hurt
For cornerflag's Issue no. 1.
Title: Hurt
Rating: R
Pairing: Alessandro Nesta/Ricardo Kakà, Alessandro Nesta/Paolo Maldini, Alessandro Nesta/Zlatan Ibrahimović (implied), Ricardo Kakà/Andriy Shevchenko (implied)
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: 'Do you like to hurt?' - 'I do, I do!' - 'Then hurt me.'
Alessandro does not think. He is furious.
“Fraternizing with the enemy!” Paolo had accused and Alessandro had contemptuously replied that he was speaking out of pure jealousy-and while that has to have been a part of it, Alessandro knows deep down that he has a point as well. Il capitano, diplomatic as he is, frequently indulge in healthy bouts of chi non salta nerazzurro!-but of course the animosity should be appropriate for a man rossonero through and through. Alessandro knows he cannot comparatively say the same for himself but the words sting nonetheless. As if he doesn’t care!
“Why him?” Paolo had demanded. “Of all the people! Sandro, if you were angry with me-”
“As if!” Alessandro had interrupted, his tone giving all away-Paolo chooses to ignore, however.
“-the least you could have done was to find one of us! But you and that long-limbed, big-nosed...”
“Would it hurt any less?” is all he cared to know.
“No.”
“Then end of-!”
One of us. Well, that’s perfectly fine.
His demeanor oft calm, even shy, had masked all other possible expressions. Furious? Yes, still, but Paolo had planted new preoccupations too. A familiar face would hurt and they could both use a dosage of that right now.
Alessandro had scanned the room. Kakà. Familiar. One of us. Hurting.
It was almost too convenient.
“Sandro, stop,” Ricky gasps against bruising lips, against a doorknob pressing into the small of his back. The door itself isn’t opening quickly enough and when it does, when they fall through, Alessandro pretends not to hear the request-or maybe the flurry of hands and frantic movement of hips are too distracting.
Distracting. That's how he got the boy to come.
“Ricky.”
He had looked up and smiled. Genuine. (Hurting.) “Hello, Sandro.”
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
And lying through his teeth, Alessandro had said, “Where it hurts less.”
“Sandro, I don’t know,” he tries again, sprawling on top of the defender. “I’ve never...”
Alessandro disregards the hesitation and says, almost cruelly, “He was always on top then?” The words are barely out of his mouth but there is a flash of anguish in the younger man’s eyes-just as fleeting-and he feels the edges of regret. “Sorry,” Alessandro adds quickly and kisses Ricky again. He meets hard lips at first but he coaxes, rubbing the Brasilian's warm back and pushing his shirt up at the same time, and they soften, yielding.
“I want to forget...” they part and breathe.
Alessandro pushes their shorts down.
“This is meaningless,” he warns and reaches for Ricky.
“I know.”
“How do you feel?”
Alessandro turns, surprised. “I’ve never heard that before.”
Ricky shrugs and thrusts.
“It hurts,” Alessandro continues comfortably and they both understand he means another kind of pain.
“I know.”
“We’re not too different, you and I.”
“We’re a lot different,” Ricky says afterward and Alessandro tries not to look disappointed. “We want different things.”
Alessandro settles on looking everywhere else instead. How does he face somebody who has been used and accepts it?
“Go see Paolo, Sandro.”
Title: Hurt
Rating: R
Pairing: Alessandro Nesta/Ricardo Kakà, Alessandro Nesta/Paolo Maldini, Alessandro Nesta/Zlatan Ibrahimović (implied), Ricardo Kakà/Andriy Shevchenko (implied)
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: 'Do you like to hurt?' - 'I do, I do!' - 'Then hurt me.'
Alessandro does not think. He is furious.
“Fraternizing with the enemy!” Paolo had accused and Alessandro had contemptuously replied that he was speaking out of pure jealousy-and while that has to have been a part of it, Alessandro knows deep down that he has a point as well. Il capitano, diplomatic as he is, frequently indulge in healthy bouts of chi non salta nerazzurro!-but of course the animosity should be appropriate for a man rossonero through and through. Alessandro knows he cannot comparatively say the same for himself but the words sting nonetheless. As if he doesn’t care!
“Why him?” Paolo had demanded. “Of all the people! Sandro, if you were angry with me-”
“As if!” Alessandro had interrupted, his tone giving all away-Paolo chooses to ignore, however.
“-the least you could have done was to find one of us! But you and that long-limbed, big-nosed...”
“Would it hurt any less?” is all he cared to know.
“No.”
“Then end of-!”
One of us. Well, that’s perfectly fine.
His demeanor oft calm, even shy, had masked all other possible expressions. Furious? Yes, still, but Paolo had planted new preoccupations too. A familiar face would hurt and they could both use a dosage of that right now.
Alessandro had scanned the room. Kakà. Familiar. One of us. Hurting.
It was almost too convenient.
“Sandro, stop,” Ricky gasps against bruising lips, against a doorknob pressing into the small of his back. The door itself isn’t opening quickly enough and when it does, when they fall through, Alessandro pretends not to hear the request-or maybe the flurry of hands and frantic movement of hips are too distracting.
Distracting. That's how he got the boy to come.
“Ricky.”
He had looked up and smiled. Genuine. (Hurting.) “Hello, Sandro.”
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
And lying through his teeth, Alessandro had said, “Where it hurts less.”
“Sandro, I don’t know,” he tries again, sprawling on top of the defender. “I’ve never...”
Alessandro disregards the hesitation and says, almost cruelly, “He was always on top then?” The words are barely out of his mouth but there is a flash of anguish in the younger man’s eyes-just as fleeting-and he feels the edges of regret. “Sorry,” Alessandro adds quickly and kisses Ricky again. He meets hard lips at first but he coaxes, rubbing the Brasilian's warm back and pushing his shirt up at the same time, and they soften, yielding.
“I want to forget...” they part and breathe.
Alessandro pushes their shorts down.
“This is meaningless,” he warns and reaches for Ricky.
“I know.”
“How do you feel?”
Alessandro turns, surprised. “I’ve never heard that before.”
Ricky shrugs and thrusts.
“It hurts,” Alessandro continues comfortably and they both understand he means another kind of pain.
“I know.”
“We’re not too different, you and I.”
“We’re a lot different,” Ricky says afterward and Alessandro tries not to look disappointed. “We want different things.”
Alessandro settles on looking everywhere else instead. How does he face somebody who has been used and accepts it?
“Go see Paolo, Sandro.”