Paparazzi (I'll Follow You Until You Love Me) 1/2
Title: Paparazzi (I'll Follow You Until You Love Me) 1/2
Author: salmiaggi
Rating: PG (at least for now)
Paring: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Genre: AU, romance
Summary: In order to pay his stack of bills, Fernando Torres agrees to do an occasional gig as a freelance photographer, an occupation more commonly known as paparazzi. What he doesn't realise as he accepts his next job, operation Daniel Agger, is that this wouldn't be just an ordinary gig. This would be the gig that changed his life.
Disclaimer: This isn't true.
Author’s Notes: The summary part there? That's why I never actually write them. I just quote something from the fic. :D But, anyways... rayziz gave me a prompt (Togger, Lady Gaga - Paparazzi, not that this fic has really anything to do with the song...) and I got inspired. I think there will only be two parts to this fic, but you'll never know what happens.
Feedback: keeps me alive and writing.
Part I
Photographer. Not paparazzi, but photographer. That's what his profession was, despite the fact that he might occasionally do a couple of gigs for some filthy tabloid. It paid well, whereas art photography, his real passion and dream, didn't really offer him any financial contentment. He'd done a couple of decent photoshoots for various magazines in the past, but it wasn't nearly enough to provide him with the money that he needed for the rent, the bills and living in general.
The debate going on in his mind every time he picked up his gear and got ready for another stalking trip was enough to drive him crazy. It was morally wrong, following all these people, who were all human, after all, and making them uncomfortable, vulnerable and hurt. It was like selling his soul to the devil. Even prostitution was probably more honourable than this. Well, almost.
Every time he looked through the lens, his finger ready on the shutter, he wondered why exactly was he doing it in the first place. If it all really was that bad, why sacrifice every bit of his pride to do a Satan's job?
If he was being completely honest, he didn't know the answer. Maybe he just wanted to do something that was at least somehow related to his real desire; real photography.Maybe he didn't know how to do anything else. Maybe he was comfortable with the easy money it brought him.
Or maybe he liked it.
Maybe he, Fernando Torres, had after, and despite, all that struggling started to like it all.
"Explain to me again why there is a picture like this of you two in another bloody tabloid." Daniel grinned as he looked down at the magazine, his attention drawn to one particular doublepage spread, which consisted of one enormous and a couple of smaller pictures of his two friends, the very same couple that now sat, closer to each other than necessary, on one of the benches in the changing room.
"We might have got a bit carried away." Xabi snickered then and gazed lovingly into Steven's eyes.
"A bit? There's a huge picture of you two looking like you're trying to eat each other's faces off here!" Daniel's eyes were a bit round with shock, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. He examined the pictures for a while again, until he heard a sound he was very familiar with. And, as he lifted his gaze, he witnessed a live performance of what he had seen in the magazine before.
"Guys? Guys! Helvede!* Can you just focus for a minute?" Daniel's raised voice got the two midfielders break the kiss and turn to their friend. Xabi's face looked a little worried for the tiniest moment before his features softened and relaxed again as he saw that the Dane was actually grinning and not the least bit angry at them.
"So, you got a bit carried away? And you're okay with that? With this?" Daniel showed them the pictures again. There was a slight blush decorating the Spaniard's beautiful face, but the Scouser's grin was brighter than ever.
"Well, we're not exactly proud of it -" Xabi started before Steven cut him off.
"No, actually, we are. Very proud. It was one of those caution to the wind kind of things. I mean, who's to say what we can or cannot do? If I want to engage in a public show of affection with my partner, then that is exactly what I'll do." Steven smiled, and Xabi was looking at the captain so adoringly, so in love, that Daniel felt like taking off his brand new trainers and hitting the Basque with them.
"So, you are okay with the media and the paparazzis and being all over the magazines like this?" Daniel asked, still slightly bewildered and amused by the two lovebirds' reactions to this.
"Do we have a choice? It comes with the job and you just have to learn to live with it. And you should give the poor photographers a break, they're only human, too." Steven smiled again, or maybe he had been smiling the whole time. There was a momentarily silence before the Scouser spoke up again.
"Is this all you wanted to know then, 'cause Xabi and I have... some business to attend to..." Steven got up, not waiting for the defender's reply, and pulled the wickedly grinning Spaniard up with him.
