Psycho - a fic
Title: Psycho
Pairing: Paolo Maldini/Zlatan Ibrahimovic, Andrea Pirlo/Gennaro Gattuso, Ricky Kaká/Alexandre Pato, the whole Milan squad, Adriano Galliani, Carlo Ancelotti, a cleaning woman
Rating: NC-17
Warning: a lot of swearing, really crazy
Disclaimer: Something creepy like that can't be true.
Summary: It is set after the Sampdoria-Milan game which ended 2:1. Basically Paolo freaking out in the Milan changing room.
A/N: I warn you: This is really crazy. But I hope you have a laugh =) I wanted to write something completely different, but it turned out to be this xD
Feedback: I love it, so yes please ♥
Psycho
The game was over. And they had lost. Again. No UEFA Cup anymore, and probably no chance for the Scudetto anymore, either. Sucked.
Andrea had been proud at the beginning of the match; proud that he had been chosen to wear the captain’s armband, because it made you feel different, it made you feel more respected, and he had sworn to himself that he would try to be a good captain and to replace Paolo as best as he could. The only problem there was that Paolo was irreplaceable.
He had gone on the pitch, proud, head high, and he had given his all, had fought for his team, had calmed his team down, and now, after the final whistle, he was feeling angry and desperate. They were all desperate; they had tried, they had fought for it, they had fouled far too often. And Andrea had not taken the final free kick. Maybe he should have done so, but Pato had wanted to take it and Andrea had given in. It was senseless to think about it now but nevertheless he did.
It was Paolo, who had all reasons to be angry and bitchy, because his final season was fucked up; the dream of lifting another silverware was long gone, who came over to Andrea, putting one arm around him and telling him that he did well, but for some reason Andrea just wanted to be alone; wanted everyone to leave him alone, and he did push Paolo away, snapping at him. Paolo didn’t even look hurt, just a little surprised.
“Drea, it’s okay, it’s okay. I just wanted to make sure that you know that you did well,” Paolo said, moving away from Andrea a little. He understood the playmaker perfectly well; it was exactly how he was feeling, too, but Paolo would never express it like that. He was a gentleman, he was il capitano. When Galliani came over to them Andrea hurried to get away and Paolo stopped to talk to the man.
“You won’t go into the changing room today,” he said, firmly. Galliani just glared at him, trying to walk on, but Paolo stood in his way and when the manager wanted to go on Paolo even held him by the wrists.
“Will you let go of me?” the manager demanded, sounding somewhat threatening, but Paolo had nothing to lose, so he shook his head.
“You won’t go into the changing room. You won’t shout at them. You won’t humiliate them. You won’t, do you understand?” Paolo’s tone was sharp, the tone of a captain who gave his all for his team. Now Paolo glared, too. Ancelotti was watching the scene, swallowing. Yeah, Paolo Maldini was a real captain, he had to admit that.
“You don’t have the power to tell me what-,“ Galliani began to protest, but Paolo didn’t let him speak on.
“I don’t, that’s right, and still you won’t go there. You leave them alone today and if you don’t then I’ll create hell on earth for you, believe me. Do you really think I didn’t see what you did to them on the training ground today? Do you think I’m blind, Galliani? I am not. And I won’t tolerate it. And that’s it. You may leave now.” Paolo’s words were clear, and even if Galliani looked as if he wanted to kill the Milan captain any moment he nodded sharply at Ancelotti and left then.
Paolo looked after him to make absolutely sure that Galliani did not go into the changing room and when the manager was gone Ancelotti came over to Paolo.
“That was… brave, I have to admit,” he said. Paolo snorted.
“Fucker.” Ancelotti grinned, amused.
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“Andrea? No, you won’t push me away, goddamn it!” Gennaro protested. He had tried to talk to Andrea for about ten minutes now and all Andrea had done was picking some kind of fight which he would never win; starting to fight with Gennaro, trying to push him away or even scratch him, but now he was getting tired and Gennaro finally got hold of the midfielder, pressing him to himself. Andrea balled his hands to fists but gave in, and Gennaro loosened the tight embrace a little.
