Nothing happened
Title: Nothing happened
Pairings: John Terry/Frank Lampard, Frank Lampard/Steven Gerrard
Word count 3,015 ]
disclaimer: not true, none of it
Summary: sequel to surrender, Frank's having flashbacks with his night with Stevie G
A/n: Got a shiny new laptop yday after major drama with my old one crashing, so I thought i'd celebrate by writing a fic =D, didn't plan on this but after
inesdelsol asked for a sequel this came to my mind and wouldnt go away :)
un-betad, so possibly many mistakes soz
John smiled and chuckled as Frank greedily walked his fingers down the broad, covered chest of his captain, before they came to toy with the hem of his trousers. He glanced up at his captain, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he gently pulled down John's trousers, his eyes roaming over the flesh being exposed, inch by inch making him want to touch, to feel, to taste, his excitement obvious from a particular part of his anatomy.
Looming over the younger man, Frank could see Stevie's internal battle, seizing his opportunity, he ripped his training pants down and off, revealing his bulging boxers and pasty, but powerful thighs, keeping the contemptuous look on his face (he knew it would piss the scouser off even more) he raked his nails down Stevie's inner thigh, causing the man underneath to squirm in a mixture of discomfort and pleasure.
Frank shook his head clear of the flash backs, he wasn't going to let them spoil his precious time with John. He refocused on John's boxers, the material straining, a wet patch forming. Frank whipped them off, freeing John's erection from its cloth prison until it greeted him, long and glistening. He couldn't bear to just look at it and after a few seconds he bent down and engulfed it whole, before rising back up its length, tongue swirling and teasing, eliciting a moan from John.
The bulge in Stevie's boxers looked almost painful as Frank tore them down and off. Stevie couldn’t look, the embarrassment of how much he needed Frank, Frank of all people, caused him to hide his face in the pillow in shame. Frank meanwhile took his cock into his mouth and scraped his teeth down its shaft, before biting the end, causing its owner to writhe even more in the mixture of shame and the blissful torture the Londoner was bestowing on him.
Frank worshipped John's cock and was duly paying it respect in the only way he knew, a slow and sensuous, mind-blowing blow job, he was causing his captain to moan almost continuously at the onslaught on his hypersensitive dick, when suddenly Frank stopped and almost choked, the taste of Stevie seeping into his mind and plaguing his taste buds.
He'd spat out every last remnant of the taste of the midfielder's cock, every trace of the scouser left inside his mouth
The only way to get rid of the foul taste of betrayal was to keep sucking on John's tasty goodness, like a fish gulping for water, so that it would overpower the sickening taste in Frank's mouth, good overpowering evil. At least that was Frank's logic, he sucked and swallowed, praying the more he had of John, the less he would be able to taste Stevie.
He'd brushed his teeth for almost an hour, until he could feel his toothbrush sandpapering off his tooth enamel, not even a whole tube of minty freshness could eradicate the lingering taste. In the end he resolved to drown it in a bottle or two of gin. That's when john found him
Frank gagged the taste overwhelming him. John sat up, concern and confusion written on his face, Frank was acting very weirdly tonight, "frank?" He reached out to touch his face, "You alright mate?" Frank couldn't answer, couldn’t tell the truth, knowing it would break John's heart for once and for all, so he nodded before climbing up John's slender body and covering john's lips with his own. Oh sweet relief. Frank could have almost cried when he tasted the sweet taste of John again. This relief brought back his confidence (something he rarely lost in bed, or on the pitch for that matter) and he purred into John's ear, commanding him to turn over, the younger man only too willing to oblige. He was given only a few seconds to settle before Frank's two fingers were knuckle deep inside him.
