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tr_fic2012-07-25 10:54 pm
tempered-rose.livejournal.com) wrote in tr_fic2012-07-25 10:54 pm
Downing/Henderson Cornerflag
Title: A Just Reward
Characters: Stewart Downing/Jordan Henderson; mentions of Steven Gerrard, Jamie Carragher, Michael Owen, Alan Shearer
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,631
Summary: Stewart’s mind wanders through memories of the past with the warmth of the present.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
cornerflag’s issue number nine. It’s my first corner flag, so I’m very nervous about it. I hope I did all right! :|
Jordan has soft hair, Stewart foolishly thought before his eyes closed and, once again, his lips were taken by the needy kiss of his lover.
Lover. Now that was a word he never thought he would say.
---
His first call up was years ago, when he was still a kid that struggled with acne spots and desperately strong urges that didn’t just involve kicking a football around a pitch. Just over twenty, Stewart stepped out as a sub against the Netherlands. He had been nervous as hell, but that was to be expected.
It seemed that a good fair many men could make a place for themselves in an England squad, but a precious few could keep it.
Stewart wasn’t one of them.
He didn’t have the pace and talent that Owen, Shearer, or others had. He didn’t have quick turns or almost super-human bursts of speed to make a play down the pitch and score one quickly before any defenders and the keeper knew what was up. He didn’t have the sharpest mind or quickest of reactions.
All he could do was hang around on the wing, make a cross or two, and occasionally make a run to beat a defender or three and score once in a while.
It was no wonder really why he sat on the bench watching more than he was on the pitch. It wasn’t a surprise to end matches having watched and not played a second. He was all right, good enough to make the squads, just not great enough to be used.
For a while, Stewart let that settle in his gut; he stewed on it at night, when the lights were out and there wasn’t anyone around. He was okay, just not good enough. Some would be all right with that, that level of mediocrity. He wasn’t.
He wanted to do better and make that international name for himself. He wanted to be able to do the things he could do at club level for his country. He just needed time and some faith; Stewart was confident he could do it if he was given the chance.
Stewart’s determination made him train as hard as he could and be available whenever he was needed. The manager must have seen something he liked. He was called for the squad again to play in America. To say that he was buzzing was a gross understatement. He was drooling for it. To thank the manager for giving him such an opportunity, he went harder at in training than ever before. And that’s where his mistakes had started.
When he felt a muscle twinge, he ignored it and willed it away. When his body was growing tired for trying to keep up with the likes of the Captain, he pushed himself harder. One more lap, he kept saying to himself, one more mile. One more mile turned into a mountain to climb.
He felt his knee go in the morning training. Lost in the haze of sudden, intense pain after crumpling to the ground, Stewart closed his eyes and had an out-of-body experience. The grass had never smelled so fresh, surprising really considering how dry the ground was. And the sun, God the sun. It burned, so bright and so hot that he wondered how anyone could possibly live like this. The others were shouting at him, the doctor asking him questions he wasn’t answering. All that he knew was he was burning up and that his knee hurt something terrible. He also had a guess that he would be going home at the airport’s earliest convenience.
He was fucked.
---
Stewart can vaguely remember the first time he saw that kid, Henderson. It was at one of the derby matches, Sunderland and his beloved Middlesbrough. He doesn’t remember much about it; that kid was only a kid then and of no importance to a footballer who was focused on winning a rivalry match. Kids come and go quite fast in football. For that very reason, Stewart paid no mind to the blond and blue-eyed local lad. Jordan Something-or-other-son was nothing special.
He knew that well, especially after his England injury fiasco. The three lions didn’t miss him much, if any. He had made enough impact once he had recovered, though, to earn a slot in for the World Cup. Now that was important, one of the greatest rewards he had finally reaped for himself.
The taste of glory on the world stage was something he wasn’t ever going to forget. He knew that he wouldn’t play much at all if he did play any, but it didn’t matter. He was in the England World Cup squad. Enough said.
That’s why when he went home, he let himself enjoy the smugness he felt deep-down in his belly. He had proved to his mum and dad that he was a real footballer, playing in a real world cup. His family and his friends would all watch him, support him, and love him. Whether he played one minute or one-twenty. He was going to the World Cup and nothing was going to ruin that for him, nothing.
