You and Me and the Moon
by 4or5paragraphs
"So." Sol bent over his leg like he was actually stretching in the way he was supposed to, instead of somehow both regarding the new goalkeeper and Freddie’s sudden inelegance. "Do you want to fuck him, or have you fucked him?"
Freddie sighed and fell back onto the slightly damp grass. Sol was a fifteen-year-old girl in the body of a very large man, which was unsurprisingly annoying. "Number two."
Sol grinned in delight. "When? Wait. Germany! Near Halloween. You were smug for like, weeks."
"You’re fucking awful, you know that, yeah?" It was worse because Sol was right. He had been smug for a ridiculous period of time, compared to normal. He’d liked the German goalkeeper. He’d been good in bed and funny in the morning. Freddie hadn’t expected to see him again, that was the way football went, but here he was. Football was strange.
"You’re still into him." Sol gave it the inflection of a question, but it wasn’t much of one.
"Maybe," Freddie replied, and it wasn’t really an evasion. The goalkeeper still had all the qualities that attracted Freddie to him in the first place. He was still tall, broad in the shoulders, with a strong jaw and a mouth prone to smirking. He was already in his gloves, so Freddie couldn’t see his hands, but it was unlikely they’d changed much either. The situation had, though. It was one thing when he was an opponent that Freddie wouldn’t have to see again. Sleeping with a teammate had to be very, very worth it.
"Maybe?" Sol echoed skeptically.
"Maybe." Freddie’s voice was firm. "It’s, you know. He’s here all the fucking time, yeah?"
"Works for Titi and Bobby."
"Pretty sure we’re not Titi and Bobby." Freddie couldn’t help but laugh at the concept, even as he looked back towards the goalkeeper. "They’re freaks."
"You never know." Sol shrugged, grinning teasingly.
"You’re a fucking arse." Freddie halfheartedly kicked at Sol’s leg. "Why do you give a shit?"
"It’s fun."
"Fucking. Arse." Freddie repeated.
"It’s a small team. Got to talk about someone." Sol looked entirely too smug with the situation. "At the moment, you’re the most interesting."
Freddie knew then that he was doomed.
* * * * *
Preseason training didn’t leave much time for thinking. It was brutal work mostly, a lot of running back and forth and designed to exhaust everyone. Freddie always harbored a suspicion that it was meant to punish them for having a summer without football. Like they were supposed to spend their time off spending hours in training, running their own drills and going over tactics sheets in the night. Since obviously Freddie wasn’t going to do that, punishment.
Boro would have made an efficient Middle Ages torturer. It was the eyebrows, definitely.
Despite the training’s best efforts, though, Freddie’s mind wandered a bit. This early in the season the goalkeepers weren’t completely sequestered from the rest of the team, so he got a look at Jens - that was his name, Jens, Freddie remembered - as they worked. There wasn’t time to talk, not even the sort of groaning small talk that was common at practice, but Jens had smiled at him a few times, which was enough for Freddie to remember that he needed to think about more things than how to kill Boro Primorac in interesting ways.
As he caught his breath, he started to think. Jens the goalkeeper. There were good reasons for putting it all in the past, a one-off. He knew better than most people that these things got messy. He only had to see Olaf a handful of times a year now, but it was an absolute shitshow when he did. He couldn’t imagine having to deal with that six days out of the week.
He also barely knew him. He’d seemed smart and funny in Dortmund, but that was just a night - not even 24 solid hours. Freddie thought he liked him, or at least could like him, but if he was going to mess with a teammate it had to be more than just a thought. It had to be worth it.
Nor could he really imagine spending six days a week with someone he was sleeping with. That wasn’t something Freddie had ever done. He liked his space, his social life. He didn’t think he would like having to be constantly in the presence of the guy he was seeing. It was a foolish kind of thing to be thinking when he’d slept with Jens precisely once, and that a year ago, but it floated into Freddie’s head as he was waiting for his turn to sprint.
Which in and of itself told Freddie that he was going to ignore common sense about Jens. There was some kind of future in his head, one that was vague and completely unformed, but there. He wanted to sleep with Jens again. That was the crux of it. He’d enjoyed it the first time, he was still attracted to the man, and all the common sense didn’t hold up to that. It was stupid and probably reckless but Freddie couldn’t bring himself to care enough. By the time they were heading back into the dressing rooms, Freddie had decided.
* * * * *
Apparently word had got enough around that Jens was left alone in the dressing room and Freddie could feel several pairs of eyes on him. He would, at some point, definitely kill Sol. He wasn’t sure how Sol had managed to spread the news during drills, but Sol was incredibly determined when he wanted to be. Either that, or he’d just told Thierry. It was impossible to shut up Thierry, drills or not.
