Chapter Text
"I can't fucking believe I actually forgot about it," says Gavi clearly enraged. It makes Jude look at him a little confused and even scared. Pablo was just fine couple of minutes ago. More than fine, he was as restless as ever, anticipating the final and most important — at least for Pablo — game of the weekend. So Jude really has no idea what has gotten into him all of a sudden.
"What happened?" He sees no other choice than to follow the basic 'if you want answers, ask questions' logic.
"Oh, you don't know, huh?" Ok, it's bad, Jude decides, because the sudden mood change clearly has something to do with Jude and no matter how weirdly cute his bird is when he's angry Jude still hates it when he's the cause of that anger.
"I really don't," he tries his best innocent face which is as honest as it can be considering the fact that he actually doesn't know when he has managed to mess up. Doesn't seem to help because Pablo keeps shaking his head in disbelief.
"I can't believe you had an audacity to blame me for hate watching Madrid while you and your entire team threw a whole ass hate watch party last year." Finally Gavi looks at the culprit.
Jude feels how his eyes get wide and mouth hangs open in slow motion. Oh, now he gets it. He remembers that day, one of the happiest ones in his pro career — a fact he swears to hide from Pablo forever if he wants to live. That day his team became the champions of La Liga, he became a champion of La Liga thanks to Barcelona's disasterclass against Girona. Memories of that day are still sending warm waves to his heart and he barely holds back a smile. He knows better.
"Oh, come on. It's not the same. That match made us champions, of course it deserved a special treatment," Jude says, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, hoping to melt the culer's frozen heart. He even uses his hands as an additional help, reaching them out in hopes of capturing the angry yet still beautiful boy into his comforting and even apologetic hug. "Plus you weren't even playing so I had every right to be happy at my rivals' downfall. Come here, baby."
"Don't "baby" me!" Gavi dodges the weapons Jude calls hands as long as he can — 6.5 seconds to be exact — but unfortunately, they're unfairly long and persistent and warm and strong and skillful... in short, Pablo shamelessly loves being their captive.
"You mean if I were playing you wouldn't celebrate?" He maybe allowed the madridista to wrap his hands around him, which was a bad idea because Jude now looks more confident and less guilty than seconds ago, but it's still too soon to get rid of the frowny face and the stern voice. The only weapons he is left with.
Jude looks at him for a long second before answering calmly. "Listen, it was my first ever major trophy. I don't wanna lie to you, yes I would."
He sees how Gavi's frown is slowly leaving the beautiful face, giving up its place to understanding because first things first, Pablo Gavi is a professional football player, a competitive one at that, and he knows how mindblowing the unmatched feeling of winning can be.
"But then I would feel like shit the moment cameras would show your sad face," Jude continues, meaning every word that left his mouth. Because, yeah, winning is good but never as good to overshadow the disgusting feeling he's having whenever the person he loves is upset.
Gavi doesn't look at him but Jude can see the small smile blooming on his lips and for a moment, he can't decide if wants to keep staring at it or kissing it. So he chooses to aim Pablo's now rosy cheek which only widens the culer's pretty smile.
"Ok, fine, I forgive you," says Pablo, still feeling a bit shy, clearly indicating that Jude can stop showering him with kisses probably because the match has already started. The thing is Jude could care less about a match that's nowhere near as important as the one they were watching last season and not even remotely close being as entertaining for him to stop. Not that he wants to watch it to measure its entertainment level. It simply can't be.
"Jude..." Gavi whines as Jude's lips and tongue slide down to find his neck. "Please, I want to watch..."
Jude hums at that inbetween the kisses that get hungrier with each second. Sudden realization that Pablo is going back to Barcelona tomorrow doesn't help at all either.
"Wha—" Gavi exclaims at the quick change of their positions. He doesn't even realize what happens in next couple of seconds and how he ends up sitting on Jude's lap with legs crossed around his waist, facing the TV while Jude has his back against it, clearly uninterested in giving attention to anything or anyone except for the boy in his arms. Normal Jude is fast and strong, horny Jude is even faster and stronger. Maybe that's why he always overperforms in Clasicos.
***
The score is already 0-2, Barça, his precious Barça is winning but Gavi can't find in himself a strenght to look at the screen. Why? The answer is pretty simple. He's embarrassed. Looking at his teammates, especially at the kid that has scored a brace, even if it's through the tv screen and they can't see him, while a certain madridista has him naked, whining and sweating on his lap, is nothing less but embarrassing.
Pablo tried, honestly. He tried really hard for whole 11 minutes to focus on the match but the wetness and warmth of Jude's tongue on his chest, teasing his nipples one by one, made the task almost impossible. The firm grip of Jude's hands on his ass, kneading the bare cheeks made it straight up impossible. Jude's long fingers moving in and out of him, stretching him from inside, preparing him for his cock, never, not even once missing the chance to hit and mercilessly press on his prostate — beyond impossible.
"What's the score?" Jude whispers the question to his neck, gathering the drops of sweat with his tongue. The head of his cock is already nudging Gavi's hole with only one intention of making Pablo forget about anything else but Jude.
"We—We're win...ngh...ing."
"I asked what's the score."
Jude doesn't wait for an answer as he sharply pushes his cock into the needy, well prepared and yet still somehow perfectly tight heat of Pablo's hole.
"I—It's 2-0," the culer exclaims loud and wrong. Olmo has made it 3 already but Gavi has completely lost the track of the match. Soon he stops caring about it whatsoever.
Who can blame him when Jude has him almost bouncing on his cock, so deliciously stretched around it? He feels so fucking full. Fingers pleasuring him minutes ago now feel so innocent, so not enough in comparison with the hard shaft that keeps pounding into him relentlessly.
This is not how Pablo had planned to spent this particular 2 hours of the day. And only God knows how hard he tries to feel upset about the sudden change of plans but he can't lie neither to himself nor Jude. His moans are too loud and telling to even try. Something clearly has gotten into Jude. Gavi can sense it. It's hard not to. He's too desperate, too hungry.
"Don't want you to leave," Jude lets out a feverish whisper, tightening his grip around Pablo's waist and that's probably the only sentence Pablo's mind manages to comprehend. He simply whimpers at that. He doesn't want to leave either.
He cups Jude's face with his trembling hands, finding his lover's lips with his own, hoping that the kiss will convey everything he feels at this moment — too much to say out loud, too sincere and vulnerable for someone like him to use words.
***
"You look satisfied," says Jude before smooching Pablo's ruffled hair. Too soon to sleep but they're already under the sheets, naked and exhausted.
"Because I am." Pablo looks up at him with a big, happy smile. "We won and I just had the best sex of my life."
Oh, wow. Pablo is probably way too euphoric to realize the power of those words. They have 99.9% chance to make Jude hard again. And once again Jude is having these sappy thoughts of them being a perfect couple: for one it's hard to give such generous compliments because of how prideful he is — he must be really impressed, the other is a sucker for praise and to get it from a person like Gavi can make Jude cum on the spot. Because it's not just any praise, it means he's actually that good.
"Fuck. You're still here but I already miss you. I meant it when I said don't want you to leave."
The last thing Jude wanted was replacing the good mood with the unavoidable reality of Pablo's leaving but he can't help it.
"I know. I don't want to either." Pablo gently kisses Jude's chest before continuing. "But I also don't want to think about it now, so you better turn on the highlights of the absolutely perfect match I missed because of your horny ass," he says not so gently anymore.
"Ok, fine, Gosh." Jude rolls his eyes. "Once in a while won against washed Girona and now I won't hear the end of it," he grumbles but clicks on the highlight video anyway.