Dirty Dancing
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: ChichaRoo.
Disclaimer: Really. If you think this happened... well. You're more on crack than me.
Summary: Roo tries to teach Chicha how to dance. Crack galore, including references to Shakira (somebody check my brain!)
“Zumba’s gay.”
That was Rio, once more, after Wayne had finally agreed to confess to the guys what was the secret to his great performance in the season. At first, things had started like always: the boys hanging out at the pub, having a pint or two, and eventually things had shifted to the great start of season, with Roo’s goals. Compliments were the striker’s natural food, and everybody knew that. So, when it all had started with the usual dialogue of It’s me secret, lads, nobody had said anything about it; but when Wayne had let out the word zumba, at least Rio Ferdinand wished his teammate had left it a secret.
“R’ly?” He went on. “Zumba? But ain’t that what the laydeez do?”
“Well, it works for us too,” Roo answered. “Makes us nimbler, n’ all that movin’ o’ legs n’ stuff helps flexibility n’ things. N’ it’s sexy, babe. Well, ya’re nah sexy.”
“I’m sexy and wit’ no need fer zumba,” the defender protested, lifting his shirt a little so the guys could take a look at his chiseled body.
“Yeah, but ya’aven’ got the moves,” Wayne retorted, trying to sound smooth. Pat thought he sounded silly, but said nothing. He was the dancer there, with the moves like Jagger.
“Sure, yeah Pat. Nobody has the moves like Jagger except Jagger,” Ji laughed, and the Frenchman wondered if he had thought that or actually said it out loud.
“Aw ya bunch o’ twats. Ya never gonna get anywhere if ya don’ give yer body a chance. N’ anyways, dancin’ is fun, ain’t that right, Chicha?”
The young Mexican kid had been laughing along with everybody, but when his lover (it wasn’t a secret anymore) asked him about dancing, he actually blushed brightly.
“Whut’s wrong? Ya’re Latin, ya surely know how to shake that booty, don’t’cha?”
“Well…” Chicha started saying, blushing even more, but Roo (one too many beers?) interrupted him again.
“Yeah. C’mon guys, play sumthin’ n’ we’ll get up and dance. Tell the guy at the bar ta play sumthin’.”
“Uh, actually, Wayne, guys,” Chicharito said, “gotta go. I’m a little tired, need to get some sleep.”
“Aw! But then I won’ave a dance partner!”
“Maybe next time!” the young striker waved goodbye happily, so nobody would notice the embarrassed blush across his cheeks.
Next training found Dimitar Berbatov looking at his side, raising an arm comically, and swinging his hips in a clumsy manner. To the left, to the right. He didn’t look sexy at all; he looked utterly ridiculous.
But Wayne was taking it all seriously.
“Ok. So, Dimi, now, swing it. But ya’ave to do it smoothly, ok? And then down, n’ then-no, not like that!! Jesus, that’s why the Berba doesn’t get Berba-babes!”
“I no get Berba-babes now I nearly married,” the Bulgarian answered, still trying to move to some imaginary beat. Wayne rolled his eyes and walked on to the spectators-Rio and Pat.
“This goes to my video journal,” the English defender mumbled, and the Frenchman laughed.
“’E’s so clumsy,” Wayne was still pointing at the Bulgarian. “Where’s the Pea? I wan’ me boy ta show people ‘ere some good moves-“
But the Mexican kid was already training, shooting towards David de Gea, and looked as if he didn’t want to dance.
Then came the visit to the nightclub, to celebrate the absolute massacre against Arsenal. Roo was especially glad after his hattrick-and, of course, wanted something else rather than the pub. Not to mention he wanted to brag to everybody his skills in zumba.
“It will certainly be fun if you have camera,” Pat told Rio, who was already giggling maniacally under his breath.
“You comin’ or not, ya dimwits? Or are ya too afraid of hittin’ the dancefloor?”
“I go!” Berba nearly cheered, and some pairs of eyes rolled.
“Ok. N’ baby, what ‘bout you?”
“Well, I…” That had been Chicha, but Wayne pulled him up from the bed where he had been sitting.
“Yeah. Don’t’ave ta ask ya. Ya’re comin’ ta dance with me, ain’t ya?”
