the boys of melrose - part 2
Title: The Boys of Melrose
Part: 2
Characters: Steven Gerrard, Fernando Torres and other Liverpool lads
Rating: PG-13 up to 18A at parts
Words:2,046
Summary: Football as punishment. A match made in heaven? Not exactly but they are a match.
Steven Gerrard walked down the crowded hallways of Melrose Academy. It was lunch hour and students filled the halls as they headed to the cafeteria or off campus, ready for a break from the stress that was classes. Steven didn’t get a break from the stress he just switched focuses; instead of classes lunch hour was designated to football. As it were he had a meeting with Rafa Benitez which is where he was currently headed. The head of the football team had left him a message the night before requesting the meeting and Steven could only imagine what it could be about.
Reaching the Spaniard’s office he didn’t hesitate to knock, as captain it was only natural for any complaints to come to him and if there was a problem with the team he would deal with it. Benitez’s soft voice called him in and he opened the door stepping in before shutting it behind him. The older man had various sheets spread out over his desk including the little notebook he always wrote in during matches. He could tell by what he saw that he was trying to figure out the play sheet for the upcoming match against Fulham.
“Ye asked t’see me, sir?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. We have a new player joining us. He’s a striker and will be at this afternoon’s training session.”
Steven was surprised to hear there was a new striker, a new player at all really. It was the general rule that tryouts were done at the end of summer break and maybe the start of term but never part way though. The only other way a new player was apt to join the team was via transfers which were just as rare mid-season. He racked his brain trying to recall if he had heard of any recent transfer rumours but couldn’t think of any that were linked with them.
“Is he a transfer?” he asked, curiously.
“He’s a student here already, a Fernando Torres.”
“Torres? As in El Niño the Spanish punk that’s always causing trouble?”
Benitez gave him a look that reminded the Scouser he was still talking with a faculty member and should watch his tongue. Steven was shell-shocked; he still couldn’t believe that El Niño was their new striker. The kid showed absolutely no interest in the sport, didn’t show interest in anything other than breaking school rules and probably even a few laws.
“Torres should be at today’s session, I want to make sure he is fully incorporated into the team.”
“Yes sir. May I ask why, sir?” he asked, still curious.
“It seems Torres has gotten into some sort of trouble and Hicks worked it out so that it would stay off his record if he joined the team.”
“So this is Hicks’ idea? The lad doesn’t even want to be on the team. You can’t let him, sir.
My boys have worked hard for this I can’t just bring in this new guy...”
“Enough.” Benitez interrupted, “I know this isn’t an ideal situation but there’s nothing to be done about it. I expect you, as captain, to make the most of it and show him what it means to wear those colours and that crest.”
Steven knew when he was beat and checking his temper he nodded, making sure that was all Rafa wanted he quickly left the office. For a moment he just stood outside the door hands clenched into fists at his sides, his temper raging at the injustice of the situation. After a few deep breaths he felt he was composed enough in case he ran into anybody. He still had all of lunch hour but he suddenly wasn’t feeling very hungry and instead made his way to the academy’s sports facilities. Perhaps he could sweat out the frustration and uneasy sense of foreboding disaster.
∞∞∞
“Alright lads, get out there and start yer laps.” Steven called to the players still straggling in the dressing room.
He chucked Daniel Agger on the arm lightly, getting his attention away from his phone. The Dane grinned sheepishly and put the cell away and shoved his bag into his open locker.
“Sorry Stevie, I was just making plans with Steve.” He apologized.
Steve was Steven Finnan, a former academy student who had transferred the year before when his family had moved. The Dane had been best friends with him and when he left Melrose deeper feelings had been revealed.
“Get out there or I’ll work ye so hard ye won’t be able t’move.” He said with a smile.
Dan mock saluted before jogging out of the room. The last of the players left the room ready to start their training. Steven might have been teasing the Dane but it wasn’t that far off from the truth and they all knew it. He scanned the now empty room expecting the rebellious Spaniard to pop out of the showers or something equally ridiculous. However, there was no one there and he had training to get to; he couldn’t very well chastise the other players then be late himself. He jogged out on to the pitch where laps were going on; secretly hoping that Torres wasn’t joining the team after all.
He was on his fifth lap when he spotted the boy lounging against the building, his eyes on their training session. Even from the distance he could tell it was Torres; the bleached mohawk and leather jacket gave him away. With a sigh he broke from the track and headed over to where he was still standing. Steven let his eyes trail over the boy as he approached; Torres was a junior at Melrose and had created a name for himself as a tough kid, a rebel, in his previous years. The boy had on his usual jeans and boots, the jeans clinging to thin hips threatening to slide off with the subtlest of movements. His chocolate-cinnamon eyes looked lazy and sported the slightest glaze that hinted at a lack of complete sobriety. Inky black eyelashes framed the eyes somehow making him look innocent anyways, the smattering of freckles that covered the smooth, pale skin only added to the false innocence.
