[RPF] And I'm shaken then I'm still
Title: And I'm shaken then I'm still (when your eyes meet mine)
Fandom: RPF Football
Characters/Pairing: Alex Del Piero/Claudio Marchisio, all of Juventus' current squad
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 5325 (fidipu)
Warnings: angst, fluff, lime, kitten!fic
Prompt: Qualcosa di moderno (Something modern) @ Kyalendario (♥
el_defe)
Notes: WELL. It only took me, what, a year? Ten months?, to finally get them laid (sorry), AND I'M NOT EVEN SATISFIED WITH THE PORN \O/ But the rest is okay with me, so, well. PLPLPLPLPLPL.
- Eyecandy before you start reading: this is what Claudio looked like this summer in California. YAH HE'S BLOND, I WASN'T MAKING IT UP, AND ALSO ALEX IS LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THEY JUST HAD SE-- YEAH RIGHT.
- Title credits go to Snow Patrol (~ Set down your glass).
Disclaimer: I’m lying, just for the sake of it.
~ And I'm shaken then I'm still.
(When your eyes meet mine)
They’re doing laps in the uberawesome pitch they have here in California, the whole team all scrunched up in an untidy procession with Andrea at the head, as stoic as ever even in his jogging, and Milos and Arturo closing the line far behind him, amiably chatting away and walking rather than actually running.
Alex feels warm, he feels insanely happy and he might’ve been humming quietly to himself for the past three laps or something, but that has nothing to do - really, nothing at all, - with the fact that Claudio is right at his elbow, easily keeping his pace and, if you squint hard enough, you’ll notice even his breathing is synced with Alex’s.
Then, out of nowhere, Claudio has a hiccup, a small, adorable sound that makes Alex’s smile go all kinds of soft and adoring, and he vanishes into thin air.
And that, well, that was unexpected.
Alex freezes, and he stares blankly at the slice of landscape that’s where Claudio’s hair - which summer and the seaside and probably the wrong brand of shampoo turned into an amazing, glowing shade of gold, by the way, - is supposed to be. A heartbeat, and then Giorgio crashes into his back, and Gigi crashes into Giorgio’s back, and Paolo crashes into Gigi’s back, and it’s quite something, really, that the whole team doesn’t end up flying.
“Alex, what’s wrong?” Giorgio asks, calm and collected as ever, but then he looks around and, well, when Giorgio gets worried you know for sure it’s time to fucking lose it. “Where’s Claudio?”
Alex, honestly, wants to scream, which is not a feeling he’s very accustomed to, because if Giorgio had to ask that, it means he’s not going insane; it means, much to his dismay, that the whole world is clearly collapsing into batshit crazy nonsense.
“What do you mean, where’s Claudio?” Gigi walks up, laughing. “He was here, like a second ago and-- oh God, where’d he go?”
Andrea, two laps ahead of everyone else already, notices they’ve all stopped for some reason, so he turns around and gets back to them.
“His clothes are here,” Vincenzo points out, slightly frowning, and then everyone is staring at the untidy pile of clothes lying on the grass like someone just stepped out of them to go take a swim. The problem is, they don’t have a fucking pool in here, and also Claudio didn’t just walk away, he vanished.
The rest of the team catches up with them, gathering and shuffling around in a very random circle of curiosity. Alex has no idea what to do, how to keep them from panicking, mostly because, Hell, he’s panicking himself. He’s pretty sure, even, that when a teammate of yours suddenly disappears during training - not in a I’m-lazy-so-I’m-gonna-skip-the-tiring-stuff-and-lie-down-a-bit kind of way, - panic is actually the only logic reaction.
So, panic. Panic, Alex. Panic, goddammit, for once in your life. Claudio was right there and now he’s not anymore and only his clothes are left. Panic, please.
And then something meows.
Well, not something; it’s a cat. Alex isn’t that fucked up already he doesn’t know only cats do meow.
“Why did everyone stop?” Arturo asks, a little out of breath, late to the parade as it’s usual. He looks down from above Giorgio’s shoulder, and then there’s another meow, with an hard edge to it this time. “Holy crap, what’s meowling down there?”
“Claudio’s clothes, apparently,” Andrea deadpans, frowning.
“Ah, nonsense! Clothes don’t meow,” Gigi huffs, and then he crouches and starts throwing away Claudio’s clothes - his bright yellow bib, the shirt he was wearing, - until, oh, God.
Oh, dear God, it’s a cat, no, a kitten.
Out of the pile of Claudio’s clothes, Gigi scoops up a kitten and Alex’s head feels like it’s going to kill him very soon. The kitten is nothing more than a little ball of fur as white as vanilla ice cream, with a straw-yellow patch on its back and another of the same colour on its little curly tail.
Gigi holds it out and then carefully puts it into the palm of his hand, and the kitten is small enough to fit in there quite comfortably.
“But look at you!” Gigi gurgles in his best dopey voice. “Hello, li’l one!”
The kitten meows again, apparently not amused at the endearment. Gigi chuckles, strokes his back and then gets back up again, he starts showing the cat off like it’s a trophy he just won.
“Why was Claudio hiding a cat in his clothes?” Alessandro asks, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. “And where is he anyway?”
“Alright, dudes, I think it’s obvious what’s happening here,” Milos states, hands on his hips like he owns the place. Alex barely manages to swallow a groan. “Claudio is the cat.”
Now honestly, Alex would laugh at that and pat him sympathetically on the shoulder, maybe shake his head a little in amusement. The problem, though, is that Gigi picks that very moment to basically shove the kitten into Alex’s face, and the little pointy-eared thing has these big sky-blue eyes and it - he - stares up at Alex, dear God, with what, on a human being, would undoubtedly be an awfully embarrassed expression.
Alex thinks that, really, this looks like a very nice moment to get himself a heart attack.
*
Claudio is the cat.
As insane and terrifying and, well, just plain wrong as it sounds, the whole team - and soon enough the coach, and the medics, and anyone who happens to stroll by the training center for whatever reason, - has to wrap their minds around that thought and accept it as real.
Yeah, Claudio is a cat now.
Gigi, of course, is into it in a matter of seconds.
“Ale!” he yells, from the top of his lungs, as if Alex wasn’t standing five feet from him. He cradles Claudio to his chest like he’s holding a baby and, honestly, that’s getting kind of disturbing. Also, his insane protectiveness is one of the reasons why Alex hasn’t managed to get himself to even touch the cat yet, while everyone else seems so eager to do it they are fucking making grabby hands at the poor little thing. “We need to feed him!”
“I don’t think he’s hungry yet,” Alex says, frowning a bit, and Claudio meows softly, like he’s agreeing with him. Of course, there’s no way to know for sure he even understands what they’re saying anymore.
God, this is insane.
“Of course he’s hungry!” Gigi wails, looking outrageously offended, like Alex was trying to insinuate he’s the worst mother ever because he cannot even understand whether his baby is hungry or not. Did he mention this is insane? “Can’t you see how weak and thin he is?”
