football rps: well. porn.
Title: The District, Outtake 1: The Au Pair
Author: Rave (dorkorific)
Fandoms: Football RPF AU
Characters: Xabi Alonso, Mats Hummels, Steven Gerrard
Disclaimer: I probably don't have to tell you that this entire premise is ludicrous.
Warnings: explicit sex, voyeurism(?), power-play-ish themes
Summary: Political AU; Xabi meets the guy taking care of Stevie's kids.
Notes: OKAY WELL. The next part of the District is goin’ slow, but I guess that's one of the fun little quirks of the WIP as an “art form.” So why don’t I post some sexy sexy sex stuff that can’t actually fit into the story? For example: did u know there is District backstory wherein Mats Hummels is the Gerrards’ au pair, and he and Xabi have a month of WILD NSA BANGIN, which is great for them but really uncomfortable for Stevie? It’s true! But unfortunately, it is problematic in terms of characterization/storyline! So that’s what this is: an AU of an AU, created solely as an excuse for shameless porn involving Xabi Alonso and Mats Hummels.
Oh, do you want some kind of context? OK, uh, it’s spring 2009, Mats is a German hipster art student and au pair and, as in real life, a man who looks like Bernini’s David. Therein endeth the context.
yeats wrote significant portions of this with me on gchat while we were both at work. Great job, thanks everybody.
Stevie hadn’t meant to stumble in on -- whatever this was. He’d just excused himself from the table to grab another bottle of wine, and they’d been in the kitchen. Lurking.
Xabi was leaning backwards on the counter, his sleeves rolled up to show his expensive watch, and he was laughing low in his throat. He had a cell in one hand that definitely wasn’t his: it was, in fact, clearly Mats’s little Gerrard-family-plan flip phone. Mats was leaning back from him, hands in pockets, head tilted, murmuring something. Stevie had, on rare but memorable occasions, seen Xabi’s A-Game deployed. He knew what it looked like.
(“Don Draper is one thing,” Pepe had said once, as they’d watched Xabi flash his cufflinks at a dazzled-looking older woman at the bar. “This, gentlemen, is the full-on Señor Donald Draper, thank you very much.”)
At the sound of Stevie’s footsteps Mats and Xabi glanced at him, perfectly blank and innocent. Stevie felt like he’d walked in on them naked.
“Hi,” Xabi said.
“Did you know your hair is a really unfortunate length right now?” Stevie informed him. “I just noticed.”
“Steven, I go to give these to the girls,” Mats said. He held up two popsicles. Probably all melty, if he’d been standing here letting Xabi put the moves on him this whole time.
(Mats had come into the dining room in the middle of dinner, leaned apologetically over Stevie’s chair and whispered, “Steven. Lilly-Ella has a little sore throat -- can I give to her a popsicle? I know it’s after eight, and the sugar, but she becomes...” and then he’d sort of trailed off.
Stevie had glanced up at him in surprise, followed his gaze -- and encountered Xabi, who was focusing a frankly sordid look over Stevie’s left shoulder. Directly at his au pair. And Mats was --
“Excuse me,” Mats said politely, looking back down at him. “So. It’s okay?”
“Fine, fine,” Stevie said distractedly. He glared at Xabi, who took no notice whatsoever; he’d already turned back to his conversation with Victoria.
Five minutes later Xabi had quietly excused himself. Ten minutes after that, the only other possible explanation was that he’d fallen into the toilet.)
“It’s nice to meet you,” Mats was saying to Xabi now. His hair was all bedhead-on-purpose, and Stevie wondered how he’d never noticed before how much he looked like one of those smug kids in a Mentos commercial.
“Likewise,” Xabi said, and handed him back the phone. Like that wasn’t weird at all.
“I can’t believe you two’ve never met before,” Stevie said when Mats had vanished.
“Well, we haven’t,” Xabi said. He was still gazing down the hallway where Mats had gone. There was a hungry tension in his neck and shoulders that Stevie didn’t like at all. “You’ve never introduced us.”
“Not on purpose,” Stevie said.
“I didn’t say that,” Xabi said. He finally looked back at Stevie. “He said he’s an art student?”
“Oh, God, don’t,” Stevie pleaded. “Xabi. He’s my employee. He’s twenty-one years old.”
“Don’t what? Christ, what do you think is going to happen, Steven,” Xabi said impatiently. “Have I done something to make you think I’ll damage him? Come on -- ”
“You always tell me you don’t date,” Stevie said, trying a new tack.
“Which is perfect, because he’s leaving in a month and has a boyfriend in Dortmund anyway,” Xabi pointed out. “The boyfriend is very understanding, before you invent some bullshit moral objection. Jesus Christ. I’m not a damn...I mean, I’m sorry, but, you know. I don’t fucking bud.”
“There must be some conversation that I less want to have with you,” Stevie said, staring at him. “But honest to god I cannot imagine what it is.”
“You started it!” Xabi protested.
“Let’s go back in,” Stevie said, turning on his heel. “Incidentally, you’re going to break Alex’s heart. She’s trying to fix you up with Jasminder Bhamra.”
“Doesn’t she know Jas has a girlfriend?” Xabi said, trailing after him. “But sure, good luck with that.”
It didn’t come up again until the end of the evening. Xabi left fairly early, claiming work; he headed into the master bedroom to get his coat, and Stevie -- for whatever reason -- followed him. He leaned against the door, watching Xabi sort through the pile of jackets on the bed, and cleared his throat.
“What,” Xabi said.
“I still can’t believe you’re perving on my au pair,” Stevie said. “The man who takes care of my children.”
“Oh, shut up,” Xabi said. He unearthed his coat and shrugged it on. “He seems interesting, that’s all.”
“He is interesting,” Stevie said. “He’s a nice kid.”
“Great,” Xabi said. “He seems nice. I’m looking forward to getting to know him.”
“Good,” Stevie said. “Great.”
They glared at each other.
“Well, I’m going to go say goodnight to Alex,” Xabi said at last, shoving past him. “See you in the office tomorrow.”
“Not if you’re too busy having sex,” Stevie yelled after him, which was lame.
*
The next Friday was Mats’s night off, so they met at the little Salvadoran place near Xabi’s house. It was cheap and dark, lit low with strings of colored Christmas lights, and most of the diners were watching the novela playing on the several televisions. Xabi got there earlier than they’d agreed; he preferred it that way. It gave him time to get comfortable, get a beer, figure out his plan of attack.
It was impossible to remember the last time he’d been -- on a date. It made him uncomfortable. But what were the options? He couldn’t just call the Gerrards’ au pair and ask him to come to the apartment late at night.
And he couldn’t ignore the way Mats had looked at him. Not when he hadn’t touched anyone in so long. Spending every stupid day with Steven, fighting off whatever.
When Mats arrived, it was easy to remember why he’d done this. The kid looked unbelievable. His hair fell in his dark, hooded eyes, and he was wearing a clinging white v-neck that made him look like someone in a magazine. When he saw Xabi across the room he smiled, wide and dazzling, and the hunger Xabi had been crushing down for so long stirred in him. The animal in the back of his mind scenting the air.
