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Pablo hates him.
Okay, well, maybe we don't wanna use the term "hate" here; that seems a little too... juvenile, for his taste.
But Pablo does despise him, that's a better term at least, right? He despises everything about Vinicius Junior.
He despises his bizarre smile; the way that he smiles, perfectly white, straight teeth in full display, blinding anyone in its eyesight.
He despises his stupid eyes; the way he could settle his gaze on you, staring at you with dark, doe-like eyes, making it easy for you to skip a beat and be sucked into them.
He despises his absurd arms; the way that he could just turn around and grab you, encircling you in his strong, toned arms after a pretty bad challenge as a way to apologize for it.
He despises his ridiculous hands; the way they'll go to your hair while he's hugging you, roughing it up. Or even when they make their way to your waist, the touch all-but burning you, making your back arch so they could fit perfectly on you.
And don't even get Pablo started on his dumb, dumb laugh; the way it sounds next to your ear while he's leaning back, a mix of breathlessness thrown in there from all the running, laughing at what you said even though you had just finished insulting him. Like fuck, I want you to do something other than laugh, damn it!
Whatever. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter.
He despises it all. Pablo despises Vinicius, there's nothing more about it.
And yet, he can't stop thinking about his stupid face now, can he?
It's t-minus four days until the next El Clásico, and Xavi has them all working overtime these last couple of days. They learned very quickly after the first two El Clássico's under Xavi's management what he wants from them when it comes to one of the most iconic matches in the footballing world.
Pablo feels like he's on the verge of collapsing right here on this grass, panting and hands on his knees holding him up from the 5-mile run their coach made them take to warm up today. I mean, five miles has gotta be borderline torture, right? There's no way this could be allowed. I know it's an El Clásico, but come on now.
"Man, how I dread the days leading up to a Clásico," Pedro groans, dramatically collapsing on the grass next to Pablo, limbs sprawled across the soft surface.
Pablo looks over at him, giggling at the sight of his best friend. "You better get up before Xavi sees you like that. I'm not running another mile because of you."
Pedro glares over at him but sighs, sitting up and leaning backward, arms holding him up.
They both stay in silence for a minute, watching the last few of their teammates finish running their warm-up for the day.
"Pennies for your guys' thoughts?" Pablo turns his head to watch Ansu and Ferran walk up to them, the former with a look on his face that says, well?
"Just thinking how we're gonna take home another Clásico win in a few days," Pedro smirks, tilting his head back.
"Amen to that," Ferran nods, roughing up Pablo's hair.
"Keep talking like that and you'll jinx us," Pablo says, softly swatting Ferran's hand away, silently scolding him for touching his hair.
"Ah, my lovely Pablo," Ferran wraps his arm around Pablo's shoulder this time. "No such thing as jinxing if we're just that good."
Pedro whoops and Ansu laughs, silently nodding his head and agreeing with the man.
Pablo rolls his eyes, quietly muttering if we lose, it's on you before Xavi's booming voice could be heard telling all players to meet at the field.
Ansu grabs Pedro's hands and drags him up, patting him on the back as he does.
"Another day, another ass to beat," Pedro says, breaking out into a sprint. "Catch ya there, Gavi!"
"Hey!" The younger yelled out, running after his best friend.
What an asshole, that guy.
__
Gavi hates El Clásicos.
Okay, well again, not truly hate.
Obviously, El Clásico, in Gavi's opinion, is one of the best matches you could win as a Barcelona player; I mean, nothing better than playing your biggest rival, especially when you're at the Santiago Bernabéu. Beating Real Madrid? Great. Beating them on their home turf? Even better, in Gavi's books.
But, fuck, is it a problem. An aggressive team and the whole stadium against you? Yeah, it's rough.
They're nearing the thirty-minute mark of the match, and neither team has managed to make anything of it. Both sides have had a chance, Raphinha with his header that was saved by Courtois and Benzema's out-of-the-box try that, thankfully, flew over the net. But nobody has yet to put something in the back of the net, and the atmosphere in the stadium is starting to show it.
The crowd is starting to get a little rowdy, wanting to see something from their team, and both sides of the pitch are starting to get a little bit more physical with the other.
Barcelona has a chance now, though, with Ferran's attempt on target being saved by Courtois which resulted in a corner. Gavi gets in position with everyone else, standing on his toes, trying to look in between players to see the corner that's about to be taken by Lewandowski.
