(no subject)
title: if not
pairing: leo messi/david villa, implied david villa/david silva
rating: nc17
words: 6400
summary: next season. david silva transfers to barcelona
Leo likes Barcelona in August, the way the streets empty with people gone on vacations, the way tourists huddle in groups on the corners, their eyes wide, maps spread in front of them. The heat can be stifling but Leo lives by the water and in the mornings, if he opens his back doors, he gets a perfect breeze, right into his kitchen while he drinks his coffee and reads the paper.
He also likes August because it means it’s almost time for a new season, time for his bones and muscles to return to their peak, time for games and trainings and meetings and points and goals and trophies. It means being back with his team, with his people, with Pep and Xavi and Gerard, it means tiki taka and Camp Nou. He’d spent the summer playing with Argentina, and he’d loved it, loved playing in the albiceleste, but it wasn’t the same on la seleccion, it was pressure on him, the weight of Argentina’s need to win resting squarely on his shoulders, no Xavi, no Iniesta, no Pedro to share the burden.
But now, Barcelona.
Because of the Copa America he’s missed the preseason tour, and only he, Dani, Adriano, and Mascherano are in Barcelona. They go to the Ciutat Esportiva, practice with the B team, and Leo likes it, likes their youth and enthusiasm, the way they don’t hesitate to tackle him even though he’s Leo Messi, the way their eyes shine when they talk about playing for the first team, and they really believe it, they all believe they will someday.
He practices free kicks with Mino, who celebrates like he’s won the World Cup every time he stops one, and tells Leo he’ll be stealing Victor’s place on the first team in no time, his laugh booming out across the field.
“You should switch to striker,” Leo advises. “More open spaces.”
Mino looks like he’s thinking about it. “Good point man. We’re pretty weak up front. What did you guys get last season, only like… 400 goals?” He kicks the ball back to Leo, who stops it with his chest and then balances it on top of his foot.
“Something like that. At least there’s three spaces,” Leo says. “One of us is bound to get injured. Maybe even two of us, if you’re lucky.”
“Well a guy can hope,” Mino says.
The coach calls for sprints and Leo falls into an easy jog next to Dani. His lungs burn earlier than he’s used to but he doesn’t worry, knows the summer fatigue will burn off soon enough, if he just works a little harder, concentrates more.
“Not too long now,” Dani says, and Leo knows how he feels, knows that whatever pent-up energy he feels from not playing Dani probably feels ten-fold, and that’s why they need him at Barcelona so badly, why Leo is so glad he stayed.
Leo hums. “What do you think, this season?” he asks. Their feet pad on the dry ground, kicking up dust around them.
Dani looks at him, grins. “What do you think?” Leo laughs; he expected that. Dani is nothing if not optimistic. He throws an arm around Leo’s shoulder. “It’s our time bro. Still!” And Leo thinks he’s right.
*
The rest of the team gets back from the States on a Tuesday. Leo goes to Camp Nou, hangs out for awhile, but the flight is delayed and after an hour or so he runs out of reasons to be there, so he goes home before they get back, putters around his house, calls his mom and plays ProEvo.
It gets late and he’s about to go to bed when his doorbell rings. Something in his stomach rises and flips and he has to force himself to walk to the door at a normal pace.
He pulls the door open as slowly as he can manage and David’s standing there, a bag slung over his shoulder, aviators covering his eyes even though it’s dark and it’s been dark for hours now but it doesn’t seem strange to Leo, it just seems like David and he smiles.
“It’s late,” he says, needlessly, as David walks in and removes his sunglasses.
“The fucking plane,” David says, and his voice is scratchy. Leo sees a flat spot on his hair and imagines his head pressed against the window, imagines him sleeping. “It took forever.” He sets his bag down, bends down to stick his glasses inside. When he straightens he reaches his arms over his head, stretching, and his shirt lifts just enough that Leo sees the curve of his hip, the dip of his pelvis disappearing below his waistband, and Leo swallows.
David settles and looks at Leo, finally, smiling a little. For a moment they just stand there, smiling at each other, and then David mumbles, “C’mere,” and his hand is on Leo’s hip, the other on the back of his head, pulling him in, and Leo brings his arms up around the older man’s back, pushing his face into his neck.
“Sorry I smell like plane,” David mutters into his neck, and Leo laughs shortly but it cuts off as David’s mouth finds the shell of his ear, lazily circling his tongue around it, making Leo’s breath catch. He pushes forward into David harder, opening his mouth around the space where David’s neck meets his shoulder and grazing his teeth over the soft skin there, the way he knows David likes, and he’s rewarded by David’s hips bucking against his gently.
But just as soon as he’s started, David pulls back, laughing when Leo resists. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, disentangling himself from Leo’s limbs. “I’m so tired though. And thirsty. Meet you in the bedroom, yeah?” Leo nods, watches him walk toward the kitchen.
Leo knows David is tired so he lets him lay back while he blows him, fingers pressing into his hips, his thighs, before bringing one hand to wrap around the base of David’s cock. When he looks up, David has his head back and his eyes closed, but he lets Leo know he’s still enjoying it by threading his hands through his hair, pulling gently, groaning and lifting his hips.
Leo dips his mouth as far as he can, running his tongue up the length of David’s cock and sucking on the head, tightening his fist and flicking his wrist the way he knows will send David over the edge, and it does, his hips lift jerkily and his fists tighten in Leo’s hair and he comes with his mouth open in a silent groan.
Leo pulls away, his own hard cock in his hand, but when David makes to move down toward it Leo shakes his head, holds him in place with his other hand. He starts jerking himself off, his nose pressing into David’s collarbone, and David stops moving down but wraps his own hand around Leo’s, tightening their grip and quickening the pace. It’s been a long time and Leo knows he won’t last long, doesn’t even try, and when he hips start jerking on their own accord David leans down before Leo can protest and closes his lips around the head of Leo’s cock, sucking and still twisting their wrists together. Leo moans, low in throat, and comes in David’s mouth, his head spinning.
After they clean up and before they fall asleep, David says, “I’m gonna leave early tomorrow, go home and unpack and clean up. But I’ll see you at the training center okay?” Leo nods, falls asleep wearing only a sheet, his hand fisted in David’s hair.
*
August in Barcelona- at any club- means something else too: transfers.
They’d already lost Gaby and that had hurt, because Gaby was one of Leo's closest friends on the team, reminded him so much of home, but Leo knew he would get more playing time elsewhere so he couldn’t be too upset, not when it would be so good for the man. Otherwise, Barcelona has been quiet, preferring to focus on their La Masia prospects. Leo knows there are rumors, tries not to listen to them since they hardly ever end up being true. But sometimes- sometimes they do.
One day, late in August, he’s sitting on a bench in the locker room after practice, next to David, listening to Gerard tell a story about a prank he’d pulled on his brother the night before, something about shaving cream and hot water. Out of the corner of his eye Leo sees Xavi and Andres walk in, heads bent together, whispering. Xavi says something quietly to Puyol, whose eyebrows go up, and that gets the attention of others, but Leo sees Xavi shrugging and Andres shaking his head so he doesn’t wonder too much. David doesn’t seem to have noticed.
Eventually Xavi wanders closer to Leo and Leo asks him what that was all about, casually, not really caring so much. Xavi flicks his eyes to David so quickly Leo isn’t even sure he saw it, and then Xavi shakes his head and makes a face like “nothing, nothing.” But it makes Leo curious, and he says, “No, tell me,” and David is looking over too now and Xavi hesitates.
“Just transfer rumors,” he says, shrugging and looking away like it’s not a big deal, but the way he’s acting says differently.
