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12 October 2015 @ 11:54 pm
The One That Saves Me (6/?)  
Title: (Maybe You’re Gonna Be) The One Who Saves Me (6/?)
Author: lunasenzanotte
Pairings and characters: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos, Javi Martínez/Fernando Llorente, Javi Martínez/Raúl González, Raúl González/Fernando Torres (past), Esteban Granero, Pedro Rodríguez, Álvaro Morata, Santi Cazorla, Pep Guardiola, Asier Illarramendi, Diego Costa, Vicente Del Bosque, Diego Simeone, Nacho Fernández
Summary: Sequel to Safe and mine. While Fernando and Sergio are trying to forget about Raúl, Raúl has all but forgotten about them.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, violence, mentions of character death


A divorce. So you destroy my life and now you apply for a divorce. You’d be nobody without me.

Raúl throws the file on the table and pours himself a glass of cognac. He downs it and immediately refills it. He spends a good moment just sitting there, looking into the semi-darkness before he notices Álvaro standing next to his table, smiling shyly.

“What is it?” Raúl almost barks.

Álvaro hands him a piece of paper. Raúl growls internally. Good education and manners are one thing, but sometimes he wishes Álvaro just asked him for things instead of giving him official applications that he has to read.

“Three days leave?” Raúl frowns. “May I know the reason?”

“I’m getting married.”

“Oh,” Raúl says and smiles. “I didn’t even know that you were engaged. Well, we should drink to it, then.”

He motions for Álvaro to sit on the small sofa in the corner of the room, then walks over to the cupboard and takes out another glass. He fills it with the cognac and hands it to Álvaro. Álvaro accepts it with another shy smile. Raúl downs his glass while Álvaro barely drinks a third of its content.

“So, who is the lucky one?” Raúl asks.

Álvaro quickly puts down his glass, like he’s afraid of answering Raúl too late. “Oh. Nacho, we met already at school.”

“First love, then,” Raúl muses. “I married a boy like that. It can be sweet, but also... You know, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes, when it’s someone equally inexperienced, you could be disappointed with certain things.”

Álvaro blushes and looks at his knees. Raúl shuffles closer to him. “I could teach you,” he says in a husky voice and then pulls Álvaro to him and presses his lips to the boy’s.

Álvaro jerks and raises his hands. Then there is sharp pain and a breeze and in the next moment, the sound of the front door closing gets to Raúl’s ears. He lifts his hand to touch his lip and then looks at the blood on his fingertips.

“Look at you, little boy,” he mumbles. “At least you’re not a slut.”

* * *

Javi’s heart almost stops when the key rustles in the lock. He can’t imagine what he’ll do if it’s Raúl. Well, he knows what he’ll do. What he always does – just do whatever Raúl wants from him and pray either for surviving it or for quick death.

The door opens and Javi breathes a sigh of relief. It’s just Flori, carrying a basket. He pulls out the plates with food out, lays them on the table and looks at Javi. “Move over,” he barks. “I have to clean the room.”

Javi scrambles to his feet, grabs the food and goes to sit on the chair in the corner. Flori pays no attention to him as he takes a handle out of his pocket and after carefully checking that the backyard is empty, opens the window to let in some fresh air. Then he proceeds to clean the gas lamps.

Javi finishes the food and just sits there, not knowing what to do. Somehow, Flori’s quiet presence is almost calming, despite the lack of interaction.

Then Flori throws a bundle of clothes at Javi, startling him. “Clean clothes,” he says in his usual curt way. “Change and give me the dirty ones.”

Javi stands up and looks at the clothes apprehensively. Suddenly he feels unexplainably shy. But Flori turns his back to him and starts picking up the dishes. By the time he turns back, Javi’s managed to change into the clean pants, and he quickly pulls the shirt over his head. Flori takes the dirty clothes from him without a word and stuffs them in the basket. Then he closes the window and heads to the door. Javi just watches him, caught off guard by this strange, unfamiliar pattern.

“Don’t you want...” he starts, biting on his lower lip.

Flori turns to him. “What?”

“I... Esteban sometimes wants me to...”

Flori keeps looking at him for a while, like he’s considering. “No,” he says then and bangs the door behind him.

* * *

Raúl is pacing around his apartment. He is still slightly drunk because he had another glass when Álvaro fled, but it didn’t help diminish the anger in him. He needs to get it out, and there is only one way to do it. If he was home, he’d take his anger out on Javi. You’re lucky tonight, sweetheart.

He hires this apartment for the nights when he works until late, or when he has an appointment early the following day. It’s good for some things, but if he has certain needs, it’s more complicated. Raúl still has his ways, though.

He walks down the stairs and knocks on the door of the apartment in the ground floor. It belongs to Pep, his landlord. Pep is a bald, middle-aged man who cares for nothing but money. Raúl likes making business with people like that.

“Mr. González!” Pep exclaims when he sees him. “What can I do for you?”

“I could use some company tonight and you understand that a man of my status can’t go to look for one himself,” Raúl says and tucks a banknote in Pep’s pocket. He doesn’t need to say more. It’s not the first time he’s asking Pep to find him a boy for the night.

