Oh God, more fic.
Yep, 40fandoms again. Particular apology to dork_elf: I said this was probably going to cause an outbreak of the dreaded Roinze and then I went and wrote it myself. I'll write you something later in the challenge that'll hopefully make up for it, at least a bit.
Title: Moving On
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Gabriel Heinze/Cristiano Ronaldo, mentions of Ruud van Nistelrooy/Gabriel Heinze and Ruud van Nistelrooy/Cristiano Ronaldo
Rating: NC-17, to be safe.
Word Count: 1508
Disclaimer: Clearly not mine. No particular insult intended.
Summary: Set following the Manchester United match at Fulham on 24/02/07, Gaby and Cris move on.
***
Gaby's hands are cold.
It's not a surprise since he's just come inside but Cristiano still shivers as they touch him. He thinks maybe it's not just the cold that does that to him, though.
It's dark out, and it's not much brighter inside Cristiano's home. He's turned on one lamp in the living room but that's it, the rest of the place is dark or lit only dimly by the glare of the malfunctioning security light that's still on outside, illuminating Gaby's car that set it off in the driveway. He heard the crunch of the upmarket gravel he's been meaning to get rid of but he didn't open the door until Gaby knocked. Then he saw him backlit, with a small smile on his shadowed face. He knew this was going to happen.
They still haven't kissed. But Gaby's hands are on him.
They've been dancing around this for a while now, for months, since the start of the season or before that even, since it was clear that Ruud was leaving. They wouldn't be doing this if he hadn't, Cris thinks - they don't need to talk about it to know they were both fucking him, or he was fucking them at least. It's how they bonded, in an odd sort of way, knowing he'd been with both of them that last year while things fell apart, and now they miss him. He'd never kept things a secret from either of them, even if he'd never exactly come right out and said it; they'd gone along with it, both of them. Cris knows that for his part it was always because he was telling himself that it didn't matter, that it was only ever sex between them so he couldn't be upset by it, even if he was. He doesn't think Ruud knew how he felt. He hopes not. And he's never blamed Gaby.
So they've been friends. They've been good friends, keeping each other's mind off what they know it is they're not saying but don't really have to. They both lost something important the day that Ruud left Manchester, but he guesses they gained something, too. For a while he thought it was just friendship; now he knows it's more.
Something changed today. He knows it's not really that sudden but today it's concrete, today it's quantifiable, even if he doesn't know the terms to put it that way. They've been dancing around this for a while now, trying to act like there's nothing different when they're together - he's been calling Gaby more and Gaby hasn't complained, they've seen each other more and seemed glad for it even through the awkward moments when someone's hand brushes the other's knee while they're talking over a DVD or they find themselves too close as Cris talks him into buying clothes he would never have picked out himself. Before now they've skipped past it with the grace of Cris's best, most polished tricks, or one of Scholesy's tackles, he's not sure which. But not today.
They talked on the way down to London, inseparable and incomprehensible to others as they are these days. It was all very genial, smiles and laughter like the rest of the team, then they got there and still all was as it always has been, the familiar joking around with the others that they've always enjoyed. But then it was time to play, and then things changed.
The dressing room was still alive with noise as they all started to swarm for the door, and Cristiano was still chatting to Gaby as he fidgeted with the hem or the collar of his shirt, pulled up his socks a little further, made sure he was ready for the game though he already was. They talked about it, Cris trying to tell himself as much as Gaby that the fact that Fulham were hammered by Spurs last week doesn't mean much at all, and then. Then Gaby said something. He said it was important that they win, as if that much wasn't obvious. And then he said something else.
It was something almost offhand as they made for the door, something that equated to ‘if you score today, I'll go down on you,' but sounded cleaner and hotter in Spanish, in Gaby's voice and Gaby's accent. It was sort of like an awkward joke but he didn't find it funny and that way Gaby's cheeks flushed just slightly - the faint colour almost invisible on him thanks to skin already ruddy from the cold - told him he was serious. His stomach clenched. He didn't reply. He didn't know what to say in any language right then, let alone in English, so he watched as Gaby turned away and then he left for the pitch. It wasn't a joke, it wasn't even an offer; it was a promise.
The match is a blur to him, except for the goals and his celebration. He wishes his English was better so the post-match interviews wouldn't seem so embarrassing, even if he got Man of the Match. And the trip back to Manchester seemed to drag forever but speed by in a second at the same time. He didn't sit with Gaby - he chatted with Wayne and a couple of others instead, giving Gaby the occasional glance. He met his gaze every time.
Then he went home, changed, had dinner out with some friends but said no to the night out they suggested. He went straight home from the restaurant and switched on a lamp in the living room. He waited, not even sure that Gaby would come. But he has. He's here now.
