abort, retry, fail (2/2)
continued from here
"So," David said, leaning against the edge of Silva's desk and dumping his laptop on top of it. "I think this is it. Final mock up."
"Let me see," Silva said, and slid the laptop toward himself. David waited while he slowly scrolled down, brow furrowed, then clicked back up to the top and read over everything again. Finally, Silva sat back and beamed at him. "I think you've got something really solid here."
"We," David corrected. Silva was shaking his head, but David wasn't going to let him get away with that. "You should get-fuck, I don't know, do we get royalties on design? Credit at least."
"I am getting paid by the hour," Silva pointed out.
Something about the way he said it made David smirk. "You making them bleed?"
"I'm well compensated," Silva said demurely, and then gave up and grinned back at David.
"Good," David said, satisfied. He almost didn't mention it, then went ahead anyway. "Hey. Look. Are you sure you don't want to maybe stick around here? After this, and all that shit with Mata and Krkić's fixes, Figo would definitely find the money to hire you."
Silva looked conflicted. "I... You guys are great. I really. I like it here. But I don't think..."
"Yeah," David said quickly, before Silva could say any more, because he didn't really want to hear Silva say no again. He wondered if it would be out of line to ask Silva if it'd been some traumatic experience in the past that left him so into self-determination. Then he realized Silva was looking past him.
That was when David noticed the office had fallen completely silent.
The back of David's neck prickled. In the silence, he heard a very smooth voice behind him said, "Bojan, isn't it? Is Luís in?"
Slowly, David turned around.
He'd only seen Mourinho, the new CEO, a couple times, but that was more than enough to remember him. Which was obviously what he wanted to happen, with the swishy trenchoat and the sweeping around dramatically. Where the fuck did he think he was, anyway? They were a fucking IT company.
Right now Mourinho was smiling benevolently at Krkić, who looked like he thought he was about to be eaten alive. "Yes? I mean, no, I mean, he should be back any minute-"
"Absent during business hours," Mourinho murmured to himself. "Interesting."
An elbow nudged David in the side. "Is that Mourinho?" Silva whispered, barely moving his lips.
David didn't know Mourinho could possibly have heard-he was halfway across the office and Silva had barely made a sound. But as David nodded, Mourinho's head turned, and his hunter's gaze landed on Silva. It rested there for a minute, and then the next thing David knew he'd abandoned Krkić and was approaching them.
He ignored David-which, hello, David was right there-and stood examining Silva for a minute, before he smiled again. "Do I know you?"
Silva flicked a glance at David, who opened his eyes as far as they could go and furrowed his eyebrows and tried to convey telepathically not to let Mourinho get away with this shit. "Ah, sort of?" Silva said to Mourinho. "Luís-Figo-hired me as the external consultant you asked for. David Silva. Sir." He stood up and held out a hand.
After a second, Mourinho shook it. "Of course," he said. "He mentioned you. You were one of Roberto's special proteges."
"Yes, sir," Silva said, brightening with polite enthusiasm. "You know Professor Mancini?"
"Unfortunately," Mourinho said, low and smooth as cream. Silva's face flickered, from blank confusion to surprise to disbelief, then his spine stiffened.
"That's funny, because he never mentioned you," he said, and David could hear the entire office draw in a breath.
The silence dragged out for a very long moment. Mourinho had lost the smile. "My acquaintance with your professor was by reputation only, which was more than sufficient. What did you say your name was?"
"David Silva," Silva repeated. There was a gleam in his eyes.
"I see," Mourinho said. "And you're a... consultant, now." Silva flushed. David scowled. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? "Tell me, many of Roberto's students, do they end up doing this?"
"I guess just the really good ones," David said loudly. "Because Silva's pretty fucking good."
This silence was even more resounding.
It was sort of like being in the sights of a large hungry panther, David thought, or guessed, since he'd never actually seen a panther. Well, it didn't matter, because David wasn't going to let Mourinho fuck with him. He glared right back and one of Mourinho's brows went up.
Mourinho said, "And your name is-"
"José," Figo said, just as David's mouth dropped open and he drew a furious breath, because what the hell was that suppoed to mean, he was David Villa. "What can I do for you?"
Just like that, Mourinho turned his back on them. "Luís. Do you know what this email from Pep is supposed to mean?"
