Work Text:
a/n: this idea came to me after witnessing bayern’s horrendous early elimination from the dfb cup the second year in a row. funny, how after a new season start, a new attempt, the disappointment feels just the same. Like an old friend.
un-beta’d, expect wrong use of words
It was the summer of the year 2012. Munich rested under the sun as best as a large city could come close to a resting place. A few corners of the Bavarian city offered the scenery and space to find recovery and peace of mind: spacious green planes of nature in the heart of the city, botanical gardens and flowing rivers just a short walk away. Yet, even with its countless parks and rejuvenation spaces, there were only so few square meters a metropolis could provide to every living being gathered within its boundaries.
Mario lived in relative vicinity of one of the parks in Munich, a little offside to the city center. There, close to a small but scenic lakefront, was a bar he frequented almost every other day. He came here to raise a glass or two after a successful game in the Allianz Arena, to chat with the bartender and other regulars, occasionally engaging in superficial small talk with some fans and admirers. Truth be told, Mario was no stranger to receiving attention, enjoying it more often than not as well. But sometimes, it could be a right burden.
Bayern was not familiar with accepting defeats easily. The taste after the final whistle of a lost game was always the same. The bitterness at the back of the throat stayed there for a long time, even if it was not noticeable on the surface. The bottles he downed after such a disappointment tasted sweet in comparison.
And even within the levels of bitterness that he knew, there was a stronger sensation of it that couldn’t compare to anything he’d felt before. One on the level of losing the final of the Champions League in the own home city – one that he had no words for to describe. There was the wish to sink into a coma, maybe self-induced with a few glasses too many, all in all, it wasn’t a terribly worse fate than the alternative. Which was, to live with the shame, the regret, the shattered dreams and hopes.
The first night and day after the final whistle blow had been like stumbling through a nightmare that he could not wake up from. The second day, he’d regained some of the senses of his normal self, but his mentality was still in the gutter. He hadn’t checked his phone because talking to anyone had been the furthest thing on his mind. But then, unexpectedly, in the middle of an empty afternoon, his phone received a sound notification that he was familiar with. It was no surprise to him that the reactions from his teammates had been sparse up until now; everyone was dealing with their own slump they had to pull themselves out from. He wasn’t the type to immediately start reflecting on his mistakes to help cope with the past. Maybe he was more the type to drink and forget. To forget, period.
But the WhatsApp notification sound caught his attention. Of course, the silence couldn’t last forever. Maybe someone in the team chat had found the right words in this impossible situation to break through the fog, metaphorically speaking. He opened the message – and immediately felt more dumbfounded than a moment before. It was a message from Thomas to him alone, and he was asking him out for a drink.
Picking an outfit to go out in hadn’t been the most difficult decision in his life. He’d mustered up just enough motivation to find a new pair of loose-fitting jeans that were cut off at knee-height, and a short-sleeved gray shirt that didn’t compliment his body too well. He didn’t feel like standing out with his tall build and athletic form today. Next, he’d suggested they should meet at the bar close to his home, and that decision hadn’t been terribly complicated either, but rather an automated reaction from his tired brain. Thomas acknowledged the address and agreed to meet him there in an hour.
An hour was a long time, and Mario didn’t like the idea of sitting around waiting for it to pass even more slowly. Maybe the exercise from taking a walk would breathe some life back into him.
In the end, he’d walked straight in the direction of the bar. There were not many guests, it was too early for any of the regulars. The man behind the bar gave him a sympathetic look and a few small words of consolation, but Mario was more grateful for the beer he ordered with as little verbal exchange as was required. He made it through two refills before he received another text message notifying him of Thomas’s arrival. Mario decided to close his tab and pay for two more bottles that he brought with him as he left the pub.
There he was, the lanky Bavarian, dressed as if he was about to go on a Sunday trip. Mario didn’t know what to say, he’d been more interested in the drinking part of his teammate’s proposition, so he simply handed over the bottle. “I thought some fresh air would be good, so I brought this out.”
“Thanks,” Thomas said in his Bavarian accent, discreetly looking him up and down. “You look worse than I imagined. And a little tipsy perhaps? It’s not even six o’ clock,” he added in a judgmental tone after another moment of observing.
