Fic: It's alright (Leo Messi/Bojan Krkic)
Title: It's alright
Summary: It's up to Bojan to be the brave one, for once.
Pairing: Leo Messi/Bojan Krkic
Warnings: Slash.
Rating: PG-13.
Wordcount: just over 1,400.
Disclaimers: this isn't true and I don't make any money with it.
A/N: for sebastiona, on her (belated) birthday; I'm sorry, my darling, I would have posted it yesterday, but for various technical problems. I hope you had a great day! :)
Bojan looks at him. Really looks at him and it’s not like it’s ever been. It’s not that look, half shyness and half breathless hero-worship, that he had when he arrived into the first team and he didn’t dare to speak to anyone else in the changing room. It’s not that look, half familiarity and half complicity, of the later months, as they settled into a somewhat tentative friendship, both of them trying to learn from each other. It’s not that look, half admiration and half condescension, that he had even later, once Leo remained still the shiest voice in the team and Bojan blossomed into everyone’s friend, pet, darling.
Now Bojan looks at him with dark, unfathomable eyes, looks at him all the time, looks at him even in the showers (where, by silent agreement, no one looks at anyone else, ever).
And Leo doesn’t know very well what to do. After the first few times, he stops answering those looks; after a few weeks more, he even stops acknowledging them. They make him feel... unsettled, as if instead of Bojan it were a stranger looking at him.
So, Bojan looks and Leo doesn’t look, and it works out, for a while.
But that night is different. Against Athletic, at home, and Bojan has scored (twice), and Leo has scored (once), and everyone is too busy celebrating Jeffren’s first official goal to pay them much attention, so they instinctively turn to each other, both too tired and too excited and smiling too hard to remember anything about the looks they have been exchanging (or not exchanging) for weeks.
So, if Bojan’s arm curls around his waist and holds him tight, Leo considers this a normal way of celebrating, and if Bojan hides his flushed face in Leo’s neck and refuses to come up even as Victor, in passing, ruffles his hair, Leo thinks this is a perfectly normal way of reacting to overwhelming amounts of joy.
But when Bojan pushes him into the infirmary, kicks the door closed, and slams him against the wall, Leo finds that he has to quickly reassess the situation, especially when Bojan’s lips meet his and Leo find himself being thoroughly kissed by his young teammate.
He is breathless when Bojan stops and steps back. He stares back, mouth still open, when Bojan flees the room, leaving the door open.
It takes Leo a few days to fully realise what has happened. It takes him a few days to take everything he thinks he knows about Bojan and throw it out of the window. It takes him many hours of reflection to understand that the smiling boy with the babyish looks that Leo took for granted has been hiding an altogether different side, a passionate side that, for some reason, he decided to bestow on Leo.
Once he understands, though, it only takes him a moment to make up his mind.
Bojan, though, doesn’t want to hear about it. In fact, he doesn’t even want to see Leo. He hides behind Thierry, who shelters him with a patient smile, and avoids Leo with the same skill and determination that, now the Argentinean realises, he’s used before to keep close to him.
“Bojan...”
“I’m late for the gym!” squeaks the younger striker, sidestepping Leo like he would an opposing defender.
“Bojan...”
“Geri is waiting for me!”
“Bojan...”
“Pep said we should keep running!”
“Bojan...”
“Lunch is served!”
“Bojan!”
“The match is about to start!”
“We have five minutes still,” says Leo firmly, holding Bojan by the shoulder to prevent him from fleeing the rare quiet corner of the changing room where he has finally trapped him.
“But Pep...”
“Said we have five minutes still.”
“But... but...”
“Bojan, stop.” Leo shakes him a little, for good measure; the fives minutes before such a crucial match as the return leg of the Champions League quarter-finals is probably not the best time to discuss this, but Leo has given up on trying to corner Bojan under less pressing circumstances. “I just need to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, alright?!” exclaims Bojan, words bursting out as if a dam had broken inside him. “I shouldn’t have done that... I know. You don’t have to tell me. God, you think I don’t know that? I made a mistake and I’m so, so sorry... I haven’t slept at all these days, God, I’m a wreck, just don’t tell Pep and I’ll be alright, OK? Just...”
