{007} fic - beaming sunlight

2006-12-04T01:26:24Z

Title: Beaming Sunlight
Author: Faith Lee (omgorgasm, ofthehunt)
Summary: Seven small fics in the second person.
01. Steven Gerrard, Xabi Alonso
02. Miroslav Klose, Christoph Metzelder (FOR ALISON, SWEETIE [pressao])
03. Andriy Shevchenko, Ricardo Kakà
04. Arne Friedrich, Lukas Podolski
05. Jens Lehmann, Frekrik Ljungberg
06. David Villa, Joaquin Sanchez
07. Iker Casillas, Sergio Ramos (FOR CURLZ-CUE [loversflight])
All of these fics are in the second person. None of them are related, and none of this happened. Enjoy. :)

01.

The sun is shining through your window, and you keep your eyes closed in a futile attempt to stay asleep, even if it is just for a bit longer. It is all in vain, however, because Steven comes in after a few minutes and pulls the shades open.

“Ugh,” you groan quietly, and you seek out the covers to try and dive under them, but he is quick this morning.

“No,” he says lightly, and you know he is smiling down at you. “Come on, love, it’s time to get up.”

“Why?” you mumble as you wrap the coverlet closer to your body, attempting to trap the warmth near you. Steven just laughs, and the sound warms you more than blankets ever could. You find yourself smiling back, but not so he can see.

“Why? Because its morning and I made you breakfast. If you don’t get up now, it’ll get cold.” He sits on the bed next to you and soon his fingers are running through your hair lightly. Your body tremors at his soft touch.

“Come, love,” he murmurs to you, and his voice is so soothing. He presses his lips just barely to your forehead, and you fight a loosing battle to suppress a moan as you tilt your face back to meet his seeking mouth.

It is some minutes later when he raises his head from yours, fingers gently stroking your jaw. His blue eyes are bright in the intruding sunlight as it beams through the open window. His hand slowly travels down your neck, underneath the covers and over your chest, down to your hands. He grabs your fingers with his and pulls you out of bed with a wolfish grin.

“Steven!” you yelp in surprise, and he guides your body to his. You are molded against him now and you push your lips against his neck.

“Xabi,” he murmurs, then begins to back towards the door with you in his arms. “You have to eat!”

He gently leads you to your kitchen and sits you down at the table. He delivers your coffee and your food to you with a tender smile and soft eyes. He sits across from you and smiles, sipping his coffee. You look at the food for a while, then you find that you are suddenly ravenous and not just for the man sitting opposite you.

You polish off the eggs in seconds and peer questioningly at the sausage, then eat it anyway. Steven is laughing at you, but you don’t mind.

When you finish, you take a gulp of coffee, then lean across the table and brush your lips softly against his.

“Gracias, mi amor,” you whisper in your native tongue against his soft lips. “Thank you, my love.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs back, and your eyes close as he licks your lips, then follows with his mouth.

He kisses you for but a moment, leaving you feeling unfinished. He stands up and rounds the table. You sit, staring up at him wordlessly. Gently, his fingers curl around yours and he pulls you up to rest your body against his. He tenderly covers your face in warm kisses.

You are giggling like a child, and he is smiling sweetly.

“I love you, Xabi,” he breathes in your ear, then resumes his kissing. You are still for a moment.

“Te quiero,” you whisper, “Te quiero, Steven Gerrard. Eres todo para mí, y te quiero.”

02.

You are lounging on the couch, watching a bad movie. You are being lazy, but you don’t care. It is that time of day when it is not quite dark, but not light either; twilight, if you want to be poetic.

There is a knock on your door. You glance over at it in disdain, then rise from your position on the soft leather and open the door.

Christoph is outside, and he has your favourite lager with him. You open the door wider for him to enter; he towers over you as he presses his lips to your forehead in greeting. You close the door softly behind him and watch as he invades your tiny kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” he asks you, his low voice rumbling through your apartment. You lean your body against the doorway and cross your arms over your chest.

“No,” you murmur.

He gives you a stern look, then places the lager in your refrigerator. He is looking around in your fridge, searching for some food to stuff down your throat. He takes out a Tupperware container filled with rice.

“What is this?” he asks incredulously.

“I’m not hungry,” you answer quietly. He glances over his shoulder at you for a moment, then closes the door and turns around.

He walks to you until you are only a breath away. He is intimidating from his height, but you would never tell him that. His hands come around your waist and rest there for a moment, and his thumbs rub circles into your shirt. Slowly, the shirt goes up, and his fingers brush against your hot skin gently.

