you don't have to go.

Theoretical Probabilities, Gerrard/Alonso, R.

2010-01-03T03:49:11Z

Title: Theoretical Probabilities.
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso. Jaime Carragher & Alvaro Arbeloa.
Prompt: 009. Months
Word Count: 2208
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: R
Summary: Boarding School AU. This goes after Fundamental Forces & The Teachable Imposture of Always.
Author's Notes: 3 main subjects of high school = science, English & math. HAHA I AM LAME.

Steven Gerrard has dark circles around his eyes. His mouth feels like cotton, and his arse is fucking sore. He brushes harder against his gums. The sound of the shower dulls the shouts of the boys outside. Steven is sleepy. He is also thankful that it's a weekend.

"Fucking--!" Xabi yelps.

Steven continues to brush his teeth. Fucking, indeed.

The door to their room creaks open and Carra pops his head in.

"Well. You're comfortable with each other, aren't you?" he grins lecherously at the sight of Steven and Xabi in the bathroom at the same time.

"You didn't lock the door?" Steven hears Xabi hiss from the shower.
"Shorry," Steven says, mouth full of toothpaste foam.
"Hey Chabo," Carra says.
Xabi grunts.
"Having a kick-about with the other lads," Carra says. "Join us?"
Steven spits out the toothpaste. "No, I'm a bit burned out from last night," he answers. "Maybe later."
"Xabi?" Carra tries.
"I'll pass."
"Your loss. Catch you at lunch, Steve-o." Carra shuts the door.

"Lock it, this time." Xabi says.
Steven gargles before going outside to lock the door.
He goes back inside the bathroom.

"Shower sex?" he asks, grinning.
"Excuse me?"
"Shower sex." Steven says again.
"Stevie, all we ever do is have sex or study."
Xabi turns off the shower and pulls the curtain open to glare at Steven.
"I'm beginning to think you only want me for my body."
Steven laughs. "Oh, yes, Xabi. You are the epitome of perfect fuck buddy. Even better than any girl I could get, really."
Xabi smirks and begins to towel himself off.

"When can we start?" he asks.
Steven sighs.
"Look," he says, leaning on the door frame. "I have got the worst hangover in the universe and you wake me up at ten-ten for god's sake, on a Saturday no less-not for a football game, not for breakfast, and certainly not for shower sex. You wake me up from my passed-out state to teach you about probability?"
"Yes," Xabi says matter-of-factly.
"There had better be some sort of reward for this. I do accept sexual favors."
"Teaching me is not going to get me to fuck you in the shower."

Xabi rests his head on Steven's shoulder.
"Steven?" he says. The sunlight dances on the tips of the waves in the fountain.
"Yes?"
"Are we going to keep avoiding what happened last week?"
"Xabi, I—" There's a knock on the door and they disentangle themselves. Xabi sighs, stands up and opens the door.
It's Sami Hyppiä, the student council vice president. "Xabi. Forgot about the meeting did we? And why was your phone off?"
Sami peeks over Xabi's head. "Hey, Captain. See you at training on Monday, yeah?"
Steven nods and waves, then closes his notebook. Xabi smiles at Sami apologetically.
"I'm sorry, fuck. I'll—okay. Bye Steven."

The library is empty, or as empty as it ever could be. Xabi was the only student there, and that was mainly because it was a Saturday night.

Steven Gerrard does go to the library, because that's exactly the kind of boy he is.
Xabi pretends not to notice him when he comes in (which is difficult, as he is the only other boy in the room).
Mrs. Oliver, the snooty, uptight stereotypical librarian, watches, eyes narrowed.

Steven sits on top of the table and shuts Xabi's book.

"Xabi, these are one of the few occasions in which I am not busy training or winning games for the glory of this school, and you are not writing proposals or meeting with important people for the happiness of the student body, and you're spending it in the library, doing things that do not need to be done at this very moment. Why is that?"
Xabi purses his lips.
"Steven, it's. I don't-"
Steven, acutely aware of Mrs. Oliver's prying eyes, pulls Xabi up by his wrist.
"I need help finding a book, Xabi." he announces, before dragging Xabi towards one of the bookshelves.

He pushes Xabi roughly against the wall.
Their faces are close. Xabi tries to keep his breathing even.

"You've got to." Steven breathes out. "Stop. You've got to stop fucking around, Xabi. I—you. You make me feel like…" Steven shakes his head. Xabi watches him intently. "Look. I need to know—I need to know how you." Steven stops, again.

The air is heavy with the words he can't say.

"Steven, I don't understand."

"That's just the fucking thing, isn't it? Everything to you is a proposal, a meeting, a set-piece—something that is never supposed to go wrong, but inevitably does. This isn't football, this isn't student fucking council, this isn't fucking debate. For god's sake, I lo—I really, really like you. And that's all there is. When I think of you, it's like nothing else could matter, not even football (and that's saying something)."
Xabi is quiet. He doesn't know how he feels (or he does, but doesn't know what to say).

Steven sighs. "Okay." He walks away, and Xabi doesn't stop him.

When he gets back to the room, Steven is asleep, or is pretending to be. Xabi desperately wants to hug him, to apologize, to say "I'm sorry I'm so socially inept when it comes to you and only you," or "I really am horrible at this close-proximity romantic relationship thing, you know?" but he doesn't say or do anything. He feels as if something (everything) has ended.

Michael Owen, the varsity liaison (who originally ran for Public Relations Officer), runs up to Xabi.

"Xabi!" he says. His hair is sticking out in different angles, and his eyes are wide.

"What's wrong?"
"Have you heard? I mean, has Stevie told you? Because he ought to have told you you're roommates right oh my god."
"What? "
"I mean, I don't know, you really have to do something about it because oh my god. I didn't even know that teachers were allowed to do that."
"What the hell are you going on about?"
Michael takes a seat in front of Xabi.
"It's like this," Michael starts. "Stevie, right? Football captain. Great. So they've been winning a lot."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. So. I don't know if Stevie talks to you about this stuff, but he's been doing pretty badly in physics."
"Not that badly, though, right?"
"No. He well. Mr. Eriksson, he kind of went up to the coach, Mr. Houllier, right?"
Xabi is silent.
"So yeah. Mr. Eriksson said that Steven wasn't doing too well in physics, so he talked to the coach and asked—well, demanded, really—that Stevie be put 'on probation.' So Stevie might have to miss all their games until his grades begin to improve."
"WHAT?" a bunch of curious freshmen turn to face Xabi, whose face is red.
"Don't take it out on me, mate. Just the bringer of bad news. Terrible news. Fucking horrible news. Do you know how much people are going to hate me for announcing this? We are so close to winning the championship."
"I fucking know."
"Can you do something about it, though? Work your charms on Mr. Eriksson? It's not finalized yet, I mean. No letters have been sent or signed. So…"
"Houllier didn't do anything about it?"
"Well it's not finalized yet, right? Maybe that's all he could do. But you need to do something about it, mate."
"Fuck. Okay. I'll try. And I'll talk to Steven about it, too. Something." Xabi digs the heels of his palms into his eyelids.

Steven is inside the room when Xabi walks in. He doesn't look up. Xabi exhales.

"Steven," he begins. They haven't had a conversation in weeks. Xabi finds it unnerving, but her reminds himself that he has spent most of his life without Steven, so he could just go on not needing him.

Steven slowly begins to gather his things. (This is what the past weeks have been like: Xabi comes in, Steven goes out. Xabi is inside, and Steven once seeing him, decides that being anywhere else is better than being in the same room as Xabi.)

Xabi leans on the door, hugging books closely to his chest.

"Steven, please," he tries again, and Steven looks at him for a few moments, then returns to piling his books.

"Michael said—during lunch, today. He said that Mr. Eriksson spoke to Houllier about your grades. And he said that you might not be able play until your grades get better."

They are quiet. Steven stops moving.

"Why are you doing this, Xabi?" He doesn't look at Xabi when he says it.
"I'm…I'm concerned, Steven. I know that football means a lot to you. I could have helped you. I can help you. I want to help you."
"Help me?" Steven scoffed.

Suddenly everything was a metaphor for something.
Xabi squeezes his eyes shut.

"Fuck you. You don't know shit. So don't come here, pretending like I deserve your fucking charity. I don't need it, or want it."
Xabi walks towards Steven and kneels in front of him.
"Stevie, I know I really….I mean, let's just." Xabi sighs. His hand is on Steven's thigh. "This is football, and I know that I can help you. So let me."

They look at each other squarely for a moment, and Xabi moves forward and presses his lips against Steven's.
(It feels like a long time ago, even if it's only been a few weeks, and for the first time in those few weeks, Xabi is genuinely happy, until) Steven pushes him away.

"Fuck you," he hisses. "Stop fucking around. It's not fucking funny."
"I'm sorry—"
"No you're not. You don't even know what you ought to be fucking sorry for. So please, do us all a favor and try to understand one thing: I don't want you. That's exactly where you and I differ, Xabi. I can make a decision and keep to it."

Steven knows full well that Xabi doesn't have proper eating habits, but for the past three years he's been perfectly able to sustain himself (how, Steven doesn't know). Now it looks like Xabi's slowly withering away in front of Steven (and the entire student body).

He doesn't want to care, but he does.

Xabi wakes up with a post-it stuck to his chest and he hopes that he and Steven are okay. They always were good with non-verbal communication (most of the time). When Xabi actually reads the note, he feels disheartened, to say the least.

**

Either the level of animosity in their dorm room has decreased, or they're both just too lazy to keep distant from each other.

Steven's reading his physics book. Xabi stares at his math homework.

Xabi feels like a lunatic. He also desperately wants everything to be like they used to. He looks across the room at Steven, who's studiously highlighting his book. Xabi chews on his lip. He's tired of not talking to Steven. He's tired of Steven not minding him. I have to do something, Xabi tells himself.

He shuts his math book with a sense of purpose (and despair).

"Steven, can we talk?" he starts.
"No," Steven answers curtly.
"Why?"
"You know exactly why."
"No, I don't." Xabi answers honestly.
"If I tell you, will you go back to studying?"
"Okay."
"I got sick of your sad confused little girl shit. Now fuck off."

Xabi swallows and tries very hard not to spit out clichés, but only they seem appropriate. Kind of.

