if there are no witnesses, there is no crime. Part II
Ha. Second chapter and it only took me 15 days .... :s
Title: If there are no witnesses, there is no crime. AU. (2/?)
Pairing: Wayne Rooney / Cristiano Ronaldo
Rating: R
Word Count: 2445
forkarneol_vision
Part One
The highway they were taking was almost quiet and left, emptied by the late night hour. No one who could avoid it was on the run right now, which made driving easier.
Ever since they had left the city behind them and more and more of the lights had faded, Cristiano was in a state close to sleep, not really sleeping though - years of experience (and the fact that he hadn't gotten what he needed so badly, yet) preventing him from that. But the monotone hum of the motor and the lowly playing radio - against his usual habits and preference of the quiet, Wayne loathed to do long distances without the radio on -, was lulling him into a light slumber. The occasional lights of passing street-lights flashed before his eyes, interrupting the lengthening darker periods.
Eventually, the constant image before the car's window panes, never changing no matter how many miles passed brought Cristiano to thinking.
Wayne's features were barely visible in the dark, merely shaped. If not for his partner's hands resting on his own thigh, calmly so, Cristiano had barely acknowledged Wayne's presence at all. Yet, the hand was there, just gently applying pressure. Occasionally Wayne glanced over to him, as if to make sure of Cristiano not falling asleep, his eyes calmer now, their silver glint having faded away, now that the major part of the job was done.
Still, partly it were these occasional glances which kept Cristiano awake as well. The job was not completely finished yet, it would only be so after they were told it was, and hence - technically - sleeping was not an option for him. And so Cristiano fought against sleep and need, picking up the next trail of thoughts to keep him distracted.
He leaned his head back, carefully making sure of not letting his eyes fall closed. Wayne's calmness and also quietness seemed to fill the whole car, slowly wrapping him in, just like Wayne's aura always did. Always had.
His memories of the life he had lived before - before he had been brought to new life, before the killing had started - were not especially rare, yet Cristiano did not recall these memories very often. They felt like stories to him, tales he had caught and picked up on the way. Most of the time, they did not felt like his own past, like a part of who he was - even now -, at all. But now, somehow resting in a car with only silence and Wayne and the occasional shock of lightning flooding his senses, he allowed his mind to pick one of these memories, probably because it was one of the few brighter moments he had experienced. These memories were few, indeed.
His gaze directed at the black asphalt of the street ahead of them, Cristiano let his mind wander back, way back, to his very first encounter with Wayne.
####
Cristiano curled up in his corner of the room, making carefully sure that none of the other boys spend attention to him. They were minding their own business, though, part of them occupying the bed in a glistening and convulsively moving heap of flesh and hair, part of them writhing around in their bed feverishly and alone. It didn’t look like they had gotten clean drugs tonight.
Cristiano tried to turn his back on all of this madness.
And it was only then, when he felt as much protected as the musky, dirty room could offer protection, that he dared shoving his hand into the pockets of his jeans again.
Suppressing a relieved sigh, his fingers curled around the paper they found there. He didn’t have to pull it out, he didn’t dare, but he knew what was written on it, anyway, had learned it by heart all the way he’d been running from the hotel room to this place that was supposed to be something like a surrogate for home. He had been running, not really sure why, but with the urgent need of having to leave in his legs, pushing him further and faster. He had run all the way, 17 blocks.
And, matching the hammering sounds of his feet meeting the asphalt, the words on the paper had imprinted themselves in his head, had settled deep within his inner core.
Trust me and I’ll get you out of this. You can do much better.
*
The image of the man was still freshly imprinted in his mind; it came back to life more than easily as his fingers curled around the paper even tighter.
He had been barely older than Cristiano himself was, if even, his face speaking of youth but the silently aging way. His bright eyes shining with something that hadn’t been joy, his movements had been calm but not the way the movements of people at peace with themselves were. The glint in his eyes spoke of suspicion and attentiveness caused by bad experiences; the sway of his body speaking of awareness of his movements and the constant readiness to run. All things Cristiano knew of himself.
