Chapter Text
Jude Bellingham’s unraveling begins like this:
gavi_thighs_archive:
[image]
GUYS?? JUDE BELLINGHAM JUST LIKED MY PIC WTF
pedri.propagandist: Girl, that’s CLEARLY photoshopped 🙄
MrsGavi6: I agree with @pedri.propagandist. You have less than 300 followers. No way someone like Bellingham would even see your post in the first place.
gavi_thighs_archive: to those accusing me of lying, why would i make something like this up? let alone photoshop it? lol
b4rcas: i lowkey believe this conspiracy…. because who wouldn’t obsess over gavi's thighs ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Read more comments…
Jude’s heart is about to beat out of his chest. Face aflame, he tries to calm down his breathing while clutching his now-locked phone with a trembling hand. How could he be so fucking careless?
Looking at pictures of your rival on an Instagram fan page dedicated to their thighs is bad enough. Accidentally liking a post while logged into your official account with millions of followers? That’s a different kind of reckless.
Thankfully, barely any of gavi_thighs_archive’s 287 followers seem to believe that Jude Bellingham, newly signed Real Madrid prospect and media darling, is looking at pictures of Barça's all-grown-up wunderkind at 3 AM.
Jude’s social media manager doesn’t monitor his Instagram usage to the extent of tracking his activity, but he deletes his search history just in case.
He has heard whispers of Gavi ever since they were teenagers, has even been compared to him at times, and can't help but be curious. The new season is just around the corner and if the rumors are true, Gavi is back from injury and ready to be unleashed. It'll be Jude's first time facing him and he wants to be prepared, okay?
His foray into the world of Gavi fan pages starts as an innocent attempt at sussing out the competition—conducting research, so to speak. Unfortunately, it quickly spirals out of control and before Jude knows it, his FYP has transformed into Gavi Central.
No matter how far down he scrolls, all he sees are thirst edits set to slowed-down phonk music. Photoshopped pictures of Gavi with cat ears and ribbons in his hair. Accounts dedicated to his smile, glutes, abs and thighs. Embarrassingly, Jude gets quite hung up on the latter. He has shared locker rooms with the same sex his entire life and has never cared about, or even noticed, anyone’s thighs. Or smile. Or fucking glutes. Yet, here he is. Jude forcefully pushes the questions this raises to the back of his mind and goes to take a cold shower.
Enough research for now.
Two weeks later, right before pre-season starts, his England teammates suggest a trip to Ibiza and Jude's immediately in. While he enjoys spending time with the Real Madrid squad, his Spanish is still pretty limited and he often feels like he misses key parts of conversations. He hates how he feels like an awkward puzzle piece at times, trying to find his place and seamlessly integrate into the team.
This is how Jude finds himself in "one of Ibiza's hottest clubs, mate," according to Trent. The humid air sticks his linen shirt to his clammy skin and makes a mess of his curls. He feels the bass deep in his bones as he beelines for the bar to get Trent a pint (totally because Jude’s a great teammate, not because he wants to impress the more senior players). It's then that he spots Gavi, in the flesh, for the first time.
For Jude, as cliche as it sounds, time stands still while he takes him in. Gavi is sitting on a red leather couch in the VIP section, wearing all black and bobbing his head to the music. From where Jude spies him, it looks like he's wearing shorts; thighs fully on display. After hesitating for two entire seconds, Jude does an impulsive U-turn and strides towards the VIP section, anticipation running through his body. To hell with Trent's drink.
Before he knows it, Jude is seated next to his biggest rival with a confident arm slung over the back of the couch, just right above Gavi's shoulders.
"Hey," he says, doing his best to sound all suave and charming. Based on the unimpressed look on Gavi's face, it falls flat.
To his relief, Gavi doesn't straight-up ignore him. Jude sees him moving his mouth, but the loud music drowns out his voice and Jude's Spanish isn't good enough for him to be able to read lips. Speaking of, Gavi’s are red and glossy and look very kissable. If Jude had a lower blood alcohol level, he would've stopped these thoughts in their tracks; nipped them in the bud before they had the chance to grow and take root.
If he were sober, Jude would be with his teammates. Right now he’d probably be thanked for the pint by Trent and basking in the attention of the players he has looked up to for years. He’d pick up a pretty girl and be far, far away from Gavi and his stupidly enticing lips. Instead, he’s four pints and three Jägerbombs down and feeling reckless.
"What?" Jude leans forward.
"I said that you're obnoxious!" Gavi yells over the thumping music. The remark comes off as juvenile rather than mean-spirited and gets a laugh out of Jude. With the way Gavi slurs some of his words, he seems to be just as tipsy as him.
"What makes you say that?" Jude teases.