John had found him in a state of desperation, bottles, empty, lay around him. It had taken some persuasion, but he managed to get Frank to look at him and when he did, what he saw in his lover’s eyes worried him. He shook his head sympathetically "Frankie? What's happened? What have you done?" He reached out to touch his arm, the older man flinching at the slightest contact. Too torn apart by guilt, too haunted by the recent past. John didn't know what to do, finally, after a good hour or so he managed to coerce Frank up to his room- screw the manager, he wasn't letting Gerrard anywhere near him in this state- and he simply lay there with Frank, holding him close, reassuring him, soothing him into a sleep of some sort.
As Frank looked at the man beneath him, he realised how much he often took for granted, right here he had a man who he knew would very well do anything for him and how he had so foolishly, possibly thrown it all away. He saw John looking up at him, complete trust and devotion shining through his eyes, how could he possibly tell him what he'd done, how could he possibly hurt this man, who meant so much more than the world to him, his conscience told him to stop, and come clean, his body told him he needed John and right now, he needed to be inside him. Frank was never one for mind over matter, physical needs always came first.
Even in his sleep Frank couldn’t escape the guilt eating away at him, determined not to let him escape the harsh truth of reality and what he had just done. He woke up in a cold sweat, shaking, the flashback all too vivid in his mind. Him. Gerrard. The empty room. The inviting bed. He slipped of the bed and sat up against the bed. What had he done? He loved John, yet he'd sucked another man. He loved John, yet he'd had another man moaning his name. He loved John, yet he'd been inside another man, given another man what, before, only John had received, what belonged to John and John alone.
to Frank nothing could ever feel better than being inside john, feeling his muscles contract and relax around his hard cock. Feeling his whole body shiver with the dirty yet blissful sensations Frank was creating inside him. Every time he pulled out he felt the sweet friction of skin on skin, every time he plunged back in, he couldn’t control himself as he felt him hit that spot, so wrong yet so right, to John everything felt perfect, nothing mattered right now, all there was was him and Frank, Frank and him, together, as one. No England duty, no long running Chelsea issues, no wife, no family, no teammates, just him and his Frank. Yet all Frank could think about was how it felt to be inside someone other than John.
He hadn't meant for it to end up that way. After sucking him, Frank thought he would have had enough, he would have proven his point and moved on, gone back to whatever he came to do, read, shower, all his tensions relieved. But when he saw the look on gerrard’s face as he came he knew he could do so much more, there were a few things that really drove Frank, sex and power playing large roles. Looking down at the younger scouser, he knew now was his chance, somehow such submission from such an unlikely place turned him on, left him wanting to experiment, see how far he could go, see how long he could play with the fire before his fingers got burnt. All it took was a growl and a shove, and Gerrard was there lying on his belly, legs spread wide and inviting waiting, asking for Frank to come and finish the job. His heart told him no, but his penis said yes. Frank always had been a slave to his libido.
Sometimes the sex was slow and sensuous, each man wanting to feel every part of the other, wanting reassurance, wanting emotions, wanting love, sometimes it was more about getting what you wanted, what you needed, what felt right at the time. But whether they kept it up for an hour or a couple of minutes, every time was special, every time was a clear statement. They were John Terry and Frank Lampard and they were in love. It never ceased to amaze Frank how John could make him feel such a plethora of emotions and sensations all at once and right now, as he lay, dick buried to the balls inside his captain, Frank had never felt more at one with him, nothing could bother him now, no past mistakes, nothing, it was him and john, it was their fate, there was nothing they could do to stop it. No matter how morally incorrect it may be, he was his feelings, he couldn’t control it, it wouldn’t be natural.
There was nothing loving about what they were doing, Frank had never had it like this before, never thought he'd want it. But as he pummelled in and out of the midfielder, heavy and hard, a chain of explicits streaming out of his mouth, "you filthy bastard" "you fucking prick" he felt something he'd never felt before. He'd always associated sex with love, the two being mutually inclusive, he couldn’t imagine one without the other, he knew what they'd written in the papers about him, but it wasn’t true, he wasn’t a love rat, he'd never had one night stands, at least not for many years, secretly he had true values, never doing something unless his whole heart was in it despite his veneer of contempt and unaffectedness, yet here he was fucking another man, just for the sake of it, just to get himself off, just to see what it felt like. And he hated to admit it, but dam it felt good. He'd forgotten who the man underneath him was, he'd forgotten he was pumping in and out of an unfamiliar body, yet what mattered was not what he was experiencing with the other person, but the untold heavenly sensations that were being bestowed upon him. It was until he pulled out and his cum hit a chest that wasn't John's that what he had just done, hit him.
