(no subject)
wait a little longer
xavi/villa
pg13
2620 words
football kink prompt here
It’s always like this for Xavi after a game; it feels like it takes forever to get to sleep, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, and even when he does, he wakes up early; sore, grumpy, but wide awake.
It’s still very early when he decides to go to go to Villa’s. He thinks about calling first, but decides he’d rather wake the other man up in person, doesn’t want to give him a chance to say no.
He swings by a bakery in Villa’s neighborhood, orders a bag of bagels and two coffees. Rolls his eyes at himself when he grabs two sugars for Villa without thinking.
Xavi parks outside Villa’s house, gets out, stretches. The air is quiet, crisp, and Xavi thinks it’s nice, sometimes, to be awake when no one else is. He thinks it would be nicer if Villa were awake with him too, but. He sets the coffee and bagels down on the doorstep while he roots for the extra key in Villa’s front planter.
The house inside is still, silent, and Xavi smiles at the signs of Villa around the entry way, the neon sneakers discarded to the side and the matching training jacket tossed over a table. Xavi always makes fun of him for matching his sneakers to his clothes, but really, secretly, Xavi likes it. He likes it a lot. Likes most of the things he makes fun of Villa for.
He’s pushing one shoe out of the way with the tip of his sneaker when he hears movement from the direction of the kitchen. “Villa?” he calls out, moving into the other room.
There’s a man there, definitely not Villa, bent over with his head in the fridge. Xavi can tell it isn’t Villa because he’s very tall, and Xavi can see a mop of curly hair outlined in the light from the refrigerator. He’s only wearing boxers, which is on one hand relieving since a burglar would probably be more fully dressed, but on the other hand makes Xavi’s stomach drop precipitously.
“Um, hello?” Xavi says. He sets the bagels and coffee on the counter.
The man stands up quickly. “Hey,” he says. He turns, and then, “Oh! Hey! Xavi! Awesome, man.” He seems blissfully unaware of his own near-nudity and strides over to shake Xavi’s hand.
“Hi. Hello,” Xavi says, shaking his hand back and looking up at him. He’s tan and he blinks very slowly. When the other man doesn’t say anything else, he asks, “And you are?”
“Oh,” the guy says. “Sorry. Juan. I’m…” he trails off, suddenly looks nervous.
“A friend of Villa’s,” Xavi mutters, looking away. “It’s fine.” Juan looks relieved.
Juan walks away, hops into a chair at the breakfast bar. Xavi can see he’s holding an apple. He bites into it, and juice runs down his chin when he says, “He’s still asleep. Villa.”
Xavi turns away, doesn’t want to look at his face anymore. He finds a knife and starts cutting bagels. “Oh. Um. Okay. Did you guys have plans today?”
He can hear the crunch of Juan biting into his apple again before he hears, “What? Nah. I’m gonna leave in a second here, I’m teaching a spin class this morning.” Xavi tries not to roll his eyes but then he realizes no one can see anyway, so he does.
“Oh. Okay. Well, I can make you a bagel if you want?” Xavi offers.
“No thanks. Hey, it was nice to meet you though.”
Xavi says, “Yeah, same,” but he doesn’t bother to turn around as he hears Juan walk out. Tries not to think about Juan going back to Villa’s darkened bedroom, rooting through their mingled clothes on the floor, Villa’s sleeping form sprawled across the bed-
He slices bagels. Instead of thinking about Juan and his abs and his mouth and where it’s been, he thinks about the game the day before- passes he’d made and balls he’d lost, runs that were just inches off, shots that sailed high. He thinks about the way Camp Nou sounded, he thinks about his distribution, how Messi thought he wasn’t getting the ball enough (but Messi always thought that), how Andres had looked right after he scored the game winner, just beaming, just fucking beautiful-
“Hey.” The voice behind him is sleepy and low. Xavi bites the inside of his cheek briefly.
“Fucking finally, Jesus,” he says. He glances over his shoulder and Villa’s squinting into the sun, his hair mussed from sleep, and he’s scratching his bare stomach absently. Xavi swallows, turns back quickly, almost cuts his finger open.
