[Football] Bad Boy Batty

Tsk, I knew something was wrong with the dessert at this moment.

Batti folded his arms and took two steps back to distance himself from Augustus, then glanced around quickly and unnoticeably.

He was probably in an abandoned dressing room in a theater. The space was large, with some old cabinets and costumes thrown in the corners. The crystal chandelier above his head was dim in color, and there were dust particles in the air. It must have been a long time since anyone had been here.

"You bribed the waiter to bring me here, what do you want to do, you lunatic?" Batty asked with his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Nothing, I just wanted to see you." Augustus shrugged and replied, "I thought I was very sincere," he said, pinching a puff with two fingers, "You like this little thing, don't you?"

"But I don't like it to the point of selling myself for it. Do you expect me to kneel down in front of you for a bite of dessert or something? That's too cheap." Batty sneered undisguisedly, "Or have you read too many fan fictions on those red websites?" (There are many articles on Ao3 that his godfather and Phoenix River wrote behind the scenes of the awards ceremony)
"Oh my God! What dirty things are you thinking about?" Augustus said in shock. "I just want to have a private conversation with you as a professional player, the captain of Manchester United and Manchester City."

Batty rolled his eyes. He didn't believe that this guy didn't think about those things.

"I don't want to talk to you about these useless things." The Manchester City King turned and left. It's just an eclair, there will be some at the party after the awards ceremony.

"Sorry, I forgot to mention this." Augustus cleared his throat. "I asked the pastry chef to make these treasures. I swear to God, there is only one of these in the entire theater."

As the words fell, his steps stopped.

He succeeded in keeping Batty.

"Okay, you win this time." Batty turned around and walked back to Augustus angrily, a little closer than before. He looked up and said, "You want to talk, then let's talk."

Augustus was obviously not prepared for such a sudden closeness. He just stared at Batti's eyes in a daze. After more than ten seconds, those eyes began to show anger.

Batty looked him up and down and said, "Go ahead."

"——I didn't expect you to be so proactive." Augustus took the initiative to retreat, which was rare. Whether in the social life of humans or animals, taking the initiative to retreat not only means resistance, but also often means compromise and concession. "I am so happy. I don't know how to start for a moment."

Batty: ...

If it wasn't for Puff, who would be here to listen to his bullshit?

"I'll give you another five seconds." Batty gave Augustus an ultimatum with a sour face, "If you waste my time again, I will beat you up, take away Puff, and then throw you on the red carpet outside the door to make you embarrass your family. What do you think of this?"

Augustus raised his hands above his head to show that he was harmless, and to express his sincerity, he leaned on the table behind him to reduce the pressure caused by his height.

"Actually, I quite like our height difference," he said, "I looked it up, and it's the perfect height difference for kissing."

"……I am leaving."

"No! Wait until I finish talking about Batistuta." Augustus always called Batistuta's name seriously without using any sweet tone or strange names. "Then I will get straight to the point. Remember the derby this season? The time you scored the winning goal against us at home, Aguero gave you the No. 10 jersey."

"uh-huh."

"You fooled me twice in that game," Augustus said in a normal voice. "Until then I always thought we were equally talented."

"Ha!" Batty didn't comment, but his disdain was obvious from the sarcastic tone in his voice.

"Don't laugh at me, I really thought I was good at football." Augustus shrugged and said. Batty looked at him again, but he seemed to be really speaking from the heart.

He went on to say: "When I met you I was 20 years old and about to graduate from university. I wanted you. I wanted you so much the first time I saw you that I took a leave of absence from school to join Manchester United's youth training. Everyone said I was crazy."

Indeed, that's what Batty thought.

He's crazy.

"They said I couldn't succeed at football at that age, but it turned out that I did it. It took me two years to get into the top league, another two years to become captain, and I got Manchester United back into the title race. I did all this to prove that I could stand opposite you."
"I, Augustus de Rothschild, am omnipotent. You and I are from the same class. We are the ones blessed by God. All other people are just ordinary people. You hate me because we are the same kind. You shouldn't look down on others. We are the ones who should be together."

