fanfic: Room Service
Title: Room Service
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS
Disclaimer: The boys are not mine, alas. I'm just playing with them. I don't claim to know them and this quite possibly didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Pairing: Manuel Neuer/Clemens Fritz
Rating: PG-13
Summary: On the 17th matchday, Schalke 04 loses the autumn championship to Werder Bremen because of a goalkeeper mistake against Bielefeld. Werder is very thankful.
Warnings: future-fic, but possibly AU; crack
Word Count: 1,083
For: rotschopf, without whom this would not have been written because I'd have chased the silly bunny away. *is all innocent*
My eternal thanks go to my darling berne for the faster than light beta! <3!
*****
There were quite a few things Manuel Neuer would have expected on the doorstep of his hotel room the night after Schalke's loss against Bielefeld. Parcel bombs for instance. Angry teammates armed with buckets of cold water. Or Frank Rost armed with malicious glee.
Schalke had had the chance to become this season's autumn champions, and even though they couldn't really buy anything with that title, it would have been good news for fans and sponsors. A sign of success to produce when the critics spoke up again, because seriously, nothing would ever be enough for them.
But no. The 17th matchday was over, Schalke had lost to Bielefeld and the title was Werder Bremen's, their closest persecutor's. And all because of him. All because of that damn mistake he had made. He had stood too far outside of the goal when Bielefeld attacked in the last minute of the match, and when he had still been racking his brains about what to do about it, Wichniarek had already dribbled around him and slid the ball home, as if it were the easiest thing on earth.
A remis would have been enough. A loss wasn't and could never be. They were right to blame him, and he felt horrible about it. Slomka had given him his trust and he had stood up against the critics who preferred experience to youth. He had even stood up against the critics within his own squad for him. And he, Manuel, had not been able to prove himself worthy of that trust, that chance. He had blown it in the worst minute of everything in history ever.
So when he heard someone knock on his hotel room door in the middle of the night - or rather, at three a.m. in the morning, but what was the difference? - he seriously contemplated not opening. He contemplated pretending to be asleep, hoping that whoever it was would decide that it wasn't worth waiting.
However, when he heard that soft voice calling his name on the other side of the door, he reconsidered. On the one hand, he couldn't imagine infernal titans to have a voice like that, so the chance of getting beaten up wasn't too high. On the other hand, there were the laws of camouflage. And if it was a woman, she could still scratch his eyes out with her fingernails.
But he was curious. If he didn't answer the door, the question of who it could have been would haunt him for the rest of his life. And what did he have to lose? The team was obviously better off without him.
Suppressing a sigh, he got out of his bed and stepped towards the door.
"Manuel Neuer?" The person outside seemed quite persistent. "Are you there? It's room service!"
Room service? In the middle of the night? He couldn't believe it.
"I'm there," he said through the door, his voice unusually thick. "You can't be serious. Room service at this time of night?"
"I'm so sorry," it came from the other side of the door. "But I didn't manage to come here any faster. I did my best. Please let me in, I'm freezing my rear out here!"
Manuel started. No, that couldn't be a woman. Which would mean that his eyes were safe.
"All right," he said eventually, grabbed the key and unlocked the door.
A second later, he realised that his eyes weren't really that safe because they almost would have fallen out when he saw who the disturber was.
It was no postman with a parcel bomb. It wasn't one of his teammates, either. And most certainly not Frank Rost. No, it was Werder Bremen's defender Clemens Fritz wrapped in a foot-length leather coat with a furry hood, which apparently didn't help against the cold in any way, judging from his face.
"So sorry," he muttered through the fur of his hood as he walked past Manuel into the room, "to disturb you at this time of night, but my team sent me here."
In a corner of his mind, it occured to Manuel that he should maybe stop staring open-mouthedly at the defender but close the door, which he did quickly before looking at Clemens again.
The Werder player was currently sitting on the floor with his hands in his rucksack, obviously looking for something. Finally, he produced an envelope and handed it to Manuel.
There was a little card in it, white, with green letters.
Thanks for the autumn championship! Hope you like our present! Greetings, the Werder squad.
"Present?" Manuel frowned.
Clemens cleared his throat. "Yes. Uhm. You see, the club spent all their money on that Brazilian midfield eddy we have, so we couldn't hire you anyone. Which is why they sent me, and..." He blushed slightly. "Well, I hope I can make up for it."
"Hire me someone?" Manuel didn't understand. "But who? And what for?"
Clemens winked at him. "You'll see. You know, there is a reason why I almost froze on your doorstep." Without taking his eyes off the goalkeeper, he slowly started unbuttoning his coat.
Manuel swallowed thickly as he acknowledged what Clemens was wearing underneath - which wasn't exactly a lot. Apart from the football shoes and the Werder socks, there was nothing, nothing usual about his clothing. He didn't wear any trousers, just that hint of underwear which Manuel betted was a thong and which made him swallow even more thickly. His chest was bare, too, and there was this tiny titan ring in his left nipple.
"Oh God."
Manuel didn't even realise that he had said that out loud. He blushed fiercely, and his gaze dropped to the floor, embarrassed about everything all at once.
Clemens grinned. "Oh, just call me Clemens. Or Fritzi, if you like."
He took a couple of steps towards Manuel and put his hands flat onto the keeper's chest to push him towards the bed. His hands were cold, but that wasn't exactly the reason why the touch made Manuel shiver. God, he couldn't even think anymore.
"I... I don't know if..."
One last, feeble attempt to be reasonable, but Clemens quietened him by putting a finger onto the younger man's lips. "Hush now," he whispered. "If this is the only chance I have with you, I want to make good use of it." And with a wide grin, he pushed Manuel onto the bed before locking their lips in a deep, wet kiss.
Manuel didn't say a thing until the following morning.