Claudio meows harder, now, as if he’s protesting. Alex has a midfielder with feelers and a goalie who’s quickly turning psychotic over his need to properly fuss over a cat. He lets out a small, breathy laugh, and pets Claudio’s head with two fingers, right between his ears. They’re all going crazy, probably, but gosh, Claudio makes such a cute kitten.
“He doesn’t look that weak to me,” Alex says, and smiles a little more when Claudio pushes his head back, clearly content with the stroking.
Gigi winces audibly.
“Ale,” he breathes, and when Alex looks up to him, Jesus Christ, he realizes it looks like Gigi’s going to cry. “Ale, he’s purring!”
Alex laughs at that, happily and wholeheartedly. Claudio meows, Gigi lifts him up and turns him around to kiss the top of his head and nuzzle his back a little bit.
“Who’s daddy’s favourite little kitten, hm?” he says, dopey all over again, and it’s honestly hilarious how easily the mere sight of a nice, cute kitten can destroy a grown man’s dignity.
Alex brushes a hand through his hair, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to know why exactly his stomach is working so hard to tie itself into a tight knot.
*
Gigi manages to find a dish deep enough to pour milk into, and he’s so enthusiast about it that, when he sits Claudio down in front of it, the poor kitten, who’s not feeling hungry in the slightest, by the way, can’t find it in himself to disappoint him. He gets up on his shiny new four furry legs, then, and a little unsteadily he walks to his special lunch and laps at it tentatively.
Dear God, being a kitten at Juventus really sucks.
“I think he likes it,” Arturo says, with a musing face that doesn’t quite fit him. Claudio mewls a bit in protest, but nobody seems to care, so he goes back to the milk. Gigi and Alessandro are filming this, he realizes, after a moment. He’s so indignant his fur actually gets all bristled, but the two grandiose fuckers apparently find it all sorts of endearing and they start giggling at him.
Claudio wishes for the ground - or rather, the table, - to open up under his feet - paws - and swallow him whole; when it doesn’t happen, he settles for the next best thing: proudly walking away from this bullshit.
Of course, it’s easier said - meowed - than done.
The problem is he’s not exactly accustomed to the way his brand new bony body works, and when he tries to move away from the dish, he loses his balance - he feels like it might have something to do with his stupid tail, - and, next thing he knows he’s sinking in milk, little waves splashing all the way up to his ears, and all he can do is flail his paws around uselessly.
He’s floundering, and everyone around him seems to find it endlessly adorable. They giggle and point at him and make girly, high-pitched noises, but then Alex has got a hand at the nape of his neck, thank you very much, and he’s lifting him up.
Claudio must be the most miserable thing ever, hung up in midair like that, all wet and sticky, trying to lick the milk away from his nose. He pouts, even if he’s a kitten and he probably shouldn’t be able to do that.
Alex smiles at him, though, and there’s a soft edge to it that makes Claudio’s little kitty heart do weird things inside his little kitty ribcage. Alex sits him down into the palm of one of his hands, curls the other around back and effortlessly lifts him to press a kiss to his still damp forehead. Claudio sniffles, and he’s purring already.
*
They decide it’s sad that he doesn’t have a proper, personal bowl, one with his name on it. Alex is gently drying him up with a soft, warm towel when Arturo and Milos volunteer to go buy one at the closest pet shop - which they have no idea where to find, obviously, - and he’s still petting him with the same towel when they finally decide that it’s a safer bet to send Giorgio and Andrea instead, and the truth is probably Alex is enjoying this drying business a tad too much, because when Giorgio and Andrea come back, loaded with apparently half a dozen different bowls - because they couldn’t agree on the colour, - and fifteen different flavours of cat food - that one, they didn’t think about, so yeah, great idea to send those two, - he’s still sitting on the couch, Claudio carefully cradled in his lap, and he’s stroking his back clean now, when there’s really no need to.
Not that Claudio means to complain, anyway. He’s been purring for an hour straight, now, and God, that’s the best feeling ever. He’s quite enjoying being a cat, really.
Gigi digs out a sharpie out of nowhere, and picks out a bright pink bowl. Claudio has his eyes closed, and he’s facing away from where they’re standing, which is good.
“So!” Gigi starts, solemnly. “What shall I write on it?”
A puzzled chatter ensues.
“Well,” Alessandro finally speaks up, sounding as confused as his face must show. Claudio has no intention whatsoever to open his eyes and turn around; he would even have to climb up the back of the couch, probably, and thank you very much, he’s perfectly fine where he is. “Claudio, no? That’s... that’s his name.”
Gigi seems to cringe at that.
“You can’t be serious, Claudio is a crappy name,” he says. Claudio, at that, lets out an unimpressed meow, which, considering the status of utter blissfulness he’s currently experiencing, comes out sort of less angry and less threatening than he’d hoped. Then again, Alex gently strokes him behind his ears, and he makes this soothing noise from the back of his throat, and all’s good again. “For a cat, I mean,” Gigi adds, as an afterthought. Claudio doesn’t even care.
“We could, uh, just call him Cla,” Milos tries.
“Yeah, that’s not dull at all,” Gigi deadpans. “No, what about something like,” and he hums at himself for a while, while everyone - except Claudio, really - is probably holding their breath. “What about Clapsy?”
And he says that with such an enthusiastic joy they all agree right away. Claudio lifts up his head, lazily, for like half a second, because right then, he hears, no, he feels Alex chuckling.
There’s no way he’s letting Gigi’s sorry excuse for a nickname spoil that for him. He’s a cat, he’s not stupid.
*
Alex must’ve drift off some time during the afternoon, but he only realizes he was asleep when he wakes up. His back hurts, somewhat, and he hates himself a little, because, what the fuck, he can’t even sleep on a couch anymore?
He rubs his eyes for a moment, yawns, and when he tries to stretch out he realizes that, well, thank God he’s not that old yet, there’s a reason why he feels sore all over and he can’t really feel his feet.
Claudio is asleep, draped all over him like a blanket, no, like the white adorable little kitten Alex has been petting all day. He clearly remembers lying down, not even a couple of hours ago, settling Claudio on his chest and switching on the TV - which is now blissfully silent, thank you very much to whoever was that thoughtful; Andrea, most likely.
He’s back to boy, now, and Alex can’t really decide if he feels disappointed or relieved. Of course it would’ve been, like, the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, on a long term, but he would’ve enjoyed the little ball of fur for a little while longer. Then he remembers exactly how scary Gigi gets around cute little animals, and, alright, Claudio is back and that’s for the best.
Still, he’ll probably end up missing him - kitten Claudio, that is. What did they call him, Clapsy? Well, he’s gonna miss his Clapsy.
