Fic - Winter and the Green Sea
Title: Winter and the Green Sea
Rating: R
Author: saint_kat
Pairing: Petr Cech/mystery character (though identity will be revealed in the end of the fic)
Prompt: 05. Grass (footballslash11)
Disclaimer: The guys? They're real. It's just the rest of the story that's complete fiction.
Note: An experimental (and highly whimsical) fic, of sorts.
---
Petr looked up at the gloomy gray sky, the flurry haze of snow falling down towards him like thrown confetti at a celebration party. It was mid-morning and the bitter chill of an English winter glazed over the natural pale complextion of his face. He wore the usual team training kit, gloves, boots, hat, and all. Yet his mind and his body felt like he was nowhere near a training pitch or an actual football field.
He laid still, spread eagle, on the green, green grass, frozen stiff by the winter frost. Gloved hands stroked the blades softly, slowly breaking the fragile ice encased inside. He can barely register the pricks of the grass blades through the thick keeper gloves, but he knows that they are there.
He looked almost at peace with himself. Serene. Calm.
Quiet.
It was as if he was in his own splendid little dream, of sorts. No screaming men, whistle blowing, or swooshed footballs gliding across the pitch. There was no one around him for miles on this frozen patch of grass. No one but himself.
As he slowly rose up from the ground to greet the morning sky, elbows propped, he got a better view of his surroundings. It was a wide field, a vast green sea of grass that spans miles upon miles, slightly covered in a blanket of snow. There were a cluster of trees on his left, gnarled tree branches frozen in time. The falling snow piled up on some of the tree branches, making the grand illusion of a bleak-looking snow tree.
As Petr turned his head to the right, he noticed the outlined figure of a person walking towards him. The figure was that of a man, wrapped head to toe, clutching in his hands what looked like a long piece of heavy, tan burlap. He was shivering immensely from the crisp, cold winter air. His skin was pale, almost washed out, once colorful, lively lips and ears took an icy pink pallor.
The mysterious figure drudged through the frozen sea of green grass, his tracks slowly being swallowed up by the falling snow. Petr rose to his feet and walked up to the figure, who immediately stopped in his tracks. The stranger looked at Petr with fear and mistrust in his eyes, not knowing if the younger man posed as a major physical threat or not.
Petr approached the man carefully, taking delicate baby steps with his boots. He didn't want to startle the man nor scare him away. As he reached out his hand in a welcoming gesture, the man's knees started to buckle uncontrollably. They soon caved in from the winter chill and he started to collapse to the ground.
Luckily, Petr's quick reflexes came in handy as he caught the man by his shoulder and lowered his blanket-covered body to his knees. The young Czech soon followed, taking the mysterious stranger in his arms, head on his shoulders.
Who are you?, Petr murmured to himself, softly stroking the man's mane with his gloved hands. He glanced up at the grey sky and the flurry of snowflakes, then at the man whose head he was cradling and whispered, mostly to himself, What are you doing here, wandering aimlessly in this wicked winter cold?
---
He spent the next couple of minutes wandering through the frozen green and white sea that was the grass and the snow, arm holding the blanket-covered stranger close to his own body, as if he was protecting him from the cruel nature that is of Mother Nature.
The ongoing search for shelter began, trudging through ankle-deep snow, the blunt spikes of his boots leaving faint green imprints in a sea of white. Petr wanted to find a place in an empty field of desolation where he can feel safe, where he can help the man find warmth and, possibly, food. He realized that if he and the stranger kept walking at this pace, they would both freeze to death from hypothermia, though he guessed that the stranger was already teetering towards death by his palelish features and uncontrollable shivering.
He trudged through the ice and piling snow for a period of time until he saw the small structure of a house. A simple cottage in the middle of nowhere. It seemed desolate, devoid of any human life surrounding the place
I found you a place of warmth, Petr thought to himself as he helped the stranger walk a couple more steps across the expanse of the field to the small cottage in front of them.
I hope you will feel better inside, stranger without a name.
---
The cottage itself had the basic necessities: a couple of chairs, a table, a small fireplace, some food in a wooden cupboard, and a simple spring bed enough to fit two people together. All of it centered in one single room. It wasn't a luxurious mansion in the country or a flat in the boroughs, but it was enough shelter to keep them there for the night.
What suprised the Czech was not the sparse look of the cottage, but that there was no one else inside the cottage. It was left in this precarious position, as if the former occupants disappeared without a trace.
Petr walked towards the direction of the fireplace, laying the stranger down in the middle of the room. He noticed a box of matches at the mantle, possibly left by the previous residents. He took off his keeper gloves and placed it on the mantle next to the box, then picked up the box itself and rummaged inside with his fingers. Managing to find a match, he immediately striked it on the sandpaper strip, watching the match head burst into a small yellow flame.
