Fic: Rollercoasters Can Be Overwhelming
Title: Rollercoasters Can Be Overwhelming
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Martin Škrtel, Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, a hint of Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: R (to be safe)
Disclaimer: True in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Set after the Portsmouth-Liverpool match and some Liverpool players’ responses to the result.
A/Ns: Not connected in any way, shape or form to Of Winning, Hair-cuts and Lovers
Word Count: 2054
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Rollercoasters Can Be Overwhelming
It was another comeback, and Liverpool found themselves back on a win after their disappointing derby loss. The win not only catapulted them to the top of the table (albeit, potentially only for a day), but it gave everyone involved a great confidence boost. Coming back from behind twice, that took resolve. Just like that, the fighting Liverpool spirit which had looked weak and absent during their run of draws last month, was back.
Portsmouth must have been surprised by the Liverpool team sheet, for Liverpool themselves, were surprised. When Martin’s delicate fingers had picked up the team sheet, he nearly dropped it when he saw Daniel’s name high on the list. Disappointment filled him as he began to come to terms with being on the bench, until his eye caught his own name, also listed. He didn’t know if it was relief from being included in the team or if it was the excitement of playing with his mate, actually playing that caused his stomach to invert itself. No longer only a past time of training sessions; Daniel and Martin were going to strut their stuff on the big stage together.
With Fernando Torres looking and feeling tired after the last few matches, Rafa opted to try out Babel and Ngog up front. As the team dressed in the changing rooms, someone had joked that the two strikers will cause plenty of confusion for the opposition. At a glance, Babel and N’Gog look pretty similar. A smart, camouflaging tactic, that was. Xabi’s suspension did not start until the next day, so he was able to be on the bench should Liverpool require his services. Having picked up a slight knock, and also a tad worried for Steven’s welfare, Xabi was happy to take the break, but knew he was up for it if the manager sent him on.
The first half displayed intent from both sides but ended scoreless. Those who wished for a more exciting match were not disappointed when the second half started up fifteen minutes later. In those last forty-five minutes, five goals were scored.
They had left it late, in the usual comeback style, two goals in the last ten minutes, the winner coming in the last dregs of injury time. But they say that’s the best time to hit, when the opposition has no time to respond, no time to find an equaliser. The fans sang and roared their approval as Liverpool chomped at the bit for most of the match, hunger for three points driving them forward, again and again. They were supportive even when they suffered set backs. Twice, they went behind. One from a pass that looked suspiciously offside and one from yet another dreaded set piece. To be fair, the first goal exposed Liverpool’s stretched defence line. Rafa, choosing to go with three at the back, took a risk. Especially since both twenty-four year olds decided to battle it out on who can help out with the offense more, they left Carragher alone at the back at times with large, open spaces out in the wings for Portsmouth to exploit. The second just should not have happened. After suffering from goals coming from set pieces from Everton, one would have thought the Liverpool squad would be very adept at dealing with them now, but alas, that was not the case and Pepe Reina was left lying on the ground, his hands on his head in despair after Hreidarsson rose up, unmarked, to head the ball into the net.
Despite the two conceded goals, Liverpool weren’t ready to sit down and let Portsmouth dictate the result. Like a disobedient child, the more they were punished, the stronger the urge was to fight back and prove them wrong. First, Aurelio equalised in a superb fashion after James handled a back pass from Crouch. The irony that both Portsmouth players involved had played for Liverpool did not escape anyone. The second equaliser was a piece of excellent work from the two substitute strikers and the final goal, the winner in injury time, was a sublime header from none other, Fernando Torres.