Leo raises his eyebrows, says, “Well?” Xavi makes a face he can’t interpret and Leo looks toward David, who’s standing now, so Leo can’t make out his face entirely, but it seems like David knows something Leo doesn’t because his face is serious and he’s looking right at Xavi and Xavi is looking back and Leo suddenly feels desperately out of the loop.
Leo stands up then, between them, forcing them both to take a step back, and he says, “Will someone please tell me what is going on?”
They keep looking at each other, but finally David says simply, “Silva,” turning away from Leo as he says it, back toward his bag. Then a moment later- “The rumors are about Silva.”
If it were anyone else Leo would make a joke, an offhand comment about transfer rumors, but the name makes the words stick in his throat- no, it’s less the name and more the way it sounds rolling off David’s tongue, the way his face moves when he says it, or rather the way it doesn’t, the way Leo can see him working to keep a blank expression. He knows David had played with Silva for a long time, knew they were close, but he’d never asked David about him. Leo didn’t make a habit of asking questions he didn’t want the answer to.
Instead Leo just says, “Oh,” and sinks back down onto the bench, not looking at anything. He just sits, and a few minutes later David walks out without a word.
*
At practice the next morning, Leo doesn’t say anything to David, not good morning, doesn’t ask why he didn’t come over, why he didn’t pick up when Leo called. He has that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he gets when he’s pissed off someone he cares about, and he keeps reminding himself that he didn’t do anything, that he should be the one that’s mad, if anyone, and yet-
But David grabs him to stretch with, wraps a hand around his thigh and leans over him, Leo’s ankle above his head, and when their faces are close enough he says, “Sorry about last night, I fell asleep really early,” and Leo feels better, lighter. David pushes his leg in further, until it starts to hurt, and Leo grunts a little.
“Feeling okay?” he asks. David nods.
“Just getting used to all this practice again I guess,” and he smiles.
David switches Leo’s legs and leans in again, and Leo says, “You wanna come over after practice?” He can feel the fronts of David’s thighs pressing against him and he wants, he wants. David smiles and Leo takes it as a yes, switches positions with him.
They scrimmage and Leo feels the best with the ball at his feet, laughing at Gerard and Dani when he escapes their tackles, slapping Victor lightly on the face when he blocks a good one, sliding inch perfect balls straight to David’s feet. Shoot, score. Leo almost wouldn’t remember the day before, the rumors, if he didn’t see Rosell and his entourage stride out and have a short conversation with Pep, something he can’t hear, but he knows; they all do.
Leo looks toward David. He’s staring at the pitch, scuffing his toe into the dirt.
*
“I’m going to go get some aspirin or something from the doctor,” David tells him after practice. “I’ll be at your place soon, okay?”
Leo says, “Sure, fine.” When Leo leaves, a reporter in the hallway asks him what he thinks of the Silva transfer.
David never comes over.
*
“Gerard says he’s coming today,” Bojan says the next morning in the parking lot.
Leo rubs the bridge of his nose, already feels a headache blooming behind his eyes. “Who?” he asks, even though he knows, even though he doesn’t really want to hear the name anymore.
Bojan looks at him, rolls his eyes like duh, stupid. “Did we sign more than one international star yesterday?”
Leo manages to crack a smile. “I thought maybe Zlatan was in town or something,” and that makes Bojan laugh, distracts him from Silva as they walk inside.
He’s not there when they get to the dressing room and Leo feels relieved as he changes into his training kit, feels bad for doing so. He only knows Silva from playing against him but he seems nice enough, talented, certainly Barcelona quality, so Leo shouldn’t be feeling anything but happy to have him, but he can’t even pretend that’s what he feels.
David walks in a few minutes later, while Leo is lacing up his boots, and he sits down right next to him. “Hey,” he says finally.
“Hey,” Leo says, keeping his head down, pulling on his laces expertly.
“Sleep well?” David asks, and Leo thinks it’s a strange thing to say, wonders he’s ever heard David say something so mundane to him before.
“Yeah, I guess,” he answers anyway. “You?”
“Yeah, sure,” David says, and he’s just sitting there, not getting ready or anything, and Leo wonders why they’re so awkward suddenly. “You got my text about how the doctor said to go home and sleep, right?” he asks, eyes searching Leo’s.
“Yes,” Leo says.
“Okay,” David nods, looks down at his hands. “You didn’t respond, so…”
Leo opens his mouth as if to explain, but nothing comes to mind, so instead he just shrugs, stands up. “See you out there then?” he asks, and David nods. When Leo walks away he feels like he’s escaping something.
*
Silva shows up midway through practice, walking across the field in street clothes, a hand over his squinting eyes. Pep strides over to shake his hand, waves in the scrimmaging teams. The Spanish internationals are the first to greet him, with hugs and kisses on the cheek; except, Leo notices, David hangs back with the rest of them, who make their way up to greet Silva one by one, with handshakes instead of hugs. Leo goes up himself, greets the new man. His handshake is firm and his smile is bright, all gleaming white teeth against tan skin, and Leo can barely see his eyes behind the shade of hair fanning across his face.
“Welcome to the club,” Leo says stiffly, trying to be discreet when he gives him a once over.
“Glad to be here,” Silva replies, and his voice is quiet but sincere. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and looks at Leo intensely. “Really. So happy to play with you, Leo,” and he smiles and Leo can’t not smile back, but then he sees Silva’s eyes flick to somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere he knows David is waiting, and Leo pulls back with a jerk, stepping away quickly.
He tries not to look but he can’t stop himself, and when he does he feels like he’s intruding, even out here in the open, in the sunlight. Silva’s armed are wrapped around David’s neck, their bodies pressed close; David’s hands are resting on his sides, not tight but Leo can see that David is saying something low in Silva’s ear and when he sees the smile starting to spread across Silva’s face he can’t watch anymore and he turns away. He sees Gerard standing with his back to Leo, gesticulating wildly to the people around him, and Leo takes off in a full run, launching himself onto the bigger man’s back so they go careening over, and Gerard shoots out a hand that ends up bringing Andres down with them, and they all roll around in the grass wrestling for a minute before Pep blows his whistle to get them all together again.
Leo glances toward David and Silva. They’re still standing there, now a sliver of space between them, not talking anymore, just standing, looking. Leo knows.
*
Bojan tells him Silva is going back to Manchester for a few days, to tie up loose ends and get his personal belongings together, and Leo wonders why Bojan thinks he cares so much about Silva’s schedule. In any case, David enters the dressing room a few minutes later alone, and he doesn’t look at Leo or anyone, just moves toward his locker and slowly starts to undress, gets his things together for a shower.
“I think I’m going to shower at home,” Leo says to no one in particular. Bojan makes a face at him but shrugs.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, and a chorus of goodbyes sound back at him. David’s already left the room.
Leo goes home, answers emails from his family, orders groceries. He starts to clean out his refrigerator, and when he finds a six pack of beer in the back, he cracks one open, and it makes the time go a little faster. He’s polishing off his third and contemplating the shelf life of “butter product” when his doorbell rings.
He doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see David when he comes over unannounced all the time, but he is. David looks equally surprised when he notices the beer in Leo’s hand.
“Are we day drinking now?” he asks, an amused lilt in his voice.
Leo feels like he’s moving slowly when he looks at the bottle in his hand and then back to David. “I was cleaning. I got bored.” David laughs and it looks so familiar, nothing like what he’s looked like to Leo for the past couple days, and now Leo wonders if he was imagining the whole thing after all. David walks inside, just like he normally does, taps Leo on the arm, and that’s normal too.
