Sympathy for the Devils, part 10
Disclaimer: F-A-L-S-E spells false. Previous part here.
Summary: Ed wants to spend more time with his newfound groupie. That could mean trouble. R. Violence, adult concepts.
Ruud woke up after a long, deep sleep, and, when he saw Ed was not by his side, he rubbed his eyes, thinking, once again, that perhaps it just had been his wild imagination.
Even so, he thought, as he rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling, it had been one hell of a dream. Perhaps the best dream of his entire life. He could still feel it-Edwin’s lean body against his while they fucked, his long cock on his hands as he tried to make the guitarist come, his smooth back with the tattoo… and the waves of pleasure that washed over him when he came, filling Ed with his semen, and how the blonde had come too, all over his hand, before falling asleep in his arms, in his warm embrace…
“Morning,” came a familiar voice.
Ruud turned over with a start-God, it certainly hadn’t been a dream, he thought, when, blinking, he saw a naked Ed, covered only with the guitar that slung from his back, standing by the side of the bed.
“So you play, too?” the guitarist kept talking. “And a classic black-and-white Strat, huh? Nice choice.”
The dark-haired man only swallowed-yes, he could not deny it was a very nice way of waking up, but that image-Edwin’s messy hair and sparkling blue eyes (he surely knows what’s the effect he has on me), joined by his naked torso, and the guitar-my guitar-the only barrier between him and the guitarist’s dick…
Ruud had to concentrate in not getting hard again. It seemed almost embarrassing to him.
Meanwhile, Ed was completely nonchalant-in fact, he’d started playing something in an absentminded way, and Ruud relished on his long fingers all over the fretboard, going up and down, up and down, even though the guitar was unplugged and the sound was absolutely faint. Yet, what else could he ask for, if it wasn’t a private concert, in his own room, after a wonderful night…?
“I also see you have many magazines,” Ed spoke, and the playing stopped. “Seems like you’re a devoted fan.”
“Yes,” Ruud answered, blushing madly. “I… I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I saw you at the Ajax club.”
Edwin said nothing, but his smile grew broader. That feeling of being admired was sweeping again on him, and it felt nice. For a second he even felt sorry he had to leave this man.
“Thanks,” he finally answered, after a while, and turned around to leave the Strat in its place. Ruud sat a little more upright on the bed when the guitarist turned around-he certainly didn’t want to miss anything of this man’s beauty, like his back, his ass… the bruises on his hips?
“Edwin…” he started out, feeling a little awkward at what he had just seen: “Are you ok?”
Ed had just left the guitar leaning against the wall where he had found it, and, even though he had not turned to face Ruud, he knew what his fan was looking at. A small, bitter smile found its way into his hidden face. Huh. Even though he’d been complacent with Marco, and his advisor had not beaten him, it looked as it his aggressiveness in sex had not diminished. His grip was still bruising and controlling, but Ed had grown used to it.
An idea finally found a way into his brain.
“You don’t remember?” he said, while he looked for his jeans on the clothes heap on the floor. “It was you, Ruud, last night-you suddenly got a little too passionate. But that’s ok. It’s not like that hurt me.”
“Oh,” Ruud blinked-he didn’t remember that. In fact, he remembered he had been careful, very careful-but, then again, how could you trust your feverish body while fucking the man you’ve dreamed about for years?
“Sorry, Edwin. Really.”
“Don’t be.” Phew.
As the guitarist finished putting on his jeans, Ruud crawled out of bed. Even after the sex he felt strange, naked in front of a rockstar-Ed noticed that and laughed.
“Come on, man. Why so shy? We already fucked and you have a great body.”
The compliment made Ruud blush madly as he went looking for some clean underwear-and Edwin laughed even more.
They shared breakfast as if they had been an actual couple, Ruud still nervous because he didn’t know what Ed would like-the guitarist, for his part, argued that he had known too many buffets in his travels, and that he just wanted a normal breakfast. Ruud complied-it felt good, to be cooking for this man, and when Edwin ate the omelet his fan had taken and said it had been great, he blushed for the millionth time in a day.