The thing was, as it turned out, he genuinely liked Mats. He was funny, often on purpose; he told good stories, like about the summer he spent building a school in Honduras, or about other people at his art school. When Xabi asked him who his most influential artists were, he made a face and said “Uff, really?” which was the only right answer, honestly, to a question that inane.
“Let me guess then,” Xabi said. He leaned back, let his eyes flicker over Mats, appraisingly. “I’d need to know what you do first. You like to work in -- pencils. Acrylics, maybe.”
“Mm. Gouache,” Mats said. His full mouth twitched up. “But the pencils, you’re right. Sometime I’d like to sketch you; you have a good face,” and he said it matter-of-factly, not like a pickup, just a fact, the way he might’ve said I’d like another beer.
“So I’ve been told,” Xabi said, and brushed his foot against Mats’s calf under the table.
Mats gave him a slow, knowing smile. “It’s why I noticed you, at the dinner.”
I’m going to fuck you, Xabi knew. The certainty of it sent a hot rush of blood through him. He tightened his hand into a fist under the table.
“I’m glad you did,” he said.
“I’m surprised Steven hasn’t introduced us before,” Mats said later, as Xabi was signing the check. He was dangling his empty beer bottle between two fingers, toying absently with it. He wore a braided leather cuff on one wrist -- the kind of thing Xabi would have been nauseated by, on anyone less viscerally attractive.
“Hmm,” Xabi said. “Why didn’t he, do you think?”
“Because he knows from you, maybe,” Mats said. “His so-smooth friend. To borrow my phone so you could put your number, that was a cheat.”
“But it worked,” Xabi said. He tucked his pen back into his pocket.
“Well, maybe I said too easily yes,” Mats said, shrugging. He let his bottle drift back down to the table, eyes not leaving Xabi’s. His knee pressed harder against Xabi’s thigh, warm and deliberate. “I do sometimes.”
“Do you,” Xabi said. “That’s interesting.” Mats’s hair would feel so good between his fingers, he thought, perfect to tug through when Mats was swallowing his cock, and he was sick of waiting.
He reached under the table and stroked the back of his hand down Mats’s thigh and Mats shivered, his head falling back a little, his lips parting.
“Come home with me,” Xabi said quietly.
“Yes,” Mats said, and Xabi felt the fierce hitch of triumph.
*
The elevator doors had barely closed before Mats was all over him, all eager hands and tongue. He’d forgotten what it was like to be twenty-one, to kiss like this, all sloppy and desperate, groping everywhere, not caring that they were in public. Xabi wound Mats’s scarf around his hand, pushed him off. The kid’s mouth was swollen already, his eyes liquid.
“You need to be patient,” Xabi said. He stroked Mats’s lower lip with his thumb and tugged on the scarf, tightening it minutely around Mats’s throat: Mats swallowed visibly. He nodded once. Xabi felt his sinews tense in anticipation.
Mats was quiet as they strode down the hallway to Xabi’s apartment. He let Xabi unlock the door and closed it behind them. Then he stood there, leaning against the door, waiting. Xabi took his coat off and hung it up. Mats’s dark eyes followed him.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Xabi said conversationally. He smoothed down his coat with one hand and turned back to Mats. He was still pressed against the front door, the single hallway light drawing sharp shadows over his face. The only movement was the slight heave of his chest under his thin t-shirt. “If you don’t, you should say so.”
Mats’s heavy-lidded eyes had fallen almost shut, but he was smiling. “Yeah,” he said. The Bavarian accent was thicker now. “Of course I want it.”
Then Xabi was on him, pulling him in, massaging his cock through his jeans. Mats groaned, rubbing against Xabi like a cat; his mouth opened easily under Xabi’s. He crossed his arms over his head to pull out of his tee, and Xabi turned them together and backed him down the hall, into the living room, dropping his own shirt on the floor.
Mats’s skin was hot and smooth, his chest all lean muscle. The dog-tags on their thin chain around his neck felt cool against Xabi’s collarbone. Mats fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, and Xabi helped him shove them down. He tried to step out of the legs and tripped a little, laughed into Xabi’s mouth. He’d gotten hard in the elevator, or just standing against the door.
He glanced over his shoulder and said breathlessly, “You have windows -- everywhere. Can people not see --”
“Sometimes they do,” Xabi said. Mats breathed out sharply at that, a ghost of shaky laughter.
Xabi pushed his fingers into Mats’s hair and twisted his head sideways, bit Mats’ neck and sucked hard at the pale skin. There was a freckle above his collarbone, ringed now with rising blood.
He pushed Mats back further, until they were pressed together against the glass door to the balcony. Mats had one hand around the back of his neck, his slender dick pressing insistently into Xabi’s hip. He tried to reach for Xabi’s cock, to push down his pants, and Xabi pushed his hand away: he almost slapped it.
Then -- he couldn’t have said why he did it -- but he pushed the balcony door open.
At the click of the door handle and the little inrush of air and street sounds Mats gasped, and then he was even harder against Xabi’s lower belly. Xabi could have snarled. He spun Mats out onto the balcony, gripping his wrists; pressed Mats’s hands inexorably to the iron railing, ground his dick into Mats’s ass. Below them the wind rustled in the trees over the quiet sidewalk. A couple of people were walking down Q street, oblivious. The April air was warm and humid from the rain earlier. It smelled like magnolias and wet asphalt.
Under Xabi’s palms, Mats’s fingers tightened on the railing.
“You have a little exhibitionist streak, don’t you,” Xabi breathed in his ear.
“I don’t know--”
“It means you’re going to let me fuck you in public.” He reached around Mats’s hip to thumb the dampened head of his cock and Mats moaned, wordless, pushing back against him. “You have a thing for getting caught.”
“No,” Mats said, his voice hoarse but still edged with challenging laughter.
“It’s all right,” Xabi told him. He curved his fingers down over Mats, pumping him slowly. “I like it.”
“Mein Gott,” Mats said, ragged. His head sagged forward and he arched his back.
“Don’t move,” Xabi said. He kissed the corner of Mats’s jaw and dragged his lips over Mats’s ear, tasting the warm velvet lobe, tonguing the shell of it. Mats quaked uncontrollably under him and made a desperate, pleading sound: Xabi ran his nails briefly down Mats’s back, then pulled away and left him there, panting.
He padded into his bedroom. Condoms, lube, under the bed. His jeans, still unbuckled, pulled low on his hips; he could’ve kicked them off now, but he didn’t.
For some reason he thought of Steven. No, for all the obvious reasons. He thought of sending Mats back to Steven’s house tonight, drowsy and fucked out, the aching stretch of Xabi’s cock still deep in him. If Steven would sense it.
Steven wasn’t the point. Mats was, and stepping back onto the balcony Xabi found him just as he’d left: spine bowed, ass straining up, his dark head hanging between his arms. The streetlights gleamed off the thin chain around his neck, he looked like a fucking sculpture, and Xabi found himself inexplicably wishing that he’d -- fight more, give it back some, let Xabi have something to work against.