"Steven," he starts. He chews on his lip for a moment. "I'm going to tell you the truth."
Steven looks at him like he's crazy. "Right."
"Because sometimes, we need to tell the truth, so we know it actually exists. We're so used to bullshitting everyone. So here goes." Xabi breathes out. Steven watches him.
"I never thought I'd be…well." He gesticulates his arms for a moment.
"Gay," Steven says.
"Yes. Gay. Homosexual. Whatever. And then, you know. This and that and I was completely lost and confused and. I didn't know what to do and how to go about things anymore."
"What, did you think it was easy for me? You think I was fine from the very moment we kissed?"

Things are not supposed to be this difficult, Xabi thinks. Steven's supposed to go 'Oh okay I totally understand.' But that wouldn't be Steven, because Steven likes to purposely make my life difficult.

"No I—I don't know. I don't know a lot of things anymore, Steven. It's like. It's like nothing makes sense anymore. And I really…I really do kind of love you. Which is a bit distressing, honestly. Because I keep thinking about what's going to happen, in the future, right? And I feel like I'm just caught up in the moment but still worrying about things that might not even happen. And it makes me feel stupid."

Steven smiles. Xabi feels like he's turned on the sun.

"So we're telling the truth, right? Well, honestly, mate, you kind of are stupid."
Xabi laughs. "Can we have normal conversations now?" He asks.
"Can you stop being a tit about your homosexuality?"
"You know what? Fuck you."
"It's a deal, then."

Hrnnnnndfjshdkjfskdfas feedback please!

The Teachable Imposture of Always; Gerrard/Alonso; R.

2009-11-27T16:21:02Z

Title: The Teachable Imposture of Always
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Prompt: 073.Light.
Word Count: 2240
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: R
Summary: Part 2 of Fundamental Forces.
Author's Notes: "I made you breakfast, darling" from She's The Man. Title from the e.e. cummings poem. for parvardigar, again.

"Let's go out," Steven says, and by 'out' he means 'to the cafeteria'. He is young and reckless and carefree and stupid, with the occasional epiphany of clarity in his football-wrought brain.

"No, let's just. You know. Er." Xabi answers; he's trying very hard to read, but so far all he's read has been "'And what if I run away?' asked Raskolnikov with a strange smile. " Xabi is quiet and jaded and thoughtful and most of the time, eloquent.

"Why not?"

Xabi puts down his book. "I don't really…" He picks at the patterns of the duvet. "You don't have to go around with me and stuff, you know. I'm not your girlfriend or whatever."

Steven chuckles and butts his head against Xabi's chest. He's like a puppy, sometimes.

They move about for a moment. "Of course not," Steven says, voice muffled. He rests his eyes against the sharp part of Xabi's shoulder and presses his nose on Xabi's chest.

"Of course you're not my girlfriend." Steven pinches Xabi's forearm for no reason at all, other than just needing to move all the time. "First of all, you're a boy."

Xabi smiles. Steven lifts his head and presses their foreheads together. "Second of all, you're always tops." He laughs, and Xabi looks away. How Steven is so comfortable with his new found non-heterosexuality, Xabi will never know.

Steven presses his lips against Xabi's—these are the moments he remembers the most. They are soft and silent, and Steven feels Xabi's calloused fingers move up his chest and Xabi feels Steven's heartbeat with his fingertips. They kiss and kiss and kiss and there are little bursts of laughter from the boys out on the quad, and they don't know and they will never know—the white sheets are wrapped around Xabi's legs and Steven's lips are swollen.

All they can do is smile.

"Isn't Carra having a party tonight?" Xabi asks, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. (This feels so vulgar, he thinks.)

"Yeah, but I don't really want to go," Steven absently rubs the tips of his fingers together.

"Why not?" Xabi stands up on his bed and stretches.

"Homework," Steven says quietly.

"What?"

Steven clears his throat. "Homework."

Xabi stares at him. "Are you serious?"

"No," Steven is a mix of disgusted (with himself) and surprised (with himself).

"Steven Gerrard, have my honest, responsible, good student-ly ways rubbed off on you?"

"That seems to be the case," Steven says. He doesn't know how he feels, really. A bit lost. Disgruntled, maybe.

Xabi laughs and hugs Steven. "I have fulfilled my purpose!" He says, arms around Steven's neck.

There is one class Steven will never admit he likes, and that class is Art class. He's never been any good at it.

He's never been any good at a great many things (football obviously excluded) but he was very, very good at trying to be.

Art was no exception. He will never be able to create a distinct difference between foreground and background (just as half the losers in the class will never be able to score a goal) but he is very good at the attempt, and that's what matters (most of the time).

Their art teacher tells them to draw what they see when they wake up in the morning.

Steven thinks of the window, of the quadrangle, of the curtains and the gold ropes. (He thinks of Xabi, his eyes, and the dark circles around them.)

After four years of being five minutes early for his morning class, Xabi wakes up twenty minutes after his alarm clock rings. He sits up with a jolt, rubbing the sleep he's not used to getting from his eyes.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit what the hell, he thinks, and there are alarm clocks ringing in his head and oh my god, I am late for Spanish history.

He tumbles out of bed and pulls on a pair of pants and then he realizes that something is taped to his chest. It's a pack of cereal.

Xabi pulls the door to his Spanish history class open and stands on the threshold, awaiting certain doom. He has never been late for anything in his life.

Mr. Benitez stops from writing about the Civil war and looks directly at Xabi.

"Ah," he says, putting down the piece of chalk turning to face Xabi. "Just the boy I wanted to see." The entire class looks up from their books and notebooks. This is all a bad dream, Xabi thinks desperately to himself.

"I." He doesn't know what to say. There is no real excuse to being late for class when studying in a boarding school. You can't say you were caught in traffic because there is no traffic.

His tie is loose, his shirt almost untucked. His pen is bleeding continuously into his hand.

Xabi's day could not have started any worse.

The class remains silent.

"Take your seat," Mr. Benitez says coldly, and Xabi shuffles towards his seat in the middle of the classroom. His classmate's eyes follow him, and when the period (finally, finally, finally) ends, Xabi lags behind to apologize (profusely).

"Xabier," Mr. Benitez says without looking up from grading papers.

"Uh, sir," Xabi starts hesitantly. He's always been on good terms with Mr. Benitez, but only because he's never gotten the chance to be on Mr. Benitez' bad side. "I'm so sorry that I was late today, it will never happen again sir, I promise."

"Better keep to it, Xabi. Not late, ever again, you understand?"

"Very much sir, yes I do understand." Xabi realizes that he's becoming too affirmative about everything.

"All right, you can go."

Xabi feels a bit shocked at how lightly he's being treated, then realizes that he is being treated lightly. He almost runs out of the room but remembers that he had to have some semblance of dignity in front of teachers, so he walks out briskly then runs all the way to Literature class at the end of the hall.

Steven's in the shower when Xabi gets back from his meeting. He skipped dinner (again—it's something he's become used to) and his stomach lets out a low grumble.

The setting sun casts a dull yellow glow on the room and Xabi wearily takes off his jacket. His fingers are an off shade of violet, thanks to his bleeding pen. He flips open his to-do list.

He sinks down onto his bed, sighing. Another one of those nights, then, he thinks forlornly. Steven emerges from the shower, grinning.

"Hello," he says, pulling on a shirt.
Xabi doesn't look up from picking at the imaginary dirt on his trousers.
"Not all right, are you?" Steven asks. It's obvious that he's used to how Xabi is acting—anyone else would show extreme concern.
Xabi sucks on his bottom lip.
"A kiss to make it better?" Steven tries.
Xabi stands up, stretches. He smiles (but it never reaches his eyes).

"Sorry, just had to reboot there. Slight malfunction."
"Damn viruses, can get them off anything," Steven smirks, patting Xabi's cheek. "Sure you don't need to recharge, or something? I'm running out of computer jargon."
Xabi scoffs. "My batteries are eternal."
"They are not you were late today, don't think I didn't hear about it."
"I was mentioned in your social circle?" Xabi looks at Steven, wide-eyed and sarcastic.
"You us sound like a bunch of birds," Steven remarks.
Xabi opens his mouth, and then shuts it. "I'm going to go do some work now."

Steven goes to sleep at 10 (lights out) and wakes up at 3am. Xabi's head is resting on his laptop. Steven watches him for a moment, the dull white glow of the monitor illuminating the little bumps and dark spots on Xabi's face. Steven gets up.

"Hey," he shakes Xabi softly. "Wake up."
Xabi cracks an eye open and glares at Steven accusingly. "Go away," he says, or tries to.
Steven's eyebrows rise. He gently pulls Xabi up and pushes him toward his bed.
"You don't always need to do work 3 days in advance, you know."
Xabi is ready with a sarcastic remark but Steven places his hand on his mouth.
"Enough."
Xabi lies down on his bed and watches Steven. "I don't need you to tuck me in to bed, thanks."
Steven smirks and shakes his head; You don't understand, do you? He seems to say. He lies down beside Xabi and kisses Xabi's cheek. "You really ought to shave," Steven says, and Xabi gives a half-hearted smile before falling asleep.

The weeks progress and they see less and less of each other.
Xabi thinks, it's all right, it's not like we ever saw much of each other anyway.
Steven leaves post-its on Xabi's chest every morning (he never wakes him up, though).

The weekend comes. Steven has a game, and Xabi has meetings upon meetings. They see each other across the cafeteria and force smiles.
Steven loses the game.
Xabi prints out the wrong proposal, reminders and schedules.

Xabi's typing on his laptop (when is he ever doing anything else these days? Steven asks himself) when Steven arrives from the game. Xabi's still typing after Steven finishes his shower.
"You're still here," Steven says for lack of anything else to say. He's tired and angry.
"Yes, I am." Xabi answers, he doesn't turn to face Steven. Doesn't even shrug. He is sick of everyone's shit.
They are quiet.
"I need a drink,"
"I need a cigarette." They say it at the same time; smirk at the irony everything. Student council president and football captain, needing their vices.
They lock themselves in the bathroom, and Steven drinks his Grey Goose and Xabi smokes his Marlboros.
(They kiss and pretend to know what one another's vices mean—and they're addicted, addicted to sin, alcohol, cigarettes and each other.)

"What is wrong with you?" Steven tries very hard not to raise his voice. He is not angry at Xabi—he's angry at everything, at the team, at his parents, at this godforsaken school, everything but Xabi.
Xabi's angry, now, too. At least we have something in common, Steven thinks bitterly. Steven feels like the epitome of angry teenager: irrational and hormone-driven.
"There's nothing fucking wrong with me—maybe, maybe there's something wrong with you." Xabi's face pinches in.
Steven couldn't care any less.
"You can go fuck yourself!" Steven has crossed the point of no return.
Xabi forms a fist and punches him.

