slashisfashun: Adelantando
Author: flywoman
Recipient: slashisfashun
Title: Adelantando
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2890
Pairings/Characters: Lionel Messi/David Villa, with cameo by Xavi Hern ndez
Warnings: None.
Summary: Lionel Messi's injury scare during the return leg against Benfica reminds everyone just how precious he is, including his disgruntled boyfriend David Villa.
Beta'ed by: jezziejay-rpf
When Leo starts warming up on the sideline, David's sure that he's about to be subbed off, and probably not a moment too soon as far as the coaching staff is concerned. With half of Bar‡a's starters in the stands or on the bench for the return match against Benfica, today should have been his turn to shine. Instead, he's literally lost count of the number of times he's been caught offside, and not a single goal to show for his efforts, either.
To his surprise, it's Rafinha who's motioned off, leaving David in what he decides is an even less enviable position - as Leo's left winger, expected to draw defenders outside and then cross in so that he can assist the Messiah to break Gerd Mller's fucking record. Considering that David slammed out of the house this morning after an epic argument, he's not exactly optimistic that their communications on the pitch will be any more productive. In fact, he'll probably be lucky to get away without another very public tongue-lashing if he fails to feed Leo the winning ball.
He chews experimentally on his lower lip as Leo jogs over, the sensation of bare skin still strange. He'd shaved off his soul patch out of spite, after some stupid remark Leo had made that he can't even remember. Now it feels like he's lost some essential part of himself, no matter how silly that sounds. Just one more in a long series of sacrifices he's made.
His fears are not unfounded; Leo's appearance does not improve their prospects in the match. Benfica plays as brutally as ever, Adriano's replacement by Piqu‚ helps solidify the defense but does nothing to solve the problems up front, and only once cocky little Deulofeu comes on for a tired Tello does some added energy get injected into the play.
When it actually happens, David doesn't even realize it for a moment. Leo breaks free with the ball and goes one on one with the keeper, who collides with him and knocks him off balance for a split second. Anyone else would have gone down in the box for a legitimate penalty; Leo grabs the ball and pulls it off to the side, then shoots straight into the arms of the keeper, who's managed to scramble back into position. His eyes on the ball for a possible rebound as he crosses from the left, David doesn't even see Leo collapse, but when he looks for his teammate, he spots him on the ground, clutching his knee and rolling around in apparent agony.
Abruptly David's legs fold under him. He's heard the expression "weak in the knees" many times, but it's not something he's ever actually experienced. Even in that awful moment almost a year ago, when he stuck his foot out for the ball and staggered and fell and knew, just knew, that his leg was broken, he hadn't felt anything remotely like this, the sensation of shock. He feels like he might actually vomit, or maybe burst into tears. Neither reaction would do his image any favors. He braces his hands on his knees, finds himself panting in short, painful breaths.
Camp Nou has gone silent as a tomb. Every man, woman, and babe in arms understands what it would mean for Bar‡a to lose Leo to a serious injury. More than that, most of them love the young forward like a family member, and those who don't still recognize his physical genius as something akin to an irreplaceable work of art.
By the time he's gotten himself under some semblance of control, Thiago has trotted to Leo's side and is standing over him, and the medics are on their way in their puffy black coats. Geri joins them as David slowly drags himself over, unable to look directly at Leo or away from him either, afraid of the damage that he might see. Every second that Leo spends on the ground, his legs twisted awkwardly in front of him, his hand covering his face, brings David closer to full-blown panic.
Even once he joins the small crowd now surrounding Leo, David has no way to judge how serious the situation is. He can't see anything obvious, no bones jutting out of torn skin, no joints at unnatural angles. Leo's face is an open-mouthed grimace of pain, and he's crying openly, but for all David knows, it might be more because he won't be able to keep playing this match than because anything is really the matter with him.
So David watches the medics' faces instead, hoping for a diagnosis, a clue, but they seem uncertain, too - unwilling to commit to a strong statement either way. In the end, they shift Leo onto a stretcher and lift him onto the transport, take him off the field. He has his left leg immobilized in front of him, his right crooked to the side, his gloved hands still splayed protectively over his eyes.
