Fic: The Knot (Mourinho/Higuaín)
Title: The Knot
Pairing: José Mourinho/Gonzalo Higuaín
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Neither the players nor the coach belong to me. Nothing in this fic ever happen, except the Don Balón stuff. Oh, and Mou did say he'd go to Doha to watch the Argentina vs Brazil friendly last November. Only he had to change his plan later due to UEFA's stupid ban.
Summary: Mou wants to make sure.
A/N: It´s an old fic written in November, not long after Eze´s return from injury. Half way through the fic I realized the article mentioned only exists in the online version of Don Balón, but was too lazy to make changes. And since I couldn´t find the link any more, the headline had to be made up, but it´s the gist of what the article is about.
A/N2: Unbeta-ed. All mistakes and bad grammar are mine.
A/N3: I so need a Mou/Gonzalo icon.
A magazine lay open on a table in the coach’s rest room. Mou was frowning slightly, his gaze on the boldfaced headline on the double spread page, the large words staring back at him almost in defiance.
For a long time, the Real Madrid coach didn’t turn the page.
***
It was the end of the day’s routine training session. Gonzalo stretched lazily and smiled at Eze’s excited rambles about his new car. It had been so long since Eze’s absence from injury, and now, with Eze back, everything seemed to return to normal. But Gonzalo knew that something had changed, both in the team and in himself…
"Pipa, can I have a minute?”
They turned at the voice. Mou was standing some distance away from the entrance, with a genial smile on his face as usual, though Gonzalo thought he looked a little strained. He nodded in reply, while Eze shrugged, patted his fellow Argentine, and went for the changing room.
Mou motioned the player to follow him with a jerk of his head. None of them spoke as they walked down the corridor. Gonzalo felt a slight tinge of unease at the other man's unusual silence - whatever the situation, Mou was usually the one who spoke first. But Gonzalo didn’t venture to say anything. Four years in Madrid he had learned when to keep his mouth shut.
***
Mou was never predictable - whoever said that knew the man very well, thought Gonzalo as he got pinned against the door, with the coach staring straight into his eyes.
"I read that magazine.” Mou’s voice was low but calm, void of any hint of emotion.
Gonzalo blinked. “What magazine?”
"Don Balón, the latest edition.”
For a second the Argentine just blinked, but then he remembered.
Higuaín upset over Mourinho’s substitution
The player is unhappy to be replaced at every match
Yet another example of untruthful journalism. Gonzalo frowned - an experienced man such as Mou should not have been bothered by whatever reporters had to say. Surely he must have known for years how things worked in that sector?
"I never said those things.” Which was true. The forward tried hard to keep the hint of annoyance - and bitterness - out of his voice.
"I know you didn’t,” Mou’s grip tightened slightly on the player’s shoulders. “But, do you feel that way?”
Taken aback by the question, Gonzalo just stared.
Do you feel that way?
He wanted to say something, but could not find his voice.
A slight smile curved the older man’s lips. It was a smile with a tinge of soft, gentle sadness, the kind you don’t see very often on José Mourinho’s face.
"No need to answer that. I just want you to believe - "
Mou grabbed the Argentine’s hand in his and looked him in the eye.
"No matter what happen, I want you to believe that this,” he raised their entwined hands, “will never change.”
Before Gonzalo even grasped what he meant, Mou bent forward and kissed him, full in the lips, with such burning passion he never knew possessed by the Portugese.
Gonzalo felt a warmth in his chest that soon spread all over his body and, eagering kissing back, the discomfort caused by his back pressed against the door was quite forgotten.
"Fuck,” Mou mumbled into the younger man’s breath as the cell phone suddenly rang in his jacket pocket. He stuffed his hand into the pocket and switched the offending device off, all the time without even opening his eyes.
Gonzalo’s soft laugh was instantly drowned by their kiss - determined and fierce, just like the man himself.
When they finally had to break apart to catch their breath, Gonzalo found that he was gripping Mou’s wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, which was as fast as his own.
"Gonzalo.”
It wasn’t “Pipa” any more, the nickname he used to address him in public.
"Believe me?”
Gonzalo drew a deep breath. “Of course.”
The tight knot in his chest, which had been there for some time, loosened as soon as the words left his lips. It was still there, but at least it wasn’t suffocating him any more.
"So, come and see me play in Doha?” he burst out without thinking.
Wednesday, the friendly between Argentina and Brazil. But surely the coach would prefer to watch the one between Portugal and Spain, which was on the same day? Gonzalo felt he should laugh it off and tell Mou he was joking, and that he was free to go to whatever game he wanted to see. But he didn’t.
Neither did he have to worry about it for long.
