[ Knights of Cydonia: VII. David; Part II ]
Summary: There is something rotten in the state of Andalucía.
Ships: (present) Fernando/Olalla, Sergio/Fernando, Stevie/Xabi, Bojan/Canales, Raúl/Guti (in the future) David/Iker
Disclaimer: Minus the Gladiator-esque themes, I own everything except for the footballers themselves. None of this happened and certainly none of them are actual royalty. Except probably Xabi.
Title blatantly stolen from the Muse song of the same name. Consider it the theme song.
Standing Note: Andalucía is a region of Spain, certainly not its own kingdom (or at least it hasn’t been for a good 500 years). Consider this an AU Spain in an AU world structure. I do not claim to know a thing about Andalusian culture, so again. AU AU AU.
Chapter: VII. David; Part II
Word Count: 6,190
Chapter Ships & Characters: David Beckham/Iker Casillas
Chapter Rating: PG-16 for language and sexual situations
Links: Table of Contents
Notes: I know it has been approximately 5 million years and I’ve largely fallen off the face of the footie fic planet, but I got some requests to continue this fic and I have a few more parts already written, so I thought why not! I hope people still remember and love this story.
This is apparently a really intense chapter, so enjoy! ♥
VII. David
when fools can be kings
Iker’s apartment really isn’t very far from the palace. David hurries to keep up with him because the other man’s pace is faster than expected, as though he’s trying to lose him which, knowing Iker, is exactly his intention. David mostly ignores his stubborn petulance, just happy to be out of the palace and surrounded by fresh air instead of old stone, burning torches, and stodgy men in starched suits. He stretches his arms as they walk, rolls his shoulders and jogs in front of Iker after a while. He doesn’t know where he’s going, so he turns around and begins running backwards instead, laughing when he’s encountered with Iker’s wry look, a half-hidden smile and barely-hidden exasperation.
They turn at the corner of the grounds, follow a wide, clean street bordered by houses made of red bricks and painted in shades of bright blue and salmon. David lets his fingers drift along the stones as they pass and Iker makes him duck into the cover of his jacket a few times as old men and women with grocery bags pass.
“Will you protect my life from any and all assassination attempts?” he asks teasingly, drifting closer to Iker and shifting an arm across the other man’s shoulders.
“You’re assuming I won’t be the one attempting them,” Iker replies promptly with a twitch to his lips. His shoulders feel stiff under David’s arm, so David nudges the side of Iker’s head with his nose, gently, an automatic response evolved from years of subtle teasing and comfortable touching.
“Nah, I’ve seen your hand-to-hand and you’re a shit shot,” David declares. He tweaks Iker’s ear as the other man scowls. “Besides, you wouldn’t know what to with yourself without me.”
“Sleep. Eat. Find some time to go shopping,” Iker begins listing and David pinches his side. Iker squirms away and David laughs before moving closer.
“No one needs that much plaid in their wardrobe, really, I’m doing us all a favor.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Iker says, sounding slightly wistful. “I haven’t been out of uniform in years.”
“The days I used to say that about my shorts and jersey,” David replies, just as nostalgically.
“They were falling apart at the seam by the time the Queen confiscated them.”
“She never knew, but I stole them back,” David says. He sighs into the cool air a little and tilts his head up.
“You could easily have gotten a new one.”
“Yeah,” David says with a small smile and a shrug. “But that one was from you.”
Iker turns to look at the older man, a strange glimmer in his eyes. David thinks he looks wary or confused or maybe it’s nothing like that at all. It turns into a withering, critical look soon enough and David shoves him away playfully. Their feet pound into the smooth sidewalk and David forgets he’s King for just a handful of minutes.
Iker turns another corner and he follows him closely. They’re drawing close to a cluster of official looking apartments. David recognizes the crest on the side of the gate closing off the white stoned buildings. Warm light glows through most of the windows, although curtains are drawn closed so David can’t see into them.
“Which one’s yours?”