Leo gets him his own beer, finishes his project while David sits on a bar stool and spins his bottle around in his hands. They don’t say much except when Leo holds up something to ask what it is or if David wants it.
He finally finishes, and he realizes the 6 pack is gone too, isn’t sure how many were him and how many were David but it doesn’t matter all that much. His head is a little foggy but he feels fine. He turns back toward David and sees him slide off the bar stool, walk purposefully towards Leo. He doesn’t stop until he has Leo pressed right up against the island in his kitchen, his fingers hooking through Leo’s belt loops.
His breath smells faintly of cheap beer and his lips are cold when he suddenly crashes his mouth against Leo’s. Leo feels like he’s moving very fast, but maybe it’s just his own slowness, maybe he’s just dulled from the alcohol, but in what seems like a second David has him pushed up on the island, is removing his shirt, sucking his way up Leo’s chest, and he’s sucking hard, Leo can see small purple marks already forming over his pale skin.
In response he fists his hand in David’s hair, pulls back sharply, enough to make David hiss, but Leo sees a flash in his eye and Leo knows he likes it. Leo pulls back even further, exposing David’s throat, and Leo attaches his mouth there, sucking at first and then biting down, knowing he’s leaving a mark and not caring, trying not to think who he’s leaving it for.
David growls suddenly, low in his throat, and pushes Leo off him forcefully, back onto the island, stepping away to remove his own shirt and unhook his belt. He slides it out and then he’s on Leo again, his lips hot against Leo’s neck, his shoulders, leaving a trail of wetness down Leo’s body. His palm is pressing up against Leo’s cock, hard in his jeans, and Leo bucks up at the same time he’s grabbing David’s hair and pushing him down down down. David resists, forcing his way back up, finding Leo’s mouth with his own as he works down Leo’s zipper. He doesn’t even bother to push down his jeans before he finds Leo’s cock, hot in his hand, and starts twisting his wrist, his thumb moving over the tip until Leo cries out.
David backs off then, pulling Leo’s jeans and boxers down with him and then shedding his own clothing, before he lifts himself up over Leo on the island. His skin is hot and slick and Leo can’t stop touching him, can’t stop his head from spinning as David’s mouth is everywhere, biting his nipples, licking down his sides, running his tongue down Leo’s length until his hips jerk. Leo’s head spins and he just lays back, lets David do what he wants, lets David have the control he obviously wants.
Finally David lifts up one of Leo’s legs, his thumbs pressing into Leo’s hips, so hard he knows there will be bruises, doesn’t care, and he slides into Leo in a single thrust, exhaling sharply when he feels Leo constrict around him. Once he’s inside he lets Leo’s leg fall, bracing his hands on either side of Leo’s head, hovering above him. His eyes are closed and Leo feels the sudden urge to yell at him, to make him stop until he opens his eyes and looks at Leo while he fucks him, but Leo bites his tongue and presses his forehead into David’s cheek, not wanting to watch David not watch him.
David slams into him relentlessly, until his hips and back actually start to ache, but he can’t find the words to say stop, to say slow down, and he doesn’t really want to, he knows he’ll pay tomorrow but thinks it’s worth it. Finally David slides a hand between them and wraps it around Leo’s aching cock and it only takes a minute before Leo is coming between them, gasping David’s name, and David slams his cock into Leo a few more times before clamping his teeth down on Leo’s shoulders and coming with a shudder.
They lay there like that for a long time, still on the kitchen island, David barely holding himself up over Leo’s heaving chest. Finally David rolls off and gets a wet paper towel, wiping off his own stomach before coming over to Leo.
“Jesus Christ,” he says when he sees dark spots over Leo’s body, shadows in the shapes of fingers and a bruise in the shape of his mouth blooming on his neck. “What the fuck was I thinking? Christ. I’m sorry Leo.” He looks genuinely remorseful and Leo wants to tell him he doesn’t care, that he liked it, that he liked having David branded all over him, but he doesn’t dare. Instead he just inspects his chest along with David and shrugs.
“It happens,” he says finally.
David swipes another wet paper towel over Leo’s stomach. “Fuck,” he says, and he looks sincerely angry at himself and Leo wishes he would stop. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” Leo says, and then he laughs a little. “A little. But it’s fine.” He smiles, to let David know it’s okay, and David smiles back but it’s hesitant. For the rest of the night he’ll barely touch Leo, just a brush of the wrist here, a pat of the head there, and Leo wonders if it’s even worth it.
*
In the morning Leo wakes up and David’s already gone, the bed cold where he’d been. Leo’s sore and he takes a long shower, the water hot, and it eases his muscles at least enough that he knows he can get through practice, although if anyone sees his bruised body he might get some questions.
He’s surprised when he goes downstairs and finds David sitting at the bar again, a mug and newspaper in front of him. He’s not reading the paper, he’s staring out the window, and Leo rolls his eyes when he sees Silva is on the cover and then is glad David didn’t see.
“Hey,” he says, passing a hand through David’s hair as he walks by. “I figured you left.”
David smiles at him. “No. I made coffee though,” he said, and he points. Leo tries not to walk stiffly, knows David will feel bad if he does, and when he turns back from pouring himself a cup, he sees David is studying him closely, but he doesn’t say anything.
The days pass. David continues being careful with him, frustratingly so, but otherwise things are normal, and before he knows it Silva turns up at practice one day, just like that, just out of nowhere. Now that all the fanfare has died down it feels simpler.
It should be the same as when David came, since Silva knows half the team already just like David did, but Silva is different, Leo figures this out quickly. He is quiet, reserved, where David is loud and caustic. His smile comes slowly and hesitantly where David’s is quick and easy. For the first few days Silva mostly stays to himself or with one other person, leaned in close to hear his quiet voice, and Leo thinks maybe he won’t even notice he’s there at all.
That doesn’t happen of course. On the pitch Silva is always there, and even Leo is impressed by how quickly he molds his style to that of Barcelona, how quickly he starts to pick out their runs on the pitch, inch perfect passes laid directly at his feet to punch home for the goals. Of course it’s still only practice, but something rises in Leo’s chest, a feeling that they are only getting better, and he remembers Dani’s words all those weeks ago, “It’s still our time.” He thinks Dani was right.
Silva gets his first league starts a few weeks into September, and it’s almost immediate that he threads a pass to Leo who chips it easily over the keeper’s head, and just like that it’s 1-0 and Leo picks out Silva who jumps in his arms, the most contact Leo thinks he has ever had with the other man. Leo’s happy, he laughs into Silva’s neck, and as he slides down Leo puts a hand in his hair. It’s soft, as soft as it looks from far away, but he doesn’t have very long to think about it because another hands slides against his in Silva’s hair and David is there, his sweaty face pressed against Silva’s cheek, and he’s yelling something in Silva’s ear and he doesn’t even look at Leo but Silva does, Silva just looks at him with his quiet face and Leo pulls away quickly, his heart pounding in his ears. He sees David’s lips slide against Silva’s cheek, lingering, lingering, and he walks away quickly.
Xavi catches up with him, drops an arm around his shoulder, congratulates him on a beautiful goal and Leo smiles at him, wonders how much he knows.
After the game, as Leo walks off the pitch, he sees Silva just ahead of him, and suddenly he feels tired of the games and the tension and the things he probably just made up in his head. He catches up to the other man, sets a hand on the top of his head. “Good assist,” he says, again, and Silva looks up with a wide grin. Leo thinks he understands why David- why anyone- would like him.
“Great finish,” Silva says, and Leo feels his arm come up and settle around Leo’s waist, a little hesitantly, but there it is. It feels heavy to Leo, but he ignores it, walks into the locker room with his arm around Silva in a comfortable silence.
