Fic: See-sawing
Title: See-sawing
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: What is wrong and what is right? Who’s to say in the game of love.
A/Ns: Written from prompts kindly given by drbillbongo and tetila a long time ago when I had time to take prompts (cough). Have managed to fit most of it in except Cinnamon. I think. You’ve probably forgotten what prompts you gave me anyway, lol.
p.s. I miss see-saws!
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Word Count: 1465
See-sawing
The flying boot collided with the stationary wall with a resounding thud, the hard plastic studs leaving a mild dent in the otherwise pristine wall surface. Daniel Agger waited for the next sound which he knew would come. It was almost a routine now.
The door slammed shut with enormous force and the stomping of angry feet could be heard down the concrete driveway. With his head in his hands, Daniel peeked out between his fingers to survey the damage. Only a few indentations. That was good. Better than last time. That time had left him with a broken window. For even a remarkable marksman like Fernando Torres could lose his aim in the throes of fury.
It was silly, this pattern of theirs. Drawn like moths to a flame, they meet up, they talk, they bond, they sleep together and then they wake up to this. It wasn’t so much that they hated each other, no, far from it. They loved one another intensely with an appetite so deep they never feel satiated. And yet, the guilt that would swamp them every morning they wake up in the other man’s arms, smelling of each other, always made the previous night’s ecstasy seem irrelevant and pointless.
* * * * * * *
When they were but young boys, they had dreams. Wild, vivid, ten-year-old-boy dreams. Dreams of being the best footballer, dreams of winning trophies and medals with the biggest clubs, or the clubs they loved. Scoring the winning goal, being the hero of it all. As they grew older, new interests filtered their way into their lives. Football was more tangible then, when they were young reserves on the brink of breaking into the first team. Outside of football, their minds turned to girls and sex, hoping to emanate the great stories their peers had passed around. Soon, that matured into the families, sons and daughters, pets. A home they can call their own, filled with people they loved. Never once did they anticipate this. The hidden clause.
Now, they have their clubs, they’re working on the trophies, the medals. The girl, they’ve got. The family, they have. So why is it that they continue to risk everything, everything, for each other? Why, in the journey of their short lives, had no one warned them of this?
And yet, every single time they stumble into one another, mouths busy kissing, do they remind themselves that this is the last time. But each time, they always came back for more.
* * * * * * *
It wasn’t always like this. Before they solidified their families with children, they had been a lot less careful, a lot less guilt-stricken, whether or not they had just cause to be more carefree, they just were. But now, the taste of the forbidden chapter of their lives too tempting to give up completely, they clung to the memories of delightful moments and stole fleeting snapshots of bliss whenever they could.
Their team mates had laughed when they discovered what they were doing. Most of them shrugged their shoulders and assumed it was just a phase. Just a silly little venture into the alternative, you know, to test the waters a bit. Try someone new. As long as what was done was kept behind closed doors, who needed to know, and what did it matter?
So Dan and Fernando bloomed and thrived together in the peace of acceptance and comfort of privacy. They told each other it was, really, just for the fun of it. Being with each other slaked the lust that filled them whenever they laid eyes on each other. That was all. It was good for them to release that passion and remove the otherwise nagging feelings that followed them. Only, it didn’t take long before they found themselves submerged in the lies they spun to keep their families from the truth. When Daniel went out to dinner with his girlfriend, he found himself missing the freckles that mirrored his own on Fernando’s face. And when Fernando spent a quiet night at home with Olalla, his thoughts drifted away often enough to cause Olalla to leave the room in frustration. That’s when they knew that they were in trouble.
* * * * * * *
Fernando had been glad that Daniel stayed in Liverpool after that year of rumours which had tied him to all sorts of clubs, in Italy and Spain. He had always found it difficult to keep up relationships with people whom he was supposed to be fighting against. It was one of the big reasons why he and Sergio continually run into problems. Now, with the current issues between himself and Dan, he half wished that the Dane had indeed left. No sooner had he thought that, would he retract the thought guiltily. He couldn’t bear to think of Daniel wearing another club’s shirt. Even just during national matches, Fernando felt desperately excluded as Daniel blatantly ignored him in favour of his own national team. Daniel’s ability to disregard anyone whilst being on international duty was commendable; his pride for his country was a beautiful thing to behold. Yet Fernando wished that just once, Daniel could see past that and acknowledge him on the field. Many a times Fernando had run up to him during half or full time but Daniel would only begrudge him the obligatory handshake before moving on. For sure, Fernando wasn’t asking for a kiss or anything, but something a bit more personal, a bit more friendly , would be nice. Those were the times when Fernando thought perhaps, just perhaps, he could get over Daniel.
