Fic: Dancing Queen (Various Pairings)
Title: Dancing Queen
Rating: G
Pairing(s):Cris/Wayne (and Wayne/Coleen), Paul/Ole, Gary/Ryan, Rio/Vida
Warning: Crack. And Wazza is trying to dance. RUN!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not happening in reality (as far as I know). Not making any money.
Author's Note: This is the 'Omgzwayneactuallydances' fic for Trisha, or my explanation of why he did what I have not-so-secretly dubbed the surfing!penguin motion. Read at your own risk - I tried to be funny, omfg. XD.
Author's Note II: I'm never going to drink more than two cups of coffee again. Never, ever.
Wayne loves her, with all his heart - the expensive engagement ring is sparkling evidence to that - and of course, he is thinking about the wedding. Just not all the fucking time. And certainly not about things like that.
The seconds stretch to little eternities as she keeps on staring at him, arms akimbo, her features, usually soft and gentle, disturbingly hard and determined. And he knows her bloody enough to know that this is either bad, or worse. Still, he's not gonna admit defeat that easily.
"Cols, darling - " He's not being a softie, he's...limiting the damage. Doing it the smart way. Yeah.
"Just don't you 'Cols, darling' me!" she snaps, furious. She reminds him of an angry cat in her tabby dressing gown; of a wild, hissing leopard female he's trying to steal her fucking babies. "We. Will. Take. Dancing Classes. And by we, Wayne Mark Rooney, I do not mean that you can just sit in a corner and watch me trying. Is that understood?"
"Loud and clear", he mutters. One careful look in her eyes has told him that she is not going to rethink that decision. That must be what 'float like a butterfly, sting like a bee' really means, he thinks bitterly and watches her, hands in his pockets, while she googles 'wedding planner manchestre' , then notices her spelling error and gives an annoyed snort. "Don't you have training or something?" she asks pointedly (and doesn't even turn around).
He's only too grateful to nod and make his escape.
***
When Wayne enters the changing room at Carrington, the thought of having to take dance classes still has his guts knotting like crazy. Oh, okay. So the great Wayne Rooney, England's rising hope, can do volley shots and curving crosses and handle cupboard-sized defenders, but when it comes to waltzing...well, to put it nicely, Vida's English is better than his dancing.
"Wazza! Boss wants - Boss wants to mate ya!"
"Meet." Talk of the devil.
"What did say? What did say?" Lately, Vida always gets a truly horrified gleam into his eyes when people correct him.
Wayne simply pats him on the back and hands him his duffel bag. "'m sure Rio can explain it better. Be right back, yeah?" And with that, he trudges off to the Gaffer's bureau, wondering what the hell is too important to be delayed until he's dressed for training.
It turns out to be "the issue with your boots, Wayne, I'm not entirely convinced of the appropriateness of this sudden change."
No, he isn't, either, she could at least give a man warning before she gets something like that into her pretty head. Blimey, he just hopes he learns fast.
There's an abrupt silence, and slowly, much too slowly, it dawns upon Wayne that there, might have been, a question mark at the end of the Gaffer's sentence.
"...Are you alright, Wayne?"
"Uh, yeah, sure, I just, like, umdidyourwifewantyoutotakedancingclassesaswell?" On his way home, he'll fail to find an explanation why he a) asked this and b) suddenly had the balls to do it. Now, however, he just wants to bite his own arse, while Sir Alex proceeds to look at him with a puzzled frown.
"Uh, sorry, I, ah, am, erm, Cols -" Wayne stammers, scratching his head, hoping that the Gaffer, somehow, manages to read the whole damn dancing class shit out of it. And apparently, Sir Alex does, because he just smiles, although, admittedly, a little baffled. "Well - I'll see you on the pitch, then," he says.
And for the second time today, Wayne is only too grateful to be able to make his escape.