Did he think he could just ignore David? David started to get up and a hand gripped his arm, hard. He swiveled around and saw Silva shaking his head furiously at him. David frowned. No, Silva mouthed, and David frowned harder, then sank grudgingly back into his seat. Then he realized half the office was staring at him.
He ignored them all. Figo was saying something to Mourinho. "-asked him?"
"I suspect he has put his phone off the hook again," Mourinho said. "And he will not answer his email. Even though I am his boss."
Figo opened his mouth, looked around the office, and closed it again. "Why don't we talk about this... somewhere else. Like your office."
"That is what I would have suggested from the beginning," Mourinho said, nodding agreeably.
Figo looked like he was just barely managing not to respond to that. Instead, he just shook his head and held the door open, gesturing for Mourinho precede him. Mourinho gave him a gracious nod. The door closed behind them.
The entire office seemed to exhale. Puyol just shook his head, muttering something himself; Xavi, laptop perched on the edge of Rodriguez' desk, appeared to be trying to burn two holes in the door with his eyes. David heard Mata say faintly, "Oh my god. Is it too early to get a drink?"
He rolled his eyes so hard they felt like they were going to come out of his head. Goddamn melodramatic attention junkie, anyone with half a brain could see it was all about cheap intimidation tactics and everyone bought into it anyway-
The hand still on his arm tugged him around. "What were you doing?" Silva demanded.
"What?" David said. As Silva stared at him, he shifted a little uncomfortably. "I just said what I thought. You did the same thing."
"He's in charge of your whole company!" Silva said, eyes still wide. "It was-I shouldn't have said anything either, but it doesn't matter as much, my contract's almost up anyway. You could have lost your job."
"It's no big deal," David muttered. "Figo wouldn't let that happen." His cheeks felt hot, so he crossed his arms and shrugged. "Besides, he obviously didn't know what the hell he was talking about."
Silva just kept looking at him, with this look on his face David couldn't figure out. David's insides felt kind of weird and liquidy. Maybe Mori was right after all and David was having too much caffeine these days. He should probably go get some lunch or something. He just couldn't seem to look away, was all.
"That's... " Silva started, and then cleared his throat and said, "Thank you. I..." He ducked his head, sort of. "I should really go-take care of this. But. Thank you. Again. It really... means a lot to me." He glanced back up and smiled, finally, slow and a little-almost sweet. "But you probably shouldn't do it again."
"I'll say whatever I feel like," David said, but it was a lot less belligerent than it could have been.
Silva got up, then hesitated. "If you get in trouble, have Luís talk to me. It's my fault for starting it in the first place."
Yeah, right. "I'll be fine," David said. But the strange feeling wouldn't go away, as he watched Silva leave.
It was definitely time to cut down on the caffeine.
* * *
He got off pretty well, all things considered. Figo gave him a lecture about respecting authority and not endangering his own job and blah blah suck up to people, whatever, but David got the feeling Figo was actually kind of satisfied. Maybe there was something to all those rumors about an incestuous three-way power struggle between Figo and Mourinho and Guardiola after all. The point was, David didn't even get a real reprimand or anything, so it was fine.
The next day, he ate lunch with Mori, because it felt like it'd been a long time since they'd last hung out. When he said as much, Mori laughed, which David didn't really get, and then wouldn't tell David what was so funny.
Mori's desk was piled with debris, as usual, so David took Iniesta's chair and Mori took Valdés'. "By the way," Mori said, digging into his lunch, "I heard about the Mourinho thing."
Why was everyone in this office such a fucking gossip? "Whatever," David said. "It was just a thing."
"'A thing'," Mori repeated, grinning. "Sure."
David narrowed his eyes and gave Mori his best menacing look, but those were never effective on Mori, who just kept grinning at him and then reached out and poked David in the cheek with one finger. David spluttered and batted at his hand and Mori cracked up.
David had one of Iniesta's pens raised and ready to retaliate when Silva's voice behind him said, "David?" David dropped the pen and twisted around. "Have you got a minute? I wanted to ask you about-" Silva caught sight of Mori and stopped.
"Ask me about?" David prompted.
Silva looked from David to Mori. "If you're busy, I can..."
"No," David said immediately. "I'm not." Mori snorted.
