Archive of Our Own

 May 25, 2019

“Oh, fuck off!” Mason shouts, booting the ball at Trent and nailing it directly into a clock on the wall. It tumbles to the floor, and Trent can hear Dec howling with laughter from the other side of the pitch. 

They rented out an indoor pitch every two weeks, usually just getting a bunch of random guys, professional and amateur alike. 

Today, Mason had arrived first, which was nothing short of a miracle. The Chelsea man was chronically late, and Trent had told him so. 

In response, the midfielder had evidently tried to take his head off. 

Trent snickered as some of the others began to file in. Dele, Dec, Fikayo and Joe were the first to arrive, and Marcus and Jesse came together soon after. 

They, along with Mase and Trent, were the only professionals in attendance. The rest were mostly friends, amateurs and, in the case of one, some random employee that had asked to play. 

At least, Trent thought they would be the only professionals. Right before they split into teams, Mason jogged over with a man a significant bit taller taller than Trent, fairly well-set for his apparent baby faced-look. 

“Sorry. This is Reece, just got back from a loan in Wigan.”

“Yeah, Reece James, right? Seen some stuff about you. Dibs.” Joe says, and Trent snickers from where he stood next to Marcus. 

“What- how does that work, mate?” Jesse groaned, but didn’t protest any further. 

Trent looked up, meeting Reece’s eyes briefly. The younger man grinned, and Trent briefly felt like his heart had stopped, before Marcus slapped him in the face. “Oi, mate, you good?”

Trent just nodded dumbly as his team headed over to their side of the pitch, and Joe’s team headed to the other. The center-back had an arm around Reece, and Trent felt an unknown sensation echo through him. 

The game went on as normal. Turns out Reece was also a right-back, but it was like he was all over the place. The kid wasn’t super quick, but his tackles made it look like he was doing everything in slow motion with how seemingly precise they were. 

Once, Trent was bolting down the side when he saw the Chelsea man out of the corner of his eye and, assuming he had at least half a second before he could make a tackle, tried to cut it back to Dec. 

Instead, though, Reece slid directly into him, missing the ball completely. Thankfully his studs didn’t contact him, but he still went down with a shout. 

He heard several people shouting, mostly Joe, who ran over and started muttering about how Klopp would kill jim if Trent got injured. 

“I’m good,” he panted, sitting up. Reece was stood behind Joe, eyes shut. 

Joe sighed in relief. “Ight. Go grab water and sit for a bit, yeah? Don’t wanna risk it,”

Trent pouted. “Fine,” he muttered, getting to his feet. There was only a slight twinge of pain as he walked off, shifting his weight back and forth a couple times. He grabbed his phone from his bag in the lobby.

He headed to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror and splashing water on his face a couple of times, before standing up and checking his phone. 

He didn’t hear the bathroom door open as he scrolled through Instagram, only realizing he wasn’t alone when he heard footsteps walk up behind him. 

“Hey, man. Sorry about the tackle, I wasn’t thinking.” Muttered a fairly hushed voice, and Trent turned. 

Reece was taller than he’d originally thought, but that may have something to do with the fact he had boots on and Trent didn’t. The older man froze, staring into the soft brown eyes in front of him. 

What the fuck had gotten into him? 

“I— Yeah, nah, you’re- you’re good, man, it’s chill,”

He must have been staring for a while, because a grin spread across his face and Reece stepped closer, just a little. 

“Y’know, I’m a real big fan of yours. Cool to see an English guy my age, in my position, doin’ well.” 

Trent didn’t respond, and Reece laughed softly. “What’s got you all quiet now? You were all talk on the pitch, yeah?”

Trent just nodded dumbly, Reece mere inches from his face. 

“Anyone ever told you you’ve got- god, just absolutely stunning eyes,” Reece mutters, and Trent feels his face burning. He feels like he’s about to sink through the floor when Reece smirks at him and says, “May I?”

Trent just nods dumbly, and Reece grips his hand and all but drags him to the furthest stall from the door, before swiftly pressing him against the wall. Thet alley man stuck a leg between Trent’s thighs, chuckling. 

“God, you’re irresistible,” Reece muttered, leaning down to bite and suck at Trent’s neck. “I had to get you alone. Maybe a shite tackle wasn’t the best idea, but- can you blame me, really?”

Trent just whimpers softly in response, feeling himself grinding up against Reece’s leg. Reece snickered. “What would Jurgen Klopp think? If he saw his golden boy, grinding on a Chelsea player like a dog,” he mutters. 

“But you’re not a dog. Nah, you’re a.. a goddamn piece of art,” 

By this point, Trent’s resolve was completely gone. Reece was sucking bruises under his ear, revelling in the desperate whined that escaped the smaller man’s mouth. 

“You like this? Yeah. Can tell you do- God, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, and tears prick at the corners of Trent’s eyes as his head falls forward onto Reece’s shoulder. 

“We can go back to mine, it’s not far,” he whispers. “Mase said you came with him, I can just tell ‘em you had to go home,”

Trent can’t think, frantically nodding. “Please,” he gasps. “Please, please I- yes, yes..”

“God. You’re adorable..”

———

December 8, 2019

Trent can barely feel his hands as he walks up the steps of the porch, small box in hand, winter boots filled with snow and coating his hair. 

He knocks on the door, shivering. He hadn’t talked to Reece much that day, Trent had a game the day before, and they usually didn’t talk much on game days, and Reece hadn’t responded to him much today. 

When the door flung open, Trent could see the surprise in Reece’s face. “..Jesus christ, T! Come in, holy fuck-“

Trent stumbled inside, putting the package down as he yanked off his boots and shrugged his coat off, which Reece caught and hung up. 