They throw each other around the room, throwing dirty punches and kicks, shouting expletives and each other's names.

They soon stop, with bleeding lips and swollen shins.
Xabi thinks (knows) that this has all stemmed from lack of communication, but that's what boys don’t do, or ever will do.

They don't apologize. There's nothing to forgive.

Xabi curls up beside Steven that night, whispering words he's too scared to vocalize to Steven's pillow, hoping that one day he can get the message across. He wakes up with Steven's arms around him (Xabi is like the water Steven tries to cup in his palm).

No one suspects anything, or at least, Xabi hopes no one does.
"Look," he says to Steven one night. The yellow sulfur lamplights outside filter through the curtains and illuminates a single path on the carpet.

"Don't pretend this is going to last."

"What?" Steven says. He turns to face Xabi. "What on Earth are you talking about?"
Xabi moves his arms about. Tries to articulate himself. "It's just. This. This thing."
Steven is silent. "Yes…?"
"Steven, have you ever thought about the future?"
"I don't believe in the future."
"What?"
"I don't believe in having to prepare for something you're not even sure is going to happen."
"What do you call training?"
"That's different. There are constants in life, things you know are inevitable. Besides, even games are susceptible to changes caused by uncontrollable variables."
"Everything about…our relationship is 'susceptible to uncontrollable variables'."
"I know. That's why I don't think about it in long-term."
Xabi tries to find a way to argue, but decides that fighting Steven (physically, mentally) is futile.

Their relationship has no boundaries. No limits, no exceptions, no rules. No unspoken bonds or understandings.

During the window of unprohibited internet access, Xabi sees a picture of Steven kissing another girl.

He doesn't care, not really. It doesn't matter. They never set rules or anything.

Steven returns from his weekend out and pats Xabi on the cheek. "Miss me?"
"No, and I'm sure you didn't miss me."
"Ah. Saw the pictures, then." Why Steven's so casual—or why Xabi's so angry, is surprising to Xabi.
"Look, Steven, I." He exhales.
"No, Xabi, don't. Don't even try to give me any shit for that. We never said anything about being exclusive, and you never implied that you wanted it like that, hell, you don't even act like…like we do anything."
Xabi is quiet. Steven leaves. Only then does Xabi realize how he feels (really).

Xabi falls asleep at 11. Steven creeps back into the room at 1. He falls asleep on Xabi's bed breathing out apologies.

They are often times, still uncomfortable with each other. Knowing that they each know each other's idiosyncrasies, vices, schedules and secrets often becomes unnerving.

They, for all their power and position, do not know how to communicate to each other.

Fundamental Forces; Gerrard/Alonso; R.

2009-11-01T06:47:33Z

Title: Fundamental Forces
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Liverpool squad.
Prompt: 088.School.
Word Count: 4 025
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: R
Summary: High school (boarding school) AU. He and Xabi couldn't be any more different, in most people's eyes. Xabi was the smart, responsible, well-rounded boy, and Steven… Steven just played football.
Author's Notes: for parvardigar. I had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it. ♥ This is probably one of the longest one-shots I've ever done ever. And probably one of the happiest ones, too. Advanced happy birthday, Greta. :)
Also! I have no idea why but every time i have difficulty in a certain subject it comes out as fic? last year I wrote a chemistry related one, hahahfjksdhkfjas.

Xabi Alonso, student council president, debate co-captain and football second-team center-midfielder, is tired, sweaty and sore. His ankle throbs as he limps up the stone steps of Hillsborough Hall. Damn all of this, he thinks. Damn extracurricular activities, damn academics, damn these stone fucking steps.

Steven Gerrard, first-team football captain and all-around party boy, doesn't look up from his book as Xabi throws open the door and dumps his bag on his bed. Steven's become used to Xabi's stress-induced erratic behavior. Xabi makes a few angry noises and wobbles towards the bathroom door. He's eternally grateful for that shower—they both are. But Xabi's thankful for it for possibly more innocent reasons.

Xabi soon steps out of the shower, still tired and still sore, but at least not so sweaty anymore. Steven can tell that Xabi's pissed. It's being trapped inside a burning house: no way out, and hope to get the whole thing over with, quickly. Xabi grits his teeth and checks his swollen ankle. "Fuck," he says meaningfully. Xabi wishes they had refrigerators too, because an ice bag would have been great. He settles with elevating his ankle.

It alleviates the pain somewhat, but he's still pissed.

After four years of being Xabi's roommate, Steven knows that Xabi's in an angry, unforgiving place when Xabi's face pinches in and he tries (and generally fails) to do schoolwork. Even if there is no schoolwork to be done.

Steven regards him quietly over his copy of Crime & Punishment. Xabi opens his own copy violently and begins to read. Steven inhales deeply and sets aside his book; he's getting ready to take the plunge.

"How was your day?" he ventures. Xabi looks up from his book.

Steven feels as if the Xabi's anger could form a storm cloud. Or a tornado. Or a guillotine.

"I was late," he begins, "for debate training because Harry wouldn't shut the fuck up about the stupid student union campaigns which everyone is pretty fucking informed about anyway so there's no fucking need to read the whole fucking proposal, right? Right. So we ended the damn meeting at 4, when it was only supposed to be until three-thirty, and when I get to debate training everyone was partnered and prepping already and god. So I couldn't train because Lucas was partnered with someone else because well I don't fucking know, they thought I wasn't coming? Why the fuck would I not go to training? I couldn't fucking do anything about it so I had to stay and watch the damn debate, and Christ. And then football—" Xabi purses his lips. "I get tackled by Alvaro and now my ankle is sprained."

To Steven, it doesn't sound like a particularly crap day, as far as crap days go in Xabi Alonso's life. But the Steven's never heard Xabi curse so much in his life, so maybe it was.
Or maybe his ankle just hurt more than it looked. In any case, Steven is quiet. He knows Xabi's tired and burned out and pissed. Steven knows he has nothing consoling to say, so he doesn't.

"And Nagore broke up with me. Which makes no sense at all." Xabi drums his fingers on top of his book. "This is stupid."

Steven avoids Xabi's eyes and licks his lips. This is awkward. "Uh…?" he says feebly. Xabi casts him a sideways glance and re-opens his book. It effectively signals the end of their conversation. Steven lets out a soft sigh; no casualties this time. He does feel genuinely bad about Xabi, though. They're not best friends or whatever. They barely even talk when they're not in their room. But, Xabi's sort of like…an adopted brother from Spain, whilst all his other friends are legit brothers. Steven creases his eyebrow and tries to think of a way to make Xabi feel better.

He still has a couple of bottles of mixed drinks stashed away inside his trunk—leftovers from the last party he held. And he knows that Xabi has a pack of cigarettes hidden somewhere in the medicine cabinet.

Xabi still is a boy, after all. Subject to sin and whatnot. Steven mulls it over. It's a win-win situation, really. Xabi forgets about his problems (for the moment), and Steven gets to see him drunk! The only other time Steven ever saw Xabi drunk was in his sophomore year and he was as baked as a cake so he couldn't remember anything about it. Nothing could go wrong—not really, anyway.

Steven jumps off his bed and flips open his trunk. He hums an obscure tune as he tosses shirts and sundry school materials out of his trunk and into the already messy pile behind him. He finds the first bottle of Patron wrapped in his polo. He finds a shot glass with his tie wrapped around it. He finds another bottle, wrapped in one of his old papers. I do not remember doing this, he thinks to himself as he the paper-wrapped bottle aside. He finds a few more bottles, and by this time, Xabi had put down his book and began to watch him with keen interest.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asks, as Steven picks up a pile of rumpled clothes and dumps it unceremoniously back into his trunk. There are a line of drinks by Steven's bed. "I," Steven says with a little smile as he unscrews the cap off a bottle of rum, "am merely showing my appreciation for you, Xabi, the best roommate ever, by throwing you a little party." He pours the amber liquid into a shot glass, and hands it to Xabi. "Now, you must forgive me for being a bit short on other…party favors, but as you may well deduce, this was all very impromptu." He pours himself a glass and raises it to Xabi.

"To our last year of hell." Xabi arches an eyebrow at him, but clinks their glasses together anyway.

Xabi is very, very, very drunk. He has never been this drunk ever, not even when he did three continuous beer bongs and passed out on the floor. He's so drunk he's beyond passing out.

He and Steven long ago (around 10) decided that cups were useless and bottles were the best things on earth, well. Next to what was in the bottles, anyway.

Xabi's lying on the cool white tile of the bathroom, watching the smoke from his cigarette swirl around with the steam coming from the shower. No one's in the shower. Xabi giggles. He wonders why the shower's on.

Steven bursts into the bathroom holding a bottle of tequila. He's swaying slightly. Or maybe Xabi's swaying. Or maybe the world is swaying, Xabi thinks, taking a final drag off his cigarette and flicking it into the half-full bathtub.

"That is not at all possibly safe." Steven says before taking a swig of tequila. "This is the best thing ever."

Xabi laughs. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does your face!"

Xabi laughs, again. He gets up unsteadily (and with the help of the sink) and wobbles back into their room. Steven's standing in front of his bed. Xabi feels a huge urge to tackle him, so he does.

Steven says something between "fuck!" and "jesus!" Xabi laughs into Steven's chest. Steven wriggles underneath him. "You are heavy," he says.

"I am not!" Xabi says indignantly.

Steven groans.

Xabi knows he's too close because he can see a line of tequila that starts on Steven's collarbone and ends on his bottom lip.

He wants to lick it, so he does.

Xabi wakes up because the sunlight shines directly on his eyelids. His head is aching. It's as if his brain wants to escape from his skull. He squeezes his eyes closed.

Then he notices that his hand is under Steven's shirt. He tries not to scream (like a girl). Instead, he scrambles off Steven's bed and into his own. During the entire process, he feels as if his brain is being sloshed around in a snow cone. Oh god, he thinks, kill me.

Steven wakes up a few minutes later. Xabi can hear him. Steven groans.

Xabi tries not to twitch. There cannot possibly be a mature way to deal with this kind of situation. He wants to bury his head in a pot of sand.

He hears Steven get up and walk to the bathroom. "Fucking aspirin," Steven says to no one.

He soon hears Steven walk out of the room. Xabi sits up slowly, all the while clutching his head. He walks into the bathroom to see if a shower could help the throbbing.

