The Pitch
Title: The Pitch
Author: junas_stories
Pairing: very much implied Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
Rating: PG (complete and utter fluff, really)
Word Count: 261
Disclaimer: Don't know anybody or anything in this story and am not making any money with it either. Sadly.
Notes: This is a story - okay, a tiny ficlet - for the 5th prompt: Grass at footballslash11.
Summary: Cristiano's thoughts on the English weather...
The Pitch
Cristiano hated the English weather in general but he especially hated the English winter. He really did. With a passion. Because at no other time of the year did it become so glaringly obvious that England, Manchester, was nothing like Madeira at all.
Madeira was a garden always in full bloom, vibrant with colours and scents and sounds. Wintry Manchester was cold and miserable. The only colour was grey. Grey sky over grey streets lined with grey houses. Instead of fluffy, pristine white snow, which Cristiano had actually looked forward to when moving to England, there was mud. Grey mud, of course. The whole city was stuffy with the smell of brown coal. And the only sound was that of heavy rain pelting down on roofs, cars and umbrellas.
He would have long since left Manchester for somewhere more warm and friendly and lively if it hadn't been for one thing, one place, really. The pitch. Or rather the grass covering it. It really was his only refuge, its contrast to the rest of the city so stark it almost hurt.
Cristiano loved to feel the grass’s springy softness beneath his feet making him feel almost weightless. He loved its fresh, clean, lush smell and the way it swallowed not only the rain itself but also the sound of it hitting the ground. But most of all he loved its rich, deep green. He felt both safe and free here, calm and utterly alive.
Cristiano thought that it would be only fitting if Wayne's eyes were a deep green. Grass green.
Author: junas_stories
Pairing: very much implied Cristiano Ronaldo/Wayne Rooney
Rating: PG (complete and utter fluff, really)
Word Count: 261
Disclaimer: Don't know anybody or anything in this story and am not making any money with it either. Sadly.
Notes: This is a story - okay, a tiny ficlet - for the 5th prompt: Grass at footballslash11.
Summary: Cristiano's thoughts on the English weather...
The Pitch
Cristiano hated the English weather in general but he especially hated the English winter. He really did. With a passion. Because at no other time of the year did it become so glaringly obvious that England, Manchester, was nothing like Madeira at all.
Madeira was a garden always in full bloom, vibrant with colours and scents and sounds. Wintry Manchester was cold and miserable. The only colour was grey. Grey sky over grey streets lined with grey houses. Instead of fluffy, pristine white snow, which Cristiano had actually looked forward to when moving to England, there was mud. Grey mud, of course. The whole city was stuffy with the smell of brown coal. And the only sound was that of heavy rain pelting down on roofs, cars and umbrellas.
He would have long since left Manchester for somewhere more warm and friendly and lively if it hadn't been for one thing, one place, really. The pitch. Or rather the grass covering it. It really was his only refuge, its contrast to the rest of the city so stark it almost hurt.
Cristiano loved to feel the grass’s springy softness beneath his feet making him feel almost weightless. He loved its fresh, clean, lush smell and the way it swallowed not only the rain itself but also the sound of it hitting the ground. But most of all he loved its rich, deep green. He felt both safe and free here, calm and utterly alive.
Cristiano thought that it would be only fitting if Wayne's eyes were a deep green. Grass green.