After breakfast and washing dishes, Edwin got up.
“So… guess I’ll be seeing you when we come back to England to close the tour?”
“Definitely,” Ruud said, looking at the door. God, now it felt so wrong, imagining this man was going to walk out of his flat and very likely out of his life…
“Thanks for everything, then.” Edwin had grabbed his leather jacket, which had been forgotten on the living room the night before, in the midst of their passion.
“No, thank you,” Ruud said, trying to sound as calm as possible. He couldn’t get down on his knees and beg Edwin to stay with him, could he? No. That would be undignified, selfish, and idiotic. No, he couldn’t…
Ed then enveloped his fan in a hug-damn, he was also so reluctant to leave this man. Hot, handsome, devoted… what else could he ask for? Edwin knew very well these encounters didn’t last forever, so… why not make it last a little longer? Mr. Ruud deserved it.
“Hey,” he suddenly said, letting go of the dark-haired man. “Just had an idea. Why don’t you go to the show we’re going to hold for the David Beckham fanclub?”
“You’re having a show for the Beckham fanclub?”
“Yeah,” Ed giggled. “The girl who represents them went yesterday to the signing and almost begged-so we agreed. The tour was moved then to tomorrow morning, but no big deal. Fergie, the manager, fixed everything for us.”
Ruud scratched his head. “But I’m not a David Beckham fan. I don’t have a pass.”
“That’s why you’re coming with me,” Edwin winked.
Immediately, the dark-haired man beamed.
“Yes. I’ll go.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you again tonight. So, no goodbyes until then.”
“Perfect, Edwin.”
When the guitarist left the building and took a cab to the hotel where they all were staying, he was already expecting what was going to happen when he had to face Marco.
That was what had motivated him to keep Ruud by his side. After all the abuse he’d had to go through, he felt his fan was some kind of reward, something he had a right to. Why not have some sex he actually enjoyed? Some sex in which the other man actually bothered to make it pleasurable for him?
And God, with that cock… if I could drag him everywhere I would…
He finally went inside the hotel and up to the floor where their rooms were. Of course, the floor was deserted, reserved only for them-and the doors to the luxurious suites were all open, except for Fergie’s, of course.
He looked into all of them-Wayne was channel-surfing, and had a half-empty bottle of whiskey by his side already, even though it was just past noon. On the next one, that Gigi and Pavel shared, Ed could see the frail body of the blonde junkie lying on the bed, fast asleep. The Italian was sitting at his feet, playing some random chords.
“How is he?” Edwin asked, nodding towards the bed.
Gigi looked up. His playing stopped, as he signaled to his left-that was when Ed noticed the room didn’t have a TV.
“Snorted coke yesterday while we were at the signing,” Gianluigi explained. “Got a little crazy, climbed on the elevator with the TV, and threw it to the street from the top floor. The hotel manager was furious-he said what would have happened if Pavel had killed someone. The doctor gave him sleeping pills, Fergie had to bribe all of them, and the threatened me with getting rid of Pavel if something like that happened again. So, as you can see, I didn’t have such a good night as you.”
Ed blinked-he didn’t know why Gigi was always a little rough around the edges regarding him. Perhaps because he was just a guitar novice, and he was the old glory and the master, and he had been about to replace him… whatever.
He then passed David and Rio’s room, dreading to reach his-the bassist was sitting by the window, apparently imbibed in some song he was listening to on his IPod-the handsome drummer was laying on the bed, with just his underwear on, a wide smile on his face. Guess he’d had some fun with his fans.
He was the one who saw the blonde guitarist-immediately, he rolled on the bed and spoke cheerfully.
“Well well well, if it isn’t Don Juan himself! How many people pass’d the Dutchie ‘round last night?”
“Oh, bloody fuck off Becks,” but Ed was smiling-he preferred a joking discussion with David than facing Marco.
