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Chapter Text

Leo doesn’t pay much attention to him at first.

The boy, because he isn’t quite a man yet, is ridiculously tall. All scraggly arms and stick-thin legs. Despite being the last person who should judge a player by his stature, Leo can't help but think that a strong gust of wind could make the boy topple over. 

Still, the teenager stands taller than most of them, his height juxtaposing the big brown eyes and the remnants of baby fat clinging to that boyish face.

“This is Cristiano,” Galtier says, clasping his hand on Cristiano’s left shoulder. “He’s only eighteen, so make sure not to scare him off.”

Cristiano stands up straighter, squaring his shoulders and holding his chin up high, like he wants to prove he isn’t intimidated by the older players. Leo can admire that confidence. Too often, the new kids they sign are too scared to even meet Leo’s eyes, as if Leo will eat them alive if they dare to look at him the wrong way.

Leo, though quiet, isn’t ignorant about the newest addition to the squad. Even he isn’t immune to eavesdropping on locker room gossip. 

Apparently, the Portuguese boy is something of a wunderkind, getting offers from all over Europe. But in typical Paris Saint-Germain fashion, the club had outbid everyone for the hottest new property in football and secured yet another addition to their reign of terror over France.

Cristiano opens his mouth to speak. His voice is deeper than Leo expected. "I am looking forward to being a part of the team,” he says in his clumsy accented French. Leo can relate. Two years in France and he still struggles with the complicated language.

Leo stands back and watches Sergio sling an arm over the boy’s shoulders, boisterously welcoming him to the team. Cristiano looks surprised at the physical contact, but a toothy smile breaks out on his face, lines forming at the corners of his eyes as Sergio tells him an undoubtedly inappropriate joke.

A sharp elbow pricks his side, and Leo turns to find Neymar wiggling his eyebrows at him.

Leo arches a singular brow. “What?”

“Cute little thing, isn’t he?”

Ever a man of few words, Leo repeats a flabbergasted, “What?”

“Oh, come on.” Neymar makes a show of rolling his eyes, like Leo is an idiot. “The new kid. Look at him.”

Leo frowns at him. “He’s eighteen, Ney.”

“And?” Neymar challenges. “It’s not like I’m going to try anything. Just look at him. He’s cute.”

Leo shifts his gaze to the boy. From a purely objective point of view, he can see where Neymar is coming from. Cristiano is young, untouched by the kind of stress that gives you stress lines. His hair comes in thick dark curls with dyed blond tips, his body is evidently in good shape— even if he is on the skinny side— and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles is very endearing.

Okay, so the boy is quite pretty. Leo would have never thought that Neymar would be into twinks, especially the teenage kind, but even he can admit that the boy is attractive.

He isn't going to say it out loud, of course. Neymar already teases him for everything. Who knows what kind of shit he would tell everyone if he heard Leo calling their new teammate cute.

If Leo wasn't paying attention to Cristiano before, he certainly is now.

Training commences, and Leo understands why PSG fought so hard to sign Cristiano. Even among seasoned professionals, the boy is exceptional on the pitch, streaking through defenders like a blazing comet.

Leo has seen a lot of wonder kids in his time. Every other young boy in La Masia was a prodigy, a one in a million kind of talent that turned dreams into reality.

Too often, however, those dreams are dashed before they can come into fruition. Leo has been playing football long enough to know that hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard.

Jesus, even the voice in Leo’s head sounds old. Leo can ignore the ache in his knees and the gray strands that have sprouted in his hair, but he can't ignore his conscience telling him to stop staring at his teenage teammate.

But Leo can't help it.

He sees the fire in Cristiano. Bright and burning with the need to prove himself. Sure, he's still rough around the edges, and that showboating isn't going to get him any praise from the media vultures, but there is something special about him. Evidently, the boy can do more than sit there and look cute.

Technically, Cristiano isn’t perfect. The mess of curls on his head looks more like a bird’s nest than a proper haircut, his teeth are pointy and crooked, and the red spots along his forehead are a reminder that he isn't finished going through puberty.

But those things don't outshine his good looks. Bronze skin, intense brown eyes, and a petulant pout come together to make a pretty face. A very pretty face.

Leo is so busy thinking about that pretty face, he fails to register the ball being passed his way until it's too late. His reflexes— while still incredible— aren't what they were ten years ago, and so he loses the ball to Kylian.

“Leo!” Sergio audibly complains as Leo moves to retrieve the ball. “What was that?”

Leo doesn't give him an answer. Contrary to popular belief, he isn't a football god. Even he makes mistakes sometimes.

Still, that doesn't mean he should be thinking about Cristiano that way. Cristiano is only eighteen. A baby. The last thing he needs at the start of his football career is an old man like Leo looking at him like he's a piece of meat.

Leo blames Neymar for planting the seed of thought in his head. If it wasn't for him, Leo wouldn't be so distracted thinking about Cristiano’s face… or his messy hair… or the knobby knees underneath those shorts.

God, what is happening to Leo? He is twice this boy’s age! He should not be noticing that Cristiano’s shirt is snug around his shoulders but is loose around his slender waist, nor should he be noticing Cristiano’s toned thighs peeking out of his shorts as he runs across the grass.

Fuck, Leo thinks to himself as he watches their new star boy score a goal, throwing his hands in the air and whooping like he scored the winning goal in a Champions League final (not that PSG would ever know what that feels like) and not a mere training session.

Cristiano turns to him then, a ginormous smile threatening to split his face into two. He looks brighter than the sun itself, burning and blazing everything in his orbit.

Leo swallows the giant lump in his throat. He has to be really careful about this.

Lionel Messi is not the jealous type.

At least, he thinks he isn't.

With Antonela, there had never been a need for possessiveness. Not even during the difficult months before the divorce. He had known her for his entire life, knew that her love and loyalty for him wouldn’t make her head turn to taller, more attractive, and less awkward men.

But Leo doesn’t know Cristiano.

He knows how the boy plays, of course, dribbling the ball like it’s an extension of his own body— a true showman that nobody can take their eyes off of, but Leo doesn't know anything about Cristiano the person.

Which is why he doesn't know how to react when he catches sight of Cristiano and Kylian speaking to each other on the opposite side of the pitch, bodies pressed close to each other like they've been best friends since preschool.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with having friends on the team. Leo still doesn't know how he and Sergio managed to get along after the other man’s repeated murder attempts during old Clásicos. But when exactly did Cristiano and Kylian get close?