At the nightclub, the boys were at the bar in the VIP lounge. Some dance music was playing, and actually Berba (who was dancing as ever) had already caught the eye of some girl who was trying hard to grind herself against him, but he was running away. The rest (Rio, Pat, Chicha and Roo) were just drinking.
“So, what ‘bout yer moves, dance god?” Rio winked at the striker.
“Nah with techno, matey. I need sumthin’ sexier, ya see?”
“As sexy as yer ‘air implant, matey?”
Rio had to wipe some beer of his face.
“Nah nah nah! Sumthin’ nicer. Some Latin rhythms ta shake this booty, see? Chicha knows what kin’ o’ music I’m talkin’ bout. Ain’t that true?”
The Mexican striker smiled his trademark smile and nodded, though he looked shy again, almost like a girl.
The night went on and on, and there was no sign of anything happening in the dance department-at least not regarding Wayne.
“He’s all talk,” Pat had whispered to Rio, and the swarthy defender had nodded in agreement-until the club shook with the first notes of Shakira’s “Loca”.
“Awright! That’s what I’m talking ‘bout! Chico-where’s he?”
“At the loo,” came the answer.
“Aw. Well, won’ wait fer ‘im. Gotta hit the dancefloor!”
“Oh my god, he’s actually doin’ it-“ Rio reached out for his camera-
“Following!” Immediately, Rio and Pat ran to the floor, just behind the striker, who was now there, swinging his hips like Shakira and singing out loud-
“Loca loca loca! Look at this, mateys! Better watch out Shaki, ‘cause if Gerard sees me ‘e’ll fall fer me all the way!”
Pat was staring in disbelief because Wayne was actually shaking his hips like an expert, while Rio was almost wheezing with laughter-
“Oh gawd. This should go to the diary. This is bloody priceless, m’mate, this…”
“Chicha! ‘Ey Chicha!” Roo had noticed his partner coming back from the loo. “Over ‘ere, matey!”
However, the kid didn’t run to the dance floor. Instead, he just stood where he was, his eyes comically wide open, as round as his mouth, just looking at Roo shake it baby shake it on the floor-
“C’mon, baby! Let’s set the night on fire!”
“I… will meet you there, Wayne!”
But the song ended, and then came on the dance music, and Chicha never reached the floor. When it was over, Roo found him drinking again.
Later, in the car, Pat was the one in charge of driving while Rio was still giggling, and watching the video he had recorded on his mobile over and over again.
“Truly,” he repeated, to no one in particular. “This is epic. This should go up in MUTV. This will make me richer. This-“
“Aw, c’mon. This will take me ta Dancin’ With the Stars n’ nuthin’ else, so stop it.”
Chicha was leaning against the door, his eyes closed.
“Looks like your boy is tired,” Pat said.
“Looks like it,” Wayne answered.
However, when they got home, Wayne only poked at his boy’s back and then walked to their room.
“Good night, Wayne,” Chicha said, but he was interrupted.
“Hey. What’s the matter?”
“Huh?”
“Was I makin’ a fool o’ myself at the dancefloor?”
“A little,” the Mexican chuckled.
“But ya wouldn’ min’ that. You would ‘ave come to me to the dancefloor. Whut ‘appen’d?”
The Englishman sounded so serious the Little Pea sighed a little.
“I know. Sorry Wayne. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. The thing is… I can’t dance.”
Now it looked as if the Roo was going to open his mouth in surprise.
“No?”
Chicharito remembered the parties in Mexico. Girls would ask him to dance to all the rhythms: salsa, cumbia, and how girls would ask him to dance, and he would just move one foot and then the other, awkwardly, unlike in the pitch. That was why nobody wanted to dance with him at parties or at clubs, and he was always worried about his poor performance while dancing.
“That’s why I didn’t want to dance, Wayne… I’m sorry. It was not as if I was running away from you.”
The Englishman striker smiled and the hugged his lover.
“It’s ok, Little Pea.”
“So…”
“Ya better sleep tight, ‘cause we’ll ‘ave lessons t’morrow!”
“What?”
“Ok. Ya ready?”
