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There are too many people and Neymar feels hot, sweating like a pig under the burning spotlight. He thinks the layer of make-up is going to melt off his face any minute now.
The good thing is, with the high-heels he's towering over everyone else, and he can breathe an air that is relatively fresher than that of the rest of the place. He's wobbling through the bodies, pulling the mini-skirt down every few seconds, or tugging on the garter belt in hopes of making it more comfortable. The wig itches, he bumps into everything because he can't walk and he still can't process the fake boobs.
He's not at ease and he keeps asking himself what am I doing?
He thinks it's Rafa's fault, or maybe Dani's, or probably both. He's sure it's also his fault, because his drunk self is too proud to back out of a dare – or was it a bet? He's still blaming his friends though, and their shit-eating grins when they reminded him of his words.
You swore Ney, Dani said, a solemn look on his face, and a glint in his eyes that promised months of banters and relentless teasing if Neymar backed out now.
His sister helped them with the make-over part. She came in after lunch and smiled at him deviously, Dani and Rafinha trailing behind her with several bags stuffed with things Neymar didn't think he'd ever have an use for.
The afternoon had been long. His sister dolled him up while Dani and Rafinha offered comments about his looks. Luckily, football and the need to shave his legs frequently spared him an undoubtedly painful waxing session. He wasn't spared everything else, told to sit still as his sister painted his face and forced him in clothes and attires that felt too tight for him.
The thing is, while he feels uneasy, he also thinks he makes a rather hot girl. He looks kind of slutty, and he would have complained but this is the kind of looks he likes. He has long brown hair reaching past his shoulders, a bright glossy lipstick that makes it seems as though he'd just licked his lips, and eyelashes so long he feared they might reach his eyebrows and stick to them. Rafinha said he made a pretty girl and Neymar didn't deny it. He also said the skirt made his ass look round even though he never had any ass to speak of – to that Neymar did respond, with a well-aimed kick at Rafa's buttocks.
All in all, he is torn between hiding under a table for fear of anyone recognizing him, or catwalk through that club and be the hottest girl in here.
He knows his friends are somewhere, watching him and probably laughing their asses off at his shaky steps, and the thought is enough to make his back straight. He stops dead in his tracks, ignoring all noise around him and he takes a deep breath in. His next step is slow but assured, and Neymar gains confidence. He tries his best to sway his hips. He didn't dare dance yet, but he wants his friends to take their laughter back, and so he fakes a self-assured smile and struts toward the dance-floor, preening arrogantly with each new wandering hands on his ass.
He just hopes no hands will wander to the front. The girl's panties is so small and tight, digging into his skin and constricting him, but it also somehow manages to hide his crotch well enough.
He's a skinny boy but his build is a bit too large for a girl's, yet there are still many wandering eyes on his way, and Neymar's smirk widen. Nobody will recognize him, and this feels like a chance to do anything he wants, be as trashy as he wants without anyone judging him. He flips his hair and winks at random men, licks his lips, and he'd feel shame but the layer of make-up protect him from the world.
He is about to accept a dance offer when his eyes catch something – or someone rather. A small thing, comparatively, dressed in a white shirt and a cute bow-tie. A handsome thing in Neymar's eyes, that looks tiny, swarmed over by girls and boys alike, and yet takes all the space in the room once Neymar notices it.
A few feet away from him stands Lionel Messi.
Neymar freezes in his tracks. For a moment, he feels it all again – his face melting, the fake boobs that wouldn't pass the test if pressed, the muscles hidden under the clothes, too strong to be girly. Now is not the time to be slutty, he thinks, now is the time to find a table to hide under. That is the only safe option.
That is the only safe option and so Neymar chooses otherwise.
There has been enough ogling going on for Neymar to know that no one suspects anything and that he's attractive enough for men. If he's fooled everyone here, then surely Leo – oblivious Leo, who doesn't understand flirting even when it's pushed in his face violently and repeatedly by funny, charming, and kinda skinny but still fucking attractive young Brazilians – then surely Leo would be none the wiser.