The Chelsea man wrapped his arms around Trent’s torso, pressing kisses down the back of his neck. “Happy birthday,” Trent whispered, chill running down his spine. 

Reece chuckled. “God, you’re freezing. Sit down, yeah?”

Trent sat on one of the stools at the counter, putting the box in front of him. Reece walked up behind him. “That for me?”

Trent nods, and Reece reaches over his shoulder to grab it before prying the bow off and yanking it open. 

Reece pauses, briefly, before grinning. 

“They’re, uh- concert tickets. Dave. Was thinking we c-“

“This is awesome, T! One of my boys has been nagging to go with me, this is great!” Reece interrupts, pulling out the two tickets and putting them down on the counter, evidently not noticing how Trent’s face fell. 

“Oh, uh- yeah. Yeah, thats- that’s a good plan.” 

Reece grinned down at him, before leaning over and kissing him forcefully. Reece’s kisses were always powerful, and this one was no differently. Trent groaned softly into his mouth, letting Reece’s tongue ravish his mouth. 

Once the younger pulls away, gasping for air, he almost immediately scoops Trent into his arms. “Played a good game yesterday, yeah?”

“Yeah. Wish I’d started, though. Don’t know what Joe has over me, but whatever,” he huffed, and Reece laughed as he all but carried the scouser to his bedroom, letting him drop onto the bed. 

“Twenty today. Doesn’t happen everyday.” Reece mutters as he crawls onto the bed, pinning Trent’s hands above his head. 

“Wanna take you raw,” he breathes out, and Trent’s eyes widen. 

“R-Reece, I- I don’t- I-“

“Aw, come on. It’s my birthday, yeah? I’ll be extra gentle,” he mutters. Trent sighs, before relenting with a nod. A wicked grin spreads across Reece’s face, and he quickly moves to get Trent undressed, stripping him down to his boxers. 

Trent lets his eyes fall shut, letting out a yelp as Reece pulls Trent’s boxers down just enough that he can pull out his cock, stroking it rapidly. Trent mewls, and Reece chuckles. 

“God. I love your fuckin’ body, baby,” he mutters, “Hands and knees for me, yeah?” 

Trent winced. He’s never been a fan of the position, but rolls onto his stomach anyway, managing to prop himself up on his elbows, and Reece pulls his ass up so he has easier access. 

Trent grips onto the sheet as hands come to rest against his ass, palming and rubbing and prying. “God. So fuckin’ hot,” Reece rasps, before shoving one dry finger into Trent. 

Trent yelped. “Fuck. It hurts, it hurts,” he whimpered. Reece rarely used lube, something about it making it more comfortable for him, but Trent choked on a sob every time at the first intrusion. 

“God. Don’t cry, baby, you’re doing so good. Takin’ me so well,” Reece mutters, moving the finger around slowly in circles to open Trent up enough for his second, which he plunges in even further than the first. 

This time Trent let’s put a cry max bucks his hips, and Reece chuckles softly. “So good, baby, so good for me.”

The pain only increased with the third finger, the pleasure never coming. Though, it never really did, and Trent had learned not to expect it to. 

He whined as the fingers disappeared, feeling a small bit of relief before Reece pressed his tip against him, and he choked out a sob. “R—Reece, please- wait, wait.”

Reece paused, sighing dramatically. “What is it?”

“Ca—can you use lube?” he asks, and Reece groans inwardly and Trent sees him roll his eyes. “It’ll be fine. We never use it, I’ll be gentle. Okay? You trust me, right?”

Trent winced, but nodded anyway. “Okay. I-I trust y-“

He couldn’t finish his sentence, Reece cutting him off as he shoved almost fully into him. Trent winced, and Reece gave him mere seconds to adjust before he was pulling out and pushing in again, his thrusts slow at first before becoming faster and faster.

For Trent, the pleasure never came. 

His dick was rock hard between his legs, sure, but he honestly felt as if he was being sawed in half. He wailed, and Reece smiled wickedly at the reaction. “Fuck. Oh god- so tight, h-holy fuck.. god, you were made for me. You were made to be- to be fucked,” Reece panted, letting Trent’s cries fuel him. 

Reece starts yanking on the base of Trent’s dick, and it quickly sends him over the edge, coating him and the duvet with his sticky release. 

His legs give out from under him, feeling Reece continue to pound into him as he leans down to get closer. He grabs the back of Trent’s neck to stabilize himself, shoving the smaller man’s head harder against the bed. 

It’s not long after that that Reece yelps, and Trent can feel his dick stutter inside of him before he’s suddenly filled with a sensation that completely screws with his head- it’s sticky, wet, hot, but every time it moves it’s like he can feel it sloshing inside of him. Reece doesn’t get off of him, going limp against his back as he remains sheathed inside Trent. 

Reece stays there for several minutes, and Trent doesn’t even realize- he’s off in his head, his eyes severely dilated as he zones out. 

Reece shifts to lay beside him, wrapping his own legs around Trent’s to keep him in place. He moves his hips, chuckling at how he feels his own release inside Trent’s ass, leaning up and pressing kisses down his neck. 

Reece falls asleep before Trent even manages to ground himself, arms tight around the older man so even once he’s fully present, he can’t move, can’t free himself from how he’s almost completely speared on his- his- fuck, what even were they?

He whimpered, leaning his head back against Reece’s shoulder. “Hurts..” he whispers, but the sleeping Chelsea man only hums in his sleep in response, leaving Trent alone with his thoughts in the dark. 

He doesn’t fall asleep that night- every time he moves, jostles even slightly, it sends a wave of pain shooting up his spine. He couldn’t wake Reece up and tell him to pull out- it was his birthday, for fuck’s sake. One day that Reece could have what he want. 

