Drabble Tree
aka_centimetre2 and I wrote a little Oranje drabble tree. Extremely slashy, all pairings....
Title: The Orange Tree
Rating: R
Pairing: Ruud van Nistelrooy/Edwin van der Sar, Edwin van der Sar/Rio Ferdinand, all others implied.
Warning: Slash.
Disclaimer: They're not ours, and SMF doesn't want them. Also, fiction.
Notes: The initials of the writers are at the end of each segment!
1.
There were some times Rio was glad he was a defender and not a forward, for purely physical reasons - for sheer placement in space. The forward almost never got to see Edwin stretching into action, never heard his constant pattering and the occasional barbs and jokes they threw back and forth.
The fact that he was almost always in his own half of the pitch also meant that he was closest to Ed when the celebrations began. He was the first to see what Edwin looked like in the grips of sheer happiness, when his calm exterior disappeared and the exuberance of a man in nirvana shone through. He was the first to jump on Edwin when he saved that penalty, when he won them the Shield, when he leaped and, smiling even before he left the ground, batted away Anelka’s fateful shot.
Yes - Rio had been, and always would be, a defender - for moments like that.
~ AKA
2.
Everyone wanted to be the first to congratulate Cris. Mr. I Dunno How Many Goals, Mr. Fantastic. Except Mr. Fantastic had missed the penalty, and Mr. Fantastic was crying so hard he was retching into the rain.
"Fuck's sake," Rio growled as they all just walked by him, thinking he was praying in delight to some Portuguese saint. "Ed?"
"I see, yes."
They ran over and pulled Cris up, held him between them and laughed, covering him in kisses.
"You won it for us, mate, you did, you did, you did...."
And if amidst all the kissing and laughing their lips happened to meet a few times, well, who was to know?
**
~SMF
3.
Dirk hadn’t meant to stumble onto them. It was dark in the corridors of the stadium, after all, and besides - he couldn’t really be blamed for thinking that that wasn’t quite what one was expected to do or see in a pitch-black hallway.
Ruud grinned. “Like what you see?”
“I - er, um - ”
“Maybe we should show him how it’s done,” Edwin chuckled into Ruud’s ear.
“Good one,” Ruud replied. And Dirk felt a hand grasping his wrist.
He went willingly. After all, if he had said he hadn’t wanted it (for years upon years) he would have grown a nose to rival Pinocchio’s. What did he have to lose?
**
~AKA
4.
"So bored."
"Don't care."
"Gonna....gonna lock them in a cupboard."
"Yes, Ed, that's nice....."
"Gonna make Wayne kiss Cris in front of whole team."
"He's done that, Ed."
"Then why are we in cupboard?"
"It's a locker."
"...."
"I can feel you think-ing...."
"As to how I kill you?"
"Nah, mate. One letter change."
"..."
"No, I don't get it."
"One letter."
"I do NOT get it."
"S for L."
"As to how I kirr....kipp....I sleep?"
"Nope."
"I don't sleep."
"Nope."
"M.....n.....o....ohhhhhhh......."
"Yeah. Oh yeah...."
**
~SMF
5.
Ruud knew right from the first moment he saw him that he was going to end up kissing him sooner or later. It was just a feeling, but somehow he knew. It actually made him laugh, in an odd way - his very first day on the Elftal, and already he wanted to fuck one of them. Ah well.
It didn’t even make that much sense. He was skinny, gawky, had absolutely enormous ears and was shy - the complete opposite in every way to Ruud, who was dark, stocky, hunched over and in everyone’s face, all the time. But he knew, right from the moment they first shook hands -
“Ruud van Nistelrooij.”
“Edwin. Van der Sar.”
- that they would end up here, kissing behind a stack of goal posts while the rest of the team trained. It just was.
**
~AKA
6.
"Hey, man."
He was long and thin and lanky, and all the things they'd called Edwin over the years. He had a shaved head, and a grin like a skull, and they called him Dog-face even when he could hear.
And the first time he underestimated Rio, he crashed into his back and got a glare worse than Fergie's off him - didn't take it to heart and did it a hundred times more until Rio screamed in his face and then hugged him tight and said "Stupid Oranje, love ya, now fix it."
So he did, and he did and he did, again and again, until all he could see was the incandescent love and pride and joy in Rio's eyes.
**
~SMF
7.
Rio wasn’t quite sure how anyone could be that tall and still function properly, but somehow Edwin managed it. He was able to run as fast as any of them, and could jump further, dive farther too.
He was also, somehow, able to stretch out his leg to its limit above his head, grabbing the ankle and pulling the leg straight, a leg that just seemed to go on and on. He was able to leap like some sort of elegant bird through the air, every finger, every nerve extended to its limit.
Rio tried to tell himself it was just keeper’s training. But sometimes he caught Edwin looking at him as he bent, as he touched his toes, spread his arms twice as far as a man ought to be able - and then Rio wondered. Sometimes.
**
~AKA
8.
He wasn't jealous.
Not until Cris brought the papers in and said 'Rio, I not understand....", not until Vidic said "Rio, what means...."