Before he realizes what he’s doing, Alex lifts up a hand and gently tangles his fingers into the soft curls at the back of Claudio’s neck. He mentally kicks the shit out of himself, but his hair is soft, even softer than his fur was, and he can’t help but start stroking him a little. Claudio, of course, was always one of light sleep, so it’s a matter of moments before he’s stirring himself awake, gently stretching against Alex.
He makes a low, delicious and pleased noise at the back of throat, and Alex catches his breath. Claudio nuzzles his neck, smiling contentedly on his skin. Alex’s heart is by now hammering against his ribcage, but that’s nothing unusal, nothing strange.
And then Claudio freezes, because, well, he was bound to realise he’s not a cat anymore. When he jerks up, startled, all of a sudden, Alex finds himself wishing it would’ve taken him a little longer. He didn’t mind - as he’s always known he wouldn’t have - all of this. He tries not to think about it, because it surely won’t help him keep his sanity, but still.
He gets up, propping himself on his elbows, and he opens his mouth to say something, but then, well, he realizes that Claudio is naked. Very much naked. Of course he is, his clothes are still lying scattered around the pitch where Gigi threw them around. But, well. This is still unexpected.
Claudio flushes, and the redness spreads like water from his ears to his neck. Alex tries not to stare, he tries, but God it’s hard when Claudio is so pretty and wide-eyed and naked and sitting right next to his knees.
“I’m so sorry!” Claudio says, and he doesn’t even know what part of himself he should cover first. He shies away from Alex, the moment he makes a move as if to reach out and touch him. “Alex, I’m so, so--”
“It’s okay,” he says, trying to sound confident and quiet and not at all like the desperately in love poor old sap he knows he is. “Claudio, really, please don’t be sorry, don’t-- here, take this,” and he gets a blanket out from under the couch, because this is Juventus and Milos Krasic plays for them so they obviously have blankets under every couch. He offers it to Claudio, and he takes it, a grateful look on his face, and wraps himself into it, like a cape; he looks slightly less like he’s going to explode at any given second, and Alex lets go a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry,” Claudio says, again, and he’s a stubborn little one, isn’t he? Alex actually smiles, but he doesn’t, and pushes a hand to his forehead. “God, what did-- how long was I asleep? Did I-- Alex, I had the weirdest dream ever, I’m so so--”
“Please, stop apologizing,” Alex says, and he scoops his legs off the couch to sit down properly, right next to Claudio. He looks up at him, and Claudio looks back, albeit a bit tentatively. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And you didn’t have any dream,” and a grin slips out at that, because, really. Claudio was a cat for half a day, how is anyone supposed not to giggle over it for the rest of their lives?
“Why-- what? D’you mean I,” Claudio stutters, looks down, pushes a hand through his hair - golden on the tips, gradually shading into a darker tone of hazelnut, and Alex wants to dip his fingers in there and never let go. Shit, he’s fucked up. “I was-- a cat? I mean, really?”
Alex tears his eyes off his hair, looks at him; with the terrified look Claudio is giving him right now, even the most sane person in the world would agree that, yes, it’s quite likely that this boy right here was once a cat. He looks just like one, all big eyes and pointy ears and Alex wonders.
It’s always bad, when he does. Always. Look at him now, for example: he’s really lifting a hand to touch that soft spot right behind Claudio’s ear, because he wonders if it’d be as sensitive as it was when he was a cat. Claudio stares, speechless; maybe he widens his eyes a little more, and then Alex’s fingers find his skin and he, mother of God, whimpers.
Alex sits up a little straighter, like a spark caught him or something. His touch gets bolder, he follows the firm outline of Claudio’s ear and watches, shamelessly watches as his teeth catch his lower lip, his cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink. When Alex thumbs the curve of his auricle, Claudio’s eyes flutter closed, his light eyelashes trembling ever so slightly. When he catches his lobe between index and middle finger, Claudio clenches his fists into his lap so hard it must hurt.
Alex brushes his other hand over his knuckles, gets him to relax. He can hear his heart thundering, his breath shaky and unsteady; he leans in, he wants to kiss him and God this might be the only time he’s ever going to feel stupid enough and reckless enough to actually do it.
Claudio twists his hands so that his palms are up, and without even looking he manages to tangle his fingers with Alex’s. That’s enough to knock the wind out of him, as pathetic as it is.
“Claudio,” Alex whispers, because he’s needy and desperate but there’s no point in this whatsoever, unless Claudio wants him back. Unless he’s not doing this for some sort of twisted sense of duty. “Claudio, I need you to look at me.”
And Claudio does, after half a moment’s hesitation. He’s not really scared, Alex realizes. He looks -- in awe, somehow, and embarrassed, and so young it’s like a punch in the guts.
Alex leans back half a breath, Claudio frowns.
“Alex?” he asks, a little unsure; his fingers tighten their grip around Alex’s.
He doesn’t really know what to say. Terrified doesn’t even begin to describe it. Today just doesn’t make sense, and God, Alex has lived through some shitty and meaningless days but this, this is definitely the worst, and at the same time the best because, look, Claudio is just there with those quiet eyes of his and it’s like he wants this, too. It’s like - it’s like all this time, all these years, it wasn’t just Alex. He wasn’t alone in it, not even for a day. It’s overwhelming, and he’s shaking just with the thought of it and he doesn’t know - he doesn’t know what to say.
Claudio looks at him, he’s not even expecting him to talk. He’s just there, waiting. Alex realizes that’s all they’ve ever done around each other. They wait. There’s the occasional hug, the occasional lingering touch, the celebration that gets a little bit over the edge, but other than that, they’ve been waiting. Watching it - this - pass them by.
Alex is scared. Claudio is not, but that’s what being young - a kid - and very much in love does to you. Alex is scared, because that’s what being old and very much in love does to you.
“Do you want this?” he asks, so quietly he himself almost misses it. Claudio’s got sharp ears and sharp eyes, though, he always has; he leans in just enough to touch his forehead to Alex’s.
“What are you afraid of?” he says, and he sounds worried. Alex doesn’t even try to stop the throaty fit of laughter that gets out of his mouth at that. He cups the side of Claudio’s neck, his thumb easily finding that soft spot behind his ear again; he thinks he can feel the lines of the little tattoo he has there, but maybe he’s just kidding himself. Claudio shudders against him, anyway, and lets out a soft moan; he tries to bury his face against the crook of Alex’s neck, right away, and his skin is hot.
Alex smiles, kisses the tip of his other ear.
“I’m not afraid,” he whispers. It’s a bit of lie, and Claudio looks up, face still flushed, looks at him like he knows he’s lying. He smiles, though, a pretty little smile and Alex knows he’s as good as gone, because he feels like his life is small enough to be tucked away in the curve of his lips.
Claudio leans in, then, wrapped inside his blanket, and kisses him, and he’s shy enough to make it last less than a beat. Alex doesn’t mind it, cups his face with both his hands and presses their mouths together. It’s a bit too hard, at first, but then Claudio actually breathes and Alex angles his head a tad better, and that’s it, and why did they have to waste so much time waiting, anyway? Alex has no idea, he doesn’t want to think about it and he licks at Claudio’s lips and the kiss gets even softer, it gets even better.