Repressing the urge to shiver, you press your dry lips against his for a moment. Now he is running his fingers along your ribcage, raising your shirt with him.

“If you are not hungry,” he mutters against your lips, “then what shall we do?”

At this you smile into his mouth and he nuzzles you with his nose.

“Well, Chris,” you whisper softly, moving your mouth to his ear, “we could… watch a movie.” You kiss behind his earlobe for a quick second and he is laughing, a full chest laugh that spreads a melted warmth through your belly.

You raise your hands to his chest to feel it shaking with his laughter and he scoops you up, carrying you to your bedroom. He kicks the door closed and lays you gently on the bed.

“I’ve been waiting for this, for you, since we got out of practice today,” he tells you, his chocolate eyes dark with lust. Your heart speeds up and you are mesmerized by him.

As usual.

He hovers over you for a moment, then he lays his body on yours and molds his lips to yours with a fiery heat. You feel yourself burning up from the inside and you arch against him in a silent, pleading invitation.

He never needs more than that.

He holds you afterward, a large hand stroking your back soothingly, lovingly. He brushes his lips against your forehead, over your closed lids, on your cheeks. He rubs his nose with yours and you pull him closer to you. His strong chest gently shakes as he laughs at you, and his brown eyes hold a teasing light.

You look up into his tender gaze and you kiss him gently.

“I love you,” you whisper softly, staring into his eyes. He looks down at you with so adoring a gaze that you find your cheeks heating up.

“I know,” he answers. He presses soft lips to your temple. “And I you,” he murmurs against your skin. “I love you.” His hands arch your body to his.
I love you.” He rubs his hips gently against yours. You are moaning his name now.

“Miro,” he mutters in your ear, “I love you.”

03.

You have been waiting in the locker rooms for a while, but he still hasn’t come. You are clean and fresh from your recent shower, your hair is still damp and flopped against your forehead.

Has something come up? You wonder as you pace in front of his locker. No, no, he would’ve called, he would’ve…

You lean against his locker and ponder his tardiness. You are still there when he comes in with bright eyes. You make to stand up straight but he doesn’t stop walking until you are chest to chest. He is eye level to you now, and he kisses you eagerly, hungrily.

“Where were you?” you ask breathlessly.

“I was buying you something,” he returns with a grin.

“What?” you exclaim, eyes widening, and he laughs and kisses you again. “Andriy!”

He pulls away with a teasing smile and cups your face in his hands.

“Do you want to know what it is?” he whispers, his hands now traveling down your neck and across your chest; his hands are light, the touch is barely there.

You moan against his mouth.

“Sì, Andriy,” you say.

He hands you a bag – it is unadorned, white, and you eagerly open it and look inside. There is a box, and you pull it out with gentle hands.

He is sitting on the bench in front of you, observing you with loving brown eyes. Your heart swells with emotion and you look away, back at the box in your hands.

Slowly, you open the box and peer inside.

And you reach in and take out another box. You look up and arch a brow at him.

“What is this?” you ask. He silently laughs, then shakes his head.

“Open the box, innamorato.”

You open that box and look down in wonder at the sparkling necklace lying on the silken pillow in your hands. It is a shiny golden football, and on the back, there was an inscription.

Per il mio amore, che questo possa sempre ricordarti di me. Con amore, Andriy.

“For my love, may this always remind you of me. Love, Andriy.”

You raise your wide eyes to him in wonder, then throw your arms around his neck as he stands up to catch you.

“Grazie, Andriy!” you shout, the smile on your face stretching your skin. He laughs as he squeezes you to him, and you are so happy.

“Ti amo, Andriy,” you whisper over and over to him, “I love you.”

04.

He comes home with food and drink. You are waiting for him and when you hear him outside the apartment, fumbling with the keys, you rush to open the door.

“Danke,” he mutters, pressing a kiss on your cheekbone. You are silent as you pick up a few bags of groceries and carry them into the small kitchen.

“You are quiet,” he says after he closes the door and joins you.

“I am always quiet,” you reply softly. Everything is soon put in place, and his strong arms are around your middle and he rests his head on your shoulder.

“I know that,” he intones in your ear, “and I love you for it.”

You sigh then, and he looks at you strangely, but says nothing. You shrug off his arms and walk to your room.

He follows you.

“Arne,” he questions, “what is the matter?”

You say nothing, only sit on your bed.

“Arne,” he says again. A slight note of warning laces his tone.