The man’s appearance was not intimidating to Cristiano, he had seen and experienced much much worse, just the opposite, the menacing aura surrounding the man intrigued him. Perhaps, most likely, Cristiano had always had this weak spot for the dangerous.
By chance or not, the man’s eyes had fallen on him in the very same moment and it was then that Cristiano was completely sure of facing someone in his age.
He hadn’t lost this impression all the way, from the man coming straight over to the staircase’s steel frame Cristiano was leaning against, his own place to carefully watching the club, but most of all a place where he could expose himself to being watched, to being seen by his potential customers.
He sensed right away, though, that the man with the glinting eyes had nothing to do with his usual customers.
“You’ve seen much, haven’t you …?”
Judging from his voice, the man seemed to be stone-cold sober, therefore the question, seemingly coming out of nowhere, confused Cristiano. He nodded in response, anyway, more out of instinct than willingly. It felt like the man’s - boy’s? - aura wrapped itself around him as well, creating a surreal and irrational feeling of immediate mutual understanding.
“Show me …”
The man’s voice stayed calm all the time, even now that he grabbed Cristiano’s arms, a large rough palm closing around his wrist, a thumb pressing against his pulse so that Cristiano’s heart sped up in a matter of less than seconds, adrenaline rushing through his whole body.
“… You’ll show me, won’t you? … Let me feel it …”
Again, Cristiano nodded, sensing again that something was going on, something he had no control of and couldn’t grasp yet.
“What’s your name, then, beautiful?...”
Cristiano gasped, for the pressure applied to his wrist, for the serious tone in the man’s voice, for this bright eyes burning all over his skin. For how these eyes made him feel seen for the first time since a couple of months, a couple of years, maybe; how these eyes seemed to cut right through the protecting layers of indifference and forgotten memories around him, unraveled him until Cristiano felt bare in front of the man’s eyes. And he had no idea how this man had made that happen.
“I’m … I’m Cristiano … Cris …”
The man’s lips curled into a smile, no deep or heartfelt one, but still a smile.
“What’s in a name …,” he said, barely audible over the thumping basses of the club, before his fingers eventually released the pressure around Cristiano’s wrist, allowing Cristiano to breathe again properly in the first time of some minutes, the smile on his lips curving deeper. “Nice to have found you, Cristiano. My name is Wayne …”
*
When he heard Nani’s scream, his friend’s voice a tune he recognized over the moaning and groaning of the other boys filling the room, the bed, the air, Cristiano took his hand out of his pocket, leaving the paper, and his secret, there.
He quickly hurried over to find his friend, probably the only one in the entire room he cared about in this exact moment, lying on the floor, cold sweat staining his cheeks and his forehead, eyelids fluttering but never really opening.
In this particular moment, Cristiano could taste everything on the back of his tongue, this bitterness about the unspeakable things he had seen living here, even more, he had done doing the job that he did. Wrapping his arms around Nani in a futile attempt to soothe his drug-poisoned sleep and protect him from the demonic nightmares, Cristiano bit on his lip.
You can do much better.
Yes he could.
He had found the short note on the pillow, along with a tremendous amount of money, when he had woken up in the empty hotel bed; the note, the money, the damp sheets and his slightly aching and sore body the only signs of what had happened between Wayne and him the hours before.
He had grabbed the money and the note, thrown on his clothes and started running right from there on.
Now Cristiano didn’t know why, but something made him put his trust in the man’s words.
#####
Cristiano was pulled out of his memory suddenly, when brighter, colorful flashing lights started to arouse his attention.
With a quick look around, he figured out that Wayne was directing the car to a parking area of one of the motels rarely sprinkled along the deserted road here and there.
When Cristiano cast a questioning glance at his partner, Wayne's eyes were already laid on him.