Nothing coherent, at least.
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS
Disclaimer: The boys are not mine, alas. I'm just playing with them. I don't claim to know them and this quite possibly didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Pairing: Manuel Neuer/Clemens Fritz
Rating: PG-13
Summary: On the 17th matchday, Schalke 04 loses the autumn championship to Werder Bremen because of a goalkeeper mistake against Bielefeld. Werder is very thankful.
Warnings: future-fic, but possibly AU; crack
Word Count: 1,083
For: rotschopf, without whom this would not have been written because I'd have chased the silly bunny away. *is all innocent*
My eternal thanks go to my darling berne for the faster than light beta! <3!
*****
There were quite a few things Manuel Neuer would have expected on the doorstep of his hotel room the night after Schalke's loss against Bielefeld. Parcel bombs for instance. Angry teammates armed with buckets of cold water. Or Frank Rost armed with malicious glee.
Schalke had had the chance to become this season's autumn champions, and even though they couldn't really buy anything with that title, it would have been good news for fans and sponsors. A sign of success to produce when the critics spoke up again, because seriously, nothing would ever be enough for them.
But no. The 17th matchday was over, Schalke had lost to Bielefeld and the title was Werder Bremen's, their closest persecutor's. And all because of him. All because of that damn mistake he had made. He had stood too far outside of the goal when Bielefeld attacked in the last minute of the match, and when he had still been racking his brains about what to do about it, Wichniarek had already dribbled around him and slid the ball home, as if it were the easiest thing on earth.
A remis would have been enough. A loss wasn't and could never be. They were right to blame him, and he felt horrible about it. Slomka had given him his trust and he had stood up against the critics who preferred experience to youth. He had even stood up against the critics within his own squad for him. And he, Manuel, had not been able to prove himself worthy of that trust, that chance. He had blown it in the worst minute of everything in history ever.
So when he heard someone knock on his hotel room door in the middle of the night - or rather, at three a.m. in the morning, but what was the difference? - he seriously contemplated not opening. He contemplated pretending to be asleep, hoping that whoever it was would decide that it wasn't worth waiting.
However, when he heard that soft voice calling his name on the other side of the door, he reconsidered. On the one hand, he couldn't imagine infernal titans to have a voice like that, so the chance of getting beaten up wasn't too high. On the other hand, there were the laws of camouflage. And if it was a woman, she could still scratch his eyes out with her fingernails.
But he was curious. If he didn't answer the door, the question of who it could have been would haunt him for the rest of his life. And what did he have to lose? The team was obviously better off without him.
Suppressing a sigh, he got out of his bed and stepped towards the door.
"Manuel Neuer?" The person outside seemed quite persistent. "Are you there? It's room service!"
Room service? In the middle of the night? He couldn't believe it.
"I'm there," he said through the door, his voice unusually thick. "You can't be serious. Room service at this time of night?"
"I'm so sorry," it came from the other side of the door. "But I didn't manage to come here any faster. I did my best. Please let me in, I'm freezing my rear out here!"
Manuel started. No, that couldn't be a woman. Which would mean that his eyes were safe.
"All right," he said eventually, grabbed the key and unlocked the door.
A second later, he realised that his eyes weren't really that safe because they almost would have fallen out when he saw who the disturber was.
It was no postman with a parcel bomb. It wasn't one of his teammates, either. And most certainly not Frank Rost. No, it was Werder Bremen's defender Clemens Fritz wrapped in a foot-length leather coat with a furry hood, which apparently didn't help against the cold in any way, judging from his face.
"So sorry," he muttered through the fur of his hood as he walked past Manuel into the room, "to disturb you at this time of night, but my team sent me here."
In a corner of his mind, it occured to Manuel that he should maybe stop staring open-mouthedly at the defender but close the door, which he did quickly before looking at Clemens again.
The Werder player was currently sitting on the floor with his hands in his rucksack, obviously looking for something. Finally, he produced an envelope and handed it to Manuel.
There was a little card in it, white, with green letters.
Thanks for the autumn championship! Hope you like our present! Greetings, the Werder squad.
"Present?" Manuel frowned.
Clemens cleared his throat. "Yes. Uhm. You see, the club spent all their money on that Brazilian midfield eddy we have, so we couldn't hire you anyone. Which is why they sent me, and..." He blushed slightly. "Well, I hope I can make up for it."
"Hire me someone?" Manuel didn't understand. "But who? And what for?"
Clemens winked at him. "You'll see. You know, there is a reason why I almost froze on your doorstep." Without taking his eyes off the goalkeeper, he slowly started unbuttoning his coat.
Manuel swallowed thickly as he acknowledged what Clemens was wearing underneath - which wasn't exactly a lot. Apart from the football shoes and the Werder socks, there was nothing, nothing usual about his clothing. He didn't wear any trousers, just that hint of underwear which Manuel betted was a thong and which made him swallow even more thickly. His chest was bare, too, and there was this tiny titan ring in his left nipple.
"Oh God."
Manuel didn't even realise that he had said that out loud. He blushed fiercely, and his gaze dropped to the floor, embarrassed about everything all at once.
Clemens grinned. "Oh, just call me Clemens. Or Fritzi, if you like."
He took a couple of steps towards Manuel and put his hands flat onto the keeper's chest to push him towards the bed. His hands were cold, but that wasn't exactly the reason why the touch made Manuel shiver. God, he couldn't even think anymore.
"I... I don't know if..."
One last, feeble attempt to be reasonable, but Clemens quietened him by putting a finger onto the younger man's lips. "Hush now," he whispered. "If this is the only chance I have with you, I want to make good use of it." And with a wide grin, he pushed Manuel onto the bed before locking their lips in a deep, wet kiss.
Manuel didn't say a thing until the following morning.
Nothing coherent, at least.