[RPF] It's just work
Title: It's just work
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Andy Carroll/Martin Skrtel
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 312
Warning: slash, written as a branch of the footieforest.
~ It's just work.
The only thing Martin knows for sure these days is that Andy is driving him crazy. Of course it was Kenny who told him to stick around Martin all the time, glue himself to his back during corner kicks so that no other defender could come in his way, but still, the way Andy’s hands linger too low on Martin’s hips, his smile, his lips always too close to his ear, God, it’s sheer torture, it is.
Martin knows he shouldn’t let himself read too much into it. It’s work, he tells himself. Kenny told him to grope you right in the middle of the area, in front of God only knows how many witnesses, and that’s exactly what Andy does, because he’s a good kid, deep down, and he wants his coach to be proud of him.
He knows there’s nothing sexual about it, not even when Andy leans in and whispers things into his ear, his voice so low Martin can’t really hear him over the chants of the stadium and all of the noise but who really cares, after all? It must be tactical advice, or random swearing Andy can’t really keep inside anymore. It’s work, Martin tells himself, it's just work.
It’s just work, Andy’s thumbs pushing into his hipbone, hard enough to leave bruises. It’s just work, Andy’s not-so-clean shaven cheek next to his, barely a breathe away. It’s just work, Andy’s lean, strong body pressing against his back and his strong, masculine scent all around Martin. It’s just work, tactics, just another way to get to the ball before the others, and Andy isn’t into Martin at all, not like that anyway, at least until one morning after practice Andy makes it extremely clear, his hands big and firm cupping Martin’s face, eyes locked and lips almost touching, that it’s not just work, not anymore. If it ever was.
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Andy Carroll/Martin Skrtel
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 312
Warning: slash, written as a branch of the footieforest.
~ It's just work.
The only thing Martin knows for sure these days is that Andy is driving him crazy. Of course it was Kenny who told him to stick around Martin all the time, glue himself to his back during corner kicks so that no other defender could come in his way, but still, the way Andy’s hands linger too low on Martin’s hips, his smile, his lips always too close to his ear, God, it’s sheer torture, it is.
Martin knows he shouldn’t let himself read too much into it. It’s work, he tells himself. Kenny told him to grope you right in the middle of the area, in front of God only knows how many witnesses, and that’s exactly what Andy does, because he’s a good kid, deep down, and he wants his coach to be proud of him.
He knows there’s nothing sexual about it, not even when Andy leans in and whispers things into his ear, his voice so low Martin can’t really hear him over the chants of the stadium and all of the noise but who really cares, after all? It must be tactical advice, or random swearing Andy can’t really keep inside anymore. It’s work, Martin tells himself, it's just work.
It’s just work, Andy’s thumbs pushing into his hipbone, hard enough to leave bruises. It’s just work, Andy’s not-so-clean shaven cheek next to his, barely a breathe away. It’s just work, Andy’s lean, strong body pressing against his back and his strong, masculine scent all around Martin. It’s just work, tactics, just another way to get to the ball before the others, and Andy isn’t into Martin at all, not like that anyway, at least until one morning after practice Andy makes it extremely clear, his hands big and firm cupping Martin’s face, eyes locked and lips almost touching, that it’s not just work, not anymore. If it ever was.