As everyone congratulated the blonde Spaniard after the match, Daniel kept his contact with Fernando to a minimum. A small touch of hands could be viewed as a high five or a brief hand shake, nothing scandalous in the very least. He had waited so long to be on the same pitch as Fernando again, but somehow, this match was not theirs. Despite Fernando having scored the winner, Daniel would not be with Fernando after the match. This time, he’ll happily follow Rafa’s instructions and stay in his designated room. With - and here, Daniel glanced at him, the paleness that nearly illuminated the rough and tough man in question - Martin Škrtel. Mixed feelings swirled around that man. For someone who is a threat to his short term career, Daniel had a surprisingly large amount of affection for his fellow defender. It was impossible to hate Škrtel and trying only made him feel guilty for disliking such a likeable man. Even with Jamie Carragher stuck right between them like a large, intruding third wheel, Dan and Martin both experienced feelings of exhilaration never felt before as they worked together on both flanks and spurred the team in attack.
It was an exciting new development which only added to the euphoria of winning the match and snatching all three points from Portsmouth in the nick of time. They didn’t need to consult with each other. Both knew what would happen the moment they returned to their shared room. This was no time for clumsy fumbling and trousers pooled at their ankles. Nor was it the right setting for candle lit dinners and rose petals. The two twenty four year olds followed their instincts and surrendered to that strange feeling that enveloped them like a cosy cocoon of security, of love masquerading as lust.
Behind closed doors, Daniel Agger and Martin Škrtel finally found the right balance between admiration, envy and competition. Daniel’s hands massaged Martin’s sore muscles tenderly, the Slovakian’s body worn out after weeks of heavy matches. As Martin melted under Dan’s comforting touch, Daniel moved his hand closer and closer to his intended target. Martin hardly reacted when Daniel reached his destination, as if having the Dane’s hand in his groin was the most natural thing in the world. The trick is not to show uncertainty, when every movement is confident and composed, no one would suspect the fear that lay behind the mask of human flesh. There was no music score to guide them in their quest, yet somehow the two men found an inner rhythm to follow, their bodies dancing in time with the steady beat, their movements liquid and continuous. In amongst the mess of lube, sweat and the dirt from the match, Daniel and Martin found perfection.
While the two defenders were busy exploring each other, the Spaniard in the next room sat alone. He, thankfully, could not hear the boys next door and for that, he blessed the hotel for its thick walls. He knew, however, exactly what they were doing. The sexual attraction between the two had always been electrifying and it is the general consensus within the squad that pride and rivalry had prevented them from finding each other. Yet now that they were, at least for a brief moment, united in force, that was no longer a barrier and they were free to reach new heights. He turned his phone over in his hands for the millionth time, dolefully.
He ran through the list of contacts he had on his phone and stopped at the same name each time. Toyed with the idea of pressing it. A sudden jarring pain had his hand flying to his ankle as he rubbed it gingerly, trying to relieve the slight ache. He would be okay and the hour long rest he had on the bench paid dividends. He was definitely feeling a lot fresher than he would have had he started the match. But that was not the issue that bothered him.
The match had been won and they were back at the top of the table but he couldn’t celebrate it with who he wanted to, like the boys next door. With the next week being international duty, he would have to leave for Spain while Steven stayed in England, continuing with his rehabilitation. Xabi worried incessantly. Not for his own welfare - it was bad enough he has a slight knock - playing a friendly against England was never quite what the name suggests. At least, he supposed, there would be no heartache of having to play against his lover. But if that was only because Stevie had an injury, he’ll rather his heart break a million times over for having to be on opposite teams than to watch Stevie suffer physically, emotionally and mentally at his inability to lead Liverpool FC down the tunnel.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. There was a pause and the knock came again, a bit more hesitant this time. Xabi called out, “come in!” hastily. The door swung open and Fernando Torres’s head poked in. He gave an apologetic smile as if he understood what he was intruding upon.
“Um. I figured you were alone because Stevie isn’t here - ” The blonde started. Then cut off abruptly when he saw the effect his words had on his compatriot. Xabi’s eyes were melancholy and his face downcast. Fernando wanted to bite off his tongue for the thoughtless remark, but there was nothing he could do to take them back. Instead, he placed a hand on Xabi’s shoulder and sat down next to him. Soft petting. Fernando looked the other way to give Xabi some privacy as he felt the older man’s body shake, trying to control the tears he had held back for so long.
