fic: Media naranja (Miguel Torres/Rubén de la Red, PG-13)
Title: Media naranja
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Miguel Torres/Rubén de la Red
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: The problem with Miguel wasn't that he was so touchy-feely with everyone…
Dedication: For july_v, happy belated birthday! *hugs* There is a hair band reference in the fic, you'll get a cookie if you spot it! XD
Word Count: 2,690
A/N: "Media naranja" means "other half" in Spanish. I love the expression and thought it was appropriate as a title. ;) This fic is set before Rubén was sold to Getafe CF.
Allergy Warning: May contain traces of angst and fluff. Reat at own risk.
Thanks to Kellie for the speed-of-light beta! :)
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
The problem with Miguel wasn't that he was so touchy-feely with everyone. No, it definitely wasn't that. Rubén had known about that for a long time. He had seen Miguel jump his teammates during training when they were still going through the youth system, and then again at Castilla. It was nothing new, nothing that came as a surprise. It was just the way Miguel was; affectionate and generous and never ashamed to show it. Rubén didn't mind, and neither did anyone else.
Yet, when Capello called them up for the first team, things were suddenly different.
Suddenly, they were spending more and more time together, due to being the "new kids". They roomed together more often than they used to. They met up after training to grab lunch or to watch movies until the middle of then night. They were, quite frankly, headed for disaster.
No, the problem with Miguel wasn't that he was so touchy-feely with everyone. The problem was that he was touchy-feely with him. It was as if Miguel felt a constant need to be close to someone. As if the blood would stop flowing through his veins if some body part of his wasn't touching someone else's. As if his arm would fall off if he didn't have it wrapped around someone as they were walking across the training pitch to pair up for exercises.
The sensory overload drove Rubén mad. He didn't know what to think of it. He didn't know if he should think anything of it at all. And this, he figured, was the problem, because he clearly did think something of it, no matter how hard he tried not to.
In fact, he thought way too much of it.
He wondered what others would think if they could see them like this, walking arm in arm across the pitch. He wondered if Miguel felt the same burning sensation when their thighs pressed against each other as they sat on the couch together. He wondered if it actually mattered to Miguel who he was touching. If Miguel actually realised that he was running his fingers across Rubén's skin as they lay on Rubén's bed during their siesta, listening to Rubén's new Guns'n'Roses album.
He wondered whether he should like being touched by Miguel so much. Whether he should feel so disappointed when Miguel was touching someone else.
He wondered what would happen if he'd ever lose his self-control and do something stupid. What Miguel would think if he shifted closer to him and brushed his fingers across the stubble on Miguel's cheek. Whether Miguel would freak out and never touch him again if Rubén, overwhelmed by the closeness, leaned in and kissed him.
Judging by the way Miguel looked at him, it was perfectly clear that he liked him. He greeted him with a beaming smile whenever he saw him, and he laughed at his jokes - no matter whether they were poor or funny - but Rubén figured that this was what friends did. And Miguel, being a more than averagely affectionate person, was also a more than averagely great friend.
However, as much as Rubén hated himself for being so ungrateful, he didn't want Miguel to be his friend. He wanted him to touch him deliberately, purposefully, and above all exclusively. He wanted to be able to touch him in return, whenever and wherever he liked, and have it mean something to Miguel. He wanted to have him all for himself, all of him.
He wanted all of this, even though he knew perfectly well that he couldn't have it. No matter how much he wanted Miguel, and no matter if Miguel actually wanted him back, it didn't matter. They had barely started their careers, their lives. They were old enough to know what they would ruin, and too young to ruin it.
And yet, sometimes it was incredibly difficult to accept that. Sometimes, when they were stretched out on Rubén's couch together, Rubén's head against Miguel's shoulder, and Miguel's fingers running slowly through Rubén's hair as they did yet another movie marathon, Rubén's entire self craved to return the affectionate gesture, to show Miguel exactly what he felt about him. Sometimes, when Miguel was giving him his gorgeous, bright smile, it gave Rubén physical pain not to be able to pull Miguel close and kiss him thoroughly until those tempting lips were red and swollen.
Sometimes Rubén felt like an entire half of him was missing without Miguel, like his flat was empty and lonely when Miguel wasn't there.
Then, one day, the management informed Rubén that he would be sold to Getafe at the end of the season.
When Rubén told Miguel about it on the same evening, the defender was smiling encouragingly at him, patting him on the back and congratulating him on the chance of finally becoming a first-team regular, but there was a strange look in his eyes that did not match with the rest of him.