He could tell he wouldn't last much longer, the familiar feeling spread through his groin, warning him he didn’t' have very long left so slowed down even further in order to make the most of this opportunity to be so at one with John, every time he moved in and out, every time he felt his shaft rub up and down john's insides he felt closer to the man beneath him than he ever had before. John looked up at him, complete bliss and love in his eyes and Frank knew he wouldn't last much longer either, he wanted them to come together, show their bond, prove they were one entity. He reached around and took hold of John's very hard cock, leaking continuously showing signs of both being able to hold out for much longer and he started to rub his hand up and down its long length not forgetting a single part of the appendage he love so much, from teasing the slit at the end to playing with his large orbs, Frank wanted john to feel as bloody amazing as he did and judging by the look on his face and the sounds he was emitting, Frank knew he was doing a good job.
He looked down at the younger man who had also just come. He punched him hard, he had no reason to, no reason other than his own remorse and wanting to somehow blame it on the other man, not admit to his own short coming. Stevie couldn't believe it, as much as he wanted it, he knew Frank could have stopped himself, yet he was the one who lead Stevie on, he was the one who had started (and finished) the whole bloody mess. Sure he wasn’t proud of what just happened either, and he sincerely doubted he would ever be able to go near frank again, but for chrissakes, there were better ways of dealing with it. As frank's fist came down and landed on his face again, he'd had enough, he pushed the older man, catching him off balance causing him to land with a thump on the floor. Frank pulled his clothes on and ran out the door, ran out the corridor and down into the hotel gardens, and didn’t stop then, glad for once for the ridiculous amount of acres the 5 star hotel owned. He ran, wanting to run away from the past, wanting to run away from what just happened, wanting to turn away from his crude, adulterous act, maybe if he ran so fast and so far, it would ever catch up, yet even he knew that was not true. Even he knew he was only human, he had to stop some time, and once you set the snowball running, it’s almost impossible to stop.
Frank couldn’t hold on any longer, with one last thrust and one last tug on his captains dick, they came together in complete harmony, cum splattering on their chests and leaking out of john's hole, the two men spurting so much it didn’t stop for a good few minutes, Frank pulled out and started gathering up his own come that was leaking out the younger mans hole, relishing the taste of himself, before reaching for john's mouth with his own and allowing the other man to share the taste too.
he sat there against john's bed the events of earlier in the day playing over and over in his mind, no matter how much he told them to go away they didn’t, he began to repeat the mantra "nothing happened nothing happened," every time an image threatened to enter his mind, he'd start it up again, "nothing happened, nothing happened" maybe if he said it enough it'd be true.
He swiped his finger through the cum on John's chest and brought it up to slip into their mouths to join the kiss. Frank didn’t want this moment to end, here, with John, sharing a kiss that was almost as heated as the sex itself, he never ceased to amaze him how good he felt kissing John, it wasn’t like kissing a woman, or another man, he imagine, it was so much more intense, so much more meaningful, he could remember times when john could bring him to a full orgasm with neither man touching neither cock, just the power of mouth on mouth.
