bonus treat for louis_quatorze!

[meretricula]

Anything But To Breathe
for louis_quatorze from ladytelemachus


wanna see some spanish sausage? the first text reads.

Jack frowns at the unknown number. He considers answering, but this looks like a lawsuit in the making. They have seminars about this sort of thing. The perils of social networking, of modern technology. His phone buzzes again. Not without trepidation, he opens the text. It's a picture of a chorizo sausage, vibrant red, flecked with white. It makes Jack chuckle, which is fairly rare these days.

very nice ;), he texts back. who is this?

jajajaja your worse nightmare

Jack thinks for a minute. His tea's nearly brewed.

woj? he tries. He wouldn't put it past Woj to buy a whole new phone for the sole purpose of tormenting his friends. This is a bad idea.

not bad. guess again.

ox?

getting colder

Jack pauses, fishing the tea bag out of his mug. Spanish sausage...He checks the number again; it's a +44 code, but. Perhaps...

cesc?

ooh. closer. The phone buzzes again. It's a picture of a shiny pinkish dome, blurry and off-centre, and Jack tilts his head and frowns at it for a full minute, utterly confused. It could be the top of someone's head, maybe.

any guesses?

Jack takes a sip of tea, swears under his breath when it's too hot against the roof of his mouth. give us another clue.

It takes him by surprise when his phone rings in his hand, and the tea sloshes over the edge of the mug, splattering his slippers.

'What the hell, who is this?' he says, trying to suck tea off his fingers without dropping the phone.

'It's very disappointing,' the voice on the other end says. A hint of an accent. Not much else to go on. Jack's never been great at puzzles. 'They tell me you're a big fan. I thought you will guess.'

'Mate, I've not got time for...' his voice trails off as his stomach drops. It's all falling into place. The bald head. That bloody picture. He's going to kill them, every last one. 'Reina? Is that you?'

'You can call me Pepe, Jacky.'

Jack takes a deep, calming breath. It doesn't calm him much.

'Listen, Pepe. I'd love to stop and chat, but I have to go and murder my teammates.'

Reina laughs. 'Do us a favour. I know you are really a Liverpool fan.'

'Bye, Pepe,' Jack says firmly, hanging up.

Woj picks up on the second ring. Almost like he's been waiting for the call.

'Think that's funny, then?'

Woj breaks into peals of laughter. 'Yeah, quite funny,' he says finally, still hiccupping.

'You're a bellend. Any use me asking why you told him?'

Woj coughs. 'Goalkeepers' union, Jack. Thought he had a right to know.'

'I hate you,' Jack says.

'No, you don't,' Woj says, still laughing.

*

Woj is an infuriating dick of a human being, and Jack has no idea why he puts up with him half the time, but it doesn't stop him from saving Reina's number under sausage.

He thinks, sometimes, about texting him. Just to see how he is. Congratulate him on a clean sheet or a good save. He is, after all, a fantastic keeper. In the end, though, Reina beats him to it.

show me your english muffin please.

It's a rainy afternoon in March, and Jack's still sulking from the physio appointment that morning, pushing his return back, back again, again. He needs a laugh, and after hunting through his cupboards and coming up empty, he pulls on a jacket and pops to the supermarket. Nothing better to do, after all.

want to butter my english muffin? he texts, attaching a picture of him holding one muffin to each pec. He's wearing the Liverpool goalie kit for good measure. He hopes to God noone gets a hold of his phone.

jajaja beautiful

It goes on like that, stupid jokes and light-hearted banter, and it shapes his days, sometimes, little sparks of distraction between the video games and the treatments, the boredom and the frustration. Pepe--he's Pepe, by now--asks about the injury sometimes--but not too often--asks how it's going, says he hopes to see him at the Euros.

Woj keeps teasing, because he's like a dog with a bone when he wants to be, and Jack smiles benignly and taps the side of his nose like he's got something to hide, and ignores the little pool of excitement in his belly whenever he watches the Reds.

