regret anything. He’s actually convinced of that.
He closes the door and Xabi turns his gaze to him, hands now in his pockets, the look in his eyes reflecting on what it seems to be an important announcement, like he’s measuring his words before letting them slip from his mouth.
-“You definitely need a big couch.”
The quietness of the place is slightly interrupted by Steven’s laughter.
-“What? I’m serious; you have too much empty space. You need a sofa and a coffee table.”
-“Why do I need those things for? I like having empty space instead of all of Harry’s shit piled up everywhere for a change,”- Steven says while Xabi walks to him and circles his waist with his arms, hiding his face into Steven’s neck.
-“Well if you need a practical reason, we can fuck on the sofa.”
-“And the coffee table?”
-“Probably not sturdy enough. Isn’t it obvious, Esteban Jorge? That’s for coffee!” - Xabi’s mumbling into the skin of his neck tickles Steven.
-“I’ll think about it.”
-“I’ll buy the sofa. It’ll be my open house gift for you,”- Xabi looks at his boyfriend as his whole face stretches into a smile.
-“Ok then…”- They share a kiss before Xabi walks to the boxes and start to open one of it.
-“And you need a bookshelf too. Where are you going to put these?”
Steven’s stopped paying attention the moment he’s parted with Xabi’s lips. He’s grabbing from his pocket another set of keys, fiddling with the key ring hard enough to drive it into the skin of his palm.
-“Steven?”
-“Just leave it there.”
-“Ok, but what about the other box? I think that’s the stuff for your bedroom,”- Xabi says and Steven thinks fuck it and throws him the keys. Xabi catches them in mid-air.
-“We’ll worry about that later, once you move your stuff in here.”
Xabi blinks a couple of times then stares at the set of keys in his hand and then back to Steven.
-“It’s close to the University and to your magazine office too. And you’d probably spend most of your free time here anyway. I know that’s not a problem for your Dad, but why pay for a dorm that’s not getting much use anyway?”
-“Are you really sure about this Steven?”
He walks over to Xabi and kisses him hard by way of an answer. It’s what he wants now.
And that’s it.
That’s it all it takes for Xabi to convince himself that it’s enough to believe in what you want to believe.
Xabi feels the air escaping from his lungs at last after who knows how long. He feels like he lost a stone off his shoulders and from the look that Steven gives to him, he’s fairly sure that Steven was not blind to the thoughts that were weighing him down lately. He starts to kiss Steven back with the same heated intent.
-“We definitely need a sofa then.”
Steven chuckles against Xabi’s mouth, hands under his sweater, the warmth of Xabi’s skin enveloping him in instant comfort.
He has a home now, with Xabi. And it feels so right.
~.~
Steven lazily drags his feet down the stairs to the kitchen, his body still shaking off the last traces of too many hours of sleep. The only reason he’s mustered enough energy to shuffle out of bed is the divine smell of coffee and toast drifting in from the kitchen. The growling in his stomach is the only thing separating him from the prospect of spending a whole day in bed for the first time in years. Or what’s left of the day anyway since it’s actually mid-morning.
He’s wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d found waiting for him in the bathroom, courtesy of Xabi. The clothes he was wearing the night before and which had been discarded and carelessly tossed around the apartment are now properly folded and placed on a chair in Xabi’s bedroom. Everything is spotless, except for the bed and Steven almost feels ashamed for leaving it unmade. Almost.
Some things truly never change.
Steven doesn’t count making the bed among his habits, which in another lifetime had led to plenty of arguments when Xabi moved in with him. It’s not like Steven’s a complete slob by any means, but Xabi takes being a neat freak to a new, sometimes exasperating level that didn’t make sharing living space with him a walk in the park. Steven figures some compulsive behaviours are obviously impossible to change, judging by what he sees on his way to the kitchen.
When he gets there, he’s reminded why putting up with Xabi’s OCD didn’t require that much of an effort anyway. Xabi’s seated at his kitchen table with a mug of black brew, reading the newspaper. His shoes are discarded under the table, his bare feet resting on the floor tiles. No matter the weather, no matter if it’s -40 degrees or humid English Novembers, Xabi would walk barefoot through his apartment if the floors were made out of the melting polar icecaps.
