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It's a little chaotic after the game.
Even after they're all showered and dressed, outside in the hallway they're still giddy about their success. "Hey, have you met this guy?" Marcelo asks, talking to Sergio and wrapping an arm around Cristiano's shoulders. "He only scores against small teams!"
Cristiano grins, unable to hold back his happiness.
There's singing going on behind them, some familiar, some unintelligible--words slurring together from excitement and exhaustion. Cristiano can't blame them. Because no matter the result, they worked hard. They mentally and physically gave their all. And today, it was good enough. They beat their rivals--one of the best teams in the world. And maybe it wasn't as important a game for culés, undoubtedly that's what Barcelona will say, Cristiano knows, but for Real Madrid, a win was a necessity.
Luka squeezes by their group, a hand waving toward the end of the hallway where Ivan Rakitić is waiting. The two have only just reached each other when Barcelona players begin spilling out from behind them.
Gerard Piqué struts in first, head held high and a smile on his face. Marc Bartra is shyly tagging along only a few steps behind them. "Can you imagine if we won again with me scoring?" Gerard says, coming up to Cristiano. "I never would have let you forget it," he says pointing at Sergio. "And I think Iker would have never forgiven you."
Sergio shrugs, crossing his arms. "Well you didn't win," he says pointedly. "We kicked your asses."
Gerard snorts. "You were lucky," he says, poking Sergio in the chest. He looks like he's going to say more, but then shakes his head and seemingly changes his mind. "Congratulations. Until next time." He pats Sergio on the cheek and then quickly tries to mess up his hair, ducking away as Sergio's fists come flying. "Hurry, Marc," he shouts, grabbing Marc's hand and dragging him away, laughing maniacally as they make their escape.
Marc looks back over his shoulder helplessly, raising his hand apologetically as he's pulled away by a madman.
Sergio smooths down his fringe. "I hate him so much," he mutters, fingers coming through his hair and trying to fix the damage.
Marcelo hides a smile in Cristiano's shoulder. "No, you don't," he says quietly.
Sergio frowns and sighs. "No, I don't," he repeats, meeting Cristiano's eyes.
And Cristiano understands. Because he doesn't hate Gerard Piqué either. He dislikes him sometimes, sure. Gets irritated with some of the things he says during interviews, yes. Hates playing against him, absolutely. But that's all normal with their rivalry. It doesn't mean he hates anyone who plays for Barcelona.
Just then Dani Alves appears.
Cristiano rolls his eyes so hard that they almost get stuck in the back of his head. Marcelo notices and elbows him. "Be nice," Marcelo hisses, leaving him to go talk to Alves. Cristiano arches an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.
"You wanna go ahead to the bus?" Sergio asks, as the two of them survey the teams mingling. He smiles a little as Andrés Iniesta, in the midst of a conversation with Isco and Jordi Alba, looks their way and waves.
Cristiano shakes his head.
Because he's waiting for someone.
Sergio nods, understanding immediately.
It's not like it's a secret. Not anymore, that is.
So as Sergio wanders off to talk to young Sergi Roberto and Aleix Vidal, along with a few other of his national team teammates, Cristiano sits down in one of the chairs lined along the hallway. He could talk to Gareth or Pepe or James, who are clustered over a few chairs down, but he doesn't really feel like it.
Marcelo and Alves are joined by Danilo and Rafinha, their babbling and laughter getting louder and turning some heads. They seem to forget where they are, dancing and jumping as Alves pulls out some music.
But nobody really cares, and all they receive are smiles, now that the game is over and they can all be friends again.
Or, more than friends... as the case may be for some.
And that very thought makes Cristiano starts to tap his foot on the floor. He can't wait. Really can't wait. He hates waiting--he's never been good at hiding it either. But maybe it's a good thing that he has to today. Because he's twitchy, body thrumming, feeling revved up from the victory.
And he knows he's going to have to tone it down in a minute.
The Brazilians shout out greetings as Neymar comes around the corner. He's got huge headphones around his neck and is wearing a hat and glasses as if he expected to be accosted by the press instantly. He smiles, looking worn and somehow older than his 24 years, holding up a finger towards his countrymen and then walking over to Cristiano.
Cristiano can't imagine why, but he holds his tongue and waits for Neymar to speak.
They're not friends. Though, they're certainly friendlier than they were a year ago.
Neymar stares at him, eyes trailing from his hair down to his shoes, blinking slowly and shifting his weight. "So, he's," Neymar starts, voice hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. "He's not going to come out here." He takes off his hat and rakes his fingers though his hair, seeming uncomfortable.
Cristiano looks up at him, his happiness disappearing, feeling a twinge of hurt in his chest. "Not even to say goodbye?" he asks, keeping his voice level.
Neymar shakes his head, replacing his hat.
