Epiphanies - Interlude
Title: Epiphanies (an Interlude)
Author: junas_stories
Pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
Rating: R
Word Count: 1310
Prompt: 09. Teammates
Disclaimer: Don't know anybody or anything and am not making any money. Sadly.
Summary: Alan’s subconscious has something to say about it all…
Notes: This one comes between part one and part two. It's all memororis’s fault. She made me do it. She promised me Cristyne pr0n! So yes, this one wasn’t planned at all and it was written between 0:30am and 2:30am. More crack! than anything else, I guess. But still, feedback would be very much appreciated. As always. :D
Epiphanies (Interludes)
Alan is insanely glad that this was a home match because that means he can take as long as he likes in the showers. And after his little….erh…epiphany earlier he will stay right here until he turns into a prune. He deserves it. Okay, not having to face either Wazza or Ronnie right now is a plus of this plan.
And so he stands there, let’s the rhythmic drumming of the water hitting his skin massage his sore muscles. No matter how hard you train, a match is always different and you only get match fit through playing matches. And feeling like you’ve been run over by a bulldozer or two afterwards. But yes, the warm water is soothing away all the little aches of a particularly bad tackle here and a slightly twisted ankle there. In the background he hears the noises of his teammates showering - water being turned on and off around him -, getting dressed and going home - lockers being slammed shut, shouted 'See ya!'s. And then it’s all blissfully silent with only him and the water. This is great, he decides. He should do this more often because somehow -
What the fuck was that? Did he imagine that? Or did he hear the tiniest of noises from the room behind the showers. The one with the hot-tubs. But everybody - Okay, he did not imagine this one. That was definetly a groan. Did someone slip on the tiles in there and hurt himself? Well, that would be the end of serene, quiet Old Trafford. Of course, it could just be the old pipes in the building. Only the building isn’t even that old…Oh well, looks as if he’ll have to take a look.
Ruefully Alan turns off the shower and grabs his towel because he will not face whatever it is naked. After quickly rubbing it through his hair once or twice, he wraps it around his hips and then decides that he did enough stalling. It’s not as if there’s a dragon in there. Still, he can’t help himself but…well…sneak up to the room, staying close to the wall and being careful to keep his breathing down. It could be a crazed fan after all. Ew! Maybe the stalkerish kind who hid in there to jerk off while watching them shower. EW!!! He really hates his mind for thinking up scenerios like that.
Warily he rounds the corner and then peeks into the room with the hot-tubs. At first glance he can’t see anything at all because the room is filled with so much steam the air is white. Can’t see farther than a few feet. Damn. There was that noise again. This time it sounded more like a sigh, though. A drawn out, somewhat shaky sigh. Whoever is here, he better be seriously injured, Alan decides when he carefully makes his way into the room. Wouldn't do anybody any good if he slipped and broke his leg. Again. He automatically grimaces at the thought.
"Uuugh!"
Oookay. He’s getting closer. This one was louder and more…guttural which is - when he thinks about it - slightly disturbing but oh well. Can’t back out of it now. And then the steam clears and he really hates fate. What an evil, cruel bitch!!! Because ARGH!!!!! It’s only the fact that he’s totally shocked and…shocked - for the second time today, thank you very much - that keeps him silent. Internally he’s screaming in terror and outrage but he can’t say 'peep'. He’d also like to turn around and run. In fact, he’d love to. Or at least close his eyes and stuff his fingers into his ears. But no can do. Turns out he has no control over his body. He just stands there and stares.
"Wayne! Oh God...right...there...Oooh!"
Right...where? Ah ookay. Fuck, Alan, don’t ask questions you don’t really want answers to. Because he did not need to see Wayne Rooney’s fingers disappear into Cristiano Ronaldo’s bum. He did not. Even if it was a very nice bum. He knew that already, of course. Pranced around often enough with only his shorts on, Ronnie did. But yes, nice one. All firm and - he couldn’t help but notice - all tan. Figured. The vain git.
"Want more?"
Holy fuck! Since when did Wazza’s voice sound like that? Like…raspy honey. Deep and…*insert internal squeak here* sexy? What the fuck was he thinking? It was one thing to admire Ronnie’s butt. The lad was beautiful, everybody knew that. But Wazza? And yet, watching the muscles in his forearm clench everytime he - did whatever he did down there. And Wazza’s milky white skin, his hairy chest and strong, stockish build…all that was perfect next to, over Cristiano’s perfect body with its long lines, its sleak muscles and its smooth, tanned skin.
"Yes, please! In...me!"
But he already was in - Once again with the questions! God damn it! Now would be a realy good moment for him to gain control of his body again. Please? Because he really, reaally, reallyyy did not want to see…OH GOD! They wouldn’t...not... Okay. So maybe both of them had every reason to be...ah...somewhat cocksure. Oh God! That had to hurt? How could that go even in -
"Oooh! Yesss!"