That evening, while they were preparing their dinner, Rubén noticed that Miguel was looking at him more often, his gaze lingering for longer than usual, before Miguel turned his focus back to whatever he was doing. He remarked that at least he was going to stay in Madrid. He asked Rubén whether he'd be allowed to play against Real Madrid, and whether the club had an option to buy him back. He didn't ask a single question out of the ordinary, and yet somehow the conversation felt strange to Rubén, as if something between them had changed.
Their dinner plates remained mostly untouched that day; Miguel didn't seem particularly hungry, and Rubén suddenly felt queasy in his stomach and couldn't bring himself to eat anything.
They watched a film but Rubén paid no attention to it and couldn't even say what it was called. More than usually, every nerve in his body was aware of Miguel's closeness, the weight of his arm against the backrest of the sofa, the warmth of his hand on Rubén's shoulder. The room was dark except for the light shed by the TV, but still Rubén turned his head almost every ten seconds to look at Miguel's face, as if he feared he wouldn't see him again, as if he needed to memorize every single detail about him.
He cursed Fate for having put him in this position, for having made him fall in love with someone he couldn't have. He cursed his profession for not allowing him to be happy. He cursed Miguel for being the way he was, gorgeous, loveable, tempting and irresistible. He cursed himself for not being a stronger person.
He didn't even realise the movie was over until Miguel turned his head to look at him and instantly frowned. "You okay?"
Rubén nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah." It was a lie, but the only safe thing to say.
"You're not." Miguel shifted on the couch to face his friend. It was still dark, but Rubén could see Miguel perfectly.
He shrugged, trying to appear as unfazed as possible. "It's nothing. I'm just a bit nervous about the transfer." He could barely get the words out.
Miguel ran a hand through Rubén's hair. "You know you can tell me when there's anything bothering you, right?"
"I know," Rubén said, wishing it were actually true.
"Okay."
They were sitting in silence for a while, watching the credits roll by on the screen.
"I don't even want to think about how things will be when you're gone," Miguel said suddenly.
Rubén's heart nearly burst in his chest. "I won't be gone," he said, trying his best not to sound too hoarse. "I'll still be here."
"Yeah, but you won't be training with us anymore," Miguel said. "You won't be there for lunch. For training camp. For away matches." He spoke quietly and his voice sounded unnaturally thick.
"Yeah," Rubén said, swallowing hard. He didn't want this conversation to happen, but he didn't know how to stop it.
Miguel sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so selfish. I'm really happy for you, I just…"
Rubén smiled. "I know you are. You're happier about this than I am."
Miguel frowned. "Why do you think that?"
"I don't mean it like that," Rubén said quickly, realising what he'd said. "I just-I know I should be happy about this opportunity, but I'm not. And it's stupid and childish and ridiculous but I can't bring myself to think otherwise." He shrugged.
"Don't you want to go?" Miguel sounded surprised.
"No." It felt good to say that, and Rubén hated himself for it. He really should be grateful for the chance he was given, should welcome it with open arms.
"Why not?"
Because of you, Rubén wanted to say. Because I don't want to be anywhere that you aren't. Because I want to spend more time with you, not less.
He didn't say any of it.
"Because I'm stupid and don't know what's good for me," he said with a sigh. "Because I'm ungrateful and don't appreciate what I'm being given. Because I want what I can't have. Take your pick."
"What is it that you want?"
Rubén turned his head to find Miguel looking right back at him. Suddenly he felt embarrassed to have allowed this conversation to develop in this direction. Embarrassed, and a little scared, and completely oblivious as to how he could manoeuvre himself out of this situation. He was glad that at least Miguel couldn't see him blush.
"It doesn't matter," he said evasively, "I can't have it anyway."
Miguel was still looking at him. "You sound very sure."
"I am."
"Have you asked for it?"
Rubén could have laughed at the thought. "No."
"How can you be so sure then?"
"I just am." Rubén shrugged. "I have no right to want it, and there's no reason why I should get it. And I won't."
"Don't say that," Miguel said. "You have every right to want what you want, and if you really want it that much, that's reason enough why you should get it."
Rubén smiled sadly. "If you knew what it was, you wouldn't be so encouraging anymore," he said before he could stop himself.
Miguel stared at him. "Dude, you're my friend! Why should I not encourage you? Is it illegal?"
"No," Rubén conceded. "But…"
"But what?" Miguel prodded. "Come on, man. I love you, of course I'd support you!"
