five times cristiano worried about wayne
title: five times cristiano worried about wayne
rating: g
author's note: i wrote this for _stefigus on her birthday. (please excuse my laziness. for i didn't even capitalize at all. i'll go ahead and fix that tomorrow. if i am not lazy.)
five times cristiano worried about wayne
i.
“wayne,” cristiano whispered, eyeing the striker on the bed wrapped in three different blankets. “how are you feeling?”
wayne could only muster a low groan, before closing his eyes again. cristiano moved his right hand to place it on the striker’s cheek, before moving it to his neck - shaking his head all the while. “your fever seems to be getting worse.” wayne could hear the worry in the winger’s voice, and tried his best to turn his body to look him in the eye. the portuguese scolded, “stop moving, wayne. just lie still. you’ll be better in no time.”
“it’s only a stomach virus,” wayne smiled weakly. “nothing serious. stop worrying, will you?”
“only if you get your fever down.”
“oh, sure,” wayne rolled his eyes. “because i have all the control in the world to do just that.”
“looks like i won’t stop worrying, then.” and cristiano leaned over running a finger over wayne’s eye lids, and shutting them, before he kissed him on the cheek. “now, sleep.”
ii.
cristiano had been running a lap around the pitch at carrington when wayne jumped on his back, causing the winger to fall forward onto the ground. despite initial thought that this would lead to yet another argument, the two laughed as they continued to wrestle each other.
"just wait," ryan said to no one in particular. "someone will get hurt, and start whining about the pain."
wayne was sitting on cristiano’s stomach, and had the portuguese’s hands pinned above his head. seeing all of this, rio slides towards them, and starts pounding the ground with his hand, shouting, “and one, two -” but before rio could get to three, cristiano somehow got wayne off him. “oh bugger. so close, wayne, so close.”
“fuck ronnie!” the winger looked to his left at the striker laying flat on his back. “that hurt.”
cristiano laughed, thinking nothing of what the striker said. he got up and ran his hand through his hair, before staring down at wayne. the corners of his mouth curved into a frown, “you’re really in pain, aren’t you?”
“what do you think, you twat?”
“what hurts?”
“my back, my shoulder,” wayne muttered.
“do you want me to carry you back into the locker room?” cristiano asked, and kneeled beside the striker. without waiting for a response, he placed wayne’s arm around his neck and was about to lift his leg before the striker protested.
“no, no. i’m fine. it’s okay.”
“wayne,” cristiano glared. “you’re lying on the pitch.”
“so? darren does this all the time.”
“but that’s because he’s sleeping.”
“well,” he said. “maybe i’ll sleep then.”
“wayne.”
“what?”
“let me carry you inside, okay?”
“alright,” the striker chuckled. “but if you wake up tomorrow with a sore back…”
cristiano smiled, helping wayne up slowly. “then you can carry me.”
iii.
"are you sure?"
"yes."
"are you really sure?"
an exasperated sigh, "yes, ronnie. i’m sure."
"because you know, if you aren’t you can always just stay home and get some more rest until you’re feeling one hundred percent better. i’ll even tell the gaffer for you -"
"no, ronnie, wait."
"what?"
"i’m fine, really."
"are you sure?"
this time, wayne wasn’t so frustrated with the question. maybe it was because cristiano’s eyes were sparkling with concern for him that he forgot how to do anything but smile. "yes," wayne answered.
"how sure?"
wayne shook his head and laughed, "just as sure as i love you."
"so," cristiano narrowed his eyes. "is that really sure?"
"about the i love you? or the feeling better?"
"you’re exasperating."
iv.
"i’m worried about you."
"why?"
"you have a fiancé."
"yeah, her name is coleen," wayne laughed. "come on, ronnie. it’s not like you didn’t know this."
cristiano made a face. "what happens when you get married?"
"well, you see. when a person gets married, there‘s usually a priest -"
"wayne, i’m being serious."
wayne nuzzled into cristiano’s body, "i know. sorry. i couldn’t help it." and then, “ronnie?”
“yes?”
“are you sure it’s me you’re worried about? and not yourself?”
cristiano rested his head on top of wayne’s, “maybe it’s both.”
v.
"what are you doing here?"
cristiano held up a grocery bag. "thought you might need someone to cook you something for dinner."
"but you don’t cook."
"this is true," cristiano answered, walking to the kitchen. "but I can make us some sandwiches." he took some things out of the bag, and asked, "do you like lettuce?"
"yeah." wayne stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. "so, why are you here?"
cristiano shrugged, "i was worried you might starve."
"i’m not handicapped," wayne said, poking his side, before adding, "actually. i was just going to call you to come over."
"yeah? for what?"
"oh, nothing really. just to bring over some food."
the winger grinned. "i’m psychic."
"alright then." wayne maneuvered his hand under the portuguese’s arm to grab a chocolate bar. "so, psychic one, what are the chances of you staying over the night?"
