fic: Crisis of Faith (Kaká/Cristiano Ronaldo, R)
Title: Crisis of Faith
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Real Madrid CF
Pairing: Kaká/Cristiano Ronaldo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: After meeting Cristiano, Ricardo's faith is tested three times.
Dedication: For crazy_girl_86, who wanted to read CR9!fic and is pretty much the only person I'd write CR9 for. Thank you for your tireless efforts on the pretty-pic front. :)
Word Count: 1,791
Allergy Warning: May contain traces of religious themes. Read at own risk.
Thanks a million to jennis_footie for her priceless advice and for her patience with my Linda Blair moments. *glomps*
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Ricardo knew of him long before they met at Real Madrid. The entire world did. Cristiano was the rising starlet, the prince, honoured by Johan Cruyff as better than George Best and Denis Law1, and the boy made it obvious how much he approved of the noise about him. He was not modest. He did not hold back. He flaunted himself and his assets, and he never wasted an opportunity to be the centre of everyone's attention.
They had joined their respective clubs in the same year, 2003, when they were still young and relatively unknown in the football world, but that was where the similarities ended. It had soon become clear to Ricardo that whereas he himself believed in attracting attention by good performances on the pitch, Cristiano's plan was to entice the public by making a spectacle of himself, not necessarily of his abilities.
When they played against each other, Ricardo got the impression that Cristiano behaved especially badly - or maybe it was just because up close Cristiano was harder to ignore. He moaned and whined at the referees, teased his opponents with excessive dribblings, provoked fouls, and altogether behaved in a manner that was more suitable for a theatre actor in a Shakespearean tragedy than a footballer.
Ricardo had been extremely religious ever since he was a little kid, but after their first match together a hint of doubt entered his mind.
He'd always believed that God created man in his image. Yet, no man so flawed, so sinful, shameless and proud could ever be the image of God.
***
Negotiations with Real Madrid started, continued, and kept going on, and even though Ricardo knew that they were planning to get Cristiano as well, he figured that the Portuguese's presence at the Spanish club was not a good enough reason for Ricardo to seek employment elsewhere. In the end, he put his signature on the offered contract, wondering how their first encounter as teammates would go, should Cristiano do what was expected from him and sign a contract as well.
It turned out to be completely unlike Ricardo had foreseen. Cristiano looked almost shy as he presented himself to the squad after his arrival, politely offering his hand and a charming smile to every single one of his new teammates. There was none of the irritating self-confidence he usually displayed. The Portuguese looked more like a fiancé meeting his future wife's family for the first time and trying his best to impress and please the little brother and the sickly old aunt as much as the head of the house.
Ricardo didn't believe in holding grudges, so he figured that every man deserved a second chance. He warmly shook the outstretched hand, returned the charming smile, and gave the "new one" a friendly pat on the back and some encouraging words in the native language they shared.
Give, and it will be given to you.2
Ricardo had no expectations, believed that soon enough Cristiano would find the "elite" of his teammates and stick to them, but that wasn't what happened. From day one, the Portuguese kept seeking the Brazilian out; during training only at first, but after a couple of days in private also.
At the beginning, Ricardo kept telling himself that it was out of necessity, what with the two of them being new at the club and both speaking Portuguese, but the fact that Cristiano preferred his presence to that of his fellow Portuguese Pepe or the Brazilian Marcelo was hard to overlook or mistake.
With every day they spent together, the subjects of their conversations grew more intimate, more personal. Not because Ricardo encouraged it - he hadn't forgotten about Cristiano's tabloid stories, his public scandals that the world kept feasting on months after they'd happened. He still wasn't entirely sure what Cristiano would do with the things Ricardo told him, if he would keep his secrets or give them away. But the more often they talked, the more Ricardo told him about himself, the voice in Ricardo's head grew increasingly louder, saying that he might have misunderstood the Portuguese from the moment he met him. That the opinion he had formed of him over the years might have been influenced by other people's prejudicious attitude towards him and caused Ricardo to see everything Cristiano did in a negative light.
Cristiano wasn't a bad person. He was a dedicated player, someone who lived and breathed for football. Very talented, yes, and maybe also a bit proud of it (but why shouldn't he be?), but not conceited, not self-absorbed. Grateful for every day he played football for he almost wouldn't have had the privilege after the doctors diagnosed him with a heart condition when he was fifteen3. Fun to be around, silly, always trying to make Ricardo laugh. A positive person, in love with life.
Then, one day, Cristiano kissed him. Not like a brother or a friend, but full on the lips, gently but with enough determination to make it unmistakeably clear what it meant.
Ricardo was frozen to the spot. A part of him was savouring the feeling of the Portuguese's mouth against his, the soft tickle of his breath, the heavenly taste of him, the heat radiating from him as he moved closer. But the other part just wanted to push Cristiano away.