David wishes like anything that he could go with him. The match is almost over, and he knows that his concentration is now completely wrecked, not that it's been all that great today to begin with. But he sets his teeth and resumes his position, and ten agonizingly long minutes later, he's walking off the pitch past his worried-looking teammates.
Along the way he hears the whispers. Leo is fine, it was only a scare. Leo was faking it (for the first time in his career, David is tempted to yell into the offender's face). Leo has torn a ligament and will be out for eight months.
In the dressing room, he hears that Leo has been rushed to the clinic and is undergoing further tests, which seems like the most likely scenario. As soon as he can strip off his sweaty kit and shower, scrubbing so roughly at his skin that it turns red under his tan, David rushes off to find him.
Xavi is waiting outside the examination room, dark eyes fierce, arms folded; anyone who wants to see Leo will have to push their way past all 170 centimeters and 68 kilos of protective Catalan co-captain. David has no idea what he's doing here - Xavi wasn't even playing tonight - but he supposes that he shouldn't be surprised. Xavi's always liked to be in the middle of the action.
But when Xavi recognizes David, his scowl lifts. "Hey, Guaje," he says.
"How is he?" David demands. He hates the tremor he hears in his own voice, the way it notches a few notes higher than normal.
Xavi puts a soothing hand on his arm. "David, calm down. It sounds like it's not serious."
"Oh," he says, feeling foolish. "Oh. Well, okay then. I guess I'll-"
"You should go in," Xavi tells him. "Actually, maybe you could take him home? Make sure he's comfortable?"
The words escape his mouth before he can stop them. "I doubt he'd..." He takes a deep breath, sighs it out in frustration. "Things haven't been great between us lately."
Xavi looks at David like he's an idiot; it's a familiar expression. "He'll want to see you." He claps David fraternally on the shoulder. "Careful of the knee."
When David knocks tentatively and pushes the door open, he finds Leo still sitting on the examination table, his legs stretched out in front of him. The outside of his left knee is swollen, already a delicate shade of puce. When he sees David, though, he sucks in a small breath and smiles, and the lines of pain furrowing his pale forehead disappear. "You came."
"You scared me," David says; his tone is more accusing than concerned, and he tells himself that he doesn't care if Leo feels bad, he should feel bad after what he just put all of them through. "Why the hell did Tito even sub you on? That stupid record isn't worth it."
He's deliberately left himself open, letting Leo decide the dynamics of the rest of this conversation. Leo could say, Because he wanted to win this match, or even, Because you couldn't fucking score. Things that David, in his position, might very well have said, without even thinking about it. Instead he says, simply as a child, "Because I wanted to play."
David feels it then, that familiar ache in his chest. Because this is Leo, and even when he's been a total jerk, just a few moments in a room alone together are enough to remind David exactly why he fell in love in the first place.
So he doesn't respond with, Yeah, and look how well THAT worked out, or make any cracks about how of course Leo always gets what he wants (David's presence at this very moment appears to be proof of that). He only answers, "You always want to play." Leo just looks at him, so David follows it up with a sudden bark of laughter, shaking his head in admiration. "Hijo de puta. I can't believe you still tried to make the shot."
"Xavi said that was pretty dumb," Leo confides, but his eyes are conspiratorial, daring David to understand, to empathize. And he does.
"Well, he would," David shrugs. He knows Leo will get the message without his having to say anything that Xavi will overhear from outside. He's not one of us. "Anyway, don't worry about it. The important thing is that you're gonna be okay."
"Hopefully," Leo agrees, and reaches out to squeeze David' ass. He nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Not here, Leo!"
Leo looks chastened but undissuaded. "I know we can't, but... Guaje, was this what it felt like for you?"
"Like what?" David asks roughly, his heart still pounding.
"Like being scared shitless really makes you want to... you know." And goddamn if Leo isn't blushing. It's one of the things that David finds most endearing about him. Leo's a true hedonist, an animal in the sack, and yet he still can't talk about sex to David (or anyone else, he imagines) without embarrassment.