In the few days of spare time he had before the squad left for Germany, Stewart allowed himself to dabble in his thoughts. He laid back on the bed he had had ever since he was a boy, feet hanging off the edge as always, and looked at the skylight overhead. The grey clouds didn’t waver, just as they had always done. There was an open invitation for him to go out to the club that night with his mates, a send-off they called it. He knew there would be girls, drink, and more involved if he went. If he didn’t, it was a quiet night in with the family. Naturally, a young man of almost twenty-two was allowed a night out, right?
At nearly three in the morning, Stewart crashed through his mate—Ben’s—front gate with the lad. Whatever possessed him to walk his mate home was forgotten in a fit of drunken giggles. They leaned heavily on one another and tried to stifle their laughter, only to have it break out again, only louder.
“Shhh!” Ben laughed and pushed his finger roughly against Stewart’s lips. “We’ll wake the whole bloody street!”
“Then shut up,” Stewart laughed and then promptly tripped over a rock. Ben broke out laughing so hard that he had to hold his ribs still. Stewart retaliated by pulling him down into the wet ground with him.
It happened just as quickly as the effort it took to pull Ben down had been. One second Ben was on his way to the ground, and the next he was splayed across Stewart’s body with his mouth pressed against the corner of his mouth. Stewart reacted the same way any other time he had ever been kissed, with a slight tilt of his head and to increase the pressure.
Ben was the one that brought them back from reality.
“Sorry, mate. Let’s um…let’s go inside.” Ben moved away from him awkwardly and Stewart blinked. What the fuc—
“Think I’ll just go home. See you later.” Stewart said as he picked himself up off the ground. Please be drunk enough to forget this ever happened. Please be drunk enough. He prayed to God as he let the cool air and regret sober him up on the walk home.
---
The world cup was not the place to have an identity crisis, specifically a sexual preference crisis. Nevertheless, between training, matches, and squad commitments, Stewart found himself wondering. What the hell had he done? The better question, he had reasoned, was why he had done it. He didn’t know the answer to either question and was too determined to forget about it to properly find out.
Instead, Stewart threw himself into all things for the national team. Training and preparing, honing his skill, watching and learning from those legends he had the privilege of watching in training and on the pitch.
When Michael Owen had gone off injured, Stewart swallowed and watched him leave the field on a stretcher. It didn’t seem like he would be back any time soon, if at all. The team would be hurting from that one; after all, it was just minutes into the game. This is going to be fun, he thought and took a deep breath.
England prevailed, but still managed to bounce out of the competition too early for anyone’s liking. Winning was everything, and yet, they had failed once again before a trophy could slide its way into their waiting hands. Despite the loss, praise rang from on high towards his performances. That fact made losing not such a bitter pill to swallow.
---
“What are you thinking?”
Jordan’s voice was soft, quiet, as if he was almost afraid to bother Stewart by speaking. For a moment, Stewart wondered when he had turned into the man that someone younger was afraid of disturbing. He dismissed the thought by shifting in bed and moved his arm tighter around Jordan’s waist to pull him closer into his body.
“The old days.”
“Ah.” Jordan shifted in his hold and shifted to hug him. Stewart responded by wrapping his arms around Jordan’s back and pulled him closer. He pressed a kiss lightly to Jordan’s temple, earning a happy sigh in return. “Don’t think too much. You get lost in there.” Jordan’s fingers lightly touched Stewart’s hair.
“Do I?” Stewart genuinely asked.
“You get quieter than usual.”
“You say that like it might be a bad thing…” Stewart teased, but Jordan just poked him near his ribs. It was enough for him to inhale sharply.
“What specifically about the old days?” Jordan asked to change the subject, albeit marginally.
Stewart shifted on the bed onto his back. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have this conversation—which he really didn’t at the heart of it—but he didn’t want to do it now, when they were waiting for the match tomorrow, against Italy.
Jordan’s body moved with his easily enough and Stewart rested his palms on the smooth skin of his back. Jordan was a great method of relaxing, in more ways than one.
“England.” A simple word that contained so much. Stewart knew he didn’t have to explain past that. Jordan was still young enough to remember everything about his international career in a matter of minutes. Stewart, mercifully, could take longer than that. It didn’t stop Jordan, though, from realizing that Stewart was living in the past, at least for a while.