“Shut up, it’s practically the fucking crack of dawn,” Villa says, voice scratchy. Xavi snorts. “Which one is mine?” and Xavi turns to see him studying the coffee cups.
He walks over, opens the lid of one. “This one,” he says, “But it’s probably cold now. I’ll warm it up,” and he turns to the microwave as Villa slumps onto one of the bar stools.
Villa folds his arms in front of him and lays his head on them, yawning. “Does it have sugar?” he mumbles into them, barely audible, but Xavi understands.
“Yeah,” he answers, and he looks at Villa, eyes scanning the expanse of his shoulders, smooth skin he wants to leave marks on.
Villa glances up suddenly, catches Xavi’s eyes on him. Xavi turns away quickly, looks back at the microwave. “You always know what I like,” Villa says, a teasing lilt to his voice. Xavi just grumbles something incoherent, grateful when the microwave beeps.
He sets the cup next to Villa’s head, can’t help but swipe his hand over Villa’s hair. Villa looks up again and grins. Xavi rolls his eyes. “Sesame bagel?” he asks.
Villa makes an affirmative noise. After Xavi drops their bagels in the toaster, Villa lifts his head and rests it on one palm, says, “Did you just wake up this morning and decide to come over and wait on me?”
Xavi taps his fingers on the counter, stares at the toaster. “I dunno,” he says. “I was bored. Couldn’t sleep.”
“I can think of a way to tire you out,” Villa says, wiggles his eyebrows.
“Shut the fuck up,” Xavi mutters, and looks away, because he can’t with Villa’s teasing, not after Juan, not after- he can’t-
There’s a tense beat, and then, “Sorry,” Villa says, and he sounds- embarrassed? Xavi doesn’t know, doesn’t understand.
“Looks like you found someone to tire you out, though,” he says, to break the silence.
Villa raises his eyebrows, coughs. “Oh,” he says. “Oh. You met him.”
“Sure did.”
“Yeah, well, he…” Villa starts, but then stops, makes a face like, what can I say? And Xavi knows, knows there isn’t anything to say, because he’s found strangers in Villa’s kitchen in the morning before, and he’s seen marks on Villa’s ribs in the showers in the shape of foreign mouths, and he’s lain awake in far away hotel rooms waiting for Villa to stumble in as the sun’s rising, smelling like sweat and sex. So, yeah, Xavi knows.
After a long silence, Villa says, “He didn’t happen to tell you his name, did he?”
Xavi spins to face Villa, snaps, “What the fuck, Jesus Christ, Villa, what are you thinking…” and then he notices Villa’s laughing, holding his hands up in surrender, and he stops.
“I’m kidding, Xavi,” he says, “I know him. Don’t worry.” Xavi’s annoyed at himself for getting worked up, for showing Villa that, and he turns back to grab their bagels out of the toaster. “Good to know you care, though,” Villa says.
Yeah, Xavi thinks. So glad you enjoy.
He puts cream cheese on the bagels, slides one over to Villa as he says, “He looked young.” He sounds as casual as he can manage.
“Everyone looks young to you,” Villa says, and he shoves his bagel in his mouth. He’s still chewing when he says, “On account of you being so old and all.” He smiles widely. There’s cream cheese lining his lips.
Xavi’s standing on the other side of the counter from Villa, eating standing up. He glares over his bagel. “I’m not old.”
Villa drains the rest of his coffee and stands, moves around the counter toward a cupboard. As he passes Xavi he reaches out, puts his hand on the back of Xavi’s neck, squeezes. When he speaks, he’s close enough that Xavi can feel his breath against his hairline. “I’m just kidding,” he says, and then he grabs a cup and he backs away again. “Because if you’re old, then I’m almost old, and that’s not okay at all.” Xavi turns his head, sees Villa’s grin. He rubs the back of his neck, still warm from Villa’s palm.
