Fic: Second Chances (Xabi/Esteban)
TITLE: Second Chances
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: (AU) Esteban's biggest dream in life is to meet Xabi Alonso, the author of his favorite book and quite possibly the greatest poet and novelist alive. He's convinced that he and Xabi are kindred spirits, and that if they were ever to meet his entire life would change. Written for a prompt at footballkink2
FANDOM: Football (Xabi Alonso/Esteban Granero)
STATUS: Complete - One Shot
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. This story is a work of fiction and came from the deepest darkest corner of my imagination.
*
It all started with a book.
A tiny nondescript book that practically jumped out of the stacks and into Esteban’s arms.
It happened late one afternoon when Esteban was walking home after class. As was his regular routine, he stopped outside his favourite second hand bookstore and flicked leisurely through the half price table. The books on the table were constantly circulated, and Esteban was always on the prowl for something that looked promising and could be purchased on his student budget.
It was somewhere in the middle of the table that a little black volume caught his eye. It wasn’t an attractive book. The cover was plain black and unadorned aside from the simple golden cursive that read: The Complete Works of Xabi Alonso.
In general, Esteban wasn’t a huge fan of poetry, but there was something about the book’s yellowing pages and simple cover that had Esteban digging through his pockets for loose change.
*
The Complete Works of Xabi Alonso sat unread on his bedside table for days and when he knocked it off with his alarm clock one morning, it collected dust on the floor for a little longer. By the time Esteban actually got around to reading the book, it had been in his possession for over a month.
The poetry in itself was... all consuming.
There was something incredibly beautiful and elegant about the words on the page. Esteban found himself reading certain poems over and over, enraptured by the way the poet perceived the world and everything in it.
Without even realising what he was doing, Esteban found himself tracking down other bits and pieces of Alonso’s work. The poet was surprisingly well rounded and had authored several different novels to great acclaim. Esteban was continuously amazed that someone so brilliant had escaped his notice for so long.
The Complete Works of Xabi Alonso found itself in a permanent position on Esteban’s nightstand. The well worn and battle weary pages, wrinkled with use and defaced with notes written in Esteban’s messy writing.
They were only words and lines on simple white parchment, but Esteban couldn’t shake the feeling that Xabi had pulled the words directly out of Esteban’s soul. They registered with him on a level far deeper than anything he had ever experienced before and Esteban found himself desperate to meet the genius that spoke to him so intimately.
*
The alcohol burned down Esteban’s throat and he grimaced, slamming his empty shot glass down on the bar. All around him, his classmates laughed and cheered, celebrating the end of their exams and the ultimate completion of their undergraduate degrees. After a couple of hours at the pub and more than enough drinks, Esteban was feeling ridiculously comfortable in an environment that would usually unsettle him. There was something about nightclubs, something about the way they always smelt a little funny and the way the floor was always a little too sticky. But tonight.... tonight was perfect, he had just enough alcohol in his system to let go of his post exam anxiety, the music was terrible but not wholly awful and he was surrounded by some of his best friends. Everything was bloody perfect. So when one of his mates pulled him onto the dance floor, he didn’t resist and when everyone around him started dancing, he did too.
Dancing wasn’t so hard. The dance floor was packed and it was easy get caught up in the push and grind of everyone else. Someone kept bringing him drinks and he knocked them back easily as his body loosened and moved on autopilot to the music that thumped through the sound system.
It was somewhere in the early hours of the morning that one of his friends in a drunken haze, lurched into Esteban and knocked him backwards. Laughing, Esteban stumbled and grabbed onto something to keep himself upright. The movement worked admirably - that something was the waist of a guy who had his back to him. He obviously mistook the gesture and pressed back intimately against him.
Esteban stared. He couldn’t be sure and his beer goggles were probably sending out all sorts of odd signals, but there was something vaguely familiar about the body in front of him. Something about the broad shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. Something about that simple white collared dress shirt and the way the guy’s short brown hair brushed the nape of his neck.
He didn’t let go. Considering the guy had moved back and fitted neatly between Esteban’s thighs, he supposed it was time he saw his face.
That was all he thought for a minute, and then that elegant face, aristocratic nose and strong jawline hit his brain with the strength of a brick to the side of the head.
“Shit,” he said, “Xabi Alonso?”
He knew Xabi was probably drunk when he laughed.
Xabi’s hand came down over his mouth, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
Esteban was stunned. Gobsmacked. He was so bewildered by the man in front of him that his entire body froze. Fuck. This wasn’t the way that it was supposed to go. Esteban was supposed to be lucid and witty when they met. He’d say intelligent things and ask thought provoking questions. He wasn’t supposed to be drunk, sweaty and utterly speechless.
Xabi laughed again. “What’s your name?”
Esteban swallowed, “Esteban.”
Xabi looked confused for a second before he lent closer. “What?”
“Esteban.”