There is a raft of cigarette butts floating around the bathtub.

What the fuck.

Xabi's tried his very best to be optimistic about the whole being shipped off to boarding school thing. Nothing bad could go wrong—not really, anyway. His English was above average, even if he still had an accent. And it was just four years, right? He could live without having to fight over things with his two brothers.

Mikel had gone to the Academy too, and he turned out perfectly fine.

Just four years, he thinks to himself as he turns the brass knob of his dorm room.

Xabi's roommate likes football. Xabi knows this because a) there is a football on his bed, and b) his roommate has a Robbie Fowler poster up. Xabi relaxes with relief. At least there's one thing he and his roommate can get along about.

"Hi," Xabi says. He holds out his hand. His roommate takes it with a smile.
"Stevie Gerrard," he says.

"Xabi Alonso," Xabi says. The room isn't too bad. They have a bathroom (which his parents have to pay an extra €500 per semester for) and there's a decent amount of space between his bed and Stevie's. They each have respective desks (which look out on the quadrangle) and cabinets and Xabi's bed is just as soft as his bed at home.

"Play football?" Stevie asked.
"Yes," Xabi answers. He's unpacking his bags and systematically placing his uniforms in his cabinet.
"Plan on joining the team?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"My brother's part of the team," Stevie says, not at all trying to disguise the pride in his voice. "He's co-captain."
Xabi restrains himself from spitefully saying 'so what?'

They're quiet for a moment.
"Do people really call you Stevie?"
"Yeah. Real name's Steven, obviously. But no one calls me that."
"Can I call you that?"
"Why would you want to do that?"
"I feel like it."
Steven scoffs.
"Sure, I guess."

Steven is secretly proud to have a roommate that's in the student council. Except. Xabi's become less amiable, and much, much more angry. And he's beginning to curse a lot, too. He spends a lot of nights reading books that don't need to be read, and because Xabi keeps the light on and listens to music Steven never ends up sleeping properly, either. Xabi becomes cranky and he snaps at Steven more often.

But only around Steven. When they're outside of the room, Steven always notices that no matter how dark the skin around Xabi's eyes are, Xabi's smile is still as bright, his voice not at all gruff.

Maybe acting was part of the job description.

Steven is behind Xabi in the cafeteria.
"All right, then?" Steven asks, playfully digging the empty tray against Xabi's back.
Xabi turns to him, a small smile on his lips. "Yeah, why not."
They smile at each other for another second, and then Xabi turns to the Lunch Lady and asks for a cup of jell-o.

He and Xabi couldn't be any more different, in most people's eyes. Xabi was the smart, responsible, well-rounded boy, and Steven… Steven just played football.

Steven did have a bigger group of friends, though. That kind of thing matters (sometimes).

At the end of his junior year, Xabi was nominated for president of the student council.

Two weeks into his senior year, he, along with the other officers, were initiated. A week after that, he told his coach that he needed to be moved to the second team (or the reserve team, or the team that just trained all the time and never played a game ever) because his schedule was too demanding.

Xabi spends his nights shifting between reading proposals and current headlines. He stays up all the time that he's not at all fazed when Steven bursts into the room, deliriously drunk from the "party" Carra had in his room, a few doors down. Xabi is used to being no fun.

Sometimes he goes inside the bathroom and lets the shower run so that no one can smell the cigarette smoke because of all the steam. Sometimes he goes with Sami to watch the football team play against some other private school's team, but Sami knows that all Xabi really does is listen to the cheering and look at his phone. Xabi does look up, occasionally (when Steven's name is yelled out by the commentator).

"Xabi, you're no fun at all," Steven says to him when he comes back from eating lunch. It's three in the afternoon, and Xabi's head still throbs occasionally, but he's not that hungover anymore.

Xabi grunts from behind his laptop. He's only had half a burger to eat.
"Seriously. When was the last time you genuinely had fun?"
"I don't know, a few seconds ago when we weren't talking."
"You are lame like Everton is lame. Come on let's do something."
"Why don't you go play football with your friends or do whatever you guys do?"
"Because they're all studying and being lame like you."
"A wise decision, I should think, as exams begin two days from now."
Steven cuffs him on the side of his head.
"Spoken to Nagore yet?" He asks. Steven knows he's teetering on the edge of awkward inappropriateness, but he doesn't really care.
"No," Xabi says with an air of finality that he knows Steven always disregards.
"Have you eaten anything?"
"No."
"Let's eat."
"You just came from the cafeteria."
"So what? Food is the best cure for a hangover!"
"That cannot possibly be true. It's got to be something like a bloody Mary or more alcohol or something."
"Xabi. You're taking to the boy that spent half his high school life drunk. Come on; let's get you something to eat."

Xabi turns his laptop off with some reluctance, but follows Steven towards the cafeteria. It's relatively empty, and Steven makes Xabi take a seat as he takes a tray and begins to fill it up. Xabi tries to think of pressing issues, things he needs to write proposals and letters and read books for, but all he can think of is why his hand was under Steven's shirt and maybe it was all just an awkward drunken grope and—Xabi tells his mind to shut up.

Steven sets a tray with a piece of roast beef, mashed potatoes, a slice of cheesecake and a bottle of water on it.
"Bon appétit!" He grins.
Xabi eyes the food warily. He doesn't remember the last time he's had a full meal like this. He tells Steven this.
"I figured," Steven says. "All you eat is jell-o and sandwiches. Horrible diet you have, mate."
Xabi smirks and begins to eat his food.
Steven checks his phone occasionally, and Xabi tries his very best to not to think about what happened the night before, but he can't help it.

Maybe the reason Steven's being so nice to him is because he remembers what happened.

Xabi thinks he remembers what happened. He remembers taking shots with Steven, then deciding that drinking straight from the bottle was much more gratifying, he remembers lying on the bathroom floor, and he remembers tackling Steven... Xabi finishes eating and puts his tray on the mess pile. He and Steven walk back to the dorm in silence.

"Steven," Xabi starts. The pond is an odd shade of orange-pink because of the setting sun. "What happened last night?" he makes his voice light, and tries to speak nonchalantly.
Steven glances at him and checks his phone.
"You got blazing drunk, that's what," Steven says. He's grinning. Xabi scoffs.
"I know I got drunk. Did anything embarrassing happen?"
Steven avoids Xabi's eyes, but pretends not to. "No, nothing of that sort."

Xabi's fears are confirmed.

They reach the dorm without saying anything else about the previous night's shenanigans, and Xabi goes straight back to his laptop to avoid any more awkwardness.

It's Sunday night and Xabi feels very proud of himself. He finished studying for his Physics exam and editing his paper, and it was only ten. He smiles at his reflection as he begins to brush his teeth.

Steven shuffles into the bathroom, lips pressed in a thin line. "I cannot, for the life of me, understand this friction work shit." Xabi spits out the foam in his mouth.

"I'll explain it to you in a bit."

They sit beside each other on Steven's bed. Their knees and their arms are touching.

This is not awkward. This is not awkward at all. Xabi chants to himself. I am being a good person and I am helping Steven understand Friction.

"Fuck this," Steven groans. He rests his head on his book. Xabi chuckles and pats him on the back.

"You're doing all right. Come on, I want to sleep before twelve please."
"Oh thanks. No pressure at all." Xabi ruffles Steven's hair and they begin to do problem sets again.

Xabi yawns and rests his head on Steven's shoulder. "Have you considered just winging it?" he asks with his eyes closed.
Steven rubs his eye. "I guess so." He yawns. "You can sleep now, if you like."
"Do you get everything?" Xabi doesn't move.
"Maybe?"
Xabi smiles. "Physics is after lunch, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then I'll re-explain everything tomorrow."
"Okay."
Xabi sits up and yawns again.
"Thanks, Xabi." Steven says.
"No problem," Xabi answers as he collapses on his bed.

Xabi walks in his dorm room 20 minutes after the start of lunch break. Steven's already there, asleep on Xabi's bed using Xabi's physics book as a pillow. Xabi smiles to himself.

"Steven," Xabi says, gently shaking his roommate awake.
Steven cracks open an eye and looks at him. "Already?" he asks, voice raspy.
"Have you had anything to eat?"
"No. But it doesn't matter. Need to learn."
They discuss friction and work again, and Xabi stops talking when he hears Steven's stomach grumble.
"Attractive," he says with a smirk.
"I'm sorry my stomach isn't made of iron like yours!" Xabi laughs.
"Get something to eat, for god's sake. I'll see you in class."
"I'm not ready for failure," Steven says morosely.
"You will not fail, youngling. The force will be with you."
Steven laughs. "You are such a nerd."

Xabi decides to skip football training. He'll say it's because of his ankle, but it's not really bothering him anymore. He learned to become numb to the pain early on. Steven's not back from football training and Xabi's secretly relieved; he sets his laptop on his desk and begins to type his History paper.

Xabi stands up to stretch as Steven comes in. And then—

He's lying face-down on his bed and Steven is lying down on top of him.
"What the hell—"
Steven laughs and turns Xabi's body to face him.
"Consider this payback." Steven shoves a piece of chocolate into Xabi's mouth.
It tastes like it has alcohol in it. Xabi relishes the way the chocolate explodes inside his mouth.
"Wow, orgasm face?" Steven says, chuckling.
"Is this your way of showing gratitude? Tackling me and force-feeding me delicious food? Is this some newfangled means of torture? Are you fattening me before you eat me?"
Steven's eyes widen. "Sometimes you talk too much. Have another piece."
Xabi chews on it silently.
"The chocolates are thank you and the tackle is fuck you. It was all just a coincidence that I decided to say both things at once, I think."
"I think," Xabi says, licking his lips "that you just wanted to thank me and you just have a natural tendency towards violence."
"I have a natural tendency towards violence? I'm not the one who randomly tackles someone while under the influence! It just goes to show how your subconscious works."
Steven pops a chocolate in his mouth.
"Please sir, may I have another?" Xabi tries his best to sound like Oliver Twist and fails horribly.
Steven bursts out laughing. "Were you supposed to be Oliver Twist?"
"Shut up and give me chocolate, please. It's the only reason I'm allowing you to sit on my stomach."
"Oh I'm sorry, am I heavy?"
"Quite."

Steven rolls off him and leans against the wall. Xabi sits up.

"Where did you get these, anyway?" Xabi asks, taking one from the pack.
"That, my friend, is a trade secret. Just be happy I have them, hey?"
Xabi nods and continues to chew.
Steven looks at him, a small smile on his lips.