“You were with Bastian again,” you mumble in surrender. He falters as he towers over you, then he blows out his breath in a fast gush and closes the door slowly. He stops in front of you and bends so you are at eye level.

“Arne,” he mumbles to himself, then he says louder, to you, “Bastian is my friend. He is my best friend. You, Arne, are my lover. Those are two very different things, darling.”

“I know that!” you burst out, feeling exasperated, frustrated. You feel your eyes begin to tingle and you curse underneath your breath.

“Then why are you asking?!” he yells, and throws up his hands. He lunges toward you and you cringe back, leaning against the bed. His hands are gently but firm as they encase your face in a warm cocoon.

“Arne,” he breathes against your trembling lips, “oh, Arne. Can’t you see that I am completely in love with you? Can’t you tell when I look at you, when I touch you, how deeply I care for you, about you? Arne, sweet Arne – you mean everything to me, love.”

He kisses you sweetly, and he tastes your tears. You are trembling against him as he gently rests his body against yours on the bed.

After a moment, you wrap your arms around his neck, giving in to the sweet torture, pulling him closer, and he moans your name into your mouth.

It is past midnight when you roll out of bed. You glance down at him for a moment, peaceful on the bed, then pull on your discarded jeans and make your way to the kitchen.

You take out a beer for yourself and sit in silence, staring into space.

“You left.”

He is standing behind you, in the doorway wearing nothing but shorts and rubbing his eyes.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you murmur. He moves behind you and rubs his warm hands up and down your exposed arms.

“Arne, about Bastian…” he begins, his voice soft, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you… but I just assumed that you knew… Basti and I usually go out after practice for dinner or something…”

“No,” you mumble, almost inaudibly, “it was my fault – I shouldn’t have doubted you, Lukas –“

“I should’ve explained –“

“I’m sorry –“

“You couldn’t have known –“

“Lukas, I love you.”

At this he is silent. You are both standing close, and he stares at you with wide blue eyes. Then, he slowly smiles.

“I know,” he says quietly, his fingers stroking your jawbone lightly. He suddenly smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “I’ve known for a long time,” he reveals, still in that quiet voice, “but I’ve waited for you to say it.” He looks up now, straight into your eyes, into your soul. “I haven’t been disappointed.”

You smile weakly, and you can’t stop your lips from trembling. He doesn’t mind. Rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip softly, he lets out a rumbling laugh, then swoops down to capture your lips with his own.

He leans his forehead against yours after the kiss.

“Lukas?” you mutter.

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

A smile and a kiss.

“And I, you, sweet.”

05.

Practice is over, and you rush into the showers. You are clean quickly and are the first one to leave for home. Why the rush? You want to get home before your lover, because it is his birthday today.

You arrive home quickly – you live very close to the practice fields because neither of you like to get up very early. Hurriedly, you pin up the sign that you had made, and the streamers that you had bought.

Within fifteen minutes, everything was set up and looking wonderfully festive, and you tap your fingers on your leg, because Cesc can’t be late with the cake.

Sure enough, a knock comes on the door, and you rush to pull it open. There is Cesc, standing there with a cake. You feel like you could kiss him, but instead pull him inside and slam the door shut.

“Jeez,” says Cesc with a short laugh, “relax, Freddie, when I left, Jens was still talking with Thierry!”

You merely shrug, preoccupied with your thoughts. In the back of your mind, you hear him sigh, but you don’t acknowledge it.

You glance at the cake before you put it in the fridge, then turn to Cesc.

“Cesc, when is everyone going to arrive?” you ask breathlessly. Cesc arches a brow at you.

“They will be here in due time,” he says slowly, then grasps your arms to stop your idle movements. “Freddie. Thierry is bringing Jens around in at least half an hour. You have time. Relax!”

Robin is one of the first to arrive. Michael is hot on his tail; he came down from Chelsea, and he greets you warmly.

Pretty soon, it is time for him to arrive as well, and you turn off all the lights in preparation.

The door swings open and he and Thierry come in, joking and laughing. He looks around, then speaks in low tones to Thierry. You still hear him.

“I guess Freddie isn’t home,” he says, and his voice holds infinite sadness. You smile to yourself, then jump up from behind the couch.

“Surprise!” you yell, and everyone else follows you. Thierry turns on the lights and he sees all the time you had spent planning this, and he blushes with happiness.

Everyone is congratulating him, but you stay where you are behind the couch. He comes to you, and he kisses you deeply, in front of everyone, and you can’t remember a better birthday party.

06.

The stadium is still filled with people, both disappointed and ecstatic. You can’t blame the ecstatic people – their team won, and they deserved to be proud of them.