Chicha felt weird, standing in the living room, the stereo with a CD, everything ready for the lessons.
“Ok. One n’ two-“
Wayne took the Mexican striker’s hand, and then the music started. It was salsa, actually, and Chicha had to let himself be spun and swung as Roo danced-
This should be easy. I’m the Latin one here, and I know the song, and-
“Chicha, ya need to loosen up!”
The kid sighed when Wayne went to the stereo and restarted the song.
“Ok. Just let me lead ya.”
Chicharito let himself be led, and just moved as loosely as he could, trying hard to keep up with Wayne’s beat.
“That’s better.”
And then Roo was pulling him closer as if he had been a girl, and they were hip against hip, and-
“Fuck.”
That had been Chicha, of course, who looked down at his pants, interrupting the dance. Wayne backed away as well.
“See? That was the reason I didn’t want to dance!”
The Mexican was looking at his hard-on, which created a lump underneath the fabric of his pants. Those hips that had come dangerously close to him while dancing had done the trick.
“Can you imagine me on the floor, looking like that?” Chicharito seemed rather ashamed, after all. “This is not good, Wayne. We should stop-“
But the Englishman didn’t stop. On the contrary, he just pulled the Mexican kid closer and then pressed a kiss against him.
“Stop? Not sumthin’ I’d do with you, young man.”
Chicharito couldn’t even react. Wayne pulled the cord off the stereo, left the room in silence, before he want back to his lover.
“Can’t waste this, can I.”
The kissing resumed, and the younger boy then felt the hands of his lover sliding underneath his tee, and touching his body, his firm, athletic abdomen that felt good under his touch.
“Ya can’t dance… but I kno whut ya can do, Chicha.”
The Mexican striker was pushed against the wall, while Wayne removed the tee entirely.
“N’ this is better than dancing.”
Half-naked, Chicha wanted to feel his lover’s body too, so he removed the Englishman’s sleeveless top, and delighted in the sight.
“Well, dancing has certainly worked for you.”
“I could always dance fer ya.”
“That would be nice… oh…”
Wayne had slid the pants down, and his hand had snaked underneath the Mexican’s boxers, where it just fumbled and stroked Chicha’s erect cock, softly, teasing it, and then one of his fingers went even further between his legs, looking for that private place reserved only for him.
“You’re going… to drive me crazy…” Chicharito gasped.
“Crazy ‘nuff to dance?”
“You never give up, do you?”
“Not with ya.”
The younger boy kicked his sneakers away and just let himself be undressed, for Wayne’s hand had been all he had needed to feel ready. He knew he wanted to feel his lover inside him.
“We coul’ try dancin’ naked, ya kno-“
“Oh, shut up, Wayne.”
Now it was Chicha who undressed his lover quickly-he just couldn’t wait. Screw the dancing… and screw him.
The kissing resumed, stronger, and then Wayne laid on the floor.
“Come ‘ere.”
The Mexican kid smiled as he slowly started impaling himself on the Roo’s cock.
“Ya ok?” the Englishman asked.
“Yes I am,” Chicharito gasped, when he had finally all of it inside him. “Feels good.”
Wayne smiled then and held the boy’s body, as he moved on top of him, wantonly, slowly, wanting to enjoy the moment… and gyrating his hips.
“I love you, you know?” Chicha said, panting.
“I love you too… Javier,” Wayne answered. He’d always felt weird calling the Mexican by his nickname on moments like this.
His grip on those small hips became stronger, and more when the younger boy’s moves became stronger and faster, wanting more of Wayne, till they both came, the Englishman inside his lover, the other one outside, staining the Roo’s pale skin with his fluid.
Chicha collapsed on top of the other striker and pressed a kiss to his lips.
They stayed silent for a while, until the Englishman spoke:
“Can’ believe ya ain’ good dancer. Swayin’ yer hips like that’s all ya need ta learn ‘ow to dance. N’ ya seem to do that real nice.”
Chicharito chuckled against his lover’s chest.
“Ok, ok. I’ll continue with the lessons… only if you promise me something.”
“Anythin’.”
“Lessons will always end like this. Ok?”
Wayne laughed out loud.
“This is r’ly dirty dancin’.”