-“You’re going to catch pneumonia,” Steven says, biting his lip to swallow his smile. Xabi’s startled from his morning news, but when looks up and fucking beams...
Steven knows he’s fucked from now and always, till the end of time.
Irreversibly fucked.
-“Last time you were threatening me with bronchitis.”
-“If you ask me, this weather can give you the worst pneumonia ever, my God. And it’s just autumn.”
Xabi fills up a waiting mug with practiced ease and offers it to Steven, who’s getting very cosy standing between his legs, hands slipping under Xabi’s very fluffy and very warm grey sweeter, and breathing content into Xabi’s neck.
It’s so easy to fall again into this routine… so damn easy.
-“Morning, Steven… Did you sleep well?”
-“I did… thank you very much for asking.”
-“Are you hungry? I made Tortilla Española…”
Steven’s bent back straightens like a rod, leaving Xabi missing his touches under the sweater.
-“You made Tortilla?!?”- he exclaims, eyes wide and voice high-pitched - “Do you have any idea how desperate I was for it? I even tried to make it myself, that’s how bad.”
-“But you’re awful in the kitchen…”
-“Unmitigated disaster, yeah, but I missed it so I had to try… I’ve had worse, but not by much. Did you really make it?”
-“Yes, want some?”
Suddenly it feels so quiet, Steven’s just looking him like he’s missed every little detail in the lines of his face and the movement of his hands over coffee mugs over these past 4 years and he’s taking it all in again. He lifts Xabi from the chair and hugs him hard though not enough to hurt. He doesn’t want to crush his bones, although if he could, he really wants to just crawl inside him and stay there.
Well, Steven has both ideas and experience in how to approximate the sensation in a non-metaphorical way. He remembers what it feels like and he feels it right now.
So fucking… right.
The prospect suddenly frightens him a bit, but Xabi’s reassuring touches quell Steven’s nerves and unleash a different kind of hunger in him. He’s pushing Xabi towards the couch, his laughter filling the living room. His voice changes pretty soon to a deeper, raspier and more desperate register and Steven gets his wish granted.
And from there on, everything is definitely so easy.
~.~
A month later and Steven’s spent most of his free time in Xabi’s flat. His four suits, six pairs of jeans, stack of shirts and t-shirts, four pairs of shoes (including his running shoes) most of the underwear, socks, sweatpants, laptop, cologne… he’s practically moved into Xabi’s place.
He doesn’t have a fucking clue how that happened.
One thing is certain: he loves Xabi’s place. It’s a big apartment, allowing Xabi privacy for his studio and a pantry for the many spices and fifteen different types of sausage his friends bring him from Spain. The incorporated kitchen is the best part of the flat, Steven’s favourite place.
Steven finds that overtime is less and less a part of his routine. Sometimes he catches Xabi for lunch near the University or in their old cafeteria, the latter mostly lately. He likes having lunch there, even though it makes him feel old. Some days he spots Xabi deep in conversation with “Germany’s best export since David Hasselhoff”. Professor Klopp is still charming in his goofy way, with his utopic ideas of the world and his brightest smile, only his hairline’s migrated a little. Steven still teases Xabi about him, but he’d be hard pressed to find a reason not to have a mancrush on the German and Steven’s only human himself.
At home - (it feels like home anyway) - at Xabi’s, they mostly park themselves on the sofa for dinner or a movie, disagreeing on each other’s movie choice as a matter of principle. Depending on how much Scandinavian expressionism is involved when it’s Xabi’s turn, they fight for anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour and fuck for the rest of the night.
Some nights, their arguments reach new bitchiness levels that are a little too high even for their standards, like when they watch Heat and start treading on the minefield of De Niro vs. Pacino comparisons.
-“He directed Looking for Richard!”
-“So what? De Niro made A Bronx Tale,”- Steven strikes back at Xabi, utterly sure that he got this.
-“You have to admit the man has a spotty track record! Having Ben Stiller, a moose and a flying squirrel in your bright career… I mean, was that really necessary? A flying squirrel?”
-“Because having Bennifer in your fucking brilliant record is such a fantastic idea, right?”
