Work Text:
René knows that Jogi and Andreas are fucking with him when Andreas and a few of the trainers drag another goal over on the pitch and has them start training next to each other.
Okay, maybe he's gone out of his way to avoid Neuer in the training camps. Maybe he's been really, really glad that on any given pitch he can't see the other keeper, can imagine that maybe he's facing Casillas or Van Der Saar or Cesar or Buffon. Maybe he's taken a little too long to respond when Jogi has asked him to warm up with Manuel - like he's supposed to immediately associate Manuel with the asshole who wants this place he's worked so long and hard for rather than any other given Manuel he could possibly know.
In his mind, that should be okay. It's not like they can run a one-four-four-two formation or something - he doesn't have to work with another keeper to keep the team afloat. If he were a defender, maybe it would make sense, to have them set up side by side and have Mesut and Thomas start taking shots at them like it's gonna make them bond.
It doesn't make them bond.
Every shot that he sees slide through Neuer's hands makes him happy. He's pretty sure he hears Neuer laugh when Thomas chips a shot so hard it knocks him back into the goal when he jumps into it and bounces into the side netting anyway. All this is doing, he thinks bitterly, is reminding him that his place - this thing he's worked for, dreamed of since he was old enough to know what a football was, is uncertain. He is not like his idols. He is not a permanent fixture.
But Jogi seems pleased after he calls Thomas and Mesut away, waves them out of their nets. "It's good to be hungry," he says. "You are good for each other."
Neuer smiles at him. He wants to stick out his tongue. "René is one of the best keepers in the world," Neuer says. "I can always learn something from him."
"What are we doing next?" René asks Jogi, trying not to roll his eyes.
---
It goes from an experiment to a daily thing - Mesut and Thomas chip shots at him sometimes, or it's Miro and Sami, and sometimes when he's really unlucky Bastian and Lukas take a turn, taking bets with each other on who'll save what and occasionally kicking to the wrong goal, just to see what he and Neuer will do. Neuer laughs every time, like it's an awesome joke, and even if René wanted to he couldn't find it funny - he has to take this seriously, especially if Neuer doesn't. He is his team's last, best defense. He stands on the shoulders of giants. He cannot afford to forget that.
So of course it's halfway through the next international break - when they've both been called up, because why not keep them guessing? - that Neuer approaches him as he's gulping down water during a break in a five-a-side practice session. His boyish face is open, blue eyes guileless and friendly. Liar, René thinks, and says, "What."
"So Andreas says you study the penalties in the evenings after dinner," he says, fidgeting with his water bottle.
"Yeah," René replies, and doesn't say anything else.
Neuer shifts uncomfortably.
Oh, fuck it. "...did you want to join me?" he says finally.
Neuer's face lights up and he kicks himself, because this is clearly some sort of plan, and he's going to regret this, he can already tell. There is no way Neuer would be this happy at something so simple as sitting and studying the penalty tapes with him if there weren't something bigger going on. But as soon as he thinks about saying, "Too bad, asshole!" and walking off, Neuer is saying, "So I'll be there tonight! And I'll bring dinner, my treat!" and practically skipping off.
He shoves his hair back off his face and takes a long swig of water before trudging back to the goal. The first shot on target he takes great pleasure in punching it away. It flies almost to mid-pitch, and he imagines as it spins in the air that it's Neuer's grinning head.
---
A promise is a promise, and even if he didn't exactly swear he'd be there, he's not going to run from his normal training routine because the guy who wants to take his spot has decided to bring him dinner. So he puts in the first tape - Italy, their next friendly, and one he's reviewed enough times that he's into the nuances of all their possible penalty takers, a dip of shoulders before center shots versus a tilt of head before right upper corner. He doesn't usually spend this much time on a team they're playing for a friendly - but Italy is familiar, kind of comforting in how much he's thought about beating them, and he figures it can't help to prepare for a chance to show what he can do.
"You're here already!" he hears, and turns. Neuer is standing in the doorway clutching a couple of white paper bags. "I thought I'd beat you here."
"You'll never beat me," he says before he thinks the better of it, remembers he's attempting to be friendly.
Neuer doesn't even flinch, just sets down the bags on the table and pulls out a couple of flat plastic boxes. "I managed to sneak these in," he says. "Jogi would kill me, but..."
"You brought currywurst?" he says before he can help himself. "Do you have a death wish?"
It maybe sounds more admiring than he meant it to, because Neuer's face kind of lights up, and it'd make him mad except - okay, maybe he's been taking this training camp seriously, really seriously, and maybe he hadn't had currywurst since the season started because Jupp takes fitness just as seriously as Jogi does. And maybe he misses it. Like, a lot.
"Death wish, no," he says. "Taste wish, yes." He pulls out a beer from the bag and passes it to René, who kind of stares at it like it's going to bite his hand off.