Gavi can hear a soft chuckle next to him, and he turns to see the man haunting his mind looking down at him, an amused expression plastered all over his face.
"What?" Gavi squints his eyes at the Brazilian who just shakes his head before turning back to look at the ball. Gavi rolls his eyes, looking back at the number 9.
The whistle blows and Lewandowski kicks the ball, Gavi watching it get closer to the center. Everyone around him jumps to try and touch the ball, but it's ultimately Rodrygo that gets there first, deviating the ball which makes its way to Modrić's feet.
Gavi stumbles when his feet hit the ground, and he could hear another chuckle coming from next to him.
"What?!" He snaps this time, turning to throw a glare at Vini.
"Nothing, just," Vini pauses for a second before throwing him a lazy smirk. "Be careful next time, pequeno."
Gavi watches him run off before he could say anything, following the ball's trajectory.
Oh, how he despises him.
__
The game ended 1-1, which... well, it could have definitely been worse, so he's not complaining, but Pablo did wish they could have come out with the win. They had the lead for a little when Lewandowski landed a beautiful ball to the back of the net, but Real quickly equalized with, of course, Vini's shot just ten minutes later. There were a few more chances after that, but nothing stuck.
Nevertheless, he was finishing up in the locker room that had long been cleared out, freshly showered and wrapped in cozy sweats and a hoodie, packing the rest of his bag before he was ready to head off, Pedro waiting for him in his car.
Pablo's walking out of the locker room, phone in hand, making his way out of the now-quiet stadium, before a voice called out to him.
"Hey!" Pablo heard behind him. He furrowed his eyebrows, turning around to see who called out for him.
"Hey?" Pablo questions, watching Vini make his way over to him. He, too, has showered and changed into more comfortable clothing.
And his earrings are back on. Fuck, those earrings.
"Just wanted to say good game today," the taller man says, grinning before stopping in front of the younger boy.
"Yes," Pablo slowly nods, blinking at him. "You, too."
They stay like that for a minute, awkward silence spreading over them while they try to avoid directly looking at each other at the same time. Why did he stop me?
"Good goal, by the way," Pablo breaks the silence, giving the older a tight-lipped smile. "It was creative, even if it tied the game."
Vini chuckles, burrowing his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I was trying to go for two. Didn't really work out though, huh?"
Pablo rolls his eyes but lets a soft smile rest on his lips. "Yeah, thank fuck it didn't. I didn't need to put up with your cockiness online if that did happen."
"Cockiness, wow," Vinicius repeats, dragging out the "o" for dramatic effect. "Cockiness is actually insane. Where did you get that one from, pequeno? Because I think you're looking in all the wrong places."
Pablo scoffs, lightly hitting Vinicius's shoulder with his free hand. "You and I both know that you can get very cocky. Also, pequeno? Really? I'll have you know that I could still tackle you to the ground in a second, no problem whatsoever."
The Brazilian snorts, the smile on his face just getting wider the longer this conversation continues. "Now that is the most absurd thing I've heard come out of your mouth. You're pocket-sized, I can have you in one arm."
Pablo glares at him. "Fuck you," he spats out, standing on his toes to try and get closer to the older man.
Vini just smirks, looking down at the boy. "Oh? Look at you, Gavi, all on your tippy toes and still can't reach me."
Pablo wants to say something, wants to defend his name. But as he was going to, his long-forgotten phone rings off a notification and he snaps out of it, looking down to see what it was.
Pedro
You get lost or something in there?
"Yeah, you should be getting home," Vini says, and Pablo can still hear the small smirk in his voice. "Otherwise, you're gonna miss your bedtime."
"Bite me," Pablo snaps back at him, and Vini's laugh floats around the hallway.
Pablo watches as the man begins to walk backward, winking at him before turning around and making his way back to what Pablo assumes to be his locker room.
"Goodbye, pequeno," is the last thing the Brazilian tells him before Pablo watches him turn a corner.
Pablo lets out a frustrated groan, trying to shake off the feeling Vini provided him. Only he can get me riled up like this.
Pablo realizes that he hasn't replied to his best friend, so he unlocks his phone, firing off a quick, I'm coming, text to Pedro, before looking at the direction his rival went off to for a minute and ultimately turning to exit the stadium.
He needs to sleep this off; he needs to sleep Vini off.
