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“You’ve got to come to Manchester when we win.”
Jack had been saying it since City first took the top spot, because he’s confident like that, never gets on the pitch without being certain they can win, without believing with his whole heart that they can do it. He didn’t know where Ben would be back then, if everything would be back to normal for Ben or if he’d still be going through recovery. He didn’t know what they would do, how they could manage to be together when they’re two hundred miles apart. The logistics didn’t matter, never have. All Jack knew was that when he lifts the first major trophy of his career, there’s only one person he’d want to celebrate with.
He’s buzzing out of his skin when it actually comes round to it, goes off on his own down the tunnel at full time whilst everyone swarms the pitch in celebration, because he’s crying his eyes out, and honestly it’s a little embarrassing, but it means so much, more than he can put into words, and the tears don’t stop falling and his hands don’t stop shaking. He calls Ben whilst he’s down there, an instinct that he doesn’t even think about, his hands moving before his brain can catch up.
Ben takes his time to pick up, and when he does Jack can barely hear him, words swallowed by the buzz of crowds on both sides, but Jack can feel the warmth of his excitement anyway. “I’m so proud of you,” Ben breathes, forgoing a proper greeting, because they don’t have the time for that, or the patience.
“I can’t believe it,” Jack tells him, and his voice comes out a little sniffly, which Ben definitely picks up on, because he laughs with pure fondness.
“I can,” Ben says. “You deserve this.”
Jack takes in a series of wet breathes as he peers back outside at the sea of people on the pitch, his teammates swarmed by excited fans, cheers and laughter echoing off the walls. He’s never experienced anything like it, never known a feeling quite like this one. His hands itch to pull Ben out into it.
“What about you?” Jack asks. “Did you get to play?” He knew that it had been suggested, that Ben had been desperate to get back out there as soon as possible, that he’d take anything he could get, but he also knew that there were still some concerns, that not everyone was completely convinced Ben was ready for it yet, that Chelsea are well aware of Ben’s tendency to push himself too far without thought. Still, Ben has been ever increasingly restless, he’s been working so hard, and Jack knows it would mean the world to him to be back on the pitch one more time before the end of the season. He deserves it.
Jack can hear Ben’s beaming smile through the phone, but he wishes desperately that he could see it. “Yeah! It was amazing, Jack. I’m buzzing, seriously. Can’t stop smiling.”
It only adds to the almost unbearable weight of Jack’s utter delight, and he feels the tears pricking in his eyes again, the corners of his mouth curling involuntarily. “I’m so proud of you,” Jack says, echoing Ben’s own words, feeling absolutely invincible, like he and Ben are taking on the world together.
“You’re proud of me?” Ben questions. “You just won the premier league. All I did was step on the pitch for a few minutes.”
“Don’t give me that,” Jack dismisses quickly. “It’s a big deal. Not many people could get there as fast as you have. You should be proud of yourself, you know?”
“I am,” Ben accepts, although he sounds a little embarrassed by it, in that way that he is sometimes, always struggling to take the compliments he deserves. Ben is quick to change the subject then, “Anyway, why are you on your own talking to me? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?”
Jack peers back outside, the overcrowded cluster on the pitch seeming to grow exponentially every time he looks back, and Jack has never been one to be intimidated by things like that, always found the joy in it, but all of a sudden it feels just a bit too overwhelming. He always thought that his first major trophy would be with England, with Ben at his side, and maybe that’s more because he’d never envisaged leaving Villa, but it makes everything feel unfamiliar all the same. Not worse, not taking away from Jack’s pride, or his excitement, but it leaves him yearning to celebrate with his boyfriend with an embarrassing desperation. “I wanted to talk to you,” Jack answers, plain and simple, but it’s true, it’s always true. “You’re coming to Manchester, right? Tomorrow?”
“If you want me to,” Ben says, as if Jack hasn’t been talking about this for months, as if Jack would ever say No, actually, never mind. I don’t want to see you.