He dips his head, then, mouths at the outer shell of his ear and Claudio gasps, taken aback; Alex nibbles at his earlobe, and again he moans, low and thick like honey in the back of his throat. Alex touches a hand to his chest, gently pushing him down to lie on the couch. Claudio doesn’t need any more encouragement, and he arches his back, when Alex straddles him, and parts his leg. The blanket slipped off his shoulders as he laid back, and Alex traces an unsteady line of kisses down his neck, stopping for a moment to play at the hollow between his collarbones.
He looks up, just as Claudio looks down, and he lifts his head, a sudden rush of fear washing over him like a downpour. Claudio’s eyes are blown wide, his lips red and swollen already.
“I,” he tries, his voice thin and throaty. He bites his lips, closes his eyes for focus. “I really want you, Ale,” and it’s a whisper and it’s the most perfect thing Alex has ever heard in his whole life. He scrambles up to him, takes his time to kiss him as slow as he can, which isn’t very slow, in all honesty, but he tries anyway.
Claudio is breathless under him, while Alex fears he might have stopped breathing entirely when he first saw him. That’s a whole new level of stupid and sappy even for him, and Alex chuckles lightly at himself; Claudio looks up at him, curious, but there’s really no place for this, not when he’s beautifully sprawled and flushed in between Alex’s thighs and, oh, come to think about it, they’re in the common lounge, anyone could walk in on them at any time.
“Here,” Alex says, giving in to one last quick - well, kind of quick - kiss before getting to his feet. “We could use a bed.”
He has no idea how Claudio manages to blush some more, but he does, as if he’d need to furthermore prove he’s the most adorable football player - nay, the most adorable person in existence. Alex giggles, takes his hand, makes sure the blanket is neatly wrapped and covering all the important parts, just in case they stumble upon someone in the hallway, and, well, the next heartbeat they’re in his room already, and Claudio is sitting on his bed and he’s looking up at him and Alex wants to eat him.
He kisses him, instead, and Claudio moans right into his mouth and that sends some serious sparks up Alex’s spine. He curls his hands around the back of Claudio’s neck, and keeps kissing him until he’s pressed down into the mattress.
Claudio stares, not quite blankly, God, no; how do you even stare blankly when you have eyes like that? There’s quite a turmoil, in those magnificent skyblue irides, and Alex’s heart skips a couple of beats when he realizes that, hey, he’s the one who caused that. Not the half day Claudio spent as a cat, not an amazing backhead kick scored in the middle of an awfully dull game they’ll end up losing anyway - no, nothing like that. It’s just him, and knowing that is enough to give him chills. It’s a powerful thought, scary, all over again, and Alex almost backs off, almost though, because Claudio has his hands on him, now.
He touches Alex’s thighs through the thick fabric of his tracksuit pants, like he wants to keep him there but he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to make decisions. Alex wants to kiss him, he realizes he can, he does.
God, it feels good, after all this time.
“Ale,” Claudio whispers, his voice soft on his lips. Alex hums, light-headed, his eyes still closed. “I-- can I--” and he tugs at the hem of Alex’s shirt, and a moment later the shirt is flying across the room, carelessly tossed away.
“You can,” Alex says, his stern face quickly breaking into a happy grin. “God, you have no idea how much you can.”
Claudio laughs, a bit out of breath already. He touches a tentative hand up Alex’s chest, then, and he widens his eyes, as if he doesn’t really believe this is really real. You’d think being a cat for a while might’ve changed his point of view on the impossible.
He quickly gains confidence, anyway, and before Alex even knows what hit him - what touched him, - he’s panting and shaking with the sheer need of having more of Claudio against him, more of his skin, his scent, his, holy mother of fuck, he should really do that again.
Claudio actually cracks a smirk, and Alex doesn’t need to tell him anything because, oh, he’s smart, he’s doing that again, flicking his fingers like that right over the bulge in Alex’s pants.
“Claudio,” he says, his voice husky, uncertain. Claudio arches up, kisses the corner of his lips and Alex feels his fingers digging into his hips. He pushes back, and the tip of Claudio’s cock finds his lower abdomen. He hears him take a sharp breath, and bites back a smug grin.
“Alex, I--”
Alex likes the way Claudio sounds when he’s like this, he likes the deeper, shaky tone his voice gets while pleasure slowly starts pooling inside him, hot and smooth, weighing him down. He likes the way he looks, as well, his eyes even clearer in his flushed face, his legs parted, his neck exposed and begging to be bitten. He dips his head, kisses the tip of Claudio’s ear.
The reply he get is sharp and unmistakable; Claudio wraps his legs around his waist, digging his heels into the small of his back. Alex hurriedly shoves down his pants and his boxers, tries to squirm out of them and he’s happy enough when he manages to get one leg out of them. Claudio stares up at him, Alex kisses him and he kisses back. It’s scary, how perfectly they seem to get each other - and get under each other’s skin, - but Alex really doesn’t want to give up to fear right now.
He wants to give up to Claudio, really.
“I really--” he pants, shaky with need and longing and Claudio won’t let him finish whatever he was going to say - even he doesn’t know what it was anyway, - because he rolls his hips up to him and, oh.
Feels good. Unbelievably good, even, and Alex quickly loses whatever remains he had of coherent thought as he pushes back down and he wraps a hand around them both, shaking, because this is what he wants, this is what he’s wanted all along and Claudio is warm and hard and pliant and good underneath him, and he really just wants the split second when he feels his cock twitch against his own to never end.
Claudio is gasping, by now, soft and broken, and he bites his lips and he’s fighting not to close his eyes, because he wants to drink in all of this - all of Alex, so insanely beautiful over him and against him and all around him. He lifts his head up and kisses his neck, stretches out to reach his jaw and Alex looks down, kisses him. The jerks of his hand around them both are getting more and more frenzied by the second, and then suddenly, almost out of nowhere Claudio is coming so hard his eyes black out a little, and he can’t seem to catch his breath.
Alex tumbles down onto him, exhausted, flushed and hot. Claudio feels sticky and sweaty and overall definitely gross, but Alex turns around to look at him and he blushes, because that look, it makes him feel all kinds of beautiful and inadequate.
Alex lifts himself up, a little unsteady, and then leans down again to kiss him, without any rush now. It feels like forever, and when they finally part to breathe Alex touches his forehead to Claudio’s and closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, barely a whisper. He’s sorry because this is going to hurt them both so much, if they’re less than hypercareful; he’s sorry, because he should’ve never even started to look at him that way. He’s sorry because he wasn’t strong enough to resist this one more time. He’s sorry, because, God, they both have families, and where does this stand compared to that?
He’s sorry that he loves him.
Claudio touches his cheek, his fingers are gentle and barely there.