When Cristiano pulled back, his dark eyes asking a million soundless questions as they stared into Ricardo's, the Brazilian held his gaze for a second, then looked away as he felt his cheeks burning up.
I'm married, his head said.
I love you, his heart sighed.
Do that again, his lips begged.
Ricardo said nothing. He felt betrayed.
He'd always believed that God was charity and justice. Yet, a charitable and just person would never lure one of his most pious believers to sin, would never make him think forbidden thoughts or want to commit abominable acts.
***
They went on with their lives as if nothing had happened. Cristiano still seeked Ricardo out, was still eager to spend time with him, confide in him, share his intimate thoughts and feelings. However, something was different, something Ricardo couldn't quite put his finger on at first.
They never spoke of what they had done in Ricardo's flat that one evening; Cristiano never alluded to it and Ricardo wouldn't bring the matter up either. However, Ricardo couldn't help being more aware of his teammate all of a sudden, following even the slightest of his movements, noticing things about him he wouldn't have noticed earlier. The colour of his eyes, the shape of his lips, the outline of his pecs and abs underneath his tight shirt, his slender hips and strong legs, the way he ran, walked, sat, kneeled, crouched down… He couldn't take his eyes off him, and he was certain that Cristiano knew.
He fought it, but in the end he was powerless. Desire swept over him like an avalanche, unstoppable, merciless, and Ricardo had never felt so guilty and ashamed in the confessional. Cristiano didn't do anything to tempt him or taunt him, he was merely being himself, but this was enough.
One night - they were rooming together before a match - Ricardo got out of his bed and walked over to his teammate's. It was probably around two in the morning (Ricardo hadn't checked), and the room was dark save for the moonlight shining through the window, bathing Cristiano's bed in a silvery glow.
As Ricardo sat down on the edge of it, the winger opened his eyes to look up at him in a mix of curiosity and confusion before his mouth curved into a small smile of recognition. Ricardo had never woken Cristiano up before, but somehow the Portuguese didn't appear to mind it or think it unusual, even.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat and ignoring his rapidly beating heart, Ricardo stretched out a slightly trembling hand to cup Cristiano's cheek: the message of a man for whom all words failed. He was prepared for anything - or at least he told himself that. If Cristiano ended up pushing him away, wanting to forget this ever happened, the darkness would serve as a cover for both of them.
Instead, the Portuguese sat up and returned the gesture, and for a while they just looked at each other, wondering, pondering, wanting answers to questions they didn't dare ask. Then, Ricardo leaned forward and kissed him, and for for a moment time's existence seemed to waver.
As if in a trance, Ricardo got up without breaking the kiss and climbed onto the bed, straddling the other man as he kissed him more deeply, sending a prayer of thanks to the heavens for allowing him to feel something like this, for granting him such bliss. He never wanted this moment to stop, and at the same time things couldn't happen fast enough for him. His fingers flew to the hem of Cristiano's shirt, crawled underneath it as their counterparts started exploring Ricardo in return, touching, caressing, stroking down the sweat-damp skin of his back before they dug into his hips and kept him in place as Cristiano ground against him, and they moaned into each other's mouth at the delicious friction.
They were both painfully hard by then, and Ricardo wondered when he'd lose it, collapse, go insane from the pleasure he felt. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced, so much better, so much more perfect, as if he belonged there, as if he was made for the sole purpose of loving Cristiano Ronaldo.
Their shirts came off quickly, and for a moment Ricardo remained still on top of Cristiano, drinking in the sight of him as if this was the only chance of seeing him naked from this close that he would ever get. He lifted his hand, placed it on Cristiano's chest and almost hesitantly ran his fingers over the taut muscles and the erect nipples, like a cartographer paid to create a map of hitherto unexplored territory, and grew even harder as the Portuguese closed his eyes and moaned softly.
You are beautiful, Ricardo wanted to say, but he couldn't get a word out.
And when Cristiano opened his eyes again and whispered breathlessly, softly, that Ricardo could do anything he wanted with him, that he was his, Ricardo nearly thought his heart would explode, and his head along with it.
He didn't understand.
He'd always believed that God was the epitome of all good things and therefore infinitely wise. Yet, no person of infinite wisdom would ever create perfection and then give it away instead of keeping it for himself.
But it wasn't as if Ricardo would ever bring that mistake to the Almighty's attention.
______________________________________________
1 In 2008, when Cristiano was competing for the Golden Boot, Johan Cruyff said that he was his favourite, and that "Ronaldo is better than George Best and Denis Law, who were two brilliant and great players in the history of United" (source).
2 Bible quote from Luke 6:38.
3 In 2009, Cristiano's mother revealed that her son had had an operation to correct an irregular heartbeat. His heart raced a lot when he wasn't running. The source of the problem was cauterised with a laser. A couple of days later, he resumed training with Sporting. (source).