Pairing: ChichaRoo.
Disclaimer: Really. If you think this happened... well. You're more on crack than me.
Summary: Roo tries to teach Chicha how to dance. Crack galore, including references to Shakira (somebody check my brain!)
“Zumba’s gay.”
That was Rio, once more, after Wayne had finally agreed to confess to the guys what was the secret to his great performance in the season. At first, things had started like always: the boys hanging out at the pub, having a pint or two, and eventually things had shifted to the great start of season, with Roo’s goals. Compliments were the striker’s natural food, and everybody knew that. So, when it all had started with the usual dialogue of It’s me secret, lads, nobody had said anything about it; but when Wayne had let out the word zumba, at least Rio Ferdinand wished his teammate had left it a secret.
“R’ly?” He went on. “Zumba? But ain’t that what the laydeez do?”
“Well, it works for us too,” Roo answered. “Makes us nimbler, n’ all that movin’ o’ legs n’ stuff helps flexibility n’ things. N’ it’s sexy, babe. Well, ya’re nah sexy.”
“I’m sexy and wit’ no need fer zumba,” the defender protested, lifting his shirt a little so the guys could take a look at his chiseled body.
“Yeah, but ya’aven’ got the moves,” Wayne retorted, trying to sound smooth. Pat thought he sounded silly, but said nothing. He was the dancer there, with the moves like Jagger.
“Sure, yeah Pat. Nobody has the moves like Jagger except Jagger,” Ji laughed, and the Frenchman wondered if he had thought that or actually said it out loud.
“Aw ya bunch o’ twats. Ya never gonna get anywhere if ya don’ give yer body a chance. N’ anyways, dancin’ is fun, ain’t that right, Chicha?”
The young Mexican kid had been laughing along with everybody, but when his lover (it wasn’t a secret anymore) asked him about dancing, he actually blushed brightly.
“Whut’s wrong? Ya’re Latin, ya surely know how to shake that booty, don’t’cha?”
“Well…” Chicha started saying, blushing even more, but Roo (one too many beers?) interrupted him again.
“Yeah. C’mon guys, play sumthin’ n’ we’ll get up and dance. Tell the guy at the bar ta play sumthin’.”
“Uh, actually, Wayne, guys,” Chicharito said, “gotta go. I’m a little tired, need to get some sleep.”
“Aw! But then I won’ave a dance partner!”
“Maybe next time!” the young striker waved goodbye happily, so nobody would notice the embarrassed blush across his cheeks.
Next training found Dimitar Berbatov looking at his side, raising an arm comically, and swinging his hips in a clumsy manner. To the left, to the right. He didn’t look sexy at all; he looked utterly ridiculous.
But Wayne was taking it all seriously.
“Ok. So, Dimi, now, swing it. But ya’ave to do it smoothly, ok? And then down, n’ then-no, not like that!! Jesus, that’s why the Berba doesn’t get Berba-babes!”
“I no get Berba-babes now I nearly married,” the Bulgarian answered, still trying to move to some imaginary beat. Wayne rolled his eyes and walked on to the spectators-Rio and Pat.
“This goes to my video journal,” the English defender mumbled, and the Frenchman laughed.
“’E’s so clumsy,” Wayne was still pointing at the Bulgarian. “Where’s the Pea? I wan’ me boy ta show people ‘ere some good moves-“
But the Mexican kid was already training, shooting towards David de Gea, and looked as if he didn’t want to dance.
Then came the visit to the nightclub, to celebrate the absolute massacre against Arsenal. Roo was especially glad after his hattrick-and, of course, wanted something else rather than the pub. Not to mention he wanted to brag to everybody his skills in zumba.
“It will certainly be fun if you have camera,” Pat told Rio, who was already giggling maniacally under his breath.
“You comin’ or not, ya dimwits? Or are ya too afraid of hittin’ the dancefloor?”
“I go!” Berba nearly cheered, and some pairs of eyes rolled.
“Ok. N’ baby, what ‘bout you?”
“Well, I…” That had been Chicha, but Wayne pulled him up from the bed where he had been sitting.
“Yeah. Don’t’ave ta ask ya. Ya’re comin’ ta dance with me, ain’t ya?”