***
"Oi, Gaz." Wazza slumps down on the bench next to his teammate and starts untying his shoes, watching out of the corner of his eye how Gary unpacks his things, neatly puts them into reverse dressing order, and then sits down on the bench, as well.
"Uh, nice weather for training."
Gary's head turns, and brown eyes narrow at him. "You 'ave tied me shoelaces together!" It's not even a question.
"Oi! I've just said we've got nice weather, and you're accusing me of...of...doing things!"
"Yeah, maybe that's because you never talk about the weather. Unless you 'ave to confess." And after a short pause, Gary adds: "Or want to borrow something. Tell you what - no."
"I can fuckin' buy everything I want!"
"So?"
"Yeah, and tell you what, I don't even want you to teach me the bleedin' waltz no more!" Wayne says angrily, and has just decided to get up and leave, when suddenly, a well-soaked washcloth hits him square in the face.
"Ouch! Damnit, who -"
"OW! RYAN! 'E ASKED ME, NOT ME 'IM!"
Wayne hurries to get out onto the training ground. He briefly thinks that he's doing that quite often these days - the running - and is slightly worried by that fact, since someone has told him that this is a certain sign of the marriage syndrome, but what.
It's either that or his ears falling off from Coleen's screeching, he thinks and slowly jogs towards the rest of the squad.
***
"Scholesy!"
The ginger-haired man kicks the ball in rough direction of the goal, then turns his head to face Wayne, who nervously fiddles with the hem of his vest. Having learned from his earlier encounter with Gary, he quickly checks if Ole is around, and then simply goes for it:
"Could you teach me, you know, some dancing?"
Paul measures his younger teammate, from head to toe, slowly, thoughtfully, before he replies:
"Of course. - If you get rid of your two problems", he adds in a serious tone, when he sees the hopeful expression on Wayne's face.
"And that'd be - ...?" The hopeful gleam falters only a little bit at Paul's words.
"Your left and your right foot." And with that being said, he jogs after Ole, who slows down and slightly cuffs Paul over the head.
"Hey!"
"Look what you did, Paul!"
"Come on, you know how it feels to be irresistibly tempted."
"Oh, just how would I know?"
"Well, you know me", Paul states simply and grins, only to be rewarded for his cheekiness with another friendly slap and a shake of the head.
During the next lap, though, Ole can't help but agree with Paul, when a hand slides into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and briefly lingers there before exiting the pocket again; leaving the weight of a certain back door's key behind.
***
Wayne swears by the hole in his left sock that he's going to kill Ryan for shouting the news into the changing room after training.
Now, after the initial, roaring laughter has subsided a bit, everyone's giving his inner wit a go and tries to come up with funny (yeah, you wish!), dancing-related bits.
John is swinging his towel around in a weird rhythm (at least he has remembered to put his boxers on, Wayne thinks, trying to be positive about it) and periodically performing a robot dance that almost matches Peter Crouch’s whilst quietly singing "As I went walking down Broadway..."
Rio, on the other hand, has gathered Vida, Owen and Cris around his iPod, and put the speakers on: The beats are blazing through the room, and Gary runs to shower a second time (dragging Ryan with him, "to 'old them washcloths to me bleedin' ears.." ) while the little party bounces and bobs their heads to the music.
Avoiding John, who is too caught up in his robot motions to register anything else, Wayne makes his way over to them.
"...is really cool", Cris says just now, and flashes a huge grin at Rio - and then seems to notice the newly-arrived company, because his eyes widen, all of a sudden. Purposefully, Wayne bumps into Rio - just in case he tries anything on Cris.
A second later, though, he realizes that Cris' sudden horror isn't directed at him: it is much worse.
With astonishment, Wayne (and the rest of the squad, minus Gary and Ryan) watches how Darren starts to nod his head, slowly, than faster and faster, until the whole Scot breaks out into a weird series of dance movements.