* * * * * * *
Instead of dealing with the issue in a mature, sensible fashion, the two young men merely continued to indulge and then allowed their subsequent anger to flow to the surface afterwards. No sooner had the heat of sex settled, do the anger bring the blood back to their clammy skin. Arms, legs may still be entwined lovingly with only the unique ink-work to allow discerning which belonged to whom, but the resentment and shame would start to boil. Instead of staring sleepily into each other’s eyes as they used to, they would turn their backs to each other, their fists balled and muscles taut with hatred. They blamed one another, no, they blamed themselves. They didn’t know who to or, how to blame anyone. It was both their fault and it wasn’t. It was so hard to comprehend what was happening. Did they want this or did they not? Everything was so unsettled and the satisfaction just wasn’t there anymore. Perhaps they should just stop. Yes, that is a good idea, they would agree. But no sooner do they say it, are they back together again, needing each other.
* * * * * * *
Daniel sighed at the mark on his wall. Another tangible reminder of what had happened. When were they ever going to learn? Fernando, with his beguiling smile and almost childlike optimism had never worried about things. He, on the other hand, worried constantly. So much so that Fernando had joked often about the worry lines on his forehead, stating that they were second only, to Steven Gerrard’s.
Daniel Agger heaved his tall frame into a standing position. He wiped his hands down his shirt and prepared to clear away the mess of passion. What with Fernando’s small hints of leaving, would all this be brought to a forced end? He doubt even Fernando knew what was happening and that half of it was just fabricated in the tornado of a media storm. Still, for all those nights he spent lying awake picturing his life somewhere else, in a different kit to Fernando Torres… he couldn’t stomach the thought of Liverpool’s number nine wearing someone else’s colours.
Feeling the warm tendrils unfurling deep within him, Daniel looked out of his window at Fernando’s car, still parked outside his house. He can just make out the bent figure of Torres sitting behind the wheel, arguing with himself. The corners of his lips began to turn up and on an impulse, he pushed his door open.
The sun was only just rising, its pale rays touching the cold grass tips softly, thawing their frost into a fresh dew. Too early for the road to show signs of life, Daniel hurried over to Fernando’s window and knocked firmly.
Fernando’s face was a picture of puzzlement as the car window rolled downwards. Without waiting for Fernando’s questions, Daniel stooped down, leaned in through the opened window and kissed the most sought-after striker softly.
Pulling his head back out, Daniel said simply, “You forgot to say ‘Good morning’,” and waved Fernando off.
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: What is wrong and what is right? Who’s to say in the game of love.
A/Ns: Written from prompts kindly given by drbillbongo and tetila a long time ago when I had time to take prompts (cough). Have managed to fit most of it in except Cinnamon. I think. You’ve probably forgotten what prompts you gave me anyway, lol.
p.s. I miss see-saws!
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Word Count: 1465
See-sawing
The flying boot collided with the stationary wall with a resounding thud, the hard plastic studs leaving a mild dent in the otherwise pristine wall surface. Daniel Agger waited for the next sound which he knew would come. It was almost a routine now.
The door slammed shut with enormous force and the stomping of angry feet could be heard down the concrete driveway. With his head in his hands, Daniel peeked out between his fingers to survey the damage. Only a few indentations. That was good. Better than last time. That time had left him with a broken window. For even a remarkable marksman like Fernando Torres could lose his aim in the throes of fury.
It was silly, this pattern of theirs. Drawn like moths to a flame, they meet up, they talk, they bond, they sleep together and then they wake up to this. It wasn’t so much that they hated each other, no, far from it. They loved one another intensely with an appetite so deep they never feel satiated. And yet, the guilt that would swamp them every morning they wake up in the other man’s arms, smelling of each other, always made the previous night’s ecstasy seem irrelevant and pointless.
* * * * * * *
When they were but young boys, they had dreams. Wild, vivid, ten-year-old-boy dreams. Dreams of being the best footballer, dreams of winning trophies and medals with the biggest clubs, or the clubs they loved. Scoring the winning goal, being the hero of it all. As they grew older, new interests filtered their way into their lives. Football was more tangible then, when they were young reserves on the brink of breaking into the first team. Outside of football, their minds turned to girls and sex, hoping to emanate the great stories their peers had passed around. Soon, that matured into the families, sons and daughters, pets. A home they can call their own, filled with people they loved. Never once did they anticipate this. The hidden clause.
Now, they have their clubs, they’re working on the trophies, the medals. The girl, they’ve got. The family, they have. So why is it that they continue to risk everything, everything, for each other? Why, in the journey of their short lives, had no one warned them of this?
And yet, every single time they stumble into one another, mouths busy kissing, do they remind themselves that this is the last time. But each time, they always came back for more.