It's a stupid idea – it's stupid idea and Neymar didn't drink an ounce of alcohol, nothing that can justify the way he sashays to Leo, high-heels helping him sway his hips left and right at every steps.
Leo doesn't notice him until Neymar is in his personal space, tapping his shoulders to draw his attention. Leo turns around. Neymar's fake boobs are level with his face, and Leo looks up sharply, and he doesn't move for several seconds, stuck staring at Neymar's face. Neymar sticks his hand out to offer him a dance, but Leo doesn't even look down at it. It makes Neymar nervous, makes him feels as though his face is melting and his muscles are bulging out, and his height -- he panics, girls aren't supposed to be taller than guys, but then he remembers it's Lionel Messi, and all the girls in this club, fit in high-heels, are towering over him.
Leo looks him up and down doubtfully and Neymar reminds himself Leo isn't good at flirting and that he's more than likely embarrassed about this situation. He wants to crack a joke or greet Leo to defuse the awkward atmosphere, but somewhere during the few seconds Leo spent staring at him, Neymar realized his voice is that of a man, and talking is out of the question. He smiles instead, crookedly, seductively, mysteriously, because that's the kind of things that makes Neymar's heart beat harder.
Leo stares at him for what seems like an eternity. He's frowning and there's puzzlement written all over his face, and Neymar hopes hopes hopes he won't get rejected.
Eventually, Leo's lips twitch and a hesitant smile form on them. He takes Neymar's offered hand and Neymar eagerly steps closer, flushing their bodies together. Leo looks surprised by his boldness, but Neymar doesn't have time for that. Leo doesn't know how to dance, Leo will let him lead, Leo is too shy to back away now, and it's his chance to spend a few minutes flush against him. It's the chance of his life.
He wraps his arms around Leo's head, and his hair fall over Leo's shoulders, framing his face. Leo is proper, hands on his back as though getting lower might burn him – it might burn Neymar but he's willing to take the risk.
It's a bit of an awkward dance – Leo doesn't know what to do, and Neymar isn't used to the height, isn't used to dancing like a girl. He shakes his hips, puts a leg between Leo's. Leo doesn't let go, even when Neymar lets his hands wander down Leo's back, rubbing against his shirt as though he wasn't wearing any.
It makes Neymar daring. He drops low. Leo freezes completely, and Neymar's hands flutter over his body as he rolls his ass and goes back up, rubbing his body against Leo in a way that is in no way decent.
Neymar should feel shame, and some parts of his brain are freaking out, but he doesn't have the time to care. It's his one chance – it doesn't matter if people are watching, if his friends are watching, if he'll be too embarrassed to look Leo in the eyes tomorrow in training. Right now, Leo looks good, his eyes so dark but shining under the lights, and the smell of his cologne is strong and intoxicating. He's small, so damn small next to Neymar but his body is firm, his back and stomach strong and tense under Neymar's curious hands.
Neymar shakes his hips and rolls his body like he's seen girls do, like girls do against him. He turns around and rubs his ass against Leo's crotch, takes Leo's hands and put them on his hips. He wants Leo to be into it, he wants Leo to grind against him and manhandles him but he also knows it won't happen because it's Leo, and that makes him like Leo more, and that makes him want Leo more.
The proximity isn't good to Neymar, but the panties are useful, so tight and constricting that his dick doesn't have any place to expand, even though Neymar's head is messed beyond belief. His bulge isn't visible under the skirt but if Leo touched his crotch he'd feel his half-hard dick and so Neymar is careful not to rub this particular area against Leo's.
