Title: A Simple Phone call
Pairing: John Terry/Frank Lampard
Word count: 725
Disclaimer: All lieeeeeees
Summary: Frank’s on holiday and missing John
A/n: Wrote this when I was ill so no idea if it’s good or not, but I hope you like it :)
comments are much appreciated :)

Frank sat on the balcony, the floor proving to be a cooler option than the chair, the cool tiles miraculously defying the humid atmosphere. He glanced behind him to check on his sleeping girlfriend, ignoring the pang of guilt at having no desire to be in there with her.

His eyes quickly returned to the screen on his mobile, the numbers hadn’t changed since the last time he’d checked the time, still 6 minutes to go. He rested his head against the wall, desperate for a release from the oppressive heat. Tacky music drifted across from the nightclub across the resort; a few years ago he would have been there, girlfriend or no girlfriend, in amongst the sweaty bodies moving meaninglessly to music, if you could even call it music. Sometimes he missed the days of nameless girls in nightclubs, but he’s in a different place in life now.

Dragging his head away from the wall, he once again checked the time, 3 minutes to go, should he just call now? No, too eager, no he must wait until a couple of minutes after to try not to make it sound like he’s been waiting for this all day. He wonders what he’s doing right now, the other side of the world, literally. It might be the middle of the night in Sardinia, but he was in Florida, a whole hours behind, for him it was early evening. He could see him now, the shorts, the t-shirt, the skin the colour of a tomato. His shorts were probably a horrible colour, his t-shirt the same old white and on his toes, would be his sandals, the pair that matched the ones Frank was wearing now, the pair they’d bought together on that holiday all those years ago, that were now worn and almost falling apart, but neither wanted to part with.  Perhaps he’d been swimming, perhaps his hair was wet, drops dripping down then running down his neck then along his spine, or perhaps it was warm, glistening sweat from the hazy heat. He could smell it now, as if he were next to him, the slick sweat running down his golden chest. He closed his eyes, he tried to remember the last time he’d ran his hands across his chest, felt the small buds of his nipples, sensed the power held within his biceps as he squeezed them , his fingers massaging them unintentionally. It had been too long. He looked down to find his suspicions were correct, sitting here, thinking about John in such away had given him a conspicuous bulge in his pants, his hand came to rest on his boxers, but he pulled it away guiltily, now was not the time.

His phone had fallen from his grip onto the floor, and when he picked it up, he noticed the time, the moment had finally come. He dialled the number, his fingers making light work of the familiar sequence and waited with bated breath, as he heard the ringing tone.

“’Ello?” The familiar voice sends causes Frank’s heart to flutter noticeably, he feels like a woman, but it’s been too long, far too long since he’d heard the sound of that voice.

“Alright there mate? It’s me” He manages to breathe out, trying to hide his excitement.

“Oh right” John sounded distracted, Frank’s heart immediately began to sink “Err mate would you mind calling some other time?” He’d forgotten.

“Err yeah sure” Frank stammered out, trying not to make it sound like his heart was breaking along with his voice.

“Cheers mate, you know what it’s like”

No, Frank didn’t know what it was like, not at all, he threw his phone against the French windows, the noise rousing the woman inside, who made a noise, turned over and was quickly asleep again. Right now Frank had nothing but hate coursing through his veins, hatred towards John for forgetting, for letting him down, for seemingly not caring about him; hatred at himself for letting himself care so much; and then hatred at her, for the simple fact she was not John and never would be. He banged his head against the wall in frustration, before bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them to himself. A single tear fell and splashed against the tiles, a testament of his despair.