Fic: I Built a Home for You, for Me (Until it Disappeared)
Title: I Built a Home for You, for Me (Until it Disappeared)
Author: firetruckyouxx
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5654
Pairings, Characters: Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaká
Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Infidelity
Summary: Ricky tells Cristiano in the late summer during one their weekly phone calls that caused Cristiano’s monthly phone bill to be more expensive than some people’s monthly salary, as the sun sinks in the Madrid sky while it’s still high and bright hanging over Brazil and Cris can’t help but feel a little bit cynical.
Author's Note: Written for ourseparatecities for the Footy Secret Santa exchange.
Ricky tells Cristiano in the late summer during one their weekly phone calls that caused Cristiano’s monthly phone bill to be more expensive than some people’s monthly salary, as the sun sinks in the Madrid sky while it’s still high and bright hanging over Brazil and Cris can’t help but feel a little bit cyncial. The words bring a shock of relieved numbness, almost as if someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head on a hot summers day, and in that moment, Cris knew Kaka’s God just booked a first-class, one way ticket straight to hell for him because goddamn, what the actual fuck was wrong with him?
“Caroline and I…well, we decided it would be best if we got a divorce,” Ricky has just told him, words heavy with tears and fatigue and Cris yearns to be by his side, arms wrapped around his slight but strong frame, whispering sweet nothings and dumb jokes that make Ricky laugh his angelic laugh. Cris wishes with a sense of urgency, one that hurts so much but changes so little, that Ricky never left Madrid.
He wonders if that would have changed anything. Then, because his ticket to hell needed to be validated, he wondered if it would have sped up the process, that if this divorce was just inevitable.
“Fuck, Ricky, are you sure?” Cristiano thinks is the right thing to say because even if this may have just been inevitable, this is Ricky, and Cristiano may not know much when it comes to Ricky’s God but he knows that divorce is not really the thing that makes the higher being want to put you on its express lane to Heaven.
“You know better than anyone that we have not been happy for a long time,” Ricky says with a voice that is not quite accusing but has that “don’t-you-dare-bullshit-me” quality to it. Cris’ tanned cheeks take on a slightly red complexion as he thinks back to the last night he was in Rio early in the summer, his hand on the small of Ricky’s back while his fingers wandered lower as they watched the sun set from Cristiano’s hotel room balcony.
“I’ll always love you,” Ricky said to him, breaking the silence that stretched on for eternies. And when Cris turned to look at him, he almost bursted into tears because in that instance, Ricky was the most beautiful thing to ever exist, with the sun highlighting his soft profile, a sad but honest smile spread across his lips and a sparkle in his eye.
Cristiano opened his mouth to reply, but his mind was blank and his tongue was tied, so he responded to him through his actions, taking his hand and dragging him back into the hotel room.
“I just never thought-” Cristiano cuts himself off before he says something he knows he’ll no doubt regret later on. Ricky makes a noise and Cris knows he understands, even through Cris’ inability to communicate effectively when it matters most and Cris realizes this is why they work so well because Ricky just knows, especially when Cris can’t quite get the words out.
Ricky lets out a bitter chuckle, something Cris has not heard in a long time, that sets a violent tremor down Cris’ spine. “Nor did I,” he said, his voice full of contempt and regret and Cris hopes, wickedly, that he is not included in those regrets, that what they have is not something Ricky is ashamed of or spiteful about.
“What about the kids?” Cris asks quietly, knowing he is walking on thin ice.
“I-I don’t know, Cris, I really don’t. Obviously we both want them but we want this to work, so…” Kaká trails off and Cris can picture him at this very moment, sitting on his bed with his head hanging between his thighs, hand running through his unkempt hair. “I don’t want to lose them, I really don’t. I can’t.”
Cristiano is silent, taking in Ricky’s broken tone and imagining what it would be like to lose his own son, and the ache of his heart over an imagined scenario is enough to almost make Cris start crying for Ricky’s sake because Cristiano couldn’t fathom living a life without Cristianinho. The silence stretches for longer than either of them anticipated but neither man knows what to say or do, minds heavy with tremendous burdens no one should face alone.
Finally, Ricky says, “I have to go; my lawyer want to speak to me about the custody issues. I’ll talk you later, Cris.”
Just as Cris was going to hang up, he called out, “Wait!”
“Cris?”
“I just-I love you, okay? I love you so much, Ricky, and I’m here for you with whatever you need, okay?” The words tumble out with Cris’ permission, creating one of the most embarrassing and soul-bearing word vomits that Cristiano has ever created.
“I know,” Ricky says, his voice softer than Cris has ever heard it and he can feel the love pouring through the phone, the feeling of pure, unadulterated love and affection, and he hopes Ricky can feel it too, because it’s there, so bright and obvious to Cris, and he hopes it’s just as obvious to Ricky. “I love you, too.”
The click after that breaks Cris’ heart a little bit and if Cris’ eyes feel a little bit wet and his mouth a little bit dry, no one has to know.
•-•
A month and several tense phone calls later, Cris is getting ready for Christmas with Cristianinho and his mother. Cris is busy getting the Christmas ornaments from the attic while his mom and son start making the Nativity scene, just like they did when Cristiano was a child. Cristiano is bringing down the last box of ornaments when the doorbell rings.
He places the ornaments on the stairs leading up to the attic and jogs to the door. When he opens it, he almost fell over in shock. Standing there with shy but dazzling smile and two huge bags in his hands, Ricky looks like a cross between a choir boy and some of the underwear models Cris works with for his CR7 underwear line.
“Ricky?” he asks, almost for confirmation, because surely he was not standing on Cris’ porch, nervous and jittery.
“Hey Cris,” he says softly, his smile growing and becoming more genuine and bright. He places the bags down gently by his feet and takes a tentative step forward, once more unsure of himself. He slowly wraps his arms around Cristiano’s broad shoulders and pulls their bodies close together, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon aftershave that Cris is so fond of.
“Hi,” he replies breathlessly into the crook of Ricky’s neck, wrapping his arms around Ricky’s waist after the initial shock of his arrival wore off. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Neither can I,” Ricky admits, an embarrassed chuckle escaping him and a slight red flush brushing across his cheeks. “This was all a little bit sudden and spontaneous, if I’m honest.”
“Yeah, I can see,” Cris quips as he noticed the lack of luggage with Ricky, except for the small carry on bag slug across his back, who blushes harder and rubs at the back of his neck. “Come in, come in. Cristianinho, Mama and I are just getting the house ready for Christmas.”
Cris smiles when he sees Ricky positively light up, knowing how much Ricky loves Christmas time. He gets so excited the entire month of December, always talking about presents and decorations and Christmases past. Cris would always indulge him, drinking in Ricky’s tales of Brazilian Christmas and his desires to be able to celebrate with his family more.
Ricky hands Cris one of the bags and when Cris peaks inside, it’s filled to the top with wrapped gifts. When Cris looks back at Ricky, he is smiling sheepishly at the floor, biting his bottom lip as if he did something wrong. Cris’ heart swells in his chest as his overwhelming affection for this man gets the best of him; it leaves Cris breathless and thoughtless and paralyzed by how dearly he loves the man in front of him, the man who has been good to him and who has always been there for him, through good times and bad.
