Present

The bar was decked in the team's colors, and the bartenders were quite liberal with their draught as they poured out mugs for the players. The chants from the locker room had carried over, and with the addition of beer and fans, seemed to have gradually increased in volume until it was an all encompassing buzzing sound. Every so often, the noise would settle into a more manageable hum, only to be interrupted by another round of cheers. It was the sort of situation that would usually irritate Blaise, but it was hard not to get caught up in the excitement. Even Oliver would periodically join in, raising his glass to join in with the cheers.

It had been so long since Blaise had talked to Oliver that he'd forgotten what it was like to fumble over his words. But with the loud noises making conversation challenging, Blaise discovered that there were certain advantages to crowds. For one, he often had to repeat things he said so he could be heard, giving him several chances to revise his words into something less awkward.

They were sitting next to each other on a cushioned bench, surrounded by some of the older students on Oliver's team. Blaise tried to focus on finding their presence neutral at best. He didn't need time alone with Oliver, he kept telling himself. He wasn't greedy. He didn't want all of Oliver's time or stories or laughter. He didn't feel some vestigial need for Oliver to focus all his attention on him.

He hadn't noticed that Oliver's thigh was perfectly aligned against his own. Certainly not.

Oliver had turned his head to say something to him, but Blaise could barely hear him.

"Sorry, did you just say something?" Blaise asked loudly.

Oliver leaned in closer. "I was just asking whether you'd heard from Harry and Draco recently."

"Yeah, we still hang out a bit. You haven't talked to them yet?"

"No, I haven't had time to talk to anyone. You're probably the first person I've talked to since I got back."

Blaise ignored the warmth he felt flow through him at that. It was just the alcohol, he told himself. Oliver's words had nothing to do with it. "They're having a baby," he announced.

"You have rabies?" Oliver pulled back, looking extremely concerned.

"No, Harry and Draco." Blaise cradled his arms and rocked them back and forth. "Baby."

"No way!"

"If you talk to them, don't mention nursery colors." Moving closer, he added, "If Draco didn't love Harry so much, I'm pretty sure he would have left him for suggesting that shade of green."

"I'll make sure not to ask about baby names either."

"Good choice."

Blaise could almost feel Oliver's stubble against his lips, they were so close. For a second, the noise from the crowd seemed to not be there at all, and all he had to do was lean forward one more inch to completely shut them. One more inch, and he could claim Oliver as his.

Except Oliver wasn't his.

Blaise pulled back, the voices around him crashing back into his ears as he took a long sip of beer. He was okay with Oliver here, he kept telling himself. All he had to do was get past tonight, and then he and Oliver would probably go back to never seeing each other again. And that would be fine.

Just fine.

*.*.*.*

Four years ago

There were sounds of children laughing and water splashing in the background of the other line, but the irritation in Draco's voice cut through all of those joyous sounds. "Blaise, you're going to regret this."

"I'm pretty sure I won't," Blaise repeated, pacing back and forth across his living room as he talked into the phone..

"You can call it 'casual' all you want, but hooking up with Oliver is something you're going to regret."

"You and I hooked up for years, and I don't think either of us regretted it."

"Yeah, but neither of us were secretly in love with each other."

"Thank god for that," interjected Harry from a distance.

"Do you have me on speaker phone?" Blaise asked, a bit outraged that his personal life was being broadcast to a whole beach.

"If you interrupt my honeymoon with tales of your romantic incompetence, you have to follow my rules." Blaise could only imagine the smug smile Draco was wearing at this point.

"It's not incompetence."

"He's right, Blaise," Harry interrupted again. "You're going to regret this."

"Last time I checked, you two were the ones who were all, 'Oooh, Blaise, ask Oliver to dance or I'm going to tell everyone about that time twenty years ago that you starred in a children's diarrhea medication commercial.'"

"That was Draco, not me. And you'll be happy to know that he still hasn't shown me the video."

"I have to have some kind of honor if my blackmail threats are going to be meaningful," Draco said.

"The point," Blaise said, raising his voice, "is that this is all your guys' fault."

Draco sighed. "I told you to ask him to dance because I thought that if you actually talked to him, you might get around to asking him out on a date. I didn't mean for you to skip the whole date thing entirely."

"You can't see it, but Draco's upset," Harry contributed unhelpfully.

