Fic: The Game
Title: The Game
pairing: John Terry/Frank Lampard
Disclaimer: All made up by my over-active imagination!
Word count: 858
Summary: It less a game, than a contest. Who will break first...
The first sign is the eyes, the way they’re following you around the room, he’ll be dancing with someone, or talking in a corner, yet his eyes never lose focus. So you play up to that, unbuttoning your tight black shirt by one, then two buttons, stretching that little bit more, knowing the fabric was hi-lighting every detail of you well defined torso.
He responds, moving that little closer, laughing that little bit louder with whoever he’s talking to, flirting shamelessly with the blindly oblivious conversation partner.
Stepping up you game you order another drink, taking care to gently touch the cute barman’s arm as you order, licking your lips slowly, accentuating every movement. You see him swallowing with difficulty, he’s so close, this is effectively in the bag.
It’s a game, a contest of wills, of strength, who will give in first, who will drive the other one to the edge? It’s a ritual, as much as part of going out as the getting ready. As soon as you step in the hot, busy club, the war is on, who will crack first.
He plays the wildcard now, he steps out onto the dance floor, and that’s it, he’s grinding against the nearest person, no regard for the age, or gender, this isn’t about them, its’ about you. He’s getting low, his perfectly shaped body moving against the other person, who seems happy to go along with it. After all it’s not every day the Chelsea captain rubs himself up and down your back. Unless you’re you of course, in which case you know every inch of his body better than your own.
He looks over and winks as he dances shamelessly, fully putting himself on display. It’s less a dance than a mating call, the music is taking over his body, and his body in turn is conquering you. You can’t draw your eyes away and suddenly everything fades into oblivion and it’s you and him. Your eyes meet, and there’s a fire burning deep inside his, visible even to you, from this far away.
You can feel you erection swelling, damn it, today he means business, he has his heart set on winning, and you can tell you need everything to beat him. You desperately try to think of a plan of action, never one to be outdone, but then you notice something out of the corner of your eye, he’s left the dance floor, he passes by the bar and heads straight to the toilets, once again winking at you, before he enters.
“Ha!” you think to yourself, a sure sign of surrender. You abandon your drink, slip off your barstool and follow him inside. Feeling pretty damn smug.
He’s there waiting as you open the door, pouncing on you as soon as you enter. He swivels your bodies around, then pushes you up against the wall, mouth heading straight for yours, invading it with his tongue. You welcome it gratefully, you’re just as desperate for this as he is and your hands clutch at his back, pulling it closer. He body is pressed fully against yours, pinning you to the wall. You can feel your dick pressing into his thigh.
Its as if he can read you mind. He brings his hand away from its job of twisting in your hair, to fumble at your belt. The buckle is tackled with ease, but it’s your flies which prove his downfall, you bring your hands to help him before suddenly remembering something.
“Wait a minute!” You blurt out, pushing him away from you for a moment.
He’s flushed and slightly out of it for a moment, before bringing himself back to the present, you’re not sure if he’s angry, or concerned or... or...
“I won this little thing, I think this should be the other way round!” You can’t help sounding like a 5 year old, a sore loser.
John just raises an eyebrow, cool as ever, though his bright cheeks and bulge in his pants, tell a different story. “And what makes you think that Lampsy?” He rests his hand against the wall, centimetres, from your head, you’re all too aware of its presence.
“I... you... you came in here first! So...I win” you manage to stutter out, he’s standing so close to you, you can feel the warmth from his body, and as he speaks, his breath dances over your bare skin.
“I don’ think so...” He says, his lips inches from yours, you pucker yours unconsciously, anticipating contact, but John’s teasing, unwilling to give you what you want, and he moves, so that his lips are ghosting by your ear. “I came here first, sure, but you’re the one who followed” His breath tickles your ear in the best way possible, “It was in your hands” He says as he nibbles at your earlobe, you wrap arms around his waist, digging into the flesh of his stomach, enjoying the way it gave way under your fingers.
“You lose” And with one swift movement, he’s undone your flies and his hand has grabbed your cock and for once you don’t mind losing.