Not until Cris was crying, quiet and unstoppable, on Rio's shoulder, and Rio said "C'mon, mate, let's get you home," and he wasn't talking about the brothel of Buenos Ares, he was talking about his home.
But he wasn't jealous.
Not even when Vidic called him 'Mine Rio', not even when Cris snuggled up to him on the bus.
He wasn't jealous.
Who needed Rio Ferdinand anyway?
**
~SMF
9.
Ruud was always pleasantly surprised when it was Edwin, instead of him, who initiated things. Usually it only occurred after a particularly good match, where he had saved something spectacular or had just felt a fierceness in his veins that was normally firmly tamped down.
Tonight was one of those times. Edwin practically ripped off Ruud’s white kit, not seeming to care if they were heard or seen in their particular corner of the showers. Ruud kissed him back with equal fervor, knowing that these were moments to be cherished.
“Don’t - ever - do that again,” Edwin growled in between clumsy and demanding clashes of their lips.
“Do what?” Ruud gasped back.
“I had a - penalty shootout to worry about - for god’s sake. You practically - making out with me on the field - does - not - help - my - concentration!”
**
~AKA
10.
"It don't matter," Gio was apparently talking to his beer.
"Well, that's nice, Gio, what don't?" It was pretty much easier to use the same speech patterns.
"Like, you know, fucking."
"Uh....."
"I mean like Iker."
"Uh....?"
"Ooops." Gio giggled. "Are you fucking Iker?"
"No," Ruud said to all meanings of the word.
"So who at Real?"
"I'm not."
"Oooh." Gio giggled again, which was really disturbing, and picked up his beer. "I have so got to tell Dirk....."
Ruud decided he really, really didn't want to know.
**
~SMF
11.
There was a sort of legend with the Elftal, of a special club one could join once one had been on the team for long enough. So secret was this club, however, that no one ever discussed exactly what it meant to be in it or what the criteria for joining were. It was just there, a sort of presence, a sort of ‘oh he’s in it but he isn’t’ atmosphere.
Van Basten was in it for sure, and so was Giovanni. Others were harder to guess - perhaps Sneijder, perhaps Van der Vaart. Other than that, no one was really sure.
It was Gio, in the end, who initiated Dirk. Dirk followed him through the labyrinth of the stadium ‘backstage’ area, through the tunnels and innumerable doors, until they reached a small stretch of wall with a dingy window in it, a window that looked into a dressing room hardly ever used. Gio giggled, whispered something unintelligible in Dirk’s ear, and then jerked his thumb at the window.
Dirk peeked in, and saw them - the dark head, the blond head, the tangle of limbs. Welcome to the club.
Only in the Oranje…
**
~AKA
Title: The Orange Tree
Rating: R
Pairing: Ruud van Nistelrooy/Edwin van der Sar, Edwin van der Sar/Rio Ferdinand, all others implied.
Warning: Slash.
Disclaimer: They're not ours, and SMF doesn't want them. Also, fiction.
Notes: The initials of the writers are at the end of each segment!
1.
There were some times Rio was glad he was a defender and not a forward, for purely physical reasons - for sheer placement in space. The forward almost never got to see Edwin stretching into action, never heard his constant pattering and the occasional barbs and jokes they threw back and forth.
The fact that he was almost always in his own half of the pitch also meant that he was closest to Ed when the celebrations began. He was the first to see what Edwin looked like in the grips of sheer happiness, when his calm exterior disappeared and the exuberance of a man in nirvana shone through. He was the first to jump on Edwin when he saved that penalty, when he won them the Shield, when he leaped and, smiling even before he left the ground, batted away Anelka’s fateful shot.
Yes - Rio had been, and always would be, a defender - for moments like that.
~ AKA
2.
Everyone wanted to be the first to congratulate Cris. Mr. I Dunno How Many Goals, Mr. Fantastic. Except Mr. Fantastic had missed the penalty, and Mr. Fantastic was crying so hard he was retching into the rain.
"Fuck's sake," Rio growled as they all just walked by him, thinking he was praying in delight to some Portuguese saint. "Ed?"
"I see, yes."
They ran over and pulled Cris up, held him between them and laughed, covering him in kisses.
"You won it for us, mate, you did, you did, you did...."
And if amidst all the kissing and laughing their lips happened to meet a few times, well, who was to know?
**
~SMF
3.
Dirk hadn’t meant to stumble onto them. It was dark in the corridors of the stadium, after all, and besides - he couldn’t really be blamed for thinking that that wasn’t quite what one was expected to do or see in a pitch-black hallway.
Ruud grinned. “Like what you see?”
“I - er, um - ”
“Maybe we should show him how it’s done,” Edwin chuckled into Ruud’s ear.
“Good one,” Ruud replied. And Dirk felt a hand grasping his wrist.
He went willingly. After all, if he had said he hadn’t wanted it (for years upon years) he would have grown a nose to rival Pinocchio’s. What did he have to lose?
**
~AKA
4.
"So bored."
"Don't care."
"Gonna....gonna lock them in a cupboard."
"Yes, Ed, that's nice....."
"Gonna make Wayne kiss Cris in front of whole team."
"He's done that, Ed."
