fic: the nature of humanity and badass spaceships (anyone else but you) [raúl albiol/álvaro arbeloa]
(Sorry for letting posts go uncommented or comments unanswered over the last few days, this is the reason why. Was determined to get it off my back by the first of the month, which I didn't quite manage, but close enough!)
So this is a) how I Stockholm Syndrome'd myself into shipping this pairing (PLEASE JOIN ME) and b) the most explicit thing I have written in, like, five years, and it's not even that explicit. Or as I call it, "look, I wrote something that isn't about David Silva!"
........though he's in it. like you were expecting anything else.
Acknowledgements (lol): This fic owes its entire existence to the encouragement and enthusiastic co-shipping of nahco3, who then also edited like a champion. The check-ins for distira's WIP amnesty challenge helped it along past several hurdles, even though -- obviously -- I didn't exactly finish it within the parameters of the challenge. Subtitle after, yes, the Moldy Peaches song. It fit.
The Nature of Humanity and Badass Spaceships (Anyone Else But You)
Pairing: Raúl Albiol/Álvaro Arbeloa (past Raúl Albiol/David Silva)
Word Count: 11,300
Rating: somewhere between R and NC-17
Notes: Set during the 2010-2011 season. Any mistakes are my own.
-
It started, a couple months into the season, because they were roommates.
At least, Álvaro was pretty sure that was the reason. The thing was, he didn't actually remember all the details. It wasn't like he completely blacked out or anything, but there had definitely been some alcohol involved. The important thing was that it was first away trip after Raúl came back from his injury, overnighting in Málaga after the late match, when Álvaro woke up with his face mashed into the sheets and his jeans around his knees and his head pounding like a jackhammer. He rolled over with a groan and there was Raúl sprawled out next to him, fast asleep, with a dark purplish mark on his collarbone.
Álvaro had a moment to try and kick his brain back into gear before he was prompted by a flash of memory: one leg slung over Raúl's and a big hand practically groping his ass and another pushing his shirt up his back and his own yanking open Raúl's jeans. And, okay, that was different, but not bad. It wasn't like Raúl was hideous or anything.
As Álvaro debated whether or not to wake Raúl up, Raúl's arm stretched out and flopped around until his hand finally settled on Álvaro's lower back.
"Stop groping me," Álvaro said.
One eye opened. "Oh," Raúl said. "That was you? I was thinking I'd had better."
"Not that you haven't paid for," Álvaro shot back. Raúl snickered. Álvaro sat up - ow, his head hurt - swung his legs over the side of the bed, and said, "Dibs on the shower."
As he crossed the room there was a rustling sound behind him, like Raúl was sitting up. "Hey, Álvaro," Raúl said, sounding serious, so Álvaro turned around, even though he never trusted Raúl's serious voice.
Raúl looked him in the eye and said solemnly, "Don't twitter this." Then he snickered.
"Tweet," Álvaro said, "tweet, you Luddite." He threw a towel at Raúl's head. Raúl, still laughing at his own awful sense of humor, rolled out of bed and stole the shower, filthy cheater that he was, and that was that.
* * *
Or at least Álvaro assumed it was. He vaguely wished he remembered more; it must have been interesting. It wasn't like he hadn't had more than a few similar experiences over the years, but it hadn't happened for a while, and they really, really hadn't been anything like Raúl.
But then not even two weeks later, away against Murcia for the Copa, he'd barely closed the door to the hotel room before Raúl fucking pounced on him. Álvaro got an arm around Raúl's shoulders to give himself a little leverage - why was Raúl so fucking tall - and Raúl heaved him up with a hand under his thigh and Álvaro wrapped a leg around Raúl's waist and somehow it ended up with Raúl fucking him up against the door and, holy shit, that was good.
"Okay," Álvaro said when his breathing started to return to normal, still more or less wrapped around Raúl, "that wasn't such a bad idea, I'll give you that one."
Raúl made a smug noise into the side of Álvaro's neck. It tickled. Álvaro smacked the back of his head and Raúl let Álvaro down. "You want to try next time?" he said.
Álvaro's brain short-circuited.
But it turned out they didn't get around to it next time, because Raúl had been looked so fucking satisfied with himself all week - he was the only person in the world that could look smug and goofy at the same time, Álvaro was sure of it - that Álvaro thought it was about time someone wiped that grin off his face, to hell with waiting for the next away trip, and ended up sucking Raúl off on the tiled bathroom floor during the next concentration. Raúl's reaction was awfully satisfying. Then when Álvaro sat back, wiping at his mouth and feeling pretty damn smug himself, Raúl struggled upright, manhandled Álvaro to the floor and returned the favor. He was maybe slightly clumsier but he knew what he was doing and Álvaro was pulling at his hair and saying he didn't even know what and in the end Raúl was looking smug again after all.
So then it had to happen again, and again, and after a while Álvaro started to think of it as a regular thing.
He didn't realize exactly how regular until Raúl got himself suspended for their trip to Gijón and they put Álvaro with Canales instead. Canales was still new enough that Álvaro felt some fleeting sense of responsibility, so he took the kid down to where Ramos was staging an illicit poker tournament and then stuck around himself, since he didn't have anything better to do. It actually wasn't that bad, even in spite of Ramos' blatant cheating. It was just about a million miles away from the tendons of Raúl's braced arms and Raúl's sloppy mouth and Raúl's stubble scraping his neck and -
Shit. "Be right back," he said to no one in particular, and got back to his room in record time. He jerked off thinking of Raúl curled against his back, Raúl's big hands holding his hips against the counter, Raúl's deep voice in his ear, and came in about two seconds, so hard his vision whited out.
So that was probably a sign.
* * *
The thing was, Álvaro had kind of made a point of never sleeping with teammates, just to be on the safe side - he'd seen that go wrong and it wasn't pretty. But Raúl was different: he was Álvaro's friend first. Which already set him apart from the guys Álvaro had hooked up with in the past, who tended to be nice, soft-spoken, basically harmless. Raúl was definitely a nice guy at heart, but that was about as far as that went.
Then there was the height thing. Álvaro was used to being the instigator and the one in control; he was not used to having someone else so big they could get him down and hold him there. But to his own interest he seemed to - well. Not hate it. Like when Raúl was pinning both of his wrists against the bed and Álvaro cursed at him and bucked upwards and still couldn't shake Raúl. That... wasn't bad. Trying to pin Raúl, and straddling him while Raúl growled when he succeeded, was even better.
That was information about himself that Álvaro filed away to examine later.
The point was, a little to his own surprise, it turned out that sometimes it was actually really nice to be sleeping with someone who appreciated what happened out on the field. Like about six weeks after the first time, when they were away to Ajax: when Ronaldo's free kick rebounded off some hapless player straight to Álvaro and he saw an opening and purely on instinct pulled back and belted it toward the net and suddenly everyone was mobbing him because holy fuck that was a goal.
