'What You Know' - cowritten Edwin/Rio Ferdinand fic
Title: What You Know
Authors: co-written by
speak_me_fair and
aka_centimetre2.
Characters/Pairing: Edwin van der Sar/Rio Ferdinand.
Wordcount: 2,013.
Rating: R for language.
Warnings: Slash, language, some angst.
Disclaimer: Not ours. Woe.
Summary: Rio has been passed over for the captaincy of England, and the last thing he wants is Edwin to try and comfort him. Of course, that's exactly what he does... with interesting results.
It was pretty hard to know who was supposed to have been insulted by the brilliant little piece of commentary from the so-called expert on Sky, him or JT. Really hard. Like impossible hard, because what the hell was 'Rio's a great dressing-room captain' supposed to mean?
That's the vice-captain's only job? Ok, yeah, he could swallow that one, but it didn't explain the choice of Mike during Becks's time, because great striker he was, choice of person-to-talk-to-if stressed, worried, bored, or in fact opening mouth? Not usually.
Rio's shite when telling them what to do, but he makes a great mate? JT's a sour bastard off the pitch so they need someone else? Lovely, those options were, and what. The. Fuck?
He couldn't quite stop watching the broadcast, despite the fact he wanted to smash the fucking commentators' faces in. Something about how the fact they were worked up about it made him feel better, or some such bollocks.
The TV was still blaring half an hour later, so he didn't hear Edwin come in. He did hear the keeper's boots clattering in his locker, though, and instantly thought fuck, please god don't let him try to comfort me.
But this was Edwin, so of course the first thing out of his mouth was "Y'alright?"
"What the fuck do you think?" Rio jabbed a finger at the screen, violently stabbing JT's image in the cheek. The LED display flickered. "He doesn't even look like he wants it."
Edwin snorted softly. "Tell me about it. They gave my job to Stekelenburg."
Rio blinked. "They wha'?"
And then, because he was Rio Ferdinand, prankster extraordinaire, and possessed of a worse sense of humour than the Dynamic Duelling Rs together on their most frightening day, he started laughing. It wasn't even funny, but - Stekelenburg? Okay, maybe a bit funny. In a really sick way. "Ok, this is a joke, yeah? We're all going to get little messages in a few hours time, saying 'you didn't believe all that crap, did you, lads?', and -" He subsided, because Edwin was just standing there, and actually looked like he felt sorry for him, or some such crap, and he couldn't be having that. "Yeah. Or not." He swallowed down the last of the giggle-fit.
Edwin tilted his head a little, and Rio bit his lip, bordering on the hysterical. Hysteria wasn't good. Happy hysteria, preferably while holding a piece of shiny silver, was fine - but not this kind. Not when he felt like lashing out at every bloody thing in the vicinity, making no guarantee of their future health.
"Huh," Edwin said, his eyes glinting with a bit of puzzlement, though Rio wasn't sure what there was to be confused about. "You really did want it, didn't you?"
And that stopped every little bit of hysteria dead and cold and completely gone, because what? Even Becks had got that much and had enough sense not to say it, and Becks had been the one made to step down in public and know all about dignity coming from the inside while they were both still thinking about the next little bit of immortality, and could have said all sorts of friendly, understanding things, and hadn't, because right now world order had been turned upside down and fucking David Beckham had more intelligence than Rio's own bloody goalkeeper.
He thought he probably looked a bit like a fish, because his mouth kept opening and closing on its own. "Er," he managed at last, and then, helpfully, "Um."
He thought a minute about something to say that wouldn't involve screaming. "Yeah?" he volunteered at last, as nicely as he could, because if he was losing his marbles, Edwin had obviously completely fucking torn up the plot and left it in his car.
Immediately Edwin's face contorted into a frown, exactly the sort of frown Rio had seen on fucking everyone all day long attached to their condolences and complaints, and which he really, really hadn't wanted to see again.
"Sorry," Edwin said, and there it was, the note of remonstration that made his ears hurt. Ed stepped forward and sat on the bench with Rio, straddling it, his hands on his knees. "Just - sometimes you don't seem the type who would care much. Y'know?"