*

Pepe gets sent off on April Fool's Day, and Jack has no idea what to say. His thumb hovers over his phone for minutes before he gives up. He tries again later, and his reply ends up vapid and shallow.

tough luck mate. no youll come back from this

Pepe doesn't reply. Jack tries not to mind.

*

Pepe bounces back, though. He goes off radar for two days, but he comes back laughing, and Jack thinks it's nice, that now he can be a distraction for Pepe, the way Pepe's been for him.

hows miki?

whose miki?

mikel. think he play for a little club somewhere in london. probably you never heard of them

Jack rolls his eyes. fine far as i know y?

still got that sexy hair?

more than youll ever have, Jack texts back. woj says it looks like a wig

woj says a lot of things

yeah? Jack feels a little shiver of unease spread through him. Nothing good ever came from Wojciech Szczesny's scheming.

yeah...

Jack manages to exercise a bit of self-restraint, and doesn't ask him to elaborate. He's pretty sure he wouldn't like the answer.

*

It becomes something of a recurring theme; Pepe asks about Mikel a lot, and Jack quickly gathers that they've been friends for a while, that they used to rip up Merseyside together, the two of them and Xabi Alonso: the three amigos. It sounds nice--something familiar in an unfamiliar place--but Pepe doesn't sound too lonely now. After all, he's accustomed, as they all are, to the ebb and flow of football, how their careers criss-cross and meet and diverge again, constantly, across cities and continents and crests.

He keeps Pepe up to date, how Mikel fits perfectly, how there's a stately assurance about him that calms Theo's blazing speed, keeps Alex and Tomas ticking, spurs Robin even further on, how off the field, too, he fits. How they all love him.

Maybe he mentions Mikel's hair a bit too much, because, really, it's ridiculous, and it doesn't escape his notice that Pepe never asks about anyone else. But it's nice to talk about someone he admires. It seems like he never talks about football anymore, because it always descends into commiserations about his injury and assurances that Arsenal, that England would be mighty with him back in the squad.

He doesn't need those empty platitudes. He just needs Pepe, telling him stories about Mikel vomiting into a bin in Liverpool city centre, about Mikel's Spanish lisp leading to some really unfortunate miscommunications, about Mikel and his toothpaste smile and his easy laugh and his big heart.

*

Maybe he's thinking more about Mikel than he should, than he normally would, but it still startles him when he answers the door in mid April, and Mikel's standing there on crutches, his bandaged foot clunky and ungainly. It's a dark day; they say he'll be out for the Euros, they say Mikel will be out for the season, and Wigan, Wigan. A dark, frustrating, gnawing sort of day.

He doesn't know Mikel as well as he'd like; another thing his stupid ankle's got to answer for. He's still smarting from the first time they met, months ago, Mikel still a little glassy-eyed from the flurry of transfer deadline day, the life-changing speed of it. Jack felt like a child, sticking his hand out too eagerly. And Mikel said, grinning wickedly,

'I hear you were quite excited about me coming,' as if Jack needed any more evidence that his teammates are treacherous bastards.

'Yeah, yeah. Well, you're. You're a top player. Y'know. Class,' he muttered, insufficiently. Mikel still grins at him like that, devilish, sometimes, but more often he smiles kindly, a little pity mixed in, and Jack resents that.

Mikel's not smiling like that now. He's barely smiling at all, just a ghost-grimace, laced with bitter rue.

'Sorry, mate,' Jack says, hopelessly, holding the door open.

Mikel shrugs. 'Well. It's the way it goes.' He pauses on the threshold, stiff and unnatural, still unused to the crutches. 'I thought--' he bites his lip. 'I'm sorry, I only thought. Because of this season, for you.' He waves at Jack's ankle. 'Everyone tells me everything will be okay. Again and again.'