“Ah, well.” Iker looks a little embarrassed as he presses a button into the gate’s entrance. The speaker crackles as a voice answers at the other end.
“Yes?”
“It’s Iker.”
There’s a little more crackling and a click as the gate swings open.
David follows Iker through and turns his head to catch the gate swinging shut behind the two of them smoothly. They pass the guard’s house and Iker nods inside to a young man with a bright smile and tall, stiff hair.
“How’s it going?” Iker pokes his head in through the window.
“Cold night,” the young man answers. He’s chewing on an apple. Either he doesn’t notice David or doesn’t recognize him.
“I told you to bring a jacket,” Iker admonishes and the young man laughs.
“And I told you to bring someone home.”
“Fuck you,” Iker scowls. And then, cheeks slightly brightly, “I did.”
David peeks over Iker’s shoulder and waves tentatively to the young man. He expects widened eyes, a shock of revelation, a flurry of movements as the young man rushes to rise. What he gets instead is a shake and then somewhat respectful nod of the head.
“Someone to fuck, not the King himself.”
It turns out that David is the one who’s left surprised. He blinks rapidly and Iker’s scowl deepens.
“Respect your King. He could have you arrested for indecency.”
“If he wanted someone arrested for indecency, he would find someone else to spend his time with.” Perhaps that jogs his memory anyway because the young man stands and bows slightly to David. The top of his hair brushes his desk and David has to stifle a laugh.
“That’s quite the hair you have-?”
“José,” the young man grins. “But you can call me Calleti, your highness. Most people do. If you want to call me anything at all, I mean. I also respond to hey you and kid with the hair!”
“Well it is quite the hair,” David remarks.
“I know,” José beams. He pats the top of his spikes. “It just happened one day and before I knew it, it couldn’t be stopped.”
David laughs appreciatively until he feels Iker’s hand on his shoulder.
“Well the King and I have business to attend to,” he says over David’s shoulder. He nods inside to José. “Don’t let anyone know he’s here.”
“You got it, boss,” José nods. “Your highness.”
He bows to David again before closing the little guard’s door from the cold and returning to his tasks-namely, his apple. Iker nods his head toward the buildings again and steers David up the driveway. It forks around an island of red and green plants that seem to thrive better in the cold than in the warmth before splitting off into the driveways of each separate building. There are cars parked in marked and unmarked spots, most of which are more luxurious than David expected them to be.
“They’re mostly official suites,” Iker says by way of explanation. “A lot of your advisors have housing here, although their families live elsewhere. I’ll let you imagine what they use their official rooming for.”
David raises an eyebrow and Iker shrugs.
“They’re used to it, so they never tell anyone.”
“Who?”
“The hookers,” Iker says simply. This catches David by surprise, but given his own history with women and escorts, he’s not in much of a position to judge. He follows Iker past the first two buildings.
“Have you ever-” David begins, but Iker cuts him off short.
“No. I don’t have the time.”
“When was the last time-”
“Not outside,” Iker hisses in annoyance. He looks around them as though someone might have stumbled upon the two of them and overheard their conversation. When he’s certain that no one’s eavesdropping, he levels David with a glower. His glare is cut short by their arrival in front of the last white building on the row. There’s no glow coming from this one if only because there is only one window and one door, unlike the others. There’s a winding set of stairs set into a hill that tips up and masks the front half of the building, as though it’s set into it. The door at the end is bright blue, in complete contrast to the regal white of everything else.
“This is yours?”
“Yeah,” Iker mumbles. He sets up the stairs and David follows close behind. “It’s at the end and had a few problems so no one else wanted it, but I liked the privacy. It’s more like an abandoned house than an apartment building anyway.”
“Is there only one apartment inside?”
“Two, actually, but since I’m the only one who lives here, I had it remodeled a while back,” Iker says. He reaches the top of the stairs and fishes in his pocket for keys. “Took out the walls separating the apartments, so now it’s two separate wings connected by a hall that leads to the stairs.”