You can’t even begin to face the disappointed fans, because hey, who screwed up?

That’s right. You.

You had it. You were so close to scoring that goal, but then you got distracted, and for that one moment…

And then victory was pulled from their tight grasp and Barcelona won, beating you as they always did.

You lean against the goal post, feeling the depression set in. It always gets like this after you lose – instead of getting angry, like Pablo does, you just get sad. You think of all the fans that had been counting on you, and you just want to cry, for them.

It is now an hour after the match, and you have finally pulled yourself into the showers. You try not to think of all the things that will be waiting for you when you get out from under the hot blast of water, but it is getting increasingly difficult.

You wrap a towel around your waist and it sags loosely on your hips. You run a hand through your wet hair and it flops back against your forehead with a soft whoosh.

“David,” says a voice; Joaquin. You glance at him, then resume walking. He falls into step beside you, but remains silent.

You know that he is the only one who understands you, understands this feeling after a loss such as this one. He had felt it too, with you, back at the World Cup. That feeling that you could have done something more.

He had been the only one there for you back in July, in Germany. And he was the only one there for you now. You know this, and so does he.

You pull on your underwear, then your pants. You glare at your shirt for a second, then pull it over your head. He is dressed, and he waits for you. You slowly close your locker, and you both make your way outside.

You both have a mutual agreement to meet up at his hotel room. He always gets a room in a different hotel than the one the team stays at. He arrives before you and he opens the door of your car for you to get out. He leads you around to the back exit of the hotel, and you both race up the stairs to the top floor. The hotel manager knows to be discreet, and when you finally get to the room, there is a Do Not Disturb sign already on the door.

He waits to kiss you until after the door is closed and locked. He kisses you with all the sadness and frustration of losing yet another match. You cup his face and bring him closer, and soon your clothes are in a sweaty, grass-stained pile by the door.

Afterwards, he strokes down the length of your back, and your face is in the hollow between his shoulder and his neck. His blue and green eyes are intense as they stare down at your head, but you don’t want to think about it.

All you know is that he is the one thing that you can always count on – and by being here, in Barcelona, with you, sharing in this pain, this frustration, you know that this was meant to be.

Sappy, you know.

But you love him.

You know now, after this, that you do. Maybe you’ve always known. But he doesn’t know, and you don’t plan on telling him. You both have wives, lives away from this, from football… from each other. And though you don’t want to acknowledge that you do, you can’t just forget about everything else, drop everything just to be with him; no matter how much you want to be.

So you remain silent, and you just kiss his neck. He responds with a kiss on your hair, and that is that.

And that is all it will ever be.

07.

Ever since the World Cup, even before, you’ve loved him. You don’t know what it is about him, but suddenly, he’s so charming, and cute, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

You can’t tell him that, of course. You can only look at him, laugh with him, play with him, love him from afar.

“Sergio,” someone calls your name, and it is him. David, the one everyone loves, the Englishman who is always all over Iker. The best England has ever seen, everyone says. You struggle to hold in your eye-roll and turn to face him.

“Yes?” you answer; your voice sounds tired, foreign, even to you. He notices too, and he arches a brow at you. You can’t help it: your finches clench.

“Are you all right?” he questions, and you just want to hit him. Somehow, you restrain yourself – you even manage a strained smile.

“Fine,” you answer somewhat bitingly. His eyes narrow and you turn away quickly. Raul is motioning for you, and you run over willingly. You would kiss Raul’s feet to get away from David.

“Sergio,” Raul says with a smile, “would you like to help me?”

“Of course,” you respond quickly, with a large smile of relief.

Later, you see him with David. You want to claw out your eyes and pull out your hair in frustration. Raul arches a brow at you, much like David had done before. You merely shake your head and walk on.

You are getting on a plane. He is behind you, with David, laughing at something he said. Worse, Raul is with them, and you are walking alone, looking like some kind of loner, some kind of freak. Guti comes up then, and tousles your hair affectionately.

“Hola, Serg,” he says with a grin. “¿Por qué esa cara larga?"

You roll your eyes, but appreciate the company.

“Guti, necesitas cortarte el pelo," you tease. "Te pareces a un perro!" He just winks at you and grins, and you grin back, feeling the tension slowly seep out of your shoulders.

It returns after you get on the plane, however. The team sits itself down in order, however they enter the plane is where they sit. So you sit between Guti and… him. Iker. And David has to sit on the other side of the plane.

