lessons: on italian
Title: On Italian
Rating: G
Pairing: Ricardo Kakà/Andriy Shevchenko
One minute they are frustratingly kept at nil-nil and in two Kakà backheels the ball to Sheva, with whom he has quickly clicked and developed a mutual understanding on the pitch (and slowly but steadily one off it too), who decisively passes it through the legs of the keeper and into the net with the inside of his right foot. Kakà’s bright pink lips curve open, gum and teeth boyishly, brilliantly, on display, and when he catches up with Sheva, slinging arms around red and black ribs, he shouts in praise the only Italian word that can justify the goal (mind, it is the only Italian word that he remembers at the moment)-
The word is either lost amongst the roar of the crowd, or the wind has been temporarily knocked out of the striker, ol’ reliable oxygen, for a moment, failing to find its way through the wires to Sheva’s brain-whichever the reason, he does not hear Kakà and does not know how to read lips (even pretty, pretty pink lips), but he, too, can only remember one Italian word at the moment. Now Sheva has four years of Italian on his new teammate, just-about fluency to boast of, and yet, breathlessly, unknowingly, for another reason entirely, he echoes: bellissimo.
Rating: G
Pairing: Ricardo Kakà/Andriy Shevchenko
One minute they are frustratingly kept at nil-nil and in two Kakà backheels the ball to Sheva, with whom he has quickly clicked and developed a mutual understanding on the pitch (and slowly but steadily one off it too), who decisively passes it through the legs of the keeper and into the net with the inside of his right foot. Kakà’s bright pink lips curve open, gum and teeth boyishly, brilliantly, on display, and when he catches up with Sheva, slinging arms around red and black ribs, he shouts in praise the only Italian word that can justify the goal (mind, it is the only Italian word that he remembers at the moment)-
The word is either lost amongst the roar of the crowd, or the wind has been temporarily knocked out of the striker, ol’ reliable oxygen, for a moment, failing to find its way through the wires to Sheva’s brain-whichever the reason, he does not hear Kakà and does not know how to read lips (even pretty, pretty pink lips), but he, too, can only remember one Italian word at the moment. Now Sheva has four years of Italian on his new teammate, just-about fluency to boast of, and yet, breathlessly, unknowingly, for another reason entirely, he echoes: bellissimo.