10-Sep-2004
Title: A Football Thing
Author: CleverYoungThief
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Flagrant fluff, yaoi, mild language, intoxicated Heero, poked fun at "macho" activities...
Pairings: 1+5+1
Archive: GWA
Genre: Romance/Humor
Timeline: First War
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't sue. College kids are like L2 kids; we got nothin'.
Feedback: Please? ^_^
Notes: Inspired by a Mad TV skit. *snickers*
Dedicated To: Maldoror, 'cause I never would have written anything even vaguely 1+5+1 without her.
What about football? Is it a sport or a concussion?
--- Jim Murray
College football is a sport that bears the same relation to education as bullfighting does to agriculture.
--- Elbert Hubbard
"There are several differences between a football game and a revolution. For one thing, a football game usually lasts longer and the participants wear uniforms. Also, there are usually more casualties in a football game. The object of the game is to move a ball past the other team's goal line. This counts as six points. No points are given for lacerations, contusions, or abrasions, but then no points are deducted, either. Kicking is very important in football. In fact, some of the more enthusiastic players even kick the ball, occasionally."
--- Alfred Hitchcock
"Yuy, what are you doing?" Wufei walked across the living room with a book under one arm, but Heero didn't even bother to look up at him. He was gazing intently on something on the television screen, a beer open in one hand. For some reason, the fact that Heero was completely ignoring Wufei irritated him to no end.
He stalked in front of the TV and stood there, glaring down at the reclining Wing pilot. "Yuy, didn't you hear me?!"
"Shhhhh!" Heero made an impatient move-out-of-the-way-idiot gesture with one hand, scowling. Wufei scowled back, then turned to look at the TV. "What are you-!" He yelped as one hand jerked him down over the coffee table by the back of his shirt. He landed in a crumpled, indignant heap at Heero's side. He looked over at Heero, eyes wide with disbelief that the Wing pilot would even dare to...
"You were blocking the TV." Heero's curt reply seemed as close to an apology as he was going to get. Wufei sat up furiously, glaring death over at the other young man.
"What the hell are you watching?"
"Football."
"Soccer?" Wufei glanced at the television curiously. Didn't look like soccer to him.
"No, American football."
Wufei snorted. "Hmph. A sport for musclebound idiots. All running into each other." He threw his feet up on the coffee table, then grabbed the chips sitting beside his ankle and nibbled one, as if that was all he had to say on the matter.
Heero cut his eyes at Wufei, slowly. Dangerously. He leaned back against the cushions, as lithe and sensual as a predator. He took a swallow of his beer, balanced it on his knee, then spoke. "Do you even know anything about it?"
"I know enough to not care about the rest." He started to open his book again, getting back to his haikus, but Heero jerked the book from his hands with lethal ease, tossing it over the couch. Wufei's eyes followed its passage with disbelief.
"Yuy, you-!"
"-You should watch," Heero interrupted, nodding back towards the television. He was wearing a loose football jersey, and the fabric bunched temptingly as he stretched one arm back behind his head. "It's interesting." He held up the can in his hand, smirking slightly.
"Want a beer?"
"Alcohol dulls your reflexes and your hand-eye coordination," Wufei muttered. "We could have to go to battle at any time. Intoxication is a weakness."
"Don't worry, Wufei. If you get too drunk to fight, I'll protect you." The words were mild, but Wufei could sense the amusement behind them, all the same. He's been spending way too much time with Maxwell, Wufei thought, glaring.
"Give me that damned beer."
*forty five minutes and four beers later*
"So, what is it called when they reach the end of the field?" Wufei stared at the TV unblinkingly, fixated. He grabbed a handful of corn nuts from the coffee table in front of them, sticking the whole thing in his mouth and chewing thoughtlessly.
"Duo called it a touchdown." Heero's eyes were also glued to the screen. The two Asian boys sat side by side on the lumpy old couch, hardly daring to move as they watched
"So who are we going for?"
"I just told you that five minutes ago. And the five minutes before that. The team in black. The L2 Bandits. It's Duo's team." Even as he spoke, one of the players in black-the one with the ball, Wufei noted-broke free from the pack, making a run for the end of the field. He leaned towards the TV, holding his breath, as Heero stood slowly next to him.
Touchdown.
"Hai! Hai!" Heero mocked a vicious punch at the television, grinning.