Quickly, he placed the box of matches back on the mantle with his left hand, then cupped it slightly over his right hand, which held the burning match. He kneeled down towards the mouth of the fireplace and threw the lit match inside the stack of logs, hoping that it would start a fire.
It took a couple of matches before he managed to start the fireplace. Satisfied, he got up and turned his attention towards the stranger, who began to sit up on his knees, clutching the blanket tightly around his shoulders.
---
Petr helped the weakened stranger up on his feet, guided him towards the bed and helped him sit down on the mattress. The stranger's weary green eyes were affixed at an invisible object in the distance, past Petr's shoulder, ignoring his warm, comforting hands slowly peeling off the blanket from his body. Pale, ice addled skin and muscles appeared from under the thick burlap, white as the fresh powder of snow outside the cottage.
Dear God, Petr silently uttered, You're not wearing any clothes. I don't know how you managed to walk in this kind of weather for so long.
The stranger immediately shivered from the chill of the room, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, as the chill of the room hit his already vulnerable skin. Acting quickly, Petr unzipped his jacket, soaked slightly from the melting snow, and took off his long sleeved shirt, which was kept dry only by his own body heat. He took off his boots, socks, and sweatpants and placed the garments in a small pile near the foot of the bed.
He stood up straight in front of the stranger, nothing more than boxers to cover his nakedness. The warm glow of the fireplace complemented the curves of his body. Noticing the stranger still trembling, Petr offered his own body as a source of warmth.
At first, the stranger refused his offer, instead picking up the corners of the burlap from the bed and recovering his nude frame. He was reluctant to allow someone go near him, to touch him, especially if it was someone he barely even knew. But he couldn't help his curiosity and deny the kindness of the young man standing in front of him, so he got up and walked towards Petr, opening the blanket wide with his arms slightly outstretched.
The stranger's cold flesh touched the lukewarm skin of Petr. The former embraced the latter's body, his head laid near the crevice of his shoulder blade. Petr, in turn, rubbed his calloused hands over the stranger's back vigorously, hoping to generate some further warmth to spread across the stranger's body. The stranger left soft, clean kisses on the hollowed flesh, sending sparks down Petr's spine.
He could feel the electric pulses create some friction on their loins, sending his mind into a bit of a lust-riddled talespin.
Oh..., Petr gasped, his mouth slightly agape as the stranger's tongue started to make a dangerous trail from the hollow shoulder blade down the rest of his body.
---
Flakes of snow fell gracefully from the grey skies above to create a thick mass of white fluff, fully covering the vast green sea of grass that lies on the earth. It fell atop the roof of a quaint little cottage in the middle of nowhere where, inside, lie two men asleep in a bed, bodies wrapped together as one, chest to chest, hip to hip. Two men satied in a iridescent glow of passion.
Petr lightly stroked the stranger's lips and face, now slowly regaining its healthy pallor. He smiled wistfully as he noticed the lustful green eyes of the stranger staring back at him.
I still don't know your name, stranger, Petr murmured at the stranger, whose own hand was exploring the narrow curve of his body. Who are you?
The stranger simply smiled at the young Czech in response, then said, in a low voice, You should know who I am, love. You've been laying in this hospital bed for nearly a couple of hours...
---
Petr's eyes flickered open. They shifted around the room, seeing not the bare walls of a cottage, but the drab gray walls associated with a hospital room. He noticed the soft, tan blanket, half-covering his body up to the chest and that he was in a hospital gown. He turned his head to his right and noticed a familiar face sitting in a chair by the bedside, lightly ruffling his hair.
"A couple of hours?" Petr asked Carlo, rather puzzled. His eyes started to blink, then open wide.
Was I dreaming all this?, he asked himself.
Carlo shook his head and laughed. "Yes, a couple of hours. You blacked out after slipping backwards on the ice and hitting the back of your head. The team doc got a bit worried that you wouldn't wake up, so they had to send you to the hospital in an ambulance. Team's a bit worried about you, too after the match."
"Of course, I'm certain that you couldn't remember all that."
I guess I couldn't, Petr thought silently, still trying to grasp the fact that what he remembered was a dream.
"Is it still snowing outside?", he asked Carlo, rather innocently.
The Italian keeper nodded his head. "A bit, of course. But there's less of it now."
Silence. Petr still felt a bit dizzy and had a bit of a headache, probably from the assumed "fall" Carlo was talking about earlier.
The older man released his hand from the Czech's hair and placed it back on the guide rail of the bed. He leaned slightly from the chair he was sitting on and placed his chin atop the guard rail. Carlo smiled a bit and asked, a little curious.
"I was wondering, Petr. Who is this "stranger" you are referring in that dream of yours?"
