With reason drowned by toxic force; Gerrard/Agger/Shevchenko; R.
Title: With reason drowned by toxic force
Characters: steven gerrard/daniel agger, steven gerrard/andriy shevchenko
Word Count: 875
Rating: R (?)
Summary: AU.
Notes: for pendules.
1. there's attraction between them, obviously. it could be self-destructive, but what isn't, nowadays? everything stevie's ever done has been self-destructive, and dan-it's like he was born to die.
stevie bumps into dan in one of the seedier sides of town. dan's smoking, and he smiles.
"that'll kill you, you know." stevie says, because he doesn't know what else to say, because it's what someone older says to the younger boys who don't care about responsibility.
"everything kills us, at some point." dan says, a lazy smirk on his face. it's so him to say something like that.
(later, stevie will write, love is good until it gets lost. getting high is great until you're sober. getting drunk is fucking amazing until you wake up. football is good, until you get injured. everything is good, until it ends. then he'll rest his head against his keyboard and think about daniel's lips, how they fit around the cigarette.)
2. his name is sheva. it's-it is rough and hard and painful. they kiss and kiss and kiss, the grime of the bathroom stall rubbing black on sheva's plain v-neck. push-pull, smash-shove. stevie finds himself along the string of dirty yellow-lit bars more and more, his nights ending asleep on sheva's bed, sheva's fingers on his wrist, keeping him there.
(stevie writes on a brown piece of recycled bar tissue: all we want is something to keep us here, to make us remember why. he's not too eloquent, really. when he talks he says 'um,' one too many times and he's really no good at it. but there are flashes of brilliance, lost and forgotten, along roadsides and bedrooms.)
3. sheva presses his lips against the place just above stevie's collar bone, his lips soft and wet and wonderfully perfect. they can be quiet, sometimes, when sheva forgets to be angry and sad, when he lets stevie feel the slow beat of his heart through his fingertips.
it's not a thing. it's not. it's casual. neither of them were ever meant to be tied down, least of all by each other. sometimes though. sometimes.
4. he watches sheva ocassionally, when he trains. he likes the quickness of it, the constant movement, suddenly stopped by another body.
stevie's drawn to destruction, but he doesn't want to admit it.
they fight a lot, the two of them. there are no words. just the sadness of another unspoken life, and the anger carried over. they sit on either sides of the room, a storm over sheva's eyes. he draws himself up from the wall and kneels down beside stevie, pressing his lips on stevie's forehead, his nose, his mouth. he's licking his wounds; he's trying to make everything better in the only way he knows.
5. stevie bumps into dan again, the moon is low in the sky and stevie's feeling a bit lunatic after all the beers he's drank.
dan's smiling in a way that makes stevie's heart palpitate, the tattoos on his arm moving as he flicks his cigarette away.
"hey," dan says.
"hey." stevie says back. the world is swimming, the covers of trashcans, shiny.
"where's your boyfriend?" he asks, his tone bordering on snide.
"he's not-we're not. it's not like that."
"ah," dan sounds like he knows what he's talking about, which is funny because he just said one syllable.
stevie doesn't know how he ends up pressed against the wall, the uneven cement digging on his back, dan's lips on his.
"i've wanted you," dan's voice is breathy against his cheek, his warm hand sliding up stevie's warmer side. "god, i've wanted you."
6. stevie wakes up to the smell of tobacco and ink, and he's the least bit fazed by it. dan is bent over his desk, drawing. there's a cup of coffee beside him; it's cheap and cold, but he'll take what he can get.
dan turns to look at him as he raises the mug to his lips. there's something primal about him, about the way his muscles shift. it's terrifying, and beautiful.
he crawls up beside stevie and kisses him, his movements steady. there's fire in there, somewhere, hidden behind ink and skin and sinew. stevie can tell. dan pushes him down on the bed roughly, like he's forgotten what softness meant.
(this part's a secret, a mistake, something to be forgotten, filed away, broken.
7.
stevie's drinking with sheva, in front of them a row of turned over shot glasses. "damn you russians and your vodka," stevie slurs, a small smile on his lips.
a hand circles around his waist. it isn't sheva's.
they end up in stevie's apartment. there are limbs everywhere, slow moving, drunkenly languid.
there is a point when dan's hands are on his hips, and sheva's lips are on stevie's, and dan smirks up at sheva and says, "it's a good thing i've learned how to share.")
8. stevie doesn't know when he became this person who actively found ways to fuck things up royally. he knows what he wants, he does. he just doesn't know how to get it.
(on a loose sheet of dan's sketchbook: we can't help that we want things. what we can help is stopping ourselves from destroying them.)
Notes:
1. THE BRAIN WRINKLING THAT JUST WENT ON WHEN I WROTE THIS FIC. GOD. MY BRAIN. WHAT IS IT.
2. ahahahahaha did you see what i did there 875 i challenged myself to do 875 because you know it's their numbers and stuff i feel a bit insane.
