fic: the way it never lasts (stevie&xabi)
title: the way it never lasts
rating: r
pairing/characters: steven gerrard & xabi alonso
disclaimer: this story is complete fiction.
summary: AU snapshots of a marriage falling apart
For the first time in two weeks, Stevie is home at a reasonable hour.
In the kitchen, Xabi is preparing dinner. It smells wonderful.
After putting his suitcase on the countertop, Stevie leans over and presses a kiss on the corner of Xabi’s lips. His aftershave, his usual scent, is mixed with something else, something different.
You’re having an affair, the thought explodes so suddenly, so violently inside his head that Xabi has to put the knife down.
Stevie is already turning away, loosening his tie.
'Do I have time for a shower, love?'
Xabi’s hands are shaking. He grips the edge of the kitchen counter. He breathes through his nose in and out, in and out.
'Of course,' he says.
The pot on the stove starts to boil, the lid rattling unsteadily, water frothing over. Xabi leans over and turns it off. I put too much water in, he thinks as he watches the steam rise.
He closes his eyes, his right knee throbs and he thinks, I always put too much in.
*
You have one new voice message. Received 28th of September at 7:12PM.
Xabi. I’m here. Just let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night, okay? I just want to see you.
He doesn’t delete the message. It saves automatically.
He knows it’s all in his mind, but his phone feels heavier in his hand.
*
Stevie’s hand curls against Xabi’s hip, his thumb brushing against the exposed skin between his pyjama pants and t-shirt, his breath hot against the back of Xabi’s neck.
'Stevie,' Xabi says, softly, apologetic, firmly.
The hand withdraws, turning over to his side, Stevie whispers goodnight.
Sometimes (when he doesn’t take his meds) Xabi still has nightmares. He’ll wake up to a gentle shake from Stevie, and even in the dark he can make out the wrinkles in his forehead, the deep set of his frown. It is only then, he lets Stevie take him into his arms.
He feels like a child but he can also feel the steady thud of Stevie’s heart, coaxing his own to slow down.
*
In the morning, Stevie is shaving in the bathroom. Beside him, Xabi is brushing his teeth.
'When are you going to shave yours off?' Stevie asks. 'It’s starting to give me beard burn.'
This may have been true, if they shared more than chaste hello and goodbye kisses.
Xabi spits and rinses, putting his toothbrush back in its charger next to Stevie’s.
They’re both red.
We like red.
But how are we supposed to tell them apart?
Xabi, we share bodily fluid almost every waking moment we’re together. Surely, it won’t matter if our toothbrushes get mixed up now and then.
It sounds so romantic when you say it like that.
Xabi’s heart clenches (ever so slightly) inside his chest. He says, 'I think it makes me look more distinguished.'
'You mean older?'
Xabi frowns at Stevie who winks at him through the reflection of the mirror.
'What are your plans for tonight?' Xabi asks.
Stevie wipes the excess foam from his face. 'Work, work and work. Why? Did we have plans?' He asks, even though he knows they don’t.
'Well,' Xabi carefully looks away and picks up his beard trimmer. 'Iker is in town and he wants to have dinner tonight.'
Stevie’s shoulders straighten. 'I guess it all works out then. I know he wouldn’t want me to be there.'
The first year into their relationship, Xabi had repeatedly denied the very obvious fact that Iker disliked Stevie.
Iker had looked down at his drink and said, 'but I don’t like him.'
Baffled, Xabi had asked why.
Iker shrugged, scratched his nose. This was back before he could face uncomfortable truths with a steely gaze and a steady hand. 'Because he’s the reason you’re still in England.'
Xabi didn’t know what to say to that, and Iker didn’t look like he wanted to elaborate. They had both dropped it, and moved on without a backward glance.
Now? Now Xabi just lets it go.
*
By the doorway of their apartment, Xabi straightens Stevie’s tie. Just like the perfect housewives in those old TV shows his mother used to watch.
'Thanks love,' Stevie kisses him on the lips. 'Tell Iker I said hello and fuck you.'
Xabi rolls his eyes and nudges Stevie out of the door.
'What time will you be home?'
Stevie hesitates for a moment, then says ‘the case coming up is taking longer to be put together than we thought. We really need you back in the office, love. Carra just really isn’t cutting it on his own.' He smiles.
Last night’s recollection hits Xabi like a bucket of cold water.
Stevie is only ever an awful liar when he has to look Xabi in the eyes.
He says, 'I’ll give you a call, okay?'
The lift doors open with a soft ping.
'Sure,' Xabi says, watching Stevie step in.
Xabi closes the door before the lift shuts.
*
The restaurant Xabi picks is a small Japanese place not too far from his apartment. He doesn’t go to it as often as he would like. Stevie doesn’t really like Japanese food.
He massages his thigh before he gets out of the taxi, but it does little to soften his slight limp.
Before Xabi can spot him, Iker is already getting up from his seat to greet him.