“Course I do,” Jack insists. Then, with a small hint of a smirk, “We’ve got a lot to celebrate, don’t we? Both of us.”
“I’ll get there for the afternoon, then,” Ben promises. “Now put your phone away and get back out there. Go and have fun.”
“I love you,” Jack says, and it’s a significant amount of effort to not start crying again, not to fall back under the weight of his emotion, but he just about manages it. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt when Ben returns the words, but it’s enough. He’s ready to face the crowd again.
•
Unsurprisingly, Jack’s head is pounding when he wakes up in the morning. There’s a vague feeling of sickness pressing at the back of his throat, but it’s hardly anything Jack isn’t used to. He gets up, showers, makes a cup of tea, gets ready to take Skye for a walk, and by the time he’s out in the fresh air he can barely even feel it anymore. Years of experience coming in handy.
Ben’s car is in the parking lot when Jack gets back, that garish yellow thing that anyone could spot from a mile off. It’s ugly, and Jack loves to tell Ben that it’s ugly, gets a proper kick off telling Ben it looks like a banana. Ben’s comeback is the same every time, at least I’m allowed to drive, and it’s an easy shot but he seems proud of himself for it, so Jack let’s him have it anyway. Besides, there’s something about the car that Jack does kind of love. It’s just so Ben, bright and friendly. A welcoming uniqueness to it, because Ben has never really been like most of the other lads growing up in football, and Jack thinks he’s better when he stops trying to be.
Jack can’t wait to see him. He takes the stairs, because he knows having to stand still in the lift would make him too impatient.
The flat is silent when Jack gets up, Ben nowhere to be seen. Jack finds him after a few minutes, curled up on the bed in a patch of sunlight coming through the windows. He’s quick to make himself at home, jeans already discarded on Jack’s floor, leaving him in just a pair of boxers and one of Jack’s shirts. He looks incredible, and Jack suddenly finds himself desperate for Ben’s attention, to have Ben’s eyes on him, Ben’s hands grabbing at his sides.
Ben doesn’t even seem to notice Jack come in. It’s a rare opportunity, and Jack doesn’t know who he’d be if he didn’t take it, so he’s quiet as he walks in, times it right, then falls heavily on top of Ben.
Ben doesn’t even seem phased. He’s getting used to Jack, obviously. “Jack,” is all he says, a little breathless, and then he’s grinning from underneath, his hands reaching to the back of Jack’s head to pull him closer, pressing their lips together happily. “I’m really proud of you,” Ben mumbles into a kiss, and Jack can’t stop himself from beaming. He feels electric. He has everything he could ever want, a premier league medal and the love of his life by his side. It doesn’t get much better than that, really.
They stay like that for a while longer, kissing slowly, small lazy movements as they take each other in. It’s been a while since they last saw each other, only actually a few weeks, but it always feels like forever. Especially now, when so much has happened, when Jack is dying to show Ben his medal, all the photos of him with the trophy, tell him all about the celebrations last night and how much Jack wished he could have been there to see it. And Jack wants to hear it all from Ben too, how he felt stepping on to the pitch for the first time since November, if he felt nervous, if he felt the excitement buzzing through his veins, if he’s feeling more confident for next season now.
When Jack eventually peels himself off of Ben, he doesn’t say any of that. Maybe because there’s too much to say, it all still feels a little overwhelming. Instead, Jack runs a hand through Ben’s hair and snorts, “You’re like a cat, you know? All curled up in the sun like that.”
Ben smiles, white teeth and pink lips. He pulls Jack down so that they’re lying next to each other, then makes a point of wrapping one leg around Jack’s waist, an arm across his chest. Ben’s skin is warm, and Jack finds himself wishing they were both wearing less clothes.
Jack runs his fingers through Ben’s hair, and raises his eyebrows at the position. “Are you trying to cuddle me, or have sex with me?” he asks.
Ben pauses to think about it for a second, a contemplative look on his face, then decides, “I want both.”
