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He watches as she continues to move up the dedicated running hill at St George's Park. She's essentially doing a hip flexor extension-type lunge as she moves up the hill instead of running forward in the usual straightforward manner. It's to help with her flexibility, but he knows, from professional and personal experience, she's already quite flexible. Still, there's always room for improvement… or so she says.
The running hill is 30 metres with a 20 percent incline. His thighs burn just thinking about running up a hill that looks like that as he stands at the starting point. So, he doesn't know how the heck she's doing complicated lunges on it. She's meant to only go 5 metres like this and work up this entire two weeks of training to the full 30 metres. But she presses on to 10 metres before she starts to straighten up and lean her head back as she signals she's hit her limit for the day. Ted swears he hears a muffled 'fuck this' that sounds like her voice, but he can't be sure since she's not facing them.
"Five more than planned," the assistant goalkeeper coach tells her as she turns and heads back to the starting line.
She walks back, her arms looping in long, slow circles as she stretches for a sort of cool down.
"It helped after sitting for so long today," Rebecca calls out as she changes from looping her arms to gentle punches of the air in front of her.
After her match last night, Wolfsburg released her for the remainder of this season's contract on account of her being recalled to England's Women's National Football Team, as the World Cup roster was authorised by FIFA for this summer's tournament. Wolfsburg only had a handful of matches left before the Frauen-Bundesliga season concluded, so she was fine with being released rather than them keeping her on the active roster when she wasn't going to come back for what was left of their season since the England Women's Football Team had camps or flights for the remaining match days of the club season. The announcers at the World Cup would still recognise her as an active player for the Frauen-Bundesliga at VfL Wolfsburg, though.
She had packed the necessary things to travel back home with for camp. The rest of what she needs to enjoy the mini break between seasons will be packed after whatever result played out on Canadian soil in a handful of weeks. Although she did pay for a cleaning service to go in and tidy the place and remove all the food so it wouldn't rot. Or else she'd probably come back to something growing in her refrigerator by the time she returned to her flat. Rebecca had left a spare key with Wolfsburg's manager to assist in her temporary absence.
Of course, with the last-minute release, she ended up with one of the afternoon commercial flights out. And naturally there had been a delay. Something with the radio in the cockpit. She had missed the first goalkeeper training but asked to make up for it when she landed instead of skipping the first training.
She had texted Ted the flight details for awareness when she booked it. And the flight had landed just as AFC Richmond's Women's Team finished playing a mid-week home match. Ted already had the National Team training schedule as a Super League manager, even though no one from Richmond was called up. Well, not for England. Lupe was called up for Mexico and had left a few days ago for Guadalajara. But the schedule was notice that St George's Park would be closed to conduct camp for World Cup training and not reservable like usual.
Rebecca finally spots him as she gets closer to the starting point of the running hill and shakes her head.
"St George's Park is closed for training," she says, her hand cupping against her mouth so her voice travels.
"So that's why all those traffic cones were there blocking the road when I came in," he teases as he stands. "Whoops."
She shakes her head.
"There's a training schedule in your room, Rebecca," the assistant goalkeeping coach pipes up as she finally reaches the starting point.
She nods. She saw the paper when she had dropped her things off before coming out to train with him.
"Recovery pool closes in two hours. So, I'd recommend using that or the cryotherapy chamber for at least a half hour of recovery time before you close out your night. Entire thing is yours since the rest of the team already finished and should be eating or resting for the day."
They only have team dinners on Thursdays. Otherwise, they were free to escape St George's Park or eat at the hotel. And Saturdays and Sundays were their free days.
"Thanks," Rebecca nods.
"Good to see you, Coach Lasso. See you tomorrow, Rebecca," the man waves goodbye before he turns back to head to the main training centre.
Ted watches as her full attention turns to him as soon as the assistant coach walks away. He's still dressed in his usual match attire for late spring—an AFC Richmond polo with khaki trousers and Nikes. Today, he's worn a pair of Jordans with a lime green trim. They're his custom ones he got to subtly nod to Wolfsburg when she was playing a match and he still had to coach Richmond through a match. Cheering her on from afar and whatnot. Her fans noticed, of course. Called him 'sweet' on just enough posts that had the photo of his trainers and her training kit in a matching colour that it made it across her Twitter's for you page. She wasn't playing today, since their match was last night, but it was a subtle nod to acknowledge her homecoming after the England Women's National Football Team put the roster and training dates on all their social media pages.
"Did he ask you to sign his clipboard?" Rebecca teased, knowing the assistant goalkeeping coach for the Lionesses is a big Ted Lasso fan.
"Hey there, highlighter," he winks as he greets her without an audience, ignoring the question since she already knows the answer. Because of course he delighted in signing something for a fan.
"Hi, Ted," she laughs as he winks, more blinking forcefully than winking, but she gets what he's trying to do.
