Word Count: 594
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. I'm pretty sure that's illegal.
Pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/Mesut Özil
Warnings: I guess underaged boys, but all they do is kiss. Really, it's about as edgy as cotton candy.
Summary: Cristiano's been wanting to kiss Mesut for a long time. He finally does.
A/N: This is a little extra to the fic "A Tale of Two Princes" that I'm writing over at footballkink, which I have kind of started over and am trying to fix up, so it makes more sense and the characters make a bit more sense.
They sat, hidden behind the far shelves of the West Wing Library, eating pastries stolen from the kitchen. Mesut’s face was red from laughter and Cristiano grinned to hear him. He loved the colour it brought to his cheeks. He loved to see him happy.
“You have some sugar here,” Cristiano said, pointing on his own face to show Mesut where the powder was stuck.
Mesut licked the sides of his mouth clean. Cristiano felt his stomach twist into a knot at the cuteness of it. He wanted to kiss him and lick the sugar off himself. Kissing Mesut was something he wanted more and more lately. He had never acted on his desire, worried that Mesut would be uninterested in kissing him. He blushed at his own reaction.
“Are you all right? Too much sugar?” Mesut said, turning his face toward Cristiano with the private lazy smile, eyes half-lidded, that seemed reserved for him alone.
Cristiano’s heartbeat quickened as he looked back into Mesut’s eyes. He wanted to kiss those as well and tell Mesut how much he loved them, even though so many people found them disconcerting. He shook his head in answer to Mesut’s question and at his own disgustingly besotted fifteen-year-old self.
Mesut waited for him to speak. Cristiano became aware of the small space between them as they sat beside each other, leaning back against the wall, full from the sweets. He looked down, hoping he wasn’t too red from the embarrassment preceding his words. He breathed in deeply to calm himself.
“Can I kiss you?” Cristiano said. He stole a glace to the side to see Mesut’s eyes grow wide in surprise. His stomach slowly began to churn in anticipation of rejection. He focused his gaze on his lap.
Cristiano’s head jerked up to look at Mesut, whose face was now tinged with red, a blush, and not the rosiness of laughter that Cristiano was accustomed to.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Mesut said, forcefully this time as though he was annoyed.
Cristiano gulped and exhaled, trying to calm the tingle of excitement coursing through his body. As he leaned in, Mesut closed his eyes, pursing his lips slightly. At another time, Cristiano would laugh at how childish it was, but all he could think about was the fact that he was about to kiss Mesut and all he could feel was the heady rush of a dream coming true.
He pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. Mesut’s pursed lips gave way as though surprised by the softness of it. Cristiano pulled away with some reluctance, but he was eager to see Mesut’s reaction. His heart continued pounding in his chest.
“Was it all right?” he asked.
Mesut looked down to the side, avoiding Cristiano’s face. He nodded.
Cristiano grinned and put his hand over Mesut’s. Mesut looked up at him.
“Does that mean I can kiss you again?” Cristiano said.
Mesut’s blush deepened, but he continued to look Cristiano in the face, twisting their hands around so their fingers could intertwine.
“I’d like that.”
Cristiano’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, excitement flaring anew. He had dreamed all of it: the kiss, Mesut’s blushing face, but the reality was overwhelming and he could hardly believe that Mesut wanted to kiss him again.
Mesut gave him a questioning look, as if asking what he was waiting for.
“So impatient,” he said, feigning reproach.
Mesut frowned and Cristiano grinned in response.
“And so cute,” he said, leaning in for the second kiss of many more.