He hears the rumble of the ice machine, looks over to see Villa chugging down a glass of ice water. Villa sees him, grins. When he walks past Xavi he smacks a kiss on his cheek, says, “Thanks for bagels, by the way.”
His lips are cold. Xavi tries not to think about where they’ve been.
Xavi’s not proud of it, but he starts ignoring Villa.
Not ignoring him, not exactly, but he makes sure to be in a conversation with someone when Villa comes into the locker room in the morning, so all he has to do is wave. He doesn’t answer his texts and tells him he fell asleep. He grabs Leo to stretch with.
On Monday, when Villa sees him heading over for stretches with Leo, he just kind of shrugs, looks around for someone free. It’s not like they always have to be together at practice.
On Tuesday, Xavi makes sure to ask Leo to stay back in the locker room, talk about free kicks, so it’s easy, expected, when they come out late, to stretch together.
On Wednesday, Villa waits outside the locker room door for him, but Xavi hurries past, yells over his shoulder, “I’m going to stretch with Leo, okay?” Doesn’t wait for a response.
On Thursday Villa grabs Puyi to stretch with before Xavi does anything at all, and Xavi tries not to think, that didn’t take long.
Leo’s leaning over him, stretching his leg above his head, when he says, “You know I don’t have to do this.”
Xavi pushes his fingers into the back of his thigh, where it’s tight. “Help me stretch?”
Leo pushes his leg down a little more when Xavi motions. “No, I mean. Be your pawn.”
Pep yells something and Leo lets up on Xavi’s leg, lifts up the other one. Xavi leans into the burn. “Pawn?” he asks. Leo stares down at him.
When Xavi keeps looking at him questioningly, he sighs, rolls his eyes. “I know you’re avoiding Villa. And using me in the process.” He pushes down more.
Xavi narrows his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I’m just-“ but then Leo pushes down on his leg suddenly and he hisses, arches up to ease the pull.
“I have you in a precarious position right now,” Leo says, laughter creeping into his voice. “Don’t lie to me.”
Xavi shakes his head, curses at Leo. He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m just trying to take a breather. You know?”
Leo lets Xavi’s leg up, drops onto the ground beside him. He keeps his face neutral. “A breather from what?”
Xavi picks at the grass, doesn’t answer.
“Do you guys like being miserable, or what?” Xavi’s head snaps up at that.
“What are you talking about?” he asks suspiciously.
Leo rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about how you love each other,” he says matter of factly.
Xavi chokes on his own breath a little. “What the fuck, Leo,” he says.
Leo’s looking at his toes, leans down to pick grass off his boot. “Whatever. Play dumb if you want. Everyone knows.”
Xavi feels a little like he can’t breathe, feels light-headed.
Leo doesn’t seem bothered, and no one else is paying attention, so after awhile, Xavi says, “Villa is not in love with me.”
Leo scoffs. “Um, yeah, he is.”
“But he-“
“Yeah, he is,” Leo says again. “He’s staring at you right now.”
Xavi looks over. Villa’s stretching with Puyol, turned away from Xavi and Leo. “No he isn’t.”
Leo glances over, puffs out a breathe of air. “Well, whatever. He is 95% of the time; I took a chance.”
Xavi looks back over at him stretching, Puyol’s hands on his thighs, and heat rises to his cheeks. “You really think he-“
“No,” Leo says. “I know.” He continues to look unconcerned about what he is telling Xavi.
“But what do I do then?” Xavi asks, hopes he doesn’t sound as lost as he thinks he might.
Leo says, “Um, tell him?”
“I can’t just-“
“You can.”
“But what if you’re-“
“I’m not.”
Xavi looks at Leo, frustrated. Kicks out a boot to hit his shin.
“You’re welcome,” Leo says. “But you better not pass to him more.”
It’s another Sunday morning, not as early this time, and Xavi knocks instead of letting himself in.
Villa opens the door, squints out into the sunlight. Xavi holds up a bag of bagels.
“Peace offering?” he says.
Villa doesn’t say anything, but he opens the door wider and Xavi slips in, stands awkwardly in the entryway.
