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John tries not to laugh too much when Javier says it. They’re sitting at the dinner table. Sunlight streams through the windows, dappled in the shade of the trees outside. He’s in the middle of some story, something that happened in the long years that they had been apart.
“So the guy didn’t think it was so funny, and I had to beat him off,” Javier says. He pauses, mouth open, just about to continue. Instead he tilts his head. “Something funny?” He asks.
“Uh,” John tries to save face. “I mean. It’s nothing.” Javier just looks at him from across the table. “When you say ‘beat him off,’ it can sometimes mean…” He trails off and makes a pumping gesture with his hand. Javier looks between John’s hand and his face.
“You’re kidding,” he says.
“It’s not a big deal,” John assures him. “Your English is uh, really good.” Javier kind of smirks at that.
“Wow, John,” Javier replies, sarcasm thick in his tone. “What a relief that you think my English is acceptable to you.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“-after all,” Javier cuts him off. “You’re a master at Spanish, right? In fact, why don’t you tell me all the Spanish you know.”
The only saving grace is that Javier’s smiling, and not actually pissed at him. Still, John feels like he’s up against a wall, metaphorically speaking.
“I know plenty of Spanish,” John says, even as his brain tells him to shut his mouth before he digs himself deeper.
“Yeah?” Javier grins. He leans forward on the table, chin in his hands. “Like what?”
John had kind of hoped they would change the subject, but he knows Javier won’t let this go. Better to just get it over with.
“Vamos, muerte, uh,” John counts on his fingers. “Puta, idiota, estúpido.” He runs out of words earlier than expected.
“You're practically fluent,” Javier comments with a toothy grin. John puts his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, I get it, sorry,” John relents. He can feel a flush on his face and he looks anywhere but at Javier. The silence that falls is a little awkward, a little frustrating.
“I know you know more,” Javier says, his tone a bit more genuine. John looks up. He’s leaned back in his chair. “How about…” Javier points at his eye with a finger. John sighs, but inside he wracks his brain for an answer.
“Ojo?” John asks. Javier smiles.
“Good,” Javier says. He stands and walks around the table, before he reaches out and touches the edge of John’s hat. “And this?” John smirks.
“Sombrero,” John identifies. Javier flicks the brim so that John has to readjust it.
“And?” Javier taps his lips. John’s insides squirm.
“Beso?” John isn’t so sure on this one. Javier licks his lips and smiles.
“Close enough,” Javier decides, leaning down to press a kiss to John’s lips. John accepts it gladly.
“I like it,” John comments. “When you speak in Spanish.” Javier grins against John’s lips.
“Why?” Javier asks. “You don't even understand it.” He sets his hand on John’s knee, so that he can lean over and whisper into John’s ear. “What if I told you everything I wanted to do to you? Wouldn't you want to know what I meant?”
John reaches out to grab Javier’s shirt where it hangs loose in front of him.
“Yeah,” John agrees. “I would.”