Request Fic: Stevie/Mikey
Oct. 10th, 2010 02:33 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tempered-rose.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tr_ficTitle: Back To The Better Days
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Michael Owen
Rating: suggestive PG-13
Summary: “…and no matter what happens or who wins, I love you. I’ve never stopped.”
A/N: For the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nanousblues who needs some love <3 And who also gave me the prompt “when we were young”. I hope you like it bb <3 *hugs*
Steven can remember how a long time ago laughter used to ring around the walls of Anfield. Different kinds of laughter, all from different people of different places. Many faces he had seen and many sounds he had heard from this stadium.
Some he wished he could forget, like whenever the Mancs stole a victory from Anfield’s precious pitch and their laughing faces as they left, proud of what they had done, of what they had stolen from the Kop.
Others he wished he could see again. Teammates from far and wide, legends that used to walk these halls, fans that had gone on or moved away. And Michael.
Yes, it was true. He missed the Judas more than most. He missed seeing Michael’s grinning face, the way that the lad from Chester was eager to prove himself and still managed to give the others quite a laugh as well. The way his eyes lit up when he was happy and the grin hardly ever left his face or the way his laugh seemed to echo off the walls until it was drowned with the mixture of others’ laughter, all were things that Steven found himself missing more and more.
He guessed that when things got harder and took more effort to deal with that you looked into the past to maybe see answers, to find a way to deal with the current situation. However, he also thought that maybe it was to escape the reality and dive into a world where things used to be better and the road had already been traveled so that the route was exactly known and there would be no surprises in the way. Just as if the film had already been seen and every joke or action sequence was performed perfectly the same.
Memories were usually very wonderful things; they didn’t change and all the emotion of the moment could be held forever in one single memory, filed away for his recovery at will.
Then again, they could be evil and twist the heart into a thousand knots that never seemed to be forgiving. Flashes of the past, of newspaper headlines came to mind quickly. Reports of injuries, transfers, and always the sign for money always seemed at the forefront of any thought that came to do with Michael Owen. Pounds signs as well as the ever-present color of red.
Then the images stopped swirling and the scene became clear, unaltered and unchanged. And there he stood before him. In the middle of the Kop, they both wore red like the days of long ago but now the shades were different. No longer did he wear the ten shirt, but had been lowered three numbers to the seven. The wrong team’s number seven.
Steven stood frozen in the corridor, unsure of whether it was a memory he was in or in the present. Owen had changed, aged but in a wonderfully kind way. Steven didn’t move, it was Owen that moved towards him.
He expected a glare, a look of hatred. Maybe perhaps a look of remorse for his latest transfer and what used to be. Maybe he expected to see a touch of sadness that he was no longer welcome in Liverpool, never mind Anfield.
What he did not expect, neither in look or action, was his old Mikey pulling him into a hug and holding him in that position.
At first Steven struggled and tried to get away. It was wrong, a Scouser to hug anyone in that uniform. It was unnatural, disgusting even. It was a horribly tempting agony for him to hold on to the one man he had loved so long ago but who had left him, hurt him, and had now turned traitor to what they as lads had known growing up.
But Michael held on and eventually Steven wilted to the warmth that belonged to only one person and he too hung on tighter.
“Forgive me for what I’ve done.”
Michael’s voice had changed as well, Steven noticed. It was less Scouse and more worldly. Just another thing that had changed since the old days.
With a slow nod, Steven agreed to Michael’s statement. He felt the small smile against his cheek before the warmth of lips touched his skin lightly.
“After the match I’ll see you. And no matter what happens or who wins, I love you. I’ve never stopped.”
Michael released him and left a stunned Steven still standing frozen in the corridor. It wasn’t until Jamie nudged him that he even blinked let alone began to move. His mind raced to catch up with his body and he remembered that he had a duty now, a duty and everlasting will to live up to the band on his arm and the crest on his shirt.
Michael Owen may be a traitor, but he was a traitor that loved him. This wasn’t a memory of the past, but one day it would be.
