(no subject)
title: retiro
pairing: leo messi/david villa
rating: pg
words: 1430
summary: footballkink prompt: Leo Messi / Whoever, established relationship, post-retirement from football.
Sometimes Leo wakes up in the morning confused by the quiet. It’s been months now since he had to set an alarm but still the silence startles him, makes his mind race with all the things he could have missed, the things he needs to do. But now, there’s nothing.
He lays in bed for a few more minutes. The other side is empty, cold, he can tell it has been for awhile, but that’s normal. The curtains on the window across the room have been pulled open so just a sliver of light spills over the bed, creating a warm line across Leo’s legs.
Eventually he rolls out of bed, the floor cold beneath his feet, and wanders into the kitchen. There’s coffee on and he goes to look for a mug, still not sure where everything is in this new home, in their home. He finds one and pours himself a cup, drinks it black, looks out the kitchen window at Barcelona below him.
He’s still getting used to be being back here after being gone for those years. It had hurt, still hurt him sometimes, that he’d left, but he hadn’t been able to keep up at Barcelona anymore, hadn’t been able to offer them what they needed and he wasn’t ready to stop, at that time didn’t think there would ever be a day he would be ready to stop. So he went home, went back to Argentina and played his last years at his hometown club, back near his family, near the friends he grew up with, and it was nice- nice. He’d gotten to play until he didn’t want to anymore, and he’d gotten to give something back to his country, and he’d gotten to live out his last years playing as a hero and not some former legend fading away on a bench, and so he was grateful. He’d enjoyed it, enjoyed being back home, but in the end- in the end-
“Leo?” a voice calls from the other room. Leo tears himself away from the window and takes his coffee through the doorway into their sprawling living room, the light from the huge windows hurting his eyes momentarily.
“Morning,” he says, yawning deeply as the other man looks up at him from the couch. The TV is on a sports show, previewing the weekend’s games.
“Sleep well?” David asks, sliding over on the couch to make space. Leo settles in next to him, sitting sideways, pulling his legs up on to the couch.
“Yes,” Leo says. He pushes his feet against David’s legs, trying to slide them underneath David’s thigh. David raises an eyebrow at him. “My toes are cold,” he mumbles.
“Your toes are always cold,” David says. “That’s what socks are for,” but he lifts his leg slightly anyway and Leo slides his feet under, grinning and leaning his head on the back of the couch. “You slept late,” David comments after a minute.
“I was up late reading.” Leo’s craning his neck toward the coffee table, trying to see the morning’s headlines. Xavi’s on the cover of Sport, a headline about whether he will be a savior of Barcelona like Pep was, and it makes Leo smile to see his face, fondness blooming in his chest.
“What were you reading?” David asks. Leo doesn’t answer, looks away from him, sips his coffee, and David laughs loudly. “You were reading that book about you, weren’t you.” It isn’t a question.
“Just checking for accuracy,” Leo shrugs, and David laughs some more.
Leo finishes his coffee and pages through the newspaper while David watches the news and makes notes on a legal pad for work.
“Are you gonna play in the charity game?” David asks at one point, studiously keeping his eyes down on his pad.
Leo slowly lays the section of the paper he was reading down on his chest. He looks out the window, where the sun is so bright he can’t make out anything out, and his eyes start to water. “Yeah,” he says finally, “Yeah, of course.” He hasn’t played in a game since he hung up his boots at the end of last season but it was David’s charity, and David had asked him, so - of course the answer was yes.
“Okay,” David says, and doesn’t look up, but he pats Leo’s arm softly. Leo doesn’t know if it’s thankful or comforting.
“We should go to the park this afternoon and play,” Leo muses. “It’s been too long.” Then he glances over at David and adds hurriedly, “If your knee isn’t bothering you I mean.”
David instinctively moves his hand over his knee, rubbing distractedly at the joints that had ultimately ended his career. “No, it feels okay,” he says, and Leo smiles at him. He moves his hand towards David’s knee too, hooking his pinky finger through David’s.
The Barcelona match from the week prior starts to replay, and when David moves to grab the remote and change it Leo waves him off. “No, leave it.” David shrugs and goes back to his work.
Leo watches with wide eyes. He’d kept up with Barcelona, of course he had, but for a long time it had stung too much to watch too closely, to see someone else wearing the blaugrana number 10, or number 8, or number 7, to see strangers kissing his crest. Now though, now there was no avoiding it, and Leo didn’t really want to anymore anyway.
He watches the Camp Nou and it looks remarkably the same as it always did, the cules with their scarves, singing El Cant del Barca, screaming the players’ names, whistling when they disagree.