Neuer opens his, points at the screen. "Gilardino favors his right foot on penalties," he says. "Five to one." He takes a sip, looks at René.
Oh, fine, René thinks, and pries open his beer.
---
He knew this was a bad idea. "I knew this was a bad idea," he tells Neuer, who laughs and holds out a bite of currywurst, dripping with sauce, for him to eat.
"Get some food in you," he says, grinning. His blond hair is mussed, and René looks at him like he's never seen him before before opening his mouth to take the bite.
"And some beer," he adds, chewing. "I missed beer."
"I could tell." Neuer drains his, pulls out two more. "We might get in trouble for this," he says confidingly, leaning in close to whisper it in René's ear.
"Neuer," he says, clapping a hand on Neuer's shoulder.
"Manuel," Neuer says, and rests his head against René's like he can't quite keep it up.
"Whatever," René says, "I'm not calling you that. You need to know that I hate you. And also that Quagl- Qua- that Italian does every other shot to the center."
"I hate that," Neuer says mournfully.
"Me too," René says, taking a thoughtful - he hopes it's thoughtful - sip of his beer.
"No, I mean." Neuer looks at him. He's suddenly really, really close, René thinks, blinking as Neuer frowns up and says, "I hate that you hate me. I don't hate you."
"You should hate me," he responds. "You want what I have. I hate you for wanting it."
Neuer bites his lip like he's trying not to say something. Maybe he's sober enough to be able to not say exactly what he's thinking, which makes René more than a little jealous. But no, he's only silent for a few long moments before he says, "I want you to like me like I like you."
"Never going to happen," René says, and then Neuer's frown softens.
"What if," Neuer says, "I..."
And then he licks René's ear as his hand finds René's thigh.
Huh.
"Still hate you," René says, but he shifts under Neuer's hand, restless as his tongue flicks over René's earlobe.
"How about now?" Neuer says, and his hand moves to palm René's cock through his jeans, and he might be drunk off his face but he's young enough that a couple of strokes still has him stirring with interest. Neuer's teeth scrape his neck, and he... yeah. He does not hate this.
"You, I still hate."
Neuer shrugs, flicking open the button on René's jeans and drawing down the fly. He works his way into René's briefs, thumb flicking over the head of his cock, and René can't help a little groan, because on so many different levels what the fuck is he doing. "Hate you," he gets out. "Still hate you."
"You should reconsider," Neuer says. "I brought you beer and currywurst." He's working in earnest now, hand starting a stuttering rhythm inside René's underwear, and when he licks at the vein in René's neck it's just enough to bring him fully hard.
"I can't be bribed," René says. "I'm above that."
"You're nothing if not honest," Neuer says against his neck. "I really admire that about you." And then he's crouching down, shoving René's briefs down and drawing out his cock. Right there, as Daniele Di Rossi takes penalty kick after penalty kick on the screen behind him, Neuer grins up at him all lopsided before taking René into his mouth.
His hand tangles in the short, curly hair at the back of Neuer's neck. "Hate," he gasps out.
Neuer's mouth vibrates a bit around his dick like he's laughing or something, and God, it's... really, really good, actually. So good, so good, and he hears himself say it: "So good, shit."
Neuer's hand slides up his thigh, cups one of his balls, and his tongue is doing things to his cock that he's not exactly sure of, and when René looks down Neuer is smiling, smiling, like René in his mouth is the best thing he could think of.
Di Rossi whiffs a penalty on the screen, but René doesn't really see it. He's thrusting up into Neuer's slick mouth, stretched so right around him, holding him at the base of his neck like he'd never do to someone -
Callused fingers press behind his balls, just firmly enough, and he doesn't even warn Neuer before he comes, spilling hot into his mouth and thinking blindly how much he likes the sound Neuer makes as he swallows it down, the way Neuer looks as the bit he can't quite swallow leaks out of his mouth and trails down his chin.
Neuer pulls off and looks up at him expectantly, ignoring the drip of come on his face. "How about now?" he says.
"Still hate you," he says, dropping to the floor to return the favor.
Neuer's hand slides up his thigh, cups one of his balls, and his tongue is doing things to his cock that he's not exactly sure of, and when René looks down Neuer is smiling, smiling, like René in his mouth is the best thing he could think of.
Di Rossi whiffs a penalty on the screen, but René doesn't really see it. He's thrusting up into Neuer's slick mouth, stretched so right around him, holding him at the base of his neck like he'd never do to someone -
Callused fingers press behind his balls, just firmly enough, and he doesn't even warn Neuer before he comes, spilling hot into his mouth and thinking blindly how much he likes the sound Neuer makes as he swallows it down, the way Neuer looks as the bit he can't quite swallow leaks out of his mouth and trails down his chin.
Neuer pulls off and looks up at him expectantly, ignoring the drip of come on his face. "How about now?" he says.
"Still hate you," he says, dropping to the floor to return the favor.