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Iker had never doubted he would find his match but he didn't think it would interfere with the other love of his life. He might have been born with Hala Madrid on his chest but everyone knew who David Beckham was.
Iker still thinks about that night in Manchester, three years before David would come back into his life full-force. Even if he had doubts when he was eighteen, they were put to rest at Bernabeu like everything else in his life. He just wishes it would've ended differently for them.
He cursed the Champions League. He cursed the wet weather and he cursed himself for not putting on his gloves before the lineup and handshakes. It was a fluke, except the Englishman's face froze for a second and Iker snatched his hand away decisively to move to the next person. It was colder than Madrid, he reasoned as he shook out his hands and put on his gloves. David Beckham had nothing to fear from him but stopping the ball from reaching the back of his net.
The Manchester captain and goalkeeper fumble and Real leads by an auto-goal in the first twenty minutes. Iker's eyes track Beckham because he is the danger to his area, not for anything else.
At half-time, Iker is shaking. His adrenaline an easy mask for the realization hitting him. David Beckham is a coward. He is married, has a child, and will cross paths with Iker only as long as the European nights kept going. They had nothing in common beyond football. It was an easier image to swallow when he didn't have the urge to throw up.
Raul gets in a goal and he breathes a little better after the immediate attack from United after the whistle. The fans are cheering their captain and Iker is with them when Fernando's cross finds Raul. The next ten minutes are easy. He knows they will qualify and after the first leg draw, it is relieving to be up by two goals.
His defenders let Beckham get too close and Iker bites his tongue, tasting blood as the ball hits the net. David celebrates with Giggs. He refuses to let anything else get past him. He saves everything thrown at him and their star winger isn't getting past Ivan and Aitor without a fight.
A penalty is given. He spits pink. It is three minutes until the end of the game and of course, it is their own Englishman who gives it away. Iker has something to prove. He will carry the number one on his back for Real one day.
Scholes takes the shot and Iker would have rather gotten hit in the face than feel the displaced air of the ball. Some small part in his chest crumples and jabs his heart every time he takes a breath, and for the next ten minutes he pretends he is a stone. He is a golem that only knows Real will win the next game, and the next, until they are Champions of Europe. One penalty at eighteen is nothing, because he will save the next fifteen. He will keep saving and stopping balls until he is unable to, until he is not worthy of being Real Madrid's goalkeeper.
When he lifts the trophy, no one will know his vulnerability lies in David Beckham.
---
David is closer to thirty than he is to twenty when he properly gets to know his soulmate. He doesn't know what it says about him that someone like Iker Casillas is the one who can bring everything down upon his head. David is a bunch of good and brash parts put in a blender and shaken out into a pretty glass for the world to take a drink or a picture.
He is fifteen when he knows he is not only partial to girls. It scares him so badly, he wakes up on nights when it is too quiet in his house. He develops the habit of falling asleep with the telly on and hopes no one will care enough to ask why. There is no where to hide when he gets called to start a year later so he just hides inside himself.
Fergie's faith in him makes David soar. Football is all he's wanted to do since he was five and the ball was bigger than his head. At 21 when he falls asleep, he hears his name with the sports news and smiles.
In the 1998 World Cup, he has a breakdown and locks himself in the bathroom, where he rearranges everything in the cabinets until it feels right, until he can breathe and takes a shower. It is his first world cup and he hasn't started in the two games England has played even though he worked his ass off in the qualifiers. Glenn doesn't trust him and David isn't sure if he can blame for not doing so.
He produces another miracle against Columbia. The free kick is beautiful. It is better than the Wimbledon goal because it was for England.
Victoria tells him she's pregnant a month later.
When Fergie tells him he's changed since he married, David wants to correct him but doesn't for fear of giving himself away. Alex is a firm believer in only getting married to your soul mate and no one in the world believed Victoria was David's. He doesn't know what they need to prove otherwise but they've made their peace with not being each other's. Victoria thinks it's better this way.