Okay, so it worked and damn, but Ronnie was flexible, wrapping his really shapely legs around Wazza’s back like that, his ankles crossing right over that tattoo of Wayne’s. As if to say that was then but now is now and -
"God, so tight...always so tight, Ronnie..."
"Hmm...harder! Pl…please! Wayne... Need…"
"Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you. Just let it all go."
And right there was that terrible tenderness again. In Wazza's voice which lost all its previous raspiness and turned warm and soothing. In his hand which had crept up to frame Ronnie's nape, his fingers burying themselves into Ronnie’s wet curls while his thumb caressed a cheekbone. Even his thrusts turned tender…loving and okay, Alan had never thought he would ever, ever call Wazza that but in that moment, he was beautiful. Just as beautiful and graceful as Ronnie who had thrown his head back, baring his throat, making Alan nearly whimper with the vulnerabilty and the trust expressed in that single gesture.
"Oh! I’m coming!"
"AAAAAHHHH!"
"I love you!"
"Love you, too!"
*******
With a strangled scream and a stuttery jerk that went through the whole length of his body, Alan startled awake. What the fucking hell was that?!! He had not dreamed about…them…about Ronnie and Wazza - his teammates, for fuck’s sake - … like…like that. A mental image of Ronnie’s legs wrapped around Wazza’s lower back, muscles clenching and unclenching with every thrust shoved itself into his mind to convince him that yes, he unfortunately had.
Okay. With a deeeppp sigh he sank back onto his pillow, leaving the blanket pooled somewhere around his middle. He lust lay there for a couple of minute, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his breathing to calm down and the sweat to cool on his body. Okay. No problem. He did have a rather shocking realisation…no, an epiphany today so it was only normal, perfectly normal for his subconscious to…erh…bring it up again. It was like it was…erh…voicing his…well…his…biggest fears about this. Because Ronnie and Wazza together would be difficult to say the least. It would probably screw up the balance of the team. And really now, football society was somewhat behind in accepting homosexuality. Not to mention the English press that would have the field days of all field days with this one. Right. Voicing his fears and all. Oookay. That explained the dream.
Reluctantly he let his eyes detach themselves from the ceiling, let them wander down the opposite wall, up to the foot of his bed, up his legs until they came to a rest at his lap. Now, how to explain away that one?
Author: junas_stories
Pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
Rating: R
Word Count: 1310
Prompt: 09. Teammates
Disclaimer: Don't know anybody or anything and am not making any money. Sadly.
Summary: Alan’s subconscious has something to say about it all…
Notes: This one comes between part one and part two. It's all memororis’s fault. She made me do it. She promised me Cristyne pr0n! So yes, this one wasn’t planned at all and it was written between 0:30am and 2:30am. More crack! than anything else, I guess. But still, feedback would be very much appreciated. As always. :D
Epiphanies (Interludes)
Alan is insanely glad that this was a home match because that means he can take as long as he likes in the showers. And after his little….erh…epiphany earlier he will stay right here until he turns into a prune. He deserves it. Okay, not having to face either Wazza or Ronnie right now is a plus of this plan.
And so he stands there, let’s the rhythmic drumming of the water hitting his skin massage his sore muscles. No matter how hard you train, a match is always different and you only get match fit through playing matches. And feeling like you’ve been run over by a bulldozer or two afterwards. But yes, the warm water is soothing away all the little aches of a particularly bad tackle here and a slightly twisted ankle there. In the background he hears the noises of his teammates showering - water being turned on and off around him -, getting dressed and going home - lockers being slammed shut, shouted 'See ya!'s. And then it’s all blissfully silent with only him and the water. This is great, he decides. He should do this more often because somehow -
What the fuck was that? Did he imagine that? Or did he hear the tiniest of noises from the room behind the showers. The one with the hot-tubs. But everybody - Okay, he did not imagine this one. That was definetly a groan. Did someone slip on the tiles in there and hurt himself? Well, that would be the end of serene, quiet Old Trafford. Of course, it could just be the old pipes in the building. Only the building isn’t even that old…Oh well, looks as if he’ll have to take a look.
Ruefully Alan turns off the shower and grabs his towel because he will not face whatever it is naked. After quickly rubbing it through his hair once or twice, he wraps it around his hips and then decides that he did enough stalling. It’s not as if there’s a dragon in there. Still, he can’t help himself but…well…sneak up to the room, staying close to the wall and being careful to keep his breathing down. It could be a crazed fan after all. Ew! Maybe the stalkerish kind who hid in there to jerk off while watching them shower. EW!!! He really hates his mind for thinking up scenerios like that.