Silva said tactfully, "Maybe Fernando thinks you're busy?"
Since when were Silva and Mori on a first name basis? David looked at Mori. Mori raised his eyebrows and nodded very slowly, like David was the slow one here.
David rolled his eyes and turned back to Silva. "Okay, I guess I'm busy." ("Thanks," Mori interjected dryly.) "I'll catch you afterwards, okay?"
"Sure." Silva gave David another little smile, and vanished.
Mori nudged him in the side with one elbow. "So what are you going to do when Silva leaves?"
David said, "Huh?"
"He's got, what, three days left, right?" What? That couldn't be right. "Are you going to make a move or what?"
David stared at him.
"David," Mori said warningly, which, what the fuck, what had he done?
"What," he said.
"Don't even start with me, Villa," Mori said. "I know you're incredibly clueless when it comes to actual human emotions but even you should be able to figure this one out."
David crossed his arm over his chest. "I don't know what the hell you're even talking about."
Mori raised his eyes heavenward and muttered something under his breath. Then he looked back at David and-alarmingly-gave him a sudden, evil smile. "Fine," he said. "You want to know what I'm talking about? Listen really closely, here you go: I'm talking about your incredibly obvious crush."
For a moment David just gaped, so stunned he actually couldn't speak. He recovered his voice quickly enough, though. "What the fuck does that mean? Just because Silva's actually a nice guy compared to the rest of you losers doesn't mean I-I-" He nearly choked.
"Bullshit," Mori said, still smiling. That goddamned untrustworthy smile again, David should've known. "Deal with it, Villa, you've got it bad."
"I-" do not, David started to bite out, and suddenly thought of Silva chewing on the end of a pen, bangs in his eyes, scribbling all over David's sys architecture diagrams.
Mori's eyebrows were raised expectantly. What the fuck, why couldn't he finish the damn sentence? Just because Silva was sweet and hot and razor sharp didn't mean-He wasn't obsessed with Silva or anything, he just-
He-
It must've shown on his face, because Mori snorted. "Now he gets it," he said. "For God's sake, Villa, does everything have to be physically beaten into your head?"
"Fuck you," David said automatically, but there wasn't any real feeling behind it. There wasn't any to spare from the churning mess of shock and awe and Silva, Silva, Silva.
Mori looked a little sympathetic now, because he came in layers-nice on the outside, dangerous on the inside, and a real softie underneath that. "Deep breaths, Villa," he said. "Acknowledging your feelings takes oxygen."
"Shut up," David heard his own voice say.
"It's good for you," Mori said bracingly. Something buzzed from his pocket. He fished his phone out and looked at the screen; then he looked at his watch and muttered something under his breath.
"Good for you," David repeated.
"Yeah," Mori said. "Improved quality of life, self-actualization, getting laid. If you get your act together you can still jump Silva before he leaves. Listen, I've got to go, but maybe you should go home early, okay? If Luís asks you can blame it on me."
David nodded mechanically.
"And think about what you're going to do," Mori added. "Raúl won't like it if I have to haul your drunken ass home every night for the next month because you're depressed about chickening out."
That galvanized David into flipping him off, but when Mori left David was still staring blankly at the desk, and kept doing so until Iniesta finally came along and gingerly prodded him out of the chair and then, after looking at his face, all the way out of the office.
* * *
He didn't sleep. After an hour of restless tossing and turning, he gave in and gave it a try, thinking about Silva like that: Silva's lean, compact body and the curve of his neck and his sinewy arms and the tendrils of dark hair clinging to his nape and then suddenly David was coming all over his hand. And after that he couldn't stop, thinking about Silva's crinkling dark eyes, and his smile and his laugh, imagining what he'd do if David kissed his spine or if he'd like it if David stroked him from shoulder to hip or-
So that at least was pretty clear.
No one could say David Villa was a coward. He parked his bike outside the building at 8:30, because Silva was always early and David might as well deal with it as soon as possible. That, and he was damned if he was going to do this with any more of an audience than was strictly necessary.
As it turned out, the coast was clear. He balled up one hand into a fist and, telling himself he didn't need to take a deep breath or shit like that, stalked up to Silva's desk.
"Hi, David," Silva said with that bright smile-Jesus-and David's throat suddenly dried up.
