trainmad: Weathering The Storm
Author: jetaimais
Recipient: trainmad
Title: Weathering the Storm
Rating: R
Word Count: 5,200
Pairings/Character(s): Steven Gerrard x Xabi Alonso
Warnings: adult language and situations, established relationship (long distance), minor AU
Summary: They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but that doesn’t mean Stevie misses Xabi any less the longer they’re apart.
Notes: Happy Holidays!
Beta'ed by: non LJ user
14/2, Zurich?
It’s the first message to pop up when Stevie powers on his phone. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes with one hand and replies with the other. What about someplace warm?
Stevie doesn’t wait for a response. He pockets his phone when he goes out for a run, no sign of the sun on the horizon until he’s already on the final stretch to home. He showers, eats. The mechanics are simple, easy, and it’s not until Stevie’s had his coffee and his phone dings with another message that he feels himself starting to wake up and smile.
Rio? Xabi asks, and Stevie tells him okay.
- - -
They don’t talk about football.
Stevie’s got three days to spend with Xabi and it’s not nearly enough. He has no intentions of ruining the mood talking about work or home. They see the sights and walk the beaches, eating food they’ve never had before and watch the sun set on the ocean. Their elbows brush when they get too close and they share private little smiles.
They spend an entire afternoon lounging by the pool, Stevie reading a battered mystery novel he picked up who knows where and Xabi soaking up the sun. He gets hit on more than once, rubs sunscreen on a pretty brunettes’ back, flirting as easily as breathing.
Xabi smiles at Stevie while the girls talk to him, a coy little quirk to his lips, and Stevie has to force himself to focus on the paperback in his hands. He feigns disinterest and ends up having to reread the same page a half dozen times before it clicks who the killer is.
When they’re alone in their room, Stevie sucks a dark mark into the crook of Xabi’s neck and presses bruises into his wrist and hip as he fucks him on the hotel’s plush carpeting. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the vibrating sound of Xabi’s drawn out moans and the way he clenches and shudders around Stevie’s body, beneath him.
He thinks I love you with every sharp thrust of his hips and it’s possible he moans it when he comes, with the way Xabi smiles up at him and kisses him softly.
- - -
Xabi visits over the weekend in April, making himself at home despite the fact Stevie’s out at the shops when he showed up. His suitcase is tossed on the bed, his jacket thrown over the back of the couch and his socks have disappeared, sucked into the void. Xabi makes himself at home, like he never even left, and Stevie’s heart aches at the sight of him.
They spend the night curled into each other on the couch, eating takeout Chinese and drinking red wine. Xabi’s skin flushes from the alcohol and the slow caress of Stevie’s fingers along his inner wrist, gentle motions meant to distract and comfort. They fall asleep watching a documentary about meerkats and Stevie is too content to care about the crick in his back he’ll inevitably wake up with or the fact he’s got a perfectly good bed not so far away.
- - -
”You should visit,” Xabi murmurs. His legs are tangled with Stevie’s, one hand curled around the bars in the headboard and the other resting on Stevie’s face, covering his cheek. They kiss languidly and it’s a long time before Stevie answers.
”At the end of the month,” he says. He promises. He hasn’t got a game until the end of May, he’s sure he can steal a weekend away to be with Xabi without anyone noticing. In a few weeks, when the season picks up, they won’t have this luxury anymore. There won’t be any more nights of lying in bed and watching each other sleep, going on runs first thing in the morning and seeking lazy release in the shower after.
Xabi smiles and hums into their next kiss. His fingers trail down Stevie’s spine and curl into a fist in the back of his shirt. He tugs gently, not to get it off but to bring Stevie closer, and Stevie obliges without a second thought. “I miss you.”
Saying I know and I miss you, too isn’t nearly enough, but Stevie says them both anyways.
- - -
Victory, 2-0
Congrats, Stevie replies. Victory. 1-0. Call you in an hour?
Bai mesedez. :)
- - -
Their phone call is easy and relaxed, both of them crashing from the adrenaline high. The day is catching up to Stevie and so is his age. It’s worth it to hear Xabi’s voice though, gruff and distorted as it is over the phone. His quiet excitement is infectious and they talk about their games and their hopes for the season long after Stevie had intended to head to bed.
Stevie drifts off with the sound of Xabi’s voice in his ear, though for the life of him he can’t remember what Xabi was saying. He’s sure Xabi will forgive him.
- - -
Xabi sends a package for Stevie’s birthday, full of food and poorly wrapped presents and a note with Xabi’s messy scrawl - sorry we could not be together this year.
Stevie unwraps a jumper, heavy and dark gray, but soft to the touch. He rubs his face against the fabric and he can smell Xabi on it. He uses it as a pillow when he curls up in bed to call Xabi and say thank you, and it stays there until the scent of Xabi’s warmth starts to fade.
- - -
Stevie doesn’t see Xabi at all through the month of June. They talk on a nearly daily basis, because they both have work and lives outside of each other, but it doesn’t take the sting away. They knew that this would happen, that being together would mean spending more time apart, but it’s worth it.
Getting to see Xabi’s face when he falls apart, eyelashes dark against his cheeks, lower lip pinched between his teeth and toes curling along the back of Stevie’s shins while he shudders and moans - that sight, that memory, those precious few moments they get to be intimate with each other in a way Stevie’s never truly been intimate with anyone else? Stevie could never choose a life any different. This is the one he knows, the one that makes him happy.
Xabi might be gone, off to play for Real Madrid in who knows what city this week, but he’s still Stevie’s. He still comes home at every chance he gets and he never denies Stevie the chance to visit him, when this sport that’s become their lives isn’t getting in the way.
A few weeks in June where Stevie is left to his own devices, playing for his country and training for his club, they’re manageable. He’s got the thought of seeing Xabi again to get him through the rough patches and his friends and family to keep him company through the rest.
- - -
Liverpool always finds a way to keep Stevie busy. He’s wary of the news of a documentary, but amuses himself trying to imagine himself watching it with Xabi. He worries he’ll say something stupid, or wrong, and he can almost feel Xabi’s lips on the corner of his jaw as he murmurs reassurances and praises.
Stevie hops on a plane to visit Xabi in the middle of July, a spur of the moment decision dictated by anxieties and the need to feel Xabi’s touch, if only for a few hours. He’s welcomed in with open arms and Stevie wants to wrap Xabi up in his arms and bury his face in the crook of his neck.
