Warnings: AU. Swearing. A little manlovin'. Football (soccer).
A/N: This was written for cupricanka during the Summer 2010 round of the sn_exchange on LJ. Since one of the possible prompts I was given was "something revolving around a sport, even if the characters only watch it on TV," and I happen(ed) to be *slightly* addicted to a little something called the FIFA WORLD CUP… it's kind of inevitable that this happened.
It was an honor to be a part of the exchange for the second time. Hope you enjoy!
Scores, Settled
(aka, "Is that a Vuvuzela in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?")
"Unfortunately, avid staring alone doesn't guarantee that we're going to score."
The words sharply roused Sasuke from his wandering thoughts—not that they were granted the ease to wander very often. His blank look shifted to the smirking bartender, who was leaning towards him across the counter with a fresh bottle of beer in his outstretched hand.
"I wish it did though, 'cause we'd be the world champions already just because of you."
Sasuke scowled and took the bottle as it was placed in front of him, but didn't bother to respond. The bartender watched as Sasuke poured the beer into his glass instead of raising it to his lips, but merely raised an eyebrow at what was certainly overly proper behavior given how casual the bar was. Then again, the guy was wearing a suit despite it being past eleven in the evening.
Sipping his drink, Sasuke turned his attention back to the game, squinting at the dots of color zipping across the television screen that was set up on the adjacent wall along the bar. A quick glance around the place told him everyone else was perched on the edge of his or her seat, the room rife with tense anticipation.
Sasuke was bored out of his mind. He didn't understand the hype, or the excitement, or why every bar on the street was crammed with idiots at this time of night on a Monday, all on account of a trivial game.
But business was business, and for the moment, his business was football.
"I'm used to people's eyes going glassy watching these games, but I think you're setting a new standard," the bartender chuckled at him as he wiped down the counter with a rag.
Sasuke's scowl deepened at the new jibe. There apparently wasn't much to be said for customer service here either. He didn't know what had possessed him to come into this particular bar, given that it was tucked away in a side street and was nowhere near as nice as the typical sort of place he'd venture to once in a while for a good strong drink, but here he was. Rasengan, the faded sign above the door had said.
He studied the bartender from the corner of his eye. Tall and blond and tan with his stupid mouth pulled into a wide grin, he was much too… bright for the dimly lit bar.
Sasuke snorted. Harassing the customers certainly wasn't going to land this guy any tips. (Then again, from the look of things, harassing the customers was protocol here—a large older bartender with white hair was serving his female customers everything they could possibly need to compile a sexual harassment lawsuit, while a substantially-chested blonde woman was threatening violence to a customer who was insinuating that it was unprofessional to gulp shots of sake while bartending. From the looks of it, this was all a nightly routine.)
The humor slowly drained from the bartender's face at the continued silence. Naruto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Somehow he'd forgotten that friendly banter was lost on the repressed business-suit-types.
Sasuke was checking his watch when the entire bar suddenly erupted. A lesser man would have fallen off his barstool.
As it were, Sasuke was thankful he'd only consumed two drinks.
The bartender threw down his cleaning cloth and let out a delighted whoop as Japan scored the first goal of the match.
There was a flurry of activity as several of the bar patrons ordered new drinks to toast the early lead. When things calmed down, he sidled back down to the side of the bar where Sasuke was still sitting reservedly.
"We just scored, y'know," Naruto smirked, crossing his arms and leaning on them over the counter.
Sasuke sneered. "Somehow I've managed to grasp that."
Inwardly, he cursed how obviously his disinterest must show for the moronic bartender to assume he had no idea of what was going on. True, he knew almost nothing about football, but it didn't give the shithead license to… well, give him shit about it.
Said shithead was obviously enjoying himself. "Have you 'managed to grasp' who we're playing?" he teased.
It took Sasuke a few (long) seconds to answer—and he sure as hell wasn't going to give the asshole the satisfaction by needing to glance at the television—before it finally came to him. "…Cameroon," he finally muttered, with only the slightest hint of uncertainty coloring his answer.
The bartender looked smug despite the technically correct answer.
"Fine," Sasuke snapped. "So I'm not exactly a football fan."