*
In a game in early October, Silva gets injured. Leo doesn’t even bother looking for David’s face. He doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t want the answer to.
*
Pep gives them a weekend off. Leo suddenly can’t wait, can’t wait to spend a few days locked away in his house, away from training, away from kits and schedules and even these people. He’s tired, not tired from playing or from football or training or any of the other various types of tired he’s used to by now, but mentally tired, tired of playing games, of over-thinking things, of wondering what’s real and what’s not. He’s tired of David and Silva and he’s tired of feeling like he’s in the middle of a situation he has no idea about, a story he doesn’t know the plot to.
He spends the first evening watching television and dozing on his couch, and in the morning he goes to a late brunch with Gerard, an out of the way café by Leo’s house, by the water.
Gerard chatters on about his family, about Puyol, Cesc, his girlfriend, his Twitter. He tweets a picture of his breakfast and reads aloud from the responses he gets. Leo’s stomach hurts from laughing.
“You should get one, for sure,” Gerard says, pointing his phone towards Leo.
Leo shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want to write about my breakfast.”
“Dude, it’s so funny. I could tweet a picture of my shoes every day and they’d go crazy!”
“I don’t want to take pictures of my shoes, either,” Leo tells him, looking at him like he’s crazy.
Gerard makes a low sound of disapproval, shovels a huge bite of omelet into his mouth. After a long minute of chewing he says, “Can I tweet a picture of you? You wouldn’t believe some of the things these girls will say…” Leo doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, and Gerard shrugs.
They fall into silence. Leo is cutting his own omelet into tiny pieces, pushing them around, but not really eating.
“Hey Leo?” Gerard says after awhile. Leo glances up at him, and Gerard’s not looking at Leo, he’s looking down at his own plate, but Leo can see he’s thinking about something and he waits.
He’s arranging the pieces of his omelet into a number 10 when Gerard says, “You’re really awesome, you know that?” It makes Leo pause, and he slides his eyes up to Gerard without moving his head, but Gerard is looking at his water glass, drawing his fingers around the edge.
“You’re really great, and you deserve good things,” Gerard finishes. He looks over at Leo and flashes a bright smile, the kind of smile that no one else has. “I just wanted to say that.”
Leo feels embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say, so he coughs and reaches for his water. After taking a long gulp and a pause, he says, “Dude, are you hitting on me?”
Gerard laughs, long and loud, and Leo joins him. “You’re not really my type Leo, I like blondes,” he says. “But come on… you’d be flattered.”
Leo laughs again, throws a grape at Gerard. It lands on top of his hair, rolls down his forehead and bounces off his nose, but he just picks it up and tosses it into his mouth. “These are so good,” he mumbles, shoveling another mouthful of egg into his mouth, and Leo smiles.
“Yeah,” he says. “So good.”
*
Leo goes to David’s house.
All the way there he plans the things he wants to say. He plans a speech, he plans a tirade, he actually thinks about saying the words “choose me,” he thinks about asking, “If not for Silva…” but that’s a sentence he doesn’t know how to finish, and by the time he gets to David’s house he still doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s going to say.
David opens the door with tired drooping eyes and he looks surprised to see Leo there.
“Hey,” he says, pushing the palm of one hand into his eye socket. He yawns. “Hey.”
“Were you still sleeping?” Leo asks.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “I guess I was.”
Leo looks at his watch. It’s almost 2 pm. He can see the dark shadows under David’s eyes like bruises, wonders how long he’s been missing this, and suddenly he doesn’t feel angry or desperate or sad or anything like that anymore; he just feels pity.
David suddenly seems to realize he’s still standing in the doorway and he steps to the side. “Oh, sorry, come in.”
But Leo just looks at him, stands still on the doorstep, and he thinks of Gerard’s words, hears him in his head saying “You deserve good things.” Leo shakes his head a little and steps back. “No, that’s okay. I shouldn’t have come.”
David looks at him blankly for a second and then something in his gaze shifts, and he seems to understand. “No, Leo, look-“
Leo cuts him off, says, “No,” but his tone is kind. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns back toward his car.
“Leo,” he hears David say, and Leo feels his fingertips brush the back of Leo’s arm, but he doesn’t turn around. At least this way he can pretend he was the one who walked away.
*
They go to Valencia and Leo expects… something. He expects lots of David and Silva and their old friends and their memories and reminiscing- but it’s not like that, not at all.
David’s quiet, more than anything, and Leo barely sees Silva, who’s back in Valencia for the first time since he left.
“Is it weird being back?” Leo asks at breakfast, more to make sure David is alright than anything else.
He looks up like he’s surprised Leo asked. “I’ve been back before,” he says slowly.
“Last year you came late though,” Leo points out. “You were only here a few hours.”
David stares at him a little and a small smile pulls at his lips. “You remember that?”
Leo just shrugs.
David goes quiet again and Leo thinks that maybe the conversation is over, is about to get up and throw his leftovers away, when David says thoughtfully, “It feels like a long time ago. That I was here.” He looks at Leo. “You know?”
Leo doesn’t know, not really, since the last club he left was more than a decade ago, and he was just a kid who didn’t know what it meant, but still he nods slowly at David, feels like he’s answering a question that’s about more than just clubs, just cities.
David shrugs and drops his eyes back to his plate. “I’m happy where I am now, anyway.” When Leo doesn’t say anything after a few moments, he looks up. Leo just looks back him, saying nothing. David says, “Leo.” And that it’s, that’s all he says, and it sounds like he’s asking Leo for something, but all Leo can do is smile and pick up his plate and walk away.
*
A few weeks later David asks him to stay back in the locker room after everyone else goes out to practice and he’s curious so he does. They haven’t talked in awhile, not that Leo was avoiding him or anything, just that he was out of things to say.
Leo sits on the bench, his studs clicking on the cement floor in beat with a rhythm in his head and he forces himself not to hum. David is watching the last of the staff walk out of the room and when they’re gone, he takes a deep breath.
He gives Leo a small smile. “Hey.”
Leo smiles back, tries not to laugh. “Hey yourself.”
David eyes flick away, somewhere over Leo’s head, like he’s searching for an answer in the walls. “I felt like I should talk to you. I’m sorry I waited so long.” Leo raises his eyebrows and shakes his head; he isn’t sure what David is talking about.
“I want you to know that nothing’s happening,” David says, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly. “Nothing’s happening. With-“ he cuts himself off here, his eyes flicking to Leo. “Silva. Nothing’s happening. It’s just- it was- complicated.” Leo sees the slump in his shoulders and the tiredness in his eyes and he feels badly that David is worrying about him, that he might have added to whatever pressure David feels, when all he wanted- all he wants-
“David,” he says softly, and he waits for the older man to meet his eyes. “David, I’m not asking you for anything.”
David just looks at him for a long moment and then he laughs shortly. “I really fucked this up didn’t I?”
And Leo laughs too, just to make him feel better, and he says, “Well, let’s just say I’m glad you’re more graceful on the pitch.”
David laughs again, but a true laugh this time, and the smile doesn’t leave his face as he looks at Leo thoughtfully. “You’re so great,” he says, almost to himself, but he’s reaching out for Leo, just brushing Leo’s wrist with his fingertips, and there’s something in his eyes like awe.
