Work Text:
i swear i'm movin' on with your favourite athlete
Liverpool had beaten Brentford 5-0. Caoimhin thought of it as more of his boyhood club, absolutely destroyed Caoimhin by five whole goals. To be fair, none of them celebrated against the Irishman and gave him a paltry tap on the head to say i had to do that, but you're doing a good job! and he hated it. They treated him almost like a child, but the worst part was that they all pitied him.
They all felt back he had to leave the club and didn't even go to a top team like he deserved. No, Caoimhin was stuck at fucking Brentford. He knew he was making this experience miserable for himself, but he could not care less about the London club. Honestly, Caoimhin didn't care about anything anymore; he'd tried his hardest to find the word that best described how he was feeling, but no words felt right other than the basic and straightforward word of sad.
Caoimhin was sad.
And being sad made him angry.
So as soon as the final whistle blew to indicate Liverpool had shattered Brentford's defence and the hopes of all their fans, Caoimhin didn't stick around to see the sorry faces on his ex-teammates. He even pushed past Kostas Tsimikas, who was just trying to have a conversation with the Irishman. In the moment, the thoughts and feelings of other people were not in his best interests, but as soon as he'd slammed down his stuff onto his bench, and soon himself after, did he realise how rude he was being.
He didn't attend the Brentford team bonding exercise, always using some excuse that he wasn't feeling well. He didn't chat to anyone he didn't already previously know, like Jordan Henderson and Nathan Collins, but even then, he didn't start the conversations. It was always them starting, and he was adding some nonsensical shit that didn't make any sense, so they ended up shutting down the conversation anyway.
His old Liverpool teammates and friends always called or texted Caoimhin to see how he was holding up. He ignored all of them. Sometimes answering Conor or Robbo when it was convenient to him, but other than that, he neglected his friends. Caoimhin wasn't trying to be mean; he just knew what all the messages would consist of.
How you holding up?
i get what you're going through kweev, but you can't keep ignoring us :(
How's Brentford treating you?
Always here if you need to talk about anything!
missing so much mate! dressing room doesn't feel the same without you here.
They never directly said why they were reaching out. But he knew. No one wanted to say his name around Caoimhin because no one knew how he would react. But Caoimhin wishes someone would say Diogo's name around him so he has a reason to talk about him; however, everyone treaded lightly, didn't want to make Caoimhin cry when he didn't need to. But Caoimhin had come to accept that he would cry sometimes when Jota was brought up, and he would probably live like that forever, but that didn't mean everyone should stop just because they wanted to avoid upsetting the Irishman.
But he couldn't keep dwelling on Jota for now. All his teammates were flooding into the room, all talking about how they could've played better, what they needed to do next time they played a big six team and how to stay positive after being thrashed. God Caoimhin fucking hated it. When Liverpool lost or had a bad game, everyone was mad at each other, was brutally honest, and that's what Brentford needed. However, he didn't want the next news article about his time in Brentford to be that he makes bad vibes in the dressing room. So he bit his tongue and shut up.
Caoimhin sat there, hearing the chattering of his teammates slowly disappear as his head was in his hands, reflecting on his game. He couldn't figure out if it was getting quiet because he was focusing so hard on the reflection of his game or if the players were actually leaving and heading home. But it didn't matter, Caoimhin was already in his own head, and it was practically impossible to pull him out now.
He knew Mo inside and out when it came to the way he played, so why was he all of a sudden unable to predict anything he would do? The Egyptian hit that ball past Caoimhin like it was nothing. Eventually, the head pat came, and even though Caoimhin knew it came from a place of love, it just felt like Mo was humiliating him. Caoimhin guessed that maybe he should've been more aware of where Mo was? He didn't think he could've done much to stop it since the defence in front of him did fuck all to help. Don't get Caoimhin started on the penalty shout that came not even ten minutes after, apparently Caoimhin fouled Robertson - absolutely not. Usually, when Robbo would roll around the box to win a penalty, he loved it, but when it was against him, he called bullshit on Robbo's tactics. The arguing did nothing to help Caoimhin's case, since the penalty was still given. Of course, Mo went the other way he usually did. 2-0, and it was still the first half.