"Never would've guessed."
Sasuke wanted to get up and leave, but the game was unfortunately still in full swing. The bartender chuckled again, and Sasuke turned up the high beams on his death glare.
"Hey, hey, easy," Naruto waved a hand in what was intended to be a pacifying gesture. "I'm sorry for giving you a hard time—I was only teasing! Guess I'm just used to talking to the regulars in here this time of night."
He made a fresh drink free of charge and placed it in front of Sasuke. "But mind if I ask you why you're here watching a game you obviously have zero interest in?"
"Yes, but you're asking me anyway," Sasuke sighed, but took a sip of the drink. He wasn't sure what it was, but it burned his throat pleasantly. "…It's for business. Research."
"Oh," Naruto nodded, but failed to see the correlation. The guy didn't seem to want to elaborate (shocking) but for once, Naruto didn't press the issue. He busied himself with his job as the second half of the match wore on.
"I suppose I just don't understand what the big deal is with this World Cup thing," Sasuke finally admitted a while later. He wasn't sure why he was bothering to talk with the blond bartender, but he suspected it had a little to do with the now empty glass in front of him.
The people on either side of him turned to stare.
Naruto laughed, a little nervously. "You'll uh, understand when we win…!" He flashed a forced grin at the other patrons and let out a breath when they turned back to the game.
The buzz of alcohol in Sasuke's blood had his lips moving without his brain's express permission. "But it's just a game…"
He hadn't noticed how blue the bartender's eyes were until they were wide in shock and staring back at him in something not far off from pure, unadulterated, I'm-going-to-watch-a-man-get-killed-before-my-eyes terror. Sasuke blinked back, confused.
That's when he noticed that an eerie hush had fallen around them, much like a weak, defenseless animal must experience before being trampled by a stampede, or being hit by a nuclear warhead.
Alcohol, it seems, had also loosened his volume control.
"Run," Naruto hissed from a clenched jaw. When a bewildered Sasuke made no move to do so, he scrambled from behind the counter.
"I'M GOING ON BREAK!" he hollered over his shoulder before seizing Sasuke's wrist. "I said fucking run!"
He took off, yanking Sasuke from his stool. They'd barely made it out the door when the referee blew the whistle to declare Japan the winner of the match, and the sounds of victorious shouts from within the bar spilled out onto the street behind them as they fled.
"Was that really necessary?" Sasuke panted two minutes, a sprint down the block, and a few mowed-down pedestrians later.
"Yes. Yes it was."
"Just because I said it's just a fucking ga—" Before he could finish, Sasuke found a hand clamped unceremoniously over his mouth.
"Are you always this slow or are you just one of those guys who totally loses his sense of self-preservation once he knocks back a few?" Naruto griped, exasperated.
Sasuke bristled at the moron's audacity to call him slow and silently mused whether it was possible to continue a prestigious career in bartending with a few missing fingers.
Naruto removed his hand with a sigh. "Look, uh—?"
"Sasuke."
"Look, Sasuke, I'm sorry. But I've seen bar fights break out for a hell lot less of a reason. If we hadn't just won that match a couple of 'em very well could have chased us. I mean, these are people who don't have anything better to do than hang out in a bar at well past eleven on a Monday ni…" Naruto trailed off and cleared his throat when he saw the disdain in Sasuke's eyes progress from increasingly irritated to I will puree your internal organs and serve them as a cocktail of my own.
"…Not that there's, um, anything wrong with that."
Pinching his eyes shut against a swiftly encroaching headache, Sasuke released a breath in exasperation. "Right. It's not just a football game. A grievous error on my part. Now, if you'll kindly fuck off—"
"Sasuke," the bartender leaned forward and said in a grave whisper, blue eyes gleaming, "the World Cup is a very, very serious thing."
"…That's it. I'm out of here."
He'd only put a few steps between him and the lunatic when said lunatic called out, "Good luck on your 'research' then!"
Sasuke froze. It was nearly one in the morning and he'd spent the last two hours in a cramped little bar squinting at a television for a sport he had no desire to watch, been forced to vacate the damn place before the team even fucking won, and was now standing in the middle of the sidewalk with the proprietor of his alcohol and absolutely nothing to show for the entire catastrophic evening.