Rubén could have wept at the irony of his friend's words. "You don't love me," he said through gritted teeth. "You don't."
"You know how I mean it," Miguel said, and somehow he seemed to suddenly become aware of his arm around Rubén's shoulder and his hand in Rubén's hair. He pulled back, leaving Rubén feel even worse.
"Yes, I know," Rubén said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I know how you mean it. You never mean anything. You confuse me, you drive me crazy, and you don't mean any of it."
"What?"
Only then did Rubén realise what he had said. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he sighed. "I didn't want to snap at you. It's not your fault, you weren't doing it on purpose. I bet you didn't even realise what you were doing. I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," Miguel said quietly. "I was selfish, I overdid it. I didn't realise it would make you uncomfortable." He chuckled awkwardly. "I thought you knew me by now."
"That's why I was so confused," Rubén said, smiling sadly. "But I shouldn't have thought about it too much. That was my fault."
"So…" Miguel trailed off. There was silence for a while before he continued speaking. "So, this thing that you wanted but were so sure you wouldn't get..." He swallowed. "It's not this, right? It's not… me?" His voice was almost inaudible.
Rubén inhaled deeply. Fuck. How was he supposed to get himself out of this without ruining their friendship and everything he cared about? If he said "no", then he would be lying, and Miguel knew him well enough to detect that lie. If he said "yes", then Miguel would blame himself for having unintentionally encouraged him and keep his distance in the future. Not saying anything didn't seem like a good idea either, because there was always a chance that Miguel would interpret his silence as a "yes".
But even though Rubén knew he had to say something, he didn't know how to start.
After a while, Miguel made the decision for him. "I'm sorry I asked that," he said, sounding honestly embarrassed, "I don't know what I was thinking. You don't need to answer. I… I just hope you know that I care about you and you can tell me anything you want."
"It's okay," Rubén said, "you don't need to apologise. Just stop making me offers you can't keep."
"I haven't made any of those," Miguel said firmly. "Ask what you want."
Rubén stared at Miguel. Surely he didn't mean this? Surely, considering the way this conversation had gone, Miguel had to be aware of the consequences of such an offer? Surely, he had to expect to be asked things which he couldn't possibly want to agree to?
"What I want?"
"Yes."
Rubén hesitated. "I shouldn't." And it was true. Miguel might be insane enough to offer anything Rubén wanted, but that didn't mean Rubén should be equally insane to ask it of him.
Miguel shifted closer to him until his knee pressed against Rubén's thigh. One of his hands came to rest on Rubén's shoulder, the other moved to cup his face. "You shouldn't ask," he said, his fingers softly caressing Rubén's cheek, "and I shouldn't offer. Believe me, I know that. But it's either offering you something or asking something of you. Especially now that you're leaving… and I think we've wasted so much time already."
"I told you I'm not leaving," Rubén said again, but only because he didn't know what else to say. His brain was too busy being in denial that he couldn't make sense of anything Miguel said to him.
"You're leaving Real Madrid," Miguel said, "and that's bad enough. I can't…" He sighed. "I don't want to act as if nothing is going on between us anymore. I don't want to keep holding back when I just have to look at you to know that you want the same as I do."
"It's a big step," Rubén said hoarsely, still not trusting his hearing. "We'd be risking a lot."
"We might risk even more if we keep pretending we don't want this."
"So you really want me? Like this?" Rubén hardly dared to ask. Could it be possible? Could they have wanted each other and not noticed that they were wanted in return?
Instead of a reply, Miguel leaned in and kissed him, and Rubén could do nothing else but return the kiss eagerly, putting all his pent-up emotions into it. He could hardly breathe, and his heart threatened to explode as Miguel deepened the kiss, massaging Rubén's tongue with his own, but there was nothing Rubén could possibly want other than this. Miguel's hands moved all over him, crawling underneath his shirt and across his naked skin, and finally Rubén allowed himself to touch Miguel in return, just the way he had wanted to for so long. With shaky fingers he unbuttoned Miguel's shirt and jeans and greedily gasped for air as they broke the kiss to get rid of Rubén's sweatshirt, only to lunge at each other again as the offending garments were out of the way.
Everything about Miguel was addictive, and the more thoroughly he explored Miguel's body with his fingers and his mouth and his tongue, the more thoroughly Miguel explored his, making him feel like the luckiest man to walk this planet, the more he realised that his friend had been right.
He would still be living a lie with Miguel as far as the outside world was concerned, now that they had stopped pretending they didn't want this. But at least they weren't lying to themselves anymore.
