Chapter Text
“Are you done putting in hair gel yet?” Rooney shouted from outside the men’s toilet.
“At least I have hair,” Cristiano replied snarkily, only half joking.
“Whatever you’re bloody doing, hurry up!”
Cristiano ignored whatever Wayne said next. It wasn’t important anyway.
Once Rooney had gone, Cris stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked handsome, if he did say so himself. Very masculine. A bit washed out in the bright lights of the bathroom, but that wouldn’t be the case in the ceremony itself. He’d made good use of his sunbed because he’d be damned if he lost his tan to the dreary Manchester weather.
He picked up the scent blocker he’d left on the edge of the sink. It was a good bit stronger than the stuff he usually used — rather than taking the edge off his scent, it completely obliterated it. It was a necessity for an event full of high-powered strangers. He really didn’t want to draw attention to his designation.
So he smeared it over his neck, wrists, behind the ears, following it up with £400 aftershave. His hair was cut, and he’d shaved as rigorously as ever. Between that and the suit, he looked every bit the high status Alpha celebrity.
He finished his preparations by setting his concealer with translucent powder and applying a subtle lip tint. Some said that wearing makeup made you gay. Cristiano noticed it was never attractive men who said that — and he knew first-hand that he’d found men hot long before he’d learnt to thread his eyebrows.
“Are you finally done in there?”
“Coming!”
Cris gave himself one last glance before leaving. If he wasn’t ceremony ready now, he never would be.
Cristiano been in the top 50 in Ballon d’Or voting last year; high enough in the billing to get an invite but not enough for anyone to care about him. Nevertheless, he’d dressed up for the occasion, buying and tailoring himself a designer suit. Man U’s PR team helping him prepare perfect answers for the sponsors. He hadn’t made the top ten though, although he’d never expected to. (That hadn’t stopped his disappointment. That night, he’d trained as if his nomination depended on it.)
There were 49 other nominees. A defender had won the award, with a goalkeeper in second. Thierry Henry, Zinedine Zidane, and freaking Ronaldinho were all at that ceremony. Yet people insisted on bringing up a 5’7” playmaker from Barcelona; one who shied away from the cameras as much as Cris embraced them. One who couldn’t speak a word of English. One who was allegedly a terrible conversationalist — though that hadn’t stopped the press from trying. Somebody showed him an interview the player had done. At one point he’d mentioned how scared of the event he was. In every way, he was the polar opposite of Cristiano, who’d declared himself the epitome of confidence without even knowing the English word.
Cris was good enough with names and faces that he hadn’t forgotten who the Barca player was. But he also hadn’t registered them as important.
That was a mistake.
A PR woman had given him the heads up that not only was he going to get a much higher placement this year, he was a favourite — and so was the Barca player he’d learnt was named Lionel Messi. Expect top 5, the PR woman had said, or potentially a podium finish. Not a win, he’d noted. But it was high enough to be sat in the front row, right under the eyes of everyone in football who meant anything.
Which is why he was currently posing on a red carpet, camera bulbs exploding from every direction. He was in his element. He smiled and pouted as he was showered with attention, giving his best Blue Steel for everyone watching. He was almost sad when the usher summoned him to move on, flashing his veneers to the photographers one last time before striding off.
In his peripheral vision he saw Leo being gestured on to the photo zone while someone else told him to stand straighter. A stark contrast to Cristiano; Leo was visibly overwhelmed by the occasion, looking utterly out of place. At best, Leo’s expression wasn’t unlike that of one of their own starstruck fans. A more honest interpretation was that he looked like he’d been kidnapped.
Cris pushed towards the man, security trying to stop him before realising who it was. “Group photo!” he trilled, wrapping an arm around Leo’s waist and smiling. Leo’s arms remained bolted to his sides, expression as gormless as ever; but he didn’t move away. Photographers stumbled over themselves to get the snap of the two side-by-side.
He spent the next half hour having champagne flutes forced into his hands, taking a sip, then discretely discarding them. Gary Lineker tried to engage him in conversation; Cristiano told him what he wanted to hear, then pretended he wanted more champagne. He didn’t know how many sips he’d had by the time he spotted Leo — who was coming towards him.
“Those red carpets are scary, aren’t they?” Leo laughed awkwardly. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself though”
“I don’t mind them,” Cris replied jovially. “I can smile enough for both of us.”
“Um, who do you think is going to win?” Leo half-shouted in Spanish. He was drinking the champagne, yet he was visibly grimacing every time he sipped.
“I can hear you! And I haven’t really thought about it,” Cris lied. “Have you?”
“I think Kaka will,” Leo replied, still shouting. “He led Milan to the CL; I think it’s fair that he wins.”
“I can see that,” Cris replied noncommittally. Their conversation was broken up by an usher leading them through a corridor and into a half-full hall. There were two seats reserved for them right at the front. Leo exchanged nervous glances with Cris, then the usher. She nodded silently.