One more goal came from the first half from Hugo Ekitke. He knew nothing about the kid other than that he was fast, like abnormally fast, his eyes and brain could barely keep up with where he was. So when the ball flew in from the left, Caoimhin had little to no time to react. He still dove for it, but by then the ball had smashed the back of the net. Hugo didn't know Caoimhin, so he celebrated like he'd just won the Champions League and considering it was his first goal of the season, he understood. Virgil, being the good captain he is, told the Irishman that he wouldn't celebrate against him if he knew Caoimhin before saying he did well to try stopping it. He knew that was a lie, but gave Virgil a half-hearted smile with a thumb up as he headed back to start back up.
Thankfully, no more goals came from Liverpool, but unfortunately, it was looking like Brentford weren't going to be scoring against the League winners. Caoimhin knew he could spill some secrets about how Virgil and Robbo defended or the weaknesses Mo and Chiesa had, but they were still his friends. Eyes lingered on Caoimhin as the half-time chat consisted of everyone needing to be more focused. He wanted to tell everyone to stop looking at him and to score some goals. But he stayed quiet like the good little goalkeeper he is.
A goal came quickly from Liverpool. A corner, and it was straight on Virgil's head and in the goal to make it 4-0. Caoimhin shouted, screaming at his defence to do better as Virgil went over to pick up the ball from the net and tried to give Caoimhin a momentary hug to apologise for the goal - even if he didn't actually feel sorry. However, in the heat of the moment, Caoimhin pushed Virgil away and told him to fuck off, earning a swift yellow from the referee who saw it all go down. There was a hurtful look on Virgil's face, who couldn't understand why Caoimhin was acting in such a way, but if Virgil was the one in goal against the club he thought he'd stay at forever. He would be just as angry.
The game ended up dying a little as Liverpool got tired and Brentford had lost all hope of even equalising the game, and Caoimhin did something he never did. He let his mind wander. Wander to Jota, wander to Liverpool, wander to how shit everything had been with him recently, and that's when it happened. In the flick of a switch, Federico Chiesa was on the attack, and before Caoimhin could acclimate to the situation, Fede had scored. That one was on him, completely on him, but he was still mad at everything, and his defence as they did nothing to stop the Italian.
Caoimhin could never admit it, but he felt a little happy that Fede was finally getting the opportunity to show everyone how great he really is. Not this time, though; this was because Caoimhin wasn't paying attention. If he had been, Caoimhin believed he would've saved it in a heartbeat. But Fede had been a victim of the English media and the horrible things they said about him, and everyone jumped on the bandwagon and started hating on him, too. So seeing the Italian prove everyone wrong felt good, even if he wasn't his teammate anymore.
And that led Caoimhin to where he was right now. Sulky and all melancholy with his head in his hands, feeling sorry for himself. But when Caoimhin looked up to see who was left in the dressing room, he met with loneliness. That wasn't uncommon. He must've been sitting there thinking about his game for longer than usual. Soon, both hands reached up into the Irishman's hair, tugging on it in frustration as he sighed loudly. Maybe he was going crazy, but he could've sworn he could hear the Liverpool players celebrating in the away dressing room, the hums You'll Never Walk Alone falling from the room. Caoimhin tried to convince himself they weren't because why on earth would they celebrate that hard against Brentford? However, the anxiety still lingered.
Still lingered as a knock came from the door leading into the dressing room. It was probably a staff member trying to collect the dirty clothes, or a coach wondering why Caoimhin was still here. The Irishman let out a loud hum to give whoever it was permission to come in as he rubbed his hands over his eyes, still upset with himself. Caoimhin didn't know who he was expecting to be there, but it definitely wasn't them.
"Fede?" Caoimhin's eyes open to see his old teammate's head poking around the door. A smile was present on the Italian's face, but when wasn't it there? He looked... good. Happy even, yeah sure, he'd scored today, but there was a freshness about him. A new confidence, it seemed. It made Caoimhin wonder how shit he looked right now. Messy hair, eye bags from not sleeping and crying about Jota, no confidence in himself whatsoever because all that belief came from his best friend, who wasn't with him anymore. However, Fede thought he looked pretty, not the same Caoimhin that left Liverpool, but still with those gorgeous features.
