Sympathy for the Devils, part 9
Disclaimer: Only what happens in my very twisted mind. Previous part here.
Summary: Ruud's dreams come true! Oh yes. NC-17.
Ruud got to his flat, opened the door, and went directly to his bedroom, where he flopped himself on his bed. He needed time to think, time to wonder what the fuck was on his mind when he thought he heard Edwin speaking to him, asking him that…
When he decided the bloody poster with even more Ed at the head of his bed was going to get him nowhere, Ruud went for his bag, and took the five CDs out.
Sure enough. Ed had written down what he’d thought he’d read: Thank you for your support throughout these years. It was like that on the cover of My Broken Fortune, and on Dutch Desire, once again, but, of course, in Dutch. Even though he’d felt stupid, Ruud couldn’t help but smiling when he read that, and his smile became broader when he saw the picture-he’d feared he’d look nervous and idiotic, but it turned out he’d managed to muster a nice smile. And Edwin-well, he already had an idea of how he’d look like. Bloody handsome, smiling warmly, his blue eyes sparkling vividly even in the picture, his leather-jacketed arm hidden behind Ruud’s body…
If he closed his eyes, the dark-haired man could still feel that warm touch.
He was so lost inside his memories he didn’t even bother to empty his bag completely and put it away-only when he realized he was actually hungry, that he hadn’t had anything to eat except breakfast, he went back to it. Ruud didn’t want to leave the flat: he was planning to stay in, listen to Ed’s albums over and over again, and have dinner. Anything that could be delivered…
A nice plan, except because of the small fact his wallet was not inside the bag.
That discovery was accompanied by a curse in Dutch.
Ruud let himself fall down on the bed once again, still cursing. The bloody wallet… of course. Surely it was lost when his bag fell to the floor and he had to pick everything up in a hurry. That was it. But… what could he do? Go back to the record shop and ask if anybody had seen a wallet? Two-something hours after the signing?
Shit.
Ruud spent more time on the bed, feeling angry at himself. How could he let the wallet spoil his day? Credit card cancellation, bureaucratic shit like that… Great. Just Great.
It was supposed to be a good day, perhaps the best of his life, and then you go and lose your fucking wallet, you idiot-head in the clouds, right?
Finally, Ruud gave up. Phone in one hand, he walked to the kitchen while dialing the bank-he’d have to eat whatever was in the fridge, even though he didn’t feel like cooking, and see about the credit card-
Just then, the doorbell rang. Ruud was distracted and dialed the bank’s number incorrectly. Great shit.
He decided to see to the door first-though it was strange. He had no plans for the evening, it was already eight o’clock, who could it be?Anybody. Just anybody.
But, definitely not, Edwin van der Sar. Holding his wallet.
“I think this belongs to you,” the guitarist greeted him. “Found it under the table when we were leaving.”
Ruud’s chocolate eyes opened so wide they almost fell off their sockets.
“I’m stoned. I’m fucking stoned,” was all he answered to the blonde man, who cocked his eyebrow.
“Really?”
But Ruud didn’t hear him. Instead, he just kept on pacing back and forth in front of Ed, talking to himself in a loud voice, apparently undisturbed by his idol’s presence.
“But… I didn’t eat anything funny… please, I boiled that breakfast egg myself…”
Edwin let out a merry laugh.
“Ok, Mr. Junkie… at least you can have your wallet, don’t you think? So you can buy some more weed.”
Ruud looked at the man once again-fuck, he looks so good it can’t be real, it just can’t be real-and then stretched out his hand.
He was half-expecting the wallet to disintegrate as soon as he touched it, or something like that-however, when the wallet remained firm in his hand, and Ed was still standing there, a half-smile on his lips, Ruud felt he would faint.
With trembling hands, he opened his wallet-sure enough, there was his ID, his credit card, his driving license. And-all his money. Every single pound in place.
And Edwin van der Sar, standing in front of him, still smiling, a tall, blonde, rockstar guardian angel who had actually come to his house to give him back his wallet, and-
“How did you find me?” was all Ruud could ask. For a moment, it seemed to him the guitarist had supernatural powers, that he had been able to find him just like that…
“Easy,” the blonde answered. “I saw the wallet laying there on the floor when the table was removed, and I picked it up. When I saw your face on the ID, I thought I’d do something for you. After all, you seemed like a big fan of mine… so, I just read your address on the ID and got here.”
Now Ruud felt he was a complete idiot. Of course. What was he thinking? At least he had to do something to avoid looking more ridiculous by the second.