Leo is stiff against him, his movements restrained even though he doesn't stop Neymar, and it kills Neymar that he doesn't know what Leo is feeling, if he's wriggling against him like an idiot for nothing. The next time he drops low, he's blunter, his hands rubbing down Leo's body until they reach his crotch and they don't stop. Leo quickly snatches his hands and pulls him up, but Neymar still had the time to feel, and he could swear there was a bulge in Leo's pants. The thought is amazing and wonderful, makes Neymar feels drunk off of nothing. Leo might be into it and it's exhilarating, it makes him dizzy and unable to breathe and so he starts laughing. He hides his face in Leo's neck as he giggles breathlessly and uncontrollably, glossy lips against sweaty skin and Leo feels hot, so hot against him.
Neymar lets free – Leo allowed too much to pull back now – and he reaches down, grabbing Leo's buttocks and squeezing. Leo jolts, trying to catch his hands but Neymar moans needily in his neck and Leo gives up, placing his hands on his lower-back instead, and it's still so proper and decent, even though Neymar is pretty sure there's a bulge in his pants, even though they're sweating so close together Neymar isn't sure the sweat on his body is his, even though Neymar is smearing lipstick on Leo's pale neck --- it's so proper so decent despite the fact that Neymar is burning and it makes him feel desperate, makes him whine brokenly, pitifully in Leo's ear.
The music is loud and Neymar tries to talk as softly as possible so his voice could pass as that of a girl's.
“Come to the bathroom with me,” he whispers in Leo's ear, but it's a prayer. He's pleading more than he's asking, because a refusal would be too painful to handle.
(Even if it's not him Leo would be rejecting, it would be a girl he's not, but it's still Neymar in there, it's still Neymar who's hard and needy and desperate).
He thinks Leo shivers. He's still for a moment, hesitating. And then he nods imperceptibly against him, and Neymar has no idea where he's taking this but there's still a bubble of joy bursting inside him and spreading euphoria through his veins.
He takes Leo's hand, his bright manicured nails and tan skin a sharp contrast against Leo's paleness. His legs feels shaky as he guides Leo away from the dance-floor, his hand trembling as he leads him to the men's bathroom.
What a shitty place, Neymar thinks as he enters. How dirty, foul-smelling. And yet, he can't back out, not now. He opens a stall and hastily pushes Leo inside. He fumbles with the lock, the simple task of locking the door suddenly too complicated for his quivering hands. When he finally turns around, Leo grabs his jaw and pulls his head down, smashing their lips together.
Neymar moans, high-pitched and he hopes it can pass as girly because he's too horny to hide his voice now. Leo tastes good, and he kisses good, a firm grip on his jaw and a sweet tongue in his mouth. Some strands of hair are already sticking to his sweaty skin, and when they separate Leo's lips are rosy with Neymar's lipstick. It's amazing to see, the pink on his lips and the pink on his flushed cheeks and Neymar dives right back in, hurried as he opens his mouth against Leo's and tries to drink everything in. Now is not the time to keep up appearances, and Leo must think so too because his hands finally, finally, reach down and palm his ass.
Neymar doesn't remember whether Leo deemed himself a butt or boob person. Leo probably never talked about it, but he goes for Neymar's butt right now and Neymar almost wants to sing hallelujah. He thinks he should feel bad about fooling Leo like that, leading him on even though he's not actually a girl, but Neymar is leading himself on too, making himself believe the bulge in Leo's pants is actually for him, that the hand squeezing his ass is actually for him, that the flush on Leo's skin is actually for him.
Neymar moans needily, the urge to hump against Leo growing heavier by the minute. But he can't be that bold, and despite the fact he's losing his mind he's at least hanging onto that fact, because if he rubbed his crotch anywhere near Leo's body then everything would be over, and he can't allow this. There's one thing he can do though, one thing he wants to do, one thing he's been dreaming of for ages.
He breaks the kiss and drops to his knees. The tiles are hard and cold but Neymar couldn't care less. His hands move quickly on Leo's belt buckle and zipper, and Leo doesn't stop him, looks down, not breathing as Neymar opens his pants and lower them along with his underwear just enough for his dick to spring out.
Neymar thinks his mouth water at the sight. It's big and thick, beautiful and tempting, and Neymar has dreamed of this cock for so long now, sneaked glances at it in the shower, trying to imagine what it could be like hard and proud under his eyes.
