#wout/mathieu

[thedeadparrot]

untitled time travel ficlet (wout & mathieu)

Written for the @wtfanworkclassification Stage 21: write a fanwork in one hour challenge. Probably reads like the beginning of a much longer thing, because that was the original plot bunny, but I am not sure I can write more of this without hurting my own feelings.

tw: Wout's Vuelta injury is a big part of this, but not described in any detail

Wout's knee hurts when he wakes up. It's the same dull throb that he's had for a few days now. His doctors say it should improve over time. He just wishes it would be faster.

He's already written off the rest of the season. No point in showing up to Euros or Worlds after a few weeks or even a full month without rigorous training. And then beyond that, he'll see.

He manages to hobble down the stairs, mostly by clinging to the railing the whole way. He has tolerated a lot of pain in his life, and he can tell the difference between good pain and bad pain. This is very much in the "bad" category. But he can't do anything else but endure it.

In fact, he's so lost in his own misery, he doesn't even realize he has a visitor when he stumbles his way towards the kitchen.

"Um, hi?" a voice asks.

Wout jumps back, nearly dropping his carton of milk in surprise. He spins on his heel, which causes a stab of pain to shoot up his thigh. He can practically feel it in his teeth. He squints.

Mathieu stands there, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. But this isn't the same Mathieu Wout last saw at the Olympics, honed into peak shape and ready to destroy the much smaller Olympic peloton. No, this is a much younger version of him. His hair is buzzed down. His face is still a little round with baby fat. Wout can't remember Mathieu ever looking young to him before. They were always close enough in age that Mathieu had only ever registered as 'normal.' This version of him barely looks older than a child, like some of the kids coming out of the development team.

Mathieu blinks at him. "Oh, uh. I don't know what I'm doing here, but I'm sorry for invading your house."

Wout stares at him. Mathieu doesn't recognize him, apparently. He supposes that's fair for someone who has time traveled to the future without warning. "What year is it for you?" Wout asks.

Mathieu says, "Twenty-thirteen."

Wout sighs. Eleven years ago. Jesus Christ, he feels old, and he's only turned thirty. He takes another step towards the refrigerator. He made some overnight oats at the beginning of the week, and it's been sustaining him in the mornings before his painkillers kick in. His knee gives another twinge as he does so, and the wince must be obvious, because Mathieu rushes over to steady his elbow. Wout already wasn't feeling particularly covered in glory this morning, but having to be assisted by the eighteen year old version of his rival really adds another cherry on top of the shit sundae.

Mathieu asks, "So I guess it's not twenty-thirteen anymore?" He looks at Wout with round, confused eyes. Somehow, it just makes him look even younger.

"Nope," Wout says. He finds a chair at the kitchen table and drops himself into it. He wants this shit year and this shit season to be over. Then again, he thought that about last year, and somehow fate found a way to make this year worse. "It's twenty-twenty-four."

Mathieu's brow furrows. "Oh," he says. "Did I get a concussion? Do I have amnesia?"

The throbbing in Wout's knee has started to subside. The drugs are kicking in. Good. He stands back up. "No, I think this is just good old fashioned time travel."

Mathieu says, "How do you know that? Are you an expert on time travel or something?" He hovers awkwardly at Wout's side, like he's unsure if he should offer to help again.

"No, I just know you're not supposed to be here right now," Wout finally makes it to the refrigerator and gets out his jar of oats. If he were a good host, he would offer Mathieu something to drink. He's not feeling like a good host at the moment.

"Psychic?" Mathieu guesses next. "Something to do with my aura?" His eyes flick around himself, like maybe he can also see his aura, too.

"I know you. The older you. The younger version of you, too, I guess." Wout shuffles back to the table with his oats and his spoon and sits back down in the chair. He did not need this weirdness on top of everything else.

Mathieu squints at him. "Really? I know you?" His gaze bores in on Wout's face, trying to solve the puzzle.

Wout can tell the exact moment the realization dawns on him, because his jaw drops and his eyes widen. It would probably be a funny picture if someone had a camera on them right now. "Wout?" he asks.

"Yup," Wout says dryly. "Hi, Mathieu. Welcome to the future."

---

Of course after this, Mathieu develops a giant crush on older Wout because Wout Got Hot and then maybe Wout blows younger Mathieu's mind a bit and then Wout comes to terms with the passing of time and the fragility of his own body or something.