"I thought we'd spend the night here ... nothing extraordinary, but should be enough ...," Wayne explained with a casual shrug, killing the engine.
"But I thought ... I mean we're not entirely done yet, are we? We still have to deliver the ring - we can't afford stopping by along the road, can we?"
Wayne's smile took on this wistful heart-felt edge as he brought one of his hands to cup Cristiano's cheek in a tender gesture.
"... Do you think I had forgotten? ... You're tired, I know, so what's there against a little rest?"
"But... Don't worry about me, really, I'll manage. ... It's nothing, Wayne, no reason to interfere with the plan and ..."
"Cris."
And all out of sudden, there was this edge in Wayne's voice again, the low undertone that cut off the rambling spilling over Cristiano's lips and sent an immediate jolt to his dick. As if needing to emphasize his point even more, Wayne's other hand slid up Cristiano's thigh now, until he was level with Cris' groin.
"You're still hard for me, aren't you, love? ... My beautiful, do you really think I could leave you suffering quietly like this for all the way? All the way up to Madrid ... Do you really think I could be this cruel to you?"
Filled with a sudden rush of guilt and shame,- feelings even overcasting the boiling blood in his veins shooting towards his dick - because yes, he had thought so, who was he to have thought so, he should have known better and god, Wayne squeezed him now through the thick fabric of his trousers and he felt the urgent desire to come then and there, the Portuguese let his gaze drop, turning slightly away from Wayne.
The unbuckling of two seatbelts filled the air and then there was Wayne's hand again, cupping his cheek, forcing him gently to look at his partner, to look at him.
"... If this makes you feel better: He expects us to deliver the news and the ring today at eighteen o' clock. If we keep on driving through now, we'll be there around thirteen o' clock. ... Which, in my counting, gives us 5 hours of spare time which we have to fill with something, anyway ... So would you please get out of the car, lovely, so I can make it better and blow you right here? ..."
With life - and more of this boiling blood, scorching, burning his insides like torrid liquid - suddenly jerking through him, Cristiano scrambled out of the car and almost tripped over his own feet as he did so. The heat was surrounding him from inside and outside now, urgently spreading within his body, melting away all of the things he had tried to build up in order to distract himself from his own, vulnerable needing condition.
He closed the car's door behind himself and leaned against it, his heart beating heavily and needy in his chest, flooding his veins with even more blood, adding even more craving for release to his already existent one.
It was ridiculous how he could keep his cool facing the task of murdering someone for reasons he did not know - probably killing someone completely innocent - or being confronted with obstacles that hadn’t been planned or been foreseen, but how it took Wayne only words, plain and simple words, to make him lose control over himself completely. How Wayne didn’t need to do nothing more than slamming him against the car, cool glass and even cooler steel connecting with his spine in just the right combination of shocking and pleasurable pain, to make Cristiano lose it entirely.
The Portuguese man closed his eyes and let his head tip back when Wayne’s strong hands clasped around his belt buckle and undid it; a gasp being pressed between his teeth was chocked out of his throat when he felt how Wayne knelt in front of him, knees digging into the dirt of the parking lot.
Feeling how Wayne’s hands, not soft and not as warm, but strong, always so strong, ready to give him everything he needed, ready to free him, wrapped around his dick, it took everything Cristiano could proceed to not let go already, too soon, too very soon.
“Wayne …”
He bit on his lip, somewhere at the blurring edges of his conscious still aware of the fact that they were out in the open, a quiet night except for every sound they made, and not as far away from the motel as needed to allow himself getting loud, but eventually, Cristiano couldn’t help it.
The moment he felt Wayne’s lips wrapping around him, not teasing but giving, demanding, even, Cristiano voiced all of his undisclosed desires which he had silently collected during the last few slumbering hours in one harsh outcry. Almost, it resembled a sob.