“I’m not,” he says, firm and young and, yes, alright, neither is Alex.
Fandom: RPF Football
Characters/Pairing: Alex Del Piero/Claudio Marchisio, all of Juventus' current squad
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 5325 (fidipu)
Warnings: angst, fluff, lime, kitten!fic
Prompt: Qualcosa di moderno (Something modern) @ Kyalendario (♥
el_defe)
Notes: WELL. It only took me, what, a year? Ten months?, to finally get them laid (sorry), AND I'M NOT EVEN SATISFIED WITH THE PORN \O/ But the rest is okay with me, so, well. PLPLPLPLPLPL.
- Eyecandy before you start reading: this is what Claudio looked like this summer in California. YAH HE'S BLOND, I WASN'T MAKING IT UP, AND ALSO ALEX IS LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THEY JUST HAD SE-- YEAH RIGHT.
- Title credits go to Snow Patrol (~ Set down your glass).
Disclaimer: I’m lying, just for the sake of it.
~ And I'm shaken then I'm still.
(When your eyes meet mine)
They’re doing laps in the uberawesome pitch they have here in California, the whole team all scrunched up in an untidy procession with Andrea at the head, as stoic as ever even in his jogging, and Milos and Arturo closing the line far behind him, amiably chatting away and walking rather than actually running.
Alex feels warm, he feels insanely happy and he might’ve been humming quietly to himself for the past three laps or something, but that has nothing to do - really, nothing at all, - with the fact that Claudio is right at his elbow, easily keeping his pace and, if you squint hard enough, you’ll notice even his breathing is synced with Alex’s.
Then, out of nowhere, Claudio has a hiccup, a small, adorable sound that makes Alex’s smile go all kinds of soft and adoring, and he vanishes into thin air.
And that, well, that was unexpected.
Alex freezes, and he stares blankly at the slice of landscape that’s where Claudio’s hair - which summer and the seaside and probably the wrong brand of shampoo turned into an amazing, glowing shade of gold, by the way, - is supposed to be. A heartbeat, and then Giorgio crashes into his back, and Gigi crashes into Giorgio’s back, and Paolo crashes into Gigi’s back, and it’s quite something, really, that the whole team doesn’t end up flying.
“Alex, what’s wrong?” Giorgio asks, calm and collected as ever, but then he looks around and, well, when Giorgio gets worried you know for sure it’s time to fucking lose it. “Where’s Claudio?”
Alex, honestly, wants to scream, which is not a feeling he’s very accustomed to, because if Giorgio had to ask that, it means he’s not going insane; it means, much to his dismay, that the whole world is clearly collapsing into batshit crazy nonsense.
“What do you mean, where’s Claudio?” Gigi walks up, laughing. “He was here, like a second ago and-- oh God, where’d he go?”
Andrea, two laps ahead of everyone else already, notices they’ve all stopped for some reason, so he turns around and gets back to them.
“His clothes are here,” Vincenzo points out, slightly frowning, and then everyone is staring at the untidy pile of clothes lying on the grass like someone just stepped out of them to go take a swim. The problem is, they don’t have a fucking pool in here, and also Claudio didn’t just walk away, he vanished.
The rest of the team catches up with them, gathering and shuffling around in a very random circle of curiosity. Alex has no idea what to do, how to keep them from panicking, mostly because, Hell, he’s panicking himself. He’s pretty sure, even, that when a teammate of yours suddenly disappears during training - not in a I’m-lazy-so-I’m-gonna-skip-the-tiring-stuff-and-lie-down-a-bit kind of way, - panic is actually the only logic reaction.
So, panic. Panic, Alex. Panic, goddammit, for once in your life. Claudio was right there and now he’s not anymore and only his clothes are left. Panic, please.
And then something meows.
Well, not something; it’s a cat. Alex isn’t that fucked up already he doesn’t know only cats do meow.
“Why did everyone stop?” Arturo asks, a little out of breath, late to the parade as it’s usual. He looks down from above Giorgio’s shoulder, and then there’s another meow, with an hard edge to it this time. “Holy crap, what’s meowling down there?”
“Claudio’s clothes, apparently,” Andrea deadpans, frowning.
“Ah, nonsense! Clothes don’t meow,” Gigi huffs, and then he crouches and starts throwing away Claudio’s clothes - his bright yellow bib, the shirt he was wearing, - until, oh, God.
Oh, dear God, it’s a cat, no, a kitten.
Out of the pile of Claudio’s clothes, Gigi scoops up a kitten and Alex’s head feels like it’s going to kill him very soon. The kitten is nothing more than a little ball of fur as white as vanilla ice cream, with a straw-yellow patch on its back and another of the same colour on its little curly tail.
Gigi holds it out and then carefully puts it into the palm of his hand, and the kitten is small enough to fit in there quite comfortably.
“But look at you!” Gigi gurgles in his best dopey voice. “Hello, li’l one!”
The kitten meows again, apparently not amused at the endearment. Gigi chuckles, strokes his back and then gets back up again, he starts showing the cat off like it’s a trophy he just won.
“Why was Claudio hiding a cat in his clothes?” Alessandro asks, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. “And where is he anyway?”
“Alright, dudes, I think it’s obvious what’s happening here,” Milos states, hands on his hips like he owns the place. Alex barely manages to swallow a groan. “Claudio is the cat.”
Now honestly, Alex would laugh at that and pat him sympathetically on the shoulder, maybe shake his head a little in amusement. The problem, though, is that Gigi picks that very moment to basically shove the kitten into Alex’s face, and the little pointy-eared thing has these big sky-blue eyes and it - he - stares up at Alex, dear God, with what, on a human being, would undoubtedly be an awfully embarrassed expression.
Alex thinks that, really, this looks like a very nice moment to get himself a heart attack.
*
Claudio is the cat.
As insane and terrifying and, well, just plain wrong as it sounds, the whole team - and soon enough the coach, and the medics, and anyone who happens to stroll by the training center for whatever reason, - has to wrap their minds around that thought and accept it as real.
Yeah, Claudio is a cat now.
Gigi, of course, is into it in a matter of seconds.
“Ale!” he yells, from the top of his lungs, as if Alex wasn’t standing five feet from him. He cradles Claudio to his chest like he’s holding a baby and, honestly, that’s getting kind of disturbing. Also, his insane protectiveness is one of the reasons why Alex hasn’t managed to get himself to even touch the cat yet, while everyone else seems so eager to do it they are fucking making grabby hands at the poor little thing. “We need to feed him!”
“I don’t think he’s hungry yet,” Alex says, frowning a bit, and Claudio meows softly, like he’s agreeing with him. Of course, there’s no way to know for sure he even understands what they’re saying anymore.
God, this is insane.
“Of course he’s hungry!” Gigi wails, looking outrageously offended, like Alex was trying to insinuate he’s the worst mother ever because he cannot even understand whether his baby is hungry or not. Did he mention this is insane? “Can’t you see how weak and thin he is?”