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Real Madrid CF
Pairing: Kaká/Cristiano Ronaldo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: After meeting Cristiano, Ricardo's faith is tested three times.
Dedication: For crazy_girl_86, who wanted to read CR9!fic and is pretty much the only person I'd write CR9 for. Thank you for your tireless efforts on the pretty-pic front. :)
Word Count: 1,791
Allergy Warning: May contain traces of religious themes. Read at own risk.
Thanks a million to jennis_footie for her priceless advice and for her patience with my Linda Blair moments. *glomps*
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Ricardo knew of him long before they met at Real Madrid. The entire world did. Cristiano was the rising starlet, the prince, honoured by Johan Cruyff as better than George Best and Denis Law1, and the boy made it obvious how much he approved of the noise about him. He was not modest. He did not hold back. He flaunted himself and his assets, and he never wasted an opportunity to be the centre of everyone's attention.
They had joined their respective clubs in the same year, 2003, when they were still young and relatively unknown in the football world, but that was where the similarities ended. It had soon become clear to Ricardo that whereas he himself believed in attracting attention by good performances on the pitch, Cristiano's plan was to entice the public by making a spectacle of himself, not necessarily of his abilities.
When they played against each other, Ricardo got the impression that Cristiano behaved especially badly - or maybe it was just because up close Cristiano was harder to ignore. He moaned and whined at the referees, teased his opponents with excessive dribblings, provoked fouls, and altogether behaved in a manner that was more suitable for a theatre actor in a Shakespearean tragedy than a footballer.
Ricardo had been extremely religious ever since he was a little kid, but after their first match together a hint of doubt entered his mind.
He'd always believed that God created man in his image. Yet, no man so flawed, so sinful, shameless and proud could ever be the image of God.
***
Negotiations with Real Madrid started, continued, and kept going on, and even though Ricardo knew that they were planning to get Cristiano as well, he figured that the Portuguese's presence at the Spanish club was not a good enough reason for Ricardo to seek employment elsewhere. In the end, he put his signature on the offered contract, wondering how their first encounter as teammates would go, should Cristiano do what was expected from him and sign a contract as well.
It turned out to be completely unlike Ricardo had foreseen. Cristiano looked almost shy as he presented himself to the squad after his arrival, politely offering his hand and a charming smile to every single one of his new teammates. There was none of the irritating self-confidence he usually displayed. The Portuguese looked more like a fiancé meeting his future wife's family for the first time and trying his best to impress and please the little brother and the sickly old aunt as much as the head of the house.
Ricardo didn't believe in holding grudges, so he figured that every man deserved a second chance. He warmly shook the outstretched hand, returned the charming smile, and gave the "new one" a friendly pat on the back and some encouraging words in the native language they shared.
Give, and it will be given to you.2
Ricardo had no expectations, believed that soon enough Cristiano would find the "elite" of his teammates and stick to them, but that wasn't what happened. From day one, the Portuguese kept seeking the Brazilian out; during training only at first, but after a couple of days in private also.
At the beginning, Ricardo kept telling himself that it was out of necessity, what with the two of them being new at the club and both speaking Portuguese, but the fact that Cristiano preferred his presence to that of his fellow Portuguese Pepe or the Brazilian Marcelo was hard to overlook or mistake.
With every day they spent together, the subjects of their conversations grew more intimate, more personal. Not because Ricardo encouraged it - he hadn't forgotten about Cristiano's tabloid stories, his public scandals that the world kept feasting on months after they'd happened. He still wasn't entirely sure what Cristiano would do with the things Ricardo told him, if he would keep his secrets or give them away. But the more often they talked, the more Ricardo told him about himself, the voice in Ricardo's head grew increasingly louder, saying that he might have misunderstood the Portuguese from the moment he met him. That the opinion he had formed of him over the years might have been influenced by other people's prejudicious attitude towards him and caused Ricardo to see everything Cristiano did in a negative light.
Cristiano wasn't a bad person. He was a dedicated player, someone who lived and breathed for football. Very talented, yes, and maybe also a bit proud of it (but why shouldn't he be?), but not conceited, not self-absorbed. Grateful for every day he played football for he almost wouldn't have had the privilege after the doctors diagnosed him with a heart condition when he was fifteen3. Fun to be around, silly, always trying to make Ricardo laugh. A positive person, in love with life.
Then, one day, Cristiano kissed him. Not like a brother or a friend, but full on the lips, gently but with enough determination to make it unmistakeably clear what it meant.
Ricardo was frozen to the spot. A part of him was savouring the feeling of the Portuguese's mouth against his, the soft tickle of his breath, the heavenly taste of him, the heat radiating from him as he moved closer. But the other part just wanted to push Cristiano away.