Of course then Xabi and Ramos collected their pair of intentional send offs and the stadium descended into uproar and everyone else forgot about it, but Álvaro didn't, because he'd just scored in the fucking Champions' League. Raúl didn't either. He collared Álvaro back at the hotel, as soon as they were out of there, scrubbing a hand over Álvaro's hair. "Álvarito! You're a striker, too!"
"Get off of me," Álvaro said, knowing he wasn't even coming close to disguising his delight, so it wasn't a surprise when Raúl just grinned and pulled him into a headlock-slash-hug instead. It was a surprise when Raúl then hauled him up and kissed him.
That - was actually exactly what Álvaro was looking for. He answered enthusiastically, fisting both hands in the back of Raúl's shirt, and Raúl pushed him down and went to town with his mouth until in the end Álvaro was flat on his back seeing stars, or possibly just too exhausted to move.
After a while, Raúl reached out and began to massage the back of Álvaro's neck with one hand, which felt really, really good. Álvaro's eyes rolled up in his head and his brain went on vacation.
He must have made a noise, because Raúl laughed under his breath. "Good?"
"Marry me," Álvaro said.
"What should I get you to promise as long as you're at my mercy," Raúl mused.
"Whatever you want," Álvaro said. "Nngh."
Raúl's grin turned into a leer. Álvaro rolled his eyes, or tried to. Raúl tugged on his shoulder, first lightly, then, when Álvaro didn't respond, more insistently, until Álvaro sat up. Raúl hauled him forward until he was straddling Raúl, sandwiched between Raúl's chest and the arm braced against his back. Raúl managed to wrap one of his stupidly large hands - those hands again - around both their dicks and they were both slick with sweat and Raúl was making these noises under his breath, deep and hoarse and breathless, and fuck, Álvaro just wanted to -
The orgasm wiped out his thoughts. Gradually, he became aware that he was lying half-sprawled on top of Raúl, still, and that Raúl's hand was kneading up and down his spine.
"You should score more," Raúl said. His chest vibrated under Álvaro's cheek.
"Okay," Álvaro agreed, dazed.
It was nice having Raúl around the next week, too, after the Clásico. By the time it was over it was too late for them to go back to Madrid, so they were stuck in a hotel in fucking Barcelona and Álvaro couldn't take out his feelings on anything.
Raúl never stayed upset as long as Álvaro did; he had a dangerously short fuse on the field, but once it was over, it was over, whereas Álvaro liked to stew in his own irritation for the rest of the day, or week, or possibly month. This time, though, neither of them could muster anything other than a sort of dull disbelief. They just sat in the hotel room, staring at each other, until Álvaro said, "Want to fuck?" and Raúl nearly smothered him.
The malaise still hadn't gone away when they got back to Madrid the next day. Raúl trailed Álvaro home, because they'd done that after some of their losses last season, gotten out some of the violent impulses with a good session of Tekken or Halo. But this time -
It wasn't awkward, exactly, because they knew each other too well for that, but there were a few moments, like when Raúl caught his eye, or when Álvaro reached for something without looking and got Raúl instead: things that would have been innocuous before, that now... It was just different. At least until Álvaro started to get up and unthinkingly reached out to push himself up using Raúl's shoulder. Raúl turned to look at him and suddenly Álvaro couldn't look away.
Raúl licked his lips. "Hey," he said, "do you mind if - "
"No," Álvaro said, before he could even finish the sentence, and Raúl tackled him.
So after that it just happened whenever, match or no match, and Álvaro was actually pretty fine with that, too.
There were a few disadvantages, to be completely fair. For one, Raúl had a tendency to roll over in the middle of the night, grab the nearest thing at hand and clutch it like a teddy bear, which was funny when it was a pillow and less funny when it was Álvaro. Álvaro inevitably woke up sweating, not in a good way, from dreams of being crushed to death by iron robots. One time, though, he woke up and Raúl just had one arm slung diagonally across his chest, breathing steady and even. That had been okay. Nice, even. Any night the hotel thermostat was too hard to figure out was pretty nice, too, because Raúl was like a human furnace.
("I feel used," Raúl said in Zaragoza, as Álvaro dug into his side.
"Very observant," Álvaro said. "That's because I'm using you. You're basically my personal heater now, deal with it."
"That's all?" Raúl said, not doing a very good job of not laughing, as usual. "Just for the heat?" He waggled his eyebrows in a supremely ridiculous manner.
"Yeah, sorry," Álvaro said, "You're okay at the rest of it but I'm mostly just trying to build your ego. My bad."
Álvaro was getting very familiar with the grin on Raúl's face right now. "Oh yeah? Then you must not be interested in using me for anything else, huh."
"Nope," Álvaro said. "Sorry. Guess you'll have to jerk off alone toni- " Raúl pounced, and Álvaro never did finish what he was saying.)
Second, Raúl's dorky sense of humor and really awful puns were at least twice as bad when they were related to sex, which was often. Third -
A hand plucked Álvaro's reading glasses away. "Whatcha reading?"
Third, he never let you read in peace.
"A book," Álvaro said. "If you're familiar with those."
Raúl squinted at the cover. "Game of Thrones," he read aloud. "Never heard of it."
"They're making it into a TV series," Álvaro said. "I might let you watch it with me if you give back my glasses."
"Huh," Raúl said. "What's it about?"
"Intrigue, magic, creepy sibling relationships. Lots of medieval violence, you'll like that part."
"Oh," Raúl said, nodding wisely, "like Ring of the Lords?"
"Lord of the Rings," Álvaro said, "and I know you're fucking with me."
"That's what happens to nerds," Raúl said, "they get picked on." He thumped down on the couch next to Álvaro.
Álvaro eyed him. "You really want to compare which of us got picked on more?"
"People liked me," Raúl said. "I was funny. And athletic."
"You were an overgrown beanpole with an embarrassing sense of humor."
Raúl ignored him. "It's okay," he said. "Nerds are sexy this year. I saw it in a magazine."
Álvaro gave him a flat look. Raúl snickered.
"At least I know - "
" - that kangaroos don't live in Austria," Raúl recited along with him. "So do I. Now."
"Besides," Álvaro said, "I can pretend to act however I want. You can't do anything about the height."
"No, you're always a nerd," Raúl corrected. "What was that show called, Battle - Battlemoon - "
"Battlestar Galactica," Álvaro said, "which was a great work of cinema, thank you very much."
"It was about robots," Raúl said. "And spaceships."
"It was about the nature of humanity," Álvaro said, "and badass spaceships, so you can suck it."
The resolution to that was fairly predictable.
The league went on, and they kept winning, and he and Raúl kept fucking. It wasn't really that different from before: Raúl practically lived at his place and he at Raúl's, anyway, so all it meant was that Álvaro got laid a lot more frequently than he used to. (He was coming to the conclusion that he'd never given enough weight to the advantages of sheer proximity before.) He didn't really bother wondering how long they'd keep doing it, or why exactly it was happening in the first place. He didn't have to, because that was the nice thing about sleeping with Raúl: they were always on the same wavelength about more or less everything.
