KKM AU: Drabbles on a European pasttime
(I never made a note of alarielle's much awesomer ficthing here. Silly Kay.)
.football.
He loved soccer. It got his blood pumping, got him moving freely and spontaneously and reactively, got him thinking fast without the edge of menace that had always come with that same sensation in days gone by. Soccer was like battle where the target was always clear-cut and the shirts were always the enemy and the skins were always the allies but in the end everyone laughed together and went home to their families.
He loved soccer.
Someone stole the ball from beneath his feet and Lukas threw himself to the side to block his kick, the crowd growing thick as others caught up to them and sought to escape with the ball. It was early in spring and the air was cold but he hardly even noticed with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
A commander shouted orders from the sidelines, but a soldier in a red shirt that said "I taught your girlfriend that thing you like" shouted back at her to just go and pick up the kids already and please shut up, and his compatriots laughed and clapped him on the back sympathetically.
While the enemy was preoccupied, Lukas darted out a leg and snatched the ball back. "Why don't you go sit with the other girls if you're feeling chatty, Mullen?" he teased. The army of red shirts roared with mock-fury and charged.
.petty.
For one reason or another Lukas wasn't really interested in playing soccer unless Ken was available. Maybe he just liked wasting his lover's valuable time; maybe he liked to think that while he was running around half-naked and glistening with sweat, someone was appreciating the sight besides predatory housewives and giggling girls. Either way, he didn't go out to play without Ken by his side.
His presence was usually reassuring. Whenever he liked, Lukas could look over at the field of picnic tables and see Ken sprawled on a bench, poring over the paperwork he brought in his briefcase, or smiling at him because he'd been watching while the blond was distracted.
Very occasionally when he looked over he wasn't pleased with what he saw -- it wasn't uncommon for people to recognize Ken, and it seemed like once an outing he would look up and see his lover chatting avidly with a handsome man in an expensive business suit, or an athletic young woman that he was smiling at a little too much.
Who gave the world permission to ogle my boyfriend? It definintely wasn't me, he thought, and neatly tripped someone in a red shirt.
He always felt good in the end though, when the match was over and the guys patted one another on the back and embraced and left the field, and Lukas meandered over to Ken, who was scowling.
"What?" he said.
"I was just wondering how long you were planning on fondling Davison," Ken said, airy as if it really didn't matter to him at all. "Seeing as how he's married and all, I don't think he'd be into you, love."
Lukas grinned. "You don't have anything against being friendly, do you?" he said, innocent.
The smaller man was set to wind into an irritated discussion about his casual intimacy with strangers, which would not be the first time they had had this discussion, but Lukas wound arms tightly around him and kissed his throat, taking in the clean scent of Ken's skin. The protest shifted to, "I'm in clean clothes and you're covered in sweat. At least put on a shirt. Necking half-naked in a public park is illegal."
"Kiss me," Lukas demanded. Ken gave him an exasperated look -- what part of necking, half-naked, public park, illegal is hard to understand? said a Ken-sounding voice in his head -- so he repeated, "Kiss me! Right now. You're hot when you're jealous."
He was starting to think he'd have to claim that kiss himself, but after a beat, Ken snatched the towel from around his shoulders, tossed it over both their heads and (not without a smug smirk) reeled Lukas in to re-establish his complete and unchallenged ownership.
.fans.
"Hey, you. Luke, right?"
The blond paused mid-stride, still out of breath from the match. It was a man he'd seen around the park before, Richard Baron who his teammates occasionally pointed out on the sidelines of their games. They had never spoken before.
"Lukas, really." He didn't like it when other people simply assumed a casual tone with him -- perhaps arrogant, but no one had ever said he wasn't arrogant.
"Pleasure to meet you, Lukas," said the other man, cheerful. He had an English accent and made the name sound odd. "I'm Richard -- Richie is fine, if you prefer."
"Yeah. Did you want something?" Lukas rather didn't like it when other people approached him at all. He put the soccer ball on his hip and glanced impatiently over at Ken, obliviously lying on his back on top of a picnic table, reading something that looked boring from a three-ring binder.
Richard waved, as if to indicate that it wouldn't hurt a bit, just take a deep breath. "I was only admiring your game. You're really a fantastic sportsman, and from what I've seen have a real passion for it."
The blond was unimpressed. "Right. I don't really like talking it to death, though." He'd already been cornered by a few extremely enthusiastic individuals who wanted to analyze techniques and strategies with him and, really, that wasn't the point. It was rather akin to going to art showings where everyone wanted to talk about the significance of two black triangles positioned within a red square. Maybe it was what other people did, but it wasn't what Lukas did, and he thought that other people were missing the point.
"Oh, I was only wondering-- You see, I'm the manager of our county football team. Nothing terribly impressive, we're all friends, but the matches..."
The last remnants of Lukas's smile fell away. "Find someone else," he said, shrugging. "I don't play for other people."
By the time Lukas got over to him, Ken had managed to lose the binder and appeared to be trying to nap. He opened his eyes and smiled when the taller man joined him, curling into a seated position on the bench alongside.
"I keep breaking your parents' hearts," Lukas teased him. "I refuse to be a professional artist and I refuse to be a professional soccer player. All I do is sit around the apartment and keep your cats company."
Ken reminded him, "We agreed not to talk about my parents ever, I thought. What's this about professional soccer?"
"You should play with me," he wheedled. "You were a soccer player in high school or something, weren't you?"
"I was a soccer fan," Ken said, laughing. "That's a whole different sport."
"You should still play with me! I'll go easy."
The dark Mazoku sighed. "Can I get off the hook if I promise to be your biggest fan?"
