Epiphanies - Part Three
Title: Epiphanies - Part Three
Author: junas_stories
Pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
Rating: pg
Word Count: 1755
Prompt: 09. Teammates
Disclaimer: Don't know anybody or anything and am not making any money. Sadly.
Summary: This time around it's Cristiano who's in for a surprise…
Notes: Part of a series (previous parts can be found here) written for footballslash11. This part is from Cristiano’s pov. And yep, feedback would be still very much appreciated. :D
Epiphanies (Part Three)
The home team dressing room at Old Trafford was eerily silent. No loud cheering or shouting. No corks flying across the room. No champagne soaking everything. Yet. Instead the players just sat on the benches or stood leaning against a wall with the most stupid grins imaginable on their faces, their eyes glazed over as every one let his personal best and worst moments flash through their minds. Goals, injuries, celebrations, frustrations… Everything that made up this season, everything that had made them champions.
Cristiano remembered coming back to England after the World Cup, after his vacation at home. He remembered the defeaning roars of booing that 'welcomed' him at away games, he remembered the talks with Sir Alex and Carlos, his family and his teammates. He remembered his late goal at Fulham. That one brilliant, perfect free-kick. He remembered his shot into Lehmann's face, his grudging respect for him when the German had denied him again and again. He remembered being jumped by the whole team, being nearly hugged to death by Gaz when he had tried to reach Gaby. He remembered that horrible interview and Sir Alex cursing at that reporter. He remembered Alan returning to the team. He remembered the feeling of bone-deep, gutted disappointment when they kicked themselves out of the champions league against Milan. He remembered Henke. He remembered the feeling of deep relief when Wayne started scoring again. He remembered every award ceremony of this season, his pride and joy to finally get recognised as a player and his horror about having to speak in front of all these people. In English. He remembered coming off the pitch after he scored his 15th goal and Sir Alex expression which was at the same time shining with pride and pinched with having to pay the bet…
His eyes which had been roaming aimlessly through the room, sharing a small smile with a player here and there when their gazes locked for a second, landed on Wayne. The striker was standing near the exit, all but hopping from one foot to the other in his eagerness to get back out. His eyes though…When their eyes met, Cristiano was completely surprised by the sheer…longing in them. Surprised and confused because what had they to long for? They had won the premiership - THE PREMIERSHIP!. Was Wayne still angry and sad about that match at San Siro?
*******
Standing on that stage in the middle of their pitch, the reverential silence of the dressing room was forgotten. The air seemed to vibrate with the deafening roar of the crowd when Gaz and Giggsy lifted the trophy. And suddenly all of them were jumping up and down while impatiently awaiting their turn to lift the trophy in their own hands, feel its smoothness and its coolness, watch the water droplets run down its shiny surface which reflected the whole stadium as if to capture that moment in time inside of it for all eternity.
Everybody was hugging and still jumping and screaming. Cristiano lifted oh so tiny Patrice so that him and the trophy could be seen across the stadium. Gaby and him lifted the trophy togother, screaming their heads off. And then he found himself behind Wayne when the pics of the whole team were taken with the trophy in the middle. He slung an arm around Wayne's chest and probably screamed the striker half-deaf when suddenly Wayne half turned around, lifted one of his big, rough hands to grab Cristiano's nape and kissed him on the cheek mumbling something that Cristiano couldn't hear over the crowd and their teammates shouting and yelling and singing. But he could guess what it had been.
"Congrats to you also!" he screamed, tightening his arm briefly which - after Wayne's half turn - was resting across the striker's back, and smiled so broadly that his face was in danger to just split in two. Wayne grinned back, ruffled the carefully slicked back hair at his nape - the fucker! - and then turned back around, making Cristiano's hand drag across his wet, slippery shirt covering his shoulder blade, his upper arm until it once again came to a rest on his chest.
*******
Cristiano didn't really drink all that much alcohol normally. With his Dad and his brother and…He just didn't like the idea of loosing control of himself like that. And he hadn't really had that much to drink tonight either but appearently - as Rio had gleefully pointed out - he was pretty much a - what had Rio said? - a light-weight. And okay, so even tiny Patrice had drank him under the table easily.