Gavi rolls his eyes and starts moving his mouth again, adding hand gestures this time. Jude could probably hear him over the music if he were to strain his ears and pay attention, instead he zones out completely, enthralled by Gavi's thighs. Jude hopes his staring isn’t obvious, but seeing them in real life is incredible, especially up close. They have tan lines; legs golden, but the upper parts milky white where his shorts have ridden up. Gavi’s black outfit contrasts beautifully with the red couch, making his thighs stand out that much more. The pictures have nothing on the real deal, Jude decides. If gavi_thighs_archive only knew.
Gavi waves a hand in front of his face and snaps Jude out of his thigh-induced haze.
"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" he yells so loudly Jude suspects he's used up all his lung capacity before the season has even started.
Jude grins and shakes his head, earnest as ever.
Gavi sighs and stands up. "Water," he mouths, and grabs Jude’s arm, dragging him towards the bar. The sheer strength of the grip Gavi has on him does something funny to his stomach, and brain apparently, because Jude delusionally wants to ask him to squeeze his arm harder. To leave marks.
"You're being awfully kind to someone you dislike," Jude says when they reach the bar where the music isn't as loud. Gavi lets go of his arm and turns around to flag down the bartender.
"Who says I dislike you?" Gavi asks.
"So you like me?" Jude says to Gavi’s back. It's a nice back; all broad and muscular. Still, Jude’s body, with its size, would most likely engulf it. Fuck.
In lieu of a response, Gavi turns around and shoves a cup of water towards him.
When Jude grabs the cup, his fingers brush Gavi's, and it might be the shots he's consumed in the last 30 minutes, but he swears that the simple touch burns. God, he needs to get a grip.
"Stop avoiding the question," he quips lightheartedly, before chugging everything in one go and discarding the cup.
“Why do you care? You don’t even know me,” Gavi scoffs.
Jude shrugs and frowns. This conversation isn’t going at all the way he intended. He’s just joking around, but Gavi’s dead serious. Are Spaniards allergic to banter? Jesus.
“All you Madridistas are the same, only there for the glory. Desperate to be liked by everyone,” Gavi starts ranting. He’s very passionate about it, though it's hard for Jude to take him seriously with the way he’s shaking with—what? Annoyance? Rage?
“And you’re here for what? Honor?” Jude asks as his heartbeat starts picking up speed. Gavi's eyes are ridiculously expressive and completely focused on him; he feels seen in a twisted way. Truth be told, Jude has felt a little bit like an outsider at Real. The language barrier and awkward transition into the team are challenges he'll eventually overcome, but a part of him wishes he had the solidarity and familiarity of growing up at La Masia—playing with teammates you've known your entire life.
Absurdly, Jude gets the impression that Gavi is able to see exactly how he feels, like he's dissecting him with that piercing gaze of his. And Jude wants to be picked apart, for someone to take a look behind the curtain, to see through hours of PR training. This train of thought creates a confusing emotional cocktail inside Jude—something he probably should examine, but knows he won't.
“I’m here for the badge. For the blood that runs through me.” Gavi’s really wound up now, and his monologue keeps getting more and more dramatic. If it were anyone else, Jude would've left to not perish from secondhand embarrassment, but because it’s Gavi, he finds it endearing. And how awful is that?
Halfway through his monologue, Gavi starts jabbing at his chest with his index finger and Jude eats up the attention. It's thrilling to have Gavi this riled up. Jude can't stop pushing his buttons; he wants to keep going and going and going until Gavi snaps completely.
The melodrama must eventually come to an end, however, so Jude grabs his wrist and puts a stop to the surprisingly strong jabs. Oh god. His entire hand easily wraps around Gavi's wrist.
"Do you even like me?" Gavi asks with a wry smile, noticeably calmer now, but still letting Jude hold his wrist. To this, Jude doesn’t know how to respond. It shouldn’t be a big deal, it isn’t a big deal, so why is it hard to give a straight answer?
Jude gets lost in his head for too long because Gavi continues. "See? Self-centered Madridista."
"We're rivals." Jude blatantly avoids responding to the question.
"Really?" Gavi challenges, all sarcastic, while glancing at Jude's lips before licking his own. It's so fast that Jude wouldn't have noticed if he weren't a professional athlete with superb reflexes. "Based on your interviews, I'm shocked there's a question you can't answer."
"You've watched my interviews?" A smug smile tugs at Jude's lips.
Gavi falters, a blush spreading across his face. "Pedri put one on, it was against my will."
Jude feels Gavi's pulse rabbiting under his thumb.
“I could make you like me,” Jude says. It comes out more breathless than he intended for it to. He gently squeezes Gavi's wrist.