In his head Leo hears Gerard again, hears “You deserve good things,” and he knows it’s true, but he thinks maybe David is good things, maybe he could be, only time will tell, but for now-
“Come on,” Leo says, standing up and holding a hand out to help David up too. “Let’s go practice.”
pairing: leo messi/david villa, implied david villa/david silva
rating: nc17
words: 6400
summary: next season. david silva transfers to barcelona
Leo likes Barcelona in August, the way the streets empty with people gone on vacations, the way tourists huddle in groups on the corners, their eyes wide, maps spread in front of them. The heat can be stifling but Leo lives by the water and in the mornings, if he opens his back doors, he gets a perfect breeze, right into his kitchen while he drinks his coffee and reads the paper.
He also likes August because it means it’s almost time for a new season, time for his bones and muscles to return to their peak, time for games and trainings and meetings and points and goals and trophies. It means being back with his team, with his people, with Pep and Xavi and Gerard, it means tiki taka and Camp Nou. He’d spent the summer playing with Argentina, and he’d loved it, loved playing in the albiceleste, but it wasn’t the same on la seleccion, it was pressure on him, the weight of Argentina’s need to win resting squarely on his shoulders, no Xavi, no Iniesta, no Pedro to share the burden.
But now, Barcelona.
Because of the Copa America he’s missed the preseason tour, and only he, Dani, Adriano, and Mascherano are in Barcelona. They go to the Ciutat Esportiva, practice with the B team, and Leo likes it, likes their youth and enthusiasm, the way they don’t hesitate to tackle him even though he’s Leo Messi, the way their eyes shine when they talk about playing for the first team, and they really believe it, they all believe they will someday.
He practices free kicks with Mino, who celebrates like he’s won the World Cup every time he stops one, and tells Leo he’ll be stealing Victor’s place on the first team in no time, his laugh booming out across the field.
“You should switch to striker,” Leo advises. “More open spaces.”
Mino looks like he’s thinking about it. “Good point man. We’re pretty weak up front. What did you guys get last season, only like… 400 goals?” He kicks the ball back to Leo, who stops it with his chest and then balances it on top of his foot.
“Something like that. At least there’s three spaces,” Leo says. “One of us is bound to get injured. Maybe even two of us, if you’re lucky.”
“Well a guy can hope,” Mino says.
The coach calls for sprints and Leo falls into an easy jog next to Dani. His lungs burn earlier than he’s used to but he doesn’t worry, knows the summer fatigue will burn off soon enough, if he just works a little harder, concentrates more.
“Not too long now,” Dani says, and Leo knows how he feels, knows that whatever pent-up energy he feels from not playing Dani probably feels ten-fold, and that’s why they need him at Barcelona so badly, why Leo is so glad he stayed.
Leo hums. “What do you think, this season?” he asks. Their feet pad on the dry ground, kicking up dust around them.
Dani looks at him, grins. “What do you think?” Leo laughs; he expected that. Dani is nothing if not optimistic. He throws an arm around Leo’s shoulder. “It’s our time bro. Still!” And Leo thinks he’s right.
*
The rest of the team gets back from the States on a Tuesday. Leo goes to Camp Nou, hangs out for awhile, but the flight is delayed and after an hour or so he runs out of reasons to be there, so he goes home before they get back, putters around his house, calls his mom and plays ProEvo.
It gets late and he’s about to go to bed when his doorbell rings. Something in his stomach rises and flips and he has to force himself to walk to the door at a normal pace.
He pulls the door open as slowly as he can manage and David’s standing there, a bag slung over his shoulder, aviators covering his eyes even though it’s dark and it’s been dark for hours now but it doesn’t seem strange to Leo, it just seems like David and he smiles.
“It’s late,” he says, needlessly, as David walks in and removes his sunglasses.
“The fucking plane,” David says, and his voice is scratchy. Leo sees a flat spot on his hair and imagines his head pressed against the window, imagines him sleeping. “It took forever.” He sets his bag down, bends down to stick his glasses inside. When he straightens he reaches his arms over his head, stretching, and his shirt lifts just enough that Leo sees the curve of his hip, the dip of his pelvis disappearing below his waistband, and Leo swallows.
David settles and looks at Leo, finally, smiling a little. For a moment they just stand there, smiling at each other, and then David mumbles, “C’mere,” and his hand is on Leo’s hip, the other on the back of his head, pulling him in, and Leo brings his arms up around the older man’s back, pushing his face into his neck.
“Sorry I smell like plane,” David mutters into his neck, and Leo laughs shortly but it cuts off as David’s mouth finds the shell of his ear, lazily circling his tongue around it, making Leo’s breath catch. He pushes forward into David harder, opening his mouth around the space where David’s neck meets his shoulder and grazing his teeth over the soft skin there, the way he knows David likes, and he’s rewarded by David’s hips bucking against his gently.
But just as soon as he’s started, David pulls back, laughing when Leo resists. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, disentangling himself from Leo’s limbs. “I’m so tired though. And thirsty. Meet you in the bedroom, yeah?” Leo nods, watches him walk toward the kitchen.
Leo knows David is tired so he lets him lay back while he blows him, fingers pressing into his hips, his thighs, before bringing one hand to wrap around the base of David’s cock. When he looks up, David has his head back and his eyes closed, but he lets Leo know he’s still enjoying it by threading his hands through his hair, pulling gently, groaning and lifting his hips.
Leo dips his mouth as far as he can, running his tongue up the length of David’s cock and sucking on the head, tightening his fist and flicking his wrist the way he knows will send David over the edge, and it does, his hips lift jerkily and his fists tighten in Leo’s hair and he comes with his mouth open in a silent groan.
Leo pulls away, his own hard cock in his hand, but when David makes to move down toward it Leo shakes his head, holds him in place with his other hand. He starts jerking himself off, his nose pressing into David’s collarbone, and David stops moving down but wraps his own hand around Leo’s, tightening their grip and quickening the pace. It’s been a long time and Leo knows he won’t last long, doesn’t even try, and when he hips start jerking on their own accord David leans down before Leo can protest and closes his lips around the head of Leo’s cock, sucking and still twisting their wrists together. Leo moans, low in throat, and comes in David’s mouth, his head spinning.
After they clean up and before they fall asleep, David says, “I’m gonna leave early tomorrow, go home and unpack and clean up. But I’ll see you at the training center okay?” Leo nods, falls asleep wearing only a sheet, his hand fisted in David’s hair.
*
August in Barcelona- at any club- means something else too: transfers.
They’d already lost Gaby and that had hurt, because Gaby was one of Leo's closest friends on the team, reminded him so much of home, but Leo knew he would get more playing time elsewhere so he couldn’t be too upset, not when it would be so good for the man. Otherwise, Barcelona has been quiet, preferring to focus on their La Masia prospects. Leo knows there are rumors, tries not to listen to them since they hardly ever end up being true. But sometimes- sometimes they do.
One day, late in August, he’s sitting on a bench in the locker room after practice, next to David, listening to Gerard tell a story about a prank he’d pulled on his brother the night before, something about shaving cream and hot water. Out of the corner of his eye Leo sees Xavi and Andres walk in, heads bent together, whispering. Xavi says something quietly to Puyol, whose eyebrows go up, and that gets the attention of others, but Leo sees Xavi shrugging and Andres shaking his head so he doesn’t wonder too much. David doesn’t seem to have noticed.
Eventually Xavi wanders closer to Leo and Leo asks him what that was all about, casually, not really caring so much. Xavi flicks his eyes to David so quickly Leo isn’t even sure he saw it, and then Xavi shakes his head and makes a face like “nothing, nothing.” But it makes Leo curious, and he says, “No, tell me,” and David is looking over too now and Xavi hesitates.
“Just transfer rumors,” he says, shrugging and looking away like it’s not a big deal, but the way he’s acting says differently.
