Ten little, nine little, eight little drabbles...
Pairing: Cris/Wayne, all of them
Rating: Probably everything from G through R. I've added it in brackets behind each title.
Warnings: Unashamed OTP-ness. ^^;;
Disclaimer: Still, Cris and Wayne don't belong to me. Neither does any of the other characters.
Author's Notes: Ten drabbles to honour the awesomeness that is Wazza and his no. 10 *bounces* (: Feedback is, as usual, very much loved and appreciated. Enjoy! ;)
#1 - Aprons. (G)
You are prepared for anything: sulking Ronnie, angry Ronnie, I-not-open-door-until-apologize-Ronnie - well, for anything but that.
First of all, it's a fat shock 'cause holy smokes, how are you going to explain why the heck you turn up at Ronnie's house at ten p.m. - the biggest bar of strawberry flavoured chocolate in hands that the petrol station had to offer - to Missis dos Santos Aveiro?
And then, your lower jaw experiences full-force gravity, because the realization strikes you that the person in that pink-and-darker-shades-of-pink-chequered apron with "I ♥ my Mom" written all over the front in big, red letters is. Ronnie. Himself.
"Oy, Ronnie -" you squeak once you have re-gained control over your lower jaw, but it's a bloody short victory altogether, 'cos your eyes meet his gaze, puzzled and annoyed and a mixture of thousands of other feelings plus the cocked eyebrow, and eventually, you crack up laughing.
You laugh, loud and roaring, and briefly, you think that you're gonna pee your pants 'cos the sight is just so damn funny, but in the next second, all you can do is hold your belly and point and look and laugh helplessly until you're seriously crying and your phrenic hurts as if someone has used it as a trampoline.
Only slowly, you recover from your violent laughing flash; bloody hell, you better make sure he gets rid of that thing - not so much because he gets really mental when people laugh at him, nah, you're simply not sure how much more of that your phrenic can take.
With a last chuckle, you wipe a tear off your cheek. "Jesus, Ronnie, you look like your grandmother in that thingie."
"...Do not." Great, now he's sulking, and you know that it'll take more than a bar of chocolate to get back a few sympathy points in his books. An apology would be a good start, his pissed-off glare tells you as he stands there, arms folded over that fatal piece of text on his chest, but somehow, you don't feel like saying it now.
Because the sight of Ronnie in that apron is just too fucking hilarious to apologize for.
#2 - Distance. (PG-13)
WAZZZZAAAAA [8:53 pm] : hi ronnie
PortugueseKid85 [8:53 pm] : Wayne :D
WAZZZZAAAAA [8:54 pm] : hows portugal?
PortugueseKid85 [8:54 pm] : Great...sunny :9 Is rsin in Manchstre?
WAZZZZAAAAA [8:54 pm] : yeah of course...whateva
PortugueseKid85 [8:54 pm] : :P
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:02 pm] : ronnie?
PortugueseKid85 [9:02 pm] : Yes?
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:02 pm] : lolz k thought youd signed off or soimething
PortugueseKid85 [9:04 pm] : No, Gomes come in...and I have to go now becuase he wants to go down with me.
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:06 pm] : wtf???!!! omgz
PortugueseKid85 [9:06 pm] : What?
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:07 pm] : u mean downstairs
PortugueseKid85 [9:07 pm] : Yes! I wrote tat, too. ^^
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:08 pm] : nah.. 2 go down w/ somebody means 2 fuck em, yknow? and i droppd my beer now thx btw.
PortugueseKid85 [9:08 pm] : Oh. Okay. Sorry. XD
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:09 pm] : u could make up for that
PortugueseKid85 [9:09 pm] : I wil if I remmeber in 3 weeks :(
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:10 pm] : bullshit. u got a phone?
PortugueseKid85 [9:10 pm] : Are you crazy? >.>
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:10 pm] : nah, horny.
PortugueseKid85 [9:11 pm] : HAha. Imagine I get catched.
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:12 pm] : lock the door then
PortugueseKid85 [9:13 pm] : I cant becuase I share room. With Gomes. And now I really go, they is waiting.
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:13 pm] : go ahead - leave randy ol'wayne to wank in loneliness.
PortugueseKid85 [9:13 pm] : Don't make worse :( I miss you already. :(
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:14 pm] : me too. could really use a helping hand here.
PortugueseKid85 [9:15 pm] : ..say you really honesly miss + love me and I consider write helpful mail for you.
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:15 pm] : k, i do.
PortugueseKid85 [9:15 pm] : No, say right!
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:17 pm] : blackmailin bastard. k...ronnie,honey, i miss you so badly it tears me apart. no shit. and u know that my love for u is eternal, right?
PortugueseKid85 [9:18 pm] : yes, I know :DD I will write mail as soon as back to my room, okay? :)
WAZZZZAAAAA [9:18 pm] : yeah k hf and hurry up lol
PortugueseKid85 [9:20 pm] : ^^ I love you < 3
**** PortugueseKid85 has signed off.
#3 - Jealousy. (PG)
"What-is-going-on-between-you-and-fucking-Owen-Hargreaves?"