The next morning he kept next to John at breakfast staying clear of Gerrard. He caught his eye across the room. his expression hard to read, anger most likely, but Frank wouldn't let himself be intimidated he held his gaze, inside he was falling apart, -he knew all it took was for Stevie to say one word to john for their world to fall apart- yet on the outside he was calm and collected, the mantra playing in his mind, "nothing happened, Nothing happened"
He pulled back and took a good minute to study John's face, bringing his hand up to trace the outline of his jaw, his cheekbones, stroke the back of his head, coming to rest at his nape, John looked at him bemused but content, he tried to search franks eyes, with no luck and bringing his hands up to cup his face "what's got into you today Frankie?"
last training session, warm down, a flying tackle, face splat in mud, he didn't have to look up to know which twat did it. Stevie. He could see the smirk, feel the hatred burning through his veins, exiting his eyes and boring into his back. Anger was his reflex, to punch his lights out, screw him up more than he already had, yet he picked himself up, laughed it off and got stuck into the game again straight away, the only revenge playing out in his mind, away from the eyes of his teammates as after all, "nothing happened, nothing happened"
frank chuckled, "Nothing, absolutely nothing," he pulled the covers up and snuggled into the warmth and comfort of John's body, they had a good 20 minutes before dinner and the two were quite content to lie there together sharing each other’s company and getting reassurance, just from being close. Frank looked up at john again, his head safely nestled on his chest and once again the thought crossed his mind, he should come out, tell the truth, but as he saw such complete and utter devotion in john's face the words caught in his throat. He settled back down and began to rub circles on his chest. "John" he said, barely more than a whisper "you know I love you", John chuckled and brought his arms up to bring him closer "Course I do Frankie you know that, and I love you too, more than anything else in the world, I love you so much it hurts." and he kissed the top of his head taking a moment to take in the familiar smell of Franks hair, and Frank knew this is where he belonged, he might stray sometimes, but he'd always come back, his love stronger than ever.
He had cooled down by the end of training, that was the magic of football. It was almost as good as sex as making you forget everything, help him focus on what really mattered, get himself back on track, so when John asked him back to his hotel room, to fill the hour or so before dinner, frank knew time wasn’t the only thing he’d be filling, and later, he'd be able to walk back into his own hotel room, with his head held high, nothing to hide or be ashamed of, as after all, nothing happened.
Pairings: John Terry/Frank Lampard, Frank Lampard/Steven Gerrard
Word count 3,015 ]
disclaimer: not true, none of it
Summary: sequel to surrender, Frank's having flashbacks with his night with Stevie G
A/n: Got a shiny new laptop yday after major drama with my old one crashing, so I thought i'd celebrate by writing a fic =D, didn't plan on this but after
inesdelsol asked for a sequel this came to my mind and wouldnt go away :)
un-betad, so possibly many mistakes soz
John smiled and chuckled as Frank greedily walked his fingers down the broad, covered chest of his captain, before they came to toy with the hem of his trousers. He glanced up at his captain, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he gently pulled down John's trousers, his eyes roaming over the flesh being exposed, inch by inch making him want to touch, to feel, to taste, his excitement obvious from a particular part of his anatomy.
Looming over the younger man, Frank could see Stevie's internal battle, seizing his opportunity, he ripped his training pants down and off, revealing his bulging boxers and pasty, but powerful thighs, keeping the contemptuous look on his face (he knew it would piss the scouser off even more) he raked his nails down Stevie's inner thigh, causing the man underneath to squirm in a mixture of discomfort and pleasure.
Frank shook his head clear of the flash backs, he wasn't going to let them spoil his precious time with John. He refocused on John's boxers, the material straining, a wet patch forming. Frank whipped them off, freeing John's erection from its cloth prison until it greeted him, long and glistening. He couldn't bear to just look at it and after a few seconds he bent down and engulfed it whole, before rising back up its length, tongue swirling and teasing, eliciting a moan from John.
The bulge in Stevie's boxers looked almost painful as Frank tore them down and off. Stevie couldn’t look, the embarrassment of how much he needed Frank, Frank of all people, caused him to hide his face in the pillow in shame. Frank meanwhile took his cock into his mouth and scraped his teeth down its shaft, before biting the end, causing its owner to writhe even more in the mixture of shame and the blissful torture the Londoner was bestowing on him.