"Fuck," David says frankly, "after I broke my leg, I was so doped up that I wouldn't have noticed if Pep himself had offered me a blow job."
Leo hoots at that, wriggling in horrified delight. David can hear Xavi's muffled laughter on the other side of the door.
"Come one," David says, "Let's get you home."
Leo can't seem to keep his hands off of David on the way home from the hospital, resulting in a couple of close calls. He's limping a little, leans on David while he helps him into the house, but David keeps having to shift Leo's hand from his ass back up over his shoulders in order to support him.
David settles Leo on the sofa, makes him wait while he grabs them each a glass of water before sitting down beside him. Leo drinks some, sloppily, the moisture beading on his upper lip. David watches him for a few seconds over the rim of his own glass, then can't help reaching out and touching the tip of his finger to the tender hollow between Leo's nose and lip.
Leo shivers but doesn't move away. Instead he deliberately wraps his wet lips around David's finger and sucks, slowly, significantly. David's breath hitches, and he feels himself stir, shifts in his seat. Leo's eyes dart down pointedly to David's crotch, then back up to his face, the corners crinkling ever so slightly in mischief.
David can feel his lip twitching, decides not to fight the grin. He scoots over, careful not to jar Leo's leg, and gets a fistful of soft flannel shirt with his free hand. Leo's eye glints, and he reaches down and starts fumbling with David's belt buckle.
"Do you really think we should," David begins before Leo lets go of his finger and leans forward to crush their lips together. David kisses back, can't help himself, and brushes Leo's soft wing of brown hair back off his forehead. Then he pivots, swings his leg over Leo's lap to straddle his thighs, and kisses him again, tangling their tongues together, feeling the faint prickle of Leo's five o'clock shadow around his lips.
When he pauses and pulls back to catch his breath, Leo already has his belt undone, his jeans unzipped and halfway down his hips; he slips his small hand in to massage David's aching cock through his boxers.
"Please," Leo says, and the combination of the naked need in his voice and the firm pressure of his fingers almost makes David come right then and there.
"God, Leo, don't-" he begins, but Leo only slides the other hand in, circling his palm around the sensitive head of David's cock to slick it up, then running it smoothly up his length as he squeezes his balls.
"Leo," David says again, desperate this time, and Leo leans forward and stops his mouth, his tongue sweet, insistent, and David groans against his lips as he loses all control, jerking helplessly against the warm, sure pressure of the other man's hands.
"Well, that's just great," David says, surveying himself a moment later when his vision has cleared. The mess is mostly inside his boxers, at least, but so much for lasting long enough to put his prick where he actually wanted it to go.
"Adelantado otra vez, Guaje?" Leo asks, referring of course to his numerous premature runs in tonight's match, and laughs like crazy when David glares at him. He can't really be angry, though; he loves that he's one of the few people in the world who knows how funny and outrageous Leo can be in private.
"Well, at least one of us managed to beat a major record today," David says, although he's not sure who the actual target of his teasing is.
"The night's still young," Leo replies, placing David's hand pointedly on his own crotch. David laughs and stands up, shrugging out of his damp jeans and kicking them to the side. Leo leans on him as he pulls off his briefs and track pants, grimacing a little as he grazes his injured knee.
Once Leo's resettled on his flannel shirt, David scoots down to kneel between his thighs, pushing them gently apart. The skin of Leo's cock is bright pink velvet, throbbing hot under David's hand, his lips. The first taste is a revelation that has not gone stale after almost two and a half years together. Leo mewls at the touch of his tongue, causing David's still-tender cock to twitch almost painfully in response. He tries to ignore it, licks a slow stripe up Leo's length and laps delicately at the underside of the head.
"Guaje," Leo groans, and throws his head back, bare neck flushing, arms braced on either side. "When did you... ohhhh."
"It's not like I didn't pay attention when you were finding all kinds of creative ways around my busted leg this year," David points out, keeping up the rhythm with his hand as he pauses to swipe at his chin.
"You're welcome," Leo grins, then sags back against the sofa cushions so that he can thread his fingers through David's hair. "Ahhh... yeah, that's... ahhh..."
