ficlet: Coach
Title: Coach
Pairing: John Terry/ Frank Lampard
Word count: 557
Disclaimer: not true at all at all at all
Summary: another little thing from last week, posting coz i might as well. Set on the way back from the Bolton match on Saturday
He can’t believe all the Christmas lights that are up already in shop windows, outside pubs, it’s only Halloween for Christs sake. He slowly drags his eyes away from the window as more nameless towns flash past. He glances down at the man next to him, his head resting softly on his shoulder, his body gently rising and falling with each breath, the tip of his hair tickling the side of Frank’s face. Frank relaxes as he lays his head on top of John’s, who shifts in his sleep, murmurs something and sighs, nestling closer into Frank’s shoulder. Frank closed his eyes and tried to get some shut-eye, but he never could. Whilst John was out like a light as soon as his head hit Frank’s shoulder, Frank would sit, sometimes for hours, too worked up from the match to sleep, his mind still going over and over the game he had just played.
Across from him he could hear Joey and Ash talking about the X Factor, he thought about joining in, but, thanks to john’s superstitions, Frank, as always, was on the window seat and holding a conversation across John wasn’t exactly easy without waking him and pissing him off big time, something anyone with half a mind tries to avoid. He turned his iPod on and settled down, knowing that even with the help of the soothing songs he was listening to, he would find it almost impossible to sleep. However today, the adrenaline from the game seemed to be slowly flowing out of Frank’s body and he felt himself growing sleepier. Maybe it was the warmth of the coach, maybe it was the autumnal dark descending outside, or maybe it was simply the reassuring weight of John, the soft sound of his deep breathing and the calming smell of his shampoo mixed with the scent that was undeniably John.
As the coach made its way down more familiar roads, John slowly woke up, stretching and gently taking his head off Frank’s shoulder, sitting up and looking around. He was first surprised to realise that Frank was asleep himself and further pleasantly surprised to find their hands discretely entwined between them. When frank himself woke up, he found a bleary eyed John Terry smiling down gently at him. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window, trying to work out where they were, not making a move to untangle their hands. A move noticed and appreciated by John.
“You never sleep on the coach” John pointed out, still smiling at the older man. Frank simply shrugged, flopping his head back down, this time to rest on John’s shoulder.
“Dunno what it was just felt proper relaxed, you know?”
The coach pulled up to the training ground and the two Englishmen left the coach together, but just as John was about to get into his car, the sound of Frank’s voice cutting across the cold night air stopped him.
“I feel re-energised after that nap... how about we go back to mine and celebrate another win?”
John couldn’t hide his smirk as he climbed into his car and followed Frank back to his house, full speed ahead and not sparing the horses, excited about how they would celebrate. One thing was for sure, Frank was going to score for the second time that day.