Leo watches, like that monologuing stalker from that creepy Netflix show he plays in the background while he does his workouts, as Kylian inspects the bruise blooming underneath Cristiano’s eye. It isn't serious, just a bruise from a stray fist to the face in the intensity of the practice match, but Kylian nonetheless looks concerned.

“It's nothing,” Cristiano says as Kylian gently raises a hand to brush over the side of Cristiano’s face with his thumb.

“Are you sure?” Kylian asks, delicate as a feather.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Cristiano snickers, making no move to push Kylian away from him. “I'm not fragile.”

Leo narrows his eyes, his hands balling into fists at his sides. The look on his face must not be a pleasant one because Neymar is staring at him in concern.

“You okay, Leo?”

No, Leo is not okay. He is losing his mind, and that is the only plausible explanation as to why his stomach twists with jealousy at Cristiano already being so close with their other teammates. 

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?” Neymar asks disbelievingly. “Because it looks like you're going to disintegrate Kylian with your eyes.”

“I'm fine.” Leo tears his sadly-not-laser eyes away from Cristiano and Kylian smiling at each other before he does something that will put Sergio’s nastiest fouls to shame.

“Messi?”

Leo looks up from where he was tying his laces to find Cristiano staring at him.

He looks like a vision, glistening with droplets of sweat and the late afternoon sun shining behind his head like a halo.

Angel, Leo thinks as his eyes take him in. The boy is an angel.

“Yes?” Leo asks. What is Cristiano doing here? Did Neymar set him up to this?

For somebody who is usually dripping with confidence, Cristiano looks awfully shy, cheeks flushed and shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“I was wondering,” Cristiano starts, uneven canines gnawing nervously at his bottom lip. It shouldn't look so cute, but it is. “If you want to stay behind after training with me.”

Leo can hardly believe what he's hearing. “What?”

Cristiano’s blush deepens. If Leo didn't know better, he would say that their confident teenager is nervous. “I'm going to stay back after training. Do you… want to join me?”

“Who else is going to be there?”

“Oh,” Cristiano says, pink lips downturned into a pout. He pauses, searching for the right words. “I thought it would be nice if it was just the two of us.”

Leo blinks, taken aback at the request. It's far from the first time somebody has asked him to stay behind after training for extra practice, but he did not expect this proud little lion cub to ask him that so shyly. How cute. “Sure.”

Cristiano lights up like a firework. Leo did not take him to be a fan— he could have sworn that the boy is a Real Madrid fan and therefore likes Sergio more than he likes him, but Leo is glad that he made him happy. That he's the one who put that smile on Cristiano’s face.

“Thank you, Messi.”

Oh, God. This boy is driving Leo crazy. “Just call me Leo.”

“Okay, Leo.” Cristiano smiles back at him, and Leo finds that he really likes the way that long pink tongue rolls over the syllables that make up his name.

Leo is getting old.

He's only thirty-five, but he has been playing for decades and his stamina isn't the way it used to be. More often than not, he has to save his energy on the pitch to make sure his legs don't give up on him before he can press.

Cristiano doesn't have that problem. The boy is just bursting with energy, dribbling the ball between his feet like he's dancing and laughing cockily at Leo while doing so.

Cristiano, in Leo’s humble opinion, does way too many unnecessary tricks. Like the seats around them are filled with fans and he wants them to sing his name in praises.

“Do you need a break, Leo?”

Leo snorts. “You wish.”

“Can’t keep up, old man?” Cristiano teases, dark curls falling in front of his forehead as he moves. “Do you need me to get you a wheelchair?”

Oh, somebody needs to teach this brat a lesson.

Leo might not be as young as he used to, but if there is one thing he is good at, it's football.

Like a predator circling around his prey, Leo waits for the perfect moment to strike. Cristiano is talented, possibly even generational, but he's young and temperamental, and Leo can take advantage of that… on the pitch. Not anywhere else, of course!

Leo surges forward and steals the ball, swiftly maneuvering it between his feet before the boy can snatch it back.

Cristiano’s eyes widen at the attack, like he wasn't expecting that from Leo. He runs after Leo, and his long legs might give him a physical advantage, but Leo has been doing this longer than this kid has been alive.

“Fuck!” Cristiano swears as he tries and fails to steal the ball back from Leo. He narrows his eyes at the older man, his cheeks flushed pink from effort and frustration. “When did you get so good?”

Being the mature and humble adult he is, Leo chooses not to answer that question. He does all his talking on the pitch after all.

He finds that he likes this, letting loose on the pitch in a way that he hasn’t since he was a young kid dreaming about Camp Nou. He likes playing with Cristiano, even when the boy looks like he is about to cry when Leo manages to take the ball from him again.

“Leo!” Cristiano exclaims, frustrated enough to stomp his foot on the turf like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “This is so unfair!”

Leo laughs. He can’t help it. Cristiano is adorable when he pouts like that.

How long they play their little game of running and stealing, Leo doesn't know. All he knows is that he's smiling as he and Cristiano run around the moonlit pitch, bickering and laughing like teenagers until the security guards on night duty have to shoo them away from the stadium.

The tiles are cold and wet under Leo’s feet as he wraps a towel around his waist.

They had won the match against Nantes thanks to a late goal by Leo— not the prettiest goal in the world but it got the job done.

Cristiano seemed to think so too, nearly toppling Leo to the grass when he pulled him into a celebratory embrace, so close that Leo can feel the boy’s body through the layers of fabric between them. Energized by adrenaline, Leo returns the hug, wrapping his arms around Cristiano, who despite his tall stature has a very tiny waist underneath his kit.

Leo’s mouth feels dry at the memory. Other players hug him all the time, but not once has Leo thought about the way his hands would look circled around their waists. Never has he thought about getting on his toes to kiss the boy’s shiny pink lips, and slipping his tongue into that warm and wet mouth.

Not until now.

Leo adjusts the towel around his middle, trying to stop thinking about Cristiano’s mouth when he is in the middle of a locker room surrounded by his other teammates.

Unfortunately, the football gods must have decided that Leo winning the World Cup had to be followed up with some sort of bad luck to even things out. The moment Leo turns around to retrieve his clothes, Cristiano is walking in front of him with nothing on his body but the glistening droplets of water sliding down his golden skin.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Leo’s eyes travel down, down, down that slim body. He takes in the golden skin that stretches across lean muscles. The smooth chest, the narrow waist, and the sculpted abs that would feel so good under Leo’s tongue.

And God must enjoy seeing him lose his mind, because before Leo can process it, Cristiano is bending over to pick up something off the floor, giving Leo a perfect view of his round butt.

Underneath the towel, Leo’s cock traitorously twitches to life. Despite himself, his eyes flick over to stare at Cristiano’s perky ass, several shades lighter than the rest of his tanned body and just begging to be spanked.