"Does his forehead have that line in it?" Blaise asked.

"Yeah, there's one."

"As long as he doesn't get two, then he's not really that upset."

"Yeah, but I have to put up with him when he's in the one-line forehead mood, so tell him he's right so I can enjoy my honeymoon," Harry demanded. "Please."

"No."

"Can you at least promise that you'll consider the possibility that he's right?"

"No."

"Okay," and it was apparent from Harry's voice that he had given up on Blaise. "Draco, can you pretend to be supportive of Blaise's decisions long enough for us to go to our massage at three?"

"Fine. But only if I get to say 'I told you so' when this inevitably blows up in his face."

"You can make a song out of it for all I care."

"Don't put too much time into it though," Blaise said, "this isn't going to blow up. That's the whole point of it being casual. Nothing can go wrong."

*.*.*.*

Present day

Oliver's shoulder was still pressed against Blaise's, and while there were plenty of opportunities for him to move away, Oliver didn't see interested in taking them. Blaise could almost count the wrinkles in the shirt that pressed into his arm. Blaise tried to will himself to move away, to put some—any—distance between him and Oliver, but he immediately came up with a list of excuses not to. It would be rude, wouldn't it? It would be the equivalent of telling Oliver he found him physically repulsive. So what if their knees were touching? So what if he could see the shape of Oliver's thighs outlined along his pants? He could stand it.

The sounds of the party were starting to die down, filtering out as the prospect of sleep overwhelmed the desire to keep celebrating. But Blaise found himself resorting to small contrivances to keep the conversation with Oliver going. Even without the crowd though, the music in the bar was pounding.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" Oliver asked. "It's a bit hard to hear."

"Most places are probably closed now," Blaise replied, suppressing the urge to draw out the night. But then he blurted out the words he knew he shouldn't have. "But my place is right around the corner."

Fuck. Fuck, shit, damn. There was no way that sounded like anything but a cheap attempt to take Oliver home for the night. There went Blaise's plan to not sound like a desperate, blustering idiot for the night.

"That sounds good actually," Oliver said. He didn't make any indication towards assuming anything more out of Blaise's words, and Blaise let any anxiety he felt over his perceived awkwardness slide away as they began to grab their belongings.

The night was cooler than Blaise had expected, a sign of impending autumn. He tightened his jacket around him as he exited the door, then looked back to make sure Oliver was following him. With the fresh air cooling his senses, he remembered that he should keep his distance from Oliver. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and quietly led the way. Oliver didn't seem to notice, content to chatter away about what it was like to be in his old hometown again. He remarked on new restaurants and stores, periodically stopping to ask Blaise if a certain building had been there before. Blaise couldn't help but smile as he watched Oliver track everything like an excited child.

Oliver was still talking when Blaise opened the door to his apartment. As they walked in, Blaise realized that this was the first moment he'd been alone with Oliver all day. If he'd been nervous before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. It was as if Blaise had used the presence of so many people to dilute the sensation of Oliver's presence. And now that there was no one else, the only thing Blaise could focus on was Oliver.

"This place is new," Oliver noted as he walked towards the window and examined the view. "Got tired of living downtown?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to keep wading through traffic just to get home."

"I remember you used to always complain about it. I didn't think it was that bad."

"You don't feel as strongly about tourists as I do."

"This area does seem to suit you better," Oliver noted as he continued his appraisal of the street under Blaise's window. It was lined with the kind of buildings that made preservation societies weak in the knees. "It's quieter, but still close enough to things for you to pretend you've interacted with people." He grinned at Blaise at his final statement.

Blaise smiled back. "It's like you think you've got me all figured out."

"Don't worry," Oliver replied, "I'll let you have your air of mystery."

Blaise walked towards the kitchen to get two glasses of water. He wanted to ignore the feeling of Oliver's eyes following him, but the more he tried, the more self-conscious he became. By the time he came back to the living room, Oliver was sitting on one of the couches, his shoes off and feet resting on the table. As Blaise handed one of the glasses to Oliver, their fingertips brushed for a moment. It was a good thing Oliver had already gotten ahold of the glass; Blaise was sure he would have dropped it at that touch. He sat down on an armchair next to the couch Oliver had chosen.

"Where are you living now?" Blaise asked after taking a sip of water.

"I got a place near the university."

"I bet it's across the street from the field."

