[Fic - Edwin van der Sar x Ruud van Nistelrooy] [You Will Find Me]
Title: You Will Find Me
Rating: R
Pairing: Edwin van der Sar x Ruud van Nistelrooy
Disclaimer: This is a work of complete fiction.
Notes: Originally posted as part of the third issue of cornerflag. The story has also been crossposted to the_orangerie
i
He watches as the Oranje implodes, what else is new, he thinks cynically, the sense of impending defeat leaving its bitter taste in his mouth. For a brief instant, he is torn, unable to decide which is worse - being on the pitch with his teammates, party to what is surely to become one of the biggest debacles in modern football, or being exiled to the bench, with no chance whatsover to contribute.
Marco stands on the sidelines, rubbing his jaw in bemusement as one after another of his players are sent off for seemingly inexplicable reasons. Some part of Ruud viciously thinks that the manager had it coming, that he deserves this humiliation as a just reward for not having selected him for the game. But there is Edwin, his unflappable exterior crumbling as he lets the tears fall, disappointment showing through as the Oranje fails (again) and suddenly, his own issues seem so petty and small.
"You won't change your mind?" Edwin asks but he sounds more resigned than hopeful.
Ruud exhales noisily. "I thought you'd know better than to ask."
"Well, I had to try," Edwin replies, then continues, "Besides, it's just not the same without you."
Ruud can't help but scowl then, hating how Edwin can make him feel guilty; his retirement seeming more like desertion with every passing minute.
"I've spoken to Marco," Edwin says to him over the phone, "He'd really like it if you came back."
"What, so now he's sorry?" Ruud asks immediately, feeling slightly betrayed by the idea of Edwin talking about him to Marco behind his back. "Is he finally going to admit that he was wrong?"
"You know he doesn't work that way," Edwin replies a little regretfully and Ruud suppresses the temptation to lash out at Edwin. "But he's willing to talk if you are."
Ruuds snorts in a most ungracious manner, telling Edwin just precisely what he thinks about that suggestion.
"If it makes you any happier, he'll call you first," Edwin continues, making it clear that that the phone call will be the best approximation of an apology that Marco will offer. "The team wants you back. Shouldn't that be enough?"
"..."
"I want you back in the team."
There it is and Ruud curses the fact that it had to be Edwin doing the asking (almost begging, a small voice inside him says).
"It wouldn't hurt for you to hear him out," Edwin bargains, "You can still tell him 'no'."
"Fine. I'll think about it," he mutters, figuring that he owes Edwin at least that much.
Edwin changes the topic after that, sparing his pride, but of course, the both of them know what the final outcome will be.
Afterward, after he promises Marco that he'll be available for team selection again, Ruud wonders what else would he do for Edwin if he asked.
As expected, the press creates a big sensation over his decision to play for the Oranje again, like a man resurrected from the dead. The team greets him warmly, the difficulties of the past few months forgotten, discarded in the face of their new aim of qualifying for the Euros. He patiently smiles through the mind-numbing interviews with their inane questions and the blinding flash of the cameras.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can spot a familiar small figure bouncing on the sidelines. Joe waves enthusiastically at him and Ruud's mood shifts for the better immediately. He strolls over to the boy during the break, absently wondering if Edwin's hair was that same shade of pale blond in his youth.
Halfway through their conversation, Joe points to where his father is watching them, a grin on his face. Ruud makes sure that they make eye contact, then turns slowly and deliberately, his back to Edwin. The message is loud and clear: See, I can behave myself if I want to.
He can't see it of course, but he can sense Edwin laughing despite the distance between them.
"You were right," he says in a low voice, refusing to meet Edwin's gaze as he fiddles with his boots. "I did miss this."
Not surprisingly, there are no reproaches, no smug "I told you so", only a firm hand gripping his shoulder and a warm smile as Edwin says, "It's good to have you back."
He pauses, head tipped to one side as he ponders an internal question. "Besides, it's always better when you're around." There's an odd look in Edwin's eyes as he says the words, but he doesn't elaborate further.
Something clicks in Ruud's brain then and he takes a step back, questioning their friendship for the first time.
"What?" Edwin asks.
Ruud licks his lips, hoping that he's not reading things wrongly. "Would you have done it for anybody else?" he asks.
Edwin draws in a deep breath, a wary look on his face.
"Would you?" Ruud asks again, feeling the urgency in his voice.
"No," Edwin answers finally. "I wouldn't have bothered."
He corrects himself, "Well, I wouldn't have tried that hard."
"Why?"
The reply is typically Edwin - calm, succinct, reasonable and Ruud wonders how he's missed this all these years, "Because I'd do it only for you."
Ruud steps forward then and drags Edwin's head down to press his mouth to his lips. Edwin doesn't disappoint him, pressing their bodies closer together as he walks him backward towards the lockers, a hand sliding down to grasp his hip in an unmistakably possessive manner.