Nobody else in the locker room seems to notice the little display. How anyone can not look at Cristiano is beyond Leo.

The boy is utterly gorgeous, especially when he is naked and bent over like that.

It would be so easy, Leo thinks, completely entranced by the smooth skin and flexed muscles. It would be so easy to place his hands on those slender hips and press himself behind that perfect body. It would be so easy to grab handfuls of that taut ass, to spread those cheeks and catch a glimpse of that little—

Stop it, the voice in his head he registers as his conscience interrupts his train of thought before it can head to a dangerous place called Hell.

This is fucked up on so many levels. Cristiano is only eighteen! If anybody ever found out about Lionel Messi ogling this teenage boy, he can kiss his career goodbye. The entirety of Argentina would burn his kit and him. World Cups be damned.

What the fuck is happening to him? Why is he letting himself be affected by this barely legal teenage boy?

Leo has seen many attractive men in his time— many of whom do not hesitate to declare their love for him and the things he has done for football— but none of them have ever affected him like Cristiano does.

It takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to unstick his eyes from Cristiano’s backside. He utters a silent prayer in his head, hoping that God will forgive him for what he is about to do next.

Contrary to popular belief, Leo is not a prude. He may not say much, but he still has his needs. He is still a man after all.

Which brings him to where he is now, lying alone in his dark room on a too-large bed, his cock embarrassingly hard in his boxers at the memory of his young teammate naked and bent over in a room full of other men.

Leo isn’t sure when he lost all shame and succumbed to jerking off like a hormonal teenage boy. Nor does he know when he stopped trying to think about all the beautiful and age-appropriate women who would be happy to do this for him in favor of thinking about something much more delicious.

At this very moment, Leo is only certain of one thing, and that is how solid his cock feels against his thigh.

While others would pull up some porn to help themselves get off, Leo prefers using his vivid imagination. His mind supplies him with images of dark curly hair and fuck me eyes under long eyelashes.

His mind conjures an image of Cristiano— just as naked as he was earlier in the locker room, his face flushed red as he circles his long fingers around Leo’s erect dick.

Cristiano would be so good for him, Leo thinks. The boy would be eager to please, eager to show Leo that he's talented beyond his years, that can do anything somebody twice his age can do— sucking cock included.

Leo slips the waistband of his underwear just below his balls to free them out along with his rock-hard cock, pearly pre-cum already leaking from the slit. He spits in his own hand and slicks up his own cock, shutting his eyes and letting his imagination go wild.

He thinks that Cristiano’s hand would be soft and warm around his dick, inexperienced but oh so willing to prove himself.

“Don't be scared,” Leo would say, like he's encouraging Cristiano to take an important penalty kick. “You can do it.”

Encouraged by the praise, Cristiano would get to work, stroking Leo’s cock up and down, dragging the pad of his thumb along Leo’s leaking slit like the way he has seen people do in porn. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Leo would say, his voice low and coarse as he watches Cristiano get to work. “Yeah, that feels good.”

Cristiano, invigorated by approval, would take up on a notch. He would tighten his grip around Leo’s dick, not tight enough to hurt but firmer and more confident. 

It wouldn’t be the best handjob Leo has ever received, but that’s alright. Cristiano has a lot of time to learn. What he doesn’t know, Leo can teach him.

“Fuck,” Leo curses, knuckles white around his cock as he envisions Cristiano bringing his head closer to his cock, his breath warm and wet against Leo’s skin. “Open your mouth, baby.”

Determined to be a good boy, Cristiano would obey. He would wrap his lips around Leo’s cock, his cheeks hollowed as his hand covers the area his mouth can’t reach.

He would be so good at sucking cock. Yes, his teeth would come dangerously close to grazing the sensitive skin of Leo’s cock, and yes, saliva would drip down his chin like a slobbering baby, but his eagerness would make up for his lack of experience. Besides, Cristiano is a quick learner.

“Mhmm,” Cristiano would moan around his dick. Leo’s brain goes as far as to imagine how the boy’s untouched cock would weep with pre-cum, pressed against Leo’s sheets as he chases that sweet hot friction.

Leo arches his hips upward, lost in the fantasy of being inside Cristiano’s moist mouth. This is so bad. This is so wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 

What bothers him most is that he wants more. He can’t fucking believe he’s indulging in the idea of being this close to Cristiano, of his dick weighing down that loose tongue, and being the first and only man to spill his cum inside that perfect mouth and all over that pretty face.

“Fuck, baby,” Leo would groan, relishing in the sight of Cristiano with white ribbons of cum all over his face. How anyone so angelic can look like absolute sin, Leo doesn’t know. All he knows is that the sight of a flushed and sweaty Cristiano, pretty pouty lips painted with cum is more than enough material for Leo's spank bank. “Kiss me.”

His beautiful, wonderful, perfect boy wouldn’t waste another second. He would get up to straddle Leo’s hips and connect their lips together in a searing kiss.

Cristiano’s lips would be smooth and soft. Leo knows this because he's seen the boy rub chapstick over his lips before practice. Leo’s mind goes as far as to imagine what Cristiano’s mouth would taste like— his own minty mouthwash mixed with the musk of Leo’s come.

Cristiano would kiss the way he plays, fast, fiery, and forceful. Like he’s trying to show Leo that he can do this just as well as he does everything.

Kissing Cristiano would be nice, wonderful even. Leo would reach up to tangle his fingers in those messy curls, using them to pull him closer.

Leo tilts his head and presses his back further against the mattress. He wants to open his eyes, but if he does, he will be reminded of the fact that he’s in a bedroom by himself, fucking his fist to this deluded fantasy of his teenage teammate.

“Fuck me,” Cristiano would tell him in that sweet deep voice. “Fuck me, Leo.”

And how can Leo possibly deny that request? He would grab the boy by the hips to flip their positions, making it so that he is situated between the boy’s spread legs.

Cristiano would look incredible like that, prettily sprawled out on top of Leo’s bedsheets like something out of a dream.

“Have you done this before?” Leo would ask, voice leaking with lust. He wants this so bad, and he knows Cristiano— at least the one in his imagination— wants this too.

“No,” Cristiano would say, looking uncharacteristically timid. Like being a virgin is something to be ashamed of. “You’re my first.”

And fuck, that is the hottest thing Leo has ever heard.

Leo pumps his own cock harder, knowing that nothing he does here alone could possibly compare to being with the real thing. To being with Cristiano.