Their lives are hectic, the distance changes with every passing week, and Stevie will never get enough of Xabi’s attentions to keep him sated and sane.
Xabi rides Stevie on his bed with his hands braced on Stevie’s chest and torturous rolls of his hips. He’s barely brought them both to climax before he’s rolling off the bed and hopping in the shower, apologies carrying over the sound of rushing water and through the closed door.
Stevie gets it; he showed up unannounced and Xabi has plans. They’re not together, not officially in a meet the parents sort of way, and Stevie doesn’t fault Xabi for wanting him to stay behind. Xabi’s never really met Stevie’s family either, outside of a Liverpool setting.
”I’ll be back soon,” Xabi promises, brushing Stevie’s hair from his face and kissing him softly. “There’s food in the fridge.”
Stevie falls asleep with his face pressed into Xabi’s pillow, inhaling the smell of him and burning it into the back of his memory. He only wakes up long enough to register Xabi climbing into bed behind him, the gentle scrape of his beard against the back of Stevie’s neck and a warm arm wrapping around his waist.
Xabi sighs contently when he curls in close and Stevie smiles and falls back asleep.
- - -
There’s a postcard from Puerto Rico in the post, with a simple wish you were here written in a familiar messy scrawl. Stevie stares at it for a long time, tracing Xabi’s hand writing and smiling at the beach portrayed at the front. He’s been to a lot of beaches with Xabi, but never in Puerto Rico, and he makes a mental note to add it to the list.
The postcard itself ends up tacked to his fridge, between postcards from Poland and Italy and pinned in place by the gaudy magnets Xabi gets a thrill out of picking up every time they visit. There’s a matching set on Xabi’s fridge, with just as many postcards. The sight alone is usually enough to make Stevie feel at home.
It makes him miss Xabi, but this is a happy ache and Stevie never lets himself dwell.
- - -
Maybe we should get a dog.
Stevie smiles to himself. It isn’t the first time Xabi has texted him with the suggestion, far from the first time it’s ever been mentioned, and he knows how the conversation will go. Who would it stay with?
We could try joint custody? Xabi suggests. Or one of us could get it for the holidays.
I get him for Christmas and it’s back in Madrid for the New Year? It’ll never work, but Stevie doesn’t tell Xabi that. Xabi knows just as well as Stevie does and there is no reason to ruin the mood.
It would give you reason to visit.
I’d visit you anyways.
Soon? Xabi asks.
Soon, Stevie promises.
- - -
They both lost their games that day. Xabi’s more tired than frustrated when he calls Stevie that night, and Stevie knows that feeling exactly. He can sympathize. “This loss would be easier to take if you were here.”
“I know,” Stevie says. He skims through the calendar tacked to his home office wall and he doesn’t think he has a weekend free for the rest of the season. Not one that doesn’t clash with Real Madrid games, in any case. “You want to elope? Blow off a couple of games and get lost in Brazil somewhere instead?”
Xabi laughs, tired but fond. “We would both be kicked from our teams if we did that,” he says. “Not that it doesn’t sound nice.”
“I just want one weekend,” Stevie sighs. He can feel his frustration rising, from the loss and from the separation, and he presses the heel of his hand into his eyes and sighs again. “Someone hates us.”
“Punishment for keeping secrets, maybe.” Xabi sounds thoughtful, but in an idle sort of way. “Be a good boy, Stevie.”
“I always am,” Stevie objects, and he can’t help but smile when Xabi just laughs.
- - -
Sometimes Stevie calls just to hear Xabi’s voice. To listen to him narrate his day while they both curl up with a glass of wine and just talk quietly for hours.
Other times, Stevie aches for Xabi and he needs to hear him moan and whimper over the line. The sound of Xabi’s breathing is as familiar to Stevie as his own. If he closes his eyes, Stevie can picture Xabi’s face as brings himself off with his own hand and the metallic blue vibrator he bought to take care of himself in Stevie’s absence.
On those nights, where the phone calls are driven by a mutual need for orgasm and loneliness and not the need to connect - those nights are the worst, and Stevie lays awake for hours just waiting for the ache in his chest to subside.
- - -
As far as Stevie is concerned, there are only two seasons: football season and pre-football season. It’s what makes it easy to get lost in the passing of time, focusing on the games he’s yet to play as a whole instead of the checklist he’s got in his phone and on his calendar. It’s a countdown until he’ll be free again, to spend his time with his family and with Xabi, but he can’t afford to let himself dwell on it.
It’s not Liverpool’s best season, really. Stevie is trying hard as he ever does and he knows the lads are putting forth the same effort. It’s difficult sometimes, balancing the game with family, but it’s a concession they’ve all had to make. They chose this life.
Still, Stevie takes pity when children get sick and wives get homesick. That is uncontrollable. In another life, in a universe where Xabi didn’t kiss him and ask him to wait, that could have been Stevie. He would have liked that, he thinks. A spouse waiting for him at home with their children, a girl and a boy. Stevie thinks Xabi would be a great dad.
It’s an idle fantasy, but it’s not hard to convince the press that’s what Stevie wants as soon as he’s too old to play.
Not that Stevie’s ever thought about what he would do after. Where could he possibly go after playing for his club, his country? He’s not the kind of guy to retire and live quietly off his savings, but if Xabi was with him, he could certainly try.
They’ve never talked about what’s going to happen when that day comes, but Stevie’s just content with the knowledge they’ll come to that decision together. The specifics can wait.
- - -
Xabi manages to sneak up during the tail end of October, exhausted from all the training and games but smiling brilliantly just the same. He’s warm in Stevie’s arms, his cheek against Stevie’s own, and it’s nice. This is the kind of quiet, simple affection that Stevie’s bones have ached for for months now. He brushes his lips against Xabi’s cheek, rough with stubble, and sighs contently.
They spend the night sprawled across the couch in the sitting room, tucked into each other’s sides and watching the fire burn low in the fireplace and sipping red wine. Stevie can’t even remember what they’re talking about, only that it feels so good to hear Xabi’s voice in person and see his small smiles and the subtle flush to his skin the more he drinks.
Stevie’s too tired and too drunk to fuck Xabi, but he strips him down and presses against him between the sheets anyways. The press of skin on skin is wonderful and warm, intoxicating in a way he can’t begin to describe. They trade lazy kisses, slow and soft, and Stevie falls asleep with Xabi’s hand in his hair and fingers curled around his bicep.
