Work Text:
There were a number of things that ran through Alejandro’s mind as he wandered down the tunnel after the spectacular match at Old Trafford.
The goals that he scored were, of course, simply beautiful; and he couldn’t have been more proud of them. And that unforgettable sound of the vigorous crowd chanting his name coursed adrenaline through his veins, while his eyes sparkled with passion for the game.
“Viva Garnacho, Viva Garnacho,
Running Down The Wing, Hear United Sing,
Viva Garnacho!”
Each time he heard the chant, it never failed to send shivers down Alejandro’s spine. He believed there was nothing in the world that felt better than scoring for Manchester United, as his ears relished in the sublimity of the supporters shouting his name over and over again in the stands.
The moment that Rasmus scored his brilliant goal also replayed itself in Alejandro’s mind. The relief in the Dane’s eyes and the bright smile on his face as he watched the ball hit the net was enough to warm the Argentinian’s heart, and he rushed towards Rasmus to celebrate his first of many goals in the Premier League.
That wasn’t the only memory he had with Rasmus that day. The most significant one of them all was during his post-match interview, standing beside the taller Manchester United player. The smile on his lips seemed to be permanently fixed onto his cherubic face.
“It’s one of the best days of my life,” Alejandro grinned into the microphone before him, feeling Rasmus’ warm hand snake around his shoulder as he brought his larger figure closer to his. The Argentinian felt his heart beat just a little bit faster at the contact.
“This is for the Player of the Match!” Rasmus handed the trophy to his teammate, his face beaming with joy. Their fingers brushed briefly as Alejandro reached for the award.
“Well done, brother,” the Dane congratulated the brunet, the innocent nickname making Alejandro smile.
“Thank you, brother,” he replied. Gazing at his trophy with pride, Alejandro suddenly felt a pair of soft lips press against his forehead. It was only for a very brief moment, and even as Rasmus pulled away, the Argentinian could feel the imprint of the kiss burning on his flushed skin.
“I love you,” Alejandro said to him in a low voice, without thinking. He immediately frowned at his own words, realising the weight of what he had just said. He glanced up at Rasmus, trying to catch his reaction.
But the blond only smiled at him fondly, before turning himself away to converse with the other players on pitch. Alejandro felt blood rush to his cheeks as he chewed his lower lip nervously, wondering if his friendly relationship with Rasmus might have changed.
…
The atmosphere in the changing rooms was ecstatic. Despite it only being a victory against Aston Villa, it also resulted in three points that the team were in great need for. The Manchester United players patted each other on the back and exchanged encouraging words of praise with pleasant faces. Only Alejandro seemed to be lost in his own world, staring blankly at the wall of the changing room, sitting slumped on the bench.
“Are you alright?” Suddenly, the shadow of another figure enrobed his own. Alejandro looked up, to be met with a pair of cerulean eyes gazing down at him with indescribable tenderness. His blond, dampened hair hung in front of his forehead, and a single droplet of water trickled down the side of his reddish nose. He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. “You should take a shower.”
“Oh,” Alejandro stood up, startled. It was the very man that he was thinking of this whole time. The brunet opened his mouth to speak, but found it difficult to form any words as his eyes were completely fixated on the Dane’s broad chest. His skin was as pale as a white lily, but it was not nearly as delicate; his muscles defined as though they were chiselled by the finest sculptor known to man. The rivulets of water running down his skin told Alejandro that the blond had just emerged from the shower, and the mere thought of it had caused his face to redden with a mixture of curious lust and guilt.
“Ale, are you okay?” Rasmus repeated himself, his eyebrows drawn together with concern. He reached for Alejandro’s face, a thumb brushing over his rosy cheek.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Alejandro broke the silence quickly, gathering his things and heading for the showers. He was unable to maintain eye contact with the blond, and he didn’t know why. Taking off his clothes and standing under the warm gush of water was enough to relax his tense nerves. He let out an exhale that he didn’t know he was holding; although in the back of his mind, his verbal mistake from earlier still haunted him:
“I love you.”
He punched the cool tile of the shower with one fist, mentally reprimanding himself for uttering such humiliating words. Although, Alejandro thought it was strange: yes, he believed Rasmus was very attractive. His figure was very masculine, and he had a very intimidating, Scandinavian air to him, yet he always had a polite attitude and a friendly smile. But whether Alejandro loved him, that was never something he had considered before.
His mind wandered back to the memory of the kiss that Rasmus left on his forehead. Alejandro raised his hand to it, his fingers tracing over the same area that the Dane had left his lips.