Xabi shook his head and pointed to his ear. The music was thumping so loud that Esteban could feel it in his chest. He swallowed and gathered all his courage before grabbing Xabi’s hand and pulling him from the dance floor.
He meant to pull Xabi to some side room where they could talk. Esteban was desperate to ask some of the many questions that raced around his mind. Questions he had honed for months, waiting for the time he would be lucky enough to meet the man he had admired for so long. Dammit. He was going to ask them now, even if he was drunk.
Esteban hadn’t really considered that there wasn’t any side rooms in popular nightclubs and he was far too drunk to successfully lead anyone anywhere.
It ended with both of them staggering and Esteban stumbling against a wall with Xabi bloody Alonso in his arms.
Esteban was mortified. It had been months since he had had another man in his arms and he was drunk and Alonso was drunk and Alonso felt so damn good that he did the only thing that he could do.
He kissed him.
It was a sloppy kiss. A sloppy drunken kiss where neither of them were lucid enough to keep things gentle.
Xabi pulled back a fraction; his eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Why not,” was all he said, before his lips crashed back to Esteban’s.
Esteban never really remembered how he got to Xabi’s apartment. He vaguely remembered hailing a taxi. Nothing of the trip home. He vividly recalled drooling over Xabi’s book collection, it lined an entire wall and held titles that Esteban could only ever dream of owning. He remembered nothing of how they got to Xabi’s bedroom.
Esteban had never before had sex this drunk. Xabi shoved him up against the wall and the movement was so sudden and unexpected that Esteban’s head knocked painfully against the plaster.
“Sorry,” Xabi whispered against his lips before he yanked Esteban’s shirt over his head.
There was nothing considerate or poetic about how they tore each others clothes. Esteban didn’t know what in the hell he had been expecting, but it wasn’t the frantic way they fought to get close and the desperate way they grabbed at each others bodies. Esteban closed his eyes as his back landed flat against Xabi’s bed and tried to remember his favourite line of poetry from Xabi’s book, but that line seemed very far away now as Xabi moved down his body, touching and tasting until Esteban yanked him back up and claimed his lips once more.
It had been a while and Esteban winced slightly when Xabi shoved inside and again there was that feeling, that knowledge that there was nothing about this encounter that Xabi would write about. Esteban struggled to hold onto that idea, but as Xabi started to move inside him, it was just too damn good to ignore and maybe... just maybe... this didn’t have to be the type of sex that the poets wrote about, maybe it could just be the sex that blew Esteban’s mind... and that could be enough.
*
~Three years later~
“New assignment, Esteban.”
Esteban looked up just in time to see a file flop down onto his messy desk.
His friend and co-worker Sergio Ramos slipped into the swivel chair in front of Esteban’s desk and spun in a leisurely circle. “I can’t even begin to tell you how jealous I am of this one. The critics are raving about this guy. This could be the interview of a lifetime, man.
Esteban lifted an eyebrow and picked up the file curiously, “that good, huh?”
“Nail this one and you could work anywhere.”
Intrigued, Esteban picked up the file, flipped it open and froze.
Sergio paused, surprised by his reaction, “what?”
Esteban closed the file and pushed it away. “I can’t do that interview.”
“What? Why?”
“I just can’t. Give it to someone else.”
Sergio blinked, “its been assigned to you.”
“Well assign it to someone else.”
Sergio leaned forward, “is there something your not telling me here?”
Esteban sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair. “That guy is a bastard.”
“You know him?” Sergio scooted forward anxiously, looking excited.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course you do,” Sergio dismissed with a wave of his hand, “spill it.”
Esteban let out a breath and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, “fine. A couple of years ago, I met him in a club.”
“And...”
“And, I worshipped the guy, his writing is incredible. But I was drunk and he was drunk and one thing led to the other...”
“So you slept with him?” Sergio supplied amused.
“Yes,” Esteban admitted.
“And how was it?”
“Amazing.”
Sergio paused. “I’m not seeing a problem here.”
“The problem,” Esteban groaned, “is that the next morning, I wake up and I’ve spent the entire night rehearsing all the questions I want to ask him in my head and thinking we can go out to coffee and have all these amazing conversations and...” Esteban trailed off, “whatever, I had high expectations I guess.”
“So what happened?”
“What happened,” Esteban frowned, “was that he took one look at me, listened to my plan, laughed and told me to get the fuck out.”
Sergio’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you do?”
Esteban threw up his hands uselessly, “I did what anyone with a hero worship crush would do, I left and I left fast.”
Sergio considered this for several long moments before glancing down at the file between them, “you do know that the boss isn’t going to let you pass this one on to someone else.”
Esteban ran his hands over his face, “yeah. I know.”
*
Esteban blackmails Sergio into setting up the meeting and although he knows its bad form, he can’t bring himself to read Xabi’s new book. So instead he takes suggestions from everyone in the office and in the end he has a set of pretty good generic questions that he thinks will get the job done.
