035. Sixth Sense

[tempered-rose.livejournal.com]

Title: I Know It’s You
Pairing: Iker Casillas / David Villa ; David Villa / David Silva implied
Rating: R
Prompt: 035. Sixth Sense
Words: 1708
Warnings: Bastard!Villa
A/N: Another one for the table. Angsty times a lot but…I like this one because of the wording.



Iker has had several situations in his life where he wishes he could have done things differently. The whole Beckham thing, for instance. There were times where Captaining Spain seemed like a mistake as well; the responsibilities and the pressures he felt were more suited to someone older with more experience. But then the Euro trophy would remind him that it was all worth it and he would bite the bullet and handle being captain.

Villa hadn’t always been something—some one—he hadn’t regretted. There was a time where he hated himself, and a small part of himself that had hated Villa, for what he was doing.

Villa, all dark eyes and brooding looks. Looks that scorched his soul and were burned into his memory.

Villa, who fucked anyone he fancied into a mattress. Fucks that, rumor foretold, were so deliciously wonderful.

Villa, who never loved anyone more than a few days. A love that, at best, was trivially passionate.

Villa, the man who had somehow wound his way into Iker’s life, Iker’s heart. Iker hated him for it; hated him because he couldn’t control it. It was worse than a runaway train screeching down the tracks on a rainy night. It was as if Iker was reaching, grabbing, for anything but every time his hand caught hold of something, it was slick and he would slide down and spiral towards another crash.

Iker had taken to avoiding the Asturian as best he could with being Captain and he being a starting striker. When he had left those sinfully blatant looks unreturned by his own reserved expressions for a few days, the rumors picked up that a certain Canarian had taken Villa’s fancy. The jealousy in Iker’s bloodstream refused to listen to the rational excuse of it being just another fuck, just another man to leave broken hearted. The same way Villa was no doubt doing, or was this it?, to Iker himself.

When, after several months, the rumors did not stop—but only intensified as did the visual proof, Iker started to believe that he too had been introduced into Villa’s harem as another blade of grass wiped off of Villa’s football boots. Iker himself saw the way Villa would guard Silva, as if fending off any other suitors, and would make sure that he was constantly touching him. As if he was reminding Silva that he had captured Villa’s attention and held it.

Iker was acutely tuned in to the fact that he received those heated looks no longer. Was this how all the other lovers that had shared Villa’s bed felt after their turn was over? Was this how Silva would feel when Villa did eventually tire of him? No, Iker knew that before he fully finished the question in his own mind. Silva was innocent to Villa’s motives; he would feel worse than any of the others.

Sergio had grown jealous of the little Canarian. He had tried with Villa himself but nothing had come of it, not even a second one-night stand. The lads had a bet to see how long little innocent Silva would last. None of the bets fared more than a few days more, each time resetting when the last day had been called and the two were still together.

Then a spark of interest rekindled. Silva had been found in his room after missing a training session, crying. Or, as the way Fernando who had roomed with him put it, sobbing his heart out. It had been almost a year, Villa’s longest relationship to date with a man, but it had finally ended. The other shoe had dropped and Silva was crushed and defeated while Villa acted like the smooth, cold-hearted bastard that he was.

Iker had finally grown accustomed to being ignored and forgotten, foolishly thinking his time with the Valencia player was over. When Villa had finally come back to him, Iker had thought it had been to discuss strategy. He had been blind to see what Villa had really wanted. Iker knew on instinct who it was when the knock had sounded on his door. He had not turned around, but then again, he did not have too. “I know it’s you.”

Villa had pushed Iker against the desk and had seized his mouth with rough and demanding lips. Iker had been too surprised to fight back and by the time he had regained enough of his brain to compute this development, Villa had stripped them both of their clothes and Iker was on his back on the polished wood of his desk.

Villa’s lips were unforgiving, but the two fingers inside Iker were doing their job effectively. The man might be a bastard, Iker spared the thought, but he knew enough to prepare his lover. Then the realization slowly dawned on Iker that he was going to be the bottom, he was going to be the one submitting. Iker growled in his throat, and had pushed Villa back. He was tired of being submissive to what Villa wanted.