He has always thought of himself as the person in the Oranje who knows Edwin best. But clearly, he was wrong. Because he's never seen (and felt) this side of Edwin before - his warm body cradled between Ruud's hips, tongue trailing a wet line down his throat, pure lust in his eyes as he threads his fingers through Ruud's hair before bringing their lips together once again. There is pain of course when Edwin slides slowly into him, and he's sure to regret it the next morning, but Ruud does not care. He pushes back against Edwin, urging him on, only too glad that it is Edwin, and not him doing the taking for once.
ii
They are overrun within the first few minutes of the match; the rhythm that they built from the past three matches deserting them at the most crucial juncture. Ruud feels a sense of déjà vu descend upon him, that sensation of disaster lurking just around the corner. But he spots the lone figure at the opposite end of the pitch and doesn't give up, thinking that at least somebody should try to salvage something from this game. After, he thinks bitterly to himself, perhaps a one-nil loss would have been preferable and he tells Edwin so. Edwin's hand pauses from where he's been absently stroking Ruud's hair (a familiar feeling) and he shakes his head, "No, it's all right, the score doesn't matter."
Something in Ruud breaks when Edwin dredges up some inner strength somewhere to smile that crooked smile of his to say, "It was thirty more minutes on the pitch with all of you."
Ruud stares at Edwin, trying to find something that could ease the pain, some way to repay Edwin for all that he's done for them but there is nothing, and he is left silently screaming at the injustice of it all. He can only manage a feeble, "You don't have to retire you know," hating himself for sounding like a petulant, needy child.
"Don't be silly. I've had more than ten years. It's quite enough," Edwin says, sounding tired.
Unspoken regret weighs heavily in the air. It had to be enough, after all, there is to be no more.
Ruud laughs as he reads the newspaper reports about Edwin's extended holiday. I see you need more rest in your old age, he texts.
It's not old age, it's my just reward after all those years of listening to you lot squabble, Edwin replies and Ruud grins to himself, even as he wishes that he can be there with Edwin, just the two of them basking under the warm tropical sun.
They find themselve revisiting a familiar theme soon enough.
"Why?" Edwin asks. "They still need you."
"I'm not getting any younger," he reminds Edwin.
"That's not an answer. Why?"
Ruud shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's not the same, not without you."
"You shouldn't have done that."
"But I wanted to."
There is a long silence from the other end. Then, Edwin quietly says, "Thank you."
Perhaps the game is meaningless now that he can no longer feel the warm weight of Edwin's arm around his shoulder anymore, Ruud thinks.
end
Rating: R
Pairing: Edwin van der Sar x Ruud van Nistelrooy
Disclaimer: This is a work of complete fiction.
Notes: Originally posted as part of the third issue of cornerflag. The story has also been crossposted to the_orangerie
i
He watches as the Oranje implodes, what else is new, he thinks cynically, the sense of impending defeat leaving its bitter taste in his mouth. For a brief instant, he is torn, unable to decide which is worse - being on the pitch with his teammates, party to what is surely to become one of the biggest debacles in modern football, or being exiled to the bench, with no chance whatsover to contribute.
Marco stands on the sidelines, rubbing his jaw in bemusement as one after another of his players are sent off for seemingly inexplicable reasons. Some part of Ruud viciously thinks that the manager had it coming, that he deserves this humiliation as a just reward for not having selected him for the game. But there is Edwin, his unflappable exterior crumbling as he lets the tears fall, disappointment showing through as the Oranje fails (again) and suddenly, his own issues seem so petty and small.
"You won't change your mind?" Edwin asks but he sounds more resigned than hopeful.
Ruud exhales noisily. "I thought you'd know better than to ask."
"Well, I had to try," Edwin replies, then continues, "Besides, it's just not the same without you."
Ruud can't help but scowl then, hating how Edwin can make him feel guilty; his retirement seeming more like desertion with every passing minute.
"I've spoken to Marco," Edwin says to him over the phone, "He'd really like it if you came back."
"What, so now he's sorry?" Ruud asks immediately, feeling slightly betrayed by the idea of Edwin talking about him to Marco behind his back. "Is he finally going to admit that he was wrong?"
"You know he doesn't work that way," Edwin replies a little regretfully and Ruud suppresses the temptation to lash out at Edwin. "But he's willing to talk if you are."
Ruuds snorts in a most ungracious manner, telling Edwin just precisely what he thinks about that suggestion.
"If it makes you any happier, he'll call you first," Edwin continues, making it clear that that the phone call will be the best approximation of an apology that Marco will offer. "The team wants you back. Shouldn't that be enough?"
"..."
"I want you back in the team."
There it is and Ruud curses the fact that it had to be Edwin doing the asking (almost begging, a small voice inside him says).
"It wouldn't hurt for you to hear him out," Edwin bargains, "You can still tell him 'no'."
"Fine. I'll think about it," he mutters, figuring that he owes Edwin at least that much.