He looks down, sees red sneakers on the floor and a red sweatshirt tossed over a chair, and he smiles to himself. Villa just watches him.
“Why are you here?” Villa asks finally, his voice scratchy.
“Because,” Xavi says, and he taps his foot against the tile nervously. “Because you’re my friend.”
Villa just looks disappointed, and Xavi says hurriedly, “No, it’s not- wait.” He looks down at those red shoes and he laughs a little, looks up at Villa helplessly and says, “Because you match your shoes to your clothes.” Villa looks at him blankly so he takes a breath and he says, “I’m here because you match your shoes to your clothes and you sleep late and you get cream cheese everywhere and you date stupid guys who work at the gym when you should be dating me.”
Villa blinks at him and doesn’t say anything. Neither of them say anything and Xavi thinks he can hear a clock ticking somewhere deep in the house. Then something occurs to him and he says, “Wait- he isn’t here, is he?”
Villa looks confused, then taken aback. “What- no. He isn’t here.” Xavi raises an eyebrow and Villa looks away guiltily, mutters, “He had- bootcamp, or whatever the fuck- wait.” He looks up, meets Xavi’s eyes. They just look at each other. “Is this a joke?”
Xavi hesitates. “Do you want it to be?”
“No!” Villa says, too loudly, then lowers his voice, says, “No. But I don’t- you- you’ve spent the last five years rejecting me, and then-“
“I wasn’t rejecting you.”
“You did! All the time.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I’m not either.”
They look at each other, look at each other. Slowly, slowly, Villa starts to smile, reaches up, touches Xavi’s face, and he looks like he can’t believe it-
He leans in, and Xavi lets him kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, before he says, “Wait. Wait.” Villa pulls back. Xavi says, “Can you take a shower first?” What he means is, I only want you to smell of me, taste of me, and Villa gets it.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Yes,” he says. Then, leaning in, “You should join me.”
“Later,” Xavi says, and he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Villa’s for a moment. “Later.” He knows they can wait a little longer.
xavi/villa
pg13
2620 words
football kink prompt here
It’s always like this for Xavi after a game; it feels like it takes forever to get to sleep, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, and even when he does, he wakes up early; sore, grumpy, but wide awake.
It’s still very early when he decides to go to go to Villa’s. He thinks about calling first, but decides he’d rather wake the other man up in person, doesn’t want to give him a chance to say no.
He swings by a bakery in Villa’s neighborhood, orders a bag of bagels and two coffees. Rolls his eyes at himself when he grabs two sugars for Villa without thinking.
Xavi parks outside Villa’s house, gets out, stretches. The air is quiet, crisp, and Xavi thinks it’s nice, sometimes, to be awake when no one else is. He thinks it would be nicer if Villa were awake with him too, but. He sets the coffee and bagels down on the doorstep while he roots for the extra key in Villa’s front planter.
The house inside is still, silent, and Xavi smiles at the signs of Villa around the entry way, the neon sneakers discarded to the side and the matching training jacket tossed over a table. Xavi always makes fun of him for matching his sneakers to his clothes, but really, secretly, Xavi likes it. He likes it a lot. Likes most of the things he makes fun of Villa for.
He’s pushing one shoe out of the way with the tip of his sneaker when he hears movement from the direction of the kitchen. “Villa?” he calls out, moving into the other room.
There’s a man there, definitely not Villa, bent over with his head in the fridge. Xavi can tell it isn’t Villa because he’s very tall, and Xavi can see a mop of curly hair outlined in the light from the refrigerator. He’s only wearing boxers, which is on one hand relieving since a burglar would probably be more fully dressed, but on the other hand makes Xavi’s stomach drop precipitously.
“Um, hello?” Xavi says. He sets the bagels and coffee on the counter.
The man stands up quickly. “Hey,” he says. He turns, and then, “Oh! Hey! Xavi! Awesome, man.” He seems blissfully unaware of his own near-nudity and strides over to shake Xavi’s hand.