The thought made him tighten his hold on Stewart even more.
---
Between leaving Middlesbrough, going to Aston Villa, and playing the occasional international match, Stewart realized he hadn’t had much of a social life. Certainly he hung out with his mates, both that he knew from ages ago and the ones that he made, but that wasn’t everything in a lad’s life, he reasoned to himself at night. Wasn’t he supposed to get married at some point? Have kids? Grow old, retire from football, perhaps get another job if money ran short? The way things went these days, it most likely would.
He had learned in that time in the post-awkward-kiss-with-Ben phase, that he fancied girls just fine. He also happened to fancy boys sometimes as well. The best of both worlds, he reasoned. He just hadn’t happened to tell that fact to anyone. Perhaps, because of his silence, his mother still saw it fit to mention ever-so-casually in passing about the certain young ladies still around Middlesbrough that would be ‘absolutely delighted’ to make his acquaintance. His mates still tried to pass off girls they met in bars off onto him as well.
No matter how much they tried, and he tried in his own time as well, no girl managed to capture his attention for long. That didn’t mean he hadn’t properly tried, either though. He had racked up a few one-night stands of his own, but they were empty, hallow. It wasn’t what he wanted out of life. With the numerous scandals of footballers in the papers of late, Stewart knew that wasn’t how he wanted to make a name for himself.
“Bachelor footballer impregnates MP daughter in drunken one-night stand” didn’t have a nice ring to it. Stewart shuddered and decided that he would become serious about someone. Sooner rather than later.
---
The first time Stewart properly noticed Jordan was, perhaps not so strange as much as he original thought. It was when they signed for Liverpool. He could see why some of the girls’ tongues would wag, the boy was cute enough. Stewart took in sight of the blond hair and thought that maybe a kink for blondes was developing. He shrugged it off and focused on behaving like a good boy. There were pictures being taken, after all.
Now that they were on the same squad, it was easy to talk and banter. Stewart made sure that Jordan knew that Middlesbrough were a right side better than Sunderland would ever be. Jordan was happy enough to tell him to ‘piss off’ before telling him how wrong he was.
It was nice to be around someone who he could relate to. Birmingham wasn’t that far away from home, but it was far enough to make things occasionally awkward. At least Jordan could understand his accent. He made a joke during training that they would work together to understand Carra’s deep Scouse.
Jordan laughed and Stewart smiled. Maybe the dark cloud of his loneliness would start to break apart.
---
“I’m on the right track, baby, I was born this way! Don’t hide yourself in regret, just love yourself—”
“Shut. That. Bloody. Thing. Off. Now.”
Jordan complied easily enough, after extracting himself from Stewart’s almost death-like grip. Once he had turned the alarm off, Jordan sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. He tried to wake himself up, but only managed to yawn. The urge to just melt back down into the warm bed with its soft cushions was one that was extremely hard to resist.
So he didn’t.
Stewart rested his head on top of Jordan’s and held him again. If he wasn’t careful, he would fall back asleep. But in a moment like this, he wasn’t so sure that that was a bad thing. Stewart nuzzled Jordan’s hair lightly before kissing his forehead, and then lower, until he reached his lips. Jordan replied sleepily but Stewart smiled into the kiss.
Jordan has soft hair, Stewart foolishly thought before his eyes closed and, once again, his lips were taken by the needy kiss of his lover.
Lover. Now that was a word he never thought he would say.
“I love you,” he said softly and watched Jordan’s eyes widen.
It felt natural, when he said it. Stewart was delighted when he meant it and that it hadn’t just slipped out as a reflex. He said it because he meant it. For reasons that shouldn’t have meant so much to him as they did, that fact meant a great deal. Jordan meant a great deal. But for one half-heartbreaking second, he was afraid that Jordan would push away from him and tell him to forget it, everything that they had ever shared.
It was a foolish thought.
Jordan smiled sleepily and kissed Stewart on the lips.
“I think I’ll like hearing you say that. Feel free to say it again…” Jordan prompted.
Stewart just smiled and pulled him closer, over his body.
“I love you.”