"Shit."
"Is… there a problem?"
Sasuke's attention snapped back to him so fast Naruto nearly recoiled. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked.
"No, not really," Sasuke seethed, "except that I've got to learn everything I can about football in less than a month."
"Oh, is that all?" Naruto laughed. "It's not that complex of a game, y'know."
"For your information, moron, I have less than a month to design a winning post-World Cup advertising campaign for some of the key sponsors of the Japanese national football team."
"Woah, you're in charge of marketing the Samurai Blue? Bitchin'!"
Sasuke grit his teeth. "I have less than a month to create an ad campaign that will placate both fans and the sponsors' corporate interests after Japan loses spectacularly, as all my associates assure me we will."
"Hey, don't say—"
"—Bracing for that imminent loss, my… supervisor," he bit out, mentally wincing while imagining Itachi's mile-wide smirk at the loathed admission, "has instructed me to research the 'spirit' of the game instead." Whatever the fuck that means.
"Well there's your problem," Naruto nodded sagely, "or… one of 'em, anyway." He ignored the look that suggested he locate a nice fire to die in. " You're approaching football as a science or something that can be studied like a textbook. It's a game, sure, but there's more to it than that… it's something people put their hope and energy behind, that they can come together to support regardless of the outcome. It's about being a part of something larger than just you. So what if we're not the best team around statistically? Fuck it, it's still fun."
He wasn't daunted by Sasuke's blank stare. "I guess it's something you've got to be a part of to understand, and not just an observer," he grinned, and in the darkness of the early morning it looked almost vulpine. "But you're in luck, because Uzumaki Naruto can teach you a thing or two about the spirit of football!"
In the face of Sasuke's continued apathy, however, he deflated slightly. "That's, uh, me."
Sasuke was, to put it gently, entirely unimpressed. "And I should give a shit about you being my 'spiritual guide' because…"
Naruto ran a hand through his wild tangle of blond hair, letting out an annoyed huff of breath. But gradually it gentled into a sincere smile that slowly unfurled across his face, making something in Sasuke's breath hitch unconsciously. "Because you're talking to the coach of the best football team in Japan, that's why. And if I have anything to do about it, you're going to love football as much as I do."
Standing there, with the streetlamps' hazy light casting a halogen halo around Naruto's head like he was some fucking football deity, Sasuke could almost begin to believe him.
"The best football team in Japan" turned out to be composed of a bunch of eight-year-olds.
Two days later, for reasons he couldn't entirely comprehend, Sasuke found himself on the athletic field of a local elementary school during his lunch break, watching a hoard of children clumsily maneuver the ball up and down the field. Naruto hovered along the sidelines, calling out instructions and encouragements.
He was just turning to leave, to extricate himself from all the nonsense suddenly trying to infiltrate his life, when The Bringer of All Nonsense spotted him and jogged over.
"Hey, Sasuke! Glad you could make it!"
Sasuke didn't force himself to echo the sentiment, leaving Naruto's chipper words to linger unanswered in the summer air. Unless Naruto could make a professional football team materialize out of thin air, he didn't see the point of this whole exercise in futility.
Still, something in the nearly phosphorescent glow of Naruto's exuberance made him sit (gingerly, so as not to dirty or rumple his finely-pressed suit) on the bleachers and watch for a few minutes.
He supposed that the team wasn't nearly as horrible as it could have been considering the young age of its members, but then again he had no real standards to which to compare it. The only sports he'd participated in as a child and adolescent had been Kendo and some tennis—solitary, independent endeavors.
Come to think of it, the Uchiha clan had never much been in favor of team sports.
Before he knew it, he ended up staying for nearly the whole practice, momentarily lost in how the team's movements gradually grew more fluid and their aim more accurate, bolstered by Naruto's endless litany of faith and motivation.
More than anything, he took in how, when one player stumbled and went careening down across the grass, every one of his teammates stopped mid-play and rushed over to him without a moment's hesitation.
He wasn't sure why, but it gave him pause. His father would have scoffed and said they were being coddled, that they would never win with such a merciful attitude.