Here Xabi looks lost.
-“What the fuck is a Bennifer?”
Oh fuck… it’s all Steven can think.
-“You know… Bennifer…”
-“No… I don’t.”
-“Uh… Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck… Bennifer.”
This is it…
Xabi effectively waves the red flag by sinking back on the couch, hands on his sides, and he starts to laugh hysterically until he’s beetroot red in the face. Steven thinks the five minutes it takes him to recover and breathe properly again last an eternity.
-“Wow, I definitely need to make better use of my time… I feel like such an uncultured swine, how could I miss that?”
-“Fuck you!”
-“Fuck me…”
-“Not if you’re going to keep insisting that Pacino is better than De Niro.”
-“Not that I believe that, but I’ll grant you that the Bennifer… it’s unbeatable and you actually look really and unbelievably fucking hot in those shorts…”
-“…”
Steven slides between Xabi’s legs, his grin mischievous and Xabi’s a little too impatient trying to rid him of whatever clothes he can get hold of.
-“You’re so easy Xabs. So, so easy!”
-“And you fucking love it so shut up and just… fuck…”
Incoherence is the only thing escaping from Xabi’s mouth while Steven’s mouth is full busy on him. The last half-articulate thought Xabi’ll remember from the rest of the night is: what else do you expect me to be around you when you’re like this?
~.~
They have the guys over for dinner and beers at least once a week and most Saturdays. Esteban makes a delicious callos a la madrileña and Juan is the official bartender with a seemingly endless cocktail recipe book. He also tries to teach Daniel, Martin and Steven Parchís. They all complain about Steven’s beginner’s luck, especially Daniel, whom Juan declares an absolute catastrophe. Steven gloats that the game simply requires an engineer’s precision; his hubris comes to back to bite him in the ass when Daniel cleans them out at poker. (Twats!)
They’re on their best behaviour at the birthday party Daniel throws for his son, even though Esteban, Xabi and Martin are all on different levels of terror during the entire event. Esteban is on TERROR ALERT red with Xabi not far behind him when they see their respective partners with at least two toddlers clinging to their legs at all times and having the time of their lives playing with water guns. It’s disturbingly difficult to pick out the adults in the crowd.
Xabi is trapped between wanting to run far, far away and the need to grab Steven on his way out and hold on tight. It’s a lot more clear cut for Esteban - he just wants to flee.
That night at home - at his flat- Xabi can’t sleep; Steven’s passed out snoring lightly, still smelling of birthday cake frosting and skinned knees and well, sure, it’s corny as hell to watch him sleep with a crooked smile on his face, but Xabi will let himself just this once when nobody can see him.
He makes no move to get into a more comfortable position until he falls asleep.
Steven wakes him up a couple of hours later, nibbling along his jaw.
They spend a good part of the day under the covers.
It’s Sunday, it’s been any given Sunday for months now.
~.~
A warning sing…
~.~
Ultimately, it goes like this: Steven feels happy. Stupidly, overwhelmingly happy.
He knows Xabi’s happy too.
And he also knows that theoretically it’s too good to be true.
Because in reality he’s just been promoted to Lead Coordinator of Technical Sales of his company, which means he’ll be permanently relocated to the US headquarters.
Three hours later, Steven’s still digesting the news. Mr. Rush personally called him into his office to shake his hand, congratulating Steven while his soon to be former boss, Mr. Rodgers, beamed proudly by his side. Steven took the envelope with trembling hands, said thank you and closed his office door behind him with his last ounce of energy before he slumped into his chair.
It’s not like he didn’t know that this would be a possibility. Of course he’s known it all along, from the moment he’d stepped onto the tarmac at Heathrow. Steven won’t lie to himself that another possibility was also at the back of his mind when he came back to London, he knew that chances were he’d see Xabi again. Being careful what you wish for had somehow escaped his mind.
Steven’s been here before and knew exactly what decision to make, knew what was best for him, screw what felt right or fair; that decision was made way before he’d ever met Xabi. And it had still ripped a part of him open to just stick to it.
It’s different this time.