Daniel Agger.Of course he knew who Daniel Agger was, but never ever would he have thought that he'd be taking pictures of Liverpool's star defender. He should have been jumping up and down from joy, what an opportunity this was! He was a huge fan, he went to Anfield whenever he could afford it, which was not very often, and Daniel was one of the most talented young footballers he'd seen. Plus, well, he was absolutely fucking gorgeous.
Which was exactly why this felt so, so wrong, worse than ever before, if he was being totally honest.
But, a job was a job. His fridge screamed with emptiness and, due to the unpaid bills, his phone wasn't working. He could definitely use the money.
Fuck off. Just please fuck off and leave me alone. I have nothing to say. No comment. Talk to my agent. Talk to the club representative. Fuck. Off!
There were different kind of paparazzis out there, Daniel had noticed in the course of his career. Some of them were rather nice and easy, they actually (usually) listened to your pleads and backed off. Then there were the persistent ones that wouldn't give up quite that easily, but that still respected other people's privacy, somewhat. But then there was this extremely irritating kind, the kind you just wanted to smash in their faces and then run as fast as you could because they. wouldn't. leave. you. alone.
And this man, this motherfucking paparazzi was one of that kind. The irritating kind. Why couldn't he just stop following him? Why was it so bloody hard (oh, right, it always was when money was involved)? He picked up his speed, striding a little faster in order to show the fucker he really wasn't interested in doing a bit of modelling for him right now. When it came clear to him the man wasn't giving up, the Dane started jogging, slowly, almost in slow motion, at first, but only a few steps later he was no longer in control of his body and his legs speeded up to full sprint on their own account. From the corner of his eye he saw that the stalker ('cause that was what he was, undoubtedly) was already falling behind. Little did he know that while he had plenty of time to run over the almost silent street, the paparazzi wouldn't be as lucky.
Fuck it hurts. Why the fuck am I feeling this shitty? Ah, Dios, my head. My chest, is someone hitting my chest with a baseball bat?
Fernando opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Everything was so bloody blurry. For a moment he just tried to focus his gaze on something, blinking like mad.
When his eyes finally started to focus and get used to the light, he looked around. He was in a hospital room, no doubt about it. The inhospitable atmosphere, cheerless decorations and wall colours, everything in this cold room told a sad, familiar tale. After a swift (as swift as his aching head allowed) scan around the room, the Spaniard noticed something odd. There seemed to be a slightly familiar looking man sitting on one of the chairs opposite to the hospital bed he was laying on.
Dios, is that -
"Oh, hey, you're awake," Daniel greeted the Spaniard silently, twisting his hands in his lap rather nervously.
"What... What's going on?" The blond man's eyes examined the young footballer carefully, taking in the slumped shoulders and the stressful fidgeting. More like 'what the fuck are you doing here'?
"You got hit by a car," Daniel sighed, and the look on his face showed real worry. "And that's about as much as I can tell you. The doctors haven't said anything to me, since, well, I don't know you. But it cannot have been too bad, since you're awake and talking and everything.
"They couldn't find any ID or even a phone from your jacket pockets or your bag, so I'm sure that if you give them your family's phone number, they'd be more than happy to ring them, you know." Daniel wondered, for the shortest of moments, who didn't have a phone with them these days. He shook the thought out of his mind.
"My family is in Spain." Fernando said silently and wondered why this man, this celebrity, was being so nice to him, why he was even here.
"On holiday?"
"No, no, they live in there." Fernando's gaze faltered as Daniel looked at him curiously. Surely the Dane had noticed the young blonde didn't exactly look, or sound, like a typical English bloke, but still this piece of information somehow took him by surprise.
"I'm sure we can make one, short long-distance phone call." A smile, a beautiful, sympathetic smile was on Daniel's face before he could possibly stop himself.
"No, I'd rather not bother them." The Dane raised his eyebrows, but figured it was really none of his damn business.
"What about friends? There must be someone you can call."
A metaphorical lightbulb appeared above Fernando's head. It was so obvious to him now. The footballer was now desperate to get out, but feeling guilty about leaving him in the hospital alone. He couldn't really blame the man for wanting to leave.
"I think I'll call my mate Cesc after I have seen the doctor. But you can go if you want to. I'm sure you have something better to do than sit here with me right now."
"Not really, no." You ridiculous clown, of course you don't. When exactly was the last time you went out? Had a date? Even had a beer with someone else besides the guys from the team?