Iker twists the key in the lock with a snap and then slides the door open. He flicks on a switch inside and David follows thereafter. He’s relieved to get out of the cold, his face and nose already pink from the bite of the wind. Iker closes the door around him while David stares up into white stairs surrounded by white walls and framed by black and white checkered tiles.
“How colorful,” he comments, to which Iker shrugs.
“Barely ever in here anyway. I’m upstairs, come on.”
David runs his fingers along the railing as they take the stairs up. Everything is almost painfully clean and the apartment building is so quiet it reverberates in his head. He hasn’t had this much space or time to think to himself in longer than he can remember. Iker leads him through the long hallway he had mentioned. He gestures to the left and explains the bedrooms are through there and that the kitchen and living areas are to the right.
“Where do you bring people home to?” David asks, grinning, as he takes the right-side hallway to the living room. Like everything else seems to be, there’s a heavy emphasis on the color white and Iker’s extremely minimalist style. Or maybe the other man just never bothered decorating.
“None of your business,” Iker answers at first. And then, at the look from David, he sighs, “Living room or the bedroom. Don’t worry, the couch is clean.”
David laughs and throws himself on it. The leather is incredibly soft and David sinks into the cushions with an audible sigh of luxury and comfort.
“I don’t think I’d care either way,” he says, voice muffled in the seat cushion. He feels something hit the back of his head and he laughs, but doesn’t move. David thinks he could stay like this forever, in utter bliss and quiet, relaxed, head buried into the softest sofa he has ever been on.
“Make yourself at home if you must,” Iker’s voice comes from somewhere over his shoulder. “I have no food, so I hope beer suits your delicate royal sensibilities, your highness.”
“Only if it’s good beer!” David shouts, muffled, to which Iker’s reply comes, “All beer is good beer!” and also “Fuck you!”
David smiles into the couch, stretches his arms and legs wide so that he’s sprawled over entirely and then hanging off the edges. By the time Iker returns with the beer, he’s considering taking a nap. Iker has other ideas. He nudges David’s legs and threatens to sit down on them and when the King refuses, actually does.
“Fuck!” David scowls and pulls his legs up fast as he scrambles to a sitting position. “We’re not ten anymore, fatass, you actually weigh a ton!”
Iker laughs in response and shoves the bottle at David’s face.
“Get up faster next time.”
David continues scowling as he takes the drink, although that lasts for approximately ten seconds before he gives in to his usual easy grin. Iker’s already popped the lid off so he tilts back the cold bottle and tries not to guzzle the alcohol. He’s apparently thirstier than he realized.
“I definitely feel like I’m enabling something,” Iker says. He pulls his legs up under him and reaches toward the center table for the remote. His suit jacket rides up and David watches lazily without realizing it. Iker’s shirt is tucked into his pants, of course, so there’s no expanse of skin to greet him, but he wonders, for a second, what it would look like.
“When was the last time you watched TV?” Iker says, settling back with a sideways grin.
“I think Bojan was still in diapers and Fernando had trouble getting laid,” David replies. Iker turns the television on and images flicker into life. David laughs. “Oh wait, that was last week.”
Iker shakes his head, as though ashamed, but in reality there’s a smile glued to his face. David thinks he hasn’t seen the other man smile in ages and it makes him happy, somewhere close to his chest. He scoots closer to his friend, bumps shoulders and tips back his beer again.
“I’m lucky you’re paying for this,” Iker murmurs at the screen. “I can’t remember the last time I turned this thing on. Or what I watched.”
“Porn,” David replies lazily. “Probably really bad porn.”
Iker shakes his head and it looks so comfortable that David rests his chin on Iker’s shoulder. Under usual circumstances, Iker would have stiffened, but he’s seemingly relaxed tonight. He doesn’t budge, although he takes a drink of his beer too.
“Porn doesn’t do it for me,” Iker says with a shrug.
