m e m o r f i x

memorfix @ 2009-05-10T00:41:00

2009-05-09T22:04:25Z

I was browsing my flist and got a little spark for football slash again. Lil footie drabbles I've written a long long time ago but never got around to posting them, so I polished them a little. Just a little something, silly fluff/angst and *shrug* :)

*

title Calling
rating PG-13
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
disclaimer This is fiction.
word count 360
inspired by Hinder ’Lips of an Angel’

“Why are you calling me at home?” Wayne’s hushed voice asks through the receiver. Cristiano smiles darkly at the welcoming line.

“I can hang up if you want”, he mutters, ready to snap the phone shut and throw it to the wall.

He hears the English man huff on the other end and say a quick: “Hold on a minute” before the line goes quiet and he’s left there sitting on his couch, waiting with the phone on his ear.

Wayne’s voice sounds strained when he finally comes back to the phone. “You picked a really bad time, Cris…”

“How?” There’s a sigh on the line and Cristiano can hear high-pitched voices on the background. “Are you feeding birds?” he asks.

Wayne’s laughter catches him by surprise. “No”, the striker chuckles. “You just interrupted a quadruple date and the girls are ganging up on me. Come on, let me finish this, Col”, Wayne whispers past the phone and Cristiano can almost envision the tight look on his face.

“Sorry.”

Wayne’s ear brushes against the microphone and the line rattles. “It’s fine. So, what did you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Cristiano”, Wayne says, and it reminds the Portuguese so much of his mother that it makes him burst out laughing. “Cris”, the striker moans, drawn out and adorable. “Come on.”

Biting his lip to keep from falling into a fit of laughter again, Cristiano smiles against the phone. “I was wondering if you could escape for the night”, he says. “You know, come over”, he adds.

“Umm…”

“Okay, it’s okay, it’s fine” , Cristiano says quickly, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Thanks for calling, though”, Wayne’s soft voice sounds through the receiver. “Maybe later this week? And we’ll have time in Italy, right?”

“Yeah, right”, Cristiano nods, sullen.

“Cris.”

“What?”

Wayne huffs and the sound makes Cristiano’s ears ring. “You know what”, the striker whispers, a smile in his voice.

Cristiano smiles, beams on the couch in his living room as he hangs up and drops the phone onto a cushion. Yeah, he knows.

*
no title
rating R to be safe?
pairing Alan/ ?
word count 705
summary Someone's mind is wandering in the locker room.

Alan greets you by touching your hair. It feels condescending as if Smudger is mocking your hey -coloured hair next to his perfection of blond strands, but you let it slide since it gives you the freedom to run your fingers through his hair in return.

That’s how it started. Just that; the brief connection with his soft hair has you thinking of unmentionable things about him. You never denied you weren’t easy.

You think he notices since he keeps smirking at you throughout the time you spend in the dressing room, putting on your tracksuit for training.

It must have been deliberate; the odd greeting, the touching. Alan must know you’re weak right now, know that you’re craving for the company of a man like crazy.

You’re putting on your shoes, lacing them, your head bowed down when you sense him close to you and see him kneel down in front of you. You glance up from your shoes, your fingers still holding the laces, and meet his oceanic eyes.

The expression on his face is unreadable except for the playful glint in his eyes. Alan raises his hands close to yours and takes over the shoelaces, his warm fingers brushing against your skin.

“Let me”, he says softly and you can’t bring yourself to disagree when he bows his head slightly and you can see the curve of his back right down to his buttocks. You can’t help but to think that this would be the sight you would see if Alan were to blow you.

The blond knots the laces swiftly and sits back on his feet, looking up at you. His hands are covering your ankles and the warmth is seeping through the material of your socks to the core of your being.

This isn’t really happening, you try to tell yourself when Alan lowers his gaze down your body and rests his eyes on your crotch. His hands have now wrapped themselves around your ankles as much as they can reach and he’s moving them up the backs of your calves.

You sit there, your fists resting behind you on the bench, trying to keep your hands away from Alan’s hair because you know if your hands got a hold of those blond locks, they wouldn’t let go until you had your cock buried deep inside his throat, your balls pressed up against his chin and you’d had your release.

He’s watching you with a smile quirking on his lips, his deft fingers now tickling the skin behind your knees, making you shiver and your skin turn into goose bumps.

There are footsteps echoing around the corridor outside the dressing room and you freeze, your gaze locked on Alan’s face. He’s looking at you, his eyes dark but that smile tugging on his lips. He moves to stand up and he pats you on the knee as he heads over to the doorway just when Carlos appears at the door, frowning.

“Why are you not on the pitch already?”

You feel oddly drained as if Alan had sucked you off; your legs are heavy and your cock is tingling, not in an overly demanding way but in desperate pulses wishing you’d give it some attention. With difficulty, you drag yourself up from the bench and walk over to where Carlos is standing, one hand propped against the doorway. “Sorry”, you mutter as you pass him and you can hear him ‘hmm’ behind you, not quite managing to make sense of his tone and not really caring, when you see Alan walking ahead of you on the corridor, his walk altered by the studs in his shoes, his feet wider apart. You get the sense that you’ve done the dirty back there; that you’ve fucked him without realizing it and that’s why he’s walking like that and that’s why you feel so sated, but that’s just crazy. Right?

Trying to be nonchalant, you run your hand over your shorts and breathe a sigh of relief when your palm brushes against your semi-hard cock. The relief soon vanishes and turns into slight anxiety when you realise that you need to train for the next hour and a half with Alan around.

*

memorfix @ 2008-02-07T21:57:00

2008-02-07T20:01:27Z

If you want to see if I'll write any new footie fics, friend/join/keep an eye on sininen_karhu as that is and has been for a while now my new writing journal for the rare new football slash fic and some Tokio Hotel slash fic. :)

Just A Little Something

2007-10-24T21:38:05Z

title Just A Little Something
rating G (because everyone should be allowed to see men kissing. eh)
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
disclaimer Wayne’s birthday is real, anything else is not.
summary This year Cristiano decided to get Wayne something different.
a/n Just a little drabble on the occasion of Wazza’s b-day. :)

“Come on”, the winger panted, pulling on Wayne’s hand as they walked along a corridor, the striker trying to pull away from the tight grasp on his wrist.

“Cris, where are we even going?” the birthday boy laughed as he finally let himself be pulled forward and he ran alongside the Portuguese. “You’re so retarded, running off from the party like this”, he chuckled, shaking his head.

After they’d jogged for what seemed like a small eternity, holding hands, Cristiano stopped and turned to the striker with dazzling smile. “We're here; move back”, he said, advancing on Wayne and making him back into a semi-circle indentation in the wall the size of an armour.

Wayne leaned back against the wall and raised his eyebrows. Realization dawned in his eyes as Cristiano moved closer and pressed into him. Their noses brushed together as the Portuguese lifted his arms to wrap them around the striker’s neck.

“No one’ll find us”, Cristiano whispered, kissing the corner of Wayne’s lips softly. “You can have seven minutes in heaven”, he smiled.

Wayne threaded his fingers through the winger’s hair and brought their lips together. “Seven?” he mumbled.

Cristiano pulled back, grinning. “It’s just what you say. We can stay longer”, he breathed, his breath getting caught in his throat as Wayne tugged on his hair a little, tilting his head back.

~*~

Creaky Stairs 2

2007-10-23T23:55:32Z

Creaky Stairs 2

humor, (angst?) horror. NC-17 overall. Many pairings. Unreal-pairings.

Some of the guys in the first team come over to spend the weekend at Wayne’s in the countryside. “I swear this place is haunted”, Michael breathed, his face as white as a clean sheet.

A/N This fic is time-lined after the Europe XI-game in March, 13^th of March 2007 to be exact. LAST SEASON. Gaby is still here in this fic as bittersweet as it is. Heh, and I absolutely imagined Wayne’s house to be way smaller than it actually is, so forgive me. lol

rating PG-13 for language and suggestive scenes
pairings in this part Cristiano Ronaldo/Gabriel Heinze, Rio Ferdinand/Nemanja Vidic, Alan Smith/Darren Fletcher, Alan/Cristiano, Gary Neville/Ryan Giggs, Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney; some more than others.
genre randomness, ridiculousness (lol), teeny bits of angst.
warning Gaby? slutty!Cris? ridiculous amount of pairings? i'm making everyone at least bi? Sorry. lol
disclaimer None of this is true.
previous chapters first chapter

“Where’s everyone?” Michael asked as he entered the living room and saw Gaby and Cristiano lounging on the couch and Wayne sitting in an armchair across the room.

Wayne turned to look at him over his shoulder and shrugged. “I think they’re so stuck on washing up together that they’re all in the shower”, he chuckled, rubbing the outer end of his eyebrow nervously as his eyes met Cristiano’s. He signalled Michael to sit down to his chair as he stood up. “I’ll go check on them, and the food”, Wayne said, walking out of the room, rubbing the back of his head.

Michael sat into the chair and let out a tiny surprised ‘wooh’ as he sunk into the soft cushion the seat turned out to have. Chuckling, he ran his tongue over his lips and settled better into the chair. He glanced up at his team mates on the other side of the room and was relieved when they didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything besides the television and each other.

Gaby trailed his forefinger up and down Cristiano’s forearm, resting his chin in the crook of the Portuguese’s neck. He kissed the pulsating skin on Cristiano’s throat. “You’ll have time for me tonight, won’t you?” he asked, closing his eyes as he breathed in the winger’s scent.

Cristiano raised his eyebrows and backed further into the Argentinean’s arms. “What? After I’m through with the rest?” he chuckled, wrapping both of the left-back’s arms around his chest. “Gaby…”, he murmured, turning his head to rub their cheeks together. “’course. We’ll share a room, yes?”

Gabriel nodded and pecked the winger.

“Awww, now isn’t that cute?” Alan chuckled as he entered the living room, Darren walking behind him. “No wonder Cris won’t let me shag him anymore”, the blond laughed, running his hand through his hair, making it stand up even more.

“You never shagged Cristiano”, Darren said, eyebrows furrowed as he turned to look at the striker.

Alan nodded as he glanced at the midfielder. “Yeah, you’re right”, he said, turning to hide his face from the blond to roll his eyes. “You boyfriends?” he teased the pair on the couch, heading to the back of the room to sit on the piano stool.

The Argentinean watched Alan amusedly but didn’t answer him. He stroked his fingers through Cristiano’s hair and asked curiously: “You used to sleep with him?”

The winger tilted his head in a vague nod.

“You never shagged Cristiano”, Darren repeated as he sat down to a floor cushion in front of Alan’s feet. Alan glanced down at the dirty-blond hair and petted Darren’s head with his palm.

“Yeah, yeah.”

~*~

Rio was standing under the warm water spray, hands raised above his head and wrapped around his wrists above the shower. He had his head tilted back and his mouth open, letting water cascade into his mouth before spitting it out. “Come on, Nem”, he growled when soft, wet hair brushed against his stomach. He lowered his arms, sank his fingers into the mop of hair and frowned. It felt different. He opened his eyes and glanced down only to meet the chocolaty eyes of O’Shea.

“I’m not Vida”, John grinned, blinking up at him as the water fell over his face. There was soft laughter on the other side of the room and Rio looked to its direction. Nemanja was leaning on the wall next to a rack of towels, his face split in a wide grin.

“Gotcha”, he quipped to Rio and nodded at Sheasy as he got up from the tiles. “I owe you”, he smiled at the dark-haired man as John grabbed a bathing robe from a hook and pulled it on.

“Big time”, the midfielder chuckled, glancing back at a surprised Rio standing beneath the waterfall. “It was that close to my lips”, he laughed and made a face, bringing his thumb and forefinger close to each other. “Come to think of it, it wasn’t much bigger than this either”, he teased, lowering his gaze down Rio’s body.

The center-back glowered and took a step forward to follow O’Shea. “Come back here and I’ll bloody shut your windpipe with it!” he growled, stopping when John bolted out of the room and Vida stepped in front of him. “You…”, he shook his head, shuddering in disgust. “Don’t ever fucking do that again”, he murmured roughly, pulling him under the shower.

Vida resisted, putting a hand on Rio’s chest. “Don’t ever fucking hump Ronnie again”, he said, eyes burning.

~*~

Wayne ushered everyone up and out to the porch. “There’s a name tag in front of each plate, so go find your seats!” he chipped, his face split in a wide grin.

Wes paused next to him and stared at him for a long time. “You okay?” he asked, placing his palm onto Wayne’s chest and gliding it down the striker’s abdomen. He took a step back and shook his head. “No, no feathers, you haven’t turned into a mother hen. Yet.”

Wayne raised an eyebrow and shoved Wes out of the door, ignoring the mid-fielder’s ‘Promise me there ain’t name tags’ accompanied by laughter.

They were all seated around the dining table on the porch, shivering since there were no walls secluding the cold humid air away from them. Rio sat at the end of the table, his eyes trained on the pizzas on the table. “Why the fuck are we all eating out here?” he asked, glancing up at everyone with a disapproving frown on his face.

Gary opened his mouth to speak, but Vida beat him to it. The Serb smacked Rio upside the head and shook his head, a faint grin on his lips. “Eat your pizza”, he ordered, pushing a plate with a slice in front of the defender. “Now is together-time”, he said sternly, not faltering when Rio stared at him darkly. “Eat”, he repeated, turning back to his own food, grinning, as saw the English man shove the slice into his mouth.

~*~

Michael yawned as he watched Wes, Alan and Wayne play cards on the living room floor. He propped his elbow against the couch and leaned his cheek onto his palm. “I should get going”, he said, squeaking suddenly as Darren squeezed his toe. “What?” he asked, laughing as Darren clutched his foot in his armpit on the other end of the couch, refusing to let it go.

“We’re all staying here, camping, you know, kind of”, the blond explained, rolling his eyes as Alan groaned near his feet. Darren looked at the back of Alan’s head and made a face. “How’d you suppose to get back then? By walking?” he snickered.

Alan shook his head and sucked on the insides of his cheeks. “Wes’ crap of a car”, he muttered, staring down at his cards.

Wayne raised his eyes from the game. “You’re not seriously thinking about staying over, are you?” he asked Darren, looking amused. At the furious nod of the Scot, Wayne tilted his head back and chuckled. “Bloody hell, you could’ve warned me…”

“What, you’d have stashed your porn?” Rio waggled his eyebrows behind him on an armchair.

“No”, the striker said, biting back a grin. “I could’ve bought stuff.”

Darren’s face split into a wide grin and he looked euphoric. “We don’t need anything as long as we have each other”, he said, his tone dreamy as he gestured around the room. He met the eyes of Vida, Rio and John on the other side of the room and his face fell. “Come on, guys, don’t be so bloody stiff!” he groaned, pulling on his hair. “Can’t a guy tell a joke?”

“Not when you’re the guy and you freak us out”, Alan smirked, laying his cards on the floor. “Darren, go to sleep”, he coaxed, pointing to the stairs, chuckling when the Scot hit him with a sofa cushion and pinched his ear.

Wayne shook his head, laughing. “Maybe we should sort out the sleeping arrangement, then? So who’s staying?”

~*~

“Oh, this is ridiculous”, Rio muttered all too loudly for anyone to believe he didn’t want them to hear him complaining. “Why don’t we just hold hands and wear matching shirts with our room-mates?” he rolled his eyes and ignored Nemanja’s scolding stare.

