openmoments: More Than Fine

[fbslashmod]

Author: niela_xxx
Recipient: openmoments
Title: More Than Fine.
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 4201.
Pairings/Character(s): Cristiano Ronaldo/Mesut Özil.
Warnings: Unless you need a warning about the cheesy ending.
Summary: Mesut has a new job at the kindergarten and to say he's nervous would be a little understatement. He has this feeling that things won't end up very well.
Beta'ed by: july_v


i.

“You'll do just fine,” Mesut tells his mirror image, a toothbrush in one hand. “You will do just fine.” He nods at himself, runs his fingers through his still unusually short hair, and then sticks the toothbrush in his mouth. Everything will be fine, he tells himself again, this time only in his mind - because talking while you brush your teeth is never a good idea - but it doesn't help either.

It's his first day in the work and he is going to mess up spectacularly.

It's just that kind of feeling. It's the pressure around his stomach, building and spreading every time he thinks about the job, about the kids and everything that can go wrong; he has a long list of everything that can go wrong, after all, he spent the whole night composing it. He only fell asleep around three, somewhere between the kids producing matches out of nowhere and setting themselves on fire and the aliens kidnapping all the other teachers.

He spits the white foam, rinses his mouth and with the last, slightly desperate look in the mirror he drags himself to the kitchen. There is a pot with warm coffee on the counter, a bright pink post-it note stuck to his favourite mug. Good luck, it reads in Sami's messy hand-writing.

Mesut smiles, takes another post-it and writes thanks on it. He sticks it to the fridge and pours himself a cup of coffee, and then another, because eating any kind of breakfest is completely out of question. He turns on the radio to distract himself from his thoughts; it kind of works. He is humming to himself when he searches for his sneakers, and when he picks his wallet and the car keys.

A horrible idea that it is very possible that none of the kids will like him crosses his mind as he waits at the red light and he feels the nervous sensation, by now familiar, spread through his stomach again.

He is going to mess up, he thinks, and whether it's the auto suggestion, or Murphy's law, or the way the universe works that particular Monday, he does mess up.

He messes up spectacularly.

There aren't that many kids at the kindergarten yet. Some of them are shy because he's new; they cling to the other teacher who works with him. Mesut likes Carlota, because she smiles a lot and radiates a kind of calm and positive vibes.

But there are a few kids who don't shy away. Alba, Carlota's daughter, a curly-haired little girl with mischievous smile, is one of them. She tugs on Mesut's hair. “You have big eyes,” she says. Mesut opens his mouth to say something, but she continues before a sound comes out. “You look like a fish. But it's okay. I like fishies.” She grins and hugs Mesut and he can't help but smile.

“You do? Do you want to go draw some fishies then?” he asks, smiling even wider when Alba nods. They sit by the tiny table, Mesut's knees folded ridiculously under it because otherwise he can't fit, and they draw fish for a good half an hour. A few more kids join them, and when Mesut looks up and catches Carlota's eyes, she smiles and gives him a thumb-up.

Right then, Mesut thinks that maybe it will end up okay. That maybe he will go through the day and none of the kids will get abducted by aliens and no one will set anything on fire. He relaxes - drawing fish turns out to be a wonderful relaxation technique, although Alba criticises him because he draws them in silly colours like brown and green instead of purple and bright orange - and he lets his guards down which was probably the mistake.

“Hey Mesut?” Carlota calls at him. “Can you get some more tissues from the staff room?” One of the boys is standing next to her and wiping his nose with his sleeve. Mesut nods, gets up. It goes fine, except a few steps before he reaches the door, Alba calls at him to show him her newest picture, he turns his head and doesn't look where he's heading.

His body connects with something solid, warm. “Hey!” someone yelps as hot liquid sprays Mesut's shoulder. He gasps, steps back and then stares in horror at the man who is standing there, the man he just walked into. The man is holding an empty plastic cup and watching a brown stain spread on the front of his pristine-white shirt.

Mesut's brain panicks. All he can think is that the man in front of him is ridiculously attractive, in a perfectly-fitting suit and carefully-styled hair. He feels a little star-struck, although he had never seen the other before.

There is a boy hiding behind his father's leg. Mesut notes his dark curly hair and dark eyes widened in fear or surprise. The boy blinks and says: “Mess. Big mess!”