Cute and curious, the boy would look at Leo with those deep brown eyes as Leo drizzles lube all over his fingers. He would make the most delicious noises while Leo fingers him open, readying him to take his cock.

Leo's fingers dig into the head of his cock while he bites his lip. He wants this to be real, he wants to hear the hitch of Cristiano’s breath when he slides into him. 

“Leo!” Cristiano would whimper, toes curling into the sheets when Leo hits that special bundle of nerves inside him. “It’s— fuck, shit, fuck, you’re big.”

Leo would fill Cristiano up to the brim with his cock before pulling out and giving him another sharp thrust that would make him see stars. He would focus more on movement than speed, giving it to him hard and deep, allowing the boy to leave long red scars on his back every time he bottoms out determinedly.

With his fist tightening around his length, Leo strokes fast, imagining he’s buried deep inside Cristiano.

Hot and tight. That’s how Cristiano would feel around Leo as he would take him so, so, so good. He would spread the boy’s legs wide open, wrap them around his waist, and fuck him until he can’t imagine being with anybody but Leo ever again.

“Do you like that?” Leo would ask, and normally, he would die from embarrassment before uttering those words during sex but this is his fantasy and he can do whatever he wants, damn it. “You like my cock? You like feeling me inside you?”

“Y-yes!” Cristiano would moan, eyes fluttering shut as Leo thrusts into him. “F-Feels good.”

It would be electric between them, with the way Leo would pound into Cristiano like there is no tomorrow and with the way the boy would move back to meet the force of his thrusts. Leo might be short and compact, but that doesn’t mean he can’t fuck Cristiano’s brains out. 

Who would have thought that the PSG’s newest star boy could moan like a high-class whore? It’s incredibly hot— how Cristiano can go from being so strong and proud to melting like putty under Leo’s touch.

Leo lifts his hips to meet each thrust with his hand, imagining it’s Cristiano’s perky little ass he’s shoving into as deep moans escape from his chest.

“P-please,” Cristiano would cry out, and there would be tears of pleasure streaming down his face as Leo shamelessly pounds into him. “H-harder, L-Leo.”

What Cristiano wants, Cristiano will get. Who is Leo to deny those wide eyes and irresistible pout?

Leo would quicken his pace, burying himself balls-deep inside that hot tight ass before pulling back and slamming himself back in.

Cristiano, poor little thing, would reach down to tug at his achingly hard cock. Unfortunately for him, Leo would bat it away before he could start stroking himself.

“Leooooooo,” Cristiano would whine petulantly. His cock would be dripping like a broken faucet, leaving a mess of pre-cum all over his flat belly. “Please.”

Granting the boy mercy, Leo would reach down to circle his fingers around Cristiano’s dick, hard and pretty as the rest of him. Leo would quickly fist it, pumping the sensitive flesh with each thrust as Cristiano’s eyes roll back into his head.

Utterly lost in his fantasy, Leo flips over onto his stomach and grinds against the mattress. He pushes his underwear down his legs and shoves one of the pillows between his thighs. He shivers in pleasure when his cock brushes against the cold pillowcase.

Leo fucks into the pillow, picturing it's Cristiano underneath him as he feels a warm stir in his stomach, tugging at his insides and just waiting to be released.

The Cristiano in his head is still moaning his name, panting, whining, and dangerously close to coming. His body would be tight and eager around Leo, the slick warm walls almost overwhelming him with pleasure.

“Cristiano,” Leo groans, low and guttural. His brain provides him with the lovely image of his cock splitting Cristiano into two, the boy’s rim pink and puffy where Leo’s cock is pressing in.

“Leo!” Cristiano would cry after a particularly well-aimed thrust to his prostate. “L-Leo, I’m g-gonna—”

He wouldn't get to finish the rest of his sentence. The boy would come all over himself, Leo’s name in his mouth as his cock paints his tanned skin white.

Leo chases his own orgasm, black dots surrounding his vision as he fists himself to completion. He can’t help but imagine what Cristiano would look like if he was actually here with him, and not somewhere in the middle of Paris doing whatever eighteen year old football stars do when they aren’t training.

Cristiano would look even more beautiful after being fucked, spent and breathing heavily as if he just played a full 90 minutes.

God, he would look incredible waddling around the pitch with Leo’s cum trickling down his thighs, unable to walk properly because Leo fucked him so thoroughly right before the match.

It is that thought that finally makes Leo come with a groan loud enough to wake his neighbors if he had any, spilling thick spurts of cum all over the poor pillow underneath him.

“Fuck.” Leo rolls off of the soiled pillow, staring up at the ceiling and trying to collect his breath.

He gulps when he looks down at the mess he made all over himself. The physical evidence of his perversion.

Shit.

Leo is definitely going to Hell.

Chapter Text

Lionel Messi isn't paying attention to him.

Scratch that, Lionel Messi is ignoring him, and Cristiano is not amused.

From the moment he started kicking a ball, Cristiano has always been the center of attention. His mother made sure of that. When he walks into a room— even in a room with Messi and Neymar— people stop what they’re doing to look at him. Cristiano can’t help it that he’s popular.

So excuse him for being very fucking confused when Leo refuses to meet his eyes and runs away when Cristiano tries approaching him.

Cristiano isn’t an idiot. He knows what Leo is like. Quiet, aloof, and (endearingly) socially awkward. The older man is hardly the type to start a conversation, but Cris thought that they were inching their way towards a friendship of some sorts.

The worst part about it is that Cristiano doesn’t even know what he did to offend the man. He tried his best to reign back his cockiness and tendency to back talk, at least until he’s sure nobody will kick the shit out of him for being a smart-ass.

Cristiano is shameless enough to think that Leo is attracted to him and his perfectly-shaped ass, but won’t do anything about it. That’s fine with him. He’s used to working hard to get what he wants.

What isn’t fine with him, however, is the fact that Leo is acting like he doesn’t exist, like he doesn’t stay behind after training to play stupid games with Cristiano or smiles at Cristiano’s horrible French.

Pouting, Cristiano folds his arms over his chest, jutting out his hip as he watches Leo gossip with a rarely uninjured Neymar like a pair of teenage girls. Disgusting.

He watches Neymar shamelessly drape himself over Leo’s back. Who does he think he is? Just because he played with Leo at Barcelona it doesn’t mean they’re best friends.

Not for the first time, Cristiano wonders what he and Leo would be like if Cris was older. If he was born two decades earlier, and played in Spain while Leo was in his prime. Would they be friends? Rivals? Worst enemies? Would Leo have looked at him the way he looks at him now?