“Yer late, get changed and start yer laps.” Steven said, no-nonsense.
“Ain’t got nothing to change into but you can still undress me if you want.”
Steven ignored the suggestive reply instead stalking off to the dressing room and indicating for the blond to follow him. He could hear Torres making more comments; all of a sexual context but he continued to ignore them heading straight for his locker. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a pair of track pants and tossed them to the boy.
“Here, put these on. There’s a bin of old boots ‘round the corner, find a pair that fit.”
Steven didn’t wait for an answer and instead left the room and resumed his laps. Having Fernando Torres on his team was certainly going to be a trial.
∞∞∞
Fernando stared at the doorway the skipper had disappeared through. Steven Gerrard; one of Melrose’s golden boys. He was well known for his success on the pitch and it was no secret that he carried the same determination into the classroom. Simply put, the boy had the desire and ambition to excel at whatever he did.
With a sigh he walked over to an empty locker, far away from the others and tossed his jacket inside. Kicking off his boots he shimmied out of the tight jeans before adding them to the locker as well. He eyes the track pants reluctantly, Steven Gerrard was most definitely not the same build as him and he had his concerns about the pants. Pulling them on he had to admit they could have been worse. They were a little short but not too bad of a fit, they would have to do it seemed. Peeling off one of the t-shirts he wore he tossed it into the locker before slamming it shut. He padded across the room in socked feet looking for the bin of reject boots Steven had mentioned. When he looked into the bin he almost left right then, screw promises and expulsions there was no way in hell he was wearing any of those boots.
The boots were badly scuffed up and there were various colours including a garish orange pair. He poked around the bin tentatively, looking for a pair that would fit him and weren’t too horrid. In the end he didn’t have much of an option and could only be thankful they weren’t the orange pair or the ones that were more duct tape than boot. He pulled them on and tied them up before leaving the dressing room. The team was currently split into two groups; one of the groups was doing dribbling drills while the other was taking shots on net. He started to head over to the second group - shots were more fun - when the skipper’s thick Scouse caught his attention.
“Where do ye think yer headed? Ye still have laps to do, lad.”
“Laps? I don’t think so.” Fernando retorted.
“Laps. Now. In fact, keep running till I tell ye otherwise.”
Swearing under his breath Fernando started to jog around the track.
∞∞∞
“That’s all today, boys. Get cleaned up and have a good evening.” Steven said to the gathered team.
The boys broke apart and began heading back to the dressing room, splitting into groups and chatting about evening plans and homework. Fernando was off by himself near the front of the group. The boy had to be knackered; Steven had made him run laps for the majority of the session allowing him stop only to join in on the scrimmage match. The match had allowed Stevie to get a taste of his talents and there was a natural talent in the boy if only he could devote himself.
Steven headed immediately for the showers when he got inside, craving the hot spray to wash away the sweat and dirt. He would have to talk to Fernando. Rafa had wanted the kid to understand what it meant to wear the colours, the crest and it was up to him to show him. As he scrubbed himself clean under the spray he thought about how he would approach the other boy. This team was everything to him and he was determined to bring them to another league title. They hadn’t won one since his freshman year and now as a senior it was his last chance. He wasn’t about to let some punk kid with a severe attitude problem ruin that, Fernando would just have to learn what it meant to be a part of Liverpool Football Club.
When he emerged from the shower, a towel slung around his waist and another over his shoulders half the team had cleared out. His spare set of track pants was in a pile on the bench in front of his locker indicating that Torres had left. The skipper changed quickly, shoving his things into his bag and heading for the parking lot. Maybe he could still catch Fernando before he left. He fiddled with his keys as he made his way across the student lot, keeping his eyes open for the kid. He spotted him easily enough, there weren’t a whole lot of vehicles left in the lot and none were blasting The Clash. Mick Jones’ voice reached him over the thumping bass of Should I Stay or Should I Go. He could see Torres slouched in the car with his door open, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Steven almost hesitated going over, the kid was unnerving and he wasn’t sure how to go about handling this conversation in a way that would get through to the care-free punk.
Either way if he didn’t go over soon Fernando might leave and he would only have to find him again tomorrow. At least now he had him mainly alone and wouldn’t have to worry about interruptions. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was Steven Gerrard, captain of Liverpool and he had faced down countless desperate defenders, one punk student should be no problem.