"Who wants a soul mate when all it leads to is death?" She waves away the issue like she would a clothes attendant. He has his doubts that is all a soul mate warrants, but it is also the very thing keeping him away from his own among so much more.
He argues with Fergie that he is not a child anymore. Fledglings have to grow up eventually and by 2003, David knows he is still a child hiding in an adult body. There is a red card with his name to prove it.
It is laughably easy for him to fall in love after a year in Madrid. Iker is exactly what he needs, but can't have.
---
They keep it between themselves. Iker wouldn't ever betray David, he is too loyal for that. Raul calls him a saint, not because it is his nickname, but because of his patience. He doesn't put into words that he would rather take the knife given to him for David and wound himself than carve another piece of David for himself.
His soul mate reminds him of the statues he himself tries to emulate. The colors painted on the marble have faded for Iker. They were a distraction so no one would notice the damages David carries. He doesn't dare touch him without carefully thinking of the consequences.
The Mister has changed hands so many times that Raul is the only one that notices he is not right.
"If he is bothering you, I will speak to him." Iker frowns, he has been frowning for eternities now and especially around David.
"It is not him, it is me in the wrong. I judged him too quickly and I haven't found a way to apologize." Raul chuckled a little under a fist.
"You're over-thinking as usual. I think someone like David Beckham doesn't get to hear the words I'm sorry sincerely very often, especially from someone like you, yeah?" Iker nods but doesn't find the amusement in the response. He stays after it gets dark and David takes his time practicing his free kicks.
Iker prefers to come in with the morning staff to get in extra training but maybe he will come to like the dusk.
He walks into the goal fearlessly and David doesn't stop shooting. It is extraordinary to see the ball curve from thirty yards but it is even better to see the peace on his face as he watches the ball soar. Iker doesn't think they were made for fame, not like some of their companions. The world could live without seeing David Beckham kick a ball for 90 minutes but David Beckham couldn't live without that ball.
Iker doesn't ever get around to saying he's sorry. He shows it instead.
---
He didn't even know what it was about Iker that made him want to give away all of his secrets. It was a dangerous quality to have. David wasn't proud of starting fights on the pitch and more often than not, getting a yellow card for his trouble. He wasn't proud of much anymore, but at least he didn't feel like a liar when he was kicking a football.
Victoria wanted to try for another baby and David wasn't sure.
Passion wasn't a word he would use for his relationship with his wife. It was a word he would use for his profession. He was a passionate player. He had passion for the game and it was slowly warping his personal life like too much heat applied to glass. He wanted to smash it himself, but didn't know what would be left afterwards.
Iker had much more to lose as a rising star than David did from anything culminating and he tried to stay away but Iker wouldn't let him go.
"You are like puppies." Zidane remarked after a training session. Iker had started doing this gesture. He would tap at his jaw with a fist and it was completely mental in its obviousness but David couldn't help smiling at the reminder, that he was still there, that he should keep his head up.
It was easier to keep himself in check with their teammates around them than when they stayed after practice. The air was less constricting, less taunting when it wasn't just them and some staff. But he still wondered what was on his face when Zidane walked on.
"I understand that football and your career will always come first, but I can't--you keep coming home with this smile on your face and I know we're not soulmates, but if you're seeing someone else, at least be honest about it. I'm your wife, not just a stop on the way from work to go back the next morning." Her voice is sharp but she isn't shouting and David thinks that is worse.
"I'm not sleeping around. Even if I have the money to pay someone off, don't you think it would've leaked by now? I've got enough on my plate juggling international duties with Real Madrid. Do you really think I would have the time? Do you think I would do that? We have Brooklyn and Romeo and another on the way. Why would you think I'm having an affair?" Victoria sits down and rubs her temples, more frustrated than angry now.
"There's something different about you, David and I'm not the cause as much as certain people want to believe. You didn't marry me because I was an airhead who would go along with everything you say. Moving to Madrid was one thing, but you've changed and I want to know why." David's palms start sweating. He had been lying for most of his adult life but Victoria deserved some truth. He did, in his way, love her, and he wasn't having an affair.