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Miguel Torres/Rubén de la Red
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: The problem with Miguel wasn't that he was so touchy-feely with everyone…
Dedication: For july_v, happy belated birthday! *hugs* There is a hair band reference in the fic, you'll get a cookie if you spot it! XD
Word Count: 2,690
A/N: "Media naranja" means "other half" in Spanish. I love the expression and thought it was appropriate as a title. ;) This fic is set before Rubén was sold to Getafe CF.
Allergy Warning: May contain traces of angst and fluff. Reat at own risk.
Thanks to Kellie for the speed-of-light beta! :)
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
The problem with Miguel wasn't that he was so touchy-feely with everyone. No, it definitely wasn't that. Rubén had known about that for a long time. He had seen Miguel jump his teammates during training when they were still going through the youth system, and then again at Castilla. It was nothing new, nothing that came as a surprise. It was just the way Miguel was; affectionate and generous and never ashamed to show it. Rubén didn't mind, and neither did anyone else.
Yet, when Capello called them up for the first team, things were suddenly different.
Suddenly, they were spending more and more time together, due to being the "new kids". They roomed together more often than they used to. They met up after training to grab lunch or to watch movies until the middle of then night. They were, quite frankly, headed for disaster.
No, the problem with Miguel wasn't that he was so touchy-feely with everyone. The problem was that he was touchy-feely with him. It was as if Miguel felt a constant need to be close to someone. As if the blood would stop flowing through his veins if some body part of his wasn't touching someone else's. As if his arm would fall off if he didn't have it wrapped around someone as they were walking across the training pitch to pair up for exercises.
The sensory overload drove Rubén mad. He didn't know what to think of it. He didn't know if he should think anything of it at all. And this, he figured, was the problem, because he clearly did think something of it, no matter how hard he tried not to.
In fact, he thought way too much of it.
He wondered what others would think if they could see them like this, walking arm in arm across the pitch. He wondered if Miguel felt the same burning sensation when their thighs pressed against each other as they sat on the couch together. He wondered if it actually mattered to Miguel who he was touching. If Miguel actually realised that he was running his fingers across Rubén's skin as they lay on Rubén's bed during their siesta, listening to Rubén's new Guns'n'Roses album.
He wondered whether he should like being touched by Miguel so much. Whether he should feel so disappointed when Miguel was touching someone else.
He wondered what would happen if he'd ever lose his self-control and do something stupid. What Miguel would think if he shifted closer to him and brushed his fingers across the stubble on Miguel's cheek. Whether Miguel would freak out and never touch him again if Rubén, overwhelmed by the closeness, leaned in and kissed him.
Judging by the way Miguel looked at him, it was perfectly clear that he liked him. He greeted him with a beaming smile whenever he saw him, and he laughed at his jokes - no matter whether they were poor or funny - but Rubén figured that this was what friends did. And Miguel, being a more than averagely affectionate person, was also a more than averagely great friend.
However, as much as Rubén hated himself for being so ungrateful, he didn't want Miguel to be his friend. He wanted him to touch him deliberately, purposefully, and above all exclusively. He wanted to be able to touch him in return, whenever and wherever he liked, and have it mean something to Miguel. He wanted to have him all for himself, all of him.
He wanted all of this, even though he knew perfectly well that he couldn't have it. No matter how much he wanted Miguel, and no matter if Miguel actually wanted him back, it didn't matter. They had barely started their careers, their lives. They were old enough to know what they would ruin, and too young to ruin it.
And yet, sometimes it was incredibly difficult to accept that. Sometimes, when they were stretched out on Rubén's couch together, Rubén's head against Miguel's shoulder, and Miguel's fingers running slowly through Rubén's hair as they did yet another movie marathon, Rubén's entire self craved to return the affectionate gesture, to show Miguel exactly what he felt about him. Sometimes, when Miguel was giving him his gorgeous, bright smile, it gave Rubén physical pain not to be able to pull Miguel close and kiss him thoroughly until those tempting lips were red and swollen.
Sometimes Rubén felt like an entire half of him was missing without Miguel, like his flat was empty and lonely when Miguel wasn't there.
Then, one day, the management informed Rubén that he would be sold to Getafe at the end of the season.
When Rubén told Miguel about it on the same evening, the defender was smiling encouragingly at him, patting him on the back and congratulating him on the chance of finally becoming a first-team regular, but there was a strange look in his eyes that did not match with the rest of him.