Whatever the case, Jens was alone against the wall, looking through his bag and clutching a water bottle between his teeth. He had a good sweaty look about him, with slightly flushed skin, and Freddie reflected on how much easier his life would be if he didn’t find that attractive. Sol never dated footballers.
Freddie sat down on the bench next to Jens. "Hey," he said with a grin. "Welcome."
Jens looked surprised to be spoken to, removing his hands from his bag. "Hello. Thank you."
"No problem." Jens had a light dusting of freckles across his nose, Freddie noticed. He hadn’t remembered that. "So, how'd training go?"
"I hate preseason." Jens smiled. "But good."
"Fucking terrible, yeah?" Freddie laughed. "Definitely trying to kill us. And on your first day!"
"Takes more to kill me." Jens shrugged fluidly.
"Don't let them hear you. They’ll try," Freddie warned teasingly. "But I am glad to hear you're good. And happy to see you here."
"Yes?"
"Yes." Freddie said firmly. "It's nice to see you again."
"Nice to see you, too." Jens gave an absolutely delightful little smile, like he was flattered and surprised to hear that from Freddie.
"I'd ask you to dinner, but I think you’ll already be there."
Jens laughed. "I will be, yes."
"So let’s pretend I asked you." Freddie knew he was being sort of ridiculous, but Jens seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed that. At least, he seemed to be enjoying it now.
"I pretend I say yes."
"Good." Freddie smiled brightly. "Then it's a sort of date."
* * * * *
They had a few hours before dinner, so Freddie took to one of the deck chairs overlooking the lush lawn and bit of forest behind the hotel. Ostensibly, he was reading, but in actuality, he had dozed off a bit, luxuriating in the sun and warmth, tired from the day and mind slightly overloaded.
A shadow fell over his face. "You're in my light," Freddie grumbled, opening one eye to see Dennis standing over him. "Shouldn't you be golfing or something?"
"Golf is tiring."
"No, it's golf." Freddie made a face and straightened up in his chair. "What's going on?"
"Checking up on you." Dennis shrugged and did a terrible job of looking nonchalant.
"What does that mean?" That Dennis could find him easily enough out here meant that Dennis didn’t have anything to check up on him about. So Dennis wanted something, or was worried about something, and if Sol was a fifteen-year-old girl, Dennis was a fifty-year-old woman. It could be anything. "I'm wearing sunblock."
"Good." Dennis wasn’t going away. Freddie sighed. "So, you know the new goalkeeper?"
Freddie groaned and hit his head gently against the back of his chair. He didn't need this. "Yes, Dennis."
"What happened to Thijs?"
"Seriously." Freddie looked at Dennis from the top of his sunglasses. "We went on two fucking dates. And the second was a favor to you."
"He'd be good for you." Dennis frowned. "I don't know why you don’t - "
"Dennis, please." Freddie had heard this before. Truth be told, it was sweet. Annoying, but at heart, sweet. He knew Dennis wanted him to be happy. It was just that he had no idea what that actually took. "Please stop."
"So the goalkeeper?"
"His name is Jens." Freddie felt a surge of somewhat irrational annoyance. He hadn't got anywhere with Jens yet, at least not this year, and yet he still felt defensive over him and what he wanted to do. "And what of him?"
"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Dennis said gently. "He's got - "
"Stop it. Please." Freddie pushed his sunglasses back up. "I don't want a lecture. Another lecture."
Dennis looked somewhat pained, to Freddie’s satisfaction. "I'm not trying to lecture you."
"But you are." Freddie pointedly picked up his book. "Look. Thanks for thinking about me, but I know what I'm doing." He opened it up to where he’d left the marker, not wanting to look at Dennis' face as he said that. He knew Dennis didn’t think he knew what he was doing, and he hated that it was somewhat validated.
"How's the book?"
"Odd." Freddie took the change in subject gratefully. "Tell Henrita it's odd."
"Yeah, that’s what I thought too." Dennis shrugged. "I’ll leave you to it, then."
"Enjoy your golf."
* * * * *
Freddie was right, team dinner wasn't at all similar to an actual dinner out. Other people kept wanting to talk to them, and he had to wear his team tracksuit. The dinner itself was far too designed as well, the exact amount of calories and protein. It wasn't exactly romantic.
It was enough, though. He could tell that Jens was clever, if not always talkative. He had a great smile that he didn't use all that often. His English was good, and he had interesting things to say. In the category of Freddie's bad ideas, this was one of the better ones.
"Do you want to talk in my room?" Freddie asked as the dishes were being cleared away. "It's quieter there."
Jens put down his coffee, giving one of those smiles. "Sure."
* * * * *
Dennis was probably right and Jens was probably a terrible idea. Frankly, right now, Freddie couldn't care less.
