(no subject)
Recipient:
sparkey_sparks
Title: A Matter of Pride
Pairing: Gary Neville/Ryan Giggs
Rating: Erm, PG-13ish at the end
Authors note: I'm sorry this is so late and so crap. I'm sure you can fill out the end with your ample imagination... I hope you like it!!! <3<3<3
A Matter of Pride
Gary Neville had never been one for practical jokes. Of being on the receiving end, he was a master, since many of his club mates seemed to think his taste in music, clothes and old battered grey vehicles to be of endless amusement. In his younger days he was known to get swept up in group shenanigans, mostly involving sneaking into David's room and rearranging his socks and shoes to torment his poor OCD brain, but he never bothered instigating a prank or making crank calls to the gaffer after victory celebrations went a little awry. However, Giggsy had started all of this, so clearly Gary had to rise to the occasion and prank the poor bastard like he'd never been pranked before.
It had all started during the World Cup qualifying draw. Being the clearly superior footballing power, England were seeded higher than Wales, which Gary hadn't been able to resist rubbing in the irrepressible Welshman's face just a bit. Naturally, Wales was drawn into the same group, and the same Welshman wasted no time in texting Gary just what he thought of the forthcoming matches and how he would boot him up into the air in front of the Old Trafford crowd and rush in to score a quick hat trick before he came down to earth again. Gary handled himself very maturely and only sent a few scathing remarks about the quality of the Welsh training grounds being so shite that Giggsy would be so overwhelmed when they finally got to play a match on the holy Old Trafford ground that he would forget his position and be bowled over by a certain defender on his way to scoring his own hat trick.
Gary was quite content to ignore the pending qualifying match and focus on United, but Giggsy couldn't resist bringing it up with increasing frequency as it drew closer. When the international break finally came, the cocky winger stole Gary's lucky boots and left a note in their place, explaining how he wouldn't need them since he stood no chance against him and might as well not even play less be embarrass himself and the whole of England. It was the final straw that broke Gary's already small reservoir of patience and war was declared. Giggsy woke up the next morning to find his paper stuffed with print outs of the stats of England vs Wales in not just football but every sport and demographic, including GDP and national crime rates. The Welshman retaliated by worming the security codes to Gary's ridiculously large estate out of poor David and covering the entire lawn with an equally ridiculously large Welsh flag.
The pranks continued electronically while Giggsy went back to his motherland to train with the rest of the Wales squad; the winger had a clear advantage over Gary in this medium, since Gary was the sort to have trouble with his video recorder and frequently had to call the police to reset the codes on his security gates when he failed to enter them correctly. When Giggsy somehow managed to reprogram Gary's mobile phone to play "Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau" without laying a hand on it, Gary texted his concession of defeat and had to endure several victory songs sung by the terrible twosome of Robbie Savage and Craig Bellamy, who clearly couldn't have kept their noses out of this personal battle of pride. What the crowing Welshmen didn't realize was that it was all an act to lull them into a false sense of security in their own victory while Gary sneaked in and pulled off the grandest caper of epic pranking proportions that had ever been seen in the footballing world.
And so it was that Gary found himself faced with the easy task of breaking into the Manchester City training ground, or the 'Other Carrington' as he liked to call it, where the Wales squad had relocated two days before the match. Security was as threadbare as the City defense and Gary had no trouble slipping through the gates, even with the enormously full duffel bags in his hands. Sneaking into the dressing room was even easier, as some mindless custodian hadn't bothered with the locks or any of the barred gates that were sprinkled throughout the halls. Clearly the higher beings of pranks were smiling upon Gary today as he located Giggsy's locker and found not only the winger's training kit, newly washed and pressed, but Gary's stolen lucky boots as well. An enormous grin split his face as he opened one of the duffel bags and pulled out a sewing kit and a huge bag of miniature English flags. He'd been mocked over the years for being able to sew, and drafted on more than one occasion by a harried kit man for the old youth squad, but it had come in handy many a time and now would showcase his masterful triumph over Ryan Giggs. He sat down on a bench, pulled out a handful of little flags, and began to stitch them all over the back of the training kit in an enormous cross. For good measure, he added a few to Bellers' and Sav's kits as well, making sure to put them in a little heart shape over the left breast.