Cristiano drums his fingers on his armrest, his hurt starting to twist into anger. "Well then," he says, "you can go back and tell him that he's being a complete baby and--"
Neymar cuts him off. "No, you idiot," he growls, eyeing the ceiling and muttering something unintelligible. He takes a deep breath and then squats down until he's right in front of Cristiano. "He's hurting and doesn't want everybody to know and make a fuss. I came to get you," he says quietly, looking both concerned and angry at the same time.
Cristiano feels his anger evaporate. He pulls Neymar to his feet. "How hurt?" he asks, louder than he means to, mind whirling, trying to remember any rough tackles or heavy falls. Nothing really comes to mind, but that doesn't mean anything. He had been focused on his own game.
Neymar shakes him off. "Shhh," he hisses, irritated. "Just follow me." He walks off back the way he came, a ridiculous swagger in his stride. Those blocking his path part like the Red Sea, perhaps sensing Neymar's not in the mood to be troubled with.
Any other time, Cristiano might have made a snide comment. But right now he has more important things on his mind. So he follows, ignoring the looks he gets from both his teammates and Neymar's. The chatter and music from the hallway fades as they go around the corner and into the lockerroom.
Neymar keeps muttering to himself as they walk, and Cristiano starts to wonder what the fuck is wrong with him, but then they come to a group of figures huddled together and the thought flies out of his head as he finally sets eyes on Leo.
Cristiano frowns, unable to hold back his worry.
Because Leo doesn't look up. He's facedown, arms over his head, body stretched out along a padded bench.
And he's clearly in pain.
Javier Mascherano is standing and leaning against the wall next to him, arms crossed menacingly, looking like he wants to hit something. Luis Suárez, however, looks calmer. He's sitting on a chair by Leo's side. And as Cristiano gets closer, he can see that Leo's shirt is pushed up, and Suárez's hand is resting on Leo's bare lower back.
Before Cristiano can really process that, Neymar coughs and turns to face him. "He said he was fine during the game, but as soon as he got dressed he almost passed out." Behind him, Leo lets out a small moan, but still doesn't look up. "Fucking kidneys again," Neymar says, sounding upset.
Suárez looks up at the sound of Neymar's voice and tilts his head to draw Cristiano over. He keeps his hand on Leo's back until they're closer. "Take my seat," Suárez says quietly, getting up and maneuvering Cristiano into his chair. Then he takes Cristiano's right hand and places it onto Leo's back again. "Keep it flat, like this," Suárez says, "and push a little."
Cristiano obeys, not understanding.
"The heat and the pressure help," Mascherano says wearily. "He took some painkillers, but they take a while to kick in." He looks down at Cristiano's hand. "And for some reason we can't find a goddamn heating pad."
Suárez walks over and hugs Mascherano. "Go home, Masche. You can't do anything more tonight. And he'll be alright in a bit." He whispers something else into Mascherano's ear that Cristiano can't hear, but whatever it is makes Mascherano sag and nod.
Mascherano smiles weakly. "I'll be off then," he says, tipping his chin at Cristiano. "Ney, you should come with me. The others are probably waiting on you." When Neymar looks like he's going to protest, Mascherano grows firm. "Luis will stay," he says, arching an eyebrow and giving Neymar a pointed look.
Cristiano should feel insulted, but really he just feels tired. He thought they'd been though this. "You don't trust me with him?" he asks. It comes out more like a statement than a question. "You should, you know. I would never do anything to hurt him." He stares at first Mascherano, then Suárez, and then Neymar. "Never," he repeats, his hand still carefully spread against Leo's back, desperately wanting to take away the pain.
Mascherano purses his lips, but ducks his head as if he believes Cristiano. Neymar, on the other hand, huffs. He turns and walks out without another word. For a moment it's quiet, with Cristiano silently biting back something he might end up regretting. He holds it in though, remembering that these are Leo's closest friends.
Mascherano just sighs and follows Neymar, clapping Suárez on the shoulder as he goes.
Once they're left alone, Suárez pulls up another chair next to Cristiano's. "It's not about not trusting you," he says, shutting his eyes and leaning back. "We know you're serious. And we trust you with Leo. It took awhile for us to see, but we do now... Even Ney thinks you two work. He's just upset. He doesn't know how to help, and it frustrates him." He opens his eyes and stares where Leo's hands are clenched into fists. "He hates seeing Leo like this. We all do."
Cristiano knows the feeling. "I thought," he starts, licking his lips. "I thought after Leo had the lithotripsy that this wouldn't be happening anymore." He can't hide his frown at how pitiful Leo looks, stretched out on the bench, shaking in pain. "I thought we were finished with this."
Suárez shrugs, crossing his arms. "Doesn't always work," he grunts. "Like a 50-75% chance it will, good odds, but it's not a guarantee. Might even have to have the procedure again. It's tricky." He looks at Cristiano like he wants to say more, but in the end shakes his head.