Claudio meows harder, now, as if he’s protesting. Alex has a midfielder with feelers and a goalie who’s quickly turning psychotic over his need to properly fuss over a cat. He lets out a small, breathy laugh, and pets Claudio’s head with two fingers, right between his ears. They’re all going crazy, probably, but gosh, Claudio makes such a cute kitten.
“He doesn’t look that weak to me,” Alex says, and smiles a little more when Claudio pushes his head back, clearly content with the stroking.
Gigi winces audibly.
“Ale,” he breathes, and when Alex looks up to him, Jesus Christ, he realizes it looks like Gigi’s going to cry. “Ale, he’s purring!”
Alex laughs at that, happily and wholeheartedly. Claudio meows, Gigi lifts him up and turns him around to kiss the top of his head and nuzzle his back a little bit.
“Who’s daddy’s favourite little kitten, hm?” he says, dopey all over again, and it’s honestly hilarious how easily the mere sight of a nice, cute kitten can destroy a grown man’s dignity.
Alex brushes a hand through his hair, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to know why exactly his stomach is working so hard to tie itself into a tight knot.
*
Gigi manages to find a dish deep enough to pour milk into, and he’s so enthusiast about it that, when he sits Claudio down in front of it, the poor kitten, who’s not feeling hungry in the slightest, by the way, can’t find it in himself to disappoint him. He gets up on his shiny new four furry legs, then, and a little unsteadily he walks to his special lunch and laps at it tentatively.
Dear God, being a kitten at Juventus really sucks.
“I think he likes it,” Arturo says, with a musing face that doesn’t quite fit him. Claudio mewls a bit in protest, but nobody seems to care, so he goes back to the milk. Gigi and Alessandro are filming this, he realizes, after a moment. He’s so indignant his fur actually gets all bristled, but the two grandiose fuckers apparently find it all sorts of endearing and they start giggling at him.
Claudio wishes for the ground - or rather, the table, - to open up under his feet - paws - and swallow him whole; when it doesn’t happen, he settles for the next best thing: proudly walking away from this bullshit.
Of course, it’s easier said - meowed - than done.
The problem is he’s not exactly accustomed to the way his brand new bony body works, and when he tries to move away from the dish, he loses his balance - he feels like it might have something to do with his stupid tail, - and, next thing he knows he’s sinking in milk, little waves splashing all the way up to his ears, and all he can do is flail his paws around uselessly.
He’s floundering, and everyone around him seems to find it endlessly adorable. They giggle and point at him and make girly, high-pitched noises, but then Alex has got a hand at the nape of his neck, thank you very much, and he’s lifting him up.
Claudio must be the most miserable thing ever, hung up in midair like that, all wet and sticky, trying to lick the milk away from his nose. He pouts, even if he’s a kitten and he probably shouldn’t be able to do that.
Alex smiles at him, though, and there’s a soft edge to it that makes Claudio’s little kitty heart do weird things inside his little kitty ribcage. Alex sits him down into the palm of one of his hands, curls the other around back and effortlessly lifts him to press a kiss to his still damp forehead. Claudio sniffles, and he’s purring already.
*
They decide it’s sad that he doesn’t have a proper, personal bowl, one with his name on it. Alex is gently drying him up with a soft, warm towel when Arturo and Milos volunteer to go buy one at the closest pet shop - which they have no idea where to find, obviously, - and he’s still petting him with the same towel when they finally decide that it’s a safer bet to send Giorgio and Andrea instead, and the truth is probably Alex is enjoying this drying business a tad too much, because when Giorgio and Andrea come back, loaded with apparently half a dozen different bowls - because they couldn’t agree on the colour, - and fifteen different flavours of cat food - that one, they didn’t think about, so yeah, great idea to send those two, - he’s still sitting on the couch, Claudio carefully cradled in his lap, and he’s stroking his back clean now, when there’s really no need to.
Not that Claudio means to complain, anyway. He’s been purring for an hour straight, now, and God, that’s the best feeling ever. He’s quite enjoying being a cat, really.
Gigi digs out a sharpie out of nowhere, and picks out a bright pink bowl. Claudio has his eyes closed, and he’s facing away from where they’re standing, which is good.
“So!” Gigi starts, solemnly. “What shall I write on it?”
A puzzled chatter ensues.
“Well,” Alessandro finally speaks up, sounding as confused as his face must show. Claudio has no intention whatsoever to open his eyes and turn around; he would even have to climb up the back of the couch, probably, and thank you very much, he’s perfectly fine where he is. “Claudio, no? That’s... that’s his name.”
Gigi seems to cringe at that.
“You can’t be serious, Claudio is a crappy name,” he says. Claudio, at that, lets out an unimpressed meow, which, considering the status of utter blissfulness he’s currently experiencing, comes out sort of less angry and less threatening than he’d hoped. Then again, Alex gently strokes him behind his ears, and he makes this soothing noise from the back of his throat, and all’s good again. “For a cat, I mean,” Gigi adds, as an afterthought. Claudio doesn’t even care.
“We could, uh, just call him Cla,” Milos tries.
“Yeah, that’s not dull at all,” Gigi deadpans. “No, what about something like,” and he hums at himself for a while, while everyone - except Claudio, really - is probably holding their breath. “What about Clapsy?”
And he says that with such an enthusiastic joy they all agree right away. Claudio lifts up his head, lazily, for like half a second, because right then, he hears, no, he feels Alex chuckling.
There’s no way he’s letting Gigi’s sorry excuse for a nickname spoil that for him. He’s a cat, he’s not stupid.
*
Alex must’ve drift off some time during the afternoon, but he only realizes he was asleep when he wakes up. His back hurts, somewhat, and he hates himself a little, because, what the fuck, he can’t even sleep on a couch anymore?
He rubs his eyes for a moment, yawns, and when he tries to stretch out he realizes that, well, thank God he’s not that old yet, there’s a reason why he feels sore all over and he can’t really feel his feet.
Claudio is asleep, draped all over him like a blanket, no, like the white adorable little kitten Alex has been petting all day. He clearly remembers lying down, not even a couple of hours ago, settling Claudio on his chest and switching on the TV - which is now blissfully silent, thank you very much to whoever was that thoughtful; Andrea, most likely.
He’s back to boy, now, and Alex can’t really decide if he feels disappointed or relieved. Of course it would’ve been, like, the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, on a long term, but he would’ve enjoyed the little ball of fur for a little while longer. Then he remembers exactly how scary Gigi gets around cute little animals, and, alright, Claudio is back and that’s for the best.
Still, he’ll probably end up missing him - kitten Claudio, that is. What did they call him, Clapsy? Well, he’s gonna miss his Clapsy.
Before he realizes what he’s doing, Alex lifts up a hand and gently tangles his fingers into the soft curls at the back of Claudio’s neck. He mentally kicks the shit out of himself, but his hair is soft, even softer than his fur was, and he can’t help but start stroking him a little. Claudio, of course, was always one of light sleep, so it’s a matter of moments before he’s stirring himself awake, gently stretching against Alex.