Wayne and Gary looked up from the paper they were working on and Wayne stuck out his tongue. “D’you wanna be the one we forget to sort with a room and sleep in Mikey’s ca—Hey, someone can sleep there, right?”

Ryan took a sip of his tea and nodded. “Yeah, maybe one of you younger ones”, he chuckled quietly, looking away when his and Gary’s eyes met.

The captain passed the pencil to Wayne and leaned back on the couch. He watched his lover drink from him cup for a while before suggesting softly: “Maybe we could room together?”

Before the striker had any chance of disagreeing, Wayne nodded. “Gaz, that much was obvious already”, he said absent-mindedly, running his forefinger up and down the surface of the paper and the names and places on it.

Ryan lowered his tea cup onto the table and leaned back in his seat, folding his arms against his chest.

~*~

Wayne looked down at the paper, horrified. “No! I am not sharing a room with you two”, Wayne said, pointing at Cristiano and Gaby over the table.

“Why?” the Portuguese asked, narrowing his eyes at the striker.

“It’s my room”, Wayne stressed, gesturing a circle around himself.

“Come on… where would we sleep then? On the kitchen table?” the winger asked, raising his hands up.

“I’m sure you’ve laid on a table before”, Wayne remarked under his breath snidely.

Cristiano stared at Wayne, fuming. “You want know about my sex? Then ask!”

The striker stood up from the couch and waved his hand in front of the Portuguese’s face. “What are you going on about? I don’t wanna know!” he shouted, his voice cracking, and everyone turned to look at them. Wes raised his eyebrows and turned to whisper something to John.

“Calm down, Wazza”, Gary chuckled and walked over to the two. He stepped between the youngsters, both of them now standing on either sides of the table, and circled his arms over their shoulders. He turned to his right and met Cristiano’s eyes. “Sometimes there comes a time when”, he started, turning to look at Wayne with an amused expression. “- you’ve just got to share.”

The striker frowned. “But I don’t wanna! Gaz…”, he moaned pitifully, burying his face into the crook of their captain’s neck. “This is my bloody house”, he groaned when Gary patted his back.

“If is such a problem, we can drive away in Mikey’s car”, Cristiano muttered, pulling away from their captain and frowning at his friend. “Arse”, he cursed, and the whole room stifled their laughter. It was unlike Ronnie to use body parts as curse words.

Wayne sucked in his lips and shook his head. “No, you can sleep in my room, for fuck’s sake”, he snapped, pushing past the Portuguese to head up the stairs.

“You have não reason to be angry, Wayne!” Cristiano screamed after him, going up a few stairs. “It’s not my fault that you’re-“, he paused when Wayne whirled around at the top of the stairs and glowered at him.

“I’m what?” he snapped, his face burning red.

Cristiano had a bucketful of answers for that question. Jealous, scared and an idiot being just a few of them. He steadied himself on the stairs and gripped the railing tightly, feeling the adrenaline cursing through him and making him tremble. “An idiot”, he spat and frowned up at his friend, his insides growing cold at the sneer the striker was giving him.

“I’m going to sleep.”

A door slammed shut and it triggered a loud conversation in the living room.

Cristiano turned around on the step and sank down to sit on it, breathing hard. They didn’t fight. He and Wayne never fought. He buried his face in his arms and shook his head. What had it even been about? Sharing a room? Fuck that. He heard the stairs creak and recognized the eau de toilette long before Gaby’s warm palm lowered itself onto his thigh and the older man sat down one step lower, next to his feet.

“Come on, we’ll go”, the Argentinean whispered. “Michael will borrow his car.”

The Portuguese shook his head and stared down at Gabriel’s hand on his thigh, inside the cage of his arms. “No”, he whispered. “I won’t let him ruin our night just because he has a problem with us”, he muttered, glancing down into the living room. The guys were trying their best to act normal but they were all sitting or standing tensely around the room, trying to hold onto a weak conversation about a card game.

“Oh yeah, and I heard the deck has 52 cards!” Darren said enthusiastically, nodding to himself. “52, I’m telling you. Not 53 or 59, but 52.” The room erupted into calming laughter and Alan tilted his head back onto the couch and looked up at the blond.

“That’s… wow, Fletch”, he murmured, deadpanned, his eyes twinkling and he puckered his lips. “Give us a kiss, you genious”, he grinned, watching as Darren moved closer to him and leaned closer to his face.

“That was a joke, too”, Darren muttered before brushing their lips together briefly. “I’ve played cards all my life”, he said as he pulled back and leaned against the back of the couch again. Alan watched him for a moment, smiling.

“I know that.”

A door slammed again upstairs and Wayne emerged from his bedroom, a blanket and a pillow balled up in his arms. His mouth was an angry, thin line as he stomped down the stairs halfway and stood there, pointedly not looking down at the two people blocking his way. “Would you mind?” he asked, his voice strained as he kept staring at the white wall opposite the staircase.

Cristiano took a deep breath and looked at Gaby before turning around and looking up at Wayne’s upturned face. “Come on, we can share a room. Can’t we?” he asked, tugging on his friend’s pants slightly. Wayne glanced down at him briefly before fixing his jaw and staring ahead of himself again.

“Fine”, he muttered, frowning when he heard himself give in.

Cristiano leaned his back against the railing and watched Wayne fidget above him. He tapped his fingernails against Wayne’s ankle and tilted his head towards upstairs. “Take those back and come back out here”, he said gently, smiling a little when the striker looked down at him again. “You can’t be tired yet”, he added, smiling wider when Wayne’s lips twitched and he disappeared upstairs.

“Someone has Wayne wrapped around their finger”, Wes chuckled.

Gaby moved back into the living room and took a seat next to Michael on the couch. He cleared his throat as Ryan shot an oddly melancholy look in his direction. Uncomfortable, he threw his arm over the back of the sofa and rested his cheek against his palm as he watched Cristiano sit obediently on the stairs, waiting for the striker to appear from his room.

“I do not”, the winger waved off, smiling at Wes tensely.

“Bloody right”, Wayne muttered, walking down the steps to the Portuguese and sitting down next to him. He sucked in his cheeks, uncomfortable, his arms crossed over his chest, and glanced over at Cristiano, startling when he noticed the winger looking back at him.

“’m sorry”, Cristiano said quietly, brown eyes shimmering as he nudged his friend with his shoulder.

Wayne shook his head and smiled a little. “Me too…”, he whispered and then straightened up. “But I’m not sleeping in the spare bed”, he said louder as he stood up and started walking down the stairs. Gaby rolled his eyes. Of course the boy wanted Cristiano into bed with him.

“Now scary stories!” Nemanja laughed as all of them formed something of a ring in the living room area. Rio groaned.

"Oh, come on..."

"Have you heard the story about-", Michael started, eyes twinkling.

TBC. :)

Something in the Air Tonight

2007-10-13T21:21:54Z

Title: Something in the Air Tonight 6
Rating: R/NC-17
Pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/ Wayne Rooney, a bit of Cristiano Ronaldo/ Gabriel Heinze
Disclaimer: Lies, lies, lies.
Summary: Angst and not. Cristiano and Wayne get to be alone.
A/N:This sucks, it's shortish and I apologize. This is the last part to this story. Thank you to everyone who's been reading; and I'm sorry this took so long! :) And thank you (not) to Gaby for making the choosing of an ending a helluva lot easier. *grumble*
A/N2: I've been out of writing for a good while and I decided a few days ago that I'm going to finish all of my 'tbc'-fics as soon as I can 'cos I don't want them to be left unwritten 'cos it's mean. So, this should not be the last you'll see/read of/from me. :)
Previous chapters:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

chapter six

Sex between them had always been intense, but this intensity; this ache in him at seeing Gaby like that; so vulnerable and conflicted; makes it almost too much to bear. The desperation in the older man’s movements, his uncontrolled jerky thrusts into him and Gaby’s hand stroking his cock almost too tightly, have Cristiano shivering on the mattress, answering the Argentinean’s vicious kisses and gnaws with ones of his own.

When Gaby groans against his lips, long and low, and twitches against him slightly, Cristiano slumps down on the bed, unsatisfied and longing. The older man rests on top of him for a moment, his right hand trailing on his shoulder and his lips feathering on his cheek before kissing him leisurely.

The Argentinean knows Cristiano didn’t come; still, he leaves the bed, pulls on his clothes hastily and heads for the door. The door opens and the Argentinean slips through the crack when it’s big enough to accommodate his jean-clad buttocks. His hand on the outer handle, he leans back into the room and waits until Cristiano looks at him. “You have an hour to spend with him”, he says and moves to close the door.

Cristiano raises up to sit on the bed, about to protest when Gaby shakes his head softly. He sighs and runs his sweaty palm over his softening cock, pulling the sheet to cover himself. “How are you getting home?” he asks, the words burning his throat.

Gaby tilts his head and his hair moves beautifully around his face like a velvet curtain. He shrugs, his gaze breaking from Cristiano’s for a moment. “I’ll manage”, he says carefully, their eyes locking. He raises his hand to run it through his hair but pauses in mid-motion and drops his hand, diverting his eyes again. Cristiano knows all too well that the older man only ever cared to play with his hair when he was uncertain. “I’ll see you.”

The sound of the lock clicking shut resembles the breaking of Cristiano’s heart in a miniature scale.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. Cristiano isn’t sure who he wants it to be anymore. Gaby with a solution on going back to the way things were before, or Wayne with his fucking aura that caused a whirlwind inside of him, or Rio with jokes that he didn’t understand in the slightest… He wraps the sheet around his waist and opens the door. Wayne is standing in the corridor, his mouth open and ready to speak, and his clothes so worn they look like they are about to fall apart.

“Coll-“, Wayne starts before noticing Cristiano’s state of undress and closes his mouth. “Umm…”, he mumbles, scratching the side of his neck and glancing further down the corridor. “Did I interrupt something?” he asks, inching a glance at his friend and trying to look over his shoulder into the room.

The Portuguese chuckles quietly and raises an eyebrow. “No?”

Wayne looks at him, eyebrows furrowed and his lips tugging upwards. “So you’re just wandering around naked for fun?” he asks, glancing around the corridor again and changing his posture.

“Yes”, Cristiano shrugs, leaning against the doorframe, eyes following Wayne’s restless fidgeting intently, feeling reckless. “Do you want to come in?”

The transition from looking at Wayne across the doorway and watching him walk past him to holding the English man against the wall is quite something. It didn’t seem like Wayne had been expecting it at all from the way his breath catches when Cristiano shoves him against the wall forcibly, kicking the door shut behind them.

But it doesn’t take long for the striker to get the hang of things and he moves his hands to Cristiano’s hips, pulling him closer. “Heinze’s in the bathroom, right? Waiting to beat the shit out of me when I touch you”, he chuckles breathlessly when the Portuguese presses their bodies together and blows on his neck, making him shiver.

“No, he’s not”, Cristiano whispers close to Wayne’s ear, not quite able to decide whether that was a good thing or not. Gaby’s absence.

Wayne runs his hands down Cristiano’s back and grins against his neck before ghosting his fingertips over the winger’s buttocks and lifting the Portuguese up on his lap.

Cristiano chokes on a breath as Wayne takes a step forward as if falling, his legs almost giving out under the winger’s weight. “Wayne, fuck…”, Cristiano laughs breathlessly as his back hits the opposite wall and he wraps his legs around his friend’s waist in an effort to not to slide down the wall, one hand gripping tightly onto Wayne’s shoulder, the other poised palm first on the cool surface of the wall on his right. His eyes are wide with shock and they’re twinkling down at his friend. “Wayne…”, he laughs, tilting his head back and shaking in the striker’s firm hold.

“How was I supposed to know you were so bloody fat?” the English man mutters against Cristiano’s neck. A series of hot puffs follow the embarrassed mutter as Wayne chuckles silently against his friend’s skin. “Fuck you, Ron”, he mutters, pushing Cristiano tighter into the wall as he takes a better hold on the Portuguese’s arse.

Letting out a low breath, Cristiano shakes his head and leans forward to hunch over Wayne’s shoulder to ease his weight off the striker’s arms. “I didn’t ask you to lift me up”, he murmurs, burying his face to the back of Wayne’s neck, the short hair scratching his cheek.

“Your body was begging for it”, Wayne chuckles, taking one hesitant step back from the wall. He turns them around and walks over to the bed, staggering with Ronnie’s weight on him. “Fatty”, he teases and laughs at the undignified growl Cristiano directs at the nickname. He tugs on Cristiano’s hair and pulls him off of his neck to face him. When the green-brown orbs are looking at him and glinting delightfully against the light on the ceiling, a shiver runs down Wayne’s spine. “This is your stop”, he smiles and eases the death grip he has on Cristiano’s legs.

“What?”

“Get off me”, Wayne coaxes and unwraps the winger’s legs from his hips, leaning forward as Cristiano’s feet slip off the bed and the Portuguese’s arms around his neck pull him down on top of the winger.

They land with Wayne smashing his forehead into Cristiano’s cheekbone and they both groan. Immediately after that Cristiano rolls out from under the striker and lies on his side, his back to Wayne, and starts to laugh uncontrollably. He hides his face in his hands and curls in on himself, his whole body shaking with laughter.

Wayne pulls himself up to sit on top of his legs next to his friend, his face burning with mortification even though he knows Ronnie’s laughter isn’t directed at him. Probably. He lowers his left hand on Cristiano’s calf and strokes the hot skin there. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly as the sounds from the winger’s lips start to sound less and less like laughter and more and more of broken sobs. “Cris?”

Cristiano shakes his head and turns to lie on his back, his hands still covering his face. “I don’t know”, he breathes, his chest heaving and his voice cracking. “I don’t fucking know”, he repeats and wipes his eyes before moving his hands away from his face. His eyes are brimmed red and glistening with tears as he looks up at Wayne and meets his eyes. He doesn’t need to explain since Wayne has seen them together. The striker knows that they aren’t just mates getting off together and has at least some kind of a clue of how much it pains the winger that he had let someone damage what he and the Argentinean had.

Had.

There’s a question in Wayne’s eyes as the English man leans back on his feet and tries not to demand too much with his intense stare. He thinks maybe he should feel just as shaken as Cristiano since they’re both in this with stakes just as high; but he doesn’t. The way the Portuguese sucks in his cheeks and closes his eyes for a second make him feel heartless since all he can think about is his friend underneath him. “Honey…”, he whispers, running his right hand down Cristiano’s cheek and trying to quell the laughter bubbling inside of him at the word.

Cristiano opens his eyes and looks at him for a moment before shaking his head and chuckling. “Shut up”, he murmurs, his lips curling up into a smile.

Wayne grins at him and wipes the tears from the winger’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Stop crying”, the striker says softly and moves down to lie on his side next to Cristiano. “Or I’ll think I’m forcing you into this”, he quips, a playful smile on his face but a hint of uncertainty visible in his eyes.

The Portuguese swats him on his stomach and inches closes to Wayne. “If I wanted you gone, you’d be gone, don’t worry”, he says, laughing softly as the striker’s fingertips run up and down his forearm.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And I’m not crying”, Cristiano adds, clearing his throat. Wayne peers down at him, his face split in a grin.

“You’re just allergic, right? Of me?”

“Shut up.”

Wayne’s grin is downright preposterous and his cheek flushed as he lets the words roll out of his mouth on their own accord. “You shut me up.”

