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"We're running out of time—hair and makeup will be here any minute for the afternoon event." Cristiano had originally tossed the excuse out as a brazen invitation, fully intending to press Kaká against the nearest surface for a quick, breathless make-out session.
"Let me help you get dressed then," Kaká said, tapping the back of the hand Cristiano had left resting against his chest, his voice infuriatingly sincere.
Cristiano went rigid. He hadn't expected his own trap to snap shut on him, but the second his mind conjured the image of Kaká slowly dressing him, a sharp, triumphant curve bloomed across his lips. He surrendered without a fight.
While Kaká stepped away to fetch the tailored suit, Cristiano stripped out of his loose loungewear, leaving himself in nothing but a pair of dark, snug compression shorts. Standing half-naked before the full-length mirror, a sudden flutter of nerves hit his throat, only to be instantly smoothed over by a dark, secret thrill.
"Ready, Cris?" Kaká's voice drifted back, accompanied by the quiet rustle of fabric. "You're going to look stunning in this." The praise pooled warm against the nape of Cristiano's neck, drawing an involuntary, shivering trail of goosebumps.
Cristiano's head whipped around instinctively to capture those lips, but Kaká's hands caught his shoulders, pinning him gently in place.
"We're running out of time, remember?" Kaká murmured, his chin indicating the mirror. "Leave it to me. All you need to do is..." The unspoken words took shape in both their minds, as Kaká's gaze drifted along the contours of Cristiano's body.
Then, Kaká sank to one knee.
With his head lowered close to Cristiano's inner thigh, the position bore a suffocating, sacred resemblance to a proposal. Cristiano's hand slipped quietly to his chest—a silent, instinctive answer. But the brush against his calf shattered his focus—Kaká's fingertips traced a slow, calculated path up his leg, a touch so feather-light it felt dangerously like a caress. Cristiano's breath hitched in his throat.
Finally, Kaká fastened the black stocking clips around his calf and began adjusting the straps. His cheek brushed the side of Cristiano's leg as he worked, his hot breath fanning over bare skin, a few strands of hair brushing lightly, agonizing sizzle of heat straight up Cristiano's spine.
Cristiano's Adam's apple bobbed violently. The muscles in his legs locked tight. Every nerve ending begged him to recoil from the torture, yet every instinct demanded he step forward and drag the man up by his lapels.
"Don't move, Cris." Kaká looked up, those deep brown eyes brimming with him, the overflow of fondness softening the corners of his eyes. He slid his right hand up, the heavy, warm palm clamping firmly against Cristiano's inner thigh. "Efficiency, remember?"
Cristiano's defenses buckled. A quiet, breathless noise slipped past his teeth.
Kaká chose that exact moment to stand, unhooking the crisp, immaculate white dress shirt from its hanger. Cristiano raised his arms in helpless obedience, letting Kaká guide his hands into the tailored sleeves. But compared to the stifling intimacy of a second ago, this sudden physical distance felt agonizing. Cristiano lowered his lashes, aching, quite unreasonably, for that agonizing proximity back.
Starting from the hem, Kaká's fingers worked their way up, button by button. His knuckles lightly scraped across Cristiano's taut, rigid abs, making the skin contract with every casual brush.
Cristiano turned his face toward the mirror. In the glass, Kaká's head was bowed in absolute focus, long fingers weaving seamlessly through fabric and button like a master craftsman at his bench; while Cristiano himself stood with his lips parted, cheeks flushed with a dark, unnatural heat.
He snapped his head away, an edge of stubborn mischief flaring up. "Kaká," he whined, tossing his voice out loudly. "Why aren't you looking at me? You're supposed to be checking the fit." Kaká glanced up, catching the arrogant, feline grin plastered on his lover's face.
Cristiano knew damn well that seeing him like this would make Kaká want to kiss him senseless. Kaká dropped his eyes instantly, pretending to study the remaining unfastened buttons with exaggerated innocence.
Cristiano had no intention of playing nice. Leaning down, he forced his face straight into Kaká's line of sight, the glint in his eyes practically overflowing with provocation. He was too used to shattering Kaká's ironclad restraint with shameless taunts, thriving on those rare, delicious seconds when a crack finally split that serene, elegant mask.
His voice dropped low, the skittish mischief within him polishing the tail of his words into a faint rasp. "Scared to look?"
Kaká's fingers froze dead on the button.
The air in the room died. Silence stretched for two thick seconds, filled only by their breathing. Slowly, Kaká raised his eyes, those soft brown irises locking onto the smirking face in front of him with frightening intensity.
"Cris," Kaká's voice fell soft, a quiet rustle in the quiet room. His long fingers slipped from the shirt, tracing the hot flush of Cristiano's cheek before resting over the tremor at the corner of his lips. "You know I can't resist you."
Before Cristiano could even blink, Kaká's mouth was crushed against his, swallowing the rest of his smug little taunts whole.