Cristiano likes to think that he would be able to bring the fight to Leo. He envisions a taller and older version of himself making things hard for Leo— both literally and metaphorically. It’s an insanely cocky thought, but if Cristiano doesn’t believe in himself, then who will? He’s always danced on the line between confidence and delusion.

Wait, is Leo acting like this because of the little show he put on in the locker room? Cristiano thought that would have enticed Leo, not make him treat Cris like a persona non grata. What else is a boy supposed to do to make his older teammate notice him? Should he start walking around in panties?

No, Cris isn't that down bad yet. Though he knows his ass would look great in a pair of panties. He should scour the internet to see if he can get himself some albiceleste ones just in case.

Cristiano watches, a judgmental expression on his face, as Leo chuckles at something Neymar says. What could they be laughing about? Their aching knees? The retirement homes they’re checking themselves into after this season?

His pout deepens. He is going to fix this. Nobody, not even Lionel Messi himself, ignores Cristiano Ronaldo.

Cristiano would not be where he is now if he wasn't determined. 

He prides himself on being both talented and hardworking. On or off the pitch, Cristiano knows how to use his skills to the fullest. 

Which is why he is parking his perfect ass down in front of Leo at the PSG cafeteria, a spoon and a cup of yogurt in hand as he aims for his target. “Good morning, Leo.”

Leo looks surprised at the new addition to his table. “Good morning.”

Cristiano smiles at him brightly. It clearly has some effect on Leo because the man is staring at him with those deep dark eyes. “Good weather today, no?”

He’s lying, of course. The weather in Paris is shit, but at least it isn’t as bad as England. Cristiano shivers at the thought of losing his tan to dreary sun-less English weather.

“Yes,” Leo says tersely, clearly wondering what the Hell Cristiano is doing here.

“You know,” Cristiano starts conversationally. “I’m thinking of getting an earring.”

Leo blinks at him slowly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Cristiano says, tilting his head to the side in the way he knows makes him look harmless. “Do you think I should get one?”

“You won’t be able to wear it on the pitch.”

Cristiano hums, pretending to think about the matter. “You’re right,” he says. “But it would look pretty, no?”

All poor Leo can manage is a strangled, “What?”

Cristiano’s grin widens. He has Leo exactly where he wants him. “I would be pretty with more jewelry, right?”

Leo looks like he is about to have an aneurysm. Cristiano would feel sorry for him if this wasn’t a part of his elaborate and foolproof plan of seducing Lionel Messi.

“You…” Leo trails off awkwardly. For such a talented playmaker, the man has no fucking game, and Cristiano loves that about him. “You’re already pretty.”

Cristiano barely stops himself from saying “I know”. He already looks good, and he is only going to look better once he makes use of that sweet PSG salary. He can even get himself diamond earrings if he wants.

“You really think so?” Cristiano asks, looking at Leo through his eyelashes. He already knows the answer, of course, but he wants to hear Leo say it again. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Y-yeah,” Leo says, and Cristiano does not miss the way the older man’s eyes trail down to his lips. “You are pretty.”

“You’re so nice to me, Leo,” Cristiano replies, doing a little happy dance in his head. Okay, he isn’t that delusional after all.

He decides it’s the perfect time to begin the next stage of his plan. Cristiano is a man of action. If Leo won’t do anything about the palpable sexual tension between them, then Cristiano certainly will.

He makes a show of plunging the spoon into the yogurt, making sure to shut his eyes as he brings the spoon into his mouth.

“Mhhmmm,” he wantonly moans around the spoon. The yogurt doesn’t taste particularly good, but Cristiano plays with PSG’s midfield, and so he is used to working with shitty material. “This is delicious.”

“Really?” Leo questions, like he can’t believe that plain yogurt can warrant such a reaction. Pftt. Cristiano used to beg for scraps at the McDonald’s next to the Sporting stadium. Not too long ago, he would have actually cried at the sight of so many croissants.

“It’s so good,” Cristiano says, upping the sweetness in his voice. He opens his eyes to find Leo staring at him, mouth hanging open as he watches Cristiano suck on the tip of a spoon like it’s a popsicle. “It’s sweet and really thick."

A dollop of yogurt smears the corner of his lips, but Cristiano makes no moves to wipe it off. Let Leo’s imagination go wild with possibilities. If the innocent image of Cristiano eating yogurt makes him think of bad things, then that’s his problem. After all, Cristiano is just a young and gullible kid trying to make friends with his older teammate. He doesn’t mean to be so sexy!

Leo shifts in his seat, his gaze not leaving Cristiano as he pulls the spoon out of his mouth with a salacious pop! “I didn’t know you like yogurt so much.”

Cristiano can think of other sticky white substances he wants in his mouth. He wonders what goat milk would taste like. “Do you want some?”

“No,” Leo answers, way too quickly to be casual. He coughs awkwardly. “Um, no thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Cristiano asks, widening his eyes in the doe-like way he has seen girls do to make themselves look cute. “It’s really good, Leo.”

Leo swallows. “It’s… okay. Thank you, Cristiano.”

“Suit yourself.” Cristiano darts his tongue out to wipe off the yogurt on his lips.

“What?” Leo questions. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to talk to Kylian now,” Cristiano says, because he knows how Leo can get about Kylian, especially when Cristiano is involved. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He gets up from his seat before Leo can protest, making sure to swing his hips so Leo has something nice to look at while he walks away.

As talented as Leo is at football, the man sucks at being subtle.

Cristiano doesn’t mind one bit. He enjoys the way the older man pretends like he isn’t checking him out in the locker room, relishes in the way Leo glares at Kylian whenever he wraps his arm around Cristiano’s waist.

Leo wants him so fucking bad, but refuses to do anything about it. Cristiano shouldn’t be surprised. Of course the kind and controversy-free Messi couldn’t possibly get involved with an innocent teenager. Like Cristiano isn’t eighteen and the furthest thing from innocent.

Still, Cristiano is nothing but determined. He always gets what he wants, and what he wants is that World Cup-winning cock deep in his ass.

And what better way to accomplish that than to do a sequel to his little striptease for Leo? The man clearly enjoyed it last time, and Cristiano has no problem taking his clothes off.

Cristiano isn’t the only one who has taken off his shirt in training, but it isn’t like Leo wants to fuck anybody else on the squad. Well, at least Cristiano thinks he doesn’t. He makes a mental note to watch out for Neymar. That man has been looking at Leo with puppy-dog eyes for over a decade. 

Wet and sticky with sweat, Cristiano peels the dark kit off of his body, making sure that Leo gets a good look at his flexed muscles.