__
He shouldn't try to rile up the boy, Vini realizes. But, come on, how could you not?
Pablo Gavi is a five-foot-something angry bird that snaps at every little thing and throws a tantrum over every little inconvenience. It's so easy, too easy, to rile up the boy; that's why Vini tries to do it every chance he gets whenever he's around him.
And, okay, maybe the way that Pablo's eyebrows scrunch up and his eyes narrow, a soft little pout forming on his face every time something doesn't go his way doesn't help the Brazilian out in any way. He loves seeing the way Pablo's face can contort because of him.
He's starting to think he's a little too addicted to it.
Sometimes, Vini catches himself thinking about the younger boy, thinking about how he might be around his loved ones. Is he like this with everyone? You light the wrong fuse, regardless of who you are, and he blows up at you? Is it only reserved for rivals? And, very selfishly, Does he reserve it only for me?
Vini knows that Pablo doesn't care about him enough to only want to blow up at him. He sees it every time in the way Pablo plays, for both club and country.
Mostly always being the youngest on the team, it's easy for the Spaniard to get caught up in some kind of drama with an older player on the pitch, usually, because they're taunting him or trying to provoke him because they know the boy is still young, naive, and with a short fuse.
But Vini doesn't make fun of him for his age, that would be very hypocritical if someone were to ask him. He's only a handful of years older than him, and he was also in his position not that long ago. He can empathize with Pablo when it comes to that.
But the way the boy gets with him, all riled up and antsy, is completely different than when he sees him going at it with other players, even players from his own team, he thinks.
I mean, Vini doesn't think that Pablo has straight up gone to someone, chest-to-chest against them, just to whisper in their ear that they're a son of a bitch, so...
So, is he really that far off for believing a deluded narrative?
__
The next time the two boys see each other, it's actually for a promotional deal with Nike... well, Pablo is there to promote, while Vini has to go into a meeting with his lawyers to try and break this damn contract with the company once and for all.
Vini is sitting down in a waiting room area, elbows to his knees, staring down at the floor, and eating a granola bar out of a vending machine, waiting for his lawyers to finish up with whatever heated argument they've been in for the last twenty minutes with the Nike lawyers. He had already said his peace an hour ago, getting kicked out of the room by his team so they could get the rest situated themselves.
He chose to wait for them though because, well, that's probably the most respectful thing you could do. He also wanted to know if they would have to do this again in two weeks' time.
That was when he heard the soft scraping of metal on the floor, the relaxing sound of cleats hitting a laminated floor, getting closer to him. He chewed and swallowed the rest of his granola bar, looking up with the full intention of greeting whatever player is there (because after a decade of a Nike sponsorship, he knows that that player has probably been in this building for the entire morning getting promotional shots), but his breath hitched once his eyes landed upon him.
Pablo enters the waiting area and walks straight over to the table with the bottles of water, completely oblivious to the fact his rival is sitting behind him.
Vini watches him for a moment in silence, watching the way the boy is doing his routine in peaceful silence.
It sucks knowing he's about to break that peace.
"Hey," he softly says in the quiet room, and he watches as Pablo nearly chokes on the water he was drinking, turning around wide-eyed. He swallows the rest of his water, frowning over at the man sitting down.
"You scared me," Pablo whines. "You almost made me choke on water."
"M'sorry didn't mean to, Pablo," Vini gives the boy a small smile.
The Spaniard warily watches him, eyebrows downturned. After a moment, he makes his way over to the taller man, sitting down on the open chair next to him.
"What's wrong?" Pablo asks him, playing with the water bottle in his hands. "You're not your usual loud self."
Vini just shakes his head, throwing a glance at the boy. "Nothing's wrong; just waiting to end this deal is all."
Pablo's eyebrows furrow again. God, what a view. "You're still waiting? Hasn't this been going on for months now?"
Vini leans back on his chair, hands gripping the handles of the chair and throwing a lazy smirk at the boy. "How do you know about that? Keeping tabs on me, pequeno?"
Pablo just rolls his eyes, but the soft pink that rises on his cheeks doesn't go unnoticed by Vini. "First of all, for the millionth time, stop calling me that. Second of all... I was bored one day watching the news and it happened to be a story and I chose to research it because I found it interesting... that's all."
