(no subject)
Title: Buying Stolen Time (2/?)
Author: Closet Child
Pairing: Ryan Giggs/Ole Gunnar Solskjaer
Summary: Ryan thinks during his free time, about things that have gone to pass.
Rating: NC-17 (for sexual situations)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned. This is purely a work of fiction, spurn by my imagination.
Author’s Notes: I tried to separate reality from fiction. Looking at some more pictures I got of Giggs and Solskjaer, it’s impossible! It’s inevitable to think that they are more than simple friends on and off pitch!
For a second, it looks as though he didn’t understand English.
Slowly, he blinks his eyes at me, nodding his head perhaps to convince me he understood. But I wasn’t sure.
I waited for him to say something, even if it’s one word. Just something I can cling on to.
He opens his mouth and I strained my ears to pick up his wee voice.
“I… love Noah and Karna...” His face full of uncertainty.
“I love my children as well,” I added solemnly. Does he think me of a player? Someone who would run off with the one he desires, leaving his responsibilities behind? Some kids are rascals, but you still love them anyway. Maybe not those on Super Nanny. God awful kids who kick and scream so much even a spanking didn’t help.
“I love you as if you were my own, as if you are mine.”
Ollie has his gaze settled on the television, three feet away from us.
Oh God, is he avoiding me?
I cannot stomach anymore rejections.
After the pregnant pause, he turns his pretty head and looks at me, “I was yours,” he said quietly. He puts it as though I have stopped loving him. Truthfully speaking, I never did. I always thought of him every single time I had.
“I’m now someone’s Ryan, and so are you,” reminding me that I have a wife, sadly. I do like her, however, if I wasn’t a footballer making tens of thousands of pounds a week, I wonder if she would like me. I wonder if any girl would like me for that matter.
“I know.” Ollie leans the back of his calves against the foot of the bed, his body swaying gently. The whole room was in still and I see him, illuminated, basking in the brightest light that I have ever seen, bursting, burning my sight.
His knees buckled and he lands on the bed bouncing slightly, his golden locks too. From where I stood, he looked like a young boy, lost, as if he cannot find his seat number in the Theatre of Dreams.
Now, the distance between us has gotten wider. I couldn’t stand for it.
“Ollie,” I breathed, taking a step closer. “I’m may be with her in name, but you’re in my heart for always.”
“Am I in yours?”
Again, I ask a question and he hesitated.
Be damned, why do I put him in a position where he is in a dilemma and I am facing the threat of an obvious disappointment?
This time, he took long, his brows knitted in thought.
Maybe it was wise for him not to answer.
“You don’t have to say yes, you know?”
“You don’t have to please me,” there was a crack in my voice, I heard.
Why am I so afraid to know his answer?
Why am I so desperate for love?
Why am I so desperate for his love?
There is a little part in you and me, in everyone, that wants to be cuddled, hugged and stroked, in safety, in assurance in love.
We all want to be loved.
We crave for tender kisses and gentle caresses.
People want to be valued, a treasure that everyone wants to have and keep forever, locked in a very special place.
My heart. It’s racing in my ribcage. My hands, they are itching to meet his skin. My mouth, so dry, I need something to calm my nerves!
“Do you know Ryan, any word I give you, is going to hurt someone?” he sighs deeply, his blue eyes that light up when he smiles are now, troubled.
“It’s going to hurt our families or either one of us.” Lashes fluttering up and down as he continued to avoid my eyes.
I changed my mind; I didn’t want to know who had the greater share in his heart. “Then, may the casualty be me, for I only ask of you to be happy,” saying this I felt like I had put myself in a trap.
I wanted a happy ending. A happy ending doesn’t involve pain or loss; it’s all about everyone living happily ever after. You, me, our wives and kids, which is crap because even an idiot knows that doesn’t exist.
Selfish.
That’s what he said.
“I’m selfish,” he replied in a very Zen-like way. His fingers twisting with the bed covers underneath him, legs crossed never touching the carpet.
“I’ve lived for my parents, Silje, the kids… I have to live for myself.”
