Untitled (Silva is not a romantic)
David Villa/David Silva, David Silva/Rafa Marquez, David Villa/Fernando Morientes, Joaquin/Vicente, AU, PG13. Silva is not a romantic.
Villa and Silva are colleagues and partners. Also, partners in bed, though Villa is not his only bed partner. Villa is cheating on his kindergarten teacher boyfriend, Fernando. They work with Joaquin, a forensic pathologist and his man, Vicente, a psychologist. Villa is possibly a lot more into Silva than Silva is, or lets on. I don't know.
Possibly unfinished due to incomplete/lack of clarification of major plot lines. Possibly related to the one about the sandwich.
When David knocked his head against the cupboard under Villa's kitchen sink the third time that night, he nearly gave up. He had a list of reasons to do that, actually, including:
1. This was stupid;
2. Valentine's day had long past,
3. David Villa could actually shoot him as an unknown intruder in his home which quite frankly, was not the way he wanted to depart the world.
That fucker from Mexico just had to goad him all last week, with his, "it's not that I haven't been enjoying these impromptu blowjobs, carino, but you don't seem like the dating type to me. Or the Valentine's day type." That seriously put him off of that... He had finished blowing the guy with markedly less enthusiasm than he began with.
It wasn't that he cared so much. He didn't go far with forevers and chocolates in any case, and a crucial element to any participation in the fake lovers' day really is to be somewhat of a romantic...or at least, involved in some sort of ...regular... Thing. So he shrugged it off.
But then he realised... Yeah, ok, he let other people fuck him and sometimes had to (for the job, ok?) record it and liked to blow the new guy around, in front of or in the general vicinity of his partner, but Villa-- despite still somewhat, irritatingly, being "officially" "involved" with that perpetually smiling kindergarden teacher-- usually let him come home to his place. Usually let David sleep with him, to the point that "on the regular" could be used if they were regular. And he did admit, drunkenly to David Villa's face once, that he felt for the guy more-- more everything-- than he had for anybody else in recent memory. And what's more, he let Villa feel the same for him, at least according to the bizarre sleep rituals Villa liked to force David through, such as staring into each other's eyes (while they could spend it fucking, since they were usually naked), and just holding him (when they could spend it fucking, again) and whispering really uncomfortable truths to him...out loud. He usually fell asleep to it, it was so boring. Not that it wasn't nice-- it really was, but he'd have to have the threat of disembowelment put to him before he would ever admit that... Aloud.
And last week Monday, Villa had pulled him aside and just...hugged him. And he said, in this really mournful, sad voice that he'd be staying at Nando's that night and he hoped that it was ok with him, was it Silva? It's not that David didn't get it, he did, but he didn't get why today was different then the several (markedly decreasing) moments in the past when David Villa had to play the dutiful boyfriend to the duti-fucking-ful baby minder. Kindergarten teacher, sorry.
But he got it a little later on when Vicente bounded over to him for what he assumed was their daily flirting ritual (and Vicente "secretly" making professional psychological assessments on him, who was the guy fooling anyway, it was so obvious) but was to show him a ridiculously pink and red card he'd received that Joaquin had jokingly placed inside a cadaver and addressed to the psychologist. "Gross," David had said, wrinkling his nose and dropping the card promptly, but he got it. It was Valentine's Day.
And that was no big deal. Until all the admin staff started passing chocolate kisses and-- what was this, an advertising company? They were glorified spies, he muttered to himself as he mascerated one in his mouth. And then stupid Rafa Marquez, who was yeah, really hot with his camino del oro and Virgen de Guadalupe mentality and his ponytail kept going on and on about the western holiday and what it was like back home with his woman (David smirked) and then the blowjob and that ill timed unnecessary comment. So David had pulled back as he wiped his lips and shrugged, with a, "I hope you're not intending I ask you to 'please please be mine this Valentine'?" And the man had laughed and raked his hand through Silva's hair like Villa did and he was suddenly completely put off.
And now here he was, sneaking into Villa's house with a bagful of groceries and... Shit, he forgot the candles. Fuck it, David had some around here, he was sure, since David Villa was like a fucking boyscout or something and that was definitely rule number one.
Anyway, Silva had more pressing issues with the dinner. He could swear he knew how to cook, at least, the basics, to survive, but David cooked a lot here with his "full pantry" and his "taste this" and his cookbooks and cooking shows (seriously, when did he have time for work?), and their work required more ramen and takeaway than normal jobs and Silva could not recall a single simple pasta sauce recipe. So he grabbed one of those cook books and made something resembling something David once made for the both of them in a small Soviet era Moscow apartment once.
And now he smelled like garlic and he had a beet stain-- and a tomato one, damn, on his shirt, but...well, the table was ok, since Villa was an adult with cutlery and stuff and there was a nice silk tie he bought from that weird designer store David bought all of his stuff from, Dee2, or Squared all wrapped up in a box and even if it fucking like bunnies was less a prerequisite for Valentinesy style cheese and it was more like slow...ballroom dancing in the bed, or whatever romantic chocolate box metaphor was in that year, there was a new fresh tube of lube he stashed next to David's bed and he had on nice new silk boxers (they were on sale when he got the tie, he also got a pair for David--or himself, he often ran out of appropriate clothing with which to use to leave this apartment--it was under the tie).
