Inspired by Mushroom Hair's fics, requested (sort of!) by MyNameIsYou and shamelessly encouraged by Indie, this is a just a bit of fun with a little bit of cricket!smut. It was going to be a smutty oneshot but these ickle plot bits kept interfering. Will still only be a couple of chapters though. Reviews always appreciated.
For Indie.
I wake suddenly, swathed in somnolent, drowsy confusion. I force a single eyelid to prise half open and assess the situation. I know from the darkness of the night that still dominates behind the mostly shuttered windows, and the familiar sounds of pre-dawn Walford, that it is still the middle of the night, yet something is just not right. The bed feels too large, and surprisingly cold. I stretch a tired arm across and find merely chilly sheets and lonely pillows where there should be the heat of warm limbs, the tousle of bed-ruffled and hand-stroked curls and the smell of man. Oh shit. My mind groans, and I pull myself up into a sitting position, eyes still mostly shut despite my best efforts as I desperately try to remember last night. I didn't come home drunk did I? Did we have an argument? I shake my head and force some sense into it. Nah, I sleepily remember, we had an early night, the one part of my body that refuses ever to fully rest providing a pleasurable reminder of this. So where is he? Finally my eyes admit defeat and agree to creak open, rewarded for their efforts by a the sight of a fuzzy glow from across the room, the dimmed lights reflecting off two wide deep brown eyes peering out from a curled mass of limbs on the sofa. I blink and gradually let the image of Syed in T-shirt and boxers come into focus; his body tensed, his expression intense, his focus unblinking, his teeth pressing lightly into his bottom lip, allowing only brief utterances to slide out of the side of his mouth, get in, do it, come on, yessssss.
"Are you watching porn Sy?" I ask, groggily "Cos, y'know it's rude not to share."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," he replies, a touch of guilt edging his words. "And no. Not porn. I wouldn't even know where to star-"
"Channel 877" I interrupt smoothly, "bit dull though to be honest, nothing worth getting out of bed with me for. So what is it that has you up at-" I glanced across at the clock by the bed "-4.30am?"
"It's the Ashes. Final test."
"Huh?" I wonder if I can blame my sleep deprived brain for the lack of sense that Syed is speaking or if it Syed who has lost it.
"The Ashes. England/Australia. " He laughs at my bemused expression. "Cricket." He finally explains, speaking slowly and clearly as if to a rather slow child.
"Right. Wasn't that on last week? And the week before? And the week before that?"
"It's five tests, each lasts up to five days. This is the third day of the fifth test. Clearer now?"
"Sort of, but Sy, why is it on in the middle of the night and why are you watching it when you could be sleeping. You know you get all grumpy if you don't get your full eight hours."
"I don't get grumpy! Well only sometimes. And it's almost always your fault anyway. It's on in the middle of the night because it is being held in Australia, and I'm watching it because I like cricket. And it's really exciting."
"Really?" I raise an eyebrow and start to get out of bed, grabbing a dressing gown to protect me from the chill winter air in the flat. "Fuck it's cold, you must be freezing Sy." And I clamber onto the sofa with Syed, pulling him into a cosy embrace, wrapping my legs around his mostly bare own. I turn my attention briefly to the TV screen. Men standing round, one man throws a ball, another man stands mostly still and prods at it, people ooh appreciatively, nothing happens. "Sorry, this has kept you glued to the TV through the night. And you might as well 'fess up now Syed Masood, have you been sneaking up to watch it for the past few weeks?"
"Not every night," he blusters. "Just….some?" I laugh and smooth a few locks of hair behind his ear. The sound of cheers and more sustained applause comes from the TV and Sy quickly shifts back to the screen. I look too and see a cute fit young guy, tall, with a mop of dark hair walking off a bit glumly but to great acclaim, helmet in hand, bat doffed to the crowd as he walks off.
"Who's that?"
"Alastair Cook." Syed replies enthusiastically. "He's been fantastic this series, he's just made 189, can you imagine? Seriously Christian his stats are immense-"
"I can imagine," I grin, "he has a great arse for one thing."
Syed's arm whacks me in the stomach. "I was talking about his runs. Dirty-minded sod that you are. " A pause. "You really think he has a great arse?" He looks up at me from under thick lashes, his eyes darkened and heavy.
"Well, it's quite nice." I lower my voice and lean nearer to Syed's ear, "Seen better though." I whisper huskily.
"Oh really?" He raises an eyebrow archly, moving nearer and nearer to my waiting lips, "and where wou—" But he cuts off and moves back to the screen when another cry comes out from the televised crowd, his attention captivated by the events unfolding. I sigh in semi-mock frustration and lean back on the sofa. "Sorry Christian," he turns back guiltily to face me. It's only on for two more nights and then that's it. For a bit"
"It's fine," I grin. "It's kind of cute to see you so interested. Never realised that you were that bothered."
"Try to find a Pakistani boy growing up in England who isn't that bothered about cricket," he retorts. "You just grow up with it, watching Pakistan, watching England, practicing cover drives in front of the mirror, trying to bowl googlies against the garden wall."
Bowl what? I wonder to myself. Not for the first time since I first set eyes on Syed, I am left feeling like he is talking a different language to me, one that I can't understand or relate to, one that reminds me again of all the things that I just don't get. But unlike so much else, the topics that others would want to use to separate us, this produces no fear or threat, it's just nice to hear him so enthusiastic and excited, revelling in the pure and untainted happiness of a child. Even if I haven't got the faintest clue what the hell he is talking about. "Did you play much then as a kid?"