“What the fuck is going on with you? You did well, stop acting so weird. I want my normal Drea back!” Andrea snorted, still struggling to free himself, because Gennaro tightened the embrace again.
“Andrea, let it go, it’s all fine!” Gennaro insisted, frowning. He wondered what had happened to his lover.
“Gennaro, I can’t… I don’t have the strength to go on anymore! It’s all too much, the pressure, everything, we…” But Andrea couldn’t go on because just at that moment he fainted and Gennaro wouldn’t have thought that Andrea could become that heavy.
“PAOLO? ANYONE? HELP, PLEASE!” Gennaro shouted, and Paolo, who was hurrying over to them, was sure that everyone who still was in the stadium had heard that.
“What happened? Oh fuck! Anyone call a doctor, please?” Paolo yelled at Pato, who actually jumped back because he thought that he had done something wrong at first before understanding what was actually going on. Gennaro laid Andrea down on the floor, being rather glad when the playmaker opened his eyes again, gasping for air.
“Andrea? Andrea, thank God. You feeling sick? Anything?” Gennaro asked, but before he could really go on asking Andrea quickly turned to his side, being sick on the floor.
“Okay, forget the doc and call a cleaning woman instead!” Paolo yelled at the others again, grimacing. Andrea coughed a little, still gasping for air. Gennaro rubbed over his back.
“Shush, calm down. It’s okay.” Andrea sat up, the whole world turning, and so he clutched Gennaro’s arm. Now he was shivering and he hated it. Why did it always have to happen to him?
“It’s fine, it was just too much for him,” Gennaro explained to Paolo, who still looked as worried as he would if one of his sons was sitting in front of him like Andrea did at the moment.
Andrea got up and supported by Gennaro and Paolo he went over to the couch that was in the changing room, lying down on it. Just at that moment the changing room door opened and everyone tensed. Paolo frowned. And then he ran.
“For fuck’s sake, Galliani! I told you you would NOT come here, goddamn it!” Paolo was furious, and apparently that even scared that manager a little, because he backed away a bit and Paolo took the opportunity to slam the door and to lock it. He heard Galliani protest outside, bumping against the door but Paolo just snorted, turning to the other players who looked surprised and confused and Pato actually looked scared.
“What?” Paolo asked the others and everyone just turned around to get back to changing clothes and showering.
“P-Paolo, the cleaning woman won’t be able to go through closed doors,” Pippo said, and Paolo stopped to make a push-away gesture.
“Fuck the cleaning woman.”
“I’m not into wo-,”
“PIPPO, FUCKING HELL, I’M NOT JOKING!” Paolo yelled, and he didn’t even realize that Pato, who was standing right next to him, backed away, whimpering softly. Pippo decided that it was better to shut up now.
Someone knocked at the door. Paolo hesitated, taking a deep breath.
“Okay. Galliani, I won’t open that fucking door! Give the fuck up or I will-,” Paolo began, but the person on the other side of the door started talking.
“I’m not Galliani! It’s me, Ricky!” The Brazilian sounded confused. Paolo frowned, rubbing his temples.
“What the FUCK is going on here?” he asked no one in particular (and after he had shouted at Pippo like that no one even dared to answer), unlocking the door. He opened it, stepping outside and looking around like a detective would do. Ricky raised one eyebrow.
“Paolo, you okay?” he asked.
“Yes. No. NO, FOR GOD’S SAKE. Get inside. Now.” Ricky decided that it was better to obey and did as he was told, frowning when he saw how tense everyone was. When Paolo locked the door behind him Ricky turned around, looking confused.
“What is that supposed to be?” he asked and regretted it only moments later because Paolo looked like he would explode any moment.
“Galliani tries to get inside here and fuck you all and Andrea just broke down and I, no, we need a cleaning woman and I think that’s it now,” Paolo explained furiously. Ricky frowned.
“Galliani is gay?” Paolo closed his eyes for some moments.
“GOD HAVE YOU ALL BEEN WITHOUT OXYGEN FOR TOO LONG OR WHAT? OF COURSE HE IS NOT GAY!” Ricky shrugged, apparently still not understanding fully what was going on, but he decided to leave it like that and went over to Pato who was sitting in front of his locker like a schoolboy who had just been beaten up. Paolo took a deep breath, walking over to Andrea and Gennaro again.