Then why didn’t Trent get that on his birthday? Hell, he hadn’t gotten anything. When early October rolled around, he’d sat, giddily, looking at his phone, waiting for a message that never came, a call that was never made. 

God, he was pathetic. 

———

March 3, 2020

Trent walked into the tunnel, head down. He’d swapped shirts with Mason, who’d played incredibly, before immediately heading down the hall. 

Losing was never fun. Losing in a cup knockout match was worse, because you knew that it was the end- there was no coming back, no possible way to get any more points or overcome a deficit. Losing in a cup match to your.. whatever the hell he and Reece were? Extra not fun. 

Reece had teased him about the game for almost a week. Trent didn’t much like talking about it, but went along with it because it seemed to make Reece happy.

He saw how Adrian walked off the pitch, head hung dejectedly. He’d made a mistake and let Willian get a far too easy goal, and when Ross had his insane run they all knew it was over. 

Trent sighed as he slumped against his locker. The season had been going so well, too, up until only a few weeks ago. 

The loss against Watford was crushing. The thought of an unbeaten season, not done since Arsenal’s Invincibles days, was daunting but seemed so incredibly achievable up until they’d thrown it away. 

Now they were out of the FA cup and, despite being runaway League leaders, the mood in the locker room was certainly not reflective of that. 

He listened through Klopp’s post-game talk/rant, before eventually managing to make a discreet exit. He was looking over his shoulder and walking forwards, before running directly into someone’s back. He tumbled o the floor, but whoever he had run into did not. 

“Fuckin’ hell, what the fuck is wr-“ a deep Dutch voice hissed, before Trent looked up and Virgil stopped. 

“Christ,” he muttered, putting a hand out. Trent took it, smiling weakly as Virgil helps him stand up. “Sorry,” he mutters, and Virgil just smiles. 

“Don’t worry about it, yeah? Make sure you get some sleep tonight. You’ve been looking tired recently.” 

Trent grimaced. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll, uh- work on that.”

They make brief conversation, before Trent walks off down the hall. Before hec can reach the door, though, he’s grabbed by the wrist and yanked backwards. 

“Wh-“

“It’s me,” Reece mutters, voice slightly irritated. 

“Not- not tonight, Reece, please,” Trent sighs, pulling his hand free as he turns to face him. 

“What, you only want to let me fuck you when you win? The hell do you think I am, a toy?”

Trent winces. “That’s- Reece, that’s not what I said-“ 

Reece huffs out a laugh. “Really? ‘Cause it sure sounds like it.”

Trent sighs. “I just wanna go back to my hotel room and sleep, honestly.”

“Come on, we haven’t had sex in weeks,” Reece whines, leaning against Trent, who sighs. “Reece, stop. I said no, yeah?”

Reece pulled away suddenly. “God. I can’t believe you’re like this, honestly. What did you want me to do, not win?”

“Wh- No, Reece, it’s not about you. I’m just tired, and-“

“Not about me? I’m- Trent, what the fuck are you on about? You can’t walk away just because you lost!”

“I’m not walking away-“

“Come on. It’s- Come on.” Reece sighs, and Trent winced at the heavy pout he’s fixed onto his face. 

“F-fine,” Trent mutters, sighing and hanging his head. Reece instantly smiled wide, grabbing onto his wrist and ignoring the tears that had started o form in Trent’s eyes. 

Reece starts to practically drag him out, but right before he gets to the door, a large hand comes to rest on Trent’s shoulder. 

“Sorry to mess up your plans, T, but Jürgen wants everyone back at the hotel. Said the bud won’t leave without you.”

Trent instantly frees his hand from Reece’s grasp, and Virgil steps between him and Reece, who looks up and narrows his eyes. 

Reece, smartly, doesn’t argue with the 6-foot-4 Dutchman, instead opting to storm out the door like a toddler. Once he was out of view, Virgil turned to Trent, eyes full of concern. 

“Jürgen didn’t say that,” Trent muttered, sniffling and wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Virgil smiles slightly. “No, he didn’t.”

Trent opened his mouth to speak, but Virgil just shook his head. “I don’t wanna hear an excuse. He’s not good for you, man.” 

Trent’s shoulders sagged. “He’s not usually like this, okay? I’m- but-“ he trailed off. “Thank you,” he all but whispers, and Virgil puts a hand on his lower back comfortingly. 

“Shh. Don’t cry, yeah? Know relationships can be hard. Won’t ask any questions, okay, kleintje?”

Trent looks up. “K..k-what?”

Virgil snickers. “Kleintje. It means, ah.. What would the translation be? Something like, ‘little one’.” 

Trent huffs. “I’m not little, man. I’m average fuckin’ height,” he mumbles as the duo head towards the bus. Virgil laughs. 

“Okay, okay. My apologies, I won’t call you that.”

Trent pauses for a moment. “Nah.”

“What?”

“Nah. You can- I like it, kind of. Just- not in front of the guys, yeah?”

Virgil smirks, pulling the door open for Trent as they exit Stamford Bridge’s lower levels. “Whatever you say, kleintje,”

———

August 30, 2020

Trent grabbed the bottle from Aaron’s hand, taking another swig and slumping back down on the couch. Aaron had on some shitty sitcom, and Trent couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to it. 

He’d just helped move his friend into his new house in Sheffield. He was also moving in with his long-time girlfriend, Georgina, though she wasn’t flying in for a week or so. 

Which is how they ended up wasted, both sprawled on Aaron’s couch, at two in the morning. 

“..Aaron?” Trent slurs. 

“What?”

“D..do guys.. need- need lube? Like-“ hiccup- “Like girls do?”

