FALLING FOR THE RIVAL CAPTAIN

RAFAEL

“AND HE’S DONE IT! Rafael Costa leads his team to another impressive victory. While it may only be a friendly match, both sides have shown exactly why they're among the favourites heading into the World Cup.”

The roar of over forty thousand voices vibrated right through the soles of Rafael’s boots. People were shouting, flags were waving, and his teammates were suffocating him in their sweaty jerseys, pulling him down, lifting him back up.

Rafael’s mind was far gone, floating away from the chaotic celebration, but not too far that he didn’t notice Oliver at the other side of the field looking at him with a smile.

He couldn’t believe it—Oliver was usually the one who was strict about not interacting with each other in public. Regardless, Rafael gave back a smile of his own.

Oliver’s teammates didn’t share the same sentiment, they looked immensely disappointed but congratulated them still. Rafael tried not to wear a smile, especially when Oliver shook his hand.

The brief touch sent a surge straight through him, but he kept his composure. Eventually, Rafael’s coach came up to him and said they needed to go for interviews.

“Rafael, congratulations on the win,” a reporter began. “You and Oliver Hayes seemed to exchange quite a few words out there. What exactly was said?”

Rafael chuckled.

“Ah… football things, you know?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Um… little…” He snapped his fingers, searching for the word. “…provocations? Is this right?”

The reporters laughed.

“No bad blood. We just like make…” He frowned. “…how you say… each other angry.”

“Oliver said before the match that he never enjoys playing against you. What’s your response to that?”

Rafael laughed. “I also don't enjoy playing him.” He looked toward the camera. “He makes my job…” He paused. “…very difficult.” Then he smiled. “Very annoying man.”

“What do you admire most about Oliver Hayes as a rival Captain?”

Rafael froze for half a second.

What does he admire? His mind flicked to the moments behind closed doors, the bond they shared, and the relentless force Oliver was both on and off the pitch.

But he couldn't say any of that here.

“Ah… he's… um…” He scratched his beard. “…very disciplined.” He nodded. “Ele está sempre pronto. He's always ready. I respect this.”

His coach interrupted then, waving his hand and saying that was enough questions. It seemed the only thing they asked him about was Oliver, his coach grumbled as they walked away.

Rafael laughed softly and only said, “That is what they want to know.”

•>>•>>•>>•

Familiar Portuguese chatter washed over Rafael as he stirred the pan, a rich aroma filling his hotel kitchen.

“Mãe, tell me the truth,” Rafael said, turning down the heat with his shoulder pressed against his phone. “How is your chest? You are taking the medicine, yes?”

His mother let out a dramatic sigh on the other end. “Rafael, my heart is stronger than yours! It has been a whole year since the surgery. Stop worrying about an old woman.”

In the background, his cousins started laughing, making fun of how dramatic he was being.

Rafael chuckled, shaking his head. He knew he was being paranoid, but ever since her heart surgery last year, he could never truly relax until he heard her voice himself.

A sudden knock echoed against the door of his suite.

Rafael paused, his heart giving a familiar flutter. “Mãe, I have to go now,” he said quickly. “I call you tomorrow, okay? Love you.”

He hung up, wiped his hands on a towel, and hurried across the living room. When he unlocked the door and pulled it open, his breath caught in his throat.

Standing in the empty hallway was Oliver Hayes, captain of the United States National soccer team. His longtime rival.

He was wearing a dark hoodie, a cap pulled low, and a pair of thick, black-framed glasses. It was clearly meant to be a disguise, but to Rafael, it just looked completely absurd.

Despite the ridiculous look, Rafael’s thoughts instantly melted. ‘He is so handsome, Rafael thought,’ his eyes tracing the familiar sharp jawline, the soft blonde hair poking out from under the cap, and the lean muscles hidden beneath the dark clothes.

“You look… stupid,” Rafael murmured, a brilliant smile breaking across his face.

Before Oliver could even process the insult, Rafael grabbed him by the front of his hoodie, pulled him into the room, and slammed the door shut behind them.

He captured Oliver’s lips in a deep, hungry kiss, his hands cupping the back of Oliver's neck.

Rafael groaned, sliding his tongue against Oliver's bottom lip, desperate to taste him after six agonizing months apart. But as he tried to deepen the kiss, Oliver pressed his palms firmly against Rafael’s chest and pulled back, panting slightly.