The silence was heavy and full of pressure.
"I'm so sorry about running away from you like that. You wouldn't be here if I hadn't tried to escape." Daniel's voice sounded genuinely sorry and his eyes were sad when they locked with Fernando's dark brown ones for a short moment.
"You are apologising to me?" Fernando asked slowly. "But it's me who should apologise. I was... I mean... I shouldn't have..." He stammered and silenced himself, feeling like if he didn't shut his mouth, he would end up regretting it afterwards.
Another silence, this time not as heavy, not as pressurising.
"So, how on earth is a guy like you doing a job like that? I thought the paparazzis are a bunch of some balding, middle aged idiots." As Fernando grinned, Daniel melted. Such a real smile, Fernando's eyes twinkled and face wrinkled.
"I'm actually a photographer. But taking pretty pictures doesn't really pay the bills, you know. It's not like I do this very often or that I like it very much. I just need it..." Fernando found himself blushing under the Dane's stare. Daniel couldn't exactly say he understood it in the 'I've been there too' kind of way, because he hadn't been there, never. But he did realise that not all people had as much luck as he'd had.
"Anyway, it does have its upsides, too," Fernando continued.
"Yeah? Like the excitement of chasing celebrities and ending up injured in hospitals?" Did you just refer to yourself as a celebrity? Slow down, Danny boy.
"No, more like meeting people like you for real." Fernando smiled shyly; Daniel's throat was suddenly very dry.
"People... people like me?" Deep breath, Daniel. Breathe in - and breathe out. Aren't you supposed to have the upper hand in this?
"Footballers, of course. Famous, talented footballers. Doesn't hurt if they're as good looking and well behaved as you, either." The corner of Dan's lips twitched. So did a certain other part of his body that hadn't had some in a criminally long time.
"Uhm, right. I think I'm going to go now... You must be tired and the doctor is surely on his way by now. It was nice to meet you..." Good one, Dan. Couldn't bother to even find out his name, could you?
"Fernando. Fernando Torres." They shook hands friendly and smiled warmly, before Daniel turned to leave.
"Take care, Fernando Torres."
The door was shut softly behind Daniel's back and Fernando was alone again.
* Helvede = Hell (Danish, I hope :D)
Author: salmiaggi
Rating: PG (at least for now)
Paring: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Genre: AU, romance
Summary: In order to pay his stack of bills, Fernando Torres agrees to do an occasional gig as a freelance photographer, an occupation more commonly known as paparazzi. What he doesn't realise as he accepts his next job, operation Daniel Agger, is that this wouldn't be just an ordinary gig. This would be the gig that changed his life.
Disclaimer: This isn't true.
Author’s Notes: The summary part there? That's why I never actually write them. I just quote something from the fic. :D But, anyways... rayziz gave me a prompt (Togger, Lady Gaga - Paparazzi, not that this fic has really anything to do with the song...) and I got inspired. I think there will only be two parts to this fic, but you'll never know what happens.
Feedback: keeps me alive and writing.
Part I
Photographer. Not paparazzi, but photographer. That's what his profession was, despite the fact that he might occasionally do a couple of gigs for some filthy tabloid. It paid well, whereas art photography, his real passion and dream, didn't really offer him any financial contentment. He'd done a couple of decent photoshoots for various magazines in the past, but it wasn't nearly enough to provide him with the money that he needed for the rent, the bills and living in general.
The debate going on in his mind every time he picked up his gear and got ready for another stalking trip was enough to drive him crazy. It was morally wrong, following all these people, who were all human, after all, and making them uncomfortable, vulnerable and hurt. It was like selling his soul to the devil. Even prostitution was probably more honourable than this. Well, almost.
Every time he looked through the lens, his finger ready on the shutter, he wondered why exactly was he doing it in the first place. If it all really was that bad, why sacrifice every bit of his pride to do a Satan's job?
If he was being completely honest, he didn't know the answer. Maybe he just wanted to do something that was at least somehow related to his real desire; real photography.Maybe he didn't know how to do anything else. Maybe he was comfortable with the easy money it brought him.
Or maybe he liked it.
Maybe he, Fernando Torres, had after, and despite, all that struggling started to like it all.