He looks like he's got ants in his pants, the way he's jumping around and throwing his arms and whatnot (Wayne tightly shuts his eyes at that point) in the air; but shortly afterwards, his eyes snap open again, because Darren starts to sing, or rather, creak:
"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard..." Frantic - Wayne decides to call shaking for the moment.
A collective groan, and John, who has visibly calmed down since the start of this show, hurriedly throws his things into his bag. "I'm off", he shouts, and is gone in a second, followed by most of the others.
"Yo, Darren!"
"Darn right, it's better than, um, yours, - what, Rio? - darn right, it's better than yours..."
"Stop tha', ya can't do t'milkshake, mate!"
"I can teach you...uh, and why is that?"
"'Ya ain't no bird!"
"My milkshake brings all the boys - But I'm white! And milk is white!"
"Oh my fucking god. 'm off. See ya tomorrow, Wazza!" And Rio is gone, with Vida yelling after him about his next English lesson.
Suddenly, arms are sneaking around Wayne's waist, making him jump a little. He relaxes, though, when Cris, unseen by an ecstatically dancing Darren, licks that spot just below his ear, and then whispers: "I can show you dancing - if you want."
Sometimes, Wayne could seriously bite himself for not seeing what is right in front of his eyes.
***
"Ouch! Wayne!" Ronnie whines and lets go of him, staggering over to the couch in his living room and heavily falling down onto it before removing his socks.
"Look! Look! Is all blue!" he exclaims, staring at his foot, and then at Wayne, who looks defeated.
"Blimey, Ronnie, it's not like I've tackled you!"
"No! Is worse!"
"...good, oh-kay. Could we please continue now? I gotta be home in an hour!"
"Promise you be super-careful!"
"Alright, alright! I will!"
***
"...and then, I had to, like, be super-careful, see, like that!" Wayne finishes his story, grins and spreads his arms, wobbling on his feet like a penguin on a surfboard, riding a particularly difficult wave.
For a second, Ryan feels the almost irresistible urge to roll around on the pitch and roar with laughter - the blowing of the whistle has never been so bloody necessary.
Rating: G
Pairing(s):Cris/Wayne (and Wayne/Coleen), Paul/Ole, Gary/Ryan, Rio/Vida
Warning: Crack. And Wazza is trying to dance. RUN!
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not happening in reality (as far as I know). Not making any money.
Author's Note: This is the 'Omgzwayneactuallydances' fic for Trisha, or my explanation of why he did what I have not-so-secretly dubbed the surfing!penguin motion. Read at your own risk - I tried to be funny, omfg. XD.
Author's Note II: I'm never going to drink more than two cups of coffee again. Never, ever.
Wayne loves her, with all his heart - the expensive engagement ring is sparkling evidence to that - and of course, he is thinking about the wedding. Just not all the fucking time. And certainly not about things like that.
The seconds stretch to little eternities as she keeps on staring at him, arms akimbo, her features, usually soft and gentle, disturbingly hard and determined. And he knows her bloody enough to know that this is either bad, or worse. Still, he's not gonna admit defeat that easily.
"Cols, darling - " He's not being a softie, he's...limiting the damage. Doing it the smart way. Yeah.
"Just don't you 'Cols, darling' me!" she snaps, furious. She reminds him of an angry cat in her tabby dressing gown; of a wild, hissing leopard female he's trying to steal her fucking babies. "We. Will. Take. Dancing Classes. And by we, Wayne Mark Rooney, I do not mean that you can just sit in a corner and watch me trying. Is that understood?"
"Loud and clear", he mutters. One careful look in her eyes has told him that she is not going to rethink that decision. That must be what 'float like a butterfly, sting like a bee' really means, he thinks bitterly and watches her, hands in his pockets, while she googles 'wedding planner manchestre' , then notices her spelling error and gives an annoyed snort. "Don't you have training or something?" she asks pointedly (and doesn't even turn around).
He's only too grateful to nod and make his escape.