If he cleared it up with specifics, it was one less person he had to put a face for, but it was also admitting a whole mess of lies.
"I found my soul mate." Victoria closed her eyes and took a deep breath before folding her hands like she was going to have tea with the Queen instead of discussing an issue that had always been on the table for them.
"And you're not having an affair?" She raises an eyebrow and David strangely feels like he's back in Primary school.
"No," he snaps back a little. "I'm-I'm not-" There's a multitude of ways he could end that sentence but he doesn't feel nearly brave enough to poke that hornet's nest. He goes with a safer route.
"It's one of my teammates." There goes the other eyebrow and they knot together in contemplation. "It's Iker Casillas." He swallows the lump in his throat and sits in the chair opposite hers. It is a weight off his chest and Victoria narrows her eyes for a bit before a simple "Oh" slips out of her mouth.
"Really, that's all you're going to say?" He blurts out, not sure if he's angry or stunned or a meld of both.
"I'm still turning it over in my head, I came into this expecting you were sleeping with another woman..." He tenses again.
"It's not like that. I'm not having an affair with Iker. We're friends. Soulmates don't necessarily have to be involved." Victoria makes a sort of humming sound that David takes as agreement.
"Iker Casillas, that's unexpected." She looks at him and he sighs, glad for once that the secret is out.
---
Sergio Ramos scored against Olympiacos in the first ten minutes of the game. Neither him nor Iker were playing, but it didn't make him feel any better about it. There was a distinctly Fergie sounding voice in his head saying he had made his bed and now he had to lay in it. Since the start of the season, he had gotten sent off the field two times, and the way this game was shaping up, David probably would've gotten a yellow with the rest of them.
It wasn't jealousy.
He wasn't jealous of Sergio, but of what he represented. The nineteen year old was the in the new wave of Madrid, the new wave of Spain, because Ramos was starting to get noticed and David would eat his hat if he wasn't called up for the senior squad by the end of the year. The World Cup was coming up and he wasn't immortal.
David knew this would probably be his last Cup and he already had a stellar reputation with his red card against Austria in October. First English captain to get sent off in the history of football, that was him. He wondered if there was something, some sort of transference or lunacy that came about with a bond.
His compulsions had made him the best free-kick exponent England had, but there was a different itch under his skin. He felt out of control but it didn't extend from his disorder.
"David?" Victoria was in a rare mood. The pregnancy was affecting her more in these last months and David tried to be better, because now she knew at least part of his problem.
"Did I ever make you happy?" They are in their bedroom but David reflexively looks around for prying ears, even though Romeo and Brooklyn are fast asleep and their housekeeper was downstairs. He doesn't want to think of why his first instinct is to do so. He is tired enough already.
"Of course you did, you do. I'm not gonna just marry anybody, you know. Victoria Beckham is the only one that fit, named after kings and queens we are." He tries for humor but she keeps a straight face and he fails to keep his smile on.
"If you could, if we hadn't had Brooks and 1999..." David shuts down, shuts the words out, feels every inch of a child denying reality by sticking fingers in his ears and singing over what he doesn't want to hear. He grabs her hand almost blindly. If they were more, it would be a bruising grip.
"No, no, I wouldn't and I still won't, Victoria. I'm not gonna leave my family for anything. I'm committed to this, alright? There is no other sunset to run off to." He lets the small flicker of hope drown in his chest when her lips tick upwards.
He gets sick after getting England into the quarter-finals. It is dehydration and stress and David can't believe the game is getting to him again. They're going against Portugal just like in the Euros and he hopes to god they don't have another penalty shootout in their future.
He watches the match between Spain and France on tenter-hooks. Iker is in goal and Sergio and the Torres lad and Raul are all playing. They lose 3-1 with Zidane kicking them while they're down two minutes after regulation time. The Spaniards leave huddled in clusters and Iker is alone for a moment and looks the part of the martyr waiting to be crucified. David wishes he could console him.
There's nothing he can do, sitting on the bench with his leg on fire. They lose and some cynical part of his brain says it's almost fitting for it to be 3-1, but the rest of him despairs.