“Hi. Hello,” Xavi says, shaking his hand back and looking up at him. He’s tan and he blinks very slowly. When the other man doesn’t say anything else, he asks, “And you are?”
“Oh,” the guy says. “Sorry. Juan. I’m…” he trails off, suddenly looks nervous.
“A friend of Villa’s,” Xavi mutters, looking away. “It’s fine.” Juan looks relieved.
Juan walks away, hops into a chair at the breakfast bar. Xavi can see he’s holding an apple. He bites into it, and juice runs down his chin when he says, “He’s still asleep. Villa.”
Xavi turns away, doesn’t want to look at his face anymore. He finds a knife and starts cutting bagels. “Oh. Um. Okay. Did you guys have plans today?”
He can hear the crunch of Juan biting into his apple again before he hears, “What? Nah. I’m gonna leave in a second here, I’m teaching a spin class this morning.” Xavi tries not to roll his eyes but then he realizes no one can see anyway, so he does.
“Oh. Okay. Well, I can make you a bagel if you want?” Xavi offers.
“No thanks. Hey, it was nice to meet you though.”
Xavi says, “Yeah, same,” but he doesn’t bother to turn around as he hears Juan walk out. Tries not to think about Juan going back to Villa’s darkened bedroom, rooting through their mingled clothes on the floor, Villa’s sleeping form sprawled across the bed-
He slices bagels. Instead of thinking about Juan and his abs and his mouth and where it’s been, he thinks about the game the day before- passes he’d made and balls he’d lost, runs that were just inches off, shots that sailed high. He thinks about the way Camp Nou sounded, he thinks about his distribution, how Messi thought he wasn’t getting the ball enough (but Messi always thought that), how Andres had looked right after he scored the game winner, just beaming, just fucking beautiful-
“Hey.” The voice behind him is sleepy and low. Xavi bites the inside of his cheek briefly.
“Fucking finally, Jesus,” he says. He glances over his shoulder and Villa’s squinting into the sun, his hair mussed from sleep, and he’s scratching his bare stomach absently. Xavi swallows, turns back quickly, almost cuts his finger open.
“Shut up, it’s practically the fucking crack of dawn,” Villa says, voice scratchy. Xavi snorts. “Which one is mine?” and Xavi turns to see him studying the coffee cups.
He walks over, opens the lid of one. “This one,” he says, “But it’s probably cold now. I’ll warm it up,” and he turns to the microwave as Villa slumps onto one of the bar stools.
Villa folds his arms in front of him and lays his head on them, yawning. “Does it have sugar?” he mumbles into them, barely audible, but Xavi understands.
“Yeah,” he answers, and he looks at Villa, eyes scanning the expanse of his shoulders, smooth skin he wants to leave marks on.
Villa glances up suddenly, catches Xavi’s eyes on him. Xavi turns away quickly, looks back at the microwave. “You always know what I like,” Villa says, a teasing lilt to his voice. Xavi just grumbles something incoherent, grateful when the microwave beeps.
He sets the cup next to Villa’s head, can’t help but swipe his hand over Villa’s hair. Villa looks up again and grins. Xavi rolls his eyes. “Sesame bagel?” he asks.
Villa makes an affirmative noise. After Xavi drops their bagels in the toaster, Villa lifts his head and rests it on one palm, says, “Did you just wake up this morning and decide to come over and wait on me?”
Xavi taps his fingers on the counter, stares at the toaster. “I dunno,” he says. “I was bored. Couldn’t sleep.”
“I can think of a way to tire you out,” Villa says, wiggles his eyebrows.
“Shut the fuck up,” Xavi mutters, and looks away, because he can’t with Villa’s teasing, not after Juan, not after- he can’t-
There’s a tense beat, and then, “Sorry,” Villa says, and he sounds- embarrassed? Xavi doesn’t know, doesn’t understand.
“Looks like you found someone to tire you out, though,” he says, to break the silence.
Villa raises his eyebrows, coughs. “Oh,” he says. “Oh. You met him.”
“Sure did.”