[mvdam]

[etapereine]

Peloton Text Posts (3/?)

[rogloptimist]

i’ve succumbed to the Text Post Disease

[boraababy]

x Elite Men's Call up: Wout Van Aert and Mathieu Van Der Poel with Ice Vest

[marcelskittels]

‹ Paris 2024 Olympics - Cycling: Men’s Road Race ›

[thelittlebastard]

if he's right... no words. link for people stronger than me, i can't bring myself to watch it (it is region restricted so use a vpn if you're not in belgium)

[csgreyeyes]

2023.12.23 Mol.

每次画这个彩虹条纹都会很想死谁懂…画公路车也是。

[thedeadparrot]

theater au does romeo and juliet

Takes place after all hearts in love use their own tongues, The Antwerp Queer Men's Shakespeare Society puts on a production of Romeo and Juliet. Tadej/Jonas, mostly. For @wtfanworkclassification TDF Stage 2: Actor AU.

Tadej closed his eyes, took a deep breath and reminded himself that he loved Romeo and Juliet. He loved having the chance to play Juliet. The role wasn't just about her youth or her passion. It was also about the clarity of her convictions. He was thrilled, honored to have won the part.

He just wished– well, he wished he and Jonas were on better terms right now, and he was in a better mindset to play a star-crossed lover. They weren't close to breaking up or anything that drastic. They had even moved in together after Midsummer. Tadej ditched his roommate, gotten cozy in Jonas' one-bedroom apartment, and gained partial custody of Jonas' cat. Their first few months together were blissful and perfect, full of shared meals, discussions of Shakespeare, cuddles on Jonas' lumpy, scratched-up couch. But then– Tadej knew what he was like. He needed attention and stimulation. Jonas, on the other hand, preferred things on the calmer and quieter side. He would much rather be reading by himself than trying to keep Tadej occupied all the time. It wore on Tadej to constantly have to ask, and it wore on Jonas to constantly have to provide. All of it made Tadej feel scraped raw and irritable, in no mood to pretend to fall in love.

"This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?" Mathieu sneered. They were rehearsing the big Capulet party today, blocking out where to fit all the various characters as they came in and out of the scene. "Now by the stock and honor of my kin, to strike him dead, I hold it not a sin." In theory, Mathieu's Tybalt was raging at the presence of Jonas' Romeo, but he only had eyes for Wout's Mercutio. Somehow, Mathieu had managed to convince the director to let him play Tybalt's anger as misplaced jealousy over Romeo's closeness with Mercutio instead. It was a transparent ploy on Mathieu's part. He just wanted an excuse to stare at Wout's butt on stage, despite his many, many opportunities to do so off stage. Tadej could respect the hustle.

Tadej tried not to glare at the third member of the Montague trio. None of this was Sepp's fault. Okay, maybe it was a little bit Sepp's fault. He was the one who brought his American friend to work day this past weekend. Said friend took one look at Jonas, developed a very obvious crush on Tadej's boyfriend, and then proceeded to monopolize all of Jonas' time while Tadej needed Jonas to keep him from accidentally breaking a finger with a hammer. (Okay, Tadej didn't get close to breaking any fingers, but it was the principle of the thing.) Tadej couldn't even be too resentful, because Matteo had been instrumental in helping them finish the final touches of the trench set. (This production was going to be World War I themed. As with most of the concepts envisioned by their director, Tadej had learned not to question it.) Still, it was impossible to stay mad at Sepp. He was just too nice. Even if he was friends with awful homewreckers.

The homewrecker was even in the audience of their rehearsal today, watching everything (mostly Jonas) with rapt attention from their crappy folding chairs. At the thought of Matteo, Tadej stood up straighter and took a deep breath. He would give Matteo something to watch alright. He was going to knock Matteo's socks off, and then Jonas couldn't get distracted by stupid ginger Americans anymore.

He focused on his own lines, tuning out as Nils, playing Lord Capulet, dressed down a sulky Mathieu. This was the big moment, the first meeting between the young lovers. Tadej had to nail it.

Before he knew it, Mathieu was slinking off stage like the Prince of Cats Tybalt was, and Jonas was right there in front of Tadej. Wout and Sepp had also exited the scene, leaving Jonas and Tadej alone center stage. Even though this was just the upstairs room of the youth center, under the same washed-out fluorescent lights they always were, Tadej's heart jumped into his throat.