Gennaro had covered Andrea with a blanket and was stroking his arm, soothingly. Andrea seemed calm again, but he still was looking pale. At least he was calm again. Someone knocked at the door.
“Who is there?” Paolo practically shouted.
“Cleaning woman.” Paolo sighed.
“Clarence, open that fucking door,” he ordered.
“Paolo, you have the key,” Clarence pointed out. Paolo stared at him for some moments.
“Oh yes. Damn.” The captain went over to the door and unlocked it, wordlessly, playing the detective again and letting the cleaning woman in, locking the door after her.
“Alexandre? Stop looking so scared! That’s not kidnapping or anything!” Pippo said. Gianluca chuckled while Ricky just glared, laying a protective arm around his lover’s neck. Pato cuddled against the Brazilian, being very thankful that he was there.
“Just leave him alone, okay?” Ricky demanded, and Pippo didn’t want to pick up a fight now because Paolo’s nerves weren’t made of steel these days and he already was furious enough. Ricky embraced Pato to himself, feeling how creepy the situation was for the young striker, who actually was really scared. Paolo took the moment to take a deep breath. The cleaning woman turned around to look at him.
“What?” Paolo asked. She just shook her head and continued cleaning up the floor. Paolo was about to sit down on one of the chairs when someone knocked at the door again.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME OR WHAT? WHO THE FUCK IS IT AGAIN!” Paolo yelled. Pato tried to hide behind Ricky but that just earned him an amused look from Pippo.
“Are you kidding me, Maldini? Why is that fucking door locked?” Zlatan Ibrahimović. Paolo hoped that he was dreaming, but something in his mind told him that he wasn’t.
“Ibrahimović? What the hell are you doing here?”, he asked, close to shouting again, stepping closer to the door.
“I would tell you if you would open that goddamn door… Do I have to break into the changing room or what? Oh hey, Galliani.” Paolo heard Zlatan say.
“GALLIANI???” It was Pippo who started laughing and Paolo glared at him for that. Pato still looked scared but somehow seemed to feel better with Ricky hugging him.
“Open that door, Maldini!” It was Galliani’s voice this time.
“NO WAY!” Paolo protested. Then he heard Zlatan’s voice again.
“I could break into the changing room and open the door for you.”
“YOU WON’T DO THAT, IBRAHIMOVIć, or I WON’T LET YOU FUCK ME NEXT---- Oh. Shit.” Paolo stood there, looking a little clueless. And a lot embarrassed. The cleaning woman grinned, amused.
There was an embarrassing silence for some moments.
“Um, that’d be a pity, yes. Galliani, fuck off here, ‘kay?” Paolo heard the Inter striker say. And then he heard snorts and footsteps.
“That creepy old man is gone, now would you PLEASE open that fucking door?” Zlatan demanded. Paolo nodded, then realizing that Zlatan could not see that, and so he just went over to the door, unlocked it and opened it. Zlatan chuckled at the picture that was offered to him.
“What HAPPENED in here?” the striker asked in amusement. Paolo grimaced.
“First that ‘creepy old man’, as you put it, wanted to get inside and then Andrea broke down and then we needed a doctor, no, wait, a cleaning woman and then Ricky came in and then you came and I NEED A BREAK,” Paolo explained. Zlatan stood in front of him, smiling, and before Paolo realized what was happening Zlatan cradled his cheeks and kissed him for a long time. Paolo was so surprised that he did not kiss back for some moments, but then Zlatan felt the other man melt against him.
“What-,” Paolo began when they parted, but Zlatan just grinned. Suddenly Paolo’s eyes got wide and he stared at the door that was still open.
“G-Galliani!” he stammered, pointing at the door, but Zlatan banged the door shut with his heel, drawing a loud ‘Fuck!’ from Galliani, which sounded as if the door had hit his nose or something. Paolo chuckled nervously when Zlatan’s fingers locked behind his back but stilled when the striker kissed him again, deeply.
And Galliani? He did not try to get into the changing room once again.