"Then why are we in cupboard?"
"It's a locker."
"...."
"I can feel you think-ing...."
"As to how I kill you?"
"Nah, mate. One letter change."
"..."
"No, I don't get it."
"One letter."
"I do NOT get it."
"S for L."
"As to how I kirr....kipp....I sleep?"
"Nope."
"I don't sleep."
"Nope."
"M.....n.....o....ohhhhhhh......."
"Yeah. Oh yeah...."
**
~SMF
5.
Ruud knew right from the first moment he saw him that he was going to end up kissing him sooner or later. It was just a feeling, but somehow he knew. It actually made him laugh, in an odd way - his very first day on the Elftal, and already he wanted to fuck one of them. Ah well.
It didn’t even make that much sense. He was skinny, gawky, had absolutely enormous ears and was shy - the complete opposite in every way to Ruud, who was dark, stocky, hunched over and in everyone’s face, all the time. But he knew, right from the moment they first shook hands -
“Ruud van Nistelrooij.”
“Edwin. Van der Sar.”
- that they would end up here, kissing behind a stack of goal posts while the rest of the team trained. It just was.
**
~AKA
6.
"Hey, man."
He was long and thin and lanky, and all the things they'd called Edwin over the years. He had a shaved head, and a grin like a skull, and they called him Dog-face even when he could hear.
And the first time he underestimated Rio, he crashed into his back and got a glare worse than Fergie's off him - didn't take it to heart and did it a hundred times more until Rio screamed in his face and then hugged him tight and said "Stupid Oranje, love ya, now fix it."
So he did, and he did and he did, again and again, until all he could see was the incandescent love and pride and joy in Rio's eyes.
**
~SMF
7.
Rio wasn’t quite sure how anyone could be that tall and still function properly, but somehow Edwin managed it. He was able to run as fast as any of them, and could jump further, dive farther too.
He was also, somehow, able to stretch out his leg to its limit above his head, grabbing the ankle and pulling the leg straight, a leg that just seemed to go on and on. He was able to leap like some sort of elegant bird through the air, every finger, every nerve extended to its limit.
Rio tried to tell himself it was just keeper’s training. But sometimes he caught Edwin looking at him as he bent, as he touched his toes, spread his arms twice as far as a man ought to be able - and then Rio wondered. Sometimes.
**
~AKA
8.
He wasn't jealous.
Not until Cris brought the papers in and said 'Rio, I not understand....", not until Vidic said "Rio, what means...."
Not until Cris was crying, quiet and unstoppable, on Rio's shoulder, and Rio said "C'mon, mate, let's get you home," and he wasn't talking about the brothel of Buenos Ares, he was talking about his home.
But he wasn't jealous.
Not even when Vidic called him 'Mine Rio', not even when Cris snuggled up to him on the bus.
He wasn't jealous.
Who needed Rio Ferdinand anyway?
**
~SMF
9.
Ruud was always pleasantly surprised when it was Edwin, instead of him, who initiated things. Usually it only occurred after a particularly good match, where he had saved something spectacular or had just felt a fierceness in his veins that was normally firmly tamped down.
Tonight was one of those times. Edwin practically ripped off Ruud’s white kit, not seeming to care if they were heard or seen in their particular corner of the showers. Ruud kissed him back with equal fervor, knowing that these were moments to be cherished.
“Don’t - ever - do that again,” Edwin growled in between clumsy and demanding clashes of their lips.
“Do what?” Ruud gasped back.
“I had a - penalty shootout to worry about - for god’s sake. You practically - making out with me on the field - does - not - help - my - concentration!”
**
~AKA
10.
"It don't matter," Gio was apparently talking to his beer.
"Well, that's nice, Gio, what don't?" It was pretty much easier to use the same speech patterns.
"Like, you know, fucking."
"Uh....."
"I mean like Iker."
"Uh....?"
"Ooops." Gio giggled. "Are you fucking Iker?"
"No," Ruud said to all meanings of the word.
"So who at Real?"
"I'm not."
"Oooh." Gio giggled again, which was really disturbing, and picked up his beer. "I have so got to tell Dirk....."
Ruud decided he really, really didn't want to know.
**
~SMF
11.
There was a sort of legend with the Elftal, of a special club one could join once one had been on the team for long enough. So secret was this club, however, that no one ever discussed exactly what it meant to be in it or what the criteria for joining were. It was just there, a sort of presence, a sort of ‘oh he’s in it but he isn’t’ atmosphere.
Van Basten was in it for sure, and so was Giovanni. Others were harder to guess - perhaps Sneijder, perhaps Van der Vaart. Other than that, no one was really sure.
It was Gio, in the end, who initiated Dirk. Dirk followed him through the labyrinth of the stadium ‘backstage’ area, through the tunnels and innumerable doors, until they reached a small stretch of wall with a dingy window in it, a window that looked into a dressing room hardly ever used. Gio giggled, whispered something unintelligible in Dirk’s ear, and then jerked his thumb at the window.
Dirk peeked in, and saw them - the dark head, the blond head, the tangle of limbs. Welcome to the club.
Only in the Oranje…
**
~AKA