Wayne accentuates every single word by pushing Ronnie against the wall. Hard. So hard that there's a dull thud each time back meets bricks.
"Nothing! - Was...accident!" the winger finally manages to squeeze out.
The pushing stops, and Manchester's new number ten eyes his teammate suspiciously, the collar of his infamous pink shirt tightly held in his grip.
"An accident." Their noses almost touch as Wayne's face hovers right in front of Cristiano's; his voice is misleadingly low- calm, even.
"You snuck up on him." Thud.
"You hugged him from behind." THUD.
"And you tell me that it was just a bloody accident?" THUDTHUD.
"Wayne, stop!" Ronnie begs, his back hurting from being constantly pushed against the hard wall behind him. "It was accident because I saw eight and I use to see you with eight and so I ..." He falls back into Portuguenglish bafflegab, the words streaming out of his mouth, brown eyes wide and shining. The expression on his face is a shocked one, mixed with pain, fear and embarrassment - and it's either that or the quiet "Desculpa" that follows after a second of silence that makes Wayne realize just how stupid the whole thing is.
Minutes later, though, his fists are still gripping the collar of Ronnie's shirt - but this time, it's for a completely different reason altogether.
#4 - Hoovers. (G)
Wayne is in an irritatingly good mood when the squad gets ready for training in the dressing room that morning.
Suggestively questioned upon this by an eyebrow-wiggling Rio, a visibly tired and bad-tempered Cristiano just replies "Hoover. All night." before he throws his deodorant can into Wayne's direction.
Whereupon the striker picks it up and starts performing a weirdly out-of-tune version of Justin Timberlake's "My Love", until Carlos enters the dressing room with the first aid kit in his hands, looking around worriedly - and laughing along with the rest of the squad when he realizes that there are no severely injured players altogether, just the usual ManU madness.
#5 - Ruud. (PG-13)
It was supposed to be a surprise visit, and the mission is accomplished in the sense that Cristiano is really surprised when he opens the door.
But evryone knows that there are two kinds of surprises, pleasant and unpleasant ones, and the feeling that it's rather the latter than anything else only grows stronger when footsteps can be heard in the dim-lighted hall behind the Portuguese's back and a voice, the accent unmistakeable, asks, no shouts: "Who's on the bloody door at that goddamn 'our, Ronnie?"
It hurts almost physically, having the nose practically rubbed in the new man (boy, whatever) - Wayne Rooney - in Ronnie's life. And there's anger, red and boiling, when he turns this head, his beautiful features clearly visible in the light of the lanterns outside, curly, black hair shining with gel, full kissable lips moing as he replies in that adorable Portuguese-accented English of his: "Just man asks for way - I'm going help and you go to bed already, yes?"
Enough. That's enough. You reach past him and slam the door shut, stare into his face, try not to explode and shout him, or, even worse, punch him. Try not to blame him for living his own life, for getting over you, for moving on, for living, loving. Just man asks for way... The words ring in your ears while he stares back at you, soft brown eyes now hard and accusing as if to say "You have asked for this, not me", and the fact that he is right makes you even more furious.
"Hooking up with everyone wearing a ten on his back, don't you?" you finally hiss, everything suddenly too much to take it quietly.
And then, you just turn around on the spot, stomp, flee down the stairs towards your car, almost missing his quiet, but firm answer (and it there sadness in his voice? Or do you just wish there was?)
"At least he doesn't leave me alone."
#6 - Rain. (G)
"Wayne! Come under umbrella, yes?" Ronnie is peeking out into the pouring rain from under the safety of the umbrella's red fabric.
But obviously, Wayne isn't listening, and the winger briefly wonders if his teammate is one year younger than him or ten; or maybe the cold English rain washes the ten years off him as he jumps into the puddles like a schoolboy.
"Oi!" Cristiano is abruptly ripped out of his musings when wet drops his his face - a quick glance upwards ensures him that the umbrella is still fully intact. Which proves his theory that Wayne is to blame for the few drops of water that have found their way into Ronnie's jacket and now - much to his disgust - run down his back. "Ick! Stop shaking like wet dog!" Cris shouts, trying to get out of Wayne's reach.
But all of a sudden, Wayne is there, under the umbrella, gripping his arm and forcing him to stop walking. "I don't wanna be like anyone," he says, heavily breathing and a thoroughly serious expression on his face, "I don't wanna be fuckin' white Pelé or a dog or anyone. Just a bloody idiot who's gone totally bonkers 'cos it's raining and he's, y'know, in love and all that."
For a while, neither of them says a word - standing there in the rain, protected by the large umbrella, gazing at each other, silently. Wayne, because he's relieved he finally got that out; and Cristiano, because he completely fails to find the appropiate reply to this, neither in English nor in Portuguese.
Finally, it's Wayne to speak again: "Now, can we go? I'm fuckin' freezin' here."
And that's when Ronnie slides an arm around Wayne's shoulders, wet or not, and starts walking towards their car, suddenly ridiculously happy despite of the grey sky he hates so much.