Batti's eyelashes trembled, and he seemed to understand Augustus's thoughts.

However, understanding does not mean comprehension, and comprehension does not mean agreement.

"But, Batistuta, that was what I thought before." Augustus' voice dropped. "That derby made me realize that your talent and ability are much stronger than mine. I may be able to become a world-class player, be admired by everyone, and win all the awards, but I will never, never, never reach your level."

Barty touched his nose.

what is this?
Confessions of a madman? Or self-analysis?
So what should he say, thank you?
Batty really wished he had a baseball bat or something in his hand so that he could knock out the Frenchman in front of him. To be honest, it would be more acceptable to see that guy fainted than awake.

Jesus……

God knows he just wanted to eat a puff, why is it so difficult?

"So what?" Batty asked. "You finally realized that you're not going to be able to catch up with me in this lifetime. What do you do? Are you going to hang up your boots?"

"No, I just want to ask you one thing today." Augustus raised his lips and looked over. "If I become an ordinary person and pursue you in an ordinary way, just like Neymar, De Bruyne, and everyone else, will you agree to me?"

This is outrageous.

Who in their right mind could come up with such a question?

But to be honest, if Augustus had a better attitude and didn't do those annoying things, Batty might have allowed him to touch him a long time ago given his face.

but now--

Batti didn't want to answer this damn question. His eyes began to wander, and then drifted to the puffs on the table behind Augustus.

How to do?
"I must say, you surprise me," Barty drawled.

"And what is your answer?"

Batti didn't say anything. He took a few steps forward, and with a clang, before Augustus could react, Batti reached out and pushed him to the edge of the table.

"you--"

Batty grabbed his tie and made him lower his head. In the shocked eyes of the Frenchman, he tilted his head and kissed him. Of course, it was not a kiss, but it was definitely the touch of lips.

Augustus was going crazy wanting this.

He felt Batty's breath around his nostrils, and in just a few seconds, the initial calmness disappeared. He felt the temperature of Batty's lips, which was slightly lower than what he had imagined day and night, but extremely real. He also felt the tip of Batty's tongue sweeping across his lip line, as if looking for an entrance to explore his mouth.

However, just when Augustus realized what had happened and was eager to know more, Batti stopped, as if he had chosen to withdraw his troops at the last second before breaking through the city gate.

"If you can be a normal person, that's my attitude," he said.

"Is that all?" Augustus asked. "Um-yes." Batty had achieved his goal, stealing the puffs from the plate while the Frenchman was distracted, and now he was taking the last one. "Thank you for telling me this. As a reward, I can give you a promise."

"What guarantee?"

"If you can win the Ballon d'Or tonight, I remember you were in the top 10, right (Augustus: Yes)." Batty touched his chin with the tip of his nose, "If you can win the award, I will come back to this room with you, and then we will continue the rest of the part, and give you a blow job, what do you think?"

Augustus looked at him with fire in his eyes.

"Really?" he asked. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?" Batty used a charming smile to attract Augustus' attention, then held the puffs in his hand and moved slowly towards the door. "I promise you, dear."

As he spoke his back hit the door handle.

Batty opened the door with his elbow.

"I will do what I promised, but before that—" he flashed out of the room, "You will get nothing! Hahaha! KISS MY ASS! SUCKER!"

Augustus looked at the direction where Batti disappeared for a long time. Suddenly, he turned his head and saw the bare plate without a single puff left. Then he realized that he had been fooled again.

The Frenchman chuckled and shook his head.

Okay, okay, you take the puff, he thought, remember this promise, because it has no time limit, so no matter which year he wins the award in the future, you must fulfill your promise.

but--

Hiss, it will take so long, Augustus was in trouble.

He took out his cell phone, looked at the number of the UEFA president on it, and seriously considered the feasibility of using tons of money to exchange for shady dealings with less than two hours left before the awards ceremony.