“Oh, c’mon, m’mate. I saw ya with a pair of lil’ girls after the signing-ya disappeared with ‘em, an’ I don’ think ya just wer’ showin’ them around. And then ya went off goodness-knows-where.”
“I told you, Becks, I was going to give a wallet back.”
“To another sexy girl, I bet.”
Ed grinned. If they were going to meet him at the concert tonight, he might as well say it. And, anyways, it wasn’t as if David Beckham was too picky about who he fucked.
“Not exactly. But sexy, yes.”
“A lad?” David’s eyes grew wide. “So ya swing both ways too, Ice Prince? Gimme his address later if ya think I’d like ‘im.”
“I won’t,” Ed laughed. “You’ll have enough fun with your fans tonight!”
“Aw, selfish ‘un,” the drummer retorted with a smile, and then changed the subject. “By the way, yer weird friend’s been throwin’ a fit since yesterday, when we said you weren’t ‘round. Guess he takes it pretty seriously, huh? The bodyguard thing.”
Ed held back a desperate sigh.
“I’ll see what he wants, Becks. See you later, then?”
“You bet, Don Juan.”
When Ed entered the room-the other one that was closed-he saw Marco was smoking perhaps his hundredth cigarette of the day at the room’s balcony. However, there was already an empty Scotch bottle on the table, so Ed knew what was coming.
He didn’t even let out a sound when the blow caught him right on the stomach-he just bended over, holding his turning guts with both hands, trying hard not to throw up the omelet Ruud had cooked for him.
“I knew about the girls. I heard that yesterday when your friends came by-and I don’t care. But-the guy, Edwin? And you went looking for him?”
Marco then shoved him onto the floor-Edwin then looked at him from the carpet of the suite, his blue eyes flashing with hate.
“You said it, didn’t you?” the guitarist spat. “You said I could fuck anybody while we were on tour if I carried you along.”
“Don’t be a smartass, Edwin. You know very well I always ask you to come back at night. To me.”
Another kick at his ribs left Ed gritting his teeth in pain.
“How did you know it was a guy?” he managed to groan out.
“Simple,” Marco smiled smugly. “Somebody should tell the squeaky-voiced prick he doesn’t have to talk so loud.”
Another kick left Ed hating Becks, at least for today.
“So…” the older man yanked the guitarist’s arm roughly, sitting him up. “How was it, huh? Was it good? Because I’m sure-so sure, Edwin-he was no better than me.”
Ed didn’t even try to contradict him-he was shoved again down, while Marco started undoing his pants.
“I guess I’ll have to refresh your memory, Don Juan. Start taking off those jeans.”
Ed fumbled around with his sneakers, his whole body trembling with rage-apparently he took too long, for Marco then peeled the hip-low jeans off, giving him an extra kick to the ribs before he shoved the guitarist on the bed.
“Open those pretty legs, Edwin. Here’s the proof that I’m so much better.”
The blonde complied-however, as Marco thrusted roughly in and out of him, a vengeful thought crossed his brain.
Is that so, Marco? Ok. You know what? Tonight, at the afterparty… Ruud will be with me. And I’ll let him fuck me until I can’t stand up. And I’ll have my fun. I shall also screw any girl that stands in my path, and drink, and do everything that I want to. And you won’t stop me. I don’t care if you beat me-because I’ll be adored anywhere I walk in…
His thoughts were interrupted when Marco pulled his hair so he could kiss him-or bite him.
Ruud had already left his flat and was on his way to the small forum where the special concert would be held. He knew he had to meet Ed near the stage door-if not, he would not be able to go in.
He got there an hour earlier-but it didn’t matter. Anything, anything just to see Ed again.
Finally, the stage door opened-Ruud was about to jump in and hug the guitarist, but, to his surprise, an elderly man appeared at the door, and Ruud recognized him as the manager; he knew him, from Cantona’s band..
“Are you… Ruud?” the manager said.
“Yes,” he answered, and added: “You’re… Alex Ferguson, right?”