“Torres, I’d like a word with ye.”
Part: 2
Characters: Steven Gerrard, Fernando Torres and other Liverpool lads
Rating: PG-13 up to 18A at parts
Words:2,046
Summary: Football as punishment. A match made in heaven? Not exactly but they are a match.
Steven Gerrard walked down the crowded hallways of Melrose Academy. It was lunch hour and students filled the halls as they headed to the cafeteria or off campus, ready for a break from the stress that was classes. Steven didn’t get a break from the stress he just switched focuses; instead of classes lunch hour was designated to football. As it were he had a meeting with Rafa Benitez which is where he was currently headed. The head of the football team had left him a message the night before requesting the meeting and Steven could only imagine what it could be about.
Reaching the Spaniard’s office he didn’t hesitate to knock, as captain it was only natural for any complaints to come to him and if there was a problem with the team he would deal with it. Benitez’s soft voice called him in and he opened the door stepping in before shutting it behind him. The older man had various sheets spread out over his desk including the little notebook he always wrote in during matches. He could tell by what he saw that he was trying to figure out the play sheet for the upcoming match against Fulham.
“Ye asked t’see me, sir?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. We have a new player joining us. He’s a striker and will be at this afternoon’s training session.”
Steven was surprised to hear there was a new striker, a new player at all really. It was the general rule that tryouts were done at the end of summer break and maybe the start of term but never part way though. The only other way a new player was apt to join the team was via transfers which were just as rare mid-season. He racked his brain trying to recall if he had heard of any recent transfer rumours but couldn’t think of any that were linked with them.
“Is he a transfer?” he asked, curiously.
“He’s a student here already, a Fernando Torres.”
“Torres? As in El Niño the Spanish punk that’s always causing trouble?”
Benitez gave him a look that reminded the Scouser he was still talking with a faculty member and should watch his tongue. Steven was shell-shocked; he still couldn’t believe that El Niño was their new striker. The kid showed absolutely no interest in the sport, didn’t show interest in anything other than breaking school rules and probably even a few laws.
“Torres should be at today’s session, I want to make sure he is fully incorporated into the team.”
“Yes sir. May I ask why, sir?” he asked, still curious.
“It seems Torres has gotten into some sort of trouble and Hicks worked it out so that it would stay off his record if he joined the team.”
“So this is Hicks’ idea? The lad doesn’t even want to be on the team. You can’t let him, sir.
My boys have worked hard for this I can’t just bring in this new guy...”
“Enough.” Benitez interrupted, “I know this isn’t an ideal situation but there’s nothing to be done about it. I expect you, as captain, to make the most of it and show him what it means to wear those colours and that crest.”
Steven knew when he was beat and checking his temper he nodded, making sure that was all Rafa wanted he quickly left the office. For a moment he just stood outside the door hands clenched into fists at his sides, his temper raging at the injustice of the situation. After a few deep breaths he felt he was composed enough in case he ran into anybody. He still had all of lunch hour but he suddenly wasn’t feeling very hungry and instead made his way to the academy’s sports facilities. Perhaps he could sweat out the frustration and uneasy sense of foreboding disaster.
∞∞∞
“Alright lads, get out there and start yer laps.” Steven called to the players still straggling in the dressing room.
He chucked Daniel Agger on the arm lightly, getting his attention away from his phone. The Dane grinned sheepishly and put the cell away and shoved his bag into his open locker.
“Sorry Stevie, I was just making plans with Steve.” He apologized.
Steve was Steven Finnan, a former academy student who had transferred the year before when his family had moved. The Dane had been best friends with him and when he left Melrose deeper feelings had been revealed.
“Get out there or I’ll work ye so hard ye won’t be able t’move.” He said with a smile.
Dan mock saluted before jogging out of the room. The last of the players left the room ready to start their training. Steven might have been teasing the Dane but it wasn’t that far off from the truth and they all knew it. He scanned the now empty room expecting the rebellious Spaniard to pop out of the showers or something equally ridiculous. However, there was no one there and he had training to get to; he couldn’t very well chastise the other players then be late himself. He jogged out on to the pitch where laps were going on; secretly hoping that Torres wasn’t joining the team after all.
He was on his fifth lap when he spotted the boy lounging against the building, his eyes on their training session. Even from the distance he could tell it was Torres; the bleached mohawk and leather jacket gave him away. With a sigh he broke from the track and headed over to where he was still standing. Steven let his eyes trail over the boy as he approached; Torres was a junior at Melrose and had created a name for himself as a tough kid, a rebel, in his previous years. The boy had on his usual jeans and boots, the jeans clinging to thin hips threatening to slide off with the subtlest of movements. His chocolate-cinnamon eyes looked lazy and sported the slightest glaze that hinted at a lack of complete sobriety. Inky black eyelashes framed the eyes somehow making him look innocent anyways, the smattering of freckles that covered the smooth, pale skin only added to the false innocence.