He makes a low, delicious and pleased noise at the back of throat, and Alex catches his breath. Claudio nuzzles his neck, smiling contentedly on his skin. Alex’s heart is by now hammering against his ribcage, but that’s nothing unusal, nothing strange.
And then Claudio freezes, because, well, he was bound to realise he’s not a cat anymore. When he jerks up, startled, all of a sudden, Alex finds himself wishing it would’ve taken him a little longer. He didn’t mind - as he’s always known he wouldn’t have - all of this. He tries not to think about it, because it surely won’t help him keep his sanity, but still.
He gets up, propping himself on his elbows, and he opens his mouth to say something, but then, well, he realizes that Claudio is naked. Very much naked. Of course he is, his clothes are still lying scattered around the pitch where Gigi threw them around. But, well. This is still unexpected.
Claudio flushes, and the redness spreads like water from his ears to his neck. Alex tries not to stare, he tries, but God it’s hard when Claudio is so pretty and wide-eyed and naked and sitting right next to his knees.
“I’m so sorry!” Claudio says, and he doesn’t even know what part of himself he should cover first. He shies away from Alex, the moment he makes a move as if to reach out and touch him. “Alex, I’m so, so--”
“It’s okay,” he says, trying to sound confident and quiet and not at all like the desperately in love poor old sap he knows he is. “Claudio, really, please don’t be sorry, don’t-- here, take this,” and he gets a blanket out from under the couch, because this is Juventus and Milos Krasic plays for them so they obviously have blankets under every couch. He offers it to Claudio, and he takes it, a grateful look on his face, and wraps himself into it, like a cape; he looks slightly less like he’s going to explode at any given second, and Alex lets go a shaky breath.
“I’m sorry,” Claudio says, again, and he’s a stubborn little one, isn’t he? Alex actually smiles, but he doesn’t, and pushes a hand to his forehead. “God, what did-- how long was I asleep? Did I-- Alex, I had the weirdest dream ever, I’m so so--”
“Please, stop apologizing,” Alex says, and he scoops his legs off the couch to sit down properly, right next to Claudio. He looks up at him, and Claudio looks back, albeit a bit tentatively. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And you didn’t have any dream,” and a grin slips out at that, because, really. Claudio was a cat for half a day, how is anyone supposed not to giggle over it for the rest of their lives?
“Why-- what? D’you mean I,” Claudio stutters, looks down, pushes a hand through his hair - golden on the tips, gradually shading into a darker tone of hazelnut, and Alex wants to dip his fingers in there and never let go. Shit, he’s fucked up. “I was-- a cat? I mean, really?”
Alex tears his eyes off his hair, looks at him; with the terrified look Claudio is giving him right now, even the most sane person in the world would agree that, yes, it’s quite likely that this boy right here was once a cat. He looks just like one, all big eyes and pointy ears and Alex wonders.
It’s always bad, when he does. Always. Look at him now, for example: he’s really lifting a hand to touch that soft spot right behind Claudio’s ear, because he wonders if it’d be as sensitive as it was when he was a cat. Claudio stares, speechless; maybe he widens his eyes a little more, and then Alex’s fingers find his skin and he, mother of God, whimpers.
Alex sits up a little straighter, like a spark caught him or something. His touch gets bolder, he follows the firm outline of Claudio’s ear and watches, shamelessly watches as his teeth catch his lower lip, his cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink. When Alex thumbs the curve of his auricle, Claudio’s eyes flutter closed, his light eyelashes trembling ever so slightly. When he catches his lobe between index and middle finger, Claudio clenches his fists into his lap so hard it must hurt.
Alex brushes his other hand over his knuckles, gets him to relax. He can hear his heart thundering, his breath shaky and unsteady; he leans in, he wants to kiss him and God this might be the only time he’s ever going to feel stupid enough and reckless enough to actually do it.
Claudio twists his hands so that his palms are up, and without even looking he manages to tangle his fingers with Alex’s. That’s enough to knock the wind out of him, as pathetic as it is.
“Claudio,” Alex whispers, because he’s needy and desperate but there’s no point in this whatsoever, unless Claudio wants him back. Unless he’s not doing this for some sort of twisted sense of duty. “Claudio, I need you to look at me.”
And Claudio does, after half a moment’s hesitation. He’s not really scared, Alex realizes. He looks -- in awe, somehow, and embarrassed, and so young it’s like a punch in the guts.
Alex leans back half a breath, Claudio frowns.
“Alex?” he asks, a little unsure; his fingers tighten their grip around Alex’s.
He doesn’t really know what to say. Terrified doesn’t even begin to describe it. Today just doesn’t make sense, and God, Alex has lived through some shitty and meaningless days but this, this is definitely the worst, and at the same time the best because, look, Claudio is just there with those quiet eyes of his and it’s like he wants this, too. It’s like - it’s like all this time, all these years, it wasn’t just Alex. He wasn’t alone in it, not even for a day. It’s overwhelming, and he’s shaking just with the thought of it and he doesn’t know - he doesn’t know what to say.
Claudio looks at him, he’s not even expecting him to talk. He’s just there, waiting. Alex realizes that’s all they’ve ever done around each other. They wait. There’s the occasional hug, the occasional lingering touch, the celebration that gets a little bit over the edge, but other than that, they’ve been waiting. Watching it - this - pass them by.
Alex is scared. Claudio is not, but that’s what being young - a kid - and very much in love does to you. Alex is scared, because that’s what being old and very much in love does to you.
“Do you want this?” he asks, so quietly he himself almost misses it. Claudio’s got sharp ears and sharp eyes, though, he always has; he leans in just enough to touch his forehead to Alex’s.
“What are you afraid of?” he says, and he sounds worried. Alex doesn’t even try to stop the throaty fit of laughter that gets out of his mouth at that. He cups the side of Claudio’s neck, his thumb easily finding that soft spot behind his ear again; he thinks he can feel the lines of the little tattoo he has there, but maybe he’s just kidding himself. Claudio shudders against him, anyway, and lets out a soft moan; he tries to bury his face against the crook of Alex’s neck, right away, and his skin is hot.
Alex smiles, kisses the tip of his other ear.
“I’m not afraid,” he whispers. It’s a bit of lie, and Claudio looks up, face still flushed, looks at him like he knows he’s lying. He smiles, though, a pretty little smile and Alex knows he’s as good as gone, because he feels like his life is small enough to be tucked away in the curve of his lips.
Claudio leans in, then, wrapped inside his blanket, and kisses him, and he’s shy enough to make it last less than a beat. Alex doesn’t mind it, cups his face with both his hands and presses their mouths together. It’s a bit too hard, at first, but then Claudio actually breathes and Alex angles his head a tad better, and that’s it, and why did they have to waste so much time waiting, anyway? Alex has no idea, he doesn’t want to think about it and he licks at Claudio’s lips and the kiss gets even softer, it gets even better.