“I love you,” Cris whispers uncontrollably because his love makes him unpredictable and unyielding and it’s both a horrible, horrible thing but also it’s also a blessing from God, he thinks. Ricky’s smile grows larger and more loving and he takes his hand and squeezes it tenderly and Cris almost cries because the touch is so tender and sweet and it’s Ricky.
They slowly make their way inside, too busy trying to steal glances of each other to walk quickly, and eventually, after what feels like centuries, make it into Cris’ outrageously-sized kitchen, but not before hiding the presents from Cristianinho, where said boy and Cris’ mom were still working on the Navitity scene, hardly noticing that they had a visitor. Finally, Cris clears his throat loudly, making the two jump and look up in confusion.
Then, Crisianinho’s eyes find Ricky’s. “Tio!” the small boy shouts, forgetting about the Mother Mary he was painting and shooting out his seat and into Ricky’s awaiting arms. “Where’ve you been, Tio? Papa said you went to Italy and you never came back but I don’t believe him ’cause you told me Madrid was the bestest place in the world. Right, Tio, you said that, right?”
Ricky chuckles at the boy’s excitement and nods. “Your papa was right, but I did not lie to you, Madrid is still the best place in the world, I just needed a little of a break, to see if Madrid really is the best place in the world.”
Curious eyes blink up at him innocently, and Ricky’s heart aches for his own children. “Then why don’t you come back?”
“Maybe I will, Cristianinho, someday, but I’m playing for my home, São Paulo, and then I am going to America to go play there,” Ricky explains slowly so Cristianinho can follow what he’s saying.
For his part, Cristianinho nods in blank comprehension and starts whining, “But why did you stop playing with Papa and all your friends in the first place? Papa said you could’ve just stayed because everyone loves you wherever you go, especially Papa, right Papa?”
Cristiano looks completely scandalized at his son’s words and goes to cut his oblivious son off, but Ricky, who seems to be enjoying every little bit of this too damn much, takes pity in Cris’ bright red cheeks and says gently, “I’ll make you a deal, Cristianinho, I’ll come to Madrid when you become the greatest footballer on the planet, just like your daddy, okay?”
Cristianinho’s face brightens and he starts babbling, “I’m gonna be a footballer when I grow up and I’m gonna play for Real Madrid like Papa and then you’ll come back and you and Papa can come watch me play like I watch you play!”
“Of course!” Ricky matches his excitement, his smile bigger than Cris’ seen it in a long time. Then Ricky looks at the kitchen table and notices the large Nativity seen under coontruction. “Hey Cristianinho, can I help you make the Nativity scene? Is that okay?”
“Of course, Tio! Come on!” Cristianinho jumps out of his arms and tugs Ricky by the arm over to the table, where Cris’ mom was busy painting Joseph. “You can help me with Mary and the animals!”
Cris watches with a face-splitting grin as the three most important people in his life work on one of Cris’ favorite Christmas traditions together, all laughing as Ricky tells stories about his time in Brazil and Italy. He can’t help but notice the overwhelming sense of domesticity about it and yearns for this feeling to wash over him way more often. He wants Ricky here with him every day, playing with Cristianinho and complimenting his mama’s skills and looking up at Cris every so often, and shooting him a small but heart-stopping smile that leaves him breathless and almost in tears.
After a while, they finish the Nativity scene as Cris steps in to help them. It was one of the best homemade Nativity scenes Cristiano has ever seen and pride swells in his chest for his family’s work. He looks at Ricky, who stares back at him with a sparkle in his eye and somehow, their hands secretly find each other and their fingers intertwine in a beautiful knot.
Maria must notice a change in the air because her smile gets impossibly softer and she announces loudly, “I think I may have forgotten to buy some gifts for people. Cristianinho, would you like to come to the market with me?”
“The market?” Cristianinho exclaims excitedly and runs to get his coat.
“Thank you, Mama,” Cris says quietly in his mother’s ear as he embraces her and kisses her on the cheek.
She pats her son on the cheek with a small smile and whispers back, “I’ll give you two hours, unless you need more, just call me, okay?” Cris nods and then she turns to Ricky and says empathetically, “Be strong, Riccardo, it will get easier, I promise you.”
Ricky looks utterly shocked but nods firmly anyway, his eyes impossibly sad and Cristiano’s heart aches for him. He breaks away from his mother and moves towards Ricky but a small road block in his way. Cristianinho jumps into Ricky’s arms once more and Ricky looks up at Cris, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes.
“You’ll be here when me and Ávo get back, right, Tio?” the small boy asks earnestly, his eyes wide and bright.
“Of course, Cristianinho, as long as your papa says yes,” Ricky replies, looking at Cris under his lashes. Cris involuntarily gulps.
“Okay, Cristianinho, we must go. Say good-bye to your papa and to Tio Riccardo,” Ávo says as she shrugs on her coat and pulls his son into one more strong hug. “Be gentle with him, Cristiano.”
Cristiano nods empathetically and he smiles at his son, who comes waddling over to him. “Have fun,” he says as he ruffles his hair affectionately.
The door closes behind them and something shifts in the air, slight but there nonetheless. Cris stares at Ricky while Ricky stares at his shoes, his lips curled downwards into a frown and he looks so much older than he did not even a minute ago, and Cris can’t help but curse the world for Ricky’s misfortunates and bad luck. He steps closer to his lover and reaches out for him, letting him know that he is there whenever Ricky was ready to open himself to Cristiano.
Ricky looks up at him and a sad smile appears on his lips as he reaches out and squeezes Cris’ hand. Cris squeezes back gently and tugs him through the kitchen to the living room. He sits them down on the L-shaped couch and faces Ricky with an open expression.
“How’s the…the divorce going? Is everything okay?” Cris asks, the words pouring out of his mouth before he can even think of stopping himself.
Ricky’s fragile smile quickly disappears as his bottom lip starts to tremble a little bit. “Caroline wants full custody,” he whispers in an barely audible voice, his face buried in his hands, ashamed of the hot tears that now streak his reddened face.
The words stab Cristiano like a knife going through his heart. His face complete drops as he gasps out, “You have got to fucking kidding me. That’s absurd!”
Ricky laughs bitterly as he continues shakily, “The worst part is that she’s not being cynical or bitter towards me, she’s just saying that she should have them as a matter of fact. Am I really that terrible of a dad to them that it’s just a given that she gets them?”
“Ricky, you have to be kidding me! You are one of the best fathers I know. You’re there when you can be and you care for them and love them so much!” Cris begins to protest, ready to explode.
“That’s just the thing, I’m there when I can be! I can’t cater to their every need like she can because of football. And honestly, as much as it hurts, I’m still not ready to give up football. I still have a couple years in me left and I want to stretch it out as long as possible. And that might cost me my own children!”
