Bikey angst!
May. 24th, 2004 05:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anotherusedpageYup, it's that time of year again!
Pairings: Becks/Figo, implied Becks/Mikey and Becks/Others
Rating: Well, there's implied kissing. And hands. So, PG-ish, I guess.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not gay, not shagging. Or at least not shagging men.
Summery: A depressed Beckham gives in over That Phone Number (which features in Gramática Española, Coches Del Juguete), and then wibbles at Figo in an angsty sort of way.
WARNING: In case you hadn't got this yet, it's SLASH, and it's REAL PEOPLE. It's also unbetaed.
Touch me.
Kiss me.
It doesn’t matter any more.
Run your hands over my body, the way you’ve wanted to all season.
You knew I’d call. You knew I’d call eventually. You’ve dreamed about this. You’ve dreamed about touching and kissing and holding. You wanted to run those sensual fingers through long, golden hair even back then, didn't you?
Well, tough. You don’t get what you want. No one gets what they want. Ever.
This is a mistake. But the end of the season’s fast approaching, and the only place to go from here is down.
I had such high hopes.
I’ll have him again. For the summer, just for the summer. And for a moment, perhaps, if I’m lucky, it’ll be perfect. Or maybe not. But that’s the best I can hope for. A moment of happiness. And then another season of regret. What’s the fucking point of that, huh?
I might as well take my moments while I can, then. I might as well take it now. I’ll hurt him whatever I do. So I’ll have this moment. I’ll have you.
Run your hands over my chest. I know you’ve wanted to. You think you’re getting what you want. For a moment, just a moment. But you’ll want more than this. To touch is never enough. You’ll want to hold. To taste is never enough. You’ll want to consume.
You think you want this. But you’ll want more. You’ll want my whole heart. And that’s not something that’s mine to give. Not to you. Not to anyone. You’ll want me to tell you I care about you, and you’ll want me to mean it.
Every time I’ve thought that one person would be enough, I’ve been wrong. Not her. Not him. And certainly not you.
You think I’m sensitive, don’t you? Well, let me tell you that does not mean I want a bloody well relationship . I don’t want anything from you, other than this. Now.
The girls? What about the girls? Why do you want to know? They hurt her. They hurt him. And in the end they hurt me.
At least I can trust you to keep this from the press. You wouldn’t tell. The person it’d hurt the most would be you. I can’t get any lower from here. Everyone and everything I’ve ever cared about is in pieces around me.
Third place in the league. Out of the Champions. And the press, the bloody press. How many times have you heard them say I don’t deserve to be here? Maybe I don’t. It’s not good enough. I work and I work, but that’s not enough, is it?
You tell me to relax. My shoulders are stiff against your hands; you know I’m too worked up for this. But I don’t want you to stop. You think I’m too used to being a champion? You think I should be satisfied to come in third?
The trouble with being third place is that there’s somewhere lower to fall.
So I should look forward to Europe then? We’ll do alright this time, you reckon? At least I’m not injured and he’s not injured, and you think that’ll make the difference?
We’re up against fucking France in the first fucking match of the competition, man! It’s not going to happen. It’s never going to happen. I’m going to spend my whole life struggling for it, and I’m going to make her miserable, and him miserable, and myself miserable, and you miserable too if you’re not damn careful! So don't tell me to look forward to bloody well Europe, all right?
Don’t you tell me to calm down! I am calm! I’m perfectly fucking calm! Stop being such a fucking arsehole!
Oh, don’t. Don't. Please don't. Come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, all right? Look, just… sit down, won’t you? I won’t yell. Let’s not talk, huh? Can we just… look, I’m sorry, all right?
It’s just… please, I don’t want this. I just want you to touch. To kiss. I don’t want to think about this, I just… I want the moment, right? I don’t want to have to apologise and I don’t want to have to care. I don’t want to have to talk and I don’t want to… have… to… cry…
Oh god please don’t look at me like that.
Yeah, I’m all right. Sorry. Thanks.
Sorry.
Look, can we start again?
I know you want this. Touch me. Kiss me.
Hold me.
It doesn’t matter any more. I just want to be held
Pairings: Becks/Figo, implied Becks/Mikey and Becks/Others
Rating: Well, there's implied kissing. And hands. So, PG-ish, I guess.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not gay, not shagging. Or at least not shagging men.
Summery: A depressed Beckham gives in over That Phone Number (which features in Gramática Española, Coches Del Juguete), and then wibbles at Figo in an angsty sort of way.
WARNING: In case you hadn't got this yet, it's SLASH, and it's REAL PEOPLE. It's also unbetaed.