Many difficult months later, when they’re cuddled together in a hot tub with Wayne lathering Cristiano’s upper body with a wet cloth and placing soft kisses onto his lover’s neck, the Portuguese has no doubt that he made the right decision in letting Wayne close to him.

"Rub my back a little", he prompts, moving out of the embrace and smiling when Wayne’s arms slither around his waist and pull him back against the solid, hairy chest. “Come on…”, he pleads, wiggling on his lover’s lap.

Wayne rests his chin on the winger’s shoulder and presses their warm cheeks together. “What am I: your masseur?” he asks, his right hand sliding down Cristiano’s stomach.

“My back, Wayne”, the Portuguese breathes as the fingers tickle over his cock underwater. He turns his head to meet the striker’s lips in a slow kiss and moans quietly as the fingers wrap around him.

“Mmhm”, the English man responds, grinning into the kiss.

~**~

Restaurant Blues

2007-08-26T21:18:36Z

title Restaurant Blues
rating PG-13 for excessive cursing
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney (hints at Cristiano/Gaby)
disclaimer This is not true.
summary “You tricked me into coming here and I don’t like that. I want to leave.”
a/n Don’t read this ’cos I’m absolutely wrecking Cris/Wayne here. lol. It really makes me feel better about the ruin of Roinze to get to break Cristyne a little if only for a while. ;) I am bad. But I my defense, I did have this plot bunny ages ago before there were even rumours about Gaby leaving. ^^

Restaurant Blues

“Let me go”, Cristiano hissed and turned in the booth towards Wayne. He picked up his phone purse from the table and hooked it around his neck, his face marked by a nasty frown. “Let me go”, he repeated, narrowing his eyes at the striker blocking his way.

“No”, Wayne shook his head, continuing to slice his steak into pieces. He could feel the Portuguese’s gaze burning holes to the side of his face but he refused to move to let Cristiano just run off from him again. He’d been doing that ever since it had been clear that Heinze was leaving, and it had only gotten worse after.

“I’m serious”, the seething winger growled, shoving Wayne on the shoulder.

“Me, too”, the English man said and lowered the fork and knife onto a napkin before turning to sit sideways on the bench. He cocked his head to his right and shook his head at his friend. “Can’t we just eat?” he asked, sighing.

Cristiano shook his head in return. “Nothing’s ‘just eating’ with you”, he muttered, sucking in his cheeks. “You tricked me into coming here and I don’t like that. I want to leave.”

The striker leaned back against the backrest and tilted his head against the soft cushion. One glance at his friend, and he straightened his right arm out to take hold of the edge of the table and barricade the open space between his body and the table. “Come on, Cris… You wouldn’t talk to me otherwise; I had to do something.”

The Portuguese shook his head and clenched his jaw. “You think lying to me helps? A team meeting…”, he muttered, running an aggravated hand through his hair.

“Ronnie..”

“Move”, Cristiano barked, looking around the restaurant if anyone was paying attention to them. There was an old couple in the far corner to his left, a waiter standing near the counter in the back of the room and a few loners in varying directions; but none of them seemed interested in them. For once.

“No. If you want to leave, cause a scene”, Wayne snapped.

“I fucking hate you”, Cristiano cursed, his face an angry shade of red as he leaned back in his seat, considering his options.

“That’s why you’re not leaving”, the striker said, shrugging, and popped a piece of potato into his mouth. He hadn’t thought the winger would make such a big deal of them dining together. Jesus.

“What, I’ll like you after you’ve caged me here?” the Portuguese snarled, pushing on Wayne’s shoulder again. “Sonofabitch”, he muttered, glaring up at the ceiling, his eyes glimmering with anger and desperation.

“Yeah”, the English man shrugged, trying to keep himself from just bolting out of there. It wasn’t even fun anymore.

“I don’t think so”, Cristiano snapped coldly, twisting on the seat.

“You say that now…”, the striker said mistily, a forced half-smile tugging on his lips.

“What?” the Portuguese asked, his voice tinted with disinterest.

“I’ve yet to use my special coercion skills on you”, Wayne explained, trying to make Cristiano laugh.

The winger shook his head and scowled. “Oh, don’t fucking even think about it”, he muttered.

“Don’t be such a prick.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Ronnie, come on”, Wayne pleaded, turning to sit sideways on the bench again. “Don’t be like that.”

“I told you; I want to go”, Cristiano said stoically, facing ahead.

“Ronnie”, the striker said quietly, reaching over to his team mate to touch his thigh.

Cristiano pushed his hand away in mid-air and reached for his phone from the purse dangling on his chest. “I’m calling Gaby to get me out of here”, he muttered, his lips a tight pursed line and seeming almost white against the rest of his flushed skin.

“He’s in fucking Spain”, Wayne said, exasperated.

Cristiano looked up at him and he looked like he’d been slapped. “Shut up”, he muttered, his eyes glistening. His hands fell limply down to his lap and he looked away from the striker.

Wayne watched his friend stare blearily at the wall on the other side of the room. “I’m not trying to be mean, but he’s gone.”

“I meant Nani”, the Portuguese said faintly, his face scrunching up.

“No, I think you just forgot for a moment…”, Wayne whispered, both pleased and unhappy about the change in the atmosphere.

“Shut up”, Cristiano murmured tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face, his eyes closed.

Wayne watched the winger break down in front of him and took a deep breath. “Cris…”, he tried and moved closer to Cristiano who just waved him off and scooted away from him.

“Just shut up”, Cristiano breathed almost inaudibly and buried his face in his hands.

He sat there, uncomfortable, watching the black fabric of Cristiano’s t-shirt expand and shrink with his heavy breaths. “Please don’t take it out on me”, he pleaded softly, pushing at his food with the fork. “I didn’t leave”, he added.

Cristiano glanced at him with blood-shot eyes and shook his head. “Just leave me alone, okay”, it wasn’t a question and Wayne had no choice but to finally back out of the restaurant after paying for his half-eaten plate, all the time keeping his eyes on the Portuguese practically draped over the table, his face buried between his arms and his fingers tugging on his hair.

It broke his heart to leave but he had a hunch it would have hurt even more to stay.

memorfix @ 2007-08-21T23:08:00

2007-08-21T20:13:36Z

title No title
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
rating PG
summary A head-ache in a dressing room. Pointless Cristyne.
disclaimer None of what you're about to read is real.
a/n Since I found a half-written fic on my memory stick, I decided to write a little fic of pointless Cris/Wayne. I can only take so much Gaby-angst at a time. ;) This is probably set back in last season since... Wazza is not injured?

It’s not even funny, the joke Rio shared with them, but still they’re all almost pissing their pants, laughing so hard it feels like their stomachs will rip. They won, and the struggle of the game is slowly pouring out of them with every fit of laughter.

It was a tough call, Cristiano breathes, leaning back against the wall, still in his kit, watching absent-mindedly as his team-mates strip from theirs and head over to the showers in groups of six. Sometimes he wondered if the designers of the shower room had planned it out. Only to build six showers, that is. Had they known that some liked to just relax in the warm air of the dressing room without rushing off to shower? Or had they just been cheap? No matter the reason for it, he liked it.

Louis was always the first one in the shower, and usually he was still there when the last one of them had already scrubbed himself off. It was hilarious, the French man’s ability to take such a long time to shower. Cristiano couldn’t help but to glance at the striker from the corner of his eye if they were in the showers at the same time just to see what the other man was doing that was so time-consuming. And no, he wasn’t wanking, and Cristiano still doesn’t know what it was.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he glances next to him. Wayne’s lying there on the wooden bench on his back, taking his own, Louis’ and Olé’s places. The striker is holding his hand over his forehead and he has his eyes closed. “Are you okay?”

The hand lifts up and the steely grey eyes meet his. Wayne nods and shakes his head at the same. “Just pretty”, the striker murmurs and lowers the hand over his eyes.

Cristiano chuckles. “You should see what I’m seeing”, he teases and jumps slightly when Wayne’s sock-clad foot stomps onto the side of his right thigh. “Brat”, he mutters and catches the offending foot by the ankle and draws it over his lap, insistently tugging on it until Wayne inches closer to him and drapes both of his legs over his thighs.

“My head doesn’t like headers”, the striker moans, hiding his face under his arms.

Cristiano watches Wayne; the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his skin, the curly hairs trailing from under the shirt and all the way up his neck as a faint path into his stripped hair; the glimpses of red skin under the arms folded over his face and the pained line of his lips. “Let me kiss it better”, he whispers, turning his head to the left, trying to make his voice only carry as far as Wayne’s ears.

The lips melt into an embarrassed smile as Wayne glances up at him from a crack through his arms. The striker shakes his head. “You’re an idiot”, he mutters, glancing around the room, his eyes twinkling. “Anyone’d see.”

Sheasy and Darren walked out of the showers and Cristiano’s hand shot up in the air. “Me and Wayne!” They played for one of the best teams in the world and they had to compete for shower slots. Cristiano turned to Wayne with a pleased grin on his face. “Got ‘em.”

The striker shook his head, but let the Portuguese push his feet off his lap. “It’s not as if we have any more privacy in there, either”, he chuckled, his right palm still pressed against his forehead as he stood up to follow Cristiano.

The winger turned around at the door to the showers and glanced down at the clothes Wayne was still wearing. He looked up at Wayne and shook his head, murmuring something under his breath. “But is smaller crowd”, he added pointedly, tilting his head forward to the dressing room and the fifteen plus of their team mates.

Wayne laughed. “Oh, that’s clever!” He rolled his eyes as Cristiano turned around and headed for the free showers. But his plan had been even cleverer, Wayne grinned as he shrugged out of his pants and pulled the shirt over his head. Headache, his arse.

Transfer Drabbles Of Gaby

2007-08-19T22:03:25Z

title Transfer Drabbles For/Of/Because Of Gaby
rating PG for a curse word?
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Gabriel Heinze since it’s the one and only pairing I’ve lately been even remotely interested in
disclaimer None of this is true.
summary Short drabble. Quite depressing, but it is what it is.
A/N This is what happens when you chain a player close to my heart and try to rip it away; it kills my muses and/or makes me write shitty, emotional crap. I apologize. :)
warning There’s more of the same stuff on its way, I’d presume.

They stare at each other, fuming. Their eyes are glimmering against the light coming from the first floor through the crack of the door.

They’re standing a few metres apart, both leaning on something; a table and an armoire. They’re speaking in whispers.

That is, there were. Now they’re silent, seething and hurt, hearts beating wildly against their ribcages, hands, arms and legs tingling with adrenaline and rivers of raging blood.

It was Alan whose transfer they were holding the gathering for, but something else besides his time at United had definitely ended that night.

“Just fucking go”, is whispered again into the deafening silence. The sound cracks against the concrete walls and echoes around the room, in their ears.

They’re not looking at each other anymore, and as the door of the cellar creaks open and bright light blinds Cristiano for a moment, he finds himself wishing he could see the look on Gaby’s face.

He can’t even look at you anymore, won’t look at you, and that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. He’s over you, you realise when you run into him and Nani making out, hot and heavy in the training grounds one morning. He doesn’t even pause when he hears your footsteps, not even when Nani glances over at you and tries to break off the kiss; he just pushes himself further into the Portuguese’s body and growls low in his throat as you walk past them. You’d like to hate the boy, but you really fucking can’t, not even when his muffled moan of Nani sounds deliriously similar to the nickname he once gave you. Because he’s punishing you for something you started without letting him know about it. And you deserve it.

His name is flashing on the screen of your cell and you’re staring at it, almost frozen to the spot.

You pick up the phone and walk gingerly out to the balcony, taking in a deep breath at the feeling of the cold air surrounding your body, caressing and scolding your skin. You stroke the green icon of a phone with your forefinger as you lean your bare back against the cold tile wall and pretend that you’re not going to answer the call.

When his voice hits your eardrums, it sends shivers down the whole length of your body for every other reason but cold. The words, the tone, the meaning; they make you wish you could turn back time. Long after the useless conversation is over, it’s those words that echo in your head as you crawl into bed and have yourself used as a pillow.

You’re killing me.

A Batch of Roinze Icons

2007-08-01T18:12:40Z

1 2 3
4 5 6
7 8 9

10 11 12

Comments make me either happy or sad, and credit would be greatly appreciated to either memorfix or memororis. Thanksie-doodles! :)

Bye

2007-07-16T20:43:35Z

title Bye
rating G
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Gabriel Heinze
disclaimer This is not true. Except that Gaby is likely to leave United.
summary Parte Un of 'Gaby Leaves'-series
a/n Gaby don’t leaaaaave! *hangs onto his footie shoe*

“Hey.”

The voice sounded hesitant, quiet and everything Gabriel’s voice never used to be.

“Hey”, Cristiano nodded, focusing his gaze on the insides of his locker, and continued to fiddle around with his hair gels and shampoos, setting them to a straight row onto the highest shelf. He could feel Gaby’s eyes on him, but the stone in the pit of his stomach made him not want to turn around and face his… what? Boyfriend? He snorted and shook his head.

It was Gaby’s last day at Carrington. Last day in England. He’d already made a deal with some Spanish club and he was there to meet with Sir Alex to sign a few papers. Cristiano had hoped he would avoid the Argentinean by staying clear of the office part of the building. No such luck. He flinched when warm fingers stroked his side through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Cris…”, the Argentinean whispered and he could feel him moving closer. Gaby’s body pressed against his and the defender’s stubble scratched his cheek as Gaby nuzzled him slightly. “I didn’t want it to be like this”, he said quietly, circling his right hand around Cristiano’s waist. He brushed his lips over the corner of the winger’s lips and sighed.

“Then don’t leave.”

There were footsteps in the corridor and Gabriel pulled back from Cristiano. “I’ve got to, I don’t have a future here”, he muttered and nodded at Wayne as he entered the dressing room.

He missed the mixture of a frown and a smirk on the winger’s face as Cristiano translated that into We don’t have a future together.

Gaby paused by the door and glanced to the back of the room where Wayne was slipping into his shorts. He looked back at Cristiano, his eyes glistening and his lips moving restlessly. “Bye”, he said powerlessly, out of breath for just standing there. He raised a shaking hand up to his hair and ran an annoying lock of hair behind his ear, just to stay in the room a little longer.

Cristiano was leaning onto his locker, legs about to fall out from under him. His heart was beating furiously against his ribcage and he felt paralyzed by the knot that was wedged deep within him, twisting and turning with every expression or movement from Gaby.

“Oh yeah, you’re leavin’”, Wayne said suddenly and jogged over to Gabriel, pulling him into a bear hug. “Almost forgot since it seemed so normal to have you standing there. Keep in touch, yeah?” he asked, patting the defender on his back before pulling back. He looked over his shoulder at Cristiano. “Come on, Ron, your sweetheart’s going!” he chuckled and flushed when he noticed the shuttered expression on the winger’s face.

“It’s okay”, Gabriel shook his head and met Cristiano’s eyes over Wayne’s shoulder. “We’ve already-”, his breath caught in his throat as Cristiano slammed into him and wrapped himself around him. “…said goodbye”, he breathed into Cris’ hair and closed his eyes, swallowing thickly.

A Two-Nighter At A Hotel (1/2)

2007-06-26T23:08:11Z

title A Two-Nighter At A Hotel (1/2)
rating PG-13
pairing (Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney,) Cristiano/Ruud Van Nistelrooy
disclaimer This is fiction.
summary Set back in Wayne’s first season at United (and Gaby’s, for the record, -04/05). The team is staying at a hotel before an away game.
A/N Posted in two parts ‘cos I’m having trouble with the end and the first night in the fic serves as a pause. ^^ Second part possibly tomorrow…

”….Ronaldo and Rooney.”