Frank worshipped John's cock and was duly paying it respect in the only way he knew, a slow and sensuous, mind-blowing blow job, he was causing his captain to moan almost continuously at the onslaught on his hypersensitive dick, when suddenly Frank stopped and almost choked, the taste of Stevie seeping into his mind and plaguing his taste buds.
He'd spat out every last remnant of the taste of the midfielder's cock, every trace of the scouser left inside his mouth
The only way to get rid of the foul taste of betrayal was to keep sucking on John's tasty goodness, like a fish gulping for water, so that it would overpower the sickening taste in Frank's mouth, good overpowering evil. At least that was Frank's logic, he sucked and swallowed, praying the more he had of John, the less he would be able to taste Stevie.
He'd brushed his teeth for almost an hour, until he could feel his toothbrush sandpapering off his tooth enamel, not even a whole tube of minty freshness could eradicate the lingering taste. In the end he resolved to drown it in a bottle or two of gin. That's when john found him
Frank gagged the taste overwhelming him. John sat up, concern and confusion written on his face, Frank was acting very weirdly tonight, "frank?" He reached out to touch his face, "You alright mate?" Frank couldn't answer, couldn’t tell the truth, knowing it would break John's heart for once and for all, so he nodded before climbing up John's slender body and covering john's lips with his own. Oh sweet relief. Frank could have almost cried when he tasted the sweet taste of John again. This relief brought back his confidence (something he rarely lost in bed, or on the pitch for that matter) and he purred into John's ear, commanding him to turn over, the younger man only too willing to oblige. He was given only a few seconds to settle before Frank's two fingers were knuckle deep inside him.
John had found him in a state of desperation, bottles, empty, lay around him. It had taken some persuasion, but he managed to get Frank to look at him and when he did, what he saw in his lover’s eyes worried him. He shook his head sympathetically "Frankie? What's happened? What have you done?" He reached out to touch his arm, the older man flinching at the slightest contact. Too torn apart by guilt, too haunted by the recent past. John didn't know what to do, finally, after a good hour or so he managed to coerce Frank up to his room- screw the manager, he wasn't letting Gerrard anywhere near him in this state- and he simply lay there with Frank, holding him close, reassuring him, soothing him into a sleep of some sort.
As Frank looked at the man beneath him, he realised how much he often took for granted, right here he had a man who he knew would very well do anything for him and how he had so foolishly, possibly thrown it all away. He saw John looking up at him, complete trust and devotion shining through his eyes, how could he possibly tell him what he'd done, how could he possibly hurt this man, who meant so much more than the world to him, his conscience told him to stop, and come clean, his body told him he needed John and right now, he needed to be inside him. Frank was never one for mind over matter, physical needs always came first.
Even in his sleep Frank couldn’t escape the guilt eating away at him, determined not to let him escape the harsh truth of reality and what he had just done. He woke up in a cold sweat, shaking, the flashback all too vivid in his mind. Him. Gerrard. The empty room. The inviting bed. He slipped of the bed and sat up against the bed. What had he done? He loved John, yet he'd sucked another man. He loved John, yet he'd had another man moaning his name. He loved John, yet he'd been inside another man, given another man what, before, only John had received, what belonged to John and John alone.
to Frank nothing could ever feel better than being inside john, feeling his muscles contract and relax around his hard cock. Feeling his whole body shiver with the dirty yet blissful sensations Frank was creating inside him. Every time he pulled out he felt the sweet friction of skin on skin, every time he plunged back in, he couldn’t control himself as he felt him hit that spot, so wrong yet so right, to John everything felt perfect, nothing mattered right now, all there was was him and Frank, Frank and him, together, as one. No England duty, no long running Chelsea issues, no wife, no family, no teammates, just him and his Frank. Yet all Frank could think about was how it felt to be inside someone other than John.