That evening, while they were preparing their dinner, Rubén noticed that Miguel was looking at him more often, his gaze lingering for longer than usual, before Miguel turned his focus back to whatever he was doing. He remarked that at least he was going to stay in Madrid. He asked Rubén whether he'd be allowed to play against Real Madrid, and whether the club had an option to buy him back. He didn't ask a single question out of the ordinary, and yet somehow the conversation felt strange to Rubén, as if something between them had changed.
Their dinner plates remained mostly untouched that day; Miguel didn't seem particularly hungry, and Rubén suddenly felt queasy in his stomach and couldn't bring himself to eat anything.
They watched a film but Rubén paid no attention to it and couldn't even say what it was called. More than usually, every nerve in his body was aware of Miguel's closeness, the weight of his arm against the backrest of the sofa, the warmth of his hand on Rubén's shoulder. The room was dark except for the light shed by the TV, but still Rubén turned his head almost every ten seconds to look at Miguel's face, as if he feared he wouldn't see him again, as if he needed to memorize every single detail about him.
He cursed Fate for having put him in this position, for having made him fall in love with someone he couldn't have. He cursed his profession for not allowing him to be happy. He cursed Miguel for being the way he was, gorgeous, loveable, tempting and irresistible. He cursed himself for not being a stronger person.
He didn't even realise the movie was over until Miguel turned his head to look at him and instantly frowned. "You okay?"
Rubén nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah." It was a lie, but the only safe thing to say.
"You're not." Miguel shifted on the couch to face his friend. It was still dark, but Rubén could see Miguel perfectly.
He shrugged, trying to appear as unfazed as possible. "It's nothing. I'm just a bit nervous about the transfer." He could barely get the words out.
Miguel ran a hand through Rubén's hair. "You know you can tell me when there's anything bothering you, right?"
"I know," Rubén said, wishing it were actually true.
"Okay."
They were sitting in silence for a while, watching the credits roll by on the screen.
"I don't even want to think about how things will be when you're gone," Miguel said suddenly.
Rubén's heart nearly burst in his chest. "I won't be gone," he said, trying his best not to sound too hoarse. "I'll still be here."
"Yeah, but you won't be training with us anymore," Miguel said. "You won't be there for lunch. For training camp. For away matches." He spoke quietly and his voice sounded unnaturally thick.
"Yeah," Rubén said, swallowing hard. He didn't want this conversation to happen, but he didn't know how to stop it.
Miguel sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so selfish. I'm really happy for you, I just…"
Rubén smiled. "I know you are. You're happier about this than I am."
Miguel frowned. "Why do you think that?"
"I don't mean it like that," Rubén said quickly, realising what he'd said. "I just-I know I should be happy about this opportunity, but I'm not. And it's stupid and childish and ridiculous but I can't bring myself to think otherwise." He shrugged.
"Don't you want to go?" Miguel sounded surprised.
"No." It felt good to say that, and Rubén hated himself for it. He really should be grateful for the chance he was given, should welcome it with open arms.
"Why not?"
Because of you, Rubén wanted to say. Because I don't want to be anywhere that you aren't. Because I want to spend more time with you, not less.
He didn't say any of it.
"Because I'm stupid and don't know what's good for me," he said with a sigh. "Because I'm ungrateful and don't appreciate what I'm being given. Because I want what I can't have. Take your pick."
"What is it that you want?"
Rubén turned his head to find Miguel looking right back at him. Suddenly he felt embarrassed to have allowed this conversation to develop in this direction. Embarrassed, and a little scared, and completely oblivious as to how he could manoeuvre himself out of this situation. He was glad that at least Miguel couldn't see him blush.
"It doesn't matter," he said evasively, "I can't have it anyway."
Miguel was still looking at him. "You sound very sure."
"I am."
"Have you asked for it?"
Rubén could have laughed at the thought. "No."
"How can you be so sure then?"
"I just am." Rubén shrugged. "I have no right to want it, and there's no reason why I should get it. And I won't."
"Don't say that," Miguel said. "You have every right to want what you want, and if you really want it that much, that's reason enough why you should get it."
Rubén smiled sadly. "If you knew what it was, you wouldn't be so encouraging anymore," he said before he could stop himself.
Miguel stared at him. "Dude, you're my friend! Why should I not encourage you? Is it illegal?"
"No," Rubén conceded. "But…"
"But what?" Miguel prodded. "Come on, man. I love you, of course I'd support you!"