Vini laughs, eyes scrunching. He watches the way Pablo's lips turn into a pout, and Vini has to look away for a moment before he does something he might regret later on... like trying to wipe that pout off of his face with his lips.
He looks back at the boy, who was now looking down at the floor.
"You're cute when you ramble, you know?" Vini says, and Pablo looks back up at him, eyes widened just a little.
"Shut up," he heard Pablo grumble, and Vini laughs again.
The silence consumes them after that, and Vinicius is a little worried he might have made the Spaniard uncomfortable. So, in order to break the silence...
"How long have you even been here, anyway?" He asks him.
"Um... I think I got here around eight if I remember correctly," the boy tells him, and Vini takes his phone out of his pocket, checking the time.
"Fucking hell, Pablo, it's almost one-thirty," Vini watches Pablo shrug, taking another sip of his abandoned water. "Have you even eaten?"
Pablo just shakes his head.
"Okay, no, we gotta fix that," Vini starts, pulling out his phone to start looking at good places they could eat close to them. "Do you know when you're done today?"
"I think they said something about one last shoot before they're done, and these shoots don't take that long, so I wanna say maybe... twenty more minutes?"
Vini looks up at him, smiling. "Great. I'll wait for you here."
Pablo squints his eyes toward him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm going to be waiting here for you, and when you're done in twenty minutes we're going to go eat some good burgers," Vini says, watching Pablo's face. "My treat."
Pablos just shakes his head. "I can't have you doing that, Vini."
"Why not?"
"Because!" Pablo throws his arms up in the air. "I mean, we're like... enemies or something. It would be weird if people see us outside the pitch together, no?"
That's probably the funniest thing Vini has ever heard in his life. Vini has so much respect for Pablo; to get to where the boy is today, you've got to train and work hard every day almost non-stop. It's admirable, really, all the work that Pablo has done to get to this moment.
But then the boy says comments like these, and it reminds Vini of just how innocent that boy still is.
"Rivals doesn't mean enemies, Pablo," Vini starts. "I certainly hope you don't see me as one. And I sincerely doubt our clubs are going to fire us simply because we chose to hang out with someone from the opposite team on our own time."
The Brazilian watches him think it over and watches his facial reactions. Such an expressive boy, this one.
"Fine," Pablo says after a minute. "But only because of the free food."
"Deal," Vini holds out his hand for Pablo to shake, and he takes it. "I'll be waiting for you here."
"Okay, then," Pablo nods, standing up and giving the taller one a small smile. "I'll be quick."
Vini watches him walk away, the sound of metal scraping the laminated floor getting fainter as Pablo gets farther from him.
__
"Oh, fuck," Pablo moans. "S'good."
Yeah, it must be, with the way he is slurring his words, saliva threatening to spill out the corners of his mouth.
Vini watches him, astonished, at the way the boy has been going to town on the burger that was placed in front of him only a few minutes ago.
"Pablo, sweetheart," Vini softly chuckles, leaning over the table to grab one of Pablo's arms, indicating for him to slow down. "You're going to get sick if you keep eating like that; I promise you, no one's going to steal it from you."
Pablo nods, albeit embarrassed, and sets the burger down on his plate, reaching over to grab a napkin to clean himself up.
"Sorry, I just haven't eaten a burger that good in a long time," Pablo says, sheepishly.
Vini nods, feeling successful for making the boy in front of him happy as he takes a bite out of his fries. "I told you this was the place to go."
"How did you even find this place?" Pablo leans over to steal a fry off of Vini's plate. Vini pretends not to notice. "It's not like it's so out in the open and visible."
That's true.
This small diner is tucked in an area where someone either accidentally stumbles upon it or purposefully tries to find it. It's quiet, for the most part, and there rarely are more than five or six customers every time Vini comes here.
That's probably why he keeps coming back here, anyway. Secluded and quiet, the perfect combination for him after stressful weeks where all he wants to do is eat good food in peace.
"Asensio told me about this place my first year here," Vini takes a bite out of his burger. "He said he stumbled upon this place one day and began coming here occasionally when he wanted to eat some good food. I asked him if I could come with him one day, we did, and now here we are."
"Well, I can see why he wanted to keep coming back here," Pablo hums, going back to happily chowing down his burger.
They stay in silence for a while, enjoying the food and just the all-around comfort of having someone there with them.