David loves this, the sight of Leo nearly undone above him, hair mussed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth half-open as inarticulate moans escape him. His fingers curl, stubby fingernails digging into David's scalp.
When he knows that he's close, David shifts one hand to start caressing Leo's balls in time with his strokes. Right on cue, Leo flings his head back and rocks himself along with David's rhythm. "Guaje," he groans again, "GUAJE..."
David slows down his licks deliberately. "Eighty," he teases. "Eighty-one. Eighty-two. Eighty-three. Eighty-four. Eighty... Nope. Still eighty-four."
"There's still time," Leo retorts, twisting his head from side to side with every stroke.
"Fuck that false modesty you show to the press," David growls, then sucks hard on the plush of Leo's inner thigh as he writhes. "You know you think that you're the fucking Second Coming." He switches back to swirling his tongue around the sensitive head of Leo's cock.
"Speaking of," Leo gasps, his face contorting around the breathless words, and suddenly his hips are bucking in David's grip, his bitter warmth spurting into his mouth. David swallows hard and holds on, letting Leo ride out his climax, only stopping when Leo shudders, satiated, and shoves him away.
Afterwards, Leo sprawls out against a corner of the couch, beckoning to David to join him. David obliges, draping himself carefully over the muscles of Leo's pecs, his flat belly, his thick thighs, and fits his cheek into the curve over his collarbone.
"Looks like we both finally scored today," Leo murmurs sleepily, threading his fingers through David's hair.
"It's your fault I was so distracted," David grumbles into Leo's neck. He feels the younger man shake in silent laughter. "What?"
"You can see the future now?" Leo teases.
"Fuck off," David replies, feigning irritation. "You know that's not what I meant."
"I know," Leo says.
David thinks that he can hear him smiling. This is the moment when he could say, It sucks when we fight or About what I said earlier or even I'm sorry. He says nothing, only pulls Leo closer against his chest, and Leo lets out a contented little sigh and murmurs again, "I know." And David thinks that yes, he probably really does.
Recipient: slashisfashun
Title: Adelantando
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2890
Pairings/Characters: Lionel Messi/David Villa, with cameo by Xavi Hern ndez
Warnings: None.
Summary: Lionel Messi's injury scare during the return leg against Benfica reminds everyone just how precious he is, including his disgruntled boyfriend David Villa.
Beta'ed by: jezziejay-rpf
When Leo starts warming up on the sideline, David's sure that he's about to be subbed off, and probably not a moment too soon as far as the coaching staff is concerned. With half of Bar‡a's starters in the stands or on the bench for the return match against Benfica, today should have been his turn to shine. Instead, he's literally lost count of the number of times he's been caught offside, and not a single goal to show for his efforts, either.
To his surprise, it's Rafinha who's motioned off, leaving David in what he decides is an even less enviable position - as Leo's left winger, expected to draw defenders outside and then cross in so that he can assist the Messiah to break Gerd Mller's fucking record. Considering that David slammed out of the house this morning after an epic argument, he's not exactly optimistic that their communications on the pitch will be any more productive. In fact, he'll probably be lucky to get away without another very public tongue-lashing if he fails to feed Leo the winning ball.
He chews experimentally on his lower lip as Leo jogs over, the sensation of bare skin still strange. He'd shaved off his soul patch out of spite, after some stupid remark Leo had made that he can't even remember. Now it feels like he's lost some essential part of himself, no matter how silly that sounds. Just one more in a long series of sacrifices he's made.
His fears are not unfounded; Leo's appearance does not improve their prospects in the match. Benfica plays as brutally as ever, Adriano's replacement by Piqu‚ helps solidify the defense but does nothing to solve the problems up front, and only once cocky little Deulofeu comes on for a tired Tello does some added energy get injected into the play.