No, actually. Rio didn't effing know. And he didn't want to think about it any more, he didn't want to think about Becks or Capello or JT or those fucking commentators any more. He just didn't.
He wanted to say Yeah, cos you must have noticed how I was really so good at letting it all go when Gaz was having whatever fucking problems belong to Gaz, and Giggsy kept wandering off into his own little world, and just what are you on about? , but he had enough sense to know it wasn't Ed he wanted to say any of that to. Well, he did, because he wanted to say it, but -
"Aaargh," he said coherently, and thumped his head, not particularly gently, onto Edwin's shoulder. "Ow," he added, because the wall might actually have hurt him less, even if it wouldn't have made his point of shut up quite as effectively. "Bony bastard."
Edwin's torso shook once with a silent chuckle. "What, and you think you've got a soft head? I'll be bruised for a week. Idiot."
Now it was degenerating into a bloody circus, but Rio liked it. Maybe it was all a circus, the whole stupid thing, the articles and the lottery and the bookies lining up to write down his or JT's name. Maybe that was all he needed to think.
So he closed his eyes a little and turned his noise into Edwin's chest. He was tired, bloody tired of this fucking day.
He was tired enough to be about to ask what the hell Ed thought he was doing here, but then the point was he was the one not supposed to be here, and really it had been fairly nice of everyone not to comment when he'd come in - except of course for Vida, God love him, who'd said 'Now they drop you from team?", eyes wide and scared-looking, and at least managed to clear the room by means of everyone getting him out of the way before Rio could do something to him that he was well and truly asking for.
He really, really wanted his brain to stop.
In fact, he was concentrating so hard on not concentrating that he didn't notice that something was happening to the back of his neck, something which really felt rather nice. Hm. Edwin seemed to be combing his hair with his fingers. Nice.
Bloody strange too, but then by this time he was well and truly used to the strange. This day aside, the day when Wayne had decided to fill Ronny's locker with fish heads was pretty fucking up there. So really, Edwin patting his back and cradling his head like that when there was a bloody good reason for doing it was completely all right. Not even in the top ten on a strangeness scale.
It also smelled a hell of a lot better than the fish heads, so even if it was strange, it was strange on the winning side for once, instead of strange on the make-the-world-stop-so-I-can-get-off side. When you were all playing for the same team, you weren't allowed to have a losing side. Even when it really, really felt like it, and he was going round in circles again, and it was probably an amazingly good thing that nice as Ed was being, he couldn't actually read minds, because he'd have stopped whatever-it-was he thought he was doing (which was very very nice and he didn't want it to stop) and run away. Probably yelling things about mad people.
Then again, he never did that. Although he had stuffed the fish heads in Wayne's car boot, so you never quite knew.
Hum. Ok, now that was straying a bit into perhaps top-twenty category. Ed's fingers had stopped pressing and were now stroking. Plus slipping a bit under his collar. If Rio had the presence of mind to worry about anything (for his de-concentrating strategy seemed to be working pretty damn well now), he probably would have decided that although it was still winning-strange, it was time to start the world turning again.
Then, of course, Ed had to ruin it himself and send Rio into a stew of wanting-to-kill-something mode again as his fingers stilled and he placed his bony chin on the top of Rio's head.
"I really am sorry, you know," he said.
Rio grunted. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
He jerked back, unbalancing them both slightly and not really caring. "You're sorry, I'm sorry, if we're not bloody careful I'll get a message from sodding Capello saying he's sorry, and then the world really will end. It's a sorry fucking situation, now shut up about it."
It was Edwin's turn to look a bit like a fish, and Rio was damn sure that whatever he was going to say next was not something he was interested in hearing, so he went along with the complete weirdness of the day and kissed him.
In the interests of silence, obviously, even though he realized after about two-hundredths of a second that maybe using his hand to stop any words coming out of Ed's mouth would have been better.