“You’ll have a few minutes.” She held out a hand expectantly, and it took them a few seconds before they realised she wanted their champagne glasses. Cris thrust it into her hand, not looking at her face.
Cris settled with his legs stretched open. He was subtly surveying the room, taking brief glances at everything before settling on Leo’s face. His expression was blank, inscrutable.
“It’s strange being here,” Leo finally said. “I don’t know if I belong.”
“You don’t think you’re one of the best players in the world?”
“I mean this ceremony,” Leo replied. He’d dodged the question, but sounded so innocent doing it that Cris hadn’t even noticed. “It’s a lot.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Cris said smoothly.
The room filled up quickly. Journalists, pundits, fellow footballers. Cris and Leo mentioned when they recognised someone, and between the two of them they could put a name to the majority of faces. Big industry, small world.
“That one always tries to corner me after matches,” Leo said of a taller brunet man. “I don’t like it much.”
“You don’t like publicity much, do you?”
“I manage.”
He got the distinct impression Leo didn’t want to talk more. It wasn’t personal though; he looked like wanted to throw up. Cris offered him a hand. “Do you feel ok?”
Leo grabbed his wrist without looking at him.
They sat in silence for the next 20 or so minutes, until everyone was seated and the room full of conversations. Leo had stared forwards for that entire time, digging his nails into Cris’ wrist.
Leo’s next question knocked Cris out of the water.
“Would you be the first Omega to win the award?”
Cris looked nervously around them, before staring at Leo, working out how the hell Leo found out his designation. Luckily, nobody was paying attention to them for once.
“I know there have been other Omegas footballers before. Not a lot though. I don’t know how successful though…”
“I don’t know,” Cris lied again. (He did know; he would be. Male Omegas were a rare breed, even more so in football.) “How on earth did you find out my designation?” Had he not put enough deodorant on? “Do I smell bad?” Cris asked, panicked.
“No. You smell amazing actually.”
That was… a personal declaration.
“It’s not strong, don’t worry. I got your aftershave first,” Leo added quickly. “But I’m right next to you, so I could tell.”
“Ok. Thanks for telling me.” Cris had no idea how to process that information.
“You’re not the first Omega I’ve played with,” Leo said idly. “You definitely are at our level though.”
Our level. Not at a professional level, or even an elite one. Our level.
Cris fell into silence. It was his turn to stare forward fixedly, pretending the crowds around them didn’t exist. He was grateful when the lights in the room dimmed, the stage flickering to life. A woman in a fancy dress stepped onto the platform to rapturous applause, waving at the audience. She started speaking in French, the voice of a translator following a second later.
“I’d like to take the pleasure of welcoming you to the Ballon d’Or Ceremony 2007!”
Cris clapped, Leo copying awkwardly a second later. He was staring at Cris as if waiting for guidance. He leant down to whisper in Leo’s ear.
“She’s doing the introduction.”
“I thought so.”
“I’ll let you know if she says anything important.”
Leo tilted his head, watching inquisitively. A few minutes passed before he whispered again.
“Do you think she’s pretty?” Leo asked.
“The presenter?”
The woman on stage finished whatever she was saying, pushing her thick brown hair behind her ear as the audience applauded, Leo and Cris hastily joining in. Her tight-fitting black dress sparkled under the spotlights as she put her arm around whichever sponsor had just come up, before returning her attention to the audience.
“She’s pretty, but not really my type.”
“Your type?” Leo said curiously.
“Yeah,” Cris whispered back. The joke the sponsor had just made didn’t land in the translation; even so, Cris was certain it wasn’t as funny as the woman was making it out to be. “She’s, um, not my type,” he repeated, feeling like an idiot.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” This was the third time Cris had lied to Leo this evening. At least this time he had good reason to.
Leo tilted his head with a half-smile.
“Would you rather have an Alpha partner then?”
The implication was clear.
Instead of replying, Cristiano looked at the stage again. The woman was smiling widely, the way she had been since the presentation started. She’d probably been ordered to by the organisers, and she was doing a good job of it, but it was still offputting. She was so… Omega-like, with her beautifully maintained hair and curvy figure. She looked like her natural scent was flowers.
Nothing appealed to Cris less.
“I don’t know. But I don’t want her.” Cristiano flipped the script. “What’s your type then?” He grinned mischievously. “Do you like blondes? Black haired girls? Omegas with huge tits and smell like chocolate?”
“This might be strange, but I don’t have a type like that.”
“No? What do you like then?”
“I want someone I can talk to,” Leo said simply.
Leo didn’t say anything else, yet Cris understood him completely.
The ceremony slipped by quickly, Cris thinking about what his type actually was. He knew he had one; he just couldn’t put it into words.
“Now, onto the presentation!” the translated voice said over the speakers. Smiley Woman returned to the stage with aplomb.