They hug like they haven’t seen each other in years. It’s only been four months but a lot has happened. More than Xabi can bear to think about.
'You look fantastic.'
Xabi eases himself into the chair, 'why would that change?'
Iker smiles, motions for a waiter and orders a bottle of red wine. 'How’s Steven then?'
'Good. He says hello.'
'I bet he does.'
Alvaro Arbeloa, a mutual friend, had said Iker and Stevie would never get along because they were both Alpha-males.
Sarcastically, Xabi asked what that made him.
'Don’t be offended Xabi, you’re still the Queen Bee.' Alvaro may have been a little drunk at that point. 'But let’s face it, if Iker was gay, Stevie wouldn’t even be in the picture.' Almost as an afterthough he sighed, 'I bet he misses being the centre of your world though.'
Xabi had forced himself to laugh it off, convinced that the flush in his cheeks was just from the beer, and yet thankful that Stevie was on the other side of the bar, entertaining the new hot shot blond associate.
'Behind ever great Steven Gerrard there is an even greater Xabi Alonso.'
Xabi notes the unwavering eye contact, the slight quirk of lips but he can’t quite read the sentiment behind the words so neutrally, he says, 'I suppose you can say that.'
'What was that statistic again? The one about the success rate of a marriage between two high-profile divorce attorneys? Or am I confusing that with the opening of an ironic joke?'
Xabi looks carefully at Iker and shrugs.
'You don’t know? Xabi, I’m afraid you’ve been out of the loop for too long. I thought you knew everything.'
'Did you invite me out so you could insult me to my face?'
'Oh come on, Xabi.' Iker eases back into his chair and flips open the menu, 'You used to have a sense of humour.'
The waiter comes back with a bottle, Iker tastes it and nods.
Xabi watches the red spill into the delicate wine glasses and says, 'I must have lost it in the crash.' He wasn’t going to tiptoe around this, not with Iker.
He nods a thank you to the waiter, feels the weight of his friend's gaze.
'I would have come sooner,' Iker leans forward, 'but-'
'You’re a partner now Iker, you can’t just drop everything to rush to the bedside of someone you used to know.'
Iker shakes his head, once again faced with Xabi’s stubborn nature.
'I don’t need you holding my hand.' He continues, sipping the wine.
Iker watches him, the bob of his throat, the slight tremble of his hand. 'Yes, I can see Steven has taken such great care of you.'
'I don’t need anyone to take care of me.' It comes out a little more forcefully than Xabi intends. He puts his glass down on the table and curls his shaking hand into a fist.
Iker reaches over and rests his hand over Xabi’s. He asks, 'does it still hurt?'
Xabi squeezes his eyes shut, his leg aches, his chest tightens.
He thinks, sometimes more than I can stand.
He opens his eyes, he says, 'not anymore.'
*
On Sunday, Xabi comes home from his physio to see Stevie reading in bed.
‘This is unusual.’ Xabi says, dropping his bag on the bedroom floor.
‘Surprise,’ Stevie grins.
Xabi can’t help but smile, ‘I’m just going to shower.’
Stevie quirks an eyebrow, ‘room for one more?’
Xabi bites his lip, ‘it’s just going to be a quick one.’
Stevie’s smile fades. ‘Oh.’
‘Very quick. I promise.’
He ducks into the bathroom before Stevie can say anything else.
When he comes back, changed into sweat pants and one of Stevie’s old University shirts, the sun is setting, the bedside lamp is on and Stevie hasn’t moved.
Xabi crawls into bed, and slides up close to him.
‘That was quick,’ He murmurs, eyes still on the page.
Xabi slides a hand up Stevie’s shirt, spreads his fingers out across the warmth of his bare skin, and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
He feels Stevie stiffen under his touch. He closes his book and slowly turns to look at him.
‘Switch off the light,’ his voice is low and Stevie’s eyes darken as he does what he’s told.
*
Stevie’s teeth scrape against the arch of Xabi’s throat, hips moving to a rhythm that was never forgotten.
Sticky with sweat, and breathless, Xabi’s legs tighten around Stevie’s waist, needing Stevie to come inside him.
Shuddering, Stevie cups a hand to Xabi’s face and licks into his warm, open mouth.
*
In the darkness, Stevie’s finger traces the scar that runs high from Xabi’s thigh and down to his knee. Xabi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push him away.
Here, they are together again. Here, they can start over.
Stevie confesses into the crook of Xabi’s neck, wet lips against sweat soaked skin. ‘I thought you didn’t love me anymore.' His heart thuds hard inside his chest, he is gasping for air. ‘I thought you were leaving me.'
He kisses a line across Xabi’s jaw. 'I'm sorry.'
Xabi breathes in, breathes out. He whispers, ‘Stevie,’ and runs his hand through his hair (always softer than it looks) and tugs gently. He presses a kiss on Stevie’s forehead and thinks, I love you. Out loud he says, says, says, ‘I am leaving you.’
everytime i look at you