He steps closer, opening his arms for her to fall into whenever it's been longer than a month or two without him borrowing the jet to fly to Germany or her jetting back to England if there's enough time between a match and training for her. Luckily, Wolfsburg has a strong line of keepers, and they all rotate through the starting eleven for various matches instead of relying on one like AFC Richmond did with her. It's been six weeks since they've seen one another in person, and she feels weights being lifted at seeing him again.
She steps forward and waits for his arms to encircle her form before she wraps her own arms around Ted. The sigh he releases as his chin hits her shoulder makes her squeeze him tighter. After all, she thought she'd have to wait until after tomorrow's training to see him. Apparently, he had other plans.
"How did you get here?" Rebecca wonders as she pulls away slightly to watch his face morph into an amused expression.
"Your Chelsea tractor is just sitting there at home," he tells her.
She pushes away and shoves at his shoulder.
"Wanker."
Keeley should have never taught him that phrase.
He pouts, still amused, as she shakes her head.
"I have taken lessons to get my UK driving licence since there are a few different rules compared to little ol' Kansas. Your Mama all but pushed me out of Nelson Road as soon as the match ended, telling me I needed to get my booty over here and welcome you back home. And who am I to defy Deborah Welton?"
She hums. She knows he's taken lessons with her mother's driver, but she hadn't realised he had progressed far enough to actually drive from London to St George's Park in Burton upon Trent.
"I also figured you'd want your car to drive around rather than be stuck here for two weeks when you have the day off or need to get away. So, I asked for a parking permit, and Beard-o will come pick me up tomorrow when you're in training."
"You actually drove? By yourself?" Rebecca raises an eyebrow curiously. Ted forgets to look the correct way when crossing the street in Richmond when they cross from the Green. "Here?"
"Driving is a whole heck of a lot easier than walking. Well, I haven't done that giant roundabout that looks confusing as all get out on social media, but other than that, I mean, it was just like back in Kansas once I got out of the city. Other than driving on the opposite side of what I'm used to."
She laughs. Of course there's a logic of how driving is easier than crossing a road.
"Come on. The sun's already going down, and I think you might get chilly without sleeves. Well, proper sleeves, considering you have inked ones." Ted delights in his own joke, and the bubble of laughter is something she can't hold back at his ridiculous dad joke.
He holds out his hand, and she takes it when he nods to the training centre in the distance. Her fingers entwine with his own, and he pulls her close as they start to walk.
"So, umm. I should probably let you know that the hotel staff gave me a key card for your room as soon as I came in to get your parking permit. So, I'm guessing that was courtesy of your mama since no one else has their family here. I mean, your manager knows I'm here for the night, but that's all I'm staying for, so I don't get you in trouble."
Ted sometimes forgets that he's a well-known figure in the football world. Famous for turning the AFC Richmond Women's Team around and being her significant other. But her mother does love to pull strings, and it's really a 50-50 shot of the hotel staff recognising him as Ted Lasso, partner of Rebecca Welton, who needs a room key for himself, and Ted Lasso, partner of Rebecca Welton, whose Mum just called to tell them Ted needs her room key to surprise her daughter.
"I'm surprised my mother hasn't bribed someone to make you some sort of staff member for the World Cup," Rebecca offers as a truth. Ted had jested a few times that he'd just make himself some sort of support role, even ball boy or water boy, if only to watch her in all her glory. She'd always shake her head and try not to laugh as he came up with staff positions that don't exist, knowing full well he'd have a dedicated ticket and pass to whatever venue and match she's playing at.
"Oh, she tried. Well, that's what Keeley told me. But I told her Lupe asked if I would attend one of her matches since Mexico is playing in the other group that is in Vancouver with England during the group stage. And then Shannon said we should watch out for this up-and-coming Nigerian on their national team. Although they have all their group stages somewhere in Eastern Canada. So, we could watch her on the television since it's one of your rest days. I didn't know if players and staff had to follow the same FIFA rules, so I said I'd be happy being your personal bag boy and being able to go to Lupe's match."
Rebecca puffs her lips, blowing a raspberry in the air.
He won't tell her about the other option Deborah proposed, which was quite literally Ted proposing before the team ships out to Canada since the sponsors were covering the costs of spouses, registered domestic partners, and families travelling with the player. He had laughed, a little nervously, a little tellingly, at that. When Deborah's eyes went wide with realisation, he informed her that it would not be happening right now, but he did have plans… just… for later. And that he would appreciate the hints at any future proposal being kept to a minimum. He also told her that he makes enough to cover a round trip and a hotel room if Rebecca doesn't want to share to get mentally prepared for the matches.
"Oh my god. I knew leaving you two alone here would do this." Rebecca knocks his shoulder, sending him off the path he's been walking as he chuckles as it sends her stumbling along with him since they're still holding hands. "I think you might be spending more time with my mother now than I have my entire life."
