amour propre
For worldoftights.
Title: Amour Propre
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ricardo Kakà/Andriy Shevchenko
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: Post-coital and playing with their wives' expensive make-up. Because they can, overtly in the confines of locked doors and steamed windows-and you're jealous because strewn Armani lay their paths.
“How do you think I’d look as a woman?”
Sheva folds a corner down on S--, setting Anna Sergeyevna aside as he, mostly disinterested and wholly uncomfortable, regards his own young lover, who, staring intently back, is obviously expecting an answer.
“Probably still prettier than most women,” Sheva offers.
Which is not the answer, apparently, as Kakà sighs and disentangles himself from their sinners’ sheets, moving, instead, to sit on Kristen’s bench before her mirrors. He picks up a tube of lipstick and, after deliberate inspection, seems to find it a suitable match for his complexion. Sheva watches from the bed, first with narrowed eyes, the contours on his back flexes and folds as he lean in closer to the glass with cheeks flushed and mouth poised open. It is only when Kakà tentatively begins to apply the color to his lips that Sheva insists mild curiosity is enough reason to join him in front of the vanity.
The sensuality of the scene is disturbingly engaging, Sheva finds. He feels fixed, following the movement of the flat top of the gloss as it presses against and glides over the lines and curves of Kakà’s parted lips. He makes a point to ignore the tightening in his groin, however, when Kakà sets the tube down, smacks his lips together brusquely, and turns to face the man on his side.
“Well?” Kakà smiles and pouts his sticky-red lips, looking as seductive as wine and bedroom eyes. Sheva almost groans.
But he smiles back and brushes a pink-tinted cheek with his thumb. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. Kakà does without protest and then waits, the corners of his pout tugging upward into a pregnant smile.
Sheva chooses one of Kristen’s eye shadow palettes and dips a brush into the powdered gold, with which he paints across Kakà’s eyelids, letting the soft bristles cover and caress the sensitive skin there.
“You look like your mother,” Sheva laughs when he adds the final touch.
“My mother wears less make-up,” Kakà says, now cradling his chin in his hands and sulking at his reflection. “Maybe I look like Carol’s mother.” He puckers his lips and pouts them and flutters his lashes in the most coquettish way he knows how.
Sheva sighs. “What are you doing, Ricky?”
“I suffer so, Andriy, will we ever be happy?”
Then the silence that sounds is intrusive and threatening, but it only lasts for a moment, quicker than Kakà has anticipated, before Sheva answers the answer.
“We have lost our senses.”
“Oh. Yes.”
Title: Amour Propre
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ricardo Kakà/Andriy Shevchenko
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: Post-coital and playing with their wives' expensive make-up. Because they can, overtly in the confines of locked doors and steamed windows-and you're jealous because strewn Armani lay their paths.
“How do you think I’d look as a woman?”
Sheva folds a corner down on S--, setting Anna Sergeyevna aside as he, mostly disinterested and wholly uncomfortable, regards his own young lover, who, staring intently back, is obviously expecting an answer.
“Probably still prettier than most women,” Sheva offers.
Which is not the answer, apparently, as Kakà sighs and disentangles himself from their sinners’ sheets, moving, instead, to sit on Kristen’s bench before her mirrors. He picks up a tube of lipstick and, after deliberate inspection, seems to find it a suitable match for his complexion. Sheva watches from the bed, first with narrowed eyes, the contours on his back flexes and folds as he lean in closer to the glass with cheeks flushed and mouth poised open. It is only when Kakà tentatively begins to apply the color to his lips that Sheva insists mild curiosity is enough reason to join him in front of the vanity.
The sensuality of the scene is disturbingly engaging, Sheva finds. He feels fixed, following the movement of the flat top of the gloss as it presses against and glides over the lines and curves of Kakà’s parted lips. He makes a point to ignore the tightening in his groin, however, when Kakà sets the tube down, smacks his lips together brusquely, and turns to face the man on his side.
“Well?” Kakà smiles and pouts his sticky-red lips, looking as seductive as wine and bedroom eyes. Sheva almost groans.
But he smiles back and brushes a pink-tinted cheek with his thumb. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. Kakà does without protest and then waits, the corners of his pout tugging upward into a pregnant smile.
Sheva chooses one of Kristen’s eye shadow palettes and dips a brush into the powdered gold, with which he paints across Kakà’s eyelids, letting the soft bristles cover and caress the sensitive skin there.
“You look like your mother,” Sheva laughs when he adds the final touch.
“My mother wears less make-up,” Kakà says, now cradling his chin in his hands and sulking at his reflection. “Maybe I look like Carol’s mother.” He puckers his lips and pouts them and flutters his lashes in the most coquettish way he knows how.
Sheva sighs. “What are you doing, Ricky?”
“I suffer so, Andriy, will we ever be happy?”
Then the silence that sounds is intrusive and threatening, but it only lasts for a moment, quicker than Kakà has anticipated, before Sheva answers the answer.
“We have lost our senses.”
“Oh. Yes.”