Cristiano glanced up from the magazine he was reading and looked around the room. He found the bulky striker sitting next to Van Nistelrooy and watching him with a frown on his face. Cristiano scowled at the English boy in return and went back to reading the article about Heinze’s signing for United. Rooming with Wayne Rooney over two nights? Not his idea of fun. That guy was a mess; not to mention they’d barely even spoken to each other properly ever since Sir Alex introduced the striker to the squad.

“This is my bed”, the striker announced as he plopped down to the bed by the window. He kicked off his flip-flops and laid on the bed, eyes trained on the white ceiling and hands folded over his stomach. “Yeah?” he asked pointlessly since it was clear that he had made himself at home already on the bed.

Cristiano closed the door behind him and lowered his bag next to the other bed. He stood there for a while, considering on bolting to Ruud and Rio’s room. He could feel the new striker’s eyes on him so he looked up at his peer. The former Everton player was watching him with a questioning look on hi face, clearly wanting an answer anyway. “Yes”, Cristiano rolled his eyes, flopping down on the bed as the striker picked up the remote and switched the television on.

“Dinner!” Rio hollered behind their door and rasped his knuckles against the wooden surface, startling them from the daze that the stupid TV-show they were watching had brought on.

Wayne scrambled up from his bed and slipped into his flip-flops. He looked over at the Portuguese’s bed and made a shooing gesture with his right hand. Cristiano noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over at him.

“What?”

The striker grinned wolfishly. “Ladies first”, he waved at the door.

Cristiano was waiting for the elevator to come up when Rooney stopped next to him.

“It was a joke, you know. I hope you weren’t offended or nothing”, the striker muttered, scratching his neck.

“I wasn’t”, Cristiano insisted. “I can take a joke”, he continued, not even trying to crack a smile.

Cristiano sighed in relief when the doors of the elevator opened and he noticed Ruud walk past them. He quickened his pace and altered his steps to suit the forward’s. “Do you have plans?” he asked, glancing at the Dutch out of the corner of his eye.

Ruud’s lips twitched and their eyes met for a brief moment. The older man didn’t answer, just let out an amused breath and pushed the winger ahead of him in the queue to the buffet they had already reached.

The striker’s warm hand on the small of his back, Cristiano bit back a smile as he picked up a plate.

“Open the fucking door!” Wayne bellowed and kicked the bathroom door. Cristiano peaked his head from under the stream of water and slid the door of the cubicle open.

“I wash!” he shouted, sliding the door closed with force and stepping back under the warm spray of water. He let out a sigh at the warmth spreading through his body and the feeling of the water cascading over his head and down his skin.

There was another kick on the door.

“I wash!” he roared, running his fingers through his shampoo-covered curly locks.

“And I need to use the loo! Give your hair a rest, you bloody maniac! It’s just Ruud, for fuck’s sake.”

Cristiano clenched his jaw and pushed the shower door open enough for him to be able to lean out to unlock the bathroom door. “Use the toilet, then!” he snapped, backing under the shower and ignoring the annoying potato head.

“Hallo”, Ruud smiled easily as he entered their room and sat onto Cristiano’s pillow. He stretched his arms along the headboard of the bed and wrapped his hands around the posts. He looked up as the Portuguese came out of the bathroom and the right corner of his lips curled. “Cris”, he greeted the youngster, eyes travelling down the length of his body; the tight pink t-shirt and the black jeans that hugged every inch of his thin but muscular frame.

Wayne was seated on his own bed, eyes trained on his team-mates despite himself. He was thoroughly flabbergasted at the matching odd smiles Cristiano and Ruud kept throwing each other while the winger was practically posing in the doorway.

“C’mere”, the Dutchman beckoned the Portuguese with a slight tilt of his head.

Cristiano took a half-step forward to the bed before glancing at his room-mate and freezing. Ruud seemed to get the hint since he disentangled himself from the bed and headed for the door, chuckling. “Maybe my room?”

Wayne turned his attention back to the television as Cristiano fled out of the room behind the Dutch, moaning something about Ruud being a bastard.

He’d heard about this from Rio; the defender had warned him about rooming with Wayne and his vacuum cleaner. He’d thought it was a joke until he found the English boy unpacking his huge bag when he came back to their room. Now, the striker was staring at him, ready to bounce off the bed. Cristiano narrowed his eyes at Wayne. “Quiet.”

“Hoover.”

“Quiet.”

“Hoover.”

“Quiet.” Cristiano glared at the English boy on the other bed and pointed at the vacuum cleaner on the floor. “Is no coming on, no”, he snapped and crawled down his bed to pull the plug from the wall.

“Come on, Figo, it’s not as if I haven’t been told how loud you snore; you’ll never even hear---“

“Is Ronaldo”

Wayne smirked. “Oh, I thought he’s the Brazilian.”

Cristiano rolled his eyes and sat on the foot of his bed, muttering something in Portuguese.

Cristiano woke up to the sound of the vacuum cleaner roaring between their beds. He groaned and turned to lie on his side, ready to whack the English boy with his spare pillow. He didn’t, though. The striker looked so peaceful, a shadow of the irritable Rooney with whom Cristiano seemed to be always bickering. Wayne was buried under the mountain of his covers, his face pressed into the pillow and his bare legs jutting out from under the pile of fabric.

Cristiano reached down to the vacuum cleaner and turned it off just to see if Wayne would even notice the sound was gone. He was half-dangling over the side when the striker slapped his arm over the edge of his bed, trying to reach for the vacuum cleaner but instead catching him on his head and stroking his hair with boneless fingers.

“Leave it on, babe, yeah?” the English boy murmured sleepily, burying himself further under the covers and into the warm mattress.

The winger switched the vacuum cleaner back on and climbed back onto his bed, watching the sleeping striker with a mixture of shock and amusement cursing through him. He felt like bursting into laughter at the small glimpse into Wayne’s softer side he obviously used with his girlfriend and the other part of him was desperately trying to avoid thinking too closely about the shivers the touch to his hair had sent along his spine.

“Rooney”, he snapped and whacked the striker with a pillow.

The striker growled and threw his arm against the pillow. “Lemme focking sleep”, Wayne muttered and turned his back to Cristiano.

He breathed a sigh of relief and wiggled under the covers again. Nah, everything was good; still an annoying git.

- -

2007-06-12T16:51:11Z

title --
rating R
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Gabriel Heinze, Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
summary Different pieces of Cris/Gaby, Cris/Wayne-relationships.
a/n Maybe these will make my writer's block burst... :/

it’s in his voice. you can hear it. there’s not a chance you could miss it; that breathless, satisfied tone. you’ve heard it so many times you know what it means. now, you wouldn’t have wanted to know.

Gaby calls you at midnight. He’s somewhat drunk, blabbering about everything and anything, making you turn your night lamp on just to keep you from falling asleep again. Gaby’s soft voice makes your ear burn and it’s like he’s there, breathing against the shell of your ear. But he’s not.

He’s sitting on their terrace a few miles north and he’s fucking glowing, even through the phone line. It makes you angry that the Argentinean has the guts to call you after bedding his wife. It’s like the older man is taunting you, belittling your relationship by calling you from his house, still shivering from his straight marital relations, making you his queer little secret.

The Argentinean offers to come over with a leer which you can identify even through the phone but you decline the offer and end the call. It didn’t matter, though, since Gaby came over anyway and let you fuck him on that rare occasion. It was his way of apologizing, still holding the reigns and getting some. He must have known you wanted nothing to do with his prick that night, not after where it had been.

there was this glance which Gaby used on you whenever he disapproved of you. you found it extremely sexy, so you annoyed the hell out of him.

Gaby was fierce and sometimes he had a really short temper. You love it; you love to watch him lose control and roar at you in Spanish, gesturing with his hands, his eyes boring into yours. With that look in his eyes. Sadly that look never lasted long enough for you since Gaby had a habit of not being mad at you for long.

there’s reckless, and then there’s stupid. you know all too well which of those Wayne categorizes as. and you kind of like that, a lot.

Whenever Wayne decided on something, it was on. Whether it was the two of you fucking dangerously close to a team-mate of yours, in the showers just a fraction before someone else joined you or sucking you off in the darkness of the coach, coming back from an away game, the English man seemed to thrive on the possibility of getting caught. No matter how ridiculous or stupid the idea was, if he had his mind set on it, the striker went through with it, sweet-talking or caressing you into it.

In a way Wayne was easier to deal with than Gaby because you know you’ll never be serious and you’ve accepted that. You fool around, fuck around and once, when you both were seriously drunk, you pissed around. But that was gross and your cheeks were burning for a week after you faced your housekeeper when the poor lady was cleaning your living room. Wayne just laughed when he stumbled down the stairs behind you and made up some excuse about champagne spilling, but the odour of the room gave you away. You were fucking mortified and made Wayne swear to never let you drink again.

Surprisingly, he kept to his promise, distracting you from drinks at clubs by pulling you aside and making you forget all about any desire to drink that vile liquid... alcohol.

you were a secret, a well-hidden one, and still the girlfriends tried to hook you up. that can’t have been just because they wanted you to have someone. it must have been because they wanted you away from someone.

You hate it whenever you go out with Wayne and Gaby and their women. Well, it’s fun right up to the point when they either get so wasted they start pawing on each other or the women start trying to hook you up with random girls. You are singly in their eyes, and completely straight.

You can’t really describe the feeling in the pit of your stomach when they start fiddling with their phones or eyeing the insides of the club for a possible date for you, with Wayne and Gaby sitting on the other side of the table, not saying anything, just looking at you, bemused, while you’re trying to talk their girlfriends out of the idea.

Sometimes when you could see the warning in their eyes, Gaby’s especially, you let some pretty girl sit next to you and you’d talk to her about anything, relishing in the heated, jealous spikes you could feel they being thrown at you. The look on Gaby’s face, as you turned to look him in the eye when the girl was whispering dirty suggestions to your ear, makes your heart tighten delightfully every time, and you almost change your mind about those nights; they did have their upsides.

That notion strengthened throughout one particular night when you had gotten rid of the girl of the night and you all had outworn the girls in staying up. They had tried to coo Wayne and Gaby to go home already but in the end it was them who left in their cars, leaving Gaby and Wayne to take a cab home. You sat there, watching them over the tabletop. They both knew you were sleeping with both of them but they didn’t acknowledge it. Well, they hadn’t, before that night.

Gaby was staring at you, his glass raised to his lips. Wayne was sitting next to the Argentinean, leaning back on his seat, staring at the bar counter, avoiding your gaze unlike the older man.

“It’s not funny, Cris”, Gabriel said stonily after taking a sip from his drink and lowering it back to the table, his eyes never wavering from yours.

“What’s not funny?” you asked, fully enjoying the moment. Gaby had opened his mouth to answer you but he refrained from it as a group of fans approached your table.

one, two, three… that’s too much for thee.

You can’t understand why Wayne keeps inviting you out with them, you really don’t. If it’s a question of getting you and her to sit next to each other and for him to have a chance to compare you two; then Wayne is not the Wayne you thought he was.

You try to read his eyes as he takes a sip of his drink and looks at you. The light above the table makes his eyes glimmer and reflect tiny stars in his blue orbs. Wayne’s eyes are interesting and you once told him that. He’d laughed but that night found the two of you sitting on your couch on opposite ends and Wayne challenging you into a staring contest. He ended up giving in, though, when it was clear that you could look into his eyes longer than he could hold out his need to pee.

The three of you keep chattering for another half an hour about anything really… practice, The Boss, foods, movies et cetera. You can sense Coleen growing bored next to you. She’s sighing more frequently now and the jewels on her wrist keep scratching the surface of the table as she moves around. Finally she announces her desire to leave; and you try to keep yourself from smiling at the obvious surprise and disagreement on Wayne’s face.

“Already?”

Lounge

2007-05-24T20:56:35Z

title Lounge
rating PG-13
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Gabriel Heinze
disclaimer This is fiction.
summary Cristiano and Gaby lounge about in the player’s lounge.
a/N I'm sad about the Gaby-leaving rumours. Here's a happy!fic. :( Might get a follow-up if I get into a dirty mood. *cough*

Gabriel sits on the couch, or rather lies on it, his feet resting on the coffee table in the players’ lounge at Old Trafford. He’s looking at the television screen in the corner but he’s not really watching the game which is on, at all. His attention is caught on the other side of the room where Cristiano and Wayne are sitting on a sofa, facing each other, shoving each other and chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, smiling at the child-like behaviour of the young men, feeling more like a father than he’d ever felt while being with these guys.

Cristiano turns to look at him with a small smile and a faint blush covering his cheeks. “Nothing”, he says before Wayne smacks him on the head, earning a frown from the Portuguese.

“Do it”, the English man whispers and gets up from the couch. “Heinze”, he acknowledges the older man as he walks past Gabriel. Turning around at the door, Wayne nods his head furiously towards the Argentinean while looking at Cristiano, gesturing with his hands animatedly.

“What was that all about?” Gaby asks, amused, shaking his head, after the door has closed behind the striker.

Cristiano sits on the couch, resting against the backrest, watching him, the nervous pretence gone. “Wayne said I should make a move on you since I like you”, he smirks, one of his eyebrows cocked and his arms crossed against his chest.

Gabriel grins widely and folds his hands against his chest, mimicking Cristiano’s pose. “Well”, he snorts, “are you going to make a move on me?” he asks, watching the Portuguese with gentle eyes.

The winger smiles and rubs his lower-lip with his forefinger. “I don’t think I have to”, he drawls, pursing his lips to try to keep his face as poker as he can.

“And why is that?” Gaby asks, murmurs, moving forward on the couch and seating himself at the very edge, his hands now resting on his thighs, ready to push him up.

Cristiano tilts his head to the side with a loop-sided smirk. “Because I already have you”, he says softly, following the older man with his eyes as Gabriel walks over to him slowly, grinning, and straddles his thighs with practice. “And you make your move on me”, he smiles as Gaby takes hold of his wrists and lifts his arms over his head and presses them into the soft material, caging him beneath the alluring Argentinean.

“Oh?” Gaby asks, raising an eyebrow with his lips curled up in a cocky grin, as he presses their bodies together and traps the younger man between his body and the couch. “Do I?” he murmurs, bringing their lips together in a nerve-tingling ghost of a kiss.

“Yeah”, the Portuguese smiles, slightly breathless just from his lover’s proximity. “Just that one look I have and you’re mine”, he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against Gaby’s, loving to hear the older man sigh close to his ear.

“Weren’t I already yours you just bragged?” Gabriel chuckles softly, tangling his fingers with Cristiano’s while kissing the boy’s temple.

“That look hooked you in the first place, too.”

The Argentinean pulls back slightly, running his fingertips along Cristiano’s arms. He meets the winger’s eyes and grins. “You think it was a look?”

Cristiano looks at him, puzzled, a look of confusion on his face. “It wasn’t?”

Gaby lowers his hands to rest on the Portuguese’s sides and looks at him, surprised, his lips twisting and his eyes running over Cristiano’s face in wonder. “You seriously think it was a look?”

“Wasn’t it?” Cristiano asks, furrowing his eyebrows and staring Gaby in the eye.