Maybe Rasmus was the one that was in love with Alejandro, rather than the other way round. Or maybe he was thinking about it too much. Football players kissed each other all the time; so what if Rasmus had kissed him? After all, it was only his forehead. Clearly, the Argentinian was simply overreacting.
Besides, he should know the taboo behind relationships between football players. If he and Rasmus were to ever start something intimate, there would be an insufferable amount of secrecy that would come with it, a private affair that should never be revealed to anyone under any circumstances.
Alejandro didn’t know why he was thinking about this in the first place. It wasn’t like he and Rasmus were going to have an intimate relationship in the first place. The kiss was only platonic, and Alejandro was was far more bothered by it than he should have been. He turned off the flow of water, and stepped out of the shower.
Alejandro lay in his bed once he returned home from Old Trafford, the screen of his phone illuminating the darkness of his bedroom. He searched for the post-match interview on YouTube, wanting to watch the incident with Rasmus from a third-person perspective. He was hesitant at first and dismissed the idea of it, but his curiosity got the better of him.
He clicked on the video, and the scene unfolded before Alejandro’s eyes.
“Well done, brother,” the Dane grinned on his screen, presenting the Player of the Match trophy.
Then, only for a second or two, surely enough, Rasmus leaned forward to place a chaste kiss to the side of the brunet’s head. The cameras had captured it perfectly.
Alejandro wondered what it would have been like if Rasmus had kissed him on the lips instead. It would have been so defiant; so naughty.
He replayed the video again and again, and he felt his face redden more each time. Eventually, he forced himself to turn off his phone, trying his best to forget the silly kiss and to focus on getting some sleep. He felt frustrated with himself for being so fussed about a small peck to his forehead. Maybe it was an indicator of something else: and Alejandro had a good idea of what it could be, but he didn’t want to accept it.
Maybe he really was in love with Rasmus.
…
At training soon afterwards, Alejandro caught sight of Rasmus participating in shooting drills on the pitch. He could see the confidence in his eyes, the power in his stance and the intensity of his shots from a mile away. The Argentinian admired the dedication that the Dane put into these practice sessions.
Then Rasmus turned and noticed the brunet watching from a distance, sending him a wave accompanied with a bright smile. Alejandro felt cornered, but approached him anyway; there wasn’t much else he could do.
“Morning,” he greeted Rasmus politely.
“Good morning, Ale!” he grinned, pulling the brunet in for a firm hug before he could even begin to object. Heat radiated from Rasmus’s larger figure, which Alejandro welcomed gladly; after all, it worked as a brilliant replacement for the chilly winds of December.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” He continued, wrapping himself tighter around Alejandro.
“... Yes.” The brunet was almost lost for words, standing stiffly in Rasmus’ arms. He hesitantly snaked his hands around the Dane’s shoulders.
“You have to do your warm-ups, don’t you?” He murmured into Alejandro’s hair, “I’ve already done mine. I will meet you here afterwards.”
He let go of Alejandro, who immediately longed for the warmth of Rasmus’ body once more. Reluctantly, he walked towards the other teammates that were commencing their warm-ups. Still, he was distracted, eyeing Rasmus, Marcus and Antony practicing their shooting drills together. Then, Rasmus scored a beautiful shot in the net, and all of the others congratulated the blond. He smiled proudly with his hands on his hips.
…
Later, Rasmus and Alejandro walked out of the grounds together, conversing with one another. Ultimately, the two men spent most of the training session alongside each other, participating in a wide variety of drills and workouts from the coaches that were sure to prepare them for their next fixture.
“I’m definitely ready for Nottingham Forest this weekend,” The Dane announced boldly.
“Yeah?” Alejandro laughed. He felt more at ease with Rasmus after having trained with him for the past few hours. “It shouldn’t be too difficult for us.”
“It would be nice if we both score,” Rasmus glanced at the Argentinian, smiling.
It would be very nice, Alejandro thought to himself. Maybe Rasmus would kiss me again during the post-match interview.
“My car is over here. I’ll see you later, okay?” Rasmus stopped walking, and to Alejandro’s surprise, he lowered himself to press his lips gently to the brunet’s cheek.
It was on his cheek this time.
Why? Alejandro wanted to ask. Ras, why are you torturing me like this?
But before he could even begin to protest, the Dane was already in his car.
Alejandro swallowed nervously, running his fingers over the soft skin of his cheek. Over where Rasmus’ lips had been just moments ago. The mere thought of it caused his face to flush red.