Oliver smiled again. "And you're accusing me of having you all figured out?"

"I just can't imagine you living more than a mile away from a field. You'd probably live in the locker room if they let you."

"Why not? It has showers."

"And the lingering odor of sweaty men."

"I think I've become numb to it. I guess the only downside is that it might be hard to bring people home."

"You mean you don't sneak all your conquests to the field?"

"I'd hardly call you a conquest," Oliver noted. His eyes flickered over Blaise with more intent than Blaise had seen in a long while. In that second, it was silent in the apartment. The first full silence Blaise had felt all day, and it was filled with sight of Oliver watching him. With a cough, Oliver broke the quiet. He tilted his head back to finish the glass of water in one long gulp. "And if I recall correctly," he continued, "that was your idea. Something about wanting to desecrate enemy territory?"

"We lost to you guys that day," Blaise recalled bitterly. Oliver had played for Panthers, a team that just so happened to share a city and deep rivalry with the Cannons. "You can't blame me." He tried to focus on remembering how angry he'd been about the numerous bad plays that had led to that loss, if only to keep his mind off the feeling of grinding his hips into Oliver's ass as their knees flattened small patches of field.

Oliver coughed again, and Blaise didn't doubt that he was remembering the finer details of that night. "Well, after everything that happened with the Panthers, I can't say I regret it."

"It wasn't your fault they were a bunch of dicks about you going abroad."

"I was their teammate."

"You were their whipping boy," Blaise said, resisting the urge to take Oliver's hand in his. "Every time you guys lost, they would pretend it was all your fault because they were so caught up in believing their offense was infallible. You weren't happy with them."

"Yeah, you're right. I guess being back is bringing back some of those memories."

"Did you like playing in London?"

"It was like night and day. I wish I could have played there longer."

"At least you had a good run."

Oliver shrugged, his eyes looking both sad and unconvinced. "You know that's never really enough."

"I know," Blaise said apologetically. "It just seemed like what I was supposed to say."

"No, no, I appreciate it. It's a good thought. I got to play for my dream team. Not many people get to say that. I missed this city though. It hasn't changed too much since I left."

"It's only been a few years."

"Yeah. I remember when I went to college though, every time I'd come back here, it would feel like everything was different from what I remembered."

"When I came back to play for the Cannons," Blaise remembered, "everything felt completely off. But now, it feels like home, and even when things feel different, they feel the same."

"Maybe I'll just have to stick around long enough to be able to call this place home again."

"That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

"Guess not."

Blaise stood up. Sitting was making him restless, and restless meant his mind was darting in directions that couldn't lead to anything good. He reached to grab Oliver's glass, but before he could turn to walk back towards the kitchen, Oliver grabbed his free arm.

Blaise looked back to see Oliver staring at him, his gaze marked with uncertainty. "Sorry, I know it's been a few years, and maybe I'm misreading everything...you." He loosened his grip, but he didn't let go. His hand slipped down Blaise's forearm until it rested around his wrist. A thumb brushed along Blaise's pulse.

When Blaise didn't pull away, Oliver pressed his lips against the same spot. It was almost a chaste touch, just a light moment of contact between skin. But there were a thousand things implied in that touch that conjured up images of discarded clothes and sweat and skin contact that was neither light nor chaste.

"I, uh…." Blaise could hardly respond. His throat had gone dry, and most of his body had gone completely still.

"Can I stay the night?"

*.*.*.*

Three years ago

Oliver hadn't bothered to make conversation when Blaise opened the door to let him in. He shut the door behind them and immediately grabbed at Blaise's shirt to pull him close. His knuckles were boring into the top of Blaise's chest when their lips met. Blaise pushed back, cupping one hand around Oliver's cheek as he guided him towards the bedroom. Only when they fell on the bed did Oliver let go, turning so he could straddle Blaise.

Blaise ran his hands through Oliver's wet hair, then pulled it back to expose Oliver's neck. Oliver gave a little yelp that grew into a deep moan, a sound that resonated against Blaise's lips as traced them up to Oliver's jaw.

"Bad day?" Blaise whispered against his cheek.