“Yes,” Fergie replied quickly, and handed Ruud what looked like a press pass. “I was told you were expected. Now go to the main entrance. They’ll let you in for free, and later you can come backstage.”
As soon as the fan took it, the manager closed the door-Ruud stood there for a moment. He certainly had not expected such a cold welcome, but, then again, rockstars… and perhaps, backstage, things would change.
It happened just as Fergie had told him. He was let in for free, and took his seat at the front row. The concert started soon enough-a one hour showcase, in which the Ice Devils played songs from their album to please Becks’ shrieking fans.
And, all the time, Ruud kept his eyes glued to Ed, as if expecting some kind of signal from him. He supposed he should be easy to spot-he was the only man among a bunch of roaring girls (even the only other person with a press pass was a woman) that were on front row. However, that didn’t happen. In fact, Ed seemed not to be enjoying the show that much, and looked rather concentrated when “Broken Angel” was played. Ruud thought for a little about what could be wrong, then shrugged-perhaps Edwin was just uncomfortable giving a concert for David’s teeny lovers.
As an extra, the band played Cantona’s “No Ordinary Bloke” (the press woman roared) and then disappeared-immediately, the girls left the forum and Ruud found several of them crowded by the stage door.
It opened-Alex Ferguson’s face appeared, the security personnel of the forum behind him, and started calling out names from a list. The woman with the press pass was called and went inside, then the president of David Beckham’s club-then Ruud was called, and he went in, leaving squealing girls behind.
The band was chilling out around a table filled with cold beers-Becks had lost no time, and he was already conversing-or, better said, flirting, with the press woman. The bassist and the vocalist (Rio and Wayne, Ruud remembered) were just drinking and looking at the door as if expecting more girls to come inside, and Gigi, the rhythm guitarist, seemed to be discussing something very important with Fergie, for he was not minding anybody-the only thing Ruud caught of their conversation was the elderly man saying: “Yes, he’s behind picking up your stuff, but you can take him, just make sure he doesn’t put on a show-“
But, finally, he found what he was looking for.
Ed had just come out from the bathroom. He had changed his clothes-and he had been tempted to shove his mobile down the toilet. Marco (who had repeated he didn’t want to be around Becks’ stupid whores) hadn’t stopped texting him, reminding him of the fact he had to come back to him and not start doing shit-Ed had groaned. Bloody hell. If that was going to happen every day, he’d have to compensate it by partying hard. He was only looking forward to the club that was going to receive them in a moment-so, when he saw Ruud coming towards him, that broad smile on his horse-face, he smiled and added a good fuck to the list of things he was looking forward to.
“How are you?” Ruud greeted him after a hug.
“Fine, fine,” Ed answered, nonchalantly. “And you?”
“Very good. Thanks for inviting me-it was great."
“Glad you liked it,” Ed said, politely, but indifferently-truth was, he just wanted to take Ruud out of his clothes and put that dick in his ass. Try to stop me, Marco.
Ruud kept on chatting on about how good the concert had been and something about a good place to have dinner-Ed interrupted him right then.
“Actually, we’re going to a club.”
“Oh,” Ruud said, his eyes lowering a little. “Then I guess this is goodbye then, huh?"
“Not really,” Ed smiled. “You could come with us.”
“Oh, no,” the dark-haired man shook his head, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. “No. I’m sure that’s only for VIPs, and I’m not on that list. Furthermore, I don’t think I fit in with your wild partying, do I?” He chuckled a little at his little joke, then closed his mouth when he remembered Ed’s rehab.
Smooth move there, Ruud. Bloody idiot.
“Forget about the VIPs,” Ed said, apparently not minding the stupid joke. “You’re with me, so who cares. You’ll go in.”
“Ed… I really don’t know…”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Ruud knew he’d agree. After all, who could say no to Edwin van der Sar? Certainly not him.
Though, suddenly David Beckham reappeared from whenever he had been (with the girl, for sure), and looked at them both with what seemed a knowing smile-and, for some reason, that simple gesture made Ruud feel strange, as if the magic moment he and the guitarist had shared that night before had just been invaded.