The meeting is arranged to take place in a coffee shop below the office and on the day of the interview, Esteban is almost stupidly nervous. What if Xabi remembers him? Even worse, what if he doesn’t? What if he gets there and gets all tongue tied, forgets his questions and has no idea what to say? Or worse, what if Xabi is a complete and utter bastard and every ideal that Esteban ever held of the brilliant poet is ruined?
“You’ll be fine,” Sergio assures him as Esteban paces back and forth and back and forth, worrying his list of questions between his fingers. “Just get down there and ask the questions, hell, read from the sheet if you have to.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Esteban worries before holding his hands out in front of him.
Steady as a rock.
Okay. Okay. He can do this. Its all good.
Sergio glances at his watch, “five minutes, man.”
Esteban swears under his breath, “fuck, wish me luck.”
Sergio grins lazily, “good luck.”
*
Esteban expected to arrive first and be kept waiting, but when he enters the coffee shop, he spots Xabi sitting in the corner, looking calm and collected with a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. Esteban hovers awkwardly in the doorway, tracing his eyes over the second mug sitting in front of the empty chair. Was that for him? Did Xabi seriously buy him a coffee?
Xabi looks different. Gone is the casual white dress shirt and tight black jeans. This Xabi is wearing a black sweater over a white collared shirt. He’s freshly shaven and looks fresh and... approachable? Esteban swallows. He’s not prepared for this. In no way is he ready to throw himself back in Xabi Alonso’s path.
But as though sensing him there, Xabi’s eyes meet his in the doorway. There is no recognition in his gaze. Esteban can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. Instead he just looks curious. And as Esteban watches he slowly lifts a hand and waves hesitantly as though identifying himself to a journalist who hasn’t done his research.
Esteban flushes. Immediately wishing he had done his job and read Xabi’s bloody book. He was going to embarrass himself in front of someone he used to worship and someone whose work was not only highly respected in academic circles but also now days in the general public.
Bloody hell.
Taking a deep breath, Esteban finally stepped over the threshold and hurried across the room to where Xabi sat. Xabi stood as Esteban approached and reached out his hand with a friendly smile.
“Hi, I’m Xabi.”
Yep. No recognition. Absolutely none. Esteban swallowed, oddly hurt by the knowledge that Xabi had forgotten him so easily. “Esteban.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Xabi sat and gestured to Esteban’s cup, “I wasn’t sure what you take, so I just got a simple late. I hope thats okay.”
“Thats fine. Perfect in fact.”
“Good.”
There was a pause, Esteban wasn’t sure if it was an awkward one or if he just thought it was. “So, if nows a good time, we’ll get started?”
Xabi nodded and smiled, “fire away.”
*
At the end of the hour Esteban was gobsmacked. Xabi was... there was no other word for it... Xabi was lovely. He was smart and witty and friendly and open to the discussion of any question that Esteban asked. But more than that, he seemed to be genuinely interested in what Esteban had to say. Esteban couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times Xabi had posed a question of his own or asked for Esteban’s own opinion on the matter. By the time Esteban rounded up his final question, he wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand you had the Xabi of three years ago, laughing at him, swearing at him and kicking him out of his apartment. Then you had this Xabi, the intelligent and classy version that smiled and laughed and looked at Esteban like he was the only person in the room.
It was... completely unexpected.
“So...” Esteban glanced down at his list of questions before reaching out and pressing the stop button on his audio recorder, “I think that I have everything that I need here. Thank you for meeting with me. I’ll send the article through to your management for final approval before we go to print.”
Xabi nodded and drank the dregs of his second coffee. “Thank you for the interview. I had a good time.”
Esteban stood and extended his hand, “well, thanks again, it was nice meeting you and I wish you all the best with your future projects.”
Xabi smiled and stood also, shaking Esteban’s hand and holding it as he said, “thanks. Listen, maybe we should do it again sometime. Not the interview, but the coffee and the chat, I’d love to hear more about your work. I’ve read some of your articles and I think they’re amazing.”
To say he was surprised would have been an understatement. “Oh... well... um...”
Xabi looked so damn honest standing there still holding his hand and if Esteban had never met him before then he would have said yes without a moments hesitation. But the problem, was that he had met him before and that had ended less than favorably. It was that, more than anything that had Esteban shaking his head, “I can’t.”
“Oh.” Now Xabi looked awkward. He dropped his hand and shrugged, “thats okay. Maybe some other time.”
Esteban nodded, eyes on the floor, “yeah, maybe.”
He didn’t watch Xabi leave.
*
“He asked you out!”
Esteban didn’t look up from his computer. On the screen in front of him he was working on his first draft of his feature article on Xabi. Against his better judgement, he had read Xabi’s autobiography in full. It spoke extensively on Xabi’s struggle with alcohol and depression. Esteban still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The novel was beautiful and heart breaking, but what that meant for him and Xabi... who knew?
“I don’t think I’d go that far.” Esteban finally replied when Sergio made no move to go away. “He said we should do coffee again.”