At the nightclub, the boys were at the bar in the VIP lounge. Some dance music was playing, and actually Berba (who was dancing as ever) had already caught the eye of some girl who was trying hard to grind herself against him, but he was running away. The rest (Rio, Pat, Chicha and Roo) were just drinking.
“So, what ‘bout yer moves, dance god?” Rio winked at the striker.
“Nah with techno, matey. I need sumthin’ sexier, ya see?”
“As sexy as yer ‘air implant, matey?”
Rio had to wipe some beer of his face.
“Nah nah nah! Sumthin’ nicer. Some Latin rhythms ta shake this booty, see? Chicha knows what kin’ o’ music I’m talkin’ bout. Ain’t that true?”
The Mexican striker smiled his trademark smile and nodded, though he looked shy again, almost like a girl.
The night went on and on, and there was no sign of anything happening in the dance department-at least not regarding Wayne.
“He’s all talk,” Pat had whispered to Rio, and the swarthy defender had nodded in agreement-until the club shook with the first notes of Shakira’s “Loca”.
“Awright! That’s what I’m talking ‘bout! Chico-where’s he?”
“At the loo,” came the answer.
“Aw. Well, won’ wait fer ‘im. Gotta hit the dancefloor!”
“Oh my god, he’s actually doin’ it-“ Rio reached out for his camera-
“Following!” Immediately, Rio and Pat ran to the floor, just behind the striker, who was now there, swinging his hips like Shakira and singing out loud-
“Loca loca loca! Look at this, mateys! Better watch out Shaki, ‘cause if Gerard sees me ‘e’ll fall fer me all the way!”
Pat was staring in disbelief because Wayne was actually shaking his hips like an expert, while Rio was almost wheezing with laughter-
“Oh gawd. This should go to the diary. This is bloody priceless, m’mate, this…”
“Chicha! ‘Ey Chicha!” Roo had noticed his partner coming back from the loo. “Over ‘ere, matey!”
However, the kid didn’t run to the dance floor. Instead, he just stood where he was, his eyes comically wide open, as round as his mouth, just looking at Roo shake it baby shake it on the floor-
“C’mon, baby! Let’s set the night on fire!”
“I… will meet you there, Wayne!”
But the song ended, and then came on the dance music, and Chicha never reached the floor. When it was over, Roo found him drinking again.
Later, in the car, Pat was the one in charge of driving while Rio was still giggling, and watching the video he had recorded on his mobile over and over again.
“Truly,” he repeated, to no one in particular. “This is epic. This should go up in MUTV. This will make me richer. This-“
“Aw, c’mon. This will take me ta Dancin’ With the Stars n’ nuthin’ else, so stop it.”
Chicha was leaning against the door, his eyes closed.
“Looks like your boy is tired,” Pat said.
“Looks like it,” Wayne answered.
However, when they got home, Wayne only poked at his boy’s back and then walked to their room.
“Good night, Wayne,” Chicha said, but he was interrupted.
“Hey. What’s the matter?”
“Huh?”
“Was I makin’ a fool o’ myself at the dancefloor?”
“A little,” the Mexican chuckled.
“But ya wouldn’ min’ that. You would ‘ave come to me to the dancefloor. Whut ‘appen’d?”
The Englishman sounded so serious the Little Pea sighed a little.
“I know. Sorry Wayne. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. The thing is… I can’t dance.”
Now it looked as if the Roo was going to open his mouth in surprise.
“No?”
Chicharito remembered the parties in Mexico. Girls would ask him to dance to all the rhythms: salsa, cumbia, and how girls would ask him to dance, and he would just move one foot and then the other, awkwardly, unlike in the pitch. That was why nobody wanted to dance with him at parties or at clubs, and he was always worried about his poor performance while dancing.
“That’s why I didn’t want to dance, Wayne… I’m sorry. It was not as if I was running away from you.”
The Englishman striker smiled and the hugged his lover.
“It’s ok, Little Pea.”
“So…”
“Ya better sleep tight, ‘cause we’ll ‘ave lessons t’morrow!”
“What?”
“Ok. Ya ready?”