By 2am in the morning Cristiano was wasted. Not close to alcohol-poisining, can't remember my own name wasted but more than a bit tipsy and in no condition to drive himself home. So when Wayne who had drank muuuch more but still appeared almost completely sober had told him that he would take him home he had been more than happy to climb into Wayne's car.
They were laughing and talking, loudly pointing out little details of today. How Patrice's shorts had ridden up when Cristiano had lifted him and wouldn't that have been a screamer if his balls had fallen out. Janet Jackson's nipple would have been nothing in comparison. And how Rio had wanted to drink champagne straight out of the trophy and Gaz had forbidden it and Rio had still done it and nearly had gotten his head stuck inside.
It seemed only natural for Wayne to climb out of the car, too, when they arrived at Cristiano's house. His new house which was secure and private but ugly. He really needed to search for a new one. They were talking about how the medals had slipped off and maybe they should have pretended to loose a few and then got replacements so that in the end every player on the squad could have had one.
And then they stood in front of the door and suddenly both of them fell silent. It was weird. One second they had been talking a mile a minute and the next… And then suddenly Wayne - mirroring his actions from this afternoon on the stage - lifted his right hand, wrapped it around Cristiano's neck and pulled him down slightly to - kiss him right on the lips. What the fucking hell?!!
"What you do?!" he demanded his English deserting him again with the shock. He shoved Wayne away roughly.
"I love you."
And before Cristiano could say or do anything else, Wayne had turned on his heels and all but run back to his car, jumped in and drove away. Leaving Cristiano on the steps of his own front door, abruptly painfully sober again and completely confused. Because he may not be a genius but he knew genuine when it kissed him.
*******
He didn't get much sleep that night. Not that he'd expected to sleep all that much in the night of their title celebrations but he had expected to be awake for different reasons. Because he was still celebrating with the lads or maybe having fun with a girl but not because his mind wouldn't stop replaying that scene over and over again…
"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…
Laying on his back on his bed, alone, staring at the ceiling, the whole picture in front of him seemed to shift the tiniest bit to the left and everything clicked.
All the times Wayne had…well, nuzzled him during goal celebrations. Cristiano always had assumed that it was mostly because of their height difference. And okay, neither Patrice nor Gaz nor Gaby did that but he had just never really thought about it. All the times Wayne had tried to cheer him up when a training session had gone bad or he hadn't performed up to his own standards during a match or when they had lost one. Cristiano knew he was a bastard at those times but still Wayne had tried. Aagain and again. Had been tender and warm and soothing while he alternately told the world's worst jokes and told him that things like that just happened.
And then there had been these single moments which now - in hindsight - stood out so clearly. The longing in Wayne's eyes earlier today or rather yesterday. Those few times Wayne had kissed him before. That time he had nearly killed that player who had fouled Cristiano. He couldn't even really remember the match right now but that moment…Wayne going ballistic and being pulled away by the lads…And looking back, he knew what Wayne really had said back there on the stage…
"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…
Again and again Cristiano's fingers reached for his lips, to touch where Wayne had kissed him. He knew exactly where there lips had met because the tender skin of his lips was still tingling with the remembrance of feeling Wayne's dry, slightly chapped lips, the hint of stubble against his own cheeks… Holy fuck!
"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…
Before the World Cup him and Wayne had just been teammates. They got along well, had fun winding their teammates up but that was it. Then after the World Cup, after that damn Red Card, Sir Alex had forced them to talk. Really talk with eachother. Only then had Cristiano realised how much they had in common. And it had been such a relief to finally be able to share all of his fears and ambitions and insecurities with someone who knew all of it through personal experience. Gaby and Deco, his cousins, his mom and his sisters - they all were there for him and he was thankful. But they just didn't get it. They didn't know how it felt to carry the hope, the expectations of your whole country on your shoulders, didn't know that horrible anxiety to fail or the even more horrible feeling of having done exactly that, of having failed them all. Wayne, Wayne knew. And that deep understanding off the pitch had translated into a blind understanding on it. There had been moments when Cristiano hadn't even needed to look up to search out Wayne, he had just felt where the striker was. He knew. And it had been magical.
Cristiano always tried to be honest with himself so…was it 'just' deep friendship, 'just' having found a kind of soulmate in Wayne or did he feel more for Wayne?
