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Bruno is a good captain.
Always by his gaffer's side. Always the first one to support his ideas. Always the one to transmit them to the team. Always the one to take a hit in a difficult moment.
Bruno is a good captain. Or at least he thinks so. He thinks he's good with his responsibilities as a leader, well, who else but him? There is no one in the dressing room with as much influence, newbies adore him and older lads treat him with respect. He is the best in the club right now, no matter the team's bad shape. He thinks his dedication and experience are enough to make him the best for his boss, wether it is all-smiles always positive Ole, or gloomy Erik. He thinks he's proven himself already.
Well, it's hard to think when your legs are on your new gaffer's shoulders and all you can focus on is trying not to make a sound. That's already difficult as it is - he's good with his tongue not only at the pressers. He's too good to leave any fucking thoughts in his fucking head.
Orgasm knocks him out of breath. Ruben gets up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, watches almost if studying him as his captain is trying to pull himself together. Catch his breath. Bruno can't get rid of that strange feeling in his chest: he feels cold, not even fisically cold, strangely used, almost ashamed under that observative gaze. He tries to get dressed as fast as he can. Ruben pulls him close for the last time before they leave; kisses his neck slowly; shivers running down the midfielder's spine and knees becoming weak.
"Meu capitão", the whisper almost burns him. Bruno feels trapped again.
He is a good fucking captain though.
.
.
.
Bruno thought something like that could never happen to him. There is nothing out of line about a manager and his captain relationships in the Premier League, it's a special connection that erases all the boundaries between two people sometimes. But not with Bruno. It all went over him eventually - till now. Erik didn't become even a friend to him, never even tried to cross the line of co-worker relations - mabe he just didn't know one can do that. The new boss was different: much more human, open-minded, down to earth - younger lads started to follow him instantly, enchanted by his aura and charismatic personality. The charming smile was the last straw to win over the skeptics; and Bruno also was the one to fall for it.
My captain.
He didn't resist for long though. So it's only himself to blame.
A dark supply closet and plastic water bottles crumbling loudly on the floor.
"Boss, they may hear us", Bruno hisses, his mind begging desperately for older man not to stop. Ruben looks up at him, breaking away from his midfielder's collarbones, and the smile on his lips is devilish.
"My captain's with me to the hell and back , isn't he, Bruno?"
Yes. Fuck. Whatever you want. For your damn smile and those curls on your damn forehead and your damn face looking so catastrophically much like his own.
Bruno feels too weak.
He thinks then, lying on a hotel bed next to Licha, it was all a huge mistake. Mabe the one that will cost him dear. Kisses burn on his skin under the sheets.
After a week or so he realizes that he drowns even faster now with every touch and every look, as if the Portuguese has gotten the hold of his thoughts and desires and disappointing him has become one of the worst things one can ever do.
That's convenient. At least Ruben knows for shure his best player won't betray him.
How the one can get on his mind so quickly and so uncontrollably? Bruno tries to find an explanation for all this madness but stumbles on a thought of the damn long lashes - almost like his own.
Ruben is ambitious. Ruben is demanding. Ruben is ruthless. Ruben is damn clever and manipulative to the point it makes Bruno fear him a little. And admire him so much at the same time. Days passed and he saw it clear that the sweet personality was nothing else but a cover for a calculated mind of a true leader with a strict idea. And he can't help but marvel at his commitment and confidence. He can't help but marvel at Ruben.
.
.
.
Ruben slams him against the wall with all his might after the red card and Bruno remembers eventually that the gaffer is actually into kickboxing. Always so composed and calm in front of the team he lets Fernandes see his true emotions because they are more than just a boss and his player for some time now, and Bruno feels something trembling inside of his chest with the thought of it. He is the only one to see those eyes spark with rage. He is the only one to see those teeth clench. He feels special. That's the only thing he can actually think of at the moment - not the arrogant red card, not the poor performance. There will be marks on his forearm from the gaffer's fingers but it doesn't matter.
"Get your shit together Fernandes", - the voice is hoarse from shouting during the match. "They all look up to you!"
"I'm sorry boss", he would never let Ten Hag get on his face like this. The Norwegian would probably be tossed on the floor already but right now Bruno feels like he's losing consciousness, like he's melting down, dissolving into that wall, his mind drifting away. No intention to fight it. He whispers without a sound, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again..."
Suddenly Ruben pulls away as if it's really what he wanted to hear - Bruno knows, however, those words cannot be enough. Not for this man. He gaspes at a sudden cool touch to his face: fingers circling his jaw, lifting his chin up making him meet the gaffer's eyes.
"О, meu capitão..." sudden warmth and worry to his voice. Bruno flinches as if he expected a punch to the ribs more likely than that soft tone and tender gesture. Ruben eyes him thoughtfully. "Everything just went too far pretty fast, didn't it? Oh, I see..."
Yeah. Everything just went too far and seems like it won't get back to normal any time soon.
Bruno can't help but lean into the touch.
"Look at me now, capi", Ruben asks him softly. As he was not the one pinning Fernandes to a wall two minutes ago. Those fucking mindgames. Bruno lets himself meet his gaze, giving in, feeling so small. "Look at me. I want you to fight for me. Hear that? I want you to lead, not to lose your mind any time something gets out of hand."
He nods hurriedly but Ruben stops him, caressing his cheek with his fingers to get attention.
"No, listen carefully now. I want you to remember that. I want you to know, Bruno, I won't leave my captain behind."
He leans forward. Bruno feels the hand sliding down on his neck, clasping it almost tenderly, but something about that gesture screams menace to him.
"But I expect you to give your everything."
E v e r y t h i n g, capi.
You hear me?
That's a warning.
The breath he's feeling on his lips is actually scalding.
.
.
.
Bruno feels so right slipping down to his knees before his Portuguese god. Rubbing his cheek on the fabric of suede trousers. Cold fingers in his messy hair.
He thinks he is a great fucking captain.