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Cris had to admit that he felt a little lonely tonight. Sure, he knew a lot of people at the gala and some of his teammates were here. It's not even that he minded Leo winning. It was not a surprise. It was just that he couldn't help but think of how it was a year ago - with his whole family with him.
His eyes roamed restlessly around the glittering ballroom. There was Leo, man of the hour. How shy he seemed. He stuck to his people. He was always with his girlfriend, or his parents, or one of his brothers.
His eyes travelled to the other side of the room, and alighted curiously on Neymar. He was sitting in a chair with a leg over his knee, looking young and sleek. He hunched down slightly, chin resting in the palm of his hand, like a child. He was with a big group of friends, yet he seemed...
Cris followed Neymar's gaze, all the way to the other side of the room. It took him back to Leo. Of course. Leo was sitting between his mother and his girlfriend, giggling helplessly at something. Cris couldn't help cracking a smile.
So this is how it was.
He stood up, smoothing down his clothes. Marcelo and Sergio appeared, bearing tequila shots. He politely brushed them off and walked purposefully towards Neymar. It fascinated him how Neymar stared across the room at Leo with such intense concentration. So much so that he didn't even notice Cris stalking towards him, until he was close and looming over him.
He looked up and blinked a couple of times, as if waking up from deep sleep. Then he suddenly grinned. Cris was a little taken aback, and rather taken in by the charming smile.
"Hello," he said, "Enjoying yourself?"
"Yep!" Neymar replied, perking up, "It's so great to be here! Such a privilege to..."
"Oh stop," Cris smiled, rolling his eyes, "I'm not interviewing you."
Neymar giggled, and Cris found that strangely charming too. He noticed the pointy teeth, the tongue peeking out a little.
"What about you?" he was saying, "having a ball?"
"It's okay," Cris answered honestly.
"Yeah," Neymar leaned back, "I'm having an okay time too."
"Can I get you a drink?"
Neymar raised an eyebrow.
"You do know that it's an open bar?"
Cris smiled.
"That's just a way of saying I want to talk to you."
"Oh."
"You're allowed to fraternize with the enemy at these things Neymar. That's kind of the point."
"You would know."
"Yes, I would."
Cris waited patiently as Neymar's eyes flitted over to his friends. His friends were having a great time, drinking and laughing merrily.
"Don't tell me you'd rather sit here staring at him," Cris bit out finally, tired of waiting.
Neymar jerked his head up, a frown clouding his face. He looked rather shocked.
"What? Wh...who?"
Cris laughed, not unkindly he hoped.
"You know who I'm talking about," he replied gently.
Neymar stood up abruptly, his chair dragging jarringly on the floor. He looked flustered and embarrassed, and Cris felt a little bad. He placed his hand lightly on Neymar's arm.
"Come on," he said softly, "I'm not enjoying myself here at all. I want to go to a quieter place and I'd like some company. You'd be doing me a favour."
Neymar smiled incredulously.
"Well, if you put it that way," he said, laughing a little, "where are we going?"
Cristiano knew there was a bar a couple of floors up. Small and often deserted. Even if it wasn't empty, it would be much more quiet and private than the ballroom. He moved quickly through the crowd, acknowledging people who came up to him but not lingering. When he reached the door, he turned around to see that Neymar had been accosted by a small group. He turned his back to the room and waited discreetly in the shadows.
A few minutes later, he heard Neymar's breathless voice behind him.
"Sorry! I'm just not as good as you at avoiding people!"
"You'll get better at it," Cris replied, quickly leading the way to the elevators. He heard Neymar's sharp, throaty laughter behind him and it made him smile.
Man, was the kid restless. He moved from one side of the elevator to the other.
"Where are we going? Are you going to murder me?" he asked.
The bar was empty, piano music echoing faintly in its soft, luxurious interior. The bartender was leaning heavily against the counter and he straightened up quickly when he noticed them walking in.
"Good evening gentlemen!" he said, a little too enthusiastically, "what can I get for you?"
"Some scotch and some privacy?" Cris replied.
"Ah. Of course."