It’s the best sleep Stevie’s had in months.
- - -
They never quite make it out for a night on the town. Stevie’s got practice to go to during the day, and Xabi tags along once or twice, but he spends most of his stay curled up in an armchair and reading. He smiles warmly when Stevie kisses him hello and he never seems to mind when Stevie tucks his bookmark in and tosses the paperbacks across the room. By the time he gets home, when he’s done reacquainting himself with the soft press of Xabi’s lips, neither of them feels very much like going out.
Usually they order in. It leaves more time to trade lazy kisses on the couch and Stevie’s positive Xabi is determined to give him a hardon before he has to answer the door. It’s nice to cook together though, Xabi chopping vegetables on the counter while Stevie browns hamburger on the stove. There’s a quiet familiarity to this, something Stevie never realizes how much he misses until Xabi’s in the kitchen with him again.
They aren’t particularly good cooks, but Xabi loves food about as much as he loves football and he smiles so sweetly every time he leans in to feed Stevie a bite. His beard is rough against Stevie’s fingers but his lips are soft, and everything they make together tastes a million times better when Stevie can chase the taste of it off of Xabi’s tongue. These are the moments Stevie misses most when Xabi is gone, and he’s positive the feeling is mutual.
- - -
Xabi wears the dark gray jumper around the house, sleeves pushed up to his elbows so they don’t get in his way. It’s about as loose on him as it is Stevie, but it looks better on him. He smirks knowingly when Stevie doesn’t let him take it off when they fuck before the drive to the airport, but it ends up pushed up his chest to leave room for Stevie to bite and kiss and leave little marks that will fade by the end of the week.
It drives Xabi crazy, to be marked up for a day or two and nothing more, but Stevie doesn’t want to risk it and he gets off on the idea of Xabi pressing his fingers into a bruise to get it to stay just that much longer. He leaves the jumper folded up on Stevie’s bed when they’re done, pulling on his own clothes and checking his bag. He has to go, though he doesn’t want to, and they haven’t got much time to waste before he needs to be at the airport.
Stevie doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see Xabi next, but it isn’t soon enough. They kiss soft and slow, Xabi’s hands in Stevie’s back pockets and he sighs contently when they pull apart.
“I hate your shirt,” Xabi mutters. He plucks at the fabric idly before smoothing it out. “Remind me to send you something nice when I get back to Madrid.” He laughs softly when Stevie kisses him again to shut him up, but Stevie’s sure Xabi doesn’t even mind.
- - -
The busy schedule is starting to get to him. It’s subtle, the feeling of sore joints and his quiet exhaustion. Stevie tells himself it’s been a long year, because they’re losing as much as they are winning. He knows the game is about more than that, he knows it, but it still depresses him to look at his calendar to see just as many red xs as gold stars.
The same damn gold stars that Xabi used to use before he left, leaving them abandoned in a junk drawer in the kitchen, forgotten.
The feeling of abandonment swells up out of nowhere, sucking him in and dragging him down. Stevie doesn’t even realize he’s sitting on the floor and trying to bite his lip to distract himself from the burning in his eyes until he’s already there. Every part of his being aches for Xabi to be near and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.
Stevie and Xabi, they chose this life of loneliness. They agreed they wanted each other a handful of times a year instead of not at all. They idea of seeing Xabi with anyone else is enough to break Stevie’s heart, and that hurts almost as much as the reminder that Stevie is all alone and the man he loves most is two thousand kilometers away. There is an entire country between them and Stevie can’t cross it without risking his entire career.
There is nothing for Stevie to do but bang his head against the wall behind him and wait for the dry sobs to fade. He’ll call Xabi later, when he’s less likely to break down over the line, because there’s no reason to worry him now. Stevie is used to the bone deep ache, he just has to get it under control again so he can get his life back in line.
It hurts, but Stevie’s used to it, and he just needs a little time.
- - -
I love you, Stevie says, even though they’re not usually that blunt over the phone. It’s too risky, in case their phones are hacked or stolen, but he says it anyways.
It doesn’t take long for Xabi to message back I love you, too and it’s exactly what Stevie needed to hear - see - to calm the racing in his heart and breathe again.
- - -
Stevie never knows what to get Xabi for his birthday. Belgian chocolates and an ugly tie he’ll never wear are standard by now, along with battered paperbacks picked up from thrift stores with well wishes and promises of love written in sloppy handwriting on the front cover. Xabi says it gives them character and Stevie’s never questioned him.
It doesn’t help that Christmas is a month after, literally, and Stevie has never been good at buying presents for anyone. He knows that in theory, Xabi will love anything Stevie gets him, but Stevie can only buy so many watches before Xabi starts to question if Stevie knows him at all.
Stevie debates, briefly, getting Xabi a new vibrator. Something thicker, or with a stronger vibration, but he’s overwhelmed as soon as he starts to research and he quickly abandons the idea. There’s too many choices and Stevie’s cheeks heat up before he’s even past the first page. He’s too old to be embarrassed by sex, but this has always been Xabi’s area of expertise and it’s safer to leave it in Xabi’s hands.
He ends up picking up an antique pocket watch, tarnished with age but still ticking steadily. He polishes it until it gleams, until his fingers are sore and he can metaphorically see his reflection, and he only hopes it’s good enough.
- - -
“You spoil me,” Xabi says over Skype. His eyes light up when he plays with the pocket watch, and he seems legitimately distressed he’s in his pajamas and has no way to pin it to his shirt. “When I come home, I will make it up to you.”
“I love you,” Stevie says, and he means you don’t have to make anything up to me but he isn’t dumb enough to turn down whatever appreciative sexual favors Xabi has in mind. He’s getting older, not stupider. Getting to be intimate with Xabi is one of the things that keeps him going. Just the memory of his moans and shudders doesn’t do it justice, but it’s good enough that Stevie can get by with just his hand for the long weeks that they’re apart.
“I love you, too,” Xabi says. He pops a chocolate into his mouth and smiles, eyes flicking shut and a soft moan escaping him. He’s being a tease now and Stevie knows it, but that doesn’t make the sight of him any less amazing. “You will come visit before Christmas?”