David remembers conversations like this, days when they would lay, heads together and beer in hand, talking about everything until their throats were sore and voices hoarse. They were young then, with barely a care in the world, and nothing mattered except that they had each other. He thinks it was fate that brought him to Iker that day in the park, but he’s never questioned it because David’s never questioned a thing in his life. Either he has what he wants or he grabs what he doesn’t have. He supposes it never really mattered because he’s always had Iker and that’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted.
Sometimes he misses those days, when they could just be boys and do what it was that boys did-race cars when Mama and Papa weren’t looking, get wasted at clubs, take women out and sleep with them and then sneak back out to the park so they could tell each other details. David feels like his limbs have shrunk since then, he doesn’t feel that same omnipotent strength anymore, doesn’t feel like his arms and legs could stretch so far that they could touch the sky.
“Nothing does it for you,” David says with a yawn. He doesn’t move his chin. “You need to get laid.”
David watches the screen for a few moments, but he has no idea what’s on and, he realizes, he doesn’t care that much either. Instead, he turns so that his nose is brushing Iker’s hair.
“So do I, in fact.”
David can’t see Iker roll his eyes, but he can feel it.
“The twins weren’t enough for you?” the other man asks dryly.
David wrinkles his face and it only occurs to him after a moment what Iker’s talking about. He shakes his head and buries it closer to Iker’s hair. The hair is soft and brown, but the feathery light edges tickle David’s nose and he scrunches it.
“They weren’t twins,” he says. “They just looked remarkably similar.”
“How were the clones, then?” Iker’s tone doesn’t change.
“Boring,” David replies. “Once you’ve slept with one blonde, you’ve slept with all of them.”
Iker snorts and turns the programming to another channel. What had been a movie changes to an old football match. He relaxes further and even David turns his head slightly to see what’s on. It’s a team in white versus a team in red and black stripes.
“Madrid and Milan?” he says, voice half-muffled into Iker’s shoulder.
“Champions League,” Iker nods.
They watch for a while in silence, breathing in tandem, and cursing under their breaths when a player misses a shot or stumbles on his feet. David doesn’t remember the last time he watched a match either, although he’s almost certain it was with Iker. It’s always Real Madrid, because Iker doesn’t seem to care about any other team. David had grown fond of them, Iker being rather persuasive, but he had always had a bit of a burning love for Manchester United. They were at odds most of the time, mostly because Iker didn’t give a fuck about the Premier League, and David could only listen to the other man wax poetic about morbo for so long before he had the urge to cover his best friend’s mouth with his hand.
“I always thought I was going to grow up to be a football player,” David remarks after a while. Iker snorts again.
“Yes, why be a prince when you can be a football player?” Iker drawls.
“Less paperwork,” David decides. He tries not to laugh at the look Iker gives him, one that is synonymous with and what paperwork do you do, exactly? “If I was a football player, you would have a lot more fun.”
“If you were a football player, I wouldn’t know you,” Iker answers, simply.
That makes David frown. He doesn’t like to think of that; a life without Iker. The other man has simply been a fixture in his world since they met. His parents had grown so tired of it that they had eventually just offered him an official position at the palace.
“I think it’s funny that you think you would be less likely to be friends with a football player than with a King,” David says.
“I think it’s funny that you don’t think our friendship was pure luck.”
David can feel his lightheartedness draining and it frustrates him, internally. He frowns again and shifts so that his nose is digging into Iker’s neck. His leg is pulled up to his body, his entire being fit in close to Iker’s side. The other man shifts uncomfortably, but David seems to want him to suffer for his pessimism.
“It wasn’t,” David said.
“What wasn’t?”
“A fluke. Our friendship.”
Iker turns his head slightly, curiously, but shrugs in the end.
“I mean it.”
“So what was it, fate?”
It’s David’s turn to shrug.
“You don’t believe in fate?”
Iker rolls his eyes and presses his hand to David’s face so as to distance it from his being.
“I believe in reality, Dave.”