But he petted Mats’s hip, approving, because clearly this was the way the kid wanted it. He smoothed his palm up over Mats’s side, his ribs, down his knotted spine. Mats let out a small, contented purr; the muscles in his back trembled under Xabi’s hand. Xabi flicked the bottle of lube open with his thumb, poured a little puddle into his palm.
His cock pulsed against the thin cotton of his underwear and he reached down to rub it -- almost soothing -- with the heel of his other hand. When he ran his slicked-up fingers into the crease of Mats’s ass, stroked them down to his balls, a soft nnnh shuddered out of Mats’s throat.
Xabi leaned over his back and said, low, “If you can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you. I have neighbors.”
Mats made a muffled sound, like he was swallowing a moan, and his knuckles went white around the railing. He nodded. Xabi kissed his mouth, sucking his tongue in briefly. He pushed his fingers harder over the tight, heated dip of muscle at Mats’s ass, barely pressing into him, and Mats spread his thighs, huffed out air. Sweat beaded at the lowest slope of his back. He was so gorgeously responsive: sometime, Xabi thought, he’d like to get him inside, push him into the pillows and let him make whatever noises he was inclined to.
Xabi rucked his own jeans down just enough, tore the condom packet with his teeth and rolled it on. He pressed a finger into Mats’s warmth, that sleek elastic give. Two fingers, and Mats’s whole body shook, but he was quiet, and when Xabi crooked his fingers he jerked convulsively.
He pressed himself into the heated cleft of Mats’s ass, rubbing over him, not in: and Mats strained back against him, turned his head over his shoulder and panted out, “Please. Do it.”
It was enough. He pulled Mats firmly back by the shoulder, the flesh denting under his fingertips, and pushed into that hot, slick stretch. Mats made a guttural, helpless sound. He was all tight heat around Xabi, so pliant and fucking beautiful. Xabi let his head fall back, let himself breathe out slowly.
“God,” he said. He dragged himself out, almost shuddering at the sweetness of the friction.
“Come on,” Mats said, through his teeth. “Come on. Give me,” and Xabi rolled into him a little harder, a little deeper, driving another lightning rush of pleasure through his belly, another hiccuping ah! out of Mats’s mouth.
He moved his hand to the back of Mats’s neck, slid his fingers into the sweat-drenched hair and tightened them. “Shh.”
Mats answered on a sharp grunt, his bared teeth glinting. Xabi leaned down to kiss him, a hard bitten-off kiss, the kid’s teeth dragging down on his lower lip. Then he fucked into Mats all the way to the base and Mats took it, barely resisting, the unbearably sweet clench of him as good as anything Xabi had ever felt.
He worked Mats slowly for a while, savoring him: rubbing the small of his back, tangling his damp hair around his fingers and tugging it back to get a good stretch out of him. Every thrust drove a maddening little sound out of him, a short, muffled whine. His fingers clenched and unclenched on the balustrade, corded veins standing out on his forearms.
“How do you want it,” Xabi said. Controlling his voice was a fight, but it was worth it for the way Mats tensed, tightening around him. He bit back a groan, ground out, “Tell me.”
“Harder,” Mats gasped. He craned his head back over his shoulder, his eyes nearly black with lust but still defiant, and the look in them lit white fire in every cell of Xabi’s body, tore apart his fraying self-control. He gripped Mats’s sharp hipbones and gave it to him. Mats was panting, little animal grunts, was sinking his teeth into his own hand to muffle them, and with the other hand jerking himself, half-desperately.
Then he was lost in the smell of Mats’s skin, the slap of their bodies, the heated rhythm, pleasure so sweet it was almost like pain. He heard his own shuddering groan as if from a distance and then he was slamming into Mats, doubled over him, his own breath rebounding hotly off Mats’s shoulderblades. Mats must have come already: he was shaking all over, and when Xabi hit that final tremble he jerked sideways, pulsing through the aftermath.
Then there was nothing but the muted car and city noises below and their uneven breathing, Mats’s almost like sobs. Xabi pulled out of him slowly, kissed the vertebra at the top of Mats’s spine and the warm damp skin shivered under his mouth. He cast around for a second, then dropped the condom into the planter in the corner of the balcony, which was disgusting, but the options were few. Then he collapsed onto Mats’s back again, letting out a long, shaky breath. Sirens wailed a couple of streets away.
“Coming for us, do you think,” Mats said, pushing back warmly against him. His voice was breathy with laughter and exhaustion. “For, uh -- indecency?”
“This is private property, so. One of many great things about the American constitution,” Xabi said. “That railing comfortable?” He slipped his forearm between Mats’s chest and the cold iron, pillowing him. Mats’s heartbeat was fast, a little irregular.
“Not very,” Mats admitted. He turned in Xabi’s arms and kissed him, clumsily, his soaked hair brushing Xabi’s forehead.
*
And then there’s the part where uh. this happens?
*
“No one will see your face,” Mats promised. He kissed Xabi’s chest above the heart, scraping his teeth lightly over his nipple. “You will take the film.” He worked his way down Xabi’s body, over the light dusting of hair, mouthing a hot, messy kiss to Xabi’s ribs, his stomach. Xabi curled his fingers in Mats’s hair, rumpled from the sheets.
"It will be just --" and he kissed Xabi's hip, "--just my face. Only me," dragged his tongue over the trail of hair below Xabi's bellybutton, "sucking you off." Xabi huffed out, hard.
"Don't you want to be able to see this," Mats said innocently. He rested his chin for a second on the bony jut of Xabi's hipbone. "Whenever you want?"
"I already can," Xabi said a little harshly. He jerked on Mats's hair to remind him who was in charge.
But Mats only rolled his eyes and licked at the taut skin of Xabi’s lower belly. “But soon enough,” he said. He kissed the tip of Xabi's cock, which was already rising to him, and ran one hand up to Xabi's nipple. Xabi felt a muscle in his abdomen tremble. Mats slid his thumb over it, back and forth.
Then, instead of taking Xabi into his mouth, he angled his face, let Xabi's dick rub against his cheek. His lashes fluttered. He breathed in deep, like the smell of Xabi was getting him off harder than anything. Xabi bit back a groan at the sight of him, the sharp shadows of his face and his unwavering, feverish eyes under his tangled fall of hair.
"When I go back home," Mats murmured. “I want to know you are able to see me like this sometimes. When you -- get yourself off. That you can watch me. Think about my mouth -- what I want to do to you.” His voice was thick and slow, like the words were elusive. “I will, you know. Think of you.”
Xabi said nothing. He tilted his head as if considering the proposition, and held his composure pretty well until -- until Mats took his dick in hand and butted his nose and mouth into it, rubbed them all over. His lips were slack and wet, dragging on that excruciatingly sensitive skin. His eyes didn’t leave Xabi’s.
