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Cristiano had always been a sore loser. Match, bet, stupid card game—didn’t matter. He hated coming second. So when Leo wiped the floor with him again in FIFA, right there in their penthouse living room, the vibe changed fast. Cris flopped back on the couch in just his gray sweatpants, arms crossed tight, glaring at the screen like it personally betrayed him.
“This game’s rigged,” he grumbled. “You cheated.”
Leo didn’t even look up properly, just stretched his legs out longer and smirked. “I don’t need to cheat to beat you, baby.”
Cris snorted. “Yeah? Like you could ever outplay me for real.”
Leo finally turned his head, eyes sparkling with that quiet amusement Cris both loved and hated. “Remind me who’s got more Ballon d’Ors?”
Cristiano’s jaw locked. He hated that card. Without thinking, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Whatever, shorty.” The room went still.
Leo’s face didn’t change right away, but Cris felt it—the air got heavier, warmer, charged. Leo sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, watching him with that calm, dangerous look.
“What’d you just say?”
Cris froze for half a second. He knew Leo didn’t let shit slide. But backing down? Not his style. He was Cristiano fucking Ronaldo. So he lifted his chin, smirked wider, and went for it.
“I said shorty.”
Leo let out a slow breath. Cris should’ve clocked the warning, but he was too busy feeling smug.
“Oh,” Leo said, voice soft and even. “You wanna play like that tonight?”
Cris stretched out lazily, all fake confidence. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Leo hummed low in his throat. “Okay, brat.” He stood up, rolled his shoulders like he was warming up for extra time. “Let’s see how long that attitude lasts.”
Cris felt the spark low in his belly, but no way was he admitting it. He just grinned. “You promise?”
Leo’s laugh was quiet, fond, and a little wicked. That should’ve been the real warning.
He walked over slow—too slow. Cris watched every step, heart picking up even though he tried to play it cool. Leo stopped right in front of him, head tilted, looking down with those dark eyes.
“You keep forgetting who’s in charge here, mi amor,” Leo said, voice velvet.
Cris huffed. “You don’t scare me.”
Leo didn’t answer with words. He just reached out, fingertips ghosting down Cris' throat—so light it was almost nothing. Cris' pulse jumped anyway, traitor that it was.
“You love running your mouth,” Leo whispered, fingers drifting lower, “but we both know you’d rather be using it for other things.”
Cris swallowed. “I—”
Leo’s hand caught his chin, gentle but firm, tilting his face up so their eyes locked.
“Get up.”
Cris paused—just long enough to be annoying. Leo’s smirk said he knew exactly what Cris was doing.
“Don’t make me say it twice.”
Cris could’ve pushed back. Could’ve made it a real fight. But honestly? He didn’t want to. So he sighed dramatically, stood up, and now they were chest to chest—well, chest to collarbone, because yeah, the height thing was real.
“Happy?” Cris asked, dripping sarcasm.
Leo’s smile was slow. “Not yet.”
And then he shoved—gentle but sure—until Cris’ back hit the mattress. Leo followed right after, climbing on top, pinning Cris’ wrists above his head with one hand. Not hard. Just enough.
“Go on,” Leo murmured, lips brushing Cris' ear. “Say it again.”
Cris wanted to keep the brat energy going. Wanted to push. But Leo’s warmth, his smell, the way he was looking at him—it was already working. “I—”
Leo kissed the corner of his mouth, soft. “Didn’t hear you, cariño.”
Cris' breath hitched. His body was giving him away—heart hammering, skin heating up. Leo definitely noticed.
“Still think I’m short?” Leo asked, all smug affection, as he rolled his hips down slow—just a tease. Cris' brain stuttered. Leo did it again, deliberate, and a small, helpless sound slipped out before Cris could catch it.
Leo grinned against his neck. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Cris' mind was spinning. Part of him still wanted to mouth off, but mostly he just wanted Leo closer.
They’d been doing this for years—long enough that the teasing felt like foreplay all on its own. Leo knew every button, every weak spot, and he never used them to hurt. Only to make Cris feel wanted.
Leo’s free hand slid down Cris' side, slow and warm, thumb brushing over his ribs like he had all night.
“You’re so pretty when you’re trying to be difficult,” he said quietly, kissing along Cris' jaw. “Makes me wanna take my time with you.”
Cris shivered. “You’re such a tease.”
“Only for you.” Leo’s fingers dipped under the waistband of the sweatpants, not rushing, just tracing the line of Cris' hip. Cris lifted into the touch without thinking, and Leo chuckled low. “See? Already so needy.”
“Shut up,” Cris muttered, but he was smiling a little, cheeks warm.
Leo tugged the pants down inch by inch, kissing every bit of skin he uncovered—stomach, hipbone, inner thigh. When Cris was finally bare, Leo just looked for a second, eyes soft and hungry. His cock, hard and leaking, curved prettily against his belly. “God, I love this view.”
Cris felt exposed in the best way. “Then do something about it.”
“Such a demanding brat,” Leo laughed quietly, settling between his legs.
He kissed the inside of Cris' thigh first, then higher, slow, open-mouthed kisses until Cris was squirming. When Leo finally took him in his mouth, it was gentle—warm, wet, unhurried. Cris' head fell back, a long breath escaping him.