A day later, he steps down as captain of the national team. He lets himself cry for the first time in the better part of a decade. He is alone and wishes he weren't.
---
Capello seemed to dislike David. Iker is worried that David's slump will extend into the club games as well as his international games. He is more subdued and spends far more time on the bench.
Sergio calls him a mother hen worse than his abuela. Iker counters that he is a duckling that will not stop bothering him, but he enjoys his company if push came to shove in admitting it. The younger man was cheerful in the leftover morose air after their last season coming in second after Barcelona.
"You look after everybody but yourself, Iker. It is a superhuman feat." Sergio says after a game. Guti overhears and chuckles.
"That's our San Iker. More worried about the rest of the world than what is in his head." He punches Iker in the chest, but Guti has always been a soft touch. He barely feels a thing. Sergio smiles and takes it as a sign that rough-housing is acceptable.
There isn't a warning or any sort of sound that alert him of David's presence but he still knows when he comes out of the showers and into the locker room. He doesn't stay as late anymore, citing Cruz as the reason, but comes in earlier to make up for it. Iker doesn't think they've had a whole conversation in months.
He takes a page out of Sergio's book and tackles David in their next practice. They land on the grass hard and David doesn't seem too happy with the interruption.
"Did that hurt? I'm sorry." Iker doesn't get up, curling his body into David's.
"Iker..." He pinches one of his cheeks and this time David does protest with an "Ow", but none of their teammates bat an eyelash. For a goalkeeper, Iker was strong and generally used his hands to convey that strength. Most of the team was convinced he surpassed even Zidane's levels of invincibility.
Iker helps him get up off the ground, knowing the coaches would only tolerate a few moments of horseplay before demanding they get back to work.
"Are you alright?" David hops a bit, shaking off grass and his frown.
"I will be," He squeezes his fingers in gratefulness and Iker knows he's done his job for the day. It is hard to be friends with David Beckham. It is even worse to get David to lean on him as a friend. Iker has settled for friendship and on the surface, he is capable of handling the Herculean task. He has no other choice.
In the winter, Iker has run out of time.
"Los Angeles?" Of all places to take him away, United States' city of angels. It is snowing, but Iker feels the slow drag of his heated blood. He feels all of eighteen again. The shock of knowing David is his soulmate is competing with the shock of he's leaving.
"I don't have a future here. You don't retire at a club like Real Madrid. You compete." Iker bites back his initial retort, the "you didn't even try," dying on his tongue. Madrid is all he knows and in all of that certainty, he is aware that his job is completely different from David's. He will die in Madrid, he lives and breathes it. It is a fundamental part of him.
"You could try." He doesn't hit the mark. David looks older than his years and Iker pulls him into a hug because it all he can think of doing.
Capello puts in David for the final and David tries. He gets injured and subbed off but Iker is proud of him as Reyes takes his place and wins the game for them with two goals. They win La Liga and Iker doesn't care about making a spectacle as he climbs on David's shoulder in the celebration afterwards. It is how you send off a star like David Beckham.
Sergio shows up at his house one summer afternoon with tears in his eyes and a terrible smile. Iker lets him in.
"Nando is going to Liverpool." Iker is close enough to captain that he knows this will cause trouble between their forward and defender. They are too wrapped up with each other for it not to escalate into a headache. He curses Xabi a little in his head. He's known about them since they started playing for the national team. He would wager most did. The team was like a family and no one could begrudge Sergio's enthusiasm for his bonded.
"It is how the game works, Sese." He pours them both wine. Sergio makes a half-hearted swipe at the bottle but ends up tugging at his hair in frustration.
"I don't understand. Atleti--he was doing well there and we could see each other more often, but he is going to England?" Iker would have liked to punch Fernando just for the hurt look on Sergio's face at the moment. He selfishly thinks it was better that he and David were the way they were or his leaving would have left him worse than Sergio.
"Sergio, he is a footballer. He is not leaving you. He is leaving the club." Iker twists the stem of the glass in his hands.