He was pulling phase two out the other bag, a mess of banners and flags spelling out the sheer superiority of English defenders and subsequent crap of Welsh-born wingers, when he heard heavy footsteps in the hall. Panicking, he leapt toward the door and hit the lightswitch with an outstretched hand. Completely off-balanced, he teetered on his toes and nearly fell onto the boot rack as the footsteps reached the room. He managed to right himself and held his breath as silence came from the hall. The crackle of a radio broke the silence as the security guard began to berate the hapless custodian whose negligence had made Gary's entry so very easy. Spluttering apologies came through the other end as the sound of a deadbolt locking the door sounded like a death knell to Gary's ears. He sank to the floor, disbelieving as he heard gate after gate being closed and locked, effectively imprisoning him inside enemy territory with an enormous supply of damning pranking materials with him. A small giggle escaped him as he envisioned the arrival of first the kit man, then the squad and then probably the whole of Manchester to witness the shame of Gary's capture. It would not be a pretty site, and though he was familiar with finding himself in the back pages of the papers, nothing had ever come close to this level of shame. Forehead met wall as he contemplated his doom at the hands of a grinning, unforgiving Ryan Giggs.
He knew he had one option. His mobile, still with the obnoxious new ringtone as he hadn't a clue how to change it, was digging into his thigh, and one call to his tormentor would prevent the media spectacle that loomed over his head. No matter how much he hated giving in, especially when national pride was on the line, the prospect of uproarious laughter he'd face at the hands of his brother and the rest of the United squad every time he entered the room for the next few months, not to mention the ridicule from every wannabe pundit for years to come, made his choice clear. Gritting his teeth and praying desperately that Giggsy wasn't hosting an impromptu Welsh poker night or in a pub surrounded by his less than endearing squad mates, he dialed the winger.
After an hour of silent torment, the beautiful sound of gates opening met his ears. He pressed an ear to the door and sighed half in panic, half in relief at the sound of Giggsy nattering away to the clearly disgruntled security guard, something about a forgotten pair of lucky boots that needed to be shined up for the match. The key was in the deadbolt before Gaz remembered that the room was supposed to be empty, and he grabbed the bags and dove around the bank of lockers as the door opened and blessed light filled the doorway.
"Won't be a minute!" Giggs sang to the guard before firmly shutting the door in his face. Gaz winced as light flooded the entire room and peered through squinted eyes as a grinning face came around the lockers.
"Don't say nuthin'," he grumbled as the winger opened his mouth. "Get me outta here."
The grin widened as Giggs slid around the corner and stood triumphantly over his cowed foe. "First you show me this magnificent prank of yours. Hurry up, now, 'aven't got all night. Or rather," he smiled even wider, "I 'ave got all night. You, on the other hand-"
Gaz sighed. "I'm livin' on borrowed time at the utter mercy o' yer mighty generosity, I know." He hauled himself to his feet and pulled out the newly decorated kits, throwing them at the other's feet. Giggsy chuckled as he examined Gaz's handiwork.
"Cripes, Gaz, I knew you could sew, but this is quality! Yeh might consider opening a tailor shop when yeh retire, might be more profitable than that terrible column yeh keep writing for The Times." He folded the shirts up as Gaz looked around for something to throw. "Is this it? Kit sabotage? I expected more from yeh!"
"Shut it, I had other plans. Your little security guard pal put an end to it all. So now you've 'ad your little laugh, let's get out of 'ere."
"Oh, I don't think so. No, not just yet." Giggsy poked him hard in the chest. "I think the heinous crime o' trespassing deserves a little more punishment than just this."
The outrage growing on Gaz's face quickly changed to abject horror as he noticed the bag at the Welshman's feet. "No, Giggsy, no! That ain't fair!" he wailed as a video camera was produced from the bag.