But by the sunny smiles that unfurled across little faces as the boy rose to his feet, leaning on the shoulder of a companion and grinning—by the pride etched into every line of Naruto's stance, his own grin outshining even theirs—Sasuke didn't get the impression that any of them cared very much about that.
By the time Sasuke found himself spending his lunch break on the field again just three days later, he'd come to the conclusion that he'd be the most successful advertising executive in the world if he could only extract the insufferable charisma that drew people to Naruto and infuse every ad with it. Or better yet, just bottle it and sell it on the market.
"You guys are so awesome it's crazy," Naruto beamed, and his team mirrored his expression with smiles that were missing baby teeth everywhere.
"That's 'cause we've got the Will of Fire!" one boy declared proudly, hands on his hips, to the nods of his teammates.
Naruto nodded back sagely. "The man's right. Now go exert that Will of Fire some more and practice your penalty kicks."
As they scurried off, Sasuke turned to Naruto with a quirked eyebrow. "The 'Will of Fire'?"
"Oh, it's just something my old man used to say," Naruto smiled, and for the briefest of instants there was nostalgia written in every line of his face. "It means respecting your teammates as well as your opponents, always trying your best, and having the perseverance, and the guts, to never give up."
Sasuke blinked, a little stunned; he'd never heard that during a tennis lesson. Philosophy on the football field, who knew?
It was easy to see how much Naruto loved coaching the kids, but Sasuke had been a little taken aback to learn that it was a volunteer position—Naruto had taken the night job as a bartender to actually make some kind of a living. He explained that owners of the bar, Jiraiya and Tsunade, were like his grandparents and he'd been working there since he was a teenager.
As they stood together on the sidelines overseeing the practice—Naruto in his athletic shorts and a t-shirt, Sasuke in his suit—Naruto explained the rules of football and the structure of the World Cup. Sasuke had been aware of the basic premise but was somewhat surprised at the levels of organization involved in something that garnered such a rowdy reception.
He was starting to realize that this whole World Cup thing was far bigger than he'd anticipated, something far more compelling—something unexpectedly but undeniably powerful.
He hadn't even touched the merchandising campaign since this whole mess had started, but strange as it was, he couldn't bring himself to feel all that worried. He wasn't sure what the answer was or what he was looking for, but somehow he suspected Naruto's infectious passion for football might lead him in the right direction.
After all, even Sasuke was beginning to feel a little excited about the game coming up that night.
They lost.
A blanket of heavy silence settled over the bar as the referee's whistle blasted from the television. Sasuke hadn't realized his eyes had been glued to the screen until he had to lean back on his barstool and consciously relax the tension in his body.
"Well," Naruto broke the silence, pressing the power button on the remote control to make the images of the jubilant fans of the Dutch football team flicker away into darkness, "guess we'll just have to really kick ass when we win the next game."
"You always say that, kid, but…" Jiraiya sighed. "We're ranked like… what? Forty-fifth in the world?"
"So what? We've still got just as much of a shot as any other team," Naruto fired back. "It's not over 'til we believe that it's over. If you act like we've already lost, then yeah, we have."
"After all," Naruto grinned, and caught Sasuke's eye, "nothing worth really rooting for was ever easy."
Sasuke wasn't sure how, in the course of less than a week, Naruto went from a source of marketing research to… an actual friend. Though they bickered and clashed almost endlessly, there was that indescribable something about Naruto that drew him back time and time again.
Already Sasuke's secretary had learned to hold his calls and stall for him if he returned late from his lunch break. And the children now recognized him and waved when he showed up at their practices.
Itachi had asked for updates on the Samurai Blue campaign, but Sasuke had evaded him. The truth was, it was impossible to present a mock-up when it hadn't even been started yet.
Sometimes life abruptly altered course without your consent or conscious decision. And sometimes it grabbed you by the wrist, yanked you out the door and forced you to actually have a little fun for a change.
Naruto had somehow acquired a cheap plastic vuvuzela, which after about fifteen minutes into the game just about everyone in the bar was aching to chuck out the door and into heavy traffic.
Sasuke didn't understand how Naruto could keep up the faith so unwaveringly. He supposed it was… endearing, in a stubbornly idiotic way.