"Hi," he managed dumbly.
"You stood me up yesterday," Silva said, teasing, and David had to swallow.
"Yeah," he said. "I mean, I know. I mean, I'm sorry. There... something happened. Important."
Silva immediately looked contrite. "I know. At least, I guessed. I'm just teasing, I know you wouldn't do that."
"Yeah," David repeated meaninglessly. "I-" He didn't know what he was going to say next.
Silva was looking at him, a little questioning. Fuck, he needed to get a grip and just do it. He squeezed the fisted hand, digging his nails into his palms, and said, "Mori told me you're leaving this week."
Silva's smile dimmed a little. "The day after tomorrow. I thought-You didn't know?"
"No. I mean, I thought-I didn't realize it was now. Already." He was honest-to-god babbling now. "I just suck at dates. Look, we should-I don't know."
The corner of Silva's mouth lifted. "Keep in touch?"
"Yeah. That would be... yeah."
"I was kind of counting on it," Silva said, and gave David a lopsided smile.
Fuck, it was like Silva was trying to make it impossible for David to speak. David realized one of his hands was coming up, dangerously close to tugging at his own hair. Damn it, he just didn't do nervous gestures, ever. He shoved both hands in his pockets to stop them moving around and said, "Look. I wanted to ask you something."
Silva said, "Hmm?"
"This is going to sound stupid but since you're leaving and all-" Were Silva's eyes always so dark? Fuck. "I know you said before you didn't like staying in one place so I wouldn't-I mean I know that, I'm not trying to-but we get along, you know, pretty well, and I was just wondering now if, I don't know, maybe-sometime-you and me-"
First Silva looked confused. Then his face cleared, and then fell, and David's stomach gave a sickening drop before Silva even said anything.
"Oh-oh." Silva looked crestfallen, and sorry, and dismayed. "David-I'm really sorry, but I don't think-"
"It's fine," David said, or something like it, because he couldn't listen to anything more. Silva stopped talking, at least, which was good, but he was looking at David with these big pitying eyes, and David just couldn't -
"Sorry," he managed to grind out, after a minute. "Didn't mean to-" He made some kind of gesture.
"Oh, no," Silva said, patently eager to reassure, "I'm flattered, honest-"
He couldn't handle this. He must have said something else, because Silva stopped talking and looked disappointed, and also a little worried. He turned around and made his way in the direction of his desk by instinct. He didn't know what he looked like, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.
It was just his luck that Victor Valdés chose that moment to show up early for probably the first time in two years. David nearly walked straight into him. Valdés started blabbing about what an asshole David was, as usual, so David looked at him without really seeing him and Valdés' rant suddenly cut short.
"Jesus, Villa," Valdés said. "What happened to you?"
David didn't say anything. Valdés eyes flicked from him to Silva's desk and back. Then they went very wide.
"Holy shit," Valdés said, sounding awed. "You just got shot down."
There was nothing David could say to that, so he didn't. Instead he turned around and walked out of the office. And kept walking until he was out on the sidewalk, and then outside his own apartment, and then, somehow, lying flat on his couch, staring up at the ceiling.
Maybe he'd stay there a while.
* * *
When Luís got to the office at nine there was a neat, color-coded report waiting on his desk. He picked it up and flipped through it. It was, as far as he could see, impeccable.
Luís stuck his head out the door. "Silva?"
Silva didn't hear him the first time, which was unusual, but he snapped to attention to second time, and obediently came to join Luís in his office.
Luís tapped the report. "You're done already?"
Silva nodded. "That one's for you. I'll have the one for Mo-your CEO later today." He gave Luís a little smile. "I still think it's ridiculous to even consider cutting anything in your department. But I hope it's useful to you, at least."
"Thank you," Luís said, sincerely. "It's been a pleasure, and I mean that." He gave Silva a thoughtful once over. "If you're ever interested in something permanent..."
"Oh-oh, thank you. Really." Silva looked both pleased and apologetic. "But I think I want to stay independent." For reasons unknown to Luís, his smile faded, and his face fell slightly.
Victor, lurking outside as usual, came up behind him. "See," he said, looping an arm over Silva's shoulder, "the guy likes his independence, no wonder he shut Villa down. Give that one an inch and you'd never get rid of him."