"Wot, you sneak in and decorate yours truly with heathen flags and I can't take a little revenge video in response? Where's your sense o' justice, Gaz? Now gimme those bags o' yers, I suspect there's a great deal o' excellent costume material in there. Hand 'em over!"
Gaz continued to plead as Giggsy pawed through his prank materials. "That security guard's gonna come bustin' in here any second 'cuz you've been so bloody long!" He winced as the wickedly grinning winger discovered the cans of spray paint and a pair of sparkly heels he'd borrowed off his mum to plant in Giggsy's locker. "If yeh've gotta do this thing, can't we do it somewhere else? Like back at yore place? Where we won't get arrested? Where's yore sense of social propriety?"
Giggsy looked up at the scowling defender, pondering this request. "I s'pose a little more privacy could lead to something much more blackmail-worthy. And then I can lock yeh up for a bit so you're late for training and have to spin some crazy yarn to excuse yoreself." Cheered by this thought, he started restowing everything into the bags. "Don't know how you're planning to get past the guard, though. It's just sposda be me in 'ere making this ruckus."
Panicked, Gaz grabbed one of the bags and emptied it into the nearest locker. He crawled inside and managed to squeeze himself in, scowling up at the giggling Welshman. "Savs will love those heels, now zip me up and let's get outta here!"
He was slightly perturbed that the last thing he saw was Giggsy's sadistic grin as he zipped the bag over his head. There was no way that this was going to go well.
What seemed like hours later, Giggsy finally unzipped the bag and dumped the battered defender on his living room floor. A stream of curses that really didn't go together very well filled the air as he picked himself up off the floor. He had to restrain the urge to leap on the madly grinning Giggsy and beat him to a bloody pulp. "Wot did you make the guard carry me for?! You knew the old geezer would never be able to lift me! And you took the longest possible route to get to yore car, didn't you, you bastard."
"Hey, if you didn't like the ride, I could've just left yore stumpy ass down there and left yeh to the mercy of the press-"
"Stumpy!" Gaz roared and this time exercised no restraint as he tackled the taller man, hooking a leg around his knees and taking him down to the floor. "I'll kill yer for that! Stumpy! I HAVE A LONG TORSO, YEH GREAT HAIRY WEREWOLF!!" He tried to connect a fist with Giggsy's nose as the winger fought back, pounding at Gaz's chest and trying to wedge a knee under the protested long torso to get the madman off him.
"OH NO YEH DON'T!" Gaz bellowed as Giggsy groped for a cushion to whack at Gaz's head. Employing his dirtiest weapon, he furiously tickled Giggsy's exposed sides as his victim flailed with laughter.
"No, Gazzy, please! Ahahahaha, please! No!" Helpless giggles escaped his lips as he desperately tried to wriggle free from his tormentor.
"All right, yeh asked for it!" Gaz unleashed one last salvo of tickles before flipping the Welshman over and pantsing him as hard as he could. He scrambled backward on the floor away from the wild limbs and dove toward the camera bag. Giggsy was wriggling helplessly as he tried to catch his breath and replace his forcefully removed pants, panting a pathetic "No!" as Gaz pulled out the video camera that he had previously been threatened with and quickly began filming the increasingly frantic struggling of the defenceless winger.
"Oh yeah, that's the stuff. This'll fetch a great price at the next charity auction. C'mon, wiggle that ass a little more, this is for UNICEF!"
"I'll- kill- yeh-" Giggsy panted as he finally found his pants and covered his shame. He glared accusingly at the now grinning defender. "Yeh had that planned from the beginning, didn't yeh? Luring me back here so yeh could get a look at my ass. Yeh've got every bleedin' day to stare at my ass in the dressing room, yeh great pervert, what yeh need a video for?" He pulled himself to his feet, putting on highly affronted airs. "I know I'm a foxy bloke, but yeh've got something mighty wrong if yeh think I'm into stumpy little defenders from Bury who're stupid enough to get themselves locked into the very complex they're trying to prank. Yeh're brother, maybe, but you?"