“Yeah?” Gavi asks, sounding winded. The blush coating his face is creeping all the way down to his chest where the top buttons of his shirt are open. He steps closer and grabs Jude's shirt with his free hand, “I’d like to see you try." If this isn’t a go-ahead, Jude doesn’t know what is.
“C’mon,” he says with a grin and drags Gavi toward the restrooms.
Thankfully, the stalls are separate; they’re set up like small rooms, each being ridiculously spacious. This is a high-end club for you, alright. Jude opens the door to one, but instead of dragging them inside, he drops Gavi’s wrist and turns around. Pausing like this is quite risky, if anyone were to walk by and pay attention to their surroundings, they’d easily spot the two of them in a compromising position. Jude knows they should be careful, but he wants to, you know, clear things up before going through with whatever this is.
“We’re on the same page, yeah?”
Gavi makes an irritated noise and shoves Jude into the restroom, swiftly closing and locking the door once they’re inside.
He backs Jude to the wall and slots a leg between his thighs.
“Yeah, okay,” Jude groans. He leans forward, god, Gavi’s lips look so plush.
To Jude's surprise and mild horror, Gavi whips his head back when Jude leans in, but otherwise doesn’t move. His leg is still firmly between Jude’s thighs and applying just the right amount of pressure.
“No kissing on the mouth,” he says and grinds his leg upwards, “too, fuck, intimate.”
What a sap. Jude almost snorts but doesn’t want to ruin the moment, though his face must reveal something, because Gavi sneers at him. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
Jude nods and suppresses a moan at the junction where Gavi’s shoulder meets his neck. “Is this okay?” he asks, holding himself back from leaving a mark. Gavi nods and whines, his hand grabbing the back of Jude’s head and holding him in place.
Jude unbuckles Gavi’s belt and shoves his hand down his shorts. He moans brokenly because Gavi, who whimpers, is hard and leaking. Jude's legs go weak, he doesn’t think he has ever been this affected by anyone. “You too,” Gavi says, and after some fumbling, Jude has both of their cocks out.
“Spit,” Jude demands, holding his hand out, palm turned up. Gavi obeys, and Jude uses it to make the glide easier as he takes both of them in hand. Gavi is certainly not small, but the size difference between their cocks is there, and it drags a guttural moan out of Jude. Gavi is short but strong and by no means fragile, but he’s still smaller and just the thought of that makes Jude’s cock twitch.
“Your eyes are fucking gorgeous, shit," Jude sounds absolutely wrecked as he slowly starts moving his hand. "So expressive it's insane," he babbles. The cords between his brain and mouth must have been severed because he’s unable to shut up. It’s true, though, Jude can see everything in Gavi’s eyes; how they widen when he picks up speed.
“Are you okay in the head? What kind of dirty talk is this?” Jude would’ve taken the jab to heart if Gavi didn’t end the sentence with a whimper.
“Shut up and take it,” Jude groans, too turned on to feel embarrassed, as he ups the intensity of his hand. “You’re so fucking needy.” He can feel himself throbbing—the pressure of his hand and the drag of Gavi's cock against his own are just shy of too much.
When Jude looks down at their cocks, he catches a glimpse of Gavi’s bare thighs, and that’s what tips him over. It all happens too fast for his liking, but Gavi’s thighs awaken something in his lizard brain that drives him absolutely crazy. Gavi keeps whining and grinding, looking for more friction, getting real desperate for it. Jude flicks his wrist and drags his thumb over a vein, using his own cum for a more smooth glide. Feeling Gavi twitch in his hand, Jude goes back to mouthing at his neck and gently drags his teeth over salty skin. He hopes the doors are soundproof because Gavi’s punched-out little ah, ah, ahs increase in volume and pitch.
Gavi tips his head back as he comes, letting out a whine so wretched it gives Jude goosebumps.
Forever a gentleman, Jude grabs some toilet paper to clean up both of them.
Not knowing what to do, what the protocol is after hooking up with your rival, Jude throws the soiled toilet paper into the trash can below the sink and awkwardly puts his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Gavi is still flushed, his cheeks red and hair tousled. He hesitantly opens his mouth, but immediately closes it when Jude’s phone starts buzzing.
“Trent’s looking for me, so...” For the first time that evening, Jude feels awkward and somewhat unsure. Some of the alcohol must have metabolized because his head feels much clearer, and the reality of what they’ve done starts to set in. Based on the look on Gavi’s face, he feels the same way.
Gavi gives him a curt nod, still looking disheveled. Jude nods back, commits the sight to memory, unlocks the door and steps out.
The next day Jude wakes up with a nasty hangover and Gavi’s dried cum on his navy linen trousers. Shit.