“Bojan, stop,” repeats Leo, now holding Bojan by both his shoulders, which seem to be curling inward under the weight of imaginary faults. “It’s alright. I just wanted to tell you, it’s alright. And I’m sorry. For... for not saying anything before. If I’d known you haven’t been sleeping... but you haven’t made it easy for me and... I just...” Leo loses what little confidence he had under the weight of Bojan’s gaze. “It’s alright.”
“It’s alright?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean...?”
Bojan looks at him, eyes bright again, and Leo blushes because, damn, it all looked easier in his head.
“I mean...” Words fail him and he can only lean forwards and press a brief kiss to Bojan’s lips (a touch clumsy in its eagerness and determination, but Bojan will swear there was never a better kiss) before they hear Pep’s voice calling them for the pre-match talk.
“Alright,” Bojan breathes out, smiling so hard a part of Leo’s mind wonder if it doesn’t hurt.
He has a new hat-trick ball for his collection, with a design he didn’t have before! He has scored four times, in a Champions League match nonetheless! They are through to the semi-finals!
Leo doesn’t think about any of this, even as he dodges journalists, teammates and even photographers who want to congratulate him. He does stop for Pep, for a brief hug and a few compliments delivered in that dear, gravelly voice, and then continues making his way into the changing rooms.
Here, a loud cheer greets him, and the hugs and congratulations of those who had been watching from the stands and the bench. Leo smiles, mutter his thanks, congratulates everyone else, and all the time keeps looking for the only smile he wants to see, for the only arms he wants to hug him, for those eye he wants to drown into.
At last Tito appears, to shepherd those who played into the showers, those who didn’t into the waiting room, and Leo takes a good couple of minutes putting his hat-trick ball into his locker just so, so that when he turns around, there’s only more one person left in the changing rooms.
“Congratulations... you were amazing.”
Leo is humbled by how untroubled Bojan’s gaze is, even though he was subbed early, by how uncomplicated his happiness for Leo’s achievement is, by how sweet his smile looks against the dark red of the lockers.
“Thank you,” he says, suddenly shier than when the whole Camp Nou was chorusing his name.
He walks towards Bojan, feeling as if the changing room has turned hundreds of meters long in a second; Bojan’s gaze never leaves him during that eternal walk, that cannot take more than five seconds, and that look turns into a small smile as Leo sits by his side.
Leo manages not to flinch when Bojan’s hand, tentatively, lands on his knee; he covers that hand with his own, grass-stained as it is, and keeps his eyes on them as Bojan intertwines their fingers.
They sit for a minute in silence, just hearing each other breathe (and the distant echoes of the voices of the others in the showers), and then Bojan once again has to be the bravest one and take the initiative; he leans in, eyes closed, blood rushing to his cheeks, and lips trembling with nerves, and Leo meets him halfway, hungry now for him like his was hungry for goals early.
“Boys...”
Pep is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, smiling at them. Bojan and Leo jump apart immediately.
“Go shower, both of you. Separately. And then go and celebrate. Together, if you want.”
“Pep!” squeaks Bojan, blushing hotly.
“What?” laughs Pep, starting to leave the changing room. “Did you expect me to disapprove? Me?”
Both boys bite at their lips in an identical gesture of surprise at seeing that well-known secret broached so openly.
“Go shower, you don’t want to make the rest of the team have to wait for you,” repeats Pep.
Leo stands up first and holds out his hand to help Bojan. They’ll shower quickly (surely they won’t take longer than Rafa to get ready) and then there’ll be time to... make arrangements for their celebration.
“And boys?” says Pep, as he is about to close the door. “Be careful, will you?”