“And he didn’t remember you at all?”
“Nope.”
“Well, he was drunk.”
“I was drunk too,” Esteban reminded Sergio.
“Yeah, but you weren’t battling alcoholism or depression.”
Esteban finally stopped typing and looked up from his computer, “look, I like Xabi, but I don’t want to be used again, okay.”
“One cup of coffee doesn’t mean you’re in a relationship.”
Esteban shook his head, “you didn’t interview him, Sergio. He’s changed. The guy he is now, is brilliant, he’s everything that I ever wanted Xabi to be. I don’t want to fall for him and get hurt.”
“You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wandering ‘what if’ either,” Sergio replied reasonably.
*
“Good morning, thank you for calling Penguin Publishers, how can I help you?”
Esteban rocked back in his chair, “hi, this is Esteban Granero from The Examiner, I recently interviewed Xabi Alonso. Can you tell me who I need to speak to about approvals for print?”
“Sure Esteban, I’ll put you through to our PR department.”
“Thanks.”
Esteban was on hold for a long time, he rocked even further back in his chair and yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open. He had had a late night putting the finishing touches on this article. He couldn’t wait to get the damn thing finished, off to print and never have to think about it, or Xabi himself again.
“Hello, Xabi speaking.”
Or not.
“Oh,” Esteban breathed surprised. Of all the people he could have spoken to, he wasn’t expecting Xabi himself. “Hi, its Esteban.”
The smile in Xabi’s voice was obvious even over the phone. “Hi, long time no see, how are you?”
“F-fine. Um... I was just calling to see if I can send through proofs for approval.”
“Of course, just send them straight through to the company email. They will find their way to me.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll do that now.”
“Great.” There was a pause and then. “So... did you happen to change your mind about coffee?”
“Oh... um...”
“Because I’ve been thinking about you.”
Esteban blinked surprised by that admission. “Uh...”
Xabi laughed, “come on, just coffee, no pressure.”
Esteban didn’t know what to say.
“Is it because I bought you a late? Damn, I knew you’d be a long back kind of guy.”
The teasing was obvious in his tone and Esteban was sinking further and further into his chair, embarrassed and unsettled by the whole situation.
“Okay listen,” Xabi finally continued when his laughter trailed into silence, “forget coffee. But would it be okay if I called you? Maybe in a couple of days or next week?”
“Well...”
“Next month?”
“But...”
“Next year is pushing it a bit,” Xabi teased.
Esteban buried his face in his hand, gripping the phone tight in his right hand, knowing he was going to regret this but... “okay.”
“Really?” Xabi laughed.
Esteban squeezed his eyes shut, “yes.”
“Great. Well I guess I’ll call you sometime.”
“Okay. Bye Xabi.”
“Bye.”
Five minutes later the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hey, so this is ‘sometime’ and I’m calling you.”
Esteban couldn’t help but smile.
*
They went to coffee.
Xabi ordered Esteban a long black this time and smiled and nodded and asked all the right questions when Esteban told him about his work and writing. After that things flowed much more smoothly. Esteban learns that Xabi is an excellent listener and amazing company. They start meeting more regularly for coffee or lunch and the odd dinner from time to time. Esteban asks Xabi all the questions he ever wanted to ask and Xabi’s answers are everything and more that he ever imagined. The two of them are just... compatible. They like the same things, read the same books, like the same music, enjoy the same type of places - they are kindred spirits and just like his writing, Esteban feels like Xabi is speaking and living right out of Esteban’s very own soul.
Its late one night, several weeks after their reunion that it happens.
“So,” Xabi begins putting down his napkin after dinner at one of Esteban’s favourite restaurants. “Did you want to come to my place tonight? I have some books that I know you would love to see.”
Esteban knew that too. Because he had seen them. “Oh... uh...”
Xabi winced, “sorry, did I say the wrong thing. I always know I’ve done something wrong when you hesitate like that.”
“No, your fine, its just...” Esteban swallowed. Oh hell. “I’ve already been to your apartment, Xabi.”
Xabi’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, “you have? Should I be worried about that? You’re not a vampire or something are you? If that’s the case then I’m pretty sure that I didn’t invite you in.” He smiled.
Esteban couldn’t resist a small smile in return. “A couple of years back, we met in a club and I went home with you.”
Now Xabi was the one hesitating. “Oh.” He looked at Esteban awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. I wasn’t in the best place back then and... Gods, you must think I’m a bastard.”
“No,” Esteban interrupted quickly, “I don’t think that. Its just that we didn’t part in the best way the next morning and it took me a while to get over it, so...”
“Oh geeze. I’m so sorry, Esteban.”
Esteban waved his hand, “its okay. It was a long time ago. Lets just... take this slow, okay?”
Xabi nodded, a small smile crossing his lips, “slow is good.” He reached across the table and took one of Esteban’s hands in his, “hey Esteban?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the second chance.”