I have not thanked him. Stupid, bloody fucking idiot.
“You know,” the dark-haired man finally managed to say, “you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Ed answered amiably.
“Well, thank you, then,” Ruud had no idea of what to say next.
“You’re welcome.”
There was a short silence then-Ed made no motion of going towards the door, and Ruud was just standing there, still staring at the blonde man, not daring to go to his room. Edwin was once again surrounded by that dreamlike aura, and for a second Ruud thought that if he went away and then came back, the guitarist wouldn’t be there.
“You were not there when the signing finished,” Ed said, all of a sudden.
Ruud’s eyes opened wide-he felt as if somebody had sent an electrical shock to his brain.
“What?”
“I told you, when you had your picture taken with me. I told you I wanted to see you after the signing was over.”
The younger man’s body started shaking so hard he knew it was noticeable and hoped Edwin would not think too badly of him.
“I waited,” he stammered. “Past six.”
Ed let out a small chuckle.
“Sorry about that… Ruud. I got held up for a while.”
An image of Ed leaving a small office, or a cubicle, or something-with the two girls, naked, saying goodbye to the guitarist-flashed across Ruud’s frenzied brain, and he had to shut his eyes to scare it away. Yet, it wasn’t possible.
“This is a joke, isn’t it?” he listened to himself saying.
Edwin seemed confused now.
“What do you mean?”
“Edwin… Mr. Van der Sar,” Ruud slowly spoke, his eyes fixed firmly on his wallet. “Please. You’re a rockstar, and a handsome man, and you know it. You got girls waiting in a row to be with you. So, what would you want… with a man like me?”
There was another moment of silence. Ruud still kept his eyes low, so, he could not see what Edwin was doing. Until the guitarist spoke, Ruud wasn’t sure of what was going on.
“Two things,” Ed said. “One. Please don’t call me Mr. Van der Sar. And two… well, maybe you’re right, Ruud.”
The dark-haired man then raised his head, and swallowed when he saw Ed was standing closer to him.
“You’re right,” Ed continued, looking deep into the other man’s dark eyes. “What would I want with a man like you? Why would I ask you to have your picture taken with me by my side, unlike the other fans who had to climb on top of the table? Why would I have told you I wanted to see you? Why would I actually bother to come here and give you back your wallet?”
Ruud froze when he heard Ed’s final words:
“Why would I want to be with such a sexy man, after all?”
He was only glad he didn’t have a heart attack when Ed leaned forward and pressed his lips to his, kissing his breath away.
That night was all Ruud could have ever wished for, in his crazy fantasies, when he was alone at night, nobody to join him except his Ed poster at the head of the bed…
The kiss was long, and it became more feverish gradually. Of course, Ed was in control, since Ruud was too surprised to react-so, the dark-haired man opened his mouth when the guitarist’s tongue asked for access. In fact, the only thing Ruud did was outstretch his arms so he could press Edwin closer to him-he didn’t want his idol-no, the man he actually loved-to go anywhere. Not now, that he was finally in his arms…
Ed responded to the hug-his hands became more adventurous, and started traveling on his fan’s broad, strong back. In fact, when the kiss was finally broken, Edwin was already taking off his leather jacket.
“So, could I get to know your room?”
Ruud swallowed-the Van Halen t-shirt was now completely visible, and that simple picture made the younger man feel strange-it was as if Edwin had been already completely naked before him. He’d never, ever, expected things to go this way. Hell, he hadn’t even expected the kiss.
“Could I?” Ed asked once again, and Ruud reacted.
“Yes, yes, of course…”
So Ruud took the guitarist to his room-the light was off (he’d turned it off when he had gone to the kitchen), the CDs were still scattered on the table, next to his bag. That was all Edwin saw by the brief moonlight and streetlamp light that entered the window, for then, his eyes settled on his picture, watching over this man’s bed.
A smile appeared on the blonde’s lips. It felt strange, but nice-he had thought he was forgotten among the annals of music history, and here, in England, there was this man who admired him, cherished him, who as so devoted to him as if nothing had ever happened-as if he’d always been the superstar, as if he’d never had retreated into his addictions and his rehab and his psychotic advisor-
Ruud had noticed that smile on his idol’s face, too, and he had liked it. It was as if, for a second, Edwin van der Sar had stopped being the rockstar and had become a man, a simple man, who was happy to see somebody… well, loved him.
So, the dark-haired man suddenly felt brave, and daring-now he was the one who placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder, and Ed turned around to face him-and, this time, Ruud walked forward and kissed him, a kiss that was more relaxed than the first one, when he hadn’t even known what to think.