It was hard to come up with good arguments for propriety when Mats's mouth was smudging the slit of his cock, smearing a bead of precome until his lower lip was pink and glistening. He was tantalizingly close, but he didn’t open his mouth, wouldn’t press his tongue against Xabi or suck him in, and it was agonizing, and all Xabi could think was how badly he needed Mats’s lips wrapped tight and slippery around him. If he couldn’t drive into that wet heat he might lose his mind completely.
“We’ll see,” he grated out. He twisted his fingers harder into Mats's hair, pushing his head sharply back so his jaw dropped open a little. Then he reached down to his dick and nudged it insistently against Mats's parted lips.
Mats always loved it when Xabi got rough, and the rule held now. He let out a stifled little moan and opened his mouth around Xabi's dick. Sucked on the head, his eyelids fluttering. His hand went down to support the base of Xabi's cock as he bobbed once, twice, slow and deep, his knifeblade cheekbones hollowing. He pulled off with a wet, filthy pop that jolted Xabi to the marrow. Black spots swallowed his vision for an instant.
“I swear,” Mats said through the haze. “Anything you want, anything you tell me. I don’t want a copy, even, I want only-- I want to know that you will have it.” His voice was hoarse with arousal. He reached up and put something cool and small in Xabi’s hand. Xabi looked at it like he’d never seen it before: it was his phone.
He felt drunk with arousal. His fingertips were numb. His blood pulsed and ached against his skin.
“Watch me,” Mats said. He curled his pink tongue briefly around the head, and Xabi went dizzy. “Go ahead. I want you to. Please.”
When Xabi lifted the phone in an unsteady hand, Mats actually shuddered, scalp to calves.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, and bent his head again. A thousand fucking blessings on the boyfriend in Dortmund, Xabi thought unsteadily; then he stopped thinking.
*
Stevie found the video in September.
They were in Manhattan at a taping. The media push was finally paying off. They were broke as shit -- well, Stevie was, anyway -- but Wolf Blitzer had actually called Rafa "the man to beat," and hell if that didn’t mean a celebration.
His phone was out of batteries when he reached for it to call Alex. He didn’t even have to ask, just held out a hand to Xabi and Xabi dropped his phone into it, without interrupting his conversation with Canales.
When he got outside -- Jesus, he had to be drunker than he thought, or else the buttons on Xabi’s phone were weird, because he somehow ended up turning Xabi’s camera on, and when he tried to get out of it he ended up in the files. He blinked at them, uncomprehendingly.
There weren’t many. Xabi wasn’t a camera-phone kind of guy. But there was a video, and the screenshot was clearly -- ah shit. It was clearly, Stevie realized with a shivering, unidentifiable shock, Mats Hummels. He wasn’t doing anything, but even on the tiny screen of the Blackberry Stevie could see his bare shoulders and the hungry look in his eyes, and it was very clear what kind of video this was.
Why for fuck’s sake would Xabi have done this? Could there be a fucking stupider move? He couldn’t imagine Xabi agreeing to anything so fucking fatal, let alone Mats, Mats who was supposed to be a caregiver for children, Jesus Christ. What if he left his phone somewhere? What if it got on the internet? They could be in so much fucking trouble, the stupid dickhead, he had to be insane. How bad was it?
He shouldn’t watch it. He didn’t want to, God knew. It would be so fucking gross of him, an invasion of Xabi’s privacy and Mats’s too, and the last thing he wanted was an all-access pass into their horrible, constant sex life.
He was surprised to find he’d pressed play.
There was no sound on the video and the camera was kind of shaky; Xabi had it in his hand, clearly, tilted down to Mats on his knees. The instant the picture started to move, Stevie realized -- how, he wasn’t sure -- that Mats was smiling at something Xabi was saying. He could just tell. The intimate goad in Mats’s eyes, and the way he grinned wider after a second and nodded once.
There was a dizzying swing then as Xabi readjusted the camera. The room came into focus: it wasn’t Xabi’s and, thank Christ, it wasn’t Mats’s in their basement either. It was the motherfucking W., the one where he’d run into Mats in the parking lot, after that speech back in May. He remembered the print on the sheets; he and Alex had had to stay there for three days once, when the house was being fumigated.
On the screen Mats was gazing up, not into the camera but above it a little. At Xabi, listening. His lips were already swollen. Xabi's hand was petting through his hair, assured and possessive. The tendons stood out in Mats's shoulders: he’d wrenched his hands behind his back. He mouthed an open kiss against Xabi’s dick, tongue pressing against the skin. Xabi’s fingers tightened.
Stevie hunched against the wall of the bar, his head spinning. It was amazing how easily he could picture what Xabi's face would look like, if the camera turned up to it: the languid, half-lidded intensity Stevie had seen in him sometimes, and the smile that would edge his mouth.
Then Mats licked his lips and dragged them up the length of Xabi’s cock, tongue flattening briefly in view. He twisted his tongue around the head and swallowed Xabi to the throat. The camera twitched. Stevie realized suddenly how hard he was in his trousers, aching and desperate like a fucking teenager. Once the camera swayed again as Xabi spread his legs, and Mats arched beneath him and all Stevie could see were his tense shoulders and a sliver of his profile -- oh Christ he was sucking at Xabi’s balls, his eyelids trembling like he was the one getting off.
Then he was up on his knees again, nose brushing Xabi’s belly. He was setting an urgent rhythm, the small muscles of his throat and jaw straining. Stevie palmed his dick distractedly, imagining what Xabi must look like, because he was close now, had to be, losing that everpresent control, you could tell from the way the phone was trembling.
Behind the camera Xabi must have said something because Mats pulled off, a trail of spit hanging for an instant between his lower lip and the tip of Xabi’s cock. Xabi's hand tightened in his hair and Mats’s throat moved in what had to be a strangled little moan, and Stevie was painfully glad and sorry that there was no sound because he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take it.
On the screen Mats closed his eyes. The picture was shaking, distorted by motion, but Stevie could still see Xabi's hand, working himself. Mats just waited. His eyes flickered open once or twice, gazing up through his lashes. Stevie couldn’t breathe. Xabi's dick was leaking. His hand moved so fast it was almost a bar of light, a pale smudge on the pixelated screen.
Xabi came in surges, hotter than anything Stevie had ever seen in porn. The first spurted over Mats’s soft, perfect, half-open mouth, and Mats's eyelashes trembled; his tongue darted out as if to taste even while Xabi was still holding himself, jerking in pulses onto Mats's collarbone and chest. The gloss on Mats's tongue was thick and pearly and the corner of his lips shone, up his jaw to the cheekbone.
Stevie realized dimly that he was pushing his hips mindlessly into his own hand, trying to spark the friction he needed. The camera was steadier now but it still had a tiny arrhythmic shake as Xabi worked through the aftershocks. He must have said something else, because Mats nodded again and smiled that fucking Mentos-commercial smile. He swayed forward on his knees, nuzzled Xabi's hip. Xabi's hand sifted through his hair.
Mats’s hands slid from behind his back and he ran them up the backs of Xabi's thighs. His mouth slipped over Xabi's softening dick, cleaning up, and as he pulled off and smiled again he raised his thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth -- and the video stopped.