"Sure.” Was the answer. It came as naturally as another embrace, another kiss.
Pairing: José Mourinho/Gonzalo Higuaín
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Neither the players nor the coach belong to me. Nothing in this fic ever happen, except the Don Balón stuff. Oh, and Mou did say he'd go to Doha to watch the Argentina vs Brazil friendly last November. Only he had to change his plan later due to UEFA's stupid ban.
Summary: Mou wants to make sure.
A/N: It´s an old fic written in November, not long after Eze´s return from injury. Half way through the fic I realized the article mentioned only exists in the online version of Don Balón, but was too lazy to make changes. And since I couldn´t find the link any more, the headline had to be made up, but it´s the gist of what the article is about.
A/N2: Unbeta-ed. All mistakes and bad grammar are mine.
A/N3: I so need a Mou/Gonzalo icon.
A magazine lay open on a table in the coach’s rest room. Mou was frowning slightly, his gaze on the boldfaced headline on the double spread page, the large words staring back at him almost in defiance.
For a long time, the Real Madrid coach didn’t turn the page.
***
It was the end of the day’s routine training session. Gonzalo stretched lazily and smiled at Eze’s excited rambles about his new car. It had been so long since Eze’s absence from injury, and now, with Eze back, everything seemed to return to normal. But Gonzalo knew that something had changed, both in the team and in himself…
"Pipa, can I have a minute?”
They turned at the voice. Mou was standing some distance away from the entrance, with a genial smile on his face as usual, though Gonzalo thought he looked a little strained. He nodded in reply, while Eze shrugged, patted his fellow Argentine, and went for the changing room.
Mou motioned the player to follow him with a jerk of his head. None of them spoke as they walked down the corridor. Gonzalo felt a slight tinge of unease at the other man's unusual silence - whatever the situation, Mou was usually the one who spoke first. But Gonzalo didn’t venture to say anything. Four years in Madrid he had learned when to keep his mouth shut.
***
Mou was never predictable - whoever said that knew the man very well, thought Gonzalo as he got pinned against the door, with the coach staring straight into his eyes.
"I read that magazine.” Mou’s voice was low but calm, void of any hint of emotion.
Gonzalo blinked. “What magazine?”
"Don Balón, the latest edition.”
For a second the Argentine just blinked, but then he remembered.
Higuaín upset over Mourinho’s substitution
The player is unhappy to be replaced at every match
Yet another example of untruthful journalism. Gonzalo frowned - an experienced man such as Mou should not have been bothered by whatever reporters had to say. Surely he must have known for years how things worked in that sector?
"I never said those things.” Which was true. The forward tried hard to keep the hint of annoyance - and bitterness - out of his voice.
"I know you didn’t,” Mou’s grip tightened slightly on the player’s shoulders. “But, do you feel that way?”
Taken aback by the question, Gonzalo just stared.
Do you feel that way?
He wanted to say something, but could not find his voice.
A slight smile curved the older man’s lips. It was a smile with a tinge of soft, gentle sadness, the kind you don’t see very often on José Mourinho’s face.
"No need to answer that. I just want you to believe - "
Mou grabbed the Argentine’s hand in his and looked him in the eye.
"No matter what happen, I want you to believe that this,” he raised their entwined hands, “will never change.”
Before Gonzalo even grasped what he meant, Mou bent forward and kissed him, full in the lips, with such burning passion he never knew possessed by the Portugese.
Gonzalo felt a warmth in his chest that soon spread all over his body and, eagering kissing back, the discomfort caused by his back pressed against the door was quite forgotten.
"Fuck,” Mou mumbled into the younger man’s breath as the cell phone suddenly rang in his jacket pocket. He stuffed his hand into the pocket and switched the offending device off, all the time without even opening his eyes.
Gonzalo’s soft laugh was instantly drowned by their kiss - determined and fierce, just like the man himself.
When they finally had to break apart to catch their breath, Gonzalo found that he was gripping Mou’s wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, which was as fast as his own.
"Gonzalo.”
It wasn’t “Pipa” any more, the nickname he used to address him in public.
"Believe me?”
Gonzalo drew a deep breath. “Of course.”
The tight knot in his chest, which had been there for some time, loosened as soon as the words left his lips. It was still there, but at least it wasn’t suffocating him any more.
"So, come and see me play in Doha?” he burst out without thinking.
Wednesday, the friendly between Argentina and Brazil. But surely the coach would prefer to watch the one between Portugal and Spain, which was on the same day? Gonzalo felt he should laugh it off and tell Mou he was joking, and that he was free to go to whatever game he wanted to see. But he didn’t.
Neither did he have to worry about it for long.
"Sure.” Was the answer. It came as naturally as another embrace, another kiss.