Cris reached for his wallet while the bartender set up two glasses and a bottle at the bar. He poured the drinks and came out from behind the bar.
"Thank you," Cris said. He shook his hand and handed him a neatly folded wad of cash.
"Thank you sir," the bartender replied. He nodded to Neymar and left quickly.
Cris turned back to find Neymar staring at him, grinning.
"What?"
"Wow," Neymar said, still grinning, "wow."
Again, Cris couldn't help smiling. There was something sweet about him, that was for sure.
They clinked glasses and sat down.
"So why did you want to talk to me anyway?" Neymar finally asked.
Cris shrugged.
"I don't know. Maybe because you're the most interesting third nominee in a while?"
Neymar blinked a couple of times, until it dawned on him.
"Oh!" he laughed, "that's right. It's always you and Leo. And then one other person."
"Well not...always."
"You two are amazing!" he exclaimed eagerly. He took a big gulp of his drink. "I mean I know you're from Madrid and we're, like, enemies but I admire you so much."
"Thank you." He meant it sincerely.
"I would like that kind of consistency that you and Leo have, you know? I'm always trying to figure out Leo's secrets."
Neymar laughed, and then suddenly fell quiet. He looked down at his drink, swirling the liquid around the glass. It was as if the thought of Leo had instantly sobered him up.
"So do you want to talk about it?" Cris asked.
"About what?" Neymar asked the question dully, without looking up.
"About him."
"Who?"
He did look up then, a challenging glint in his green eyes. Cris stared into those mesmerising eyes, probably a few moments longer than strictly necessary.
"Oh you know. Lionel Messi," he replied.
Neymar slowly put his drink down on the counter. He turned a deep shade of red. He frowned hard, tried to hide his reaction by turning his face away. But it wasn't working at all. Again, Cris felt bad for him. His eyes fell on the full lips, that he was chewing on desperately.
"You can talk to me," he said, trying to make his voice sound friendly, and gentle.
Neymar looked at him, eyebrows raised.
"Oh yeah? Just tell me one thing. Am I that fucking obvious?"
"Well you did tell the whole world, in a press conference, that you're completely in love with him."
Neymar looked aghast.
"But that was...a joke."
"But not really, right?"
Neymar slid off the stool and walked away. Cris watched him walking to one of the sofas in the dimly lit corner. He picked up a cushion and buried his face into it. He hunched over and the cords in his neck stood out, as if he was screaming. Then he flung the cushion aside and sat on the sofa, drawing his knees up to his chin.
Cris refilled their glasses and went over. He sat down holding the two drinks. Neymar's face was buried in his arms and he didn't look up.
"It must be hard," Cris said, "I'm sorry."
Neymar didn't look up for a while and, eventually, Cris touched the glass gently to his arm.
"Hey..."
Neymar finally looked up and smiled wearily.
"I'm being so boring," he said, reaching for the drink.
He took the glass but before he could draw it towards himself, Cris covered his hand with his. Neymar looked at him with a startled expression.
"You're not. You're actually very fascinating."
He could see Neymar swallowing hard. The air seemed all of a sudden thick with tension. Neymar was staring at him, giving him a look that seemed almost...
Cris withdrew his hand. He gestured towards the drink in Neymar's hand.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Neymar said. But the cheerful, almost childlike, eagerness was suddenly gone. It was replaced by something a little darker. A playfulness that was verging on flirtatious. The transformation was smooth and delightful. It was all very interesting to Cris.
He leaned back, looking at Neymar's face thoughtfully. He really was beautiful.
"I'd rather you weren't drunk," Cris said finally.
Neymar took a little sip of his drink, and Cris found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from his full lips. Neymar clearly noticed. He bit his bottom lip, teeth dragging slowly.
"Why not? I'm fun when I'm drunk."
"Yeah but I'm sure you're fun when you're not drunk too. You seem fun, in general."
"You think so?"
"Mm hmm. In fact, I think Leo is really missing out. He..."
But Neymar raised a hand and that stopped him immediately. He frowned and shook his head, a look of pain passing over his face.
"Don't talk about him. And especially don't say anything remotely bad about him. It's not..."