Summary: Ed wants to spend more time with his newfound groupie. That could mean trouble. R. Violence, adult concepts.
Ruud woke up after a long, deep sleep, and, when he saw Ed was not by his side, he rubbed his eyes, thinking, once again, that perhaps it just had been his wild imagination.
Even so, he thought, as he rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling, it had been one hell of a dream. Perhaps the best dream of his entire life. He could still feel it-Edwin’s lean body against his while they fucked, his long cock on his hands as he tried to make the guitarist come, his smooth back with the tattoo… and the waves of pleasure that washed over him when he came, filling Ed with his semen, and how the blonde had come too, all over his hand, before falling asleep in his arms, in his warm embrace…
“Morning,” came a familiar voice.
Ruud turned over with a start-God, it certainly hadn’t been a dream, he thought, when, blinking, he saw a naked Ed, covered only with the guitar that slung from his back, standing by the side of the bed.
“So you play, too?” the guitarist kept talking. “And a classic black-and-white Strat, huh? Nice choice.”
The dark-haired man only swallowed-yes, he could not deny it was a very nice way of waking up, but that image-Edwin’s messy hair and sparkling blue eyes (he surely knows what’s the effect he has on me), joined by his naked torso, and the guitar-my guitar-the only barrier between him and the guitarist’s dick…
Ruud had to concentrate in not getting hard again. It seemed almost embarrassing to him.
Meanwhile, Ed was completely nonchalant-in fact, he’d started playing something in an absentminded way, and Ruud relished on his long fingers all over the fretboard, going up and down, up and down, even though the guitar was unplugged and the sound was absolutely faint. Yet, what else could he ask for, if it wasn’t a private concert, in his own room, after a wonderful night…?
“I also see you have many magazines,” Ed spoke, and the playing stopped. “Seems like you’re a devoted fan.”
“Yes,” Ruud answered, blushing madly. “I… I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I saw you at the Ajax club.”
Edwin said nothing, but his smile grew broader. That feeling of being admired was sweeping again on him, and it felt nice. For a second he even felt sorry he had to leave this man.
“Thanks,” he finally answered, after a while, and turned around to leave the Strat in its place. Ruud sat a little more upright on the bed when the guitarist turned around-he certainly didn’t want to miss anything of this man’s beauty, like his back, his ass… the bruises on his hips?
“Edwin…” he started out, feeling a little awkward at what he had just seen: “Are you ok?”
Ed had just left the guitar leaning against the wall where he had found it, and, even though he had not turned to face Ruud, he knew what his fan was looking at. A small, bitter smile found its way into his hidden face. Huh. Even though he’d been complacent with Marco, and his advisor had not beaten him, it looked as it his aggressiveness in sex had not diminished. His grip was still bruising and controlling, but Ed had grown used to it.
An idea finally found a way into his brain.
“You don’t remember?” he said, while he looked for his jeans on the clothes heap on the floor. “It was you, Ruud, last night-you suddenly got a little too passionate. But that’s ok. It’s not like that hurt me.”
“Oh,” Ruud blinked-he didn’t remember that. In fact, he remembered he had been careful, very careful-but, then again, how could you trust your feverish body while fucking the man you’ve dreamed about for years?
“Sorry, Edwin. Really.”
“Don’t be.” Phew.
As the guitarist finished putting on his jeans, Ruud crawled out of bed. Even after the sex he felt strange, naked in front of a rockstar-Ed noticed that and laughed.
“Come on, man. Why so shy? We already fucked and you have a great body.”
The compliment made Ruud blush madly as he went looking for some clean underwear-and Edwin laughed even more.
They shared breakfast as if they had been an actual couple, Ruud still nervous because he didn’t know what Ed would like-the guitarist, for his part, argued that he had known too many buffets in his travels, and that he just wanted a normal breakfast. Ruud complied-it felt good, to be cooking for this man, and when Edwin ate the omelet his fan had taken and said it had been great, he blushed for the millionth time in a day.