Professionally speaking, it’s a hell of an opportunity. Being in charge of the whole department in the States, earning a lot of money and just one step from the Board? Before you’re even 35? If you’re not too stupid or crazy to say no, of course. Or if you have the most remote suspicion that it’s not what you really want…
Steven suddenly doesn’t know what he really wants and it’s killing him. He’s not like this, ever.
It’s almost 6; Xabi’s probably waiting for him.
He takes his cell phone and calls him.
-“I need to finish something here…”
-“No te preocupes, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you.”
If there was ever a motto for their relationship…
Steven hangs up the call and turns back to look out of the window. He stares into the London skyline for three hours straight.
He feels like he’s right back to the start… everything in his hands again.
And he can’t afford to make a mistake.
~.~
Fake empire damas y caballeros...
You probably know about Warning Sign right??
Glad to be back, buuuussssyyy times but there's only two chapters more so... and I'm working in the next one so...
Thank you so much for reading... this is so much fun!!
Pairing and characters: Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard; Daniel Agger, Martin Skrtel, Esteban Granero, Harry Kewell. Other characters mentioned (like Jüergen Klopp... and some others).
Type: is an AU based in real events of someone's life... adapted for this fandom.
Rating: R... in general... still...
Disclaimer: This is just for fun ok? There's not others intentions.
Doing the beta thing ... an_only_tree
~.~
“We’re half-awake in a fake empire…”
~.~
6 years earlier…
Steven’s saying goodbye to Dan and Martin by the front door. They spent a good part of the afternoon moving Steven’s things to his new flat, an exercise in spending most of the afternoon indulging in beer and pizza in the flat since Steven only has a couple of boxes and two big suitcases with all his clothes, on top of most of his stuff he’d previously brought in with Xabi’s help. Dan teases Steven about being an official, by the letter, yuppie now, complete with chic apartment and in the near future minimalistic (for sure) furniture, considering his boyfriend's tastes. He whispers “Please, let him do the decorating…” before he goes. Martin just chuckles at it, possibly imagining Steven buying drapes, and Steven sees both of them out with his middle finger up in the air and a smile on his face.
He goes upstairs, inhaling the new place smell, the aroma of second floor in the heart of East London. The rent is not cheap at all, but he’s got a job that pays well enough to give him the liberty to rent a place in this part of the city. It’s a small flat, but it suits him, according to Xabi’s verdict when they went to look at it.
Before Harry decided to pop the question to Sheree, which Steven still suspects was done under duress, they shared an even smaller flat for a while after graduation, so Steven’s glad to have a bit more space for himself.
Settled in London after university wasn’t exactly where he’d seen himself in the immediate future, but Steven’s learning that there’s certain rungs up the ladder you just can’t skip in your career and when it comes down to it, it’s not too bad at all. He actually likes his job, he’s still learning a lot and he can wait for his big opportunity. He’s patient enough. And there’s… Xabi; and that’s a good enough reason for Steven to be seriously contemplating his priorities. He knows for a fact that he wants Xabi in his life, in this present. Steven feels secretly relieved that he doesn’t need to reconcile Xabi with his professional ambitions. Mostly because there’s nothing irresistible enough to at least make him think about it... yet.
He’s not waiting for such a break either… yet.
For his reassurance, having a sight of Xabi walking barefoot around his apartment, hands on his hips, probably mentally decorating it right now… Steven actually can have this every day from here on and not regret anything. He’s actually convinced of that.
He closes the door and Xabi turns his gaze to him, hands now in his pockets, the look in his eyes reflecting on what it seems to be an important announcement, like he’s measuring his words before letting them slip from his mouth.
-“You definitely need a big couch.”
The quietness of the place is slightly interrupted by Steven’s laughter.
-“What? I’m serious; you have too much empty space. You need a sofa and a coffee table.”
-“Why do I need those things for? I like having empty space instead of all of Harry’s shit piled up everywhere for a change,”- Steven says while Xabi walks to him and circles his waist with his arms, hiding his face into Steven’s neck.
-“Well if you need a practical reason, we can fuck on the sofa.”
-“And the coffee table?”
-“Probably not sturdy enough. Isn’t it obvious, Esteban Jorge? That’s for coffee!” - Xabi’s mumbling into the skin of his neck tickles Steven.