THE END
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: (AU) Esteban's biggest dream in life is to meet Xabi Alonso, the author of his favorite book and quite possibly the greatest poet and novelist alive. He's convinced that he and Xabi are kindred spirits, and that if they were ever to meet his entire life would change. Written for a prompt at footballkink2
FANDOM: Football (Xabi Alonso/Esteban Granero)
STATUS: Complete - One Shot
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. This story is a work of fiction and came from the deepest darkest corner of my imagination.
*
It all started with a book.
A tiny nondescript book that practically jumped out of the stacks and into Esteban’s arms.
It happened late one afternoon when Esteban was walking home after class. As was his regular routine, he stopped outside his favourite second hand bookstore and flicked leisurely through the half price table. The books on the table were constantly circulated, and Esteban was always on the prowl for something that looked promising and could be purchased on his student budget.
It was somewhere in the middle of the table that a little black volume caught his eye. It wasn’t an attractive book. The cover was plain black and unadorned aside from the simple golden cursive that read: The Complete Works of Xabi Alonso.
In general, Esteban wasn’t a huge fan of poetry, but there was something about the book’s yellowing pages and simple cover that had Esteban digging through his pockets for loose change.
*
The Complete Works of Xabi Alonso sat unread on his bedside table for days and when he knocked it off with his alarm clock one morning, it collected dust on the floor for a little longer. By the time Esteban actually got around to reading the book, it had been in his possession for over a month.
The poetry in itself was... all consuming.
There was something incredibly beautiful and elegant about the words on the page. Esteban found himself reading certain poems over and over, enraptured by the way the poet perceived the world and everything in it.
Without even realising what he was doing, Esteban found himself tracking down other bits and pieces of Alonso’s work. The poet was surprisingly well rounded and had authored several different novels to great acclaim. Esteban was continuously amazed that someone so brilliant had escaped his notice for so long.
The Complete Works of Xabi Alonso found itself in a permanent position on Esteban’s nightstand. The well worn and battle weary pages, wrinkled with use and defaced with notes written in Esteban’s messy writing.
They were only words and lines on simple white parchment, but Esteban couldn’t shake the feeling that Xabi had pulled the words directly out of Esteban’s soul. They registered with him on a level far deeper than anything he had ever experienced before and Esteban found himself desperate to meet the genius that spoke to him so intimately.
*
The alcohol burned down Esteban’s throat and he grimaced, slamming his empty shot glass down on the bar. All around him, his classmates laughed and cheered, celebrating the end of their exams and the ultimate completion of their undergraduate degrees. After a couple of hours at the pub and more than enough drinks, Esteban was feeling ridiculously comfortable in an environment that would usually unsettle him. There was something about nightclubs, something about the way they always smelt a little funny and the way the floor was always a little too sticky. But tonight.... tonight was perfect, he had just enough alcohol in his system to let go of his post exam anxiety, the music was terrible but not wholly awful and he was surrounded by some of his best friends. Everything was bloody perfect. So when one of his mates pulled him onto the dance floor, he didn’t resist and when everyone around him started dancing, he did too.
Dancing wasn’t so hard. The dance floor was packed and it was easy get caught up in the push and grind of everyone else. Someone kept bringing him drinks and he knocked them back easily as his body loosened and moved on autopilot to the music that thumped through the sound system.
It was somewhere in the early hours of the morning that one of his friends in a drunken haze, lurched into Esteban and knocked him backwards. Laughing, Esteban stumbled and grabbed onto something to keep himself upright. The movement worked admirably - that something was the waist of a guy who had his back to him. He obviously mistook the gesture and pressed back intimately against him.
Esteban stared. He couldn’t be sure and his beer goggles were probably sending out all sorts of odd signals, but there was something vaguely familiar about the body in front of him. Something about the broad shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. Something about that simple white collared dress shirt and the way the guy’s short brown hair brushed the nape of his neck.
He didn’t let go. Considering the guy had moved back and fitted neatly between Esteban’s thighs, he supposed it was time he saw his face.
That was all he thought for a minute, and then that elegant face, aristocratic nose and strong jawline hit his brain with the strength of a brick to the side of the head.
“Shit,” he said, “Xabi Alonso?”
He knew Xabi was probably drunk when he laughed.
Xabi’s hand came down over his mouth, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
Esteban was stunned. Gobsmacked. He was so bewildered by the man in front of him that his entire body froze. Fuck. This wasn’t the way that it was supposed to go. Esteban was supposed to be lucid and witty when they met. He’d say intelligent things and ask thought provoking questions. He wasn’t supposed to be drunk, sweaty and utterly speechless.
Xabi laughed again. “What’s your name?”
Esteban swallowed, “Esteban.”
Xabi looked confused for a second before he lent closer. “What?”
“Esteban.”