All he needed were candles. He eyed the nice wooden table. Maybe also something to put the candles on.
And it came to be that David walked in on him while Silva was in the midst of opening every drawer in David's house.
When Silva turned to the noise, David was standing in his doorway, looking around the apartment in confusion. "David?"
He stood up from where he was rooting under David's coffee table, wide eyed, "...it's not what it looks like." He gestured awkwardly at the table. "It's..." And promptly couldn't quite figure out how to phrase it.
David closed the door behind him and kept his mouth shut when he walked inside, but there was that irritating smirk, Silva could tell,
forming.
He watched as David shed his coat and his things and walked to the kitchen. He winced internally, because the kitchen had not been kind
to him and was thus, a mess.
"I'll clean that up," he blurted.
David turned back, a small smile on his face. Hmm, no smirk. "You made dinner?"
Silva felt himself start to flush, which was so not in the plan, and sort of stutter as he tried to look really just nonchalant and casual, "well, you know...you do all the time and I had...a bad reaction from the takeout yesterday so--"
And he couldn't really finish because it was hard for anybody to speak when someone was kissing them, and it felt really good and he started to get his feet back under him, since this was more his own personal style so he wrapped his beet stained hands around David and tried to turn the kiss into a full blown makeout session, including tugging David backward toward his bedroom and the bed and the lube, but David just stopped him, chuckled and pulled away. "No, we're doing this in the intended order," and Silva pouted but the other man just laughed and tugged him to the table and then looked surprised as he spotted the wrapped box by his chair. "Is that for me?"
David felt himself blush awkwardly again-- what the hell, so not cool, face. "It's not. Valentine's gift or anything, I mean that's just...Just not us, right? And... But I saw it and it was... You like that store so..." He shrugged coolly.
David mercifully just nodded along and politely said "thank you, David," but his hands were stroking down the tie and his eyes suggested he wasn't going to use it around his shirt tomorrow, but around Silva's wrists that very night and Silva shivered to himself, crossing the distance. It was really nice and they did some more of the kissing but when Silva ran his hands down David's torso and up his inner seam, David pulled away, swallowing hard and ruffling his hair and looking really like he didn't want to stop what they were doing, but he said, anyway, and looked like he meant it, "we should eat, it looks good."
And he had sighed, but he nodded and thought maybe it was ok to try out this. After dinner, they'd be back on familiar ground, he was certain.
Villa and Silva are colleagues and partners. Also, partners in bed, though Villa is not his only bed partner. Villa is cheating on his kindergarten teacher boyfriend, Fernando. They work with Joaquin, a forensic pathologist and his man, Vicente, a psychologist. Villa is possibly a lot more into Silva than Silva is, or lets on. I don't know.
Possibly unfinished due to incomplete/lack of clarification of major plot lines. Possibly related to the one about the sandwich.
When David knocked his head against the cupboard under Villa's kitchen sink the third time that night, he nearly gave up. He had a list of reasons to do that, actually, including:
1. This was stupid;
2. Valentine's day had long past,
3. David Villa could actually shoot him as an unknown intruder in his home which quite frankly, was not the way he wanted to depart the world.
That fucker from Mexico just had to goad him all last week, with his, "it's not that I haven't been enjoying these impromptu blowjobs, carino, but you don't seem like the dating type to me. Or the Valentine's day type." That seriously put him off of that... He had finished blowing the guy with markedly less enthusiasm than he began with.
It wasn't that he cared so much. He didn't go far with forevers and chocolates in any case, and a crucial element to any participation in the fake lovers' day really is to be somewhat of a romantic...or at least, involved in some sort of ...regular... Thing. So he shrugged it off.
But then he realised... Yeah, ok, he let other people fuck him and sometimes had to (for the job, ok?) record it and liked to blow the new guy around, in front of or in the general vicinity of his partner, but Villa-- despite still somewhat, irritatingly, being "officially" "involved" with that perpetually smiling kindergarden teacher-- usually let him come home to his place. Usually let David sleep with him, to the point that "on the regular" could be used if they were regular. And he did admit, drunkenly to David Villa's face once, that he felt for the guy more-- more everything-- than he had for anybody else in recent memory. And what's more, he let Villa feel the same for him, at least according to the bizarre sleep rituals Villa liked to force David through, such as staring into each other's eyes (while they could spend it fucking, since they were usually naked), and just holding him (when they could spend it fucking, again) and whispering really uncomfortable truths to him...out loud. He usually fell asleep to it, it was so boring. Not that it wasn't nice-- it really was, but he'd have to have the threat of disembowelment put to him before he would ever admit that... Aloud.