“Ryan, how I would love to say yes,” Ollie went on, “it’s just so difficult to say no, just as it is to say yes…”
He’s talking to the floor. Well, he is facing the ground. I want to scream at him, “LOOK AT ME!” Why is he so afraid to do so?
Instead, I call his name, “Ollie”, two syllabus, slowly, my hands are attracted to his face, like poles of an opposite magnet, they reach for him, tilting his chin, so his eyes show clearly and I can see the truth in them.
Do his eyes shine with happiness or are they glazed in pain?
And I see it. The answer has been found.
Bringing my face close to his, I slipped my tongue into his soft pliant lips, crushing them against mine, I brought him down, leaning, pinning him onto the bed.
The bed must be pretty new, the springs of the mattress were strong and resistant, pushing him up against me, pressing our bodies together.
A change in temperatures, hot, when I was taking a shower, cold, when I got out of it, and we’re now building up the heat in the room.
Cupping his pixie face in my hands, I peer closely, absorbing his pleasure-filled face, the way his eyes shut tightly, the way they flicker in denial and resistance, the way they roll up his head in ecstasy, his nostrils, flaring slightly, breathing deeply, lips rosier, parted slightly, moist and raw from the ravishing, his hair, the sun-streaked locks, tangle as his head tossed side to side when his body trashed against me.
I wish I could take a picture, to remember this forever.
Isn’t it fine the way it is? I’d rather this moment be stored in my head, locked away in the few but sacred and treasured memories that we share.
They went automatically to his shirt buttons, my fingers, undoing them, exposing him bit by bit.
My tongue wants to savor him, licking down his throat, smelling his cologne, further down his pale, well defined chest before going sideways for his little pert nipples. What a treat, delectable much more than he was ever, some women say when men age, they get better, somewhat like wine, Ollie was one of them, except, he doesn’t seem to age a single bit.
Circling his hard little nub, tugging gently at them with my teeth, scraping them, I feel Ollie’s hands on the back of my neck, gently massaging them. My heart swells, as I know he was permitting, encouraging me. I’m glad to know he isn’t against his will, but he is of free will. And with his choice, I’ll make right.
“Ryan,” he cooed as I had my hands on the front of his trousers that were tenting under.
Stopping whatever I was doing to him, I looked up at his face to hear him speak.
“I’m the happiest man in Cape Town,” he says.
“You have no idea,” I slid up, next to his body, “I’m the happiest man in the world right now,” then, I press my insistent lips that rarely got a chance to taste him, against his. Our tongues collide, they curl in each other’s warm cavern, lips locked, arms folded around each other.
We’re hungry.
We’re desperate.
We want each other so damn much, no one could ever understand.
The years.
The wait.
The torture.
Of having someone around you and you can’t have him.
So near, yet so far.
Raking nails on my forearms got my attention of his escalating needs, and I turn to him. Rubbing my palm against his crotch, being the helpful, selfless man he was, Ollie returned the favour by undressing me. Now his delicate fingers are roving on my chest, running through the hair on them.
“Carpet grass!” his name for my chest and the giggles over it from years ago sprouted in my head.
“The putting green,” he referred, acknowledging my chest.
“Where’s the hole?” a question bent on naughty action to happen, hopefully.
“Is it here? ” I pointed at my belly button innocently.
“Or is it-”
“You and I both know how to put the ball in the net, ”a hot, sassy reply came back.
“I thought we were talking golf! ”
Here he is, lying under me, his bare, hairless legs splayed before me,
From below, I can see his chest rising and falling, heaving as he inhaled deeply.
I have my hands on his jewels, plump, stored with several days of precious seed that will soon be sowed.
My lips descend again, this time, on his semi-hardness that expands length-wise when I go down. Cock in hand, bringing it to life, feeling it hot like a fever swept through his body.
Mothers used to sponge their children’s skin with wet towels when their temperature rose.
Knowing the only cure for Ollie right now, I pushed the swollen head pass my lips into my mouth, I can feel him ease, his moans were long as I lapped at his heat, taking in as much as I could, that my nose bumped onto his taut stomach, inhaling his scent.
“Oh…”
He jolted, stiffened in my mouth and hands, legs parting wider, moaning in the throes of passion.