*
Feedback would be nice, especially 'cause I'd like to know just about how many people are actually reading this. ;)
Title: If there are no witnesses, there is no crime. AU. (2/?)
Pairing: Wayne Rooney / Cristiano Ronaldo
Rating: R
Word Count: 2445
forkarneol_vision
Part One
The highway they were taking was almost quiet and left, emptied by the late night hour. No one who could avoid it was on the run right now, which made driving easier.
Ever since they had left the city behind them and more and more of the lights had faded, Cristiano was in a state close to sleep, not really sleeping though - years of experience (and the fact that he hadn't gotten what he needed so badly, yet) preventing him from that. But the monotone hum of the motor and the lowly playing radio - against his usual habits and preference of the quiet, Wayne loathed to do long distances without the radio on -, was lulling him into a light slumber. The occasional lights of passing street-lights flashed before his eyes, interrupting the lengthening darker periods.
Eventually, the constant image before the car's window panes, never changing no matter how many miles passed brought Cristiano to thinking.
Wayne's features were barely visible in the dark, merely shaped. If not for his partner's hands resting on his own thigh, calmly so, Cristiano had barely acknowledged Wayne's presence at all. Yet, the hand was there, just gently applying pressure. Occasionally Wayne glanced over to him, as if to make sure of Cristiano not falling asleep, his eyes calmer now, their silver glint having faded away, now that the major part of the job was done.
Still, partly it were these occasional glances which kept Cristiano awake as well. The job was not completely finished yet, it would only be so after they were told it was, and hence - technically - sleeping was not an option for him. And so Cristiano fought against sleep and need, picking up the next trail of thoughts to keep him distracted.
He leaned his head back, carefully making sure of not letting his eyes fall closed. Wayne's calmness and also quietness seemed to fill the whole car, slowly wrapping him in, just like Wayne's aura always did. Always had.
His memories of the life he had lived before - before he had been brought to new life, before the killing had started - were not especially rare, yet Cristiano did not recall these memories very often. They felt like stories to him, tales he had caught and picked up on the way. Most of the time, they did not felt like his own past, like a part of who he was - even now -, at all. But now, somehow resting in a car with only silence and Wayne and the occasional shock of lightning flooding his senses, he allowed his mind to pick one of these memories, probably because it was one of the few brighter moments he had experienced. These memories were few, indeed.
His gaze directed at the black asphalt of the street ahead of them, Cristiano let his mind wander back, way back, to his very first encounter with Wayne.
####
Cristiano curled up in his corner of the room, making carefully sure that none of the other boys spend attention to him. They were minding their own business, though, part of them occupying the bed in a glistening and convulsively moving heap of flesh and hair, part of them writhing around in their bed feverishly and alone. It didn’t look like they had gotten clean drugs tonight.
Cristiano tried to turn his back on all of this madness.
And it was only then, when he felt as much protected as the musky, dirty room could offer protection, that he dared shoving his hand into the pockets of his jeans again.
Suppressing a relieved sigh, his fingers curled around the paper they found there. He didn’t have to pull it out, he didn’t dare, but he knew what was written on it, anyway, had learned it by heart all the way he’d been running from the hotel room to this place that was supposed to be something like a surrogate for home. He had been running, not really sure why, but with the urgent need of having to leave in his legs, pushing him further and faster. He had run all the way, 17 blocks.
And, matching the hammering sounds of his feet meeting the asphalt, the words on the paper had imprinted themselves in his head, had settled deep within his inner core.
Trust me and I’ll get you out of this. You can do much better.
*
The image of the man was still freshly imprinted in his mind; it came back to life more than easily as his fingers curled around the paper even tighter.
He had been barely older than Cristiano himself was, if even, his face speaking of youth but the silently aging way. His bright eyes shining with something that hadn’t been joy, his movements had been calm but not the way the movements of people at peace with themselves were. The glint in his eyes spoke of suspicion and attentiveness caused by bad experiences; the sway of his body speaking of awareness of his movements and the constant readiness to run. All things Cristiano knew of himself.