Cristiano knows he’s pretty. He isn’t as bulky as he wants to be, but he is attractive. Even straight men aren't immune to his long eyelashes and even longer legs. If the whole football thing doesn't work out, then he can always find employment as a cheerleader.

“Ugh, I'm all sore,”  he drawls out in a whiny voice. Well, whinier voice than usual. “I’m all sticky.”

“Yes, you are,” Leo says beside him, eyes wide with wonder as Cristiano cards his hand through his damp hair.

Cristiano smirks. He decides to take it up a notch, slowly and sensually bending over to pick up a water bottle from the ground and making sure to stick his ass out. Behind him, Leo seems to be having a stroke. 

“I'm so thirsty.” Cristiano brings the bottle to his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he chugs down the water. He deliberately lets some water drip down his chin, the cool droplets streaming down his glistening tanned torso.

Leo visibly gulps, strategically placing his hands in front of his shorts to cover the bulge that had sprung to life in the middle of Cristiano’s water show.

Cristiano is completely soaked by the time the water bottle is empty. “Aww,” he pouts, looking down at himself like this wasn't part of his evil plan to get into Leo’s pants. “I'm all wet.”

Leo’s nose starts bleeding. They have to pause training to make sure he's okay.

Leave it to Lionel Messi to make magic happen at the most desperate moments.

He scores the winning penalty, because of course he does. The little boy from Rosario, Argentina has done it again.

The grass is soft under Cristiano’s boots when he runs over to Leo, launching himself at the other man like he isn't over six feet tall and Leo isn’t a dwarf. 

“Cris!” Leo exclaims in surprise. He tightens his arms around him, making sure that Cristiano won’t topple both of them to the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Congratulating you!” Cristiano exclaims, circling his arms around Leo's neck to anchor himself. “You're incredible.”

From this close, he can feel Leo’s face burn red against his skin. For someone who should be used to receiving compliments, Leo does not know how to respond to them.

Grinning, Cristiano leans down, down, down to kiss Leo’s neck, his lips tingling when they make contact with the pale skin.

There is no need to tone down the homoerotic displays of affection during goal celebrations. Toxic masculinity flies out the window in the event of a goal. Players can dry hump on the pitch for all anyone cares.

And Leo scored a good goal. The least he deserves is a kiss for his efforts.

Leo lets out a small gasp at Cristiano’s audacity, thankfully not dropping him on the ground like a hot potato. Cristiano smiles against his skin, inhaling the older man’s musky scent through his nostrils. Leo smells like sweat and grass and sunshine, and Cristiano can’t get enough of it.

They shouldn’t fit together like this. Cristiano is so much taller and broader than Leo, but they make it work.

Cristiano wishes they could be like this forever, victorious and happy and pressed close against each other.

Unfortunately for him, their little moment is shattered by the presence of their other teammates arriving on the scene, unceremoniously jumping on top of Leo’s back and making him drop Cristiano— who hisses like an angry cat after crashing to the ground.

Cristiano pushes the heavy metal door to the dressing room, hit with the familiar smell of sweat, deodorant, and disinfectant.

Behind him, the other PSG players are whooping and hollering at each other for a job well done.

Cristiano is happy for Leo and the rest of the team, of course, but he didn’t score a goal himself in the match, which is always disappointing when your goal is to stand out among the greats.

He vows to stay for another hour after training tomorrow. He may not be as good as Leo (at least not yet), but he can work really fucking hard to make sure he comes close.

Cristiano makes his way to his locker, quickly stripping off his dirty clothes before anyone— namely, Sergio— can mess with him. He grabs a towel, a bar of soap, and a fresh change of clothes, then heads to the shower stalls.

The showers are lined up against one wall, each with its own curtain for privacy. Cristiano selects a stall in the middle and pulls the curtain closed behind him.

He switches on the water, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right, and steps under the spray.

The hot water feels incredible on his tired muscles, washing away the sweat and grime of the match. He lathers up his body with soap, sighing contentedly as he scrubs away the dirt and sweat from his body.

Cristiano runs his hand down his wet torso, water trailing down his flat stomach as he thinks back to the match earlier.

A shiver runs down his spine at the memory of Leo’s body pressed against his own. Leo might be small, but his tattooed body is hard and sturdy and slots into Cristiano’s like a puzzle piece. 

Nibbling on his bottom lip, Cristiano circles his hand around his cock. Just thinking about Leo has made him half-hard.

His calloused fingers are rough against the sensitive skin of his dick as he strokes himself. The excess adrenaline from the match coupled with the memory of Leo is enough to make him whimper as he toys with his balls.

“Leo,” he whimpers softly, shutting his eyes as the warm water hits his face. Leo would treat him so well, would give Cristiano anything and everything he could ask for. The thought makes his toes curl against the floor in delight.

Cristiano is so caught up in his own fantasy, he doesn’t register the sound of feet padding against wet floor tiles until the curtain behind him is yanked back. He opens his mouth to scream bloody murder when a pair of strong hands slam him against the tiled wall.

“Leo?” Cristiano chokes out, eyes wide at the sight of a wet and naked Lionel Messi standing under the spray. “What— what are you doing here?”

Leo doesn’t respond with words. He surges forward and connects their lips together in a hot kiss.

Cristiano is stunned but thrilled at the same time. He’s been thinking about kissing Leo for weeks, but he never thought it would actually happen like this: under the showerhead after winning a match.

It’s as if they’re the only two people in the world as they kiss. They make out for what feels like an eternity, their hands exploring each other's bodies, Leo’s hands caressing the muscles of Cristiano’s back while Cristiano runs his fingers through Leo’s hair.

Cristiano has seen Leo shirtless before, has shamelessly jerked off to the idea of licking those tattoos and kissing those prominent v-lines, but he still can’t help but gasp against the kiss when he feels how toned and muscular Leo is under his hands.

They’re completely lost in the moment, consumed by their desire for one another. Cristiano moans into the kiss, his hands roaming down Leo’s wet body as they lick into each other’s mouths.

They break apart for a moment, the water pitter-pattering around them as they catch their breaths.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, Cris,” Leo says gruffly, and honestly, Cristiano could have gotten on his knees right then and there.

He doesn’t. He still has some semblance of shame left in him. As much as he wants Leo, he is not going to be fucked in the middle of a shower stall. Anybody could walk in on them mid-fuck, and while Cristiano has nothing to be insecure about, not just anybody deserves to see him naked.

“Your place,” Cristiano says against Leo’s lips. “I want you to fuck me on every corner of your house.”

The house in question is more like a mansion.