Almería was the first hiccup. Sometimes it just happened that way, Álvaro knew - but they couldn't afford that, not this season. A draw wasn't good enough. Esteban said as much, after the match: of course they weren't satisfied. They were Real Madrid.
So they'd do better next time. They were only four points down. They could do it.
They had the next run of Copa matches to concentrate on, anyway, and they were going to make that final come hell or high water. They made it past Atletico, which was particularly satisfying, and then they went to Sevilla for the quarters and for a minute it looked like everything was going to go horribly wrong.
Álvaro saw it too late: all three of them, he and Raúl and Carvalho, caught out of position, Fabiano clear, fooling Iker into a dive and two feet away from the goal and shit, no one was going to get there in time. An equalizer, going into the half -
And then Raúl, incredibly, went sliding across the mouth of the goal just in time to tackle the ball away, and then scrambled with his impossibly long legs to kick it out again as it rolled back across the line.
Álvaro immediately looked toward the linesman -
- and the flag stayed down.
He'd never been so grateful for Raúl's ridiculous height in his life. He and Ramos both whooped; Raúl was grinning fiercely, collecting high-fives from everyone on their side of the field. Seconds later, the whistle blew for half.
Álvaro got off the field as fast as he could and went straight for the dressing room. He didn't make it all the way; he saw Raúl up ahead in the corridor. Álvaro said his name aloud. Raúl turned.
Álvaro didn't even bother with subtlety. He marched up to Raúl, wrapped both hands in his collar and yanked his head down until their foreheads touched. Raúl's hands had already found his hips. He heard voices approaching; he should let go, but he didn't. Raúl stared at him hungrily, pupils huge and dark, and licked his lips. It was all Álvaro could do not to maul him right there.
"Wait," he said instead in a low, urgent voice. "Just wait."
"Fuck," Raúl said, a low growl. "Álvaro - "
"Chori!" Ramos' voice crowed and Álvaro released Raúl like a hot iron.
The second half was a blur. It seemed like an ice age before they'd cleaned up and packed up and loaded themselves on the bus. Finally, finally, he was back in the hotel, half-hard just thinking about what he was going to do to Raúl, who wasn't even there yet, and - He heard footsteps in the hall.
Raúl didn't knock, just came stumbling through the door, already looking for Álvaro, and Álvaro was right there on top of him. He shoved Raúl down on the bed and got Raúl's shirt out of the way, got his track pants down, practically tearing at them and not caring one bit. Raúl's big hands were reaching up, scrabbling at Álvaro's own clothes, but Álvaro didn't have attention to spare for anything besides getting his hands all over Raúl, mouth at Raúl's neck and shoulder and collarbone, doing his best to leave a mark, or several marks. Raúl kept trying to respond but Álvaro ignored him - barely noticed - and finally Raúl got the idea and just let Álvaro have his way, grasping his shoulders and urging him on, until first Raúl came and then Álvaro did, forehead pressed against Raúl's shoulder.
"Whoa," said Raúl, sounding happily dazed.
"Treble, here we come," Álvaro said, and kissed Raúl with teeth.
* * *
They lost to Osasuna three days later instead.
* * *
The loss was bad enough. But the press room was worse. Raúl had come off midway through the game, but Álvaro stayed in it until the bitter end, and was drafted for press duty.
Is it still realistically possible to catch up to Barcelona?
Does this represent more than just three points?
Will we look back on this match as the one that decided the league?
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry. It hadn't subsided a single bit by the time they got back to Madrid, hours later. He went straight for his car - all he wanted was to get the hell out of there as soon as possible - when someone caught his arm and Raúl's voice said, "I'm coming over."
Álvaro didn't know if this was Raúl his best friend or Raúl his frequent hook-up talking. He wasn't in the mood, either way, not to be nice or to fuck or do anything except tear something to pieces. But for some he reason he didn't say anything; he just let Raúl follow him to the car and all the way to his house, where he proceeded to wind up and throw his keys against the opposite wall as hard as he could.
But Raúl didn't seem to expect anything. He just made himself comfortable on Álvaro's leather couch and let Álvaro pace furiously around the house, watching Álvaro with dark eyes as he paused every so often to let loose a string of expletives or kick a chair.
"I hate it," Álvaro spat eventually when swearing wasn't enough. "Acting like this is the goddamned - it's fucking January! What the hell do they mean, is it over? Of course it's not over. It's not over and we're going to win it."
Raúl made a noise of acknowledgement.
"We'll do it," Álvaro said. "I'll do it all myself if I have to. But if the fucking media had their way we wouldn't even have to bother playing the rest of the season! God damn it!"
Raúl was still just watching him. His stillness was suddenly infuriating and Álvaro whirled on him and demanded, "Does anything get you upset?"
Which was a stupid question, because he'd seen what did (as if he'd ever forget the hospital in Potchefstroom), and it was things that were more important than dropping a couple stupid points. Raúl didn't seem to mind, though. He just shrugged and said, "You said it's not over yet. That's right. So I shouldn't get upset."
Sometimes Raúl's generally easygoing nature was really nice, and sometimes it was a pain in the ass. Nevertheless, some of Álvaro's anger seemed to drain away in the face of its mild implacability. "Come on," Raúl went on. "You better think about something else for a while."
"Yeah, right," Álvaro muttered.
Then Raúl said, coaxingly, "I'll watch Star Wars with you."
That was just playing dirty.
Álvaro tried to hold out. He lasted about thirty seconds. "Fine," he grumbled, trying to sound more reluctant. "But only if it's the original version."
"Sure," Raúl agreed. "Whatever you want."
"Because they fucked up the re-edit. Don't even get me started on the prequels."
"Uh-huh," Raúl said. "Do you have any vodka?"
"Top cupboard," Álvaro said. "You know what's wrong with Lucas' epic vision or what the fuck ever?"
"Yeah, but you can tell me anyway," Raúl said, so Álvaro did.
Several hours and several shots later, wrath blunted by the combined effects of alcohol and the Force, Álvaro was finding it difficult to explain what seemed perfectly obvious to him.
"Of course I would be Han, hello."
"No way," Raúl said. "I'm taller. And more badass."
"You're not witty enough," Álvaro said. "You can be..." He squinted at Raúl. "Luke, I guess."
Raúl wrinkled his nose. "I'm cooler than Luke."
"No," Álvaro said, "see, what you did with Sevilla. That was like. Using the Force."
"Actually," Raúl said confidingly, "I think it might have crossed the line. I'm not really sure."
"Aha," Álvaro said. "You're being tempted to the Dark Side." He paused, then said, "You still have to be Luke."
"Why?" Raúl protested.
"Because they're best friends, too," Álvaro said.
There was a moment of silence, before Raúl said, "Awww." He was grinning drunkenly at Álvaro. Álvaro rolled his eyes.
Then Raúl leaned over and kissed him, just a kiss, slow, no groping, no demands. It went on for a long time.
When they separated, Álvaro blinked. "That was weird."
"Yeah," said Raúl.
"Do it again."