“Of course, Mr. González,” Pep says in his slimy voice he uses every time he talks to Raúl. “It won’t be a problem.”

“You know my tastes. Be quick about it,” Raúl says curtly and offers Pep another banknote.

Pep makes a grab for it and bows slightly. “I can assure you that you will be satisfied, sir,” he says.

Raúl makes a non-committal sound and walks back up to his apartment.

* * *

Barely an hour later, there is a knock on the door. Raúl goes to answer it himself rather than inviting the person in.

There is a boy standing at the doorstep. By one look Raúl knows that Pep was right about his taste again. Raúl never wants someone who’d remind him of Javi, or before, of Sergio. Never wants the one night fun to mingle with things he actually cares about.

The boy is of medium built, his ginger hair is cut short, but somehow imperfectly, like he cuts it himself in front of a mirror. His grey sweater would need a good washing, but Raúl couldn’t care less for some clothes that are going to be taken off anyway.

He keeps looking around the apartment in awe. It’s something he’s not used to, something different from the cold, dim rooms with moldy walls and the smell of rotting trash in the backyards. It gives him hope of going home with a decent payment. Wherever the place he calls home is.

“What’s your name?” Raúl asks.

The boy tears his gaze from one of the shiny trinkets and looks at him. “Asier.”

Raúl doesn’t care if the name is fake or not, he just needs to call the boy something. “Asier,” he repeats. “So what can you offer me, Asier?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” Raúl says thoughtfully. “I take your word, then. Strip.”

He walks over to the table and pours himself a glass of anise liquor, but doesn’t drink it yet. Then he turns around to see that Asier has already discarded his clothes. That boy is fast. “There are candles on the nightstand,” Raúl says. “Light them.”

He likes these little touches. It’s like letting people dig their own grave before killing them.

The boy, however, looks unimpressed. The look in his eyes is distant, indifferent, like nothing that comes could surprise him. Raúl takes it as a personal challenge to prove him wrong.

He doesn’t keep any of his toys in the apartment. It’s too risky, as someone – most likely Pep – could go through his things, and while Raúl doesn’t care what people think about him, he only doesn’t care when they don’t have a proof.

But Raúl also has a broad imagination and is a master of improvisation. He takes one of the decorative ropes that hold the curtains drawn to the sides and turns around. “Kneel down.”

The boy moves, but Raúl raises his hand to stop him. “No. On the floor.”

By the slight wince, almost imperceptible, when he ties the boy’s hands behind his back, he can tell that he is not one of those who enjoy it. At least that. Otherwise the game can get quite boring.

It would be better if he could stand, but his leg won’t let him. He sits on the bed and beckons the boy. “Suck me.”

He can tell that the boy is not used to doing it like this, without using his hands. It wouldn’t be such a letdown for Raúl as this isn’t the only thing he wants to do, but he still slaps the boy’s face. “You’re useless!” he barks.

The boy winces but stays silent. It’s not something he’s learned in this profession, it’s rooted much deeper. Raúl pulls him up and practically throws him on the bed. Then he pulls out his belt and loops it around the boy’s neck.

He tightens the belt, not enough to not let him breathe at all, but it’s just so-so. He is skilled enough in this. At least he’s managed to get the indifferent look out of Asier’s eyes. Raúl almost laughs at the way the boy’s instincts make him fight against his bonds. “If you’re good, I’ll loosen it in a while,” he says.

Asier closes his eyes for a moment, willing himself to stay calm. Even when the first drops of wax fall on his abdomen, he only flinches slightly. And amidst the pleasure and satisfaction, Raúl feels a tiny bit of respect.

* * *

The house is quiet. The clumsy cook has stopped banging the pots and clanking with the dishes and also Esteban’s quick steps ceased to sound in the corridors. Javi hasn’t heard the carriage arriving, which means that Raúl most likely isn’t home. Otherwise he’d hear him walk to the dining room and back.

He curls up under the blanket that still smells faintly of soap, and slides one hand under the pillow out of habit. His fingers touch something cold. He pulls his hand out immediately, startled. Then he slowly lifts up the pillow.

It’s a peony, only the blossom, the stem is cut short. It’s already a bit withered, but Javi cups it in his palms like it’s a legendary treasure nevertheless. He buries his face in the petals, breathing in the scent.

* * *

Raúl buckles his belt and looks over his shoulder at the boy. He could kill him now. Nobody would miss him if he disappeared. Only that Raúl doesn’t have a reason to do it. He got what he wanted, the boy is useless to him now. It’s just the knowledge that he could, the power he still holds.

“I like you, you know,” Raúl states. “You’re not one of the naïve, idealistic fools, you’re not expecting people to be nice to you by default. You’re realistic. You have a good chance of survival in this world.”

Asier doesn’t answer, busying himself with putting his clothes back on. Raúl helps him then by pulling at the hem of his sweater because the boy is taking longer than Raúl fancies. Asier gives him what could be interpreted as a hateful look. The hunger with which he makes a grab for the money is not diminished, though. Raúl watches him practically crawl down the stairs, gripping the railing tight. He’d still come back. Raúl is sure of it.

 
 
 

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