“At the same time? How’s that gonna work, babe?”
Ben whines. “We could find a way.”
Ben seems tired, like he was almost certainly falling asleep before Jack got here. A few months ago, Jack would have been concerned, would immediately jump to assuming that it’s because Ben isn’t sleeping, that there’s something wrong and Jack is the only one who can fix it, but he’s confident that they’re past that now, and he can rationalise that Ben was probably just up early to get to Manchester. Jack kisses him at the base of his hairline, then moves lower to get his cheek. “I was expecting you to be a little more excited,” he teases.
“I am,” Ben argues. “It’s just overwhelming, isn’t it? Feel like I’ve not had time to breathe.”
And Jack gets that. Or he doesn’t, not in the way that he really knows how it feels, because Jack tends to thrive when he’s too busy to think, when every day is something new and exciting, a constant stream of stimulation. But he gets that Ben can’t quite feel like that all the time, that sometimes it gets too much, leaves him feeling drained even when he’s not upset.
“You can breathe now,” Jack tells him, half teasing. Ben makes a point of taking a long, deep breath in, then releasing it with an exaggerated sigh, holding Jack’s hand in the middle of his ribcage so he can feel how Ben’s chest moves up and down. “Don’t take the piss,” Jack says, but he can’t quite hide the fondness in his face, watching Ben giggle into his shoulder like he’s the funniest person in the world. “Take it you don’t fancy coming to the trophy parade later then?”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to, could I?” Ben says. “I don’t think that would go over too well with fans.”
It’s a fair point, but hearing it still stings. Jack sighs. He puts an arm around Ben’s waist to pull him impossibly closer, and Ben presses an apologetic kiss into Jack’s cheek. “You know I’d be there if there was any possible way I could be, right?”
“I know,” Jack mumbles, because of course he knows that. He could never doubt Ben’s support, never. “It’s just a bit shit sometimes, ain’t it? Everyone else gets to have their wives, their girlfriends, their kids, but I don’t get to have my boyfriend with me.”
When Jack looks down to see Ben’s frown, it aches, pulls at something deep in his chest. He feels guilty, suddenly, like he’s wrong to be complaining, because he knows how Ben’s mind works, knows that he’s going to be thinking it’s his fault somehow, that he’s not doing enough, that Jack would trade their relationship for something simpler. Jack can’t stand it, that sad little look on his face, so he adds quickly, “It’s all worth it though, ‘cause I get to come home to this, and it’s perfect.”
That seems to do the trick. Ben perks up a bit, his smile returning, the look in his eyes a little less dejected. He also seems to have very quickly grown disinterested in the conversation, which Jack takes as a great relief, because he’s getting tired of it too, still too amped up from the win to properly engage in a discussion that, quite frankly, is a total buzzkill.
Ben moves his hands like, for a second, he’s about to run them underneath Jack’s shirt, which, honestly, Jack’s dying for, has been all morning, but to Jack’s great disappointment, Ben changes his mind last minute and wriggles out of Jack’s grip to sit up. Jack is about to voice his complaints, but then Ben starts to grin, and he says, “Come on, then. Let’s see the medal.”
Jack beams. “Wait here,” he instructs, and then he’s down the corridor to retrieve it, the symbol of his proudest achievement to date. He thinks his cheeks might split from the strain of his smile.
But Jack’s intensity is matched by the same excitement reflected back in Ben’s expression, and Jack almost can’t believe how lucky he is, that he gets to share this moment with Ben, that he gets to have this. Jack hands the medal to him, to let him get a proper look, and he marvels at the way the sunlight bounces off the silver medallion, producing little spots of light on Ben’s face, illuminating the freckles across his nose like small stars, making the blue in his eyes sparkle like lakes under the moonlight.
“It’s nice,” Ben observes, offering his thorough evaluation like he’s never seen one before, like it’s a new necklace Jack is asking for opinions on.
“Nice?” Jack echoes. “That all you’ve got to say?”