So Raúl did, and for a while they just made out, all tongue and and sometimes a little bit of teeth. It felt pretty good. Really good.
Then Raúl said helpfully, "You could be Leia," and Álvaro had to smother him with a pillow.
Two weeks later Barcelona dropped points, too, and Álvaro felt a sudden and not-so-inexplicable surge of goodwill towards all and sundry. They could do it. He refused to accept anything else.
They slipped again, but so did Barcelona. They made up for it: Sevilla, and into the Cup final; Espanyol, down not just a man but their captain and starting keeper; Málaga, seven goals to nothing. Lyon, and passage to the first Champions League quarterfinals in six years.
So it just figured that that was when everything started to get weird.
* * *
In retrospect, it was funny that he'd never stopped to wonder before. He just assumed that Raúl was in more or less the same boat he was, because he'd never heard any rumors like he had about some of the guys (and there were some things you just knew, if you played), but the evidence definitely seemed to speak for itself.
It was probably a couple days after Lyon when he showed up early for training, along with Esteban. Ronaldo was in the weight room already, doing crunches, but neither of them were crazy people, so they went over to the basketball court to shoot hoops instead. (Playoffs began in a month - Álvaro had his doubts about the Lakers this year, but he'd already made a deal with the sports gods: get Real a trophy and they could do whatever they wanted to the rest of his teams.)
"You think he goes home at night?" Álvaro said, nodding in the direction of the weight room.
"Sure," Esteban said. "He can do crunches at home, too."
"Bet he does them in his sleep. Crunches all night long." He watched Esteban set himself up for the shot. "Think we should do more?"
Esteban sunk a perfect three-pointer. He was kind of a freak like that. "I don't think your mother would care."
"No, but yours told me she would," Álvaro said, and ducked as Esteban winged the ball at his head.
"I think that was uncalled for," Esteban said meaningfully, "after all the patience I've had."
Álvaro gave him a blank look.
Esteban raised his eyebrows and said, "When I can tell you're hooking up with someone you aren't telling me about."
Álvaro cracked up. "Wow," he said, "you know you're incredibly shameless, right?"
"I like to be informed," Esteban said tranquilly.
"Uh-huh," Álvaro said. He thought about it for a second and decided he didn't really care if Esteban knew. "It's not, you know, a thing. It's just Raúl." He took a shot and the ball clanged off the rim. "Damn."
He turned to see Esteban staring at him.
"What?" Álvaro said.
"You're sleeping with Raúl?" On the name, Esteban's voice cracked.
Álvaro shrugged. "Well, sometimes. What? It's not like we're dating or any - oh for God's sake." As Esteban's face got progressively more disbelieving, Álvaro got it and said, "Not that Raúl, Jesus. M- you know, the other one. Albiol." My Raúl, he'd almost said, which was definitely the wrong phrasing to use in this context.
"Oh," Esteban said, sounding unmistakably disappointed. Álvaro's hackles rose. It must have shown, because Esteban said defensively, "I was just wondering, okay?"
"Wondering what?"
"What it would be like," Esteban said. "You know. With... the captain."
"First of all, it's not healthy to keep calling him that, and second, it can't be that hard to find out," Álvaro said, still feeling unusually prickly. "Even for him I bet it wouldn't take too much asking to find someone who - okay, you know what, I didn't come here to talk about that Raúl."
"Your Raúl, right?" Esteban said, with a perfectly implicit smirk, and damn him for actually paying attention.
"Whatever," Álvaro said. "It's just a thing sometimes. We're friends, it happens."
"So are we," Esteban said, "and I haven't noticed any sudden conjugal surprises."
"Your loss," Álvaro said, grinning, and Esteban just rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, though," Esteban said after a second. "Albiol? Really?"
Álvaro shrugged. "Why not?" He took in Esteban's expression and narrowed his eyes. "What? You know something I don't?"
Esteban shrugged. "Ask Silva."
"Silva?" said Álvaro.
* * *
There was a click on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
"Silva, hey," Álvaro said, "it's Álvaro Arbeloa."
There was a long silence, then Silva said, sounding more confused than Álvaro thought the introduction warranted, "Arbeloa?"
"Yeah, look, I've got a really quick question for you. It's about Albiol. Raúl. You guys used to hook up, right?"
There was a thud on the other end, like something hitting the floor, as Silva said in a higher voice, "What?"
"I'm not judging," Álvaro said. "I wouldn't call to mess with you. Or just to mess with you, anyway. I just wanted to check."
"What?" Silva repeated faintly. "Why..."
Álvaro shrugged, not that Silva could see him, and said with a casualness that was not entirely genuine, "It's relevant information. Thought I should ask."
"Are you - " Silva stopped. There was a long silence, then he said tentatively, "Are you asking for - for advice?"
Álvaro's jaw dropped. "No," he said, "what makes you think - " He stopped. "You know what, sorry, I've got another call coming in, gotta go. I'll call you back later, okay?" There was a tinny sound from the receiver - Silva's voice - as Álvaro ended the call.
His phone buzzed, a minute later.
I don't think you have much to worry about.
It figured that Silva would text in complete sentences. Álvaro shoved his phone in his pocket and decided to ignore it for the rest of the day.
* * *
"Okay," he said without preamble when Silva picked up again two hours later. "Yes. Yes, I am calling you for advice."
"Oh," Silva said, after a long, startled pause. "Um. I don't... um."
More silence. Álvaro said, "Look, did you guys used to sleep together or not?"
"I, ah, we." He could practically hear Silva reddening all the way over the phone line. "We were, um. It wasn't exactly..."
As Silva floundered, Álvaro felt an irrational prick of irritation. "So that's a yes," he said.
"We were teenagers," Silva said, with an effort at equilibrium, "in an all boys' football academy. There was some. You know." Álvaro could hear him squirm. "Experimentation. I actually... kind of thought... it didn't stick for Raúl."
One, something deep inside Álvaro didn't like the sound of Silva calling Raúl by his first name, and two, what the fuck? "What the fuck?" he said aloud.
"I mean... we stayed friends, of course. But it was just for a couple months, and after that Raúl never seemed to be. Interested. Like that."
"But it stuck for you," Álvaro said, and Silva said, with an edge, "I don't think that's any of your business."
Álvaro always forgot how Silva's temper flared, and this time he probably deserved it, too. "I know, I know," he said. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Silva said. For a second, he sounded very tired. Then he said briskly, "Anyway, obviously I was wrong about Raúl. I'm sorry, I don't know if there's anything much I can say, other than as a friend."
"That's okay," Álvaro said, "that helped. I think." It gave him plenty to think about, at least.
"Raúl's a good person," Silva said. "He wouldn't..." He trailed off, and then said, "Raúl's very sincere."
"Yeah, I know that," Álvaro said - he did know both of those things, just fine - and for some reason Silva made an amused sound.
"Then you're all set," he said, and added, with an undercurrent of mischief lurking in his voice, "Good luck."
