fic: doesn't feel like falling
title: doesn't feel like falling
pairing: frank lampard/john terry
rating: pg-13/r?
disclaimer: fiction
been on my mind for a while now. sort of inspired by beyonce's halo. each section is from a different time frame though not indicated except for the last one.
You feel a bit off, a bit unsettled. It’s just one of those days but the sun is shining, the air light and clean and it’s starting to heat up nicely though the summer is coming to an end. The season is starting and you are excited. It’s the one constant in your life - what you’ve known since you were a young lad, wearing your West Ham kit until it was worn and tattered and your mother had to force you out of it. It’s the reason you get up every morning, the reason why you strive to be a better person in anything you do.
With the wind caressing your face, you spread your feet should length apart and touch the grass in front of you, stretching out your back. You can feel your muscles groaning ever so quietly but you pay it no attention. You are still young after all.
You slowly rotate back up, swinging your hips forwards. Laughter and the buzz of conversation hum around you. The lads are catching up after a long summer. It makes you smile because you have missed this though it has only been weeks since you last pulled on the beloved blue of your club. Bringing your feet together, you close your eyes as you pull arm across your chest with the other.
His loud laughter however has you opening them up seconds later however. His face is bright; his eyes relaxed with joy as he shares a joke with Joe Cole. You can’t remember the last time a sight like this took your breath away.
You continue on with your pre-training routine. You sit on the grass, legs stretched out in front of you but your eyes never leave him. And you begin to feel at ease.
**
It’s a rainy day so you’re glad the boys weren’t too busy to come share the day with you after training. It is always fun to just laze about with the people you see on a regular basis. They’re not just your teammates - coworkers. You know you’re not the only one to feel like a family that bleeds blue.
You pop open another beer and take a healthy sip. You don’t go back into the other room just yet, choosing just to listen to the rain hit against the window in the kitchen for a moment instead. It’s refreshing - the rain, the beer, the momentary pause.
You’re about to take another pull from the bottle when arms slip around your waste. It catches you by surprise and you spill a little bit of beer onto your chin and shirt.
“Hey.”
You don’t realise you tensed up until you relax against him. You settle the bottle down against the counter and wipe at your chin. “Don’t fucking do that, John.”
He laughs against the shell of your ear as he pulls you in tight against his body. Warm. Comfortable.
**
It’s either extremely late or ridiculously early. Yet instead of either going to sleep or getting up, you remain where you are, lying on your side with one hand tucked under your head. You cannot look away. You just cannot.
Dark eyelashes against pale skin. There is no expression on his face, just the perfect picture of serenity - tranquility. Peaceful and you realise you miss that in him so much.
You never really knew how protective of him you were until shit hit the fan. Sure he is no fucking angel but you hated that he had to face the media outburst alone. He of course just smiles when you get like that and tells you he can fight his own battles - that it’s just sticks and stones. But you don’t like it. How could you?
His lips part as he murmurs something in his sleep before shuffling just an inch closer to you and you suddenly have the urge to bridge the gap between your bodies.
Softly, carefully - you ghost your fingertips down his arms, down his sides. When you reach his stomach you smile when you feel the dry remnants against his skin. He was too tired to get up and you too lazy to get him a cloth.
You don’t know how long you spend just silently watching him, touching him but when he stirs later you think it isn’t long enough.
**
August 2001
The feeling that sweeps through you is like a lad who is attending his first day of school. Nervous is an understatement but you are ready to perform, ready to prove yourself. You think playing for Chelsea will be different. You already see yourself falling in love with the blue.
At training one morning in August, you tell yourself to breathe as you make your way to the grounds. Most of the lads are smiling so you do too as you offer your hand in greeting. Your nerves are easing already.
When you meet him, he’s just everyone else that day; friendly, accommodating - a teammate. In your youth and naivety you never believe he could come to mean something more.
pairing: frank lampard/john terry
rating: pg-13/r?
disclaimer: fiction
been on my mind for a while now. sort of inspired by beyonce's halo. each section is from a different time frame though not indicated except for the last one.
You feel a bit off, a bit unsettled. It’s just one of those days but the sun is shining, the air light and clean and it’s starting to heat up nicely though the summer is coming to an end. The season is starting and you are excited. It’s the one constant in your life - what you’ve known since you were a young lad, wearing your West Ham kit until it was worn and tattered and your mother had to force you out of it. It’s the reason you get up every morning, the reason why you strive to be a better person in anything you do.
With the wind caressing your face, you spread your feet should length apart and touch the grass in front of you, stretching out your back. You can feel your muscles groaning ever so quietly but you pay it no attention. You are still young after all.
You slowly rotate back up, swinging your hips forwards. Laughter and the buzz of conversation hum around you. The lads are catching up after a long summer. It makes you smile because you have missed this though it has only been weeks since you last pulled on the beloved blue of your club. Bringing your feet together, you close your eyes as you pull arm across your chest with the other.
His loud laughter however has you opening them up seconds later however. His face is bright; his eyes relaxed with joy as he shares a joke with Joe Cole. You can’t remember the last time a sight like this took your breath away.
You continue on with your pre-training routine. You sit on the grass, legs stretched out in front of you but your eyes never leave him. And you begin to feel at ease.
**
It’s a rainy day so you’re glad the boys weren’t too busy to come share the day with you after training. It is always fun to just laze about with the people you see on a regular basis. They’re not just your teammates - coworkers. You know you’re not the only one to feel like a family that bleeds blue.
You pop open another beer and take a healthy sip. You don’t go back into the other room just yet, choosing just to listen to the rain hit against the window in the kitchen for a moment instead. It’s refreshing - the rain, the beer, the momentary pause.
You’re about to take another pull from the bottle when arms slip around your waste. It catches you by surprise and you spill a little bit of beer onto your chin and shirt.
“Hey.”
You don’t realise you tensed up until you relax against him. You settle the bottle down against the counter and wipe at your chin. “Don’t fucking do that, John.”
He laughs against the shell of your ear as he pulls you in tight against his body. Warm. Comfortable.
**
It’s either extremely late or ridiculously early. Yet instead of either going to sleep or getting up, you remain where you are, lying on your side with one hand tucked under your head. You cannot look away. You just cannot.
Dark eyelashes against pale skin. There is no expression on his face, just the perfect picture of serenity - tranquility. Peaceful and you realise you miss that in him so much.
You never really knew how protective of him you were until shit hit the fan. Sure he is no fucking angel but you hated that he had to face the media outburst alone. He of course just smiles when you get like that and tells you he can fight his own battles - that it’s just sticks and stones. But you don’t like it. How could you?
His lips part as he murmurs something in his sleep before shuffling just an inch closer to you and you suddenly have the urge to bridge the gap between your bodies.
Softly, carefully - you ghost your fingertips down his arms, down his sides. When you reach his stomach you smile when you feel the dry remnants against his skin. He was too tired to get up and you too lazy to get him a cloth.
You don’t know how long you spend just silently watching him, touching him but when he stirs later you think it isn’t long enough.
**
August 2001
The feeling that sweeps through you is like a lad who is attending his first day of school. Nervous is an understatement but you are ready to perform, ready to prove yourself. You think playing for Chelsea will be different. You already see yourself falling in love with the blue.
At training one morning in August, you tell yourself to breathe as you make your way to the grounds. Most of the lads are smiling so you do too as you offer your hand in greeting. Your nerves are easing already.
When you meet him, he’s just everyone else that day; friendly, accommodating - a teammate. In your youth and naivety you never believe he could come to mean something more.