“Tr— what? Fuckin- ‘f course they do, wh.. what? Don’t tell me you’ve been fuckin’ guys and not usin-“

Trent winces. “Not usually the one doin’ the fuckin’.” He mutters, his filter completely gone. 

“..What?” Trent asked, now sounding surprisingly sober. “Trent, has- have you been..?”

“H’ doe’n’t like it,” Trent drawls, and Aaron’s eyes widen. “Doe’n’t make much of a diff’nce, do-“ hiccup- “does it?”

Aaron looked completely mortified. “Holy fuckin’- Trent, of course you need to. It makes it- of course it makes it better. God, have you never- did- have you asked him?” Aaron asks, not inquiring as to who ‘he’ is. 

“Yeh. He said n’h, di- di’n’t want to,”

“Trent that’s- that’s terrible,” Aaron says frantically. “It- doesn’t it hurt?”

“Doesn’t.. Is it no-not supposed to?” he muttered in response, and Aaron leans over, holding his head in his hands. 

“Holy… Holy shit, T. No, it’s- it’s not supposed to hurt, of course it’s not! Have you never.. Have you- has it ever NOT hurt?”

Trent shrugged. “Nah. I jus’ gotta put up wi’ it ‘till he’s done.”

Trent distantly hears Aaron gag, rolling over to look at him. 

“That’s terrible. That’s not- th-tha’s not healthy, T. That’s abuse, man,”

Trent shook his head quickly. “Nah. It- I’m letting him, yeah? Y-You jus’ don’ understand,” he mumbles. Aaron’s eyes are blown wide when he looks into them. 

“Wha’ do you even know, ‘nyways? You ever slept with a guy?” Trent spat, mostly rhetorically. Which is why he was extremely shocked when Aaron smiled and let out a a snicker. 

“I’m a footballer, man, grew up in an academy. ‘Course I have.”

Trent’s eyes widen. “Oh.” He mumbles. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Trent, you gotta- look, I’m not gonna try an’ mess wi’ your relationship, but you gotta talk to ‘im about that,” he sighed. 

Before he finished his sentence, though, Trent was passed out. 

———

December 8, 2020

Whenever Aaron thinks back to that day, he can feel a wide mix of emotions. Anger, fear, worry, regret. He doesn’t think he could list all of them if he tried. 

He was supposed to be in London visiting some friends, when a terrifying call from Trent derailed his night and, most certainly, the rest of his life. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Trent to call people out of nowhere, usually to talk about virtually nothing. Aaron stepped into the bathroom of the club he was currently in, which he was struggling to enjoy being the designated driver and unable to drink. 

When he picks up, all he can hear is ragged breathing. “..Trent? Trent, did you pocket dial me?” 

A whimper comes through the line, and for a second Aaron’s afraid he may be listening in on something he shouldn’t be, but then his rational brain prevails. It’s not a pleasured whimper, it’s a pained whimper. It sounds like it’s torn from someone’s throat. 

“Trent? Trent, are you there, man?”

“A..Aar,” comes the choked response, and Instanty, Aaron is on alert. “Trent. Trent, talk to me, man,”

“H..hurts. It hu- it hurts, it h-h-hurts,” he sobs, the words sounding as if they’ve been torn from his throat. 

“Tr— Holy shit, Trent, where are you? What- What- fuck. Are y-“

“Lo..london,”

“Tr— Christ, where?”

“Ne-near the.. London Reign. Ca..can’t see the street sign. Close.” He rasps. Aaron recognizes the name of the club. 

“That’s in Soho, yeah? I- I can be there in- in ten minutes. Can- can you hold on? Can- stay on the phone with me, yeah?”

Aaron walked out, muting his phone briefly as he walked over to his friends. “Gotta head out, lads. Something came up,” he says quickly, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice as he quickly turns on his heels. 

He’s at his car and pulling out within thirty seconds, trying to keep Trent talking. 

He finally makes a last turn and finds the Reign, but there’s no sign of Trent there as he drives slowly past. There’s not many people out at this hour, so he thinks he’d see him. 

“Trent, what do you see?” Aaron asks. He only gets a groan in response 

“Don’.. Don’ know.”

Aaron swears as he parks his car, quickly getting out and checking around him. “Are- are you on the sidewalk? In an alley?”

“A—alley. Alley,” he mutters, before going into a coughing fit. 

Aaron heads down the street, seeing several side roads and very few alleys. The only one he can find has a bend towards the end, and he would have walked past it if he didn’t hear a loud clattering noise, one that also echoed through his phone. 

He rushed down the dimly lit alley, about to call out for Trent when he turns the corner and-

Oh shit. 

Holy SHIT.

Trent’s laying in a pool of blood, jacket torn up and laying beside him. He’s in nothing but a thin, torn short-sleeved shirt, laying in the blood-stained snow. 

Aaron choked out a gasp, sprinting to him. “T, hey. Hey. Look at me, look at- TRENT, open your eyes. Open your eyes, please,” Aaron pleads as the younger man’s eyes flutter open, then closed again.

 “Trent. No, no, fuck. Hey, hey- HEY! Look at me, please!”

Aaron lifts Trent into his arms, grabbing his phone off the ground and rushing him to his car, where he lays him in the backseat and turns the heat on max. 

He grabs the blanket he keeps stored in his trunk, wrapping it around Trent’s freezing body. God. Every part of him was cold to the touch. 

Aaron’s mind replayed every time Trent had come back to their room on England duty with a bruise under his eye, or on his wrist, or a cut on his back, or a gash on his side, and regret is the only thing fueling and he strips Trent down to his boxers, discarding his soaking wet clothes on the floor of the car. 