"So, I shouldn't tell you about the lunches and dinners we have together and that The Sun ran an article for months accusing your mother of stealing me from you and that you're heartbroken over in Germany?" Ted teases as Rebecca guffaws.
"Keeley sent me those, actually. I liked the one where you're helping Mum into her coat, and the headline was something like 'CHEETAH'S GONNA CHEAT' because Mum was wearing her ridiculous leopard-print coat."
"That one was a hoot," he chuckles, still remembering the chuckles it got when Deborah opened up her window the next morning to inform Ted that the coat was leopard, not cheetah, so the headline is out of touch.
They walk for a bit in a comfortable silence, Rebecca steering them back to the entrance she has to use since she's been on the hill and her trainers need to be cleaned and prepared for tomorrow.
"You think they'll ever name these pitches that aren't named?" Ted asks as he looks at Pitch 9's nameplate that denotes it as 'Michael Owen Pitch' and Pitch 8's nameplate of 'Alan Shearer Pitch' on one side of them while Pitch 6 is just 'Pitch 6.' "I mean, if you can poop yourself at a World Cup and still get a pitch named after you, certainly anyone could get their name on it?"
"Did you Google all the players these pitches are named after?" Rebecca wonders, knowing that Pitch 10, or Gary Lineker Pitch, is across from the running hill.
"Nah," Ted shakes his head. "I was looking at England's National Football Team highlights and where you ladies and the men have landed for prior World Cups. And that's a pretty big article in the appearances for the men's side."
Rebecca nods slowly. Of course it is.
"You eat yet?" Ted wonders as they make their way to the 'dirty entrance' of the training centre. The only time he willingly drops her hand is so he can hold the door open to let her get inside first.
"I had an early lunch before I boarded," Rebecca tells him. It's been hours since then.
"All right," he nods slowly as he follows her to the left. The door reads 'de-robe'. And he can see it's for when they have training gear on since there are collection bins with a few training kits and their reserve bibs used to differentiate Team A and Team B during scrimmages or pairings during training.
She tosses her water bottle over to him and lifts her training kit top and shorts to add to the bin before she walks through the de-robe room and into the boot room in just her base layer and socks.
Her last name is on one of the taller cabinets of cubbies where she can stick her dirty boots or trainers, and there's a respective clean cabinet on the other side of the room where some players' boots sit, nice and shiny and ready for tomorrow morning's training.
He takes a minute to take it all in as she sits and unlaces her trainers. It's probably more moving in a dressing room at the actual stadium, but it still means something to him that she's the number one goalkeeper of the England Women's National Football Team for their World Cup roster. Not that he expected her to say no to this callup.
For this evening's training, she borrowed the Paul Gascoigne Dressing Room to store her things since it was closer. For the rest of camp, though, the team will be using the Billy Wright Dressing Room. She didn't see the point in using that massive one since it was just her. She digs through her bag to pull out her Nike slides and shoulders the bag. Since she's going to hydrotherapy, there's a changing room there, and she'll just use that to change into her bathing costume and then her lounge wear once she's done with the session.
"How about I scrounge up some dinner while you do the hydrotherapy or whatever?" He asks, giving her water bottle back, knowing she'll want to run through whatever she has done for training today while at the pool and he'll just be in the way.
"Just no salad. I'm not feeling salad tonight," she nods in acceptance of his offer as she sticks the bottle in her half-open training bag.
He only gets salad as a starter, never as her meal unless she specifically requests one of those heartier salads for lunch or dinner. He's not one of those people that monitor what their partner eats.
"No salads. Got it." Ted gives her a little salute. "I'll meet you back in your room."
She holds her hand out, and he takes it before she tugs him closer. There are no cameras in the dressing room, so it feels right to lean in and press her lips to his own. Finally, she thinks as he hums almost in solidarity with her thought, their lips buzzing with the hum before she slowly pulls away.
"Thank you," she whispers, pressing her lips to his again as a quick thanks.
"You got it, highlighter," Ted winks as she laughs, pushing him out the door and pointing to the left as she makes her way down the hallway to the hydrotherapy room.
—
The hotel room is perfectly reasonable and accommodating. It's a suite with a kitchen and a handful of basic cooking equipment and utensils since there's the assumption a player might want to make their own meal as long as it's not Thursday evening. It also has a couch, a work desk with a chair, and a television that faces the couch and kitchen area. There's a king bed in the middle of the wall at the far end of the suite where he stuck his go-bag next to her luggage. The washroom boasts a shower and a bath, even though Ted's pretty sure the players would probably prefer the 36-degree hydrotherapy pool with the contrasting 10-degree hydrotherapy pool as a warm-up/cool-down muscle-relaxing post-training session. It also has a real door separating the washroom and the room, which he appreciates. He's spent enough time in hotels as of late that he's taken note of when hotels use the pocket door versus a real door to save some space.