Gaz snorted. "Come off it, yeh're the one whose always ogling my ass during training, I know how you wingers are, always making a defender feel all vulnerable and exposed so yeh can slip in and score then grab yoreself a handful on the way back to yore own end. I'm onto yeh!" To prove his point, he pantsed himself and turned to give Giggsy a full view of his toned rear. "See? Yeh can't keep yer eyes off it, so don't go accusing me of being some pervert. Yeh ain't got nothing like on yeh're Welsh buddies, so yeh'll have to come back home to get some o' this-"
The gentle touch of fingers on his exposed rear brought his tirade to a halt. He froze as Giggsy slid up behind him and brought his mouth close to Gaz's ear. "Or maybe I've got all I want right 'ere."
Gaz spun around, mouth open to retort as he tripped on the pants puddled at his feet and fell to the floor. A now fully naked Giggsy stood over him, leering down at him. Gaz's mouth was still open but, for once, there was nothing coming out. It wasn't like he hadn't seen this before, in the dressing room, but certainly not intentionally and not so close and he wasn't really sure if he should be seeing this, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
"Uhhhhhh where'd your clothes go?" fell out of his still open mouth. He shut it instantly to prevent anything else from coming out while his brain was clearly not functioning.
Giggsy sighed. "Becks always said you were well-spoken, and I totally believed him 'til now."
Outrage coloured Gaz's face and he scrabbled to his feet. "Wot's he been telling yeh?? We ne'er did nothing, he's got a great dirty mind, that one, always flashing me in the dressin' room and the gaffer always made us share a room and he'd be all lyin' around with no pants on and-"
Clearly suppressing a great deal of laughter, Giggsy reached over and firmly put a hand over his mouth. "There. Now yeh won't go and say something yeh regret. Now whaddya say we make a really dirty sex tape and accidentally send it to Fletcher? Pore boy'll be so traumatised he'll never say a word." He punctuated this with a wink, but Gaz was too busy tearing the rest of his clothes off that he missed it entirely.
AND THEN THERE WAS THE SEX. <3<3<3
sparkey_sparks
Title: A Matter of Pride
Pairing: Gary Neville/Ryan Giggs
Rating: Erm, PG-13ish at the end
Authors note: I'm sorry this is so late and so crap. I'm sure you can fill out the end with your ample imagination... I hope you like it!!! <3<3<3
A Matter of Pride
Gary Neville had never been one for practical jokes. Of being on the receiving end, he was a master, since many of his club mates seemed to think his taste in music, clothes and old battered grey vehicles to be of endless amusement. In his younger days he was known to get swept up in group shenanigans, mostly involving sneaking into David's room and rearranging his socks and shoes to torment his poor OCD brain, but he never bothered instigating a prank or making crank calls to the gaffer after victory celebrations went a little awry. However, Giggsy had started all of this, so clearly Gary had to rise to the occasion and prank the poor bastard like he'd never been pranked before.
It had all started during the World Cup qualifying draw. Being the clearly superior footballing power, England were seeded higher than Wales, which Gary hadn't been able to resist rubbing in the irrepressible Welshman's face just a bit. Naturally, Wales was drawn into the same group, and the same Welshman wasted no time in texting Gary just what he thought of the forthcoming matches and how he would boot him up into the air in front of the Old Trafford crowd and rush in to score a quick hat trick before he came down to earth again. Gary handled himself very maturely and only sent a few scathing remarks about the quality of the Welsh training grounds being so shite that Giggsy would be so overwhelmed when they finally got to play a match on the holy Old Trafford ground that he would forget his position and be bowled over by a certain defender on his way to scoring his own hat trick.
Gary was quite content to ignore the pending qualifying match and focus on United, but Giggsy couldn't resist bringing it up with increasing frequency as it drew closer. When the international break finally came, the cocky winger stole Gary's lucky boots and left a note in their place, explaining how he wouldn't need them since he stood no chance against him and might as well not even play less be embarrass himself and the whole of England. It was the final straw that broke Gary's already small reservoir of patience and war was declared. Giggsy woke up the next morning to find his paper stuffed with print outs of the stats of England vs Wales in not just football but every sport and demographic, including GDP and national crime rates. The Welshman retaliated by worming the security codes to Gary's ridiculously large estate out of poor David and covering the entire lawn with an equally ridiculously large Welsh flag.