Yet not an eye strayed from the TV, riveted as the unprecedented unfurled on the screen in real time—Japan scored. And scored. And scored again.
Naruto came out from behind the counter for the last few minutes of the game, as everyone was too mesmerized to even order drinks. Because, against all odds, the Japanese team was poised to advance to the Final 16—a feat they'd never accomplished on foreign soil.
And when the whistle blew and Samurai Blue had overwhelmed the Danish team 3 goals to 1, when the bar dissolved into screams and cheers and bodies began crashing into frenetic hugs, when for one fleeting moment Sasuke felt more a part of something than he ever had in his life, Naruto turned to him with eyes so electric all the breath in Sasuke's lungs evaporated.
Naruto's face was twisted into an expression so exultant that Sasuke could only stare, transfixed.
The spell was broken, however, when a bar rag sailed through the air and slapped Naruto upside the head.
"Back to work, brat! You're not skipping out this time!"
"Yeah, yeah, you old hag, I'm coming!" Naruto hollered, shuffling behind the counter. "You know, it's 'cause of you we won. You did bet against Japan, right?"
Oblivious to the sound of Naruto's subsequent yelp of pain, Sasuke wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the adrenaline ricocheting through his veins and making him feel half-delirious. Because for a moment, he'd had the manic thought Naruto was about to kiss him.
And for a moment, he'd actually wanted him to.
For the next four days, Sasuke told himself he was too busy to take a lunch break. His secretary looked confused, but so was Sasuke.
A part of him knew very well that he was avoiding Naruto. It was the same part that acknowledged how he ate his lunch without really tasting anything, or how unnervingly quiet his office now seemed, or how thinking of Naruto had become as reflexive as breathing.
Or how at night, he dreamt of blue that had nothing to do with football uniforms.
The atmosphere that enshrouded the bar the night of Japan's Final 16 game lingered somewhere between pure frenzy and quiet, enduring hope.
Maneuvering through the throng of people packed into the bar, Sasuke made his way over to the counter and snagged what had become his usual seat. He'd even worn a blue tie in support of the occasion, though he'd deny it up and down.
He spotted Naruto at the opposite end of the bar with a pink-haired girl who had Japanese flags painted on her cheeks. She was leaning forward over the counter, adorning Naruto's face with flags as well. Naruto's eyes were alight with excitement and he was obviously fighting a losing battle against grinning. The girl swatted at him and told him to keep still, but her expression was warm.
Something froze inside of Sasuke when she brushed a lock of unruly blond hair off Naruto's forehead in a familiar gesture.
"Something strong. Really strong," Sasuke muttered when Jiraiya sauntered over to take his order.
Jiraiya raised an eyebrow but did as requested.
"Hey Sasuke!" Naruto greeted several minutes later, bounding down to his end of the bar. Naruto was grinning so hugely that the flags looked like they were waving in the breeze. Sasuke glared at them. And the bright blue jersey Naruto was wearing made his eyes look… too fucking blue. It was stupid.
Naruto looked at him with an odd expression. "Are you alright?"
"Fine. Never better." He was wondering why his drink glass was empty though. He flicked some condensation off his fingers.
Naruto didn't look like he believed him, but they were interrupted by a swarm of people who were obviously friends of Naruto's. Blabbering animatedly about the game, Naruto moved down the bar started chatting with them, leaving Sasuke alone.
Sasuke flagged down Jiraiya and ordered another drink.
It was a long, miserable, scoreless game.
Sasuke didn't think he'd ever been in a room thick with such palpable tension, and he'd endured a lifetime of clan dinners.
Ultimately, they had to resort to a penalty shoot-out, and after a drawn-out match, Paraguay finally edged Japan out of the competition by a narrow margin.
Silence reigned in the bar.
And when Naruto finally turned away from his friends and looked at him with an almost helpless expression, Sasuke felt the rage bubble up, swift and inexplicable and irrational.
Naruto had made him believe, just for a second, that there was even a chance they could win. He'd wasted so much time here and still had no campaign to show for it, but the charade was over now. Now he could go back to his old life, his old routine. No more late nights in the bar, no more lunch hours on the athletic field. No more Naruto—
Sasuke was out of his chair before his brain caught up with his feet.