"Explain to me again why there is a picture like this of you two in another bloody tabloid." Daniel grinned as he looked down at the magazine, his attention drawn to one particular doublepage spread, which consisted of one enormous and a couple of smaller pictures of his two friends, the very same couple that now sat, closer to each other than necessary, on one of the benches in the changing room.
"We might have got a bit carried away." Xabi snickered then and gazed lovingly into Steven's eyes.
"A bit? There's a huge picture of you two looking like you're trying to eat each other's faces off here!" Daniel's eyes were a bit round with shock, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. He examined the pictures for a while again, until he heard a sound he was very familiar with. And, as he lifted his gaze, he witnessed a live performance of what he had seen in the magazine before.
"Guys? Guys! Helvede!* Can you just focus for a minute?" Daniel's raised voice got the two midfielders break the kiss and turn to their friend. Xabi's face looked a little worried for the tiniest moment before his features softened and relaxed again as he saw that the Dane was actually grinning and not the least bit angry at them.
"So, you got a bit carried away? And you're okay with that? With this?" Daniel showed them the pictures again. There was a slight blush decorating the Spaniard's beautiful face, but the Scouser's grin was brighter than ever.
"Well, we're not exactly proud of it -" Xabi started before Steven cut him off.
"No, actually, we are. Very proud. It was one of those caution to the wind kind of things. I mean, who's to say what we can or cannot do? If I want to engage in a public show of affection with my partner, then that is exactly what I'll do." Steven smiled, and Xabi was looking at the captain so adoringly, so in love, that Daniel felt like taking off his brand new trainers and hitting the Basque with them.
"So, you are okay with the media and the paparazzis and being all over the magazines like this?" Daniel asked, still slightly bewildered and amused by the two lovebirds' reactions to this.
"Do we have a choice? It comes with the job and you just have to learn to live with it. And you should give the poor photographers a break, they're only human, too." Steven smiled again, or maybe he had been smiling the whole time. There was a momentarily silence before the Scouser spoke up again.
"Is this all you wanted to know then, 'cause Xabi and I have... some business to attend to..." Steven got up, not waiting for the defender's reply, and pulled the wickedly grinning Spaniard up with him.
Daniel Agger.Of course he knew who Daniel Agger was, but never ever would he have thought that he'd be taking pictures of Liverpool's star defender. He should have been jumping up and down from joy, what an opportunity this was! He was a huge fan, he went to Anfield whenever he could afford it, which was not very often, and Daniel was one of the most talented young footballers he'd seen. Plus, well, he was absolutely fucking gorgeous.
Which was exactly why this felt so, so wrong, worse than ever before, if he was being totally honest.
But, a job was a job. His fridge screamed with emptiness and, due to the unpaid bills, his phone wasn't working. He could definitely use the money.
Fuck off. Just please fuck off and leave me alone. I have nothing to say. No comment. Talk to my agent. Talk to the club representative. Fuck. Off!
There were different kind of paparazzis out there, Daniel had noticed in the course of his career. Some of them were rather nice and easy, they actually (usually) listened to your pleads and backed off. Then there were the persistent ones that wouldn't give up quite that easily, but that still respected other people's privacy, somewhat. But then there was this extremely irritating kind, the kind you just wanted to smash in their faces and then run as fast as you could because they. wouldn't. leave. you. alone.
And this man, this motherfucking paparazzi was one of that kind. The irritating kind. Why couldn't he just stop following him? Why was it so bloody hard (oh, right, it always was when money was involved)? He picked up his speed, striding a little faster in order to show the fucker he really wasn't interested in doing a bit of modelling for him right now. When it came clear to him the man wasn't giving up, the Dane started jogging, slowly, almost in slow motion, at first, but only a few steps later he was no longer in control of his body and his legs speeded up to full sprint on their own account. From the corner of his eye he saw that the stalker ('cause that was what he was, undoubtedly) was already falling behind. Little did he know that while he had plenty of time to run over the almost silent street, the paparazzi wouldn't be as lucky.
Fuck it hurts. Why the fuck am I feeling this shitty? Ah, Dios, my head. My chest, is someone hitting my chest with a baseball bat?
Fernando opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Everything was so bloody blurry. For a moment he just tried to focus his gaze on something, blinking like mad.
When his eyes finally started to focus and get used to the light, he looked around. He was in a hospital room, no doubt about it. The inhospitable atmosphere, cheerless decorations and wall colours, everything in this cold room told a sad, familiar tale. After a swift (as swift as his aching head allowed) scan around the room, the Spaniard noticed something odd. There seemed to be a slightly familiar looking man sitting on one of the chairs opposite to the hospital bed he was laying on.
