FIC: Good morning, sunshine
Title: Good morning, sunshine
Summary: Cesc discovers two things about Xabi Alonso
Pairing: Steven Gerrard / Xabi Alonso
Rating: P-6
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, unfortunately, so don't sue me!
Author's Notes: Tacklehugs for
indigologic for the amazingly fast beta! Written for
indecenciawho wanted a bit more fun and less angst - hope you like it! Comments, of course, are love and make my day.
„Xabi!“
„Xabi!!“
No reaction.
„XABI!“ Frustrated, Cesc stamps on the floor, screeching at the bundle on the bed like a banshee.
The bundle, unfortunately, doesn’t even twitch, which must be a miracle, Cesc reckons, seeing that probably everyone within ten miles has heard him. Doesn’t he get any sleep in Liverpool or why doesn’t he wake up?
“XAA-BII!!” Really, Aragones will be knocking at their door at the next moment, yelling at Cesc for causing so much trouble and telling him to be subtle for once. Thing is, Cesc has already tried being subtle but it hasn’t worked in any way.
When he opened the windows before taking his shower, he was sure that the bright sun would make Xabi get up any moment. A snowball’s chance in hell, that. His team-mate hadn’t even changed his position when Cesc came back into the room, dripping wet.
Then he switched on the radio, singing along to one of his favourite songs. Nothing.
Listened to some stupid morning show on TV. Xabi didn’t even shift.
He has prodded him, has shaken him, has turned him around, has tried taking his blanket away, but the Liverpool player holds on to it so strongly that Cesc is afraid of ripping it. Breakfast is about to start in five minutes, and Xabi still lies there, snoring lightly.
Hell, he didn’t even twitch when Cesc blow-dried his hair and that made a damn lot of noise!
For a moment, Cesc ponders on the possibilities he has left. Of course he could always fetch a bottle of water - very, very cold water - and spill it all on Xabi. That would certainly have him wide awake within moments. But then the chamber maid would report the wet bed and Aragones would have a go at him for not acting responsibly enough to play in the national team.
No cold water, then. At least not great amounts of it. Though, he remembers Phil telling him about a wet washcloth his mother used to make him get up when he was still a boy. That might be worth a try, and so Cesc wanders into the bathroom, doesn’t find a washcloth but a towel will do as well, turns the cold water on and soaks it until it is dripping wet.
Grinning evilly, he strolls back, leaving a trace of wet drips on the carpet. If Xabi doesn’t wake up now, he must be ill or dead or a zombie. Suppressing his giggles of anticipation, Cesc holds the towel above Xabi. Or, more likely, above the bundle that is supposed to be Xabi, in some way. Only a mop of dark hair looks out of the blankets that are drawn tightly around a very still body.
Damn. Placing the towel on the blankets isn’t going to work. And so Cesc starts pulling at the sheets again, the dripping towel in one hand, fighting against Xabi’s death grip with the other one, while the towel is soaking his feet.
His trainers are new. Well, were new, more likely, now they are wet and he will have to change before going down for breakfast. “Shit, Xabi, can’t you just get up?” Swearing loudly in the different languages he has picked up at Arsenal, Cesc throws the towel away, bowing down to untie his shoelaces.
No reaction again, but he hadn’t really expected it anyway. Are there any other ways of waking Xabi up? Maybe throwing one of his books at him? No, that would only cause a bruise or something worse, and even though Cesc would like a place in the starting XI he is not that desperate and unfair. And he probably wouldn’t survive the match against Liverpool.
“Xabi, if you don’t get up now, I’ll throw that book of yours into the toilet.” From what Cesc can tell, Xabi loves his books, at least he spent all of yesterday evening reading instead of zapping through the 100+ channels the hotel TV offers. His sleep, though, seems to be way more important to him than Richard I. the Lionhearted 1157 - 1190. Myth and reality.
Cesc’s stomach growls, reminding him painfully of the joys that await him downstairs in the dining room. “Xabi, I’m leaving now,” he threatens loudly. “We should already be downstairs at breakfast and I’m fucking hungry.”
No reaction whatsoever, which leaves Cesc in kind of a mess. Yes, he is hungry and part of him wants to just leave Xabi here and let him sleep until Aragones will wake him up. Another part of him, however, reminds him that he is supposed to look out for his room-mate and that Aragones won’t approve of him just leaving Xabi here, either. It will maybe even be him who gets the most stick and is banned onto the bench for the next games.
“Xabi!” Cesc sounds desperate by now. All the others must be at breakfast already and he can hardly go down there and ask for some help on how to wake Xabi up. He could always call Torres of course, a blast of that guy’s horrible music would even awaken the dead but cells are banned in the dining room.
Fucking shit. Isn’t there anyone who can help him? Reina is downstairs at breakfast, the lucky one, Luis is in Liverpool and Cesc doesn’t have his number. Xabi does, though, and his cell is right there on his bedside locker, only a few steps away from Cesc. It’s not as he will notice, anyway.