Still, it didn't seem like Ed was protesting much against the substitution. Sure, for the first few seconds it was a bit like snogging a startled flounder, but it got better - in fact, Rio wouldn't be surprised if it became the highlight of his week. Certainly of the fucking day.
(And it was definitely a good way of shutting someone up. Rio would have to file it away for future reference, only for special occasions of course. For example, on Ed and various members of the opposite sex, but not Ronny or Wazza, because with them a boot up the arse worked much better and was infinitely more satisfying.)
And he definitely wasn't kissing the skipper, because just - well, he just wasn't. Ever. He restrained himself from shuddering, because that might give the wrong idea, and it wasn't his fault his mind went off at tangents even when the day was improving.
The other thing that went in a completely new column entitled bloody brilliant ideas I have had, thank you very much, was finding that kissing someone who had freakishly enormous hands (or at least felt freakishly enormous on Rio's back, so same thing) was different in the completely stellar way that different could be when it tried.
"Mmph," he said, and almost giggled again at the thought that that summed up every bloody second of that day. Just depended on the inflection. There was the 'mmph' of surprise, the 'mmph' of righteous anger, the 'mmph' of feigned indifference and the 'mmph' of resignation.
But Edwin's hands were still on his back and now their knees were touching, and he decided that this was the best one by far.
He pressed in closer, so that there was no way it could have been mistaken by anyone passing for just a consolatory hug, and closer still, so that it was obvious he knew what he was doing, and it wasn't because he was pissed off, and it wasn't because he was miserable, and it wasn't because he didn't know what he was doing, and he did not want Edwin to think or say any of those things.
This was what he wanted, and while he hadn't done so well on that for most of this sodding awful day, he was damn well going to make sure it was at least clear this time round that he was going after it with complete intent.
Sometimes you don't seem the type who would care much.
Shows what you know, he thought, kissing Edwin again. That just shows what you know, mate.
FIN
EDIT, AUG. 24TH: Ack, sorry everyone! It appears the Stekelenburg appointment was just a rumor. Giovanni van Bronckhorst has been appointed the new team captain... so, er. I guess this fic is semi-AU now? XD
Authors: co-written by
speak_me_fair and
aka_centimetre2.
Characters/Pairing: Edwin van der Sar/Rio Ferdinand.
Wordcount: 2,013.
Rating: R for language.
Warnings: Slash, language, some angst.
Disclaimer: Not ours. Woe.
Summary: Rio has been passed over for the captaincy of England, and the last thing he wants is Edwin to try and comfort him. Of course, that's exactly what he does... with interesting results.
It was pretty hard to know who was supposed to have been insulted by the brilliant little piece of commentary from the so-called expert on Sky, him or JT. Really hard. Like impossible hard, because what the hell was 'Rio's a great dressing-room captain' supposed to mean?
That's the vice-captain's only job? Ok, yeah, he could swallow that one, but it didn't explain the choice of Mike during Becks's time, because great striker he was, choice of person-to-talk-to-if stressed, worried, bored, or in fact opening mouth? Not usually.
Rio's shite when telling them what to do, but he makes a great mate? JT's a sour bastard off the pitch so they need someone else? Lovely, those options were, and what. The. Fuck?
He couldn't quite stop watching the broadcast, despite the fact he wanted to smash the fucking commentators' faces in. Something about how the fact they were worked up about it made him feel better, or some such bollocks.
The TV was still blaring half an hour later, so he didn't hear Edwin come in. He did hear the keeper's boots clattering in his locker, though, and instantly thought fuck, please god don't let him try to comfort me.
But this was Edwin, so of course the first thing out of his mouth was "Y'alright?"
"What the fuck do you think?" Rio jabbed a finger at the screen, violently stabbing JT's image in the cheek. The LED display flickered. "He doesn't even look like he wants it."
Edwin snorted softly. "Tell me about it. They gave my job to Stekelenburg."
Rio blinked. "They wha'?"