Leo raises his eyebrows, says, “Well?” Xavi makes a face he can’t interpret and Leo looks toward David, who’s standing now, so Leo can’t make out his face entirely, but it seems like David knows something Leo doesn’t because his face is serious and he’s looking right at Xavi and Xavi is looking back and Leo suddenly feels desperately out of the loop.
Leo stands up then, between them, forcing them both to take a step back, and he says, “Will someone please tell me what is going on?”
They keep looking at each other, but finally David says simply, “Silva,” turning away from Leo as he says it, back toward his bag. Then a moment later- “The rumors are about Silva.”
If it were anyone else Leo would make a joke, an offhand comment about transfer rumors, but the name makes the words stick in his throat- no, it’s less the name and more the way it sounds rolling off David’s tongue, the way his face moves when he says it, or rather the way it doesn’t, the way Leo can see him working to keep a blank expression. He knows David had played with Silva for a long time, knew they were close, but he’d never asked David about him. Leo didn’t make a habit of asking questions he didn’t want the answer to.
Instead Leo just says, “Oh,” and sinks back down onto the bench, not looking at anything. He just sits, and a few minutes later David walks out without a word.
*
At practice the next morning, Leo doesn’t say anything to David, not good morning, doesn’t ask why he didn’t come over, why he didn’t pick up when Leo called. He has that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he gets when he’s pissed off someone he cares about, and he keeps reminding himself that he didn’t do anything, that he should be the one that’s mad, if anyone, and yet-
But David grabs him to stretch with, wraps a hand around his thigh and leans over him, Leo’s ankle above his head, and when their faces are close enough he says, “Sorry about last night, I fell asleep really early,” and Leo feels better, lighter. David pushes his leg in further, until it starts to hurt, and Leo grunts a little.
“Feeling okay?” he asks. David nods.
“Just getting used to all this practice again I guess,” and he smiles.
David switches Leo’s legs and leans in again, and Leo says, “You wanna come over after practice?” He can feel the fronts of David’s thighs pressing against him and he wants, he wants. David smiles and Leo takes it as a yes, switches positions with him.
They scrimmage and Leo feels the best with the ball at his feet, laughing at Gerard and Dani when he escapes their tackles, slapping Victor lightly on the face when he blocks a good one, sliding inch perfect balls straight to David’s feet. Shoot, score. Leo almost wouldn’t remember the day before, the rumors, if he didn’t see Rosell and his entourage stride out and have a short conversation with Pep, something he can’t hear, but he knows; they all do.
Leo looks toward David. He’s staring at the pitch, scuffing his toe into the dirt.
*
“I’m going to go get some aspirin or something from the doctor,” David tells him after practice. “I’ll be at your place soon, okay?”
Leo says, “Sure, fine.” When Leo leaves, a reporter in the hallway asks him what he thinks of the Silva transfer.
David never comes over.
*
“Gerard says he’s coming today,” Bojan says the next morning in the parking lot.
Leo rubs the bridge of his nose, already feels a headache blooming behind his eyes. “Who?” he asks, even though he knows, even though he doesn’t really want to hear the name anymore.
Bojan looks at him, rolls his eyes like duh, stupid. “Did we sign more than one international star yesterday?”
Leo manages to crack a smile. “I thought maybe Zlatan was in town or something,” and that makes Bojan laugh, distracts him from Silva as they walk inside.
He’s not there when they get to the dressing room and Leo feels relieved as he changes into his training kit, feels bad for doing so. He only knows Silva from playing against him but he seems nice enough, talented, certainly Barcelona quality, so Leo shouldn’t be feeling anything but happy to have him, but he can’t even pretend that’s what he feels.
David walks in a few minutes later, while Leo is lacing up his boots, and he sits down right next to him. “Hey,” he says finally.
“Hey,” Leo says, keeping his head down, pulling on his laces expertly.
“Sleep well?” David asks, and Leo thinks it’s a strange thing to say, wonders he’s ever heard David say something so mundane to him before.
“Yeah, I guess,” he answers anyway. “You?”
“Yeah, sure,” David says, and he’s just sitting there, not getting ready or anything, and Leo wonders why they’re so awkward suddenly. “You got my text about how the doctor said to go home and sleep, right?” he asks, eyes searching Leo’s.
“Yes,” Leo says.
“Okay,” David nods, looks down at his hands. “You didn’t respond, so…”
Leo opens his mouth as if to explain, but nothing comes to mind, so instead he just shrugs, stands up. “See you out there then?” he asks, and David nods. When Leo walks away he feels like he’s escaping something.
*
Silva shows up midway through practice, walking across the field in street clothes, a hand over his squinting eyes. Pep strides over to shake his hand, waves in the scrimmaging teams. The Spanish internationals are the first to greet him, with hugs and kisses on the cheek; except, Leo notices, David hangs back with the rest of them, who make their way up to greet Silva one by one, with handshakes instead of hugs. Leo goes up himself, greets the new man. His handshake is firm and his smile is bright, all gleaming white teeth against tan skin, and Leo can barely see his eyes behind the shade of hair fanning across his face.
“Welcome to the club,” Leo says stiffly, trying to be discreet when he gives him a once over.
“Glad to be here,” Silva replies, and his voice is quiet but sincere. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and looks at Leo intensely. “Really. So happy to play with you, Leo,” and he smiles and Leo can’t not smile back, but then he sees Silva’s eyes flick to somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere he knows David is waiting, and Leo pulls back with a jerk, stepping away quickly.
He tries not to look but he can’t stop himself, and when he does he feels like he’s intruding, even out here in the open, in the sunlight. Silva’s armed are wrapped around David’s neck, their bodies pressed close; David’s hands are resting on his sides, not tight but Leo can see that David is saying something low in Silva’s ear and when he sees the smile starting to spread across Silva’s face he can’t watch anymore and he turns away. He sees Gerard standing with his back to Leo, gesticulating wildly to the people around him, and Leo takes off in a full run, launching himself onto the bigger man’s back so they go careening over, and Gerard shoots out a hand that ends up bringing Andres down with them, and they all roll around in the grass wrestling for a minute before Pep blows his whistle to get them all together again.
Leo glances toward David and Silva. They’re still standing there, now a sliver of space between them, not talking anymore, just standing, looking. Leo knows.
*
Bojan tells him Silva is going back to Manchester for a few days, to tie up loose ends and get his personal belongings together, and Leo wonders why Bojan thinks he cares so much about Silva’s schedule. In any case, David enters the dressing room a few minutes later alone, and he doesn’t look at Leo or anyone, just moves toward his locker and slowly starts to undress, gets his things together for a shower.
“I think I’m going to shower at home,” Leo says to no one in particular. Bojan makes a face at him but shrugs.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, and a chorus of goodbyes sound back at him. David’s already left the room.
Leo goes home, answers emails from his family, orders groceries. He starts to clean out his refrigerator, and when he finds a six pack of beer in the back, he cracks one open, and it makes the time go a little faster. He’s polishing off his third and contemplating the shelf life of “butter product” when his doorbell rings.
He doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see David when he comes over unannounced all the time, but he is. David looks equally surprised when he notices the beer in Leo’s hand.
“Are we day drinking now?” he asks, an amused lilt in his voice.
Leo feels like he’s moving slowly when he looks at the bottle in his hand and then back to David. “I was cleaning. I got bored.” David laughs and it looks so familiar, nothing like what he’s looked like to Leo for the past couple days, and now Leo wonders if he was imagining the whole thing after all. David walks inside, just like he normally does, taps Leo on the arm, and that’s normal too.