-“I’ll think about it.”
-“I’ll buy the sofa. It’ll be my open house gift for you,”- Xabi looks at his boyfriend as his whole face stretches into a smile.
-“Ok then…”- They share a kiss before Xabi walks to the boxes and start to open one of it.
-“And you need a bookshelf too. Where are you going to put these?”
Steven’s stopped paying attention the moment he’s parted with Xabi’s lips. He’s grabbing from his pocket another set of keys, fiddling with the key ring hard enough to drive it into the skin of his palm.
-“Steven?”
-“Just leave it there.”
-“Ok, but what about the other box? I think that’s the stuff for your bedroom,”- Xabi says and Steven thinks fuck it and throws him the keys. Xabi catches them in mid-air.
-“We’ll worry about that later, once you move your stuff in here.”
Xabi blinks a couple of times then stares at the set of keys in his hand and then back to Steven.
-“It’s close to the University and to your magazine office too. And you’d probably spend most of your free time here anyway. I know that’s not a problem for your Dad, but why pay for a dorm that’s not getting much use anyway?”
-“Are you really sure about this Steven?”
He walks over to Xabi and kisses him hard by way of an answer. It’s what he wants now.
And that’s it.
That’s it all it takes for Xabi to convince himself that it’s enough to believe in what you want to believe.
Xabi feels the air escaping from his lungs at last after who knows how long. He feels like he lost a stone off his shoulders and from the look that Steven gives to him, he’s fairly sure that Steven was not blind to the thoughts that were weighing him down lately. He starts to kiss Steven back with the same heated intent.
-“We definitely need a sofa then.”
Steven chuckles against Xabi’s mouth, hands under his sweater, the warmth of Xabi’s skin enveloping him in instant comfort.
He has a home now, with Xabi. And it feels so right.
~.~
Steven lazily drags his feet down the stairs to the kitchen, his body still shaking off the last traces of too many hours of sleep. The only reason he’s mustered enough energy to shuffle out of bed is the divine smell of coffee and toast drifting in from the kitchen. The growling in his stomach is the only thing separating him from the prospect of spending a whole day in bed for the first time in years. Or what’s left of the day anyway since it’s actually mid-morning.
He’s wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d found waiting for him in the bathroom, courtesy of Xabi. The clothes he was wearing the night before and which had been discarded and carelessly tossed around the apartment are now properly folded and placed on a chair in Xabi’s bedroom. Everything is spotless, except for the bed and Steven almost feels ashamed for leaving it unmade. Almost.
Some things truly never change.
Steven doesn’t count making the bed among his habits, which in another lifetime had led to plenty of arguments when Xabi moved in with him. It’s not like Steven’s a complete slob by any means, but Xabi takes being a neat freak to a new, sometimes exasperating level that didn’t make sharing living space with him a walk in the park. Steven figures some compulsive behaviours are obviously impossible to change, judging by what he sees on his way to the kitchen.
When he gets there, he’s reminded why putting up with Xabi’s OCD didn’t require that much of an effort anyway. Xabi’s seated at his kitchen table with a mug of black brew, reading the newspaper. His shoes are discarded under the table, his bare feet resting on the floor tiles. No matter the weather, no matter if it’s -40 degrees or humid English Novembers, Xabi would walk barefoot through his apartment if the floors were made out of the melting polar icecaps.
-“You’re going to catch pneumonia,” Steven says, biting his lip to swallow his smile. Xabi’s startled from his morning news, but when looks up and fucking beams...
Steven knows he’s fucked from now and always, till the end of time.
Irreversibly fucked.
-“Last time you were threatening me with bronchitis.”
-“If you ask me, this weather can give you the worst pneumonia ever, my God. And it’s just autumn.”
Xabi fills up a waiting mug with practiced ease and offers it to Steven, who’s getting very cosy standing between his legs, hands slipping under Xabi’s very fluffy and very warm grey sweeter, and breathing content into Xabi’s neck.
It’s so easy to fall again into this routine… so damn easy.
-“Morning, Steven… Did you sleep well?”
-“I did… thank you very much for asking.”