After breakfast and washing dishes, Edwin got up.
“So… guess I’ll be seeing you when we come back to England to close the tour?”
“Definitely,” Ruud said, looking at the door. God, now it felt so wrong, imagining this man was going to walk out of his flat and very likely out of his life…
“Thanks for everything, then.” Edwin had grabbed his leather jacket, which had been forgotten on the living room the night before, in the midst of their passion.
“No, thank you,” Ruud said, trying to sound as calm as possible. He couldn’t get down on his knees and beg Edwin to stay with him, could he? No. That would be undignified, selfish, and idiotic. No, he couldn’t…
Ed then enveloped his fan in a hug-damn, he was also so reluctant to leave this man. Hot, handsome, devoted… what else could he ask for? Edwin knew very well these encounters didn’t last forever, so… why not make it last a little longer? Mr. Ruud deserved it.
“Hey,” he suddenly said, letting go of the dark-haired man. “Just had an idea. Why don’t you go to the show we’re going to hold for the David Beckham fanclub?”
“You’re having a show for the Beckham fanclub?”
“Yeah,” Ed giggled. “The girl who represents them went yesterday to the signing and almost begged-so we agreed. The tour was moved then to tomorrow morning, but no big deal. Fergie, the manager, fixed everything for us.”
Ruud scratched his head. “But I’m not a David Beckham fan. I don’t have a pass.”
“That’s why you’re coming with me,” Edwin winked.
Immediately, the dark-haired man beamed.
“Yes. I’ll go.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you again tonight. So, no goodbyes until then.”
“Perfect, Edwin.”
When the guitarist left the building and took a cab to the hotel where they all were staying, he was already expecting what was going to happen when he had to face Marco.
That was what had motivated him to keep Ruud by his side. After all the abuse he’d had to go through, he felt his fan was some kind of reward, something he had a right to. Why not have some sex he actually enjoyed? Some sex in which the other man actually bothered to make it pleasurable for him?
And God, with that cock… if I could drag him everywhere I would…
He finally went inside the hotel and up to the floor where their rooms were. Of course, the floor was deserted, reserved only for them-and the doors to the luxurious suites were all open, except for Fergie’s, of course.
He looked into all of them-Wayne was channel-surfing, and had a half-empty bottle of whiskey by his side already, even though it was just past noon. On the next one, that Gigi and Pavel shared, Ed could see the frail body of the blonde junkie lying on the bed, fast asleep. The Italian was sitting at his feet, playing some random chords.
“How is he?” Edwin asked, nodding towards the bed.
Gigi looked up. His playing stopped, as he signaled to his left-that was when Ed noticed the room didn’t have a TV.
“Snorted coke yesterday while we were at the signing,” Gianluigi explained. “Got a little crazy, climbed on the elevator with the TV, and threw it to the street from the top floor. The hotel manager was furious-he said what would have happened if Pavel had killed someone. The doctor gave him sleeping pills, Fergie had to bribe all of them, and the threatened me with getting rid of Pavel if something like that happened again. So, as you can see, I didn’t have such a good night as you.”
Ed blinked-he didn’t know why Gigi was always a little rough around the edges regarding him. Perhaps because he was just a guitar novice, and he was the old glory and the master, and he had been about to replace him… whatever.
He then passed David and Rio’s room, dreading to reach his-the bassist was sitting by the window, apparently imbibed in some song he was listening to on his IPod-the handsome drummer was laying on the bed, with just his underwear on, a wide smile on his face. Guess he’d had some fun with his fans.
He was the one who saw the blonde guitarist-immediately, he rolled on the bed and spoke cheerfully.
“Well well well, if it isn’t Don Juan himself! How many people pass’d the Dutchie ‘round last night?”
“Oh, bloody fuck off Becks,” but Ed was smiling-he preferred a joking discussion with David than facing Marco.
“Oh, c’mon, m’mate. I saw ya with a pair of lil’ girls after the signing-ya disappeared with ‘em, an’ I don’ think ya just wer’ showin’ them around. And then ya went off goodness-knows-where.”