“God. Trent, look at me, yeah?” Aaron pleads, climbing into the car beside Trent and shutting the door, trapping the heat in the car as he shrugged his jacket off. 

Trent’s eyes crack open, and he looks up, eyes blank, at Aaron. The keeper is at a loss for words, only pulling the Liverpool man’s head into his lap and picking the ice out of his hair. 

Only once he was in the car did he realize how terrible Trent smelled. He absolutely REEKED of beer, to the point where it couldn’t have just been that he’d drank a lot. 

“Trent, what.. God, you smell like-“

“Beer. Po-poured it on me. Said I-“ he winced- “I’d be more useful as an icicle.” he mutters, burying his face in Aaron’s thigh. 

Aaron shudders. “God. Who, Trent?”

The fullback just shakes his head and, begrudgingly, Aaron drops the subject. 

“What.. What happened?”

Trent winced. “He- he was at the club wi-with his friends fo-for his birthday. I- saw he posted ab-about it, and I- I thought I could surprise him there, because I-I was in London and- and I thought it’d be nice,” he whispered, voice shaky as tears welled in his eyes. 

“He- when he sa-saw me, he started yelling. Said I-I only ever embarrassed him, and then-“ he choked on his own words, curling into Aaron even further. 

“They dragged me ou-out to the alley and- and- they had- they had- pipes, and- crowbars and they- choked me and p-poured beer all over me-“ 

Aaron has to stop him, gripping one of his frigid hands in his own to try and warm it up. His fingers had begun to turn purple. 

“God. I.. That’s terrible. That’s t-terrible, Trent. God. I’m- Im sorry. I’m so sorry..” he whispers trying to stop his own tears as he takes Trent’s other frozen hand to warm it up. 

“You’re okay now. You’re safe. God- Trent, you- who was he? Who-“

“Same- same guy. Been seein’ him for- year, ish..” he rasps. Aaron flinches. 

“T. This isn’t- this isn’t love, man. This isn’t a- an actual relationship, it’s just abuse. God. Could you- could you ever see me bringing Georgina out to an alley with some of my friends and just- whaling on her?”

Trent winces. “It- its different. I-I messed up, and- he we-went overboard but he- he was drunk. He w-wouldn’t have done it if he was sober.”

“And I wouldn’t do it if I was drunk and Georgina had killed my mum,” Aaron spat. Trent curled further in on himself. 

“God. We- we can talk about it later, yeah? We gotta get you to the hospital now-“

“N-no!” Trent scream, yanking his hand from Aaron’s grasp. He crawled to the other side of the car, pressing himself against the wall. 

“N-not going to the hospital. Not- you can’t make me. I— I’ll run, I w-will!” he threatens, and Aaron sighs. 

“Trent. You- you couldn’t sit down in a chair on your own right now, I’d catch you in four seconds. But I won’t bring you to a hospital- but your comin’ home with me, yeah? Got that new place here in London, just got furniture in last week. You’ll- You’ll like it,” he tries to act like this is, in any way, shape, or form, normal. Like having your best friend call you at 2am because his boyfriend-or-whatever and his lackeys beat him half to death in an alley in Soho is normal.

“You’re gonna be okay, man. Yeah?” Aaron muttered. Trent went limp in his seat, laying on his side, and Aaron climbed over the center console into the driver’s seat. 

This was gonna be a long night. 

———

December 11, 2020

The flood of texts came as he lay in bed, having recently told Klopp he’d come down with an illness and couldn’t train- the story had been Aaron’s idea, taking at least a couple days off was one of his clauses for not calling the police.

[Im so sorry T]

[I was so drunk it was so fucking stupid]

[i love you so much i’m so sorry]

[i let them talk me into it i’m sorry]

[i fucked up and i know but i swear ill make it up to you]

[just give me a chance baby please]

[trent please respond i love you so much]

He’d stared at them for almost an hour. Aaron had told him to let him know if he got any contact from him. Instea, though, he picked up his phone and texted Reece. 

[i know it’s okay]

and so the cycle continues

————

30 July, 2021

Trent gasped out a sob as Reece pulled him down onto his cock, practically spearing into him. “Fuck!” he moans, but it’s muffled by Reece’s hand over his mouth. 

“God, so fuckin- Feel so good. God..” Reece groans, gripping tightly onto Trent’s thighs as he rams full-force into him, leaving the other full-back a sobbing mess. “Hurts. It hurts, it hurts, please..” Trent chokes out as he’s railed into on his hands and knees, face pressed into the mattress. 

He feels Reece increase his pace, hand on the back of Trent’s neck pushing his face harder and harder into the duvet as tears welled in his eyes. 

“God, you’re so hard. Fuck. Honna cum for me, huh? Fuck..” Reece rasped, tugging on Trent’s dick hanging hard between his legs, making him cry out as he immediately came, his release covering him and the mattress below. 

He tried to speak, but a hand was shoved over his mouth again. He felt all of his senses increase tenfold, and he cried out, his legs giving out as he fell flat on the mattress. But Reece didn’t stop, pounding deep into him as he squirmed beneath him. 

Reece wrapped his hands around Trent’s throat, groaning in pleasure. He watched the other’s eyes widen as his air supply was cut off, digging his nails into his neck and revelling his blood stained the duvet under Trent’s back. 

“Ohh fuck- fuck, Im gonna cum, Im gonna-!” Reece gasped, before burying himself to the hilt and coming inside Trent with a roar. 

Reece collapsed onto the bed beside Trent, pulling him so Trent’s back was to Reece’s chest. “Why’re you crying?” Reece muttered after a couple minutes of silent panting from the both of them. 