Iker threw the surprised Asturian on the desk and used only his spit for a lubricant while he roughly prepared the struggling man beneath him. Iker leaned over the younger man, using his weight to pin him to the desk. Villa was wide-eyed and pressing at his shoulders, but Iker did not relent.

The Captain slid into him with one rough movement. He barely gave Villa enough time to adjust to his girth before slipping almost completely out and moving roughly back in again. It was not pretty, it was not about making love. It wasn’t even about the sex. It was entirely about who was being dominated.

Iker came inside Villa after a few moments of brutal fucking but he did not care. He cursed himself while Villa brought himself off by his own hand. Villa had played him again. While not exactly the way he had intended, Villa had made a power play and had ended up being the one who dominated. Iker had been used as a pawn again.

Iker leaned up and redressed, hardly sparing a look at the man who still lay panting on his desk. He did not bother buttoning his shirt, he just allowed it to hang loose off his shoulders. He ran a hand over his face and he caught the musky scent of Villa that was slowly permeating the air around him, mixing with the scent of sex and sweat.

“Get out.” Iker’s words were cold and uncaring but he did not want Villa here. He did not want to forever associate his office with the one who tormented his soul. Iker did not want to remember the man he hated to love so much here, a place where he dwelt so often.

Villa had sat up on his desk and those dark brooding eyes were watching him the way a great cat watches their prey before attacking. Villa did not move at Iker’s barked order, instead slid his gaze along Iker’s torso. He was blatantly staring but Iker found himself unable to move; he was paralyzed in those eyes’ hold.

Villa finally moved, a smirk and then a leap off the wood. He strutted over to where Iker remained still and looked up into Iker’s eyes. His own dark diamonds glinted wickedly. All he had to do was touch him, a warm palm on his chest, and Iker was lost again. The feeling of drowning in a thousand oceans swallowed him while Villa kissed him against the wall.

Suffocating but irresistibly so, Villa pulled away and smirked against Iker’s neck. His hand had found its way into Iker’s buttoned trousers and had started stroking him again. Iker’s head leaned against the wall, eyes shut because he did not want to see the tormenting look in Villa’s eyes. Villa could have him anywhere and he knew it. “I want you.”

“Then have me.” Iker gritted out, eyes still closed. He refused to give Villa the satisfaction of seeing him submit. Villa chuckled against his throat as he licked and nipped at the skin; his hand rose from Iker’s waist to tease his nipple. Iker managed to choke the moan off, but only just.

“I want you.” Villa repeated, this time easing his hold on Iker’s throbbing length.

Iker growled again and looked at Villa, eyes flashing. “Then have me. Or are you not man enough to do that?”

Villa looked affronted in much the same way a cat does when you throw water on it. Villa pushed Iker to the desk, not anywhere in the realm of gently, and forced his tongue down Iker’s throat. The kiss was sloppy but Villa pulled away before Iker could react properly. “You fool! I want you. Only you.”

Villa leaned down and kissed Iker again. This time, unlike any other time in his personal experience or in the hushed locker room gossip, Villa kissed him gently, sensually. He was sure to discover every taste of Iker’s mouth, no matter if he had previously logged that particular flavor. Iker felt Villa’s hips grinding into his own. His reaction was to bring an arm around Villa’s waist and to drop them carefully to the floor.

“You, always you.” Villa mumbled into Iker’s mouth. Iker was not sure if he had heard him correctly, but with the way Villa had suddenly gone gentle like a pussycat, he supposed it was true.

It had taken time after that but Iker had learned to gage Guaje’s mood. It was a feat that had taken years to master, but Iker was relieved to find that he had the time. For the first few months, Iker had waited for the final result—the way Silva had been so easily discarded after a year of service. Three months had turned into seven. Seven months had faded into a year and a half. Four years after that Iker found that he no longer cared. Guaje loved him, had told him so in their third year together. Every day proved that to him.

No, Iker had not always favored what he and Villa had done. But he had never stopped loving him since he had first laid eyes on him.