The match against Nottingham Forest had been a disappointing one. A 2-1 loss dwindled the spirits of every player, regardless of the fact that they were the team that performed better on the pitch. The demoralised men trudged into the changing rooms with sullen faces, barren like military troops returning from a war.
The players packed their bags with grief and discontent, without uttering a single word. Among them was Alejandro, who was particularly distraught. Despite assisting their only goal, he also earned himself a yellow card only a few minutes later.
And above all, Rasmus hadn’t even played that day. Alejandro knew he had no right to be upset with the Dane for being unavailable due to illness, yet when he received the word from Ten Hag that he would not be playing, the Argentinian felt his morale diminish.
As he sighed and zipped up his jacket, he felt his phone vibrate from his pocket. Alejandro retrieved it and read the notification with surprise: a message from Rasmus. He felt his heart beat faster as he opened the text, wondering what he might have to say. But instead, he felt himself smile as he read the affectionate message:
I watched you play today! Your assist was really beautiful. Don’t let this loss break your heart, we’ll come back stronger. And don’t worry. Next time, we’ll definitely score a lot of goals together!
Alejandro slung his bag around his shoulder and quickly typed a text in response:
Thanks. I can’t wait to see you again.
Before he could put his phone back into his jacket pocket, he received another unexpected message from the Dane:
If you’re not too tired, you should come to my place. But I completely understand if you can’t.
The invitation was very appealing to Alejandro. Spending time with Rasmus might ease his frustration from their match against Nottingham Forest. But the thought of spending time with Rasmus alone, in his house, also created some fantasies in the brunet’s mind that piqued his interest.
As he walked out of the City Ground, he typed a reply:
I’ll be there. See you.
…
It was late into the night when Alejandro arrived at Rasmus’ doorstep. He knocked on the door, and the blond appeared only a moment later. He wrapped a strong arm around the Argentinian and ushered him inside, rambling on about how impressed he was with Alejandro’s performance today.
“I really wasn’t that great,” he answered with a small laugh, seating himself on the sofa.
“Don’t be silly, you are always exceptional when you’re on the pitch.” Rasmus comforted his teammate, sitting beside him.
He’s very close, Alejandro noticed. There was practically no space between their thighs. He felt his skin burning up.
“It’s a shame you were not able to play,” the brunet said quickly. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thank you, I’ll be just fine.” Rasmus then leaned towards Alejandro and kissed him tenderly on the bridge of his nose.
Alejandro was speechless for a moment. “...This is the third time you’ve kissed me.” There was evident confusion in his voice. “The first time, it made sense, because we were in front of the cameras. But now you’ve done it twice more, and I really don’t understand it.”
His smile wavered. “Do you not like it?”
“I do! I mean…” He quickly corrected himself, looking away from the Dane. “I don’t know if you’re kissing me as a friend, or as something else.”
Rasmus paused for a moment before laughing heartily. “I like seeing your reaction when I kiss you, so now it’s become a habit. You get flustered like a little bunny, it’s very cute.”
Little bunny. It made Alejandro’s skin crawl.
“Like this.” Rasmus took hold of the brunet’s chin and drew himself closer until their lips met in a gentle, innocent kiss. Alejandro melted into it instantaneously, unable to protest against the softness of Rasmus’ lips on his. When the Dane pulled away, he smirked as though his point was proven.
“Look, I was right.”
Alejandro’s cheeks were tinted red, his eyes wide open and his mouth was parted slightly. His mind was still trying to process that Rasmus had just kissed him; something he thought was impossible between teammates, especially in the world of football. The Argentinian could feel his blood coursing through his body as he brought his lips to Rasmus’ once more, this time more fervent. The rush he felt from kissing the Dane was like no other, as though there was no better feeling.
Rasmus rested his hands on his teammate’s waist, and Alejandro snaked his arms around the other’s broad shoulders. The kiss felt long overdue, passionate, and very different from the casual pecks that Rasmus used to place on his skin.
The Dane drew backwards momentarily, before leaning down to lap at Alejandro’s neck. It took everything for him to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from his mouth as he relished in the sensations of Rasmus’ warm tongue running over his pale neck. Then, it was replaced with the sharpness of his teeth, nibbling the sensitive skin there.
Alejandro gasped as he ran his fingers through the other’s soft, blond hair, before lifting Rasmus upwards towards another chaste kiss.
“Do you remember what I said in the interview after the Villa game?” The Argentinian gazed at the other through half-lidded eyes.
“You said that you love me.”
“...Well, recently I’ve been wondering if it's really true.”
“I’ll make sure that it is,” Rasmus laughed, pulling in Alejandro towards him once more until their lips met, “eventually.”