for ines again :-)

[tempered-rose.livejournal.com]

Title: In His Dreams…
Pairing: Frank Lampard/John Terry; Frank Lampard/Xabi Alonso, Xabi/Steven Gerrard implied
Rating: PG-13
Words: 508
A/N: inesdelsol’s fault again. I’m sorry this is a short one honey, my creativeness disappeared halfway through =-[



At first, John had been outraged. Outrage had turned to silent acceptance, although that had taken a few months. Frank never seemed to know what he had done and John had a hard time blaming him for that.

Acceptance had turned to slightly hostile curiosity.

What did Alonso have that he didn’t? What made Frankie dream about having the Spaniard under him? And what on God’s green earth made those dreams repeat nightly?

John sat contemplating the issue in his kitchen. His fingers tapped annoyed on the table as he eyed up the Spaniard in his mind. He guessed that he should be grateful that Alonso wasn’t in England anymore but then he thought about poor Gerrard. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Frank left to play in another country.

John heard his front door open and shut and he knew from the solitary pair of footsteps that it wasn’t Toni and the kids back from the park. He heard Frank enter the kitchen and then he felt him wrap his arms around him and kiss him on the neck.

“Hi John.”

“Lampsy.” John said in an empty voice. His thoughts were too fresh on his mind to switch back to his normal tone.

“Who did what?” Frank asked detaching himself from John to sit in the chair next to him.

“Nothing.” John said, same empty tone.

“Come on love, tell me.” Frank prodded with a small smile. When John didn’t speak, Frank’s smile disappeared. “It’s about me.”

No question, a statement. John’s guilty expression made Frank sit back in the chair and look worried. He spoke in a quiet, hurt voice. “What did I do?”

“Nothing Lampsy.” John shook his head but Frank didn’t believe him.

“Is this the part where you say: it’s not you, it’s me?” Frank looked between the table and John’s face.

“You say his name at night.” John confesses and then blushes. He hadn’t meant to actually say it aloud.

“Whose?” Frank asks, confused.

“Alonso.” John says and Frank doesn’t reply. He blushes such a shed of red that John wonders if blood vessels burst in his face. The man went puce.

“I uhm…I um…” Frank stuttered and John looked at him quizzically.

“You’ve not slept with him, have you?”

“No!” Frank jumped on that. “John how could I? I love you!”

“Then why are you dreamin’ about him, Frank?” John asked.

“I don’t know!” Frank spoke honestly. “I can’t help it. He just, I don’t know, pops in my head and won’t go away.”

John contemplated Frank’s answer and the earnest way he was looking at him made him believe him. John nodded once and then stood up and started for the doorway without looking back.

“John! John! You have to believe me, I swear I’ve never—” Frank was after him like fire follows oxygen.

John quirks an eyebrow at him. “How about we go upstairs and I make you forget Xabi Alonso?”

Frank’s look of relief is enough to make John crack a smile. “Let’s go old man.”