The pranks continued electronically while Giggsy went back to his motherland to train with the rest of the Wales squad; the winger had a clear advantage over Gary in this medium, since Gary was the sort to have trouble with his video recorder and frequently had to call the police to reset the codes on his security gates when he failed to enter them correctly. When Giggsy somehow managed to reprogram Gary's mobile phone to play "Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau" without laying a hand on it, Gary texted his concession of defeat and had to endure several victory songs sung by the terrible twosome of Robbie Savage and Craig Bellamy, who clearly couldn't have kept their noses out of this personal battle of pride. What the crowing Welshmen didn't realize was that it was all an act to lull them into a false sense of security in their own victory while Gary sneaked in and pulled off the grandest caper of epic pranking proportions that had ever been seen in the footballing world.
And so it was that Gary found himself faced with the easy task of breaking into the Manchester City training ground, or the 'Other Carrington' as he liked to call it, where the Wales squad had relocated two days before the match. Security was as threadbare as the City defense and Gary had no trouble slipping through the gates, even with the enormously full duffel bags in his hands. Sneaking into the dressing room was even easier, as some mindless custodian hadn't bothered with the locks or any of the barred gates that were sprinkled throughout the halls. Clearly the higher beings of pranks were smiling upon Gary today as he located Giggsy's locker and found not only the winger's training kit, newly washed and pressed, but Gary's stolen lucky boots as well. An enormous grin split his face as he opened one of the duffel bags and pulled out a sewing kit and a huge bag of miniature English flags. He'd been mocked over the years for being able to sew, and drafted on more than one occasion by a harried kit man for the old youth squad, but it had come in handy many a time and now would showcase his masterful triumph over Ryan Giggs. He sat down on a bench, pulled out a handful of little flags, and began to stitch them all over the back of the training kit in an enormous cross. For good measure, he added a few to Bellers' and Sav's kits as well, making sure to put them in a little heart shape over the left breast.
He was pulling phase two out the other bag, a mess of banners and flags spelling out the sheer superiority of English defenders and subsequent crap of Welsh-born wingers, when he heard heavy footsteps in the hall. Panicking, he leapt toward the door and hit the lightswitch with an outstretched hand. Completely off-balanced, he teetered on his toes and nearly fell onto the boot rack as the footsteps reached the room. He managed to right himself and held his breath as silence came from the hall. The crackle of a radio broke the silence as the security guard began to berate the hapless custodian whose negligence had made Gary's entry so very easy. Spluttering apologies came through the other end as the sound of a deadbolt locking the door sounded like a death knell to Gary's ears. He sank to the floor, disbelieving as he heard gate after gate being closed and locked, effectively imprisoning him inside enemy territory with an enormous supply of damning pranking materials with him. A small giggle escaped him as he envisioned the arrival of first the kit man, then the squad and then probably the whole of Manchester to witness the shame of Gary's capture. It would not be a pretty site, and though he was familiar with finding himself in the back pages of the papers, nothing had ever come close to this level of shame. Forehead met wall as he contemplated his doom at the hands of a grinning, unforgiving Ryan Giggs.
He knew he had one option. His mobile, still with the obnoxious new ringtone as he hadn't a clue how to change it, was digging into his thigh, and one call to his tormentor would prevent the media spectacle that loomed over his head. No matter how much he hated giving in, especially when national pride was on the line, the prospect of uproarious laughter he'd face at the hands of his brother and the rest of the United squad every time he entered the room for the next few months, not to mention the ridicule from every wannabe pundit for years to come, made his choice clear. Gritting his teeth and praying desperately that Giggsy wasn't hosting an impromptu Welsh poker night or in a pub surrounded by his less than endearing squad mates, he dialed the winger.