To Álvaro's mortification, he felt a flush of heat at the back of his neck. What the hell, he never blushed. "Shut up," he said, maturely, and Silva's laugh, at least, sounded genuine as the call ended.
continued
So this is a) how I Stockholm Syndrome'd myself into shipping this pairing (PLEASE JOIN ME) and b) the most explicit thing I have written in, like, five years, and it's not even that explicit. Or as I call it, "look, I wrote something that isn't about David Silva!"
........though he's in it. like you were expecting anything else.
Acknowledgements (lol): This fic owes its entire existence to the encouragement and enthusiastic co-shipping of nahco3, who then also edited like a champion. The check-ins for distira's WIP amnesty challenge helped it along past several hurdles, even though -- obviously -- I didn't exactly finish it within the parameters of the challenge. Subtitle after, yes, the Moldy Peaches song. It fit.
The Nature of Humanity and Badass Spaceships (Anyone Else But You)
Pairing: Raúl Albiol/Álvaro Arbeloa (past Raúl Albiol/David Silva)
Word Count: 11,300
Rating: somewhere between R and NC-17
Notes: Set during the 2010-2011 season. Any mistakes are my own.
-
It started, a couple months into the season, because they were roommates.
At least, Álvaro was pretty sure that was the reason. The thing was, he didn't actually remember all the details. It wasn't like he completely blacked out or anything, but there had definitely been some alcohol involved. The important thing was that it was first away trip after Raúl came back from his injury, overnighting in Málaga after the late match, when Álvaro woke up with his face mashed into the sheets and his jeans around his knees and his head pounding like a jackhammer. He rolled over with a groan and there was Raúl sprawled out next to him, fast asleep, with a dark purplish mark on his collarbone.
Álvaro had a moment to try and kick his brain back into gear before he was prompted by a flash of memory: one leg slung over Raúl's and a big hand practically groping his ass and another pushing his shirt up his back and his own yanking open Raúl's jeans. And, okay, that was different, but not bad. It wasn't like Raúl was hideous or anything.
As Álvaro debated whether or not to wake Raúl up, Raúl's arm stretched out and flopped around until his hand finally settled on Álvaro's lower back.
"Stop groping me," Álvaro said.
One eye opened. "Oh," Raúl said. "That was you? I was thinking I'd had better."
"Not that you haven't paid for," Álvaro shot back. Raúl snickered. Álvaro sat up - ow, his head hurt - swung his legs over the side of the bed, and said, "Dibs on the shower."
As he crossed the room there was a rustling sound behind him, like Raúl was sitting up. "Hey, Álvaro," Raúl said, sounding serious, so Álvaro turned around, even though he never trusted Raúl's serious voice.
Raúl looked him in the eye and said solemnly, "Don't twitter this." Then he snickered.
"Tweet," Álvaro said, "tweet, you Luddite." He threw a towel at Raúl's head. Raúl, still laughing at his own awful sense of humor, rolled out of bed and stole the shower, filthy cheater that he was, and that was that.
* * *
Or at least Álvaro assumed it was. He vaguely wished he remembered more; it must have been interesting. It wasn't like he hadn't had more than a few similar experiences over the years, but it hadn't happened for a while, and they really, really hadn't been anything like Raúl.
But then not even two weeks later, away against Murcia for the Copa, he'd barely closed the door to the hotel room before Raúl fucking pounced on him. Álvaro got an arm around Raúl's shoulders to give himself a little leverage - why was Raúl so fucking tall - and Raúl heaved him up with a hand under his thigh and Álvaro wrapped a leg around Raúl's waist and somehow it ended up with Raúl fucking him up against the door and, holy shit, that was good.
"Okay," Álvaro said when his breathing started to return to normal, still more or less wrapped around Raúl, "that wasn't such a bad idea, I'll give you that one."
Raúl made a smug noise into the side of Álvaro's neck. It tickled. Álvaro smacked the back of his head and Raúl let Álvaro down. "You want to try next time?" he said.
Álvaro's brain short-circuited.
But it turned out they didn't get around to it next time, because Raúl had been looked so fucking satisfied with himself all week - he was the only person in the world that could look smug and goofy at the same time, Álvaro was sure of it - that Álvaro thought it was about time someone wiped that grin off his face, to hell with waiting for the next away trip, and ended up sucking Raúl off on the tiled bathroom floor during the next concentration. Raúl's reaction was awfully satisfying. Then when Álvaro sat back, wiping at his mouth and feeling pretty damn smug himself, Raúl struggled upright, manhandled Álvaro to the floor and returned the favor. He was maybe slightly clumsier but he knew what he was doing and Álvaro was pulling at his hair and saying he didn't even know what and in the end Raúl was looking smug again after all.
So then it had to happen again, and again, and after a while Álvaro started to think of it as a regular thing.
He didn't realize exactly how regular until Raúl got himself suspended for their trip to Gijón and they put Álvaro with Canales instead. Canales was still new enough that Álvaro felt some fleeting sense of responsibility, so he took the kid down to where Ramos was staging an illicit poker tournament and then stuck around himself, since he didn't have anything better to do. It actually wasn't that bad, even in spite of Ramos' blatant cheating. It was just about a million miles away from the tendons of Raúl's braced arms and Raúl's sloppy mouth and Raúl's stubble scraping his neck and -
Shit. "Be right back," he said to no one in particular, and got back to his room in record time. He jerked off thinking of Raúl curled against his back, Raúl's big hands holding his hips against the counter, Raúl's deep voice in his ear, and came in about two seconds, so hard his vision whited out.
So that was probably a sign.
* * *
The thing was, Álvaro had kind of made a point of never sleeping with teammates, just to be on the safe side - he'd seen that go wrong and it wasn't pretty. But Raúl was different: he was Álvaro's friend first. Which already set him apart from the guys Álvaro had hooked up with in the past, who tended to be nice, soft-spoken, basically harmless. Raúl was definitely a nice guy at heart, but that was about as far as that went.
Then there was the height thing. Álvaro was used to being the instigator and the one in control; he was not used to having someone else so big they could get him down and hold him there. But to his own interest he seemed to - well. Not hate it. Like when Raúl was pinning both of his wrists against the bed and Álvaro cursed at him and bucked upwards and still couldn't shake Raúl. That... wasn't bad. Trying to pin Raúl, and straddling him while Raúl growled when he succeeded, was even better.
That was information about himself that Álvaro filed away to examine later.
The point was, a little to his own surprise, it turned out that sometimes it was actually really nice to be sleeping with someone who appreciated what happened out on the field. Like about six weeks after the first time, when they were away to Ajax: when Ronaldo's free kick rebounded off some hapless player straight to Álvaro and he saw an opening and purely on instinct pulled back and belted it toward the net and suddenly everyone was mobbing him because holy fuck that was a goal.
Of course then Xabi and Ramos collected their pair of intentional send offs and the stadium descended into uproar and everyone else forgot about it, but Álvaro didn't, because he'd just scored in the fucking Champions' League. Raúl didn't either. He collared Álvaro back at the hotel, as soon as they were out of there, scrubbing a hand over Álvaro's hair. "Álvarito! You're a striker, too!"