“I should be able to manage that,” Stevie says. He flicks through the screens on his phone until he can pull up his calendar, skimming it quickly. “I can ask about a few days after the ninth. Not much turnaround time, but…” The chance to see Xabi in person makes it more than worth it.
“Good boy,” Xabi says, smiling brilliantly. “I miss you here. The sheets stopped smelling like you a long time ago.”
“We’ll have to fix that, then,” Stevie says, and when Xabi just grins at him, Stevie can’t help but grin at him in response.
- - -
It takes less than a heartbeat for Stevie’s request for a leave of absence to be denied. The next game is a home game, and if he doesn’t practice, he doesn’t play. It doesn’t do well for morale if the Captain can’t be bothered to show up at their own games, on their own pitch. Stevie gets the reasoning behind the no but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
He debates mentioning Xabi, asking for two days to go South to spend with the man he loves, but he can’t imagine it would go over well. No one knows about Xabi and Stevie, and if they do, they have the decency not to mention it.
It’s not that Stevie thinks the team will judge, because they’re a family and he’s seen the way adrenaline can affect their judgment, but he bites his tongue. Stevie’s romantic life is his own, and until he’s discussed it with Xabi, he isn’t going to out them to anyone. It’s a risk neither of them has been willing to take, even if they have had their slipups in the past.
Stevie’s just trying to figure out how to break the news gently to Xabi when he lets him down, and he hates that he has to even do it in the first place. In another universe, they live a life where that never happens, but for now, in this one, Stevie’s shit out of luck.
- - -
Xabi takes the news with a soft sigh and quiet understanding. “I had hoped,” he starts, but his voice trails off into silence. “I cannot come down this year, and the Boxing Day match…”
“I know,” Stevie says. It’s possible he’s more miserable about the entire thing than Xabi is, but he doesn’t say it aloud. He had hoped, too. He would love to see Xabi before Christmas, if only for a day or two. “I tried.”
“Of that, I do not doubt.” Xabi sighs again and Stevie can hear the low hum of the TV on Xabi’s end of the line. “I will call you Christmas day, when I get home from visiting my family.”
It isn’t much, but Stevie will take what he can get. “I’ll send you your present in the next few days,” he promises. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring it to you in person.”
“I forgive you,” Xabi says, and the words mean more than Stevie thinks Xabi will ever know.
- - -
Stevie visits his parents for Christmas, trading gifts and spending the day in front of the yule log drinking eggnog and eating pie. He wears Xabi’s jumper, because it’s warm and reminds him of home, and it’s easy to get lost in the feeling of love and joy.
“When are you going to find a lady to bring to supper?” his uncle asks, poking Stevie in the side. “Captain of the club, surely more than a few have thrown themselves at your feet, ey?”
Stevie smiles and sidesteps the reach of his uncle’s fingers. “I haven’t got time for it,” he lies, and, “not as many as you might think.” Even if they were throwing themselves at Stevie, he stopped noticing them as a whole a long time ago. He’s too used to it and he’s already got someone he loves to come home to.
“Maybe next year,” his uncle says, and Stevie just smiles and agrees. It’s easier, for one, and Stevie does hope he’ll be able to bring Xabi to family gatherings like this one in the future. It’ll be nice. The only thing to make the holiday better than it already is.
“Merry Christmas,” Stevie says as he lifts his glass, and the words are echoed back at him.
- - -
“I’m sorry I could not be with you this year,” Xabi says over Skype, and the words bring a familiar ache. He’s got an ugly knitted jumper on and his cheeks are flushed from the wine he keeps sipping. “Maybe next year will be different.”
“I hope so,” Stevie says. He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighs. He’s exhausted after spending the day with his family, and he’s got to be up early to prepare for the match in the morning. They’re not even staying in Merseyside this year, and Stevie isn’t entirely looking forward to the trip. “I’d settle for just a night of being in the same country again.”
Xabi hums his agreement and sets his wine down on the end table carefully. “Maybe we can make this more bearable,” he says softly. “Close your eyes and take off your jumper.”
“In that order?” Stevie asks. He closes his eyes anyways, and he can smiles at Xabi’s soft laugh. He’s careful not to tip his laptop over when he follows Xabi’s orders, pulling his jumper up over his head and dropping it on the floor at his side. “Now what?”
“Now you keep your eyes closed and do exactly as I tell you,” Xabi says, his breath hitching. There’s a soft rustling sound, but Stevie doesn’t open his eyes to see what’s happening. He trusts Xabi with his life. “Imagine the fire burning low in the hearth…”
It’s easy to get lost in Xabi’s words, the soft whisper of promises and commands to drag his nails down his own belly until he can take himself in his hand. He can almost feel Xabi’s lips against his skin, soft, a perfect contrast to the rough scrape of his beard. Xabi’s fingers pressing into his hips as he licks the tip of Stevie’s cock and swallows him down with lazy familiarity.
Stevie’s head drops back against his headboard and lets himself enjoy this. He can hear Xabi’s ragged breathing, the slick sound of him bringing himself off, and for a few minutes the distance doesn’t matter. Xabi is here, with Stevie, even if it is only in his head and through the laptop. Stevie can pretend for a few moments that Xabi is pressed against him, and it’s Xabi’s fingers working him towards his orgasm, and it’s good enough.
Stevie just needs Xabi tonight, and he’ll take him however he can get him. This isn’t what he had in mind, but when Xabi is moaning Stevie’s name through his orgasm, it’s hard to even care.
- - -
Stevie wakes up and gets ready for the game, skipping his morning run in favor of a long shower and spoils himself with gourmet coffee on the way to the stadium. He splurges and gets three more, free to whoever comes across them first on the pitch. He’s coming home, to the place he’s dedicated his entire life to, and he has to get his head into the game.
They’re going to win today, Stevie can feel it in his bones. On the off chance that they don’t, well, fuck them. His boys will play their hardest and that’s all that matters. Maybe Xabi isn’t waiting for Stevie to come home, wrapped in his dark gray jumper and reading a battered paperback in his favorite armchair, but one day he will be.
One day, Stevie won’t be playing for Liverpool and he’ll be able to spend every night in Xabi’s warm embrace and come home to him every evening. It’s a long ways off, maybe, but Stevie isn’t ever letting go of that dream. He fought for this one, and he’ll fight for that one, too.
But today is game day and he knows he’s got Xabi’s support every step of the way. This is a good day, and he has a game to win, and everything else can wait.