"But he is my alma." Sergio shouts back with enough desperation to knock Iker back. He says it like it is the end all, be all of the matter and Iker is at a loss. He cannot help but compare their situations. If he had to pick David over Real Madrid, he wouldn't and something like horror is blooming inside him.
He knows the stories as well as Sergio. Soul mates were to be cherished, not because they held your life in their hands, but because they share a life. In a game like football, a bond like that is a weakness, a knife at your throat, constantly looking over your shoulder and keeping it under wraps.
Was Iker so detached to forget what a soulmate actually meant? David was gone. David had left.
"Iker? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled." He doesn't know what is on his face when he stares at Sergio but Sergio puts down his glass. He leans towards him in worry.
"Iker. Iker? You don't look well. Are you okay?" Iker grabs his face and presses his lips to Sergio's for a brief moment before leaning on his elbows, hiding his face.
"Oh god, I'm sorry. Sergio, I'm--" He grabs his wrist. Iker's voice dies in his throat. He is shaking and didn't even notice until Sergio provided a steady counterpoint. He is sickened because this is not how you console a friend when their soul mate is leaving for the other side of Europe. They are all teammates and will have to see each other for friendlies and the Euro qualifiers.
"I understand." Sergio draws Iker into his arms and pretends he doesn't hear the muffled sobs of the saint.
---
England doesn't qualify for the Euros. He plays a friendly and silently thanks Iker for being stubborn with him because Capello hadn't given up on him after his turnabout in Madrid. He doesn't know what will happen, but he wants to play for England as long as he can. Los Angeles has been good to him, but he misses the European side.
He is made captain for a game right before the Euros and he is jittery with excitement. Capello has hinted at using him for the world cup and even if he a substitute, David wants to make an impact. They win the game by an easy margin and he can't stop smiling. The younger part of the squad is in a hurry to get back to the hotel but David sits outside for a bit.
He wonders what Iker is doing at that very moment.
The game against Russia is three days after the Euros start and David sends him some good luck as he steps out as captain of the national team. He doesn't think Russia can get past them. David Villa get a well-deserved man of the match with three goals, but a low feeling in his stomach makes him stare at his screen a little harder when Sergio goes to goalkeeper and casually slings an arm around his captain.
He puts it out of his head until the Greece game where neither of them are playing and it rears back with a vengeance. It had been a year since he left and Iker had always been close to him. David didn't ask for any sort of loyalty, he couldn't, not with Victoria and the kids. It was just some base urge in him that claimed Iker as his own, his soulmate.
After Iker saves two penalties and Sergio kisses his neck, David turns off his television and goes for a run.
"You're not happy he won?" Victoria is feeding Cruz cereal. He shakes his head and Cruz does the same in imitation.
"It's not that. Been talks over loaning me out to Milan." David doesn't think about Italy being closer to Spain than LA but Victoria already knows Iker is his soulmate and maybe, his string of injuries would cease being a problem if he popped over for a chat.
"Italy is always nice." She mused.
He trains with Arsenal before the pre-season and falls in love with the facilities. David can appreciate a tightly run ship. He gets back to LA and manages to score a goal from his own half. He tells himself maybe he just needed a change of pace.
The medical staff at San Siro seem impressed by him. One of the doctors even tell him, he could continue playing for the next five years and David decides he really like it in Italy. At the press conference, Carlo says he may be slower but he is stronger tactically. David laughs but doesn't argue.
He's older than a lot of the starting line up but he gets along with them fairly enough. Kaká is their superstar and David is surprised he likes the younger man so much. He enjoys talking to him. Italian comes easier than Spanish and he supposes an old dog can learn new tricks eventually.
In Serie A, the bond is an issue the players don't talk about but Kaká is different.
"In Brazil, we celebrate. No matter who it is. My faith...I believe soulmates is a beauty, a miracle to find. Life finds ways to connect them, then you must find ways to keep the connection. You must work." Kaká nods to end and twists the ring on his finger a couple time before letting his hands fall to his sides.
"So you found her?" David gestures to the ring. Kaká tilts his head and smiles.