He paused and looked up. Then he smiled, as if he'd shaken something off. The smile was dark and wicked.
"Talking shit about Leo is not the way to impress me Cris."
Cris laughed out. He leaned close.
"How do I impress you then?"
"Hmm. You could say nice things about me."
Cris leaned even closer, so that his face was inches away from Neymar's.
"I think you're gorgeous," he murmured. He noticed with satisfaction Neymar's breath hitching.
"Thank you," Neymar whispered, and Cris shuddered.
He took the glass from Neymar's hand and placed both their drinks on the table. The sexual tension between them was now almost overwhelming, and Cris did everything very slowly to retain some control.
He brushed his fingers soft and feathery over Neymar's jawline. Neymar shivered a little and closed his eyes. Cris watched his face intently. Neymar's mouth parted expectantly, and Cris waited a beat before plunging his tongue straight in.
Neymar gasped but then reacted immediately by pushing against Cris' tongue with his own tongue. It became a battle of sorts, a battle Cris felt satisfied to "win", as he curled his tongue around Neymar's, and pinned him against the back of the sofa with all the force of his stronger physique.
He gripped Neymar's jaw with one hand, and braced himself on the back of the sofa with the other, and swept his tongue in forcefully, exploring Neymar's mouth, and nibbling at his lips. But he was losing control too. His cock was growing hard very quickly, and his heart had started pounding in his chest. He suddenly became very aware of Neymar's strong musky cologne and his taste, something sweet mixed with scotch, was completely intoxicating.
He paused for breath and looked down at Neymar. He was flushed and disheveled, mouth swollen and slightly parted. And the look he gave him was enough to turn a man crazy. Those catlike eyes, the defiant light in those eyes. Cris hovered over him, panting, trying to get his breathing to a normal rhythm.
"I want to fuck you," he blurted out, still panting. Neymar smiled.
"What are you waiting for then?" he said, loosening his bowtie.
Cris loved the fact that Neymar was much smaller than him. He looked appreciatively over his lithe frame. Of course he'd seen him playing, his movements quick and graceful. It took Cris a moment to realise that Neymar was gawking at his body too. He laughed and flexed his muscles.
"Fuck, you're hot," Neymar muttered, running his hands over his chest and stomach, as if in awe.
Cris loved how Neymar clung to him, when he carried him over to a bigger sofa on the corner. His legs were wrapped around his waist tightly, and his hands were buried in his hair.
He was sensitive, and very expressive, moaning loudly when Cris nipped at his earlobe, and sucked along his throat. Laying him down on the sofa, Cris licked all along his body, paying special attention to his nipples. It satisfied him to hear Neymar whimpering quite loudly.
He tried to raise himself up, his hands scrabbled all along Cris's body, wherever he could reach. But Cris kept him pinned down. There was something so soft and vulnerable about Neymar, that Cris had this urge to wring every ounce of pleasure out of him.
He pinned his hands over his head with one hand, and used his other hand to open up his thighs. Neymar cried out when Cris plunged his tongue inside him over and over, working him open. Cris then let go of his hands so he could spread his entrance open with his fingers, and he liked how Neymar immediately placed his hands on his head, pulling hard at his hair.
He pushed in deeper, and Neymar pulled at his hair harder.
Cris had to go back to where they had left their clothes to retrieve the bottle of lube from his pocket. When he got back, Neymar was lying on his side, resting on his elbow, eyes glinting up as he smirked. Cris stared at the gorgeous line of his body and took a deep breath.
He pushed him on his back again, parted his legs again. Pouring lube over his fingers, he pressed in slowly.
His cock was hard, and it was leaking. And the sensation of Neymar's tight hole clenching around his finger made him even harder, and very aware of the ache in his cock.
"More," Neymar whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.
When he was two fingers knuckle deep, he started scissoring and moving upwards slowly. He watched Neymar's face closely, marveling at his constantly changing expression, how he parted his mouth in pleasure, how he bit his lip and ran his tongue over his lip.