Silva twisted his head up. He sounded puzzled when he said, "Shut what down?"
Luís had just a fraction of a second to fully appreciate both the magnitude of impending catastrophe and the fact that he could do absolutely nothing about it before Victor said, "The huge whopping thing he's got for you, obviously. I've got to hand it to you, you're a pro-I've never seen anyone manage it so thoroughly but so nicely."
"What?" said Silva.
Victor tsked. "Come on, there can't be two of you with-" Victor, curving his head around, got a good look at Silva's face and said, "My God, there are."
Silva's eyes were round. His cheeks were tinged with color. "He... David?" he said, and then even more faintly, "Me?"
Victor rolled his eyes. "Yes, you, obviously, he's only been stalking you since the day you got here. What's wrong with you people? Don't you get enough air down there?"
Luís intervened. "All right, Victor, that's enough. Leave him alone."
Victor departed, shaking his head and muttering something about oxygen deprivation under his breath. Silva looked helplessly at Luís.
Luís put a thumb and forefinger to the corners of his eyes, pressed very hard, and took them away. "He's telling the truth," he said. "Villa hasn't been very... subtle. In his entire life," he added on reflection.
"But... I thought..."
Luís was actually rather interested in what Silva had thought, because it had to be good. Silva's eyes got wider. "Then was he... Before, he was talking about how I should think about staying, and how we worked really well together-and we do-so I thought..." He was talking to himself now. "It just, it never occurred to me..." He looked over his shoulder out the door, as if Villa's empty desk would yield answers. His eyes got a little far away and Luís could actually see him performing dozens of mental recalculations with the same rapidity normally applied to solving an algorithm.
When his gaze refocused on Luís, the look on his face left no doubt as to the answer he'd come up with.
Luís sighed. "I'm sorry this puts you in an awkward position. Villa's one of my best, high maintenance though he may be, and I can't afford to give him an official reprimand just because he's gone and gotten himself hung up on a coworker. There's only the two days left; I hope you can..." He stopped, because Silva was frowning.
"What?" he said. "No, that's not-" He stopped, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and said, "It's not a problem. At least. Not like that."
"...Really," said Luís, with interest, because that would be a useful solution.
Silva was a little red, and he seemed to have trouble meeting Luís' eyes. "It's not like I haven't-" He cleared his throat and said firmly, "I'll talk to him."
But he never got a chance, because an hour later David Villa called in sick.
* * *
He did the same the next day, and the next. It was, admittedly, moderately entertaining to see Silva go around the office finishing his last bits of work with a distinct air of suppressed frustration-but not enough to outweigh the disadvantages of Villa's absence. Besides, Luís was running a business here, and as far as he knew the benefits package didn't include romantic disappointment leave.
Silva waited until his last day to approach Luís, though. At the end of the day, Andrés and Victor got everyone to quiet down and Victor said they'd hated the idea but liked having him after all and they all clapped and Silva actually blushed. Then almost everyone stopped by his desk on the way out to say goodbye; even Xavi, who was in the middle of one of his monkish periods again, emerged to say vaguely, "Good luck." No one even brought up the Villa Incident, at least not within Silva's hearing, which in itself was fairly impressive.
The office was almost empty when Luís saw Silva approaching. But first Andrés intercepted him, close enough that Luís could hear.
"I hope you can come back," Andrés said in a soft voice, and if Andrés was actually speaking of his own volition, that said a lot. "It's been nice to have you."
Silva looked a little overwhelmed. "Me, too," he said after a second. "I mean. It's been nice to be here. I hope I can. Thanks."
Finally, Silva made it to Luís' office, looking very determined. "Excuse me? Luís?"
Luís raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
That seemed to take some of the wind out of Silva, but he soldiered on. "About David-Villa." Luís made an encouraging noise. Silva cleared his throat and said, "Do you have, um, a phone number or something?"
Luís struggled for a very brief second with the specter of employee privacy and then said, "Better. I have an address."
* * *
It was stupid to be this fucking miserable. It was just a-it wasn't anything, there was no reason for David to act this pathetic. This was the second day in a row where he just didn't feel like doing anything but lying on the couch staring dully at the ceiling tiles. Occasionally he had to get up to find something to eat, and then sometimes he'd get distracted because he'd burned himself or gotten angry at the inefficiency of mass-produced consumer electronics, and start to feel like a normal human being. And then he'd think about Silva, and it would start all over again.