“Yes, the ring is commitment to him, to us. We will cross ways again.” It is a gentle reproach, matter of fact and David feels slightly embarrassed at his assumption. He knows statistically it doesn’t matter the gender of the person with preference. They just are. Romance sells stories, but it is not always an inclusive property of soulmates.
David had never had a problem with others, it was just his own that had been complicated by his denial.
“Where did you meet?” He tries to make up for the faux pas.
“Manchester, in the Champions League.” David huffs a laugh. Of course, of course that was the answer, just like his own. Almost a decade after and he is still paying the price for that game against an eighteen year old keeper from Spain.
He does something incredibly stupid, even for his standards. There is a flight passage in his overnight bag, a four hour overlay in Madrid is the best excuse he can come up with to see Iker. He doesn’t really think about it when he dials the number he’s rarely used before.
“David?” Something unclenches in his chest at the familiar accented version of his name. He feels lighter.
“I’m in Madrid. The plane had a stop. Would you, would you meet me?” His voice wobbles towards the end of the question. He has the worst ideas when sentimental, Victoria would always say. He’s bought hideous shirts, terrible furniture and now he was calling his soulmate while in a hotel in Madrid.
“Yes. Where?” David gives him the address.
---
They stare at each other like animals sizing each other up, or maybe animals looking at the bars of their cages. David has grown out his hair since he saw him last. Iker hasn’t changed but for more worry lines.
He wants to believe he doesn’t know why he agreed. Iker isn’t sure what he expected from this meeting.
“The Euros went well for you. Undefeated champions at the end.” There is a hint of bitterness under the words like strong tea leaving an aftertaste and Iker eyes the door. He was aware of England’s misfortune. It is a tale he and Xabi have commiserated with, knew well. Iker counts his blessings that Spain hadn’t been the root of that problem, hadn’t contributed to it.
“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.” David sighs.
“Why did you ask me here?” Iker asks.
“I just wanted to see you.” He doesn’t look at him really, hasn’t kept his eyes on him for more than a few seconds since he came to the door so Iker finds that reason a little flimsy.
“David, we are friends, correct?” He catches his eye and in a look, they speak with more honesty than they have in all the years the had in Madrid.
“I missed you. I just missed you, even though you have Sergio and I have Victoria...you’re still there. I can’t help that.” The frustration is new to Iker’s ears. He wonders if Los Angeles was more appearances to be kept, more eyes to appease with perfumes and clothes and advertisements. Iker recoils at the particular hardness of the thought, the remorse not there for his bonded.
Sergio. He was threatened by Sergio. Dios How easy it is for Iker to look at the heart of the matter. How blind were David Beckham’s followers to not see right through him.
“You’re here because of jealousy?” His brows furrow. Iker’s tongue sharpens to a point. “You do not like Sergio because I am your soul mate? It did not matter when you were here, when we met. but now I have Sergio and you are back? No, no, that is not how it works.” Iker shakes his head. David stays quiet for a moment.
“I know. I know I don’t have any right to barge in here demanding anything from you. Believe me, if I were a stronger man I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have done this fool’s errand. I couldn’t stop myself, I tried, I tried not to call, not to get on the plane, not to think about you, leave in peace. But I saw him. I saw you.” He ends in a whisper, closer than before. His hand hovering over Iker’s neck. His eyes focused on it.
Iker swallows hard.
“He kissed you.” His hand falls, his fingers curving into a brand against his skin. “here.” It is an afterthought. Iker mirrors him, sliding a hand to the back of his neck into hair that is nothing like Sergio’s and they are drawn together naturally, kissing with the hungry edge of lost time.
Iker has no other reference besides what Sergio told him about the bond and what it feels like being this close, but it is nothing, nothing he can put into words as he is pinned down to the bed. The subtle push and pull between them is supercharged and he thinks it is like drowning on air.
It is worse than a drug, Sergio reminds him in his head.
It is an unfathomably naked feeling, being torn apart and remade in a soulmate’s hands. It is unlike anything and yet it is everything imaginable and he knows it will be the worst mistake of his life to walk away after they are done.