Unexpectedly, there was an urgent knock at the door and we both groaned.
What could be a worse timing then now? Ollie grudgingly pulled up his briefs quick, getting them in a knot, he tripped and fell on the carpet. I pull him up and gave him a quick kiss.
“Are you alright?”
The knocks become frantic and they turned into hurrying bangs.
“Giggs! Are you in there?”
“Open up! I got some crocodiles at my heels!” He actually meant the media. That’s why we stay out of the limelight. It’s quite terrifying actually. Gary, Paul and I don’t enjoy getting snapped at these days. I guess it was just a phase when you are young. You want to be known. You want to be famous.
Reluctantly, I let go of Ollie, and pulled my shorts up hastily before answering the door.
That’s Paul.
He always sinks in surprises when and where you least expects him to. Maybe not surprises, but rather shocks, yes that is the right word the opponents would use.
Pulling away the latch, I let him in.
“My God!” he exclaimed, bursting through the door, catching is breath. I assumed he was running for quite a distance.
“I just stepped into a lingerie store and they think I am keeping a mistress or visiting some hooker!” he shakes his head and throws his shopping bags aside.
A Storm in a teacup.
The news loves to cook up new stories and attention-grabbing headlines to increase their sales. But you can never trust what you read, especially when the papers have a gossip column and a page with an ‘innocent’ in her birthday suit on page three.
Paul notices that we weren’t alone.
“Ollie! Say, when did you get here?”
He flushed and looked away from Paul shyly, “was just passing…”
“I should make a move,” he announced softly.
“Well then, take care ‘Sunny’,” Paul kicked his shoes off and they fly to the corner of the room.
“Least you rise early tomorrow at the crack of dawn!”
Ollie makes a face at him; ‘Sunny’ was tagged with him because when he first arrived in the team, none of us could pronounce his name right. So we called him ‘Sunny’, the blondeness of him and all.
“’I’ll walk you back,” aloud, I waved at Paul, “don’t you sleep yet! I’m not taking the key with me and I don’t want to be locked out!”
The ginger head threw his crumpled sock at me. What manners, really! Sometimes I forget he’s 31. Being a year older than him, doesn’t make much of a difference. We’re the same boys who worked hard and played alongside through the 90s towards the Treble, a milestone in our careers.
“You don’t have to,” Ollie whispered, place a hand over mine as I closed the door behind me.
“Sorry about Paul,” I admit I was a little annoyed with my mate for killing the moment. To think that I had crossed all obstacles! But there is still a final hurdle.
I scanned the hallway. The club had booked the entire level. And I wouldn’t want to implicate Ollie’s chances as well as mine, in playing professionally. Homosexuals are always stigmatized in the field of sports, even though they are being gradually accepted by the open society.
Ollie took my other hand and held them for a while, looking, in thought.
“Perhaps another time?” he suggested.
“I gladly make time for you,” I stole a quick glance for any living soul, and leaned forward, to seal a light kiss on his baby-smooth cheek.
“Anything, for you.”
We got to his room, three doors down and I waited for him to get inside, “Goodnight,” I bade him, and he gave a wry smile back, he stood there for a few seconds.
“Where do we go?” he asked, “from here.”
Lost.
We’re stuck, he hinted.
I too, have no idea where this is going to take us.
Are we any different from yesterday?
From a few years back?
Will we be the same tomorrow and forever?
“We’re and we’ll be.” What an ambiguous reply that is enough for us now.
He nods slowly, trying to decipher the phrase. But what I really meant was that we were always the same, yesterday today and tomorrow. It’s a constant feeling, hard to believe and rare.
Is there such a thing as ‘unwavering, unconditional love’ that exists?
It seems I’m throwing a boomerang at myself, with all these thinking.
“Sleep tight.” One last kiss, I can’t bear to part, a creeping feeling in my heart that tomorrow will be different.
He threw his arms around me for a hug, close, “I love you,” only for my ears to hear.
The side of the door, closing, he’s disappearing inch by inch from my eyes. The last thing I saw that night was his beautiful smile and the twinkle in his eyes, entrapping, arresting my soul.