Ricky is full out sobbing at this point and Cris really does not want to hear anymore of this, so he darts forward before Ricky can begin again and kisses him with a burning passion bursting from his hot lips. The kiss is fierce and strong but also tender and loving as Cris pushes Ricky further down on the couch. He can feel Ricky’s tears on his own cheeks as he strokes his sharp hipbones and his flat, hard stomach through his clothes.
The kissing becomes deeper and slower as the initial sense of urgency dissipates and a new calm settles over them as they weather the storm together. Clothes slowly start to litter the living room floor and before Cris knows it, he is completely naked, looming over an equally indecent Ricky, who is smiling up at him with the most beautiful smile Cris has ever seen that his heart aches that this man is completely and exclusively his. He wonders if this is what a real normal relationship feels like.
“We have at least an hour until they come back,” Cris says softly as he begins kissing down Ricky’s neck and chest, who moans loudly and uncontrollably like a virgin. Cris smiles softly as he continues leaving a trail of kisses leading into more incriminating regions of the body that make Ricky moan even louder and Cris can’t ever remember a time where Ricky was this loud but decides not to look a gift horse in its mouth.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Ricky moans out, as Cris starts sucking on his hipbone, licking along the sharp bone, leaving lovebites as he descends further down Ricky’s body. “I’ve missed you and your tongue and-oh, right there, oh my gosh-everything.”
“Oh my god,” Cris murmurs into his upper thigh, “I’d fuck you right now, but…” Cris hasn’t bought condoms in forever; there was no point anymore with Ricky gone.
“I may have one in my back pocket?” Ricky mutters, his cheeks impossibly red. Cris just raised his eyebrows. “Don’t give me that look, you and I both know very well how you get.”
Cristiano barks out a laugh. “Is that your way of calling me a sex addict?” He continues to laugh through Ricky’s protests that make him sound like a scandalized old woman (“You just get ‘excited’ easily,” Ricky tries to say, which makes Cris laugh even harder as the Brazilian uses air quotes and everything).
Cris eventually stops laughing enough so that he can bend over and start looking for Ricky’s jeans in the sea of clothing that litters his living room floor. He eventually finds them under Cris’ own pants and Ricky’s faded Real Madrid t-shirt that makes a wry smile appear on Cris’ face.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any lube on you, by any chance?” Cris looks at his lover with hope but his face falls flat when Ricky looks sheepish. “I really don’t want to hurt you, Ricky. It’s not worth it.”
“I don’t need it,” Ricky says firmly, but Cris is not having it.
“Yes, you do. You and I both know how painful this is without lube. No lube usually means no fun,” Cris argues back just as firmly.
“Cris, please…just. I want you,” Ricky tells him earnestly, his eyes burning into Cris’ and the Portuguese’s resolve starts to crumble.
“I really don’t want to hurt you,” Cris repeats again, his voice barely audible this time, more serious.
Ricky smiles up at him shyly. “I am strong,” he says once more, and Cris thinks those sounds like famous last words.
“If it hurts too much, you tell me and I’ll stop, okay?” Cris says firmly and when he doesn’t get much of a response, his voice turns more commanding. “Ricky.”
Ricky just gently smiles at him. “Cris, I will, don’t worry. It’s not as if we haven't done this before.”
Cris doesn’t say it, but that’s the reason he’s worried. “Okay…okay, Ricky, okay.”
Cris preps him slowly and carefully, hands wandering and light on his body as he carefully stretches Ricky. “Is this okay?” Cris asks worriedly when Ricky’s eyes close. “I’m not hurting you, right?”
“No, no, it’s good, really good,” Ricky replies breathlessly, mouth hanging open slightly. “Keep going.”
Cris works him open, unraveling him just with the work of his fingers. Ricky’s occasional moans and breathy sighs go straight to Cris’ nether regions and soon Cris can’t take it anymore, and neither can Ricky apparently as a shocking string of swears leave his mouth, which is then followed by, “Cris, would you just fucking-Cris, I’m ready.”
The Portuguese lets out something akin to a sigh of relief and starts fumbling with the condom, clearly out of practice. He grins sheepishly down at Ricky, who returns it easily, and Cris can’t help but notice how beautifully wrecked he looks with his legs open for Cris, and Cris only, and his cheeks faintly flushed, still slightly embarrassed about it all even though it’s been years still they’ve started this, whatever it is.
“I love you, Ricky, so much that sometimes it hurts, you know?” Cris whispers helplessly as he gets the condom on properly and begins to push slowly into Ricky. The Brazilian makes a strangled noise and Cris immediately stops moving, wide eyes looking down at him, filled with concern and guilt.
“I’m fine,” he reassures, although the strained quality of his voice is not that reassuring. “Keep going, please.”
Cris moves more carefully, slower, but eventually he fully sinks in, letting out a sigh of relief, and waits, just staring at Ricky in wonder as his face is contorted into something that Cris decides is shere pleasure. He doesn’t move until Ricky opens a heavy eyelid and shoots him a gentle yet grumpy glare that says, “Did I say that you could stop?”
Cris’ thrusts start off slowly and short, just so Ricky’s body can adjust to the bare friction, but when Ricky unexpectedly yells, “More, oh my gosh, I’m begging you! Would you just fuck me already,” his rhythm builds and his thrust become harder and longer and faster and both their pants become louder and more erratic and Cris feels a knot begin to form at the base of his stomach.
“Ricky, I’m close,” Cris manages to gasp out as he reaches between their bodies, fingertips lightly gliding across the sweat-covered, lightly tanned skin until he finally makes touch with the base of Ricky’s cock. When Cris runs a light fingertip over it, Ricky lets out a filthy moan that sounds like it belongs in a porn film, not in real life. Cris continues to let his fingers dance teasingly across Ricky’s cock, sliding up and down, never touching the tip.
“Stop teasing me,” Ricky pants out, another loud moan escaping his mouth as Cris brushes against his prostate. Cris chuckles darkly as he forgoes his lover’s command, brushing up lightly against his balls and back down again, careful to keep his touches feathery. Ricky groans louder and curses loudly, drawing a surprised chuckle out of Cris as he leans down to lightly brush his lips against Ricky’s.
“Please, Cris, for goodness’ sake, would you just fucking touch me?” Ricky finally begs and after an agonizing moment, Cris finally complies, fully wrapping his soft hand around Ricky’s cock, pumping up and down in the same rhythm of his thrusting, egged on by Ricky’s increasingly loud moans and curses that would make a sailor blush.
Cris hits Ricky’s prostate once more, drawing a particular breathtaking, heart-stopping moan, and suddenly, Cris is coming with an intensity that he’s never felt before; it’s so intense that a blackness starts to form on the edge of Cris’ vision. Ricky comes at the same time, muttering, “I love you,” over and over again into Cristiano’s shoulder.
Neither moves for a few moments after they both come down from their shared euphoria, both too exhausted, both physically and emotional, to even consider the prospect of moving. Cris stares down at Ricky, in awe of how beautiful he looks, so effortlessly with his hair a wreck and his body drenched in sweat and yet, it’s the best Cristiano has ever seen him.