Stumbling to his feet, feeling the small victory wash through him like a fine wine, Wufei didn't even notice as he knocked his own beer over to puddle on the carpet; it was almost like being in battle again, and winning. "Go Bandits!"
Heero turned to him, still smiling, eyes shining with triumph, and suddenly he wasn't thinking about football anymore. Because... what... wait, he had been reading, right? Why was he watching this again?...
Heero's hand was warm and callused against the back of his neck. Heero's lips were nipping at his, and in surprise, Wufei let his jaw drop open. Heero's tongue entered his mouth, touched his tongue roughly, probing, but Wufei wasn't disgusted. He was... was...
Reciprocating.
He jerked back suddenly, gasping. Heero jerked back just as quickly, gazing at him with wide, dazed blue eyes. Beautiful eyes. Wait, what? What in the hell was he thinking?
"What the hell was that?"
Heero just looked back at him, looking just as confused. "How the hell should I know?"
Wufei grabbed his spilled beer off the carpet and finished off what was left in the can; his mouth suddenly felt dry. "You did it!"
"Did not." Heero scowled, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, where Wufei's hand had been. He sank back into the couch, looking at Wufei's face with scrutiny, as if he could see something in it that explained why his tongue had been in the other boy's mouth. "So what does this mean? Are we gay?"
Wufei sputtered, eyes wide. "What?! No! It's just-"
"-a football thing," Heero finished, satisfied, eyes flicking back to the screen. "Right, just a football thing. Must happen all the time, right? Get excited... "
"Right, right." Wufei settled back. Bullshit! He caught himself gazing at Heero's lips, then blushed. What was wrong with him?
"Watch the game," Heero said, turning back to the television.
Relieved, Wufei did.
Touchdown.
Heero wasn't even making words, anymore. His sounds of victory were animalistic as he leapt to his feet, almost overturning the coffee table. Wufei was slightly afraid the Wing pilot might shoot the television in ecstasy.
I must make a note never to play video games with Yuy.
But even though he was amused-and a bit dismayed-by Heero's display, he couldn't help getting caught up in the score himself. He stood with Heero, yelling his appreciation for such fine sportsmanship to the rooftop. How could he have ever thought this was a stupid game? Such dexterity, such stamina...
And why the hell was Heero's hand down the back of his shirt?
He found himself mouthing the side of Heero's neck to the sound of cheers. He had somehow ended up lying across the couch, and Heero's steady, even weight was spread across him, hip-to-hip. That hip part was particularly interesting. Heero's hips moved against his in one long, hard roll, and Wufei groaned, throwing his head back slightly, eyes sliding closed. He suddenly didn't want anything but for Heero to do that again.
Heero had pushed his shirt up, and one hot palm had cupped his abdomen, making the skin of his stomach twitch. Wufei's eyes opened wide to find hazy blue eyes over his own. Heero smirked a little, and the expression made something low in Wufei's groin uncoil and jerk.
"So, are we gay yet?" Heero whispered, his face so close to Wufei's that Wufei could feel the other pilot's breath against his lips, sweetly sour with hops and alcohol.
"This is a little gay, Heero, yes," Wufei whispered back.
Heero lowered his head to scratch his teeth gently along Wufei's collarbone. The movement made Wufei shiver beneath him.
"But it's just a football thing," Heero replied finally, his voice muffled against the skin of Wufei's shoulder.
"I don't think so, Heero. It may just be a hunch, but I don't think most guys who watch football end up... like this." Beyond his own volition, Wufei's fingers tightened across Heero's back, slipping up under the bottom of his jersey to find sleek, catlike muscles beneath.
"But-"
"Heero," Wufei growled. "Shut up."
He punctuated his last statement on the issue with a silencing kiss.
Duo stood in the doorway of the kitchen, smirking as he watched the tangled limbs writhing on the living room couch. The cheers on the television for the L2 Bandits were loud, but not loud enough to cover whispered words, panting breath, soft moans. Beer cans littered the top of the coffee table and spilled beneath it onto the floor. Half-empty bags of chips and corn nuts spilled across the carpet.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, then risked one more glance into the living room. A pair of bare feet hung over the edge of the couch. They were all he could see. He heard a soft groan, and the toes of said feet curled slightly.
He snickered as he walked off to watch football somewhere else.
" ...I love this game."
Owari
(:./cyt/football)