"Get off of me," Álvaro said, knowing he wasn't even coming close to disguising his delight, so it wasn't a surprise when Raúl just grinned and pulled him into a headlock-slash-hug instead. It was a surprise when Raúl then hauled him up and kissed him.
That - was actually exactly what Álvaro was looking for. He answered enthusiastically, fisting both hands in the back of Raúl's shirt, and Raúl pushed him down and went to town with his mouth until in the end Álvaro was flat on his back seeing stars, or possibly just too exhausted to move.
After a while, Raúl reached out and began to massage the back of Álvaro's neck with one hand, which felt really, really good. Álvaro's eyes rolled up in his head and his brain went on vacation.
He must have made a noise, because Raúl laughed under his breath. "Good?"
"Marry me," Álvaro said.
"What should I get you to promise as long as you're at my mercy," Raúl mused.
"Whatever you want," Álvaro said. "Nngh."
Raúl's grin turned into a leer. Álvaro rolled his eyes, or tried to. Raúl tugged on his shoulder, first lightly, then, when Álvaro didn't respond, more insistently, until Álvaro sat up. Raúl hauled him forward until he was straddling Raúl, sandwiched between Raúl's chest and the arm braced against his back. Raúl managed to wrap one of his stupidly large hands - those hands again - around both their dicks and they were both slick with sweat and Raúl was making these noises under his breath, deep and hoarse and breathless, and fuck, Álvaro just wanted to -
The orgasm wiped out his thoughts. Gradually, he became aware that he was lying half-sprawled on top of Raúl, still, and that Raúl's hand was kneading up and down his spine.
"You should score more," Raúl said. His chest vibrated under Álvaro's cheek.
"Okay," Álvaro agreed, dazed.
It was nice having Raúl around the next week, too, after the Clásico. By the time it was over it was too late for them to go back to Madrid, so they were stuck in a hotel in fucking Barcelona and Álvaro couldn't take out his feelings on anything.
Raúl never stayed upset as long as Álvaro did; he had a dangerously short fuse on the field, but once it was over, it was over, whereas Álvaro liked to stew in his own irritation for the rest of the day, or week, or possibly month. This time, though, neither of them could muster anything other than a sort of dull disbelief. They just sat in the hotel room, staring at each other, until Álvaro said, "Want to fuck?" and Raúl nearly smothered him.
The malaise still hadn't gone away when they got back to Madrid the next day. Raúl trailed Álvaro home, because they'd done that after some of their losses last season, gotten out some of the violent impulses with a good session of Tekken or Halo. But this time -
It wasn't awkward, exactly, because they knew each other too well for that, but there were a few moments, like when Raúl caught his eye, or when Álvaro reached for something without looking and got Raúl instead: things that would have been innocuous before, that now... It was just different. At least until Álvaro started to get up and unthinkingly reached out to push himself up using Raúl's shoulder. Raúl turned to look at him and suddenly Álvaro couldn't look away.
Raúl licked his lips. "Hey," he said, "do you mind if - "
"No," Álvaro said, before he could even finish the sentence, and Raúl tackled him.
So after that it just happened whenever, match or no match, and Álvaro was actually pretty fine with that, too.
There were a few disadvantages, to be completely fair. For one, Raúl had a tendency to roll over in the middle of the night, grab the nearest thing at hand and clutch it like a teddy bear, which was funny when it was a pillow and less funny when it was Álvaro. Álvaro inevitably woke up sweating, not in a good way, from dreams of being crushed to death by iron robots. One time, though, he woke up and Raúl just had one arm slung diagonally across his chest, breathing steady and even. That had been okay. Nice, even. Any night the hotel thermostat was too hard to figure out was pretty nice, too, because Raúl was like a human furnace.
("I feel used," Raúl said in Zaragoza, as Álvaro dug into his side.
"Very observant," Álvaro said. "That's because I'm using you. You're basically my personal heater now, deal with it."
"That's all?" Raúl said, not doing a very good job of not laughing, as usual. "Just for the heat?" He waggled his eyebrows in a supremely ridiculous manner.
"Yeah, sorry," Álvaro said, "You're okay at the rest of it but I'm mostly just trying to build your ego. My bad."
Álvaro was getting very familiar with the grin on Raúl's face right now. "Oh yeah? Then you must not be interested in using me for anything else, huh."
"Nope," Álvaro said. "Sorry. Guess you'll have to jerk off alone toni- " Raúl pounced, and Álvaro never did finish what he was saying.)
Second, Raúl's dorky sense of humor and really awful puns were at least twice as bad when they were related to sex, which was often. Third -
A hand plucked Álvaro's reading glasses away. "Whatcha reading?"
Third, he never let you read in peace.
"A book," Álvaro said. "If you're familiar with those."
Raúl squinted at the cover. "Game of Thrones," he read aloud. "Never heard of it."
"They're making it into a TV series," Álvaro said. "I might let you watch it with me if you give back my glasses."
"Huh," Raúl said. "What's it about?"
"Intrigue, magic, creepy sibling relationships. Lots of medieval violence, you'll like that part."
"Oh," Raúl said, nodding wisely, "like Ring of the Lords?"
"Lord of the Rings," Álvaro said, "and I know you're fucking with me."
"That's what happens to nerds," Raúl said, "they get picked on." He thumped down on the couch next to Álvaro.
Álvaro eyed him. "You really want to compare which of us got picked on more?"
"People liked me," Raúl said. "I was funny. And athletic."
"You were an overgrown beanpole with an embarrassing sense of humor."
Raúl ignored him. "It's okay," he said. "Nerds are sexy this year. I saw it in a magazine."
Álvaro gave him a flat look. Raúl snickered.
"At least I know - "
" - that kangaroos don't live in Austria," Raúl recited along with him. "So do I. Now."
"Besides," Álvaro said, "I can pretend to act however I want. You can't do anything about the height."
"No, you're always a nerd," Raúl corrected. "What was that show called, Battle - Battlemoon - "
"Battlestar Galactica," Álvaro said, "which was a great work of cinema, thank you very much."
"It was about robots," Raúl said. "And spaceships."
"It was about the nature of humanity," Álvaro said, "and badass spaceships, so you can suck it."
The resolution to that was fairly predictable.
The league went on, and they kept winning, and he and Raúl kept fucking. It wasn't really that different from before: Raúl practically lived at his place and he at Raúl's, anyway, so all it meant was that Álvaro got laid a lot more frequently than he used to. (He was coming to the conclusion that he'd never given enough weight to the advantages of sheer proximity before.) He didn't really bother wondering how long they'd keep doing it, or why exactly it was happening in the first place. He didn't have to, because that was the nice thing about sleeping with Raúl: they were always on the same wavelength about more or less everything.
Almería was the first hiccup. Sometimes it just happened that way, Álvaro knew - but they couldn't afford that, not this season. A draw wasn't good enough. Esteban said as much, after the match: of course they weren't satisfied. They were Real Madrid.