Xabi shook his head and pointed to his ear. The music was thumping so loud that Esteban could feel it in his chest. He swallowed and gathered all his courage before grabbing Xabi’s hand and pulling him from the dance floor.
He meant to pull Xabi to some side room where they could talk. Esteban was desperate to ask some of the many questions that raced around his mind. Questions he had honed for months, waiting for the time he would be lucky enough to meet the man he had admired for so long. Dammit. He was going to ask them now, even if he was drunk.
Esteban hadn’t really considered that there wasn’t any side rooms in popular nightclubs and he was far too drunk to successfully lead anyone anywhere.
It ended with both of them staggering and Esteban stumbling against a wall with Xabi bloody Alonso in his arms.
Esteban was mortified. It had been months since he had had another man in his arms and he was drunk and Alonso was drunk and Alonso felt so damn good that he did the only thing that he could do.
He kissed him.
It was a sloppy kiss. A sloppy drunken kiss where neither of them were lucid enough to keep things gentle.
Xabi pulled back a fraction; his eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Why not,” was all he said, before his lips crashed back to Esteban’s.
Esteban never really remembered how he got to Xabi’s apartment. He vaguely remembered hailing a taxi. Nothing of the trip home. He vividly recalled drooling over Xabi’s book collection, it lined an entire wall and held titles that Esteban could only ever dream of owning. He remembered nothing of how they got to Xabi’s bedroom.
Esteban had never before had sex this drunk. Xabi shoved him up against the wall and the movement was so sudden and unexpected that Esteban’s head knocked painfully against the plaster.
“Sorry,” Xabi whispered against his lips before he yanked Esteban’s shirt over his head.
There was nothing considerate or poetic about how they tore each others clothes. Esteban didn’t know what in the hell he had been expecting, but it wasn’t the frantic way they fought to get close and the desperate way they grabbed at each others bodies. Esteban closed his eyes as his back landed flat against Xabi’s bed and tried to remember his favourite line of poetry from Xabi’s book, but that line seemed very far away now as Xabi moved down his body, touching and tasting until Esteban yanked him back up and claimed his lips once more.
It had been a while and Esteban winced slightly when Xabi shoved inside and again there was that feeling, that knowledge that there was nothing about this encounter that Xabi would write about. Esteban struggled to hold onto that idea, but as Xabi started to move inside him, it was just too damn good to ignore and maybe... just maybe... this didn’t have to be the type of sex that the poets wrote about, maybe it could just be the sex that blew Esteban’s mind... and that could be enough.
*
~Three years later~
“New assignment, Esteban.”
Esteban looked up just in time to see a file flop down onto his messy desk.
His friend and co-worker Sergio Ramos slipped into the swivel chair in front of Esteban’s desk and spun in a leisurely circle. “I can’t even begin to tell you how jealous I am of this one. The critics are raving about this guy. This could be the interview of a lifetime, man.
Esteban lifted an eyebrow and picked up the file curiously, “that good, huh?”
“Nail this one and you could work anywhere.”
Intrigued, Esteban picked up the file, flipped it open and froze.
Sergio paused, surprised by his reaction, “what?”
Esteban closed the file and pushed it away. “I can’t do that interview.”
“What? Why?”
“I just can’t. Give it to someone else.”
Sergio blinked, “its been assigned to you.”
“Well assign it to someone else.”
Sergio leaned forward, “is there something your not telling me here?”
Esteban sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair. “That guy is a bastard.”
“You know him?” Sergio scooted forward anxiously, looking excited.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course you do,” Sergio dismissed with a wave of his hand, “spill it.”
Esteban let out a breath and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, “fine. A couple of years ago, I met him in a club.”
“And...”
“And, I worshipped the guy, his writing is incredible. But I was drunk and he was drunk and one thing led to the other...”
“So you slept with him?” Sergio supplied amused.
“Yes,” Esteban admitted.
“And how was it?”
“Amazing.”
Sergio paused. “I’m not seeing a problem here.”
“The problem,” Esteban groaned, “is that the next morning, I wake up and I’ve spent the entire night rehearsing all the questions I want to ask him in my head and thinking we can go out to coffee and have all these amazing conversations and...” Esteban trailed off, “whatever, I had high expectations I guess.”
“So what happened?”
“What happened,” Esteban frowned, “was that he took one look at me, listened to my plan, laughed and told me to get the fuck out.”
Sergio’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you do?”
Esteban threw up his hands uselessly, “I did what anyone with a hero worship crush would do, I left and I left fast.”
Sergio considered this for several long moments before glancing down at the file between them, “you do know that the boss isn’t going to let you pass this one on to someone else.”
Esteban ran his hands over his face, “yeah. I know.”
*
Esteban blackmails Sergio into setting up the meeting and although he knows its bad form, he can’t bring himself to read Xabi’s new book. So instead he takes suggestions from everyone in the office and in the end he has a set of pretty good generic questions that he thinks will get the job done.