The youngster grabs the mobile like a sheet anchor, even resists the temptation to scroll through the texts, and gets directly on the speed dial. Whoever is on top will know how to get Xabi out of bed; well, he won’t call his parents or his girlfriend, they would most likely only laugh at him, but maybe Luis is on there or Miki Arteta from Everton.
To Cesc’s utter surprise, however, there is only one person on Xabi’s speed dial, and it’s neither of the ones he wanted to call. It’s Steven Gerrard, unless Xabi knows another man called “Stevie”, of course.
Cesc hesitates for a moment. He would never admit it openly, that’s for sure, but he has a hell of a respect for the midfielder. Steven Gerrard always seems so very intimidating on the pitch, shouting at people right, left and centre, like an army officer. Which is maybe exactly the right thing to wake Xabi up. His stomach gives another painful growl, encourages him to just get on with it.
He presses the dial button, pressing the phone to his ear, waiting for a harsh voice to ask him why the hell he’s calling. What he certainly doesn’t expect is that Steven Gerrard actually answers after the first ring. And what he expects even less is the way Steven Gerrard answers.
“Good morning, sunshine,” a gentle voice says at the other end and Cesc’s jaw drops. “Slept well, love?”
There isn’t much Cesc is able to do right now except stare at the cell in horror. This can’t actually be Steven Gerrard! Hell, he would have never expected the Liverpool captain calling anyone “love”, and surely not Xabi Alonso. He must have mistaken him for his girlfriend, maybe he was expecting her call and…
“Xabi?” asks Gerrard.
OK, so it was no mistake. Xabi will kill him, that’s for sure, and Gerrard most likely as well. Why do Arsenal have to play Liverpool next of all teams?
“Xabi? You alright?”
And he can’t answer that now, Gerrard might rip him apart via phone, and so Cesc simply presses the red button. That’s something he really didn’t need to know about Xabi Alonso. He wishes he would have risked Aragones’ coating and simply gone down to breakfast instead of trying to help.
The cell in his hand starts vibrating and playing a tune that sounds somewhat familiar to him, though Cesc doesn’t know where he has heard it. Maybe it is some Liverpool song, he guesses, looking at the cell warily. He can’t pick up now, can he? Gerrard will be furious and Xabi will be furious when he finally wakes up in later because Gerrard certainly won’t tell him how to wake his team-mate up and Cesc isn’t sure he really wants to wake him up ‘The Gerrard Way’ , anyway.
The tune, though, seems to accomplish what neither Cesc’s voice nor the television nor the radio could, as a startlingly awake Xabi Alonso suddenly snatches the phone out of his hands. “Hey Stevie.”
And before Xabi frowns, long before he and Stevie figure out who has just called, Cesc has already scarpered.
Summary: Cesc discovers two things about Xabi Alonso
Pairing: Steven Gerrard / Xabi Alonso
Rating: P-6
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, unfortunately, so don't sue me!
Author's Notes: Tacklehugs for
indigologic for the amazingly fast beta! Written for
indecenciawho wanted a bit more fun and less angst - hope you like it! Comments, of course, are love and make my day.
„Xabi!“
„Xabi!!“
No reaction.
„XABI!“ Frustrated, Cesc stamps on the floor, screeching at the bundle on the bed like a banshee.
The bundle, unfortunately, doesn’t even twitch, which must be a miracle, Cesc reckons, seeing that probably everyone within ten miles has heard him. Doesn’t he get any sleep in Liverpool or why doesn’t he wake up?
“XAA-BII!!” Really, Aragones will be knocking at their door at the next moment, yelling at Cesc for causing so much trouble and telling him to be subtle for once. Thing is, Cesc has already tried being subtle but it hasn’t worked in any way.
When he opened the windows before taking his shower, he was sure that the bright sun would make Xabi get up any moment. A snowball’s chance in hell, that. His team-mate hadn’t even changed his position when Cesc came back into the room, dripping wet.
Then he switched on the radio, singing along to one of his favourite songs. Nothing.
Listened to some stupid morning show on TV. Xabi didn’t even shift.
He has prodded him, has shaken him, has turned him around, has tried taking his blanket away, but the Liverpool player holds on to it so strongly that Cesc is afraid of ripping it. Breakfast is about to start in five minutes, and Xabi still lies there, snoring lightly.
Hell, he didn’t even twitch when Cesc blow-dried his hair and that made a damn lot of noise!
For a moment, Cesc ponders on the possibilities he has left. Of course he could always fetch a bottle of water - very, very cold water - and spill it all on Xabi. That would certainly have him wide awake within moments. But then the chamber maid would report the wet bed and Aragones would have a go at him for not acting responsibly enough to play in the national team.
No cold water, then. At least not great amounts of it. Though, he remembers Phil telling him about a wet washcloth his mother used to make him get up when he was still a boy. That might be worth a try, and so Cesc wanders into the bathroom, doesn’t find a washcloth but a towel will do as well, turns the cold water on and soaks it until it is dripping wet.
Grinning evilly, he strolls back, leaving a trace of wet drips on the carpet. If Xabi doesn’t wake up now, he must be ill or dead or a zombie. Suppressing his giggles of anticipation, Cesc holds the towel above Xabi. Or, more likely, above the bundle that is supposed to be Xabi, in some way. Only a mop of dark hair looks out of the blankets that are drawn tightly around a very still body.