The silence that had fallen over them is broken by Cris’ laugh, completely wrecked and slightly hysteric. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank your God everyday that I did something good enough in His eyes that I apparently do.”
Ricky’s smile is so honest and adoring, not to mention endearing, that Cris contemplates crying because Ricky is a walking angel and he’s him, a devil, probably, and yet here they were, Cris looming over him on his living room couch, exchanging sweet nothings.
“How is this my life?” Cris asks no one, and then laughs. “I can’t believe we just did that on my couch.”
Ricky’s laughter begins to accompany his own, and the blending of their laughs results in a beautiful candence, better and more perfect than any musician could ever hope to achieve.
Cris pulls out of Ricky and moves to hide the evidence so that Cristianinho and his mother wouldn’t see just exactly what they were up to while they were gone. When Cris comes back into the living room, Ricky is still lying on the couch, an arm flung over his face, still stark naked. He still can’t believe this is his life as he pathetically thinks he might just be falling in love with this man a little more every second of his life since he entered it.
“We should probably shower and clean up,” Cris suggests as he moves across the room to retrieve his briefs. Ricky makes an unintelligible sound and Cris laughs at his dismay because he knows how tired the Brazilian gets after sex. “Then you can take a nap, I promise.”
Ricky makes another indignant sound as Cris opens the window to air out the room. He finally takes the arm away from his face and mutters something under his breath as he slowly sits up.
“C’mon, love, we don’t how much time left before Mama and Cristianinho come back from the market,” Cris reminds him. The statement proves effective as Ricky becomes alert once more and scrambles off of the couch to gather all of his clothing up off the floor.
They walk to Cris’ en-suite bathroom hand-in-hand, both carrying their clothing in their other hands. The shower is warm and inviting and Cris spends time just admiring how perfect Ricky’s body is and how perfect their slim bodies fit together. They’re both too exhausted to do anything further than lazily running their hands up and down each other’s bodies, admiring the sculpted qualities of their toned frames.
They have just finished getting dressed and drying their hair when they hear the front door open followed by Cristianinho’s excited voice as he babbles about the Navitity scene. They leave the master room coolly, greeting Cristiano’s mother and son enthuasticatically.
Ricky is stolen by Cristianinho, who tells him all about the shopping trip and all the cool toys he saw when he was out and all the gifts that his ávo bought. Cris watches them with a huge grin his face, which falters slightly when he remembers Ricky’s currently dilemma and wonders how on earth anyone would want to take children away from this angel of a man, who is listening intently and enthusiastically as a child give him a run-through on things that Ricky shouldn’t want to hear, but listens anyway.
“He’s something else,” Cristiano’s mom says behind him, startling her son quite badly.
“He certainly is,” Cris agrees once he recovered from his near-heart attack.
“Cristiano,” she starts and Cris turns around when he detects how earnest her voice is. “Take care of him. I see the distress in his eyes and how it dims when you are around.”
“I love him, Mama,” Cristiano says, almost as if he was answering an unasked question.
“I know, filho, I know,” Maria whispers as she pulls her son into a hug. “Just remember, he’s going to a stressful time for the foreseeable future and he’s going to need you be there for him whenever he needs it, understand?”
“Yes, Mama,” he murmurs back, squeezing his mother tightly before releasing her.
He turns back to watch Ricky and Cristianinho, who have both gone back to inspecting the finished Nativity scene with critical eyes, and smiles as Ricky runs an affectionate hand through Cristianinho’s hair, who, in return, beams up at him with an endearingly innocent look.
It gets Cristiano thinking.
•-•
A few days later, Ricky and Cristiano are standing in the foyer, staring at Ricky’s carry-on with bittersweet smiles.
“So I guess this is goodbye for now,” Cris says and even if it’s not the first time they’ve said goodbye and certainly not the last, he still can’t help but feel wetness prickle up at the corner of his eyes but he refuses to call them tears.
“For now,” Ricky repeats as he looks at Cristiano, who looks at him in return.
There’s a pause between them, an empty void that starts to strangle Cristiano as it becomes too much, too heavy. “Ricky, look…I know you told me you still want to play football, and I understand that, trust me, I do, but I was wondering…well, I was wondering if that if when you’re done, and only when you’re completely done with no regrets or loose ends to lie up, you’d consider coming back to Madrid.” There’s another heavy pause, so Cristiano keeps babbling. “With me, I mean. Cristianinho loves you and so does Mama, and you know that I am completely, zero doubt, stupidity in love with you, and that doesn’t seem to be subject to change anytime soon, and you’re family, so please, just consider it at least.”
There’s a pregnant pause and then Ricky’s melodic laughter fills the room and Cris’ heart. “I would love to, Cris,” he replies, so simply and uncomplicated that Cris swears under his breath because he’s an idiot that overthinks everything. “That would be a dream come true.”
“Thank god,” Cristiano mutters and lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”
“Only because you make me that way,” Rickly replies and it’s one of the biggest lies Cris has ever heard but also one of the sappiest things someone has ever said to him, so his heart swells.
“I love you,” Cristiano tells him as he embraces him when he sees his can show up that’s meant to take him to the airport.
“I love you, too, more than you could ever know,” Ricky replies, and closes his eyes as he takes in Cris’ familiar scent. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”
Cris smiles and nods, opening the door for Ricky. He watches as he descends down to the street, where the taxi is waiting at the curb. Ricky waves as he gets into the back of the taxi and Cris winks and waves back.
He closes the front door after he watches the car turns off to the main road, and the sound of the door slotting back into its place makes the finality of it all come crashing down on Cris’ shoulders.
•-•
A few weeks later, Ricky wakes up to find a small package on his porch. Curious, he gets a knife from the kitchen and slices it open. Inside the box is a small envelope and a piece of paper. Ricky picks up the paper and reads it.
I’m not sure if this counts as a Christmas present for this year or for the future. I guess that’s up for you to decide. Merry Christmas, Ricky.
- Cris
He opens the envelope and smiles when he sees a key. He knows what it’s for, what it symbolizes, what Cristiano wants, and he giggles a little, uncontrollably and recklessly. He reads the tag on the key, anyway, just to confirm. House key, the tag reads and Ricky sighs, content.
“What’s that, love?” a voice asks behind him as a pair of thin arms snake around his shoulders and a chin rests on the top of his head.
“Oh, nothing, love, just something of a dream,” he says, turning to face with his wife with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Caroline smiles down at him. “If you say so. I’m going to start making breakfast. Do you want coffee or tea?”
“I’ll have coffee, please,” Ricky says as he turns back to the key and his smile becomes tinged with sadness.
“No problem. Would you wake up the kids for me, please? We need to finish decorating the tree before everyone comes over,” Caroline says over her shoulder as she ventures into the kitchen.
“Got it,” he calls back. He takes one more look at the key before sliding it back into its envelope, tucking the note into it, too. He goes to his bedroom and hides the key in the back of his sock drawer along with all his fantasties of a life in the future with Cristiano and Cristianinho, the up-and-coming star of the Madrid youth system, in Madrid, and goes to wake up his own children.