“Yeah, well, he…” Villa starts, but then stops, makes a face like, what can I say? And Xavi knows, knows there isn’t anything to say, because he’s found strangers in Villa’s kitchen in the morning before, and he’s seen marks on Villa’s ribs in the showers in the shape of foreign mouths, and he’s lain awake in far away hotel rooms waiting for Villa to stumble in as the sun’s rising, smelling like sweat and sex. So, yeah, Xavi knows.
After a long silence, Villa says, “He didn’t happen to tell you his name, did he?”
Xavi spins to face Villa, snaps, “What the fuck, Jesus Christ, Villa, what are you thinking…” and then he notices Villa’s laughing, holding his hands up in surrender, and he stops.
“I’m kidding, Xavi,” he says, “I know him. Don’t worry.” Xavi’s annoyed at himself for getting worked up, for showing Villa that, and he turns back to grab their bagels out of the toaster. “Good to know you care, though,” Villa says.
Yeah, Xavi thinks. So glad you enjoy.
He puts cream cheese on the bagels, slides one over to Villa as he says, “He looked young.” He sounds as casual as he can manage.
“Everyone looks young to you,” Villa says, and he shoves his bagel in his mouth. He’s still chewing when he says, “On account of you being so old and all.” He smiles widely. There’s cream cheese lining his lips.
Xavi’s standing on the other side of the counter from Villa, eating standing up. He glares over his bagel. “I’m not old.”
Villa drains the rest of his coffee and stands, moves around the counter toward a cupboard. As he passes Xavi he reaches out, puts his hand on the back of Xavi’s neck, squeezes. When he speaks, he’s close enough that Xavi can feel his breath against his hairline. “I’m just kidding,” he says, and then he grabs a cup and he backs away again. “Because if you’re old, then I’m almost old, and that’s not okay at all.” Xavi turns his head, sees Villa’s grin. He rubs the back of his neck, still warm from Villa’s palm.
He hears the rumble of the ice machine, looks over to see Villa chugging down a glass of ice water. Villa sees him, grins. When he walks past Xavi he smacks a kiss on his cheek, says, “Thanks for bagels, by the way.”
His lips are cold. Xavi tries not to think about where they’ve been.
Xavi’s not proud of it, but he starts ignoring Villa.
Not ignoring him, not exactly, but he makes sure to be in a conversation with someone when Villa comes into the locker room in the morning, so all he has to do is wave. He doesn’t answer his texts and tells him he fell asleep. He grabs Leo to stretch with.
On Monday, when Villa sees him heading over for stretches with Leo, he just kind of shrugs, looks around for someone free. It’s not like they always have to be together at practice.
On Tuesday, Xavi makes sure to ask Leo to stay back in the locker room, talk about free kicks, so it’s easy, expected, when they come out late, to stretch together.
On Wednesday, Villa waits outside the locker room door for him, but Xavi hurries past, yells over his shoulder, “I’m going to stretch with Leo, okay?” Doesn’t wait for a response.
On Thursday Villa grabs Puyi to stretch with before Xavi does anything at all, and Xavi tries not to think, that didn’t take long.
Leo’s leaning over him, stretching his leg above his head, when he says, “You know I don’t have to do this.”
Xavi pushes his fingers into the back of his thigh, where it’s tight. “Help me stretch?”
Leo pushes his leg down a little more when Xavi motions. “No, I mean. Be your pawn.”
Pep yells something and Leo lets up on Xavi’s leg, lifts up the other one. Xavi leans into the burn. “Pawn?” he asks. Leo stares down at him.
When Xavi keeps looking at him questioningly, he sighs, rolls his eyes. “I know you’re avoiding Villa. And using me in the process.” He pushes down more.
Xavi narrows his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I’m just-“ but then Leo pushes down on his leg suddenly and he hisses, arches up to ease the pull.
“I have you in a precarious position right now,” Leo says, laughter creeping into his voice. “Don’t lie to me.”
Xavi shakes his head, curses at Leo. He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m just trying to take a breather. You know?”