The meeting is arranged to take place in a coffee shop below the office and on the day of the interview, Esteban is almost stupidly nervous. What if Xabi remembers him? Even worse, what if he doesn’t? What if he gets there and gets all tongue tied, forgets his questions and has no idea what to say? Or worse, what if Xabi is a complete and utter bastard and every ideal that Esteban ever held of the brilliant poet is ruined?
“You’ll be fine,” Sergio assures him as Esteban paces back and forth and back and forth, worrying his list of questions between his fingers. “Just get down there and ask the questions, hell, read from the sheet if you have to.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Esteban worries before holding his hands out in front of him.
Steady as a rock.
Okay. Okay. He can do this. Its all good.
Sergio glances at his watch, “five minutes, man.”
Esteban swears under his breath, “fuck, wish me luck.”
Sergio grins lazily, “good luck.”
*
Esteban expected to arrive first and be kept waiting, but when he enters the coffee shop, he spots Xabi sitting in the corner, looking calm and collected with a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. Esteban hovers awkwardly in the doorway, tracing his eyes over the second mug sitting in front of the empty chair. Was that for him? Did Xabi seriously buy him a coffee?
Xabi looks different. Gone is the casual white dress shirt and tight black jeans. This Xabi is wearing a black sweater over a white collared shirt. He’s freshly shaven and looks fresh and... approachable? Esteban swallows. He’s not prepared for this. In no way is he ready to throw himself back in Xabi Alonso’s path.
But as though sensing him there, Xabi’s eyes meet his in the doorway. There is no recognition in his gaze. Esteban can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. Instead he just looks curious. And as Esteban watches he slowly lifts a hand and waves hesitantly as though identifying himself to a journalist who hasn’t done his research.
Esteban flushes. Immediately wishing he had done his job and read Xabi’s bloody book. He was going to embarrass himself in front of someone he used to worship and someone whose work was not only highly respected in academic circles but also now days in the general public.
Bloody hell.
Taking a deep breath, Esteban finally stepped over the threshold and hurried across the room to where Xabi sat. Xabi stood as Esteban approached and reached out his hand with a friendly smile.
“Hi, I’m Xabi.”
Yep. No recognition. Absolutely none. Esteban swallowed, oddly hurt by the knowledge that Xabi had forgotten him so easily. “Esteban.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Xabi sat and gestured to Esteban’s cup, “I wasn’t sure what you take, so I just got a simple late. I hope thats okay.”
“Thats fine. Perfect in fact.”
“Good.”
There was a pause, Esteban wasn’t sure if it was an awkward one or if he just thought it was. “So, if nows a good time, we’ll get started?”
Xabi nodded and smiled, “fire away.”
*
At the end of the hour Esteban was gobsmacked. Xabi was... there was no other word for it... Xabi was lovely. He was smart and witty and friendly and open to the discussion of any question that Esteban asked. But more than that, he seemed to be genuinely interested in what Esteban had to say. Esteban couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times Xabi had posed a question of his own or asked for Esteban’s own opinion on the matter. By the time Esteban rounded up his final question, he wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand you had the Xabi of three years ago, laughing at him, swearing at him and kicking him out of his apartment. Then you had this Xabi, the intelligent and classy version that smiled and laughed and looked at Esteban like he was the only person in the room.
It was... completely unexpected.
“So...” Esteban glanced down at his list of questions before reaching out and pressing the stop button on his audio recorder, “I think that I have everything that I need here. Thank you for meeting with me. I’ll send the article through to your management for final approval before we go to print.”
Xabi nodded and drank the dregs of his second coffee. “Thank you for the interview. I had a good time.”
Esteban stood and extended his hand, “well, thanks again, it was nice meeting you and I wish you all the best with your future projects.”
Xabi smiled and stood also, shaking Esteban’s hand and holding it as he said, “thanks. Listen, maybe we should do it again sometime. Not the interview, but the coffee and the chat, I’d love to hear more about your work. I’ve read some of your articles and I think they’re amazing.”
To say he was surprised would have been an understatement. “Oh... well... um...”
Xabi looked so damn honest standing there still holding his hand and if Esteban had never met him before then he would have said yes without a moments hesitation. But the problem, was that he had met him before and that had ended less than favorably. It was that, more than anything that had Esteban shaking his head, “I can’t.”
“Oh.” Now Xabi looked awkward. He dropped his hand and shrugged, “thats okay. Maybe some other time.”
Esteban nodded, eyes on the floor, “yeah, maybe.”
He didn’t watch Xabi leave.
*
“He asked you out!”
Esteban didn’t look up from his computer. On the screen in front of him he was working on his first draft of his feature article on Xabi. Against his better judgement, he had read Xabi’s autobiography in full. It spoke extensively on Xabi’s struggle with alcohol and depression. Esteban still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The novel was beautiful and heart breaking, but what that meant for him and Xabi... who knew?
“I don’t think I’d go that far.” Esteban finally replied when Sergio made no move to go away. “He said we should do coffee again.”