Author: firetruckyouxx
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5654
Pairings, Characters: Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaká
Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Infidelity
Summary: Ricky tells Cristiano in the late summer during one their weekly phone calls that caused Cristiano’s monthly phone bill to be more expensive than some people’s monthly salary, as the sun sinks in the Madrid sky while it’s still high and bright hanging over Brazil and Cris can’t help but feel a little bit cynical.
Author's Note: Written for ourseparatecities for the Footy Secret Santa exchange.
Ricky tells Cristiano in the late summer during one their weekly phone calls that caused Cristiano’s monthly phone bill to be more expensive than some people’s monthly salary, as the sun sinks in the Madrid sky while it’s still high and bright hanging over Brazil and Cris can’t help but feel a little bit cyncial. The words bring a shock of relieved numbness, almost as if someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head on a hot summers day, and in that moment, Cris knew Kaka’s God just booked a first-class, one way ticket straight to hell for him because goddamn, what the actual fuck was wrong with him?
“Caroline and I…well, we decided it would be best if we got a divorce,” Ricky has just told him, words heavy with tears and fatigue and Cris yearns to be by his side, arms wrapped around his slight but strong frame, whispering sweet nothings and dumb jokes that make Ricky laugh his angelic laugh. Cris wishes with a sense of urgency, one that hurts so much but changes so little, that Ricky never left Madrid.
He wonders if that would have changed anything. Then, because his ticket to hell needed to be validated, he wondered if it would have sped up the process, that if this divorce was just inevitable.
“Fuck, Ricky, are you sure?” Cristiano thinks is the right thing to say because even if this may have just been inevitable, this is Ricky, and Cristiano may not know much when it comes to Ricky’s God but he knows that divorce is not really the thing that makes the higher being want to put you on its express lane to Heaven.
“You know better than anyone that we have not been happy for a long time,” Ricky says with a voice that is not quite accusing but has that “don’t-you-dare-bullshit-me” quality to it. Cris’ tanned cheeks take on a slightly red complexion as he thinks back to the last night he was in Rio early in the summer, his hand on the small of Ricky’s back while his fingers wandered lower as they watched the sun set from Cristiano’s hotel room balcony.
“I’ll always love you,” Ricky said to him, breaking the silence that stretched on for eternies. And when Cris turned to look at him, he almost bursted into tears because in that instance, Ricky was the most beautiful thing to ever exist, with the sun highlighting his soft profile, a sad but honest smile spread across his lips and a sparkle in his eye.
Cristiano opened his mouth to reply, but his mind was blank and his tongue was tied, so he responded to him through his actions, taking his hand and dragging him back into the hotel room.
“I just never thought-” Cristiano cuts himself off before he says something he knows he’ll no doubt regret later on. Ricky makes a noise and Cris knows he understands, even through Cris’ inability to communicate effectively when it matters most and Cris realizes this is why they work so well because Ricky just knows, especially when Cris can’t quite get the words out.
Ricky lets out a bitter chuckle, something Cris has not heard in a long time, that sets a violent tremor down Cris’ spine. “Nor did I,” he said, his voice full of contempt and regret and Cris hopes, wickedly, that he is not included in those regrets, that what they have is not something Ricky is ashamed of or spiteful about.
“What about the kids?” Cris asks quietly, knowing he is walking on thin ice.
“I-I don’t know, Cris, I really don’t. Obviously we both want them but we want this to work, so…” Kaká trails off and Cris can picture him at this very moment, sitting on his bed with his head hanging between his thighs, hand running through his unkempt hair. “I don’t want to lose them, I really don’t. I can’t.”
Cristiano is silent, taking in Ricky’s broken tone and imagining what it would be like to lose his own son, and the ache of his heart over an imagined scenario is enough to almost make Cris start crying for Ricky’s sake because Cristiano couldn’t fathom living a life without Cristianinho. The silence stretches for longer than either of them anticipated but neither man knows what to say or do, minds heavy with tremendous burdens no one should face alone.
Finally, Ricky says, “I have to go; my lawyer want to speak to me about the custody issues. I’ll talk you later, Cris.”
Just as Cris was going to hang up, he called out, “Wait!”
“Cris?”
“I just-I love you, okay? I love you so much, Ricky, and I’m here for you with whatever you need, okay?” The words tumble out with Cris’ permission, creating one of the most embarrassing and soul-bearing word vomits that Cristiano has ever created.
“I know,” Ricky says, his voice softer than Cris has ever heard it and he can feel the love pouring through the phone, the feeling of pure, unadulterated love and affection, and he hopes Ricky can feel it too, because it’s there, so bright and obvious to Cris, and he hopes it’s just as obvious to Ricky. “I love you, too.”
The click after that breaks Cris’ heart a little bit and if Cris’ eyes feel a little bit wet and his mouth a little bit dry, no one has to know.
•-•
A month and several tense phone calls later, Cris is getting ready for Christmas with Cristianinho and his mother. Cris is busy getting the Christmas ornaments from the attic while his mom and son start making the Nativity scene, just like they did when Cristiano was a child. Cristiano is bringing down the last box of ornaments when the doorbell rings.
He places the ornaments on the stairs leading up to the attic and jogs to the door. When he opens it, he almost fell over in shock. Standing there with shy but dazzling smile and two huge bags in his hands, Ricky looks like a cross between a choir boy and some of the underwear models Cris works with for his CR7 underwear line.
“Ricky?” he asks, almost for confirmation, because surely he was not standing on Cris’ porch, nervous and jittery.
“Hey Cris,” he says softly, his smile growing and becoming more genuine and bright. He places the bags down gently by his feet and takes a tentative step forward, once more unsure of himself. He slowly wraps his arms around Cristiano’s broad shoulders and pulls their bodies close together, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon aftershave that Cris is so fond of.
“Hi,” he replies breathlessly into the crook of Ricky’s neck, wrapping his arms around Ricky’s waist after the initial shock of his arrival wore off. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Neither can I,” Ricky admits, an embarrassed chuckle escaping him and a slight red flush brushing across his cheeks. “This was all a little bit sudden and spontaneous, if I’m honest.”
“Yeah, I can see,” Cris quips as he noticed the lack of luggage with Ricky, except for the small carry on bag slug across his back, who blushes harder and rubs at the back of his neck. “Come in, come in. Cristianinho, Mama and I are just getting the house ready for Christmas.”
Cris smiles when he sees Ricky positively light up, knowing how much Ricky loves Christmas time. He gets so excited the entire month of December, always talking about presents and decorations and Christmases past. Cris would always indulge him, drinking in Ricky’s tales of Brazilian Christmas and his desires to be able to celebrate with his family more.
Ricky hands Cris one of the bags and when Cris peaks inside, it’s filled to the top with wrapped gifts. When Cris looks back at Ricky, he is smiling sheepishly at the floor, biting his bottom lip as if he did something wrong. Cris’ heart swells in his chest as his overwhelming affection for this man gets the best of him; it leaves Cris breathless and thoughtless and paralyzed by how dearly he loves the man in front of him, the man who has been good to him and who has always been there for him, through good times and bad.
