The 2026 Champions League semifinal. Real Madrid vs. Paris. The Bernabeu.

The air was thick with the smell of turf and sweat, and eighty thousand voices rose like a storm. Cristiano Ronaldo received the ball near the edge of the penalty area and shielded it with his back to goal. Messi closed in from behind.

What the whole world saw was this: Messi stuck out a foot to win the ball, Ronaldo went down with the contact, and the referee blew his whistle - foul. Ronaldo got to his feet and glared fiercely at Messi, muttering something under his breath. The broadcast cameras caught the movement of his lips, and the fans interpreted it as "Get lost."

But no one knew that, in the fraction of a second when their bodies touched, Ronaldo's fingertips had dug hard into the inside of Messi's thigh, leaving five reddened marks. Messi's answer was to let his studs lightly grind over the top of Ronaldo's foot, with exactly enough pressure to leave a red line, but not enough to truly hurt him.

Their secret code: You are not escaping tonight.

The match went into extra time, the score 1-1. In the 117th minute, Ronaldo met a teammate's cross and leaped high into the air. Behind him, Messi made a symbolic jump - to the world, it looked like defending; in reality, his fingers had caught the hem of Ronaldo's jersey and lifted it an inch.

That scar. The one left by a Cesarean section, running across the lower abdomen.

For one instant in midair, Ronaldo lost focus and headed the ball wide. It skimmed past the crossbar. The entire stadium sighed. Ronaldo landed and looked back at Messi. His eyes held fire, pain, and a kind of madness only Messi could understand: Are you threatening me? How the hell dare you lift my scar in front of eighty thousand people?

Messi ran away expressionlessly.

The final whistle blew. 1-1. Real Madrid advanced on away goals. Ronaldo was named man of the match, but he shoved the trophy at a teammate and was the first to rush into the players' tunnel.

The side hall of the locker room -

The door flew open under Ronaldo's kick. Messi had just taken off his jersey.

"You did that on purpose." Ronaldo pinned him against the wall. He was covered in sweat, his muscles taut, and although his voice was pressed low, every word trembled. "You lifted my shirt in front of everyone. You wanted them to see? You wanted the whole world to know that I gave birth to your child?"

Messi did not struggle. He simply raised a hand and wiped the grass clippings mixed with sweat from Ronaldo's cheek with his thumb. "I only wanted to remind you that the scar shows when you jump. Don't jump so high next time."

"You care?" Ronaldo sneered, his eyes red. "When you lifted my shirt on the field, why didn't you think about whether you cared?"

"Cristiano." Messi's voice was soft, but his fingers suddenly closed around the back of Ronaldo's neck and pulled him closer. Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. "I haven't asked you yet - who left that mark on your foot?"

Silence.

The next second, Ronaldo bit his lower lip. It was not a kiss. It was a bite. The taste of blood spread through both their mouths. Messi let out a muffled groan, but his hand only tightened in Ronaldo's hair and pulled him deeper.

"I hate you." Ronaldo's lips brushed the corner of Messi's mouth, blood smearing between them. "I hate you like hell. You made me humiliate myself in front of eighty thousand people."

"Then why are you hard?" Messi's answer was almost against his throat as his fingers moved lower. "Cristiano, your body is more honest than your mouth."

Ronaldo growled and turned Messi around, pressing him against the washbasin. The marble was cold. Messi's sweat-soaked back, still chilled by the ice in the basin, shuddered when it touched the stone. Their reflections appeared in the mirror - one pair of eyes filled with uncontrolled rage, the other with a calm kind of madness.

"I want you to look at me." Ronaldo gripped his chin and forced him to face the mirror. "I want you to see how you pretend to be my enemy in front of the entire world, then spread your legs for me on this counter."

Messi looked at his reflection. His face was flushed, his eyes wet, and Ronaldo's bite had left blood on his lips. Then he suddenly smiled.

"Then look at yourself too." Messi caught Ronaldo's wrist behind him. "Look at how you fooled the entire world. Enemies? If they knew what this 'enemy' of yours is doing right now, what would they think?"

Ronaldo's movement stopped for a second. Then he suddenly began to laugh, trembling with it, almost hysterical. "Let them look. Let them come. I am not afraid - I am going to fuck you right here in the Bernabeu locker room. Let Real Madrid's crest watch, and let Paris's jersey cushion you beneath me -" He blindly snatched up the Paris away jersey Messi had removed, crumpled it, and stuffed it into Messi's mouth.

"Bite down. Don't make a sound."

Ten minutes later, Ronaldo sat collapsed on the tiled floor, soaked through. Messi knelt between his legs, his forehead resting against Ronaldo's knee. Neither of them spoke. Only their breathing echoed through the empty side hall.

At last, Messi spoke, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. "The scar on your foot..."

"I made it myself." Ronaldo buried his head in the crook of his arm. "You didn't answer my calls a few days ago. I went crazy. I scratched it in the bathroom."

Messi lifted his head. He looked at the scabbed-over bloody scratches on the top of Ronaldo's foot, then suddenly took hold of his ankle, lowered his head, and lightly ran his tongue over the scabs.

Ronaldo shuddered and yanked his foot back. "What are you doing -"

"I went crazy too." Messi raised his head, a trace of dried blood on his lips. "When you used that model to make me jealous, I smashed three glasses at home. Then I went to the hospital."

"...What hospital?"

Messi said nothing. He pulled a crumpled test report from his pocket and pushed it into Ronaldo's hand.

Ronaldo looked down. His hand began to shake.

Positive. HCG level. Note: Early pregnancy.

"You fucking..." Ronaldo's voice changed completely, as if someone had seized him by the throat. "You're insane... You knew I almost died on that delivery table last time - and you still want to -"

"So you deliberately found that model to provoke me because you knew I was pregnant that time?" Messi's voice was calm, frighteningly calm. "You wanted to see whether I would get jealous, whether I would go crazy over you, whether I would -"

"Yes!" Ronaldo shouted. Tears finally spilled from his reddened eyes. "I wanted to know whether you really cared about me! You act so calm out there every day, gentle and kind to everyone - how the hell was I supposed to know whether I was any different from everyone else to you?!"

Messi was silent for a long time. Then he reached out and pulled Ronaldo into his arms. Two Alphas, drenched in sweat and carrying the smell of perspiration and bodily fluids, held each other in a knot on the floor of the Bernabeu side hall.

"The child you gave birth to," Messi whispered against his ear, "looks like you. He has your temper too. Last night he kicked me once. I could feel him turning somersaults through my stomach - you know that?"

Ronaldo buried his face against Messi's chest and cried like an idiot.

Enemy Turned Husband - Cristiano Ronaldo and Messi's Forbidden Love — Chapter 2: Messi's Morning Sickness, and Ronaldo's Gentle Comfort

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