"So." Sol bent over his leg like he was actually stretching in the way he was supposed to, instead of somehow both regarding the new goalkeeper and Freddie’s sudden inelegance. "Do you want to fuck him, or have you fucked him?"
Freddie sighed and fell back onto the slightly damp grass. Sol was a fifteen-year-old girl in the body of a very large man, which was unsurprisingly annoying. "Number two."
Sol grinned in delight. "When? Wait. Germany! Near Halloween. You were smug for like, weeks."
"You’re fucking awful, you know that, yeah?" It was worse because Sol was right. He had been smug for a ridiculous period of time, compared to normal. He’d liked the German goalkeeper. He’d been good in bed and funny in the morning. Freddie hadn’t expected to see him again, that was the way football went, but here he was. Football was strange.
"You’re still into him." Sol gave it the inflection of a question, but it wasn’t much of one.
"Maybe," Freddie replied, and it wasn’t really an evasion. The goalkeeper still had all the qualities that attracted Freddie to him in the first place. He was still tall, broad in the shoulders, with a strong jaw and a mouth prone to smirking. He was already in his gloves, so Freddie couldn’t see his hands, but it was unlikely they’d changed much either. The situation had, though. It was one thing when he was an opponent that Freddie wouldn’t have to see again. Sleeping with a teammate had to be very, very worth it.
"Maybe?" Sol echoed skeptically.
"Maybe." Freddie’s voice was firm. "It’s, you know. He’s here all the fucking time, yeah?"
"Works for Titi and Bobby."
"Pretty sure we’re not Titi and Bobby." Freddie couldn’t help but laugh at the concept, even as he looked back towards the goalkeeper. "They’re freaks."
"You never know." Sol shrugged, grinning teasingly.
"You’re a fucking arse." Freddie halfheartedly kicked at Sol’s leg. "Why do you give a shit?"
"It’s fun."
"Fucking. Arse." Freddie repeated.
"It’s a small team. Got to talk about someone." Sol looked entirely too smug with the situation. "At the moment, you’re the most interesting."
Freddie knew then that he was doomed.
* * * * *
Preseason training didn’t leave much time for thinking. It was brutal work mostly, a lot of running back and forth and designed to exhaust everyone. Freddie always harbored a suspicion that it was meant to punish them for having a summer without football. Like they were supposed to spend their time off spending hours in training, running their own drills and going over tactics sheets in the night. Since obviously Freddie wasn’t going to do that, punishment.
Boro would have made an efficient Middle Ages torturer. It was the eyebrows, definitely.
Despite the training’s best efforts, though, Freddie’s mind wandered a bit. This early in the season the goalkeepers weren’t completely sequestered from the rest of the team, so he got a look at Jens - that was his name, Jens, Freddie remembered - as they worked. There wasn’t time to talk, not even the sort of groaning small talk that was common at practice, but Jens had smiled at him a few times, which was enough for Freddie to remember that he needed to think about more things than how to kill Boro Primorac in interesting ways.
As he caught his breath, he started to think. Jens the goalkeeper. There were good reasons for putting it all in the past, a one-off. He knew better than most people that these things got messy. He only had to see Olaf a handful of times a year now, but it was an absolute shitshow when he did. He couldn’t imagine having to deal with that six days out of the week.
He also barely knew him. He’d seemed smart and funny in Dortmund, but that was just a night - not even 24 solid hours. Freddie thought he liked him, or at least could like him, but if he was going to mess with a teammate it had to be more than just a thought. It had to be worth it.
Nor could he really imagine spending six days a week with someone he was sleeping with. That wasn’t something Freddie had ever done. He liked his space, his social life. He didn’t think he would like having to be constantly in the presence of the guy he was seeing. It was a foolish kind of thing to be thinking when he’d slept with Jens precisely once, and that a year ago, but it floated into Freddie’s head as he was waiting for his turn to sprint.
Which in and of itself told Freddie that he was going to ignore common sense about Jens. There was some kind of future in his head, one that was vague and completely unformed, but there. He wanted to sleep with Jens again. That was the crux of it. He’d enjoyed it the first time, he was still attracted to the man, and all the common sense didn’t hold up to that. It was stupid and probably reckless but Freddie couldn’t bring himself to care enough. By the time they were heading back into the dressing rooms, Freddie had decided.
* * * * *
Apparently word had got enough around that Jens was left alone in the dressing room and Freddie could feel several pairs of eyes on him. He would, at some point, definitely kill Sol. He wasn’t sure how Sol had managed to spread the news during drills, but Sol was incredibly determined when he wanted to be. Either that, or he’d just told Thierry. It was impossible to shut up Thierry, drills or not.