Author: Rave (dorkorific)
Fandoms: Football RPF AU
Characters: Xabi Alonso, Mats Hummels, Steven Gerrard
Disclaimer: I probably don't have to tell you that this entire premise is ludicrous.
Warnings: explicit sex, voyeurism(?), power-play-ish themes
Summary: Political AU; Xabi meets the guy taking care of Stevie's kids.
Notes: OKAY WELL. The next part of the District is goin’ slow, but I guess that's one of the fun little quirks of the WIP as an “art form.” So why don’t I post some sexy sexy sex stuff that can’t actually fit into the story? For example: did u know there is District backstory wherein Mats Hummels is the Gerrards’ au pair, and he and Xabi have a month of WILD NSA BANGIN, which is great for them but really uncomfortable for Stevie? It’s true! But unfortunately, it is problematic in terms of characterization/storyline! So that’s what this is: an AU of an AU, created solely as an excuse for shameless porn involving Xabi Alonso and Mats Hummels.
Oh, do you want some kind of context? OK, uh, it’s spring 2009, Mats is a German hipster art student and au pair and, as in real life, a man who looks like Bernini’s David. Therein endeth the context.
yeats wrote significant portions of this with me on gchat while we were both at work. Great job, thanks everybody.
Stevie hadn’t meant to stumble in on -- whatever this was. He’d just excused himself from the table to grab another bottle of wine, and they’d been in the kitchen. Lurking.
Xabi was leaning backwards on the counter, his sleeves rolled up to show his expensive watch, and he was laughing low in his throat. He had a cell in one hand that definitely wasn’t his: it was, in fact, clearly Mats’s little Gerrard-family-plan flip phone. Mats was leaning back from him, hands in pockets, head tilted, murmuring something. Stevie had, on rare but memorable occasions, seen Xabi’s A-Game deployed. He knew what it looked like.
(“Don Draper is one thing,” Pepe had said once, as they’d watched Xabi flash his cufflinks at a dazzled-looking older woman at the bar. “This, gentlemen, is the full-on Señor Donald Draper, thank you very much.”)
At the sound of Stevie’s footsteps Mats and Xabi glanced at him, perfectly blank and innocent. Stevie felt like he’d walked in on them naked.
“Hi,” Xabi said.
“Did you know your hair is a really unfortunate length right now?” Stevie informed him. “I just noticed.”
“Steven, I go to give these to the girls,” Mats said. He held up two popsicles. Probably all melty, if he’d been standing here letting Xabi put the moves on him this whole time.
(Mats had come into the dining room in the middle of dinner, leaned apologetically over Stevie’s chair and whispered, “Steven. Lilly-Ella has a little sore throat -- can I give to her a popsicle? I know it’s after eight, and the sugar, but she becomes...” and then he’d sort of trailed off.
Stevie had glanced up at him in surprise, followed his gaze -- and encountered Xabi, who was focusing a frankly sordid look over Stevie’s left shoulder. Directly at his au pair. And Mats was --
“Excuse me,” Mats said politely, looking back down at him. “So. It’s okay?”
“Fine, fine,” Stevie said distractedly. He glared at Xabi, who took no notice whatsoever; he’d already turned back to his conversation with Victoria.
Five minutes later Xabi had quietly excused himself. Ten minutes after that, the only other possible explanation was that he’d fallen into the toilet.)
“It’s nice to meet you,” Mats was saying to Xabi now. His hair was all bedhead-on-purpose, and Stevie wondered how he’d never noticed before how much he looked like one of those smug kids in a Mentos commercial.
“Likewise,” Xabi said, and handed him back the phone. Like that wasn’t weird at all.
“I can’t believe you two’ve never met before,” Stevie said when Mats had vanished.
“Well, we haven’t,” Xabi said. He was still gazing down the hallway where Mats had gone. There was a hungry tension in his neck and shoulders that Stevie didn’t like at all. “You’ve never introduced us.”
“Not on purpose,” Stevie said.
“I didn’t say that,” Xabi said. He finally looked back at Stevie. “He said he’s an art student?”
“Oh, God, don’t,” Stevie pleaded. “Xabi. He’s my employee. He’s twenty-one years old.”
“Don’t what? Christ, what do you think is going to happen, Steven,” Xabi said impatiently. “Have I done something to make you think I’ll damage him? Come on -- ”
“You always tell me you don’t date,” Stevie said, trying a new tack.
“Which is perfect, because he’s leaving in a month and has a boyfriend in Dortmund anyway,” Xabi pointed out. “The boyfriend is very understanding, before you invent some bullshit moral objection. Jesus Christ. I’m not a damn...I mean, I’m sorry, but, you know. I don’t fucking bud.”
“There must be some conversation that I less want to have with you,” Stevie said, staring at him. “But honest to god I cannot imagine what it is.”
“You started it!” Xabi protested.
“Let’s go back in,” Stevie said, turning on his heel. “Incidentally, you’re going to break Alex’s heart. She’s trying to fix you up with Jasminder Bhamra.”
“Doesn’t she know Jas has a girlfriend?” Xabi said, trailing after him. “But sure, good luck with that.”
It didn’t come up again until the end of the evening. Xabi left fairly early, claiming work; he headed into the master bedroom to get his coat, and Stevie -- for whatever reason -- followed him. He leaned against the door, watching Xabi sort through the pile of jackets on the bed, and cleared his throat.
“What,” Xabi said.
“I still can’t believe you’re perving on my au pair,” Stevie said. “The man who takes care of my children.”
“Oh, shut up,” Xabi said. He unearthed his coat and shrugged it on. “He seems interesting, that’s all.”
“He is interesting,” Stevie said. “He’s a nice kid.”
“Great,” Xabi said. “He seems nice. I’m looking forward to getting to know him.”
“Good,” Stevie said. “Great.”
They glared at each other.
“Well, I’m going to go say goodnight to Alex,” Xabi said at last, shoving past him. “See you in the office tomorrow.”
“Not if you’re too busy having sex,” Stevie yelled after him, which was lame.
*
The next Friday was Mats’s night off, so they met at the little Salvadoran place near Xabi’s house. It was cheap and dark, lit low with strings of colored Christmas lights, and most of the diners were watching the novela playing on the several televisions. Xabi got there earlier than they’d agreed; he preferred it that way. It gave him time to get comfortable, get a beer, figure out his plan of attack.
It was impossible to remember the last time he’d been -- on a date. It made him uncomfortable. But what were the options? He couldn’t just call the Gerrards’ au pair and ask him to come to the apartment late at night.
And he couldn’t ignore the way Mats had looked at him. Not when he hadn’t touched anyone in so long. Spending every stupid day with Steven, fighting off whatever.
When Mats arrived, it was easy to remember why he’d done this. The kid looked unbelievable. His hair fell in his dark, hooded eyes, and he was wearing a clinging white v-neck that made him look like someone in a magazine. When he saw Xabi across the room he smiled, wide and dazzling, and the hunger Xabi had been crushing down for so long stirred in him. The animal in the back of his mind scenting the air.