***
When Wayne enters the changing room at Carrington, the thought of having to take dance classes still has his guts knotting like crazy. Oh, okay. So the great Wayne Rooney, England's rising hope, can do volley shots and curving crosses and handle cupboard-sized defenders, but when it comes to waltzing...well, to put it nicely, Vida's English is better than his dancing.
"Wazza! Boss wants - Boss wants to mate ya!"
"Meet." Talk of the devil.
"What did say? What did say?" Lately, Vida always gets a truly horrified gleam into his eyes when people correct him.
Wayne simply pats him on the back and hands him his duffel bag. "'m sure Rio can explain it better. Be right back, yeah?" And with that, he trudges off to the Gaffer's bureau, wondering what the hell is too important to be delayed until he's dressed for training.
It turns out to be "the issue with your boots, Wayne, I'm not entirely convinced of the appropriateness of this sudden change."
No, he isn't, either, she could at least give a man warning before she gets something like that into her pretty head. Blimey, he just hopes he learns fast.
There's an abrupt silence, and slowly, much too slowly, it dawns upon Wayne that there, might have been, a question mark at the end of the Gaffer's sentence.
"...Are you alright, Wayne?"
"Uh, yeah, sure, I just, like, umdidyourwifewantyoutotakedancingclassesaswell?" On his way home, he'll fail to find an explanation why he a) asked this and b) suddenly had the balls to do it. Now, however, he just wants to bite his own arse, while Sir Alex proceeds to look at him with a puzzled frown.
"Uh, sorry, I, ah, am, erm, Cols -" Wayne stammers, scratching his head, hoping that the Gaffer, somehow, manages to read the whole damn dancing class shit out of it. And apparently, Sir Alex does, because he just smiles, although, admittedly, a little baffled. "Well - I'll see you on the pitch, then," he says.
And for the second time today, Wayne is only too grateful to be able to make his escape.
***
"Oi, Gaz." Wazza slumps down on the bench next to his teammate and starts untying his shoes, watching out of the corner of his eye how Gary unpacks his things, neatly puts them into reverse dressing order, and then sits down on the bench, as well.
"Uh, nice weather for training."
Gary's head turns, and brown eyes narrow at him. "You 'ave tied me shoelaces together!" It's not even a question.
"Oi! I've just said we've got nice weather, and you're accusing me of...of...doing things!"
"Yeah, maybe that's because you never talk about the weather. Unless you 'ave to confess." And after a short pause, Gary adds: "Or want to borrow something. Tell you what - no."
"I can fuckin' buy everything I want!"
"So?"
"Yeah, and tell you what, I don't even want you to teach me the bleedin' waltz no more!" Wayne says angrily, and has just decided to get up and leave, when suddenly, a well-soaked washcloth hits him square in the face.
"Ouch! Damnit, who -"
"OW! RYAN! 'E ASKED ME, NOT ME 'IM!"
Wayne hurries to get out onto the training ground. He briefly thinks that he's doing that quite often these days - the running - and is slightly worried by that fact, since someone has told him that this is a certain sign of the marriage syndrome, but what.
It's either that or his ears falling off from Coleen's screeching, he thinks and slowly jogs towards the rest of the squad.
***
"Scholesy!"
The ginger-haired man kicks the ball in rough direction of the goal, then turns his head to face Wayne, who nervously fiddles with the hem of his vest. Having learned from his earlier encounter with Gary, he quickly checks if Ole is around, and then simply goes for it:
"Could you teach me, you know, some dancing?"
Paul measures his younger teammate, from head to toe, slowly, thoughtfully, before he replies:
"Of course. - If you get rid of your two problems", he adds in a serious tone, when he sees the hopeful expression on Wayne's face.
"And that'd be - ...?" The hopeful gleam falters only a little bit at Paul's words.
"Your left and your right foot." And with that being said, he jogs after Ole, who slows down and slightly cuffs Paul over the head.
"Hey!"
"Look what you did, Paul!"
