Bend It.

So not fucking true. And we’re ignoring the fact that Mr Beckham is now property of Real Madrid. Fucking tosser.

Bend It.
By Sonja (limey_sugar@yahoo.co.uk)
Dominic Monaghan/David Beckham
Dominic Monaghan/Surprise Guest!
NC-17-ish.
Everyone knows Dom’s a ManUtd fan. Maybe this is why (No, I don't really believe that. It's called FICTION.).
Written for the July Limey!Challenge. LotR actor + non-actor celeb. Snail-trail (or whatever) and Salt.
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Bend it like Beckham. Dom wondered how, exactly, David could bend him. Bend him over a table, over the arm of a chair- anything, and fuck him into the next time zone. He had to work hard to keep himself from drooling whenever Becks lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, baring his stomach and that sexy little strip of hair- what was that called? Oh, yes: Treasure Trail. For good reason. Dom would love to get his hands on the treasure at the end of that trail. His hands, his mouth, his arse- anything.

His mates just thought the reason he stared so intently at the television whenever there was a match on was because he was really into the action. He was, sure, but the action Dom was most focussed on was the action that was taking place in his head. The action that he wanted to be taking place inside his bedroom with one certain Number Seven in red.

What would Dom have the illustrious Mr Beckham doing to him in his bedroom? There most assuredly would not be clothing involved, although Dominic might just want David to wear his kit for a bit to set the mood. Yeah. He’d love to remove the entire kit- piece by piece- until David was naked and begging for it.

No, not in the bedroom. In the changing room right after a match. Then David would be drenched in sweat and Dom could lick it off of him, savouring the salty tang of physical exertion. He would drop to his knees and take David into his mouth, swirling his tongue down the length of his cock and back up. Dom imagined David would have his hands buried in Dom’s hair, stilling his head, and fucking his mouth. Dominic would force David’s hands away and stop him, though, because he’d rather be fucked somewhere else.

David would smile in agreement and watch as Dominic stripped himself of his clothing and positioned himself on his hands and knees on the floor. Dom would feel David’s fingers push in and curve just right, and he’d force himself back against them, pleading David to just take him already.

And David would oblige. He would kneel behind Dom and shove his cock in hard, with nothing but spit and sweat for lube; Dom would cry out in pleasure and pain, wanting more. More would come, and the changing room would be filled with David’s moans and Dom’s cries and the sounds of skin slapping skin.

When the match was over, Dom left the pub with everyone else, spilling out into the streets and climbing into black cars. Dom himself was headed home for a shower and a good wank. When the car stopped in front of his flat, Dom paid the driver and stumbled out onto the pavement. He fumbled with his keys in the lock, opened the door, and made his way to the bedroom to relieve the ache of his arousal.

Imagine his complete surprise when he walked through the bedroom door and found not only the small lamp by the bed switched on, but Orlando stretched out on his bed. Dressed in a David Beckham replica kit.

“Heard United were playing tonight,” he said before reaching over to switch the lamp off.

~END.