“When was the last time you went to a game?” Leo asks David. David had moved back to Barcelona just a few months before Leo, during the off season, but Leo’s sure he’s been back for games before that, when he was living in Asturias; he probably told Leo about it but those were the kinds of things Leo didn’t like to listen to then and so he doesn’t remember.
“Mmm,” David mutters distractedly. He finishes what he’s writing and looks up, squinting. “I was in town on business for the last Clasico, so I went to that. Remember? I told you I went to dinner with Iker after.”
“Oh yeah,” Leo says, and after a moment, he starts to ask, “Is it- Camp Nou- was it still-“ but he can’t find the words to finish, doesn’t know how to ask if it was the same as when they were there, when they were the kings of Barcelona, he doesn’t imagine it could ever be like that again, that must have been something special, something only for them, but-
David gets it and he says, “Yeah. Yeah, it was just like that.” Leo doesn’t say anything, just continues watching the game. “We could go any week you know. I don’t think it will be too hard to get tickets.”
David’s smiling and Leo smiles back, an honest smile, and he says, “Yeah, we’ll do that soon.” In the 78th minute Rafa scores, and Leo says, “Remember his first game with the first team?”
David laughs. “His hands shook for an hour afterwards. Thiago almost called their mom.”
Leo laughs and shakes his head, finding it hard to reconcile that kid with the man on his TV screen, but he supposes it’s also hard to reconcile his current self with the man in the pictures, so.
The game ends and Leo’s yawning. “Park?” David asks.
“Nap first,” Leo suggests, pushing his head back in to the plushy couch. “I don’t know why I’m still so tired all the time.”
David touches the side of his face, his hair, smiling. “You deserve the rest,” he says. Leo thinks idly that David doesn’t look that much different from when they first met; the lines near his eyes and mouth are deeper, his hair is shot with gray, but Leo thinks it makes him even more striking, more beautiful.
“You sleep too,” Leo says, more a request than a demand, and David sets down his notes and stretches out with Leo on the couch, his nose in Leo’s neck, his hand across Leo’s hip.
Leo settles down into sleep but before he drifts off he hears David mumble, “Did you miss it?”
Leo doesn’t know if he means Camp Nou, or Barcelona, the city, or Barcelona, their club, or them, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter which he meant, because he squeezes David’s hand and it means yes, and it means I promise not to miss it anymore, and they sleep.
pairing: leo messi/david villa
rating: pg
words: 1430
summary: footballkink prompt: Leo Messi / Whoever, established relationship, post-retirement from football.
Sometimes Leo wakes up in the morning confused by the quiet. It’s been months now since he had to set an alarm but still the silence startles him, makes his mind race with all the things he could have missed, the things he needs to do. But now, there’s nothing.
He lays in bed for a few more minutes. The other side is empty, cold, he can tell it has been for awhile, but that’s normal. The curtains on the window across the room have been pulled open so just a sliver of light spills over the bed, creating a warm line across Leo’s legs.
Eventually he rolls out of bed, the floor cold beneath his feet, and wanders into the kitchen. There’s coffee on and he goes to look for a mug, still not sure where everything is in this new home, in their home. He finds one and pours himself a cup, drinks it black, looks out the kitchen window at Barcelona below him.
He’s still getting used to be being back here after being gone for those years. It had hurt, still hurt him sometimes, that he’d left, but he hadn’t been able to keep up at Barcelona anymore, hadn’t been able to offer them what they needed and he wasn’t ready to stop, at that time didn’t think there would ever be a day he would be ready to stop. So he went home, went back to Argentina and played his last years at his hometown club, back near his family, near the friends he grew up with, and it was nice- nice. He’d gotten to play until he didn’t want to anymore, and he’d gotten to give something back to his country, and he’d gotten to live out his last years playing as a hero and not some former legend fading away on a bench, and so he was grateful. He’d enjoyed it, enjoyed being back home, but in the end- in the end-
“Leo?” a voice calls from the other room. Leo tears himself away from the window and takes his coffee through the doorway into their sprawling living room, the light from the huge windows hurting his eyes momentarily.
“Morning,” he says, yawning deeply as the other man looks up at him from the couch. The TV is on a sports show, previewing the weekend’s games.
“Sleep well?” David asks, sliding over on the couch to make space. Leo settles in next to him, sitting sideways, pulling his legs up on to the couch.
“Yes,” Leo says. He pushes his feet against David’s legs, trying to slide them underneath David’s thigh. David raises an eyebrow at him. “My toes are cold,” he mumbles.
“Your toes are always cold,” David says. “That’s what socks are for,” but he lifts his leg slightly anyway and Leo slides his feet under, grinning and leaning his head on the back of the couch. “You slept late,” David comments after a minute.