"What?" Xabi asks, licking his fingers.
"I never knew you liked chocolate," Steven says.
"Learn something new every day, don't you?"
Steven laughs.

Xabi knows he's too close because he can see a little bit of chocolate on Steven's lip.
He wants to kiss Steven, for no reason at all, other than wanting to.

Steven beats him to it.

His lips are soft and Xabi doesn't know why it's so shocking to him. Steven tastes like chocolate and grass, and he gently pushes Xabi down on the bed and Xabi obeys and—

Xabi's never felt like this before, and after four years of knowing Steven (Stevie) he knows that Steven's never felt like this before, either.

Steven's hands wander under Xabi's polo, and Xabi's hands pull on Steven's hair.

They pull away after a few moments, and they avoid each other's eyes. Xabi puts a piece of chocolate in his mouth and looks out the window.

Steven snorts. "Only you could make something like this awkward."

Xabi turns to him. "Fuck you."

"I bet you'd like that."

Xabi pulls Steven close and smashes their lips together. "You," Xabi says between kisses, "are a giant ass."

Steven laughs and kisses Xabi again. "You are still an awkward Spanish boy." Xabi pinches Steven's arm in response. Steven slowly begins to unbutton Xabi's polo, and Xabi pulls off Steven's shirt.

"You smell like the football field."
"Do you think insulting me makes you more attractive, Xabi?"
Xabi laughs. "I'm sorry?" He leans forward and kisses Steven. Xabi's hands touch all the muscles on Steven's back. He realizes that he likes the way Steven's mouth fits with his. Xabi's pretty sure mouths aren't meant to fit like that, but somehow, kissing Steven makes him lose all rational thought.

Steven's hand touches the top button on Xabi's trousers. "Is this...?"
"Yes," Xabi says quietly.

Xabi touches Steven's spine with undisguised wonder. This is crazy, he thinks. Absolutely crazy.

He's never thought anything could be so crazy in his life. His fingers touch the little bumps on Steven's back. Steven yawns and stretches, and Xabi closes his eyes and breathes out. He doesn't know how to feel; awkward and relieved just don't seem to cut it.

Steven turns to face Xabi, and he touches their foreheads together. Xabi closes his eyes.

"That was…" Steven starts. Xabi pulls Steven closer and presses their lips together. Xabi can feel Steven smile.

There are little patches of sunlight that heat up different parts of Xabi's arm, and it's all very pleasant, lying down in a small bed while being heated up by the early morning sun. Steven kisses him again.

"I should have gotten you drunk the first time we met, if I knew you'd be that good at…things," Steven says, chuckling.
Xabi laughs. "Fuck you."

They're silent for a while, relaxed and still heady from their new discoveries. And then Xabi's alarm clock rings and it's time to get ready for breakfast.

Colourless; Owen/Gerrard; G.

2009-09-01T13:40:10Z

Title: Colourless.
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Michael Owen
Prompt: 020.Colourless.
Word Count: 682
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: G
Summary: So this happens before, during and after the inevitable Man Utd/Liverpool game.
Author's Notes: For ladykillertofu.

fuck this.

He's in red again, and in Anfield, too. It's like old times, the fans, and the grass, and the colors.

Except it isn't.

Carra acts as if he isn't there. Michael feels as if Steven can barely look at him. He's learned not to care, sort of. He's taken his Liverpool red heart and stashed it away, because bigger dreams needed more space in him. He doesn't mind. He doesn’t.

Except. Except he wants to hear the Kop chant his name, like they used to, and he wants to understand Steven, like he used to, and he wants Steven to touch him, like he used to.

Red to white to white and black to red and black. He will never be the same; things will never be the same and he knows it's his fault.

"You could have it so much better," Steven says, fingers light against Michael's hip.

"I know, I know." Michael says, even though he doesn't.

He tries to win the fans over, because it's all he can do. He lies through his teeth, and Steven hasn't called. Not once.

Things have changed. Michael's to blame. He knows it. Everyone knows it. Michael just won't accept it.

The match ends with Manchester winning. Michael is happy, to say the least. Wayne pats him on the back and Michael feels okay about everything.

Except Steven's walking towards him, and he's not offering his shirt. He'd never have a Manc shirt in his house, even if it was Michael's. Especially if it was Michael's, maybe.

Steven offers his hand, and Michael has to wonder if this is all for press, and dear god, he thinks, please let it be for the press. Please please please. The bus ride back to the hotel is euphoric, to say the least. They're back at the top of the league, thanks to Michael's late goal.

Michael's chewing on his fingernail, and the last time he did it he was on the bus back from Manchester. Some things have changed. He hasn't. Still the same glory-seeker.

"Doesn't Liverpool give you the promise of glory, then?" Steven asks, he's not hurt, not really. Just asking.

"Not as much as Real Madrid," Michael says, bluntly. Steven's shocked by this, Michael can tell. But he doesn't care.

Michael's alone in the hotel room and he dials Steven's number. Believe me, believe me, believe me, he thinks desperately. Believe me like everyone else has.

"Steven?"
"Michael." He sounds tired, bored, almost.
"I." Michael breathes in, to calm the nerves he never used to have. "Good game today."
Steven sounds like he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Michael stays silent.
"I just." Michael starts again, falters.
Silence; Steven's not going to make this easy for him.
"I'm not going to say I was wrong, or that you were right, if that's what you're expecting," Michael says in a rush.
"I just want to you know. You're my best mate. And I don't want this—I don't."

Michael's pretty sure he's crossed the boundaries of coherence, but Steven understands.
This much, he knows.

"I'm not sorry, either, you know. And I don't want your forgiveness. I don't want your pity, or your spite, or your self-righteousness. I just. I want you to try and understand. That's all. And if you can't then I can't do anything about that. I just want you to." He breathes out because he doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't know what he wants from Steven.

"Mickey," Steven says. Michael starts. "I don't, I don't care about why you left, not anymore. Do what you want. I hope you're happy. I know you're happy. And that's all there is to it. We've been best mates since we were 10. And if you're happy, then I'll try my best to be happy for you."

"But you're making it fucking difficult." Steven adds with a laugh. Michael smiles, chuckles softly and says "Okay. Okay. Thank you." He bites his lip, ends the call. He doesn't feel much better about himself, but a little's enough, for now.

Conversations (#3) ; Gerrard/Alonso; G.

2009-08-04T18:39:19Z

Title: Conversations (#3)
Fandom: Football
Characters: Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard
Prompt: 021.Friends.
Word Count: 140
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: G
Summary: Honestly, Xabi leaving and me being able to post this is really a giant coincidence. I swear. &, I can't say these conversation things are series, or are in anyway related, other than in their titles.

Stevie hears about it first, because he's Steven Gerrard and because it's Xabi. Stevie's not mad, how can he be? He calls Xabi, and they talk, and Steven manages to smile, and he knows, just knows, that Xabi's smiling on the other line, too. They are oddly simple people in a complicated relationship. They share short conversations and long kisses, lingering looks and rushed goodbyes. They are accustomed to each other's attitudes, used to fits of anger and cold shoulders. They understand each other, and it's not love, no, something more like "thank you," or "good luck," one of those unspoken things formed from the kind of camaraderie felt through cellphone signals and across-the-pitch glances.

They won trophies together, and now they'll win them apart.

it'll take while before i come to grips with this, i think.

Memoria; Alonso/Silva; R

2009-06-25T18:28:56Z

Title: Memoria
Characters: Xabi Alonso/David Silva
Word Count: 572
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Rating: R
Summary: There are circular bruises on Silva's wrists; violet then blue then brown then an off sort of yellow.
Author's Notes: Appropriate icon is appropriate, no? For liberta, because she is awesome. :) ♥

There are circular bruises on Silva's wrists; violet then blue then brown then an off sort of yellow. There are red marks on Silva's chest, and Silva feels like a bruised peach.

David doesn't ask. David doesn't bring it up so Silva shuts up about it.

Xabi has a red mark on his neck, and Steven says casually in between licks, "I never thought of Nagore as a biter," Xabi makes a sound like "Prff" but Steven doesn't notice.

"I don't like you with a beard," Silva says with a bit of a smirk, his nose buried in Xabi's cheek. He's kissing-sucking-biting in the place where shoulder and neck meet. Xabi tilts his head to the side, hands exploring Silva's torso.

"I don't like you with any clothes on, but you're not doing anything about that are you?" Xabi grins, taking hold of Silva's chin and pressing their lips together. Silva smiles into Xabi's lips, takes off his shirt. "Walking around naked for one person's pleasure is hardly decent." He unbuttons Xabi's pants.

"Enough talking," Xabi breathes out.

Silva doesn't think of anything when Xabi's fucking him against the wall. Well. All he thinks is "fuck fuck fuck puta puta puta," and all he says is "fuck xabi fuck" and other variations of phrases with more Xabi's and curse words thrown in. Xabi comes after Silva, and they fall into a messy, sweaty heap on the floor. Xabi rolls Silva off him and stretches like a cat.

Silva watches in odd fascination; does Steven see this when he fucks Xabi?

Xabi gets up and heads towards the bathroom. Silva pinches the bridge of his nose.

Xabi wakes up before Silva, and he orders room service. Silva wakes up to the smell of coffee. There's an empty plate beside the plate which Silva assumes is his, and Xabi turns away from the television to smirk at Silva. "Finally up, then?" Silva grins a bit impishly, and he keeps thinking about Steven Gerrard and David, and does anyone really deserve anyone, he thinks.

They have 3 more hours until check out time, and Xabi fucks him slowly, and Silva doesn't know how Xabi draws out those long, aching moans out of him, but he does.

It's absolutely obscene, and Xabi whispers dirty things in his ear and he comes on the plain white sheets.

Silva doses off again, and he wakes up to Xabi kissing his back.

"What are you doing?" he asks. His breath tastes like stale coffee and Xabi.

"Kissing your moles," Xabi says, like it's the most normal thing. He makes it sound like "eating cake," or "watching TV," but no one kisses Silva's moles. David doesn't kiss Silva's moles.

Silva wonders if he does things to Xabi that Steven doesn't. He turns, producing a displeased mewl from Xabi. Silva fits himself into the contours of Xabi's body, and rests his mouth just above Xabi's chin.

"You're scratchy," he says, biting his bottom lip to stop from smiling.

Xabi's hands are flat against Silva's back, and Silva inches his lips up slowly, just so they casually brush against Xabi's.