-“Are you hungry? I made Tortilla Española…”
Steven’s bent back straightens like a rod, leaving Xabi missing his touches under the sweater.
-“You made Tortilla?!?”- he exclaims, eyes wide and voice high-pitched - “Do you have any idea how desperate I was for it? I even tried to make it myself, that’s how bad.”
-“But you’re awful in the kitchen…”
-“Unmitigated disaster, yeah, but I missed it so I had to try… I’ve had worse, but not by much. Did you really make it?”
-“Yes, want some?”
Suddenly it feels so quiet, Steven’s just looking him like he’s missed every little detail in the lines of his face and the movement of his hands over coffee mugs over these past 4 years and he’s taking it all in again. He lifts Xabi from the chair and hugs him hard though not enough to hurt. He doesn’t want to crush his bones, although if he could, he really wants to just crawl inside him and stay there.
Well, Steven has both ideas and experience in how to approximate the sensation in a non-metaphorical way. He remembers what it feels like and he feels it right now.
So fucking… right.
The prospect suddenly frightens him a bit, but Xabi’s reassuring touches quell Steven’s nerves and unleash a different kind of hunger in him. He’s pushing Xabi towards the couch, his laughter filling the living room. His voice changes pretty soon to a deeper, raspier and more desperate register and Steven gets his wish granted.
And from there on, everything is definitely so easy.
~.~
A month later and Steven’s spent most of his free time in Xabi’s flat. His four suits, six pairs of jeans, stack of shirts and t-shirts, four pairs of shoes (including his running shoes) most of the underwear, socks, sweatpants, laptop, cologne… he’s practically moved into Xabi’s place.
He doesn’t have a fucking clue how that happened.
One thing is certain: he loves Xabi’s place. It’s a big apartment, allowing Xabi privacy for his studio and a pantry for the many spices and fifteen different types of sausage his friends bring him from Spain. The incorporated kitchen is the best part of the flat, Steven’s favourite place.
Steven finds that overtime is less and less a part of his routine. Sometimes he catches Xabi for lunch near the University or in their old cafeteria, the latter mostly lately. He likes having lunch there, even though it makes him feel old. Some days he spots Xabi deep in conversation with “Germany’s best export since David Hasselhoff”. Professor Klopp is still charming in his goofy way, with his utopic ideas of the world and his brightest smile, only his hairline’s migrated a little. Steven still teases Xabi about him, but he’d be hard pressed to find a reason not to have a mancrush on the German and Steven’s only human himself.
At home - (it feels like home anyway) - at Xabi’s, they mostly park themselves on the sofa for dinner or a movie, disagreeing on each other’s movie choice as a matter of principle. Depending on how much Scandinavian expressionism is involved when it’s Xabi’s turn, they fight for anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour and fuck for the rest of the night.
Some nights, their arguments reach new bitchiness levels that are a little too high even for their standards, like when they watch Heat and start treading on the minefield of De Niro vs. Pacino comparisons.
-“He directed Looking for Richard!”
-“So what? De Niro made A Bronx Tale,”- Steven strikes back at Xabi, utterly sure that he got this.
-“You have to admit the man has a spotty track record! Having Ben Stiller, a moose and a flying squirrel in your bright career… I mean, was that really necessary? A flying squirrel?”
-“Because having Bennifer in your fucking brilliant record is such a fantastic idea, right?”
Here Xabi looks lost.
-“What the fuck is a Bennifer?”
Oh fuck… it’s all Steven can think.
-“You know… Bennifer…”
-“No… I don’t.”
-“Uh… Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck… Bennifer.”
This is it…
Xabi effectively waves the red flag by sinking back on the couch, hands on his sides, and he starts to laugh hysterically until he’s beetroot red in the face. Steven thinks the five minutes it takes him to recover and breathe properly again last an eternity.
-“Wow, I definitely need to make better use of my time… I feel like such an uncultured swine, how could I miss that?”
-“Fuck you!”
-“Fuck me…”
-“Not if you’re going to keep insisting that Pacino is better than De Niro.”
-“Not that I believe that, but I’ll grant you that the Bennifer… it’s unbeatable and you actually look really and unbelievably fucking hot in those shorts…”
-“…”
Steven slides between Xabi’s legs, his grin mischievous and Xabi’s a little too impatient trying to rid him of whatever clothes he can get hold of.