He opened the door just seconds after the knock and stepped back to let him in. He shivered at the cold air as Gaby closed the door behind himself. They didn't speak. He just looked at him in the near dark.
Gaby's hands were cold through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, cold over his skin as he pushed the t-shirt up and pulled it off. They were cold as they brushed down over his chest, cold as they came to the belt at his waist. They raised goosebumps and made him shiver as he stepped back against the wall there in the entranceway. They made him catch his lip between his teeth, made him flush and his pulse quicken as they pushed his jeans down over his hips, made his breath come faster as they cupped him through his underwear then pulled it down. He's exposed now, from the top of his head down to mid-thigh where his jeans have caught. The wall is cold behind his back. A thrill of anticipation runs through him. Finally, it's happening.
Gaby drops to his knees without a hint of grace and that's oddly reassuring to him. He runs his cold hands over Cris's hips, up over his stomach to his smooth chest and then down; he's smooth down there too and all he can think of is the times he used to shave for Ruud, sometimes with him watching, knowing how it would feel to have those big hands and those long fingers trailing over newly-shorn skin. Now he does it just because he does it and now he thinks it's paying off , as Gaby leans in, as his tongue swipes hot and wet over the sensitive skin of his balls. Gaby looks up then and smiles not quite nervously, sort of embarrassed. Cristiano knows how he feels.
Then he takes him in his mouth, still soft but stiffening rapidly. His cold fingers move over him but they're warming from his head and his breath catches as Gaby takes him in further. He twines his fingers in Gaby's hair, loosely, tentative, feels himself harden as he rests back heavily against the wall. His hips shift not quite idly and Gaby doesn't seem to mind, just sucks harder, his free hand gripping hard at Cris's hip. He wonders if Gaby did this for Ruud. In the end, he decides he doesn't care.
He groans when he comes, his hips jerking hard but Gaby's hands steady him. Then Gaby pulls back, lets him slip carefully from his mouth and looks up at him from his knees, rumpled and flushed before he hauls himself to his feet. He steps in close and Cris's hands go to his waist; Gaby has to look up at him but despite that, despite this, he remains more of a man than most men Cris has ever known. He's solid and masculine, almost reminds him of something that they never mention except they're really nothing alike. All he sees when he looks at him is Gaby, nothing more. That's more than enough.
The faulty security light finally goes out and they're plunged into startling darkness. This is all new and maybe he's lost, maybe he's all at sea, but he's not scared.
He pulls him close and they kiss, in the dark. No, he's not scared at all.
Title: Moving On
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Gabriel Heinze/Cristiano Ronaldo, mentions of Ruud van Nistelrooy/Gabriel Heinze and Ruud van Nistelrooy/Cristiano Ronaldo
Rating: NC-17, to be safe.
Word Count: 1508
Disclaimer: Clearly not mine. No particular insult intended.
Summary: Set following the Manchester United match at Fulham on 24/02/07, Gaby and Cris move on.
***
Gaby's hands are cold.
It's not a surprise since he's just come inside but Cristiano still shivers as they touch him. He thinks maybe it's not just the cold that does that to him, though.
It's dark out, and it's not much brighter inside Cristiano's home. He's turned on one lamp in the living room but that's it, the rest of the place is dark or lit only dimly by the glare of the malfunctioning security light that's still on outside, illuminating Gaby's car that set it off in the driveway. He heard the crunch of the upmarket gravel he's been meaning to get rid of but he didn't open the door until Gaby knocked. Then he saw him backlit, with a small smile on his shadowed face. He knew this was going to happen.
They still haven't kissed. But Gaby's hands are on him.
They've been dancing around this for a while now, for months, since the start of the season or before that even, since it was clear that Ruud was leaving. They wouldn't be doing this if he hadn't, Cris thinks - they don't need to talk about it to know they were both fucking him, or he was fucking them at least. It's how they bonded, in an odd sort of way, knowing he'd been with both of them that last year while things fell apart, and now they miss him. He'd never kept things a secret from either of them, even if he'd never exactly come right out and said it; they'd gone along with it, both of them. Cris knows that for his part it was always because he was telling himself that it didn't matter, that it was only ever sex between them so he couldn't be upset by it, even if he was. He doesn't think Ruud knew how he felt. He hopes not. And he's never blamed Gaby.
So they've been friends. They've been good friends, keeping each other's mind off what they know it is they're not saying but don't really have to. They both lost something important the day that Ruud left Manchester, but he guesses they gained something, too. For a while he thought it was just friendship; now he knows it's more.
