Work Text:
Kun
Leo trudged back into their hotel room an hour after the Croatia loss, hunched over and nervously tousling his sweat-soaked brown hair. His training bag slipped from his grip, forgotten.
“Oh Leo,” Kun cooed. Messi looked so tired, so worn out, and all Kun wanted to do was hold him. “You need to rest, Capi,” he whispered softly. His captain merely shook his head. Truthfully, he didn’t have to say anything for Kun to know that he couldn’t. He’d hardly slept their entire time in Russia. Leo swayed slowly on his feet, his body so exhausted it could barely hold him upright.
“You’re so tired, Leo. Please, just try. Try for me?” Kun continued, keeping his voice low. But Leo might as well have been back on the pitch, ghosts swirling around his blank gaze. Kun forced himself to sustain little cracks to his heart as he held that empty stare. “Come here,” Kun insisted gently. In response, Messi stumbled towards him, and caught him, pulling him into his arms. “There you go,” Kun soothed. His hand instinctively cupped the back of Leo’s neck, guiding his head onto his shoulder.
Leo didn’t cry. He never did, even when he had every reason to. And he had every reason to, given the fact that every journalist had assigned the blame for Argentina’s poor performance to him. Instead of giving them something to write about though, he simply retreated further into himself, studying the world through soulless eyes, as if in disbelief. Kun had no doubt he was reacting with the same conditioned numbness now. He began to massage Leo’s back, alternating between rubs and soft pats, until he felt his friend slowly melt into the hug. With his other hand, Kun began to rub the sore muscles in his neck, just gently, to help calm him down. It wasn’t long before his fingers grazed sizable knots, and Leo would tense immediately. After a few long strokes, he could identify three different ones in his neck alone.
“Leo,” he gasped. The words slipped out without Kun’s permission. He knew his captain was more than capable of handling himself, but clutching a tangible reminder of the weight he was carrying for Argentina only made Kun want to protect him more. So he continued to rub Leo’s neck, fingertips just grazing the knots at first. Over time, once Kun knew Leo was slightly less tense, he would massage around them, working his way in slowly. From time to time Leo would whimper softly into Kun’s neck, the only audible reminder he was still there. Each time, Kun would shush him, fingers drifting away from the tensed bundle of muscle only to return again moments later.
Whenever Kun successfully uncoiled a knot, Leo would sigh just a little, warm breath tickling his friend’s shoulder. Eventually, Kun had smoothed them all out, but even still, he continued to absentmindedly rub Leo’s neck. His captain was breathing slowly and deeply now, and Kun was beginning to suspect that he was finally falling asleep.
He leaned down, so his lips just barely grazed Messi’s ear. “Te quiero mucho, Pa,” he whispered. Leo shivered, mumbling inaudibly. He turned his head then, resting his ear over Kun’s heart. And Kun continued to hold Leo until he went completely pliant in his arms, a contented smile sitting on his chapped, teeth-chewed lips.
“Sleep well, Pa,” he murmured as he guided Leo’s head to a soft pillow, draping the sheets over his limp body, over Argentina’s crest, the symbol that was always close to his heart.
Leo
He hadn’t even realized it, but his feet had carried him to Kun, into his outstretched arms. And Kun was warm, always so warm. The first touch Leo felt was Kun shifting his grip so that he was cradling his head.
For someone who was so passionate, so aggressive on the pitch, Kun had always been so gentle with him. He treated Leo in a way that almost mimicked reverence, though he never let it go that far.
Now Kun was taking care of him, like he always did. Leo sighed, beginning to feel safe, melting into Kun’s strong arms, into the hands that cupped his neck and rubbed his back. He’s got me , Messi thought to himself. It’s alright. He was far away from the accusatory words of the press here, the too-bright camera flashes that burned his vision for hours afterwards. This, this was the only space that was all their own.
Once Kun noticed that Leo had calmed down considerably, he shifted his focus to his neck, rubbing and pressing into the knots there. There was something about the attention Kun was paying to each little muscle in his neck that made him unbelievably sleepy. He’d never felt so loved, so cared for. So comfortable.
Every once in a while, Kun would press on a particularly painful knot, and Leo would moan, ever so softly. Kun would lean forward then to whisper in his ear.
“Does that hurt?” he would ask, his voice laced with concern. And Leo would nod into his shoulder. And just like that, Kun’s fingers would drift until when they pressed down again, Leo no longer felt pain.
It was then that he realized how intimate their position was. Everything, down to the way Kun was holding him, was something lovers would do. He blushed a little bit, but he didn’t move. Leo wasn’t about to give up the first taste of safety he’d had since the start of this horrible World Cup.
Before he knew it, Kun had smoothed out all the knots in his neck. Yet Leo could still feel the pads of Kun’s fingers running up and down the sides gently, lovingly. His heart hiccuped in his chest at the phantom sensation.
Overwhelmed with affection and the intimacy of the situation, Leo twisted into Kun’s chest, laying his ear right over Kun’s heart and letting his friend’s steady heartbeat lull him to sleep. He stopped resisting the gentle tug of his own exhaustion then, finally letting himself drift off in the safety of Kun’s arms.