“I was up late reading.” Leo’s craning his neck toward the coffee table, trying to see the morning’s headlines. Xavi’s on the cover of Sport, a headline about whether he will be a savior of Barcelona like Pep was, and it makes Leo smile to see his face, fondness blooming in his chest.
“What were you reading?” David asks. Leo doesn’t answer, looks away from him, sips his coffee, and David laughs loudly. “You were reading that book about you, weren’t you.” It isn’t a question.
“Just checking for accuracy,” Leo shrugs, and David laughs some more.
Leo finishes his coffee and pages through the newspaper while David watches the news and makes notes on a legal pad for work.
“Are you gonna play in the charity game?” David asks at one point, studiously keeping his eyes down on his pad.
Leo slowly lays the section of the paper he was reading down on his chest. He looks out the window, where the sun is so bright he can’t make out anything out, and his eyes start to water. “Yeah,” he says finally, “Yeah, of course.” He hasn’t played in a game since he hung up his boots at the end of last season but it was David’s charity, and David had asked him, so - of course the answer was yes.
“Okay,” David says, and doesn’t look up, but he pats Leo’s arm softly. Leo doesn’t know if it’s thankful or comforting.
“We should go to the park this afternoon and play,” Leo muses. “It’s been too long.” Then he glances over at David and adds hurriedly, “If your knee isn’t bothering you I mean.”
David instinctively moves his hand over his knee, rubbing distractedly at the joints that had ultimately ended his career. “No, it feels okay,” he says, and Leo smiles at him. He moves his hand towards David’s knee too, hooking his pinky finger through David’s.
The Barcelona match from the week prior starts to replay, and when David moves to grab the remote and change it Leo waves him off. “No, leave it.” David shrugs and goes back to his work.
Leo watches with wide eyes. He’d kept up with Barcelona, of course he had, but for a long time it had stung too much to watch too closely, to see someone else wearing the blaugrana number 10, or number 8, or number 7, to see strangers kissing his crest. Now though, now there was no avoiding it, and Leo didn’t really want to anymore anyway.
He watches the Camp Nou and it looks remarkably the same as it always did, the cules with their scarves, singing El Cant del Barca, screaming the players’ names, whistling when they disagree.
“When was the last time you went to a game?” Leo asks David. David had moved back to Barcelona just a few months before Leo, during the off season, but Leo’s sure he’s been back for games before that, when he was living in Asturias; he probably told Leo about it but those were the kinds of things Leo didn’t like to listen to then and so he doesn’t remember.
“Mmm,” David mutters distractedly. He finishes what he’s writing and looks up, squinting. “I was in town on business for the last Clasico, so I went to that. Remember? I told you I went to dinner with Iker after.”
“Oh yeah,” Leo says, and after a moment, he starts to ask, “Is it- Camp Nou- was it still-“ but he can’t find the words to finish, doesn’t know how to ask if it was the same as when they were there, when they were the kings of Barcelona, he doesn’t imagine it could ever be like that again, that must have been something special, something only for them, but-
David gets it and he says, “Yeah. Yeah, it was just like that.” Leo doesn’t say anything, just continues watching the game. “We could go any week you know. I don’t think it will be too hard to get tickets.”
David’s smiling and Leo smiles back, an honest smile, and he says, “Yeah, we’ll do that soon.” In the 78th minute Rafa scores, and Leo says, “Remember his first game with the first team?”
David laughs. “His hands shook for an hour afterwards. Thiago almost called their mom.”
Leo laughs and shakes his head, finding it hard to reconcile that kid with the man on his TV screen, but he supposes it’s also hard to reconcile his current self with the man in the pictures, so.
The game ends and Leo’s yawning. “Park?” David asks.
“Nap first,” Leo suggests, pushing his head back in to the plushy couch. “I don’t know why I’m still so tired all the time.”
David touches the side of his face, his hair, smiling. “You deserve the rest,” he says. Leo thinks idly that David doesn’t look that much different from when they first met; the lines near his eyes and mouth are deeper, his hair is shot with gray, but Leo thinks it makes him even more striking, more beautiful.
“You sleep too,” Leo says, more a request than a demand, and David sets down his notes and stretches out with Leo on the couch, his nose in Leo’s neck, his hand across Leo’s hip.
Leo settles down into sleep but before he drifts off he hears David mumble, “Did you miss it?”
Leo doesn’t know if he means Camp Nou, or Barcelona, the city, or Barcelona, their club, or them, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter which he meant, because he squeezes David’s hand and it means yes, and it means I promise not to miss it anymore, and they sleep.