Something changed today. He knows it's not really that sudden but today it's concrete, today it's quantifiable, even if he doesn't know the terms to put it that way. They've been dancing around this for a while now, trying to act like there's nothing different when they're together - he's been calling Gaby more and Gaby hasn't complained, they've seen each other more and seemed glad for it even through the awkward moments when someone's hand brushes the other's knee while they're talking over a DVD or they find themselves too close as Cris talks him into buying clothes he would never have picked out himself. Before now they've skipped past it with the grace of Cris's best, most polished tricks, or one of Scholesy's tackles, he's not sure which. But not today.
They talked on the way down to London, inseparable and incomprehensible to others as they are these days. It was all very genial, smiles and laughter like the rest of the team, then they got there and still all was as it always has been, the familiar joking around with the others that they've always enjoyed. But then it was time to play, and then things changed.
The dressing room was still alive with noise as they all started to swarm for the door, and Cristiano was still chatting to Gaby as he fidgeted with the hem or the collar of his shirt, pulled up his socks a little further, made sure he was ready for the game though he already was. They talked about it, Cris trying to tell himself as much as Gaby that the fact that Fulham were hammered by Spurs last week doesn't mean much at all, and then. Then Gaby said something. He said it was important that they win, as if that much wasn't obvious. And then he said something else.
It was something almost offhand as they made for the door, something that equated to ‘if you score today, I'll go down on you,' but sounded cleaner and hotter in Spanish, in Gaby's voice and Gaby's accent. It was sort of like an awkward joke but he didn't find it funny and that way Gaby's cheeks flushed just slightly - the faint colour almost invisible on him thanks to skin already ruddy from the cold - told him he was serious. His stomach clenched. He didn't reply. He didn't know what to say in any language right then, let alone in English, so he watched as Gaby turned away and then he left for the pitch. It wasn't a joke, it wasn't even an offer; it was a promise.
The match is a blur to him, except for the goals and his celebration. He wishes his English was better so the post-match interviews wouldn't seem so embarrassing, even if he got Man of the Match. And the trip back to Manchester seemed to drag forever but speed by in a second at the same time. He didn't sit with Gaby - he chatted with Wayne and a couple of others instead, giving Gaby the occasional glance. He met his gaze every time.
Then he went home, changed, had dinner out with some friends but said no to the night out they suggested. He went straight home from the restaurant and switched on a lamp in the living room. He waited, not even sure that Gaby would come. But he has. He's here now.
He opened the door just seconds after the knock and stepped back to let him in. He shivered at the cold air as Gaby closed the door behind himself. They didn't speak. He just looked at him in the near dark.
Gaby's hands were cold through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, cold over his skin as he pushed the t-shirt up and pulled it off. They were cold as they brushed down over his chest, cold as they came to the belt at his waist. They raised goosebumps and made him shiver as he stepped back against the wall there in the entranceway. They made him catch his lip between his teeth, made him flush and his pulse quicken as they pushed his jeans down over his hips, made his breath come faster as they cupped him through his underwear then pulled it down. He's exposed now, from the top of his head down to mid-thigh where his jeans have caught. The wall is cold behind his back. A thrill of anticipation runs through him. Finally, it's happening.
Gaby drops to his knees without a hint of grace and that's oddly reassuring to him. He runs his cold hands over Cris's hips, up over his stomach to his smooth chest and then down; he's smooth down there too and all he can think of is the times he used to shave for Ruud, sometimes with him watching, knowing how it would feel to have those big hands and those long fingers trailing over newly-shorn skin. Now he does it just because he does it and now he thinks it's paying off , as Gaby leans in, as his tongue swipes hot and wet over the sensitive skin of his balls. Gaby looks up then and smiles not quite nervously, sort of embarrassed. Cristiano knows how he feels.
Then he takes him in his mouth, still soft but stiffening rapidly. His cold fingers move over him but they're warming from his head and his breath catches as Gaby takes him in further. He twines his fingers in Gaby's hair, loosely, tentative, feels himself harden as he rests back heavily against the wall. His hips shift not quite idly and Gaby doesn't seem to mind, just sucks harder, his free hand gripping hard at Cris's hip. He wonders if Gaby did this for Ruud. In the end, he decides he doesn't care.
He groans when he comes, his hips jerking hard but Gaby's hands steady him. Then Gaby pulls back, lets him slip carefully from his mouth and looks up at him from his knees, rumpled and flushed before he hauls himself to his feet. He steps in close and Cris's hands go to his waist; Gaby has to look up at him but despite that, despite this, he remains more of a man than most men Cris has ever known. He's solid and masculine, almost reminds him of something that they never mention except they're really nothing alike. All he sees when he looks at him is Gaby, nothing more. That's more than enough.
The faulty security light finally goes out and they're plunged into startling darkness. This is all new and maybe he's lost, maybe he's all at sea, but he's not scared.
He pulls him close and they kiss, in the dark. No, he's not scared at all.