“And he didn’t remember you at all?”
“Nope.”
“Well, he was drunk.”
“I was drunk too,” Esteban reminded Sergio.
“Yeah, but you weren’t battling alcoholism or depression.”
Esteban finally stopped typing and looked up from his computer, “look, I like Xabi, but I don’t want to be used again, okay.”
“One cup of coffee doesn’t mean you’re in a relationship.”
Esteban shook his head, “you didn’t interview him, Sergio. He’s changed. The guy he is now, is brilliant, he’s everything that I ever wanted Xabi to be. I don’t want to fall for him and get hurt.”
“You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wandering ‘what if’ either,” Sergio replied reasonably.
*
“Good morning, thank you for calling Penguin Publishers, how can I help you?”
Esteban rocked back in his chair, “hi, this is Esteban Granero from The Examiner, I recently interviewed Xabi Alonso. Can you tell me who I need to speak to about approvals for print?”
“Sure Esteban, I’ll put you through to our PR department.”
“Thanks.”
Esteban was on hold for a long time, he rocked even further back in his chair and yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open. He had had a late night putting the finishing touches on this article. He couldn’t wait to get the damn thing finished, off to print and never have to think about it, or Xabi himself again.
“Hello, Xabi speaking.”
Or not.
“Oh,” Esteban breathed surprised. Of all the people he could have spoken to, he wasn’t expecting Xabi himself. “Hi, its Esteban.”
The smile in Xabi’s voice was obvious even over the phone. “Hi, long time no see, how are you?”
“F-fine. Um... I was just calling to see if I can send through proofs for approval.”
“Of course, just send them straight through to the company email. They will find their way to me.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll do that now.”
“Great.” There was a pause and then. “So... did you happen to change your mind about coffee?”
“Oh... um...”
“Because I’ve been thinking about you.”
Esteban blinked surprised by that admission. “Uh...”
Xabi laughed, “come on, just coffee, no pressure.”
Esteban didn’t know what to say.
“Is it because I bought you a late? Damn, I knew you’d be a long back kind of guy.”
The teasing was obvious in his tone and Esteban was sinking further and further into his chair, embarrassed and unsettled by the whole situation.
“Okay listen,” Xabi finally continued when his laughter trailed into silence, “forget coffee. But would it be okay if I called you? Maybe in a couple of days or next week?”
“Well...”
“Next month?”
“But...”
“Next year is pushing it a bit,” Xabi teased.
Esteban buried his face in his hand, gripping the phone tight in his right hand, knowing he was going to regret this but... “okay.”
“Really?” Xabi laughed.
Esteban squeezed his eyes shut, “yes.”
“Great. Well I guess I’ll call you sometime.”
“Okay. Bye Xabi.”
“Bye.”
Five minutes later the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hey, so this is ‘sometime’ and I’m calling you.”
Esteban couldn’t help but smile.
*
They went to coffee.
Xabi ordered Esteban a long black this time and smiled and nodded and asked all the right questions when Esteban told him about his work and writing. After that things flowed much more smoothly. Esteban learns that Xabi is an excellent listener and amazing company. They start meeting more regularly for coffee or lunch and the odd dinner from time to time. Esteban asks Xabi all the questions he ever wanted to ask and Xabi’s answers are everything and more that he ever imagined. The two of them are just... compatible. They like the same things, read the same books, like the same music, enjoy the same type of places - they are kindred spirits and just like his writing, Esteban feels like Xabi is speaking and living right out of Esteban’s very own soul.
Its late one night, several weeks after their reunion that it happens.
“So,” Xabi begins putting down his napkin after dinner at one of Esteban’s favourite restaurants. “Did you want to come to my place tonight? I have some books that I know you would love to see.”
Esteban knew that too. Because he had seen them. “Oh... uh...”
Xabi winced, “sorry, did I say the wrong thing. I always know I’ve done something wrong when you hesitate like that.”
“No, your fine, its just...” Esteban swallowed. Oh hell. “I’ve already been to your apartment, Xabi.”
Xabi’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, “you have? Should I be worried about that? You’re not a vampire or something are you? If that’s the case then I’m pretty sure that I didn’t invite you in.” He smiled.
Esteban couldn’t resist a small smile in return. “A couple of years back, we met in a club and I went home with you.”
Now Xabi was the one hesitating. “Oh.” He looked at Esteban awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. I wasn’t in the best place back then and... Gods, you must think I’m a bastard.”
“No,” Esteban interrupted quickly, “I don’t think that. Its just that we didn’t part in the best way the next morning and it took me a while to get over it, so...”
“Oh geeze. I’m so sorry, Esteban.”
Esteban waved his hand, “its okay. It was a long time ago. Lets just... take this slow, okay?”
Xabi nodded, a small smile crossing his lips, “slow is good.” He reached across the table and took one of Esteban’s hands in his, “hey Esteban?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the second chance.”
THE END