He hadn't meant for it to end up that way. After sucking him, Frank thought he would have had enough, he would have proven his point and moved on, gone back to whatever he came to do, read, shower, all his tensions relieved. But when he saw the look on gerrard’s face as he came he knew he could do so much more, there were a few things that really drove Frank, sex and power playing large roles. Looking down at the younger scouser, he knew now was his chance, somehow such submission from such an unlikely place turned him on, left him wanting to experiment, see how far he could go, see how long he could play with the fire before his fingers got burnt. All it took was a growl and a shove, and Gerrard was there lying on his belly, legs spread wide and inviting waiting, asking for Frank to come and finish the job. His heart told him no, but his penis said yes. Frank always had been a slave to his libido.
Sometimes the sex was slow and sensuous, each man wanting to feel every part of the other, wanting reassurance, wanting emotions, wanting love, sometimes it was more about getting what you wanted, what you needed, what felt right at the time. But whether they kept it up for an hour or a couple of minutes, every time was special, every time was a clear statement. They were John Terry and Frank Lampard and they were in love. It never ceased to amaze Frank how John could make him feel such a plethora of emotions and sensations all at once and right now, as he lay, dick buried to the balls inside his captain, Frank had never felt more at one with him, nothing could bother him now, no past mistakes, nothing, it was him and john, it was their fate, there was nothing they could do to stop it. No matter how morally incorrect it may be, he was his feelings, he couldn’t control it, it wouldn’t be natural.
There was nothing loving about what they were doing, Frank had never had it like this before, never thought he'd want it. But as he pummelled in and out of the midfielder, heavy and hard, a chain of explicits streaming out of his mouth, "you filthy bastard" "you fucking prick" he felt something he'd never felt before. He'd always associated sex with love, the two being mutually inclusive, he couldn’t imagine one without the other, he knew what they'd written in the papers about him, but it wasn’t true, he wasn’t a love rat, he'd never had one night stands, at least not for many years, secretly he had true values, never doing something unless his whole heart was in it despite his veneer of contempt and unaffectedness, yet here he was fucking another man, just for the sake of it, just to get himself off, just to see what it felt like. And he hated to admit it, but dam it felt good. He'd forgotten who the man underneath him was, he'd forgotten he was pumping in and out of an unfamiliar body, yet what mattered was not what he was experiencing with the other person, but the untold heavenly sensations that were being bestowed upon him. It was until he pulled out and his cum hit a chest that wasn't John's that what he had just done, hit him.
He could tell he wouldn't last much longer, the familiar feeling spread through his groin, warning him he didn’t' have very long left so slowed down even further in order to make the most of this opportunity to be so at one with John, every time he moved in and out, every time he felt his shaft rub up and down john's insides he felt closer to the man beneath him than he ever had before. John looked up at him, complete bliss and love in his eyes and Frank knew he wouldn't last much longer either, he wanted them to come together, show their bond, prove they were one entity. He reached around and took hold of John's very hard cock, leaking continuously showing signs of both being able to hold out for much longer and he started to rub his hand up and down its long length not forgetting a single part of the appendage he love so much, from teasing the slit at the end to playing with his large orbs, Frank wanted john to feel as bloody amazing as he did and judging by the look on his face and the sounds he was emitting, Frank knew he was doing a good job.
He looked down at the younger man who had also just come. He punched him hard, he had no reason to, no reason other than his own remorse and wanting to somehow blame it on the other man, not admit to his own short coming. Stevie couldn't believe it, as much as he wanted it, he knew Frank could have stopped himself, yet he was the one who lead Stevie on, he was the one who had started (and finished) the whole bloody mess. Sure he wasn’t proud of what just happened either, and he sincerely doubted he would ever be able to go near frank again, but for chrissakes, there were better ways of dealing with it. As frank's fist came down and landed on his face again, he'd had enough, he pushed the older man, catching him off balance causing him to land with a thump on the floor. Frank pulled his clothes on and ran out the door, ran out the corridor and down into the hotel gardens, and didn’t stop then, glad for once for the ridiculous amount of acres the 5 star hotel owned. He ran, wanting to run away from the past, wanting to run away from what just happened, wanting to turn away from his crude, adulterous act, maybe if he ran so fast and so far, it would ever catch up, yet even he knew that was not true. Even he knew he was only human, he had to stop some time, and once you set the snowball running, it’s almost impossible to stop.