Leo gets him his own beer, finishes his project while David sits on a bar stool and spins his bottle around in his hands. They don’t say much except when Leo holds up something to ask what it is or if David wants it.
He finally finishes, and he realizes the 6 pack is gone too, isn’t sure how many were him and how many were David but it doesn’t matter all that much. His head is a little foggy but he feels fine. He turns back toward David and sees him slide off the bar stool, walk purposefully towards Leo. He doesn’t stop until he has Leo pressed right up against the island in his kitchen, his fingers hooking through Leo’s belt loops.
His breath smells faintly of cheap beer and his lips are cold when he suddenly crashes his mouth against Leo’s. Leo feels like he’s moving very fast, but maybe it’s just his own slowness, maybe he’s just dulled from the alcohol, but in what seems like a second David has him pushed up on the island, is removing his shirt, sucking his way up Leo’s chest, and he’s sucking hard, Leo can see small purple marks already forming over his pale skin.
In response he fists his hand in David’s hair, pulls back sharply, enough to make David hiss, but Leo sees a flash in his eye and Leo knows he likes it. Leo pulls back even further, exposing David’s throat, and Leo attaches his mouth there, sucking at first and then biting down, knowing he’s leaving a mark and not caring, trying not to think who he’s leaving it for.
David growls suddenly, low in his throat, and pushes Leo off him forcefully, back onto the island, stepping away to remove his own shirt and unhook his belt. He slides it out and then he’s on Leo again, his lips hot against Leo’s neck, his shoulders, leaving a trail of wetness down Leo’s body. His palm is pressing up against Leo’s cock, hard in his jeans, and Leo bucks up at the same time he’s grabbing David’s hair and pushing him down down down. David resists, forcing his way back up, finding Leo’s mouth with his own as he works down Leo’s zipper. He doesn’t even bother to push down his jeans before he finds Leo’s cock, hot in his hand, and starts twisting his wrist, his thumb moving over the tip until Leo cries out.
David backs off then, pulling Leo’s jeans and boxers down with him and then shedding his own clothing, before he lifts himself up over Leo on the island. His skin is hot and slick and Leo can’t stop touching him, can’t stop his head from spinning as David’s mouth is everywhere, biting his nipples, licking down his sides, running his tongue down Leo’s length until his hips jerk. Leo’s head spins and he just lays back, lets David do what he wants, lets David have the control he obviously wants.
Finally David lifts up one of Leo’s legs, his thumbs pressing into Leo’s hips, so hard he knows there will be bruises, doesn’t care, and he slides into Leo in a single thrust, exhaling sharply when he feels Leo constrict around him. Once he’s inside he lets Leo’s leg fall, bracing his hands on either side of Leo’s head, hovering above him. His eyes are closed and Leo feels the sudden urge to yell at him, to make him stop until he opens his eyes and looks at Leo while he fucks him, but Leo bites his tongue and presses his forehead into David’s cheek, not wanting to watch David not watch him.
David slams into him relentlessly, until his hips and back actually start to ache, but he can’t find the words to say stop, to say slow down, and he doesn’t really want to, he knows he’ll pay tomorrow but thinks it’s worth it. Finally David slides a hand between them and wraps it around Leo’s aching cock and it only takes a minute before Leo is coming between them, gasping David’s name, and David slams his cock into Leo a few more times before clamping his teeth down on Leo’s shoulders and coming with a shudder.
They lay there like that for a long time, still on the kitchen island, David barely holding himself up over Leo’s heaving chest. Finally David rolls off and gets a wet paper towel, wiping off his own stomach before coming over to Leo.
“Jesus Christ,” he says when he sees dark spots over Leo’s body, shadows in the shapes of fingers and a bruise in the shape of his mouth blooming on his neck. “What the fuck was I thinking? Christ. I’m sorry Leo.” He looks genuinely remorseful and Leo wants to tell him he doesn’t care, that he liked it, that he liked having David branded all over him, but he doesn’t dare. Instead he just inspects his chest along with David and shrugs.
“It happens,” he says finally.
David swipes another wet paper towel over Leo’s stomach. “Fuck,” he says, and he looks sincerely angry at himself and Leo wishes he would stop. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” Leo says, and then he laughs a little. “A little. But it’s fine.” He smiles, to let David know it’s okay, and David smiles back but it’s hesitant. For the rest of the night he’ll barely touch Leo, just a brush of the wrist here, a pat of the head there, and Leo wonders if it’s even worth it.
*
In the morning Leo wakes up and David’s already gone, the bed cold where he’d been. Leo’s sore and he takes a long shower, the water hot, and it eases his muscles at least enough that he knows he can get through practice, although if anyone sees his bruised body he might get some questions.
He’s surprised when he goes downstairs and finds David sitting at the bar again, a mug and newspaper in front of him. He’s not reading the paper, he’s staring out the window, and Leo rolls his eyes when he sees Silva is on the cover and then is glad David didn’t see.
“Hey,” he says, passing a hand through David’s hair as he walks by. “I figured you left.”
David smiles at him. “No. I made coffee though,” he said, and he points. Leo tries not to walk stiffly, knows David will feel bad if he does, and when he turns back from pouring himself a cup, he sees David is studying him closely, but he doesn’t say anything.
The days pass. David continues being careful with him, frustratingly so, but otherwise things are normal, and before he knows it Silva turns up at practice one day, just like that, just out of nowhere. Now that all the fanfare has died down it feels simpler.
It should be the same as when David came, since Silva knows half the team already just like David did, but Silva is different, Leo figures this out quickly. He is quiet, reserved, where David is loud and caustic. His smile comes slowly and hesitantly where David’s is quick and easy. For the first few days Silva mostly stays to himself or with one other person, leaned in close to hear his quiet voice, and Leo thinks maybe he won’t even notice he’s there at all.
That doesn’t happen of course. On the pitch Silva is always there, and even Leo is impressed by how quickly he molds his style to that of Barcelona, how quickly he starts to pick out their runs on the pitch, inch perfect passes laid directly at his feet to punch home for the goals. Of course it’s still only practice, but something rises in Leo’s chest, a feeling that they are only getting better, and he remembers Dani’s words all those weeks ago, “It’s still our time.” He thinks Dani was right.
Silva gets his first league starts a few weeks into September, and it’s almost immediate that he threads a pass to Leo who chips it easily over the keeper’s head, and just like that it’s 1-0 and Leo picks out Silva who jumps in his arms, the most contact Leo thinks he has ever had with the other man. Leo’s happy, he laughs into Silva’s neck, and as he slides down Leo puts a hand in his hair. It’s soft, as soft as it looks from far away, but he doesn’t have very long to think about it because another hands slides against his in Silva’s hair and David is there, his sweaty face pressed against Silva’s cheek, and he’s yelling something in Silva’s ear and he doesn’t even look at Leo but Silva does, Silva just looks at him with his quiet face and Leo pulls away quickly, his heart pounding in his ears. He sees David’s lips slide against Silva’s cheek, lingering, lingering, and he walks away quickly.
Xavi catches up with him, drops an arm around his shoulder, congratulates him on a beautiful goal and Leo smiles at him, wonders how much he knows.
After the game, as Leo walks off the pitch, he sees Silva just ahead of him, and suddenly he feels tired of the games and the tension and the things he probably just made up in his head. He catches up to the other man, sets a hand on the top of his head. “Good assist,” he says, again, and Silva looks up with a wide grin. Leo thinks he understands why David- why anyone- would like him.
“Great finish,” Silva says, and Leo feels his arm come up and settle around Leo’s waist, a little hesitantly, but there it is. It feels heavy to Leo, but he ignores it, walks into the locker room with his arm around Silva in a comfortable silence.