"Hey, I got told you would be in here. Can I come in?" Fede asked, a genuine sense of happiness in his voice to see Caoimhin; he hadn't had that in a while. Caoimhin nodded softly, breaking eye contact to focus on his shoes. He never realised how dirty and scrappy they got during games. Guess that's what happens when you carry your team. Maybe he should clean them more often? Or maybe he should stop avoiding looking at Fede, who was now sitting next to him, waiting for him to say something, but Fede knew nothing would be coming from Caoimhin unless he spoke first. "You looked good out there," Fede started, but was promptly met with a sarcastic chuckle from the Irishman.
Fede didn't understand why Caoimhin found that funny, "I don't need nor want ye pity, Fede." Oh that's why Caoimhin laughed. He's got the situation all wrong.
"I'm not here to pity you," Fede admitted, and he wasn't; he was here to check up on his friends who were desperate to get even a glimpse of how Caoimhin was feeling.
But he didn't let people know how he was feeling. Most people understood that he was sad or was frustrated a lot of the time, but they didn't know why. Yes, the answer was mainly Jota, but it was the lack of Jota that upset Caoimhin the most. "Then stop feeling sorry for me."
Federico scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion, which Caoimhin always thought looked quite adorable, "Are you that self-centred?" The directness of his words was what shocked Caoimhin the most. Fede had no spite in his voice as he spoke, but more than he wanted to ensure the point was best put across to Caoimhin, "Your friends don't feel sorry for you. They miss you, Caoimhin."
That was what finally made Caoimhin realise the way he had been treating people. He looked at Chiesa, the sadness so much more prominent in Caoimhin's eyes as he spoke, "Sorry..."
Caoimhin, a year ago, never would've even dreamt of ignoring his friends because he was upset. However, a year ago, Caoimhin wouldn't even have imagined that his best friend would pass away.
Fede sighed, his eyes meeting the mournful Irish ones which said nothing yet so much, at the same time, "You can't go through this all on your own. We get what you're going through-" That set a light in Caoimhin, and suddenly that dejected look was replaced with something enraged.
"No, you don'! That's where people get it wrong! Ye don' understand what I'm going trough, no one does!" Caoimhin snapped like never before, pulling away from Fede as he raised his voice. "I loved Jota! I loved him so fucking much! It was different to the way I love my other friends. Jota was never just my friend. I loved Jota, and not the way I love Conor, or...or Robbo!" Fede could see that Caoimhin wasn't angry at him as he barked out how much he loved Jota, but angry at the way he was dealing with it. Or more like the way he wasn't dealing with it. "He was everyting to me, and I don' have him anymore, and no one wants to fucking talk about him because they think I'll start crying, but what if I want to cry?! What if I want to remember Jota? But no one lets me, Fede!" Caoimhin had started sobbing midsentence, and Fede instinctively pulled the Irishman into an embrace. Shushing as the Italian stroked and gently ran his fingers through his soft blonde hair.
"It's okay... I'm here," Federico reassured, listening to the weak sobs falling from his mouth as the tears soaked into the scarlet shirt.
Caoimhin hiccuped a sob as he spoke, "It's not okay, he's no' coming back, Fede." Caoimhin tried regulating his breathing before confessing to Fede again, "I just want to be happy, even for a minute."
Fede gently pulled Caoimhin off of him, relishing in how pretty he looked with his face flushed red from the crying and just the alluring begging in his eyes, "I can help with that."
Caoimhin didn't understand. This sadness was rooted deep in him, and Caoimhin knew that one little thing from Fede wouldn't make that all go away, could it? But there was a look in Fede's eyes that Caoimhin couldn't quite describe. It was only when Fede held eye contact as he sluggishly dropped to the floor, onto his knees, and between Caoimhin's thighs that separated on their own, that the Irishman understood what he meant by I can help. He'd gotten a handful of pity stares and half-assed attempts at people trying to act like they cared about Caoimhin's feelings, but never had he received a pity blowjob before.