It was a brief, fiercely possessive kiss. Kaká's hot tongue teased and claimed without restraint, his hand cupping the base of Cristiano's skull, pulling him in until their chests collided with a heavy thump. Cristiano's knees buckled from the sheer weight of it, his arms scrambling instinctively up to wrap around Kaká's neck, desperate to drag him closer.
Yet, just as Cristiano prepared to push back and claim his territory, Kaká abruptly pulled away.
"There." Kaká's breathing was fractured, though his face had already smoothed back into composure—save for the sharp, lingering curve at the corner of his mouth that betrayed everything. He caught Cristiano by the shoulders, steering him firmly back onto his spot. "Unless you plan on meeting the stylists in a crumpled mess, stand still."
Next came the shirt stays—a delicate, excruciating process. Kaká picked up the elastic bands and gestured for Cristiano to pull his shirt hem down tight. He clipped the first clasp to the front hem, then the back. Sinking onto one knee once more, he attached the lower clasps to the leg garters, joining the two. Every adjustment was deliberate, Kaká's knuckles grazing skin with agonizing precision.
"Stand straight, Cris. Let me check the tension," Kaká murmured, his face resting mere inches from Cristiano's abdomen. His warm exhale filtered through the thin cotton shirt, burning against the skin underneath. A sudden tightness clenched low in his abdomen. His breathing went rough and ragged, and his hand shot out to grip Kaká's shoulder.
"Cris," Kaká swiped his palm gently across Cristiano's inner thigh, his instruction softened by an intoxicating, indulgent purr. "Hands off. Stand straight."
Cristiano dragged in a harsh, shuddering breath and yanked his hand back, his knuckles turning white from the force of it. Being forced into this passive, helpless state—entirely subjected to Kaká's breath and touch—was a divine form of torment.
Kaká stood up and handed him the light-gray checked trousers. Cristiano stepped into them, and Kaká smoothly zipped the fly and fastened the waistband. Tailored with surgical precision to his waist and hips, the trousers needed no belt.
Then came the navy blue silk tie. Kaká closed the gap once again.
Cristiano lowered his eyelids, watching Kaká from mere inches away. Kaká’s dark, wavy hair carried a faint, clean scent, and every warm breath he exhaled dusted against Cristiano's jaw and the corner of his mouth. Kaká's fingers flew beneath his collar with practiced skill, shaping a flawless Windsor knot. As Kaká pulled the knot tight, a sudden, delicious surge of restriction gripped his throat—the external pressure miraculously quelling the persistent, itching hunger beneath his skin.
Kaká tilted his head, his breath skimming Cristiano's lips, missing a kiss by a fraction of a millimeter. Cristiano instinctively lifted his chin, chasing that heat, but Kaká turned his head just in time, dropping a feather-light kiss against his jawline before sliding the knot home.
"Mm..." Cristiano let out a low, petulant whine.
Kaká turned, unhooking the light-gray waistcoat. Pressing his front flush against Cristiano's, he began buttoning it from the bottom up. The friction of fabric against fabric only made the physical touch harder for Cristiano to bear.
By the time Kaká reached the top button, he leaned in close. Thinking he was finally getting his reward, Cristiano pouted his lips, holding onto a last shred of non-existent dignity to counter Kaká's earlier coldness. But Kaká merely wrapped his arms around him, his palms smoothing down from Cristiano's shoulder blades all the way to the small of his back, ironing out any stray creases in the vest.
Unable to take the torture a second longer, Cristiano shifted his hips, trying to press himself flush against Kaká.
Kaká caught him firmly by the waist, a helpless, affectionate smile tugging at his lips as he pushed him back into position. "We're running out of time."
Cristiano instantly regretted ever bringing those words into existence.
Kaká picked up the sleek silver tie clip, locking it firmly across the tie and placket; the polished metal flashed cool under the room's lights. Next came the sharp, structured suit jacket—Kaká draped it over Cristiano's shoulders, giving the cuffs a light tug until the shoulder seams settled into place with lethal perfection.
Stepping back around to the front, Kaká picked up an intricate lapel pin from the tray, studying it for a moment with a slight tilt of his head before pinning it through the left lapel. Then, folding a black silk pocket square into a clean, sharp fold, he slipped it into the breast pocket, leaving only a disciplined, quiet sliver of black exposed.
Kaká wasn't in a rush to finish. He took Cristiano's left hand, looking at him—his stunning lover practically glowing under the flawless tailoring.
"Picked out your jewelry?"
Cristiano shook his head. Reversing his grip on Kaká's hand, he pulled him toward the display case.
The glittering jewels beneath the glass were nothing compared to the dizzying heat of Kaká's palm. He cherished these secluded, stolen seconds, wrapped in the quiet illusion of a newlywed couple about to walk into a ceremony, picking out their accessories.
Carrying that quiet, secret sweetness, he happily selected two bracelets and handed them over.