Taking advantage of Rebecca's hydrotherapy time, he showers and changes into a t-shirt, joggers, and socks. He finds Rebecca's training schedule on the desk and eyes the bits that have pink dots next to them—goalkeeper-specific training times at different facilities in this huge complex. As a league manager with potential call-ups, he might get the days they are training, but he doesn't get the day-to-day schedule. So, he texts Beard that warm-ups begin tomorrow at 9:00 am. The assistant coach gives the text a thumbs up in acknowledgement.
His next find is the pink biscuit box in his knapsack. He's airmailed these to Germany every month since she's been at Wolfsburg (unless he's been to her flat and baked them fresh before he left), but she's lamented they don't taste the same, blaming how they have to be shipped on a cargo flight rather than presented to her the same week, like when he made them when she was still on AFC Richmond. She still eats them and tells him which tea works best with them to continue the bit, but there's something missing. And he knew as soon as she FaceTimed him last night when Wolfsburg offered the deal of release until the World Cup is over, she'd want her biscuits. The fresh ones. The ones that usually came with some sort of surprise tea for her to judge. But he only has that covered for tomorrow morning when Beard steals him away... but not before he stops at the cute little shop Ted saw as he drove through Burton to get her a tea and resume the bit.
He sets the familiar box just to the side of her training schedule and then hunts around for the hotel restaurant menu. It won't be anything spectacular, he knows, but he's starving, and he didn't even lunge up a hill for 20 metres and whatever else she did before he got there.
He's ordered a cheeseburger with all the fixings on the side, fish and chips, still and sparkling waters, and two scoops of ice cream—the staff could choose which flavours they sent of the latter—and he's quite thankful for the mini refrigerator and icebox when the food gets delivered twenty minutes later so he can store the dessert.
Just as he's setting the takeaway boxes at the counter and goes hunting for extra napkins and two glasses for their waters, he hears the electronic beep and release of the lock.
"Pretty perfect timing," he calls out as he turns briefly to watch her walk into the suite. "Food just got here."
"I'm fucking famished," she tells him, scooting past to drop her training bag near her two carry-ons that she packed up last night.
"Got a burger and fish and chips. You can have either, or we can split. Up to whatever you want to do," he tells her as he starts to trail off when he looks back to find she has the biscuit box in hand and a biscuit already half-eaten as she holds it aloft.
"I love you," she hums as she looks at the biscuit and then at him. "I missed this."
He shakes his head, quietly chuckling. He knows perfectly well that she means to direct the two statements to him, but they both find it funnier when she says it to the biscuit. Because she does love and miss her biscuits, she just loves and misses him more when she's away.
"That was for after dinner, you know," he tries to scold her, but he can't help the way his mouth won't cooperate and the grin stays put.
"I'm famished enough that this was a perfect starter," she tells him as she shoves the rest of the piece into her mouth and sets the biscuit box back on the desk before she makes her way over to the countertop where he's set the food.
"I love you," she tells him, swallowing down the biscuit as he sets the glasses and napkins down between the plates. And when he's close enough, she wraps her arms around him and presses her mouth to his own. The kiss has the barest hint of crumbs from her biscuit on her lip, making it scratchy, and he finally gets why she tells him 'scratchy' when he kisses her and his beard brushes against delicate skin.
She smells like freshly laundered cotton, and he thinks it might be her shampoo or body wash from showering after the hydrotherapy. He should warn her about the weird lemon verbena and lavender scent that is in the shower in the washroom. Although she might be able to smell it. It's not overpowering, but it is a strange combination.
She pulls away as her stomach growls. Opening both takeaway boxes from the restaurant, she finds she is standing in front of the fish and chips. She reaches for the tiny bottle of malt vinegar that Ted had left between the boxes since he hadn't looked inside to know which box was which.
"God. I haven't had a proper fish and chips since I had that break and came home," she sits at the barstool in front of the meal and breaks a piece off the fish fillet with the wooden fork. "Backfisch just isn't the same."
Ted sits, assembling the burger with most of the fixings, and pats the bun before he picks it up.
"Doesn't that come with a roll and potato salad instead?" He's had it once. It's a faint memory from the early days of visiting her when Richmond was still on break but the Frauen-Bundesliga was already training for their season. She had been trying to find similar foods to her favourites back home for a little taste of home while still branching out to try German dishes.
She hums a 'yes' as she eats another piece of fish doused in vinegar.
"It's only a hotel restaurant version. So, I'm sure you've had better," he tells her before he takes a bite of his burger. "Mae had me promise to make sure we came to the pub before you went to Canada since you always have a meal at The Crown and Anchor before a Lionesses match and she's not about to break England's heart if you don't get her fish and chips or a chicken roast."