When it actually happens, David doesn't even realize it for a moment. Leo breaks free with the ball and goes one on one with the keeper, who collides with him and knocks him off balance for a split second. Anyone else would have gone down in the box for a legitimate penalty; Leo grabs the ball and pulls it off to the side, then shoots straight into the arms of the keeper, who's managed to scramble back into position. His eyes on the ball for a possible rebound as he crosses from the left, David doesn't even see Leo collapse, but when he looks for his teammate, he spots him on the ground, clutching his knee and rolling around in apparent agony.
Abruptly David's legs fold under him. He's heard the expression "weak in the knees" many times, but it's not something he's ever actually experienced. Even in that awful moment almost a year ago, when he stuck his foot out for the ball and staggered and fell and knew, just knew, that his leg was broken, he hadn't felt anything remotely like this, the sensation of shock. He feels like he might actually vomit, or maybe burst into tears. Neither reaction would do his image any favors. He braces his hands on his knees, finds himself panting in short, painful breaths.
Camp Nou has gone silent as a tomb. Every man, woman, and babe in arms understands what it would mean for Bar‡a to lose Leo to a serious injury. More than that, most of them love the young forward like a family member, and those who don't still recognize his physical genius as something akin to an irreplaceable work of art.
By the time he's gotten himself under some semblance of control, Thiago has trotted to Leo's side and is standing over him, and the medics are on their way in their puffy black coats. Geri joins them as David slowly drags himself over, unable to look directly at Leo or away from him either, afraid of the damage that he might see. Every second that Leo spends on the ground, his legs twisted awkwardly in front of him, his hand covering his face, brings David closer to full-blown panic.
Even once he joins the small crowd now surrounding Leo, David has no way to judge how serious the situation is. He can't see anything obvious, no bones jutting out of torn skin, no joints at unnatural angles. Leo's face is an open-mouthed grimace of pain, and he's crying openly, but for all David knows, it might be more because he won't be able to keep playing this match than because anything is really the matter with him.
So David watches the medics' faces instead, hoping for a diagnosis, a clue, but they seem uncertain, too - unwilling to commit to a strong statement either way. In the end, they shift Leo onto a stretcher and lift him onto the transport, take him off the field. He has his left leg immobilized in front of him, his right crooked to the side, his gloved hands still splayed protectively over his eyes.
David wishes like anything that he could go with him. The match is almost over, and he knows that his concentration is now completely wrecked, not that it's been all that great today to begin with. But he sets his teeth and resumes his position, and ten agonizingly long minutes later, he's walking off the pitch past his worried-looking teammates.
Along the way he hears the whispers. Leo is fine, it was only a scare. Leo was faking it (for the first time in his career, David is tempted to yell into the offender's face). Leo has torn a ligament and will be out for eight months.
In the dressing room, he hears that Leo has been rushed to the clinic and is undergoing further tests, which seems like the most likely scenario. As soon as he can strip off his sweaty kit and shower, scrubbing so roughly at his skin that it turns red under his tan, David rushes off to find him.
Xavi is waiting outside the examination room, dark eyes fierce, arms folded; anyone who wants to see Leo will have to push their way past all 170 centimeters and 68 kilos of protective Catalan co-captain. David has no idea what he's doing here - Xavi wasn't even playing tonight - but he supposes that he shouldn't be surprised. Xavi's always liked to be in the middle of the action.
But when Xavi recognizes David, his scowl lifts. "Hey, Guaje," he says.
"How is he?" David demands. He hates the tremor he hears in his own voice, the way it notches a few notes higher than normal.
Xavi puts a soothing hand on his arm. "David, calm down. It sounds like it's not serious."
"Oh," he says, feeling foolish. "Oh. Well, okay then. I guess I'll-"
"You should go in," Xavi tells him. "Actually, maybe you could take him home? Make sure he's comfortable?"
The words escape his mouth before he can stop them. "I doubt he'd..." He takes a deep breath, sighs it out in frustration. "Things haven't been great between us lately."
Xavi looks at David like he's an idiot; it's a familiar expression. "He'll want to see you." He claps David fraternally on the shoulder. "Careful of the knee."
When David knocks tentatively and pushes the door open, he finds Leo still sitting on the examination table, his legs stretched out in front of him. The outside of his left knee is swollen, already a delicate shade of puce. When he sees David, though, he sucks in a small breath and smiles, and the lines of pain furrowing his pale forehead disappear. "You came."
