Drabbles part 3!
Blah blah blah and formalities here.
1. Gianluigi Buffon/Alex del Piero.
It was always nice to hear the crowd calling out their names, as if they had never aged.
Sure enough, there were many sports writers who said they weren't what they used to be. That Alex had already aged and was not the great forward. That Gigi had not been the same after sciatica had attacked him.
Yet, when the crowd chanted their names, they were still the same.
And, inside the locker room, they were still the same youngsters who ran through the hallways, peeked inside to see if nobody was there, or turned on the shower, taking a second one, wanting to feel their naked bodies, Gigi inside Alex.
They were still the same.
2. John Terry/Frank Lampard
In the beginning, he was not Frankie. Nobody would have considered calling him Frankie. Even though he was the son of the original Frank Lampard, he was Frank as well, like his dad. Not Frankie.
So John was thankful that he could have been the one to call him Frankie. First as friends, as good friends, then at their football club, Chelsea.
And, finally, when "Frankie" was on the bed, panting underneath John, open wide when he received the other man's cock.
There he was lovely Frankie.
3. Patrice Evra/Ji-Sung Park
Sometimes they wondered how they had become friends, in a country away from their homelands, their English tripping along and not so much a tool for communication, but more a tool for misunderstandings as they learned how to master that language that was a stranger to them too.
Whatever it was, it had been unspoken. It had to do more with what they did on the pitch. Or when they laughed. Or remembered something from those different worlds each of them had come from, so different from Manchester, even if they couldn't describe it correctly.
United had brought them together; the team had given them a chance to share many different things.
Eventually, a bed, and their bodies, and their kisses.
4. Michael Owen/Dimitar Berbatov
Dimi had not been in the bench that frequently until that season when, in spite of being the top scorer, he found himself relegated as a sub.
At first... well, it didn't seem like the ideal destiny for someone who had been presented as "the new Cantona". So, he spent his time sitting on the bench, looking at the game, wishing he was there, absent in his thoughts.
So, it took him a bit to see he was sharing the bench with another man who had been a promise as well. Michael Owen, the lost star from Liverpool, Madrid, Newcastle, now a sub at United.
They ended up sitting together.
And, when nobody was looking at them, they sneaked into the locker room, drowning the cheers from the crowd in their kisses and later in Berba's moans when the Englishman entered him.
Who cared about the beautiful game then?
5. Rio Ferdinand/Ruud van Nistelrooy
It had started as a game, (Who does Ed prefer?) and suddenly it had become a battle.
"Of course Ed prefers me," Rio was saying. "I mean, ya've been gone fer a lon' time. He spen's more time wit' me, n' anyways, I fuck 'im better. 'Ard n' 'ot."
"I don't think so," Ruud snapped. "Edwin said that it didn't matter how many men he'd fucked--I'm still the best."
"Wanna try?"
There was no other way to try except trying on each other, and even though Ruud wouldn't admit Rio's cock was so long that hitting his prostate was so easy and so pleasurable, or Rio would never said Ruud's thickness created exquisite friction, by the time it was over both of them thought they would like to argue again. And maybe invite Ed too.
1. Gianluigi Buffon/Alex del Piero.
It was always nice to hear the crowd calling out their names, as if they had never aged.
Sure enough, there were many sports writers who said they weren't what they used to be. That Alex had already aged and was not the great forward. That Gigi had not been the same after sciatica had attacked him.
Yet, when the crowd chanted their names, they were still the same.
And, inside the locker room, they were still the same youngsters who ran through the hallways, peeked inside to see if nobody was there, or turned on the shower, taking a second one, wanting to feel their naked bodies, Gigi inside Alex.
They were still the same.
2. John Terry/Frank Lampard
In the beginning, he was not Frankie. Nobody would have considered calling him Frankie. Even though he was the son of the original Frank Lampard, he was Frank as well, like his dad. Not Frankie.
So John was thankful that he could have been the one to call him Frankie. First as friends, as good friends, then at their football club, Chelsea.
And, finally, when "Frankie" was on the bed, panting underneath John, open wide when he received the other man's cock.
There he was lovely Frankie.
3. Patrice Evra/Ji-Sung Park
Sometimes they wondered how they had become friends, in a country away from their homelands, their English tripping along and not so much a tool for communication, but more a tool for misunderstandings as they learned how to master that language that was a stranger to them too.
Whatever it was, it had been unspoken. It had to do more with what they did on the pitch. Or when they laughed. Or remembered something from those different worlds each of them had come from, so different from Manchester, even if they couldn't describe it correctly.
United had brought them together; the team had given them a chance to share many different things.
Eventually, a bed, and their bodies, and their kisses.
4. Michael Owen/Dimitar Berbatov
Dimi had not been in the bench that frequently until that season when, in spite of being the top scorer, he found himself relegated as a sub.
At first... well, it didn't seem like the ideal destiny for someone who had been presented as "the new Cantona". So, he spent his time sitting on the bench, looking at the game, wishing he was there, absent in his thoughts.
So, it took him a bit to see he was sharing the bench with another man who had been a promise as well. Michael Owen, the lost star from Liverpool, Madrid, Newcastle, now a sub at United.
They ended up sitting together.
And, when nobody was looking at them, they sneaked into the locker room, drowning the cheers from the crowd in their kisses and later in Berba's moans when the Englishman entered him.
Who cared about the beautiful game then?
5. Rio Ferdinand/Ruud van Nistelrooy
It had started as a game, (Who does Ed prefer?) and suddenly it had become a battle.
"Of course Ed prefers me," Rio was saying. "I mean, ya've been gone fer a lon' time. He spen's more time wit' me, n' anyways, I fuck 'im better. 'Ard n' 'ot."
"I don't think so," Ruud snapped. "Edwin said that it didn't matter how many men he'd fucked--I'm still the best."
"Wanna try?"
There was no other way to try except trying on each other, and even though Ruud wouldn't admit Rio's cock was so long that hitting his prostate was so easy and so pleasurable, or Rio would never said Ruud's thickness created exquisite friction, by the time it was over both of them thought they would like to argue again. And maybe invite Ed too.