Sleek and stylish fixtures seamlessly integrate into the ceiling. The furniture is plush and the walls are painted in neutral tones, but Cristiano has no time to admire Leo’s interior design choices. He’s too busy shaking off his shoes and socks as he and Leo make their way up the stairs, leaving a trail of clothes behind them.

Their movement is imperfect as they stumble down Leo’s long hallway, gripping and groping at each other in feeble attempts to not just do it on the hardwood floors.

The centerpiece of the room is the bed, which is the epitome of luxury if you ask Cristiano. It’s a king-sized, four-poster bed with soft, silky sheets, surrounded by plush pillows and cushions. Cristiano can’t wait to be fucked on top of them.

He finds himself pinned to the mattress the moment they get in. Cristiano paws at underwear, the older man shedding it off without breaking their kiss.

"Shit,” Cristiano curses as Leo nips his jawline down to his long neck. “You’re so hot.”

Leo latches his lips onto Cristiano's exposed collarbone. Cristiano mewls wantonly as Leo nips on his flesh before giving it a harsh suck. 

A hand sneaks between Cristiano’s legs, palming at his clothed erection.

Cristiano may not be like most boys his age, but he is still a teenager, and that means he’s already oozing with precum. His underwear is already soaked.

“Is this for me?” Leo asks, and Cristiano absolutely does not blush. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not!” Cristiano protests, because he isn’t embarrassed. He never gets embarrassed. Not even when Leo is looking at him like a wild animal circling its prey.

The older man hooks his fingers into the waistband of Cristiano’s underwear, dragging them down the boy’s shapely legs. His lips quirk into a grin when he sees the damp patch that had formed at the front of Cristiano’s boxer briefs. “Wet already?” he teases.

Cristiano pouts indignantly. It isn’t his fault he’s sensitive!

Thankfully, Leo takes mercy on him and tugs his boxer briefs down until they’re pooling at his ankles.

“Look at you,” Leo starts, his voice octaves deeper than Cristiano has ever heard it. He reaches down and begins to stroke Cristiano’s aching dick, feeling it pulse with excitement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cock this pretty.”

Cristiano knew it was a good idea to wax down there. His pink cock coupled with his hairless balls is a sight to behold. “It's hard for you.”

Leo’s eyes flash wildly. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you,” Cristiano says, like he has never wanted anything so badly. "Want you to fuck me hard." 

“Shit,” Leo grunts. Cristiano watches as Leo reaches his other hand out to grab lube from the bedside table drawer, squirting a generous amount all over his fingers. “Have you— have you done this before?”

“Not like this,” Cristiano says, and it's the truth. Trading handjobs with roommates under starchy sheets is nothing compared to being here with Leo. “And not with an older guy.”

“Older?” Leo repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Did you have to mention that?”

“Sorry, papi,” Cristiano says, and he knows he hit the jackpot when Leo’s eyes widen to the size of saucers.

“Fuck,” Leo curses. “You're so—”

“—Cute?” Cristiano interrupts.

“Naughty,” Leo corrects. He moves his free hand down between Cristiano’s legs, the cold tip of his finger nudging against the boy’s tight entrance. “And here I thought you were a good boy.”

Cristiano opens his mouth to argue that he is a good boy when a fat finger pushes inside him. He lets out an audible gasp, feeling the thrill thrumming through him as Leo wiggles his finger in deeper.

“Does it hurt?” Leo asks.

“No,” Cristiano answers, shaking his head. Leo would never hurt him. “It's just… it feels weird.”

“It will feel better,” Leo reassures. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

“Okay,” Cristiano says, his breath hitching when he feels another finger being pushed in. Sure, he's tried to finger himself before, but this is an entirely different experience. “A-ah! L-Leo!”

“Shhh, it's alright,” Leo says, removing his hand from Cristiano’s weeping cock to pet the boy’s side. “It will feel good in a bit.”

Cristiano wasn't lying to Leo earlier. It doesn't hurt, but it definitely feels strange. He feels… full… like he's shitting a mountain… but in reverse… and in a sexy way.

His eyes roll to the back of his head when a finger brushes against that special bundle of nerves inside him. “Oh!” he gasps, the discomfort morphing into pleasure.

Leo smirks before repeatedly pressing his fingers against that angle. “Do you like that?” he asks as he continues working Cristiano open. He's so tight that he isn't sure if a third finger will fit. “Do you like having me inside you?”

“Yes!” Cristiano answers, clenching his walls around Leo’s fingers. It takes all of his willpower to not push himself back against those thick digits like a whore.

Cristiano whimpers, pressing his back into the mattress as pleasure consumes him. Leo works another finger in him, scissoring him open as Cristiano lets out another strangled moan.

His eyes flicker down to Leo’s cock, which stands hard and proud between his legs. Cristiano wants it— no, he needs it inside him. 

“Leo, please,” Cristiano whines as Leo continues to finger him. He's already staining his stomach with so much precum. “I can take it. I'm ready.”

“Be patient, baby,” Leo coos. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't!” Cristiano nearly shouts, like a brat. “Papi, please. I need you.”

The word ‘papi’ is what does it for Leo. He pulls his fingers out of Cristiano’s pulsating hole, making the boy whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

That's okay. He can deal with it. He’ll be filled up with Leo’s enormous cock soon enough.

“You want my cock, baby?” Leo asks in a low voice, and holy shit, Cristiano can't believe this is happening right now. The greatest football player of all time is calling him baby, and Cristiano fucking loves it.

“Fuck me,” Cristiano begs, hopes that Leo can hear the desperation in his voice. “Fill me up, papi. Fill me up with your cock.”

"You've been so good for me." Leo shifts his position to align his erect cock with Cristiano’s tight pink hole. “My good boy deserves my cock, doesn't he?”

Cristiano nods eagerly. If he does not get that dick in his ass right now, he is going to cry.

Leo traces his cock against Cristiano's entrance and before Cristiano could make a bitchy remark, he slides in. 

Cristiano keens as he lets out a long, loud moan. It takes him a moment to adjust to the size, unused to being stuffed like this. Not that he's complaining though. If he could, he would keep Leo’s cock inside him forever, no matter how inconvenient that may be when they're on the pitch. 

“Is it too big?” Leo asks, and Cristiano hates how smug the older man is but he also loves that big dick stretching him like this. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“I need you to fuck me so hard that I won't be able to walk tomorrow,” Cristiano says bluntly. “I want to wake up in the morning feeling tired and sore because you dicked me down all night long." 

“Shit, Cris,” Leo swears. He looks scandalized, but Cristiano knows he's into it. Over the last few months, he has come to know that Lionel Messi isn't as innocent and boring as people think. The man is a kinky bastard, and Cristiano can't wait to learn about all his freaky kinks.