"Yeah, played a lot at school. Didn't you?"
"Nah, played football a bit but mostly used to bunk off PE instead," I laugh. "It doesn't sound good for a personal trainer does it?"
Syed shakes his head with feigned sadness. "No, I wouldn't mention that to your clients. And you didn't play with your mates or anything? Mum always used to complain that I spent far too much time down the park or wherever playing cricket with the other kids in the neighbourhood. I even played a bit at uni too with mates. Just mucking around really, but a lot of fun.
"You haven't played in ages though right?" I ask, my forehead creasing as I strive to think back to conversations at work, in the flat, in bed.
"You know how it is, when I started working I didn't really have much time for stuff like that. And I moved and other stuff kind of got in the way." His voice quietens as he drifts into less pleasant recollections. I edge back to him, running fingers lightly through his hair, letting his locks fly up before resettling in casual disarray on his scalp.
"So did you bat or bowl?" I ask, attempting to bring the conversation back to a more light-hearted tone, wanting him to regain his carefree enthusiasm of before.
"Bowl mostly. Batted a bit but I wasn't the best. Bowling was fun though. I used to spend hours on my own sending balls down the garden trying to hit these targets on the wall. Sometimes I'd bully Tam into 'batting'" Syed's hands stretching into the air to make inverted commas in the air, "but really I just got him to stand there holding a bat while I pelted him with balls. I can't believe he didn't complain more."
"Oh you can pelt me with your balls anytime you like, and I won't complain, not one bit," I tease him, running a finger under his chin, tilting his eyes to face mine.
He laughs freely and moved his own hands to rest casually yet possessively behind my neck. "Good to know."
"So, do you miss it? Playing it, I mean?"
"Sometimes I guess. It was fun, and it's nice to be in a team like that, feel that camaraderie." Syed's voice falls slightly short again, and it is hard to miss the twinges of sadness and loneliness that come out. I can't help but feel a sense of guilt, he doesn't see anyone at the mosque anymore, he left all his old business mates behind when he decided to ditch all that property development stuff. I worry sometimes that he has lost friends because of being with me. I know he wouldn't change anything but even so….. I shake my head to myself, such feelings are not what I want to be thinking about right now. I return to a more pleasing topic.
"Bet you looked hot in cricket whites," I think out loud, watching the hot flush pass over his face with no little delight. "Bet your arse looked amazing in those trousers," I continue, pulling his willing body over towards mine and pulling his t-shirt up higher and sliding my hands happily down his back, letting my cool hands absorb the warmth of his glowing skin.
He shivers. "Cold hands."
"Sorry," I murmur into his chest as I slide further below him, letting my tongue trace a path down his lightly tensed stomach, sucking at his navel, placing soft-mouthed damp kisses along the cotton edge of his boxers. "This better?"
"Definitely…." He moans freely as I grip the boxers with my teeth and tug them down, releasing his delicious hardness from its tight confines. As I draw him into the wet heat of my mouth, my tongue exploring its favourite destination, sucking and licking, teasing and toying, I let my hands return to his tempting body and grip his arse firmly, letting visions of Syed walking on a grassy field in the tightest of fitting trousers fill my feverish mind. The thought drags wanton groans from my throat, reverberating around him, drawing desperate keens of his own. My fingers press harder and tighter, sending his hips bucking deeper into me. He shivers again from the contact but this time it is resplendent with desire as he follows the pleading wordless encouragement of my hands and tongue and fucks my mouth freely and wildly from above.
A shuddering spasmodic burst from supple hips and he finds his release in the welcoming cavern of my mouth, his body collapsing soon after to rest on mine. I let him settle then pull myself back up, pulling my arms around his tired frame until we lie peacefully on the sofa, his head nestled comfortably in my chest.
Another cry comes from the TV next to us but this time Syed doesn't stir, wriggling back down as he drifts instead off to a gentle slumber.
"Got your mind off the cricket for a bit then," I whisper teasingly into his hair, observing the sweat-dampened curls that have fallen to cling happily to the sides of his neck and imagining a casual collar nudging these locks as he runs and dives with graceful glory.
"Says who?" he replies sleepily, "maybe I was thinking of Alastair Cook the whole ti—" But I cut him off in mid-stream as I pick him up and throw him casually over my shoulder, his attempts at struggle hampered by his helpless giggles. "Oy Christi-, stop it, I'm sorr-, put me down, I didn't mea-, you know I'm ticklish, I'll make it up to you…."
I throw him onto the bed and stare in wonder, lust and love at the sight of his drowsy splendour, at how even now, with rumpled, sweat tinged clothes, mussed up hair and sleep-filled eyes, he still exudes an air of incomparable grace. I bite my lip as I smile and pull the duvet up over his gorgeous body, laying the lightest of kisses along his stubbled chin and over his closing eyes.
"Get some sleep baby," I breathe into his ear as I pull his body, now weighted with sleep, into my arms.
In the peace of the flat a fuzzy light continues to glow, the hum of crowds still cry as leather ball hits wooden bat again and again and again and again. There is just one last thought occupying my mind before I enter into a blissful kaleidoscopic dreamland of emerald grass, aquamarine sky, pristine clothes and glowing skin, Sy needs to get back on a cricket pitch, for both our sakes.
To be continued…