Vini watches Pablo quietly, admiring the boy sitting across from him. He watches the way the boy eats without regard for those who may be watching him. He watches the energy he has, bouncing up and down in his seat in an almost childlike way.
He watches all the little things, too. Like the way he likes to bite into the left side, right side, and then the middle of the burger, keeping that ritual every time he goes back to get another bite. Like the way the right corner of his mouth twitches up into a small smile when he's chewing on his food, content with life at the moment.
And Vini has realized very quickly in these last few weeks that this is not something normal; he shouldn't be thinking about Pablo the way he does, but he can't seem to help himself. He doesn't want to put a label on it yet, though. Labels can be scary words, and he doesn't want to scare the innocent, lovely boy in front of him.
Pablo meets Vini's eyes, a shy smile creeping its way onto his face.
"What?" Pablo asks him, and all Vini could do is shake his head.
"Nothing to worry about, pequeno."
__
"Pedro, do you think it's possible to like someone the entire time you thought you hated them?"
Pablo has been wondering about this for a while now. Did he really hate Vini as much as he thought he did? Or was it something else? Pablo always reads about hate and love and how similar those feelings could be, how easy it is to mix up one with the other simply because they both evoke strong emotions out of you.
"Huh?" Pedro asks, half-paying attention to what his best friend was saying, tongue lightly sticking out between his teeth while he plays another round of FIFA.
"I said, do you think it's possi-"
"No, Pablo, I heard what you said." Pedro interrupts him. "I'm just wondering why you're asking this?"
Pablo shrugs, watching Pedro play his match, tucked into his side of the couch. "Just a thought."
Pedro lets out a victory yelp after scoring the game-winning goal, chuckling to himself before loading up the home screen and setting his controller down, turning to Pablo.
"Do you like someone, Pablo?" Pedro questions him.
That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Does Pablo like Vini? Is it just a friendly thing? Why is he always in his head? Can he see himself with the Brazilian?
"No," Pablo mumbles, hesitating for a moment. "I don't know."
Pedro's eyes widen just a little, shock evident on his face. It's not like Pablo to really talk about love or crushes, since the only thing he's really cared about ever since he could remember is football and Barcelona, so it comes as a shock to his best friend that the boy may finally be finding himself enjoying the good things outside of the game.
"If you're saying you don't know, you probably do," Pedro explains. "Do you want to tell me who it is?"
Pablo was quick to shake his head. He'd rather lose the next five games against Real Madrid than tell Pedro that he may or may not be harboring feelings for a man that plays for their rival team. Plus, Pablo finds the whole concept of talking and giggling about crushes with your friends... embarrassing.
Pedro hums in acknowledgment, seemingly contemplating his next move. "Do I at least know this person? Are they good people?"
Pablo hums, raising his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, head resting on his knees.
"Yes, and yes, at least I think so," Pablo says. "They're really good people. I'm sure you two would get along great."
Pedro nods, a small, but warm smile painting his face. "Then that's all that matters, Pablito. You deserve to be happy, and if you like someone who makes you happy, you should go for it. As long as they like you back, of course."
"Yeah, but what if they don't, Pedro? It's scary; I'm scared of that." Pablo practically whispers that last part and Pedro could feel his heart breaking for his friend.
Pedro reaches over and places a hand on one of Pablo's arms. "Then it's their loss, Pablo, not yours. You're a great person, anyone would be lucky to have you."
Pablo shrugs, watching the way Pedro's fingers trace small circles on his arm. They stay that way for a few minutes; in the quiet, trying their best to comfort each other, or more like Pedro trying to comfort Pablo and Pablo trying to take it as best as he can. But, Pedro could still see how Pablo's thoughts are still clouding his head.
"I think that's enough sulking for now, don't you think?" Pedro detaches himself from Pablo, reaching over to the coffee table and picking his remote back up, grabbing the second one for Pablo. He hands it over to him, smirking. "Ready to get your ass kicked on FIFA?"
Pablo rolls his eyes but smiles, unwrapping his arms from his legs and grabbing the remote.
"You wish, Pedrito."
__
Pablo comes to terms with the fact that he may be falling for a Madridista on a random Tuesday evening.
He had no training for the next few days, a very rare occasion for FC Barcelona, but he certainly wasn't going to be complaining about it. But, since his life is reduced to almost nothing outside of football, that also meant that he had nothing to do. He would try to hang out with Pedro or Ferran or Ansu, but all of them were off to spend some much-needed time with their families.
