David will be damned if he gets off before Lourdes does, bites his lip between his teeth just to have the sting hold him back. He would sink his teeth into Lourdes, wants to, but it’d probably backfire, and he’d get off balls deep in him, mouth against his shoulder blade.

“Please,” Lourdes says, under his breath, over and over, like he doesn’t even know he’s saying it, and nothing would make David happier than having Lourdes beg and doing the opposite, but he can’t stop, riding the edge and trying to take Lourdes with him. It’s a near thing, but Lourdes does come first, spilling hot into David’s hand, and David can’t help jerking into him, once, twice, before he comes buried in the clutch of his body.

Lourdes sinks down to his elbows, and David’s pulled with him while he catches his breath, until he pulls out, tugging the condom off. He ties it, grabbing the empty wrapper and throwing both out in the bathroom trash, washing his hands, and comes back to Lourdes still on his stomach, blinking at him with half-lidded eyes.

“C’mere,” Lourdes says, when David starts to look for his underwear, like he thinks, what? That they’re going to fucking cuddle now?

“I have to go,” David says, finds his briefs near the foot of the bed, tugging them on with unsteady hands. He can’t believe they did that. He can’t believe he did that.

“You don’t,” Lourdes says, frowning and sitting up. “I mean unless you’re going back to the reception. I can come, then.”

“No,” David says, flatly, finds his pants closer to the door and jerks them on, not bothering to buckle his belt. “I’m not going to the reception.”

“Then will you just come here?” Lourdes asks.

David finds his shirt, curses himself for not wearing an undershirt, debating whether the risk of walking down the hall with an open shirt is acceptable. Probably not. He starts buttoning from the top, hates how long it’s taking, the way Lourdes keeps looking at him.

“David,” Lourdes says.

“Stop calling me that,” David snaps.

Lourdes is silent. “It’s your name,” he says finally.

“And I never gave you the fucking right to call me by it,” David says.

Lourdes is quiet again, and David just has time to think, hopeful, that he’s decided to shut the fuck up and let David leave, before he speaks. “I know things are — weird, I guess, right now. But we’re friends, right? Or not friends, maybe—”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” David says, “Whether the fact that everybody loves you for some reason got to your head or something, but we’re not friends. I can’t stand you.”

He finishes buttoning his shirt, finally, grabs his suit jacket and looks back at Lourdes, who pulled his underwear on at some point, and is looking at him, stricken.

“Enjoy the award you don’t deserve,” David says, and if Lourdes has a reply, David doesn’t wait around to hear it.