Jack knows all about that. Useless words of comfort, from people who can't possibly begin to understand. 'Come on, man. Get in here.' It's weirdly exhilarating, that Mikel is coming to him for advice, for meagre comfort. He leads him through the house--there are no trip hazards on the way, he made sure of that long ago--and installs him on the sofa with a beer.

'I'm rubbish at, you know--you know, talking,' he says, settling next to him. 'I don't know what to...'

Mikel touches his arm lightly. 'No. It's. We just sit here, okay? With our fucking legs.'

Jack laughs; he's nervous again. The stud in Mikel's ear gleams, catches his eye. 'With our fucking legs.'

They drink in silence. The house is quiet and still, and it's just about possible to forget that there are battles raging on without them, third place, fourth place, the nation expectant. Mikel breaks the silence, clearing his throat.

'You know,' he says lightly, 'Pepe says the most funny thing to me one day. Last week, I think.'

Jack risks a glance at Mikel. He has the bottle still raised to his lips, the neck glistening with cold, and his mouth is glistening, too.

'Yeah?' his voice is tight and dry.

Mikel turns to look at him fully, and puts the bottle on the coffee table, leaning awkwardly over his mangled leg.

'Something about you, actually.' He leans back on the sofa.

'Shouldn't believe anything that nutter tells you.'

Mikel considers this. 'Well. Yes. Only, this isn't the first time I hear this.'

Wojciech. Big surprise.

'Let me guess. Something about me having a whopping huge crush on you and your stupid hair and your Spanish sausage and--'

Mikel bursts out laughing. 'My what?'

Jack pushes himself off the couch. 'Done laughing?' he snaps, making to walk away. 'God, I swear I'm going to kill that Polish idiot.'

Mikel sticks out his good leg, hooking his foot behind Jack's knee. He pulls gently, pulls until Jack's legs buckle and he falls back onto the couch. Mikel is still laughing, and Jack is angry and bright red and too close to Mikel.

'Actually,' Mikel says nonchalantly, 'Robin told me. He says I must be nice to you.'

Jack would almost prefer Woj's brainless teasing to Robin's sombre, responsible pity.

'Robin can go stick his nose in someone else's business.'

'It is not true, then? About this...crush?'

Jack takes a deep breath. This is the fork in the road. Because it's all been teasing up 'til now, wolf-whistles and sly nudges, and he's been too busy lashing back at them, keeping up his end of the banter. This is where he thinks about the truth of it. He spreads his palms wide, shrugging cockily.

'What can I say--who could resist? You're a looker.'

Mikel laughs, and punches him in the shoulder. 'And you are a very annoying man.'

'Yeah, and I've got the beer supply, and you're just a guest, so. Less of it.'

'Less of what?'

'It. You know. Playing silly beggars.'

'Less of this, then?' Mikel says--the kiss doesn't quite take Jack by surprise, because it takes Mikel a few seconds to manoeuvre himself into Jack's space, but Jack still gasps a little into Mikel's mouth.

There's a second when they're not talking and not kissing, suspended. Then Jack says, 'more of that. Y'know. If you like,' and it doesn't come out quite as he intended. It's a bit too breathless, a bit too needy.

Mikel obliges anyway.

*

Jack's in the bathroom, leaning heavily on the counter, just thinking. His reflection stares back at him, rumpled and flushed and thoroughly fucked. The worst thing, the worst thing about this whole shit-show is that Woj was right, even if this is just about comfort, even if this is just a one-off. There's a flare of hope in Jack's gut that say it's not.

His phone buzzes.

how are you today little jacky?

Jack's not in the mood for Pepe right now. His mouth's swollen and there are long red scratches throbbing along his shoulder-blades, and in the next room Mikel is sprawled on his stomach across Jack's bed, warm and naked and sleepy and more than a little problematic.

His phone buzzes again, making him jump.

hows mikel?