"Fede, you- you don' have to do this..." Caoimhin mumbled out, his head going a little crazy at how close the Italian was to Caoimhin's dick.
Fede glanced down at the growing bulge in Caoimhin's shorts and then back up into his glossy eyes that were relishing in the idea of giving his ex-teammate a blowjob, "I want to, Kweev. I know I never said this at Liverpool, but I always found you quite pretty." Caoimhin could feel his cheeks burning from the blush of the compliment, "So don't think I'm doing this because you believe I pity you, because I don't."
Caoimhin had slept with his fair share of men and had come to the conclusion that he enjoyed it when they somewhat degraded him. He didn't like the full mile of just straight-up derogatory names, but hearing that Fede didn't pity him or give in to his self-loathing made his stomach do flips at record speeds. The Irishman moaned out softly as he felt Fede's hand, and soon just the pads of his fingers, glide up his leg, "Keep doin' that," His head lulled back, and his eyes began to close. Just feeling Fede touch his inner thigh was going to come
"Do what? Touch you?" Fede questioned; he wasn't going to stop touching Caoimhin until he made him come or he asked to stop. But Caoimhin just shook his head. What did he mean then?
"Say things, like mean- not too mean, just like... somewhat degrading. You get me?" Fede was pretty sure Caoimhin had no idea what he was even saying anymore, just letting the words flow out of his mouth with no thoughts behind them. God, the Italian hadn't even taken off his shorts yet.
But Fede knew what he meant; he'd never done it before, though. He didn't want to be too harsh, so he stuck with the same lines he was doing before, "Okay, well... I don't pity you. You want people to come in here and feel sorry for you, but no one does. That's all you." Fede continued, a hesitation in his voice as he wrapped his fingers around the waistband of Caoimhin's shorts, while also trying to grasp whether Caoimhin liked this or not. When Caoimhin groaned, the feeling of Fede's cold skin against his own incredibly hot navel was when Fede knew he was enjoying this. "You expected me to come in here and apologise to you for that goal." Fede slowly pulled his shorts down to his thighs, "But I don't feel sorry. I'm proud of myself for that goal." His shorts were now just below his knees, and Fede could see the dots of pre-come leaking onto the front of Caoimhin's boxers, and his breathing becoming heavier and heavier, "If anything, you should've been paying more attention. But you weren't, were you?" Caoimhin would never describe himself as the submissive type. Honestly, he was the one usually leading, but Fede's voice just made Caoimhin need to do whatever he wanted him to do with no fuss.
Fede continued with the light degradation of Caoimhin's game as he unhurriedly removed the other man's shorts, leaving him in his boxers all for Fede. It was only when the Italian had finally removed his shorts, throwing them somewhere that Caoimhin could worry about it later on, and leaning in to tease the younger man with the feeling of being so damn close to his dick, without actually doing anything. That's when Caoimhin broke. "Fuck Fede, please, I can't keep doing this. I need you, I need you so fucking bad." Caoimhin looked down and begged as if Fede's lips weren't around his cock right now, that he would die, "I swear just hearin' your voice is gonna make me come,"
Fede pushed himself up slightly, becoming face-to-face with Caoimhin, the Irishman looked so out of breath despite only sitting there and taking everything in that Fede was giving him, "Really? Just my voice?" Caoimhin bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed as he nodded swiftly to Fede's question, "We should try it out sometime."
With that, Fede leaned in and captured Caoimhin's lips with his own, immediately reciprocating along with a moan that sounded like it had been trapped for years just for this very moment. Fede opened his mouth slightly to let Caoimhin slide in his tongue, and he did that without missing a beat, softly gripping Fede's face with his hand, not letting him get away. The Italian could confidently say this was the most turned on he had ever been in his life, and the way Caoimhin gasped and whimpered for more as he finally gave Caoimhin that friction he needed by placing his hand on Caoimhin's hard on, was really doing a number in his own pants. Fede really didn't want to stop, and neither did Caoimhin, from the sounds of his moans and babbles that the older man couldn't quite understand, but he hadn't just come here to have a five-minute make-out session with the Irishman - even if he really liked kissing Caoimhin.