And last week Monday, Villa had pulled him aside and just...hugged him. And he said, in this really mournful, sad voice that he'd be staying at Nando's that night and he hoped that it was ok with him, was it Silva? It's not that David didn't get it, he did, but he didn't get why today was different then the several (markedly decreasing) moments in the past when David Villa had to play the dutiful boyfriend to the duti-fucking-ful baby minder. Kindergarten teacher, sorry.
But he got it a little later on when Vicente bounded over to him for what he assumed was their daily flirting ritual (and Vicente "secretly" making professional psychological assessments on him, who was the guy fooling anyway, it was so obvious) but was to show him a ridiculously pink and red card he'd received that Joaquin had jokingly placed inside a cadaver and addressed to the psychologist. "Gross," David had said, wrinkling his nose and dropping the card promptly, but he got it. It was Valentine's Day.
And that was no big deal. Until all the admin staff started passing chocolate kisses and-- what was this, an advertising company? They were glorified spies, he muttered to himself as he mascerated one in his mouth. And then stupid Rafa Marquez, who was yeah, really hot with his camino del oro and Virgen de Guadalupe mentality and his ponytail kept going on and on about the western holiday and what it was like back home with his woman (David smirked) and then the blowjob and that ill timed unnecessary comment. So David had pulled back as he wiped his lips and shrugged, with a, "I hope you're not intending I ask you to 'please please be mine this Valentine'?" And the man had laughed and raked his hand through Silva's hair like Villa did and he was suddenly completely put off.
And now here he was, sneaking into Villa's house with a bagful of groceries and... Shit, he forgot the candles. Fuck it, David had some around here, he was sure, since David Villa was like a fucking boyscout or something and that was definitely rule number one.
Anyway, Silva had more pressing issues with the dinner. He could swear he knew how to cook, at least, the basics, to survive, but David cooked a lot here with his "full pantry" and his "taste this" and his cookbooks and cooking shows (seriously, when did he have time for work?), and their work required more ramen and takeaway than normal jobs and Silva could not recall a single simple pasta sauce recipe. So he grabbed one of those cook books and made something resembling something David once made for the both of them in a small Soviet era Moscow apartment once.
And now he smelled like garlic and he had a beet stain-- and a tomato one, damn, on his shirt, but...well, the table was ok, since Villa was an adult with cutlery and stuff and there was a nice silk tie he bought from that weird designer store David bought all of his stuff from, Dee2, or Squared all wrapped up in a box and even if it fucking like bunnies was less a prerequisite for Valentinesy style cheese and it was more like slow...ballroom dancing in the bed, or whatever romantic chocolate box metaphor was in that year, there was a new fresh tube of lube he stashed next to David's bed and he had on nice new silk boxers (they were on sale when he got the tie, he also got a pair for David--or himself, he often ran out of appropriate clothing with which to use to leave this apartment--it was under the tie).
All he needed were candles. He eyed the nice wooden table. Maybe also something to put the candles on.
And it came to be that David walked in on him while Silva was in the midst of opening every drawer in David's house.
When Silva turned to the noise, David was standing in his doorway, looking around the apartment in confusion. "David?"
He stood up from where he was rooting under David's coffee table, wide eyed, "...it's not what it looks like." He gestured awkwardly at the table. "It's..." And promptly couldn't quite figure out how to phrase it.
David closed the door behind him and kept his mouth shut when he walked inside, but there was that irritating smirk, Silva could tell,
forming.
He watched as David shed his coat and his things and walked to the kitchen. He winced internally, because the kitchen had not been kind
to him and was thus, a mess.
"I'll clean that up," he blurted.
David turned back, a small smile on his face. Hmm, no smirk. "You made dinner?"
Silva felt himself start to flush, which was so not in the plan, and sort of stutter as he tried to look really just nonchalant and casual, "well, you know...you do all the time and I had...a bad reaction from the takeout yesterday so--"
And he couldn't really finish because it was hard for anybody to speak when someone was kissing them, and it felt really good and he started to get his feet back under him, since this was more his own personal style so he wrapped his beet stained hands around David and tried to turn the kiss into a full blown makeout session, including tugging David backward toward his bedroom and the bed and the lube, but David just stopped him, chuckled and pulled away. "No, we're doing this in the intended order," and Silva pouted but the other man just laughed and tugged him to the table and then looked surprised as he spotted the wrapped box by his chair. "Is that for me?"
David felt himself blush awkwardly again-- what the hell, so not cool, face. "It's not. Valentine's gift or anything, I mean that's just...Just not us, right? And... But I saw it and it was... You like that store so..." He shrugged coolly.
David mercifully just nodded along and politely said "thank you, David," but his hands were stroking down the tie and his eyes suggested he wasn't going to use it around his shirt tomorrow, but around Silva's wrists that very night and Silva shivered to himself, crossing the distance. It was really nice and they did some more of the kissing but when Silva ran his hands down David's torso and up his inner seam, David pulled away, swallowing hard and ruffling his hair and looking really like he didn't want to stop what they were doing, but he said, anyway, and looked like he meant it, "we should eat, it looks good."
And he had sighed, but he nodded and thought maybe it was ok to try out this. After dinner, they'd be back on familiar ground, he was certain.