They check out of the hotel and take separate taxis. They hug each other on the foyer like how good friends would hug each other, and Xabi says goodbye and so does Silva.

Silva falls asleep beside David that night, and all he can think about is Xabi's lips on his back.

Feedback please, am very conflicted about this fic, hahaha.

Last Night; Gerrard/Alonso; PG.

2009-06-11T12:53:06Z

Title: Last Night
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Prompt: 025.Strangers.
Word Count: 359
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: PG
Summary: "Perhaps perhaps there could be reason, perhaps there could be cause, or maybe you have simply lost the interest of love I had thought we shared."
Author's Notes: SO I was talking to Mika a few nights ago, and I made her read this (Last Night by John Cornwall) and we were talking about how to make it into a fic and she this and so…jdfhsjk.

They don't smile as easily as they used to. They no longer whisper sweet nothings. The grunt, and kiss, and sweat. They are older now, not as reckless or as impulsive.

"You kiss different," Steven says, in his usual, ineloquent way.

Xabi furrows his eyebrow. "I'm sorry?" he says, but he's really not.

He never means anything he says anymore.
They spend a few days in this flat sometimes, content with each other's presence. Content with the walls that, for at least the night, allow them to pretend that they have no other commitments other than each other.

Xabi wakes up with Steven's arms around him and Steven's nose pressed against his scalp. He breathes in the familiarity of the situation, and allows himself to bask in the off feeling of security—of love. The love which they both seem to have lost.

Xabi doesn't know where or how their slow distancing began; he only knows that it did. He doesn't want to be distant. He doesn't want any of it to end.

Steven snores softly, and Xabi tries to kiss away his own fears on Steven's forearm all the way to the tip of his nose. He doesn't want any of it to end.

Steven's eyes open slowly, Xabi's face is hovering on top of his and Steven smiles and Xabi smiles back with a look that was slightly akin to love. Xabi knows the little crinkles around Steven's eyes like the back of his hand and he touches Steven's face with a little bit of wonder, and God, he's trying, isn't he? Why isn't Steven trying? (He desperately wants to ask himself why the fuck he cares so much anyway, wants ask himself why he's never cared about anyone else like how he does for Steven, but he doesn't.)

Steven kisses the tips of Xabi's fingers then pulls him in for a kiss.

Xabi shuts his eyes and pretends that nothing's wrong—it's always been his strong suit. Steven always knows, though. He notices the little things that Xabi doesn't even notice he's doing.

Tonight Steven doesn't notice. Tonight, Xabi kisses him like it's the last time.

Blood is upon them; Gerrard/Alonso; R.

2009-06-09T18:50:03Z

Title: Blood is upon them.
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Prompt: 084.He.
Word Count: 206
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: R
Author's Notes: very late reply to imyourheroine's prompt "Bibles and rosaries" (commentporn)

there is a bible in the drawer of the bedside table in the motel they spend the night in.

the curtains are moth-eaten and are off white, and the gravel outside their door ruins the paint job of steven's new car.

neither of them care.

nobody watches.
nobody knows.

they share kisses and moans, and dreams and regrets and they fuck endlessly, and when the rays of the sun enter the room through the little rip on the curtain, steven murmurs something like 'i love you', but xabi pretends not to hear it.

xabi opens the bible and, oddly enough, the first line he reads says "If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall be put to death; their blood is upon them."

blood is upon them. blood has always been upon them. they march out of the tunnel every week, thinking, i bleed red, but of course, everyone bleeds red.

steven wakes up again, and they kiss and bite and fuck all over again, and xabi thinks, a little dazedly, that he would rather have a million deaths upon him than give any of this up, hidden touches and public kisses and all.

feedback please, it's been a long, long time.

Feeling; Kirk/Spock; PG.

2009-05-31T17:43:09Z

Title: Feeling
Characters: Jim Kirk/Spock.
Word Count: 120
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: OH GOD.

Jim's cheek is rough with stubble; little hairs press against the soft pads of Spock's two fingers. Spock is silent, lips pressed together. He has never imagined himself in this position, ever. Jim arches an eyebrow and smirks. "What?" he asks, all boyish charm and stupidity. "Nothing," Spock says. He sounds weary. Jim touches Spock's hand with some interest, the smile never leaving his eyes. He enjoys being impertinent, and Spock can't ever do anything about it. "Nothing?" Spock watches him, all silent interest.

Jim's lips are soft and pink and wet, and Jim winces when Spock accidentally knocks against the bruise on his hip. (So this is what it's like, Spock thinks, as Jim's hands slide up his uniform.)

Bitter & Absolut.; Casillas/Yeste; R.

2009-03-15T12:56:33Z

Title: Bitter & Absolut.
Characters: Íker Casillas/Fransisco Yeste
Word Count: 286
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Rating: R
Author's Notes: Title from “Bitters & Absolut” by The National. This song = :D For reima--she's the one making me write Yeste all the time. 8D

He forgets himself sometimes, when he feels flares of anger and he just needs to let it out and sometimes—sometimes he forgets that people are watching, that what he does matters, that his job, his starting position is always on the line.

The water is hot as it trickles down his face, he’s fuming, fighting hard not to punch the white tiles, and he knows it’s his fault. He knows it’s his fault- that’s why he’s so fucking pissed.

He thinks about texting Íker (they exchanged numbers on the one time Yeste was called up), apologizing, or something, but he’s far too proud to do that. So he doesn’t. He texts Íker saying: Can we meet up? He can imagine the look on Íker’s face, confused and angry and texting back Yes.

The bar is dark and empty and Yeste buys Íker a drink. They don’t talk; merely sip silently at the cheap alcohol. They take a taxi to a seedy motel, and Íker doesn’t ask, doesn’t say anything as Yeste presses him against the peeling walls, placing his hands just where he had less than an hour ago.

“Are you mad?” Yeste asks idly as he pulls off Íker’s shirt.

“No,” Íker says, tired.

“I’d be mad,” Yeste says, guiding Íker’s semi-inebriated form to the bed. “I am mad,” They fall on the bed ungracefully, drunken limbs and sore muscles.

“You don’t have the right to be mad,” Íker says, pressing kisses on Yeste’s wrist, forearm, shoulder. “You won.”

They move slowly, soft gasps and moans and little words whispered on sweat-slick skin.

Yeste forgets himself again, loses himself in Íker’s skin and too-white hands.

They fall asleep as the sun begins to rise.

Take a look at me now; Gerrard/Alonso, PG.

2009-03-07T03:34:55Z

Title: Take a look at me now.
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Prompt: 090.Home.
Word Count: 350
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: PG
Summary: There are things Xabi does, and things Xabi doesn't do.
Author's Notes: I feel like I haven’t written Xabi/Steven in forever. Feedback, please.

There are things Xabi does, and things Xabi doesn't do. Things that Xabi approves of (football, alcohol, and cigarettes), and things Steven doesn't approve of (cigarettes, cheating, and statistics).

Xabi’s smoking in a cafe on the outskirts of the city; he watches the waves crash on the port—remembers la concha, his childhood. There are couples striding idly on the shore, and he remembers Nagore. He wonders why this city reminds him of things he had in Spain, things he left behind (things he wishes he had). Steven doesn't know he does this (watch people and chain-smoke), but if he did, he would mind. He would come, and watch people with him, while exuding his disapproval for Xabi’s habit.

There are times when he doesn't need Steven; times like this when he's comfortable remembering things, thinking to the sound of waves and seagulls and the soft chatter of the other customers. These are the times when he tries to understand his (not so) new life, tries to think about the decisions he has to make, and the responsibilities he left at home. He puts out his cigarette, orders another coffee, and watches the sun set. He thinks about bringing Steven to tolosa to see a real sunset (or, the only sunset Xabi thinks is actually worth watching).

There are times when he needs Steven, he thinks as he blows on the hot cappuccino. times when Steven needs to be there, times when he's injured and feels like his life is falling away with every bandage covering his leg. Times when he gets too homesick for it to be remotely nostalgic (because nostalgia is a kind of nice feeling, and homesickness isn't) —there are times when Steven needs to be there, to kiss away Xabi’s fears, to taste the nicotine on Xabi’s tongue.

There are times when Steven comes over and watches games with him, and Xabi understands (in that exact moment when Steven’s lips are hovering just above Xabi’s) why he’s still in Liverpool, why he hasn’t gone back home to sunsets and memories (because home is where Steven is).

Better; Alonso/Yeste; R.

2009-02-28T19:49:22Z

Title: Better
Characters: Xabi Alonso/Fransisco Yeste
Prompt: 038.Touch.
Word Count: 276
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: R
Summary: It begins in 2005
Author's Notes: for reima. haha. ily, bb. ♥

It begins in 2005—drunken kisses shared between roommates, and it escalates slowly, to kisses in dark corners, and hand jobs in side streets. It ends when the internationals end, and that is that. No words are shared, no phone calls are had.

They meet again, in a hotel (“How appropriate,” Yeste says, and Xabi has to agree) and they greet each other, shake hands, and walk away.

Later that night, Xabi finds himself pressed up against the generic printed wallpaper, shirt removed, and pants being unzipped. He breathes in the familiarity of the situation, stops Yeste, and leads them to the bedroom. He removes Yeste’s shirt in the process. They collapse ungracefully on the bed, no words have been said and Xabi’s writhing under Yeste’s ministrations when:

“You think you're better than me,” he says, wet lips sucking gently on Xabi’s neck. Xabi breathes out slowly, not trusting himself to be coherent.

“don't you, Xabi?” he whispers against Xabi’s collarbone, and Xabi shuts his eyes, bites back a moan, because Yeste is all eyelashes and spiky hair, all unfulfilled dreams and torn ligaments.

Yeste begins kissing Xabi’s jaw, pausing before he reaches Xabi’s lips.

“Answer me,” he says.

Xabi opens his eyes slowly, pauses before he replies. Yeste smirks a little, casts his eyes away from Xabi, sweat-slick, flushed, needy, Xabi.

“I don’t,” Xabi murmurs, hand sliding up Yeste’s naked side. “I don’t,” he repeats, a bit louder. He leans forward, hand cupping Yeste’s cheek. “I don’t think I’m better than you,” he says, lips brushing Yeste’s lips. “I think that I’m just a whole level above you.” He grins before pressing their lips together.

Duties; Gerrard/Agger, Finnan/Agger; G.