“I like it,” Ben adds. Jack is just about to open his mouth to remind Ben that it’s a premier league medal they’re talking about, not some sort of fashion accessory, but then Ben shifts closer, closer, until he’s sitting happily in Jack’s lap, placing the medal carefully into Jack’s palm, and every other thought in Jack’s brain is promptly forgotten about. “You should put it on,” Ben suggests, which is a fairly reasonable request, but his voice is far too innocent for the way that his hand is creeping up Jack’s thigh. “You should put it on,” Ben repeats, “and you should take everything else off.”
It’s rare for Ben to be the one giving instructions, but it’s certainly not something Jack’s complaining about. He doesn’t waste any time taking off his shirt, and soon the medal is dangling around his neck, cold metal pressing against his chest, a perfect contrast to the warm fingers gripping his waist. Ben seems a little dazed by it, his gaze fixed on Jack’s chest as if he’s never seen anything like it, but he opens his mouth when Jack kisses him, and everything falls into place perfectly.
Ben follows Jack’s movements easily, gasps when Jack runs his hands under his shirt, across his ribs. Jack feels Ben shiver when he starts to suck gently at a spot on his neck, his hands tightening around Jack’s thighs, and then, with a slight strain, Ben says, “The season’s over now. I don’t have to be anywhere for days.”
Jack knows what he’s getting at. He sucks harder, pulling skin between his lips like he hasn’t been able to in far too long. He doesn’t pull back until the area is a perfect swollen red, and Ben is looking at him with wide eyes, impatient and expectant.
Jack runs his thumb over the mark, and then over Ben’s bottom lip. “You look good like that,” he says, because it’s true, it’s all Jack can think about. Wearing Jack’s shirt, those tight boxers, hair falling over his face, moving like he’s wax in Jack’s hands. It simply has to be the most beautiful sight in the world. Jack will never get sick of it.
Jack pulls Ben’s shirt off and connects their lips again, their bare chests pressed close against each other, warm where their skin touches. Ben won’t stop toying with the medal as they kiss, running his thumb under the band, clutching at the medallion, twisting it round and round. Jack doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something inexplicably hot about it, the way that Ben seems so completely transfixed, obsessed with Jack’s success. Or maybe it’s just the feeling of Ben’s hands at his neck. Jack goes to slip his hands underneath Ben’s waistband, but then Ben stops him. He’s grinning when Jack looks at him, and he says, “Nah, I’m doing all the work today. You know, like a little well done present.”
“Are you now?” Jack asks, flashing a quick smirk. “Gonna put that new ACL of yours to good use now it’s healed, then?”
Ben’s eyes are twinkling as he nods. Jack almost doesn’t expect him to actually go with it, because it isn’t the way things usually are, Ben isn’t usually like this. But soon enough Ben is on his knees in front of Jack, his head bobbing up and down, taking it with the perfect intensity. Jack’s trying to speak, to say the things he normally says, you’re doing so well, you look incredible, you’re so good, because Ben likes that stuff and it’s the least he deserves when he has Jack’s dick in his mouth, but the words won’t come out, Jack doesn’t have the capacity to make them come out. All he can do is moan. He hopes that’s enough praise in itself.
Jack barely lasts a minute, but in his defence, he’d been waiting for this for a while. Ben seems pretty proud of himself, anyway.
They’re kissing again not even a few minutes later, the taste of Jack still on Ben’s tongue, and Ben is still true to what he said, he is doing all the work, but he’s still following Jack’s lead, following the hints Jack’s body is dropping. Jack’s hard again, almost painfully so, aching dick pressed against his hips, and Ben is even worse; red and throbbing with a desperation to be touched. Usually, Jack would touch him. Today, he’s not going to.