Lukas smiled, leaning on one arm to see him better. You're already the only one that matters.
.football.
He loved soccer. It got his blood pumping, got him moving freely and spontaneously and reactively, got him thinking fast without the edge of menace that had always come with that same sensation in days gone by. Soccer was like battle where the target was always clear-cut and the shirts were always the enemy and the skins were always the allies but in the end everyone laughed together and went home to their families.
He loved soccer.
Someone stole the ball from beneath his feet and Lukas threw himself to the side to block his kick, the crowd growing thick as others caught up to them and sought to escape with the ball. It was early in spring and the air was cold but he hardly even noticed with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
A commander shouted orders from the sidelines, but a soldier in a red shirt that said "I taught your girlfriend that thing you like" shouted back at her to just go and pick up the kids already and please shut up, and his compatriots laughed and clapped him on the back sympathetically.
While the enemy was preoccupied, Lukas darted out a leg and snatched the ball back. "Why don't you go sit with the other girls if you're feeling chatty, Mullen?" he teased. The army of red shirts roared with mock-fury and charged.
.petty.
For one reason or another Lukas wasn't really interested in playing soccer unless Ken was available. Maybe he just liked wasting his lover's valuable time; maybe he liked to think that while he was running around half-naked and glistening with sweat, someone was appreciating the sight besides predatory housewives and giggling girls. Either way, he didn't go out to play without Ken by his side.
His presence was usually reassuring. Whenever he liked, Lukas could look over at the field of picnic tables and see Ken sprawled on a bench, poring over the paperwork he brought in his briefcase, or smiling at him because he'd been watching while the blond was distracted.
Very occasionally when he looked over he wasn't pleased with what he saw -- it wasn't uncommon for people to recognize Ken, and it seemed like once an outing he would look up and see his lover chatting avidly with a handsome man in an expensive business suit, or an athletic young woman that he was smiling at a little too much.
Who gave the world permission to ogle my boyfriend? It definintely wasn't me, he thought, and neatly tripped someone in a red shirt.
He always felt good in the end though, when the match was over and the guys patted one another on the back and embraced and left the field, and Lukas meandered over to Ken, who was scowling.
"What?" he said.
"I was just wondering how long you were planning on fondling Davison," Ken said, airy as if it really didn't matter to him at all. "Seeing as how he's married and all, I don't think he'd be into you, love."
Lukas grinned. "You don't have anything against being friendly, do you?" he said, innocent.
The smaller man was set to wind into an irritated discussion about his casual intimacy with strangers, which would not be the first time they had had this discussion, but Lukas wound arms tightly around him and kissed his throat, taking in the clean scent of Ken's skin. The protest shifted to, "I'm in clean clothes and you're covered in sweat. At least put on a shirt. Necking half-naked in a public park is illegal."
"Kiss me," Lukas demanded. Ken gave him an exasperated look -- what part of necking, half-naked, public park, illegal is hard to understand? said a Ken-sounding voice in his head -- so he repeated, "Kiss me! Right now. You're hot when you're jealous."
He was starting to think he'd have to claim that kiss himself, but after a beat, Ken snatched the towel from around his shoulders, tossed it over both their heads and (not without a smug smirk) reeled Lukas in to re-establish his complete and unchallenged ownership.
.fans.
"Hey, you. Luke, right?"
The blond paused mid-stride, still out of breath from the match. It was a man he'd seen around the park before, Richard Baron who his teammates occasionally pointed out on the sidelines of their games. They had never spoken before.
"Lukas, really." He didn't like it when other people simply assumed a casual tone with him -- perhaps arrogant, but no one had ever said he wasn't arrogant.
"Pleasure to meet you, Lukas," said the other man, cheerful. He had an English accent and made the name sound odd. "I'm Richard -- Richie is fine, if you prefer."
"Yeah. Did you want something?" Lukas rather didn't like it when other people approached him at all. He put the soccer ball on his hip and glanced impatiently over at Ken, obliviously lying on his back on top of a picnic table, reading something that looked boring from a three-ring binder.
Richard waved, as if to indicate that it wouldn't hurt a bit, just take a deep breath. "I was only admiring your game. You're really a fantastic sportsman, and from what I've seen have a real passion for it."
The blond was unimpressed. "Right. I don't really like talking it to death, though." He'd already been cornered by a few extremely enthusiastic individuals who wanted to analyze techniques and strategies with him and, really, that wasn't the point. It was rather akin to going to art showings where everyone wanted to talk about the significance of two black triangles positioned within a red square. Maybe it was what other people did, but it wasn't what Lukas did, and he thought that other people were missing the point.
"Oh, I was only wondering-- You see, I'm the manager of our county football team. Nothing terribly impressive, we're all friends, but the matches..."
The last remnants of Lukas's smile fell away. "Find someone else," he said, shrugging. "I don't play for other people."
By the time Lukas got over to him, Ken had managed to lose the binder and appeared to be trying to nap. He opened his eyes and smiled when the taller man joined him, curling into a seated position on the bench alongside.
"I keep breaking your parents' hearts," Lukas teased him. "I refuse to be a professional artist and I refuse to be a professional soccer player. All I do is sit around the apartment and keep your cats company."
Ken reminded him, "We agreed not to talk about my parents ever, I thought. What's this about professional soccer?"
"You should play with me," he wheedled. "You were a soccer player in high school or something, weren't you?"
"I was a soccer fan," Ken said, laughing. "That's a whole different sport."
"You should still play with me! I'll go easy."
The dark Mazoku sighed. "Can I get off the hook if I promise to be your biggest fan?"
Lukas smiled, leaning on one arm to see him better. You're already the only one that matters.