Cristiano spreads his legs and arches his back to give Leo more access. He feels Leo’s cock brushing against his prostate. It’s enough to make his thighs quiver but not enough to give him the stimulation that he so desperately needs. 

Cristiano is so sensitive that it hurts but simultaneously feels so good that he could cry. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and moves his hand down to circle a hand around his rock-hard cock, only to have it batted away.

“No,” Leo chides. “You don’t get to touch yourself.”

“But—”

“No,” Leo repeats, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ll cum just from my cock.”

Before Cristiano can open his mouth to whine about the betrayal, Leo pulls out, only to slam back and start pounding into Cristiano in earnest. 

“Oh, Papi,” Cristiano whines like a bitch in heat. “More, Papi.”

“So greedy,” Leo groans between thrusts. He leans forward to push his cock deeper into Cristiano. “Such a whiny little thing.”

"Yes, yes— there!" Cristiano cries wantonly, wrapping his legs around Leo’s waist to take him in deeper. “Harder, Papi.”

"So you do like that, huh?" his breath is hot against Cristiano's ear. "Like getting fucked?" 

Cristiano releases a heavy, throat-wrecked cry. It’s in between a cry and scream, and he’s chanting yes, yes, yes, yes, Papi please as Leo drills into him.

Leo continues thrusting and Cristiano moves his hips to match with his rhythm. Leo has one hand gripping tightly on Cristiano's waist while he uses the other to play with Cristiano's perky nipples. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Cristiano says, drooling from the corner of his mouth like a toddler. “Papi, I need to cum.”

Everything is too much, precum is dripping from the head of his cock, and the cock in his ass pushing against the place that feels so good again.

“Ask me again.” Leo’s eyes are intense as he drinks in the sight of Cristiano, whose face is flushed red and eyes filled with tears as Leo fucks him. “Nicely this time.”

“Please, papi,” Cristiano begs. He tries to reach for his cock again but Leo grabs onto his arm to make him stop. "Papi, please." he sobs. "I want to cum, please let me cum.”

Thankfully, Leo takes mercy on him. “Do it, baby,” the older man beckons. “Cum for me.”

Cristiano’s orgasm hits him with the force of a tidal wave, his entire body trembling on the mattress, shivers running up his spine and a sensation in his stomach unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

“Papi!” he moans as he cums, white hot load bursting onto his stomach while Leo continues to fuck him through his release. 

Leo reaches his high right after, moaning breathlessly into Cristiano's mouth as he fills the boy up with his cum.

Tears stream down Cristiano’s red face, his mouth hanging open when he feels Leo’s cum filling him up to the brim, the excess trickling out of his hole and all over the sheets.

Cristiano wishes he packed a plug so he can store all of Leo’s cum inside him. Perhaps he’ll ask Leo to get him one in the morning— they can both agree that Cris would look good with a big blue plug buried in his tight little ass.

The plug would have to wait until next time though. Right now, all Cristiano can focus on is Leo pulling his thick cock out of him, his walls clinging around the wide girth like they never want to let him go.

Cristiano falls limply onto the mattress. Leo follows, draping himself over Cristiano’s heaving chest. 

"Are you okay?" Leo asks, carefully inspecting Cristiano’s face for any signs of discomfort. “Does anything hurt?”

Sweet as always. If he could, Cristiano would have the man’s children. (Not now. He still has his whole career ahead of him, but maybe in twenty years or so after Cristiano wins everything Leo has and more.) “No.”

“Good,” Leo says, sounding satisfied. “You were such a good boy for me.”

Cristiano's heart stutters at the compliment. He knows he was a good boy, but hearing it from Leo makes butterflies flutter in his belly. “Thank you,” he says, uncharacteristically bashful. Leo has a way of making him feel like a little girl with a crush.

Leo gently taps his shoulder. "Come on. We should get you cleaned up."

"Already?” Cristiano questions, a little disappointed. He wanted to be Messi’s messy slut for a little longer.

Leo raises an eyebrow. “Did you want to go another round?”

Cristiano tilts his head at him. “I did say I wanted you to fuck me on every corner of your house, no?”

Leo grins brightly, looking like he won his 13th Ballon d’Or.

Chapter Text

Leo is in a very good mood.

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and there isn’t a single gray cloud in the pretty blue sky.

Perhaps the most beautiful part of the day is the boy in front of him, warming up on the bright green grass while his dark curls flutter in the wind.

Cristiano looks like something out of a (wet) dream, the PSG training kit clings to his sculpted chest and highlights the same long legs he had wrapped around Leo’s waist last night.

Leo is so busy admiring the beautiful sight, he does not even register Neymar’s presence next to him until the other man starts tapping his shoulder.

“What?” Leo questions.

“I’ve been talking to you for the last five minutes,” Neymar says, snickering. “Stop staring at Cristiano.”

That is easier than done. Leo is too busy relishing in the sight of Cristiano limping— which would be worrying if Leo didn’t know the reason why. 

Absent is Cristiano’s usual easy grace. As hard as he tries to conceal it, the boy is hobbling around the pitch like a newborn deer on ice.

Leo did that. He’s the one responsible for fucking Cristiano so hard he can’t even walk properly. Leo has won many trophies in his lifetime, but this is one of his bigger accomplishments.

It’s a really good thing that they don’t have any important matches lined up soon. Leo would never hear the end of it if Cristiano got benched as a result of getting fucked too much and too thoroughly.

The others aren’t as amused to see their star boy waddling around without his characteristic strength and swiftness. Kylian in particular is quick to dote on the precious baby of the team.

“Are you okay, Cris?” Kylian asks, concerned about the boy he decided to take under his wing. Leo would be jealous if he didn’t know how much Cristiano really likes him. “When did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Cristiano says, but anyone with a pair of working eyes can see that he isn’t comfortable. “It’s nothing.” 

“What do you think happened to Cristiano?” Neymar asks Leo, worried that their young teammate could  possibly keep him company in the hospital. “When did he get injured?’

Probably after the third round when Leo spanked his ass red, but Leo isn’t going to tell him that. “He’ll be fine,” he says and he must not have been able to stop himself from smirking because Neymar lets out a loud gasp.

“Are you telling me you…” Neymar trails off. His eyes go wide when he realizes why Leo is smirking. “You dog.”

Leo neither confirms nor denies that accusation. His non-answer seems to be good enough for Neymar though.

“Did you actually— no. There is no way you—” Neymar stumbles over his words. “No way.”

Leo gives him a blank look.

Neymar buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe Messi is a cradle robber!”