Steven committed the moment to his memory and jogged to warm up. It was time to defend his club’s honor one more time.
Characters: Steven Gerrard/Michael Owen
Rating: suggestive PG-13
Summary: “…and no matter what happens or who wins, I love you. I’ve never stopped.”
A/N: For the lovely
nanousblues who needs some love <3 And who also gave me the prompt “when we were young”. I hope you like it bb <3 *hugs*Steven can remember how a long time ago laughter used to ring around the walls of Anfield. Different kinds of laughter, all from different people of different places. Many faces he had seen and many sounds he had heard from this stadium.
Some he wished he could forget, like whenever the Mancs stole a victory from Anfield’s precious pitch and their laughing faces as they left, proud of what they had done, of what they had stolen from the Kop.
Others he wished he could see again. Teammates from far and wide, legends that used to walk these halls, fans that had gone on or moved away. And Michael.
Yes, it was true. He missed the Judas more than most. He missed seeing Michael’s grinning face, the way that the lad from Chester was eager to prove himself and still managed to give the others quite a laugh as well. The way his eyes lit up when he was happy and the grin hardly ever left his face or the way his laugh seemed to echo off the walls until it was drowned with the mixture of others’ laughter, all were things that Steven found himself missing more and more.
He guessed that when things got harder and took more effort to deal with that you looked into the past to maybe see answers, to find a way to deal with the current situation. However, he also thought that maybe it was to escape the reality and dive into a world where things used to be better and the road had already been traveled so that the route was exactly known and there would be no surprises in the way. Just as if the film had already been seen and every joke or action sequence was performed perfectly the same.
Memories were usually very wonderful things; they didn’t change and all the emotion of the moment could be held forever in one single memory, filed away for his recovery at will.
Then again, they could be evil and twist the heart into a thousand knots that never seemed to be forgiving. Flashes of the past, of newspaper headlines came to mind quickly. Reports of injuries, transfers, and always the sign for money always seemed at the forefront of any thought that came to do with Michael Owen. Pounds signs as well as the ever-present color of red.
Then the images stopped swirling and the scene became clear, unaltered and unchanged. And there he stood before him. In the middle of the Kop, they both wore red like the days of long ago but now the shades were different. No longer did he wear the ten shirt, but had been lowered three numbers to the seven. The wrong team’s number seven.
Steven stood frozen in the corridor, unsure of whether it was a memory he was in or in the present. Owen had changed, aged but in a wonderfully kind way. Steven didn’t move, it was Owen that moved towards him.
He expected a glare, a look of hatred. Maybe perhaps a look of remorse for his latest transfer and what used to be. Maybe he expected to see a touch of sadness that he was no longer welcome in Liverpool, never mind Anfield.
What he did not expect, neither in look or action, was his old Mikey pulling him into a hug and holding him in that position.
At first Steven struggled and tried to get away. It was wrong, a Scouser to hug anyone in that uniform. It was unnatural, disgusting even. It was a horribly tempting agony for him to hold on to the one man he had loved so long ago but who had left him, hurt him, and had now turned traitor to what they as lads had known growing up.
But Michael held on and eventually Steven wilted to the warmth that belonged to only one person and he too hung on tighter.
“Forgive me for what I’ve done.”
Michael’s voice had changed as well, Steven noticed. It was less Scouse and more worldly. Just another thing that had changed since the old days.
With a slow nod, Steven agreed to Michael’s statement. He felt the small smile against his cheek before the warmth of lips touched his skin lightly.
“After the match I’ll see you. And no matter what happens or who wins, I love you. I’ve never stopped.”
Michael released him and left a stunned Steven still standing frozen in the corridor. It wasn’t until Jamie nudged him that he even blinked let alone began to move. His mind raced to catch up with his body and he remembered that he had a duty now, a duty and everlasting will to live up to the band on his arm and the crest on his shirt.
Michael Owen may be a traitor, but he was a traitor that loved him. This wasn’t a memory of the past, but one day it would be.
Steven committed the moment to his memory and jogged to warm up. It was time to defend his club’s honor one more time.
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