Cris leaned down and trailed his tongue over Neymar's face. Neymar moaned and stuck out his tongue, moving it up and down, begging for Cris's tongue. Cris licked over it in short, quick darts. Then he thrust his fingers deep into Neymar. As he cried out, Cris plunged his tongue in, muffling his moans of pleasure as he brushed his prostate.
When he finally removed his tongue from Neymar's mouth, Neymar was begging to be fucked.
"Please, please, I'm ready," he whispered.
Cris wished he had a mirror so he could see them. He sat back on the sofa and Neymar straddled him. He pressed down on Cris' cock, a little too impatiently. He moaned out loud, face grimacing in pain, but breaking out into a smile moments later as he settled on Cris' cock.
He put his hands on the back of Cris' neck and leaned down, joining foreheads.
"You feel so good inside me," he murmured.
Cris gripped him by the waist and thrust up hard.
"Oh." Neymar threw his head back and moaned.
Cris pulled him up and down his cock with increasing ease, and Neymar started to bounce lightly in his lap. Everything about him felt good, and they worked up to a steady rhythm. Cris placed both hands on Neymar's firm ass and ground him up and down.
He dipped him down a little bit, resting him on his knees, and gripped one of his thighs, pulling it up slightly and angling his thrusts a little. It was then that Neymar really cried out in unbearable pleasure, and Cris concentrated on his thrusts, slamming in mercilessly.
The exertion was making him drip with sweat and their bodies slid against each other messily, as Neymar gripped onto Cris' neck with both hands. Cris could feel his orgasm coming, so he reached a hand between them and grabbed Neymar's cock.
Now their movements were desperate and erratic, grinding and twisting together, trying to get in closer and deeper. Cris jerked Neymar off vigorously and Neymar's whimpers of pleasure drove him closer and closer to the edge. Suddenly it all overtook him and he tried to keep breathing as he came, hard and throbbing. He wasn't sure if he managed it, but he shuddered violently as his come filled Neymar up. He felt Neymar trembling in his arms, and then he was coming hotly in his hand.
"Fuck fuck fuck," Neymar murmured, drawing closer to Cris, gripping him tight.
Cris smiled to himself, taking deep breaths and leaning back. He was wrecked. Fuck.
He put his arms around Neymar and Neymar's head dropped to his chest, under his chin. They both took deep breaths until their breathing synched with each other. He could feel Neymar nuzzling under his neck.
"I..." he said, "I think I..."
Cris found it adorable, that he was trying to talk. That he was trying to make sense of this. He felt himself softening inside Neymar. With a sigh, he lifted him up easily and pulled out.
"Let me get some tissues," he said.
But Neymar stood up quickly.
"No let me," he said, bounding across the room towards the bar.
Cris watched as he walked back.
"What are you staring at?"
Neymar looked a bit flustered and self-conscious. He handed Cris some of the tissues.
"You," he said, "gorgeous you."
Neymar beamed at him and Cris felt his heart flutter wildly.
Wow.
"Come here," he said, after they'd both cleaned up. Neymar perched on his lap and Cris pulled him into his arms. He buried his head into his chest and they were both quiet for a long time. He could feel Neymar dropping soft kisses on his head once in a while.
Soon they were dressed and ready to go back to the party.
"Let's finish our drinks," Cris said, searching for ways to prolong their time together. He picked up their drinks from the table. Neymar grinned and they both sat down.
But there wasn't much to say. They grinned idiotically at each other. Neymar seemed even more open and vulnerable now. Cris wanted to say something. This wasn't quite a one-night stand but it wasn't much else either. He reached out and took Neymar's hand, holding on to his drink with the other. They loosely entwined their fingers together.
"Do you wish it was him?" Cris finally asked. It probably wasn't the best question, but that's what he came up with.
Neymar looked away briefly, and Cris cursed himself. But he was relieved to see that when Neymar turned back to face him, he was smiling.
"Don't ask me complicated questions," he said finally.
Cris nodded and took a sip of his drink. He felt a sharp tug on his hand and looked up.
"But the short answer is...no."
"I'm glad to hear that," he said, voice drying up.
Neymar smiled and squeezed his hand one last time. He stood up.
"Shall we join the rest of the world?"
*