Rebecca nods. She knows they would have gone even if Mae hadn't given the directive to Ted. It's the one space they've always been able to relax, even with the AFC Richmond supporters coming and going for meals.
She leans over, her shoulder knocking with Ted's as she steals a chip from his box. She has plenty of her own, but she knows he likes it when she tries to steal his and gets to tell her off as seriously as he can (which isn't very serious).
"Hey!" He tries to sound serious, but his voice pitches high, and it makes them both laugh. "Just because you sprinkle vinegar on all of yours in your mad rush to douse your fried fish fillet doesn't mean you get rights to my perfectly plain and crispy chips."
"No?" She questions with a perfectly arched brow as her fingers snatch another, holding it aloft like a trophy.
His eyes narrow and he leans over, snapping his teeth and getting a corner of the chip just as she pulls it away and brings it to her mouth.
He laughs as she giggles triumphantly. When he steals one of her chips in retaliation, he chokes at the unexpected dousing of vinegar on that particular chip. And of course it sends her into a fit of giggles.
—
He has her laid out beneath him after dinner.
She had cleaned up (packed the boxes back into the takeaway bag and settled it on the floor next to the hob for hotel cleaning staff to take tomorrow when they cleaned) and washed her hands after her meal while he washed his hands in the washroom and stripped the duvet off the bed.
Ted had wrapped his hands around her hips after she had gone back to the biscuit box to break off a piece of the second biscuit. She laughs as he tugs her backwards, slowly but surely leading her to the bed. And instead of pushing her into the cloud of a mattress, he waits for her to finish chewing and instead works on lifting her tank top over her head.
"Ooh," he hums as he hears the low laugh release from her lips. "This is new."
"I know how sports bras are a struggle for you," she tells him as he taps the front zipper of this version of a sports bra. She doesn't do any rigorous workouts in these front-zip sports bras. She saves them for the pilates and yoga and light gym days for fear that the bra would simply unzip if she ran, jumped, or tried to do her trainings in them.
"I've got you out of them enough that I can say I have conquered my enemy before," he tells her. But it's true. He prefers any other bra. They're just so fiddly and tight. Great for sports and all. Just not for this.
The 'uh huh' is only a little sceptical.
Instead of pushing her down onto her back once she finishes her biscuit, he turns her around and ushers her up into the bed and asks if she's comfy before she feels him settle onto the bed, and a few seconds later, his weight settles onto her thighs.
He's always been the least selfish man she knows, and so of course he knows that her muscles are going to be tight after a long day of sitting in an airport lounge, then sitting in a commercial airline seat, and then training. Today has her in all sorts of knots that a contrast dip into hot and cold water won't melt away.
"This okay?" He asks as his hands start at her lower back, pressing into the muscle as he shifts his weight.
She hums. Of course it is.
He doesn't think he'll ever tire of this. It's not mindless. He's quite intentional in listening to her body and where he can find the little knots that can easily be massaged out with a little work. He likes tracing his fingers up and down her spine. Digging into the waxing and waning pieces of the moon against her skin. Pressing his lips against her skin, against the inked pieces that make her a piece of art. But he's done it enough times now that he knows where her usual knots are and spends more time there even if he wants to remap every inch of her skin.
She groans when he hits a particularly deep knot and starts to dig into it. Her hips shift, then her torso, and he huffs a laugh, trying to keep pressing at the knot as she squirms.
"You're enjoying this torture," she tells him after he gets one large knot just below her right shoulder blade.
The hum is neither an acceptance of the fact nor a denial. But the way she arches her back and hips into him lets her know just how interested he is in the moment.
She lets him be, though, sinking into the movements as he works along her back and sides.
He does tap her side, a signal he wants her to turn over, and he wiggles his way off the bed to give her some room to move.
She flops onto her back, laughing as he shakes his head at her.
"Smooth," he tells her.
Her head lifts up and she gives him a wink.
"Off," she whirls her finger towards his joggers as he moves to sit on her thighs again, just her facing him this time.
He opens his mouth to counter that he's fine, but she counters.
"Off," she tells him again. "If I have to be shirtless, you can be jogger-less."
There's a moment where she looks at him and he lifts his shoulders before he does as asked. And he watches the moment she realises he's gone pantless under his joggers. Her grin turns a little Cheshire cat looking and he shakes his head.
"You said off to the joggers," he tells her. "And I'm not about to counter Rebecca Welton's wishes."
"Damn right," she half-grunts as he makes his way back onto the bed.
"Now, let me finish this massage."
She hums and leans her head back onto the bed as he looms over her. He can technically work around her sports bra, but if he's pantless, it's tit-for-tat. And he almost laughs at that out loud.