"Is okay to say you look like wet dog, then?" he asks when they have almost reached the car, and quickly plants a kiss on Wayne's wet temple before the striker can even think of being upset about that comment.
#7 - Junk food. (PG-13/R-ish)
Ronnie is a health food fanatic.
Which is why the one (and only) evening Wayne tries to trick him into eating junk food ends in desaster - and, later on, with Wayne tied to the bed, because Ronnie is determined to lose the calories Wayne has earned him as fast as possible.
#8 - Interruptions (R)
Both of you are groaning, moaning, grinding against each other, you over Cristiano, Cristiano under you. You pause to change your position a little; and that's when he puts his arms around your neck, pulls your head towards his - you can smell the faintest hint of champagne on his warm breath that hits your skin when he whispers "Congratulations" before he kisses you, before you kiss him, slide your tongue into his wet mouth, crash you lips together for what seems like an eternity while you thrust into him again, feel him shiver and wrap his muscular legs around your waist, encouraging, inviting you to fuck him deeper, har -
"HE GOES BY NO.10, HE GOES BY NO.10, HE GOES BY NO.10 AND WE'VE BROUGHT CHAMPAGNEEE..."
Your heart almost stops when suddenly, there's something resembling a fan chant downstairs. And, guessing from the way Ronnie looks at you, wide-eyed in shock, he has just got the shock of his life, too.
"Fuck", you mutter, deadpanned.
"We could if you not forget to lock door!" is his reply, while his sweaty forehead wrinkles in an angry frown.
"Who had to shove 'is tongue down my throat down in the 'all, bloody fuck?", you snap back, being equally brassed off. So much for the brilliant idea to celebrate in bed. You stare at each other, in tense silence, until sudden footsteps on the stairs make you gasp and struggle to get off each other; and bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, why does it take you so long?
"Wayne, get off me" Ronnie whines and shoves you while the footsteps on the stair come nearer and nearer, and you have just managed to -
CLANG!!.
A moment of silence, in which you finally, finally manage to roll off Cristiano.
And then, Rio's voice again, not quite as jubilant as before, floating in from the staircase: "Wayne, mate - the carpet on the stairs, y'say 't was a cheap one, right?"
#9 - Broken glass (PG-13)
Newspapers claim you're the heroes of your repective nations; but that alone doesn't make both your lives a fairytale. Especially not the part that covers your relationship, and that's a big part.
Or it has been, you think while you stagger off towards the broom closet to get a broom and a dustpan. And suddenly, you understand why they call it the Past Perfect in English.
It has been a big part of your life, meaning that it looks like it is the past now, not that it came completely out of the blue. There have been cracks in the glass that surrounded the perfect snow dome you once compared your relationship with; but the real fractures came only yesterday, when, after shouting and screaming and insulting, Wayne sent a glass vase flying, threw it at you, and though the thing crashed right before your feet, it hurt you deeper than it could have, had it hit you.
You sweep the broken glass together; your brain is numb, your throat is sore, your eyes hurt because you have cried yourself into sleep, alone in the big house after Waye had left, furious, more furious than you had ever seen him. Not intending to ever, ever come back.
The thought causes a stabbing pain in your heart; and you wince at it and shake your head and stumble a step backwards.
You tread on something. This time, the pain is dull, far away, and reaches your brain only slowly. Your sight and mind blurs when you sit down on the floor, away from the heap of broken glass, and examine your foot.
A big piece of broken glass sticks in your heel. You pull it out; it doesn't hurt. You throw the glass onto the dustpan, then look at your foot again. There it is, the cut, clean, perfect. It is bleeding.
#10 - Love. (PG-13/R-ish)
Wayne loves Cristiano.
He loves the tanned skin that always reminds him of how sunny can be elsewhere ('cos summers in Manchester are rarely so) and of holidays on tropical beaches. He knows and loves every single freckle, every cut, every bone. He loves the muscles underneath that skin, too. And he knows that Ronnie loves him loving his muscles because he spends all that time in the gym to form them.
Wayne also loves the way Crsitiano moans and shivers under him when they have sex. But then again, how could he not love every split second of it? It strikes him as odd though, that he usually can't remember many details afterwards, like how did they get there, who did what to whom when and where and all that. Not for the bloody life of him. But he loves that, too, because men just love mind-blowing sex for a fact.
Another thing Wayne will never grow tired of is the fuss Ronnie makes about his hair-do. And that's maybe why he hasn't complained about the weather since Cristiano is there, because the sight of Ronnie complaining and sulking and trying to keep his hair in place at least halfways is just too damn amusing.
A few years ago, Wayne would have laughed at anyone who had told him that he would, one day, be head over heels in love with one Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro, although said boy beats him at almost every single game game of FIFA '07, because whenever he does, he's got that adorable smile on his face that warms Wayne's heart through and through whenever it is directed at him.
For him, Wayne Rooney, Ronnie simply equals love.
There's just one little thing that makes him want to scream and choke Cristiano to semi-death; and that's Ronnie showering for hours and hours when Wayne has to use the loo.