Frank couldn’t hold on any longer, with one last thrust and one last tug on his captains dick, they came together in complete harmony, cum splattering on their chests and leaking out of john's hole, the two men spurting so much it didn’t stop for a good few minutes, Frank pulled out and started gathering up his own come that was leaking out the younger mans hole, relishing the taste of himself, before reaching for john's mouth with his own and allowing the other man to share the taste too.
he sat there against john's bed the events of earlier in the day playing over and over in his mind, no matter how much he told them to go away they didn’t, he began to repeat the mantra "nothing happened nothing happened," every time an image threatened to enter his mind, he'd start it up again, "nothing happened, nothing happened" maybe if he said it enough it'd be true.
He swiped his finger through the cum on John's chest and brought it up to slip into their mouths to join the kiss. Frank didn’t want this moment to end, here, with John, sharing a kiss that was almost as heated as the sex itself, he never ceased to amaze him how good he felt kissing John, it wasn’t like kissing a woman, or another man, he imagine, it was so much more intense, so much more meaningful, he could remember times when john could bring him to a full orgasm with neither man touching neither cock, just the power of mouth on mouth.
The next morning he kept next to John at breakfast staying clear of Gerrard. He caught his eye across the room. his expression hard to read, anger most likely, but Frank wouldn't let himself be intimidated he held his gaze, inside he was falling apart, -he knew all it took was for Stevie to say one word to john for their world to fall apart- yet on the outside he was calm and collected, the mantra playing in his mind, "nothing happened, Nothing happened"
He pulled back and took a good minute to study John's face, bringing his hand up to trace the outline of his jaw, his cheekbones, stroke the back of his head, coming to rest at his nape, John looked at him bemused but content, he tried to search franks eyes, with no luck and bringing his hands up to cup his face "what's got into you today Frankie?"
last training session, warm down, a flying tackle, face splat in mud, he didn't have to look up to know which twat did it. Stevie. He could see the smirk, feel the hatred burning through his veins, exiting his eyes and boring into his back. Anger was his reflex, to punch his lights out, screw him up more than he already had, yet he picked himself up, laughed it off and got stuck into the game again straight away, the only revenge playing out in his mind, away from the eyes of his teammates as after all, "nothing happened, nothing happened"
frank chuckled, "Nothing, absolutely nothing," he pulled the covers up and snuggled into the warmth and comfort of John's body, they had a good 20 minutes before dinner and the two were quite content to lie there together sharing each other’s company and getting reassurance, just from being close. Frank looked up at john again, his head safely nestled on his chest and once again the thought crossed his mind, he should come out, tell the truth, but as he saw such complete and utter devotion in john's face the words caught in his throat. He settled back down and began to rub circles on his chest. "John" he said, barely more than a whisper "you know I love you", John chuckled and brought his arms up to bring him closer "Course I do Frankie you know that, and I love you too, more than anything else in the world, I love you so much it hurts." and he kissed the top of his head taking a moment to take in the familiar smell of Franks hair, and Frank knew this is where he belonged, he might stray sometimes, but he'd always come back, his love stronger than ever.
He had cooled down by the end of training, that was the magic of football. It was almost as good as sex as making you forget everything, help him focus on what really mattered, get himself back on track, so when John asked him back to his hotel room, to fill the hour or so before dinner, frank knew time wasn’t the only thing he’d be filling, and later, he'd be able to walk back into his own hotel room, with his head held high, nothing to hide or be ashamed of, as after all, nothing happened.