"Tit for tat?" She asks, reading his mind as he grips the zipper in the fingers of his left hand and pulls down.
"You know me," he teases, even though it's true. She knows him quite well.
The last bit of the zipper has him struggling for a minute, but she helps him release the last bit, and her chest is bared to him with a wiggle of his brows to make her laugh.
As he lifts his hips to adjust his position so he can press into the joint space between her chest and shoulder, because she always carries a knot there, she lifts her hips and slips her joggers off just past where he's intending to sit.
As he looks down, he guffaws, and she slaps her hand at his bare thigh.
"I think we both knew where this night was headed," she tells him, her expression telling him to try and counter her when they both went pantsless. "Six weeks, Ted. Six weeks."
He hums. He knows this is perhaps the longest they should go without seeing one another in person. He certainly hopes next season of the Frauen-Bundesliga and Super League will be kinder to them.
And before he sits, he leans back and gets her joggers down past her knees so she can slip them off, and they drop into a rumpled pile on the floor near her tank top and his joggers.
"You're not playing fair," he tells her when he sits on her thighs, and she waits until he's comfortable before she opens her thighs. He feels his arse slip from her skin to the sheets. And it's just enough of a change that as he leans forward, his dick presses against her and her hips move against him.
"You're the one with a t-shirt still on," she gestures to the way he's quite literally stripped her bare.
"You going to let me finish your massage?" He asks, even though he's pretty sure he knows the answer. He closes his eyes as he feels her hand encircle his dick and carefully moves her fingers until she reaches the tip. Her thumb gently moves across the head as he leans forward and his hips follow her hand.
"Later," she whispers. And she uses those ridiculous core muscles of hers to press up and press a kiss to his mouth, releasing him in favour of getting her hands into his hair and pulling him down as she presses back down into the mattress. "Maybe."
They kiss for what seems like ages, even though it's only been a few minutes. Her face is flush, as is her chest. He's pretty sure he's just as pink and breathless. And as she breathes in, deep and purposeful, is when he notices a hint of colour on her left.
It's a tiny sunflower. It's barely the size of the pad of his thumb and coloured in what he can only call 'sunshine yellow.' It probably has a real name, perhaps even a pantone, but he doesn't care. He'll always think about the 'sunshine yellow' tape he wrapped around her fingers that last match with Richmond. The way she wrapped that 'sunshine yellow' on his fingers when she taught him how to be her.
She doesn't have many coloured tattoos. But this one is, and it's his favourite of their colours, and it's doing something funny to his insides.
"I missed you," she whispers as her hands find his thighs. Her fingers move against the muscle of his quads as she bites her lip. "It's usually where your hand lands if you're curled up against me."
"Ooh boy," he shakes his head with a reverent fondness. He feels so full to bursting with love for her that he can't help but lean down and press his lips to hers, attempting to show her how much that little revelation means to him.
"Do you know how much I love you?" He asks, and each word gets a press of his lips to hers. And he feels her smile through the last of it, their kisses turning a little sloppy as lips meet teeth or skin.
"I have a feeling," she tells him as she reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and tugs.
He gets the hint, helping her pull it up and over his head. And it's tossed to their makeshift pile on this side of the bed.
He settles himself between her thighs, and she pouts, moving her head up just enough to make sure he sees her pouting.
He ignores her. Instead, his hands move to settle between them at the inside of her thighs, and he moves his hands up, his thumbs pressing against her. And he watches as she attempts to lift her hips, but he's at just the right position so that she can't move to make it worthwhile.
"Ted," she hums, her arms attempting to reach him, but only the tips of his knees are in her strike zone.
"Not yet," he shakes his head. He wants to savour her. Savour the moment. It's still sort of unbelievable that she missed him, and since she couldn't come to him or he to her, the next best solution was to permanently ink where his hand always ends up when he gets to curl himself around her as they sleep.
His regular routine of working out with the team has strengthened his core enough that he can shuffle and lean down to press a kiss to her sternum. It distracts her just enough that he can continue to shuffle to get himself comfortable as he presses his hips into the bed as he uses his arms to support his weight to not crush her as he aims to press a series of kisses and gentle nips as he makes his way from her sternum down.
His hips move gently into the bed, a stroke or two of relief as she whimpers when he hums against her as his fingers press into her. The first rolling wave of an orgasm hits her as she unconsciously presses her thighs closed and the sensation of his beard, his mouth, and fingers inside her combine. It builds to something, and her toes and fingers flex, her head pressed into the mattress as she crests into the orgasm before falling into a slow sort of roll, knowing another isn't far behind.
Her hand brushes at his forehead. His fringe is already falling into his eyes, and as he looks up, his eyes are dark and full of feeling as he gently pulls his mouth away, his fingers slowly moving inside her.