So they'd do better next time. They were only four points down. They could do it.
They had the next run of Copa matches to concentrate on, anyway, and they were going to make that final come hell or high water. They made it past Atletico, which was particularly satisfying, and then they went to Sevilla for the quarters and for a minute it looked like everything was going to go horribly wrong.
Álvaro saw it too late: all three of them, he and Raúl and Carvalho, caught out of position, Fabiano clear, fooling Iker into a dive and two feet away from the goal and shit, no one was going to get there in time. An equalizer, going into the half -
And then Raúl, incredibly, went sliding across the mouth of the goal just in time to tackle the ball away, and then scrambled with his impossibly long legs to kick it out again as it rolled back across the line.
Álvaro immediately looked toward the linesman -
- and the flag stayed down.
He'd never been so grateful for Raúl's ridiculous height in his life. He and Ramos both whooped; Raúl was grinning fiercely, collecting high-fives from everyone on their side of the field. Seconds later, the whistle blew for half.
Álvaro got off the field as fast as he could and went straight for the dressing room. He didn't make it all the way; he saw Raúl up ahead in the corridor. Álvaro said his name aloud. Raúl turned.
Álvaro didn't even bother with subtlety. He marched up to Raúl, wrapped both hands in his collar and yanked his head down until their foreheads touched. Raúl's hands had already found his hips. He heard voices approaching; he should let go, but he didn't. Raúl stared at him hungrily, pupils huge and dark, and licked his lips. It was all Álvaro could do not to maul him right there.
"Wait," he said instead in a low, urgent voice. "Just wait."
"Fuck," Raúl said, a low growl. "Álvaro - "
"Chori!" Ramos' voice crowed and Álvaro released Raúl like a hot iron.
The second half was a blur. It seemed like an ice age before they'd cleaned up and packed up and loaded themselves on the bus. Finally, finally, he was back in the hotel, half-hard just thinking about what he was going to do to Raúl, who wasn't even there yet, and - He heard footsteps in the hall.
Raúl didn't knock, just came stumbling through the door, already looking for Álvaro, and Álvaro was right there on top of him. He shoved Raúl down on the bed and got Raúl's shirt out of the way, got his track pants down, practically tearing at them and not caring one bit. Raúl's big hands were reaching up, scrabbling at Álvaro's own clothes, but Álvaro didn't have attention to spare for anything besides getting his hands all over Raúl, mouth at Raúl's neck and shoulder and collarbone, doing his best to leave a mark, or several marks. Raúl kept trying to respond but Álvaro ignored him - barely noticed - and finally Raúl got the idea and just let Álvaro have his way, grasping his shoulders and urging him on, until first Raúl came and then Álvaro did, forehead pressed against Raúl's shoulder.
"Whoa," said Raúl, sounding happily dazed.
"Treble, here we come," Álvaro said, and kissed Raúl with teeth.
* * *
They lost to Osasuna three days later instead.
* * *
The loss was bad enough. But the press room was worse. Raúl had come off midway through the game, but Álvaro stayed in it until the bitter end, and was drafted for press duty.
Is it still realistically possible to catch up to Barcelona?
Does this represent more than just three points?
Will we look back on this match as the one that decided the league?
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry. It hadn't subsided a single bit by the time they got back to Madrid, hours later. He went straight for his car - all he wanted was to get the hell out of there as soon as possible - when someone caught his arm and Raúl's voice said, "I'm coming over."
Álvaro didn't know if this was Raúl his best friend or Raúl his frequent hook-up talking. He wasn't in the mood, either way, not to be nice or to fuck or do anything except tear something to pieces. But for some he reason he didn't say anything; he just let Raúl follow him to the car and all the way to his house, where he proceeded to wind up and throw his keys against the opposite wall as hard as he could.
But Raúl didn't seem to expect anything. He just made himself comfortable on Álvaro's leather couch and let Álvaro pace furiously around the house, watching Álvaro with dark eyes as he paused every so often to let loose a string of expletives or kick a chair.
"I hate it," Álvaro spat eventually when swearing wasn't enough. "Acting like this is the goddamned - it's fucking January! What the hell do they mean, is it over? Of course it's not over. It's not over and we're going to win it."
Raúl made a noise of acknowledgement.
"We'll do it," Álvaro said. "I'll do it all myself if I have to. But if the fucking media had their way we wouldn't even have to bother playing the rest of the season! God damn it!"
Raúl was still just watching him. His stillness was suddenly infuriating and Álvaro whirled on him and demanded, "Does anything get you upset?"
Which was a stupid question, because he'd seen what did (as if he'd ever forget the hospital in Potchefstroom), and it was things that were more important than dropping a couple stupid points. Raúl didn't seem to mind, though. He just shrugged and said, "You said it's not over yet. That's right. So I shouldn't get upset."
Sometimes Raúl's generally easygoing nature was really nice, and sometimes it was a pain in the ass. Nevertheless, some of Álvaro's anger seemed to drain away in the face of its mild implacability. "Come on," Raúl went on. "You better think about something else for a while."
"Yeah, right," Álvaro muttered.
Then Raúl said, coaxingly, "I'll watch Star Wars with you."
That was just playing dirty.
Álvaro tried to hold out. He lasted about thirty seconds. "Fine," he grumbled, trying to sound more reluctant. "But only if it's the original version."
"Sure," Raúl agreed. "Whatever you want."
"Because they fucked up the re-edit. Don't even get me started on the prequels."
"Uh-huh," Raúl said. "Do you have any vodka?"
"Top cupboard," Álvaro said. "You know what's wrong with Lucas' epic vision or what the fuck ever?"
"Yeah, but you can tell me anyway," Raúl said, so Álvaro did.
Several hours and several shots later, wrath blunted by the combined effects of alcohol and the Force, Álvaro was finding it difficult to explain what seemed perfectly obvious to him.
"Of course I would be Han, hello."
"No way," Raúl said. "I'm taller. And more badass."
"You're not witty enough," Álvaro said. "You can be..." He squinted at Raúl. "Luke, I guess."
Raúl wrinkled his nose. "I'm cooler than Luke."
"No," Álvaro said, "see, what you did with Sevilla. That was like. Using the Force."
"Actually," Raúl said confidingly, "I think it might have crossed the line. I'm not really sure."
"Aha," Álvaro said. "You're being tempted to the Dark Side." He paused, then said, "You still have to be Luke."
"Why?" Raúl protested.
"Because they're best friends, too," Álvaro said.
There was a moment of silence, before Raúl said, "Awww." He was grinning drunkenly at Álvaro. Álvaro rolled his eyes.
Then Raúl leaned over and kissed him, just a kiss, slow, no groping, no demands. It went on for a long time.
When they separated, Álvaro blinked. "That was weird."
"Yeah," said Raúl.
"Do it again."
So Raúl did, and for a while they just made out, all tongue and and sometimes a little bit of teeth. It felt pretty good. Really good.