2008-12-28T15:25:34Z

Title: Duties
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Daniel Agger. Daniel Agger/Steve Finnan.
Prompt: 072.Fixed.
Word Count: 221
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: G
Author's Notes: for jumping_down. ♥

Dan calls when Finns leaves. Steven's standing on Dan's porch 5 minutes later and Dan opens the door looking angry and pained and horrible. Steven leads them to the bedroom and attempts to kiss away the frown on Dan's face. They don't say anything; kisses and touches and soft moans, until:

"Do you…?"

"Yes, please," and it's the first time Dan's ever said please, and Steven can't help oblige because it's Dan, and he'd never looked like this ever before.

Steven touches Dan's cheek, "Are you...?" "No," "You really…" "Yeah." Steven nods and kisses Dan once more before taking off his shirt.

*

They lie in silence when it's over, and the rain taps quietly on the window. Dan's turned away from Steven and all Steven can do is kiss Dan's shoulder because he doesn't know how to make anyone feel better after things like people leaving.

"Does it…?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck," Steven mumbles, and Dan grunts in agreement.

They stay silent for a few more moments, and Dan sighs.

"Thanks,"

"Yeah." And Dan looks a little bit better, and Steven smiles and kisses the tip of his nose. He starts getting dressed and Dan lies on his back.

"It gets better, you know," Steven says before closing the door. "Sort of. Sometimes."

"It better. I hope he rots wherever he's going."

Conversations (#2); Torres/Ramos; PG.

2008-12-28T15:16:46Z

Title: Conversations (#2)
Characters: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Word Count: 255
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: for imyourheroine ♥

Fernando brought a box of brownies over, the night before he left. They’re still in Sergio's refrigerator, a rotting memento of the last thing Fernando touched before he left.

Fernando calls when he's on English soil. He sounds tired. "I miss you," he says, and Sergio nods, forgetting that he's on the phone.

"Sergio?"

"Yes, yes," Sergio says quickly, and ends the call. He goes out with Gago and Guti that night, gets drunk and wakes up with two girls on his bed.

Fernando calls every other day, says things like: "I want you," and "I miss you," but never "I want to go home," because home for Fernando is Liverpool, now. Sergio amuses Fernando by talking about the usual antics Canna and Gago get up to, and blocks Fernando out when he starts talking about Xabi and Pepe and Alvaro and Stevie. He laughs and prods at the right parts, and Sergio feels that Fernando suspects nothing.

It's been a year since he left, and Sergio throws out the moldy brownies. He doesn't turn on the TV at all, and turns off his phone. There's a knock on his door and:

"Fernando?" Sergio smiles stupidly, genuinely, for the first time in months. Fernando kisses him, and Sergio kisses back, and Sergio is happy.

They kiss and smile a bit more, unclothed and sated. "Until when are you staying?" Sergio asks, yawning.

"Tomorrow," Fernando chews on his lip.

Sergio nods absently. Fernando kisses Sergio. "I missed you so much when I'm in Liverpool,"

"Then stay."

Wait; Torres/Ramos; G.

2008-12-28T15:08:26Z

Title: Wait
Characters: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos. Fernando Torres/Steven Gerrard implied.
Word Count: 238
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: gift for septemberjoy. ♥

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he whispers between kisses on Fernando's shoulder. Sergio is all words, and kisses and caresses during the day. The pale yellow streaks of the morning sun highlight Fernando's freckles, and Sergio smiles. Fernando closes his eyes and loses himself to Sergio's idle ministrations, sated for now as Sergio begins to plant kisses on each of Fernando's fingertips. Fernando's cell phone buzzes to life beside him, and he lets it fall off the cream-colored duvet and on to Sergio's carpeted floor.

Stevie could wait.

Sergio curls up beside him and the body heat they share comfort Fernando slightly; Sergio is the only constant in his life (not considering football, of course) and he's happy for Sergio.

Even if they only see each other every few months.

Fernando doesn't expect Sergio to be faithful, at least not in the traditional sense: Sergio fucked other people, and Fernando fucked other people. But when they were together, it's as if those people never existed.

So Stevie could wait.

Fernando murmurs something against Sergio's hair, and they lie in silence as they watch the snowflakes land on the window pane. Sergio soon grows tired of the endless white landscape and he turns to face Fernando. His eyes are closed when he asks: "Are you having a merry Christmas?"

And of course he is, even if he's not in Liverpool and—Stevie doesn't like waiting.

The Weight of Words; Gerrard/Alonso; G.

2008-12-28T15:00:56Z

Title: The Weight of Words
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Prompt: 068.Lightening.
Word Count: 213
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: G
Author's Notes: gift for pendules. ♥

Xabi remembers:

>"Stevie," the name is heavy on his tongue, like how the accent is heavy in his voice and like how the dictionary is heavy on his lap. "What is valor?"

His captain looks up from the magazine, somewhat used to Xabi’s questions. "Valor? Bravery, I guess."

Xabi leans back on the plush leather couch. "Brave, like, saving a princess from a dragon? Brave like standing up for what you believe in?"

"Brave, like stepping up to the penalty spot, and your heart's jumping out of your chest and you know everyone's depending on you. Brave enough to kick the ball."

"Must you always speak in football? And if that's bravery, what is courage?"

"Valor, courage, bravery, it’s all the same. You take a risk, and that’s what it is."

Steven looked at Xabi, as if expecting another question, another rebuttal, and Xabi says:

"…So you were brave when you kissed me?"

Steven smiles a little, but doesn't answer.

Through the years, Xabi realizes that Steven was brave, in the sense of taking risks. (Xabi made sure to check the dictionary later, and it said: 'Valor (n): strength of mind or spirit that enables a person to encounter danger with firmness.' Bravery was synonymous with courage, so in that Steven was right.)

Conversations; Gerrard/Owen; G.

2008-12-24T06:33:38Z

Title: Conversations
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Michael Owen
Prompt: 026.Teammates.
Word Count: 125
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: G
Summary: After Mikey leaves.
Author's Notes: for ladykillertofu, ily so much it doesn't even make sense.

Laura, I found a cutesy pairing name for Stevie/Mikey. Stikey. Say it. Say it. Say it.

For the first few months, they have their fair share of phone calls in the middle of the night, things like:

"Carra was a complete tosser today,"

And "I'm getting used to being here,"

And Steven trying to evade the topic Michael desperately wants to talk about.

They end with goodnights and we'll-talk-tomorrows, and soon enough, the phone calls stop. Steven is too busy being Steven: captain and father, and Michael's too busy trying to forget all of that. (He still dreams in red and gold and he does not want to settle for silver and black and white.)

It's two in the morning and Michael's phone rings.

"Stevie?"

"Come home," Steven says, sounding tired. Mikey swallows hard on the other line, frowns. "I can't."

Control; Villa/Silva; PG.

2008-12-23T17:55:39Z

Title: Control
Characters: David Villa/David Silva
Word Count: 314
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Rating: PG
Summary: Drabble thing.
Author's Notes: for fade_out_child & macbetto. I love you two so, so much.

The first time he met Silva, he was smiling- grinning – someone just about to have his dreams crushed into a mess of mud and artificial grass.

Someone he, David Villa (Villa, Villa, maravilla! ) was, 3 years ago.

*

He doesn’t know how it happens; all he knows is that it does.

(he'll look back on this day and blame it on the alcohol, because that's the only logical reason.)

But it happens. Again. Closed eyes and hushed sighs and sweaty palms and swollen lips.

Sinful(, that's what it is. Sinful in every way. (he looks at the rosary dangling from his chest in dismay and makes a note to go to confession on Sunday, in some remote village, far, far away from Valencia.)

And it happens again, and David finds himself cursing his inability to say 'no', curses himself for having no self-control whatsoever. He remembers Silva's smile and then the moonlight.

And it happens again; it might as well become a habit, David might as well set a schedule.

(it would go something like this:
Monday: fuck Silva.
Tuesday: fuck Silva.
Wednesday: fuck Silva.
Thursday: fuck Silva.
Friday: fuck Silva.
Saturday: Game. Fuck Silva.
Sunday: confess.)

And on Monday by the showers with his hand on Silva's hip, David remembers how it all started.

It started with an involuntary intake of breath. A hitch in the intake of oxygen that lead to unbuttoned shirts and breathless moans and bite marks under collarbones.

A breath. A sharp inhale that lead to a soft "Puta, David," and David smirking saying: "Que, Silva?" and Silva bites his lip and tries to stop from trembling.

And when Silva breathes in that odd way it leads to frenzied hand-holding lip-locking hip-thrusting madness.

David is furious at the thought that a mere snag in Silva's even breathing made him a teenager all over again. Damn his non-existent self-control.

Thoughts; Ramos/Guti; PG.

2008-12-23T17:16:56Z

Title: Thoughts
Characters: Sergio Ramos/Guti.
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: for reima, ily so much bb. Merry Christmas. i hope this is ok. yetse/xabi is still in the works, bb. maybe new year fic? haha.

Sergio shoves Guti against the wall with surprising strength, and Guti grunts as Sergio presses their lips together. Sergio begins unbuttoning Guti's pants, and Guti manages a strangled "We shouldn't be doing this,"-he thinks about Arancha, and Raul.

Mostly Raul.

"We shouldn't?" Sergio asks innocently while pulling Guti's pants down. Guti shuts his eyes and bites back a moan. "No," breathes out. "But you want it," Sergio smirks up at Guti. "You want it." Guti groans and Sergio knows he's won, for now. He can stop Guti from moaning Raul's name but he can't stop Guti from thinking about him.

Thoracic Vertebrae; Gerrard/Alonso; PG.

2008-12-21T16:36:52Z

Title: Thoracic Vertebrae.
Prompt: 098.Writer‘s Choice: Ribcage
Word Count: 412
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Stevie's studying to become a doctor.
Author's Notes: for reima, because you are the best person in the world. i love you. :) & I feel so rusty and I haven't posted on this LJ in forever.

Steven slides down on the wall and thumps his head on it. He hates it when it gets like this, when his cheeks are flushed and he can still taste Xabi and his heart is just about ready to jump out of his chest. He hates the way his shirt is always crumpled in a sad little heap on the floor and he'll have to go home to change into something more presentable (and probably take a cold shower, too) because of Xabi having to leave because of some stupid shit. Steven sits there for a few more seconds, wallowing in his sad predicament, and then he slowly gets up and buttons up his shirt and drives home.