* * * * * * *
It wasn’t always like this. Before they solidified their families with children, they had been a lot less careful, a lot less guilt-stricken, whether or not they had just cause to be more carefree, they just were. But now, the taste of the forbidden chapter of their lives too tempting to give up completely, they clung to the memories of delightful moments and stole fleeting snapshots of bliss whenever they could.
Their team mates had laughed when they discovered what they were doing. Most of them shrugged their shoulders and assumed it was just a phase. Just a silly little venture into the alternative, you know, to test the waters a bit. Try someone new. As long as what was done was kept behind closed doors, who needed to know, and what did it matter?
So Dan and Fernando bloomed and thrived together in the peace of acceptance and comfort of privacy. They told each other it was, really, just for the fun of it. Being with each other slaked the lust that filled them whenever they laid eyes on each other. That was all. It was good for them to release that passion and remove the otherwise nagging feelings that followed them. Only, it didn’t take long before they found themselves submerged in the lies they spun to keep their families from the truth. When Daniel went out to dinner with his girlfriend, he found himself missing the freckles that mirrored his own on Fernando’s face. And when Fernando spent a quiet night at home with Olalla, his thoughts drifted away often enough to cause Olalla to leave the room in frustration. That’s when they knew that they were in trouble.
* * * * * * *
Fernando had been glad that Daniel stayed in Liverpool after that year of rumours which had tied him to all sorts of clubs, in Italy and Spain. He had always found it difficult to keep up relationships with people whom he was supposed to be fighting against. It was one of the big reasons why he and Sergio continually run into problems. Now, with the current issues between himself and Dan, he half wished that the Dane had indeed left. No sooner had he thought that, would he retract the thought guiltily. He couldn’t bear to think of Daniel wearing another club’s shirt. Even just during national matches, Fernando felt desperately excluded as Daniel blatantly ignored him in favour of his own national team. Daniel’s ability to disregard anyone whilst being on international duty was commendable; his pride for his country was a beautiful thing to behold. Yet Fernando wished that just once, Daniel could see past that and acknowledge him on the field. Many a times Fernando had run up to him during half or full time but Daniel would only begrudge him the obligatory handshake before moving on. For sure, Fernando wasn’t asking for a kiss or anything, but something a bit more personal, a bit more friendly , would be nice. Those were the times when Fernando thought perhaps, just perhaps, he could get over Daniel.
* * * * * * *
Instead of dealing with the issue in a mature, sensible fashion, the two young men merely continued to indulge and then allowed their subsequent anger to flow to the surface afterwards. No sooner had the heat of sex settled, do the anger bring the blood back to their clammy skin. Arms, legs may still be entwined lovingly with only the unique ink-work to allow discerning which belonged to whom, but the resentment and shame would start to boil. Instead of staring sleepily into each other’s eyes as they used to, they would turn their backs to each other, their fists balled and muscles taut with hatred. They blamed one another, no, they blamed themselves. They didn’t know who to or, how to blame anyone. It was both their fault and it wasn’t. It was so hard to comprehend what was happening. Did they want this or did they not? Everything was so unsettled and the satisfaction just wasn’t there anymore. Perhaps they should just stop. Yes, that is a good idea, they would agree. But no sooner do they say it, are they back together again, needing each other.
* * * * * * *
Daniel sighed at the mark on his wall. Another tangible reminder of what had happened. When were they ever going to learn? Fernando, with his beguiling smile and almost childlike optimism had never worried about things. He, on the other hand, worried constantly. So much so that Fernando had joked often about the worry lines on his forehead, stating that they were second only, to Steven Gerrard’s.
Daniel Agger heaved his tall frame into a standing position. He wiped his hands down his shirt and prepared to clear away the mess of passion. What with Fernando’s small hints of leaving, would all this be brought to a forced end? He doubt even Fernando knew what was happening and that half of it was just fabricated in the tornado of a media storm. Still, for all those nights he spent lying awake picturing his life somewhere else, in a different kit to Fernando Torres… he couldn’t stomach the thought of Liverpool’s number nine wearing someone else’s colours.
Feeling the warm tendrils unfurling deep within him, Daniel looked out of his window at Fernando’s car, still parked outside his house. He can just make out the bent figure of Torres sitting behind the wheel, arguing with himself. The corners of his lips began to turn up and on an impulse, he pushed his door open.
The sun was only just rising, its pale rays touching the cold grass tips softly, thawing their frost into a fresh dew. Too early for the road to show signs of life, Daniel hurried over to Fernando’s window and knocked firmly.
Fernando’s face was a picture of puzzlement as the car window rolled downwards. Without waiting for Fernando’s questions, Daniel stooped down, leaned in through the opened window and kissed the most sought-after striker softly.
Pulling his head back out, Daniel said simply, “You forgot to say ‘Good morning’,” and waved Fernando off.