Author: junas_stories
Pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
Rating: pg
Word Count: 1755
Prompt: 09. Teammates
Disclaimer: Don't know anybody or anything and am not making any money. Sadly.
Summary: This time around it's Cristiano who's in for a surprise…
Notes: Part of a series (previous parts can be found here) written for footballslash11. This part is from Cristiano’s pov. And yep, feedback would be still very much appreciated. :D
Epiphanies (Part Three)
The home team dressing room at Old Trafford was eerily silent. No loud cheering or shouting. No corks flying across the room. No champagne soaking everything. Yet. Instead the players just sat on the benches or stood leaning against a wall with the most stupid grins imaginable on their faces, their eyes glazed over as every one let his personal best and worst moments flash through their minds. Goals, injuries, celebrations, frustrations… Everything that made up this season, everything that had made them champions.
Cristiano remembered coming back to England after the World Cup, after his vacation at home. He remembered the defeaning roars of booing that 'welcomed' him at away games, he remembered the talks with Sir Alex and Carlos, his family and his teammates. He remembered his late goal at Fulham. That one brilliant, perfect free-kick. He remembered his shot into Lehmann's face, his grudging respect for him when the German had denied him again and again. He remembered being jumped by the whole team, being nearly hugged to death by Gaz when he had tried to reach Gaby. He remembered that horrible interview and Sir Alex cursing at that reporter. He remembered Alan returning to the team. He remembered the feeling of bone-deep, gutted disappointment when they kicked themselves out of the champions league against Milan. He remembered Henke. He remembered the feeling of deep relief when Wayne started scoring again. He remembered every award ceremony of this season, his pride and joy to finally get recognised as a player and his horror about having to speak in front of all these people. In English. He remembered coming off the pitch after he scored his 15th goal and Sir Alex expression which was at the same time shining with pride and pinched with having to pay the bet…
His eyes which had been roaming aimlessly through the room, sharing a small smile with a player here and there when their gazes locked for a second, landed on Wayne. The striker was standing near the exit, all but hopping from one foot to the other in his eagerness to get back out. His eyes though…When their eyes met, Cristiano was completely surprised by the sheer…longing in them. Surprised and confused because what had they to long for? They had won the premiership - THE PREMIERSHIP!. Was Wayne still angry and sad about that match at San Siro?
*******
Standing on that stage in the middle of their pitch, the reverential silence of the dressing room was forgotten. The air seemed to vibrate with the deafening roar of the crowd when Gaz and Giggsy lifted the trophy. And suddenly all of them were jumping up and down while impatiently awaiting their turn to lift the trophy in their own hands, feel its smoothness and its coolness, watch the water droplets run down its shiny surface which reflected the whole stadium as if to capture that moment in time inside of it for all eternity.
Everybody was hugging and still jumping and screaming. Cristiano lifted oh so tiny Patrice so that him and the trophy could be seen across the stadium. Gaby and him lifted the trophy togother, screaming their heads off. And then he found himself behind Wayne when the pics of the whole team were taken with the trophy in the middle. He slung an arm around Wayne's chest and probably screamed the striker half-deaf when suddenly Wayne half turned around, lifted one of his big, rough hands to grab Cristiano's nape and kissed him on the cheek mumbling something that Cristiano couldn't hear over the crowd and their teammates shouting and yelling and singing. But he could guess what it had been.
"Congrats to you also!" he screamed, tightening his arm briefly which - after Wayne's half turn - was resting across the striker's back, and smiled so broadly that his face was in danger to just split in two. Wayne grinned back, ruffled the carefully slicked back hair at his nape - the fucker! - and then turned back around, making Cristiano's hand drag across his wet, slippery shirt covering his shoulder blade, his upper arm until it once again came to a rest on his chest.
*******
Cristiano didn't really drink all that much alcohol normally. With his Dad and his brother and…He just didn't like the idea of loosing control of himself like that. And he hadn't really had that much to drink tonight either but appearently - as Rio had gleefully pointed out - he was pretty much a - what had Rio said? - a light-weight. And okay, so even tiny Patrice had drank him under the table easily.