At least, he wasn’t planning to. But he wants to fuck Ben, has been aching for it since yesterday the second the whistle for full time went, thinking about making Ben come as he grips the medal that’s still dangling around Jack’s neck. It’s all well and good until Ben starts to prep himself, because he says he wants to do it, and it is ridiculously hot to watch him like this, but it feels just a bit too cruel, a cruelty Jack could never have with Ben. When Jack takes his hand and does it himself, Ben throws his head back, laughs through moans, and says, “Knew that wouldn’t last long.”
“Got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?” Jack teases, because it’s true, and Ben knows it’s true, but they both know he’d never change it for the world.
Ben’s good, though, gets on top when Jack asks if he fancies it and puts everything he has into it. Energy and passion, eye contact as he moves his hips, gripping the medal when Jack thrust up into him. He’s incredible, just unbelievable. Jack can’t get over it, can’t hold back the small utterings of I love you that squeeze through his lips, but Ben returns the words from under his breath, high pitched and strained, and it’s enough to send Jack over the edge into his second orgasm, shuddering through it as he and Ben collapse into each other.
Admittedly, Jack had never truly seen the point to prolonged post-sex cuddling until he and Ben got together. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but unless it was time to go to bed anyway he’d get bored very quickly, under-stimulated by either dead silence or meaningless conversation when there’s still hours left of the day to do something more entertaining with. But Ben, he’s out like a light afterwards every single time, somehow even clingier than he usually is, and Jack absolutely loves it. He basks in it, savours the time where he doesn’t have to think about anything else other than holding Ben close and making sure he’s resting comfortably. It’s the only time where the constant buzzing of Jack’s mind seems to dull to a near silence, when relaxing makes him feel calm instead of antsy. If Jack ever gets bored, he can always count the freckles across Ben’s nose.
Jack likes to pretend that it’s simply down to Ben doing it better than anyone else. It’s easier to blame other people. That way, Jack doesn’t have to confront the fact that, maybe, he’s just never loved anyone in the way that he loves Ben, enough to be throughly enthralled by them even when they’re not doing anything, when the ‘fun’ part is over and done with. It’s a damn sight easier than considering that he’s never felt loved like this, either. Never seen that pure affection dancing in their eyes like it’s inscribed on their heart, not until Ben met his gaze from opposite sides of the same pillow, their hands linked together in the middle.
True to habit, it doesn’t take long at all for Ben to doze off in Jack’s arms, head rested comfortably on Jack’s shoulder, muscles relaxed and face peaceful. Jack let’s him sleep, because he looked like he needed it. It’s been a busy few days; good, really good, but busy enough to be draining nonetheless. So Jack takes the time to just look at him, the way the light shines off his skin, the way his lips part open slightly as he breathes slowly. Jack remembers, earlier in the year, the tight tension that was ever-present around his eyes even when he was sleeping, but that’s all eased back to smoothness now, the mark of someone who’s been through hell and made it out alive, the sign of someone who knows it only gets better from here. Jack’s told Ben that he’s proud so many times that all he’s met with is eye rolls now, but he’s never going to stop saying it, because Ben deserves to hear it, and he hasn’t always heard it from the people who should be saying it.
It’s well into the afternoon when Ben stirs back awake. There’s orange evening sunlight just beginning to leak through Jack’s windows, and it’s shining right on Ben, because of course it is, it always does, lighting him up with reverence whilst Ben blinks away the tiredness, unaware of it all.
“You’re staring at me,” Ben complains, voice still slurred from sleep. He’s started tracing shapes into Jack’s stomach now, what feels like a T, and then a H. Jack tries not to let the sensation tickle too much.
“Can’t help it,” Jack tells him. Ben’s next letters are A, N, a K that brushes against Jack’s ribs. He thinks he knows where Ben’s going with this now, but he still waits, lets Ben say what he wants to say in his own time. Y, O, U, followed by a quickly drawn heart, because Ben has always been one for the smaller details.
Jack pulls him closer, as close as they can possibly manage. “Are you saying thank you?” he asks, and feels Ben nod in response. “Thank you for what? Letting you use my shoulder as a pillow for the last two hours, or something else?”