Jack's reflection drains of colour. Pepe asks after Mikel a lot, but this seems uncomfortably coincidental. He can't--

okay i guess. not seen him for a wile

He frowns at his reflection; there's an angry red mark at the base of his throat.

*while, he texts. People are always on his back about his spelling.

thats not what i hear

Irrationally, Jack wheels round, as if somehow expecting Pepe to be in the bathroom with him, privy to everything. The room is empty, of course.

???

watch you dont do a sprain ok?

Jack frowns again. He can hear Mikel shuffling about next door, tangled in his sheets, his hair wonderfully askew. Jack splashes his face with water. The temptation to join Mikel overwhelms his cowardice.

Mikel looks up from his phone as he comes back into the bedroom. He's smiling--Jack can still feel that same smile curved against his skin.

'Budge up, kay,' Jack mumbles, clambering onto the bed and pulling the sheets over his legs.

'So this is hugging time, yes?' Mikel leans across Jack to chuck his phone onto the bedside table. The skin stretches taut across his ribs. Jack swallows.

'Hugging? Where's your stamina then, old man?'

Mikel flops across Jack, a dead weight. 'This old man will squash you, so--what did you say?--less of it, please.'

Jack's still laughing when his phone buzzes again, discarded between them on the duvet.

dont hurt miki also. sex is dangerous. be wise my friend

'What the--'

Mikel makes a vaguely inquisitive sound, still slumped across Jack's torso.

Jack pokes him in the side until he pushes up on his elbows and looks at him. He's somehow out of focus, not crisp and sharp and in control like he is on the pitch, in the dressing room, and even though Jack's in a mild panic, he feels a weird thrill that he gets to see Mikel like this.

'Hey. Did you. Who were you texting?'

Mikel sits up properly, the sheets pooled around his hips. Jack wants to lick his chest. It's distracting.

'Pepe, of course.'

'Of course. And you told him.' Jack lets his head fall back against the wall. There's a lesson in all this, probably, but his brain's too addled to work it out.

Mikel walks his fingers slowly up Jack's chest. 'He will be jealous, so. It's funny, no?'

Jack cracks an eye open. 'Hilarious, yeah.'

Mikel doesn't catch the sarcasm, or ignores it. 'And I tell my friends when I'm happy, so.' He rests his head lightly on Jack's chest, and Jack thinks again that this is the wrong way round, that Mikel should be cradling him, that he's the one that should be seeking comfort.

'Happy?' Mikel's still wearing the boot, the jaunty purple cast just peeking out from the morass of sheets. He's still out for the rest of the season. Jack can't cure that.

'What, you don't tell your friends the things that makes you happy?'

Jack thinks about that for a minute.

'Yeah, well. I'm friends with that arsehole Szczesny, and I learned a long time ago not to tell him anything.'

Mikel laughs. 'That is a good point.' He works his mouth over Jack's chest, meandering, and after a while Jack pulls him upwards so their mouths meet messily, and things descend from there. Jack's phone buzzes more than once, but he ignores it, and there's time, after, when they're both flat on their backs, breathing heavily, to think about goalkeepers and their wretched solidarity and their gossiping and their interfering and their tenacity, and how sometimes that's not altogether a bad combination.


please leave any comments on this fic at the author's livejournal.

Comments

[4or5paragraphs]

this is absolutely delightful. I love the characters- Jack with his bravery and hesitation, Wojciech and Pepe being helpful assholes, and the way it all comes together. It's great and I love it. Thank you.

[ladytelemachus.livejournal.com]

Ah thank you, really glad you liked it! Absolutely fabulous prompt, I enjoyed writing it a lot <3

[falange84.livejournal.com]

Oh anon, whoever you may be, this is great. I have pretty much been waiting all season to read this pairing! And it was so worth the wait, from the killer opening line onwards. <3

[ladytelemachus.livejournal.com]

Hahaha they better both be fixed by next season, so there can be CUDDLES and GROPING. So glad you liked it, thank you so much for commenting! <3