Then Raúl said helpfully, "You could be Leia," and Álvaro had to smother him with a pillow.
Two weeks later Barcelona dropped points, too, and Álvaro felt a sudden and not-so-inexplicable surge of goodwill towards all and sundry. They could do it. He refused to accept anything else.
They slipped again, but so did Barcelona. They made up for it: Sevilla, and into the Cup final; Espanyol, down not just a man but their captain and starting keeper; Málaga, seven goals to nothing. Lyon, and passage to the first Champions League quarterfinals in six years.
So it just figured that that was when everything started to get weird.
* * *
In retrospect, it was funny that he'd never stopped to wonder before. He just assumed that Raúl was in more or less the same boat he was, because he'd never heard any rumors like he had about some of the guys (and there were some things you just knew, if you played), but the evidence definitely seemed to speak for itself.
It was probably a couple days after Lyon when he showed up early for training, along with Esteban. Ronaldo was in the weight room already, doing crunches, but neither of them were crazy people, so they went over to the basketball court to shoot hoops instead. (Playoffs began in a month - Álvaro had his doubts about the Lakers this year, but he'd already made a deal with the sports gods: get Real a trophy and they could do whatever they wanted to the rest of his teams.)
"You think he goes home at night?" Álvaro said, nodding in the direction of the weight room.
"Sure," Esteban said. "He can do crunches at home, too."
"Bet he does them in his sleep. Crunches all night long." He watched Esteban set himself up for the shot. "Think we should do more?"
Esteban sunk a perfect three-pointer. He was kind of a freak like that. "I don't think your mother would care."
"No, but yours told me she would," Álvaro said, and ducked as Esteban winged the ball at his head.
"I think that was uncalled for," Esteban said meaningfully, "after all the patience I've had."
Álvaro gave him a blank look.
Esteban raised his eyebrows and said, "When I can tell you're hooking up with someone you aren't telling me about."
Álvaro cracked up. "Wow," he said, "you know you're incredibly shameless, right?"
"I like to be informed," Esteban said tranquilly.
"Uh-huh," Álvaro said. He thought about it for a second and decided he didn't really care if Esteban knew. "It's not, you know, a thing. It's just Raúl." He took a shot and the ball clanged off the rim. "Damn."
He turned to see Esteban staring at him.
"What?" Álvaro said.
"You're sleeping with Raúl?" On the name, Esteban's voice cracked.
Álvaro shrugged. "Well, sometimes. What? It's not like we're dating or any - oh for God's sake." As Esteban's face got progressively more disbelieving, Álvaro got it and said, "Not that Raúl, Jesus. M- you know, the other one. Albiol." My Raúl, he'd almost said, which was definitely the wrong phrasing to use in this context.
"Oh," Esteban said, sounding unmistakably disappointed. Álvaro's hackles rose. It must have shown, because Esteban said defensively, "I was just wondering, okay?"
"Wondering what?"
"What it would be like," Esteban said. "You know. With... the captain."
"First of all, it's not healthy to keep calling him that, and second, it can't be that hard to find out," Álvaro said, still feeling unusually prickly. "Even for him I bet it wouldn't take too much asking to find someone who - okay, you know what, I didn't come here to talk about that Raúl."
"Your Raúl, right?" Esteban said, with a perfectly implicit smirk, and damn him for actually paying attention.
"Whatever," Álvaro said. "It's just a thing sometimes. We're friends, it happens."
"So are we," Esteban said, "and I haven't noticed any sudden conjugal surprises."
"Your loss," Álvaro said, grinning, and Esteban just rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, though," Esteban said after a second. "Albiol? Really?"
Álvaro shrugged. "Why not?" He took in Esteban's expression and narrowed his eyes. "What? You know something I don't?"
Esteban shrugged. "Ask Silva."
"Silva?" said Álvaro.
* * *
There was a click on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
"Silva, hey," Álvaro said, "it's Álvaro Arbeloa."
There was a long silence, then Silva said, sounding more confused than Álvaro thought the introduction warranted, "Arbeloa?"
"Yeah, look, I've got a really quick question for you. It's about Albiol. Raúl. You guys used to hook up, right?"
There was a thud on the other end, like something hitting the floor, as Silva said in a higher voice, "What?"
"I'm not judging," Álvaro said. "I wouldn't call to mess with you. Or just to mess with you, anyway. I just wanted to check."
"What?" Silva repeated faintly. "Why..."
Álvaro shrugged, not that Silva could see him, and said with a casualness that was not entirely genuine, "It's relevant information. Thought I should ask."
"Are you - " Silva stopped. There was a long silence, then he said tentatively, "Are you asking for - for advice?"
Álvaro's jaw dropped. "No," he said, "what makes you think - " He stopped. "You know what, sorry, I've got another call coming in, gotta go. I'll call you back later, okay?" There was a tinny sound from the receiver - Silva's voice - as Álvaro ended the call.
His phone buzzed, a minute later.
I don't think you have much to worry about.
It figured that Silva would text in complete sentences. Álvaro shoved his phone in his pocket and decided to ignore it for the rest of the day.
* * *
"Okay," he said without preamble when Silva picked up again two hours later. "Yes. Yes, I am calling you for advice."
"Oh," Silva said, after a long, startled pause. "Um. I don't... um."
More silence. Álvaro said, "Look, did you guys used to sleep together or not?"
"I, ah, we." He could practically hear Silva reddening all the way over the phone line. "We were, um. It wasn't exactly..."
As Silva floundered, Álvaro felt an irrational prick of irritation. "So that's a yes," he said.
"We were teenagers," Silva said, with an effort at equilibrium, "in an all boys' football academy. There was some. You know." Álvaro could hear him squirm. "Experimentation. I actually... kind of thought... it didn't stick for Raúl."
One, something deep inside Álvaro didn't like the sound of Silva calling Raúl by his first name, and two, what the fuck? "What the fuck?" he said aloud.
"I mean... we stayed friends, of course. But it was just for a couple months, and after that Raúl never seemed to be. Interested. Like that."
"But it stuck for you," Álvaro said, and Silva said, with an edge, "I don't think that's any of your business."
Álvaro always forgot how Silva's temper flared, and this time he probably deserved it, too. "I know, I know," he said. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Silva said. For a second, he sounded very tired. Then he said briskly, "Anyway, obviously I was wrong about Raúl. I'm sorry, I don't know if there's anything much I can say, other than as a friend."
"That's okay," Álvaro said, "that helped. I think." It gave him plenty to think about, at least.
"Raúl's a good person," Silva said. "He wouldn't..." He trailed off, and then said, "Raúl's very sincere."
"Yeah, I know that," Álvaro said - he did know both of those things, just fine - and for some reason Silva made an amused sound.
"Then you're all set," he said, and added, with an undercurrent of mischief lurking in his voice, "Good luck."
To Álvaro's mortification, he felt a flush of heat at the back of his neck. What the hell, he never blushed. "Shut up," he said, maturely, and Silva's laugh, at least, sounded genuine as the call ended.
continued