"i’m not sure. let me consult my crystal ball."
rating: g
author's note: i wrote this for _stefigus on her birthday. (please excuse my laziness. for i didn't even capitalize at all. i'll go ahead and fix that tomorrow. if i am not lazy.)
five times cristiano worried about wayne
i.
“wayne,” cristiano whispered, eyeing the striker on the bed wrapped in three different blankets. “how are you feeling?”
wayne could only muster a low groan, before closing his eyes again. cristiano moved his right hand to place it on the striker’s cheek, before moving it to his neck - shaking his head all the while. “your fever seems to be getting worse.” wayne could hear the worry in the winger’s voice, and tried his best to turn his body to look him in the eye. the portuguese scolded, “stop moving, wayne. just lie still. you’ll be better in no time.”
“it’s only a stomach virus,” wayne smiled weakly. “nothing serious. stop worrying, will you?”
“only if you get your fever down.”
“oh, sure,” wayne rolled his eyes. “because i have all the control in the world to do just that.”
“looks like i won’t stop worrying, then.” and cristiano leaned over running a finger over wayne’s eye lids, and shutting them, before he kissed him on the cheek. “now, sleep.”
ii.
cristiano had been running a lap around the pitch at carrington when wayne jumped on his back, causing the winger to fall forward onto the ground. despite initial thought that this would lead to yet another argument, the two laughed as they continued to wrestle each other.
"just wait," ryan said to no one in particular. "someone will get hurt, and start whining about the pain."
wayne was sitting on cristiano’s stomach, and had the portuguese’s hands pinned above his head. seeing all of this, rio slides towards them, and starts pounding the ground with his hand, shouting, “and one, two -” but before rio could get to three, cristiano somehow got wayne off him. “oh bugger. so close, wayne, so close.”
“fuck ronnie!” the winger looked to his left at the striker laying flat on his back. “that hurt.”
cristiano laughed, thinking nothing of what the striker said. he got up and ran his hand through his hair, before staring down at wayne. the corners of his mouth curved into a frown, “you’re really in pain, aren’t you?”
“what do you think, you twat?”
“what hurts?”
“my back, my shoulder,” wayne muttered.
“do you want me to carry you back into the locker room?” cristiano asked, and kneeled beside the striker. without waiting for a response, he placed wayne’s arm around his neck and was about to lift his leg before the striker protested.
“no, no. i’m fine. it’s okay.”
“wayne,” cristiano glared. “you’re lying on the pitch.”
“so? darren does this all the time.”
“but that’s because he’s sleeping.”
“well,” he said. “maybe i’ll sleep then.”
“wayne.”
“what?”
“let me carry you inside, okay?”
“alright,” the striker chuckled. “but if you wake up tomorrow with a sore back…”
cristiano smiled, helping wayne up slowly. “then you can carry me.”
iii.
"are you sure?"
"yes."
"are you really sure?"
an exasperated sigh, "yes, ronnie. i’m sure."
"because you know, if you aren’t you can always just stay home and get some more rest until you’re feeling one hundred percent better. i’ll even tell the gaffer for you -"
"no, ronnie, wait."
"what?"
"i’m fine, really."
"are you sure?"
this time, wayne wasn’t so frustrated with the question. maybe it was because cristiano’s eyes were sparkling with concern for him that he forgot how to do anything but smile. "yes," wayne answered.
"how sure?"
wayne shook his head and laughed, "just as sure as i love you."
"so," cristiano narrowed his eyes. "is that really sure?"
"about the i love you? or the feeling better?"
"you’re exasperating."
iv.
"i’m worried about you."
"why?"
"you have a fiancé."
"yeah, her name is coleen," wayne laughed. "come on, ronnie. it’s not like you didn’t know this."
cristiano made a face. "what happens when you get married?"
"well, you see. when a person gets married, there‘s usually a priest -"
"wayne, i’m being serious."
wayne nuzzled into cristiano’s body, "i know. sorry. i couldn’t help it." and then, “ronnie?”
“yes?”
“are you sure it’s me you’re worried about? and not yourself?”
cristiano rested his head on top of wayne’s, “maybe it’s both.”
v.
"what are you doing here?"
cristiano held up a grocery bag. "thought you might need someone to cook you something for dinner."
"but you don’t cook."
"this is true," cristiano answered, walking to the kitchen. "but I can make us some sandwiches." he took some things out of the bag, and asked, "do you like lettuce?"
"yeah." wayne stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. "so, why are you here?"
cristiano shrugged, "i was worried you might starve."
"i’m not handicapped," wayne said, poking his side, before adding, "actually. i was just going to call you to come over."
"yeah? for what?"
"oh, nothing really. just to bring over some food."
the winger grinned. "i’m psychic."
"alright then." wayne maneuvered his hand under the portuguese’s arm to grab a chocolate bar. "so, psychic one, what are the chances of you staying over the night?"
"i’m not sure. let me consult my crystal ball."