The end...
Summary: It's up to Bojan to be the brave one, for once.
Pairing: Leo Messi/Bojan Krkic
Warnings: Slash.
Rating: PG-13.
Wordcount: just over 1,400.
Disclaimers: this isn't true and I don't make any money with it.
A/N: for sebastiona, on her (belated) birthday; I'm sorry, my darling, I would have posted it yesterday, but for various technical problems. I hope you had a great day! :)
Bojan looks at him. Really looks at him and it’s not like it’s ever been. It’s not that look, half shyness and half breathless hero-worship, that he had when he arrived into the first team and he didn’t dare to speak to anyone else in the changing room. It’s not that look, half familiarity and half complicity, of the later months, as they settled into a somewhat tentative friendship, both of them trying to learn from each other. It’s not that look, half admiration and half condescension, that he had even later, once Leo remained still the shiest voice in the team and Bojan blossomed into everyone’s friend, pet, darling.
Now Bojan looks at him with dark, unfathomable eyes, looks at him all the time, looks at him even in the showers (where, by silent agreement, no one looks at anyone else, ever).
And Leo doesn’t know very well what to do. After the first few times, he stops answering those looks; after a few weeks more, he even stops acknowledging them. They make him feel... unsettled, as if instead of Bojan it were a stranger looking at him.
So, Bojan looks and Leo doesn’t look, and it works out, for a while.
But that night is different. Against Athletic, at home, and Bojan has scored (twice), and Leo has scored (once), and everyone is too busy celebrating Jeffren’s first official goal to pay them much attention, so they instinctively turn to each other, both too tired and too excited and smiling too hard to remember anything about the looks they have been exchanging (or not exchanging) for weeks.
So, if Bojan’s arm curls around his waist and holds him tight, Leo considers this a normal way of celebrating, and if Bojan hides his flushed face in Leo’s neck and refuses to come up even as Victor, in passing, ruffles his hair, Leo thinks this is a perfectly normal way of reacting to overwhelming amounts of joy.
But when Bojan pushes him into the infirmary, kicks the door closed, and slams him against the wall, Leo finds that he has to quickly reassess the situation, especially when Bojan’s lips meet his and Leo find himself being thoroughly kissed by his young teammate.
He is breathless when Bojan stops and steps back. He stares back, mouth still open, when Bojan flees the room, leaving the door open.
It takes Leo a few days to fully realise what has happened. It takes him a few days to take everything he thinks he knows about Bojan and throw it out of the window. It takes him many hours of reflection to understand that the smiling boy with the babyish looks that Leo took for granted has been hiding an altogether different side, a passionate side that, for some reason, he decided to bestow on Leo.
Once he understands, though, it only takes him a moment to make up his mind.
Bojan, though, doesn’t want to hear about it. In fact, he doesn’t even want to see Leo. He hides behind Thierry, who shelters him with a patient smile, and avoids Leo with the same skill and determination that, now the Argentinean realises, he’s used before to keep close to him.
“Bojan...”
“I’m late for the gym!” squeaks the younger striker, sidestepping Leo like he would an opposing defender.
“Bojan...”
“Geri is waiting for me!”
“Bojan...”
“Pep said we should keep running!”
“Bojan...”
“Lunch is served!”
“Bojan!”
“The match is about to start!”
“We have five minutes still,” says Leo firmly, holding Bojan by the shoulder to prevent him from fleeing the rare quiet corner of the changing room where he has finally trapped him.
“But Pep...”
“Said we have five minutes still.”
“But... but...”
“Bojan, stop.” Leo shakes him a little, for good measure; the fives minutes before such a crucial match as the return leg of the Champions League quarter-finals is probably not the best time to discuss this, but Leo has given up on trying to corner Bojan under less pressing circumstances. “I just need to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, alright?!” exclaims Bojan, words bursting out as if a dam had broken inside him. “I shouldn’t have done that... I know. You don’t have to tell me. God, you think I don’t know that? I made a mistake and I’m so, so sorry... I haven’t slept at all these days, God, I’m a wreck, just don’t tell Pep and I’ll be alright, OK? Just...”