The thing was, as it turned out, he genuinely liked Mats. He was funny, often on purpose; he told good stories, like about the summer he spent building a school in Honduras, or about other people at his art school. When Xabi asked him who his most influential artists were, he made a face and said “Uff, really?” which was the only right answer, honestly, to a question that inane.
“Let me guess then,” Xabi said. He leaned back, let his eyes flicker over Mats, appraisingly. “I’d need to know what you do first. You like to work in -- pencils. Acrylics, maybe.”
“Mm. Gouache,” Mats said. His full mouth twitched up. “But the pencils, you’re right. Sometime I’d like to sketch you; you have a good face,” and he said it matter-of-factly, not like a pickup, just a fact, the way he might’ve said I’d like another beer.
“So I’ve been told,” Xabi said, and brushed his foot against Mats’s calf under the table.
Mats gave him a slow, knowing smile. “It’s why I noticed you, at the dinner.”
I’m going to fuck you, Xabi knew. The certainty of it sent a hot rush of blood through him. He tightened his hand into a fist under the table.
“I’m glad you did,” he said.
“I’m surprised Steven hasn’t introduced us before,” Mats said later, as Xabi was signing the check. He was dangling his empty beer bottle between two fingers, toying absently with it. He wore a braided leather cuff on one wrist -- the kind of thing Xabi would have been nauseated by, on anyone less viscerally attractive.
“Hmm,” Xabi said. “Why didn’t he, do you think?”
“Because he knows from you, maybe,” Mats said. “His so-smooth friend. To borrow my phone so you could put your number, that was a cheat.”
“But it worked,” Xabi said. He tucked his pen back into his pocket.
“Well, maybe I said too easily yes,” Mats said, shrugging. He let his bottle drift back down to the table, eyes not leaving Xabi’s. His knee pressed harder against Xabi’s thigh, warm and deliberate. “I do sometimes.”
“Do you,” Xabi said. “That’s interesting.” Mats’s hair would feel so good between his fingers, he thought, perfect to tug through when Mats was swallowing his cock, and he was sick of waiting.
He reached under the table and stroked the back of his hand down Mats’s thigh and Mats shivered, his head falling back a little, his lips parting.
“Come home with me,” Xabi said quietly.
“Yes,” Mats said, and Xabi felt the fierce hitch of triumph.
*
The elevator doors had barely closed before Mats was all over him, all eager hands and tongue. He’d forgotten what it was like to be twenty-one, to kiss like this, all sloppy and desperate, groping everywhere, not caring that they were in public. Xabi wound Mats’s scarf around his hand, pushed him off. The kid’s mouth was swollen already, his eyes liquid.
“You need to be patient,” Xabi said. He stroked Mats’s lower lip with his thumb and tugged on the scarf, tightening it minutely around Mats’s throat: Mats swallowed visibly. He nodded once. Xabi felt his sinews tense in anticipation.
Mats was quiet as they strode down the hallway to Xabi’s apartment. He let Xabi unlock the door and closed it behind them. Then he stood there, leaning against the door, waiting. Xabi took his coat off and hung it up. Mats’s dark eyes followed him.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Xabi said conversationally. He smoothed down his coat with one hand and turned back to Mats. He was still pressed against the front door, the single hallway light drawing sharp shadows over his face. The only movement was the slight heave of his chest under his thin t-shirt. “If you don’t, you should say so.”
Mats’s heavy-lidded eyes had fallen almost shut, but he was smiling. “Yeah,” he said. The Bavarian accent was thicker now. “Of course I want it.”
Then Xabi was on him, pulling him in, massaging his cock through his jeans. Mats groaned, rubbing against Xabi like a cat; his mouth opened easily under Xabi’s. He crossed his arms over his head to pull out of his tee, and Xabi turned them together and backed him down the hall, into the living room, dropping his own shirt on the floor.
Mats’s skin was hot and smooth, his chest all lean muscle. The dog-tags on their thin chain around his neck felt cool against Xabi’s collarbone. Mats fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, and Xabi helped him shove them down. He tried to step out of the legs and tripped a little, laughed into Xabi’s mouth. He’d gotten hard in the elevator, or just standing against the door.
He glanced over his shoulder and said breathlessly, “You have windows -- everywhere. Can people not see --”
“Sometimes they do,” Xabi said. Mats breathed out sharply at that, a ghost of shaky laughter.
Xabi pushed his fingers into Mats’s hair and twisted his head sideways, bit Mats’ neck and sucked hard at the pale skin. There was a freckle above his collarbone, ringed now with rising blood.
He pushed Mats back further, until they were pressed together against the glass door to the balcony. Mats had one hand around the back of his neck, his slender dick pressing insistently into Xabi’s hip. He tried to reach for Xabi’s cock, to push down his pants, and Xabi pushed his hand away: he almost slapped it.
Then -- he couldn’t have said why he did it -- but he pushed the balcony door open.
At the click of the door handle and the little inrush of air and street sounds Mats gasped, and then he was even harder against Xabi’s lower belly. Xabi could have snarled. He spun Mats out onto the balcony, gripping his wrists; pressed Mats’s hands inexorably to the iron railing, ground his dick into Mats’s ass. Below them the wind rustled in the trees over the quiet sidewalk. A couple of people were walking down Q street, oblivious. The April air was warm and humid from the rain earlier. It smelled like magnolias and wet asphalt.
Under Xabi’s palms, Mats’s fingers tightened on the railing.
“You have a little exhibitionist streak, don’t you,” Xabi breathed in his ear.
“I don’t know--”
“It means you’re going to let me fuck you in public.” He reached around Mats’s hip to thumb the dampened head of his cock and Mats moaned, wordless, pushing back against him. “You have a thing for getting caught.”
“No,” Mats said, his voice hoarse but still edged with challenging laughter.
“It’s all right,” Xabi told him. He curved his fingers down over Mats, pumping him slowly. “I like it.”
“Mein Gott,” Mats said, ragged. His head sagged forward and he arched his back.
“Don’t move,” Xabi said. He kissed the corner of Mats’s jaw and dragged his lips over Mats’s ear, tasting the warm velvet lobe, tonguing the shell of it. Mats quaked uncontrollably under him and made a desperate, pleading sound: Xabi ran his nails briefly down Mats’s back, then pulled away and left him there, panting.
He padded into his bedroom. Condoms, lube, under the bed. His jeans, still unbuckled, pulled low on his hips; he could’ve kicked them off now, but he didn’t.
For some reason he thought of Steven. No, for all the obvious reasons. He thought of sending Mats back to Steven’s house tonight, drowsy and fucked out, the aching stretch of Xabi’s cock still deep in him. If Steven would sense it.
Steven wasn’t the point. Mats was, and stepping back onto the balcony Xabi found him just as he’d left: spine bowed, ass straining up, his dark head hanging between his arms. The streetlights gleamed off the thin chain around his neck, he looked like a fucking sculpture, and Xabi found himself inexplicably wishing that he’d -- fight more, give it back some, let Xabi have something to work against.