“Hu..hurts.” Trent choked o it. Reece grimaced. “I’m sorry, baby. I get carried away sometimes, you know that,” he murmured. Reece trailed his hands down until they were back on Trent’s bare ass, and the older man squealed.

“No, Reece d-“

He’s cut off by the Londoner burying two fingers to the knuckle in his still aching arse, making Trent cry out. Reece shushed him, pulling his cheeks apart so he could shove his now half-hard dick inside of him once more. Trent’s back arched and Reece put a hand in his hair, yanking his head so far back he could ravish his lips as he pumped into him. 

“Oh- oh fuck! Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Fuck. So- god, you’re such a fuckin’ slut, aren’t you, yeah? God. You love it. You love it when I tear you apart,”

Trent wails as he’s slammed into, the sound of the slap of skin on skin filling the room with overwhelming effect. 

He doesn’t even notice when Reece pulls out and comes all over his lower back and ass, before getting up, without a word, and going into the bathroom. 

Trent goes limp on the bed, tears in his eyes. He zones out after sex, always has, but when he’d asked Reece if he could just, like, sit with him for a little after whilst he comes down, he’d gotten laughed out. “We’re not, like, a bloody couple or anything.” was his response, and he felt stupid for asking. He was right- they weren’t together. He had no right to ask that of Reece. 

He had to right to ask ANYTHING of Reece. 

And so he lay, limp, bloody, and exhausted. He was too far gone to fight the tears that spilled over his cheeks. Why did he do this still? Why did he put himself through this. 

He loved him. Reece loved him. That’s what he said, right? They wouldn’t have been sleeping together for almost two years if he didn’t. Right? 

He took almost ten minutes to snap out of his haze, sitting up abruptly and instantly regretting it as pain shot through him. 

He crumpled back down, tears flowing down his face as he curled in on himself. 

The door to the bathroom opened, and Trent heard Reece groan. “Why’re you still here?” He muttered. Trent can only whimper in response, unable to move.

Reece huffs as he puts on his clothes, before rounding the bed and looking down at Trent, still naked and crying. 

“God. Stop fuckin’ crying already, yeah? You came to my room. You wanted this.”

Trent can’t respond. “I c-came to your room because I was upset, not be-because I wanted to-“

Reece rolls his eyes. “‘I came to your room because I- blah blah blah.’” he mocks, rolling Trent onto his back. He grins at the raw, red state of Trent’s crotch, and Trent doesn’t have time to curl in on himself as Reece leans over, laughing dryly. 

“Look at you. All covered in cum, fuckin’ leaking out your ass. God, you’re revolting,” he muttered. “How do I put up with this?”

Trent, despite his feeling of anger, suddenly felt the urge to apologize, to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. 

Instead, he curled further in on himself, hearing Reece huff from behind him before wrenching him up and shoving him to the floor. 

“Christ, you’re getting fucking annoying, you are,” he spat, putting a foot on Trent’s neck and digging in his heel. 

Trent just yelped as his face was bashed into the floor once, twice, three times. He hears a sickening crunch and reaches up to grab his nose, blood quickly seeping through his hands. He scrambled to his knees despite the pain it caused, shifting away and grabbing his clothes from off the floor. 

He pulls on his shirt, glanced down at his boxers, and just pulls on his joggers instead. He grabbed his phone off the floor, seeing almost half a dozen missed calls from Aaron, wincing. 

Reece has settled onto the bed, scrolling idly through his phone. Trent turns and stumbled out, the adrenaline quickly wearing off as he tries to head to his own room as quick as he could. 

He knocked on the door weakly after fumbling around for, and failing to find, his keycard. 

Aaron yanks the door open almost immediately, eyes wide. “You-“ he almost shouted, before screwing his eyes shut and pulling Trent inside, instantly taking on all of his weight as he shut- and bolted- the door behind them. 

“You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid,” he muttered, quickly sitting him down and rushing into the bathroom, swiftly returning with a medkit he’d made especially for when Trent turned up like this. 

“You have to tell me who, T,” Aaron sighed as he put gauze over Trent’s nose. The fullback weakly shook his head. 

“I.. I know you, you’d get into a fight. I don’t- I love him, I love him.” Trent mutters, wincing in pain as Aaron puts a bandage over the cut on his forehead. 

“It’s broken,” he mutters, holding onto Trent’s nose and ignoring his words. “I’m gonna set it. Unless you wanna go to the ph-“

“No! No, just- just fix it,” he whimpers, and Aaron sighs. “This is gonna hurt. Here, I’ll give you a countdown. 3-“ 

He swiftly shifted Trent’s nose back into place with a sickening crunch, and Trent cried out. “You said you’d give me a countdown!” he whined. Aaron smiles grimly. “Yeah. Didnt say I’d do it at the end of it,” 

Trent whined softly and slumped backwards on the couch, pressing the gauze on his aching nose. 

Aaron looked down at him. “He fucking loves me,” the fullback whispers, and Aaron just shakes his head. 

“No, T. He loves fucking you.” He spat. Trent visibly recoiled, but Aaron didn’t feel any guilt. 

“He likes to fuck you, beat you up, break your fucking NOSE now, apparently, and you come back saying you love him. People don’t- People in love don’t do this, T!”

Trent curls in on himself. “You don’t understand. You don’t..”

“I’ve been patching you up for six months after finding you HALF-DEAD in a club bathroom, Trent. I know perfectly well, I understand just fine.”  

Trent opened his eyes and looked up at the goalkeeper, expecting anger but only seeing worry, disappointment. 

Aaron flung his hands up, and Trent flinched, violently. Aaron froze, before holding his head in his hands and sighing. “You’re flinching when I move, Trent. That’s not normal, that’s- that’s trauma, man. I.. You’re one of my best friends. Please. Just-“

Aaron was cut off by a knock at the door. 