It’s about as depressing a diagnosis as David has heard, but just then the Frenchman-Benzema, David thinks his name is-scores for Madrid and Iker lets out a shout of approval. He rises from his seat, letting David fall back a little, and lifts his arm excitedly.
“Fuck yes, that’s what I’m talking about!”
He’s still in his suit jacket, the edges stiff under starch, and it looks completely awkward, an uncomfortable juxtaposition between his actions and reality. His clothing mutes his own movements, David thinks, and he’s finally too relaxed to let Iker be anything but. He reaches forward and grasps at Iker’s collar as the other man sits down. Iker’s eyes flicker over, confused, but David doesn’t stop to explain. He tugs harder at Iker’s collar, slides a hand under one shoulder and pushes it off.
“You’re making me uncomfortable,” David mutters and nudges Iker’s side with his toe. “Take it off.”
An expression crosses Iker’s face that David can’t quite catch, but the other man obeys, shrugs one shoulder out of his uniform jacket and then the other. David reaches over and grabs it, throws it across the room before Iker can protest.
“Better,” he grins, just before the corner of his lips turn down into a faint frown again. “But there’s still something missing.”
He sticks out his tongue, examining his friend top to bottom. Iker’s body is sturdy, he holds himself straight as though he doesn’t know any other way of doing it. His tie hangs down to suit pants belted in with dark leather. Everything makes David’s skin crawl with discomfort. He wants to undress Iker and shove him into a sweatshirt and sweatpants. He wants to shrug out of his own clothes and lay on the couch in boxers and a t-shirt. He just wants to be able to breathe again and help Iker breathe in the process.
He decides momentarily and reaches toward Iker before he realizes what he’s doing. Iker freezes, but sits still for David. He works on Iker’s tie first, tugs on the knot and slides it forward until it hangs loose around Iker’s neck. Iker seems to be breathing shallower, but David barely notices. He pulls the tie even looser until he can pull it up and over Iker’s head. Iker blinks. David catches his eyes and is distracted for a second, thinks it’s different watching them from up close, but can’t think of why.
“Can you breathe?” David asks quietly. He takes in Iker’s face, eyes trace over its contours before he can stop them. David blinks and Iker shakes his head.
“Not really,” he mumbles.
“Oh.”
David finds it harder to swallow, but he reaches forward anyway, slides his thumb under Iker’s collar and flicks open the top button. Iker takes in a breath and David thinks, his own head is swimming, it’s a bit warmer than before, Iker’s probably suffocating. He slides another finger under the second button and slides it out.
The game plays in the background, but it’s become background noise at some point, static sounds and flickering images that neither of them can see because they’re focused on one another. David doesn’t know how his hand brushes Iker’s collarbone, but it does. Iker can’t seem to stop staring at him and suddenly David can’t seem to move at all.
It happens like that, within the blink of an eye. Suddenly David can’t breathe, a tight, twist in his stomach, a feeling arched inside his chest. He’s flicking open buttons, one after another, going down Iker’s torso. Iker’s wearing a shirt underneath. It doesn’t disappoint him, not per se, but he can feel his curiosity intensify, the need to rid Iker of it the strongest impulse he’s had in ages.
David can’t seem to stop and Iker doesn’t seem to want him to. He reaches the bottom and pushes Iker’s shirt off his shoulders, rests his hand at the top, on bare skin, makes contact and that’s suddenly when it changes.
Iker is pushing him back, bearing down on him on the cushions and David doesn’t know how to tell him to stop, doesn’t really know if he even wants him to. He finds the back of his head melding into the cushions, finds Iker’s hands on either side of his chest, finds his hands curling up into Iker’s neck automatically.
David feels panic bubbling in his stomach, a dozen sounds and sirens making his head spin, or maybe it’s Iker’s warmth, maybe it’s the fact that his best fucking friend is pinning him down with his weight. Iker looks down at him with intense, sharp brown eyes, clouded over, and David’s never seen him like this before, so full of desire.