Whatever the case, Jens was alone against the wall, looking through his bag and clutching a water bottle between his teeth. He had a good sweaty look about him, with slightly flushed skin, and Freddie reflected on how much easier his life would be if he didn’t find that attractive. Sol never dated footballers.
Freddie sat down on the bench next to Jens. "Hey," he said with a grin. "Welcome."
Jens looked surprised to be spoken to, removing his hands from his bag. "Hello. Thank you."
"No problem." Jens had a light dusting of freckles across his nose, Freddie noticed. He hadn’t remembered that. "So, how'd training go?"
"I hate preseason." Jens smiled. "But good."
"Fucking terrible, yeah?" Freddie laughed. "Definitely trying to kill us. And on your first day!"
"Takes more to kill me." Jens shrugged fluidly.
"Don't let them hear you. They’ll try," Freddie warned teasingly. "But I am glad to hear you're good. And happy to see you here."
"Yes?"
"Yes." Freddie said firmly. "It's nice to see you again."
"Nice to see you, too." Jens gave an absolutely delightful little smile, like he was flattered and surprised to hear that from Freddie.
"I'd ask you to dinner, but I think you’ll already be there."
Jens laughed. "I will be, yes."
"So let’s pretend I asked you." Freddie knew he was being sort of ridiculous, but Jens seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed that. At least, he seemed to be enjoying it now.
"I pretend I say yes."
"Good." Freddie smiled brightly. "Then it's a sort of date."
* * * * *
They had a few hours before dinner, so Freddie took to one of the deck chairs overlooking the lush lawn and bit of forest behind the hotel. Ostensibly, he was reading, but in actuality, he had dozed off a bit, luxuriating in the sun and warmth, tired from the day and mind slightly overloaded.
A shadow fell over his face. "You're in my light," Freddie grumbled, opening one eye to see Dennis standing over him. "Shouldn't you be golfing or something?"
"Golf is tiring."
"No, it's golf." Freddie made a face and straightened up in his chair. "What's going on?"
"Checking up on you." Dennis shrugged and did a terrible job of looking nonchalant.
"What does that mean?" That Dennis could find him easily enough out here meant that Dennis didn’t have anything to check up on him about. So Dennis wanted something, or was worried about something, and if Sol was a fifteen-year-old girl, Dennis was a fifty-year-old woman. It could be anything. "I'm wearing sunblock."
"Good." Dennis wasn’t going away. Freddie sighed. "So, you know the new goalkeeper?"
Freddie groaned and hit his head gently against the back of his chair. He didn't need this. "Yes, Dennis."
"What happened to Thijs?"
"Seriously." Freddie looked at Dennis from the top of his sunglasses. "We went on two fucking dates. And the second was a favor to you."
"He'd be good for you." Dennis frowned. "I don't know why you don’t - "
"Dennis, please." Freddie had heard this before. Truth be told, it was sweet. Annoying, but at heart, sweet. He knew Dennis wanted him to be happy. It was just that he had no idea what that actually took. "Please stop."
"So the goalkeeper?"
"His name is Jens." Freddie felt a surge of somewhat irrational annoyance. He hadn't got anywhere with Jens yet, at least not this year, and yet he still felt defensive over him and what he wanted to do. "And what of him?"
"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Dennis said gently. "He's got - "
"Stop it. Please." Freddie pushed his sunglasses back up. "I don't want a lecture. Another lecture."
Dennis looked somewhat pained, to Freddie’s satisfaction. "I'm not trying to lecture you."
"But you are." Freddie pointedly picked up his book. "Look. Thanks for thinking about me, but I know what I'm doing." He opened it up to where he’d left the marker, not wanting to look at Dennis' face as he said that. He knew Dennis didn’t think he knew what he was doing, and he hated that it was somewhat validated.
"How's the book?"
"Odd." Freddie took the change in subject gratefully. "Tell Henrita it's odd."
"Yeah, that’s what I thought too." Dennis shrugged. "I’ll leave you to it, then."
"Enjoy your golf."
* * * * *
Freddie was right, team dinner wasn't at all similar to an actual dinner out. Other people kept wanting to talk to them, and he had to wear his team tracksuit. The dinner itself was far too designed as well, the exact amount of calories and protein. It wasn't exactly romantic.
It was enough, though. He could tell that Jens was clever, if not always talkative. He had a great smile that he didn't use all that often. His English was good, and he had interesting things to say. In the category of Freddie's bad ideas, this was one of the better ones.
"Do you want to talk in my room?" Freddie asked as the dishes were being cleared away. "It's quieter there."
Jens put down his coffee, giving one of those smiles. "Sure."
* * * * *
Dennis was probably right and Jens was probably a terrible idea. Frankly, right now, Freddie couldn't care less.