Silva was probably getting ready to leave right that minute, packing up his place and everything. And then he'd go back to England and David would probably never hear from him again, not even as friends, because he'd fucked that up, hadn't he.
David gave the couch cushion a vicious punch. So what. He'd gotten along just fine before and he would again now. It didn't matter. It didn't.
The doorbell rang. David ignored it. Goddamn fucking door-to-door assholes couldn't even leave him alone to brood in peace.
It rang again.
And again.
Fine, they wanted to piss him off? It was working. David heaved himself off the couch and shouted, "Hold your fucking horses, I'm coming." He stomped down the hall, yanked open the door, and started, "All right, what the hell do you-"
His voice suddenly stopped working.
"You're not very easy to find when you don't want to be," David Silva said.
David took an automatic step backward, and then made himself stop, because David Villa didn't run. Instead he just stared dumbly at Silva, until after a minute he realized he still hadn't said anything, and Silva was still, somehow, standing on his doorstep. He cleared his throat and said, "You found me easy enough."
Which wasn't at all what he wanted to say. Fuck. Silva looked faintly guilty and even more faintly embarrassed. "It probably wasn't exactly... legal. For Figo to give me your address."
"What did you want it for?" David said. "To remind me you're not interested?"
Then he wanted to kick himself, because it wasn't Silva's fault he wasn't into David-or at least it wasn't something to blame him for, and David really liked him, even before-even besides the other thing, and he didn't actually want to be an asshole to someone he liked and he didn't ever want to know what Silva looked like hurt -
But when David made himself look, Silva didn't look hurt. Instead he looked-he looked-kind of exasperated. "I never said that," Silva said. "David, why didn't you say something?"
The unfairness of it all made it difficult to answer for a second. "I did," David ground out eventually, "and you said you didn't want to."
"I did not," Silva said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I didn't even get to finish what I was saying-you never finished what you were saying! How was I supposed to know that you-" He broke off and David saw that he was turning a faint red. Which was a whole different level that David was not prepared to deal with. "That you would be interested," he said. He was blushing. "In me."
There were so many things David could say to that that he couldn't decide which and was struck dumb. Silva seemed to misinterpret that, because his blush deepened. God. "I know that-that I wasn't exactly, um. Picking up on things. But next time, say what you mean, and don't you dare disappear afterwards."
David picked out two words-"next time"-and his hopes, which had been slowly, unbelievably, creeping upwards, plummeted again. But Silva must have seen it in his face, because he let out a little huff of air and said, "No, don't-that's not what I meant, David."
David licked his lips. For some reason his mouth was dry. "What," he croaked, and cleared his throat. "What. Did you mean."
Silva's sudden, incandescent smile hit him like a truck. "You're sweet, but you're really stupid sometimes," Silva said, and then before David could react, put a hand in his hair, leaned up, and kissed him.
For a moment David was too stunned to move. All he could feel, stupidly, was the warmth of Silva's mouth and the faint brush of Silva's eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.
Silva pulled away. His eyes flicked from David's mouth upwards. David had no idea what he looked like: probably completely stupefied. He licked his lips; he couldn't have looked away from Silva if his life depended on it.
Silva, more hesitantly this time, leaned forward and kissed him again. It was slower, gentler, searching. Silva's lips were parted. David's mouth opened almost automatically; Silva's tongue flicked against his, inquiring but not demanding, and like that was the trigger, suddenly David's brain kicked into gear and realized Silva was kissing him and he was surging forward and kissing Silva back with all the eagerness he had.
His hands went out to rest against Silva's sides, almost disbelievingly, as he tilted his head and kissed Silva more thoroughly. They ran down over the soft nubbly material of Silva's shirt to cradle Silva's hips, and his thumbs slid up to stroke the bare, hot skin under Silva's shirt, which made Silva gasp into his mouth. That, in turn, made David push forward, kissing him more insistently, until they both had to stop and breathe, and even then neither of them really pulled back.
"You haven't invited me in yet," Silva said against his mouth.