“I told you, Becks, I was going to give a wallet back.”
“To another sexy girl, I bet.”
Ed grinned. If they were going to meet him at the concert tonight, he might as well say it. And, anyways, it wasn’t as if David Beckham was too picky about who he fucked.
“Not exactly. But sexy, yes.”
“A lad?” David’s eyes grew wide. “So ya swing both ways too, Ice Prince? Gimme his address later if ya think I’d like ‘im.”
“I won’t,” Ed laughed. “You’ll have enough fun with your fans tonight!”
“Aw, selfish ‘un,” the drummer retorted with a smile, and then changed the subject. “By the way, yer weird friend’s been throwin’ a fit since yesterday, when we said you weren’t ‘round. Guess he takes it pretty seriously, huh? The bodyguard thing.”
Ed held back a desperate sigh.
“I’ll see what he wants, Becks. See you later, then?”
“You bet, Don Juan.”
When Ed entered the room-the other one that was closed-he saw Marco was smoking perhaps his hundredth cigarette of the day at the room’s balcony. However, there was already an empty Scotch bottle on the table, so Ed knew what was coming.
He didn’t even let out a sound when the blow caught him right on the stomach-he just bended over, holding his turning guts with both hands, trying hard not to throw up the omelet Ruud had cooked for him.
“I knew about the girls. I heard that yesterday when your friends came by-and I don’t care. But-the guy, Edwin? And you went looking for him?”
Marco then shoved him onto the floor-Edwin then looked at him from the carpet of the suite, his blue eyes flashing with hate.
“You said it, didn’t you?” the guitarist spat. “You said I could fuck anybody while we were on tour if I carried you along.”
“Don’t be a smartass, Edwin. You know very well I always ask you to come back at night. To me.”
Another kick at his ribs left Ed gritting his teeth in pain.
“How did you know it was a guy?” he managed to groan out.
“Simple,” Marco smiled smugly. “Somebody should tell the squeaky-voiced prick he doesn’t have to talk so loud.”
Another kick left Ed hating Becks, at least for today.
“So…” the older man yanked the guitarist’s arm roughly, sitting him up. “How was it, huh? Was it good? Because I’m sure-so sure, Edwin-he was no better than me.”
Ed didn’t even try to contradict him-he was shoved again down, while Marco started undoing his pants.
“I guess I’ll have to refresh your memory, Don Juan. Start taking off those jeans.”
Ed fumbled around with his sneakers, his whole body trembling with rage-apparently he took too long, for Marco then peeled the hip-low jeans off, giving him an extra kick to the ribs before he shoved the guitarist on the bed.
“Open those pretty legs, Edwin. Here’s the proof that I’m so much better.”
The blonde complied-however, as Marco thrusted roughly in and out of him, a vengeful thought crossed his brain.
Is that so, Marco? Ok. You know what? Tonight, at the afterparty… Ruud will be with me. And I’ll let him fuck me until I can’t stand up. And I’ll have my fun. I shall also screw any girl that stands in my path, and drink, and do everything that I want to. And you won’t stop me. I don’t care if you beat me-because I’ll be adored anywhere I walk in…
His thoughts were interrupted when Marco pulled his hair so he could kiss him-or bite him.
Ruud had already left his flat and was on his way to the small forum where the special concert would be held. He knew he had to meet Ed near the stage door-if not, he would not be able to go in.
He got there an hour earlier-but it didn’t matter. Anything, anything just to see Ed again.
Finally, the stage door opened-Ruud was about to jump in and hug the guitarist, but, to his surprise, an elderly man appeared at the door, and Ruud recognized him as the manager; he knew him, from Cantona’s band..
“Are you… Ruud?” the manager said.
“Yes,” he answered, and added: “You’re… Alex Ferguson, right?”
“Yes,” Fergie replied quickly, and handed Ruud what looked like a press pass. “I was told you were expected. Now go to the main entrance. They’ll let you in for free, and later you can come backstage.”