Finally, when the movement subsided, Fernando gave Xabi an encouraging grin and reminded him of their victory, of being top of the table. The younger man’s optimism struck a cord and Xabi couldn’t help but smile back. Then he remembered Daniel Agger next door, realised Fernando, despite winning the match for Liverpool, had more to be sorrowful about than he did and felt ashamed. He recalled the day when Torres had come to him with his dilemma about Daniel. It seemed at least for now, Fernando would have to settle for being second best in Daniel’s eyes. Watching Fernando’s face, he knew not to mention it.
Sniffling slightly, Xabi asked, “Sorry about that, Fernando, what did you come in for, before I interrupted with my waterworks and all?”
“Oh nothing really,” Fernando replied flippantly, “I was just feeling a bit lonely and Pepe told me to remind you about our flight out on Monday.”
“Thanks,” Xabi nodded. He paused, pondering over something, then laughed wryly, “we’re such a bunch of melodramatic Spaniards, are we? We’re top of the table and here we are moping. Come, let’s go down to the bar and bring a bit of cheerfulness back.”
“Okay, why not? We did win, after all” Nando agreed readily, eager to leave the dreary moods behind. Especially the thoughts of someone else pressing their body tightly against Daniel’s, another man’s hand touching the spots he knew Daniel loved, another man’s tongue in his Daniel’s mouth. “Yes, let’s forget all that and enjoy ourselves, Xabi.”
* * * * *
No one cared that United might regain their top position after tomorrow’s match. All they cared about right now, was that they were up there. And that they were, for the first time in years, going to challenge for the title. It had been an important match to win, and to come back from behind, twice, showed their intent.
As it were, everyone now headed out to international duty, buoyed by their positive match and results. And each hoped to return unscathed because no one wanted to sit out the most thrilling end to the season they’ve had in their careers. However, one player’s mind, when he left on that plane, will remain in England. His concerns and thoughts rooted within the heart of Liverpool FC, of Steven Gerrard, who in turn, would be thinking of him.
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Martin Škrtel, Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, a hint of Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: R (to be safe)
Disclaimer: True in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Set after the Portsmouth-Liverpool match and some Liverpool players’ responses to the result.
A/Ns: Not connected in any way, shape or form to Of Winning, Hair-cuts and Lovers
Word Count: 2054
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Rollercoasters Can Be Overwhelming
It was another comeback, and Liverpool found themselves back on a win after their disappointing derby loss. The win not only catapulted them to the top of the table (albeit, potentially only for a day), but it gave everyone involved a great confidence boost. Coming back from behind twice, that took resolve. Just like that, the fighting Liverpool spirit which had looked weak and absent during their run of draws last month, was back.
Portsmouth must have been surprised by the Liverpool team sheet, for Liverpool themselves, were surprised. When Martin’s delicate fingers had picked up the team sheet, he nearly dropped it when he saw Daniel’s name high on the list. Disappointment filled him as he began to come to terms with being on the bench, until his eye caught his own name, also listed. He didn’t know if it was relief from being included in the team or if it was the excitement of playing with his mate, actually playing that caused his stomach to invert itself. No longer only a past time of training sessions; Daniel and Martin were going to strut their stuff on the big stage together.
With Fernando Torres looking and feeling tired after the last few matches, Rafa opted to try out Babel and Ngog up front. As the team dressed in the changing rooms, someone had joked that the two strikers will cause plenty of confusion for the opposition. At a glance, Babel and N’Gog look pretty similar. A smart, camouflaging tactic, that was. Xabi’s suspension did not start until the next day, so he was able to be on the bench should Liverpool require his services. Having picked up a slight knock, and also a tad worried for Steven’s welfare, Xabi was happy to take the break, but knew he was up for it if the manager sent him on.
The first half displayed intent from both sides but ended scoreless. Those who wished for a more exciting match were not disappointed when the second half started up fifteen minutes later. In those last forty-five minutes, five goals were scored.