Jordan smiled and Stewart thought that nothing, not even beating Italy and getting to the final of the Euro’s would be better than that smile.
Characters: Stewart Downing/Jordan Henderson; mentions of Steven Gerrard, Jamie Carragher, Michael Owen, Alan Shearer
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,631
Summary: Stewart’s mind wanders through memories of the past with the warmth of the present.
A/N: Written for
cornerflag’s issue number nine. It’s my first corner flag, so I’m very nervous about it. I hope I did all right! :|Jordan has soft hair, Stewart foolishly thought before his eyes closed and, once again, his lips were taken by the needy kiss of his lover.
Lover. Now that was a word he never thought he would say.
---
His first call up was years ago, when he was still a kid that struggled with acne spots and desperately strong urges that didn’t just involve kicking a football around a pitch. Just over twenty, Stewart stepped out as a sub against the Netherlands. He had been nervous as hell, but that was to be expected.
It seemed that a good fair many men could make a place for themselves in an England squad, but a precious few could keep it.
Stewart wasn’t one of them.
He didn’t have the pace and talent that Owen, Shearer, or others had. He didn’t have quick turns or almost super-human bursts of speed to make a play down the pitch and score one quickly before any defenders and the keeper knew what was up. He didn’t have the sharpest mind or quickest of reactions.
All he could do was hang around on the wing, make a cross or two, and occasionally make a run to beat a defender or three and score once in a while.
It was no wonder really why he sat on the bench watching more than he was on the pitch. It wasn’t a surprise to end matches having watched and not played a second. He was all right, good enough to make the squads, just not great enough to be used.
For a while, Stewart let that settle in his gut; he stewed on it at night, when the lights were out and there wasn’t anyone around. He was okay, just not good enough. Some would be all right with that, that level of mediocrity. He wasn’t.
He wanted to do better and make that international name for himself. He wanted to be able to do the things he could do at club level for his country. He just needed time and some faith; Stewart was confident he could do it if he was given the chance.
Stewart’s determination made him train as hard as he could and be available whenever he was needed. The manager must have seen something he liked. He was called for the squad again to play in America. To say that he was buzzing was a gross understatement. He was drooling for it. To thank the manager for giving him such an opportunity, he went harder at in training than ever before. And that’s where his mistakes had started.
When he felt a muscle twinge, he ignored it and willed it away. When his body was growing tired for trying to keep up with the likes of the Captain, he pushed himself harder. One more lap, he kept saying to himself, one more mile. One more mile turned into a mountain to climb.
He felt his knee go in the morning training. Lost in the haze of sudden, intense pain after crumpling to the ground, Stewart closed his eyes and had an out-of-body experience. The grass had never smelled so fresh, surprising really considering how dry the ground was. And the sun, God the sun. It burned, so bright and so hot that he wondered how anyone could possibly live like this. The others were shouting at him, the doctor asking him questions he wasn’t answering. All that he knew was he was burning up and that his knee hurt something terrible. He also had a guess that he would be going home at the airport’s earliest convenience.
He was fucked.
---
Stewart can vaguely remember the first time he saw that kid, Henderson. It was at one of the derby matches, Sunderland and his beloved Middlesbrough. He doesn’t remember much about it; that kid was only a kid then and of no importance to a footballer who was focused on winning a rivalry match. Kids come and go quite fast in football. For that very reason, Stewart paid no mind to the blond and blue-eyed local lad. Jordan Something-or-other-son was nothing special.
He knew that well, especially after his England injury fiasco. The three lions didn’t miss him much, if any. He had made enough impact once he had recovered, though, to earn a slot in for the World Cup. Now that was important, one of the greatest rewards he had finally reaped for himself.
The taste of glory on the world stage was something he wasn’t ever going to forget. He knew that he wouldn’t play much at all if he did play any, but it didn’t matter. He was in the England World Cup squad. Enough said.
That’s why when he went home, he let himself enjoy the smugness he felt deep-down in his belly. He had proved to his mum and dad that he was a real footballer, playing in a real world cup. His family and his friends would all watch him, support him, and love him. Whether he played one minute or one-twenty. He was going to the World Cup and nothing was going to ruin that for him, nothing.