"In," is all she gets out before her head falls back and her hips twist to give his fingers a new angle. "Ted. Please."
His fingers slip out of her slowly. Each clench of her inside feels a little less full each time until she's met with nothing. But it isn't long until she finds an angle to watch him as he settles onto his knees, his left hand encircling his dick, fingers wet from her, as he finds her watching him, and smiles softly at her.
He releases himself for a moment to gently move her hips up the bed with a look to make sure she's still comfortable, and he bites his lip at her look. He gets it. He feels just as unhinged.
Ted takes hold of himself again, this time ignoring the way share stares as he leans in and presses himself to her centre. He knows she's ready for him. But he also knows it's been a while. And if he doesn't go slow, he's afraid this might not last long.
He chuckles as he feels her lift her leg, angled just right to hit his arse. A not-so-subtle sign to get a move on.
She breathes out slowly. Her fingers clench around the sheets underneath her, and her hips move unconsciously to meet his own as he sinks into her.
Her heart feels like it's about to beat right out of her chest, and she closes her eyes, opening her mouth in an attempt to draw in a deeper breath.
Just as she feels herself return to her body, he leans in and kisses her softly.
He's got her hips pressed into the bed. She feels grounded, quite literally with his weight against her, but it's always like this after weeks away. There's something slow yet frantic in their touch. In the way he refuses to let her lead the first time that makes the distance they spend for a season feel a little smaller.
Her second orgasm hits just like her first. A slow build-up that ebbs and flows into the next. She laughs, a short, quick thing as her leg cramps for a moment as she crests into what feels like a freefall, but it doesn't stop him as he continues to press into her. His beard is making quick work of pinking her skin as he presses open-mouthed kisses to her chest, her jaw, and her lips.
Ted must be content with her two orgasm lead with the way he changes the rhythm ever so slightly. The way he shifts her thighs just a little higher as she wraps her legs around him. His favourite way to fuck her is always with her wrapped around him. This seems to be a compromise compared to the usual way of her on top, arms and legs wrapped around him as he's wrapped around her, with gentle movements in her hips as she lies atop him until he can't hold himself still anymore. This time, though, it's a deeper angle that has her breathing shallow and her eyes closing as he hits just right. And of course, he delights in the way they come simultaneously. One of her legs drops away from his hip as her mouth opens, breathing hard as Ted's hips continue to move as he works through his own orgasm. She moves an arm up, covering her forehead as she opens her eyes and bites her lip, watching Ted's face morph into a satisfied something.
He helps her curl her back towards the bed, still somehow moving his hips. Almost as if he can't stop them, even though he's starting to soften inside her now that he's come. She's thankful for the assist and sighs softly as her tailbone hits the mattress again. And she feels him move a few more times inside her before he slowly starts to pull out of her.
She can feel from the way the bed bounces briefly that he's beside her somewhere. His breathing was quiet but loud in the otherwise silent room.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" She teases, a little breathless as her hand flops around the bed to find where he's landed. And the back of her hand hits his face. An accident, of course.
He takes her hand and folds it into his own, pressing a kiss to it before he turns onto his side and finds himself at eye level with her newest sunflower tattoo. And he can't help but inch forward, pressing his lips to it, his beard scratching the delicate skin of her rib just to the side of her breast.
"I think I'd much rather do this at home with you in two weeks when we've both got no other obligations but each other," he points out.
"So, you don't want me to come home for the weekend after training is over on Friday?" She turns her head, laughing as he frowns.
He lifts his chin a little, scratching at her skin and leaning in to gently bite at her breast for that comment. But it has the opposite effect he was going for in that her eyes closed and her hips pushed down into the mattress before they lifted and pushed ever so slightly in his direction.
He raises a brow, curious, and curls closer as he moves towards her hip. He may not be ready for round two just yet, as he looks down at himself, but he knows from the way she's pressed into him that he can savour her again while he works himself up for another round.
"Oh," she whispers, pulling her lower lip in, and she bites down when she feels his mouth move over her, his tongue pressing into her folds. Four isn't even his record… her record… whatever.
She's just a little thankful that tomorrow's training doesn't start until 9:00 am.
—
There's something to Ted's favourite way to fuck her, she thinks the next morning, after experiencing his weight wrapped around her and his hips slowly moving against her. It has simultaneously been too much and yet not enough. She still can't believe she had eventually cried when she had finally orgasmed, Ted coming first this time, in a surprise to the both of them since he tries his hardest to always make sure she comes first.
He had rolled them over, citing she might end up crushed if he spent any more time with his weight fully atop her, and held her close. Pressing kisses to whatever part of her that he could reach as her tears abated.
She had listened to his heartbeat. Listening as it moved from jackrabbit speed to slow and steady. She felt the way his fingers traced patterns up and down her back. The way his hand veered towards the tiny sunflower at her chest and pressed down softly. The way he whispered that he loves her and pressed a kiss to whatever part of her was close.