And then, because he was Rio Ferdinand, prankster extraordinaire, and possessed of a worse sense of humour than the Dynamic Duelling Rs together on their most frightening day, he started laughing. It wasn't even funny, but - Stekelenburg? Okay, maybe a bit funny. In a really sick way. "Ok, this is a joke, yeah? We're all going to get little messages in a few hours time, saying 'you didn't believe all that crap, did you, lads?', and -" He subsided, because Edwin was just standing there, and actually looked like he felt sorry for him, or some such crap, and he couldn't be having that. "Yeah. Or not." He swallowed down the last of the giggle-fit.
Edwin tilted his head a little, and Rio bit his lip, bordering on the hysterical. Hysteria wasn't good. Happy hysteria, preferably while holding a piece of shiny silver, was fine - but not this kind. Not when he felt like lashing out at every bloody thing in the vicinity, making no guarantee of their future health.
"Huh," Edwin said, his eyes glinting with a bit of puzzlement, though Rio wasn't sure what there was to be confused about. "You really did want it, didn't you?"
And that stopped every little bit of hysteria dead and cold and completely gone, because what? Even Becks had got that much and had enough sense not to say it, and Becks had been the one made to step down in public and know all about dignity coming from the inside while they were both still thinking about the next little bit of immortality, and could have said all sorts of friendly, understanding things, and hadn't, because right now world order had been turned upside down and fucking David Beckham had more intelligence than Rio's own bloody goalkeeper.
He thought he probably looked a bit like a fish, because his mouth kept opening and closing on its own. "Er," he managed at last, and then, helpfully, "Um."
He thought a minute about something to say that wouldn't involve screaming. "Yeah?" he volunteered at last, as nicely as he could, because if he was losing his marbles, Edwin had obviously completely fucking torn up the plot and left it in his car.
Immediately Edwin's face contorted into a frown, exactly the sort of frown Rio had seen on fucking everyone all day long attached to their condolences and complaints, and which he really, really hadn't wanted to see again.
"Sorry," Edwin said, and there it was, the note of remonstration that made his ears hurt. Ed stepped forward and sat on the bench with Rio, straddling it, his hands on his knees. "Just - sometimes you don't seem the type who would care much. Y'know?"
No, actually. Rio didn't effing know. And he didn't want to think about it any more, he didn't want to think about Becks or Capello or JT or those fucking commentators any more. He just didn't.
He wanted to say Yeah, cos you must have noticed how I was really so good at letting it all go when Gaz was having whatever fucking problems belong to Gaz, and Giggsy kept wandering off into his own little world, and just what are you on about? , but he had enough sense to know it wasn't Ed he wanted to say any of that to. Well, he did, because he wanted to say it, but -
"Aaargh," he said coherently, and thumped his head, not particularly gently, onto Edwin's shoulder. "Ow," he added, because the wall might actually have hurt him less, even if it wouldn't have made his point of shut up quite as effectively. "Bony bastard."
Edwin's torso shook once with a silent chuckle. "What, and you think you've got a soft head? I'll be bruised for a week. Idiot."
Now it was degenerating into a bloody circus, but Rio liked it. Maybe it was all a circus, the whole stupid thing, the articles and the lottery and the bookies lining up to write down his or JT's name. Maybe that was all he needed to think.
So he closed his eyes a little and turned his noise into Edwin's chest. He was tired, bloody tired of this fucking day.
He was tired enough to be about to ask what the hell Ed thought he was doing here, but then the point was he was the one not supposed to be here, and really it had been fairly nice of everyone not to comment when he'd come in - except of course for Vida, God love him, who'd said 'Now they drop you from team?", eyes wide and scared-looking, and at least managed to clear the room by means of everyone getting him out of the way before Rio could do something to him that he was well and truly asking for.
He really, really wanted his brain to stop.
In fact, he was concentrating so hard on not concentrating that he didn't notice that something was happening to the back of his neck, something which really felt rather nice. Hm. Edwin seemed to be combing his hair with his fingers. Nice.
Bloody strange too, but then by this time he was well and truly used to the strange. This day aside, the day when Wayne had decided to fill Ronny's locker with fish heads was pretty fucking up there. So really, Edwin patting his back and cradling his head like that when there was a bloody good reason for doing it was completely all right. Not even in the top ten on a strangeness scale.