Damn. Placing the towel on the blankets isn’t going to work. And so Cesc starts pulling at the sheets again, the dripping towel in one hand, fighting against Xabi’s death grip with the other one, while the towel is soaking his feet.
His trainers are new. Well, were new, more likely, now they are wet and he will have to change before going down for breakfast. “Shit, Xabi, can’t you just get up?” Swearing loudly in the different languages he has picked up at Arsenal, Cesc throws the towel away, bowing down to untie his shoelaces.
No reaction again, but he hadn’t really expected it anyway. Are there any other ways of waking Xabi up? Maybe throwing one of his books at him? No, that would only cause a bruise or something worse, and even though Cesc would like a place in the starting XI he is not that desperate and unfair. And he probably wouldn’t survive the match against Liverpool.
“Xabi, if you don’t get up now, I’ll throw that book of yours into the toilet.” From what Cesc can tell, Xabi loves his books, at least he spent all of yesterday evening reading instead of zapping through the 100+ channels the hotel TV offers. His sleep, though, seems to be way more important to him than Richard I. the Lionhearted 1157 - 1190. Myth and reality.
Cesc’s stomach growls, reminding him painfully of the joys that await him downstairs in the dining room. “Xabi, I’m leaving now,” he threatens loudly. “We should already be downstairs at breakfast and I’m fucking hungry.”
No reaction whatsoever, which leaves Cesc in kind of a mess. Yes, he is hungry and part of him wants to just leave Xabi here and let him sleep until Aragones will wake him up. Another part of him, however, reminds him that he is supposed to look out for his room-mate and that Aragones won’t approve of him just leaving Xabi here, either. It will maybe even be him who gets the most stick and is banned onto the bench for the next games.
“Xabi!” Cesc sounds desperate by now. All the others must be at breakfast already and he can hardly go down there and ask for some help on how to wake Xabi up. He could always call Torres of course, a blast of that guy’s horrible music would even awaken the dead but cells are banned in the dining room.
Fucking shit. Isn’t there anyone who can help him? Reina is downstairs at breakfast, the lucky one, Luis is in Liverpool and Cesc doesn’t have his number. Xabi does, though, and his cell is right there on his bedside locker, only a few steps away from Cesc. It’s not as he will notice, anyway.
The youngster grabs the mobile like a sheet anchor, even resists the temptation to scroll through the texts, and gets directly on the speed dial. Whoever is on top will know how to get Xabi out of bed; well, he won’t call his parents or his girlfriend, they would most likely only laugh at him, but maybe Luis is on there or Miki Arteta from Everton.
To Cesc’s utter surprise, however, there is only one person on Xabi’s speed dial, and it’s neither of the ones he wanted to call. It’s Steven Gerrard, unless Xabi knows another man called “Stevie”, of course.
Cesc hesitates for a moment. He would never admit it openly, that’s for sure, but he has a hell of a respect for the midfielder. Steven Gerrard always seems so very intimidating on the pitch, shouting at people right, left and centre, like an army officer. Which is maybe exactly the right thing to wake Xabi up. His stomach gives another painful growl, encourages him to just get on with it.
He presses the dial button, pressing the phone to his ear, waiting for a harsh voice to ask him why the hell he’s calling. What he certainly doesn’t expect is that Steven Gerrard actually answers after the first ring. And what he expects even less is the way Steven Gerrard answers.
“Good morning, sunshine,” a gentle voice says at the other end and Cesc’s jaw drops. “Slept well, love?”
There isn’t much Cesc is able to do right now except stare at the cell in horror. This can’t actually be Steven Gerrard! Hell, he would have never expected the Liverpool captain calling anyone “love”, and surely not Xabi Alonso. He must have mistaken him for his girlfriend, maybe he was expecting her call and…
“Xabi?” asks Gerrard.
OK, so it was no mistake. Xabi will kill him, that’s for sure, and Gerrard most likely as well. Why do Arsenal have to play Liverpool next of all teams?
“Xabi? You alright?”
And he can’t answer that now, Gerrard might rip him apart via phone, and so Cesc simply presses the red button. That’s something he really didn’t need to know about Xabi Alonso. He wishes he would have risked Aragones’ coating and simply gone down to breakfast instead of trying to help.
The cell in his hand starts vibrating and playing a tune that sounds somewhat familiar to him, though Cesc doesn’t know where he has heard it. Maybe it is some Liverpool song, he guesses, looking at the cell warily. He can’t pick up now, can he? Gerrard will be furious and Xabi will be furious when he finally wakes up in later because Gerrard certainly won’t tell him how to wake his team-mate up and Cesc isn’t sure he really wants to wake him up ‘The Gerrard Way’ , anyway.
The tune, though, seems to accomplish what neither Cesc’s voice nor the television nor the radio could, as a startlingly awake Xabi Alonso suddenly snatches the phone out of his hands. “Hey Stevie.”
And before Xabi frowns, long before he and Stevie figure out who has just called, Cesc has already scarpered.