Dirty Little Bastard

39 (R)

I had stayed up with Frosty to watch the England versus Germany match.

Theo was incredible. I think I had fallen in love with watching him on the field; it was way too sexy for me to comprehend fully.

To: Theo: YOU PLAYED SO WELL! How is it even possible for a human to score like that?!

England had won 1-0. It had been a very stressful match, until the last fifteen minutes when Theo managed to do something magical and get the ball into the German goal.

The score and his technique had even the commentators going wild.

We had texted just a little that evening, since understandably he was knackered after the game.

__

The next day, I had spent my lunch break sleeping on one of the beds which were on the empty floor of the hospital, since I hadn't gone to sleep at 6 PM as I had planned.

Tim had woken me up. He had kindly brought me a salad and a coffee, and we chatted while I ate.

Once I got home, I took a long and relaxing bath. Studies and work had been stressful, and pent up sexual frustration from not having been able to do anything with Theo for a while was really getting to me. I resulted into touching myself, which eased some of my growing need for him more than just at the other end of a phone call.

After that, I got comfortable in my bed with Frosty cuddling up against me.

I took my phone into my hand and began calling Theo. It rang a few times before he answered.

"I was just thinking about you," was the first thing he spoke after answering the call. I smiled, partly at what he'd said and partly because his voice felt like a breath of fresh air.

"Oh? Why?"

"To keep my mind off tomorrow's game," he explained, his voice so much deeper than it normally was, and slow paced. I had no idea if he was doing it purposefully, but to me it sounded incredibly seductive.

"Who are you playing against?" I cleared my throat quietly, ridding my mind of such inappropriate thoughts. I would see him the day after tomorrow, I would survive until then.

"Croatia. The game determines if we'll have to play for third or first place. If we win, the match you'll be coming to watch is most likely with France. If we win that, we'll win the World Cup."

"Are you more nervous to be playing Croatia or France?" I asked him.

"I'm not nervous, birdie, just stressed," he corrected, "we'll win Croatia, I'm sure of it. When it comes to France... I don't know."

"Don't think about it too much," I tried, not knowing what to say to make him feel less stressed.

"Says the over-thinker..." the small grin in his voice made me giggle quietly.

"What I mean is, that if you concentrate on playing and doing your best, the end result doesn't matter," I rephrased, "you'll get second place even if you lose to them... that sounds very good to me. Win or lose, you're still one of the most talented players ever, that won't change."

"You're sweet, Scarlett," I heard a bit of shuffling on his end of the phone, as if he was laying on a bed, "tell me about your day?"

"Oh, well... everything was normal at the hospital. I chatted with Daniel a little, he's doing fine. He's still so happy about you having visited him," I found myself smiling, "he can't stop talking about you, it's very cute."

"Mhm," he didn't seem quite so interested, his tone somehow different - lower and slower - than what it was usually like during our calls, "what else did you do, love?"