Mario avoided looking into those fascinatingly colored eyes that seemed too keen on analyzing him, not happy about the comment but not capable of defending himself either. “And you look somehow better dressed than I thought was possible. Now I’m doubting what brought you here in the first place.”
Thomas saved him from his self-pitying thoughts. “Let’s not beat around the bush. I’m frustrated too.” He stepped closer, spread his arms, and pulled the slightly taller man into a brief comforting hug to greet him, just like usual. “I just have a little more self-respect than you, and enough distractions at home that have kept me busy. Where did you want to go?”
“Somewhere with less unwanted attention. It’s not too far.” With that, the brunet lead the way to a path along a river. The silence as they walked left him alone with his thoughts yet again, but for some reason, Thomas’s presence was oddly soothing. As irritating and inimitable as he could be at times, his honest and outspoken nature was like a stabilizing force in a situation where a turmoil of emotions fogged his mind.
“Here, this spot under the bridge is nice.”
They let themselves sink into the sun-warmed grass that dipped into the riverbank, where the water from the Isar went its natural way.
“Cheers,” Thomas said as he handed back Mario’s borrowed beer that he had used to remove the caps for them.
“Yeah,” Mario replied diminutively, set the bottle to his lips and let the cool fluid flow down his throat. He looked out onto the water, the sun kissing its surface with its dancing reflections, the peaceful quiet under the bridge protecting them from passersby. How could his inner world look so doleful and miserable in comparison?
“I’ve been thinking,” Thomas started to speak, “we really messed up big this time.”
Mario sighed as he dreaded the painful images coming back to him. Thomas had been one of the better players on the pitch. He couldn’t say the same about himself, which was part of the reason he preferred suffering by himself. Scared the others would secretly blame him and he would be able to see it in their eyes.
“Yesterday, when I went to bed, I went over the game in my head again and again. And I said to myself repeatedly: ‘That is impossible.’ We came so far. We should have won.” Sometimes Thomas spoke in that analytical, clear-sighted tone of his, which was difficult to argue against.
“You think it just wasn’t meant to be? Winning the trophy in our own stadium?”
“Well, we were extremely lucky in other parts of the competition. But luck alone cannot carry us through every situation because unlike ourselves, it is not a reliable partner. Think about it. It was a penalty shoot-out.” Those were wise words, but they didn’t correct the past like Mario wanted them to. A lost title was still a lost title.
“I don’t know, Thomas … We had it right in front of us, and we really wanted it. It was not that hard to miss.”
“That’s true, but we will learn from our mistakes. Think about the future! Mark my words, next season – it will be ours. Until then, remember that moment of frustration, and how much you don’t want to ever live through it again.”
Mario wanted to believe him. Words that were like balsam on his wounds, that he could identify with. They looked at each other, silently searching for the truth in each other’s faces. For Mario, it was a sight that filled him with inner strength. He didn’t know how he did it, but Thomas was brimming with determination, and the sadness had almost disappeared from his eyes. He was a few years younger than himself; he had the brightest future ahead of him, both at FC Bayern and the German national team, and his strength of character was one of the reasons why Mario had no doubts about that.
In fact, there were only few moments in their time as teammates that Mario had experienced Thomas’s vulnerability.
“You’re smiling. Was it something I said?” Thomas sounded half-surprised, half-relieved.
Mario shook his head, mostly because he was surprised himself. “You’re unbelievable,” he said playfully. “It’s as if you’re mesmerizing me with your speech.”
“I can be mesmerizing. It’s part of my natural charm.”
Mario watched as he took a leisurely swig of beer afterwards, watched the way his Adam’s apple moved against the skin of his throat. He caught himself saying quietly: “I was certain that I have the same effect on other people, but somehow it hasn’t worked on you yet. That is pretty annoying.”
The younger man quickly set down the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to hide his flustered reaction. Mario chuckled softly. There it was, the indomitable Thomas Müller, showing the smallest signs of vulnerability at his teasing.
“But please continue. I’m rather pleased that you managed to distract me for a brief moment there. Must be attributed to your natural charm.”