Touch me.
Kiss me.
It doesn’t matter any more.
Run your hands over my body, the way you’ve wanted to all season.
You knew I’d call. You knew I’d call eventually. You’ve dreamed about this. You’ve dreamed about touching and kissing and holding. You wanted to run those sensual fingers through long, golden hair even back then, didn't you?
Well, tough. You don’t get what you want. No one gets what they want. Ever.
This is a mistake. But the end of the season’s fast approaching, and the only place to go from here is down.
I had such high hopes.
I’ll have him again. For the summer, just for the summer. And for a moment, perhaps, if I’m lucky, it’ll be perfect. Or maybe not. But that’s the best I can hope for. A moment of happiness. And then another season of regret. What’s the fucking point of that, huh?
I might as well take my moments while I can, then. I might as well take it now. I’ll hurt him whatever I do. So I’ll have this moment. I’ll have you.
Run your hands over my chest. I know you’ve wanted to. You think you’re getting what you want. For a moment, just a moment. But you’ll want more than this. To touch is never enough. You’ll want to hold. To taste is never enough. You’ll want to consume.
You think you want this. But you’ll want more. You’ll want my whole heart. And that’s not something that’s mine to give. Not to you. Not to anyone. You’ll want me to tell you I care about you, and you’ll want me to mean it.
Every time I’ve thought that one person would be enough, I’ve been wrong. Not her. Not him. And certainly not you.
You think I’m sensitive, don’t you? Well, let me tell you that does not mean I want a bloody well relationship . I don’t want anything from you, other than this. Now.
The girls? What about the girls? Why do you want to know? They hurt her. They hurt him. And in the end they hurt me.
At least I can trust you to keep this from the press. You wouldn’t tell. The person it’d hurt the most would be you. I can’t get any lower from here. Everyone and everything I’ve ever cared about is in pieces around me.
Third place in the league. Out of the Champions. And the press, the bloody press. How many times have you heard them say I don’t deserve to be here? Maybe I don’t. It’s not good enough. I work and I work, but that’s not enough, is it?
You tell me to relax. My shoulders are stiff against your hands; you know I’m too worked up for this. But I don’t want you to stop. You think I’m too used to being a champion? You think I should be satisfied to come in third?
The trouble with being third place is that there’s somewhere lower to fall.
So I should look forward to Europe then? We’ll do alright this time, you reckon? At least I’m not injured and he’s not injured, and you think that’ll make the difference?
We’re up against fucking France in the first fucking match of the competition, man! It’s not going to happen. It’s never going to happen. I’m going to spend my whole life struggling for it, and I’m going to make her miserable, and him miserable, and myself miserable, and you miserable too if you’re not damn careful! So don't tell me to look forward to bloody well Europe, all right?
Don’t you tell me to calm down! I am calm! I’m perfectly fucking calm! Stop being such a fucking arsehole!
Oh, don’t. Don't. Please don't. Come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, all right? Look, just… sit down, won’t you? I won’t yell. Let’s not talk, huh? Can we just… look, I’m sorry, all right?
It’s just… please, I don’t want this. I just want you to touch. To kiss. I don’t want to think about this, I just… I want the moment, right? I don’t want to have to apologise and I don’t want to have to care. I don’t want to have to talk and I don’t want to… have… to… cry…
Oh god please don’t look at me like that.
Yeah, I’m all right. Sorry. Thanks.
Sorry.
Look, can we start again?
I know you want this. Touch me. Kiss me.
Hold me.
It doesn’t matter any more. I just want to be held
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:08 am (UTC)am
scared.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:11 am (UTC)Does that mean you've been on my friends list all this time and never read any footy-slash yet?
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:13 am (UTC)Still, after reading that, I'm going to sit on my bed and rock back and forth.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:27 am (UTC)Although before you decide to completely hate me, I'm not the kind (and there are some out there) who watch matches only to imagine the pretty boys kissing. I was a football fan and a slash fan seperately at first, I just put the two together after the last World Cup. ;p
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:43 am (UTC)Anyway. If you don't want to see it, I can filter it so you can't, if you like. I do that for most of my RL friends all ready.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 01:09 pm (UTC)Every time I've thought that one person would be enough, I've been wrong. Not her. Not him. And certainly not you.
great line - and it could be the basis of a whole new way of seeing him. Dragged down by an awful (and somewhat hot) restlessness: sharkish, insatiable, going through people like he goes through haircuts and tattoos, bored and sickened by his acquisitions as soon as he gets them.
*is possibly in a mean mood tonight*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-16 04:06 am (UTC)Wonderful angst.