By 2am in the morning Cristiano was wasted. Not close to alcohol-poisining, can't remember my own name wasted but more than a bit tipsy and in no condition to drive himself home. So when Wayne who had drank muuuch more but still appeared almost completely sober had told him that he would take him home he had been more than happy to climb into Wayne's car.
They were laughing and talking, loudly pointing out little details of today. How Patrice's shorts had ridden up when Cristiano had lifted him and wouldn't that have been a screamer if his balls had fallen out. Janet Jackson's nipple would have been nothing in comparison. And how Rio had wanted to drink champagne straight out of the trophy and Gaz had forbidden it and Rio had still done it and nearly had gotten his head stuck inside.
It seemed only natural for Wayne to climb out of the car, too, when they arrived at Cristiano's house. His new house which was secure and private but ugly. He really needed to search for a new one. They were talking about how the medals had slipped off and maybe they should have pretended to loose a few and then got replacements so that in the end every player on the squad could have had one.
And then they stood in front of the door and suddenly both of them fell silent. It was weird. One second they had been talking a mile a minute and the next… And then suddenly Wayne - mirroring his actions from this afternoon on the stage - lifted his right hand, wrapped it around Cristiano's neck and pulled him down slightly to - kiss him right on the lips. What the fucking hell?!!
"What you do?!" he demanded his English deserting him again with the shock. He shoved Wayne away roughly.
"I love you."
And before Cristiano could say or do anything else, Wayne had turned on his heels and all but run back to his car, jumped in and drove away. Leaving Cristiano on the steps of his own front door, abruptly painfully sober again and completely confused. Because he may not be a genius but he knew genuine when it kissed him.
*******
He didn't get much sleep that night. Not that he'd expected to sleep all that much in the night of their title celebrations but he had expected to be awake for different reasons. Because he was still celebrating with the lads or maybe having fun with a girl but not because his mind wouldn't stop replaying that scene over and over again…
"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…
Laying on his back on his bed, alone, staring at the ceiling, the whole picture in front of him seemed to shift the tiniest bit to the left and everything clicked.
All the times Wayne had…well, nuzzled him during goal celebrations. Cristiano always had assumed that it was mostly because of their height difference. And okay, neither Patrice nor Gaz nor Gaby did that but he had just never really thought about it. All the times Wayne had tried to cheer him up when a training session had gone bad or he hadn't performed up to his own standards during a match or when they had lost one. Cristiano knew he was a bastard at those times but still Wayne had tried. Aagain and again. Had been tender and warm and soothing while he alternately told the world's worst jokes and told him that things like that just happened.
And then there had been these single moments which now - in hindsight - stood out so clearly. The longing in Wayne's eyes earlier today or rather yesterday. Those few times Wayne had kissed him before. That time he had nearly killed that player who had fouled Cristiano. He couldn't even really remember the match right now but that moment…Wayne going ballistic and being pulled away by the lads…And looking back, he knew what Wayne really had said back there on the stage…
"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…
Again and again Cristiano's fingers reached for his lips, to touch where Wayne had kissed him. He knew exactly where there lips had met because the tender skin of his lips was still tingling with the remembrance of feeling Wayne's dry, slightly chapped lips, the hint of stubble against his own cheeks… Holy fuck!
"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…"I love you"…
Before the World Cup him and Wayne had just been teammates. They got along well, had fun winding their teammates up but that was it. Then after the World Cup, after that damn Red Card, Sir Alex had forced them to talk. Really talk with eachother. Only then had Cristiano realised how much they had in common. And it had been such a relief to finally be able to share all of his fears and ambitions and insecurities with someone who knew all of it through personal experience. Gaby and Deco, his cousins, his mom and his sisters - they all were there for him and he was thankful. But they just didn't get it. They didn't know how it felt to carry the hope, the expectations of your whole country on your shoulders, didn't know that horrible anxiety to fail or the even more horrible feeling of having done exactly that, of having failed them all. Wayne, Wayne knew. And that deep understanding off the pitch had translated into a blind understanding on it. There had been moments when Cristiano hadn't even needed to look up to search out Wayne, he had just felt where the striker was. He knew. And it had been magical.
Cristiano always tried to be honest with himself so…was it 'just' deep friendship, 'just' having found a kind of soulmate in Wayne or did he feel more for Wayne?