“Yer late, get changed and start yer laps.” Steven said, no-nonsense.
“Ain’t got nothing to change into but you can still undress me if you want.”
Steven ignored the suggestive reply instead stalking off to the dressing room and indicating for the blond to follow him. He could hear Torres making more comments; all of a sexual context but he continued to ignore them heading straight for his locker. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a pair of track pants and tossed them to the boy.
“Here, put these on. There’s a bin of old boots ‘round the corner, find a pair that fit.”
Steven didn’t wait for an answer and instead left the room and resumed his laps. Having Fernando Torres on his team was certainly going to be a trial.
∞∞∞
Fernando stared at the doorway the skipper had disappeared through. Steven Gerrard; one of Melrose’s golden boys. He was well known for his success on the pitch and it was no secret that he carried the same determination into the classroom. Simply put, the boy had the desire and ambition to excel at whatever he did.
With a sigh he walked over to an empty locker, far away from the others and tossed his jacket inside. Kicking off his boots he shimmied out of the tight jeans before adding them to the locker as well. He eyes the track pants reluctantly, Steven Gerrard was most definitely not the same build as him and he had his concerns about the pants. Pulling them on he had to admit they could have been worse. They were a little short but not too bad of a fit, they would have to do it seemed. Peeling off one of the t-shirts he wore he tossed it into the locker before slamming it shut. He padded across the room in socked feet looking for the bin of reject boots Steven had mentioned. When he looked into the bin he almost left right then, screw promises and expulsions there was no way in hell he was wearing any of those boots.
The boots were badly scuffed up and there were various colours including a garish orange pair. He poked around the bin tentatively, looking for a pair that would fit him and weren’t too horrid. In the end he didn’t have much of an option and could only be thankful they weren’t the orange pair or the ones that were more duct tape than boot. He pulled them on and tied them up before leaving the dressing room. The team was currently split into two groups; one of the groups was doing dribbling drills while the other was taking shots on net. He started to head over to the second group - shots were more fun - when the skipper’s thick Scouse caught his attention.
“Where do ye think yer headed? Ye still have laps to do, lad.”
“Laps? I don’t think so.” Fernando retorted.
“Laps. Now. In fact, keep running till I tell ye otherwise.”
Swearing under his breath Fernando started to jog around the track.
∞∞∞
“That’s all today, boys. Get cleaned up and have a good evening.” Steven said to the gathered team.
The boys broke apart and began heading back to the dressing room, splitting into groups and chatting about evening plans and homework. Fernando was off by himself near the front of the group. The boy had to be knackered; Steven had made him run laps for the majority of the session allowing him stop only to join in on the scrimmage match. The match had allowed Stevie to get a taste of his talents and there was a natural talent in the boy if only he could devote himself.
Steven headed immediately for the showers when he got inside, craving the hot spray to wash away the sweat and dirt. He would have to talk to Fernando. Rafa had wanted the kid to understand what it meant to wear the colours, the crest and it was up to him to show him. As he scrubbed himself clean under the spray he thought about how he would approach the other boy. This team was everything to him and he was determined to bring them to another league title. They hadn’t won one since his freshman year and now as a senior it was his last chance. He wasn’t about to let some punk kid with a severe attitude problem ruin that, Fernando would just have to learn what it meant to be a part of Liverpool Football Club.
When he emerged from the shower, a towel slung around his waist and another over his shoulders half the team had cleared out. His spare set of track pants was in a pile on the bench in front of his locker indicating that Torres had left. The skipper changed quickly, shoving his things into his bag and heading for the parking lot. Maybe he could still catch Fernando before he left. He fiddled with his keys as he made his way across the student lot, keeping his eyes open for the kid. He spotted him easily enough, there weren’t a whole lot of vehicles left in the lot and none were blasting The Clash. Mick Jones’ voice reached him over the thumping bass of Should I Stay or Should I Go. He could see Torres slouched in the car with his door open, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Steven almost hesitated going over, the kid was unnerving and he wasn’t sure how to go about handling this conversation in a way that would get through to the care-free punk.
Either way if he didn’t go over soon Fernando might leave and he would only have to find him again tomorrow. At least now he had him mainly alone and wouldn’t have to worry about interruptions. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was Steven Gerrard, captain of Liverpool and he had faced down countless desperate defenders, one punk student should be no problem.
“Torres, I’d like a word with ye.”