……

When Batistuta returned to the main venue, Grealish was about to cry. Of course, he was not really crying, but he looked too much like a puppy who had lost its owner in the park.

"Where have you been!" The England striker pinched his arm hard. "Those paparazzi are so scary. I think if I were any friendlier they would tear me to pieces!"

"Relax," Barty said as he enjoyed his puffs. "This is an awards ceremony. They won't do anything to you if they want to come next year."

Grealish saw the puff in his arms and said, "Is this what you left me for?"

Batty didn't say anything, which was considered as his agreement.

"You're going to go up on stage to receive the award. Oh, I don't know what to say to you." Grealish complained as he looked at the crumbs of the puff on the chest of his dress. "The first dirty Ballon d'Or winner in history, when the time comes, they will definitely say that I didn't take good care of you."

"Huh?" Batty raised an eyebrow at him. "What's up, Jack? You've only been my male companion for a while. Have you already assumed the role of my boyfriend?"

"No! I just- well."

"Alright, alright." Batty stuffed half of the unfinished puff into Grealish's mouth to make him shut up, then pushed him to the scene to find a seat, "Hurry up, or the awards ceremony will start soon."

The England striker nodded reluctantly.

Soon they entered the main venue. Not sure if it was intentional on the part of the organizer, Batistuta's seat was right next to Mbappe. When he passed by, the French striker had already been sitting there for a while.

"Hi, Killian." Desserts can make people happy. Batty licked the corner of his mouth and greeted him first in a friendly manner.

Seeing the puff in his hand, Mbappe roughly knew what was going on. He thought to himself that it was no wonder that Augustus had been frantically researching how to make desserts in the past few months. It turned out to be for this.

Seeing him staring at the puffs, Batty thought he hadn't eaten either.

"Why, you want it too?" he asked.

"No, no, no, you should keep this good stuff for yourself." Mbappe waved his hands quickly. He didn't dare to eat anything made by Augustus, not to mention that it was for Batistuta, who knew what was added in it.

Tsk.

Batistuta rolled his eyes slightly, sat in his seat and enjoyed his puffs, no longer paying any attention to Mbappé.

……

Like all award ceremonies in the world, this one was also very boring. This year's host was former Chelsea star Drogba, who spoke very slowly and Batistuta almost fell asleep while listening to him in the audience.

Finally, after waiting for 90 minutes, the highlight came.

The broadcast camera was focused on the two people most likely to win the award, Batistuta, who led Manchester City to an incredible season of undefeated teams, and Messi, who led Argentina to its first Copa America title in 28 years.

[Voted by 170 journalists from 170 different countries, the winner of the 65th "France Football" Ballon d'Or is——]

Drogba slowly opened the envelope.

[Bati, congratulations! ]

"Woooooo!"

He knew it.

Amidst the applause from the audience, Barty adjusted the collar of his dress, felt his heartbeat gradually quickening, and stood up and walked onto the podium.

Knowing that you have a high chance of winning the prize is one thing, but actually walking up to the stage, getting that golden ball and standing in front of the microphone is another.

"Thank you, thank you to everyone who voted for me." Barty adjusted the position of the microphone. "Before today, long before, I knew I would win the award."

Everyone:!
Although I know UEFA will notify in advance, why should I make it so obvious?
"It's not because anyone told me in advance that I had to prepare a speech, but through what I did last year, I know how incredible they were, and I'm sure that this trophy will eventually belong to me, which is what the team and I deserved in the past season," Battie said.

It’s a good thing that there is no revelation, but isn’t it too arrogant to use such words in a speech?

"I'm not the humble type, never, and everyone knows that, but I want to say that I'm grateful for the award," he said. "Thanks to everyone who supports me, I love you all, football is a great sport, it never ends, I will continue to fight, and in the future, I believe we can achieve greater things."

"Thank you." Battie curled the corners of his mouth and smiled, this time not to a specific person in the audience, but more like reviewing his experience of the last season through them.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll see you at the next awards ceremony."

(End of this chapter)