FIC: I Wanna Come Back Now (1/1)
Fandom: NFL RPS
Rating: PG (language, sexual references, fluff)
Pairing: Peyton Manning/Tom Brady
Summary: Tom leaves Peyton, but still writes. Kinda. (Songfic for Jetsetter by Morningwood.)
“Will you marry me?”
Not again. Tom inwardly groaned.
“No. No, I will not.”
The other man, who Tom believed to be named Phil, sat up in the bed.
“But why not? I thought we had a real connection!”
“The only manner in which we connected was via your dick.”
“So you’re saying this was just a one-night stand? You’ll leave and that’s it?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“What if I want more?”
“Phil, just…” Tom climbed out of bed and began a frantic search for his clothes.
“My name is Jeff!”
“Okay, Jeff, look,” Tom found his pants and slipped them on, “I thought we were clear that this was sex one time and nothing more. That’s all I want right now, okay? To be honest, you’re a little too clingy and sensitive, so just stop.”
Jeff had a hurt look on his face, which Tom chose to not acknowledge. He’d found all his clothes and taken stock of his belongings. He now made a beeline for the door.
“I love you!”
“Shut up, Jeff!” Tom yelled, and closed the door behind him.
-----
Tom had been staring at his coffee reverberating by chairs being pulled out and scooted in, waitresses walking back and forth on the black and white linoleum. He didn’t particularly want to eat. He didn’t particularly want to do much of anything except talk to Peyton - the name made him cringe - but that wasn’t an option. It was over, done. Tom’s threshold for cheating was one person, and Peyton had achieved this.
Not really knowing what he was doing, Tom grabbed a kid’s menu and started writing in the blank section where you’re supposed to draw your family or some shit.
Hey Peyt,
I’m writing from a diner at eight in the morning. I just left Jeff’s place. That’s proposal number three since I’ve left home; none have left me impressed. It’s getting a lot harder to say no.
-----
Tom stared at the dark ceiling. Sleep was futile, mostly because Jim wouldn’t stop trying to cuddle. Every time Tom had almost achieved unconsciousness, Jim would roll over and drape his arm over Tom’s stomach or something, and Tom would push him away, and then he’d be awake again.
He finally gave up and crawled out of bed, relocating his clothes as quietly as possible. Upon being dressed, Tom glanced at the clock; it was about four in the morning. He sighed. The only places open now were emergency rooms.
-----
The fluorescent light was burning Tom’s eyes, but he was sure he’d get used to it. He found a chair in the ER waiting room with relatively few sick people around.
After sitting around for a couple minutes, he fished the kid’s menu out of his pocket, and unfolded it. He grabbed a stray pen from the table.
It’s been 16 days since I’ve left home. I’ve missed you for 16 of those days. I try not to think of walking in to see some guy’s legs wrapped around your head, but it always finds a way to wander into my awareness.
“Sir, have you been helped?” the noticeably sleep-deprived nurse asked.
Tom looked up.
“Not really.”
-----
Tom broke the kiss.
“This isn’t gonna work.” he said.
“Why not?” the guy asked, leaning against the bar and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It just…won’t. Can you, like, leave?”
The guy shrugged and hopped off the stool, looking for someone else to hook up with. Tom reached into his pocket for the now crumpled kid’s menu.
But now I’m writing because I miss you, and because I’m just stuck. All these strangers around me don’t seem to give two shits. I’m tired of sleeping in strange beds every night. I’ve done more than you’d allow. I’ve done more than I’d allow, normally. I want to come back no-
“Uh, hi, Tom,”
Tom looked up to see a pair of familiar brown eyes.
“Hey Peyt,” he replied, not even trying to fight the smile.
Rating: PG (language, sexual references, fluff)
Pairing: Peyton Manning/Tom Brady
Summary: Tom leaves Peyton, but still writes. Kinda. (Songfic for Jetsetter by Morningwood.)
“Will you marry me?”
Not again. Tom inwardly groaned.
“No. No, I will not.”
The other man, who Tom believed to be named Phil, sat up in the bed.
“But why not? I thought we had a real connection!”
“The only manner in which we connected was via your dick.”
“So you’re saying this was just a one-night stand? You’ll leave and that’s it?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“What if I want more?”
“Phil, just…” Tom climbed out of bed and began a frantic search for his clothes.
“My name is Jeff!”
“Okay, Jeff, look,” Tom found his pants and slipped them on, “I thought we were clear that this was sex one time and nothing more. That’s all I want right now, okay? To be honest, you’re a little too clingy and sensitive, so just stop.”
Jeff had a hurt look on his face, which Tom chose to not acknowledge. He’d found all his clothes and taken stock of his belongings. He now made a beeline for the door.
“I love you!”
“Shut up, Jeff!” Tom yelled, and closed the door behind him.
-----
Tom had been staring at his coffee reverberating by chairs being pulled out and scooted in, waitresses walking back and forth on the black and white linoleum. He didn’t particularly want to eat. He didn’t particularly want to do much of anything except talk to Peyton - the name made him cringe - but that wasn’t an option. It was over, done. Tom’s threshold for cheating was one person, and Peyton had achieved this.
Not really knowing what he was doing, Tom grabbed a kid’s menu and started writing in the blank section where you’re supposed to draw your family or some shit.
Hey Peyt,
I’m writing from a diner at eight in the morning. I just left Jeff’s place. That’s proposal number three since I’ve left home; none have left me impressed. It’s getting a lot harder to say no.
-----
Tom stared at the dark ceiling. Sleep was futile, mostly because Jim wouldn’t stop trying to cuddle. Every time Tom had almost achieved unconsciousness, Jim would roll over and drape his arm over Tom’s stomach or something, and Tom would push him away, and then he’d be awake again.
He finally gave up and crawled out of bed, relocating his clothes as quietly as possible. Upon being dressed, Tom glanced at the clock; it was about four in the morning. He sighed. The only places open now were emergency rooms.
-----
The fluorescent light was burning Tom’s eyes, but he was sure he’d get used to it. He found a chair in the ER waiting room with relatively few sick people around.
After sitting around for a couple minutes, he fished the kid’s menu out of his pocket, and unfolded it. He grabbed a stray pen from the table.
It’s been 16 days since I’ve left home. I’ve missed you for 16 of those days. I try not to think of walking in to see some guy’s legs wrapped around your head, but it always finds a way to wander into my awareness.
“Sir, have you been helped?” the noticeably sleep-deprived nurse asked.
Tom looked up.
“Not really.”
-----
Tom broke the kiss.
“This isn’t gonna work.” he said.
“Why not?” the guy asked, leaning against the bar and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It just…won’t. Can you, like, leave?”
The guy shrugged and hopped off the stool, looking for someone else to hook up with. Tom reached into his pocket for the now crumpled kid’s menu.
But now I’m writing because I miss you, and because I’m just stuck. All these strangers around me don’t seem to give two shits. I’m tired of sleeping in strange beds every night. I’ve done more than you’d allow. I’ve done more than I’d allow, normally. I want to come back no-
“Uh, hi, Tom,”
Tom looked up to see a pair of familiar brown eyes.
“Hey Peyt,” he replied, not even trying to fight the smile.