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soft breath, beating heart, as i whisper in your ear, i wanna tear you apart

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Deep down he knew that whatever he'll find in Palermo will be bad, but not in his darkest dreams he imagined Martín being that utterly destroyed. Sergio spent five minutes knocking on the door, listening to the sound of stumbling footsteps and and a body hitting various pieces of furniture, and when Martín finally does open, he nearly would have got the door slammed right back into his face if it weren't for the foot he planted against it in foresight.

“Go away,” Martín says, sounding more tired than anything.

“I need your help,” Sergio states and walks into the flat, ignoring Martín's protests and weak attempts to hinder him from entering. After he shut the door he takes a closer look and is shocked by how filthy the apartment is. Every surface is cramped with empty bottles, glasses, and plates, some of them converted to ashtrays. Various clothes are scattered on the floor, and a smell of dust, alcohol and coffee hangs in the air. As long as they have known each other Martín has been messy, but there always seemed to be some sort of plan behind it, this, however, is pure chaos.

“And why on earth should I help you?” Martín laughs, bitter and angry. Only now Sergio takes him fully in, sees how thin he has become, how old despite the fact that merely four years have passed since their last meeting. Sees the old bathrobe he recognizes, and the shirt that would be white if it weren't for the stains of multiple colours and sizes covering it.

“I want to use your plan, I want to melt gold,” Sergio says and it feels like a confession.

“Fuck you,” Martín spits out, coming closer, “You did everything to ruin my life and now you want to take that from me as well? Fuck you!”

Martín is now so close that Sergio feels his breath on his skin, surprisingly it smells like toothpaste. “I don't intent to take it from you. I need your help, I won't be able to execute it without you.”

He gets another laugh in return, an ugly laugh that somehow feels worse than the insults he has expected, “Now, you want my help. After you hindered us from getting through with it in the first place, after you refused to make me a part of your stupid plan, after you took Andrés from me.”

He knew that he hurt Martín with his actions, they were necessary, though, not just to protect him and his brother but Martín himself. So he accepted it, didn't even think about it much until now, convinced he acted in everyone's best interest. However, the look of utter pain in Martín's eyes, so fresh like only days and not years have past, makes Sergio's throat tighten and he wonders whether it had been the right choice after all. “What happened?” he asks lowly, stupidly hoping that it wasn't his doing that broke Martín.

“What happened? Andrés died! And I wasn't with him, because of you,” Martín pokes his index-finger into Sergio's chest, “Because you talked him into leaving me to go into the Mint where he died. You got him killed and didn't even deem it necessary to call me, you had me find it out from the news.” His voice crumbles with the last word, eyes welling up with tears.

“He was sick, he had only a few months left. He stayed behind to protect the others.” To save me and my plan. He doesn't even know if he tries to justify it to Martín or himself.

Martín's face goes blank then, and so pale that Sergio's is afraid he'll just black out. “Since when?” It's nearly inaudible.

“He told me the night before they went into the Mint. I don't know when... I think he got the diagnose when you still lived together in the monastery.”

“Why didn't he... he said- I should've been with him! Why did he... What did you tell him?” Suddenly furious Martín takes hold of his shoulders, shakes him even though it feels feebly.

“That you were a liability,” Sergio admits and the tears are falling from Martín eyes after all, “That you were destroying each other, that you will get both of you killed if you would go into the Bank.”

“He still died,” Martín whispers, stops with the shaking and claws his fingers so much deeper into Sergio's skin. He hisses at the sharp pain, accepts it since it's probably the least that he deserves.

“It's my fault.” Not just that, he realizes as he looks at Martín's small, shaking frame.

The fingers let go of him to be replaced by arms, holding him in a desperate, too tight embrace. Sergio returns it hesitantly, feels his shirt getting wet where Martín sobs into it and tears prickling in his own eyes.

“He said he loved me, that I'm his soulmate and then he left me.” 'It's done' was the only thing Andrés has told him, lips tight and hard look in his eyes, and Sergio didn't dare to ask what he did to Martín, he wishes he still wouldn't know. “And he kissed me,” Martín continues, “He kissed my like he meant it and I thought... I couldn't wrap my head around it when he left.”

Sergio feels sick, he puts his hand into Martín's hair, tries to soothe him, make him shut up. “I didn't ask him to do that. I wouldn't...” he stops, because wouldn't he? Did he really care about what Andrés did to Martín as long as they got rid of him?

“I can't forget it, can't forget him,” Martín says it like a mantra, and Sergio helplessly continues with patting his back and hair just to be thrown right off of track when a pair of lips is pressed against his jaw.

“Martín,” he protest and tries to get away, but the hands are clawing into his shoulders again, keeping him in place.