Recipient: trainmad
Title: Weathering the Storm
Rating: R
Word Count: 5,200
Pairings/Character(s): Steven Gerrard x Xabi Alonso
Warnings: adult language and situations, established relationship (long distance), minor AU
Summary: They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but that doesn’t mean Stevie misses Xabi any less the longer they’re apart.
Notes: Happy Holidays!
Beta'ed by: non LJ user
14/2, Zurich?
It’s the first message to pop up when Stevie powers on his phone. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes with one hand and replies with the other. What about someplace warm?
Stevie doesn’t wait for a response. He pockets his phone when he goes out for a run, no sign of the sun on the horizon until he’s already on the final stretch to home. He showers, eats. The mechanics are simple, easy, and it’s not until Stevie’s had his coffee and his phone dings with another message that he feels himself starting to wake up and smile.
Rio? Xabi asks, and Stevie tells him okay.
- - -
They don’t talk about football.
Stevie’s got three days to spend with Xabi and it’s not nearly enough. He has no intentions of ruining the mood talking about work or home. They see the sights and walk the beaches, eating food they’ve never had before and watch the sun set on the ocean. Their elbows brush when they get too close and they share private little smiles.
They spend an entire afternoon lounging by the pool, Stevie reading a battered mystery novel he picked up who knows where and Xabi soaking up the sun. He gets hit on more than once, rubs sunscreen on a pretty brunettes’ back, flirting as easily as breathing.
Xabi smiles at Stevie while the girls talk to him, a coy little quirk to his lips, and Stevie has to force himself to focus on the paperback in his hands. He feigns disinterest and ends up having to reread the same page a half dozen times before it clicks who the killer is.
When they’re alone in their room, Stevie sucks a dark mark into the crook of Xabi’s neck and presses bruises into his wrist and hip as he fucks him on the hotel’s plush carpeting. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the vibrating sound of Xabi’s drawn out moans and the way he clenches and shudders around Stevie’s body, beneath him.
He thinks I love you with every sharp thrust of his hips and it’s possible he moans it when he comes, with the way Xabi smiles up at him and kisses him softly.
- - -
Xabi visits over the weekend in April, making himself at home despite the fact Stevie’s out at the shops when he showed up. His suitcase is tossed on the bed, his jacket thrown over the back of the couch and his socks have disappeared, sucked into the void. Xabi makes himself at home, like he never even left, and Stevie’s heart aches at the sight of him.
They spend the night curled into each other on the couch, eating takeout Chinese and drinking red wine. Xabi’s skin flushes from the alcohol and the slow caress of Stevie’s fingers along his inner wrist, gentle motions meant to distract and comfort. They fall asleep watching a documentary about meerkats and Stevie is too content to care about the crick in his back he’ll inevitably wake up with or the fact he’s got a perfectly good bed not so far away.
- - -
”You should visit,” Xabi murmurs. His legs are tangled with Stevie’s, one hand curled around the bars in the headboard and the other resting on Stevie’s face, covering his cheek. They kiss languidly and it’s a long time before Stevie answers.
”At the end of the month,” he says. He promises. He hasn’t got a game until the end of May, he’s sure he can steal a weekend away to be with Xabi without anyone noticing. In a few weeks, when the season picks up, they won’t have this luxury anymore. There won’t be any more nights of lying in bed and watching each other sleep, going on runs first thing in the morning and seeking lazy release in the shower after.
Xabi smiles and hums into their next kiss. His fingers trail down Stevie’s spine and curl into a fist in the back of his shirt. He tugs gently, not to get it off but to bring Stevie closer, and Stevie obliges without a second thought. “I miss you.”
Saying I know and I miss you, too isn’t nearly enough, but Stevie says them both anyways.
- - -
Victory, 2-0
Congrats, Stevie replies. Victory. 1-0. Call you in an hour?
Bai mesedez. :)
- - -
Their phone call is easy and relaxed, both of them crashing from the adrenaline high. The day is catching up to Stevie and so is his age. It’s worth it to hear Xabi’s voice though, gruff and distorted as it is over the phone. His quiet excitement is infectious and they talk about their games and their hopes for the season long after Stevie had intended to head to bed.
Stevie drifts off with the sound of Xabi’s voice in his ear, though for the life of him he can’t remember what Xabi was saying. He’s sure Xabi will forgive him.
- - -
Xabi sends a package for Stevie’s birthday, full of food and poorly wrapped presents and a note with Xabi’s messy scrawl - sorry we could not be together this year.
Stevie unwraps a jumper, heavy and dark gray, but soft to the touch. He rubs his face against the fabric and he can smell Xabi on it. He uses it as a pillow when he curls up in bed to call Xabi and say thank you, and it stays there until the scent of Xabi’s warmth starts to fade.
- - -
Stevie doesn’t see Xabi at all through the month of June. They talk on a nearly daily basis, because they both have work and lives outside of each other, but it doesn’t take the sting away. They knew that this would happen, that being together would mean spending more time apart, but it’s worth it.
Getting to see Xabi’s face when he falls apart, eyelashes dark against his cheeks, lower lip pinched between his teeth and toes curling along the back of Stevie’s shins while he shudders and moans - that sight, that memory, those precious few moments they get to be intimate with each other in a way Stevie’s never truly been intimate with anyone else? Stevie could never choose a life any different. This is the one he knows, the one that makes him happy.
Xabi might be gone, off to play for Real Madrid in who knows what city this week, but he’s still Stevie’s. He still comes home at every chance he gets and he never denies Stevie the chance to visit him, when this sport that’s become their lives isn’t getting in the way.
A few weeks in June where Stevie is left to his own devices, playing for his country and training for his club, they’re manageable. He’s got the thought of seeing Xabi again to get him through the rough patches and his friends and family to keep him company through the rest.
- - -
Liverpool always finds a way to keep Stevie busy. He’s wary of the news of a documentary, but amuses himself trying to imagine himself watching it with Xabi. He worries he’ll say something stupid, or wrong, and he can almost feel Xabi’s lips on the corner of his jaw as he murmurs reassurances and praises.
Stevie hops on a plane to visit Xabi in the middle of July, a spur of the moment decision dictated by anxieties and the need to feel Xabi’s touch, if only for a few hours. He’s welcomed in with open arms and Stevie wants to wrap Xabi up in his arms and bury his face in the crook of his neck.