He, on the other hand, was rotting in his apartment alone, bored out of his mind. And maybe that's why he had the terrible idea to pick up his phone and open his messages, scrolling right to the text conversation between him and a certain Real player. They got to talking, or bickering is probably more of an appropriate word to use, and within the next couple of hours, Pablo found himself in a train cart, heading over to Madrid to stay there for the next couple of days.
Vini was waiting for him at the spot they planned to meet up at, leaning on a nearby building with his arms crossed, the hot Madrid sun shining down on him. Pablo pretended like his heart didn't skip a beat when he stepped out of his car.
"Pequeno," Vini smiles at him, pushing himself off of the wall and walking over to him, bringing his arm out to signal to the younger to hand over his bag. "You should really start learning how to drive. Having to rely on other people at eighteen is a little embarrassing."
"Shut up," Pablo hissed, lightly hitting Vini in the arm and eliciting a chuckle out of the taller man. "I'll have you know I enjoy not driving."
Vini snorts, and the two begin walking in tandem over to Vini's own car. "Yes, I know, you passenger princess."
Pablo rolls his eyes but a fond smile still makes its way to his face, and Vini can't help but be blinded by it for just a second. "Like you wouldn't want a passenger princess."
The Brazilian hums in agreement. "You're not wrong about that, pequeno."
"I'm starving," Pablo whined, rubbing his stomach when he could feel it rumbling. "The train barely gave me anything to eat at all. Will you feed me please when we get home?"
Vini turns to look at him and he could see the small frown forming on Pablo's face.
"I'm not your mother," he says, amused at the way the boy's frown turns into a pout at Vini's words.
"Pretty please?" Pablo asks, putting his hands together and resting them on Vini's arm as they walked, making sure to put on the best puppy-dog eyes for the older man. And how could Vini possibly say no to those gorgeous eyes?
"Fine," Vini starts before being interrupted by Pablo's celebration. "But I'm picking the food and you're going to enjoy it."
Pablo quickly nods and grabs Vini by the arm when he spots his car, yanking at him to walk faster. "Come on! You have some food to cook."
Vini ended up making one of his favorite Brazilian dishes his mom used to make for him when he was growing up, which Pablo devoured in less than ten minutes, and then they found themselves sitting on Vini's couch, the low conversations of characters on the TV acting as background music to their own soft conversation.
"Was it hard growing up in La Masia? I mean, you were competing with tons of other boys to try and get those few spots that Barcelona would offer; it must have been terrible competition."
Pablo hums, sitting crisscrossed and playing with the string of his hoodie. "Sometimes, the competition got to be too much. We were just kids, you know. We wanted to be friends with each other and do normal kid stuff, but deep down, we all knew that the person we could be getting close with could be the one to take your spot on the senior squad. Relationships were superficial for the most part."
Vini nods, his attention drawn to Pablo's hands. "I can't even imagine growing up in that sort of environment."
"Yeah, but it must not have been easy for you, either," Pablo notes. "You moved to a completely new country in a completely different continent and had to get accustomed to the culture and language as soon as possible at a young age. I'm sure that had its own problems."
Vini's eyes meet Pablo's eyes and he shrugs. "It wasn't easy, but I like to think that I managed to do the best I could under the circumstances. Plus, my team was a good support system in case I needed extra help; still are, even though I've been here for a while now."
Pablo rests his head on the couch. They both stay quiet for a few beats, soft looks adorning both of their faces.
"God, Barca fans would have my head if they saw us," Pablo jokes, and a wide smile forms on Vini's face. "Cozying up with a Madridista? I just committed the highest form of treason."
"Yeah, I don't think Madrid fans would be happy with this, either," Vini adds. "Or some of my teammates, now that I'm thinking about it."
Pablo giggles. "Well, what can you do about it?"
Pablo uncrosses his legs and throws them over Vini's, readjusting himself so his back is held up by the couch cushions. He lets out a content sigh, shutting his eyes. Pablo feels his heart pick up just slightly when he feels the soft caresses of Vini's hand on his leg, his thumb caressing his calf. Vini's hand feels so good on him. The rough feeling of his fingers, the callouses on his palm, proof of all of the hours of hard work and training he puts in for the game, feel like such a contrast when touching Pablo's smooth skin.