"Come on, you know how it feels to be irresistibly tempted."
"Oh, just how would I know?"
"Well, you know me", Paul states simply and grins, only to be rewarded for his cheekiness with another friendly slap and a shake of the head.
During the next lap, though, Ole can't help but agree with Paul, when a hand slides into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and briefly lingers there before exiting the pocket again; leaving the weight of a certain back door's key behind.
***
Wayne swears by the hole in his left sock that he's going to kill Ryan for shouting the news into the changing room after training.
Now, after the initial, roaring laughter has subsided a bit, everyone's giving his inner wit a go and tries to come up with funny (yeah, you wish!), dancing-related bits.
John is swinging his towel around in a weird rhythm (at least he has remembered to put his boxers on, Wayne thinks, trying to be positive about it) and periodically performing a robot dance that almost matches Peter Crouch’s whilst quietly singing "As I went walking down Broadway..."
Rio, on the other hand, has gathered Vida, Owen and Cris around his iPod, and put the speakers on: The beats are blazing through the room, and Gary runs to shower a second time (dragging Ryan with him, "to 'old them washcloths to me bleedin' ears.." ) while the little party bounces and bobs their heads to the music.
Avoiding John, who is too caught up in his robot motions to register anything else, Wayne makes his way over to them.
"...is really cool", Cris says just now, and flashes a huge grin at Rio - and then seems to notice the newly-arrived company, because his eyes widen, all of a sudden. Purposefully, Wayne bumps into Rio - just in case he tries anything on Cris.
A second later, though, he realizes that Cris' sudden horror isn't directed at him: it is much worse.
With astonishment, Wayne (and the rest of the squad, minus Gary and Ryan) watches how Darren starts to nod his head, slowly, than faster and faster, until the whole Scot breaks out into a weird series of dance movements.
He looks like he's got ants in his pants, the way he's jumping around and throwing his arms and whatnot (Wayne tightly shuts his eyes at that point) in the air; but shortly afterwards, his eyes snap open again, because Darren starts to sing, or rather, creak:
"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard..." Frantic - Wayne decides to call shaking for the moment.
A collective groan, and John, who has visibly calmed down since the start of this show, hurriedly throws his things into his bag. "I'm off", he shouts, and is gone in a second, followed by most of the others.
"Yo, Darren!"
"Darn right, it's better than, um, yours, - what, Rio? - darn right, it's better than yours..."
"Stop tha', ya can't do t'milkshake, mate!"
"I can teach you...uh, and why is that?"
"'Ya ain't no bird!"
"My milkshake brings all the boys - But I'm white! And milk is white!"
"Oh my fucking god. 'm off. See ya tomorrow, Wazza!" And Rio is gone, with Vida yelling after him about his next English lesson.
Suddenly, arms are sneaking around Wayne's waist, making him jump a little. He relaxes, though, when Cris, unseen by an ecstatically dancing Darren, licks that spot just below his ear, and then whispers: "I can show you dancing - if you want."
Sometimes, Wayne could seriously bite himself for not seeing what is right in front of his eyes.
***
"Ouch! Wayne!" Ronnie whines and lets go of him, staggering over to the couch in his living room and heavily falling down onto it before removing his socks.
"Look! Look! Is all blue!" he exclaims, staring at his foot, and then at Wayne, who looks defeated.
"Blimey, Ronnie, it's not like I've tackled you!"
"No! Is worse!"
"...good, oh-kay. Could we please continue now? I gotta be home in an hour!"
"Promise you be super-careful!"
"Alright, alright! I will!"
***
"...and then, I had to, like, be super-careful, see, like that!" Wayne finishes his story, grins and spreads his arms, wobbling on his feet like a penguin on a surfboard, riding a particularly difficult wave.
For a second, Ryan feels the almost irresistible urge to roll around on the pitch and roar with laughter - the blowing of the whistle has never been so bloody necessary.