“Aren’t you cooking something?” Oliver asked, his blue eyes searching Rafael’s face before darting toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “And what have I told you about open windows?”

Rafael sighed, rolling his eyes as he walked over to the glass. “They are the kind that outside person can’t see,” he grumbled, grabbing the heavy cord to pull the thick dark curtains shut.

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t want to risk anything,” Oliver said sternly, taking off his silly glasses and setting them on the counter.

Rafael finished pulling the curtains, plunging the living room into dim lighting. He walked back to Oliver, looking at him softly. “Are you okay...” he asked gently. “About the game?”

Oliver rolled his eyes, a fond scoff escaping his lips. “It’s been three years. Are you going to ask if I’m okay every single time we play against each other?”

“Yes,” Rafael said without a second of hesitation. He walked back over to the stove, grabbing his wooden spoon to mix the meal again, though his mind wasn't on the food at all.

“I always want to know how you’re… how you’re…” He snapped his fingers, his brow furrowing as he searched for the word.

“How I’m doing,” Oliver supplied softly.

“Yes… doing. You are okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay, Rafael,” Oliver said, stepping closer to the kitchen island, his eyes darkening as he tracked the movement of Rafael’s hands. “Well, other than the fact that my boyfriend, who I haven’t seen in six months, is cooking instead of paying attention to me, I’m great.”

Rafael paused, looking up with a confused tilt of his head. “That is… sarcasm, yes?”

Oliver scoffed, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he walked around the counter straight toward Rafael.

Rafael turned off the gas stove, abandoning the food as Oliver stepped directly into his space.

Oliver leaned in, wrapping his arms tightly around Rafael’s waist and capturing his lips in a kiss that was messy and desperate.

The heat between them exploded instantly. Rafael wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, pulling that lean, gorgeous body as close as humanly possible, feeling the hard line of Oliver’s muscles pressed against him.

Breathing heavily, Rafael broke the kiss just an inch, his lips brushing against Oliver’s jaw. “You miss me, meu amor?”

Oliver nodded drunkenly, his hands tightening on Rafael’s hips, digging into his skin through his shirt. “Fuck, yes. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A dark, playful smirk tugged at the corner of Rafael’s mouth. “What you miss? Me or my cock?”

Oliver let out a ragged moan, throwing his head back as a shiver ran down his spine. “Both? We really should stop talking. Like right now.”

“Then shut me up,” Rafael growled, grabbing Oliver by the back of his blonde hair and pulling him down into another fierce kiss.

Oliver let out a ragged breath, sliding his hands down Rafael’s chest to his waist. Without a second thought, he sank down onto his knees on the hard kitchen floor.

The view made Rafael’s heart hammer against his ribs. There was Oliver—the strict, disciplined captain who always insisted on rules—kneeling right in front of him, his blue eyes blown wide with dark desire as his fingers reached for the button of Rafael’s pants.

Before Oliver could undo the denim, Rafael’s large hand reached down, catching Oliver by his chin and gently holding him in place.

“Do you love me, Oliver?” Rafael asked softly, his breathing already heavy.

Oliver gasped, his throat working as he looked up at him. “Yes,” he rasped out, trying to dive forward toward Rafael’s waist.

Rafael held his chin firm, shaking his head slightly, “Say it like you mean it.”

Oliver groaned, his hands clutching Rafael’s thighs, his nails digging into the fabric of his jeans. “Yes... I love you, Rafael.”

A hot surge of possessiveness flared through Rafael’s veins, making his mouth go dry. He stroked his thumb across Oliver’s cheekbone, admiring the gorgeous flush on the blonde man’s skin.

“Whose good boy are you?” Rafael murmured in his accented voice.

Oliver threw his head back with a desperate moan, his lashes fluttering shut for a second before his blue eyes locked back onto Rafael’s. “Yours.”

“Yours who?”

“Rafael,” Oliver whimpered, completely unraveling beneath his touch. “I’m Rafael’s good boy.”

Rafael’s head rolled back as a guttural growl tore from his throat. “Meu Deus...” he breathed out, his accent heavy.

He let go of Oliver’s chin, unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants down just enough for his swollen length to spring free into the cool air.

He tangled his fingers into Oliver’s soft blonde hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head back.

“Then suck my cock like the good boy you are.”