“T, you left your fucking boxers in my room. Come grab them, I’m not touching those,” Reece’s angry voice spat, and Trent winced. 

It was a solid fifteen seconds after the interruption that Aaron slumped onto the couch, laughing hysterically. 

“God. God, why do I even- what’s even the point? REECE? Fuckin’ christ, I shoulda seen it sooner. T, you can’t- this isn’t healthy, I know you won’t listen but please— please, just-“ 

Trent nodded. 

Aaron froze. “..What was that?” he practically whispered. 

“You’re.. you’re right, it’s not- I shouldn’t..” he winced, before leaning against the keeper and choking out a sob. “It hurts. I just- How w-will anyone else want me? Can you- you can see me, man, nobody else will-“

Aaron almost laughed. “T, this- I know you, yeah? And I can tell when you genuinely believe something, and when, like now, you’ve just been told it over, and over, and over. Whatever the fuck that posh bastard has said- none of it’s true. Noneof it. Not a word.”

Trent nods weakly, having lost the energy to fight long before. Aaron puts an arm around him and sighs, pulling him into a hug. 

“You’ll find someone, yeah? Someone who- someone amazing, who loves you— who reallyloves you. Yeah?”

Trent smiled weakly. “Like Georgina?”

Aaron smiled broadly at the mention. “Yeah. Like Georgina- only, probably male.”

Trent nods weakly, laughing through his still-flowing tears. Aaron leaned over and picked up the TV remote, flicking on Netflix, Trent still leaning against him, head under the blond’s arm as he held the gauze steady on his nose. 

“What’s that one Dutch show? Undercover, yeah? That’s supposed to be good, yeah?”

Trent just nodded slowly, eyes falling shut as the grating sound of a bunch of people speaking Dutch filled their hotel room. God he hated that language. 

God he hated how he’d come to love it. 

————

thebeginningoftheendofthebeginning

“I think we should stop,” Trent all but whispers, gaze cast downwards. 

Reece, standing opposite him in the bathroom of some club Pickford had recommended, froze briefly. 

“You ungrateful prick!” The younger man shouts, stepping forward. Trent’s eyes widen as he puts his arms up to protect his head. 

But Reece doesn’t swing at him, glaring harshly. “I put up with you for almost two years, and this is how you repay me? Fucking selfish prick!” he shouts. Trent backs up again as Reece steps forwards once more, face growing more and more twisted with anger. 

“God. I can’t believe I dealt with you for so long. What’re you gonna do now, go dump your shit on someone else? Another poor bastard who has no idea what he’s getting into, that it? Not like you could get anyone to love you for real. Honestly!”

Reece steps forwards again, mere inches from Trent now as his face softens. He reaches out and grips onto Trent’s jaw, pouting.  

“C’mon. I know I’m not always perfect, but I love you, T. You know that,” 

Trent winced, tears welling in his eyes. “I-I know, I just-“

“You just what? Did someone tell you to do this?”

Trent shook his heads, but Reece seemed to see straight through him. “Come on. I told you before, all you need is me. Nobody else will understand what we have,” he whispers, before pressing his lips to Trent’s harshly. 

Trent yelped, pushing him away. Reece stumbled back, looking shocked. “The fuck is wrong with you?” the younger spat. 

Trent winced at the anger in his words. “I told you, I’m done.” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Reece huffed out a laugh. 

“Yeah. For how long? A week? A month? You’ll come back, I know it. Once you realize you’ve thrown away the only good thing you’ve ever had. And I’m take you back, because I love you. And I know this isn’t what you really want. You’re just misguided- but you’ll figure it out,” 

Trent wipes the tears from his eyes. “Nah. I’m good,” he hissed, before walking off. 

The second he was out of the bathroom, Aaron rushed over to him. “Jesus- Trent, I was fuckin’ panicking, mate. Couldn’t find you, and Walks said Reece was gone, too. Fuck- why’re you crying? Did something happen?” He rambled, words coming out overlapped and rushed and all clumped together as he gripped Trent’s shoulder. 

Trent nodded. “Yeah. I’m- I’m good. Think I just threw everything good in my life away, but I’m just fantastic,” he rasped. Aaron’s eyes widened. 

“Did you- Did you leave him?”

Trent nodded slowly, and Aaron’s face morphed into a smile. “God. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, yeah? You- It’ll get better. I swear. We’ll find you a nice guy, someone who’ll really love you, who’ll actually take care of you. I swear.” 

Trent let a small smile break through his tears as Aaron pulled him into his arms. “I feel like shit,”

Aaron sighs. “I know- I know. But it’ll get better, I promise.” 

They both turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening, Aaron subconsciously stepping forwards so Trent can shift behind him. 

Reece looked up at him, smile crooked and plastered onto his face, directly clashing with the anger in his eyes. “You’re the one who made him leave, huh? Fuckin’ pathetic. I’ll have him back in a month,”

Aaron only smiled, obviously fake, eyes dull and unreadable. “If you touch him again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” He says, tone casual and jarringly opposing to his wide grin. 

Reece’s eyes widened briefly, before narrowing again as he all but stormed off. 

“Jesus..” Trent muttered, and Aaron turned back around, letting his grin disappear. “Was that- was that serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

————

August 28, 2021

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

The phrase repeated over and over and over in his mind as he walked out into the pitch. Virgil had opted to stand behind in today on the walkout, which he was silently extremely grateful for. He did his best to ignore Reece’s wicked flares, to not pay attention to how he would flash his teeth in a crooked smile whenever they’d pass on the field. 

