wrapped
Title: Wrapped
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ricardo Kakà/Yoann Gourcuff
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: This is what happened between matches during the Trofeo TIM, 14 August 2007.
Kakà leans against his seat and tilts his head back, eyes closed, resting after a short but strenuous match, during which he feels he was entirely ineffective due to constant, tight marking. He is supposed to play in the following one as well (against Inter!-he always especially enjoys those) but what is the point of overexerting himself and risking injury before the season even starts?
He opens his eyes when he hears Yoann swears (the kid is learning Italian quickly) from the adjacent seat, frowning as he rummages through a bag.
“I can’t find the tape,” Yoann explains when he catches Kakà’s gaze, flushing.
“Oh.” Kakà stares a moment longer and then suddenly gets up. He turns and reaches over to the compartment above Favalli’s chair on his other side before facing Yoann again, producing a barely-used roll.
“Thanks,” Yoann mumbles and the hue on his cheeks is threateningly redder. “My socks never stay up right and-”
Kakà grins, his weariness forgotten for the moment. “Here, let me help you.” He gestures sit and stoops when Yoann hesitatingly complies. He picks at the rough edge of the tape and pulls and when it has unraveled to a decent length, Kakà tears the piece off with his teeth. He selects a spot on Yoann’s slight right ankle and carefully places one end of the tape there. He wounds the rest of the piece around it, his fingers delicately (purposely, Yoann swears) mimicking, tracing the path (and Kakà swears that the changing room is not so loud that he can ignore Yoann’s increasingly heavy breathing). When he finishes with the right, Kakà repeats the same procedure on the left ankle, although the handiwork is rather less crafty because Yoann has started to make little involuntary twitching movements.
“What are you doing?” He’s mumbling again, but Kakà can detect the straining in his voice all the same. “People-”
Kakà’s smile looks innocent. “Good to go!” he says brightly, loudly, then conspicuously pats Yoann’s thigh. The younger man is taken by surprised and Kakà has never seen a French tomato before but he suspects that Yoann is alarmingly imitating one. So he stops teasing and his voice drops its volume when he says gently, seriously, “Have fun out there. Don’t get hurt.”
He winks, sneaks a kiss on the inner side of Yoann’s knee, and crawls back into his seat, embracing fatigue again.
When Yoann dizzily gets up to follow the rest of the guys playing in the second match out, he hears Favalli asking for the tape, and wonders if he’ll get treated just as well. He almost resumes twitching. Better not.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ricardo Kakà/Yoann Gourcuff
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: This is what happened between matches during the Trofeo TIM, 14 August 2007.
Kakà leans against his seat and tilts his head back, eyes closed, resting after a short but strenuous match, during which he feels he was entirely ineffective due to constant, tight marking. He is supposed to play in the following one as well (against Inter!-he always especially enjoys those) but what is the point of overexerting himself and risking injury before the season even starts?
He opens his eyes when he hears Yoann swears (the kid is learning Italian quickly) from the adjacent seat, frowning as he rummages through a bag.
“I can’t find the tape,” Yoann explains when he catches Kakà’s gaze, flushing.
“Oh.” Kakà stares a moment longer and then suddenly gets up. He turns and reaches over to the compartment above Favalli’s chair on his other side before facing Yoann again, producing a barely-used roll.
“Thanks,” Yoann mumbles and the hue on his cheeks is threateningly redder. “My socks never stay up right and-”
Kakà grins, his weariness forgotten for the moment. “Here, let me help you.” He gestures sit and stoops when Yoann hesitatingly complies. He picks at the rough edge of the tape and pulls and when it has unraveled to a decent length, Kakà tears the piece off with his teeth. He selects a spot on Yoann’s slight right ankle and carefully places one end of the tape there. He wounds the rest of the piece around it, his fingers delicately (purposely, Yoann swears) mimicking, tracing the path (and Kakà swears that the changing room is not so loud that he can ignore Yoann’s increasingly heavy breathing). When he finishes with the right, Kakà repeats the same procedure on the left ankle, although the handiwork is rather less crafty because Yoann has started to make little involuntary twitching movements.
“What are you doing?” He’s mumbling again, but Kakà can detect the straining in his voice all the same. “People-”
Kakà’s smile looks innocent. “Good to go!” he says brightly, loudly, then conspicuously pats Yoann’s thigh. The younger man is taken by surprised and Kakà has never seen a French tomato before but he suspects that Yoann is alarmingly imitating one. So he stops teasing and his voice drops its volume when he says gently, seriously, “Have fun out there. Don’t get hurt.”
He winks, sneaks a kiss on the inner side of Yoann’s knee, and crawls back into his seat, embracing fatigue again.
When Yoann dizzily gets up to follow the rest of the guys playing in the second match out, he hears Favalli asking for the tape, and wonders if he’ll get treated just as well. He almost resumes twitching. Better not.