After an hour of silent torment, the beautiful sound of gates opening met his ears. He pressed an ear to the door and sighed half in panic, half in relief at the sound of Giggsy nattering away to the clearly disgruntled security guard, something about a forgotten pair of lucky boots that needed to be shined up for the match. The key was in the deadbolt before Gaz remembered that the room was supposed to be empty, and he grabbed the bags and dove around the bank of lockers as the door opened and blessed light filled the doorway.
"Won't be a minute!" Giggs sang to the guard before firmly shutting the door in his face. Gaz winced as light flooded the entire room and peered through squinted eyes as a grinning face came around the lockers.
"Don't say nuthin'," he grumbled as the winger opened his mouth. "Get me outta here."
The grin widened as Giggs slid around the corner and stood triumphantly over his cowed foe. "First you show me this magnificent prank of yours. Hurry up, now, 'aven't got all night. Or rather," he smiled even wider, "I 'ave got all night. You, on the other hand-"
Gaz sighed. "I'm livin' on borrowed time at the utter mercy o' yer mighty generosity, I know." He hauled himself to his feet and pulled out the newly decorated kits, throwing them at the other's feet. Giggsy chuckled as he examined Gaz's handiwork.
"Cripes, Gaz, I knew you could sew, but this is quality! Yeh might consider opening a tailor shop when yeh retire, might be more profitable than that terrible column yeh keep writing for The Times." He folded the shirts up as Gaz looked around for something to throw. "Is this it? Kit sabotage? I expected more from yeh!"
"Shut it, I had other plans. Your little security guard pal put an end to it all. So now you've 'ad your little laugh, let's get out of 'ere."
"Oh, I don't think so. No, not just yet." Giggsy poked him hard in the chest. "I think the heinous crime o' trespassing deserves a little more punishment than just this."
The outrage growing on Gaz's face quickly changed to abject horror as he noticed the bag at the Welshman's feet. "No, Giggsy, no! That ain't fair!" he wailed as a video camera was produced from the bag.
"Wot, you sneak in and decorate yours truly with heathen flags and I can't take a little revenge video in response? Where's your sense o' justice, Gaz? Now gimme those bags o' yers, I suspect there's a great deal o' excellent costume material in there. Hand 'em over!"
Gaz continued to plead as Giggsy pawed through his prank materials. "That security guard's gonna come bustin' in here any second 'cuz you've been so bloody long!" He winced as the wickedly grinning winger discovered the cans of spray paint and a pair of sparkly heels he'd borrowed off his mum to plant in Giggsy's locker. "If yeh've gotta do this thing, can't we do it somewhere else? Like back at yore place? Where we won't get arrested? Where's yore sense of social propriety?"
Giggsy looked up at the scowling defender, pondering this request. "I s'pose a little more privacy could lead to something much more blackmail-worthy. And then I can lock yeh up for a bit so you're late for training and have to spin some crazy yarn to excuse yoreself." Cheered by this thought, he started restowing everything into the bags. "Don't know how you're planning to get past the guard, though. It's just sposda be me in 'ere making this ruckus."
Panicked, Gaz grabbed one of the bags and emptied it into the nearest locker. He crawled inside and managed to squeeze himself in, scowling up at the giggling Welshman. "Savs will love those heels, now zip me up and let's get outta here!"
He was slightly perturbed that the last thing he saw was Giggsy's sadistic grin as he zipped the bag over his head. There was no way that this was going to go well.
What seemed like hours later, Giggsy finally unzipped the bag and dumped the battered defender on his living room floor. A stream of curses that really didn't go together very well filled the air as he picked himself up off the floor. He had to restrain the urge to leap on the madly grinning Giggsy and beat him to a bloody pulp. "Wot did you make the guard carry me for?! You knew the old geezer would never be able to lift me! And you took the longest possible route to get to yore car, didn't you, you bastard."