“Oh-” Cris moaned as Leo suckled at the head of his cock, pressing tiny kisses, taking his time worshipping the beautiful mess writhing underneath him.
Leo worked him slowly, tongue lazy, hand stroking what his mouth couldn’t reach. Every time Cris got close, Leo eased off, kissing his hip instead, letting him come back down. It was torture and heaven at the same time.
“L-Leo,” Cris finally breathed, voice wrecked. “Please.”
Leo pulled off, lips shiny, and crawled back up. “Please what, amor?”
Cris wrapped his legs around Leo’s waist, pulling him closer. “Want you. Now.”
Leo’s eyes went dark and tender. He kissed Cris deep, slow, tongues sliding together like they had forever to do it. “Yeah? You got me.”
He reached for the nightstand—lube already there, because of course—coated his fingers, then himself.
One finger first, easy, familiar. Cris sighed into his mouth, relaxing fast. Second finger, then third, Leo
curling them just right, brushing that spot until Cris was arching, whispering Leo’s name like a prayer.
When Leo finally pushed in, it was slow—careful, steady, eyes locked on Cris' the whole time. “Okay?” he whispered.
Cris nodded, hands sliding up Leo’s back, nails digging in lightly. “Y-yeah - ah - d-don’t stop.”
Leo didn’t. He moved smooth and deep, rolling his hips in that perfect rhythm they’d perfected over years. Not frantic—just right. Cris met every thrust, legs tight around him, pulling him closer. They kissed messy, breathless, foreheads pressed together.
“You feel so good,” Leo murmured against his lips. “Always do.”
Cris' hand slowly reached between his legs, moving to stroke himself, before realizing that Leo didn't give him permission to. “Leo, p-please, I-I’m c-close, please - ah -”
“Me too, baby.” Leo sped up just a little, thrusting deeper, hand reaching up to pinch Cris’ right nipple. Cris screamed silently, his back arching up as Leo toyed with the sensitive nub.
“Come for me, Pretty.”
It built slow, then crashed—warm, overwhelming, perfect. Cris came with a soft, broken moan, clenching around Leo, pulling him over the edge too. Leo groaned low, burying his face in Cris' neck as he spilled inside.
They didn’t move right away. Leo stayed where he was, softening slowly inside, breathing against Cris' skin. Cris' arms wrapped around him tighter, like he didn’t want any space between them.
After a minute, Leo lifted his head, kissed Cris' forehead. “You good?”
Cris nodded, lazy smile tugging at his lips. “So good.”
Leo pulled out gently, making Cris whine a little at the loss. He rolled to the side, grabbed the towel from the nightstand, and wiped the Portuguese with careful, soft strokes. Cris watched him through half-closed eyes, feeling that warm, floaty afterglow settle in his bones, a goofy smile spreading across his face.
When Leo was done, he tossed the towel aside and pulled the duvet over them. Then he tugged Cris close—chest to chest, legs tangled, Cris' head tucked under Leo’s chin. Cris let out a contented sigh, nuzzling into the crook of Leo’s neck, breathing in the familiar smell of him—sweat, cologne, home.
Leo’s hand found its way into Cris' hair, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. “You’re all soft now,” he teased quietly.
“Shut up,” Cris mumbled, but he pressed closer, arm slung over Leo’s waist. “You like it.”
“I love it.” Leo kissed the top of his head, then his temple, then the bridge of his nose—little lazy kisses that made Cris' chest ache in the nicest way. “You were perfect, you know that?”
Cris huffed a laugh against his skin. “You’re just saying that ’cause you won.”
Leo’s fingers kept moving through his hair, slow circles. “No. I’m saying it ’cause it’s true. You let me take care of you. That’s everything.”
Cris felt his face heat up, but he didn’t hide it. Instead, he tipped his head back just enough to kiss
Leo—slow, lingering, no rush. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against Leo’s. “You always take care of me.”
“Always will.” Leo’s hand slid down to rub slow circles on Cris' lower back, right where he got tense sometimes. “Comfy?”
“Mm. Don’t move.”
Leo chuckled, the sound rumbling through both of them. “Wasn’t planning to.”
They lay there for a long time—just breathing together, hearts slowing down in sync. Leo kept up the gentle scratching at Cris' scalp, occasionally trailing his fingers down his neck, over his shoulder, back up again. Cris traced lazy patterns on Leo’s chest with his fingertips, following the lines of old scars and muscle memory.
After a while, Cris mumbled, “You’re still short, though.”
Leo pinched his side—light, playful. “And you’re still a brat.”
“Your brat,” Cris said, voice sleepy and soft.
Leo squeezed him tighter. “Damn right.”
Cris smiled into his neck, already drifting. The room was quiet except for their breathing and the faint hum of the city outside. Leo kept holding him, his hand never stopping its soothing path over Cris' back.
“Sleep, precioso,” Leo whispered eventually, pressing one last kiss to his hair.
Cris hummed, already halfway gone. “Tomorrow… I’m winning FIFA.”
Leo’s quiet laugh vibrated against him. “We’ll see, amor. We’ll see.”