When Cristiano pulled back, his dark eyes asking a million soundless questions as they stared into Ricardo's, the Brazilian held his gaze for a second, then looked away as he felt his cheeks burning up.
I'm married, his head said.
I love you, his heart sighed.
Do that again, his lips begged.
Ricardo said nothing. He felt betrayed.
He'd always believed that God was charity and justice. Yet, a charitable and just person would never lure one of his most pious believers to sin, would never make him think forbidden thoughts or want to commit abominable acts.
***
They went on with their lives as if nothing had happened. Cristiano still seeked Ricardo out, was still eager to spend time with him, confide in him, share his intimate thoughts and feelings. However, something was different, something Ricardo couldn't quite put his finger on at first.
They never spoke of what they had done in Ricardo's flat that one evening; Cristiano never alluded to it and Ricardo wouldn't bring the matter up either. However, Ricardo couldn't help being more aware of his teammate all of a sudden, following even the slightest of his movements, noticing things about him he wouldn't have noticed earlier. The colour of his eyes, the shape of his lips, the outline of his pecs and abs underneath his tight shirt, his slender hips and strong legs, the way he ran, walked, sat, kneeled, crouched down… He couldn't take his eyes off him, and he was certain that Cristiano knew.
He fought it, but in the end he was powerless. Desire swept over him like an avalanche, unstoppable, merciless, and Ricardo had never felt so guilty and ashamed in the confessional. Cristiano didn't do anything to tempt him or taunt him, he was merely being himself, but this was enough.
One night - they were rooming together before a match - Ricardo got out of his bed and walked over to his teammate's. It was probably around two in the morning (Ricardo hadn't checked), and the room was dark save for the moonlight shining through the window, bathing Cristiano's bed in a silvery glow.
As Ricardo sat down on the edge of it, the winger opened his eyes to look up at him in a mix of curiosity and confusion before his mouth curved into a small smile of recognition. Ricardo had never woken Cristiano up before, but somehow the Portuguese didn't appear to mind it or think it unusual, even.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat and ignoring his rapidly beating heart, Ricardo stretched out a slightly trembling hand to cup Cristiano's cheek: the message of a man for whom all words failed. He was prepared for anything - or at least he told himself that. If Cristiano ended up pushing him away, wanting to forget this ever happened, the darkness would serve as a cover for both of them.
Instead, the Portuguese sat up and returned the gesture, and for a while they just looked at each other, wondering, pondering, wanting answers to questions they didn't dare ask. Then, Ricardo leaned forward and kissed him, and for for a moment time's existence seemed to waver.
As if in a trance, Ricardo got up without breaking the kiss and climbed onto the bed, straddling the other man as he kissed him more deeply, sending a prayer of thanks to the heavens for allowing him to feel something like this, for granting him such bliss. He never wanted this moment to stop, and at the same time things couldn't happen fast enough for him. His fingers flew to the hem of Cristiano's shirt, crawled underneath it as their counterparts started exploring Ricardo in return, touching, caressing, stroking down the sweat-damp skin of his back before they dug into his hips and kept him in place as Cristiano ground against him, and they moaned into each other's mouth at the delicious friction.
They were both painfully hard by then, and Ricardo wondered when he'd lose it, collapse, go insane from the pleasure he felt. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced, so much better, so much more perfect, as if he belonged there, as if he was made for the sole purpose of loving Cristiano Ronaldo.
Their shirts came off quickly, and for a moment Ricardo remained still on top of Cristiano, drinking in the sight of him as if this was the only chance of seeing him naked from this close that he would ever get. He lifted his hand, placed it on Cristiano's chest and almost hesitantly ran his fingers over the taut muscles and the erect nipples, like a cartographer paid to create a map of hitherto unexplored territory, and grew even harder as the Portuguese closed his eyes and moaned softly.
You are beautiful, Ricardo wanted to say, but he couldn't get a word out.
And when Cristiano opened his eyes again and whispered breathlessly, softly, that Ricardo could do anything he wanted with him, that he was his, Ricardo nearly thought his heart would explode, and his head along with it.
He didn't understand.
He'd always believed that God was the epitome of all good things and therefore infinitely wise. Yet, no person of infinite wisdom would ever create perfection and then give it away instead of keeping it for himself.
But it wasn't as if Ricardo would ever bring that mistake to the Almighty's attention.
______________________________________________
1 In 2008, when Cristiano was competing for the Golden Boot, Johan Cruyff said that he was his favourite, and that "Ronaldo is better than George Best and Denis Law, who were two brilliant and great players in the history of United" (source).
2 Bible quote from Luke 6:38.
3 In 2009, Cristiano's mother revealed that her son had had an operation to correct an irregular heartbeat. His heart raced a lot when he wasn't running. The source of the problem was cauterised with a laser. A couple of days later, he resumed training with Sporting. (source).