In the few days of spare time he had before the squad left for Germany, Stewart allowed himself to dabble in his thoughts. He laid back on the bed he had had ever since he was a boy, feet hanging off the edge as always, and looked at the skylight overhead. The grey clouds didn’t waver, just as they had always done. There was an open invitation for him to go out to the club that night with his mates, a send-off they called it. He knew there would be girls, drink, and more involved if he went. If he didn’t, it was a quiet night in with the family. Naturally, a young man of almost twenty-two was allowed a night out, right?
At nearly three in the morning, Stewart crashed through his mate—Ben’s—front gate with the lad. Whatever possessed him to walk his mate home was forgotten in a fit of drunken giggles. They leaned heavily on one another and tried to stifle their laughter, only to have it break out again, only louder.
“Shhh!” Ben laughed and pushed his finger roughly against Stewart’s lips. “We’ll wake the whole bloody street!”
“Then shut up,” Stewart laughed and then promptly tripped over a rock. Ben broke out laughing so hard that he had to hold his ribs still. Stewart retaliated by pulling him down into the wet ground with him.
It happened just as quickly as the effort it took to pull Ben down had been. One second Ben was on his way to the ground, and the next he was splayed across Stewart’s body with his mouth pressed against the corner of his mouth. Stewart reacted the same way any other time he had ever been kissed, with a slight tilt of his head and to increase the pressure.
Ben was the one that brought them back from reality.
“Sorry, mate. Let’s um…let’s go inside.” Ben moved away from him awkwardly and Stewart blinked. What the fuc—
“Think I’ll just go home. See you later.” Stewart said as he picked himself up off the ground. Please be drunk enough to forget this ever happened. Please be drunk enough. He prayed to God as he let the cool air and regret sober him up on the walk home.
---
The world cup was not the place to have an identity crisis, specifically a sexual preference crisis. Nevertheless, between training, matches, and squad commitments, Stewart found himself wondering. What the hell had he done? The better question, he had reasoned, was why he had done it. He didn’t know the answer to either question and was too determined to forget about it to properly find out.
Instead, Stewart threw himself into all things for the national team. Training and preparing, honing his skill, watching and learning from those legends he had the privilege of watching in training and on the pitch.
When Michael Owen had gone off injured, Stewart swallowed and watched him leave the field on a stretcher. It didn’t seem like he would be back any time soon, if at all. The team would be hurting from that one; after all, it was just minutes into the game. This is going to be fun, he thought and took a deep breath.
England prevailed, but still managed to bounce out of the competition too early for anyone’s liking. Winning was everything, and yet, they had failed once again before a trophy could slide its way into their waiting hands. Despite the loss, praise rang from on high towards his performances. That fact made losing not such a bitter pill to swallow.
---
“What are you thinking?”
Jordan’s voice was soft, quiet, as if he was almost afraid to bother Stewart by speaking. For a moment, Stewart wondered when he had turned into the man that someone younger was afraid of disturbing. He dismissed the thought by shifting in bed and moved his arm tighter around Jordan’s waist to pull him closer into his body.
“The old days.”
“Ah.” Jordan shifted in his hold and shifted to hug him. Stewart responded by wrapping his arms around Jordan’s back and pulled him closer. He pressed a kiss lightly to Jordan’s temple, earning a happy sigh in return. “Don’t think too much. You get lost in there.” Jordan’s fingers lightly touched Stewart’s hair.
“Do I?” Stewart genuinely asked.
“You get quieter than usual.”
“You say that like it might be a bad thing…” Stewart teased, but Jordan just poked him near his ribs. It was enough for him to inhale sharply.
“What specifically about the old days?” Jordan asked to change the subject, albeit marginally.
Stewart shifted on the bed onto his back. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have this conversation—which he really didn’t at the heart of it—but he didn’t want to do it now, when they were waiting for the match tomorrow, against Italy.
Jordan’s body moved with his easily enough and Stewart rested his palms on the smooth skin of his back. Jordan was a great method of relaxing, in more ways than one.
“England.” A simple word that contained so much. Stewart knew he didn’t have to explain past that. Jordan was still young enough to remember everything about his international career in a matter of minutes. Stewart, mercifully, could take longer than that. It didn’t stop Jordan, though, from realizing that Stewart was living in the past, at least for a while.