Their lives are hectic, the distance changes with every passing week, and Stevie will never get enough of Xabi’s attentions to keep him sated and sane.
Xabi rides Stevie on his bed with his hands braced on Stevie’s chest and torturous rolls of his hips. He’s barely brought them both to climax before he’s rolling off the bed and hopping in the shower, apologies carrying over the sound of rushing water and through the closed door.
Stevie gets it; he showed up unannounced and Xabi has plans. They’re not together, not officially in a meet the parents sort of way, and Stevie doesn’t fault Xabi for wanting him to stay behind. Xabi’s never really met Stevie’s family either, outside of a Liverpool setting.
”I’ll be back soon,” Xabi promises, brushing Stevie’s hair from his face and kissing him softly. “There’s food in the fridge.”
Stevie falls asleep with his face pressed into Xabi’s pillow, inhaling the smell of him and burning it into the back of his memory. He only wakes up long enough to register Xabi climbing into bed behind him, the gentle scrape of his beard against the back of Stevie’s neck and a warm arm wrapping around his waist.
Xabi sighs contently when he curls in close and Stevie smiles and falls back asleep.
- - -
There’s a postcard from Puerto Rico in the post, with a simple wish you were here written in a familiar messy scrawl. Stevie stares at it for a long time, tracing Xabi’s hand writing and smiling at the beach portrayed at the front. He’s been to a lot of beaches with Xabi, but never in Puerto Rico, and he makes a mental note to add it to the list.
The postcard itself ends up tacked to his fridge, between postcards from Poland and Italy and pinned in place by the gaudy magnets Xabi gets a thrill out of picking up every time they visit. There’s a matching set on Xabi’s fridge, with just as many postcards. The sight alone is usually enough to make Stevie feel at home.
It makes him miss Xabi, but this is a happy ache and Stevie never lets himself dwell.
- - -
Maybe we should get a dog.
Stevie smiles to himself. It isn’t the first time Xabi has texted him with the suggestion, far from the first time it’s ever been mentioned, and he knows how the conversation will go. Who would it stay with?
We could try joint custody? Xabi suggests. Or one of us could get it for the holidays.
I get him for Christmas and it’s back in Madrid for the New Year? It’ll never work, but Stevie doesn’t tell Xabi that. Xabi knows just as well as Stevie does and there is no reason to ruin the mood.
It would give you reason to visit.
I’d visit you anyways.
Soon? Xabi asks.
Soon, Stevie promises.
- - -
They both lost their games that day. Xabi’s more tired than frustrated when he calls Stevie that night, and Stevie knows that feeling exactly. He can sympathize. “This loss would be easier to take if you were here.”
“I know,” Stevie says. He skims through the calendar tacked to his home office wall and he doesn’t think he has a weekend free for the rest of the season. Not one that doesn’t clash with Real Madrid games, in any case. “You want to elope? Blow off a couple of games and get lost in Brazil somewhere instead?”
Xabi laughs, tired but fond. “We would both be kicked from our teams if we did that,” he says. “Not that it doesn’t sound nice.”
“I just want one weekend,” Stevie sighs. He can feel his frustration rising, from the loss and from the separation, and he presses the heel of his hand into his eyes and sighs again. “Someone hates us.”
“Punishment for keeping secrets, maybe.” Xabi sounds thoughtful, but in an idle sort of way. “Be a good boy, Stevie.”
“I always am,” Stevie objects, and he can’t help but smile when Xabi just laughs.
- - -
Sometimes Stevie calls just to hear Xabi’s voice. To listen to him narrate his day while they both curl up with a glass of wine and just talk quietly for hours.
Other times, Stevie aches for Xabi and he needs to hear him moan and whimper over the line. The sound of Xabi’s breathing is as familiar to Stevie as his own. If he closes his eyes, Stevie can picture Xabi’s face as brings himself off with his own hand and the metallic blue vibrator he bought to take care of himself in Stevie’s absence.
On those nights, where the phone calls are driven by a mutual need for orgasm and loneliness and not the need to connect - those nights are the worst, and Stevie lays awake for hours just waiting for the ache in his chest to subside.
- - -
As far as Stevie is concerned, there are only two seasons: football season and pre-football season. It’s what makes it easy to get lost in the passing of time, focusing on the games he’s yet to play as a whole instead of the checklist he’s got in his phone and on his calendar. It’s a countdown until he’ll be free again, to spend his time with his family and with Xabi, but he can’t afford to let himself dwell on it.
It’s not Liverpool’s best season, really. Stevie is trying hard as he ever does and he knows the lads are putting forth the same effort. It’s difficult sometimes, balancing the game with family, but it’s a concession they’ve all had to make. They chose this life.
Still, Stevie takes pity when children get sick and wives get homesick. That is uncontrollable. In another life, in a universe where Xabi didn’t kiss him and ask him to wait, that could have been Stevie. He would have liked that, he thinks. A spouse waiting for him at home with their children, a girl and a boy. Stevie thinks Xabi would be a great dad.
It’s an idle fantasy, but it’s not hard to convince the press that’s what Stevie wants as soon as he’s too old to play.
Not that Stevie’s ever thought about what he would do after. Where could he possibly go after playing for his club, his country? He’s not the kind of guy to retire and live quietly off his savings, but if Xabi was with him, he could certainly try.
They’ve never talked about what’s going to happen when that day comes, but Stevie’s just content with the knowledge they’ll come to that decision together. The specifics can wait.
- - -
Xabi manages to sneak up during the tail end of October, exhausted from all the training and games but smiling brilliantly just the same. He’s warm in Stevie’s arms, his cheek against Stevie’s own, and it’s nice. This is the kind of quiet, simple affection that Stevie’s bones have ached for for months now. He brushes his lips against Xabi’s cheek, rough with stubble, and sighs contently.
They spend the night sprawled across the couch in the sitting room, tucked into each other’s sides and watching the fire burn low in the fireplace and sipping red wine. Stevie can’t even remember what they’re talking about, only that it feels so good to hear Xabi’s voice in person and see his small smiles and the subtle flush to his skin the more he drinks.
Stevie’s too tired and too drunk to fuck Xabi, but he strips him down and presses against him between the sheets anyways. The press of skin on skin is wonderful and warm, intoxicating in a way he can’t begin to describe. They trade lazy kisses, slow and soft, and Stevie falls asleep with Xabi’s hand in his hair and fingers curled around his bicep.