"No need to follow me, Naruto. I'm sure your girlfriend will let you cry on her shoulder," Sasuke snarled, as Naruto leapt up after him.
"…What? Sasuke!"
Sasuke stormed out of the bar, Naruto close on his heels. A light drizzle was descending through the early morning air.
"Sasuke—"
Sasuke spun around.
"What are you going to say, Naruto? 'Winning isn't everything?' or some other trite crap? I don't know why I've been wasting my time, letting myself actually believe that hope and faith and all that greeting-card bullshit you spew would be enough, that the Samurai were facing any other outcome than being totally and utterly crushed…"
"I'm sure your campaign will be—"
"And what the hell do you know?" Sasuke cut him off with a hiss. "Don't you dare pretend like you know a goddamn thing about my work or my life. I'm not going to be some failure that settles for mediocrity and resorts to serving drinks and relying on tips to string a living together."
"That's real rich coming from a guy who just spent the last few hours downing enough so that he doesn't have to feel."
Sasuke reared back as if he'd been slapped. He had never heard Naruto's voice grate so harshly before, never seen his eyes glint so icily. He couldn't even summon the presence of mind to feel rightfully indignant, let alone absorb the truth in that accusation. The haze from the drinks was fading enough for him to realize he'd crossed a line—not only that, but lit a stick of dynamite and blown it to fucking smithereens—but there was no way he would apologize. He was right… wasn't he?
"I won't deny for a second that winning's not pretty fucking important. But it isn't everything, Sasuke. It just isn't. It's hollow and meaningless without the people rooting for you on the sidelines, even if it's against the odds. And if you haven't realized that by now, then it's obvious that you haven't learned a single fucking thing."
Naruto consciously unclenched his fists and took a step back. In that instant, he was miles away. Sasuke felt like he was drowning. "And if you really think I'm just a failure—if that's what you honestly think of me, then fine. Whatever, maybe it's true. I mean, I'm not rich or famous with some cushy office or penthouse apartment.
"But at least I can say that I'm happy. Can you?"
Sasuke opened his mouth, but there were no words to let out.
As he turned his back on Sasuke, Naruto softly added, "Keep isolating yourself like this, wound up so tight that you can't just let go for one fucking second and live a little, and you'll wake up one day and be fifty before you're twenty-five."
Sasuke watched the door to the bar swing shut behind Naruto with something like bitter finality.
As he trudged down a few city blocks in the drizzling rain, Sasuke was surprised to see people spilling out into the streets, dancing and singing. Despite the early hour and the dismal weather, pride for the Samurai Blue hadn't been extinguished. From their jubilant expressions, one would never guess their team had just been eliminated.
Sasuke watched, feeling a little numb, until the rain started to plaster his suit to his body. He then walked the remaining blocks home, guilt a heavy shadow slinking behind him all the way.
Sasuke didn't look up as Itachi waltzed into his office. "I'll be done with the account soon. I still have a few weeks before the deadline," he mumbled, tapping absently at his keyboard.
"I have no doubt that the account is in good hands, Sasuke. That's why I gave it to you," Itachi drawled. On any other day, Sasuke would have had to suppress a smile at the compliment. "I'm just wondering why, after weeks of seeing you prance out of here at lunchtime like a schoolboy with a hot date, you've now practically barricaded yourself in your office. Did someone pop your little blow-up companion?"
He smirked as Sasuke finally raised his head and leveled him with a glare, but the smirk faded as he took in Sasuke's appearance. The bags under his eyes gave the impression that he hadn't slept well in days, and his suit looked a little rumpled, as if he'd fallen asleep at his desk once or twice.
"You did meet someone, didn't you," Itachi mused aloud, brow peaked ever-so-slightly in intrigue. "And… you fucked it up."
Sasuke sneered. "You always know just what to say to make me feel better."
Itachi reached out a long finger and pressed the power button on Sasuke's computer. Ignoring Sasuke's enraged sputters, he said, "I'm giving you the rest of the day off. Now go fix it."
"And if I don't want to fix it?"