It also smelled a hell of a lot better than the fish heads, so even if it was strange, it was strange on the winning side for once, instead of strange on the make-the-world-stop-so-I-can-get-off side. When you were all playing for the same team, you weren't allowed to have a losing side. Even when it really, really felt like it, and he was going round in circles again, and it was probably an amazingly good thing that nice as Ed was being, he couldn't actually read minds, because he'd have stopped whatever-it-was he thought he was doing (which was very very nice and he didn't want it to stop) and run away. Probably yelling things about mad people.
Then again, he never did that. Although he had stuffed the fish heads in Wayne's car boot, so you never quite knew.
Hum. Ok, now that was straying a bit into perhaps top-twenty category. Ed's fingers had stopped pressing and were now stroking. Plus slipping a bit under his collar. If Rio had the presence of mind to worry about anything (for his de-concentrating strategy seemed to be working pretty damn well now), he probably would have decided that although it was still winning-strange, it was time to start the world turning again.
Then, of course, Ed had to ruin it himself and send Rio into a stew of wanting-to-kill-something mode again as his fingers stilled and he placed his bony chin on the top of Rio's head.
"I really am sorry, you know," he said.
Rio grunted. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
He jerked back, unbalancing them both slightly and not really caring. "You're sorry, I'm sorry, if we're not bloody careful I'll get a message from sodding Capello saying he's sorry, and then the world really will end. It's a sorry fucking situation, now shut up about it."
It was Edwin's turn to look a bit like a fish, and Rio was damn sure that whatever he was going to say next was not something he was interested in hearing, so he went along with the complete weirdness of the day and kissed him.
In the interests of silence, obviously, even though he realized after about two-hundredths of a second that maybe using his hand to stop any words coming out of Ed's mouth would have been better.
Still, it didn't seem like Ed was protesting much against the substitution. Sure, for the first few seconds it was a bit like snogging a startled flounder, but it got better - in fact, Rio wouldn't be surprised if it became the highlight of his week. Certainly of the fucking day.
(And it was definitely a good way of shutting someone up. Rio would have to file it away for future reference, only for special occasions of course. For example, on Ed and various members of the opposite sex, but not Ronny or Wazza, because with them a boot up the arse worked much better and was infinitely more satisfying.)
And he definitely wasn't kissing the skipper, because just - well, he just wasn't. Ever. He restrained himself from shuddering, because that might give the wrong idea, and it wasn't his fault his mind went off at tangents even when the day was improving.
The other thing that went in a completely new column entitled bloody brilliant ideas I have had, thank you very much, was finding that kissing someone who had freakishly enormous hands (or at least felt freakishly enormous on Rio's back, so same thing) was different in the completely stellar way that different could be when it tried.
"Mmph," he said, and almost giggled again at the thought that that summed up every bloody second of that day. Just depended on the inflection. There was the 'mmph' of surprise, the 'mmph' of righteous anger, the 'mmph' of feigned indifference and the 'mmph' of resignation.
But Edwin's hands were still on his back and now their knees were touching, and he decided that this was the best one by far.
He pressed in closer, so that there was no way it could have been mistaken by anyone passing for just a consolatory hug, and closer still, so that it was obvious he knew what he was doing, and it wasn't because he was pissed off, and it wasn't because he was miserable, and it wasn't because he didn't know what he was doing, and he did not want Edwin to think or say any of those things.
This was what he wanted, and while he hadn't done so well on that for most of this sodding awful day, he was damn well going to make sure it was at least clear this time round that he was going after it with complete intent.
Sometimes you don't seem the type who would care much.
Shows what you know, he thought, kissing Edwin again. That just shows what you know, mate.
FIN
EDIT, AUG. 24TH: Ack, sorry everyone! It appears the Stekelenburg appointment was just a rumor. Giovanni van Bronckhorst has been appointed the new team captain... so, er. I guess this fic is semi-AU now? XD