-“You’re so easy Xabs. So, so easy!”
-“And you fucking love it so shut up and just… fuck…”
Incoherence is the only thing escaping from Xabi’s mouth while Steven’s mouth is full busy on him. The last half-articulate thought Xabi’ll remember from the rest of the night is: what else do you expect me to be around you when you’re like this?
~.~
They have the guys over for dinner and beers at least once a week and most Saturdays. Esteban makes a delicious callos a la madrileña and Juan is the official bartender with a seemingly endless cocktail recipe book. He also tries to teach Daniel, Martin and Steven Parchís. They all complain about Steven’s beginner’s luck, especially Daniel, whom Juan declares an absolute catastrophe. Steven gloats that the game simply requires an engineer’s precision; his hubris comes to back to bite him in the ass when Daniel cleans them out at poker. (Twats!)
They’re on their best behaviour at the birthday party Daniel throws for his son, even though Esteban, Xabi and Martin are all on different levels of terror during the entire event. Esteban is on TERROR ALERT red with Xabi not far behind him when they see their respective partners with at least two toddlers clinging to their legs at all times and having the time of their lives playing with water guns. It’s disturbingly difficult to pick out the adults in the crowd.
Xabi is trapped between wanting to run far, far away and the need to grab Steven on his way out and hold on tight. It’s a lot more clear cut for Esteban - he just wants to flee.
That night at home - at his flat- Xabi can’t sleep; Steven’s passed out snoring lightly, still smelling of birthday cake frosting and skinned knees and well, sure, it’s corny as hell to watch him sleep with a crooked smile on his face, but Xabi will let himself just this once when nobody can see him.
He makes no move to get into a more comfortable position until he falls asleep.
Steven wakes him up a couple of hours later, nibbling along his jaw.
They spend a good part of the day under the covers.
It’s Sunday, it’s been any given Sunday for months now.
~.~
A warning sing…
~.~
Ultimately, it goes like this: Steven feels happy. Stupidly, overwhelmingly happy.
He knows Xabi’s happy too.
And he also knows that theoretically it’s too good to be true.
Because in reality he’s just been promoted to Lead Coordinator of Technical Sales of his company, which means he’ll be permanently relocated to the US headquarters.
Three hours later, Steven’s still digesting the news. Mr. Rush personally called him into his office to shake his hand, congratulating Steven while his soon to be former boss, Mr. Rodgers, beamed proudly by his side. Steven took the envelope with trembling hands, said thank you and closed his office door behind him with his last ounce of energy before he slumped into his chair.
It’s not like he didn’t know that this would be a possibility. Of course he’s known it all along, from the moment he’d stepped onto the tarmac at Heathrow. Steven won’t lie to himself that another possibility was also at the back of his mind when he came back to London, he knew that chances were he’d see Xabi again. Being careful what you wish for had somehow escaped his mind.
Steven’s been here before and knew exactly what decision to make, knew what was best for him, screw what felt right or fair; that decision was made way before he’d ever met Xabi. And it had still ripped a part of him open to just stick to it.
It’s different this time.
Professionally speaking, it’s a hell of an opportunity. Being in charge of the whole department in the States, earning a lot of money and just one step from the Board? Before you’re even 35? If you’re not too stupid or crazy to say no, of course. Or if you have the most remote suspicion that it’s not what you really want…
Steven suddenly doesn’t know what he really wants and it’s killing him. He’s not like this, ever.
It’s almost 6; Xabi’s probably waiting for him.
He takes his cell phone and calls him.
-“I need to finish something here…”
-“No te preocupes, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you.”
If there was ever a motto for their relationship…
Steven hangs up the call and turns back to look out of the window. He stares into the London skyline for three hours straight.
He feels like he’s right back to the start… everything in his hands again.
And he can’t afford to make a mistake.
~.~
Fake empire damas y caballeros...
You probably know about Warning Sign right??
Glad to be back, buuuussssyyy times but there's only two chapters more so... and I'm working in the next one so...
Thank you so much for reading... this is so much fun!!