She needs to shower, she thinks as she moves ever so slightly, and it's a reminder that he's somehow still inside her. He also needs to shower before Beard picks him up. And both of them know from prior experience that shared showers never work because she usually presses him against the wall and gives him a blowjob before he returns the favour with his mouth against her before they realise they were supposed to be washing up.
She sighs as she slowly sits up, her eyes closing as she feels him inside her at this angle. And with one last clench that has him chuckling low and deep, she slips away from his hold, winking softly as she leaves him in the bed. She leans down and presses a kiss to his lips before she heads for the washroom.
"I'll be back," she tells him, even though he could have guessed that.
When she gets out, he has his rumpled joggers on as he sits on the bed with a familiar orange box beside him.
"What's this?" She asks, a little thankful that she had put her dressing gown and shower bag in the washroom last night so she's not just in a towel.
"Some guy just left it here," he shrugs his shoulders.
She hums sceptically, as intended, and sits on the bed at the other side of the box.
To: Rebecca Love: Ted, the top of the box reads.
"Some guy?" She asks with a shake of her head.
He just laughs.
She opens the box lid to find new boots with a pink, orange, and yellow sort of tie-dye pattern. When she lifts a boot up out of the packing paper, she sees the spikes are lavender. Each colour is a nod to her favourite and his favourite colours she wears out of all her goalkeeping kits, whether at the national or club level.
He knows she likes to match her boots to her kit when she can. And he knows that at least one of the kit combinations they submitted to FIFA has her in the highlighter pink since there's that whole requirement about being contrasting with the pitch and the other team. So, she can't use her pastels like she does at the club level. Her second kit, of course, is highlighter yellow. One she said she'd always wear as long as she knows he's watching and it's a match that counts. She was keeping the alternate one as a secret, even though she knows he can check the handbook as soon as FIFA releases it. He won't though. He'll let it be a surprise if she wants to use it.
"I know new ones take a minute to break in, so it's why I'm giving them to you now rather than the night of your first World Cup match," Ted tells her. His voice is soft as he watches her turn the boot so she sees the entire thing. She laughs as she finds the inside sole is yellow with 'believe' written in a cerulean blue. Almost an exact replica of the poster in their house in Richmond that sits in a frame at the front door she had commissioned for their anniversary. Or the larger, original version that sits taped above the manager's office in the dressing room of AFC Richmond's training centre.
FIFA has stricter rules than the club level. So, he asked Nike to put her last name at the back of the boot, which was allowed under the FIFA rules. Otherwise, he would have certainly asked them to put 'believe' on the outside of her boots.
"You can also display them if you don't want to wear them. Don't need to give you any sort of bad juju or whatnot."
She looks up at that, a look on her face as if what he just said was the dumbest thing to come out of his mouth.
"I will be wearing these at every match," she informs him, as if there are no other options in her mind.
He goes a little pink at that. His chest even colours pink, bare as it is right now.
"I worked with Nike to make sure they're like the ones you usually wear. Didn't want to change your preferred boot and all."
She only changes boots when she has to train as a defensive player rather than a keeper. Luckily, though, she's only been called up as a goalkeeper for the World Cup even though she could certainly defend left, right, or centre if the goalkeeper roster had been full.
"I love them," she hums, smiling softly as she puts the boot back into the box and leans even further over to kiss him. "I love you."
"Love you," he tells her back.
When she pulls away, she pulls the box into her lap.
"You should shower," she points out. She doesn’t have very long until she has to go down and get breakfast before the 9:00 warm-ups. "You smell."
He playfully lifts his arm, sniffing at it.
"Smells like you," he tells her, offering his arm.
She pushes it away, laughing at his antics.
"You smell like sweat," she counters.
He raises a brow. Of course he does. He shakes his head with a click of his tongue as she turns a little pink.
"You match your new boots," he says, pointing at the box.
She leans over and slaps his shoulder.
"Go. Shower. You can smell like my shampoo instead of sweat and whatever the hell that soap is in there," she tells him.
To be fair to her earlier walk towards the washroom, he stands and slips off his joggers, leaving them in the little pile from last night. He winks and she shakes her head, a quiet laugh falling from her lips.
Just before he crosses the threshold of the washroom, he turns back and finds her watching him walk away.
"Hey, highlighter?" He half-asks, half-calls out.
She smiles at the nickname.
"Coach Lasso?" She answers back playfully.
"Love you."
She bites her lip to try and hide the grin that splits her face as he walks into the washroom and turns the shower on without waiting for a reply. After all, her smile was answer enough.
If his joggers and t-shirt happen to disappear into her laundry bag before he can pack his go-bag and knapsack before Beard picks him up, well, he's sure they'll make an appearance again someday soon.