(no subject)
title: three united (really) short stories
pairings: gary neville/david beckham, alan smith/darren fletcher, cristiano ronaldo/wayne rooney
rating: PG
author's note: this is my attempt at writing crack! again. i tried to write ten of these, but alas, i got lazy (and my brain just stopped). apparently it's been a long while since i've written. gah. anyways, excuse the lameness of these. i'm trying to get back to my writing ways.
three (really) short stories
i.
“I don’t understand this.”
“That’s because you’re not paying attention,” Gary mutters. “Honestly, Becks. Maths isn’t that difficult. You just can’t focus on anything for more than three seconds -- would you stop that?”
The younger boy was blowing at the strands of hair that had fallen over his face. “I’m trying to move it away from my face.”
“Then use your hands.”
“It’s much more fun this way. Almost like a game.”
“You’re not going to pass Maths.”
“Sure I will. I can just cheat off your paper.”
Gary narrows his eyes at his best mate. “Or, you can pay attention and actually understand all of this.”
David sighs in defeat, picks up his pencil and starts scribbling down the next problem. It hasn’t been more than a few seconds before, “I don’t understand this.”
ii.
“I can’t believe we’re fucking locked in our own dressing room.”
Alan and Darren had come back to Old Trafford to retrieve a pair of socks that the Scot was adamant he could not spend a night without. “If it makes you feel any better… at least I have my socks.”
“That does not make me feel any better, Darren.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Alan sits on the wooden bench, and tries to think of something to get them out of this predicament. It was just their luck that they had left both their cell phones in the car. (“We won’t even be gone more than 2 minutes, Smudge.”)
“This is just wonderful. Really.”
“You don’t…” Darren almost whispers the rest of his thoughts, “think this place is haunted, do you?”
“We’re here every day. Have you seen any ghosts?”
“Well.”
“Well?”
“I saw Wayne come out of the shower once, and I thought he was one - but besides that, no.”
“Then, you have your answer.”
“Wait -- what was that? Did you hear that?” Darren scurries over to Alan and presses against him. “I think I can live a night without my socks, now.”
“Too late for that,” Alan laughs.
iii.
“What did you call him?”
“Adrião,” Cristiano grins, as he carries the puppy. “I think he likes it.”
“You do realize that his name is Bear, right?”
“I don’t like that name.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, Wayne. Maybe because he’s a dog.”
The Englishman makes a face, and grumbles, “Well, I think it’s cute.”
“I do, too. Adrião. Not Bear.”
“Well,” Wayne says, “I don’t like your name, either. I’m going to call you, Boris.”
Cristiano snorts. “Boris?”
“Boris.”
“Okay. Then you’re Chester.”
“Chester?”
“Yes. Because it almost sounds like chest hair.” The Portuguese howls in laughter, and sidesteps a punch to the arm swiftfully before muttering to the puppy in his arms, “Chester can be a bit moody.”
pairings: gary neville/david beckham, alan smith/darren fletcher, cristiano ronaldo/wayne rooney
rating: PG
author's note: this is my attempt at writing crack! again. i tried to write ten of these, but alas, i got lazy (and my brain just stopped). apparently it's been a long while since i've written. gah. anyways, excuse the lameness of these. i'm trying to get back to my writing ways.
three (really) short stories
i.
“I don’t understand this.”
“That’s because you’re not paying attention,” Gary mutters. “Honestly, Becks. Maths isn’t that difficult. You just can’t focus on anything for more than three seconds -- would you stop that?”
The younger boy was blowing at the strands of hair that had fallen over his face. “I’m trying to move it away from my face.”
“Then use your hands.”
“It’s much more fun this way. Almost like a game.”
“You’re not going to pass Maths.”
“Sure I will. I can just cheat off your paper.”
Gary narrows his eyes at his best mate. “Or, you can pay attention and actually understand all of this.”
David sighs in defeat, picks up his pencil and starts scribbling down the next problem. It hasn’t been more than a few seconds before, “I don’t understand this.”
ii.
“I can’t believe we’re fucking locked in our own dressing room.”
Alan and Darren had come back to Old Trafford to retrieve a pair of socks that the Scot was adamant he could not spend a night without. “If it makes you feel any better… at least I have my socks.”
“That does not make me feel any better, Darren.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Alan sits on the wooden bench, and tries to think of something to get them out of this predicament. It was just their luck that they had left both their cell phones in the car. (“We won’t even be gone more than 2 minutes, Smudge.”)
“This is just wonderful. Really.”
“You don’t…” Darren almost whispers the rest of his thoughts, “think this place is haunted, do you?”
“We’re here every day. Have you seen any ghosts?”
“Well.”
“Well?”
“I saw Wayne come out of the shower once, and I thought he was one - but besides that, no.”
“Then, you have your answer.”
“Wait -- what was that? Did you hear that?” Darren scurries over to Alan and presses against him. “I think I can live a night without my socks, now.”
“Too late for that,” Alan laughs.
iii.
“What did you call him?”
“Adrião,” Cristiano grins, as he carries the puppy. “I think he likes it.”
“You do realize that his name is Bear, right?”
“I don’t like that name.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, Wayne. Maybe because he’s a dog.”
The Englishman makes a face, and grumbles, “Well, I think it’s cute.”
“I do, too. Adrião. Not Bear.”
“Well,” Wayne says, “I don’t like your name, either. I’m going to call you, Boris.”
Cristiano snorts. “Boris?”
“Boris.”
“Okay. Then you’re Chester.”
“Chester?”
“Yes. Because it almost sounds like chest hair.” The Portuguese howls in laughter, and sidesteps a punch to the arm swiftfully before muttering to the puppy in his arms, “Chester can be a bit moody.”