They had left it late, in the usual comeback style, two goals in the last ten minutes, the winner coming in the last dregs of injury time. But they say that’s the best time to hit, when the opposition has no time to respond, no time to find an equaliser. The fans sang and roared their approval as Liverpool chomped at the bit for most of the match, hunger for three points driving them forward, again and again. They were supportive even when they suffered set backs. Twice, they went behind. One from a pass that looked suspiciously offside and one from yet another dreaded set piece. To be fair, the first goal exposed Liverpool’s stretched defence line. Rafa, choosing to go with three at the back, took a risk. Especially since both twenty-four year olds decided to battle it out on who can help out with the offense more, they left Carragher alone at the back at times with large, open spaces out in the wings for Portsmouth to exploit. The second just should not have happened. After suffering from goals coming from set pieces from Everton, one would have thought the Liverpool squad would be very adept at dealing with them now, but alas, that was not the case and Pepe Reina was left lying on the ground, his hands on his head in despair after Hreidarsson rose up, unmarked, to head the ball into the net.
Despite the two conceded goals, Liverpool weren’t ready to sit down and let Portsmouth dictate the result. Like a disobedient child, the more they were punished, the stronger the urge was to fight back and prove them wrong. First, Aurelio equalised in a superb fashion after James handled a back pass from Crouch. The irony that both Portsmouth players involved had played for Liverpool did not escape anyone. The second equaliser was a piece of excellent work from the two substitute strikers and the final goal, the winner in injury time, was a sublime header from none other, Fernando Torres.
As everyone congratulated the blonde Spaniard after the match, Daniel kept his contact with Fernando to a minimum. A small touch of hands could be viewed as a high five or a brief hand shake, nothing scandalous in the very least. He had waited so long to be on the same pitch as Fernando again, but somehow, this match was not theirs. Despite Fernando having scored the winner, Daniel would not be with Fernando after the match. This time, he’ll happily follow Rafa’s instructions and stay in his designated room. With - and here, Daniel glanced at him, the paleness that nearly illuminated the rough and tough man in question - Martin Škrtel. Mixed feelings swirled around that man. For someone who is a threat to his short term career, Daniel had a surprisingly large amount of affection for his fellow defender. It was impossible to hate Škrtel and trying only made him feel guilty for disliking such a likeable man. Even with Jamie Carragher stuck right between them like a large, intruding third wheel, Dan and Martin both experienced feelings of exhilaration never felt before as they worked together on both flanks and spurred the team in attack.
It was an exciting new development which only added to the euphoria of winning the match and snatching all three points from Portsmouth in the nick of time. They didn’t need to consult with each other. Both knew what would happen the moment they returned to their shared room. This was no time for clumsy fumbling and trousers pooled at their ankles. Nor was it the right setting for candle lit dinners and rose petals. The two twenty four year olds followed their instincts and surrendered to that strange feeling that enveloped them like a cosy cocoon of security, of love masquerading as lust.
Behind closed doors, Daniel Agger and Martin Škrtel finally found the right balance between admiration, envy and competition. Daniel’s hands massaged Martin’s sore muscles tenderly, the Slovakian’s body worn out after weeks of heavy matches. As Martin melted under Dan’s comforting touch, Daniel moved his hand closer and closer to his intended target. Martin hardly reacted when Daniel reached his destination, as if having the Dane’s hand in his groin was the most natural thing in the world. The trick is not to show uncertainty, when every movement is confident and composed, no one would suspect the fear that lay behind the mask of human flesh. There was no music score to guide them in their quest, yet somehow the two men found an inner rhythm to follow, their bodies dancing in time with the steady beat, their movements liquid and continuous. In amongst the mess of lube, sweat and the dirt from the match, Daniel and Martin found perfection.