Petr smiled warmly, then whispered, lips pursed, "You."
Rating: R
Author: saint_kat
Pairing: Petr Cech/mystery character (though identity will be revealed in the end of the fic)
Prompt: 05. Grass (footballslash11)
Disclaimer: The guys? They're real. It's just the rest of the story that's complete fiction.
Note: An experimental (and highly whimsical) fic, of sorts.
---
Petr looked up at the gloomy gray sky, the flurry haze of snow falling down towards him like thrown confetti at a celebration party. It was mid-morning and the bitter chill of an English winter glazed over the natural pale complextion of his face. He wore the usual team training kit, gloves, boots, hat, and all. Yet his mind and his body felt like he was nowhere near a training pitch or an actual football field.
He laid still, spread eagle, on the green, green grass, frozen stiff by the winter frost. Gloved hands stroked the blades softly, slowly breaking the fragile ice encased inside. He can barely register the pricks of the grass blades through the thick keeper gloves, but he knows that they are there.
He looked almost at peace with himself. Serene. Calm.
Quiet.
It was as if he was in his own splendid little dream, of sorts. No screaming men, whistle blowing, or swooshed footballs gliding across the pitch. There was no one around him for miles on this frozen patch of grass. No one but himself.
As he slowly rose up from the ground to greet the morning sky, elbows propped, he got a better view of his surroundings. It was a wide field, a vast green sea of grass that spans miles upon miles, slightly covered in a blanket of snow. There were a cluster of trees on his left, gnarled tree branches frozen in time. The falling snow piled up on some of the tree branches, making the grand illusion of a bleak-looking snow tree.
As Petr turned his head to the right, he noticed the outlined figure of a person walking towards him. The figure was that of a man, wrapped head to toe, clutching in his hands what looked like a long piece of heavy, tan burlap. He was shivering immensely from the crisp, cold winter air. His skin was pale, almost washed out, once colorful, lively lips and ears took an icy pink pallor.
The mysterious figure drudged through the frozen sea of green grass, his tracks slowly being swallowed up by the falling snow. Petr rose to his feet and walked up to the figure, who immediately stopped in his tracks. The stranger looked at Petr with fear and mistrust in his eyes, not knowing if the younger man posed as a major physical threat or not.
Petr approached the man carefully, taking delicate baby steps with his boots. He didn't want to startle the man nor scare him away. As he reached out his hand in a welcoming gesture, the man's knees started to buckle uncontrollably. They soon caved in from the winter chill and he started to collapse to the ground.
Luckily, Petr's quick reflexes came in handy as he caught the man by his shoulder and lowered his blanket-covered body to his knees. The young Czech soon followed, taking the mysterious stranger in his arms, head on his shoulders.
Who are you?, Petr murmured to himself, softly stroking the man's mane with his gloved hands. He glanced up at the grey sky and the flurry of snowflakes, then at the man whose head he was cradling and whispered, mostly to himself, What are you doing here, wandering aimlessly in this wicked winter cold?
---
He spent the next couple of minutes wandering through the frozen green and white sea that was the grass and the snow, arm holding the blanket-covered stranger close to his own body, as if he was protecting him from the cruel nature that is of Mother Nature.
The ongoing search for shelter began, trudging through ankle-deep snow, the blunt spikes of his boots leaving faint green imprints in a sea of white. Petr wanted to find a place in an empty field of desolation where he can feel safe, where he can help the man find warmth and, possibly, food. He realized that if he and the stranger kept walking at this pace, they would both freeze to death from hypothermia, though he guessed that the stranger was already teetering towards death by his palelish features and uncontrollable shivering.
He trudged through the ice and piling snow for a period of time until he saw the small structure of a house. A simple cottage in the middle of nowhere. It seemed desolate, devoid of any human life surrounding the place
I found you a place of warmth, Petr thought to himself as he helped the stranger walk a couple more steps across the expanse of the field to the small cottage in front of them.
I hope you will feel better inside, stranger without a name.
---
The cottage itself had the basic necessities: a couple of chairs, a table, a small fireplace, some food in a wooden cupboard, and a simple spring bed enough to fit two people together. All of it centered in one single room. It wasn't a luxurious mansion in the country or a flat in the boroughs, but it was enough shelter to keep them there for the night.
What suprised the Czech was not the sparse look of the cottage, but that there was no one else inside the cottage. It was left in this precarious position, as if the former occupants disappeared without a trace.
Petr walked towards the direction of the fireplace, laying the stranger down in the middle of the room. He noticed a box of matches at the mantle, possibly left by the previous residents. He took off his keeper gloves and placed it on the mantle next to the box, then picked up the box itself and rummaged inside with his fingers. Managing to find a match, he immediately striked it on the sandpaper strip, watching the match head burst into a small yellow flame.