As soon as the fan took it, the manager closed the door-Ruud stood there for a moment. He certainly had not expected such a cold welcome, but, then again, rockstars… and perhaps, backstage, things would change.
It happened just as Fergie had told him. He was let in for free, and took his seat at the front row. The concert started soon enough-a one hour showcase, in which the Ice Devils played songs from their album to please Becks’ shrieking fans.
And, all the time, Ruud kept his eyes glued to Ed, as if expecting some kind of signal from him. He supposed he should be easy to spot-he was the only man among a bunch of roaring girls (even the only other person with a press pass was a woman) that were on front row. However, that didn’t happen. In fact, Ed seemed not to be enjoying the show that much, and looked rather concentrated when “Broken Angel” was played. Ruud thought for a little about what could be wrong, then shrugged-perhaps Edwin was just uncomfortable giving a concert for David’s teeny lovers.
As an extra, the band played Cantona’s “No Ordinary Bloke” (the press woman roared) and then disappeared-immediately, the girls left the forum and Ruud found several of them crowded by the stage door.
It opened-Alex Ferguson’s face appeared, the security personnel of the forum behind him, and started calling out names from a list. The woman with the press pass was called and went inside, then the president of David Beckham’s club-then Ruud was called, and he went in, leaving squealing girls behind.
The band was chilling out around a table filled with cold beers-Becks had lost no time, and he was already conversing-or, better said, flirting, with the press woman. The bassist and the vocalist (Rio and Wayne, Ruud remembered) were just drinking and looking at the door as if expecting more girls to come inside, and Gigi, the rhythm guitarist, seemed to be discussing something very important with Fergie, for he was not minding anybody-the only thing Ruud caught of their conversation was the elderly man saying: “Yes, he’s behind picking up your stuff, but you can take him, just make sure he doesn’t put on a show-“
But, finally, he found what he was looking for.
Ed had just come out from the bathroom. He had changed his clothes-and he had been tempted to shove his mobile down the toilet. Marco (who had repeated he didn’t want to be around Becks’ stupid whores) hadn’t stopped texting him, reminding him of the fact he had to come back to him and not start doing shit-Ed had groaned. Bloody hell. If that was going to happen every day, he’d have to compensate it by partying hard. He was only looking forward to the club that was going to receive them in a moment-so, when he saw Ruud coming towards him, that broad smile on his horse-face, he smiled and added a good fuck to the list of things he was looking forward to.
“How are you?” Ruud greeted him after a hug.
“Fine, fine,” Ed answered, nonchalantly. “And you?”
“Very good. Thanks for inviting me-it was great."
“Glad you liked it,” Ed said, politely, but indifferently-truth was, he just wanted to take Ruud out of his clothes and put that dick in his ass. Try to stop me, Marco.
Ruud kept on chatting on about how good the concert had been and something about a good place to have dinner-Ed interrupted him right then.
“Actually, we’re going to a club.”
“Oh,” Ruud said, his eyes lowering a little. “Then I guess this is goodbye then, huh?"
“Not really,” Ed smiled. “You could come with us.”
“Oh, no,” the dark-haired man shook his head, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. “No. I’m sure that’s only for VIPs, and I’m not on that list. Furthermore, I don’t think I fit in with your wild partying, do I?” He chuckled a little at his little joke, then closed his mouth when he remembered Ed’s rehab.
Smooth move there, Ruud. Bloody idiot.
“Forget about the VIPs,” Ed said, apparently not minding the stupid joke. “You’re with me, so who cares. You’ll go in.”
“Ed… I really don’t know…”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Ruud knew he’d agree. After all, who could say no to Edwin van der Sar? Certainly not him.
Though, suddenly David Beckham reappeared from whenever he had been (with the girl, for sure), and looked at them both with what seemed a knowing smile-and, for some reason, that simple gesture made Ruud feel strange, as if the magic moment he and the guitarist had shared that night before had just been invaded.