starlingsilence

damon hated football. ever since he was a kid. his parents had him in little leagues till they accepted that it wasn’t worth damon raising hell every time he had to put those boots on. when graham handed him his invite to do soccer aid, he was obviously reluctant.

“bit of fun, eh?” graham grinned. “id love to see you in shorts like a royal twat.” he teased, ruffling damons blond hair. damon stares at him incredulously. “who the bloody hell do you think i am? ill just donate to the fucking charity, im not running around on a pitch like a wanker!” he scoffs. graham just rolls his eyes and goes to get a beer.

——-

that evening, while watching the telly, damon took a closer look at the invite, with the list of people who’re attending. “LIAM GALLAGHER, Oasis”, it said in big writing. damon just stared. he vaguely remembered new year’s eve; those drunk kisses, slurred whispers, hands all over..

“i think im gonna do it, actually.” he blurted to graham. “mm?” graham took another swig of the budweiser sitting next to him. “do what?” he swallowed.

“the- uhm- the soccer aid.. thing.” damon coughed. his mind was racing with thoughts of his ‘rival’, and their one-time drunk rendezvous. how he ran his hands through those pretty brown locks. how liam sank to his knees in front of him.. and.. and..

—-

when the day arrived, and damon was fixing his hair in the changing room, he couldn’t help but drift his eyes over to liam, who was changing his shirt in the corner. their matching blue eyes locked for a couple of seconds.

when they were about to step onto the pitch, in their queue to go on, liam stood directly behind damon. he tried to appear taller, cause there’s about an inch between them. he subtly moved closer, chin almost on the blond’s shoulder. the heat of his breath caused damon to shiver slightly. “fancy meetin’ you here, albarn.” he murmured into his ear. “heard you changed your mind. why’s that, hmm?” damon jolted slightly, startled, but he quickly regained composure. he stayed quiet, too scared he’d say something stupid.

on that pitch, it was like there was a tension only the two could feel. every time liam scored, he’d look at damon and smirk, loving himself. liam was clearly cocky about his football skills (which he didn’t have), but damon was too focused on trying to not look like he was eye-fucking the brunette the whole time, which he was.

whenever liam just so happened to be marking damon, he’d attempt to reach his height and intimidate him, whilst damon just snorted and turned away. liam was seeking attention under that cocky façade and wanker bucket hat. “so, how’s graham then?” he grunted. “fine.” damon responded, playing it safe by keeping his answers short. didn’t want to stammer or trip over his words (or his laces, for that matter) or he’d never hear the end of it. “guess new year’s eve really shut you up, didn’t it, blondie? humbled ya.” liam teased, nudging him a little bit. “piss off.” damon grunted. “you look like a right bellend in that hat.” he looked at liam. liam tensed his jaw and turned back to the game.

———

“albarn, c’mere.” liam called damon over from the other side of the changing room after the half time whistle had been blown. “need to show you summet.”

damon shuffled over sheepishly, having had his confidence knocked on the pitch by some knobhead singer from up north. “wha-“ he only got the start of his irritated grunt out before he’s pulled into the shower rooms by his blue jersey. his blue eyes widened slightly as he tilted his head down a little to look at the brown haired mancunian. funny how he’s so easily dominated by a bloke who’s an inch shorter than himself.

liam shoved him against a tiled wall. “who the fuck do you think you are, eh?” he got really close. “makin a fucking show of me on that pitch.” liam jabbed him in the chest, but his other hand betrayed him, snaking down to toy with the hem of damon’s shorts. “n-no, mate- i- i wasn’t-” damon stammered as a tent grew in his shorts. he’s only cut off by a searing kiss from the younger lad, and he took the opportunity to snake his hands into his shiny brown hair. “please, liam..” he whimpered pathetically against his lips. “mm.” liam murmured. “has anyone else since me?” he grunted into damons mouth. damon pulled away to shake his head vigorously. “nobody.” liam grinned a prideful grin. “that’s what i thought.” he murmured and proceeded with pressing kisses to whatever part of damons skin he could manage.

“missed you, dermot..” he murmured against damons lower neck, still in the late stages of healing from new year’s. damon sighed shakily, moving his arm up liams jersey. liam just continued his assault on his rivals neck, trying to draw out as many noises as he can…

they heard the calls and hollers of their teammates, signalling the start of the second half. they rushed out before trying to play off their shortness of breath and ruffled hair to their mates.