It’s hot. It’s so fucking hot he doesn’t know what to do with it, almost moans for the need to feel Iker when he reaches up and Iker leans down and their lips come crashing together. Immediately his fingers curl into Iker’s neck, pressing down on the skin, nails digging in to bring him closer. Iker’s knee parts his legs, his hands pinning David down harder into the cushions, and it’s such a fucking different sensation, feeling the heavy, hard planes of a man bearing down on him, no soft curves or flesh to press his own hands into.
Iker isn’t gentle with him and David doesn’t fucking want him to be. Their lips meet and break, meet and break, Iker’s teeth nip at swollen, pink skin and David can’t help the groan that escapes. Iker’s mouth presses down onto his own, David slants his up, opens his mouth and Iker’s tongue finds its way in. They kiss hot, messy, almost violent with an overwhelming need to be fast about it.
David feels it building in his chest, the need, it almost blinds him, nearly suffocates him with lust and fuck, he doesn’t think he’s felt this way ever, it’s making him heady and relentless in how he’s attacking Iker. Their bodies arch into each other, David’s free hand finally finding its way under the helm of Iker’s undershirt, untucking it from his tightening pants and scraping a hand up Iker’s firm abdomen. David can feel Iker shudder, can hear him take a deep breath in his mouth, so he drags his hand up, lifts up into Iker until Iker has no choice but to break the kiss and hiss for air.
David’s bereft of it too, he can feel his lungs collapsing in on themselves. He’s rasping, but he wants more, his body’s craving it.
“Fuck,” he lets out and Iker’s too busy kissing down the side of his throat to reply. He twists his hands into Iker’s hair, tugs on it a little, stretches his body out so that Iker can settle in more. He’s going by instinct, by what feels good, doesn’t stop to think because he doesn’t have room to.
Iker attacks viciously, teeth and lips making pink bruises flower on pale skin within seconds and David lets out little breaths, sounds he didn’t know existed. Iker’s mouth reaches the top of his shirt, lips brush the fabric there and David thinks he’s going to take it between his teeth and rip through it for a second, kind of fucking hopes he will because that would be so fucking hot.
He doesn’t, but David doesn’t have room to be disappointed. Instead, Iker starts kissing his way back up, his hands creeping up David’s side, palm pressing firm into tight muscles.
David’s hand find the smooth skin at Iker’s back. He presses down, presses Iker’s body closer to his, traps him there until neither of them can breathe for the proximity.
“What are you doing?” Iker breathes. His face is hot, tinged pink. David doesn’t know, so he shakes his head.
“I don’t know.”
He presses his mouth to the corner of Iker’s, slants their mouths together until they’re kissing again, hard and without break, breaths catching in their throats until they’re choking from it. David is feeling everything now, the unwinding in his chest, the sparks of electricity catching through his limbs, the heat from Iker’s body mixing with his own. He tilts his head back and Iker follows.
There’s no room for breathing, but less thinking and David’s head is spinning from pleasure, from something that he’s been missing for so long.
It hits him like a pang, a sharp pain in his gut. He lets himself think, for just a second, and it’s a second too long because he doubts himself instantly. He thinks maybe it isn’t Iker, he thinks maybe it’s because he hasn’t let his body be taken or take someone in so long, when he’s used to the opposite. He thinks, maybe it has nothing to do with Iker and then, he thinks, Iker doesn’t fucking deserve that, although why that should matter, he doesn’t know.
“Fuck,” David gasps and suddenly there’s a hand between his chest and Iker’s. Iker breaks their kiss and pulls back, eyes foggy and brain sluggishly catching up to the rest of him. “Fuck, what are we doing?”
“What are we-” Iker says, trying to catch his breath. The words come out in little pants. David is acutely aware of Iker’s hand up his shirt, the other on his chest. “What do you mean what are we doing?”