Jonas' eyes were on him, eager and intent. Every bit of adoration was written across his face. Tadej knew that look. He saw it over morning breakfasts and after evening dinners. Jonas took Tadej's hand. Jonas had thin fingers. Tadej had always though of them as delicate. Jonas' Romeo was on the shier end of the spectrum. His voice was hesitant as he said, "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." His smile was small and tentative.

Tadej gave Jonas' hand a squeeze. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much. Which mannerly devotion shows in this," He grinned back at Jonas, using this moment to take Romeo's uncertainty and return it with Juliet's teasing flirtation. Traditionally, Juliet was played as sheltered, full of shyness herself as Romeo offered up a kiss to her. Tadej had no use for that. His Juliet knew what she wanted. He lifted Jonas' hand up so that he could press their palms together in full view of the audience (Matteo). "For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

Jonas' smile widened, creasing the lines around his mouth. "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?" He swayed closer, and Tadej remembered their first kiss. It had happened in this very room. His heart fluttered in his chest double time, exactly the same as it did back then.

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer," Tadej said. He almost wanted to say screw the rest of the lines and lay one on Jonas right there.

Jonas twined their fingers together. His voice got a bit breathier, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." His eyes flicked to their hands, then back to Tadej's eyes. Tadej admired the gentle sweep of his eyelashes. That was one of the first things Tadej had noticed about Jonas when they had first met, when Jonas was still a quiet stagehand who always seemed to be lurking in Wout's shadow. He hadn't forgotten what it felt like, exactly, but this rush felt as new and as special as it did the first time.

Tadej said, "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." He shifted closer. Only one last line before the kiss. His eyes fluttered closed. His lips parted.

"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take," Jonas murmured, closing off the couplet. The director would probably give him notes to speak louder and enunciate more, but Tadej couldn't bring himself to care about that, not when he could hear the understated passion in Jonas' voice. It was a tone he usually only used when they were alone together, and even with their various cast and crew staring at them, they might as well be.

Jonas cupped Tadej's face as he brought their lips together. He kept the kiss light and sweet. It still stole the breath from his lungs.

After Jonas pulled back, he said, "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."

Tadej blinked his eyes open and met Jonas' adoring gaze again. His annoyances with Jonas felt small and petty in the face of that, like maybe they had purged. Even when Matteo was regaling Jonas with tales of Idaho (a place Tadej refused to believe was real), Jonas had only looked politely interested. None of the focus he was giving Tadej now. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took," Tadej told him.

Jonas grinned, leaning in again. "Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again."

They kissed. This time, Tadej threw his arms around Jonas' shoulders, pulling him in closer and losing himself in the magic of the moment. They would get through this. Even though Tadej was annoyed at the moment, he could feel the truth of Jonas' feelings. The rest of it was just… logistics.

All too soon, Jonas pulled back again. Tadej licked his own lips, chasing the familiar taste of him. Tadej said, "You kiss by the book," and he shot Jonas one of his own small, secret smiles. Jonas returned it.

Behind him, Jasper made a loud, obnoxious throat-clearing noise. Tadej turned to face him. "Madam, your mother craves a word with you," he said. He was trying out different voices for the nurse, and all of them tended towards the high-pitched and screechy. Tadej loved the man, but he did not do subtlety well.

Tadej nodded at him and shifted to the side so the nurse and Romeo could have their conversation. He didn't even have to act to keep the love-sick smile plastered to his face.

After they finished off the scene, Tadej returned to the audience. The director rewound to the pre-party scene to give Wout some notes on Mercutio's Queen Mab speech and how he wanted it related to shell shock. After that, they'd do the balcony scene. The director had re-envisioned it to be partly in a Mark I tank, which had the set designer throwing a hissy fit about getting one built in time for opening.

Matteo stopped Tadej before he could find a seat. "Awesome job, dude," he said. His smile was wide and genuine. He held out a fist for Tadej to bump.

Tadej met his fist with his own. "Thank you." His smile back was just as genuine. Maybe the guy wasn't as bad as Tadej had thought. He had good taste in men, after all.

[wouteke]

mathieu attack + wout on his wheel

[mvdam]

prolly not going to post it but lowkey making a wouthieu comic and I was kinda proud of these bits :D

[etapereine]

Peloton + Text Posts (2/?)

[pinkpogiclub]

[marcelskittels]

x

[wereallgonnadieintheend]