The presentation dragged on for what felt like hours. There was the golden boot, the golden glove, best player from every league, most assists… and Cris was very happy for everyone who was winning, but he wished they could speed it up a bit. Then he slapped himself mentally. He’d been up there getting a Golden Boy before, knew how nervewracking it was for the other nominees; but not him. He’d been born for this, no matter what his own nerves said.
Next to him, Leo caught the eye of the presenter… and Cris could have sworn she looked directly at them, and winked. Judging by Leo’s reaction, he hadn't meant to and promptly stared at his lap, a red flush creeping up his pale cheeks.
“…we received votes from 158 countries: taken from team coaches, captains, and journalists…
Cris tapped Leo’s wrist. “This is it.” Leo sat up again, looking straight past the presenter and at the backdrop. The presenter, and by extension the translator were running through how Ballon d’Or selection worked, even though half this room were eligible to vote for it. (Cris was guilty of asking the Portugal captain to put in a good word. He’d said he’d think about it.)
“In third place is… Lionel Messi!”
The usher from before gestured frantically off stage. Cris had to nudge and point for Leo to notice. A moment later the audience were graced by him run-walking on stage. He had an award thrust into his hands while the screen behind showed his sizzle reel.
“In second place, we have… Cristiano Ronaldo!”
Cristiano was ready for the usher. But that didn’t make it any less surreal going into the back and being thrust on stage, at last. The presenter shook his hand with her manicured nails before giving him the silver trophy. This close up, Cris could smell her natural scent fighting through her flowery perfume. They might not be compatible, but Cris could appreciate a nice scent. She really was the perfect Omega.
Leo would be lucky to have her. That thought made him strangely angry, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.
“And the winner of the Ballon D’or 2007 is…”
Cris could sense Leo looking at him from across the stage. He glanced back, smiling.
“Kaka!”
Everyone cheered loudly as Kaka made his way to the stage, waving back at them. In his peripheral vision Cris saw the screen switch to the Champion’s League final, Kaka smiling on screen almost as brightly as he was in real life. He started his speech by looking amazed.
“This is incredible…”
Leo was staring into the spotlight, trying to blind himself apparently; but Cristiano was looking at Leo. He was finding him far too interesting.
“…I’d like to give praise to God for blessing me with this chance…”
There was something so intriguing about Leo. Cris could usually read people from a mile away, but he couldn’t figure the shorter man out. Their brown eyes flickered under the lights. Even though his suit was clearly tailored for him, it didn’t seem to fit.
“…and once again, I’d like to say thank you for this award!”
Cristiano was broken out of his stupor by the audience’s applause. His second place award had grown warm in his hand, and when he sat back in his seat and put the award down his hands smelt coppery. Leo looked relieved as they joined him.
The presenter took the stage, thanking everyone for coming and tying off the ceremony with a final dazzling smile.
“Thank you to Audi and Dubai Sea Palace Resorts for sponsoring this show. Thank you and good night!”
She strutted offstage like a catwalk model as the audience clapped one last time.
“That was…”
“Stressful.”
People were filing out the room the way they came in, but the usher opened up hidden side door that led into a changing area. The woman who’d presented was carefully taking off her dress, revealing skin-coloured underwear. She turned around as the two entered.
“Did you like the ceremony?” Her voice was relaxed in a more informal environment; she had a heavy accent. In the more naturally lit changing room her smile looked a lot more natural — that, and she seemed genuinely happy to see them. She seemed very happy to see Leo, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek and giggling. Leo turned his torso away from her half-naked one.
“It was fun,” Cris said loudly. “I liked being up on stage with Leo.”
“Ci, I can imagine!” She giggled again. Even that sounded Omega-like somehow, and Leo mirrored her giggle awkwardly.
“Are you boys doing anything tonight?”
Cris didn’t know why she’d said boys; the question was very clearly directed at Leo, who was avoiding her gaze. Couldn’t she see he wanted to be left alone?
Or maybe he didn’t, and he was just awkward all the time. He might be very interested in her advances. The thought of that made Cris’ stomach turn.
“I’m not sure if he can go out without being mobbed by paparazzi.” He was grateful Leo couldn’t understand what she was saying — but why? “And he doesn’t speak much English.”
“I’m from Argentina too! I’ll talk to him.” Still in her underwear and not much else, she strutted over to Leo, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder.
Meanwhile Cris started taking off his makeup with scratchy wet wipes, until he was staring at a naked, red face.
Why did this bother him so much? As far as he knew, Leo was a single Alpha, who’d no doubt appreciate the company of an objectively attractive woman. Just because she annoyed Cris, it didn’t mean Leo would feel the same. Looking over at the corner, the woman was laughing heartily at something Leo had just said. There was no way Leo had ever made a joke that funny.
Cristiano didn’t want to watch this. He stalked out of the changing room, into the corridor and up to his hotel room. He didn’t know what people saw in Omegas like that, all giggles and graces and all too willing to submit to their Alphas. Maybe that said more about Cris than anything else—
It seemed obvious now, but Cris had only just connected the dots. Dots he himself had drawn.
He wanted Leo.