Those lips he had tasted in his wild and (were they still?) stupid dreams were softer and sweeter than what he had imagined.
Hands began exploring, pulling at tees, taking off sneakers. Ruud laughed internally when both shirts were on the floor: two great Dutch guitarists, Edwin van der Sar and Eddie van Halen, laying on a heap on his floor. However, Ed distracted him from his thoughts.
The guitarist’s naked torso was illuminated only by moonlight, but that didn’t stop Ruud from watching his carefully defined abs, the way his muscles showed under his pale skin-god, he was thin, but beautiful. Not to mention his bony, but sexy hips that held the dangerously low jeans.
And Edwin was satisfied with his fan too-yeah, he had definitely made a good choice, for Ruud was hot like hell. That broad, muscled back of his had a sculpted torso to match, the dark chest hair only making the sight more delectable. Shit, Ed thought. If I was this man, I’d be fucking shirtless all the time. Huh, good eye, Edwin…
Once again, their mouths found each other, while the hands went for the jeans. Ruud’s hand, now shameless, sneaked under the waistband of Ed’s hip-jeans-and almost jumped back to its owner, for, underneath the denim, it had touched Edwin’s half-erect, and big cock.
The guitarist saw the younger man blinked, a little startled, and laughed.
“Hip-low jeans don’t need underwear,” he teased, as he himself slid the pants down-his erection, full-length, now was in sight, and Ruud bit his lips at the sight of such a well-endowed, beautiful man.
“Don’t just stare,” Edwin laughed, and then went on, his voice low and husky: “C’mon. I want to see you as well.”
The younger man complied-he pulled his jeans down, though he felt slightly ridiculous when he got rid of his boxers as well. Yet, when his dick was revealed, now Edwin was the one who felt anticipation wash over him.
Not only a great body, but also a thick cock, huh? Congratulations, Ed. You hit the jackpot. You’d better enjoy this while it lasts…
So, the guitarist walked over to the Ruud’s naked form, and kissed him again, his long fingers finding its way to the man’s shaft, and eliciting a groan from him that broke the kiss. Yes, it felt so damn good-Ed’s fingers were calloused by the guitar playing, and the friction they created against Ruud’s hardness was exquisite. And Ruud was doubly enjoying it, because he was not only getting one hell of a handjob, but he was getting that handjob from his idol, hero and crush, and Lord please don’t let me come so I can enjoy this a little more-
“You look like you’re not the receiving end,” Edwin said, all of a sudden.
“Huh?”
“You’re on top, right?”
Even though their caresses were closer to sex than to anything else, Ruud still blushed madly at the question.
“Well… yes, yes I am.”
“Good. Because, you know, I’d like to feel you inside me, Ruud.”
The dark-haired man felt his head was spinning.
Ed, for his part, laid himself on the bed, on his chest-now Ruud could see all of his tattooed back, the wings that inked his skin contrasting against its whiteness, which was enhanced by the moonlight. He walked on to the tattoo, and kissed it, his hands running all over Edwin’s back-he’d run his hands on the tattoo before, and all he had felt was glossy paper, the paper of the photographs. Now, he could feel the rippling muscles of the blonde’s back, his warmth, the beat of his heart.
“I’m waiting, Ruud,” Edwin’s voice ran out.
Ruud swallowed and crawled on top of the bed, pressing kisses on Ed’s wings as he did so, before he was leveled with him-when that happened, he took the guitarist’s slender body into his arms and placed him so they were spooning.
“Edwin…” he stuttered, nonetheless, “are you sure you’re comfortable being the receiving-“
“Yes, I’m sure,” the blonde was already impatient. “So, come on, Ruud. Come on… fuck me."
Even though that wasn’t the most romantic phrase, the younger man complied-and, he slid his cock inside Ed’s opening, gasping even when just the tip was into the guitarist. He, Ruud van Nistelrooy, was fucking the man of his dreams.
The pleasure was so immense Ruud didn’t even notice Ed wasn’t exactly tight-he paid no heed to the lack of lube, to the fact Edwin seemed used to being fucked. He just concentrated in not coming too fast, and in making it pleasurable for his man-so, he thrusted into Ed, over and over again, his hands finding the guitarist’s dick and stroking it so he could come as well-and his cock finding the blonde’s sensitive spot while he kissed his hair, his shoulderblades and the inked wings, his ears ringing with Edwin’s moans and pants.
Lord, Edwin…