23: Lovers
Lovers
Pairing: David Beckham/Iker Casillas
Rating: R (non-explict, unfortunately)
Disclaimer: not true
A/N: back by popular demand (and by back by popular demand I mean, it's been forever, is anyone still reading this?)
prompt 23
follows: Strangers , Friends and Enemies
David caught up to Iker in the locker room, the other man not having even bothered with changing, his sandals on over his socks, kit half out of his bag.
“Iker.” The keeper froze, David’s voice is soft and sorry and familiar, and Iker wavers. “Iker, what’s wrong? I thought we were going to be friends-”
Iker can’t contain the sharp bark of bitter laughter, “I know you speak like you’re simple but I didn’t think you were actually stupid.”
“Iker-”
“Day-vid.” The keeper mimics unkindly, every angry, hurtful thing he’s ever wanted to say to this man bubbling to the tip of his tongue.
“Iker,” David tries again, a little firmer, “Tell me what’s wrong, we are friends, you can tell me anything.”
The Madridista lets out a manic, strangled sob of a laugh that actually frightens the Englishman a little. “Friends? Friends? Not only are we the kind of “friends” that never speak but we weren’t just friends, David, we were lovers, or did you forget in your haste to get out of Madrid? To lead the “soccer” revolution in America??”
There are tears building behind Iker’s eyes but they’re of frustration, of rage, of disbelief that David would come here, here of all places, and try to brush off his feelings, make him feel in the wrong, embarrassed.
David is dumbfounded, “How-?? How could you say that? How could I ever forget?!”
Iker won’t let the soft tenderness of David’s voice soften his own and he bites back, “I don’t know, David, why don’t you tell me how you managed it because you’re doing a pretty damn good job of pretending we never happened.”
“Exactly! Pretending! I was pretending for you!”
“For me?” Iker is indignant.
“Yes, for you! So this wouldn’t be any harder for you! God,” He reaches for the other man but Iker flinches away and he withdraws his hand, “I knew it was so unfair to you that I came here but I didn’t want to make this worse for you so I pretended I was fine, that we were just old teammates joking around. God, Iker! I came here for you, to see you, because I had to see you.”
He reaches out to cup Iker’s face again and Iker lets him because there are tears on his cheeks and sincerity, desperate sincerity, in his voice. And because Iker is crying too, hands fisting David’s shirt tightly as David’s are running obsessively over his keeper’s cheeks, the pads of his thumbs wiping away ever tear as soon as it falls. Then David is kissing his forehead over and over, crying there, whispering urgently, “I love you, I still love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.”
Iker burrows into David’s chest, shaking his head, crying, sobbing. His heart aches because he was prepared for everything but this and it hurts, it hurts too much to be a good thing. And David is kissing him and the familiarity of it burns. Iker is crying like it’s the first time, like he hasn’t wept because of this man before, but he’s sobbing too hard to be embarrassed, to kiss, to breathe, to do anything but go to pieces, childish, angry pieces, beating his fists on David’s chest even as the midfielder holds him tight, waits out the storm of Iker’s emotions until he’s boneless and too weary to hold himself up. Then David bundles the keeper into his car and drives the familiar road to Iker’s house. He tucks them both into the big bed and falls asleep to Iker’s even breathing and warm body.
In the morning they make slow, desperate, grasping, gasping love before David has to leave. They make promises Iker’s not sure David will keep, isn’t sure he wants him to keep. And David holds Iker between his hands, eyes searching the keeper’s face, seeing the doubt there. He thinks desperately what he can say to assure the other man and his eye catches the red length of rope on his own wrist. David gingerly slips it off and on to Iker, the movement very like another exchange, one they’ll never get to experience with each other.
“To keep you safe… until I get back.” He searches Iker’s face once more, memorizing this time, then he’s gone.
Pairing: David Beckham/Iker Casillas
Rating: R (non-explict, unfortunately)
Disclaimer: not true
A/N: back by popular demand (and by back by popular demand I mean, it's been forever, is anyone still reading this?)
prompt 23
follows: Strangers , Friends and Enemies
David caught up to Iker in the locker room, the other man not having even bothered with changing, his sandals on over his socks, kit half out of his bag.
“Iker.” The keeper froze, David’s voice is soft and sorry and familiar, and Iker wavers. “Iker, what’s wrong? I thought we were going to be friends-”
Iker can’t contain the sharp bark of bitter laughter, “I know you speak like you’re simple but I didn’t think you were actually stupid.”
“Iker-”
“Day-vid.” The keeper mimics unkindly, every angry, hurtful thing he’s ever wanted to say to this man bubbling to the tip of his tongue.
“Iker,” David tries again, a little firmer, “Tell me what’s wrong, we are friends, you can tell me anything.”
The Madridista lets out a manic, strangled sob of a laugh that actually frightens the Englishman a little. “Friends? Friends? Not only are we the kind of “friends” that never speak but we weren’t just friends, David, we were lovers, or did you forget in your haste to get out of Madrid? To lead the “soccer” revolution in America??”
There are tears building behind Iker’s eyes but they’re of frustration, of rage, of disbelief that David would come here, here of all places, and try to brush off his feelings, make him feel in the wrong, embarrassed.
David is dumbfounded, “How-?? How could you say that? How could I ever forget?!”
Iker won’t let the soft tenderness of David’s voice soften his own and he bites back, “I don’t know, David, why don’t you tell me how you managed it because you’re doing a pretty damn good job of pretending we never happened.”
“Exactly! Pretending! I was pretending for you!”
“For me?” Iker is indignant.
“Yes, for you! So this wouldn’t be any harder for you! God,” He reaches for the other man but Iker flinches away and he withdraws his hand, “I knew it was so unfair to you that I came here but I didn’t want to make this worse for you so I pretended I was fine, that we were just old teammates joking around. God, Iker! I came here for you, to see you, because I had to see you.”
He reaches out to cup Iker’s face again and Iker lets him because there are tears on his cheeks and sincerity, desperate sincerity, in his voice. And because Iker is crying too, hands fisting David’s shirt tightly as David’s are running obsessively over his keeper’s cheeks, the pads of his thumbs wiping away ever tear as soon as it falls. Then David is kissing his forehead over and over, crying there, whispering urgently, “I love you, I still love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.”
Iker burrows into David’s chest, shaking his head, crying, sobbing. His heart aches because he was prepared for everything but this and it hurts, it hurts too much to be a good thing. And David is kissing him and the familiarity of it burns. Iker is crying like it’s the first time, like he hasn’t wept because of this man before, but he’s sobbing too hard to be embarrassed, to kiss, to breathe, to do anything but go to pieces, childish, angry pieces, beating his fists on David’s chest even as the midfielder holds him tight, waits out the storm of Iker’s emotions until he’s boneless and too weary to hold himself up. Then David bundles the keeper into his car and drives the familiar road to Iker’s house. He tucks them both into the big bed and falls asleep to Iker’s even breathing and warm body.
In the morning they make slow, desperate, grasping, gasping love before David has to leave. They make promises Iker’s not sure David will keep, isn’t sure he wants him to keep. And David holds Iker between his hands, eyes searching the keeper’s face, seeing the doubt there. He thinks desperately what he can say to assure the other man and his eye catches the red length of rope on his own wrist. David gingerly slips it off and on to Iker, the movement very like another exchange, one they’ll never get to experience with each other.
“To keep you safe… until I get back.” He searches Iker’s face once more, memorizing this time, then he’s gone.