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Cristiano doesn't particularly like these events. When he’s not playing football he’d rather be home with his son, not attending galas or dinners. He's always forced to dress up and spend hours talking to the numerous suits who all surround him and refuse to leave him alone. Not to mention that at some point, the organizers are going to parade him across the stage and ask him the most inane questions.
The only good thing is that sometimes a few of his colleagues are forced to go to the same galas. So occasionally, Cristiano is lucky enough to be able to get to spend some time with his friends, or a few of the Atleti or Barca players--just exchanging small talk or mindless chatter that doesn't have to do with anything.
It's kinda nice.
And somehow, over the years, some sort of wordless truce has been called! He likes that none of them talk about football or any of the endless problems that come along with that. Everyone knows that they get enough of that during the season (and from the suits that all want their favor). Instead, they talk about things like movies or music or travel.
Cristiano's not sure how long he's been chatting with Piqué, but it can't have been for more than a few minutes. Otherwise, they would have been interrupted by one of the officials that are currently lecturing Neymar and Marcelo over in the corner.
But in any case, Piqué is talking about his kids, talking about good places to take them where they can spend some time without paparazzi getting in their faces. He’s in the middle of some story about Shakira actually chasing down a photographer during a trip to the south of France when Cristiano gets distracted.
Because Lionel Messi is slowly walking around the room.
Now, obviously, Cristiano has seen Lionel Messi before. He's known the other man for years, and while they aren't friends, they're still fairly amicable. Cristiano’s asked after Messi’s kids, and Messi’s asked after Junior. They’ve chatted about Nike and Adidas, and Cristiano’s laughed at Messi’s dumb jokes. They’re friendly enough. They have to be--especially since, more often than not, they run into each other at these type of events.
Messi doesn't seem to see him, perhaps because Cristiano is slouching a little to hide behind Piqué's massive frame.
But Cristiano keeps watching him.
He's not sure why he's staring at Messi so intently. Or rather, he's not sure why he is suddenly noticing what a fine figure little Lionel Messi cuts in that suit.
Messi's dressed up for the event, same as him, although notably wearing something other than D&G. It's a more subtle fabric than the man usually goes for, entirely black as opposed to florals or polka dots.
But the *pants*!
Cristiano tries not to drool.
Like most football players, Messi probably has to have his clothes tailored to fit his athletic build. But those pants... they're perfectly hugging Messi's delicious curves, almost painted over Messi's thick thighs and generous ass.
Cristiano wants to touch.
He clenches his fingers into a fist, not sure what’s come over him. He finds that he can't look away, although he continues to make the appropriate noises whenever Piqué acts like he should be saying something in response to the story. Instead, Cristiano remains focused on Messi, focused on his ass, and he somehow starts to zone out.
All he can see is that trim waist, and that cushy ass--begging to be touched. And it comes closer and closer until it's finally so close that Cristiano can reach out and touch it.
So he does.
It’s almost as if he’s dreaming. As it goes by, he reaches out and pokes it. And he watches incredulously as his finger sinks into one of those plump cheeks.
And then Messi squeaks.
Cristiano freezes, suddenly realizing what he's just done. He pulls his hand back immediately, straightening as he wonders how to explain himself. Beside him, Piqué, having apparently missed what just happened, is staring at Messi with concern.
"Alright, Leo?" Piqué asks, as half the room looks over at them wondering what the commotion was all about.
Messi blushes, eyes looking around at the crowd. He clears his throat. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, his soft slurry voice so hard to hear. "I thought I saw a rat," he says, pointing toward the opposite corner.
Everyone looks at him dubiously, because obviously this is a nice place and there aren't any rats to be seen. But they turn back to their own conversations and forget Messi and his oddities. Piqué looks unconvinced and ready to press, but Messi scurries away quickly, heading for a doorway.
At the door, he hesitates and looks back at Cristiano. There's something in his gaze that Cristiano doesn't understand. Messi's blush is receding now that he's out of the public eye, but still, he stands there like he wants something.
Cristiano wonders why. For that matter, he wonders why the hell Messi didn't just expose him. Why didn't Messi tell the whole room that Cristiano had reached out and touched him inappropriately?
But Messi stays silent. His lips part as if he's about to speak, but then his eyes flick around the room as if he remembers where they are. Messi's gaze returns to Cristiano. He blinks at him one final time, and then goes through the doorway and disappears.
Cristiano doesn't see him again until later when they’re backstage together and waiting to be called up and interviewed. It should be awkward, just the two of them.
And actually, it is.
Cristiano leans against the opposite wall, eyeing Messi speculatively. He wants to ask, really wants to ask. But he knows there's some fragile peace here that he doesn't want to disturb. He doesn’t want to bring it up if Messi just wants to forget it.
However, Messi seems to grow more and more uncomfortable, shuffling his feet, looking downward as if he's afraid to meet Cristiano's eyes. He proves he’s not though. Because, finally, he looks up, turns those dark eyes on Cristiano.
Cristiano decides to try to break the ice.
But Messi sorta beats him to it. To actually speaking, that is. Messi's cheeks are a bit red, his usual blush firmly in place. Still, he raises an eyebrow. "Yes?" he asks Cristiano, trying to maintain some sort of bravado.
Cristiano smiles at him. "Why didn't you say it was me?" he asks, getting straight to it. No point in dancing around it now. He can’t lie about what he’s thinking.
Messi shrugs, looking down at his feet again. He turns redder, his hands sliding into his pockets. He’s embarrassed for some reason, and Cristiano doesn’t like that.
Cristiano pushes off the wall. He advances until he’s directly in front of Messi. As always, he towers over the other man, and Cristiano finds himself needing to tilt his head to see Messi’s face. His fingers tip up Messi’s chin. And he forces Messi to look up, suddenly really wanting to know why Messi protected him.
"Gonna poke me again?" Messi mutters before Cristiano can say anything.
"Why, Leo?" Cristiano asks, as always, amused by Messi’s attempts at humor, torn between skimming his fingers up Messi's jawline and leaving them be. After a minute, he realizes that touching Messi is what got him into this in the first place, so he drops his hand. "Why didn't you tell them what happened?"
Messi's lips turn up in a half-smile, and he flicks his eyes up to meet Cristiano's again. "It wasn’t such a big deal," he mumbles. Then his eyes darken. "But, fair is fair. I want to know. Why *did* you reach out like that?"
Cristiano bites his lip. He shrugs. "I don't know," he admits. He’d wanted to touch, but hadn’t planned anything more than that. It was a strange instinct. He looks down at Messi, suddenly aware of how close the two of them are. It’s odd being this close and not fighting over a football. It makes his stomach twist in a strange way. "I'm sorry."
Messi looks down too, his half-smile still clearly evident. "It's okay," he breathes, the flush beginning to spread down his throat. He takes a deep breath as if he’s trying to gain his courage. “But maybe," he whispers then, so softly that Cristiano has to lean in. "Maybe next time, you can do it somewhere a little less public."
Cristiano’s frozen for a long second. And then he grins, taking the smallest step forward. "Like now?" he asks, resting his hand delicately on Messi's hip. "Seems like we're pretty alone right now."
Messi laughs, turning to look at the darkened stage. "We're getting called out any minute," he protests, but he curls a hand into Cristiano's shirt.
And then he pulls him closer.