But he petted Mats’s hip, approving, because clearly this was the way the kid wanted it. He smoothed his palm up over Mats’s side, his ribs, down his knotted spine. Mats let out a small, contented purr; the muscles in his back trembled under Xabi’s hand. Xabi flicked the bottle of lube open with his thumb, poured a little puddle into his palm.
His cock pulsed against the thin cotton of his underwear and he reached down to rub it -- almost soothing -- with the heel of his other hand. When he ran his slicked-up fingers into the crease of Mats’s ass, stroked them down to his balls, a soft nnnh shuddered out of Mats’s throat.
Xabi leaned over his back and said, low, “If you can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you. I have neighbors.”
Mats made a muffled sound, like he was swallowing a moan, and his knuckles went white around the railing. He nodded. Xabi kissed his mouth, sucking his tongue in briefly. He pushed his fingers harder over the tight, heated dip of muscle at Mats’s ass, barely pressing into him, and Mats spread his thighs, huffed out air. Sweat beaded at the lowest slope of his back. He was so gorgeously responsive: sometime, Xabi thought, he’d like to get him inside, push him into the pillows and let him make whatever noises he was inclined to.
Xabi rucked his own jeans down just enough, tore the condom packet with his teeth and rolled it on. He pressed a finger into Mats’s warmth, that sleek elastic give. Two fingers, and Mats’s whole body shook, but he was quiet, and when Xabi crooked his fingers he jerked convulsively.
He pressed himself into the heated cleft of Mats’s ass, rubbing over him, not in: and Mats strained back against him, turned his head over his shoulder and panted out, “Please. Do it.”
It was enough. He pulled Mats firmly back by the shoulder, the flesh denting under his fingertips, and pushed into that hot, slick stretch. Mats made a guttural, helpless sound. He was all tight heat around Xabi, so pliant and fucking beautiful. Xabi let his head fall back, let himself breathe out slowly.
“God,” he said. He dragged himself out, almost shuddering at the sweetness of the friction.
“Come on,” Mats said, through his teeth. “Come on. Give me,” and Xabi rolled into him a little harder, a little deeper, driving another lightning rush of pleasure through his belly, another hiccuping ah! out of Mats’s mouth.
He moved his hand to the back of Mats’s neck, slid his fingers into the sweat-drenched hair and tightened them. “Shh.”
Mats answered on a sharp grunt, his bared teeth glinting. Xabi leaned down to kiss him, a hard bitten-off kiss, the kid’s teeth dragging down on his lower lip. Then he fucked into Mats all the way to the base and Mats took it, barely resisting, the unbearably sweet clench of him as good as anything Xabi had ever felt.
He worked Mats slowly for a while, savoring him: rubbing the small of his back, tangling his damp hair around his fingers and tugging it back to get a good stretch out of him. Every thrust drove a maddening little sound out of him, a short, muffled whine. His fingers clenched and unclenched on the balustrade, corded veins standing out on his forearms.
“How do you want it,” Xabi said. Controlling his voice was a fight, but it was worth it for the way Mats tensed, tightening around him. He bit back a groan, ground out, “Tell me.”
“Harder,” Mats gasped. He craned his head back over his shoulder, his eyes nearly black with lust but still defiant, and the look in them lit white fire in every cell of Xabi’s body, tore apart his fraying self-control. He gripped Mats’s sharp hipbones and gave it to him. Mats was panting, little animal grunts, was sinking his teeth into his own hand to muffle them, and with the other hand jerking himself, half-desperately.
Then he was lost in the smell of Mats’s skin, the slap of their bodies, the heated rhythm, pleasure so sweet it was almost like pain. He heard his own shuddering groan as if from a distance and then he was slamming into Mats, doubled over him, his own breath rebounding hotly off Mats’s shoulderblades. Mats must have come already: he was shaking all over, and when Xabi hit that final tremble he jerked sideways, pulsing through the aftermath.
Then there was nothing but the muted car and city noises below and their uneven breathing, Mats’s almost like sobs. Xabi pulled out of him slowly, kissed the vertebra at the top of Mats’s spine and the warm damp skin shivered under his mouth. He cast around for a second, then dropped the condom into the planter in the corner of the balcony, which was disgusting, but the options were few. Then he collapsed onto Mats’s back again, letting out a long, shaky breath. Sirens wailed a couple of streets away.
“Coming for us, do you think,” Mats said, pushing back warmly against him. His voice was breathy with laughter and exhaustion. “For, uh -- indecency?”
“This is private property, so. One of many great things about the American constitution,” Xabi said. “That railing comfortable?” He slipped his forearm between Mats’s chest and the cold iron, pillowing him. Mats’s heartbeat was fast, a little irregular.
“Not very,” Mats admitted. He turned in Xabi’s arms and kissed him, clumsily, his soaked hair brushing Xabi’s forehead.
*
And then there’s the part where uh. this happens?
*
“No one will see your face,” Mats promised. He kissed Xabi’s chest above the heart, scraping his teeth lightly over his nipple. “You will take the film.” He worked his way down Xabi’s body, over the light dusting of hair, mouthing a hot, messy kiss to Xabi’s ribs, his stomach. Xabi curled his fingers in Mats’s hair, rumpled from the sheets.
"It will be just --" and he kissed Xabi's hip, "--just my face. Only me," dragged his tongue over the trail of hair below Xabi's bellybutton, "sucking you off." Xabi huffed out, hard.
"Don't you want to be able to see this," Mats said innocently. He rested his chin for a second on the bony jut of Xabi's hipbone. "Whenever you want?"
"I already can," Xabi said a little harshly. He jerked on Mats's hair to remind him who was in charge.
But Mats only rolled his eyes and licked at the taut skin of Xabi’s lower belly. “But soon enough,” he said. He kissed the tip of Xabi's cock, which was already rising to him, and ran one hand up to Xabi's nipple. Xabi felt a muscle in his abdomen tremble. Mats slid his thumb over it, back and forth.
Then, instead of taking Xabi into his mouth, he angled his face, let Xabi's dick rub against his cheek. His lashes fluttered. He breathed in deep, like the smell of Xabi was getting him off harder than anything. Xabi bit back a groan at the sight of him, the sharp shadows of his face and his unwavering, feverish eyes under his tangled fall of hair.
"When I go back home," Mats murmured. “I want to know you are able to see me like this sometimes. When you -- get yourself off. That you can watch me. Think about my mouth -- what I want to do to you.” His voice was thick and slow, like the words were elusive. “I will, you know. Think of you.”
Xabi said nothing. He tilted his head as if considering the proposition, and held his composure pretty well until -- until Mats took his dick in hand and butted his nose and mouth into it, rubbed them all over. His lips were slack and wet, dragging on that excruciatingly sensitive skin. His eyes didn’t leave Xabi’s.