Itachi frowned. "I've watched you work hard your whole life to accomplish whatever you aimed for, Sasuke. Even when Father was rough on you, you bore it and exceeded everyone's expectations. You're only twenty-three years old and you're already rising to the top of the advertising world. But I'm not sure I've ever seen you fight for something that might actually make you happy. And I wish that you would." Itachi's lips eased into an almost imperceptible smile. "Because that's just it, Sasuke: you're only twenty-three years old. You are allowed to act like it."
After Sasuke showed up at the field and found no sign of Naruto or the kids, he headed over to Rasengan. As it was midday, Naruto wasn't there, nor were there many people; just a few there for a bite of tavern food or a cold beer on their lunch break. Tsunade and Jiraiya looked at him a little strangely as he entered, and he wondered how much Naruto had told them about their fight.
"I was wondering if you could tell me where Naruto is."
Tsunade raised an eyebrow. "You didn't know? Today is the playoff game for the youth league, and Naruto's team is in it. If they win they'll make it to the regional championship match."
Jiraiya nodded at Sasuke's look of surprise. "Yep, the kid's not doing half bad. A couple years ago we couldn't have imagined he'd be in another championship, eh Tsunade? But he's found a way, even if he's not playing. He's always been a stubborn little brat."
Sasuke's expression was quizzical, and the couple exchanged a look.
Tsunade frowned. "I'm not sure it's our place to tell you this, but it's not something Naruto would willingly rehash either. It might help you… understand things a bit better."
"Eight years ago, the World Cup was held in Japan. A friend had managed to get a hold of some tickets, so I bought a pair from him and took Naruto," Jiraiya explained. "He was around fourteen or so. It was about a year after his parents died."
Sasuke felt his stomach drop. What?
"They were killed in a car accident," Jiraiya explained, in a soft tone Sasuke never could have expected of him. "His father, Minato, was like a son to me, and he and Kushina made Tsunade and me Naruto's godparents.
"He'd never been much into football, but I thought he might enjoy the Cup. But after the Cup, Naruto became obsessed with football. I hadn't seen the same light in his eyes since before his parents passed away. I think seeing everyone—people from countries all over the world—cheering on their teams made him want to play. He wanted to be a national hero, a name known around the world." The old man chuckled.
"He'd played some basketball and baseball, but neither had been his sport, you know? But he took to football right from the start. Some of the kids had been playing for years, but he worked so hard he quickly surpassed them all. By the time he reached his final year of high school, he'd led his school to several championships. He was their star center forward.
"When he was eighteen, he got a message from the national team telling him he was on their short list for recruitment. All he could talk about for weeks was how he was going to play for the Samurai Blue," Jiraiya smiled, but it tapered off into a sad frown. "But…"
Sasuke watched as the two exchanged a look again. "There was… an incident," Tsunade ventured, and Sasuke felt something cold skitter down his spine. "He was walking to the bar one night for his shift when he heard a girl scream. He followed the sound down an alley and encountered a man trying to attack her. Naruto charged him without hesitation and the girl managed to get away, but," Tsunade closed her eyes, jaw tight, "the guy had picked up a piece of rusty pipe somewhere, and… he smashed Naruto in the back of the knee."
Sasuke felt like he was going to be sick. "So… just like that…"
"Yes," Tsunade whispered. "Just like that, his football career was over."
"The guy ran away after that, and the girl had called the police," Jiraiya added. "Naruto underwent physical therapy for a while, but things just couldn't go back to the way they were. But he's always said he's never regretted it."
"The girl he saved is now one of his closest friends. You've probably seen her in here at some point; with that pink hair, Sakura's pretty hard to miss. I think she still beats herself up for what happened to Naruto, but she's in medical school now with the aim of becoming a physical therapist. Took some self-defense classes too, and now she'll kick anyone's ass that looks at her funny," Jiraiya winced, as if at an unpleasant memory. "But Sakura and Naruto's friendship brought their circles of friends together, and now they'll all a big group. Sakura's even getting married to one of Naruto's friends in a couple months—the kid's got a helluva set of eyebrows, but he acts like the sun shines out her—"
Tsunade gave a swift whack to the side of his head. "I think he gets the point."