Caoimhin whined as Fede finally pulled away, the Irishman's lips glossy and red from making out, and his eyes glistened in the way that Fede couldn't say no to, "Don't worry, amore mio. I can make you feel so much better than just kissing, I promise." Fede planted one last kiss on Caoimhin's lips as he fell back down to his knees, and wasting no time to finally remove Caoimhin's boxers. His dick sprang out, desperate and needing Fede right this instant. Caoimhin was always described as a shy person, even when he was younger, so in a moment like this, his skin was washed a deep red in embarrassment, almost. But Fede? Fede was fucking loving this.
He looked at Caoimhin's dick and then up at him, whose face was completely flushed by this point, but couldn't take his eyes off the man below him, "Caoimhin... you're big. No wonder you had a history of sleeping around. I'd want this cock too." Caoimhin couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Fede was usually such a sweet and innocent guy, yet now he was down on his knees for Caoimhin, talking about how big his dick is. Oh, how times change. Caoimhin hid his face with a soft smile; he always knew he was bigger than most, but hearing the way Fede complimented him with that gorgeous fucking accent - he knew he was in for a good time. "No, no, don't hide your beautiful face, amore." His voice sounded sincere as he spoke, Caoimhin unveiling his face like he was playing with a child, "I want you to see everything I'm going to do to you."
Just then, Fede leant down, placing a small kiss on the head of Caoimhin's dick, earning a low groan and his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he closed his eyes, "Caoimhin, eyes on me, remember. Be a good boy for me, yeah?" Fede spoke, Caoimhin lifting his head back up to watch what Fede had in store for him.
He continued kissing down Caoimhin's shaft, holding it in his hand as the base as he softly pumped it, and Caoimhin honestly felt like he could come right now. The older man planted more kisses until he reached the base of his cock, moving his hands to fondle Caoimhin's balls as he licked from the bottom all the way up to his throbbing tip and took it into his mouth. Never once breaking eye contact with the Irishman. Caoimhin has had a good amount of blowjob's in his time, and he is beginning to believe nothing could top the blowjob he received from Diogo when he saved Mbappe's penalty. But this? This was already a hundred times better.
Fede sucked the head of Caoimhin's cock, sliding his tongue into the slit of his tip. Fede was sure Caoimhin hadn't stopped moaning from the second he started kissing down his dick; all of the pretty noises coming from the younger man were fueling how much Fede wanted to make Caoimhin come. Caoimhin tried his hardest not to thrust up into Fede's mouth as he started taking in more and more of his cock, feeling the underside of his tongue on the veins. The Irishman used both hands to grasp onto Fede's hair, trying everything to ground himself because he had no idea if he liked the idea of a dick being shoved down his throat. Robbo always liked it, but that was because Robbo was a complete slut for this kind of stuff.
Drool was beginning to form at the sides of Fede's mouth as he took in more of Caoimhin than he thought was physically imaginable. A hand gently cupped Fede's face, one of Caoimhin's thumbs wiping away the spit from the side of his lips, "Ye look so fucking gorgeous on yer knees for me." His accent came out thicker; maybe it was because he didn't have focus so much on hoping someone could understand what Caoimhin was saying, "Fuck, I wish I could have you like this all the time." Caoimhin's other hand gently tugged on Fede's hair, obtaining a deep and low moan from the Italian that ran straight down Caoimhin's dick and to his balls, "Ye like that, like me pulling yer hair?" Fede nodded the best he could with Caoimhin's dick stuffing his mouth as Caoimhin smirked down at him. Seemed they both had their kinks.
Caoimhin could feel his stomach begin to tighten as his orgasm started creeping up on him, and Fede could tell because the praise became more like random words jumbled into one as he tried his best to explain how good Fede's hot mouth felt as he hollowed out his cheeks and his tongue lathered up his dick with more spit. The attempts to not fuck into Fede's mouth were practically out the window, but Fede was a whore for the feeling of Caoimhin's cock jabbing at the back of his throat, and Caoimhin loved the strangled noises he made as salty tears ran down his face in pleasure. The pulling on the hair increased, too. It kept making Fede moan, and the vibrations felt really fucking good on Caoimhin's dick, so he kept on until they fell into this cycle. All of this was soon to make Caoimhin come, but Fede? Fede was close too.