While the two defenders were busy exploring each other, the Spaniard in the next room sat alone. He, thankfully, could not hear the boys next door and for that, he blessed the hotel for its thick walls. He knew, however, exactly what they were doing. The sexual attraction between the two had always been electrifying and it is the general consensus within the squad that pride and rivalry had prevented them from finding each other. Yet now that they were, at least for a brief moment, united in force, that was no longer a barrier and they were free to reach new heights. He turned his phone over in his hands for the millionth time, dolefully.
He ran through the list of contacts he had on his phone and stopped at the same name each time. Toyed with the idea of pressing it. A sudden jarring pain had his hand flying to his ankle as he rubbed it gingerly, trying to relieve the slight ache. He would be okay and the hour long rest he had on the bench paid dividends. He was definitely feeling a lot fresher than he would have had he started the match. But that was not the issue that bothered him.
The match had been won and they were back at the top of the table but he couldn’t celebrate it with who he wanted to, like the boys next door. With the next week being international duty, he would have to leave for Spain while Steven stayed in England, continuing with his rehabilitation. Xabi worried incessantly. Not for his own welfare - it was bad enough he has a slight knock - playing a friendly against England was never quite what the name suggests. At least, he supposed, there would be no heartache of having to play against his lover. But if that was only because Stevie had an injury, he’ll rather his heart break a million times over for having to be on opposite teams than to watch Stevie suffer physically, emotionally and mentally at his inability to lead Liverpool FC down the tunnel.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. There was a pause and the knock came again, a bit more hesitant this time. Xabi called out, “come in!” hastily. The door swung open and Fernando Torres’s head poked in. He gave an apologetic smile as if he understood what he was intruding upon.
“Um. I figured you were alone because Stevie isn’t here - ” The blonde started. Then cut off abruptly when he saw the effect his words had on his compatriot. Xabi’s eyes were melancholy and his face downcast. Fernando wanted to bite off his tongue for the thoughtless remark, but there was nothing he could do to take them back. Instead, he placed a hand on Xabi’s shoulder and sat down next to him. Soft petting. Fernando looked the other way to give Xabi some privacy as he felt the older man’s body shake, trying to control the tears he had held back for so long.
Finally, when the movement subsided, Fernando gave Xabi an encouraging grin and reminded him of their victory, of being top of the table. The younger man’s optimism struck a cord and Xabi couldn’t help but smile back. Then he remembered Daniel Agger next door, realised Fernando, despite winning the match for Liverpool, had more to be sorrowful about than he did and felt ashamed. He recalled the day when Torres had come to him with his dilemma about Daniel. It seemed at least for now, Fernando would have to settle for being second best in Daniel’s eyes. Watching Fernando’s face, he knew not to mention it.
Sniffling slightly, Xabi asked, “Sorry about that, Fernando, what did you come in for, before I interrupted with my waterworks and all?”
“Oh nothing really,” Fernando replied flippantly, “I was just feeling a bit lonely and Pepe told me to remind you about our flight out on Monday.”
“Thanks,” Xabi nodded. He paused, pondering over something, then laughed wryly, “we’re such a bunch of melodramatic Spaniards, are we? We’re top of the table and here we are moping. Come, let’s go down to the bar and bring a bit of cheerfulness back.”
“Okay, why not? We did win, after all” Nando agreed readily, eager to leave the dreary moods behind. Especially the thoughts of someone else pressing their body tightly against Daniel’s, another man’s hand touching the spots he knew Daniel loved, another man’s tongue in his Daniel’s mouth. “Yes, let’s forget all that and enjoy ourselves, Xabi.”
* * * * *
No one cared that United might regain their top position after tomorrow’s match. All they cared about right now, was that they were up there. And that they were, for the first time in years, going to challenge for the title. It had been an important match to win, and to come back from behind, twice, showed their intent.
As it were, everyone now headed out to international duty, buoyed by their positive match and results. And each hoped to return unscathed because no one wanted to sit out the most thrilling end to the season they’ve had in their careers. However, one player’s mind, when he left on that plane, will remain in England. His concerns and thoughts rooted within the heart of Liverpool FC, of Steven Gerrard, who in turn, would be thinking of him.