Author: Closet Child
Pairing: Ryan Giggs/Ole Gunnar Solskjaer
Summary: Ryan thinks during his free time, about things that have gone to pass.
Rating: NC-17 (for sexual situations)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned. This is purely a work of fiction, spurn by my imagination.
Author’s Notes: I tried to separate reality from fiction. Looking at some more pictures I got of Giggs and Solskjaer, it’s impossible! It’s inevitable to think that they are more than simple friends on and off pitch!
For a second, it looks as though he didn’t understand English.
Slowly, he blinks his eyes at me, nodding his head perhaps to convince me he understood. But I wasn’t sure.
I waited for him to say something, even if it’s one word. Just something I can cling on to.
He opens his mouth and I strained my ears to pick up his wee voice.
“I… love Noah and Karna...” His face full of uncertainty.
“I love my children as well,” I added solemnly. Does he think me of a player? Someone who would run off with the one he desires, leaving his responsibilities behind? Some kids are rascals, but you still love them anyway. Maybe not those on Super Nanny. God awful kids who kick and scream so much even a spanking didn’t help.
“I love you as if you were my own, as if you are mine.”
Ollie has his gaze settled on the television, three feet away from us.
Oh God, is he avoiding me?
I cannot stomach anymore rejections.
After the pregnant pause, he turns his pretty head and looks at me, “I was yours,” he said quietly. He puts it as though I have stopped loving him. Truthfully speaking, I never did. I always thought of him every single time I had.
“I’m now someone’s Ryan, and so are you,” reminding me that I have a wife, sadly. I do like her, however, if I wasn’t a footballer making tens of thousands of pounds a week, I wonder if she would like me. I wonder if any girl would like me for that matter.
“I know.” Ollie leans the back of his calves against the foot of the bed, his body swaying gently. The whole room was in still and I see him, illuminated, basking in the brightest light that I have ever seen, bursting, burning my sight.
His knees buckled and he lands on the bed bouncing slightly, his golden locks too. From where I stood, he looked like a young boy, lost, as if he cannot find his seat number in the Theatre of Dreams.
Now, the distance between us has gotten wider. I couldn’t stand for it.
“Ollie,” I breathed, taking a step closer. “I’m may be with her in name, but you’re in my heart for always.”
“Am I in yours?”
Again, I ask a question and he hesitated.
Be damned, why do I put him in a position where he is in a dilemma and I am facing the threat of an obvious disappointment?
This time, he took long, his brows knitted in thought.
Maybe it was wise for him not to answer.
“You don’t have to say yes, you know?”
“You don’t have to please me,” there was a crack in my voice, I heard.
Why am I so afraid to know his answer?
Why am I so desperate for love?
Why am I so desperate for his love?
There is a little part in you and me, in everyone, that wants to be cuddled, hugged and stroked, in safety, in assurance in love.
We all want to be loved.
We crave for tender kisses and gentle caresses.
People want to be valued, a treasure that everyone wants to have and keep forever, locked in a very special place.
My heart. It’s racing in my ribcage. My hands, they are itching to meet his skin. My mouth, so dry, I need something to calm my nerves!
“Do you know Ryan, any word I give you, is going to hurt someone?” he sighs deeply, his blue eyes that light up when he smiles are now, troubled.
“It’s going to hurt our families or either one of us.” Lashes fluttering up and down as he continued to avoid my eyes.
I changed my mind; I didn’t want to know who had the greater share in his heart. “Then, may the casualty be me, for I only ask of you to be happy,” saying this I felt like I had put myself in a trap.
I wanted a happy ending. A happy ending doesn’t involve pain or loss; it’s all about everyone living happily ever after. You, me, our wives and kids, which is crap because even an idiot knows that doesn’t exist.
Selfish.
That’s what he said.
“I’m selfish,” he replied in a very Zen-like way. His fingers twisting with the bed covers underneath him, legs crossed never touching the carpet.
“I’ve lived for my parents, Silje, the kids… I have to live for myself.”