It's nice, really. Calming. The darkness of the room with the exception of the TV screen, the soft noises coming out of it, and Vini's firm grip combine to give Pablo some peace of mind. He could have fallen asleep at that moment feeling safe and content; he would have if it weren't for-
"Deus, você é tão lindo," It was a whisper, so soft that you would have to have been paying attention to hear it. But Pablo did. And his eyes shot open when his brain translated what that meant.
He stares at Vini, wide-eyed and stunned, and the Brazilian thinks he fucked up when he realized the Spaniard heard what he said.
Fuck, why did I let that slip?
"What?" Pablo lets out, voice breathless and shaky.
Vini shakes his head. "Nothing, don't worry about it, just go back to how you were." Pablo can hear the slight shaking in the other boy's voice.
Pablo sits up, and he registers the fact that Vini stopped his ministrations on Pablo's leg. "No, say it again."
"Pablo, it's nothing," Pablo can see the defensive walls begin to build up behind Vini's eyes. They're a different kind, ones that he hasn't even seen on the pitch when the two of them went at it with each other. "Just forget about it."
But Pablo is nothing if not stubborn. He reaches over with his hands to grab Vini's face and forces him to look at him.
"Vini, please," Vini hadn't realized just how much he wanted to hear Pablo say his name like that: airy and desperate. "Please, just say it again."
Vini's eyes travel to Pablo's mouth, watching the way the boy fits his bottom lip between his two teeth.
"Você é tão lindo," he whispers again, and he can feel the way his heart is about to explode out of his chest.
Pablo softly lays their foreheads together, a contrast to the countless times they've done it to each other when they're on the pitch.
"Please," he lets out again.
"Please what?" Vini lets out, voice rough and low. "What do you want?"
What does Pablo want? Pablo wants to be held by the man in front of him; wants to be enveloped in his scent, to be touched by him; wants to hold his hand and get taught Brazilian dance moves by him. He wants to go to sleep and wake up with those strong arms surrounding him, grounding him. But, he thinks that's too much to throw at him all at once, so he ends up settling with-
"Please, just kiss me."
The permission is all it took for Vini to close the gap between them, to slot their lips together for the first time. Vini feels so good against him; his lips big and soft, seeming like they're dancing against his own. Pablo doesn't think he's ever felt this good in a while.
They can't get enough of each other. Pablo rearranges himself, his hands going from Vini's face to wrapping themselves around his neck, and he moves to straddle Vini's lap, careful not to break their kiss. Vini's hands make their way to Pablo's waist, gripping tightly.
They don't want to let go of each other, don't want to stop kissing. In fact, Vini could probably do this for the rest of his life and he would have no problem. But their need for oxygen outweighs their desire to keep kissing, and they eventually pull apart after a few minutes.
They stare at each other, chests heaving against each other. Pablo watches the way Vini's face splits into a beautiful smile, and he can't help but giggle, too.
"Fuck," Vini lets out. "You do not know how badly I've wanted to do that."
Pablo lets out a full-blown laugh this time, eyes crinkling as Pablo leans down to land a peck on Vini's lips. And another. And another. And another. And it takes all of his strength to not go back to their makeout session, but Vini knows that they're going to have to talk about it.
"Okay, bebê," Vini laughs. "I want to keep kissing you, too, but we have to talk about it first."
Pablo pouts his beautiful pout, and Vini genuinely contemplates skipping over the talking bit and going straight back to the kissing bit. "But I wanna keep kissing you."
Vini rubs circles on the boy's hips. "So do I, but I want to make sure you're doing this because you want to and not because it's a spur-of-the-moment thing."
Pablo looks at him for a minute before he leans down to capture Vini's lips again, hands going to Vini's hair.
Vini breaks the kiss and opts to pepper kisses all over Pablo's jaw.
"You're not a spur-of-the-moment thing, Vini," Pablo says in between breaths. "I want to keep kissing you for as long as I can."
Vini looks up at him and Pablo begins to feel a little overwhelmed with the amount of love that he can see through Vini's eyes. He doesn't think he ever wants to stop seeing that.
"Good, because I don't want to stop kissing you," Vini says, a soft smile plastered on his face.
"Good."
"Great."
"Go back to kissing me then, please," Pablo sweetly says, and Vini lets out a chuckle.
He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of the boy on his lap.
"As you wish, meu príncipe."