David leaves bruises he will feel for weeks, for forever. He pays them all back with his own. Words like worship and sacrifice have different meanings, separate from what he’s known and from this moment on. He feels closer to a deity when he is watching David fall apart under his touch than he ever did in goal and that scares him into gentleness.
He leaves the hotel when David falls asleep. He can be the strong one. Madrid feels like a maze instead of the streets of his home in his addled state. Iker could drink an ocean of alcohol and never feel like this. Every step away is to regain the strength of his convictions; there is no other way this could end.
---
Los Angeles has claws, thin and diamond hard but he has built up immunity to it. His skin settles when he takes a step back. He takes aim and a breath before the ball falls into play.
It is a golden season for the galaxy. He is called a part time player and a fraud but his work doesn't suffer. He is on fire, feeling in better form than the last five years combined.
Capello keeps calling him up. David feels better than fine and he makes another trip to Milan. Carlo works him in, places faith in him to make plays and keep up the steady pace. It is complete different than the american league, but David is adaptable and completely changed.
The boarding pass is under his blaring phone. He opens his eyes to empty space and grapples with the loss, smoothing down the sheets, grabbing a handful and squeezing as hard as he can. It was real, real as the sheets in his fist.
Iker hadn't disturbed anything in the room but David.
There was a solar flare inside of him whenever he thought about those moments in Madrid. It choked him with bursts of heat and want, want for something they couldn't repeat. It was clear Iker understood it also, being seen with a pretty journalist weeks after their meeting. Victoria doesn't comment when she see the Spanish tabloids in his hands.
"You did it, didn't you? You look like Mel after she went running to that idiot she calls a soulmate. It's all a bad habit and it'll lead to the end of your career, of your life, David!" Everything catches up with him at that moment and he is bone-tired of lying, so he doesn't.
"It is the most alive I've ever been." She takes a step back, her face at war with disbelief and something else until it smoothed out and shut down. David thinks she might hate him a little for his words. They have been at this game for years, being at the top for so long, but what no one tells you is the inevitability of falling off that perch. David wasn't stupid. Victoria had her own fears tangled with the safety net of their marriage and a strict diet of cool disaffection. They are arguably one of the most popular non-bond couples of modern times and Victoria soaks in that, isn't beaten by the interviews or rumors to point out it is an open secret that won't tear them apart.
"Did you meet them, Vic, did you feel that connection and run away to start your life of stardom?" It took him so long, laughably so, to realize why they worked so well together. She was a scared little girl just like he was still the little boy who wouldn't give up his football after going to bed.
"No," but the difference between them is Victoria had always been a better liar.
She gives him the silent treatment for the rest of the day and half of the next, before telling him Romeo had a check up with the doctor that she had forgotten to reschedule and if he could look after him after Rebecca dropped him off for the day. David hadn't argued, not in the mood to go out with the team after practice anyway.
The next time he sees Iker is not exactly on the pitch because there is a bizarre turn of fate when Reina takes his place as he is put on the field. He meets his eyes on the bench but can't do much else as the whistle blows to start the second half. They lose to the European Champions. It is not a heavy defeat to bear and it gives them an excuse to drink sangria on international break. David doesn't call Iker.
Instead, he goes back to his room and imagines he is in Madrid, not Seville.
The price he pays for avoiding temptation is a ruptured Achilles tendon. He misses the MLS season and the World Cup while Iker goes on to win it as captain. He doesn't place bets on the acrid taste in his mouth as he remains a glorified cheerleader for England but life had a funny way of showing him how he went wrong.
David sends him a congratulatory text before he goes on a bender to kill his heartache. He has a dream of Iker jumping around and singing with the Spanish flag around his shoulders, celebrating the win. They've both made the history books, he hears himself say distantly. They are in his LA home, eating the takeout Iker favored when David still played alongside him. His lips taste like the sangria he had in Seville. He is burning up as he takes off his national kit. Iker is naked, flushed and hard on top of the flag, gold and red.