The man’s appearance was not intimidating to Cristiano, he had seen and experienced much much worse, just the opposite, the menacing aura surrounding the man intrigued him. Perhaps, most likely, Cristiano had always had this weak spot for the dangerous.
By chance or not, the man’s eyes had fallen on him in the very same moment and it was then that Cristiano was completely sure of facing someone in his age.
He hadn’t lost this impression all the way, from the man coming straight over to the staircase’s steel frame Cristiano was leaning against, his own place to carefully watching the club, but most of all a place where he could expose himself to being watched, to being seen by his potential customers.
He sensed right away, though, that the man with the glinting eyes had nothing to do with his usual customers.
“You’ve seen much, haven’t you …?”
Judging from his voice, the man seemed to be stone-cold sober, therefore the question, seemingly coming out of nowhere, confused Cristiano. He nodded in response, anyway, more out of instinct than willingly. It felt like the man’s - boy’s? - aura wrapped itself around him as well, creating a surreal and irrational feeling of immediate mutual understanding.
“Show me …”
The man’s voice stayed calm all the time, even now that he grabbed Cristiano’s arms, a large rough palm closing around his wrist, a thumb pressing against his pulse so that Cristiano’s heart sped up in a matter of less than seconds, adrenaline rushing through his whole body.
“… You’ll show me, won’t you? … Let me feel it …”
Again, Cristiano nodded, sensing again that something was going on, something he had no control of and couldn’t grasp yet.
“What’s your name, then, beautiful?...”
Cristiano gasped, for the pressure applied to his wrist, for the serious tone in the man’s voice, for this bright eyes burning all over his skin. For how these eyes made him feel seen for the first time since a couple of months, a couple of years, maybe; how these eyes seemed to cut right through the protecting layers of indifference and forgotten memories around him, unraveled him until Cristiano felt bare in front of the man’s eyes. And he had no idea how this man had made that happen.
“I’m … I’m Cristiano … Cris …”
The man’s lips curled into a smile, no deep or heartfelt one, but still a smile.
“What’s in a name …,” he said, barely audible over the thumping basses of the club, before his fingers eventually released the pressure around Cristiano’s wrist, allowing Cristiano to breathe again properly in the first time of some minutes, the smile on his lips curving deeper. “Nice to have found you, Cristiano. My name is Wayne …”
*
When he heard Nani’s scream, his friend’s voice a tune he recognized over the moaning and groaning of the other boys filling the room, the bed, the air, Cristiano took his hand out of his pocket, leaving the paper, and his secret, there.
He quickly hurried over to find his friend, probably the only one in the entire room he cared about in this exact moment, lying on the floor, cold sweat staining his cheeks and his forehead, eyelids fluttering but never really opening.
In this particular moment, Cristiano could taste everything on the back of his tongue, this bitterness about the unspeakable things he had seen living here, even more, he had done doing the job that he did. Wrapping his arms around Nani in a futile attempt to soothe his drug-poisoned sleep and protect him from the demonic nightmares, Cristiano bit on his lip.
You can do much better.
Yes he could.
He had found the short note on the pillow, along with a tremendous amount of money, when he had woken up in the empty hotel bed; the note, the money, the damp sheets and his slightly aching and sore body the only signs of what had happened between Wayne and him the hours before.
He had grabbed the money and the note, thrown on his clothes and started running right from there on.
Now Cristiano didn’t know why, but something made him put his trust in the man’s words.
#####
Cristiano was pulled out of his memory suddenly, when brighter, colorful flashing lights started to arouse his attention.
With a quick look around, he figured out that Wayne was directing the car to a parking area of one of the motels rarely sprinkled along the deserted road here and there.
When Cristiano cast a questioning glance at his partner, Wayne's eyes were already laid on him.