He wraps a hand around the base and he doesn't lose any time, sucking the head in. He moans deeply around it at the taste, sweaty and intimate, and he doesn't waste time before bobbing his head. Teasing is for lovers, who have the time and love to think it'll last forever, but this, this is a one-time thing, and Neymar needs to take as much as he can now.
He sucks Leo's dick and it's dirty. It's messy and quick, it's sloppy with wet noises and drool trickling down his chin. Jerking himself off is not an option, so he presses a palm against his own crotch in a desperate attempt to squash down his lust, afraid the panties would give away and let his cock burst out for Leo to see, and Leo would run away disgusted and leave Neymar on his knees in a dirty toilet stall with drool on his chin.
Leo isn't loud and Neymar is louder than him, moaning heartily around his shaft. People can probably hear him but he doesn't care. He can see his very own fingers, nails painted red, wrapped at the base of Leo's thick dick – so thick Neymar has trouble sucking it – and it's all that matters right now.
Leo holds his cheek as Neymar sucks him, probably feeling himself through the hollow of his cheeks. Neymar looks up, and Leo's eyes are on him. He's sweating, black hair stuck against his forehead, and his ears are bright red. His bow-tie is askew and his shirt is crumpled, and he looks messy and lewd, and Neymar drinks in the sight like he's drinking in Leo's cock.
Leo is looking at him, only at him, and Neymar can't break eye contact. He wants to know what kind of face Leo makes when he comes. He grips himself hard, painfully, hands trembling, eyes half-lidded but he forces himself to watch as Leo starts acting restless, bucking his hips, biting his lips, a flush spreading on his neck and cheeks, his hand tightening on his cheek.
Neymar tastes precum, and he doesn't manage to swallow it before it's trickling down his chin along with drool and saliva.
He isn't sure how he's breathing – probably through his nose but it doesn't seem very effective. He's dizzy and he sucks harder, harder and deeper, deepthroating as much as he can until finally, finally Leo is gasping, eyes wide open and pupils blown. He bites his lips not to moan, and his hand is tight around his jaw, as though he wants to keep Neymar in place, around his dick, even though Neymar has no intention to move.
Neymar comes when Leo comes, even though he tried hard to will his arousal away and squeezed his dick so hard it hurt, but the sight the feeling the taste the idea – everything is too much and he comes hard in the panties. He means to swallow Leo's come, but his own orgasm makes him dizzy and uncoordinated, and he doesn't catch everything, drops of semen escaping his mouth and trickling down his chin.
Neymar closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath, leaning against Leo's pelvis. When Leo moves away Neymar thinks he's going to fall but Leo steadies him and Neymar braces himself against the stall to stay upright.
He opens his eyes, and Leo is pulling his pants up, tucking his shirt back in and righting his bow-tie. He's about to leave. Neymar bites his lips and tries not to look away. Leo is about to go, to close the door and leave him behind, a one-night stand, a girl in a bathroom stall with bright make up and a thirst for cocks. He's about to close the door and this is the only time it'll happen, and Leo will never talk about it to anyone, and Neymar won't either, he'll keep it to himself for the nights he's desperate and he'll pretend he wasn't dressed like someone else when he dreams.
Leo does leave but before that, he bends down. Neymar draws back, surprised when Leo's face appears at his level, and then there is a pair of warm lips kissing his cheek. It's a sweet and affectionate gesture, and Leo looks down at him fondly, a shy smile on his lips.
“See you tomorrow Ney,” he says and then he leaves.
Neymar can't move. He can't breathe. He can't process the fact that Leo apparently knew.
Leo knows. He knows he knows oh god he knows.
He's frozen on the spot, disbelieving and panicking all at the same time, deaf to all the noise around him, blind to the world, unaware of everything beside that one thought that lights in his brain and prevails all others until it's the only thought he has left.
He knew and he still let it happen.