"Hey, if you didn't like the ride, I could've just left yore stumpy ass down there and left yeh to the mercy of the press-"
"Stumpy!" Gaz roared and this time exercised no restraint as he tackled the taller man, hooking a leg around his knees and taking him down to the floor. "I'll kill yer for that! Stumpy! I HAVE A LONG TORSO, YEH GREAT HAIRY WEREWOLF!!" He tried to connect a fist with Giggsy's nose as the winger fought back, pounding at Gaz's chest and trying to wedge a knee under the protested long torso to get the madman off him.
"OH NO YEH DON'T!" Gaz bellowed as Giggsy groped for a cushion to whack at Gaz's head. Employing his dirtiest weapon, he furiously tickled Giggsy's exposed sides as his victim flailed with laughter.
"No, Gazzy, please! Ahahahaha, please! No!" Helpless giggles escaped his lips as he desperately tried to wriggle free from his tormentor.
"All right, yeh asked for it!" Gaz unleashed one last salvo of tickles before flipping the Welshman over and pantsing him as hard as he could. He scrambled backward on the floor away from the wild limbs and dove toward the camera bag. Giggsy was wriggling helplessly as he tried to catch his breath and replace his forcefully removed pants, panting a pathetic "No!" as Gaz pulled out the video camera that he had previously been threatened with and quickly began filming the increasingly frantic struggling of the defenceless winger.
"Oh yeah, that's the stuff. This'll fetch a great price at the next charity auction. C'mon, wiggle that ass a little more, this is for UNICEF!"
"I'll- kill- yeh-" Giggsy panted as he finally found his pants and covered his shame. He glared accusingly at the now grinning defender. "Yeh had that planned from the beginning, didn't yeh? Luring me back here so yeh could get a look at my ass. Yeh've got every bleedin' day to stare at my ass in the dressing room, yeh great pervert, what yeh need a video for?" He pulled himself to his feet, putting on highly affronted airs. "I know I'm a foxy bloke, but yeh've got something mighty wrong if yeh think I'm into stumpy little defenders from Bury who're stupid enough to get themselves locked into the very complex they're trying to prank. Yeh're brother, maybe, but you?"
Gaz snorted. "Come off it, yeh're the one whose always ogling my ass during training, I know how you wingers are, always making a defender feel all vulnerable and exposed so yeh can slip in and score then grab yoreself a handful on the way back to yore own end. I'm onto yeh!" To prove his point, he pantsed himself and turned to give Giggsy a full view of his toned rear. "See? Yeh can't keep yer eyes off it, so don't go accusing me of being some pervert. Yeh ain't got nothing like on yeh're Welsh buddies, so yeh'll have to come back home to get some o' this-"
The gentle touch of fingers on his exposed rear brought his tirade to a halt. He froze as Giggsy slid up behind him and brought his mouth close to Gaz's ear. "Or maybe I've got all I want right 'ere."
Gaz spun around, mouth open to retort as he tripped on the pants puddled at his feet and fell to the floor. A now fully naked Giggsy stood over him, leering down at him. Gaz's mouth was still open but, for once, there was nothing coming out. It wasn't like he hadn't seen this before, in the dressing room, but certainly not intentionally and not so close and he wasn't really sure if he should be seeing this, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
"Uhhhhhh where'd your clothes go?" fell out of his still open mouth. He shut it instantly to prevent anything else from coming out while his brain was clearly not functioning.
Giggsy sighed. "Becks always said you were well-spoken, and I totally believed him 'til now."
Outrage coloured Gaz's face and he scrabbled to his feet. "Wot's he been telling yeh?? We ne'er did nothing, he's got a great dirty mind, that one, always flashing me in the dressin' room and the gaffer always made us share a room and he'd be all lyin' around with no pants on and-"
Clearly suppressing a great deal of laughter, Giggsy reached over and firmly put a hand over his mouth. "There. Now yeh won't go and say something yeh regret. Now whaddya say we make a really dirty sex tape and accidentally send it to Fletcher? Pore boy'll be so traumatised he'll never say a word." He punctuated this with a wink, but Gaz was too busy tearing the rest of his clothes off that he missed it entirely.
AND THEN THERE WAS THE SEX. <3<3<3