It’s the best sleep Stevie’s had in months.
- - -
They never quite make it out for a night on the town. Stevie’s got practice to go to during the day, and Xabi tags along once or twice, but he spends most of his stay curled up in an armchair and reading. He smiles warmly when Stevie kisses him hello and he never seems to mind when Stevie tucks his bookmark in and tosses the paperbacks across the room. By the time he gets home, when he’s done reacquainting himself with the soft press of Xabi’s lips, neither of them feels very much like going out.
Usually they order in. It leaves more time to trade lazy kisses on the couch and Stevie’s positive Xabi is determined to give him a hardon before he has to answer the door. It’s nice to cook together though, Xabi chopping vegetables on the counter while Stevie browns hamburger on the stove. There’s a quiet familiarity to this, something Stevie never realizes how much he misses until Xabi’s in the kitchen with him again.
They aren’t particularly good cooks, but Xabi loves food about as much as he loves football and he smiles so sweetly every time he leans in to feed Stevie a bite. His beard is rough against Stevie’s fingers but his lips are soft, and everything they make together tastes a million times better when Stevie can chase the taste of it off of Xabi’s tongue. These are the moments Stevie misses most when Xabi is gone, and he’s positive the feeling is mutual.
- - -
Xabi wears the dark gray jumper around the house, sleeves pushed up to his elbows so they don’t get in his way. It’s about as loose on him as it is Stevie, but it looks better on him. He smirks knowingly when Stevie doesn’t let him take it off when they fuck before the drive to the airport, but it ends up pushed up his chest to leave room for Stevie to bite and kiss and leave little marks that will fade by the end of the week.
It drives Xabi crazy, to be marked up for a day or two and nothing more, but Stevie doesn’t want to risk it and he gets off on the idea of Xabi pressing his fingers into a bruise to get it to stay just that much longer. He leaves the jumper folded up on Stevie’s bed when they’re done, pulling on his own clothes and checking his bag. He has to go, though he doesn’t want to, and they haven’t got much time to waste before he needs to be at the airport.
Stevie doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see Xabi next, but it isn’t soon enough. They kiss soft and slow, Xabi’s hands in Stevie’s back pockets and he sighs contently when they pull apart.
“I hate your shirt,” Xabi mutters. He plucks at the fabric idly before smoothing it out. “Remind me to send you something nice when I get back to Madrid.” He laughs softly when Stevie kisses him again to shut him up, but Stevie’s sure Xabi doesn’t even mind.
- - -
The busy schedule is starting to get to him. It’s subtle, the feeling of sore joints and his quiet exhaustion. Stevie tells himself it’s been a long year, because they’re losing as much as they are winning. He knows the game is about more than that, he knows it, but it still depresses him to look at his calendar to see just as many red xs as gold stars.
The same damn gold stars that Xabi used to use before he left, leaving them abandoned in a junk drawer in the kitchen, forgotten.
The feeling of abandonment swells up out of nowhere, sucking him in and dragging him down. Stevie doesn’t even realize he’s sitting on the floor and trying to bite his lip to distract himself from the burning in his eyes until he’s already there. Every part of his being aches for Xabi to be near and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.
Stevie and Xabi, they chose this life of loneliness. They agreed they wanted each other a handful of times a year instead of not at all. They idea of seeing Xabi with anyone else is enough to break Stevie’s heart, and that hurts almost as much as the reminder that Stevie is all alone and the man he loves most is two thousand kilometers away. There is an entire country between them and Stevie can’t cross it without risking his entire career.
There is nothing for Stevie to do but bang his head against the wall behind him and wait for the dry sobs to fade. He’ll call Xabi later, when he’s less likely to break down over the line, because there’s no reason to worry him now. Stevie is used to the bone deep ache, he just has to get it under control again so he can get his life back in line.
It hurts, but Stevie’s used to it, and he just needs a little time.
- - -
I love you, Stevie says, even though they’re not usually that blunt over the phone. It’s too risky, in case their phones are hacked or stolen, but he says it anyways.
It doesn’t take long for Xabi to message back I love you, too and it’s exactly what Stevie needed to hear - see - to calm the racing in his heart and breathe again.
- - -
Stevie never knows what to get Xabi for his birthday. Belgian chocolates and an ugly tie he’ll never wear are standard by now, along with battered paperbacks picked up from thrift stores with well wishes and promises of love written in sloppy handwriting on the front cover. Xabi says it gives them character and Stevie’s never questioned him.
It doesn’t help that Christmas is a month after, literally, and Stevie has never been good at buying presents for anyone. He knows that in theory, Xabi will love anything Stevie gets him, but Stevie can only buy so many watches before Xabi starts to question if Stevie knows him at all.
Stevie debates, briefly, getting Xabi a new vibrator. Something thicker, or with a stronger vibration, but he’s overwhelmed as soon as he starts to research and he quickly abandons the idea. There’s too many choices and Stevie’s cheeks heat up before he’s even past the first page. He’s too old to be embarrassed by sex, but this has always been Xabi’s area of expertise and it’s safer to leave it in Xabi’s hands.
He ends up picking up an antique pocket watch, tarnished with age but still ticking steadily. He polishes it until it gleams, until his fingers are sore and he can metaphorically see his reflection, and he only hopes it’s good enough.
- - -
“You spoil me,” Xabi says over Skype. His eyes light up when he plays with the pocket watch, and he seems legitimately distressed he’s in his pajamas and has no way to pin it to his shirt. “When I come home, I will make it up to you.”
“I love you,” Stevie says, and he means you don’t have to make anything up to me but he isn’t dumb enough to turn down whatever appreciative sexual favors Xabi has in mind. He’s getting older, not stupider. Getting to be intimate with Xabi is one of the things that keeps him going. Just the memory of his moans and shudders doesn’t do it justice, but it’s good enough that Stevie can get by with just his hand for the long weeks that they’re apart.
“I love you, too,” Xabi says. He pops a chocolate into his mouth and smiles, eyes flicking shut and a soft moan escaping him. He’s being a tease now and Stevie knows it, but that doesn’t make the sight of him any less amazing. “You will come visit before Christmas?”