Five hours later, Xabi is standing on his doorstep looking reconciliatory. Steven sighs as he locks his car and walks up to the front steps where Xabi is waiting, twiddling his thumbs. "Steven," Xabi starts and rests his hand on Steven's forearm, and the contact sends delightful shivers up and down Steven's spine, and bloody fucking hell, he can never stay mad at Xabi and Xabi knows this, and he uses this to his full advantage. Steven unlocks the door and lets Xabi in and Xabi steps closer to Steven as he shuts the door.

"Let me make it up to you," he breaths out, and Steven's heart is beating wildly now, and it's like this all the fucking time. "Xabi," Steven manages to choke out, and Xabi looks at him, and Steven lowers his gaze and shakes his head: the battle is lost.

They lie beside each other on the couch, the tips of their noses touching. "I hate you," Steven breaths out tiredly. Xabi closes his eyes and rests his head on Steven's shoulder and tightening his hug around Steven.

"Don't say that," he whispers to Steven's shoulder.

"It's true," Steven says, pressing kisses on the top on Xabi's head. "You drive me insane, and I can never leave you because…" Steven sighs and Xabi prods by gently nipping at Steven's collarbone. "…it's like you're the spine, the…thoracic vertebrae, and I'm the ribcage and I need you," he kisses Xabi's forehead. "Like I've never needed anything else before. Which sounds horrible, but it's true."

Xabi smiles in spite of himself and kisses Steven's jaw. "You've been going to too many seminars," he smirks up at Steven and Steven rolls his eyes. "But you know…the spine isn't shit without all the other bones."

Winning & Losing (and all the little and big things);Gerrard/Alonso, Gerrard/Torres, Gerrard/Owen; G

2008-11-18T13:04:49Z

Title: Winning and Losing (and all the little and big things)
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Steven Gerrard/Fernando Torres, Steven Gerrard/Michael Owen
Word Count: 268
Disclaimer: Lies.
Rating: G.
Author's Notes: Written during my history period. :O For ladykillertofu, because I love you. & it's Stevie/Mikey. Heh.

"It's all about the little things," Xabi says to the sky, hands tucked behind his head, relaxing on the Gerrard lawn. It's all about the statistics, and pundits, and goal differences on Monday morning. Steven looks down at him, hand trailing aimlessly around the grass stains on his shorts. "Eh," he says vaguely. He doesn't admit it, but he understands that it's almost always all about the little things, the ligaments and muscles and red polyblend stretched over his heart. He stands up and stretches. "Let's go inside," he helps Xabi up and kisses him. Xabi tastes like the grass and the sky, and graphs and points scored.

"It's all about the big things," Fernando says, lips tracing the veins jutting out of Steven's arms. It's all about the medals, and trophies and titles. Steven nods slightly, but it's true, sort of. It's about the 60 000 fans and the badge, and you'll never walk alone. It's about the liverbird and the Shankly gates. Fernando's lips are on Steven's, and Fernando tastes like victory. He tastes like trysts in the middle of the night, like gold and the roar of the crowd.

"Stevie," Mikey says while placing a hot cup of cocoa in front of him. "There are no little things. There are no big things," He pours himself a cup of cocoa and sits across Steven. "It's all about winning and losing," and all the phone calls and transfers in between. "That's all." They share a lingering kiss in the bathroom in the airport, and Mikey tastes like chocolate, and goodbye.

They didn't win anything that year.

Untitled; Gerrard/Alonso, Gerrard/Torres; G

2008-11-18T12:27:25Z

Title: Untitled
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Fernando Torres, Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso.
Prompt: 011. Red
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: I lie.
Rating: G
Author's Notes: inspired by these screencaps (from septemberjoy, but they're friends only. so. sorry.)♥ yay. For reima & jumping_down because I love & miss you both.

Fernando's hands grip Steven's shoulders in an odd fashion, tightly digging into the red shirt as if needing Steven to breathe. Steven is equally joyful and happy to show it; he is however able to keep his cool now, and doesn't kiss Fernando on the lips. Xabi smiles a bit ruefully at this, and turns away to face the cheering fans. He has the grace to smile, and cheer a little, and when he sees Dirk looking a bit lost he can't help but chuckle. Steven only ever has eyes for one, and his eyes no longer search for Xabi's.

pictures here.

Untitled; Ramos/Torres; PG

2008-11-15T15:52:00Z

Title: Untitled
Word Count: 155
Characters: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Rating: PG
A/N: A break from my Investigatory Project, and a break from NaNo. I miss being free.

Sergio's all soft hair and red cheeks. Sergio is flushed skin slicked with sweat. Sergio is the Armani Emporium in Madrid, and Fernando, he's the side streets and shady bars. The only thing they have in common is the constant, pulsating flow of blood in their veins and the talent in their feet.

In the room they share, Sergio fills the closet with zipped up suits, and Fernando's jeans and shirts stay stuffed in his suitcase. Later when Sergio's leaving to have some drinks with the Real boys, he doesn't bother asking Fernando to come along, but tells him to wait up. In the morning Fernando wakes up to Sergio's tan neck and loose tie (and it's all he has on, too).

Fernando's all bleach blond hair and Tengwar. He's freckled and pasty, and he doesn't wake up with his lips unconsciously praising Sergio's golden tan, he wakes up to dark skies and wet grass.

Goodbye; Agger/Finnan; PG.

2008-10-26T08:23:54Z

Title: Goodbye
Characters: Daniel Agger/Steve Finnan
Prompt: 065.Passing
Word Count: 282
Disclaimer: one word: fiction.
Rating: PG
Summary: Dan finds out about Steve leaving for Espanyol. :\
Author's Notes: I wrote this right after I found Finns left. Been mulling over it for a very long time.

It's real. It's true.

"Fuck."

Tattooed arms tense and pink lips are pursed. A sigh: "Fuck."

Two miles away a phone rings; a tired hello, and then:

"What the fuck is going on, Steve?" is exclaimed through the static.

"Huh?" There's no real way of handling situations like these-

"Why the fuck are you leaving?" –because Dan is not exactly a rational being.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, why the fuck are you leaving?" a 'me' is left suspended, lost in the airwaves.

"I meant, I'm sorry for leaving, or whatever you're mad at me for." Steve's grown tired of this, all of this, and that's the truth.

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?"

"I mean what the fuck are you going on about?"

"What do you want me to say to you?" In truth, that's all Dan ever got from the relationship: the answers he needed.

"Oh I don't fucking know, Steve, what the hell is going on?" It's a desperate plea, a great exhalation of all that was wrong in the world.

"I don't know, Dan, it's just…" Pauses always break the heart a little more. "I have to go." It's the most cowardly exit, but the truth is, he's never really known how to deal with Dan, anyway. It was always a game, or a bet, or a joke, and Steve couldn't do jokes or games or bets anymore.

He was a bag of old bones and Dan, he could always do better than him.

(Dan stares at the phone, a mix of shock, and a twisted sort of pain, and the truth is, there never was anyone better than Steve, and there never could be anyone better than Steve.)

&, new layout! yay.

All The Pretty Faces; Torres/Ramos; PG-13

2008-08-28T08:53:39Z

Title: All the pretty faces.
Disclaimer: i lie, i really do.
Characters: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos
Word Count: 592
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Title is from The Killers. But not entirely related to the song. :s For salgo/Naomi.

Sergio is gyrating hips and seductive smiles.

Fernando is a tangle of limbs and freckles and teeth and lips.

Together they are a drunken tirade.

Fernando, he places his lips on top of Sergio's and squirms, he still tastes the tequila and behind him Xabi and Pepe and Íker and Raúl are laughing.

This is their evil sort of initiation, a twisted sort of celebration (or maybe they were just having fun, in an odd porn star-industry kind of way.) for making their first movie.

Later on, when they're alone together (really alone, no cell phones, or TV or football-) on the balcony, they share a cigarette and stare at the city below them stir into life.

Fernando still tastes the tequila, still tastes Sergio.

Their fingers brush as Sergio takes the cigarette from Fernando, as they absently watch the first rays of sunlight filter through the clouds.

"How long've you been doing this?" Sergio asks, taking a drag and turning to face his reflection on the sliding door of the apartment.

"Two years," Fernando says, wisely deciding to light up his own cigarette. (God knows what would happen if his hands brushed Sergio's one more time.) "You?"

"Practically my whole life." Sergio says, almost wistfully, but not quite. Fernando has known Sergio for two days, and he knows well enough that Sergio doesn't do wistful. (He does do Fernando, and other blonde girls (and boys).)

Sergio is smirking lips and vodka.

Fernando is arched backs and 10 shots of tequila.

Together they make disaster (or beauty; the audience decides).

He doesn't know why he squirms with each of Sergio's drunken touches.

It's been two years. Two years of long nails scratching down his back, two years since fake orgasms (and some real ones).

But with Sergio, it's different. He actually pulls off the I'm-undressing-you-with-my-eyes look, and Fernando shudders when his lips meet Sergio's.

It's a dirty business, but Fernando still keeps some of his modesty. He doesn't openly kiss people. Kissing in front of camera is different.

(but that's not the only reason he squirms-)

There are no cameras now, no directors, no Xabi, Íker, Raúl, Pepe. Just them, on a single bed with a room hazy with the smell of booze and cigarette smoke.

They're close (too close-) and Sergio smiles, and breathes out:

"Kiss me."

And Fernando does: it's a scary sort of young-catholic-schoolboy kind of kiss; chapped lips against Sergio's.

This isn't a movie, this isn't a movie-

His hands tentatively go through Sergio's hair. His mouth opens for Sergio.

They stay like that for a few moments, tangles of hair and calloused fingers over each other's closed eyelids, and then-

"Owfuck."

Fernando bursts out laughing, and Sergio groans, rubbing his back.

"It's not fucking funny, Torres."

Fernando keeps laughing, and Sergio stands up, rubbing his back.

"Fuck you." He says, reaching for their last pack of cigarettes. Fernando's laughter dies down as he relaxes on to the bed.

"You do." He says with a wink, and smugly tucks his hands behind his head.

Sergio grunts at the joke, and lights up his cigarette. "Why the fuck did they keep us in this shithole, anyway?"

Fernando shrugs, and motions for Sergio to hand him the cigarette.

Sergio complies, and sits back on the bed. "Fucking bullshit. We should be making out on king sized beds, or something."

"This isn't a movie," Fernando says, making smoke rings. Sergio grunts once more.

(Sergio is arrogance and white teeth.

Fernando is pouting lips and wide eyes.

Together they are wasted dreams.)