The older man starts to chuckle but pauses. “Ronnie… seriously?”

The Portuguese begins to look offended and frowns at his boyfriend. “Stop making fun of me! I thought it was a look.”

Gaby cups Cristiano’s cheeks with his large hands, turning his head towards him, making the Portuguese meet his eyes. “Alright, it was a look, then”, he murmurs, watching as the tight look on the winger’s face melts into a pleased smile.

“Yes?”

“Yes”, Gaby chuckles, leaning down as Cristiano pushes himself up from the couch to kiss him.

Creaky Stairs 1

2007-05-19T21:57:46Z

Creaky Stairs

to come: humor, horror, angst. NC-17. Many pairings.

Most of the guys in the first team come over to spend the weekend at Wayne’s in the countryside. “I swear this place is haunted”, Carrick breathed, his face as white as a clean sheet.

A/N This fic is time-lined after the Europe XI-game in March, 13^th of March to be exact. The one Sunday mentioned in this fic, is the Sunday before that; 11^th of March when Chelsea played Tottenham and David Beckham was watching the game.

Pairings in this part Rio Ferdinand/Cristiano Ronaldo, Ryan Giggs/Gary Neville, Gary Neville/David Beckham, Darren Fletcher/John O'Shea? Darren Fletcher/Alan Smith, Rio Ferdinand/Nemanja Vidic, Gabriel Heinze/Cristiano Ronaldo? Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney.
Genre bad humor, angst, drama?
Rating R/NC-17

“Took you fucking long; everyone else is already here”, Wayne chuckled at the front door, looking at the red faces of Wes, Rio, Alan, John and Darren. The men were standing there, breathing heavily, their clothes drenched with the rain and their faces streaming with water.

Rio shot him a murderous glare. “If you’d told us the roads here were muddy and crap, I would not have taken a ride with Brownie”, the tall defender growled and pushed past the striker. “My car would have at least gotten us here and not left us stranded three miles down the road! Where’s Cris or Vida?” he snapped, heading to the living room.

Wayne looked at the remaining four guys on the doorstep and signalled them to enter. “You can use the bathroom; we have ridiculous amounts of towels there.”

Alan nodded, throwing his arms over Darren and Wes’ shoulders. “Thanks, mate”, he grinned at Wayne as they headed for the entrance hall.

“Hey, where is it again?” Wes asked, turning his head to look at Wayne over his shoulder.

“Up the stairs and right in front of you across the hall.”

John followed the wet threesome to the bottom of the stairs and looked to the direction of the living room. “I should probably get Rio, shouldn’t I?”

Closing the door from the pouring rain, Wayne nodded, laughing. “Otherwise he might never forgive Wes.”

John raised his eyebrows and grinned. “You make that sound so tempting”, he chuckled and disappeared up the stairs.

~^~

He entered the living room to find the music blazing and two people lying on the couch, grinding against each other. The one on top was Rio; Wayne would recognize that head anywhere. Rio was lying between someone’s legs, his elbows and arms resting on either sides of the other one’s head as he ground their bodies together furiously.

Wayne cleared his throat. Rio snapped his head to look at him and cleared the way for Wayne to see his partner in crime. Ronnie. The Portuguese’s lips were swollen and red. Wayne’s eyebrow rose up in surprise. “You can use the bathroom to dry yourself up”, he informed dryly to Rio and sat down to the armchair by his side of the room.

He didn’t watch, but he could hear Rio groan in disappointment and Cristiano chuckle quietly. “Couldn’t you leave for a moment, Wazza?” the English man asked, causing Wayne to look up at them. Rio was still on top of Ronnie, still moving against him, albeit slower. Wayne’s eyes were transfixed by the movement of Rio’s hips and the answering rocking of Cristiano’s legs which were gripping Rio’s hips tightly. “Then I’d definitely have a reason for drying myself”, Rio drawled, not so much to Wayne as to Cristiano. The defender growled softly and picked up his pace again.

Cristiano caught Wayne’s gaze, his eyes heavy with arousal as Rio nudged his cheek with his nose to get him to expose his neck. Wayne shook his head and muttered: “Fine…”, before he got up from the chair and exited the room, heading into the kitchen to get a beer.

Michael and Gaby were sitting on opposite sides of the table, sipping on sparkling water and talking quietly about something. Wayne waved at them but headed straight for the fridge. The cold air flowing from the refrigerator made shivers run down his spine and only fuelled the threatening arousal in the pit of his stomach. He could almost hear the voices through the wall separating the kitchen and the living room; Rio’s groans and the soft moans from Ronnie.

Growling, Wayne grabbed the beer bottle and sat next to the Argentinean at the table. Both of the men turned to look at him. “Don’t go to the living room”, he muttered, taking a gulp of the cold liquid. “It’s like one giant porn flick in motion…”

Gaby chuckled and raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Que?” he asked and glanced at Michael to see if he knew any better.

Wayne shook his head. “Nothing.”

The Argentinean pushed back his chair and lowered his glass to the table. “I think I go see for myself”, he smirked, pushing his hair behind his ears as he stood up. He rested his hands on the striker’s shoulders as he fitted himself past Wayne’s chair.

As Gaby was just about to leave the room, Wayne threw a cube of sugar at him. The Argentinean turned to look at him, only his hand inside the room, wrapped around the corner. The left-back’s head peeked around the wall and his face was lightened by a ridiculous grin.

“You don’t want to go in there.”

Gaby smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now I thinks I very do”, he chuckled and disappeared.

There was a moment of silence as Wayne sipped on his drink and shared a look with Michael who was now munching on a bread stick. Wayne mentally counted the time it would take the Argentinean to get to the living room.

“You dirty fucks!” a loud laugh echoed through the hall and the wall, followed closely by Rio and Cristiano shouting in their laughter.

Wayne pushed back his chair and walked closer to the living room entrance but he tried to stay hidden by the wall. He peaked around the corner and saw Gaby lying flat on his stomach on top of both Rio and Cristiano, laughing his head off.

Rio was pressed tightly against the Portuguese and his face was pushed into the couch cushions by the weight of Gaby. Cristiano was looking quite flustered as he chuckled up at the left-back. “Gaby…”, was all Ronnie seemed to manage to get out before he buried his face to Rio’s neck, laughing.

Gaby wiggled on top of them for a moment, before pushing himself off of his team-mates by briefly pushing them even further into the couch. “Get a room, you two”, he shook his head, laughter still playing on his lips.

Rio pushed himself up to kneel between Cristiano’s legs, the insides of his thighs gripping the winger’s buttocks. “Mind you, Heinze”, he said, turning to look at the Argentinean, a tight smirk on his lips, “We already have a room and you guys just keep on barging in.”

Gaby laughed and looked at his friends on the couch, his eyes twinkling. “A room more privado.”

Rio chuckled as he turned to look at Ronnie and placed his hands on his sides. “Come on… we know you like to watch”, he smirked, glancing at Gaby before leaning down to claim Cristiano’s mouth in a demanding kiss. Gabriel shook his head, chuckling under his breath, as his gaze stayed fixed on the sight in front of him.

~^~

“Don’t even think about it!” Darren screeched when John took the showerhead into his hand and pointed it at him when he was drying himself with a pink towel, his wet clothes lying on a heap on the floor. “Seriously!” he growled when the dark-haired man pushed the handle down slightly, making the water spray to the floor and wet Darren’s toes.

Alan was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in his boxers, towelling his hair carefully while smirking with Wes sitting next to him as they watched Darren and John battle.

“What are you going to do?” John asked, his plush red lips tugging upwards and his plucked dark eyebrows lifting up in a coy expression.

Darren backed away at the look on John’s face and flailed his hands around, the towel flying around his head. “I’ll revenge! I’ll get you wet, too!”

Alan and Wes burst out laughing. “Is he getting you wet, Fletch?” Alan chuckled. The Scot glared at him, his lips pursed.

~^~

Nemanja, Gary and Ryan were on the balcony on the second floor. They were sitting in a row; the Serb sitting closest to the door with Gary sitting next to him. The rain was still falling steadily, making the air fresh and humid, filled with the scent of the forest. The whole horizon was covered by a thick fog, making it almost impossible to see beyond 20 metres from the house.

“I was expecting we’d grill something tonight”, Ryan commented, watching the raindrops latch onto the roof of the balcony and wiggle against gravity.

Gary let out a small laugh and turned to look at him. “Didn’t you look at the weather forecast?”

Ryan shook his head and pulled his leather jacket tighter around his chest. “Must have forgotten”, he muttered, making Gary smile and shake his head.

“We’ll go inside if you’re cold.”

Nemanja burst out laughing. “I am sure Ryan is gold”, he chuckled, his wide blue eyes filled with laughter and his lips parted in a big grin.

The older men turned to look at him, amused. “Cold as in freezing, Vida”, Gary chuckled.

“Oh, okay”, the Serb laughed, scratching his right temple, trying to memorize the new information. “Okay”, he nodded. “I am cold, I see if Rio come here yet.”

~^~

“Why did he stay over at your place?” Ryan asked as soon as the door clicked shut behind the Serb, turning to glance at Gary.

“What? Who?”

“Becks”, the Welch clarified with a tilt of his head and turned to look at the scenery in front of them again.

“What’re you-“, Gary started, furrowing his eyebrows and turning to sit on his seat sideways. He tried to catch Ryan’s eyes but the infuriating man was just staring ahead, his eyes flickering from left to right.

“I drove over to yours on Sunday and his car was there.”

Gary stared at his lover and shook his head. “Of course he came over. We’re friends!” the English man gestured with his hands as he spoke.

“I remember a time when you were more than friends”, Ryan muttered, frowning.

“Come on, Ry… You know we’re not anymore.”

“How do I know that?” the Welch asked, the left corner of his lips lifting up to an expression between a smirk and a frown. He turned his head away from Gary and clenched his jaw.

Gary stared at his friend, his lips ticking with anger. His dark eyes scanned Ryan’s pale face and the ‘victim’ written all over his features. “Be careful or we’ll go back to being just friends, too”, he breathed.

“Ah”, Ryan murmured sarcastically with a quiet voice. “You gonna get me out of the country to succeed in that?” He turned to look Gary in the eye and shook his head a little. “I know how it bloody went with you two… You’d still be together if he hadn’t left”

Gary drew his lips into his mouth and closed his eyes for a moment. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, opening his eyes and watching Ryan. The Welch smirked bitterly and shook his head as he stood up.

“The truth, Gaz”, he muttered, haunted eyes meeting Gary’s for a moment. “You slept with him”, Ryan said, walking past his lover. “I can read you, you know”, he whispered before opening the door and walking inside the house.

~^~

“You are here!” Nemanja laughed when he was walking past the open door of the bathroom and saw Alan and Wes sitting on the side of the tub. “Is Rio…?” he asked, glancing around the doorway into the room only to have his eyes met by the sight of a naked Darren being mercilessly watered by a hysterically laughing John.

“No”, Alan chuckled at the surprised look on Vida’s face. “Just the Cat and the Mouse having a go at each other”, he continued, standing up and towelling his legs.

Vida furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at the blond and the brunette again. He shook his head as he looked at Wes and Alan, looking thoroughly confused. “Are they…?” he asked, scratching his temple while daring another glance at the pair, Darren now pressed tightly against the corner of the bathroom tiles, the towel covering his face and John trying to pull on him arm to get the pink fabric away, the water pumping on the blond’s head.

“No!” Darren shouted and pushed on the towel enough to look at Nemanja.

Alan smirked and chuckled as he watched Darren scramble away from John, the Scot’s face flushed. “He appreciates my blowjobs way too much to risk losing them by hooking up with Johnnie-boy”, the peroxide blond grinned at Vida before turning to wink at Darren who was kneeling on the floor, hands on his knees and his mouth wide open in horror, staring at Alan.

“You didn’t just say that, did you?” the mid-fielder asked with a high-pitched voice as he pulled a bigger towel from the shelves on his left to cover himself. “Al…”, he muttered, his facing growing more red by the second. “Jesus…”

~^~

As he was walking down the stairs, still chuckling at Darren and Alan, Nemanja saw Rio head up towards him. “Rio!” the Serb greeted him happily and laughed when the English man caught him by slipping his hand under his t-shirt and wrapping his arm around his waist.

“I need a shower”, Rio said, leaning closer to Vida’s ear. “Care to help?”

~^~

Gabriel sat next to Cristiano on the couch with a lewd grin on his face. “I know what you did on this couch”, he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at his friend. He burst out laughing when the Portuguese grabbed him by his hair and lunged at him, placing a hurried kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Shut up, Gaby”, Cristiano chuckled, leaning back against the couch, sighing

The Argentinean turned to face the Portuguese and rested his elbow on the backrest. His eyes scanned Cristiano’s face as he thought of what to say, or how to say it. “Sometimes… sometimes I no understand”, he said, shaking his head, a small smile on his lips.

The winger turned to look at him and furrowed his eyebrows.

Gabriel shrugged and opened his mouth to answer, but Wayne walked into the room at the same moment.

“Don’t you need to shower?” the striker asked Cristiano as he settled down to his armchair to the other side of the room. He looked almost hostile as he sat stiffly in the chair, eyes trained on his friend.

Cristiano furrowed his eyebrows at Wayne and shook his head. “I didn’t make a mess”, he replied, his tone just as pissy as Wayne’s had been.

The English man raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t he let you come?” he asked, his forefinger drawing patterns to the armrest while he was still staring at Cristiano. Gabriel turned to look at the English man, shaking his head.

“What? You think we’re playing by Rio’s terms?” Ronnie laughed and pulled himself up to a seated position. He ran his hand over his bulging crotch and smirked. “I didn’t want to come.” Gaby chuckled next to the winger and ran a hand over his face, shaking his head at the younger men.

“You like to torture yourself?” the striker asked, tilting his head to his right, keeping his eyes on his friend.

“It’s called self-control, Wayne.”

“What do you call having sex in your mate’s living room then? A secret?” The English man let out a throaty laugh but stopped after a few seconds. “I really don’t want to see your scrawny ass being pounded by Rio again, alright?”

Cristiano stretched on the couch, lifting his arms above his head. “Is not scrawny”, he smirked before he turned around to glance at a laughing Gaby next to him. “It’s not!” he chuckled, pushing on the left-back’s shoulder.

Gabriel tried to bite back a grin. “I know, Ronnie”, he soothed, ruffling the Portuguese’s hair.

Wayne snorted and turned on the TV with the remote. “I’d need a closer look to say anything about that”, he said nonchalantly, eyes on the TV-screen and the game that was on it.

Cristiano turned to look at him, surprised at the comment. “You just said it was scrawny”, he said, watching Wayne closely. The striker met his eyes briefly before looking back at the television screen again, wetting his lips.

“That’s what it looked the way I last saw it; up-close.”

Cristiano turned to look at Gaby for a moment. He was glad to see the older man’s gaze focused on the TV as well, since he felt his cheeks start to burn at the implication in Wayne’s words. He had thought the English man didn’t even remember it, but clearly Wayne did. God, that had been… at least two years ago. Cristiano glanced at the striker again and found himself holding his breath. Wayne didn’t really remember, did he? They’d both had more than enough to drink, and even he only remembered the vague feeling of Wayne pushing him up against the wall of the toilet and… The English man looked at him and a spike of shivers ran up Cristiano’s spine.