Kaká took them, leaning in slightly as he focused on fastening them around Cristiano's wrist. Cristiano didn't look at his own wrist once, his eyes greedily drinking in Kaká's focused profile. He loved this momentary stillness, where even the air felt thick with a calm sweetness.
Kaká's long, nimble fingers secured the clasp, his fingertips inevitably dragging across the paper-thin skin of Cristiano's inner wrist.
To distract himself, Cristiano tapped his fingers on the glass, signaling that he had already picked out his watch. Kaká obliged, picking it up while using his other hand to cup Cristiano's wrist from underneath.
When the cold metal backing touched his inner wrist, Cristiano's skin shivered from the chill. Instead of immediately fastening the strap, Kaká rested his thumb right over Cristiano's pulse—underneath his thumb, the pulse was hammering, beating fast and hard with a frantic rhythm.
Kaká looked up, a soft, rippling smile breaking in his eyes, his voice laced with fond amusement. "Heart racing this fast, Cris?"
This time, Cristiano didn't look away. He offered Kaká a shy, soft smile, returning his gaze head-on.
Kaká adored this look from him—intense, sweet, with deep eyes that held nothing in the world except for him. He returned the look with equal devotion and quiet hope. The leather strap closed with a soft click, carefully capturing that erratic pulse against his wrist.
Finally, Cristiano turned to the ring display. He picked out a full eternity diamond band, but once Kaká picked it up, he didn't make another move.
The light, sweet atmosphere suddenly settled into a heavy stillness, leaving only the sound of their quiet, staggered breathing in the room.
Cristiano stared at the ring resting in Kaká's palm, his heart sinking under a sudden, suffocating weight. Putting on a ring crossed a line that felt too real, too dangerous. And Kaká's silence threatened was beginning to tilt their delicate balance toward the edge of a cliff.
An indescribable wave of disappointment and stinging vulnerability crept into Cristiano's chest. He bit his lip, swallowing his feelings down; he didn't want his expectations to seem foolish, nor did he want to trap Kaká.
"Never mind, I'll do it myself," he said, forcing a light, careless laugh as he reached for the ring.
Before his fingers could touch it, Kaká caught his wrist in mid-air.
Kaká's palm was burning hot, his grip firm enough that Cristiano couldn't budge. Cristiano snapped his head up, meeting a pair of eyes filled with immense solemnity.
Kaká said nothing. He simply lifted Cristiano's left hand, his movement exceedingly slow, yet marked by a reverent, unwavering resolve. He didn't slip the ring onto the index finger reserved for fashion accessories; instead, he held Cristiano's long, powerful ring finger—the finger meant for eternal promises.
The cool band slid slowly over the warm knuckle, gliding all the way down until it rested firmly at the base of his ring finger.
Cristiano's mind went completely blank. His lips parted, forgetting to draw breath.
Kaká leaned down, pressing a lingering, damp kiss onto the back of Cristiano's hand. Looking up, his eyes were flooded with an emotion too deep to hide. "You'll have a more special one later."
By the time Kaká pulled the diamond stud from the jewelry box, Cristiano had completely regained his composure.
The fleeting pang of insecurity hadn't vanished, but it was slowly pressed down by a heavier, more steadfast emotion. Watching Kaká bend his head to select the earring, Cristiano suddenly realized that they were no longer the two passive people they once were.
Kaká would still give him promises, still tell him that a more special ring lay in their future, and still hold space for what was yet to come. And he, too, now had the strength and certainty to hold everything he desired.
So he realized there was truly nothing to fear.
He trusted Kaká, completely. But that trust no longer meant hanging his future on someone else, waiting passively for answers to be handed to him. What truly anchored them wasn't just the promise itself, but the fact that both of them were fully capable of making it real.
In the mirror, Kaká's fingers remained at his ear, securing the backing of the stud with careful precision, treating him like something priceless.
When Kaká finally took a half-step back, Cristiano lifted his gaze, meeting his eyes through the reflection.
Impeccably dressed, glowing under the lights. Only he knew that beneath the tailored suit, the warmth of Kaká's fingertips still lingered on his skin—hidden where the shirt garters had clipped his waist, and resting in the cool band on his ring finger.
The thought cleared the last trace of unease from his chest.
We're running out of time anyway, Kaká. If you make me wait too long—
Cristiano glanced down at the ring on his finger, a soft laugh slipping from his lips.
Then I'll just pick out a best one myself, bring it to you, and force you to put it on me. Either way, that ring is ending up on my finger.
Cristiano turned around, leaning slightly toward Kaká. Looking into those close-set eyes, the corners of his mouth curved up into a sly, confident smirk, all traces of vulnerability gone. "I'm holding you to what you just said."
Kaká looked at him, his smile deepening as he took a half-step forward, wrapping his arms around Cristiano's neck to draw him close.
The searing kiss descended instantly.
After all, they're running out of time.