“I love you,” Cris whispers uncontrollably because his love makes him unpredictable and unyielding and it’s both a horrible, horrible thing but also it’s also a blessing from God, he thinks. Ricky’s smile grows larger and more loving and he takes his hand and squeezes it tenderly and Cris almost cries because the touch is so tender and sweet and it’s Ricky.
They slowly make their way inside, too busy trying to steal glances of each other to walk quickly, and eventually, after what feels like centuries, make it into Cris’ outrageously-sized kitchen, but not before hiding the presents from Cristianinho, where said boy and Cris’ mom were still working on the Navitity scene, hardly noticing that they had a visitor. Finally, Cris clears his throat loudly, making the two jump and look up in confusion.
Then, Crisianinho’s eyes find Ricky’s. “Tio!” the small boy shouts, forgetting about the Mother Mary he was painting and shooting out his seat and into Ricky’s awaiting arms. “Where’ve you been, Tio? Papa said you went to Italy and you never came back but I don’t believe him ’cause you told me Madrid was the bestest place in the world. Right, Tio, you said that, right?”
Ricky chuckles at the boy’s excitement and nods. “Your papa was right, but I did not lie to you, Madrid is still the best place in the world, I just needed a little of a break, to see if Madrid really is the best place in the world.”
Curious eyes blink up at him innocently, and Ricky’s heart aches for his own children. “Then why don’t you come back?”
“Maybe I will, Cristianinho, someday, but I’m playing for my home, São Paulo, and then I am going to America to go play there,” Ricky explains slowly so Cristianinho can follow what he’s saying.
For his part, Cristianinho nods in blank comprehension and starts whining, “But why did you stop playing with Papa and all your friends in the first place? Papa said you could’ve just stayed because everyone loves you wherever you go, especially Papa, right Papa?”
Cristiano looks completely scandalized at his son’s words and goes to cut his oblivious son off, but Ricky, who seems to be enjoying every little bit of this too damn much, takes pity in Cris’ bright red cheeks and says gently, “I’ll make you a deal, Cristianinho, I’ll come to Madrid when you become the greatest footballer on the planet, just like your daddy, okay?”
Cristianinho’s face brightens and he starts babbling, “I’m gonna be a footballer when I grow up and I’m gonna play for Real Madrid like Papa and then you’ll come back and you and Papa can come watch me play like I watch you play!”
“Of course!” Ricky matches his excitement, his smile bigger than Cris’ seen it in a long time. Then Ricky looks at the kitchen table and notices the large Nativity seen under coontruction. “Hey Cristianinho, can I help you make the Nativity scene? Is that okay?”
“Of course, Tio! Come on!” Cristianinho jumps out of his arms and tugs Ricky by the arm over to the table, where Cris’ mom was busy painting Joseph. “You can help me with Mary and the animals!”
Cris watches with a face-splitting grin as the three most important people in his life work on one of Cris’ favorite Christmas traditions together, all laughing as Ricky tells stories about his time in Brazil and Italy. He can’t help but notice the overwhelming sense of domesticity about it and yearns for this feeling to wash over him way more often. He wants Ricky here with him every day, playing with Cristianinho and complimenting his mama’s skills and looking up at Cris every so often, and shooting him a small but heart-stopping smile that leaves him breathless and almost in tears.
After a while, they finish the Nativity scene as Cris steps in to help them. It was one of the best homemade Nativity scenes Cristiano has ever seen and pride swells in his chest for his family’s work. He looks at Ricky, who stares back at him with a sparkle in his eye and somehow, their hands secretly find each other and their fingers intertwine in a beautiful knot.
Maria must notice a change in the air because her smile gets impossibly softer and she announces loudly, “I think I may have forgotten to buy some gifts for people. Cristianinho, would you like to come to the market with me?”
“The market?” Cristianinho exclaims excitedly and runs to get his coat.
“Thank you, Mama,” Cris says quietly in his mother’s ear as he embraces her and kisses her on the cheek.
She pats her son on the cheek with a small smile and whispers back, “I’ll give you two hours, unless you need more, just call me, okay?” Cris nods and then she turns to Ricky and says empathetically, “Be strong, Riccardo, it will get easier, I promise you.”
Ricky looks utterly shocked but nods firmly anyway, his eyes impossibly sad and Cristiano’s heart aches for him. He breaks away from his mother and moves towards Ricky but a small road block in his way. Cristianinho jumps into Ricky’s arms once more and Ricky looks up at Cris, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes.
“You’ll be here when me and Ávo get back, right, Tio?” the small boy asks earnestly, his eyes wide and bright.
“Of course, Cristianinho, as long as your papa says yes,” Ricky replies, looking at Cris under his lashes. Cris involuntarily gulps.
“Okay, Cristianinho, we must go. Say good-bye to your papa and to Tio Riccardo,” Ávo says as she shrugs on her coat and pulls his son into one more strong hug. “Be gentle with him, Cristiano.”
Cristiano nods empathetically and he smiles at his son, who comes waddling over to him. “Have fun,” he says as he ruffles his hair affectionately.
The door closes behind them and something shifts in the air, slight but there nonetheless. Cris stares at Ricky while Ricky stares at his shoes, his lips curled downwards into a frown and he looks so much older than he did not even a minute ago, and Cris can’t help but curse the world for Ricky’s misfortunates and bad luck. He steps closer to his lover and reaches out for him, letting him know that he is there whenever Ricky was ready to open himself to Cristiano.
Ricky looks up at him and a sad smile appears on his lips as he reaches out and squeezes Cris’ hand. Cris squeezes back gently and tugs him through the kitchen to the living room. He sits them down on the L-shaped couch and faces Ricky with an open expression.
“How’s the…the divorce going? Is everything okay?” Cris asks, the words pouring out of his mouth before he can even think of stopping himself.
Ricky’s fragile smile quickly disappears as his bottom lip starts to tremble a little bit. “Caroline wants full custody,” he whispers in an barely audible voice, his face buried in his hands, ashamed of the hot tears that now streak his reddened face.
The words stab Cristiano like a knife going through his heart. His face complete drops as he gasps out, “You have got to fucking kidding me. That’s absurd!”
Ricky laughs bitterly as he continues shakily, “The worst part is that she’s not being cynical or bitter towards me, she’s just saying that she should have them as a matter of fact. Am I really that terrible of a dad to them that it’s just a given that she gets them?”
“Ricky, you have to be kidding me! You are one of the best fathers I know. You’re there when you can be and you care for them and love them so much!” Cris begins to protest, ready to explode.
“That’s just the thing, I’m there when I can be! I can’t cater to their every need like she can because of football. And honestly, as much as it hurts, I’m still not ready to give up football. I still have a couple years in me left and I want to stretch it out as long as possible. And that might cost me my own children!”