Leo chooses that moment to shift underneath Cristiano's hand. He turns slightly, no longer hiding his face. His dark eyes appear as he moves onto his side. "Hey," he says softly, looking pale. He winces and bites his lip. "Can you keep your hand there a little longer?" he asks. He reaches out and links his fingers with Cristiano's other hand. "It helps."
Cristiano smiles. "Of course," he says, leaning down to greet Leo properly. Suárez makes a little noise of disgust, but it doesn't stop Cristiano from pressing his lips against Leo's. "This isn't what I had in mind," Cristiano says, pulling back, "when I said I'd see you after the game."
Leo sighs. "We bet a back rub, didn't we?" he asks, lashes fluttering against his cheek. "Seems to me that this is exactly what I expected." His eyes look pained, but there's a glimmer of mirth hidden in them.
Cristiano grins, leaning into to kiss Leo again. This time he swipes his tongue against Leo's pretty, pink lips, delving inside to taste his sweetness. Leo opens eagerly, breathing hard as the kiss ends. "Yes, sweetheart," Cristiano murmurs, happily eyeing the flush spreading across Leo's cheeks. "But have you forgotten so quickly? I won. So you owe me that back rub. Not the other way around."
Suárez coughs. "Well, on that note... I'm going to wait outside. Leo, let me know when you're ready." He winks at Cristiano and then strolls out, leaving them alone.
"What's he waiting for ?" Cristiano asks, unlinking their fingers so he can comb some of Leo's hair away from his eyes. "He can go. I'll take care of you."
Leo sighs, arching at Cristiano's touch. "Oh, you're going to take me with you on the team bus?" he jokes, before shaking his head. "We carpooled." Then he grimaces, shutting his eyes. "I was going to have him drop me off at your hotel. And I'm sorry, but he should just take me home. I'm not going to be up for much tonight." His eyes slit open and he peers up at Cristiano. "Rain check on that back rub?"
"I'll take the rain check," Cristiano says, sliding his hand down to smooth a thumb over Leo's cheek. "But I still want to spend the night with you. It's been too long since I've seen you." He meets Leo's weary eyes and gives his best smile. "Please, Leo? *I* make an excellent heating pad, you know."
Leo smiles in response. "You're excellent at everything," he says fondly.
Cristiano laughs. "Go on, feed my ego," he says, bending down to kiss Leo lightly. "You know I love to hear compliments about myself." He rubs his nose against Leo's and then skims his lips over Leo's cheek. "Tell me more," he orders, kissing the soft skin beneath Leo's ear. "Tell me how amazing my goal was tonight."
Leo laughs, threading his fingers into Cristiano's hair and tugging him up. "I guess you had an okay game," he admits, pulling gently before letting go. "I didn't, of course." He sighs, shifting against the bench. "And before you say anything, I felt fine during the game, so I can't even blame it on this."
Cristiano shrugs. "So you had an off game. It happens. Doesn't take away from how good you are," he says honestly. He chews on his lip, thinking. "Champions league this week. You ready?"
Leo rolls his eyes. "As ready as I can be. How about you?"
Cristiano smiles. "It'll be tough. It always is. We've been having rotten luck lately. Aside from today, that is."
Leo shakes his head. "Yes, yes," he says. "You won, I know, I was there." He stares at Cristiano for a moment and then wiggles his hips experimentally. "Help me up? It's bearable now." He starts moving before Cristiano has time to protest.
Cristiano's quick to adjust, though, murmuring "Careful," and standing and taking Leo's hand as he moves to a sitting position on the bench. "Don't be mad," he says, standing between Leo's spread legs. "You know how important this game was for us. I want to enjoy my victory." He cups Leo's face and presses their foreheads together. "Be happy for me?"
"I'm always happy for you," Leo says, breath brushing against Cristiano face. "I shouldn't be, but even when you beat me, I'm happy for you." He curls his hands into Cristiano's shirt and pulls back to look at him. "I'm a little mad at myself... But not at you. Never at you."
Cristiano closes his eyes in relief. "And will you come to me, tonight?" He slides his hand down Leo's back, gently, careful not put any pressure on his kidneys, and holds the smaller man close. "That can be my prize for winning, hmm? Falling asleep with you in my arms...?"
He trails off, a little embarrassed at how much he wants that.
Leo snuggles into his embrace. "Alright then," he says, sounding flattered. "Don't forget," he says, tucking his head underneath Cristiano's chin. "You promised to be my heating pad." He shivers a little and presses his lips to Cristiano's throat. "I'm looking forward to it."
And as Cristiano presses Leo against his body, his mind wanders back to the last time he faced Leo and Barcelona at Camp Nou. The game might not have gone Real Madrid's way.
But the night had ended the same.
With Leo and Cristiano, together.