By the time the whistle blew, he was about to fall apart at the seams. He all but sprinted off the pitch, ignoring the bellowing Anfield crowd and the children pleading for his shirt. He tosses it into the crowd, wanting nothing more than to take everything he’s wearing, burn it, and then cut his skin off and burn that, too. 

He beelines for the showers, chucking his stuff in his bag and holding up in the stall furthest from the back, turning the water on as hot as it would go, and scrubbing at his skin until it was red and raw. 

Once he finished, he didn’t even bother turning the water off as he crumbled to the floor, curling in on himself and sobbing hysterically, somehow managing to keep himself somewhat silent. 

He hears the door open and close and open again dozens of times, and nobody ever checks to see why the shower in the furthest stall is still running long after the water turned cold. 

Nobody, that is, until Virgil Van Dijk. 

The Dutchman rounded the corner and looked into the shower to see one of his youngest teammates curled in on himself, body wracked with the weight of his violent sobs. 

He doesn’t mutter any swears, start asking what happened, demanding answers- no, he stays quiet, turns off the water, and kneels down in front of Trent, pulling him into his arms. 

“Shh. Shh, you’re okay. It’s alright, yeah? You’re okay.”

“Make it stop, he gasped out, clawing at his own skin. Virgil gently holds both of his wrists to stop him hurting himself, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He muttered. “You’re okay, kleintje,”

Trent stays like that for what feels like hours but is really only a couple minutes, his sobs eventually turning into whimpers and his shaking eventually turning into leaning weakly against his vice-captain. 

“Yeah. That’s it, you’re okay.” Virgil mutters, picking him up and sitting him on the bench outside the shower and gently getting him into boxers and pants that he gets out of Trent’s bag. 

“Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry,” Virgil sighs, kneeling in front of him and wiping Trent’s tears off his face. For some reason, Trent desperately wants to please him, and manages to quickly morph his tears into sniffles and then into nothing. 

“‘m sorry,” Trent rasps, pulling away from where he was buried in Virgil’s side. He knew that The Dutchman had initiated it, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was dirtying him. 

“Don’t apologize. I.. I might not know what’s going on, but I know it’s not your fault.”

They stayed there for a decent amount of time, Virgil’s arms around him, and Trent didn’t let him think too much into it. 

They were just two dudes. 

Half naked. 

Cuddling in the shower. 

Platonically. 

———

October 7, 2021

Trent found himself practically kicking his fucking feet, grin spread ear to ear as he looked at he and Virgil’s conversation.

[happy birthday!!! 🎉🎉🥳🥳]

Trent was honestly surprised he’d remembered- usually his birthday messages consisted of his brothers, his mom, Andy and a couple of his teammates. If he was lucky, he used to get the occasional Instagram story from Reece, but never any actual wishes. 

So when he woke up to Virgil’s message, he felt almost giddy. He sat up, quickly sending back a message. 

[thank you!! x]

[what does x mean trent i do not understand]

Trent snickered. 

[it’s a kiss idiot]

[you want to kiss me?? 😳]

[google says it’s an ‘effusive expression of endearment’ shut up]

[i didn’t hear a ‘no’ in there 😉]

Trent rolled his eyes, getting up and heading downstairs. He grabbed leftovers, not having enough energy to make breakfast. 

[also i’m at your door currently] came a message from Virgil, and Trent’s eyes widened. 

He immediately rushed to his front door and, true to his word, Virgil fucking Van Dijk was standing at his door, package in one hand and takeout from the brunch restaurant he loves downtown in the other. 

“Happy birthday to my least favorite scouser,” boomed a familiar Dutch accent, and Trent beams as Virgil lets himself in, putting the gift down and handing him the food. 

Trent grinned. “Damn. I’m worse than Curtis?” he snickered. Virgil rolled his eyes. 

“Come on. I know you were about to make leftovers or something, so I brought food. You can open my gift while you eat,” he says, and Trent nods. Virgil shrugs off his jacket and hangs it by the door, picking up the package and following Trent into the kitchen. 

Trent opens the food as he sits by the counter. There’s two large pancakes and a couple sausage, and he smiles. “Never had someone visit me for my birthday,” he mutters. “Could get used to this.”

Virgil frowns. “Never?”

Trent shakes his head, grabbing a fork and a knife from the holder on the counter and digging into his food. Virgil sighs, before putting the package down. “Open it, please. I- Think you’ll like it.”

Trent nods, pushing his food away slightly so he can grab the package. It opens fairly easily. 

Inside, a simple frame sits upside down. He picks it up, examining it. 

Its a poem, if the format is any indication. It’s in Dutch, and the top it reads “Kerstmis aan de bar, Jacob Hiegentlich”

Trent raises an eyebrow as he scans the text. It’s all in Dutch, and Virgil leans over his shoulder. “I’ll translate it for you, sometime. It’s called Christmas in the Bar. It’s.. Its about- it’s about a group of people who are all pretending to be happy, but are- are tortured by their own grief that they let fester inside themselves. Hiegentlich is- was a gay Jewish poet when the nazis invaded Holland. He killed himself when- yeah.” 

Virgil saw a tear drip onto the picture frame. 

“You..” Trent squeaked out, putting the poem down, gently, onto the counter, before getting to his feet and wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck. 

“I love it,” he muttered. 

“It was- me and my mom spent a whole night last month discussing it. I.. I know you’ve been struggling, and it- it reminded me of the poem. My mom always had it hung in the house, I just.. Yeah. I know it’s kind of lame, but-“

“No! No, don’t you dare say that, it’s- it’s perfect. I love it. It’s- Thank you. Thank you,” he rasped, and Virgil smiles and wraps his arms around Trent. 

“I love- I love it.”