“We can’t,” David gasps, trying to catch his breath as well. This is it, the point where he starts to panic. He tries to untangle himself from Iker in a mad dash, not thinking his actions through, not noticing the way Iker’s eyes widen and then harden. “I can’t-we can’t-and fuck, and you-”
“I what, David?” Iker says, slowly. He sits back on his heels now, wipes his swollen mouth on the back of his hands. His hair is half sticking up, half plastered to the side of his face from sweat. He’s flushed, he’s clearly turned on, he’s starting to get angry.
David swallows, because he’s never found another person so attractive.
“Fuck, I’m not gay, Iker,” David says, weakly.
It’s the wrong thing to say.
It is exactly the wrong fucking thing to say.
He knows it before he says it.
He knows it when he says it.
He knows it after he says it because the look of fury and disgust he sees in Iker’s face is unlike any expression he’s ever seen before. It makes his heart stop in his throat, stutter to a complete, shocking halt.
“You’re not gay,” Iker says slowly, angrily.
David shakes his head, throat dry.
“Of course you’re not,” Iker laughs, but there’s no mirth to his voice. His eyes flash dangerously. “You’ve never been gay, David, have you? You weren’t gay when we were kids and you’d fucking kiss me for fun. You weren’t gay when we were teenagers and you’d leave your girlfriend to spend the night with me. When we’d sleep together in nothing but our underwear.”
Iker picks himself off David and David rises slowly to a sitting position. He’s cowed, paralyzed by the sense that he’s committed a grave, unfixable error.
“You weren’t gay the night your parents almost divorced. The night you drank so much I fucking sat with you on the floor of the bathroom. You weren’t gay when you pushed me against the door and blew me.”
David’s eyes widen, there’s a sledgehammer ramming into his gut. He has flickers of brokwn memories he didn’t know he had. He opens his mouth, but Iker’s not done.
“You definitely weren’t gay a minute ago when you had your hand up my shirt and your tongue down my throat,” Iker growls. He looks at David in disgust and moves off the couch. David reaches forward for him but stops himself, heart hammering in his chest. He feels it somewhere near his ribcage, the guilt. “You’ve never been gay, David, you’ve always been in the fucking closet and I’m tired as shit of it.”
David finds his voice and then loses it as soon as Iker settles him with a withering look.
“If you’re not gay, then tell your dick that.”
David doesn’t have to look down to know what he means, although that’s as effective a method as any to kill it.
“Iker, I-”
“Whatever. The guest room’s across the hall. It has everything you could possibly need, your highness. I’m going to sleep. I’ll go back to work for you in the morning.”
Iker slams his fist into the wall in anger on his way out. He isn’t subtle about it or quiet. He’s frustrated and fucking pissed and somewhere inside, David doesn’t blame him.
But somewhere outside, David lets out a stream of curses under his breath and buries his face in the palms of his hands.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. He feels unsettled, feels uncertain, feels like Iker’s pissed at him for something he hasn’t even thought about, until just now. Or maybe he has and he’s spent all of these years trying to ignore it. “Fuck.”
He doesn’t sleep well that night. The couch, while soft, is nothing like a bed and he doesn’t bother moving to the guest room even after Iker’s slammed the door shut to his own. David’s eyes keep fluttering open, the white ceiling burning into the front and back of his retinas. He tries to blink away the expression on Iker’s face, the obvious disgust and not-so-obvious hurt. It washes brightly in the dark, the frown at the edges of pink lips, hair plastered to the side of his head, eyes clouded, half in lust and half in muted wound.
David presses his palms to his eyes, but the images turn to moments before, a body close against his own, a body whose physiology, whose structure is completely different from the expected. He can’t close his eyes without feeling Iker on top of him, without remembering how fucking turned on he was, and he thinks it’s too complicated in a situation that is already complicated enough.
He doesn’t want to lose his best friend, but he also doesn’t want to lose everything he’s worked for, because of a moment of confusion, a moment of vulnerability that he’s barely sure existed in the first place.