“For being here,” Ben says, very quietly. He’s picked up Jack’s hand, started playing around with his fingers, Ben’s telltale sign that things are about to get emotional. “For being here at the start of the season and staying through everything. It’s been horrible. Worst year of my life, probably. I don’t think I would’ve got through it without you, so thank you.”
It leaves Jack a little choked up, like he can’t quite breathe through the confession. It’s heavy, denting the air around them. Jack cups Ben’s face gently and drops a kiss into his cheek, let’s it sit for a while as he thinks. “You did the same for me,” he says, after a minute, and maybe it isn’t quite the same, less sleepless nights, less tears, less pain, but Jack’s been a bit of a mess at times too. It’s not just Ben, it’s not just Jack doing the looking after. Ben’s been the one in Jack’s corner no matter what, cheering him on, saying you were great, don’t let dickheads on twitter convince you that you weren’t, and Pep doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’ll see how important you are soon, trust me, and showing up to training hungover really isn’t that bad, Pep needs to get a life. “You’ve been my biggest fan this season. Felt like you were my only fan sometimes.”
“I am your biggest fan,” Ben says, with a determined squeeze to Jack’s hand to prove his point. Then, taking note of the time, “Don’t you have a parade to be getting to?”
Jack groans. “I’ll say I’m not coming. I’ll call Pep and say, like, look, I’m sorry, but I’m still fucked from last night. There’s no way I can come to the parade. Devastating, I know. Then I can stay here and cuddle you all day.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over great. Pep’ll love that,” Ben snorts. He sticks out a finger to poke Jack in the ribs. “Go on, it’s not every day you win the premier league. Go out and have a good night. You’ve earned it.”
Jack sighs, groans a few more times in reluctance, but eventually peels himself away from Ben to get dressed. The absence of Ben’s warmth is felt immediately, and Jack thinks this trophy parade better be worth it, or he’s going to be proper pissed off.
“Call me when you get bored of the VIP area at whatever fancy club you end up in,” Ben says, watching closely as Jack moves around the room. “I’ll come pick you up.”
“No you won’t,” Jack laughs. “You’ll be zonked out again by then.”
Ben tilts his head to the side as he considers this, nestling deeper into Jack’s side of the bed. “Probably,” he concedes, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “But I’ll be here when you get back.”
“You better be,” Jack says. “I’ll take you out properly tomorrow,” he states, because he’s starting to learn a few of the places around Manchester where they won’t be seen. There’s not many, and they’re not particularly exciting, not the grand expensive restaurants with vintage champagne and gourmet chefs that he’s always dreamed of being able to take Ben too, but it’s better than nothing, and they work with what they’ve got. Besides, Jack doesn’t need a £300 steak to enjoy himself with Ben anyway.
“Better make sure I get my rest then,” is all Ben says, before joining Jack at the wardrobe to take yet another one of his jumpers.
Jack gives Ben a long, chaste kiss before leaving, Ben leaning against the wall with his head tilted back, lips still swollen from earlier. His face is flushed when they separate, but he’s still watching as Jack walks around the flat looking for his keys. Ben is the one who finds them eventually, on the floor next to the sofa, and he hands them to Jack with a proud grin. “You’d be a wreck without me,” he jokes. Jack pokes him, which makes Ben retaliate by sticking his tongue out like a child, but he’s right, Jack would be wreck, and they both know it. He’d be completely lost. He doesn’t even want to think about what his life would be like without Ben.
The parade is incredible, a rush of excitement and pride that Jack doesn’t think he’ll ever experience again in his life. He loves every second of it. And yet, the highlight of his night somehow lies in coming home at the end of it all to Ben curled up in his bed, hands outstretched to where Jack normally sleeps. Maybe Jack is finally starting to grow up, because all of the partying is nice and all, but he’s give up all of the parades and champagne and private clubs for this, for his and Ben’s own private little celebrations.
He’s never loved anyone like this before. Anyone, or anything. Nothing compares.