Characters: steven gerrard/daniel agger, steven gerrard/andriy shevchenko
Word Count: 875
Rating: R (?)
Summary: AU.
Notes: for pendules.
1. there's attraction between them, obviously. it could be self-destructive, but what isn't, nowadays? everything stevie's ever done has been self-destructive, and dan-it's like he was born to die.
stevie bumps into dan in one of the seedier sides of town. dan's smoking, and he smiles.
"that'll kill you, you know." stevie says, because he doesn't know what else to say, because it's what someone older says to the younger boys who don't care about responsibility.
"everything kills us, at some point." dan says, a lazy smirk on his face. it's so him to say something like that.
(later, stevie will write, love is good until it gets lost. getting high is great until you're sober. getting drunk is fucking amazing until you wake up. football is good, until you get injured. everything is good, until it ends. then he'll rest his head against his keyboard and think about daniel's lips, how they fit around the cigarette.)
2. his name is sheva. it's-it is rough and hard and painful. they kiss and kiss and kiss, the grime of the bathroom stall rubbing black on sheva's plain v-neck. push-pull, smash-shove. stevie finds himself along the string of dirty yellow-lit bars more and more, his nights ending asleep on sheva's bed, sheva's fingers on his wrist, keeping him there.
(stevie writes on a brown piece of recycled bar tissue: all we want is something to keep us here, to make us remember why. he's not too eloquent, really. when he talks he says 'um,' one too many times and he's really no good at it. but there are flashes of brilliance, lost and forgotten, along roadsides and bedrooms.)
3. sheva presses his lips against the place just above stevie's collar bone, his lips soft and wet and wonderfully perfect. they can be quiet, sometimes, when sheva forgets to be angry and sad, when he lets stevie feel the slow beat of his heart through his fingertips.
it's not a thing. it's not. it's casual. neither of them were ever meant to be tied down, least of all by each other. sometimes though. sometimes.
4. he watches sheva ocassionally, when he trains. he likes the quickness of it, the constant movement, suddenly stopped by another body.
stevie's drawn to destruction, but he doesn't want to admit it.
they fight a lot, the two of them. there are no words. just the sadness of another unspoken life, and the anger carried over. they sit on either sides of the room, a storm over sheva's eyes. he draws himself up from the wall and kneels down beside stevie, pressing his lips on stevie's forehead, his nose, his mouth. he's licking his wounds; he's trying to make everything better in the only way he knows.
5. stevie bumps into dan again, the moon is low in the sky and stevie's feeling a bit lunatic after all the beers he's drank.
dan's smiling in a way that makes stevie's heart palpitate, the tattoos on his arm moving as he flicks his cigarette away.
"hey," dan says.
"hey." stevie says back. the world is swimming, the covers of trashcans, shiny.
"where's your boyfriend?" he asks, his tone bordering on snide.
"he's not-we're not. it's not like that."
"ah," dan sounds like he knows what he's talking about, which is funny because he just said one syllable.
stevie doesn't know how he ends up pressed against the wall, the uneven cement digging on his back, dan's lips on his.
"i've wanted you," dan's voice is breathy against his cheek, his warm hand sliding up stevie's warmer side. "god, i've wanted you."
6. stevie wakes up to the smell of tobacco and ink, and he's the least bit fazed by it. dan is bent over his desk, drawing. there's a cup of coffee beside him; it's cheap and cold, but he'll take what he can get.
dan turns to look at him as he raises the mug to his lips. there's something primal about him, about the way his muscles shift. it's terrifying, and beautiful.
he crawls up beside stevie and kisses him, his movements steady. there's fire in there, somewhere, hidden behind ink and skin and sinew. stevie can tell. dan pushes him down on the bed roughly, like he's forgotten what softness meant.
(this part's a secret, a mistake, something to be forgotten, filed away, broken.
7.
stevie's drinking with sheva, in front of them a row of turned over shot glasses. "damn you russians and your vodka," stevie slurs, a small smile on his lips.
a hand circles around his waist. it isn't sheva's.
they end up in stevie's apartment. there are limbs everywhere, slow moving, drunkenly languid.
there is a point when dan's hands are on his hips, and sheva's lips are on stevie's, and dan smirks up at sheva and says, "it's a good thing i've learned how to share.")
8. stevie doesn't know when he became this person who actively found ways to fuck things up royally. he knows what he wants, he does. he just doesn't know how to get it.
(on a loose sheet of dan's sketchbook: we can't help that we want things. what we can help is stopping ourselves from destroying them.)
Notes:
1. THE BRAIN WRINKLING THAT JUST WENT ON WHEN I WROTE THIS FIC. GOD. MY BRAIN. WHAT IS IT.
2. ahahahahaha did you see what i did there 875 i challenged myself to do 875 because you know it's their numbers and stuff i feel a bit insane.