Sometimes, I love the Champion's League.
Dec. 8th, 2004 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anotherusedpagePretty irrelevent, but hey, everyone I wanted through is through, and Manu and Chelsea both ended up looking stupid.
Anyway. This one has warnings for RPS.
It's not perfect. How could it be? There are too many other things, to many other people. Too much guilt and regret.
But it has its moments.
Sometimes it feels like he's spent all his life was waiting for this. This is how it's supposed to be. Not euphoria and stolen moments, but continued presence. He's working to keep hold of it. The fear is there that if he can't perform, if it all goes wrong, it'll slip away.
It's not so great a fear anymore. He's playing, and he's scoring.
And that's just the start.
It's a good job that he learned to trust David long ago, really. Now he's there all the time, playing beside him, training beside him, Michael can see every touch and hug and look and smile that pass between him and his fellow players, and he comes to a belated realisation. The man he loves is a total slut.
David is a whore for attention.
Michael never thought of himself as the jealous type, but he can feel little pangs of annoyance running through him every time he catches David flirting - yes, flirting. David does it on purpose. He raises his eyes to make sure Michael is watching, and smiles, and Michael knows that it doesn't mean anything, it's all a show. And he smiles back. It's ok to be jealous with David right there to reassure him.
England duty has a different flavour to it. Hotel beds are less of a thing to look forward to and more of an inconvenience. They are forced to check their casual physical contact.
Because things are easier, here. A little freer. David isn't having to watch his every move. Michael's finally starting to relax. They touch that bit more carelessly, that bit more affectionately. In the changing rooms, anything goes. The storms of callous innuendo they'd've faced in the showers in England are here reduced to muted chuckles and envious smiles. There's name-calling, yes, but it has less of an edge to it, mostly.
Michael avoids Raoul. There, the jealousy is a bit too real. After a while, David starts to, too. Michael doesn't have to say anything. David can tell where the boundaries are. Unconsciously, he's picked up on the one thing that would have hurt, and avoided it.
Trust is a wonderful thing.
And people know. People have guessed. And they'll share smiles with them, and look the other way. That's not something that either of them are used to. But it seems that what happens in the changing rooms stays in the changing rooms. Arguments, and other things too. David's private life is still open to a media mealstrom. But what happens at the stadium, that's not his private life. It's protected.
Michael has never felt so safe.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Disclaimer: Not mine, not gay.
AN: I've been meaning to get round to writing some pure sap for these two ever since he moved out to Spain. But I seem to only pay attention to them when they're angsting. It's also not the fic I set out to write, which was based on speculation about the exact content of the note that Mikey wrote for the Spannish team, the one where he amused them by including rude words. But I'll have to save that one for another day cos it wasn't playing ball.
Anyway. This one has warnings for RPS.
It's not perfect. How could it be? There are too many other things, to many other people. Too much guilt and regret.
But it has its moments.
Sometimes it feels like he's spent all his life was waiting for this. This is how it's supposed to be. Not euphoria and stolen moments, but continued presence. He's working to keep hold of it. The fear is there that if he can't perform, if it all goes wrong, it'll slip away.
It's not so great a fear anymore. He's playing, and he's scoring.
And that's just the start.
It's a good job that he learned to trust David long ago, really. Now he's there all the time, playing beside him, training beside him, Michael can see every touch and hug and look and smile that pass between him and his fellow players, and he comes to a belated realisation. The man he loves is a total slut.
David is a whore for attention.
Michael never thought of himself as the jealous type, but he can feel little pangs of annoyance running through him every time he catches David flirting - yes, flirting. David does it on purpose. He raises his eyes to make sure Michael is watching, and smiles, and Michael knows that it doesn't mean anything, it's all a show. And he smiles back. It's ok to be jealous with David right there to reassure him.
England duty has a different flavour to it. Hotel beds are less of a thing to look forward to and more of an inconvenience. They are forced to check their casual physical contact.
Because things are easier, here. A little freer. David isn't having to watch his every move. Michael's finally starting to relax. They touch that bit more carelessly, that bit more affectionately. In the changing rooms, anything goes. The storms of callous innuendo they'd've faced in the showers in England are here reduced to muted chuckles and envious smiles. There's name-calling, yes, but it has less of an edge to it, mostly.
Michael avoids Raoul. There, the jealousy is a bit too real. After a while, David starts to, too. Michael doesn't have to say anything. David can tell where the boundaries are. Unconsciously, he's picked up on the one thing that would have hurt, and avoided it.
Trust is a wonderful thing.
And people know. People have guessed. And they'll share smiles with them, and look the other way. That's not something that either of them are used to. But it seems that what happens in the changing rooms stays in the changing rooms. Arguments, and other things too. David's private life is still open to a media mealstrom. But what happens at the stadium, that's not his private life. It's protected.
Michael has never felt so safe.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Disclaimer: Not mine, not gay.
AN: I've been meaning to get round to writing some pure sap for these two ever since he moved out to Spain. But I seem to only pay attention to them when they're angsting. It's also not the fic I set out to write, which was based on speculation about the exact content of the note that Mikey wrote for the Spannish team, the one where he amused them by including rude words. But I'll have to save that one for another day cos it wasn't playing ball.