David growled something that made Silva start to laugh. The laugh stopped and abruptly became a breathy gasp when David tugged Silva forward to fit snugly against him, chest to thigh, and held him there while David kissed him within an inch of his life. Silva's head jerked back and he made a noise that made David's brain short out. When he came to, the door was closed and Silva was pressed against it, while David was pressed against him, helpless to keep his hips from rolling against Silva's.
Silva was making little whimpering noises and clutching at David's back. David groaned and slid one hand up and one hand down, to get a better grip. They should move, should find the bed or David's shabby couch or at least a-a- One of Silva's legs was twined around David's and when he moved it ground them against each other and tore a sound from David completely without his assent.
He pulled back, just a little, and Silva's two hands, fisted in the back of his shirt, tugged him back insistently and Silva's mouth caught his again, probing, demanding. He groaned-moaned-something-and kissed Silva again, more roughly. They weren't going to make it anywhere. One of Silva's hands let go and was working down between them and David's other hand, the one not curved around Silva's ass, followed. He got Silva's jeans open at almost the same time Silva did his, but Silva got there first. Silva's hand was warm and hard, knuckles brushing David's stomach, and fuck fuck fuck David nearly came with the first stroke. He grabbed on to Silva's side again, arm around Silva's waist, and wrapped his other hand around Silva's cock and Silva jerked hard, shuddering from head to toe. David kept stroking, intently, even though white bursts kept hitting him behind the eyes. Their hands kept bumping into each other; Silva was uttering a constant stream of breathy wordless gasps. David scraped Silva's neck with his teeth-Silva's hips bucked into his hand-then up, biting at the side of Silva's jaw, finding his mouth again, and David was-he wanted-he wanted more and more -
The orgasm took him by surprise, so hard his head jerked back and his teeth clacked together and then it was all a white blur, Silva making a sound in his ear like nothing David had ever heard and scraping his nails against David's back through his shirt and his own face pressed against Silva's damp neck and Jesus it felt like David was never going to stop coming.
For a while afterward-David didn't know how long-he couldn't hear anything but the sound of his own heavy breathing.
"Okay," Silva said eventually, sounding dazed. "For a doorstep-that was-wow."
David was pretty sure he should be feeling smug, but instead he was busy trying to scrape up his brain and get it back into his head, so all he managed was to agree, "Yeah."
Silva stirred, and David realized he still had him pinned against the door. He reluctantly-very reluctantly-pulled back, letting Silva straighten up and pull at the hem of his t-shirt and run a hand through his hopelessly mussed hair. Every movement made David want to put his hands on Silva again, just to touch.
When Silva raised his head, his face was solemn. David was suddenly and irrationally terrified. Then Silva leaned forward, cupped David's face in his hands, and gave him a slow, lingering kiss.
David didn't realize his eyes were closed until Silva pulled away. He opened them. Silva was smiling at him, a little affectionate wicked smile that did funny swooping things to David's chest.
"So," Silva said. "Do you maybe want to do that again? With a bed?"
David wanted.
They passed through the kitchen, down the hall. Silva's hands dug under David's shirt and wandered up his chest. David stopped to press him against another wall-it was a good look on him-and suck at the tempting curve of Silva's neck. Silva's shirt disappeared; David's jeans did, too. The world melted away in a pleasantly jagged haze.
It wasn't until David found himself finally on a bed, running a possessive hand down Silva's bare back, that he remembered he should probably say something.
"Hey," he said, with difficulty because the stroke of his hand had made Silva surge forward again. Silva nipped at the corner of his mouth and he bit down hard on the moan. "Hey," he said again. "David." It worked. Silva pulled back, looking thwarted and also a little predatory. David's throat constricted.
"Look," he said, "I should have said this up front, I know this is going to sound-I know you're leaving, but you should know I wasn't going for a, a one night thing, I want-"
Silva laughed breathlessly. "You think I'd let you get away with that?" he said, which went straight to David's dick. He growled low in his throat and rolled over, pressing Silva's shoulders against the sheets; Silva, laughing up at him, got a hand in his hair and tugged, not gently, until David obediently lowered his head and they met in a lingering open-mouthed kiss.
When he surfaced David remembered hazily that they'd been talking about something. Something important-oh. Right. "Good," he murmured against Silva's jaw, and then again, less steadily, "Good," as Silva's nails skimmed feather-light over his shoulders.
