Almost -- Mike/Robbie, Mike/Jesse, Robbie/Danny
Title: Almost
Pairing: Robbie Rogers/Michael Bradley, Michael Bradley/Jesse Marsch, Robbie Rogers/Danny Szetela
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not real in the slightest. I don't know anyone, and this is all fiction.
Author's Notes: Things I write on airplanes. A bit angsty. For parka_girl. (Also, this is the longest thing I've written since, oh, May. Fail.)
He still doesn't believe you, but it's true. The first time you kissed him, you knew. You were just kids; he still had braces and it was awkward as hell, but you knew he was it for you. He was the first boy you ever kissed -- the only one, until college -- and he's still the only one you've ever loved. Ever will love, you think. Even when you hated him, when you left. Storming out of his apartment, calling your parents and telling them you were coming home, barely able to speak through your anger and tears. Even when you couldn't stand to look at him, you loved him.
Leaving was the hardest thing you ever did. You told Timmy and Danny it was because you could get more playing time in MLS. You told Chris you missed your friends too much, and you told your brother there wasn't any good sushi in Holland. None of those were lies, really, but they weren't the truth, either. The truth was you left because of Mike. Mike and Jesse.
You still can't really think about it. When you do, you end up calling Mike and making him tell you he loves you until you can fall asleep again. (Mostly you dream about it these days, and not as often as you used to.) It was all you could think about for a while, though -- walking into Mike's apartment, his bedroom, like you always did after reserve practice. But he wasn't alone. He was with Jesse, no, worse. Fucking Jesse. Or Jesse was fucking him. It didn't matter. You left Holland a week later.
Danny never asked what happened -- he just. He was there, and he tasted nothing like Mike. He didn't fuck like Mike, either. Mike curled around you after and told you he loved you, and Danny groaned loudly and clawed at your back and fell asleep almost as soon as he came. There were no promises with Danny, and definitely no love. You preferred it that way.
You forget how it happened now, but it did. You were at the u20s and you hadn't said a word to Mike all week, barely even looked at him. Then you were talking, then fighting, then his mouth was on your neck and his hand was on your cock, and you were swearing at him, calling him everything you could think of and begging him to keep going. You hated yourself for it, more than you ever hated him, but he still gave better head than anyone, and you wanted him so badly you couldn't think of anything else. He broke it off with Jesse, for real this time, and things were almost like they were before.
Almost. Before, you were in the same city -- the same building, even -- and now you're not even on the same continent. Leaving him was the hardest thing you did, but staying with him is almost as hard. You still don't talk about Jesse or any of that, and when you fuck, it's over the phone. Your hand on yourself, and you can almost pretend it's Mike's. Almost.
Pairing: Robbie Rogers/Michael Bradley, Michael Bradley/Jesse Marsch, Robbie Rogers/Danny Szetela
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not real in the slightest. I don't know anyone, and this is all fiction.
Author's Notes: Things I write on airplanes. A bit angsty. For parka_girl. (Also, this is the longest thing I've written since, oh, May. Fail.)
He still doesn't believe you, but it's true. The first time you kissed him, you knew. You were just kids; he still had braces and it was awkward as hell, but you knew he was it for you. He was the first boy you ever kissed -- the only one, until college -- and he's still the only one you've ever loved. Ever will love, you think. Even when you hated him, when you left. Storming out of his apartment, calling your parents and telling them you were coming home, barely able to speak through your anger and tears. Even when you couldn't stand to look at him, you loved him.
Leaving was the hardest thing you ever did. You told Timmy and Danny it was because you could get more playing time in MLS. You told Chris you missed your friends too much, and you told your brother there wasn't any good sushi in Holland. None of those were lies, really, but they weren't the truth, either. The truth was you left because of Mike. Mike and Jesse.
You still can't really think about it. When you do, you end up calling Mike and making him tell you he loves you until you can fall asleep again. (Mostly you dream about it these days, and not as often as you used to.) It was all you could think about for a while, though -- walking into Mike's apartment, his bedroom, like you always did after reserve practice. But he wasn't alone. He was with Jesse, no, worse. Fucking Jesse. Or Jesse was fucking him. It didn't matter. You left Holland a week later.
Danny never asked what happened -- he just. He was there, and he tasted nothing like Mike. He didn't fuck like Mike, either. Mike curled around you after and told you he loved you, and Danny groaned loudly and clawed at your back and fell asleep almost as soon as he came. There were no promises with Danny, and definitely no love. You preferred it that way.
You forget how it happened now, but it did. You were at the u20s and you hadn't said a word to Mike all week, barely even looked at him. Then you were talking, then fighting, then his mouth was on your neck and his hand was on your cock, and you were swearing at him, calling him everything you could think of and begging him to keep going. You hated yourself for it, more than you ever hated him, but he still gave better head than anyone, and you wanted him so badly you couldn't think of anything else. He broke it off with Jesse, for real this time, and things were almost like they were before.
Almost. Before, you were in the same city -- the same building, even -- and now you're not even on the same continent. Leaving him was the hardest thing you did, but staying with him is almost as hard. You still don't talk about Jesse or any of that, and when you fuck, it's over the phone. Your hand on yourself, and you can almost pretend it's Mike's. Almost.