Dios, is that -
"Oh, hey, you're awake," Daniel greeted the Spaniard silently, twisting his hands in his lap rather nervously.
"What... What's going on?" The blond man's eyes examined the young footballer carefully, taking in the slumped shoulders and the stressful fidgeting. More like 'what the fuck are you doing here'?
"You got hit by a car," Daniel sighed, and the look on his face showed real worry. "And that's about as much as I can tell you. The doctors haven't said anything to me, since, well, I don't know you. But it cannot have been too bad, since you're awake and talking and everything.
"They couldn't find any ID or even a phone from your jacket pockets or your bag, so I'm sure that if you give them your family's phone number, they'd be more than happy to ring them, you know." Daniel wondered, for the shortest of moments, who didn't have a phone with them these days. He shook the thought out of his mind.
"My family is in Spain." Fernando said silently and wondered why this man, this celebrity, was being so nice to him, why he was even here.
"On holiday?"
"No, no, they live in there." Fernando's gaze faltered as Daniel looked at him curiously. Surely the Dane had noticed the young blonde didn't exactly look, or sound, like a typical English bloke, but still this piece of information somehow took him by surprise.
"I'm sure we can make one, short long-distance phone call." A smile, a beautiful, sympathetic smile was on Daniel's face before he could possibly stop himself.
"No, I'd rather not bother them." The Dane raised his eyebrows, but figured it was really none of his damn business.
"What about friends? There must be someone you can call."
A metaphorical lightbulb appeared above Fernando's head. It was so obvious to him now. The footballer was now desperate to get out, but feeling guilty about leaving him in the hospital alone. He couldn't really blame the man for wanting to leave.
"I think I'll call my mate Cesc after I have seen the doctor. But you can go if you want to. I'm sure you have something better to do than sit here with me right now."
"Not really, no." You ridiculous clown, of course you don't. When exactly was the last time you went out? Had a date? Even had a beer with someone else besides the guys from the team?
The silence was heavy and full of pressure.
"I'm so sorry about running away from you like that. You wouldn't be here if I hadn't tried to escape." Daniel's voice sounded genuinely sorry and his eyes were sad when they locked with Fernando's dark brown ones for a short moment.
"You are apologising to me?" Fernando asked slowly. "But it's me who should apologise. I was... I mean... I shouldn't have..." He stammered and silenced himself, feeling like if he didn't shut his mouth, he would end up regretting it afterwards.
Another silence, this time not as heavy, not as pressurising.
"So, how on earth is a guy like you doing a job like that? I thought the paparazzis are a bunch of some balding, middle aged idiots." As Fernando grinned, Daniel melted. Such a real smile, Fernando's eyes twinkled and face wrinkled.
"I'm actually a photographer. But taking pretty pictures doesn't really pay the bills, you know. It's not like I do this very often or that I like it very much. I just need it..." Fernando found himself blushing under the Dane's stare. Daniel couldn't exactly say he understood it in the 'I've been there too' kind of way, because he hadn't been there, never. But he did realise that not all people had as much luck as he'd had.
"Anyway, it does have its upsides, too," Fernando continued.
"Yeah? Like the excitement of chasing celebrities and ending up injured in hospitals?" Did you just refer to yourself as a celebrity? Slow down, Danny boy.
"No, more like meeting people like you for real." Fernando smiled shyly; Daniel's throat was suddenly very dry.
"People... people like me?" Deep breath, Daniel. Breathe in - and breathe out. Aren't you supposed to have the upper hand in this?
"Footballers, of course. Famous, talented footballers. Doesn't hurt if they're as good looking and well behaved as you, either." The corner of Dan's lips twitched. So did a certain other part of his body that hadn't had some in a criminally long time.
"Uhm, right. I think I'm going to go now... You must be tired and the doctor is surely on his way by now. It was nice to meet you..." Good one, Dan. Couldn't bother to even find out his name, could you?
"Fernando. Fernando Torres." They shook hands friendly and smiled warmly, before Daniel turned to leave.
"Take care, Fernando Torres."
The door was shut softly behind Daniel's back and Fernando was alone again.
* Helvede = Hell (Danish, I hope :D)