Work Text:
Martín braced himself for yet another lonely night studying his blueprints. He could see Andrés by the corner of his eye, straightening his jacket in that calm, collected manner he was so fond of. In an attempt to concentrate, he started retracing the lines on the vault’s design again and again, but he was distracted by the intoxicating smell of Andrés’ cologne, creeping its way up his nostrils, almost penetrating his very soul.
“How do I look?” Andrés asked, calmly making his way towards Martín’s desk.
Martín took a deep breath before leaning back in his chair to admire him, as though he was staring at a prestigious sculpture in one of the fancy museums Andrés had dragged him to, in the past. How could one describe such a work of art, a man whose features resembled those of the most ancient and almighty gods?
“Powerful.” He started nonchalantly, as he noticed how the elegant suit enhanced his prominent stance and his perfect posture. “Beautiful.”
“Martín…” Andrés sighed, forcing himself to politely decline Martín’s subtle advances. “For years, you’ve been going around in circles, feeling this way. I think it’s time you moved on.”
As he always did when faced upon with rejection, Martín turned to the two things he knew best: sarcasm and alcohol.
“We can move on to wine, if you like.” He picked up a bottle from the cabinet below his desk, setting it near the two glasses on the mahogany top. “Shall we have a glass?”
Andrés was taken aback by his reply. He thought about how he would love to stay and share a glass with Martín, as they had done on countless nights in that same study. On some of those nights they fell asleep on opposite ends of the sofa, only to find themselves holding each other upon waking up to the sunlight piercing through the thin curtains.
“No. I’m not drinking that with you.” Memories of Martín’s legs entangled with his, his arm draped over his chest, pulling him closer, flooded Andrés’ mind. “I’m going to dinner with Tatiana.”
“Right.” Martín whispered, slightly defeated but desperately trying not to show it.
“You’ll think about me. But I won’t think about you.” Andrés chose his words carefully, lacing them with just enough poison to hurt Martín, knowing perfectly well that was the only way the Argentine would let go.
“You don’t have to spell it out for me. It’s clear.” There was a hint of sadness in Martín’s voice. He had been expecting it for some time now. Sooner or later, one of them would need to approach the subject of their curious relationship. And it seemed that Andrés was taking the lead, in the ever so dominant and controlling fashion that characterized him. He expected everything, every hurtful word, every malicious insult, but he certainly wasn’t expecting what came out of Andrés’ lips.
“Oh, please. Do you think I don’t love you? I also feel that what we have between us is extraordinary, unique, wonderful.” He stared into Martín’s blue eyes, trying to find the courage to carry on. “I know about love. I’ve been married five times.”
Martín stirred in his chair, already familiar with the marriage discourse. Andrés would always look so smug when talking about his past conquers, like a proud warrior. But this time, something was different, he wasn’t trying to show off. He was using his experience as motivation, not leverage.
“What I’ve never told you is that…I’ve never felt anything with any of those women remotely similar to what I have with you.”
Martín licked his lips as he stood up. He had never anticipated a scenario like this, in which Andrés would come forward so boldly, expressing his feelings fearlessly.
“Not even close.” He continued, as Martín stepped closer to him. “You and I are soulmates. But only 99%.”
He smiled, observing Martín’s confused yet determined gaze, his hands on his hips. How was he going to go through with his speech if Martín was looking at him like that, with such unbridled attraction obscuring his eyes?
“As you know, I really like women.” Andrés nodded to himself, and almost mechanically his smile dropped, his features darkening into that icy cold creature he sometimes turned into. “And you like me too much.”
Martín could see right through his façade. He stood there, unwavering and defiant, knowing that Andrés was looking for a challenge.
“And what’s 1% against 99%?” He asked, casually, taking another step forward. “Unless you’re not brave enough to try it.”
“That 1% is a tiny mitochondrion.” He chuckled, amused with Martín’s provocation. “But it defines my desire.”
“Mitochondrion…” Martín whispered, treading purposefully towards Andrés, until mere inches separated them. He looked at Andrés, as if he was looking for something. “Where’s your desire?”
This was the first time Martín was stepping out of his usually submissive disposition. This time, Martín was taking the lead, and Andrés was thoroughly enjoying it.
“Here?” Martín asked, slowly and sensually tracing the outline of Andrés’ face with his fingers, finally lingering near his lips. He could feel Andrés shivering as one of his hands rested on the back of his neck, the other on his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid.”
Martín pulled him closer and kissed him passionately, with a certain fervour that bordered on desperation. He had dreamed about this moment, and he needed to be sure that it was finally happening. This was no dream. These really were Andrés’ lips, the ones who just minutes before had professed his love for him. He had often wondered what he tasted like. A hint of mint and cinnamon and an almost undetectable trace of cigarettes.
“You’re a coward.” He leaned in to place another kiss on his lips, almost intoxicated on the newly found drug that was kissing Andrés. “Where is it?”
Andrés couldn’t take it any longer. He had watched silently as Martín defied him, daring him to fight back, to take him. And so, he did. Stepping forward, he trapped Martín against the wall, his hand holding onto the Argentine’s neck as he kissed him with an even greater passion. Martín felt his heart beating erratically as he stumbled backwards toward the wall, with a desperate sigh. One of his hands flew to Andrés’ neck, the other one resting on his waist. He was thankful for the wall behind him and its sturdy support, otherwise his knees would not have subsisted. They kissed hungrily, the weight of ten years of angst and repression finally disappearing from their shoulders. Andrés wanted to pull back, to tell Martín that he felt no desire towards him, but that would be a blatant lie. That 1% had vanished into thin air the second he felt Martín’s lips on his. He was now 100% Martín’s and he needed him to know that. Andrés pressed himself against him, and Martín could finally feel his desire pressing against his own.
“It appears your mitochondrion was mistaken.” Martín whispered, leaning his forehead against Andrés’. “But you better get rid of that before meeting Tatiana for dinner.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Tatiana can wait.” Andrés kissed him again, leading Martín towards the bed in his room.
***
They professed their love for each other a myriad of times during that seemingly endless night, their bodies bathed in sweat in the moonlight. Martín’s breathless moans echoed on the stone walls of his room, and Andrés could swear that none of his five wives had ever produced noises that even remotely resembled the delicious sounds coming from his lover’s mouth.
Martín wasn’t one to cuddle in the afterglow, but as he laid there against Andrés with his head on his shoulder, he figured he could get used to it. They were still breathless, staring into the chandelier on the ceiling.
“I’m leaving for Toledo in a couple of days. We’re going through with the Mint heist.” Andrés said, placing a kiss on Martín’s forehead.
“I suppose there’s nothing I can say to persuade you not to go, right?” Martín whispered, a single tear escaping his right eye.
“No. But tonight, you gave me a reason to come back.”