"Not anymore." Oliver punctuated his words with a deliberate push of his hips, his erection grinding against Blaise's through several layers of fabric. Blaise groaned, which seemed to inspire Oliver to repeat the motion again and again until they were both gasping at an erratic tempo that had lost track of the rhythm between them. Blaise ripped Oliver's shirt off him and immediately began to lay a trail of kisses down Oliver's chest. He moved his hands down to Oliver's back, the muscles gliding under his fingers as Oliver continued to grind against him.

Oliver slid off of Blaise's lap and onto the bed, grabbing Blaise by the shoulder so he would follow. "Too. Much. Clothing," Oliver said between kisses, his fingers stumbling as they unbuttoned Blaise's shirt.

"Having trouble there?" Blaise teased.

"Shut up and fuck me," Oliver growled back, giving up on Blaise's shirt with five buttons to go.

"Gladly." Blaise reached for the nightstand, grabbing a condom and bottle of lube from the drawer. Oliver had already taken his own pants off by the time he turned back. Blaise would usually love to tease Oliver further, draw this out until Oliver was begging for release. But it seemed today had gone badly for Oliver, and Blaise was more than willing to indulge his impatience. He made quick work of his own pants and tossed them aside. He was wearing just his partially undone shirt and boxers now, and he tore them off under Oliver's gaze.

Blaise watched as Oliver took the bottle of lube and opened it. He spread some across his fingers, then reached down between his legs. There was a silence except for the sound of his exhale as he slid his fingers inside. Blaise stayed still, not wanting to make any noise that would disrupt the image of Oliver touching himself so intimately. Oliver squeezed lube onto his free hand, a clumsy movement given that his other hand was occupied. Still touching himself, he wrapped his other hand around Blaise's cock. The cold lube under Oliver's warm hands made for a contradictory and intoxicating touch. Blaise curled his hands into the bedsheets, his hips beginning to grind down into Oliver's hand as he continued to stare at Oliver's fingers disappearing into himself.

Finally, his own patience had worn out. With a sharp groan, he pulled at both of Oliver's hands and pinned them above his head. With a swift movement, he was inside Oliver, the both of them crying out as their hips crashed together. Oliver's eyes closed, and he arched his neck back. Blaise still had Oliver's hands pinned above his head, but he didn't realize it until he heard Oliver say, "Please, just let me touch you," in between thrusts that shook his whole body.

Blaise let go of Oliver's hands, feeling them press down his chest and then wrap around his back and neck. He leveraged himself further over Oliver, their lips meeting in one last searing kiss before Oliver's gasps became shorter and deeper. Blaise could feel Oliver's come spread across his own stomach, but his main focus was still the intense feeling of Oliver's muscles still clenched around him. With a few more thrusts, Blaise felt his own orgasm rock through him, leaving the two of them breathing deeply as their chests rose steadily against each other.

He didn't want to let go of Oliver, but he also didn't want to spend the night with semen caked all over his chest. With a sigh, Blaise lifted himself and walked to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped in. He was surprised to see that Oliver had decided to join him. Any shower he had taken with Oliver had been shared for sexual convenience. But they'd both played that day, and there was no way either of them had the energy for another round.

"Did you see the press conference today?" Oliver asked as he grabbed a bar of soap. His voice echoed strangely in the bathroom.

"No. I saw the game though. That was pretty rough."

"Yeah, I shouldn't have let that goal in," Oliver said, shaking his head. "It was an easy shot to block."

"The ball shouldn't have even gotten that close to you. Your guys' defense is getting weak."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Are you collaborating with the enemy now? Telling me our weaknesses?"

"If I thought your teammates were willing to get over their mistakes, I'd probably shut up." Blaise paused as he watched Oliver run the soap all along his body. The lather added a sheen to his muscles, but it was Oliver's cavalier approach to his own beauty that seemed most compelling to Blaise. "What happened at the press conference?" he finally asked.

"Exactly what'd you expect." Oliver's face darkened.

"They blamed you again?" Blaise asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. Said the whole game went south after I missed that save."

"That's ridiculous. If your midfield hadn't been busy diving and clutching their shins, they could have been there to save that ball. And Thompson is the worst, by the way. I don't get why everyone is making such a big deal out of him."

"He's fast, and he's got a good eye."

"He's also got an ego that makes it impossible for him to see what he needs to work on. That's going to hurt him in the long run. It's already hurting your team."

Oliver smiled grimly in response, but he didn't add anything else as he rinsed off. He grabbed a towel from the rack, and quietly left the bathroom.