Rubén could have wept at the irony of his friend's words. "You don't love me," he said through gritted teeth. "You don't."
"You know how I mean it," Miguel said, and somehow he seemed to suddenly become aware of his arm around Rubén's shoulder and his hand in Rubén's hair. He pulled back, leaving Rubén feel even worse.
"Yes, I know," Rubén said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I know how you mean it. You never mean anything. You confuse me, you drive me crazy, and you don't mean any of it."
"What?"
Only then did Rubén realise what he had said. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he sighed. "I didn't want to snap at you. It's not your fault, you weren't doing it on purpose. I bet you didn't even realise what you were doing. I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," Miguel said quietly. "I was selfish, I overdid it. I didn't realise it would make you uncomfortable." He chuckled awkwardly. "I thought you knew me by now."
"That's why I was so confused," Rubén said, smiling sadly. "But I shouldn't have thought about it too much. That was my fault."
"So…" Miguel trailed off. There was silence for a while before he continued speaking. "So, this thing that you wanted but were so sure you wouldn't get..." He swallowed. "It's not this, right? It's not… me?" His voice was almost inaudible.
Rubén inhaled deeply. Fuck. How was he supposed to get himself out of this without ruining their friendship and everything he cared about? If he said "no", then he would be lying, and Miguel knew him well enough to detect that lie. If he said "yes", then Miguel would blame himself for having unintentionally encouraged him and keep his distance in the future. Not saying anything didn't seem like a good idea either, because there was always a chance that Miguel would interpret his silence as a "yes".
But even though Rubén knew he had to say something, he didn't know how to start.
After a while, Miguel made the decision for him. "I'm sorry I asked that," he said, sounding honestly embarrassed, "I don't know what I was thinking. You don't need to answer. I… I just hope you know that I care about you and you can tell me anything you want."
"It's okay," Rubén said, "you don't need to apologise. Just stop making me offers you can't keep."
"I haven't made any of those," Miguel said firmly. "Ask what you want."
Rubén stared at Miguel. Surely he didn't mean this? Surely, considering the way this conversation had gone, Miguel had to be aware of the consequences of such an offer? Surely, he had to expect to be asked things which he couldn't possibly want to agree to?
"What I want?"
"Yes."
Rubén hesitated. "I shouldn't." And it was true. Miguel might be insane enough to offer anything Rubén wanted, but that didn't mean Rubén should be equally insane to ask it of him.
Miguel shifted closer to him until his knee pressed against Rubén's thigh. One of his hands came to rest on Rubén's shoulder, the other moved to cup his face. "You shouldn't ask," he said, his fingers softly caressing Rubén's cheek, "and I shouldn't offer. Believe me, I know that. But it's either offering you something or asking something of you. Especially now that you're leaving… and I think we've wasted so much time already."
"I told you I'm not leaving," Rubén said again, but only because he didn't know what else to say. His brain was too busy being in denial that he couldn't make sense of anything Miguel said to him.
"You're leaving Real Madrid," Miguel said, "and that's bad enough. I can't…" He sighed. "I don't want to act as if nothing is going on between us anymore. I don't want to keep holding back when I just have to look at you to know that you want the same as I do."
"It's a big step," Rubén said hoarsely, still not trusting his hearing. "We'd be risking a lot."
"We might risk even more if we keep pretending we don't want this."
"So you really want me? Like this?" Rubén hardly dared to ask. Could it be possible? Could they have wanted each other and not noticed that they were wanted in return?
Instead of a reply, Miguel leaned in and kissed him, and Rubén could do nothing else but return the kiss eagerly, putting all his pent-up emotions into it. He could hardly breathe, and his heart threatened to explode as Miguel deepened the kiss, massaging Rubén's tongue with his own, but there was nothing Rubén could possibly want other than this. Miguel's hands moved all over him, crawling underneath his shirt and across his naked skin, and finally Rubén allowed himself to touch Miguel in return, just the way he had wanted to for so long. With shaky fingers he unbuttoned Miguel's shirt and jeans and greedily gasped for air as they broke the kiss to get rid of Rubén's sweatshirt, only to lunge at each other again as the offending garments were out of the way.
Everything about Miguel was addictive, and the more thoroughly he explored Miguel's body with his fingers and his mouth and his tongue, the more thoroughly Miguel explored his, making him feel like the luckiest man to walk this planet, the more he realised that his friend had been right.
He would still be living a lie with Miguel as far as the outside world was concerned, now that they had stopped pretending they didn't want this. But at least they weren't lying to themselves anymore.