“I saw how you looked at me,” Martín says right against his skin, and Sergio feels a wave of shame hitting his body, “Is that why you took him from me?” There is a bite, right into his earlobe, the sting immediately soothed by another kiss.

“No,” he groans, unsure if it's due to the pain or the embarrassing memories. He did... wonder about Martín, what he would feel like, but it wasn't because he was attracted to him, but because Martín fuelled his mind with all those talks about blow-jobs and homosexual sex, and that he would make it good for him. “I wanted to protect you. All of us. From each other. This dynamic, it would have imploded at some point.” He realizes he isn't trying to stop those kisses, slowly but steadily making their way to his mouth, any more, knows there is no logically reason to let this happen.

“Me or you? Who would have imploded?” Martín asks. They are nose to nose now, the tears are gone and his eyes are full of determination. The sudden shift feels alarming, nearly dangerous. Sergio doesn't know what to say and after they stared at each other for a few seconds, breathlessly, Martín begins to smirk, “Why did you never act on it? That one time I was sure you'd bend me over the sofa, just fuck me without any preparation.”

He remembers that night, years ago, long before they ever talked about melting gold. It was just the two of them, Andrés being on a vacation with the most recent wife, and they got drunk, reluctant about each other's company at first and then more and more relaxed. It had been nice until they started to talk about relationships, and sex, and Sergio felt entirely too hot because Martín was so close. Sergio got up to straddle him, was halfway there and thought better of it, left for his room instead.

There is suddenly a hand on Sergio's dick. Terrified, he realizes it's painfully hard, and the grin on Martín's face grows that much wider. “From the very beginning I saw how you looked at him,” Sergio admits and somehow compelled he continues, “I knew it would be a horrible idea to do anything. That Andrés... wouldn't have allowed it.” His brother had always been possessive and Sergio didn't know whom of them he would have ultimately chosen if anything went down between them. He's glad he never found out.

“He's gone,” Martín states, only revealing a hint of the sadness he showed a few minutes ago so openly. Then he leans in, presses his lips against Sergio's, starts to move the hand that still palms his dick through his jeans.

For a few seconds Sergio kisses back, forgets about everything around him, about why he's here and that he cannot do this. “I can't do this,” he says, places his hands on Martín's cheeks to pull him away, “I'm in a relationship.”

“I don't care.” Sergio nearly laughs at that, but then he sees the look on Martín's face, hears the desperation in his voice, “Don't do that to me, not again.”

I'm not the one who kissed and left you, he wants to say, but it's his fault that it happened, isn't it. And he did leave Martín, just like Andrés, only that he had the chance to right his wrongs and instead of grasping it he tried to forget about Martín's existences.

“Please,” Martín whispers, all the self-confidence slipping out of him as fast as it came, “I know you want me, stop denying it. Please, I need this,” he presses another kiss against Sergio's lips, “I need you, please. Do whatever you want, just touch me, but don't send me off. I can't.”

Sergio feels sick again. Sick upon seeing what his doing ultimately made out of Martín, sick because this devotion, this desperation, clouds his brain with want. He wonders if that was what Andrés saw when he left Martín for good, if he did see it throughout all the years they've spent together. He kisses Martín back, deep and sloppy, claws on his horrible bathrobe and throws it to the floor. Raquel's face comes to his mind, he feels guilty about doing this to her, but not anywhere close to how guilty he feels about what he did to Martín. He is righting his wrongs, he tells himself, and helps Martín unbuttoning his shirt.

Martín moans into his mouth when their upper bodies are finally bare and pressed against one another, and Sergio hands stroke the naked skin of his back. Surprised, he realizes that Martín feels and smells clean like he just got out of the shower despite the sleazy state of his clothing, and he's weirdly relieved about it. “Fuck me, please, please,” Martín groans when Sergio's hands cup his ass, sounding more close to tears than turned on and a voice in the back of Sergio's mind tells him it isn't a good idea, that they should stop this. As if feeling his reserve Martín fumbles the button of his jeans open, slips his hand inside and takes hold of Sergio's cock in an unrelenting grip. He hisses, bucks his hips forward into this warm and perfect hand. Martín begins to move it then, fast and expertly, and Sergio remembers all the instances Martín offered himself to him, regrets not acting upon it sooner. Maybe nothing of this would have happened then, Andrés dying, Martín breaking, himself being responsible for all of it.

“Please,” Martín repeats, mouth sucking on his pulse point and Sergio just nods.

Unceremoniously, he's pulled to the shabby couch and left to stand there awkwardly. He decides to get rid of his trousers while Martín roams the drawers of a small cabinet, returning with a bottle of lube and condoms. He pulls down his shorts as well, lets them fall to the ground, and knees on the sofa, chest lying on the backrest, and uncaps the bottle.