Chicha felt weird, standing in the living room, the stereo with a CD, everything ready for the lessons.
“Ok. One n’ two-“
Wayne took the Mexican striker’s hand, and then the music started. It was salsa, actually, and Chicha had to let himself be spun and swung as Roo danced-
This should be easy. I’m the Latin one here, and I know the song, and-
“Chicha, ya need to loosen up!”
The kid sighed when Wayne went to the stereo and restarted the song.
“Ok. Just let me lead ya.”
Chicharito let himself be led, and just moved as loosely as he could, trying hard to keep up with Wayne’s beat.
“That’s better.”
And then Roo was pulling him closer as if he had been a girl, and they were hip against hip, and-
“Fuck.”
That had been Chicha, of course, who looked down at his pants, interrupting the dance. Wayne backed away as well.
“See? That was the reason I didn’t want to dance!”
The Mexican was looking at his hard-on, which created a lump underneath the fabric of his pants. Those hips that had come dangerously close to him while dancing had done the trick.
“Can you imagine me on the floor, looking like that?” Chicharito seemed rather ashamed, after all. “This is not good, Wayne. We should stop-“
But the Englishman didn’t stop. On the contrary, he just pulled the Mexican kid closer and then pressed a kiss against him.
“Stop? Not sumthin’ I’d do with you, young man.”
Chicharito couldn’t even react. Wayne pulled the cord off the stereo, left the room in silence, before he want back to his lover.
“Can’t waste this, can I.”
The kissing resumed, and the younger boy then felt the hands of his lover sliding underneath his tee, and touching his body, his firm, athletic abdomen that felt good under his touch.
“Ya can’t dance… but I kno whut ya can do, Chicha.”
The Mexican striker was pushed against the wall, while Wayne removed the tee entirely.
“N’ this is better than dancing.”
Half-naked, Chicha wanted to feel his lover’s body too, so he removed the Englishman’s sleeveless top, and delighted in the sight.
“Well, dancing has certainly worked for you.”
“I could always dance fer ya.”
“That would be nice… oh…”
Wayne had slid the pants down, and his hand had snaked underneath the Mexican’s boxers, where it just fumbled and stroked Chicha’s erect cock, softly, teasing it, and then one of his fingers went even further between his legs, looking for that private place reserved only for him.
“You’re going… to drive me crazy…” Chicharito gasped.
“Crazy ‘nuff to dance?”
“You never give up, do you?”
“Not with ya.”
The younger boy kicked his sneakers away and just let himself be undressed, for Wayne’s hand had been all he had needed to feel ready. He knew he wanted to feel his lover inside him.
“We coul’ try dancin’ naked, ya kno-“
“Oh, shut up, Wayne.”
Now it was Chicha who undressed his lover quickly-he just couldn’t wait. Screw the dancing… and screw him.
The kissing resumed, stronger, and then Wayne laid on the floor.
“Come ‘ere.”
The Mexican kid smiled as he slowly started impaling himself on the Roo’s cock.
“Ya ok?” the Englishman asked.
“Yes I am,” Chicharito gasped, when he had finally all of it inside him. “Feels good.”
Wayne smiled then and held the boy’s body, as he moved on top of him, wantonly, slowly, wanting to enjoy the moment… and gyrating his hips.
“I love you, you know?” Chicha said, panting.
“I love you too… Javier,” Wayne answered. He’d always felt weird calling the Mexican by his nickname on moments like this.
His grip on those small hips became stronger, and more when the younger boy’s moves became stronger and faster, wanting more of Wayne, till they both came, the Englishman inside his lover, the other one outside, staining the Roo’s pale skin with his fluid.
Chicha collapsed on top of the other striker and pressed a kiss to his lips.
They stayed silent for a while, until the Englishman spoke:
“Can’ believe ya ain’ good dancer. Swayin’ yer hips like that’s all ya need ta learn ‘ow to dance. N’ ya seem to do that real nice.”
Chicharito chuckled against his lover’s chest.
“Ok, ok. I’ll continue with the lessons… only if you promise me something.”
“Anythin’.”
“Lessons will always end like this. Ok?”
Wayne laughed out loud.
“This is r’ly dirty dancin’.”