Leo lets Xavi’s leg up, drops onto the ground beside him. He keeps his face neutral. “A breather from what?”
Xavi picks at the grass, doesn’t answer.
“Do you guys like being miserable, or what?” Xavi’s head snaps up at that.
“What are you talking about?” he asks suspiciously.
Leo rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about how you love each other,” he says matter of factly.
Xavi chokes on his own breath a little. “What the fuck, Leo,” he says.
Leo’s looking at his toes, leans down to pick grass off his boot. “Whatever. Play dumb if you want. Everyone knows.”
Xavi feels a little like he can’t breathe, feels light-headed.
Leo doesn’t seem bothered, and no one else is paying attention, so after awhile, Xavi says, “Villa is not in love with me.”
Leo scoffs. “Um, yeah, he is.”
“But he-“
“Yeah, he is,” Leo says again. “He’s staring at you right now.”
Xavi looks over. Villa’s stretching with Puyol, turned away from Xavi and Leo. “No he isn’t.”
Leo glances over, puffs out a breathe of air. “Well, whatever. He is 95% of the time; I took a chance.”
Xavi looks back over at him stretching, Puyol’s hands on his thighs, and heat rises to his cheeks. “You really think he-“
“No,” Leo says. “I know.” He continues to look unconcerned about what he is telling Xavi.
“But what do I do then?” Xavi asks, hopes he doesn’t sound as lost as he thinks he might.
Leo says, “Um, tell him?”
“I can’t just-“
“You can.”
“But what if you’re-“
“I’m not.”
Xavi looks at Leo, frustrated. Kicks out a boot to hit his shin.
“You’re welcome,” Leo says. “But you better not pass to him more.”
It’s another Sunday morning, not as early this time, and Xavi knocks instead of letting himself in.
Villa opens the door, squints out into the sunlight. Xavi holds up a bag of bagels.
“Peace offering?” he says.
Villa doesn’t say anything, but he opens the door wider and Xavi slips in, stands awkwardly in the entryway.
He looks down, sees red sneakers on the floor and a red sweatshirt tossed over a chair, and he smiles to himself. Villa just watches him.
“Why are you here?” Villa asks finally, his voice scratchy.
“Because,” Xavi says, and he taps his foot against the tile nervously. “Because you’re my friend.”
Villa just looks disappointed, and Xavi says hurriedly, “No, it’s not- wait.” He looks down at those red shoes and he laughs a little, looks up at Villa helplessly and says, “Because you match your shoes to your clothes.” Villa looks at him blankly so he takes a breath and he says, “I’m here because you match your shoes to your clothes and you sleep late and you get cream cheese everywhere and you date stupid guys who work at the gym when you should be dating me.”
Villa blinks at him and doesn’t say anything. Neither of them say anything and Xavi thinks he can hear a clock ticking somewhere deep in the house. Then something occurs to him and he says, “Wait- he isn’t here, is he?”
Villa looks confused, then taken aback. “What- no. He isn’t here.” Xavi raises an eyebrow and Villa looks away guiltily, mutters, “He had- bootcamp, or whatever the fuck- wait.” He looks up, meets Xavi’s eyes. They just look at each other. “Is this a joke?”
Xavi hesitates. “Do you want it to be?”
“No!” Villa says, too loudly, then lowers his voice, says, “No. But I don’t- you- you’ve spent the last five years rejecting me, and then-“
“I wasn’t rejecting you.”
“You did! All the time.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I’m not either.”
They look at each other, look at each other. Slowly, slowly, Villa starts to smile, reaches up, touches Xavi’s face, and he looks like he can’t believe it-
He leans in, and Xavi lets him kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, before he says, “Wait. Wait.” Villa pulls back. Xavi says, “Can you take a shower first?” What he means is, I only want you to smell of me, taste of me, and Villa gets it.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Yes,” he says. Then, leaning in, “You should join me.”
“Later,” Xavi says, and he closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Villa’s for a moment. “Later.” He knows they can wait a little longer.