The thought made him tighten his hold on Stewart even more.
---
Between leaving Middlesbrough, going to Aston Villa, and playing the occasional international match, Stewart realized he hadn’t had much of a social life. Certainly he hung out with his mates, both that he knew from ages ago and the ones that he made, but that wasn’t everything in a lad’s life, he reasoned to himself at night. Wasn’t he supposed to get married at some point? Have kids? Grow old, retire from football, perhaps get another job if money ran short? The way things went these days, it most likely would.
He had learned in that time in the post-awkward-kiss-with-Ben phase, that he fancied girls just fine. He also happened to fancy boys sometimes as well. The best of both worlds, he reasoned. He just hadn’t happened to tell that fact to anyone. Perhaps, because of his silence, his mother still saw it fit to mention ever-so-casually in passing about the certain young ladies still around Middlesbrough that would be ‘absolutely delighted’ to make his acquaintance. His mates still tried to pass off girls they met in bars off onto him as well.
No matter how much they tried, and he tried in his own time as well, no girl managed to capture his attention for long. That didn’t mean he hadn’t properly tried, either though. He had racked up a few one-night stands of his own, but they were empty, hallow. It wasn’t what he wanted out of life. With the numerous scandals of footballers in the papers of late, Stewart knew that wasn’t how he wanted to make a name for himself.
“Bachelor footballer impregnates MP daughter in drunken one-night stand” didn’t have a nice ring to it. Stewart shuddered and decided that he would become serious about someone. Sooner rather than later.
---
The first time Stewart properly noticed Jordan was, perhaps not so strange as much as he original thought. It was when they signed for Liverpool. He could see why some of the girls’ tongues would wag, the boy was cute enough. Stewart took in sight of the blond hair and thought that maybe a kink for blondes was developing. He shrugged it off and focused on behaving like a good boy. There were pictures being taken, after all.
Now that they were on the same squad, it was easy to talk and banter. Stewart made sure that Jordan knew that Middlesbrough were a right side better than Sunderland would ever be. Jordan was happy enough to tell him to ‘piss off’ before telling him how wrong he was.
It was nice to be around someone who he could relate to. Birmingham wasn’t that far away from home, but it was far enough to make things occasionally awkward. At least Jordan could understand his accent. He made a joke during training that they would work together to understand Carra’s deep Scouse.
Jordan laughed and Stewart smiled. Maybe the dark cloud of his loneliness would start to break apart.
---
“I’m on the right track, baby, I was born this way! Don’t hide yourself in regret, just love yourself—”
“Shut. That. Bloody. Thing. Off. Now.”
Jordan complied easily enough, after extracting himself from Stewart’s almost death-like grip. Once he had turned the alarm off, Jordan sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. He tried to wake himself up, but only managed to yawn. The urge to just melt back down into the warm bed with its soft cushions was one that was extremely hard to resist.
So he didn’t.
Stewart rested his head on top of Jordan’s and held him again. If he wasn’t careful, he would fall back asleep. But in a moment like this, he wasn’t so sure that that was a bad thing. Stewart nuzzled Jordan’s hair lightly before kissing his forehead, and then lower, until he reached his lips. Jordan replied sleepily but Stewart smiled into the kiss.
Jordan has soft hair, Stewart foolishly thought before his eyes closed and, once again, his lips were taken by the needy kiss of his lover.
Lover. Now that was a word he never thought he would say.
“I love you,” he said softly and watched Jordan’s eyes widen.
It felt natural, when he said it. Stewart was delighted when he meant it and that it hadn’t just slipped out as a reflex. He said it because he meant it. For reasons that shouldn’t have meant so much to him as they did, that fact meant a great deal. Jordan meant a great deal. But for one half-heartbreaking second, he was afraid that Jordan would push away from him and tell him to forget it, everything that they had ever shared.
It was a foolish thought.
Jordan smiled sleepily and kissed Stewart on the lips.
“I think I’ll like hearing you say that. Feel free to say it again…” Jordan prompted.
Stewart just smiled and pulled him closer, over his body.
“I love you.”
Jordan smiled and Stewart thought that nothing, not even beating Italy and getting to the final of the Euro’s would be better than that smile.