He dips his head, then, mouths at the outer shell of his ear and Claudio gasps, taken aback; Alex nibbles at his earlobe, and again he moans, low and thick like honey in the back of his throat. Alex touches a hand to his chest, gently pushing him down to lie on the couch. Claudio doesn’t need any more encouragement, and he arches his back, when Alex straddles him, and parts his leg. The blanket slipped off his shoulders as he laid back, and Alex traces an unsteady line of kisses down his neck, stopping for a moment to play at the hollow between his collarbones.
He looks up, just as Claudio looks down, and he lifts his head, a sudden rush of fear washing over him like a downpour. Claudio’s eyes are blown wide, his lips red and swollen already.
“I,” he tries, his voice thin and throaty. He bites his lips, closes his eyes for focus. “I really want you, Ale,” and it’s a whisper and it’s the most perfect thing Alex has ever heard in his whole life. He scrambles up to him, takes his time to kiss him as slow as he can, which isn’t very slow, in all honesty, but he tries anyway.
Claudio is breathless under him, while Alex fears he might have stopped breathing entirely when he first saw him. That’s a whole new level of stupid and sappy even for him, and Alex chuckles lightly at himself; Claudio looks up at him, curious, but there’s really no place for this, not when he’s beautifully sprawled and flushed in between Alex’s thighs and, oh, come to think about it, they’re in the common lounge, anyone could walk in on them at any time.
“Here,” Alex says, giving in to one last quick - well, kind of quick - kiss before getting to his feet. “We could use a bed.”
He has no idea how Claudio manages to blush some more, but he does, as if he’d need to furthermore prove he’s the most adorable football player - nay, the most adorable person in existence. Alex giggles, takes his hand, makes sure the blanket is neatly wrapped and covering all the important parts, just in case they stumble upon someone in the hallway, and, well, the next heartbeat they’re in his room already, and Claudio is sitting on his bed and he’s looking up at him and Alex wants to eat him.
He kisses him, instead, and Claudio moans right into his mouth and that sends some serious sparks up Alex’s spine. He curls his hands around the back of Claudio’s neck, and keeps kissing him until he’s pressed down into the mattress.
Claudio stares, not quite blankly, God, no; how do you even stare blankly when you have eyes like that? There’s quite a turmoil, in those magnificent skyblue irides, and Alex’s heart skips a couple of beats when he realizes that, hey, he’s the one who caused that. Not the half day Claudio spent as a cat, not an amazing backhead kick scored in the middle of an awfully dull game they’ll end up losing anyway - no, nothing like that. It’s just him, and knowing that is enough to give him chills. It’s a powerful thought, scary, all over again, and Alex almost backs off, almost though, because Claudio has his hands on him, now.
He touches Alex’s thighs through the thick fabric of his tracksuit pants, like he wants to keep him there but he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to make decisions. Alex wants to kiss him, he realizes he can, he does.
God, it feels good, after all this time.
“Ale,” Claudio whispers, his voice soft on his lips. Alex hums, light-headed, his eyes still closed. “I-- can I--” and he tugs at the hem of Alex’s shirt, and a moment later the shirt is flying across the room, carelessly tossed away.
“You can,” Alex says, his stern face quickly breaking into a happy grin. “God, you have no idea how much you can.”
Claudio laughs, a bit out of breath already. He touches a tentative hand up Alex’s chest, then, and he widens his eyes, as if he doesn’t really believe this is really real. You’d think being a cat for a while might’ve changed his point of view on the impossible.
He quickly gains confidence, anyway, and before Alex even knows what hit him - what touched him, - he’s panting and shaking with the sheer need of having more of Claudio against him, more of his skin, his scent, his, holy mother of fuck, he should really do that again.
Claudio actually cracks a smirk, and Alex doesn’t need to tell him anything because, oh, he’s smart, he’s doing that again, flicking his fingers like that right over the bulge in Alex’s pants.
“Claudio,” he says, his voice husky, uncertain. Claudio arches up, kisses the corner of his lips and Alex feels his fingers digging into his hips. He pushes back, and the tip of Claudio’s cock finds his lower abdomen. He hears him take a sharp breath, and bites back a smug grin.
“Alex, I--”
Alex likes the way Claudio sounds when he’s like this, he likes the deeper, shaky tone his voice gets while pleasure slowly starts pooling inside him, hot and smooth, weighing him down. He likes the way he looks, as well, his eyes even clearer in his flushed face, his legs parted, his neck exposed and begging to be bitten. He dips his head, kisses the tip of Claudio’s ear.
The reply he get is sharp and unmistakable; Claudio wraps his legs around his waist, digging his heels into the small of his back. Alex hurriedly shoves down his pants and his boxers, tries to squirm out of them and he’s happy enough when he manages to get one leg out of them. Claudio stares up at him, Alex kisses him and he kisses back. It’s scary, how perfectly they seem to get each other - and get under each other’s skin, - but Alex really doesn’t want to give up to fear right now.
He wants to give up to Claudio, really.
“I really--” he pants, shaky with need and longing and Claudio won’t let him finish whatever he was going to say - even he doesn’t know what it was anyway, - because he rolls his hips up to him and, oh.
Feels good. Unbelievably good, even, and Alex quickly loses whatever remains he had of coherent thought as he pushes back down and he wraps a hand around them both, shaking, because this is what he wants, this is what he’s wanted all along and Claudio is warm and hard and pliant and good underneath him, and he really just wants the split second when he feels his cock twitch against his own to never end.
Claudio is gasping, by now, soft and broken, and he bites his lips and he’s fighting not to close his eyes, because he wants to drink in all of this - all of Alex, so insanely beautiful over him and against him and all around him. He lifts his head up and kisses his neck, stretches out to reach his jaw and Alex looks down, kisses him. The jerks of his hand around them both are getting more and more frenzied by the second, and then suddenly, almost out of nowhere Claudio is coming so hard his eyes black out a little, and he can’t seem to catch his breath.
Alex tumbles down onto him, exhausted, flushed and hot. Claudio feels sticky and sweaty and overall definitely gross, but Alex turns around to look at him and he blushes, because that look, it makes him feel all kinds of beautiful and inadequate.
Alex lifts himself up, a little unsteady, and then leans down again to kiss him, without any rush now. It feels like forever, and when they finally part to breathe Alex touches his forehead to Claudio’s and closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, barely a whisper. He’s sorry because this is going to hurt them both so much, if they’re less than hypercareful; he’s sorry, because he should’ve never even started to look at him that way. He’s sorry because he wasn’t strong enough to resist this one more time. He’s sorry, because, God, they both have families, and where does this stand compared to that?
He’s sorry that he loves him.
Claudio touches his cheek, his fingers are gentle and barely there.
“I’m not,” he says, firm and young and, yes, alright, neither is Alex.