“Let me,” Sergio mumbles and sees Martín's shoulders sink in. He takes the lube, pours some of it onto his slightly shaking fingers, and presses one of them against Martín's hole. He's never done this, neither with a man nor a woman, and the sight is just as strange as the feeling of it. When he pushes his finger in, though, and hears the moan leaving Martín's lips, his own neglected erection starts to twitch.

“More,” Martín growls when the first finger is hardly inside of him and Sergio complies, desperate to replace the fingers with his dick. For a moment it feels impossible to get the second one into the tight ring of muscles, but then it's nearly sucked inside and Martín lets out a hiss of pain. Before Sergio has the chance to ask if he's okay, Martín starts to move his hips vigorously, and his brain just shuts down at the sight. He remembers imagining this, having Martín willing and obedient under him, taking whatever Sergio gives him, groaning in pain. He remembers throwing up right after he came to the picture of this, as well, horrified by his own mind and sick desires.

“It's enough,” Martín says when Sergio is just about to push the third finger in.

“I don't think-” he tries to object but is interrupted right away, “Stop thinking for once and just do it.”

So he complies, tries to tell himself he's doing it since Martín wants him to and not because he's sure his brain will just shut down if he doesn't get his dick into Martín immediately, and pulls his fingers out, entirely too fast, so that they both hiss at the feeling of it. Martín unwraps one of the condoms and Sergio gratefully takes it, realizing that it would have been a rather difficult task to fulfil with his slippery and shaking fingers.

Fucking someone in the ass turns out to be more complicated than Sergio thought it would, his dick gliding past the hole a few times before Martín groans in frustration, takes hold of Sergio's cock and just sinks back onto it. It feels so unbelievable tight and hot that he's afraid he'll come like that without even having moved an inch. He's concentrating so much on getting accustomed to it, that he needs a few seconds to realizes that Martín's moans definitely don't come from pleasure anymore.

He tries to pull out, apology already on his lips, but Martín beats him to it, “Don't you dare. I just need a moment and then-”

“Martín...” Sergio groans, the sick feeling creeping back up on him.

“No! Just... move okay, slowly.”

And Sergio does. Hesitantly, and then, when Martín visibly relaxes, faster. He tries to take hold of Martín's cock, thinks it would be the right thing to do, but his hand is swatted away. “No,” he growls, “Concentrate on fucking me, I'll do it.”

Again, Sergio complies, because what else is he supposed to do? He puts his hands on Martín's hips, holds him in place with a bruising grip, and lets go. It's like floating, he sees stars, loses every feeling but the one of the tightnes around his cock. Everything narrows down to it, and he's only dimly aware that Martín started to pump his dick, looking as desperate as Sergio feels. He closes his eyes then, not sure whether he merely wants to fully concentrate on the waves of pleasure pulsating through his body, or whether he wants to shut out the pictures of who is doing that to him.

He comes fast, which isn't surprising but definitely disappointing because he doesn't feel like he had enough of this at all. The orgasm shakes him in every core of his being, leaves him breathless, and when he opens his eyes again to pull out, cock already getting soft again, he finds Martín groaning in frustration, still obviously hard. Sitting down on the couch next to him he says, “Let me.” Martín is only shaking his head again, stubbornly biting his bottom lip, and Sergio feels the same frustration creeping up on him. “Just- come on,” and for good measures he adds, “Please.”

Somehow it does the trick, Martín sinks into himself, turns around to sit down on the couch next to Sergio, letting his hands fall down defensively. Sergio doesn't hesitate, puts his hand on Martín's erection, and wonders for a moment why he persisted on finishing him off as he realizes he has no clue what to do now. He moves his hand then like he does on himself, and it's weirdly familiar and strange at the same time. Martín melts into the touch, groans and pants, and is coming when Sergio just started to feel like he knows what he's doing to some extend. Sergio jerks him through it, carefully to not overstimulate him, and only pulls his hand away when Martín hisses in discomfort.

He's probably supposed to say something, Sergio thinks, and when he looks at Martín he sees that the tears are back in his eyes, threatening to well over. Maybe he should place his arms around Martín, let him cry into his shoulder again, perhaps it'll make Martín feel better, make himself feel better.

He is overstrained with the situation, has never been the person for a casual hook-up. But that wasn't that, was it, not after knowing each other for years, not after what he did to Martín, not after Andrés.

“I won't be one of your puppets,” Martín says after a few moments of strained silence, tears thankfully gone from his eyes, “This is my plan, we're going to lead together.”

“Of course,” Sergio says, expecting this ever since he decided to make Martín a part of it.

“Good, I'll get my stuff,” Martín announces and leaves for what seems to be the bathroom.

Groaning, Sergio lets his head fall against the backrest. They shouldn't have done it, he realizes, just like they shouldn't have done it all those years ago, it will only make things so much more complicated.