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“You're so gorgeous, schatje,” Virgil murmured, thumb lightly brushing over Andy's cheekbone as his palm cupped his face. He smiled at the dusting of pink that blossomed across Andy's pale skin, eyes flickering between the rising blush, the generous scattering of freckles, and of course Andy's own big brown eyes blinking right back at him.
Andy smiled, pretty pink lips curling upwards. Virgil liked Andy whatever state he was in, whatever they were doing, but having Andy all blushing and pliable curled up together in bed was perhaps one of Virgil’s favourite things. His limbs felt pleasantly heavy after the exertion from a short while ago, the washcloth he'd stumbled to the bathroom to fetch tossed carelessly on the floor in favour of curling up with Andy in his arms once more.
They lay facing one another, legs loosely entwined. Andy's hair was all mussed up, the short soft strands sticking up at all kinds of angles. Virgil knew his own was likely a similar mess, fairly certain that at some point Andy had tugged out the hairband in favour of tangling his fingers in Virgil’s hair.
“Might be confusing me with you, there, big man,” Andy shot back heatlessly, a somewhat dopey smile gracing his features.
“Hm, no, I don't think so.” He leaned in to capture Andy's lips with his own, already slightly swollen from their previous activities. Andy kissed him back sweetly, the heat from earlier lost in favour of something still passionate but lacking the same urgency – because Virgil had no plans on going anywhere, and neither did Andy.
Virgil often reflected on how fortunate he was. Had someone told his younger self at Celtic that he'd end up playing for Liverpool with Dundee's fiery little left back, he would have been surprised enough. Let alone were he told that one day he would kiss said left back after training, ask him out for dinner, and fall stupidly in love with him. An unexpected but wonderful turning that his life had gone down.
He had always found Andy adorable. Even back in Scotland, shaking the younger man's hand before their sides faced off against one another. A shock of dark hair framing his face, eyes averted from Virgil; likely lost in thought about the game. Looking back, he supposed it must have been one of Andy's first matches in the Scottish top flight. It certainly was for Virgil. 1-0 to Celtic with a late winner.
Doing the obligatory post-match handshakes with the downhearted Dundee squad, Virgil had found himself lingering as he shook the left back’s hand. Robertson’s hand, he'd thought, having glimpsed his jersey so often throughout the match. He'd been distantly aware of Andy mumbling his congratulations, dejection tempering his tone yet sounding genuine enough. But then he'd moved on, hand loosening its grasp of Virgil’s as he continued doing the rounds.
They played each other a few times that season, Virgil starting to associate Dundee United purely with the cute left back who popped up in his mind whenever someone mentioned the club.
But the following January, Virgil moved to Southampton. His games sneaking glances at the young Scot came to an end until Andy made his move to Liverpool. Back in the same league, he could have those brief moments of contact once more.
Finally joining Liverpool himself a couple months later, Virgil played it cool. Andy was his teammate; he stopped himself from staring, pushed down his feelings of tenderness towards him. They fell into an easy friendship, teasing and affectionate but not in a way out of character for either of them. Especially Andy, it turned out.
Virgil had realised how little he'd actually known Andy before joining Liverpool. He'd played against him, thought about him, but had been completely unaware of his positively infectious personality, distinctive laughter, and everything else that just made Andy, well, Andy.
They clicked with one another, having that intuitive understanding on the pitch and off it. Virgil could read Andy, could sense if he was having a bad morning just by a glance, could make him smile with a joke or playful tap on the cheek. Or just blatantly tickling him.
It was after the lockdown though, when restrictions were lifted enough that affection was allowed again, that he'd risked a kiss. They'd been alone in the dressing room – a rare moment – after training, too caught up in talk to realise everyone else had headed home.
Andy had been laughing at something, expression so carefree and beautiful that Virgil couldn't help himself. He leant down and kissed him, feeling those impossibly soft lips against his own. Andy had frozen, which sent ice through Virgil who was about to recoil back apologetically when suddenly arms were flung around his neck and the kiss returned more enthusiastically than Virgil could have hoped. And so Virgil asked him to dinner, delighted when Andy beamed at him and excitedly agreed, talking non-stop from the training ground to Virgil’s house and only quieting down when he literally had to for food.
They'd planned on a restaurant, but considered the media and thought better of it. Rather than share their evening with the world, they shared it with one another instead.
And after that, Andy pretty much moved in.
“You zoning out?” Andy asked softly, bringing Virgil back to the moment. Virgil would never tire of the lilt of his voice. He slid his hand from Andy's cheek to the back of his head, fingertips burying into his hair.
“Thinking about how much I love you,” he answered, soppy but truthful. Andy's blush deepened.
“Who knew I'd found such a romantic,” Andy laughed. He shuffled closer to Virgil and ducked his head under Virgil’s chin, burrowing into his chest. Virgil held him close, feeling Andy's warmth radiate through him as they lay cocooned under the duvet.
“And is that such a bad thing?” Virgil asked rhetorically, already knowing the answer as Andy somehow moved even closer, an arm wrapping itself around Virgil’s waist.
“Nah,” he said simply, his voice vibrating into Virgil. “Not at all.”