Quickly, he placed the box of matches back on the mantle with his left hand, then cupped it slightly over his right hand, which held the burning match. He kneeled down towards the mouth of the fireplace and threw the lit match inside the stack of logs, hoping that it would start a fire.
It took a couple of matches before he managed to start the fireplace. Satisfied, he got up and turned his attention towards the stranger, who began to sit up on his knees, clutching the blanket tightly around his shoulders.
---
Petr helped the weakened stranger up on his feet, guided him towards the bed and helped him sit down on the mattress. The stranger's weary green eyes were affixed at an invisible object in the distance, past Petr's shoulder, ignoring his warm, comforting hands slowly peeling off the blanket from his body. Pale, ice addled skin and muscles appeared from under the thick burlap, white as the fresh powder of snow outside the cottage.
Dear God, Petr silently uttered, You're not wearing any clothes. I don't know how you managed to walk in this kind of weather for so long.
The stranger immediately shivered from the chill of the room, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, as the chill of the room hit his already vulnerable skin. Acting quickly, Petr unzipped his jacket, soaked slightly from the melting snow, and took off his long sleeved shirt, which was kept dry only by his own body heat. He took off his boots, socks, and sweatpants and placed the garments in a small pile near the foot of the bed.
He stood up straight in front of the stranger, nothing more than boxers to cover his nakedness. The warm glow of the fireplace complemented the curves of his body. Noticing the stranger still trembling, Petr offered his own body as a source of warmth.
At first, the stranger refused his offer, instead picking up the corners of the burlap from the bed and recovering his nude frame. He was reluctant to allow someone go near him, to touch him, especially if it was someone he barely even knew. But he couldn't help his curiosity and deny the kindness of the young man standing in front of him, so he got up and walked towards Petr, opening the blanket wide with his arms slightly outstretched.
The stranger's cold flesh touched the lukewarm skin of Petr. The former embraced the latter's body, his head laid near the crevice of his shoulder blade. Petr, in turn, rubbed his calloused hands over the stranger's back vigorously, hoping to generate some further warmth to spread across the stranger's body. The stranger left soft, clean kisses on the hollowed flesh, sending sparks down Petr's spine.
He could feel the electric pulses create some friction on their loins, sending his mind into a bit of a lust-riddled talespin.
Oh..., Petr gasped, his mouth slightly agape as the stranger's tongue started to make a dangerous trail from the hollow shoulder blade down the rest of his body.
---
Flakes of snow fell gracefully from the grey skies above to create a thick mass of white fluff, fully covering the vast green sea of grass that lies on the earth. It fell atop the roof of a quaint little cottage in the middle of nowhere where, inside, lie two men asleep in a bed, bodies wrapped together as one, chest to chest, hip to hip. Two men satied in a iridescent glow of passion.
Petr lightly stroked the stranger's lips and face, now slowly regaining its healthy pallor. He smiled wistfully as he noticed the lustful green eyes of the stranger staring back at him.
I still don't know your name, stranger, Petr murmured at the stranger, whose own hand was exploring the narrow curve of his body. Who are you?
The stranger simply smiled at the young Czech in response, then said, in a low voice, You should know who I am, love. You've been laying in this hospital bed for nearly a couple of hours...
---
Petr's eyes flickered open. They shifted around the room, seeing not the bare walls of a cottage, but the drab gray walls associated with a hospital room. He noticed the soft, tan blanket, half-covering his body up to the chest and that he was in a hospital gown. He turned his head to his right and noticed a familiar face sitting in a chair by the bedside, lightly ruffling his hair.
"A couple of hours?" Petr asked Carlo, rather puzzled. His eyes started to blink, then open wide.
Was I dreaming all this?, he asked himself.
Carlo shook his head and laughed. "Yes, a couple of hours. You blacked out after slipping backwards on the ice and hitting the back of your head. The team doc got a bit worried that you wouldn't wake up, so they had to send you to the hospital in an ambulance. Team's a bit worried about you, too after the match."
"Of course, I'm certain that you couldn't remember all that."
I guess I couldn't, Petr thought silently, still trying to grasp the fact that what he remembered was a dream.
"Is it still snowing outside?", he asked Carlo, rather innocently.
The Italian keeper nodded his head. "A bit, of course. But there's less of it now."
Silence. Petr still felt a bit dizzy and had a bit of a headache, probably from the assumed "fall" Carlo was talking about earlier.
The older man released his hand from the Czech's hair and placed it back on the guide rail of the bed. He leaned slightly from the chair he was sitting on and placed his chin atop the guard rail. Carlo smiled a bit and asked, a little curious.
"I was wondering, Petr. Who is this "stranger" you are referring in that dream of yours?"
Petr smiled warmly, then whispered, lips pursed, "You."