“I should be able to manage that,” Stevie says. He flicks through the screens on his phone until he can pull up his calendar, skimming it quickly. “I can ask about a few days after the ninth. Not much turnaround time, but…” The chance to see Xabi in person makes it more than worth it.
“Good boy,” Xabi says, smiling brilliantly. “I miss you here. The sheets stopped smelling like you a long time ago.”
“We’ll have to fix that, then,” Stevie says, and when Xabi just grins at him, Stevie can’t help but grin at him in response.
- - -
It takes less than a heartbeat for Stevie’s request for a leave of absence to be denied. The next game is a home game, and if he doesn’t practice, he doesn’t play. It doesn’t do well for morale if the Captain can’t be bothered to show up at their own games, on their own pitch. Stevie gets the reasoning behind the no but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
He debates mentioning Xabi, asking for two days to go South to spend with the man he loves, but he can’t imagine it would go over well. No one knows about Xabi and Stevie, and if they do, they have the decency not to mention it.
It’s not that Stevie thinks the team will judge, because they’re a family and he’s seen the way adrenaline can affect their judgment, but he bites his tongue. Stevie’s romantic life is his own, and until he’s discussed it with Xabi, he isn’t going to out them to anyone. It’s a risk neither of them has been willing to take, even if they have had their slipups in the past.
Stevie’s just trying to figure out how to break the news gently to Xabi when he lets him down, and he hates that he has to even do it in the first place. In another universe, they live a life where that never happens, but for now, in this one, Stevie’s shit out of luck.
- - -
Xabi takes the news with a soft sigh and quiet understanding. “I had hoped,” he starts, but his voice trails off into silence. “I cannot come down this year, and the Boxing Day match…”
“I know,” Stevie says. It’s possible he’s more miserable about the entire thing than Xabi is, but he doesn’t say it aloud. He had hoped, too. He would love to see Xabi before Christmas, if only for a day or two. “I tried.”
“Of that, I do not doubt.” Xabi sighs again and Stevie can hear the low hum of the TV on Xabi’s end of the line. “I will call you Christmas day, when I get home from visiting my family.”
It isn’t much, but Stevie will take what he can get. “I’ll send you your present in the next few days,” he promises. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring it to you in person.”
“I forgive you,” Xabi says, and the words mean more than Stevie thinks Xabi will ever know.
- - -
Stevie visits his parents for Christmas, trading gifts and spending the day in front of the yule log drinking eggnog and eating pie. He wears Xabi’s jumper, because it’s warm and reminds him of home, and it’s easy to get lost in the feeling of love and joy.
“When are you going to find a lady to bring to supper?” his uncle asks, poking Stevie in the side. “Captain of the club, surely more than a few have thrown themselves at your feet, ey?”
Stevie smiles and sidesteps the reach of his uncle’s fingers. “I haven’t got time for it,” he lies, and, “not as many as you might think.” Even if they were throwing themselves at Stevie, he stopped noticing them as a whole a long time ago. He’s too used to it and he’s already got someone he loves to come home to.
“Maybe next year,” his uncle says, and Stevie just smiles and agrees. It’s easier, for one, and Stevie does hope he’ll be able to bring Xabi to family gatherings like this one in the future. It’ll be nice. The only thing to make the holiday better than it already is.
“Merry Christmas,” Stevie says as he lifts his glass, and the words are echoed back at him.
- - -
“I’m sorry I could not be with you this year,” Xabi says over Skype, and the words bring a familiar ache. He’s got an ugly knitted jumper on and his cheeks are flushed from the wine he keeps sipping. “Maybe next year will be different.”
“I hope so,” Stevie says. He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighs. He’s exhausted after spending the day with his family, and he’s got to be up early to prepare for the match in the morning. They’re not even staying in Merseyside this year, and Stevie isn’t entirely looking forward to the trip. “I’d settle for just a night of being in the same country again.”
Xabi hums his agreement and sets his wine down on the end table carefully. “Maybe we can make this more bearable,” he says softly. “Close your eyes and take off your jumper.”
“In that order?” Stevie asks. He closes his eyes anyways, and he can smiles at Xabi’s soft laugh. He’s careful not to tip his laptop over when he follows Xabi’s orders, pulling his jumper up over his head and dropping it on the floor at his side. “Now what?”
“Now you keep your eyes closed and do exactly as I tell you,” Xabi says, his breath hitching. There’s a soft rustling sound, but Stevie doesn’t open his eyes to see what’s happening. He trusts Xabi with his life. “Imagine the fire burning low in the hearth…”
It’s easy to get lost in Xabi’s words, the soft whisper of promises and commands to drag his nails down his own belly until he can take himself in his hand. He can almost feel Xabi’s lips against his skin, soft, a perfect contrast to the rough scrape of his beard. Xabi’s fingers pressing into his hips as he licks the tip of Stevie’s cock and swallows him down with lazy familiarity.
Stevie’s head drops back against his headboard and lets himself enjoy this. He can hear Xabi’s ragged breathing, the slick sound of him bringing himself off, and for a few minutes the distance doesn’t matter. Xabi is here, with Stevie, even if it is only in his head and through the laptop. Stevie can pretend for a few moments that Xabi is pressed against him, and it’s Xabi’s fingers working him towards his orgasm, and it’s good enough.
Stevie just needs Xabi tonight, and he’ll take him however he can get him. This isn’t what he had in mind, but when Xabi is moaning Stevie’s name through his orgasm, it’s hard to even care.
- - -
Stevie wakes up and gets ready for the game, skipping his morning run in favor of a long shower and spoils himself with gourmet coffee on the way to the stadium. He splurges and gets three more, free to whoever comes across them first on the pitch. He’s coming home, to the place he’s dedicated his entire life to, and he has to get his head into the game.
They’re going to win today, Stevie can feel it in his bones. On the off chance that they don’t, well, fuck them. His boys will play their hardest and that’s all that matters. Maybe Xabi isn’t waiting for Stevie to come home, wrapped in his dark gray jumper and reading a battered paperback in his favorite armchair, but one day he will be.
One day, Stevie won’t be playing for Liverpool and he’ll be able to spend every night in Xabi’s warm embrace and come home to him every evening. It’s a long ways off, maybe, but Stevie isn’t ever letting go of that dream. He fought for this one, and he’ll fight for that one, too.
But today is game day and he knows he’s got Xabi’s support every step of the way. This is a good day, and he has a game to win, and everything else can wait.