On one side of you, Guti is non-stop idle chatter, and on the other, silence, contemplative, nerve-wracking silence. You try not to shiver or make any nervous movements, but after a while, you start wringing your hands, and Guti’s chatter becomes a soft buzz in your right ear. You are only aware of him, of his breathing, of his eyes, of his presence beside you.

Amazingly, you manage to fall into a fitful sleep, full of dreams and wants and wishes. A light, yet electric touch on your thigh wakes you, and you open your eyes to stare into his dark gaze. Your breathing automatically becomes laboured and your heart rate becomes erratic and fast. He looks like he wants to say something, but is stuck in time, his mouth slightly open, his eyes staring into yours. You know your eyes are wide (from fear? From hope?) but you cannot make them their normal size. In the space of a few seconds you have lost control of your entire body, it seems.

All because of him.

Finally, he speaks.

“La comida está aquí,” he says quietly, and his face seems to be coming closer, closer, and his eyes are closing, and you are migrating towards him, and before your lips touch his, you hear him whisper so softly, “Sergio…” and then you are lost in him.

And it is amazing, even better than you had ever imagined. His lips press against yours with just enough pressure… and his hand trails along your neck, then up to your jaw line while his other is traveling up your thigh… and you feel so unbearably hot…

And then Guti wakes up with a groan, stretching his hands out in front of him, and you break apart. You close your eyes and you know you are blushing madly, horribly, and you can’t bring yourself to face Guti, your friend.

It is an hour before you sneak a glance at Iker, and his cheeks are a rosy pink, and he peeks at you and you both smile secretly, and you’ve never felt happier.

You arrive in Japan and he catches you in customs.

“Es nuestro secreto, vale?” he whispers to you, his chocolate eyes intense. And you stare at him with a smile on your face and you nod.

“Nuestro secreto,” you repeat, and he seals it with a kiss.

--------------------------

END.

Authors Notes: I didn't translate the spanish in the last fic. It's pretty simple. If you need me to translate, just say the word. Number six turned out to be really emo and angsty, but I'm not complaining. David is too pretty to be left a slash virgin. Oh, and if I messed up anything, like the italian (I used my little helper) please tell me, because I hate getting stuff wrong. It kills me.

Well, tell me how you liked it! I love feedback. ♥

Edit: Thank you so much to all who have commented: especially aislin_k, who helped out with the language problems. God, how awful would this fic be without your generous help. My eternal gratitude. ♥

{001} Welcome...

2006-10-02T22:07:01Z

Welcome to ofthehunt, Faith's (omgorgasm) writing journal. This is where I will post fan-fics, original fics, RPS fics, football fics and poems. Also graphics, too, sometimes. When I make them.

;:;About the Author:;:
Faith. 17. Aquarius. Friendly. Movie buff. Published author (poems). Fan~~atic.~~
Favorites: {movies} Lord of the Rings. X-Men (minus #3). The Fast and the Furious (and the second one). Underworld (and the second one). Mulan. Dogma. Brokeback Mountain. Bubble Boy. Just My Luck (minus Lindsay Lohan). The Covenant. {tv shows} Supernatural. Angel. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Firefly. Lost. House MD. Prison Break. Vanished. Smallville. The L Word. {bands} Within Temptation. Milk Inc. McFly. Blue. All-American Rejects. Nightwish. DJ Tiesto. Elis. Lacuna Coil. Delta Goodrem. Jessy. Utada Hikaru. Gackt. Ayumi Hamasaki. O-Zone. Kelly Clarkson. David Bisbal. Merche. Tony Santos. El Canto Loco. {actors} Chris Pine. Laura Ramsey. Samaire Armstrong. Sarah Michelle Gellar. Amy Acker. Jensen Ackles. Jared Padalecki. Angelina Jolie. Jake Gyllenhaal. John Cusack. Joan Cusack. Jack Black. Reese Witherspoon. Luke&Owen Wilson. Jackie Chan. {football clubs} Valencia CF. Liverpool FC. Atletico de Madrid. {footballers} FERNANDO TORRES. Xabi Alonso. Steven Gerrard. Fernando Morientes. Raul Gonzales. Mark Gonzalez. Jan Kromkamp. Fabio Cannavaro. Fredrik Ljunberg. Arne Friedrich. David Villa. Pablo Aimar. Michael Ballack. Andriy Shevchenko. Ricardo Kakà. Joaquin Sanchez. Frank Lampard. Luis Garcia.

;:;Friends and Promotions:;:

your eyes are on the prize

{007} fic - beaming sunlight

{001} Welcome...