Edwin changes the topic after that, sparing his pride, but of course, the both of them know what the final outcome will be.
Afterward, after he promises Marco that he'll be available for team selection again, Ruud wonders what else would he do for Edwin if he asked.
As expected, the press creates a big sensation over his decision to play for the Oranje again, like a man resurrected from the dead. The team greets him warmly, the difficulties of the past few months forgotten, discarded in the face of their new aim of qualifying for the Euros. He patiently smiles through the mind-numbing interviews with their inane questions and the blinding flash of the cameras.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can spot a familiar small figure bouncing on the sidelines. Joe waves enthusiastically at him and Ruud's mood shifts for the better immediately. He strolls over to the boy during the break, absently wondering if Edwin's hair was that same shade of pale blond in his youth.
Halfway through their conversation, Joe points to where his father is watching them, a grin on his face. Ruud makes sure that they make eye contact, then turns slowly and deliberately, his back to Edwin. The message is loud and clear: See, I can behave myself if I want to.
He can't see it of course, but he can sense Edwin laughing despite the distance between them.
"You were right," he says in a low voice, refusing to meet Edwin's gaze as he fiddles with his boots. "I did miss this."
Not surprisingly, there are no reproaches, no smug "I told you so", only a firm hand gripping his shoulder and a warm smile as Edwin says, "It's good to have you back."
He pauses, head tipped to one side as he ponders an internal question. "Besides, it's always better when you're around." There's an odd look in Edwin's eyes as he says the words, but he doesn't elaborate further.
Something clicks in Ruud's brain then and he takes a step back, questioning their friendship for the first time.
"What?" Edwin asks.
Ruud licks his lips, hoping that he's not reading things wrongly. "Would you have done it for anybody else?" he asks.
Edwin draws in a deep breath, a wary look on his face.
"Would you?" Ruud asks again, feeling the urgency in his voice.
"No," Edwin answers finally. "I wouldn't have bothered."
He corrects himself, "Well, I wouldn't have tried that hard."
"Why?"
The reply is typically Edwin - calm, succinct, reasonable and Ruud wonders how he's missed this all these years, "Because I'd do it only for you."
Ruud steps forward then and drags Edwin's head down to press his mouth to his lips. Edwin doesn't disappoint him, pressing their bodies closer together as he walks him backward towards the lockers, a hand sliding down to grasp his hip in an unmistakably possessive manner.
He has always thought of himself as the person in the Oranje who knows Edwin best. But clearly, he was wrong. Because he's never seen (and felt) this side of Edwin before - his warm body cradled between Ruud's hips, tongue trailing a wet line down his throat, pure lust in his eyes as he threads his fingers through Ruud's hair before bringing their lips together once again. There is pain of course when Edwin slides slowly into him, and he's sure to regret it the next morning, but Ruud does not care. He pushes back against Edwin, urging him on, only too glad that it is Edwin, and not him doing the taking for once.
ii
They are overrun within the first few minutes of the match; the rhythm that they built from the past three matches deserting them at the most crucial juncture. Ruud feels a sense of déjà vu descend upon him, that sensation of disaster lurking just around the corner. But he spots the lone figure at the opposite end of the pitch and doesn't give up, thinking that at least somebody should try to salvage something from this game. After, he thinks bitterly to himself, perhaps a one-nil loss would have been preferable and he tells Edwin so. Edwin's hand pauses from where he's been absently stroking Ruud's hair (a familiar feeling) and he shakes his head, "No, it's all right, the score doesn't matter."
Something in Ruud breaks when Edwin dredges up some inner strength somewhere to smile that crooked smile of his to say, "It was thirty more minutes on the pitch with all of you."
Ruud stares at Edwin, trying to find something that could ease the pain, some way to repay Edwin for all that he's done for them but there is nothing, and he is left silently screaming at the injustice of it all. He can only manage a feeble, "You don't have to retire you know," hating himself for sounding like a petulant, needy child.
"Don't be silly. I've had more than ten years. It's quite enough," Edwin says, sounding tired.
Unspoken regret weighs heavily in the air. It had to be enough, after all, there is to be no more.
Ruud laughs as he reads the newspaper reports about Edwin's extended holiday. I see you need more rest in your old age, he texts.
It's not old age, it's my just reward after all those years of listening to you lot squabble, Edwin replies and Ruud grins to himself, even as he wishes that he can be there with Edwin, just the two of them basking under the warm tropical sun.
They find themselve revisiting a familiar theme soon enough.
"Why?" Edwin asks. "They still need you."
"I'm not getting any younger," he reminds Edwin.
"That's not an answer. Why?"
Ruud shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's not the same, not without you."
"You shouldn't have done that."
"But I wanted to."
There is a long silence from the other end. Then, Edwin quietly says, "Thank you."
Perhaps the game is meaningless now that he can no longer feel the warm weight of Edwin's arm around his shoulder anymore, Ruud thinks.
end