Work Text:
Hendo knows on some level he’s valued.
Course he is, it’s the trust people put into him, the way he can rally the lads. It’s old school, maybe, fine he can admit that, but it works.
Has worked, continues to work. Had the odd dip but look, Klopp trusts him as captain and the Kop brays for him week in, week out. Hard graft, always appreciated from the old boys to the new kids looking up at him.
But, like, it’s not how he feels on international duty. Or at least, hasn't for a while. Hasn’t really since Southgate took over, was convinced he really had it this time. Guaranteed starts and captaincy, he’s proved his meetle, he doesn’t need the glory of goals, just the satisfaction of getting the lads over the line.
A few friendlys and some qualifying, then the rug pulled from under him as he realised that he was too late to replace Rooney, too early to win it off Harry.
So he knocks politely on the gaffers door, waits for permission to enter. He’s still useful in other ways, gaffer asked him what he thought of squad selection, any suggestions, was he happy? Qatar would be here before they knew it.
“..Who is it?” Southgate sounds surprised.
A few retorts fly past Hendo, the urge to pull Gareth up, he was the one that asked him to stop by after dinner. But he settles for politeness, always a good default.
“It’s Jordan, Hendo boss, you asked to see me for a chat about squad selection?”
He can wait or come back later, if the boss needs a bit more time, he's happy to do that (nothing's too much trouble). But it feels far, far too tense for it to just be that. Maybe he’s reading too much into it, Becky always squeezes his wrist gently, bringing him back after he’s dissected an interaction over and over.
“Ah, course - could you come back in a bit Jordan? Sorry, just, lost track of time” it’s muffled, a door and a few feet between him and the gaffer.
But he’s sure he hears the boss mutter something else and now he knows he’s not reading too much into it, he’s right, he’s right, he’s fucking right. Paranoia throttles any common sense, too much time on the bench and not enough starts despite everything he does at Liverpool, so he swings the door wide enough to pop his head in.
“Boss, I-“
“Jordan, wait-“
The gaffer is so put together normally. Nothing seems to stick to him, takes on the chin, perfectly stoic in a way Hendo really does admire, even when it’s so fucking shit (like last summer and everyone was so cut up and he tried his best but -)
But now he’s pulling himself up in his chair, a shaky hands swiping his hair back, a far too bright a smile shot at him, a man with the tell tale sign of being caught.
“Jordan” he clears his throat, swings his chair a little more toward him “sorry, but just, can you give me 10? It’s my fault, got caught up in this email, you know how it is”
It’s a mirthless laugh, makes Hendo's nerves light up in a fucking panic, head ringing. He shouldn’t be suspicious of his own gaffer, Jesus, one that’s put plently of trust and support in him, always batted for him in the press conferences and pitchside.
But he watches as the gaffer pulls something up on his desktop, the ping of a few emails coming in and it clicks that he didn’t even have his fucking inbox open.
“Boss“ he’s in the room and strides towards the desk before any rational part of him reminds him of how he should be behaving “Boss, like, I can come back later but -“
He’d recognise the back of Harry’s head anywhere. Spent enough time staring at while he was fantasising, seething, plotting, admiring, wondering just what it was Southgate saw in him. He watches as the back of Harry’s ears flush, clearly aware of whose caught him and where, most importantly, nestled between Gareth's thighs.
The knife twists and he doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.
“You know -“
“Jordan, wait-“
“-I can come back-“
“-I’m so sorry, it’s-“
“-see you in 15”
“-reckless and -“
Jordans nearly at his door before he realises where he is, shock finally wearing off and leaving bitter neediness behind. Southgate didn’t even ask him, that stings the most for some reason.
“Alright?”
He turns to see Jack, pretty and smiling and topless leaning in the doorway. So he quickly swallows, plasters on a smile, nods for Jack to come into his room.
It’s only when Jack gets on his knees for him, smirk on his face even as he swallows Hendo's cock with ease, that he feels some of that angst burn off. He threads a hand through Jack's silky hair, tugs on it to hear him moan and let’s himself fall back on the bed in bliss.