"You scared me," David says; his tone is more accusing than concerned, and he tells himself that he doesn't care if Leo feels bad, he should feel bad after what he just put all of them through. "Why the hell did Tito even sub you on? That stupid record isn't worth it."
He's deliberately left himself open, letting Leo decide the dynamics of the rest of this conversation. Leo could say, Because he wanted to win this match, or even, Because you couldn't fucking score. Things that David, in his position, might very well have said, without even thinking about it. Instead he says, simply as a child, "Because I wanted to play."
David feels it then, that familiar ache in his chest. Because this is Leo, and even when he's been a total jerk, just a few moments in a room alone together are enough to remind David exactly why he fell in love in the first place.
So he doesn't respond with, Yeah, and look how well THAT worked out, or make any cracks about how of course Leo always gets what he wants (David's presence at this very moment appears to be proof of that). He only answers, "You always want to play." Leo just looks at him, so David follows it up with a sudden bark of laughter, shaking his head in admiration. "Hijo de puta. I can't believe you still tried to make the shot."
"Xavi said that was pretty dumb," Leo confides, but his eyes are conspiratorial, daring David to understand, to empathize. And he does.
"Well, he would," David shrugs. He knows Leo will get the message without his having to say anything that Xavi will overhear from outside. He's not one of us. "Anyway, don't worry about it. The important thing is that you're gonna be okay."
"Hopefully," Leo agrees, and reaches out to squeeze David' ass. He nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Not here, Leo!"
Leo looks chastened but undissuaded. "I know we can't, but... Guaje, was this what it felt like for you?"
"Like what?" David asks roughly, his heart still pounding.
"Like being scared shitless really makes you want to... you know." And goddamn if Leo isn't blushing. It's one of the things that David finds most endearing about him. Leo's a true hedonist, an animal in the sack, and yet he still can't talk about sex to David (or anyone else, he imagines) without embarrassment.
"Fuck," David says frankly, "after I broke my leg, I was so doped up that I wouldn't have noticed if Pep himself had offered me a blow job."
Leo hoots at that, wriggling in horrified delight. David can hear Xavi's muffled laughter on the other side of the door.
"Come one," David says, "Let's get you home."
Leo can't seem to keep his hands off of David on the way home from the hospital, resulting in a couple of close calls. He's limping a little, leans on David while he helps him into the house, but David keeps having to shift Leo's hand from his ass back up over his shoulders in order to support him.
David settles Leo on the sofa, makes him wait while he grabs them each a glass of water before sitting down beside him. Leo drinks some, sloppily, the moisture beading on his upper lip. David watches him for a few seconds over the rim of his own glass, then can't help reaching out and touching the tip of his finger to the tender hollow between Leo's nose and lip.
Leo shivers but doesn't move away. Instead he deliberately wraps his wet lips around David's finger and sucks, slowly, significantly. David's breath hitches, and he feels himself stir, shifts in his seat. Leo's eyes dart down pointedly to David's crotch, then back up to his face, the corners crinkling ever so slightly in mischief.
David can feel his lip twitching, decides not to fight the grin. He scoots over, careful not to jar Leo's leg, and gets a fistful of soft flannel shirt with his free hand. Leo's eye glints, and he reaches down and starts fumbling with David's belt buckle.
"Do you really think we should," David begins before Leo lets go of his finger and leans forward to crush their lips together. David kisses back, can't help himself, and brushes Leo's soft wing of brown hair back off his forehead. Then he pivots, swings his leg over Leo's lap to straddle his thighs, and kisses him again, tangling their tongues together, feeling the faint prickle of Leo's five o'clock shadow around his lips.
When he pauses and pulls back to catch his breath, Leo already has his belt undone, his jeans unzipped and halfway down his hips; he slips his small hand in to massage David's aching cock through his boxers.
"Please," Leo says, and the combination of the naked need in his voice and the firm pressure of his fingers almost makes David come right then and there.