Warily he rounds the corner and then peeks into the room with the hot-tubs. At first glance he can’t see anything at all because the room is filled with so much steam the air is white. Can’t see farther than a few feet. Damn. There was that noise again. This time it sounded more like a sigh, though. A drawn out, somewhat shaky sigh. Whoever is here, he better be seriously injured, Alan decides when he carefully makes his way into the room. Wouldn't do anybody any good if he slipped and broke his leg. Again. He automatically grimaces at the thought.
"Uuugh!"
Oookay. He’s getting closer. This one was louder and more…guttural which is - when he thinks about it - slightly disturbing but oh well. Can’t back out of it now. And then the steam clears and he really hates fate. What an evil, cruel bitch!!! Because ARGH!!!!! It’s only the fact that he’s totally shocked and…shocked - for the second time today, thank you very much - that keeps him silent. Internally he’s screaming in terror and outrage but he can’t say 'peep'. He’d also like to turn around and run. In fact, he’d love to. Or at least close his eyes and stuff his fingers into his ears. But no can do. Turns out he has no control over his body. He just stands there and stares.
"Wayne! Oh God...right...there...Oooh!"
Right...where? Ah ookay. Fuck, Alan, don’t ask questions you don’t really want answers to. Because he did not need to see Wayne Rooney’s fingers disappear into Cristiano Ronaldo’s bum. He did not. Even if it was a very nice bum. He knew that already, of course. Pranced around often enough with only his shorts on, Ronnie did. But yes, nice one. All firm and - he couldn’t help but notice - all tan. Figured. The vain git.
"Want more?"
Holy fuck! Since when did Wazza’s voice sound like that? Like…raspy honey. Deep and…*insert internal squeak here* sexy? What the fuck was he thinking? It was one thing to admire Ronnie’s butt. The lad was beautiful, everybody knew that. But Wazza? And yet, watching the muscles in his forearm clench everytime he - did whatever he did down there. And Wazza’s milky white skin, his hairy chest and strong, stockish build…all that was perfect next to, over Cristiano’s perfect body with its long lines, its sleak muscles and its smooth, tanned skin.
"Yes, please! In...me!"
But he already was in - Once again with the questions! God damn it! Now would be a realy good moment for him to gain control of his body again. Please? Because he really, reaally, reallyyy did not want to see…OH GOD! They wouldn’t...not... Okay. So maybe both of them had every reason to be...ah...somewhat cocksure. Oh God! That had to hurt? How could that go even in -
"Oooh! Yesss!"
Okay, so it worked and damn, but Ronnie was flexible, wrapping his really shapely legs around Wazza’s back like that, his ankles crossing right over that tattoo of Wayne’s. As if to say that was then but now is now and -
"God, so tight...always so tight, Ronnie..."
"Hmm...harder! Pl…please! Wayne... Need…"
"Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you. Just let it all go."
And right there was that terrible tenderness again. In Wazza's voice which lost all its previous raspiness and turned warm and soothing. In his hand which had crept up to frame Ronnie's nape, his fingers burying themselves into Ronnie’s wet curls while his thumb caressed a cheekbone. Even his thrusts turned tender…loving and okay, Alan had never thought he would ever, ever call Wazza that but in that moment, he was beautiful. Just as beautiful and graceful as Ronnie who had thrown his head back, baring his throat, making Alan nearly whimper with the vulnerabilty and the trust expressed in that single gesture.
"Oh! I’m coming!"
"AAAAAHHHH!"
"I love you!"
"Love you, too!"
*******
With a strangled scream and a stuttery jerk that went through the whole length of his body, Alan startled awake. What the fucking hell was that?!! He had not dreamed about…them…about Ronnie and Wazza - his teammates, for fuck’s sake - … like…like that. A mental image of Ronnie’s legs wrapped around Wazza’s lower back, muscles clenching and unclenching with every thrust shoved itself into his mind to convince him that yes, he unfortunately had.
Okay. With a deeeppp sigh he sank back onto his pillow, leaving the blanket pooled somewhere around his middle. He lust lay there for a couple of minute, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his breathing to calm down and the sweat to cool on his body. Okay. No problem. He did have a rather shocking realisation…no, an epiphany today so it was only normal, perfectly normal for his subconscious to…erh…bring it up again. It was like it was…erh…voicing his…well…his…biggest fears about this. Because Ronnie and Wazza together would be difficult to say the least. It would probably screw up the balance of the team. And really now, football society was somewhat behind in accepting homosexuality. Not to mention the English press that would have the field days of all field days with this one. Right. Voicing his fears and all. Oookay. That explained the dream.
Reluctantly he let his eyes detach themselves from the ceiling, let them wander down the opposite wall, up to the foot of his bed, up his legs until they came to a rest at his lap. Now, how to explain away that one?