It was hard to come up with good arguments for propriety when Mats's mouth was smudging the slit of his cock, smearing a bead of precome until his lower lip was pink and glistening. He was tantalizingly close, but he didn’t open his mouth, wouldn’t press his tongue against Xabi or suck him in, and it was agonizing, and all Xabi could think was how badly he needed Mats’s lips wrapped tight and slippery around him. If he couldn’t drive into that wet heat he might lose his mind completely.
“We’ll see,” he grated out. He twisted his fingers harder into Mats's hair, pushing his head sharply back so his jaw dropped open a little. Then he reached down to his dick and nudged it insistently against Mats's parted lips.
Mats always loved it when Xabi got rough, and the rule held now. He let out a stifled little moan and opened his mouth around Xabi's dick. Sucked on the head, his eyelids fluttering. His hand went down to support the base of Xabi's cock as he bobbed once, twice, slow and deep, his knifeblade cheekbones hollowing. He pulled off with a wet, filthy pop that jolted Xabi to the marrow. Black spots swallowed his vision for an instant.
“I swear,” Mats said through the haze. “Anything you want, anything you tell me. I don’t want a copy, even, I want only-- I want to know that you will have it.” His voice was hoarse with arousal. He reached up and put something cool and small in Xabi’s hand. Xabi looked at it like he’d never seen it before: it was his phone.
He felt drunk with arousal. His fingertips were numb. His blood pulsed and ached against his skin.
“Watch me,” Mats said. He curled his pink tongue briefly around the head, and Xabi went dizzy. “Go ahead. I want you to. Please.”
When Xabi lifted the phone in an unsteady hand, Mats actually shuddered, scalp to calves.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, and bent his head again. A thousand fucking blessings on the boyfriend in Dortmund, Xabi thought unsteadily; then he stopped thinking.
*
Stevie found the video in September.
They were in Manhattan at a taping. The media push was finally paying off. They were broke as shit -- well, Stevie was, anyway -- but Wolf Blitzer had actually called Rafa "the man to beat," and hell if that didn’t mean a celebration.
His phone was out of batteries when he reached for it to call Alex. He didn’t even have to ask, just held out a hand to Xabi and Xabi dropped his phone into it, without interrupting his conversation with Canales.
When he got outside -- Jesus, he had to be drunker than he thought, or else the buttons on Xabi’s phone were weird, because he somehow ended up turning Xabi’s camera on, and when he tried to get out of it he ended up in the files. He blinked at them, uncomprehendingly.
There weren’t many. Xabi wasn’t a camera-phone kind of guy. But there was a video, and the screenshot was clearly -- ah shit. It was clearly, Stevie realized with a shivering, unidentifiable shock, Mats Hummels. He wasn’t doing anything, but even on the tiny screen of the Blackberry Stevie could see his bare shoulders and the hungry look in his eyes, and it was very clear what kind of video this was.
Why for fuck’s sake would Xabi have done this? Could there be a fucking stupider move? He couldn’t imagine Xabi agreeing to anything so fucking fatal, let alone Mats, Mats who was supposed to be a caregiver for children, Jesus Christ. What if he left his phone somewhere? What if it got on the internet? They could be in so much fucking trouble, the stupid dickhead, he had to be insane. How bad was it?
He shouldn’t watch it. He didn’t want to, God knew. It would be so fucking gross of him, an invasion of Xabi’s privacy and Mats’s too, and the last thing he wanted was an all-access pass into their horrible, constant sex life.
He was surprised to find he’d pressed play.
There was no sound on the video and the camera was kind of shaky; Xabi had it in his hand, clearly, tilted down to Mats on his knees. The instant the picture started to move, Stevie realized -- how, he wasn’t sure -- that Mats was smiling at something Xabi was saying. He could just tell. The intimate goad in Mats’s eyes, and the way he grinned wider after a second and nodded once.
There was a dizzying swing then as Xabi readjusted the camera. The room came into focus: it wasn’t Xabi’s and, thank Christ, it wasn’t Mats’s in their basement either. It was the motherfucking W., the one where he’d run into Mats in the parking lot, after that speech back in May. He remembered the print on the sheets; he and Alex had had to stay there for three days once, when the house was being fumigated.
On the screen Mats was gazing up, not into the camera but above it a little. At Xabi, listening. His lips were already swollen. Xabi's hand was petting through his hair, assured and possessive. The tendons stood out in Mats's shoulders: he’d wrenched his hands behind his back. He mouthed an open kiss against Xabi’s dick, tongue pressing against the skin. Xabi’s fingers tightened.
Stevie hunched against the wall of the bar, his head spinning. It was amazing how easily he could picture what Xabi's face would look like, if the camera turned up to it: the languid, half-lidded intensity Stevie had seen in him sometimes, and the smile that would edge his mouth.
Then Mats licked his lips and dragged them up the length of Xabi’s cock, tongue flattening briefly in view. He twisted his tongue around the head and swallowed Xabi to the throat. The camera twitched. Stevie realized suddenly how hard he was in his trousers, aching and desperate like a fucking teenager. Once the camera swayed again as Xabi spread his legs, and Mats arched beneath him and all Stevie could see were his tense shoulders and a sliver of his profile -- oh Christ he was sucking at Xabi’s balls, his eyelids trembling like he was the one getting off.
Then he was up on his knees again, nose brushing Xabi’s belly. He was setting an urgent rhythm, the small muscles of his throat and jaw straining. Stevie palmed his dick distractedly, imagining what Xabi must look like, because he was close now, had to be, losing that everpresent control, you could tell from the way the phone was trembling.
Behind the camera Xabi must have said something because Mats pulled off, a trail of spit hanging for an instant between his lower lip and the tip of Xabi’s cock. Xabi's hand tightened in his hair and Mats’s throat moved in what had to be a strangled little moan, and Stevie was painfully glad and sorry that there was no sound because he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take it.
On the screen Mats closed his eyes. The picture was shaking, distorted by motion, but Stevie could still see Xabi's hand, working himself. Mats just waited. His eyes flickered open once or twice, gazing up through his lashes. Stevie couldn’t breathe. Xabi's dick was leaking. His hand moved so fast it was almost a bar of light, a pale smudge on the pixelated screen.
Xabi came in surges, hotter than anything Stevie had ever seen in porn. The first spurted over Mats’s soft, perfect, half-open mouth, and Mats's eyelashes trembled; his tongue darted out as if to taste even while Xabi was still holding himself, jerking in pulses onto Mats's collarbone and chest. The gloss on Mats's tongue was thick and pearly and the corner of his lips shone, up his jaw to the cheekbone.
Stevie realized dimly that he was pushing his hips mindlessly into his own hand, trying to spark the friction he needed. The camera was steadier now but it still had a tiny arrhythmic shake as Xabi worked through the aftershocks. He must have said something else, because Mats nodded again and smiled that fucking Mentos-commercial smile. He swayed forward on his knees, nuzzled Xabi's hip. Xabi's hand sifted through his hair.
Mats’s hands slid from behind his back and he ran them up the backs of Xabi's thighs. His mouth slipped over Xabi's softening dick, cleaning up, and as he pulled off and smiled again he raised his thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth -- and the video stopped.