RoadTrip Oneshots

It's Coming Home ( Randy )

Hope you enjoy! || Smut warning towards the end

"Cheers mate," Rye said as he took the dripping plastic pint glass from Sonny's hand, sipping quickly at the foam on the top before it could drip any further onto his new Adidas trainers. He had only arrived at the park about an hour ago, the sun blazing down on him and he was loving every minute of it. His pass for the VIP section he had gained admission to was hanging around his neck, and the noise was deafening from the fans gathered in the main park.

Rye lived and breathed football. He'd played it throughout high school and Sixth Form, even joining the college team once he started his drama course. Now, at the age of 23, he didn't play as much as he liked, but Match of the Day was still a must-see programme on TV, and he enjoyed a good kickabout with his mates at the park as often as they could manage it. He also took his little brother Sammie to football once a week too, keen to instill a love of football in his only male sibling.

Rye took a seat on a metal bench that ran along the VIP area, nursing his pint in one hand, iPhone in the other. The anticipation for this match was high, and Rye had been tweeting all afternoon about it, bigging up his favourite players, reading some of the banter between the English and Croatian fans, adding his own two pence worth whenever he could. His notifications had blown up after he'd posted a particularly amusing meme, and he liked a few of the replies, a couple from his mates at work and a few from strangers too.

There was nothing like national football to bring people together, he thought, looking around at the plethora of England kits adorning people's chests, some wearing hats, comedy glasses and some even had facepaint on. As much of a fan as Rye was, he was too old to be painting his face in flags. Sonny nudged him then, and Rye turned his attention back to him.

"So, predictions for the score?"

Rye took another swig of his beer, and waved at a few of Sonny's colleagues who were making their way over, shuffling up to the end of the bench to make some more room. "Um, I reckon 2-1 to England," he said, glancing down at his buzzing phone screen again.

"Nah, I reckon 3-0," Sonny said confidently, throwing back his own pint now, wincing as a few drops dribbled down, soaking into the white fabric of his England jersey. He mopped at it ineffectively with a napkin he grabbed from behind him, but it didn't do much good. Instead, he shrugged and carried on chatting away to the people sat next to him.

Rye fixed his eyes on the big screens in front of them, showing the pre-match interviews. He couldn't hear a great deal, the noise from the crowds below and the music blasting from the VIP area pretty much put paid to that, but he recognised a few of the pundits from all his younger years spent watching game after game, much to his mum's exasperation.

"Sorry, can I squeeze on the end?" A man's voice said, and Rye looked up, moving closer to Sonny to afford the man some room. "Hi, thanks for that, I'm Mikey by the way," and Rye took his hand, shaking it.

"I'm Rye, and no worries," he said, taking in the man's vivid yellow shirt, noting he had the same lanyard hanging around his neck. "You work for Barclaycard?"

"Yeah, one of their managers," Mikey said. "You?"

"Oh christ no, my mate Sonny here got me a pass so I couldn't say no, always dreamed of being somewhere big like for a big game, since I couldn't get out to Moscow for this."

Mikey nodded in understanding. "Yeah, flights were extortionate so when the big guns came round offering this place, I jumped at the chance. Nobody else in my office did, but fuck em, I'll have a good time anyway. Always enjoyed meeting new people."