The words spill from Mesut's mouth: “I'm so sorry! I didn't see... I'm so sorry. I'll pay for the cleaning, just bring me the bill. I really didn't mean to, I.” He stops himself.

“Fuck,” the man says, then tenses and glances down at his son to see if the boy has heard the word. “I mean. Christ, this is the worst timing!” He presses his hand against his forehead. He looks so upset it makes Mesut step forward.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, uselessly. “Could I...?” But he doesn't finish the sentence because the man glances at his watch and frowns even more.

“I have a meeting in twenty, I can't waste more time here,” he says, crouching down. His face changes, the frown disappears as he smiles at his son. It's an amazing change; Mesut almost feels like he is interrupting something private. The man runs his hand through his son's hair and strokes his cheek. “Okay, Cris. Dad has to go to the work now. But I will come and pick you up soon enough. So no crying, okay?” The boy, Cris, nods and his dad kisses his cheek. “I'll be here very soon again. You won't even notice I'm not here. ”

When the man stands up, though, Cris' bravery is gone. His face twists in a grimace and he is about to start crying. Mesut crouches down quickly. “Cris. Hey, I want to show you something. A secret. Do you want to know what the secret is?”

To his relief, it works. Cris turns to Mesut, reaches for him and says: “Secwet.”

When Mesut walks away from the entrance, Cris clutching on his hand, he risks a glance back. Cris' father gives him a thumb-up and a wink before turning in his heel and rushing back outside.

Mesut remembers the coffee stain on the perfect shirt, the warmth of the other's body and the wink, and feels terrible.

ii.

Sami can read him like an open book. “Didn't go too well?” he asks when Mesut comes back to the apartment they share and drops on the couch, not even bothering to take off his shoes.

Mesut grimaces. “I spilled coffee on dad of one of the kids.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yes,” Mesut nods. “He was just on his way to his job and I spilled coffee all over his extremely expensive looking suit.”

“Uh oh,” Sami says again. “That sucks.” A pause. “Did he yell at you?”

Mesut shakes his head weakly. There is a throbbing pain spreading from the centre of his forehead. The day felt never-ending and Mesut still can't quite wrap his mind around everything that has happened. “He asked me out.”

Sami's mouth drops open; it's a little ridiculous. “He what?”

Mesut sighs and then starts talking. He tells Sami about Cris and Alba, about drawing fish with Alba and looking for treasure - a candy - with Cris. He tells him about the good things, about playing games and laughing. He tells him about Cris clutching his hand and Alba kissing his cheek and Carlota telling him he did wonderfully for the first time.

“And then Cristiano - Cris' dad, you know - came to pick Cris up. I wasn't really keen on meeting him because, you know, because-”

“Because you spilled coffee on him a few hours earlier,” Sami finishes.

“Yes,” Mesut laughs, “but Cris wouldn't let go of me, so. But Cristiano seemed happy and he told me that... It's kind of ridiculous, actually, you know? He told me that he couldn't go back home to change the suit because he couldn't afford to miss the meeting. So he went straight there, wearing the shirt with coffee all over it. And at the meeting... he told them the story and somehow it helped everything. I don't even know, but he wouldn't stop smiling and he invited me for a dinner as a thanks. And I couldn't really say no,” he finishes, looking a little sheepish. He knows Sami is studying his face and Sami knows him better than he knows himself, most of the times, so he isn't surprised when Sami grins widely.

“Because he's too hot to be refused?”

“He is attractive,” Mesut agrees after a moment, offering Sami a smile.

“A date then, huh?” Sami nudges his side and they laugh. Mesut thinks, he wouldn't mind if it was a date. He definitely wouldn't mind. But there are two things about it all that he is very sure about - there won't be any coffee and he will not mess up. He just will not.

iii.

“This is really nice,” Mesut says as they finish their dinner, the plates replaced with two glasses of wine, “thanks.”

He feels a little overwhelmed by the whole situation. Cristiano had picked him up driving a ridiculously expensive car - Mesut thinks it cost more than his and Sami's apartment. He smiled at Mesut in a way that made him feel a little weak at his knees and gave him a quick one-armed hug; Mesut wishes the hug was longer because Cristiano smelled really good. He chatted to Mesut easily as they drove to the restaurant, telling him about little Cris' newest achievements.