He loved sucking dick. Simple as that. It set something off in him that nothing else could, and with a guy as hot and vocal as Caoimhin - he was getting close. Fede tried his hardest to relieve some of the friction by thrusting against his own shorts, but it wasn't really working. However, he wasn't a stranger to coming untouched, just ask Darwin Nunez.
"Oh! Fede, I can't- I swear, I'm gonna come!" Caoimhin groaned out and unenthusiastic tried to pull Fede off his dick, but he stayed put. Sucking and slurping on Caoimhin's dick like an ice-lolly in thirty-degree heat. "No, c'mon baby... let me come on your face, you'd look so fucking pretty." Fede liked the sound of that, but he really liked sucking Caoimhin off. So he used his best timing skills, the same he'd use to make sure he didn't run too early offside, to keep blowing Caoimhin and pulling off right when Caoimhin was about to come.
He pulled off Caoimhin's dick, sweat prominent on his forehead, utterly out of breath, his eyes glassy from the tears, same with his face stained a shade of red, and his lips coated in spit and pre-come. This was a sight so good Caoimhin wished he could snap a photo right now, paint it, then hang it in The Louvre. Fede caught his breath back, before Caoimhin could even say anything, and working straight back on the tip of Caoimhin's cock, he moaned loud and proud, and that's when he knew he didn't have much to do in order to make him come.
He swirled his tongue a couple of times around his head and slipped it into the slit, while his hands lazily pumped at the rest he couldn't fit into his mouth. Caoimhin warned Fede he was going to come, his voice breaking and shaking from the phenomenal blowjob he had just received. Caoimhin's orgasm hit him like a freight train as Fede finally pulled off his dick. His voice high and girl-like as he repeated Fede's name over and over again, he arched his back in bliss as he writhed all over. This truly was the best orgasm he'd ever had. Caoimhin's come strung all over Fede's face like white Christmas lights, and after coming back to earth after that mind-blowing climax, he looked down to see how pretty Fede really was with his come painting his face.
Caoimhin pulled Fede up by his chin, getting some of his own come on his finger and hand, and manoeuvring him so he was sitting in Caoimhin's lap, just a couple of inches away from his face, as a hand on Fede's back stopped him from falling backwards. Before the Italian could say anything, or even before he could understand what was happening, Caoimhin had leaned in and began licking up the strings of his own come on Fede's face. He'd never been so disturbed and turned on more in his life. It wasn't long until Caoimhin had cleaned Fede up like a cat, and just the small drips of come on Caoimhin's finger and hand were left.
The Irishman looked at it, and you could physically see the idea appear in his head, "Want to try some?" He asked casually, not pressuring Fede into anything, but his eyes lit my at the idea. He nodded frantically, and Caoimhin fed Fede the come from his finger before letting him lick the rest off his finger. It didn't taste nice, but then again, it didn't taste bad; however, Fede liked the idea, it was Caoimhin's come that made it taste alright.
The Italian shuffled slightly in Caoimhin's lap, and his rock-hard dick pressed against Caoimhin's stomach. The friction feeling so fucking good, and moaning with no warning as he hid his face in the crook of Caoimhin's neck, "Ohh, yer hard too," Caoimhin chuckled, slightly like it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world. Caoimhin could feel Fede softly humping and so tried getting Fede's attention by calling his name in a sing-songy tune. It was only after the fourth attempt that he finally looked at Caoimhin, "Do ye want me to help wit tha?" The Irishman pointed down at Fede's own hard-on, which was met with an immediate yes. Caoimhin liked seeing this side to Fede, and he was going to tease him a little, but decided against it since the look on his face was giving a sad puppy that only wanted one thing in life.
Caoimhin stuffed his hand down Fede's shorts, pulling out his dick enough to pump it over his shorts. Caoimhin pumped up and down with a good grip, occasionally twisting his wrist, earning those low and deep groans from Fede, so much different from Caoimhin's high-pitched ones. Caoimhin pulled the older man into an intense and sloppy kiss, knowing that Fede wasn't lasting long - and he was right. Fede came with the other man's name hot on Caoimhin's lips, and his voice was scratchy and hoarse from previously sucking off Caoimhin and having his dick crammed into the back of his throat. It made Fede sound even hotter if that was even possible.