“Ryan, how I would love to say yes,” Ollie went on, “it’s just so difficult to say no, just as it is to say yes…”
He’s talking to the floor. Well, he is facing the ground. I want to scream at him, “LOOK AT ME!” Why is he so afraid to do so?
Instead, I call his name, “Ollie”, two syllabus, slowly, my hands are attracted to his face, like poles of an opposite magnet, they reach for him, tilting his chin, so his eyes show clearly and I can see the truth in them.
Do his eyes shine with happiness or are they glazed in pain?
And I see it. The answer has been found.
Bringing my face close to his, I slipped my tongue into his soft pliant lips, crushing them against mine, I brought him down, leaning, pinning him onto the bed.
The bed must be pretty new, the springs of the mattress were strong and resistant, pushing him up against me, pressing our bodies together.
A change in temperatures, hot, when I was taking a shower, cold, when I got out of it, and we’re now building up the heat in the room.
Cupping his pixie face in my hands, I peer closely, absorbing his pleasure-filled face, the way his eyes shut tightly, the way they flicker in denial and resistance, the way they roll up his head in ecstasy, his nostrils, flaring slightly, breathing deeply, lips rosier, parted slightly, moist and raw from the ravishing, his hair, the sun-streaked locks, tangle as his head tossed side to side when his body trashed against me.
I wish I could take a picture, to remember this forever.
Isn’t it fine the way it is? I’d rather this moment be stored in my head, locked away in the few but sacred and treasured memories that we share.
They went automatically to his shirt buttons, my fingers, undoing them, exposing him bit by bit.
My tongue wants to savor him, licking down his throat, smelling his cologne, further down his pale, well defined chest before going sideways for his little pert nipples. What a treat, delectable much more than he was ever, some women say when men age, they get better, somewhat like wine, Ollie was one of them, except, he doesn’t seem to age a single bit.
Circling his hard little nub, tugging gently at them with my teeth, scraping them, I feel Ollie’s hands on the back of my neck, gently massaging them. My heart swells, as I know he was permitting, encouraging me. I’m glad to know he isn’t against his will, but he is of free will. And with his choice, I’ll make right.
“Ryan,” he cooed as I had my hands on the front of his trousers that were tenting under.
Stopping whatever I was doing to him, I looked up at his face to hear him speak.
“I’m the happiest man in Cape Town,” he says.
“You have no idea,” I slid up, next to his body, “I’m the happiest man in the world right now,” then, I press my insistent lips that rarely got a chance to taste him, against his. Our tongues collide, they curl in each other’s warm cavern, lips locked, arms folded around each other.
We’re hungry.
We’re desperate.
We want each other so damn much, no one could ever understand.
The years.
The wait.
The torture.
Of having someone around you and you can’t have him.
So near, yet so far.
Raking nails on my forearms got my attention of his escalating needs, and I turn to him. Rubbing my palm against his crotch, being the helpful, selfless man he was, Ollie returned the favour by undressing me. Now his delicate fingers are roving on my chest, running through the hair on them.
“Carpet grass!” his name for my chest and the giggles over it from years ago sprouted in my head.
“The putting green,” he referred, acknowledging my chest.
“Where’s the hole?” a question bent on naughty action to happen, hopefully.
“Is it here? ” I pointed at my belly button innocently.
“Or is it-”
“You and I both know how to put the ball in the net, ”a hot, sassy reply came back.
“I thought we were talking golf! ”
Here he is, lying under me, his bare, hairless legs splayed before me,
From below, I can see his chest rising and falling, heaving as he inhaled deeply.
I have my hands on his jewels, plump, stored with several days of precious seed that will soon be sowed.
My lips descend again, this time, on his semi-hardness that expands length-wise when I go down. Cock in hand, bringing it to life, feeling it hot like a fever swept through his body.
Mothers used to sponge their children’s skin with wet towels when their temperature rose.
Knowing the only cure for Ollie right now, I pushed the swollen head pass my lips into my mouth, I can feel him ease, his moans were long as I lapped at his heat, taking in as much as I could, that my nose bumped onto his taut stomach, inhaling his scent.
“Oh…”
He jolted, stiffened in my mouth and hands, legs parting wider, moaning in the throes of passion.