David rolls around on the couch until he falls off and even then, it’s easier to sprawl on the ground, limbs splayed around him, than to do anything about moving and becoming comfortable. Perhaps he doesn’t deserve comfort anyway.
By the time the room is lightening with the morning’s early sun and Iker comes in with lightly padding footsteps, David’s only just fallen asleep within the last half an hour. He hears Iker’s movement anyway and he blearily opens his eyes. A pounding starts at the corner of his temple and he has to blink rapidly at the shape of the other man staring strangely at him from across the room.
“What are you doing?” Iker asks cautiously.
David isn’t in enough of a proper state to decipher whether or not there’s any residual anger in his voice.
“Sleeping,” David croaks. He covers his face with his hand. “Trying to sleep.”
“Were you out here the entire night?” Iker asks uncomfortably.
“Yes. Well I was on the couch at some point,” David answers. He finds that speaking too much catalyzes the headache that’s threatening to take over his head. He tries to speak without moving his mouth. “But then.”
“You fell off,” Iker sighs.
“Yes.”
“You move around too much,” the other man says in, what David is sure is exasperation. “Come on, get off the ground.”
Iker reaches a hand forward and David stares at it blankly before taking it and letting himself be pulled to his feet.
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
“Not really.”
Iker frowns and runs a hand through his hair.
“You should have slept in the guest room.”
David shrugs, not wanting to push it further.
“I have to go finish work, but you can stay,” Iker says. His voice seems softer, somehow. David isn’t naïve enough to think he’s been forgiven, but maybe Iker’s willing to give him another chance at not being a dick. “Get some rest, you need it.”
David presses his palms to his eyes again, but shakes his head.
“I can’t. I-er. I have a meeting.”
Iker blinks as a look of confusion crosses his face.
“I didn’t schedule you for anything today.”
“I know,” David smiles weakly. He rubs a hand into his hair, stretches his arms above him a little, and tries not to think about how painfully tired he is. “I actually set this one up myself.”
“With who?” Iker’s surprise isn’t really surprising to David, so he isn’t offended. He’s earned as much skepticism as anyone gives him.
“Raúl,” David says, quietly.
Iker’s eyes widen in surprise. He looks a bit disoriented, or maybe that’s just how David feels and he’s projecting.
“What does Raúl-is there something new-”
“It’s nothing,” David says, shaking his head. “Just a few reports, that’s all.”
Iker looks unsure. He seems like he’s teetering on his feet and the worry is more than apparent. It occurs to David, for the first time, that maybe Iker didn’t get any sleep last night either.
“Don’t worry so much, Iker,” David says with a light look. He knows he shouldn’t, not after the night before, but he cups Iker’s cheek, presses a kiss to his face. “I know you don’t believe me, but everything is under control.”
Iker stiffens at the touch, tries not to visibly cringe, although David would be able to tell from a mile away. That’s just simply how long they’ve known one another. David lets his hand drop, backs away slightly and Iker’s breathing relaxes. It feels like everything’s ruined, but it’s his fault anyway, so David doesn’t have room to complain.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?” Iker asks, rubbing a hand through his hair uncertainly. It’s funny, a little, like a father letting his child go for the first time, only David is older than Iker and he should never have needed the strict guidance in the first place. He shakes his head in response.
“I’m not a child,” he says. Iker still looks uncertain, but he doesn’t protest. David, for his part, is more than considerate in leaving as fast as he can.
He’s out of the living room and down the connecting hall to the top of the stairs when he stops.
“Hey, Iker?”
It takes a moment, but Iker comes to the open doorway at the edge of living room and looks out.
“Yeah?”
“We’re okay, right?” David offers the same, meek, sheepish smile he’s had on hand since he was five years old. If Iker was expecting anything else, David doesn’t know, but he thinks Iker looks different somehow-resigned or disappointed or possibly both.
“Yes, your highness,” Iker says, softly. “We’re okay.”
And it’s because of that answer itself that David knows they’re not.