Blaise was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he heard a yelp from the bedroom. He sprinted over and looked in with concern. Oliver was sitting in the bed, Blaise's comforters spread across his lower body. He was staring at his phone with a look of disbelief.

"Are you okay?" Blaise asked, spraying toothpaste everywhere.

"I'm fine," Oliver replied. He sounded breathless and he still hadn't looked away from his phone.

"Really? Because it sounded like someone stepped on a small dog in here."

"No, really. I'm good."

"Okay," Blaise replied suspiciously. "Can I ask what's going on?"

Oliver looked up apologetically. He didn't say anything, but Blaise felt it would be weird to pry. It's not like he and Oliver were dating—he wasn't entitled to any knowledge of Oliver's personal life.

He went back to the bathroom to rinse out the remnants of toothpaste still left in his mouth. When he came back to the bedroom, he pulled the covers over him and kept himself from looking over Oliver's shoulders. He did, however, try to at least ascertain Oliver's mood. His back seemed more relaxed, and he wasn't rolling his shoulder like he did when he was feeling impatient. Blaise hoped that whatever was on Oliver's phone, it was good news.

"Good night," he said, as he sunk his head onto the pillows.

Oliver set his phone on the nightstand. "Thanks for letting me stay."

"I always let you stay."

"I know. You really shouldn't. It just encourages me to be lazy."

"You could take a taxi, you know."

"Yeah, but your place is so much cleaner than mine."

"Don't worry, I'm well aware of that fact. That's the first time I've ever gotten a sock stuck in my ass before while fucking."

Oliver rested a hand on Blaise's arm, then leaned over and smugly whispered, "I made it worth your while though, didn't I?"

Blaise didn't reply

"Oh, c'mon," Oliver said with greater exasperation." That was the most turned on you've been by a sock."

Blaise turned his head, then lightly patted Oliver's cheek. "Don't worry, I won't hold it against you forever."

"That's good to know."

When Blaise woke up the next day, he saw Oliver sitting cross-legged on his bed. It was an usual sight. Oliver was an early riser, preferring to view the morning as additional time to add to his training regimen. Blaise was an even earlier riser, seeing the morning as time to shuffle around and complain about his lack of sleep.

"Good morning!" Oliver said brightly.

"Shouldn't you be running or something?"

"I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"You have to promise not to tell anyone."

"I haven't made that promise since Draco tried to get me to keep his accidental perm a secret."

"Please?" Oliver pleaded. "I need to tell someone, even though I'm not supposed to."

"Does it have to do with whatever made you scream last night?"

"Yes. Can you keep it a secret?"

"Fine."

"Arsenal might want me."

"Arsenal? You mean, like Arsenal-in-London Arsenal?"

"Yes, that Arsenal."

Oliver looked excited, and most of Blaise was happy for him. This move could be huge for Oliver. But there was a knot in Blaise's belly as he realized what this meant: Oliver would be leaving.

"Wow, that's…wow," he managed, hoping that his own selfish thought was hidden away. "Congratulations! When do you start?"

Oliver shifted a bit. "Well, I haven't officially accepted yet."

"Why not?" Blaise asked, completely confused. "This would be incredible for you."

"I don't know how I would fare in the Premier League. They're way more competitive than we are."

"I'm sure you could handle it," Blaise said, stroking Oliver's arm. "You're amazing."

"And it's just," Oliver bit his lip. "I would have to move so far away. I can't just leave everything here. I've got a team here."

"You've got a team who makes you miserable."

"I have friends and family here too. I can't just leave them."

Blaise's chest tensed up.

"Do you think I should do it?" Oliver asked after Blaise didn't say anything.

"You're asking for my opinion?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're the only person who knows right now except for their manager and my agent. And me, I guess."

Blaise knew that Oliver deserved this. He deserved a chance to play on a team that didn't just play better, but that would treat him better. And yet a part of him wanted to tell Oliver not to go. To make the selfish choice and convince Oliver that London was too far, that the league would be too much pressure. He wanted to come up with a million reasons why London would be a terrible city to live in.

And then he realized something that he had probably known along but had tried to deny: he wanted Oliver to stay for him. He wanted Oliver to think about London and realize that the worst thing about it was that Blaise wouldn't be there. And that was when Blaise knew he had to let go.

"I think you should go to London."