Wayne’s ears were starting to turn red, the Portuguese noted as he shifted on the couch, letting Gaby wrap his arm around his chest and pull him against the Argentinean.

“Good game”, the left-back said, nodding towards the television and all three of them agreed, even though no one was really paying attention to the game.

Of Celebrations

2007-05-15T23:54:56Z

title Of Celebrations
rating NC-17
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
disclaimer The champagne exists, as does the Premier League victory, but the rest of it is fiction.
summary Celebrations of sorts ensues in the dressing room after the cameras are gone.
a/n For junalele in return of this fic. ^^ This is teh Cristyne pr0n [at least it's trying to be! lol].

Soaked in champagne; champagne, not sparkling wine; sweaty, exhilarated and out of their minds with victory, championship, the shining surface of the cup, drops of alcohol, take your pick- they kiss. It’s not a chaste peck on the cheek or accidentally on the lips, but a passionate clash of lips, teeth and tongue with Wayne pushing Cristiano up against the wall of their dressing room.

The others aren’t paying attention to them, or they might be, but they’re not paying any attention to what’s going on around them; and they don’t have to, since the cameras are long gone, letting them shower and freshen up before a new round of celebratory posing. Now, they’re clutching awkwardly on each other, leaning against the wall with Cristiano feet stuck to the floor a fair fifty centimetres from the wall because of the damn bench, kissing sloppily, tasting the champagne on each others lips, tongue and skin.

“Fuck yes”, Wayne groans when Cristiano gnaws on his tongue slightly, all the while their lips still moving together. His hands are fisting the winger’s soaking wet hair behind his ears, keeping Cristiano up as much as keeping him in place. The feel of their hips pressed together and the non-existent wet material of their shorts as the only thing keeping them apart make Wayne almost forget where they are, who they are and what the fuck they’re doing. They’re the champions, and he wants to get his taste of the victory celebrations; right now, with Ronnie.

There’s a sudden wet slosh on his back and before Wayne has the chance to react, there’s a shower of champagne flying at them, coating them both with bubbles and sticky liquid. Cristiano lets out the most enticing small sounds in the back of his throat as he scrambles against the wall, trying to get away from the spray and stay upright at the same time. He clings to Wayne’s waist as he loses his footing and lands on the bench with a thud.

Rio and Gaby are laughing their heads off behind the striker, pouring the last drops from the bottles down Wayne’s back. “Ha, ha”, he chuckles at the two, glancing down where Cristiano is wiping his face with the drenched fabric of his shirt. The spell of before was broken by the two dunderheads, but it wasn’t gone, he still wants the winger. Cristiano glances up at him with a ridiculously happy grin and tilts his head towards the showers. Apparently the feeling is mutual.

Pushing away from the wall and reaching out his hand for Ronnie to pull him up, Wayne glances at their team mates and finds a few of them watching them. He shakes his head, grinning, as he gives Cristiano a gentle nudge to the direction of the showers, and quips a “Just a moment” over his shoulder.

There’s no door. Wayne notices that at the same time as Ronnie whispers it to his ear. His hands are slipping under Cristiano’s soaked shirt, ready to peal the fabric off of his skin as they back into the tiled corner on the same wall as the doorway.

Cristiano pins him against the wall with his body while raising his arms over his head to help Wayne take off his own shirt. His gaze is sweeping over the striker’s face and the sleepy, euphoric look he has on, until the shirt covers his head for a moment and makes him see black before it splashes against the floor.

“There”, Wayne breathes and pulls Cristiano closer by his neck

Wayne’s cock slides against Cristiano’s thigh as they draw together and Cristiano moves against him, tilting Wayne’s head back, his palm covering the striker’s jawbone as he leans down to kiss him again. They’ve got time for themselves now; there’s no rush and no need to make all of that hype of the victory to fit itself into one fierce kiss since there’s a chance for more now. Cristiano’s lips hover just a fraction above his, teasing them both. The warm, champagne-scented breaths from the Portuguese land on his lips and his nose and all of those tiny flickers of air on his skin are heightened by the occasion and his closed eyes.

They’ve done this a few times over the past years but it had never been a regular thing; it was random if even that. A few blowjobs and mutual wanks here and there, always under the influence of alcohol which gave the most perfect excuse to pretend the next morning that they’d just slept on the same bed and didn’t remember doing anything.

“Come on…”, the striker groans after waiting for the moment for their lips to touch what seemed like an eternity. He hearsfeels Cristiano chuckle as a warm hand sneaks its way down his side and tugs on the rubber band of his shorts. The wet material rolls down his buttocks with the help of the winger’s hot fingers and Wayne lets out a ragged breath when the shorts are curled around his ankles and Cristiano presses against him fully. Cristiano’s pants are gone, too, and their cocks are trapped between their bodies, making waves of pleasure wash over them every time Cristiano flexes his legs and moves up and down against Wayne.

Warm lips descend on his and he parts his lips, moaning quietly as Cristiano suddenly wraps his hand around his cock and strokes.

Wayne gnaws on the insides of Cristiano’s thighs while his hands are holding onto his outer thighs, eyes focused on the prominent Adam’s apple moving up and down Cristiano’s throat with the tiny breaths and gulps from the Portuguese. Cristiano weaves his fingers through the striker’s short hair, rubbing Wayne’s scalp while trying to coax him closer to the centre of his attention, standing red and proud just shy from Wayne’s lips.

The striker licks a trail up to Cristiano’s navel, pushing back against the hot palms on the back of his head as he glances up to find Ronnie watching him. A shiver runs down his spine and the look on Cristiano’s face makes his cock jump, craving for attention it’s denied. “You want me suck you?” he asks, parting his lips and taking hold of Cristiano’s cock while taking in every fleeting expression on the Portuguese’s face.

“Yes…”, the winger breathes, his fingers grasping on Wayne’s ears, trying to pull him closer.

Wayne closes his lips over the head and twirls his tongue over it, moaning around the head as his own fist wraps over his erection.

“You guys coming?” Gaby calls out before peaking around the corner. His eyes are greeted with the sight of the two youngsters sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, naked and panting.

“Apparently they already did”, Rio chuckles behind him, throwing a towel at the pair. Gaby shakes his head, grinning and backs out, joining the ongoing chanting loudly.

“Ha, ha”, Wayne snorts, ruffling Cristiano’s hair as he tilts his head back to rest against the wall, taking a deep breath. “Fuck off, Rio”, he waves his hand at the tall defender leaning against the doorway, smirking. Cristiano’s side is touching his and he can feel the winger’s body heave with pants and there’s a stupid grin tugging on his lips; both of their lips, and he doesn’t care that Rio’s there.

“Hurry up”, Rio laughs, gesturing out to the dressing room. “They’ll come looking for you soon enough”, he adds, disappearing from the doorway to the noisy celebrations.

Wayne’s arm is dangling over Cristiano’s left shoulder and they’re sitting on the heated tiles, their sides touching and both still regaining their breath. It’s a comfortable silence, like it always was with Ronnie. Wayne turns his head towards the winger and nuzzles the crook of Cristiano’s neck before resting his head on his friend’s shoulder. “Would you mind if I stayed over tonight?” he asks softly, brushing his fingertips over Cristiano’s bent knee.

Ronnie rests his head against Wayne’s and shakes his head. “Stay over”, he smiles, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the tickling hairs on Wayne’s head. He grins and wraps his arm around Wayne’s head, pulling him closer. “Then celebrate better”, he whispers.

“Better, eh?” the striker chuckles, detangling himself from Cristiano and standing up reluctantly. He turns the nearest shower on and reaches a hand out for the winger. “Let’s get clean first, yeah?”

Semi-Final: Rio/Cristiano

2007-05-03T22:12:29Z

title Semi-Final: Rio/Cristiano
rating PG-13
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Rio Ferdinand
disclaimer This is not true.
summary A discussion over breakfast
a/n This overlooks the sadness of the loss and is just pretty much a few of the ManU-players chatting over breakfast.

Rio made his way over to the restaurant in the hotel, his walk unsure and his eyes almost closed. He headed over to the table where he saw Alan’s bleached hair scream at him. Groggily, he pulled out a chair next to Darren and slouched down into the cushioned dark-wood armchair. “Fuck…”, he groaned, sliding down the chair a little to rest his head on the edge of the backrest. He could feel his shoes touching Alan’s but he didn’t care.

Vida chuckled at him, he could hear that. The Serb’s laugh was a recognizable one out of the bunch. Alan and Darren had pretty much copied each other’s since they seemed to spend way too much time together. He didn’t even want to know what they got up to together.

“You look…”, Darren started, poking him to the ribs, causing Rio to jolt, his knees hitting the table.

“- worn out”, Alan nodded, a lewd grin on his lips, watching his team mate curiously.

Rio raised an eyebrow at the blonds; god, they were all blond, he mused, staring from one head to another. He shook his head at that ridiculously meaningless notion and pushed himself up on the chair a little. “Well, I didn’t get much sleep last night”, he said, taking in the plates of his team mates. His stomach was growling with hunger but he didn’t have the energy to get up and queue for his food. He snatched a piece of bacon from Darren’s plate and popped it into his mouth before the Scot could give a word in edge-wise.

Vida was drinking his apple juice, taking a nice long swig of the yellow liquid before he leaned over the table a little, holding his partner’s eyes. “Oh? Why was that?” he asked, the dimples on his cheeks deep and the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he grinned.

The English man tried to read Vida’s face for the amount of details the other man wanted, but he couldn’t, so he just offered a “Ron kept me up.”

Nemanja raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the table next to theirs which seated Gaby, Wayne and Edwin. “Oh?” he asked again, moving his gaze back to his friend. “Is no lie?”

Rio furrowed his eyebrows. “What’ve you heard?”

Darren burst out laughing next to him, all the while shielding his plate with his right hand. The Scot wouldn’t look at him, no matter how much Rio was glaring at him. It was futile to get anything out of this blond, so he turned his attention to Vida and Alan. “Whazzup?” Rio asked, eyebrows still furrowed as he shifted his position on the bench, the rough material of the seams burning him.

Alan grinned, his eyes twinkling. He glanced over at the table next to them much like Vida had, and Rio started to feel as if… no, they hadn’t been that loud. “Ed told us an interesting story”, Alan smiled, pushing his plate forward a little. He caught Rio’s eyes over the table and wet his lips. “One that I wouldn’t have thought of myself, I might add”, he shook his head in fake-awe.

The silence that descended over the table next to theirs made Rio turn to look over at the three men sitting there. Wayne and Heinze were picking at their food while Edwin had turned to look at him with an apologetic shrug. “I swear I didn’t know it was you and Cristiano”, the Dutch goalie lisped.

Rio turned to look at Alan and Vida again, his face grim. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he said, his upper lip moving with each word.

Alan smirked. “Right… as if you could fuck all night and not remember it without any alcohol”, he chuckled, shaking his head. “And since the Boss got rid of all of that, there’s no chance you don’t remember”, the blond reasoned, resting his elbows on the table top. “Come on, dirty details, please”, he ushered, earning a frown from Darren, and the three men from the table next to theirs scoffed at their antics.

Rio leaned back in his chair and considered it for a moment. He tilted his head to his left as he scratched the right side of his face. “Next time… don’t leave me alone with him after a loss”, he said, leaning over the table to steal a piece of bread from Vida, ignoring the look he got from Alan.

Wayne snorted from their table. “Yeah, must have been bloody awful”, he snapped, not even bothering to look at the defender.

Rio chuckled as he watched the younger man play with his fork and the eggs on his plate. “It bloody well was! I was seriously knackered and Ron just kept on wanting to–”

“Hey”, the soft murmur came from behind the English man.

Alan, Vida and Darren looked up to smile at the sleepy Portuguese. “Heya, Ronnie”, they greeted their friend in unison.

Rio turned around to face Cristiano and wrapped his arm around his back, guiding him around the chair to scoop him down to sit on his lap. “Sleep well?” he asked as the winger was sitting sideways on his lap, his back resting against the armrest and their sides pressed together.

“Mmm-hmm”, Cristiano smiled, leaning closer to wrap his arm over Rio’s shoulders. “You?”

“Perfect”, the tall defender nodded against Ronnie’s shoulder, ignoring the looks he got from the guys on the other side of the table. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that awful, but it was none of their business anyway.

Semi-Final: Cristyne

2007-05-03T00:14:44Z

title Semi-Final: Cristyne
rating G
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
summary Just a tiny ficlet in the bus. Really tiny, sorry. ^^
a/n We’re still out of the Champions League. Hi again. lol

Cristiano is sitting next to Wayne on the bus, eyes dark, lifeless, staring just over the seat in front of him. His face is pale and his eyes are puffy and red with a tinge of shimmering wetness on his skin. His throat is constricting and his chest feels like its trying to grow out of him, making him breathe more rapidly by each wave of realisation as they hit him. goal. goal. goal. and none of them by them. final whistle, ending the futile tries for a chance that never was to be. wave of nausea, a loss.

He’s so caught up in trying to keep himself together for the reminder of the ride that he doesn’t immediately notice it when Wayne starts to make odd choking noises. When he turns to his friend, his tongue tightly wedged between his teeth, his composure crumbles at the sight of Wayne leaning his head against the tinted window, crying.

Cristiano’s eyes start to well with tears again as he watches Wayne try to hide his, blocking his face by covering it with his left hand and turning even further to the window. The over-whelming sobs, albeit quiet, rack through his body with violent shudders, making the striker’s whole abdomen and chest rise and fall erratically, almost in a cramp.

“Wayne…”, Cristiano whispers, his voice hoarse from its lack of usage and the furious crying he had succumbed into back in the dressing room. His heart breaks even worse when the striker lowers his hand for a moment and glances at him, the skin around his eyes swollen and red, his orbs covered by a thick quilt of tears, before Wayne turns away again, another sob escaping from his lungs and making itself known.

Semi-Final: Roinze

2007-05-02T22:51:22Z

title Semi-Final: Roinze
rating PG-13
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Gabriel Heinze
summary You're making yourself feel better by making him feel better.
a/n We're out of the Champions League. Hi.
a/n2 This just might get a second part to it very soon 'cos I want to read lovely Roinze right now (which means I have to write it. lol. People, why is Roinze ignored? :()

Cristiano is walking in front of you, staggering forward with his feet getting stuck to the grass because of his weak steps. He looks pathetic with his shoulders dropped down, his head bowed down in a gesture of defeat, his face probably swollen and wet with his tears. He looks exactly how you feel inside.

“Ronnie”, you call out, your voice hoarse from emotions, and jog over to him, cradling his head under your chin as he presses against your side tightly. His tear-soaked cheek wets your throat and makes you feel oddly drained without you having cried. “’sokay”, you whisper against his hair, the wet strands gluing themselves to your lips.

He shakes his head, his breath coming out in ragged pants against your skin, one of your arms thrown over his shoulders and his arm wrapped around your middle as you walk through the tunnel; the Tunnel of Hell which echoes the sobs, curse words and the clinking of your shoes, making it impossible to shake the nauseous feeling of loss from the pit of your stomach.

Cristiano is clinging to you as you enter the dressing room, making it impossible for you to just shed your clothes and take a shower; a hot shower that makes your skin burn and shine its redness; a shower that hides the fact that you’ve cried.