“It's no problem,” Cristiano smiles at Mesut. “You've really helped me with the deal - even if it was a little,” Cristiano laughs, “unusual help.”

“Very unusual,” Mesut shakes his head. He still feels terrible about the stain.

“And Cris adores you. He used to dislike going to kindergarten, but the past few days have been completely different.” Cristiano gives Mesut yet another blinding smile; Mesut is just glad he is sitting on his ass because he is sure his knees would give up.

But despite the feeling of starstruck, despite the weak knees and the nervous sensation settled in his stomach, Mesut is enjoying himself. Cristiano turns out to be a wonderful companion. His reactions are spontaneous and quick, as is his laughter. There is no awkward silence as they talk. Cristiano talks a lot about Cris, but Mesut doesn't mind that. He likes how Cristiano's face changes when he mentions his son.

“The first time I changed his diapers was a complete disaster, you should have seen me,” Cristiano laughs. “My mum was standing next to me and giving me instructions because I was that clueless. And Cris was kicking his feet and crying and making everything ten times worse. I was panicking so much.” He shakes his head, a smile still on his lips.

Mesut is grinning too, picturing the scene. “But in the end you managed and that's what counts, no?”

“Managed?” Cristiano snorts and shakes his head. “Hardly. I leaned down for some reason and Cris kicked me in my face. I had a bruise on my cheek and refused to touch diapers for a whole month.”

Mesut laughs, too, because it is funny. He tries to imagine Cristiano with a bruise, going to work and arranging meetings and having to explain where the bruise comes from. Mesut can definitely understand the awkwardness of those situations. He picks his glass, sipping the wine carefully. He doesn't drink alcohol, but refusing a glass of wine felt discourteous. The wine makes his cheeks feel warm and he hopes he isn't blushing. That'd be just ridiculous.

When he looks up, Cristiano is watching him with an odd little smile that makes Mesut's stomach jolt. He swallows and smiles back and tries to not read too much into this whole situation. It means nothing, he tells himself, he isn't even gay. He has a kid. It was just a thank-you dinner. He was just nice. He curses Sami for calling this a date.

When Cristiano drives him home, Mesut says: “I had a wonderful time. Thanks so much.”

“No problem,” Cristiano glances at him before turning his eyes back on the road.

“You should have let me pay for myself, though.”

They stop at the red light, so Cristiano can turn to Mesut and look at him. “I invited you. It'd be stupid to let you pay.”

“Still,” Mesut says. It wasn't a date, he repeats to himself.

Cristiano gets out of the car when they stop and Mesut isn't sure what to do. A handshake? That would be flat out stupid. A hug? To his amazement, though, Cristiano suddenly looks as unsure as Mesut feels. It' such a strange combination that Mesut thinks he is imagining it.

“Um,” Cristiano says and Mesut knows he isn't imagining it, but the change is so unexpected Mesut can only stare. “I had a really nice time tonight.” There is a pause and Mesut's heart skips a beat. He doesn't even try to tell himself that it wasn't a date anymore. “I was wondering. I was wondering if you wanted to go out again?”

Mesut agrees without hesitation.

“So it was a date,” he tells Sami later, watching him through the mirror in the hall as he takes off his shoes.

Sami laughs. “I told you so.”

iv.

They go out again the next week. Cristiano takes Mesut for a drive around the town and to a park where they take a short walk, wrapped in their scarves to protect themselves from the chilly autumn wind. They laugh at the stupidest things and when they get mistaken for a couple by a few kids, Mesut looks at Cristiano, worry clearly written in his face.

Cristiano smiles. “Do you want to get some coffee?” he asks. “That is, if you promise to not get it all over my clothes.”

Mesut almost blushes. “I promise.”

They don't talk much about Cris, this time, but they talk about the music they like - Cristiano laughs at Mesut's choices - and movies - this time Mesut laughs because Cristiano says he loves watching cartoons with Cris and it's actually very sweet. They talk about sports, sharing a few hilarious stories, and end up laughing so hard Mesut has a few tears sliding down his cheeks.

When Cristiano drives him home, he gets out of the car again.

“Thanks for today,” Mesut says softly, smiling.

Cristiano gives a little shrug, as if he wanted to say, no problem, and then smiles: “Will I see you again soon? Not, not at the kindergarten, but. You know.”