“Bojan, stop,” repeats Leo, now holding Bojan by both his shoulders, which seem to be curling inward under the weight of imaginary faults. “It’s alright. I just wanted to tell you, it’s alright. And I’m sorry. For... for not saying anything before. If I’d known you haven’t been sleeping... but you haven’t made it easy for me and... I just...” Leo loses what little confidence he had under the weight of Bojan’s gaze. “It’s alright.”
“It’s alright?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean...?”
Bojan looks at him, eyes bright again, and Leo blushes because, damn, it all looked easier in his head.
“I mean...” Words fail him and he can only lean forwards and press a brief kiss to Bojan’s lips (a touch clumsy in its eagerness and determination, but Bojan will swear there was never a better kiss) before they hear Pep’s voice calling them for the pre-match talk.
“Alright,” Bojan breathes out, smiling so hard a part of Leo’s mind wonder if it doesn’t hurt.
He has a new hat-trick ball for his collection, with a design he didn’t have before! He has scored four times, in a Champions League match nonetheless! They are through to the semi-finals!
Leo doesn’t think about any of this, even as he dodges journalists, teammates and even photographers who want to congratulate him. He does stop for Pep, for a brief hug and a few compliments delivered in that dear, gravelly voice, and then continues making his way into the changing rooms.
Here, a loud cheer greets him, and the hugs and congratulations of those who had been watching from the stands and the bench. Leo smiles, mutter his thanks, congratulates everyone else, and all the time keeps looking for the only smile he wants to see, for the only arms he wants to hug him, for those eye he wants to drown into.
At last Tito appears, to shepherd those who played into the showers, those who didn’t into the waiting room, and Leo takes a good couple of minutes putting his hat-trick ball into his locker just so, so that when he turns around, there’s only more one person left in the changing rooms.
“Congratulations... you were amazing.”
Leo is humbled by how untroubled Bojan’s gaze is, even though he was subbed early, by how uncomplicated his happiness for Leo’s achievement is, by how sweet his smile looks against the dark red of the lockers.
“Thank you,” he says, suddenly shier than when the whole Camp Nou was chorusing his name.
He walks towards Bojan, feeling as if the changing room has turned hundreds of meters long in a second; Bojan’s gaze never leaves him during that eternal walk, that cannot take more than five seconds, and that look turns into a small smile as Leo sits by his side.
Leo manages not to flinch when Bojan’s hand, tentatively, lands on his knee; he covers that hand with his own, grass-stained as it is, and keeps his eyes on them as Bojan intertwines their fingers.
They sit for a minute in silence, just hearing each other breathe (and the distant echoes of the voices of the others in the showers), and then Bojan once again has to be the bravest one and take the initiative; he leans in, eyes closed, blood rushing to his cheeks, and lips trembling with nerves, and Leo meets him halfway, hungry now for him like his was hungry for goals early.
“Boys...”
Pep is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, smiling at them. Bojan and Leo jump apart immediately.
“Go shower, both of you. Separately. And then go and celebrate. Together, if you want.”
“Pep!” squeaks Bojan, blushing hotly.
“What?” laughs Pep, starting to leave the changing room. “Did you expect me to disapprove? Me?”
Both boys bite at their lips in an identical gesture of surprise at seeing that well-known secret broached so openly.
“Go shower, you don’t want to make the rest of the team have to wait for you,” repeats Pep.
Leo stands up first and holds out his hand to help Bojan. They’ll shower quickly (surely they won’t take longer than Rafa to get ready) and then there’ll be time to... make arrangements for their celebration.
“And boys?” says Pep, as he is about to close the door. “Be careful, will you?”
The end...