You sit down to the bench and help Cristiano when he climbs over you to straddle your thighs. He presses closer to you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as his fists tug at your hair painfully in an odd pattern, completely out of sync with his harsh breathing. You tighten your hold around his back and pull him even closer, moving your right hand to the back of his head. You rest your lips on his neck, kissing the hot, burning skin, trying to make him feel better; make yourself feel better by comforting him.

It doesn’t work.

Cristiano’s chest is heaving against yours as his breath keeps catching with choked sobs. A part of you wants to cry like he does, but you want to keep strong to make him strong again; like you did when your heart was breaking for him at the start of the season when he appeared at your door with his security guards, a bag thrown over his shoulder. He’d smiled in front of the strangers but when they were gone, he’d been something akin to this; a shivering bundle of emotions, something you had to soothe and weave back together. Later that night you’d woken up to find him grinning at you, and your left hand half-cuffed to the bed-post. But tonight’s not going to be that easy, you know that.

Wayne walks over to you and leans over Cristiano’s back, his fingers gracing yours as he runs a hand down the drenched shirt Cristiano is still wearing. You can see the striker laying a kiss to Cristiano’s ear as you feel Ronnie shake his head against your neck. A broken sob leaves his lips and lands hotly against your neck as Wayne whispers something to him. You look up at the boy as he takes a step back from Cristiano, an angry frown on his face as Cristiano curls even further around you.

“Come on”, you mouth over Ronnie’s shoulder at Wayne, recognising the jealousy in his features. You wouldn’t have made a scene if Cristiano had chosen Wayne for comfort tonight, and you hope the striker is wise enough to let it go. Ronnie exhales, making your neck burn before he touches it briefly with his tongue, letting his hold on your hair loosen a little. He takes in a ragged breath as he rearranges himself on your lap; now resting his head against the side of your face.

“Gaby…”, he whispers, his voice inexistent and his lips brushing your cheek. “I was crap”, he breathes, his eyes tearing up as he pushes his lips together with enough force to turn them white, trying stop himself from crying again. You turn to him and lift your hands to hold his face in your hands. He meets your eyes with glossy eyes, the skin around his eyes puffy and red.

“We were crap”, you whisper, leaning closer to him, not caring if everyone sees you kissing him.

The Shrill of the Night

2007-04-26T13:08:30Z

title The Shrill of the Night
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
rating PG-13/R
disclaimer This is not true.
summary A moment in the middle of the night.
A/N Since I have seemed to banish my writer's block, I'm going through my memory stick and finishing fics, so thus the many fics in a relatively short time. ^^

He wakes up to the sound of his cell phone shrilling on his bedside table. Blindly, he tries to search for it; waving his arm around over the table, patting its surface. When Cristiano finally gets a hold of the ringing phone, he flips it open and brings it down to his ear. “Who?” he mumbles on the brink of yawning, stretching out on the bed, the blanket falling down his chest a few inches.

The sound of the doorbell echoing downstairs and through the receiver makes him jolt. “Open the door, jackass”, he recognizes Wayne’s voice on the line, and an impatient tone to the striker’s voice. Cristiano turns over to lie on his back and brings the phone over his head and looks at the shining, blinding, lightened screen of his phone, staring at the time. 3.55 AM.

Putting the phone back on his ear, he sighs. “You’ve been out?” He can hear the English man muttering faintly, trying to block the sound with a hand over the microphone. After a minute of silence, Cristiano considers hanging up. “Wayne?” he asks, running his hand through his sleep-tousled hair, annoyed.

“What?” comes the voice from the doorway of his bedroom, startling Cristiano.

He looks towards the doorway and sees the faint outlines of the English striker in the dark. “How did you get in?” Cristiano asks, sitting up, dropping his phone next to him.

Cristiano can hear Wayne chuckling as he walks over to the bed. “Nuno opened the door”, Wayne smirks, shrugging out of his jacket and shirt. “At least he has some manners”, he teases, unbuckling his belt and letting his jeans drop to the floor.

Moving over to the other side of the bed, wrapping the covers around himself and lying on his side, Cristiano watches his friend disrobe, his balance slightly wobbly and his hands fiddling with the rubber band of his socks until he grows tired of trying to remove them and jumps into the bed with his socks and boxers on.

Wayne dives under the covers and Cristiano can feel soft fingertips trailing on his stomach. “I wasn’t thinking you’d show up tonight”, the Portuguese says softly, turning to lie on his back and pushing his head back into the pillow when he feels Wayne’s lips on his chest, just below his nipple.

The striker murmurs something incomprehensible against his skin and moves closer to lie half on top of Cristiano, tangling their legs. He runs his tongue over Cristiano’s nipple and blows on it, making shivers run through the Portuguese. Wayne’s right hand is resting against Cristiano’s ribcage as if keeping him still, and he’s making tiny back-and-forth movements with his leg; the one between Cristiano’s thighs.

Cristiano is breathing deeply, his eyes closed and one of his hands resting on the small of Wayne’s back. “Come up here…”, he whispers, lifting the blanket with his other hand and smiling when the English man’s face appears from the darkness. “Hey”, Cristiano murmurs, running his fingers through Wayne’s short hair.

“Hey…”, the striker smiles, a hint of a grin on his lips, and leans down to kiss Cristiano. He eases his weight off of his right hand and lurches to his side next to the winger. “I’m fucking knackered”, he yawns and rests his cheek against Cristiano’s shoulder.

“You’re going to sleep?” the Portuguese asks incredulously, resting his cheek against Wayne’s forehead, sighing.

The English man chuckles and pulls the blanket up to his chin. “You’re so demanding”, he mutters, grinning, and moves down on the mattress and buries himself under the covers.

The lips on his chest are back again and Cristiano sighs. “We can just sleep if you want”, he whispers, weaving his fingers into Wayne’s hair. The moment the words leave his mouth, the English striker is back resting against the pillow with his eyes closed.

“Thanks”, Wayne murmurs against his neck and kisses the warm skin softly. The striker tangles their legs together and turns to lie on his side. “I couldn’t sleep at home”, he whispers, settling himself better against Cristiano’s jutting bones, a smile on his lips. “So I thought I’d come and lull myself to sleep by listening to your snoring”, he chuckles, already expecting the tickling fingers on his abdomen. Sure enough, they’re there, making him squirm and bury his face to the crook of the Portuguese’s neck, heavy puffs leaving from his lips, while he’s trying to get a hold of the offending hand.

Cristiano’s rumbling chuckles fade out as Wayne’s hand curls around his. He sighs and relaxes into the mattress, entwining their fingers, his heart beating just a fracture faster than before. “Sleep”, he smiles.

They both lie there in silence, listening to the wind outside and each other’s breathing.

“You have your alarm clock set?” Wayne asks, yawning, settling his head on Cristiano’s pillow. The Portuguese nods, yawning in return. “Good ‘cos I just might sleep past mine”, the striker breathes and closes his eyes, content.

Difference 2

2007-04-26T00:02:52Z

title Difference 2
rating PG-13
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
disclaimer This is not true.
summary The after-math of Difference.

Wayne lingers in the entry hall just a bit too long. He fixes his eyebrows for whatever reason before pulling on his sweat pants and his sweater. He’s searching for his car keys from the table by the mirror when he hears Ronnie’s knees pop as he walks down the stairs.

“Don’t go”, and those simple words stop him.

Wayne turns to look at the gorgeous man standing in the middle of the stairs, the blanket hanging on his shoulders all the way down his sides to the floor, not really covering anything. He meets the winger’s eyes in the dim light and shakes his head, his stomach clenching painfully. “Why would I stay? You’re not even thinking about me.”

Ronnie shakes his head, one of his hands clutching the hem of the blanket with his left hand. He frowns and takes a few steps down the stairs, trying to keep Wayne’s gaze. “But I wasn’t thinking about him… It’s just came out, I was half asleep…”, he breathes, his heart hammering against his chest.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about…”, Wayne chuckles bitterly, running his tongue along his lips. He glances at his right and looks at his reflection in the mirror. “You’ve had so many guys”, he says suddenly and turns to look at the Portuguese again.

“Oh, come on…”, Cristiano snaps, flailing his arms and making the blanket slide down his back and legs onto the stairs. “It was in the past! You’re the one who’s practically married now!” he shouts, his face twisted with irritation.

Wayne’s eyes travel down his lover’s statuesque physique. “And that’s why I’m going home...”

Ronnie clenches his jaw and sits down to the stairs, half-heartedly wrapping the blanket around his lower-body. “Fuck you”, he snaps quietly, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.

“What?” the striker asks, throwing his arms in the air, taking a glance at the white ceiling.

“Fuck you for even thinking about leaving me here like some cheap whore!” Ronnie shouts, his eyes blazing.

Wayne shakes his head furiously and walks a tiny circle on the hallway floor. “If you feel like a whore, think of what that makes me-”, the English man starts, and stops his pacing; “- the stupid fucking customer for believing your bullshit.”

The Portuguese frowns angrily and stares at the striker.

Wayne walks over to the staircase and leans against the railing at the bottom step. He rests his elbow on the white metal and rests his cheek against his palm, staring up at Cristiano. “You want me to stay?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Then tell me who I am”, he whispers, a hint of mockery in his voice.

Ronnie meets his eyes and smiles. “Gaby”, he drawls sweetly, the angry mixture of a smirk and a frown on his face deepening as Wayne moves away from the railing, a look of disgust on his features.

“I’m leaving”, the striker announces and sinks his feet into his shoes.

Cristiano watches him wordlessly.

“I said I’m leaving”, Wayne repeats, turning to look at him.

Cristiano nods. “I heard you.”

The English man nods half-heartedly and makes his way to the front door. When he has his hand on the handle and the door open, he turns to look at Ronnie. “Don’t call Heinze over”, he says, trying to make it sound nonchalant instead of the plea that it really was.

The Portuguese lets out a tiny, apologetic smile. “I never slept with Gaby”, he admits, pulling the blanket around him tighter because of all the cold air rushing in from the door.

Wayne nods. “I have to go”, he says, gesturing outside.

Cristiano draws in his lips before he stands up and makes his way slowly towards the striker. When he’s close enough, he leans against the door, making it close. He feels the English man’s warm palm lower to his neck, holding onto it gently. Their eyes meet as Wayne turns to him, and Ronnie whispers: “Don’t go”, just before soft lips touch his.

Haunted

2007-04-25T12:11:04Z

title Haunted
rating R/NC-17 for just one scene (a het-scene... *thud*)
warning HET! Cristiano/woman just for one, graphic scene
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney (Cristiano/OFC)
disclaimer Not true in any way!
A/N A weird piece... Crude-one, too. lol. And did I say a weird one? ^^
summary Wayne wants Cristiano.

You wanted him. You wanted him so fucking bad every time you saw him, heard his voice or he just crossed your mind. But that was a lie; he never just crossed your mind. He lived in your mind, taunting you with that alluring body of his and that sexy accent. He made you uncomfortable in ways and situations he probably had no idea of, but he did. He even woke you up in the middle of the night, only to leave you lying there with a pair of cum-drenched shorts and Coleen asking you what was wrong. And he had no idea of the power he had over you. No idea.

That’s why he could still wink at you during training and off in some nightclub meaning nothing by it, sidling closer to you and proposing a foursome with Coleen and some chick he had picked up. If it had been anyone else, you would have punched him. But it was Ronnie and it was a joke, and you wanted to shake his hand and agree. You laughed, and he pursed his lips in a gesture of ‘your bad’ and looked at you with twinkling eyes before strutting out of the club with the chick, chuckling.

He would pair up with you in training and he would have no trouble extending his leg at you or to have you press his leg down towards his face in an odd position imitating sex. He’d look at you the whole time while talking about this and that; occasionally stretching his arms above his head and yawning, completely relaxed while you were sizzling with tension.

He was a handful. Or maybe a little bit more, you couldn’t tell from the angle you saw him in the showers, in the dressing room. But you weren’t supposed to be looking at him, were you? You threw a cube of soap at Darren when he had his eyes closed and he was washing his hair. The surprised yelp and the commotion of the Scot trying to figure out who the thrower had been took your mind out of your gorgeous friend standing a few metres to your right; right up to the point when he sauntered past you and flicked his soap at your chest, chuckling.

You saw him once; fucking some slut against a kitchen counter in his house a few weeks ago. In hindsight, that must have been what fuelled this hellish lust you seemed to harbour towards him even more. He’d forgotten you two had made plans for the evening, so when you let yourself into his house with the spare-key he’d given you, that was the scene you walked in to find. The second you saw them from the doorway of the kitchen, it was as if all of your blood had either vanished or rushed downwards, you don’t know. You felt a spike of fever, arousal, shock, call it whatever you want, run through you and you were frozen to the spot. You must have made a noise since the blonde turned to look at you. She narrowed her eyes like you were invading a private moment… which you probably were… and she was pissed off at you for taking away her time with her precious Cristiano.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as the blonde pinched one of his buttocks to get his attention from the fevered fucking he had lost himself into. She whispered something to him and you could see the corners of Ronnie’s mouth quirk. He moved a step back from her and let his cock slip out of her with a faint moan. Ronnie turned to look at you with a small, satisfied grin on his lips. His left hand was resting under the blonde’s breast and you felt so out of your place. You weren’t supposed to have any place in his sex life but now you did. He was looking you in the eye and you were glad for it because otherwise he’d have had a clear view of you taking a glance at his cock which you could sense was just outside your line of vision. His cheeks were flushed and he let out a small chuckle. He must have decided it was time to pretend he was uncomfortable with the situation, so he rubbed his temple with his right hand. With a suggestive glance down at his body, he tilted his head towards the living room and asked you to wait there.

You had waited and waited until finally he slipped up the stairs with a smirk in your directions. Just a quick wash. After a moment, Ronnie walked down the stairs, dressed in black sweat pants and a t-shirt, his hair glistening with water. You looked at him and it was hard to think of the Ronnie in the kitchen as the same one as this casual one. He smiled at you, no more smirking, and wet his lips as he jumped down from the last step. He greeted you as if you hadn’t just walked in on him having sex with some woman. You decided to do the same. And it started to haunt you.

Sometimes he would stretch up against a wall in the dressing room before training, you know, loosening his calf muscles. Today was one of those days. You were feeling reckless, to say the least. You hadn’t gotten any sleep since Col wouldn’t let you turn on the vacuum cleaner so you’d laid there through the night, your eyes trained on the ceiling and the reflected digital clock there. You closed your eyes in a wave of exhaustion at 5.35AM and then opened them again 6.25AM, deciding it was a good time to get up since sleep had deserted you that night. At 8AM you arrived here and there he was, facing the wall, oblivious to your presence.

“How’s the wall?” you ask him, just shy of his ear. He trashes in surprise and maybe even momentary fear before turning around to look at you. He’s leaning against the wall and you can see his chest rising and falling as if he’s just trained for a good thirty minutes under the Boss. He cracks a breathless smile and shakes his head.

“Is worse in English than Gaby is”, he chuckles, his eyes bright and capturing. You nod, lips twitching up to a grin at his silly joke. You want him. You want him so fucking bad.

As seconds tick by, his eyebrows begin to furrow. He’s looking at you with a wondering look on his face as his eyes scan yours. You don’t know what he sees but after a moment he raises an eyebrow and his whole being seems to change. He rises up to his full height and looks at you, his eyes still glinting but his face expressionless, sombre.

“Game over?” he asks, confusing you. You stare at him, trying to figure out what he meant. He moves his jaw in amusement and glances over your shoulder at something before looking back at you. “Hmm?” he asks you, not bothering to repeat the question.