Then he had better things to do than talk.
* * *
David Villa showed up to the office on the stroke of nine, dark circles under his eyes, radiating a halo of smugness. He practically oozed across the room, contentment in every line of his body; even his hair, noticeably less spiky than usual, seemed blissed out. He might as well have just printed it on his t-shirt.
Luís forbore from comment. Instead he said, dry as a bone, "Good of you to join us today."
Villa's smile was all teeth. "Glad you appreciate it. Since I almost stayed home." The smile went all smug and Luís made an effort not to roll his eyes.
"Then I take it we can rely on your continued presence from now on?" A sudden, horrible thought occurred to him, of just the sort of insane move Villa might make, and he said, "You are staying in Barcelona?"
Villa gave him a look like Luís was the crazy one. "Obviously," he said. "Do I look like some kind of stalker?"
Since that was exactly what Villa looked like, it was extremely difficult for Luís to hold his tongue. He managed it, but some of the feeling must have seeped through anyway, because Villa narrowed his eyes and said, "I can do long distance if I want," which Luís interpreted as several trans-Channel flights in Villa's immediate future.
"I'm not sending you on assignment to England just because you want to see your boyfriend," he warned.
That, god help them all, had exactly the opposite effect of what he'd intended, as Villa's face went simultaneously satisfied and smitten. "Sure," Villa said, in a voice that completely failed to disguise how goddamned happy he was. "Whatever. That all?"
"That's all," Luís said, holding in the sigh until Villa closed the door behind him. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that Villa could actually get more insufferable. But at least he was at work, where he was supposed to be, and in all honesty it was a thousand times better than the moping. In the end, Luís could make that bargain.
* * *
David told himself he'd wait until Silva was back in England to call, maybe that night, or maybe the next. He lasted about fifteen minutes before he found the phone in his hand without realizing he'd picked it up, thumb hovering over the "call" button.
Silva had programmed his own number in, standing in the doorway and biting his lip in concentration, so that David didn't really have a chance but to lean in and bite it for him, gently, and then-it was a miracle he'd gotten to work on time, actually, but Silva'd had to catch a plane. Which sucked, but David had known it was coming and besides, he already knew when he was going to see Silva again. Two weeks. David could handle two weeks.
He was still holding the phone. Would it look desperate if he called anyway? Did he care? What the fuck was happening to him, anyway?
The phone suddenly vibrated and David nearly jumped out of his chair. It slipped from his hand and he scrabbled for it, catching it one-handed and thumbing to answer. "Yeah?"
"Hey," Silva's cheerful voice said. "I'm at the airport now, I thought I'd call."
David's mouth was doing something without checking in with his brain. It was a smile. He fought it for about half a second, and then decided he didn't fucking care. "Hey," he said. "You got there in time?"
"Barely," Silva said, with the familiar undercurrent of a laugh in his voice, along with something that made a warm, dark feeling curl in David's stomach. "I blame you."
"Yeah," David said, grinning stupidly at his desk. "My bad." Out of the corner of his eyes he caught sight of of Valdés staring at him in fascination and just stared right back, raising his eyebrows, until Valdés snorted and went back to his laptop.
"How's the office?"
"Pretty slow today," David said, looking around, though it wasn't quite that. Actually, David knew exactly what it was.
"I guess," he said, and cleared his throat. "I guess I. Miss you."
"Me too," Silva said, quiet and happy. "Already."
A warm feeling spread throughout David's chest. "Yeah," he said. "Well, I told you, you could've stayed."
"You could come work for me," Silva pointed out.
He had a point. David considered it for a moment. The idea of Silva ordering him around was one he... was really pretty okay with. That probably said something deep and insightful about him but he didn't really care. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know if I like the idea of getting stuck working for someone else..."
"Just for that," said Silva, "maybe I'll go over your head and get Figo to sell me your contract when it's time for your next performance review."
David realized he was grinning again. "Who says I'll tell you?"
"I could hack your phone," Silva said, and the thing was, he probably could. Which David found kind of embarrassingly hot.
God, two weeks. What the hell was he supposed to do for two weeks?
"Okay, fine," he said, "make me your best offer," as Silva laughed and laughed.