#poor mickey he just wanted a little kiss from the beautiful twink but the beautiful twink is too upset about becks

[player1064]

Sent in prompt, surprised pikachu face when it gets filled 😮

Such an amazing fill!!! Also of course Carra immediately thinks of Gary (few years down the road and they get together and Wayne and Becks learn of it and go duuuuuuuuh)

But actually I would love to prompt that second part and obvious Gary being hit on!!! Sounds delightful

me: I'm gonna write more fun silly bits with Gary being hit on by sweet baby boys Michael Owen and Steven Gerrard!

me: oh no I've turned it into world cup angst. oh no.

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Michael is young, and excited, and he’s scoring a lot of goals.

It’s a bit frustrating to be spending most of his time on the bench, but even sat on his arse doing nothing he’s still breaking records, he’s still here, at a world cup. And maybe soon he’ll come on, and he’ll score some more goals, and then everyone will love him.

Maybe he’ll even get a kiss from Gary Neville. He’s seen him do it before, with his teammates from United. Not so much with England, but then there’s not been much opportunity to celebrate with England. Not yet, anyway.

It’s strange, Redders had warned him about the United lot when he’d first got called up. About Gary in particular – he’d said don’t let him get to you, he’s a grumpy old bastard stuck in the body of a Take That reject. But then he’d got to England camp and Gary had been perfectly civil to him. Even nice, sometimes. Maybe it’s just because Beckham is being nice, always checking up on him, asking if he’s settling in okay. And even Michael, new as he is, can see that where Becks leads, Gary follows.

Whatever the reason, he has been nice to Michael. And Michael – Michael has a tendency to be drawn to bossy defenders, doesn’t he?

The second time he scores a goal in the tournament Gary does come up to him and grab his face, but all he gets is a quick press of lips to his forehead. Maybe that’s fair enough, they’re only 16 minutes in – can’t be getting too cocky, not yet.

It’s one of the worst feelings in the world, to play for 120 minutes, to score two goals and still lose. Michael wishes he’d never had to find that out.

Later, they all filter silently back to their hotel rooms. Incey and Macca give him hugs, ruffle his hair and tell him he’ll get used to it, then go into Macca’s room with a bottle of vodka that they say Michael is under no circumstances allowed to try.

Gary’s pressed up close to Scholes, whispering in his ear as they walk down the corridor, but when they get to Scholes’ room he just gives him a slap on the back and lets him go in alone.

Once Scholes’ door is shut, Michael watches as Gary turns to stare despondently at Beckham’s door for a while, making no move to go in, or to go to his own room next door. It’s just the two of them still out here now – Michael’s not really sure why he’s not gone back to his own room, gone to call his mum and maybe have a bit of a cry. That can wait, though.

He steps up to Gary, who slowly turns to look at him with dead eyes.

“You did well today, Owen,” he says gently. “You did the very best you could. This is just – it’s just England. And tomorrow – tomorrow, all anyone’ll be talkin’ about is –" he jerks his head towards Beckham’s door with a world-weary sigh.

He’s only a handful of years older than Michael. Too young to look so exhausted, so absolutely shattered. Michael takes another step towards him, puts his arms around him in a tentative hug.

Gary chuckles, pats Michael on the back. “I’m alright, kid. Honest.”

He starts to pull away, and maybe Michael’s a little bit stupid because he takes the chance to tilt his head up, to press their lips together in a chaste kiss.

Gary breaks it quickly, gives Michael a tiny little smile, then he glances back to Beckham’s closed door.

“Get some rest, yeah?” he says quietly. “Tomorrow’s gonna be rough.”

*

Stevie is under a lot of pressure.

He’s too young to be a captain, too young to bear that kind of responsibility on his own. Every year that goes by without a trophy chips away at him that little bit more, the expectations and disappointments of the fans piling up until he can’t see a way out. At least when he’s at England the pressure is off a little bit, there are plenty of more senior players to share the load.

Except even at England, there’s nobody he can go to to offload what’s on his mind. The United and Chelsea players are in their own little gangs, and he can’t exactly turn to his Liverpool teammates and say I think if I don’t get out of Liverpool soon it’ll eat me alive.

Frank is nice to him, at least. Obviously he has to be nice to him, has to try and lure him down to London, but he does still seem genuine when Stevie has a chance to speak to him. Not that he gets many of those chances, because every time he tries there’s always Carra, lurking in the background glaring at the two of them.

Mickey’s miserable, Stevie, he’s always saying, imagine what they’d do to you. You can’t look like you’re trying to move up, you’d never be able to come home again.

Carra can be a bit too much, sometimes. Or most of the time. He loves him, but it’s hard to make an objective decision when you’ve got the reddest of all reds as your best mate.

Speaking of reds, there’s one that’s been looking at him funny all week.

Unlike Frank, Gary Neville has never made any attempt to be nice to him. He’s never made any attempt to be nice to anyone, so far as Stevie’s aware. Maybe to Beckham, but everyone knows he’s got a thing for him so it hardly counts.

It’s actually kind of refreshing, to train with someone so unable to hide his disdain of everyone outside the United bubble. It’s refreshing to train with him, just generally. He works hard. He makes everyone else on the team work hard, a job that at Liverpool would usually fall to Stevie and Carra.

And when they’re on the pitch, he’s… different. Maybe it’s just his way of being professional, but he treats every member of the squad the same as he would one of his little United pals. It’s a lot of hugging, which had been weird when Stevie was first coming up but which now is expected, almost welcomed.

He’s shorter than Stevie, and he’s scrawnier too, but when he’s got his arms around you he feels solid. Warm.

All this to say, when he knocks on Stevie’s door one night he thinks sure, why not, and lets him in.

Stevie’s never actually done this before, at least not at England camps, but he’s not completely naïve – he does know how these things work. He sits down on his bed when Neville enters, leans back and props himself up on his elbows, bites his lip.

 Neville doesn’t look at him, though, doesn’t make a move. He paces the floor, eyes darting all around.

“Look, Gerrard,” he says weakly, “I know you’re gonna say no, but the boss asked me to – just to see, what you’re thinkin’ of doin’ next season.”

Oh.

He immediately jumps on the defensive, sits up straight again. “None of ‘is fuckin’ business, is what I’m doin’. Is that the only reason you came here?”

“I – obviously, y’think I’d choose to spend an evenin’ in a Scouser’s room?” He scowls, then seems to remember that he’s meant to be making United seem appealing so quickly adds “I mean, you’re a good lad and all, I’d sooner be in ‘ere than with your mate Carragher. Though to be fair there’s not many people I wouldn’t choose over ‘im, he’s a fuckin’ lot, in’t he?”