Mesut nods. It amazes him that Cristiano gets this shy when it comes to talking about things like these. “Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Cristiano repeats. He steps closer to Mesut and before Mesut can really think a single thought, Cristiano's lips are on Mesut's. The kiss is too short for Mesut to feel anything but the thrill of the feeling of Cristiano's soft lips on his own makes Mesut smile widely.

“I'll call you,” he says and Cristiano nods.

v.

It becomes a regular thing and before they can realise it, their lives are entwined in the smallest details: Mesut has a toothbrush at Cristiano's, since that one time he forgot his own; Sami finds a few of Cris' toy cars in his bed; when Mesut does laundry, there are always some Cristiano's T-shirts; Cristiano's hair gel shows up in Mesut's bathroom. They don't spend the whole days together, but they do hang out often enough for Sami to start calling them husbands.

Mesut thinks of Cristiano as his boyfriend and he likes that thought a lot. But they don't talk about it, not until a few weeks later. Little Cris is already in his bed, asleep, the baby monitor on the coffee table in Cristiano's living room. Mesut is sitting on the couch, legs stretched and his feet resting at Cristiano's knees. They are watching a football game on TV, but they aren't paying much attention to it. Cristiano is stroking a circle around the jutting bone in Mesut's ankle.

“So, we're dating, yeah?” Mesut says as the halftime break starts.

Cristiano's fingers stop for a second. He turns his head, looks at Mesut and then shrugs with a smile. “Yes,” he says, sounding a little nervous.

Mesut smiles as well. “Yes,” he repeats, his voice soft. He pull his feet away from Cristiano's lap, shifting so that he can press his lips against Cristiano's. The other becomes more secure immediately, kissing Mesut with urgency and Mesut loves how talking about the two of them makes Cristiano so nervous. All the other times, Cristiano is strong and confident and Mesut loves that he can see these moments that no one else does.

He slides his hand to Cristiano's stomach, feeling the hard muscles under the thin T-shirt. Cristiano sucks in a breath, wraps his arms around Mesut's chest and pulls him to his lap. It makes Mesut feel small, and if he didn't feel Cristiano's erection pressing against his own, separated by two layers of the thin cloth of their sweatpants, he would appreciate the feeling.

He can only move his hips against Cristiano's, making them both moan.

He does it again, and again, kissing Cristiano deeply. Mesut thinks he could come like this, but he wants more, he definitely wants more.

So of course the baby monitor comes to life a second later. Cristiano tenses and Mesut knows that he is torn between rushing upstairs to check on Cris and fucking Mesut into the couch.

“Christ,” Mesut says aloud to himself a few minutes later as he's sitting on the couch, Cristiano gone upstairs, “this is why we never have sex.”

vi.

The following weekend, Cristiano calls Mesut. Mesut answers distractedly, stirring the sauce for the pasta with a spoon. “Yes?”

“Come over?” Cristiano says without as much as a hello. It makes Mesut stop and laugh.

“Now? I can't now. I'm cooking.” He pauses and checks the clock. “How about later? Around seven.”

Cristiano doesn't sound too disappointed. “Okay. I can't wait.”

Mesut shows up almost half an hour later. He lets himself inside with the spare key Cristiano has given him a week ago, still feeling slightly like he's breaking in. But Cristiano must have been waiting for him, because the moment he closes the door, a pair of strong hands pushes him against the wall and familiar lips press again his own.

“Hmpf!” Mesut says as his back collides with the hard wooden lining, breaking the kiss. “That eager?” But he can feel Cristiano's body pressing against his own with urgency that makes the words meaningless.

“I want,” Cristiano interrupts himself with a kiss on Mesut's lips, dropping his hands between their bodies to tug at Mesut's belt, “I couldn't stop thinking about you. I want you so badly.” The words come out quickly, as if Cristiano has prepared them while he waited for Mesut.

Mesut opens his mouth just when Cristiano undoes his pants and palms him through the thin cloth of his boxers, so Mesut closes his mouth again and moans. He feels the same, the urge and the need to have all of Cristiano that gets stronger and stronger the more time they spend together. It makes him feel like a teenager because he wakes up with a hard-on and then masturbates in the shower, thinking of Cristiano. But it isn't enough, touching himself, and the occasional blowjobs and handjobs they exchanged, rare and far in between.