Ricky is full out sobbing at this point and Cris really does not want to hear anymore of this, so he darts forward before Ricky can begin again and kisses him with a burning passion bursting from his hot lips. The kiss is fierce and strong but also tender and loving as Cris pushes Ricky further down on the couch. He can feel Ricky’s tears on his own cheeks as he strokes his sharp hipbones and his flat, hard stomach through his clothes.
The kissing becomes deeper and slower as the initial sense of urgency dissipates and a new calm settles over them as they weather the storm together. Clothes slowly start to litter the living room floor and before Cris knows it, he is completely naked, looming over an equally indecent Ricky, who is smiling up at him with the most beautiful smile Cris has ever seen that his heart aches that this man is completely and exclusively his. He wonders if this is what a real normal relationship feels like.
“We have at least an hour until they come back,” Cris says softly as he begins kissing down Ricky’s neck and chest, who moans loudly and uncontrollably like a virgin. Cris smiles softly as he continues leaving a trail of kisses leading into more incriminating regions of the body that make Ricky moan even louder and Cris can’t ever remember a time where Ricky was this loud but decides not to look a gift horse in its mouth.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Ricky moans out, as Cris starts sucking on his hipbone, licking along the sharp bone, leaving lovebites as he descends further down Ricky’s body. “I’ve missed you and your tongue and-oh, right there, oh my gosh-everything.”
“Oh my god,” Cris murmurs into his upper thigh, “I’d fuck you right now, but…” Cris hasn’t bought condoms in forever; there was no point anymore with Ricky gone.
“I may have one in my back pocket?” Ricky mutters, his cheeks impossibly red. Cris just raised his eyebrows. “Don’t give me that look, you and I both know very well how you get.”
Cristiano barks out a laugh. “Is that your way of calling me a sex addict?” He continues to laugh through Ricky’s protests that make him sound like a scandalized old woman (“You just get ‘excited’ easily,” Ricky tries to say, which makes Cris laugh even harder as the Brazilian uses air quotes and everything).
Cris eventually stops laughing enough so that he can bend over and start looking for Ricky’s jeans in the sea of clothing that litters his living room floor. He eventually finds them under Cris’ own pants and Ricky’s faded Real Madrid t-shirt that makes a wry smile appear on Cris’ face.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any lube on you, by any chance?” Cris looks at his lover with hope but his face falls flat when Ricky looks sheepish. “I really don’t want to hurt you, Ricky. It’s not worth it.”
“I don’t need it,” Ricky says firmly, but Cris is not having it.
“Yes, you do. You and I both know how painful this is without lube. No lube usually means no fun,” Cris argues back just as firmly.
“Cris, please…just. I want you,” Ricky tells him earnestly, his eyes burning into Cris’ and the Portuguese’s resolve starts to crumble.
“I really don’t want to hurt you,” Cris repeats again, his voice barely audible this time, more serious.
Ricky smiles up at him shyly. “I am strong,” he says once more, and Cris thinks those sounds like famous last words.
“If it hurts too much, you tell me and I’ll stop, okay?” Cris says firmly and when he doesn’t get much of a response, his voice turns more commanding. “Ricky.”
Ricky just gently smiles at him. “Cris, I will, don’t worry. It’s not as if we haven't done this before.”
Cris doesn’t say it, but that’s the reason he’s worried. “Okay…okay, Ricky, okay.”
Cris preps him slowly and carefully, hands wandering and light on his body as he carefully stretches Ricky. “Is this okay?” Cris asks worriedly when Ricky’s eyes close. “I’m not hurting you, right?”
“No, no, it’s good, really good,” Ricky replies breathlessly, mouth hanging open slightly. “Keep going.”
Cris works him open, unraveling him just with the work of his fingers. Ricky’s occasional moans and breathy sighs go straight to Cris’ nether regions and soon Cris can’t take it anymore, and neither can Ricky apparently as a shocking string of swears leave his mouth, which is then followed by, “Cris, would you just fucking-Cris, I’m ready.”
The Portuguese lets out something akin to a sigh of relief and starts fumbling with the condom, clearly out of practice. He grins sheepishly down at Ricky, who returns it easily, and Cris can’t help but notice how beautifully wrecked he looks with his legs open for Cris, and Cris only, and his cheeks faintly flushed, still slightly embarrassed about it all even though it’s been years still they’ve started this, whatever it is.
“I love you, Ricky, so much that sometimes it hurts, you know?” Cris whispers helplessly as he gets the condom on properly and begins to push slowly into Ricky. The Brazilian makes a strangled noise and Cris immediately stops moving, wide eyes looking down at him, filled with concern and guilt.
“I’m fine,” he reassures, although the strained quality of his voice is not that reassuring. “Keep going, please.”
Cris moves more carefully, slower, but eventually he fully sinks in, letting out a sigh of relief, and waits, just staring at Ricky in wonder as his face is contorted into something that Cris decides is shere pleasure. He doesn’t move until Ricky opens a heavy eyelid and shoots him a gentle yet grumpy glare that says, “Did I say that you could stop?”
Cris’ thrusts start off slowly and short, just so Ricky’s body can adjust to the bare friction, but when Ricky unexpectedly yells, “More, oh my gosh, I’m begging you! Would you just fuck me already,” his rhythm builds and his thrust become harder and longer and faster and both their pants become louder and more erratic and Cris feels a knot begin to form at the base of his stomach.
“Ricky, I’m close,” Cris manages to gasp out as he reaches between their bodies, fingertips lightly gliding across the sweat-covered, lightly tanned skin until he finally makes touch with the base of Ricky’s cock. When Cris runs a light fingertip over it, Ricky lets out a filthy moan that sounds like it belongs in a porn film, not in real life. Cris continues to let his fingers dance teasingly across Ricky’s cock, sliding up and down, never touching the tip.
“Stop teasing me,” Ricky pants out, another loud moan escaping his mouth as Cris brushes against his prostate. Cris chuckles darkly as he forgoes his lover’s command, brushing up lightly against his balls and back down again, careful to keep his touches feathery. Ricky groans louder and curses loudly, drawing a surprised chuckle out of Cris as he leans down to lightly brush his lips against Ricky’s.
“Please, Cris, for goodness’ sake, would you just fucking touch me?” Ricky finally begs and after an agonizing moment, Cris finally complies, fully wrapping his soft hand around Ricky’s cock, pumping up and down in the same rhythm of his thrusting, egged on by Ricky’s increasingly loud moans and curses that would make a sailor blush.
Cris hits Ricky’s prostate once more, drawing a particular breathtaking, heart-stopping moan, and suddenly, Cris is coming with an intensity that he’s never felt before; it’s so intense that a blackness starts to form on the edge of Cris’ vision. Ricky comes at the same time, muttering, “I love you,” over and over again into Cristiano’s shoulder.
Neither moves for a few moments after they both come down from their shared euphoria, both too exhausted, both physically and emotional, to even consider the prospect of moving. Cris stares down at Ricky, in awe of how beautiful he looks, so effortlessly with his hair a wreck and his body drenched in sweat and yet, it’s the best Cristiano has ever seen him.
