fic: Frank's foursome
Title: Frank’s foursome
Pairing: John Terry/Frank Lampard
Word Count: 1072
Summary: Frank scored 4 times, they had an epic hug, something was begging to be written,
A/n: For inesdelsol, I warn you all now, it was all a bit rushed, so probz mistakes etc...
He couldn’t see from the other end of the pitch, but as the crowd once again jumped to their feet with elation, he knew they’d banged another one in. 7-1 he looked up to the big screen just in time to see the replay and see his Frank netting his fourth goal in the match. His feet acted faster than his head, and he sprinted the length of the pitch to get to Frank.
As Frank looked up and met his eyes, pure pleasure shaping his features, John felt his heart beat that little bit faster and he closed the distance between them throwing his arms around his best friend’s neck. The other players sensed their captain’s need for a moment of celebration with his vice, and left them to it, still high-fiving and congratulating each other buzzing from the scoreline.
John’s hands were gripping frank’s shirt bringing him closer still, “Not now JT, cameras everywhere” Frank mumbled, embarrassed sometimes by John’s such emphatic celebrations. But John was oblivious, so wrapped up in his own joy, he buried he face in Frank’s neck smelling his sweat mixed with the never fading faint smell of Frank’s shampoo. Kisses were interspersed with words of love and congratulation, “love you so fucking much” “Amazing bloody goals” “brilliant golden boots”.
Despite his protests, John knew frank needed his touch just as much as he needed to feel Frank in his arms. He hadn’t missed those longing looks Frank had given him after his first 3 goals. The looks of hurt, the looks questioning, ‘why didn’t you come?’. He had even felt it when they’d gone in for half time, sitting next to him, John could tell Frank was put off by the fact that John hadn’t come over to him once, despite 2 goals, but John had his reasons. Frank would appreciate it in the long run, the longer he left it, the more his touch would mean.
He pulled back from the hug, conscious of the fact there was still a crowd watching and a game to be played. Frank was reluctant to let go, rubbing his face against John’s he wanted one last touch once last smell, something to linger and last him through to the end of the game, when he knew John would be all his.
The final whistle blew, scarcely heard amid the almighty roar coming from the jubilant Chelsea fans. This time when John made a beeline straight for Frank the hug was shorter, but no less intense. John held him tight, they were so close, and so intwined it was hard to tell where Frank stopped and John began. John was trying to express all his joy and love for the man who, no matter what, played with his heart and soul for Chelsea, and Frank had no choice but to return it all. His hand finding its favourite place at the back of John's neck, twisted into his hair, holding him as if his life depended on it. They did't care there were 40000 fans watching, millions more at home, all they wanted is to feel each other, be apart of each other. Both men knew this hug was only the beginning of the celebrations to come.
Walking into the dressing room, Frank found John dancing and celebrating with all the other lads, but as soon as his eyes settled on him, John made his way through the singing Chelsea players to Frank, discretely held his hand tight in his and lead him just outside, away from prying eyes.
John once again wrapped his arms tight around his lover, kissing his neck, his face, any exposed skin.
Frank laughed lightly, “From the way you’re celebrating, anyone would think it was you who scored today”
John stopped the exploration of his mouth and rested his forehead against Frank’s, his eyes looking straight into Frank, reflecting the plethora of emotions on display, he brought his hand up to rest on the side of frank’s face, his thumb gently stroking the sweaty stubble. He smiled, “Even if I had,” He whispered, straight against frank’s lips “I wouldn’t be nearly as happy as I am right now” He let his words linger as they registered in Frank’s mind, before closing the small gap between their faces, as he brought his lips to cover Frank’s.
The kiss started slow and sensual, but soon became more and more frantic as John wanted more of Frank, he’d been waiting so long for this, from the moment he’d scored the first goal, John had been thinking about this moment, this kiss. As his lover kept scoring, his need for this celebration only intensified, almost to the extent he was concentrating on that more than the game and now, now finally he had what he’d been fantasising about whilst watching his lover. His arms explored Frank’s back and arse as his tongue explored every nook and cranny of Frank’s mouth. He could taste the lucozade he’d just drunk, but beneath that, john could taste the two best things in the world, the distinguishable tastes of Frank and victory.
A door opened somewhere down the hall way and footsteps could be heard approaching. John quickly broke the kiss and took Frank’s hand once again, leading him, heading to a place, as yet unknown by Frank. “C’mon golden boots, I wanna show you some golden balls” he winked before dragging him into an unoccupied room and locking the door.
By the time they’d finished with the post match conferences, warm downs and de-briefing, it was dark and the place was pretty much empty, Frank and John naturally being the last out. They snuck out onto the, now empty, pitch and sat hugging their knees on the edge of the pitch. The air was silent, the stands empty, yet the roars of the crowd still echoed through the two men’s minds.
“Super, super frank” John whispered, as he put his arm around Frank, bringing him close to his body, holding him tight.
Frank sighed and looked straight forward, a doubt, burdening his mind, “Do you think we’ll be OK next week.”
John looked at the man he was holding close and waited for his emerald eyes to meet his, wanting his complete sincerity to be conveyed to the older man, “Course,” He placed a soft kiss on the top of frank’s head, “If you’re playing, them Mancs have no chance!”