When Cristiano kisses a path down Mesut's neck, Mesut remembers why they don't have sex. “But Cris...” he says, moving his hand to stop Cristiano's from sliding in his boxers. Mesut is sure he wouldn't be able to deal with being interrupted again.

“He's at my mum's. We have the house for ourselves,” Cristiano replies and that's all it takes.

Barely minutes later, Mesut is sitting at the bed, his clothes trailing the path from the door to Cristiano's bedroom. His legs are sprawled, but he doesn't care about being exposed to Cristiano; right now all he cares about is watching Cristiano undress. The other isn't giving him a show. He's standing in front of Mesut, staring at him and taking his clothes off in slow, deliberate moves that are exactly like Cristiano; controlled and precise. More and more skin gets exposed; Cristiano's body is all hard muscles and straight lines. Mesut wraps his hand around his erection because he can't stand to watch and not do anything.

Cristiano's hands are shaking when he touches Mesut a few moments later, when he slides his fingers across the centre of Mesut's chest and replaces Mesut's fingers around his erection with his own. Mesut sucks in a breath, his stomach quivering when Cristiano jacks him off slowly and kisses his hipbones and bites down on the inside of his thighs.

Cristiano has lube ready and he prepares Mesut far more carefully than Mesut would care about. But Cristiano is big and when he pushes in, Mesut is thankful for the preparation. He is overwhelmed by the sensations as Cristiano starts to move his hips.

Mesut comes too soon and Cristiano fucks him through his orgasm, until Mesut is whimpering because it's too much. Cristiano pulls out then, takes off the condom and jacks off until he comes on Mesut's stomach.

They lay breathlessly after Cristiano cleans them both, on their backs next to each other. “You should send Cris to his grandma more often,” Mesut says then. Cristiano laughs, turns on his side and pulls Mesut closer.

When he falls asleep, heavy and warm against Mesut's body, Mesut thinks he could get used to this.

vii.

Mesut winces a few times when he comes home the next day and Sami makes fun of him, naturally. “Did Junior let you get lucky finally?”

Mesut gingerly sits down and gives Sami a smug smirk. “I did have a nice time, yes, unlike someone else in this room.”

Sami throws a dishcloth at him and Mesut laughs. He feels happier than he can remember ever being.

viii.

Even weeks later, Mesut considers himself extremely happy. He has a flatmate who makes coffee for him in the morning and leaves him post-it note messages. He has a job that makes him happy, a colleague who always encourages him and the kids at the job who hug him every time they go home and give him drawings. Alba always gives him a drawing of fish and daily reminds Mesut that she thinks he looks like a fish, but he would be lying if he said he minded. He has a boyfriend that everyone can be envious of; a boyfriend who is funny and kind and warm-hearted and confident and gets shy when he talks about his feelings for Mesut.

His life is pretty much perfect and the weeks flew by so quickly he is definitely surprised when he realises it's Christmas.

Sami is spending it with his girlfriend and Mesut considers flying to see his parents when Cristiano calls him: “You're spending Christmas with us, right?”

Mesut smiles. “Yes,” he agrees without hesitation.

What Cristiano doesn't mention is that it won't be him and little Cris and Mesut during Christmas, but also Cristiano's whole family, starting with his mum and ending with all of his cousins.

“You'll do just fine,” Mesut tells his mirror image. He's in Cristiano's bathroom after he has just brushed his teeth. Cristiano's family will start arriving in a matter of an hour and Mesut is slightly dreading to meet them. Getting introduced to Cristiano's mum was bad enough, although Cristiano assured him that she liked him. “You will do just fine,” he repeats again and stares at himself.

“You will.”

Mesut smiles at Cristiano through the mirror, then turns around. Cristiano is wearing a pristine-white shirt and black suit pants; he makes Mesut feel a little weak at his knees.

Mesut runs his fingers around the collar of Cristiano's shirt. “As long as there is no coffee around,” he says.

Cristiano chuckles. “Well, that turned out pretty good, though, didn't it?”

“Yes.” Mesut closes his eyes when Cristiano touches his neck, rubbing circles in the soft skin with the tips of his fingers.

“Mesut?” Cristiano says quietly.

“Yes.” Mesut's eyes are still closed.

“I.” Mesut can almost hear Cristiano swallowing nervously, almost see the hesitation in Cristiano's face. He smiles.

“I love you too.”