Unexpectedly, there was an urgent knock at the door and we both groaned.
What could be a worse timing then now? Ollie grudgingly pulled up his briefs quick, getting them in a knot, he tripped and fell on the carpet. I pull him up and gave him a quick kiss.
“Are you alright?”
The knocks become frantic and they turned into hurrying bangs.
“Giggs! Are you in there?”
“Open up! I got some crocodiles at my heels!” He actually meant the media. That’s why we stay out of the limelight. It’s quite terrifying actually. Gary, Paul and I don’t enjoy getting snapped at these days. I guess it was just a phase when you are young. You want to be known. You want to be famous.
Reluctantly, I let go of Ollie, and pulled my shorts up hastily before answering the door.
That’s Paul.
He always sinks in surprises when and where you least expects him to. Maybe not surprises, but rather shocks, yes that is the right word the opponents would use.
Pulling away the latch, I let him in.
“My God!” he exclaimed, bursting through the door, catching is breath. I assumed he was running for quite a distance.
“I just stepped into a lingerie store and they think I am keeping a mistress or visiting some hooker!” he shakes his head and throws his shopping bags aside.
A Storm in a teacup.
The news loves to cook up new stories and attention-grabbing headlines to increase their sales. But you can never trust what you read, especially when the papers have a gossip column and a page with an ‘innocent’ in her birthday suit on page three.
Paul notices that we weren’t alone.
“Ollie! Say, when did you get here?”
He flushed and looked away from Paul shyly, “was just passing…”
“I should make a move,” he announced softly.
“Well then, take care ‘Sunny’,” Paul kicked his shoes off and they fly to the corner of the room.
“Least you rise early tomorrow at the crack of dawn!”
Ollie makes a face at him; ‘Sunny’ was tagged with him because when he first arrived in the team, none of us could pronounce his name right. So we called him ‘Sunny’, the blondeness of him and all.
“’I’ll walk you back,” aloud, I waved at Paul, “don’t you sleep yet! I’m not taking the key with me and I don’t want to be locked out!”
The ginger head threw his crumpled sock at me. What manners, really! Sometimes I forget he’s 31. Being a year older than him, doesn’t make much of a difference. We’re the same boys who worked hard and played alongside through the 90s towards the Treble, a milestone in our careers.
“You don’t have to,” Ollie whispered, place a hand over mine as I closed the door behind me.
“Sorry about Paul,” I admit I was a little annoyed with my mate for killing the moment. To think that I had crossed all obstacles! But there is still a final hurdle.
I scanned the hallway. The club had booked the entire level. And I wouldn’t want to implicate Ollie’s chances as well as mine, in playing professionally. Homosexuals are always stigmatized in the field of sports, even though they are being gradually accepted by the open society.
Ollie took my other hand and held them for a while, looking, in thought.
“Perhaps another time?” he suggested.
“I gladly make time for you,” I stole a quick glance for any living soul, and leaned forward, to seal a light kiss on his baby-smooth cheek.
“Anything, for you.”
We got to his room, three doors down and I waited for him to get inside, “Goodnight,” I bade him, and he gave a wry smile back, he stood there for a few seconds.
“Where do we go?” he asked, “from here.”
Lost.
We’re stuck, he hinted.
I too, have no idea where this is going to take us.
Are we any different from yesterday?
From a few years back?
Will we be the same tomorrow and forever?
“We’re and we’ll be.” What an ambiguous reply that is enough for us now.
He nods slowly, trying to decipher the phrase. But what I really meant was that we were always the same, yesterday today and tomorrow. It’s a constant feeling, hard to believe and rare.
Is there such a thing as ‘unwavering, unconditional love’ that exists?
It seems I’m throwing a boomerang at myself, with all these thinking.
“Sleep tight.” One last kiss, I can’t bear to part, a creeping feeling in my heart that tomorrow will be different.
He threw his arms around me for a hug, close, “I love you,” only for my ears to hear.
The side of the door, closing, he’s disappearing inch by inch from my eyes. The last thing I saw that night was his beautiful smile and the twinkle in his eyes, entrapping, arresting my soul.