The silence that had fallen over them is broken by Cris’ laugh, completely wrecked and slightly hysteric. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank your God everyday that I did something good enough in His eyes that I apparently do.”
Ricky’s smile is so honest and adoring, not to mention endearing, that Cris contemplates crying because Ricky is a walking angel and he’s him, a devil, probably, and yet here they were, Cris looming over him on his living room couch, exchanging sweet nothings.
“How is this my life?” Cris asks no one, and then laughs. “I can’t believe we just did that on my couch.”
Ricky’s laughter begins to accompany his own, and the blending of their laughs results in a beautiful candence, better and more perfect than any musician could ever hope to achieve.
Cris pulls out of Ricky and moves to hide the evidence so that Cristianinho and his mother wouldn’t see just exactly what they were up to while they were gone. When Cris comes back into the living room, Ricky is still lying on the couch, an arm flung over his face, still stark naked. He still can’t believe this is his life as he pathetically thinks he might just be falling in love with this man a little more every second of his life since he entered it.
“We should probably shower and clean up,” Cris suggests as he moves across the room to retrieve his briefs. Ricky makes an unintelligible sound and Cris laughs at his dismay because he knows how tired the Brazilian gets after sex. “Then you can take a nap, I promise.”
Ricky makes another indignant sound as Cris opens the window to air out the room. He finally takes the arm away from his face and mutters something under his breath as he slowly sits up.
“C’mon, love, we don’t how much time left before Mama and Cristianinho come back from the market,” Cris reminds him. The statement proves effective as Ricky becomes alert once more and scrambles off of the couch to gather all of his clothing up off the floor.
They walk to Cris’ en-suite bathroom hand-in-hand, both carrying their clothing in their other hands. The shower is warm and inviting and Cris spends time just admiring how perfect Ricky’s body is and how perfect their slim bodies fit together. They’re both too exhausted to do anything further than lazily running their hands up and down each other’s bodies, admiring the sculpted qualities of their toned frames.
They have just finished getting dressed and drying their hair when they hear the front door open followed by Cristianinho’s excited voice as he babbles about the Navitity scene. They leave the master room coolly, greeting Cristiano’s mother and son enthuasticatically.
Ricky is stolen by Cristianinho, who tells him all about the shopping trip and all the cool toys he saw when he was out and all the gifts that his ávo bought. Cris watches them with a huge grin his face, which falters slightly when he remembers Ricky’s currently dilemma and wonders how on earth anyone would want to take children away from this angel of a man, who is listening intently and enthusiastically as a child give him a run-through on things that Ricky shouldn’t want to hear, but listens anyway.
“He’s something else,” Cristiano’s mom says behind him, startling her son quite badly.
“He certainly is,” Cris agrees once he recovered from his near-heart attack.
“Cristiano,” she starts and Cris turns around when he detects how earnest her voice is. “Take care of him. I see the distress in his eyes and how it dims when you are around.”
“I love him, Mama,” Cristiano says, almost as if he was answering an unasked question.
“I know, filho, I know,” Maria whispers as she pulls her son into a hug. “Just remember, he’s going to a stressful time for the foreseeable future and he’s going to need you be there for him whenever he needs it, understand?”
“Yes, Mama,” he murmurs back, squeezing his mother tightly before releasing her.
He turns back to watch Ricky and Cristianinho, who have both gone back to inspecting the finished Nativity scene with critical eyes, and smiles as Ricky runs an affectionate hand through Cristianinho’s hair, who, in return, beams up at him with an endearingly innocent look.
It gets Cristiano thinking.
•-•
A few days later, Ricky and Cristiano are standing in the foyer, staring at Ricky’s carry-on with bittersweet smiles.
“So I guess this is goodbye for now,” Cris says and even if it’s not the first time they’ve said goodbye and certainly not the last, he still can’t help but feel wetness prickle up at the corner of his eyes but he refuses to call them tears.
“For now,” Ricky repeats as he looks at Cristiano, who looks at him in return.
There’s a pause between them, an empty void that starts to strangle Cristiano as it becomes too much, too heavy. “Ricky, look…I know you told me you still want to play football, and I understand that, trust me, I do, but I was wondering…well, I was wondering if that if when you’re done, and only when you’re completely done with no regrets or loose ends to lie up, you’d consider coming back to Madrid.” There’s another heavy pause, so Cristiano keeps babbling. “With me, I mean. Cristianinho loves you and so does Mama, and you know that I am completely, zero doubt, stupidity in love with you, and that doesn’t seem to be subject to change anytime soon, and you’re family, so please, just consider it at least.”
There’s a pregnant pause and then Ricky’s melodic laughter fills the room and Cris’ heart. “I would love to, Cris,” he replies, so simply and uncomplicated that Cris swears under his breath because he’s an idiot that overthinks everything. “That would be a dream come true.”
“Thank god,” Cristiano mutters and lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”
“Only because you make me that way,” Rickly replies and it’s one of the biggest lies Cris has ever heard but also one of the sappiest things someone has ever said to him, so his heart swells.
“I love you,” Cristiano tells him as he embraces him when he sees his can show up that’s meant to take him to the airport.
“I love you, too, more than you could ever know,” Ricky replies, and closes his eyes as he takes in Cris’ familiar scent. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”
Cris smiles and nods, opening the door for Ricky. He watches as he descends down to the street, where the taxi is waiting at the curb. Ricky waves as he gets into the back of the taxi and Cris winks and waves back.
He closes the front door after he watches the car turns off to the main road, and the sound of the door slotting back into its place makes the finality of it all come crashing down on Cris’ shoulders.
•-•
A few weeks later, Ricky wakes up to find a small package on his porch. Curious, he gets a knife from the kitchen and slices it open. Inside the box is a small envelope and a piece of paper. Ricky picks up the paper and reads it.
I’m not sure if this counts as a Christmas present for this year or for the future. I guess that’s up for you to decide. Merry Christmas, Ricky.
- Cris
He opens the envelope and smiles when he sees a key. He knows what it’s for, what it symbolizes, what Cristiano wants, and he giggles a little, uncontrollably and recklessly. He reads the tag on the key, anyway, just to confirm. House key, the tag reads and Ricky sighs, content.
“What’s that, love?” a voice asks behind him as a pair of thin arms snake around his shoulders and a chin rests on the top of his head.
“Oh, nothing, love, just something of a dream,” he says, turning to face with his wife with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Caroline smiles down at him. “If you say so. I’m going to start making breakfast. Do you want coffee or tea?”
“I’ll have coffee, please,” Ricky says as he turns back to the key and his smile becomes tinged with sadness.
“No problem. Would you wake up the kids for me, please? We need to finish decorating the tree before everyone comes over,” Caroline says over her shoulder as she ventures into the kitchen.
“Got it,” he calls back. He takes one more look at the key before sliding it back into its envelope, tucking the note into it, too. He goes to his bedroom and hides the key in the back of his sock drawer along with all his fantasties of a life in the future with Cristiano and Cristianinho, the up-and-coming star of the Madrid youth system, in Madrid, and goes to wake up his own children.