"I thought we'd spend the night here ... nothing extraordinary, but should be enough ...," Wayne explained with a casual shrug, killing the engine.
"But I thought ... I mean we're not entirely done yet, are we? We still have to deliver the ring - we can't afford stopping by along the road, can we?"
Wayne's smile took on this wistful heart-felt edge as he brought one of his hands to cup Cristiano's cheek in a tender gesture.
"... Do you think I had forgotten? ... You're tired, I know, so what's there against a little rest?"
"But... Don't worry about me, really, I'll manage. ... It's nothing, Wayne, no reason to interfere with the plan and ..."
"Cris."
And all out of sudden, there was this edge in Wayne's voice again, the low undertone that cut off the rambling spilling over Cristiano's lips and sent an immediate jolt to his dick. As if needing to emphasize his point even more, Wayne's other hand slid up Cristiano's thigh now, until he was level with Cris' groin.
"You're still hard for me, aren't you, love? ... My beautiful, do you really think I could leave you suffering quietly like this for all the way? All the way up to Madrid ... Do you really think I could be this cruel to you?"
Filled with a sudden rush of guilt and shame,- feelings even overcasting the boiling blood in his veins shooting towards his dick - because yes, he had thought so, who was he to have thought so, he should have known better and god, Wayne squeezed him now through the thick fabric of his trousers and he felt the urgent desire to come then and there, the Portuguese let his gaze drop, turning slightly away from Wayne.
The unbuckling of two seatbelts filled the air and then there was Wayne's hand again, cupping his cheek, forcing him gently to look at his partner, to look at him.
"... If this makes you feel better: He expects us to deliver the news and the ring today at eighteen o' clock. If we keep on driving through now, we'll be there around thirteen o' clock. ... Which, in my counting, gives us 5 hours of spare time which we have to fill with something, anyway ... So would you please get out of the car, lovely, so I can make it better and blow you right here? ..."
With life - and more of this boiling blood, scorching, burning his insides like torrid liquid - suddenly jerking through him, Cristiano scrambled out of the car and almost tripped over his own feet as he did so. The heat was surrounding him from inside and outside now, urgently spreading within his body, melting away all of the things he had tried to build up in order to distract himself from his own, vulnerable needing condition.
He closed the car's door behind himself and leaned against it, his heart beating heavily and needy in his chest, flooding his veins with even more blood, adding even more craving for release to his already existent one.
It was ridiculous how he could keep his cool facing the task of murdering someone for reasons he did not know - probably killing someone completely innocent - or being confronted with obstacles that hadn’t been planned or been foreseen, but how it took Wayne only words, plain and simple words, to make him lose control over himself completely. How Wayne didn’t need to do nothing more than slamming him against the car, cool glass and even cooler steel connecting with his spine in just the right combination of shocking and pleasurable pain, to make Cristiano lose it entirely.
The Portuguese man closed his eyes and let his head tip back when Wayne’s strong hands clasped around his belt buckle and undid it; a gasp being pressed between his teeth was chocked out of his throat when he felt how Wayne knelt in front of him, knees digging into the dirt of the parking lot.
Feeling how Wayne’s hands, not soft and not as warm, but strong, always so strong, ready to give him everything he needed, ready to free him, wrapped around his dick, it took everything Cristiano could proceed to not let go already, too soon, too very soon.
“Wayne …”
He bit on his lip, somewhere at the blurring edges of his conscious still aware of the fact that they were out in the open, a quiet night except for every sound they made, and not as far away from the motel as needed to allow himself getting loud, but eventually, Cristiano couldn’t help it.
The moment he felt Wayne’s lips wrapping around him, not teasing but giving, demanding, even, Cristiano voiced all of his undisclosed desires which he had silently collected during the last few slumbering hours in one harsh outcry. Almost, it resembled a sob.
*
Feedback would be nice, especially 'cause I'd like to know just about how many people are actually reading this. ;)