Iker fucks him open with his fingers, slowly until David is crying out his name, begging. Iker is murmuring something into his ear. It sounds like Hala Madrid, cariño. He wakes up with a pounding headache, tangled in his sheets.
---
Iker is ridiculously fond of his team, but at this particular moment, he could strangle the management just fine. He quietly added Cristiano to the list as he doggedly kept asking him about David.
"Why did you pass it to me?" He was talking about the jersey. Iker hadn't agreed with this World Challenge from the start, facing David was possibly the worst part, taking pictures for the press was unspeakably terrifying. David had been ever the charming host of his adopted city while Iker felt like a simmering pot.
"Symbolism, symmetry, why does it matter?" He winces because his tone is all wrong and Cristiano Ronaldo is perceptive, too perceptive at times. He remembers what happened with Mesut and Sami.
"Hmm," There is a suspicious gleam in the younger man's eyes.
Iker isn't sure what the world is trying to tell him when he gets subbed off for Adan after half-time, but at least David was in the starting line-up. This time, he has his gloves on as they shake hands. They smile like they don't have a secret between them. After the game, David approaches him.
"I wasn't joking, I could show you around if you like." Dread swims in his stomach. He doesn't look around but takes in David's bright brown eyes and the wrinkles around them and the slight tilt of his lips to the left. Being this close without a chance for more is killing him.
He licks his lips before answering, "We have an early flight." It's not exactly a no and David's eyes flash with something that lets Iker know he understands.
"Dinner then." His voice lowers and Iker barely nods before leaving. Ricky was waiting for him with a confused frown but didn't say anything. Iker's heart rate gets under control when they get on the bus. Cris is whispering to Mesut who gets up with a good-natured laugh and lets Kaká take his place.
Dinner wasn't really a meal as he had eaten with the rest of his team, but more of an evening drink. The wine tasted bitter from David's mouth, contrasting with the spun sugar still on his tongue from dessert. The Englishman mutters about sweet and chocolate before he sinks onto plush carpet. Iker doesn't let him move any further as he bends to kiss him again, tugging at the longer strands of his hair to get David's head at the right angle.
He makes a whining noise into his mouth and Iker swallows it. He would swallow everything of David's if he could. He presses his teeth into the soft inner part of his bottom lip with the thought. His legs are spread wide with khaki shorts around his ankles and boxer briefs lowered just enough for David to take him in hand and wrap his lips around the head of his cock.
Death has come slowly in the form of David, because Iker could feel the pieces of himself David took with every sound he wrenched out of him. His sensibility died in front of him, cut down by lust and love. David is awake when he leaves this time. He wonders if there will ever be a time where he won't have to walk away.
Cris apologizes on the plane.
"David Beckham, huh." is his last quiet remark before Iker blocks the world out with his headphones to get some rest. The world is small in football. He catches himself wishing it were a little bit smaller. There is an ocean between them that won't stop either of them from crashing into each other like waves threatening to drown anyone on land.
The turns and whims of fate had brought Manchester United's number seven after David to Real Madrid, following his footsteps. He hopes for Cristiano and Kaká that their story goes better than his.
Winning the Euro Cup again pales in comparison to the first because David is there to share in the celebration afterwards. He is not careful with him, digging fingers into the muscles of his thighs and shoulders and hips. David lets him mark his skin. He lets him take and take until Iker is shaking and stray tears run down his face.
“You need sleep. I’ll wake you up.” He is cradled in the warmth of David’s arms and forgives himself for the selfishness of tonight.
Iker hadn’t realized what he had said to David in his frenzy, and when he gets kissed awake, David repeats the words.
“Eres mi alma.” It feels like a seal on an unspoken contract, worse than an ‘I do’. They’ve never spoken of love but this is as close to it as they can get without saying the words, without breaking the careful veneers they’ve built for themselves.
He stares at him like they will never see each other again, like he is burning the image into his mind. Iker leaves after showering. He borrows clothes that smell like David. It digs the knife in deeper.
The next time the Beckhams have a Christmas party, Iker and half the team is invited. He brings Sara with him.