*
In a game in early October, Silva gets injured. Leo doesn’t even bother looking for David’s face. He doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t want the answer to.
*
Pep gives them a weekend off. Leo suddenly can’t wait, can’t wait to spend a few days locked away in his house, away from training, away from kits and schedules and even these people. He’s tired, not tired from playing or from football or training or any of the other various types of tired he’s used to by now, but mentally tired, tired of playing games, of over-thinking things, of wondering what’s real and what’s not. He’s tired of David and Silva and he’s tired of feeling like he’s in the middle of a situation he has no idea about, a story he doesn’t know the plot to.
He spends the first evening watching television and dozing on his couch, and in the morning he goes to a late brunch with Gerard, an out of the way café by Leo’s house, by the water.
Gerard chatters on about his family, about Puyol, Cesc, his girlfriend, his Twitter. He tweets a picture of his breakfast and reads aloud from the responses he gets. Leo’s stomach hurts from laughing.
“You should get one, for sure,” Gerard says, pointing his phone towards Leo.
Leo shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want to write about my breakfast.”
“Dude, it’s so funny. I could tweet a picture of my shoes every day and they’d go crazy!”
“I don’t want to take pictures of my shoes, either,” Leo tells him, looking at him like he’s crazy.
Gerard makes a low sound of disapproval, shovels a huge bite of omelet into his mouth. After a long minute of chewing he says, “Can I tweet a picture of you? You wouldn’t believe some of the things these girls will say…” Leo doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, and Gerard shrugs.
They fall into silence. Leo is cutting his own omelet into tiny pieces, pushing them around, but not really eating.
“Hey Leo?” Gerard says after awhile. Leo glances up at him, and Gerard’s not looking at Leo, he’s looking down at his own plate, but Leo can see he’s thinking about something and he waits.
He’s arranging the pieces of his omelet into a number 10 when Gerard says, “You’re really awesome, you know that?” It makes Leo pause, and he slides his eyes up to Gerard without moving his head, but Gerard is looking at his water glass, drawing his fingers around the edge.
“You’re really great, and you deserve good things,” Gerard finishes. He looks over at Leo and flashes a bright smile, the kind of smile that no one else has. “I just wanted to say that.”
Leo feels embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say, so he coughs and reaches for his water. After taking a long gulp and a pause, he says, “Dude, are you hitting on me?”
Gerard laughs, long and loud, and Leo joins him. “You’re not really my type Leo, I like blondes,” he says. “But come on… you’d be flattered.”
Leo laughs again, throws a grape at Gerard. It lands on top of his hair, rolls down his forehead and bounces off his nose, but he just picks it up and tosses it into his mouth. “These are so good,” he mumbles, shoveling another mouthful of egg into his mouth, and Leo smiles.
“Yeah,” he says. “So good.”
*
Leo goes to David’s house.
All the way there he plans the things he wants to say. He plans a speech, he plans a tirade, he actually thinks about saying the words “choose me,” he thinks about asking, “If not for Silva…” but that’s a sentence he doesn’t know how to finish, and by the time he gets to David’s house he still doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s going to say.
David opens the door with tired drooping eyes and he looks surprised to see Leo there.
“Hey,” he says, pushing the palm of one hand into his eye socket. He yawns. “Hey.”
“Were you still sleeping?” Leo asks.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “I guess I was.”
Leo looks at his watch. It’s almost 2 pm. He can see the dark shadows under David’s eyes like bruises, wonders how long he’s been missing this, and suddenly he doesn’t feel angry or desperate or sad or anything like that anymore; he just feels pity.
David suddenly seems to realize he’s still standing in the doorway and he steps to the side. “Oh, sorry, come in.”
But Leo just looks at him, stands still on the doorstep, and he thinks of Gerard’s words, hears him in his head saying “You deserve good things.” Leo shakes his head a little and steps back. “No, that’s okay. I shouldn’t have come.”
David looks at him blankly for a second and then something in his gaze shifts, and he seems to understand. “No, Leo, look-“
Leo cuts him off, says, “No,” but his tone is kind. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns back toward his car.
“Leo,” he hears David say, and Leo feels his fingertips brush the back of Leo’s arm, but he doesn’t turn around. At least this way he can pretend he was the one who walked away.
*
They go to Valencia and Leo expects… something. He expects lots of David and Silva and their old friends and their memories and reminiscing- but it’s not like that, not at all.
David’s quiet, more than anything, and Leo barely sees Silva, who’s back in Valencia for the first time since he left.
“Is it weird being back?” Leo asks at breakfast, more to make sure David is alright than anything else.
He looks up like he’s surprised Leo asked. “I’ve been back before,” he says slowly.
“Last year you came late though,” Leo points out. “You were only here a few hours.”
David stares at him a little and a small smile pulls at his lips. “You remember that?”
Leo just shrugs.
David goes quiet again and Leo thinks that maybe the conversation is over, is about to get up and throw his leftovers away, when David says thoughtfully, “It feels like a long time ago. That I was here.” He looks at Leo. “You know?”
Leo doesn’t know, not really, since the last club he left was more than a decade ago, and he was just a kid who didn’t know what it meant, but still he nods slowly at David, feels like he’s answering a question that’s about more than just clubs, just cities.
David shrugs and drops his eyes back to his plate. “I’m happy where I am now, anyway.” When Leo doesn’t say anything after a few moments, he looks up. Leo just looks back him, saying nothing. David says, “Leo.” And that it’s, that’s all he says, and it sounds like he’s asking Leo for something, but all Leo can do is smile and pick up his plate and walk away.
*
A few weeks later David asks him to stay back in the locker room after everyone else goes out to practice and he’s curious so he does. They haven’t talked in awhile, not that Leo was avoiding him or anything, just that he was out of things to say.
Leo sits on the bench, his studs clicking on the cement floor in beat with a rhythm in his head and he forces himself not to hum. David is watching the last of the staff walk out of the room and when they’re gone, he takes a deep breath.
He gives Leo a small smile. “Hey.”
Leo smiles back, tries not to laugh. “Hey yourself.”
David eyes flick away, somewhere over Leo’s head, like he’s searching for an answer in the walls. “I felt like I should talk to you. I’m sorry I waited so long.” Leo raises his eyebrows and shakes his head; he isn’t sure what David is talking about.
“I want you to know that nothing’s happening,” David says, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly. “Nothing’s happening. With-“ he cuts himself off here, his eyes flicking to Leo. “Silva. Nothing’s happening. It’s just- it was- complicated.” Leo sees the slump in his shoulders and the tiredness in his eyes and he feels badly that David is worrying about him, that he might have added to whatever pressure David feels, when all he wanted- all he wants-
“David,” he says softly, and he waits for the older man to meet his eyes. “David, I’m not asking you for anything.”
David just looks at him for a long moment and then he laughs shortly. “I really fucked this up didn’t I?”
And Leo laughs too, just to make him feel better, and he says, “Well, let’s just say I’m glad you’re more graceful on the pitch.”
David laughs again, but a true laugh this time, and the smile doesn’t leave his face as he looks at Leo thoughtfully. “You’re so great,” he says, almost to himself, but he’s reaching out for Leo, just brushing Leo’s wrist with his fingertips, and there’s something in his eyes like awe.
In his head Leo hears Gerard again, hears “You deserve good things,” and he knows it’s true, but he thinks maybe David is good things, maybe he could be, only time will tell, but for now-
“Come on,” Leo says, standing up and holding a hand out to help David up too. “Let’s go practice.”