Thomas smiled a little bashfully, gazing down at the grass between his fingers. “Always at your service,” he joked.
Mario suspected from his jovial tone that the other man wasn’t aware how much he really appreciated the distraction from his teammate and friend. Even in his darkest moments, Thomas was still himself; to Mario he was a breath of fresh air or a trustworthy pillar of support whenever he needed it. He’d hinted at it a couple of times in the past when there had been just the two of them. He’d tried to be perfectly obvious about it after Thomas had chosen to evade his approaches, even though he clearly didn’t seem indisposed.
Why’d he suggested to go out for a drink with Mario?
“Are you done with that?” Thomas pointed at the empty bottle Mario had placed down next to him in the grass. “I suppose the second round is on me then, right?” He held out his hand towards it, waiting for Mario to give it to him.
The brunet grabbed the dark brown bottle and saw Thomas reach for it. Just as he was about to hand it over, a doubt entered his mind, and then he felt a little embarrassed for thinking about it, and then Thomas looked at him, confused, because they were both still holding onto the empty bottle. Mario felt the warmth of his fingers on top of his own, and even though the touch was nothing unusual by itself, as soon as he looked apologetically into Thomas’s eyes, his breath inadvertently stuttered a tiny bit.
An impish smile spread out on the younger man’s face. “Did you decide that you had enough after all?”
Mario remembered to continue breathing as he reluctantly let go of the bottle. “Yeah, probably a good point. I was just thinking how un-gentleman-like it would be of me to let you walk back all the way to buy another drink.”
It provoked a laugh from the other. “Oh, that’s alright. I think I’m more used to that role than you are anyway.”
Mario furrowed his brow as he left that statement uncommented, pondering over the meaning of it all. Meanwhile, Thomas had put both bottles aside somewhere behind him, and inconspicuously scooted closer to the dark-haired man.
“Don’t worry though, Mario, your charm is working, it was received and appreciated every time just fine. It’s my fault for not being clear to you about it. I thought, you at least deserved some clarity, after all we went through together.” He smiled compliantly, all softness in his features. The mixed signals, the teasing smiles and secret glances, the many meaningful touches during their goal celebrations together, they had created a whirl of conflicting desires in him. But right now, Mario felt the sensation that an invisible barrier had been lifted between them. He could hardly explain the feeling, but as he tentatively leaned his head forward to test that assumption, there was no sign of resistance, no retreating. As soon as he saw the acceptance, no, the invitation in Thomas’s mellowed expression, he could barely repress the smile it aroused in him as he bridged the gap between them all the way.
His eyes fell shut as he felt those lips against his, the soft curly hair between his fingers as he cradled the back of his head and Thomas’s pliant body leaning into him, as if it was a need. The ground underneath them seemed to tilt a little more than before, or maybe he was just losing his balance as he grabbed onto Thomas’s shoulder and renewed their kiss more insistently, seeking his taste and his reactions. Thomas reciprocated the gesture and shifted his legs to move himself closer until he was almost sitting in the other man’s lap. He was pulled forward and they both fell onto the sun-warmed grass, soft breaths escaping them that were soon cut off by another sealing of their lips.
He embraced Thomas’s warmth with his whole body, greedy to welcome the lean wiry frame that still felt like the sweetest relief to his drained body. His head was tilted upwards as Thomas took control over him; a pair of lips tentatively traced the line of his jaw. Thomas had always been dangerous like this, able to tip him over the edge of giving up control; it was the same way he played football, the way he talked, and the way he caressed him with his looks, his hands, his mouth. A firm tug of his hair made the brunet smile, because he was certain that this was a flavor of Thomas that was specific to their relationship, that only he could bring out in the man who had been too cautious up until now to respond to his advances.
“Maybe we should think a little bit about privacy if we want to continue this, Thomas?” Mario interrupted before he would really lose control. The curly head of hair came down to rest on his left pectoral muscle, like a cat that had abandoned its playtime and now cuddled up to him. It was a comforting feeling, cradling his body close to his, touching each other’s skin and the tickling grass underneath.
“Mario,” Thomas began after a while with a calm and contented voice. “Let’s win the Champions League together next year.”