The younger man pulled away from the kiss, lifting up his come-coated hand and getting a couple of kitten licks in before Fede's hand was tight around his wrist, "No fair, you can't have all of your own and mine. Share." Holy fuck did Caoimhin wish he had enough time to fuck Fede on this bench right now because that was the hottest thing he'd ever witnessed. Caoimhin gave in to Fede's advances and let him lick off all the come from his hand, staring into Caoimhin's soul as he did so.
Caoimhin wiped his hand on his goalie t-shirt, which he still hadn't taken off from the game previously. He was catching his breath a little as Fede spoke, "How do you feel now?"
He raised an eyebrow at the question, "Huh?" Of course, he felt fucking fantastic; he'd just had Federico Chiesa give him the world's best blowjob?
"Do you feel less sad? Were you happy for even a minute?"
Oh shit, yeah. That's why Fede had sucked Caoimhin off in the first place, "Yeah, shit, I forgot for a second you didn't come here just to blow me,"
"Can't a man multi-task? I can make you feel happy and want to suck you off," Fede smiled that all too-sweet smile that Caoimhin found so cute at Liverpool.
The men tidied themselves up. Got their clothes back on, fixed their hair, tried their best not to look like they'd just climaxed, wiped the sweat from their foreheads and washed off any of the excess come that wasn't cleaned up from their tongues. Fede ended up getting some of his come on his shorts, so Caoimhin offered him a pair of joggers he'd thought about changing into after the game, but realised Fede needed them more.
Fede was making his way out of the dressing room, but Caoimhin's voice stopped him, "Fede?" The Italian hummed, looking back at Caoimhin, who was packing the rest of his stuff away, "Thank you, by the way, not just for the blowie, but you know... for caring." Fede bit his lip and nodded at the Irishman, and that sadness was soon pooling back into his eyes
"Anytime, for both." Fede smiled, and was surprising retaliated by Caoimhin, which warmed something in Fede's chest.
"Yeah, about that..." Caoimhin had seemed to have gone all shy again, "When I was talkin about ye voice and how it could... you know... come- just listening to it." Fede tried his best not to laugh at how timid Caoimhin had suddenly gotten "And you said we should try it out sometime... did ye mean it?"
Fede knew exactly what Caoimhin was asking of him; it wasn't just, Will we do something like this again? It was more like Will I see you again? And Fede wasn't a fan of hook-ups with someone obviously having feelings. But it was different this time, Fede liked Caoimhin too. "Yeah, sure, I think you play us at home in late May. Last game of the season, if I'm right? Or during an international break, if you'd like?"
Caoimhin wasn't looking at Fede by this point; he felt stupid to be asking for more sex just after getting some. He just nodded; he liked the sound of both. But the earlier the better. However, Fede knew Caoimhin wasn't just going to let this go, so he headed over to him and picked up his head so he'd look at Fede. The sadness in Caoimhin's eyes was fully back; at least he helped him for a little moment. "Look, Kweev, I'm here for you. I liked you, okay. If you need anything, and I mean anything." Fede's voice changed, and he had a small smirk as he said it, earning one from Caoimhin too, "Don't hesitate to message or call me. And if you aren't in the mood for just sexual favours, ring your friends for Christ's sake, they miss you." Caoimhin smiled a little more at that, nuzzling his face into Fede's hand
"Okay?" Fede questioned, making sure that all went into his head, alright.
"Okay." Caoimhin gave him a short nod and a peck on the lips.
Fede grinned widely, telling Caoimhin to grab his things and then taking a hold of Caoimhin's hand, and walking out into the corridors and to the parking lot together.
"No, but seriously, Kweev, please ring Robbo soon because he's going insane not being able to talk to anyone about his dumb show that both of you watch."
Caoimhin let out a loud laugh, and that's when he knew everything was going to be alright. Even if it wasn't he had the right people around him.