"God, Leo, don't-" he begins, but Leo only slides the other hand in, circling his palm around the sensitive head of David's cock to slick it up, then running it smoothly up his length as he squeezes his balls.
"Leo," David says again, desperate this time, and Leo leans forward and stops his mouth, his tongue sweet, insistent, and David groans against his lips as he loses all control, jerking helplessly against the warm, sure pressure of the other man's hands.
"Well, that's just great," David says, surveying himself a moment later when his vision has cleared. The mess is mostly inside his boxers, at least, but so much for lasting long enough to put his prick where he actually wanted it to go.
"Adelantado otra vez, Guaje?" Leo asks, referring of course to his numerous premature runs in tonight's match, and laughs like crazy when David glares at him. He can't really be angry, though; he loves that he's one of the few people in the world who knows how funny and outrageous Leo can be in private.
"Well, at least one of us managed to beat a major record today," David says, although he's not sure who the actual target of his teasing is.
"The night's still young," Leo replies, placing David's hand pointedly on his own crotch. David laughs and stands up, shrugging out of his damp jeans and kicking them to the side. Leo leans on him as he pulls off his briefs and track pants, grimacing a little as he grazes his injured knee.
Once Leo's resettled on his flannel shirt, David scoots down to kneel between his thighs, pushing them gently apart. The skin of Leo's cock is bright pink velvet, throbbing hot under David's hand, his lips. The first taste is a revelation that has not gone stale after almost two and a half years together. Leo mewls at the touch of his tongue, causing David's still-tender cock to twitch almost painfully in response. He tries to ignore it, licks a slow stripe up Leo's length and laps delicately at the underside of the head.
"Guaje," Leo groans, and throws his head back, bare neck flushing, arms braced on either side. "When did you... ohhhh."
"It's not like I didn't pay attention when you were finding all kinds of creative ways around my busted leg this year," David points out, keeping up the rhythm with his hand as he pauses to swipe at his chin.
"You're welcome," Leo grins, then sags back against the sofa cushions so that he can thread his fingers through David's hair. "Ahhh... yeah, that's... ahhh..."
David loves this, the sight of Leo nearly undone above him, hair mussed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth half-open as inarticulate moans escape him. His fingers curl, stubby fingernails digging into David's scalp.
When he knows that he's close, David shifts one hand to start caressing Leo's balls in time with his strokes. Right on cue, Leo flings his head back and rocks himself along with David's rhythm. "Guaje," he groans again, "GUAJE..."
David slows down his licks deliberately. "Eighty," he teases. "Eighty-one. Eighty-two. Eighty-three. Eighty-four. Eighty... Nope. Still eighty-four."
"There's still time," Leo retorts, twisting his head from side to side with every stroke.
"Fuck that false modesty you show to the press," David growls, then sucks hard on the plush of Leo's inner thigh as he writhes. "You know you think that you're the fucking Second Coming." He switches back to swirling his tongue around the sensitive head of Leo's cock.
"Speaking of," Leo gasps, his face contorting around the breathless words, and suddenly his hips are bucking in David's grip, his bitter warmth spurting into his mouth. David swallows hard and holds on, letting Leo ride out his climax, only stopping when Leo shudders, satiated, and shoves him away.
Afterwards, Leo sprawls out against a corner of the couch, beckoning to David to join him. David obliges, draping himself carefully over the muscles of Leo's pecs, his flat belly, his thick thighs, and fits his cheek into the curve over his collarbone.
"Looks like we both finally scored today," Leo murmurs sleepily, threading his fingers through David's hair.
"It's your fault I was so distracted," David grumbles into Leo's neck. He feels the younger man shake in silent laughter. "What?"
"You can see the future now?" Leo teases.
"Fuck off," David replies, feigning irritation. "You know that's not what I meant."
"I know," Leo says.
David thinks that he can hear him smiling. This is the moment when he could say, It sucks when we fight or About what I said earlier or even I'm sorry. He says nothing, only pulls Leo closer against his chest, and Leo lets out a contented little sigh and murmurs again, "I know." And David thinks that yes, he probably really does.