You shake your head in confusion and feel very much like you did on that day in Ronnie’s kitchen. “What?” you ask and take a step back from him. He doesn’t mean what you think he does.

Ronnie looks at you, half-smiling, half-frowning. “Nothing”, he shakes his head, a faint smirk now on his lips. He pushes off the wall and slides past you, asking over his shoulder: “You want to practise free kicks?”, and you’d like to shake your head and say no, because you have the feeling that you fucked something up with your daftness.

“Sure.”

Hotel Room

2007-04-12T11:12:39Z

title Hotel Room
rating NC-17 for a blow job and voyerism and language
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Gabriel Heinze, (Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney, maybe)
disclaimer This is not true in any way. Just fiction.
summary If you leave the party early, you're so missing out on something. [third person's perspective, though]
a/n Ok, so... This was not supposed to be like this. lol. And I think this has potential to grow to be a few-parter, if that's a word. ^^

The music was blasting at decibels he would never have listed to if it was his choice. Wayne signalled to him and said something but Cristiano could only see his lips move and the striker’s eyebrows rise questioningly.

“What?” the Portuguese asked loudly, tilting his head forward to hear better.

The bass started bumping even harder, making their insides jolt with every vibration that ran through the air. The others seemed to enjoy that, dancing awkwardly on the dance floor, all of their grace gone.

Wayne moved closer and settled his hand to the small of Cristiano’s back as their sides met. The English man leaned closer and yelled: “I think I’m going to go; d’you have your key?”

Cristiano turned his head to look at his friend and nodded as he found Wayne’s face closer to his than he’d expected. “Yeah.”

The striker nodded and pulled back, gesturing towards the exit. He said something Cristiano didn’t catch.

“What?”

Wayne shook his head and chuckled, moving closer again. He rested his hand on Cristiano’s jean-clad hip and said loudly: “I’m off!”

The Portuguese laughed as Wayne pulled back. He grinned stupidly and gestured to the door. “OK.” The English man’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

Cristiano burst out laughing and shook his head. He took Wayne by the sleeve of his dress shirt and pulled him out of the club and into the hallway of the hotel. “You can leave, is crazy here”, he smiled, lifting his left hand to Wayne’s shoulder and pushing playfully.

The striker nodded and took a step back, smirking. “Don’t get into trouble now.”

He was lying under the heavy blanket, staring drowsily at the ceiling and listening to the roar of the air conditioning. It must have been a good two hours since he had left the bar but he just couldn’t sleep. His eyes were heavy, more than that, really, but he just couldn’t fall asleep.

Wayne considered sitting up and switching the TV on but he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t have any energy in him; not even to fall asleep for fuck’s sake.

There was a rattle at the door and he turned his head towards it. The door opened with a bright ray of light shining in from the corridor. Wayne shut his eyes, groaning. “Close the fucking door, Ron!”

The door slid closed with a click. Wayne looked at the dim corner in front of the room and saw two figures there instead of just one. He narrowed his eyes to see better in the relative darkness and recognized Ronnie’s companion as Heinze. The men were leaning against the wardrobe, Heinze pressing Ronnie into the hard material and devouring him. Wayne furrowed his eyebrows as the Argentinean started moving down on Ronnie’s body. “You’re not having sex while I’m trying to sleep, no way!” he snapped.

“Gaby’s just gonna suck me off…”, the Portuguese sighed, tilting his head back against the wardrobe as he fisted his hands in the Argentinean’s unruly hair.

Wayne stared at the sight in front of him in the dim light; Ronnie leaning against the mahogany wardrobe while Heinze was kneeling before him, his hands working on the buttons of Ronnie’s shirt. Wayne rose up to rest his upper body on his elbows on the mattress and he shook his head when the garment slid down his friend’s arms and Heinze ran his fingertips down Ronnie’s stomach. “Cris…”, he said faintly, not quite making sense of his own tone.

Ronnie let out an impatient breath as Heinze opened the fly of his jeans and he turned to look at his friend on the bed. “Come on, Wayn-gh”, the Portuguese sighed again, his breath catching when Heinze started mouthing his cock through the fabric of his briefs. “Fuck…”, he groaned, tightening his hold on the left back’s hair.

Wayne was sure his jaw had fallen to the floor and his eyes were as wide as one of those satellite dishes he kept seeing everywhere. He shook his head and gulped. For some reason his mouth was a little dry, as were his lips. He let out a long breath as he watched Heinze push Ronnie’s underwear down to his ankles and look up at the Portuguese with a teasing smirk on his lips. What the fuck…

He could see the Argentinean move closer to Ronnie, advancing on his knees until his chest was almost resting against Ronnie’s legs. Heinze’s head blocked the view from there on but from the sensual moans Ronnie was letting out, Wayne could imagine what was going on, and the mere thought of his teammate sucking his friend off right in front of him shouldn’t have made him as hard as it did.

What really killed Wayne was the fact that he could only see Ronnie. The Portuguese had his head tilted slightly to his right with his eyes closed and his dark hair was tousled up against the wooden surface behind him and the sides of his face. His lips were parted to accommodate the soft moans, groans and curse words Heinze kept pulling out of him by doing whatever he was doing.

It was agony to keep from touching himself when just the look on Ronnie’s face showed him how fucking good it would feel to do so. Gaby’s just gonna suck me off… Clearly Ronnie hadn’t thought it would affect Wayne this much and make him burn and ache. Wayne let himself drop down to the bed with a quiet growl. He was back to staring at the ceiling but now his ears were graced in addition to the roar of the air conditioning with the wet slurps, hums and moans from Ronnie and Heinze. He was very fucking sure he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

Difference

2007-04-08T16:51:17Z

title Difference
rating PG-13
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
disclaimer Not true.
summary A small angsty drabble.
word count 231
a/n Inspired by das_teufelchen's icon which says 'Hold me tighter' but to me it looked like 'Held me tighter' and this scene popped into my brain. *shrug* This could have been longer but it would have been sooo angsty so I decided against it. :) I might do more with a similiar base idea if a plot bunny jumps on me, though... *covers the floor with carrots* Here, bunny-bunny-bunny!

”He held me tighter…”

Those words in the deep of the night whispered against the skin of his neck squeeze Wayne’s heart brutally. They make him want to push Ronnie off bed and throw his fucking hair gel from the nightstand after him.

The Portuguese freezes when he realises he said that out loud. Wayne bites on his lips and stares at the ceiling, flinching when his fingertips grace the skin of Ronnie’s shoulder by accident.

This proximity feels suffocating after the hardly spoken admission by the winger.

“I didn’t mean-”, Cristiano sighs, rolling to lie on his back, resting his head on his pillow instead of Wayne’s shoulder, trapping the English man’s arm under him.

“-to say that out loud, I know”, the striker snaps, yanking his arm from under the Portuguese’s back.

They lie side by side on the bed, quiet. Cristiano has his hands nestled in his hair, fisting the dark strands while Wayne is lying next to him, stock-still, his right hand over his stomach, as far from Ronnie as it could reach.

“I’m gonna go home”, he whispers, pushing the sheets away from him.

Cristiano sits up, his hands now tucked between his thighs. His eyes follow the silhouette of the English man as he makes his way across the room. “Wayne”, he pleads but the only answer he gets is the sound of the door slamming.

Mad

2007-03-30T20:31:40Z

title Mad
rating PG-13 for language
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
disclaimer This is not true; this is fiction.
summary After the Middlesbrough-game in ManU-dressing rooms. [during the game a Boro-player tackled Cristiano in a harsh tackle and got a red card; and Wayne went over to him and almost started a fight] Wayne is acting out.
a/n This is... well, angst and eww-fluff in the end, almost. I am not able to make them fightfight, which I will someday do 'cos woah, that will be so terribly hot. And I don't think I'm able to write Ronnie and Gaby in the same fic without some kind of slashy omgiloveyou-suggestions. ^^ Oh, Gaby. :) Eh, and as always, comments of all kinds are welcome. Let me know what you think of this ficcie. :)

He stared at you, his pale-blue eyes cold as his eyes held yours with tactile preciseness. Wayne shook his head and smirked, annoyed. “Why do I fucking let you do this?”

You don’t understand what he means so you shrug and finally look away when he turns his back on you and starts to remove his clothes. You’re not alone in the dressing room but right now it feels like it’s just you and Wayne; and you go deaf when he turns away from you with a disdainful chuckle; only that sound ringing in your ears.

You stand there, watching his hairy back as he disrobes and wraps his towel around his hips before he turns around again. “What I do?” you ask, anger welling up inside of you as Wayne looks at you with that bitter smirk on his lips.

“You make me act stupid”, he snaps, his words sounding humorous but the look on his face makes it clear they’re not supposed to. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and shake your head, trying to understand.

“What?”

He narrows his eyes and twists his lips, the look on his face turning into one you’ve seen on the pitch when he goes ballistic over an unjust decision or a foul. “Don’t fucking talk to me right now”, he snarls, pushing past you, purposely knocking his shoulder into yours. “Okay?” he shouts over his shoulder as you turn to follow him.

You sit on the bench while some of the guys are slipping in an out of the showers; some already sitting in the bus, waiting for everyone else. You’ve slipped into Wayne’s sweat pants, just because.

“Move, Ronnie”, he snaps when sits down next to you and reaches for his bag on your left.

You let him lean over you and pull the bag over your lap; but the anger wells up inside you again when he wrenches on the strap of the bag, making it scratch your stomach nastily. You turn to him and push him on his chest, bellowing: “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

The apparent disdain in Wayne’s eyes takes you by surprise as he slaps your hands away. “You”, he says, not a shadow of a lie in his features.

You stare at him, long and hard. He stares back at you, his head tilting from time to time with something akin to Gaz’s twitches but on Wayne they seem to embody anger even more clearly. “Fine”, you shrug, shaking your head, and get up to walk over to your own spot to change.

“What are you wearing?” Wayne asks suddenly, making you stop.

“Ehm...”

“Are those my pants?” he asks incredulously.

“No…”

Wayne reaches for the pants and takes a hold of the material, pulling you closer to him by the garment. “Give them to me and wear your own”, he mutters when he has you standing between his spread legs and he starts tugging on the waistband.

“Wait”, you whisper, one hand braced on Wayne’s shoulder. He looks up at you and rolls his eyes. “I don’t have anything else on”, you say and watch as his gaze runs down your body to rest on your crotch.

The striker smirks and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. “Too bad”, he chuckles and pulls the pants down your legs with one movement, exposing you. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to being naked in the dressing room; but this, having Wayne undress you in front of the rest of your friends, was bordering on being a revelation which Wayne clearly didn’t want it to be, judging from his temper after the game.

Wayne looks up at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief but then that fades away as he takes in the surroundings and he pushes you away with a frown on his face. “Go away…”, he mutters, picking up his pants from the floor and pulling them on. Sometimes he confused the hell out of you.

“Fine”, you snap, walking over to your place and putting on your sweat pants and your hoodie, not caring with a wash up.

You’re sitting next to Gaby in the back of the bus when Wayne enters. You’re trying not to look at him so you keep looking out of the window but you can’t help but to notice from the corner of your eye how he keeps on nearing the back of the bus. You fix the look of indifference on your face and purse your lips when you hear him ask Gaby to switch places with him.

You reach your hand to take a hold of the Argentinean’s jeans, making him know you don’t want him to go anywhere. But does he listen to you? Fuck no. He lowers his hand on top of yours for a moment as he says something to Wayne, and wraps his fingers around your hand, pulling you away from his jeans and lowering your hand on your lap. You glance at him, eyes narrowed, and he just smiles that infuriating smile of his.

They switch places and you turn back to stare out of the window. You don’t want to deal with Wayne’s shit right now. The striker is sitting restlessly next to you, sighing constantly, trying to get your attention. Fuck that.

“Ron…”, he says quietly and you can feel his eyes on you.

You twist your lips and turn to look at him. “Don’t fucking talk to me right now”, you throw his own words back at him and look him in the eye, your frustration burning in your eyes.

He chews on his lower lip and turns to sit sideways on the seat, facing you. You’re not sure if you like the fact that he looks like he’s getting ready for a speech. He rests his temple against the backrest and keeps your gaze, his eyes now resembling a clear ocean. “I don’t want to lose my head like that on the pitch”, he breathes, his fingers trailing patterns on his pants.

You narrow your eyes and shake your head, not understanding what he means. “You always get angry on the pitch”, you retort, shrugging.

Wayne shakes his head. “Not because of you”, he says, frowning. “I don’t want to want to smash someone’s head in when they’ve tackled you”, Wayne mutters, looking past you out of the window. “I don’t want to, but you make me want to”, he finishes, glancing at you.

You can’t be angry at him. It’s virtually impossible when Wayne adopts that apologetic look on his face and eyes you like that. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t full of shit but… “I don’t make you do anything”, you say, your lips twisting up into a small smile.

Wayne raises an eyebrow and walks his fingers over to your thigh. The tiny finger-creature stops near your knee and vanishes as a heavy palm onto the soft material. “Yeah, you do”, he shakes his head, murmuring. He entwines your hands and grins softly. “You make me feel.”

You burst out laughing at the cheesy line and run your tongue over your teeth, trying to quell your grinning. “You’re so lame, Wayne”, you chuckle, stroking your thumb over his.

“But it’s true”, the striker smiles.

You nod. “I know.”

Bruises

2007-03-22T12:26:24Z

title Bruises
rating PG/G
pairing Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
disclaimer Not true.
summary inspired by rezie's suggestion of roo/ron after the boro match. This is Roo/Ron after the Boro-match. ^^ Just a tiny drabble of worried Wazza. :)

”Are you hurt?” Wayne asks, sitting next to Cristiano, lowering his hand to the Portuguese’s knee and stroking the skin with his hot fingertips, his eyes are trained on the winger’s bruised legs; the green, yellow and purplish spots covering his calves.

“I’m fine”, Cristiano smiles, glancing around the room.

“You sure?” the English man asks and reaches his hand behind Cristiano’s knee and scoops the leg to his lap. He can hear the Portuguese protest as he scrambles on the bench in surprise. “Move closer”, Wayne says, pulling on Cristiano’s hips until the winger is lying along the bench, his right leg over his lap and the left one pressed against the striker’s on the floor.

“I can’t believe you”, Cristiano chuckles, embarrassed, as lewd whistles resound through the room.

Wayne ignores him and the sounds, even though his eyebrows furrow when he can see Rio gesture something from the corner of his eye, and concentrates on tracing his fingers around Cristiano’s kneecap and down his leg.

“Wayne”, the Portuguese breathes, amused and touched. “I’m fine”, he smiles, pushing up to rest his upper body on his forearms.

The striker turns to look at him and searches his eyes for something. “Positive?” he asks, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

Cristiano nods, lifting his eyebrows and starting to pull his leg back. “Yes.”

Wayne wraps both of his hands around the winger’s calf and narrows his eyes. “Let me check the other one, too”, he says, commands, his determined pale-blue eyes locked on Cristiano’s amused hazel ones.

The Portuguese chuckles and nods, lifting his leg from Wayne’s lap and slipping it behind him, between Wayne's back and the wall. Cristiano lowers himself back on his back and raises his left leg to Wayne’s lap, shivering as the striker’s fingers caress the bruised skin and he asks worriedly: “Does this hurt?”