Sasuke wasn't even paying attention anymore. He was too busy wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Not only had he acted like an asshole, but he'd actually gotten… jealous over something he had no right to. He couldn't imagine why Naruto would ever want to talk to him again.
But his heart lurched at the revelation that the thought of not seeing the moron anymore hurt.
"So… where is the playoff game?"
Sasuke arrived just in time to watch Naruto's team score the winning goal. On the sidelines, Naruto was jumping up and down like he was eight years old himself. The audience watched as they bowed and shook hands with the losing team in a sincere display of good sportsmanship. Above all else, Naruto had taught them to respect their fellow players on and off the field.
From his place in the stands, Sasuke bowed his head too. It was humbling, to say the least, to get a lesson in maturity from people fifteen years your junior.
Then again, in imitation of a scene they'd probably seen on TV or in the movies, Naruto's team also gathered around and doused him with their post-game cups of Gatorade.
Even Sasuke cracked a smile.
As the players and fans dispersed, leaving him alone in the bleachers, Sasuke was struck with the realization that he had no idea what to say to Naruto.
Naruto shouted something to the opposing coach and the two exchanged a wave as the other took off. Then he was left alone on the field, gathering the rest of his team's equipment. His shirt was dripping wet, so he peeled it off, revealing a solid tan chest and sculpted abdominal muscles.
Sasuke faltered on the way down the steps, and to his humiliation, he nearly lost his footing as he came to the last one.
Naruto caught sight of him and froze. He recovered faster than Sasuke, though. "If you've come for more 'help' with your stupid campaign, I thought we'd already reached the conclusion that I'm not what you were looking for."
But he was. Sasuke just hadn't realized it soon enough.
Sasuke took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."
Naruto stared him down. "You're not the type to say 'I'm sorry' very often."
"No, I'm not," Sasuke swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. "Jiraiya and Tsunade told me about… well, everything."
Naruto sighed. Slowly, he reached into his bad and pulled out a fresh shirt to slip over his head. Sasuke smothered thoughts about ripping it back off. "I should have known. They never could keep their big mouths shut."
"So you haven't played football since the attack?"
"Are you kidding? I played again the minute I was able." He gave a little chuckle at Sasuke's shocked look. "I drove everyone in the hospital crazy. Still, even I had to admit that I couldn't run as fast, kick hard enough, and one more blow to my knee could seriously cripple me for life, you know? And it sucked. It really fucking sucked. But I figured there was something else in store for me then. And there has been."
His smile turned nostalgic, tainted with a shadow of sadness. "It's true that I haven't played in a while though… There are times when I really miss it all."
Sasuke didn't like the expression on his face; on Naruto it looked horribly wrong, almost alien. Before he knew what he was doing, he was shrugging off his suit jacket, kicking off his dress shoes and undoing his tie. He stepped down from the bleachers, reached for a ball sticking out of Naruto's equipment bag and tossed it to him.
"Play me."
Naruto caught the ball out of reflex and just stared at him. "…So not only are you prone to psychotic mood swings, but now you've actually had a lobotomy?"
"I said play me. Unless you're afraid?" Sasuke taunted, though he knew it was weak.
Naruto snorted, gaze lingering on Sasuke's dress shirt, pressed pants, and sock-clad feet. "Now I know you're crazy. You've never even played football."
"Can't be too hard—you've mastered it, after all," was Sasuke's answering jibe.
Naruto's eyes narrowed. "Famous last words, Uchiha."
Sasuke had known from the beginning that he hadn't stood a chance. Even out of practice and mindful of his injury, Naruto moved effortlessly up and down the field, like he'd learned to walk with a ball dribbled between his feet.
He quickly lost count of how much time had passed, but after about half an hour he roughly estimated the score to be somewhere around Sasuke: 3, Naruto: 51. And it didn't hurt his pride nearly as much as he thought it would to admit to himself that Naruto had almost certainly let him score those goals.
Possibly because he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually had this much fun.
There was a reason people didn't play football in socks, though. His toes would definitely be black and blue tomorrow.
Another good reason football wasn't meant to be played in dress pants and socks was that it was easy to trip—as Sasuke discovered when Naruto tried to block him and he stumbled, tumbling to the ground and dragging Naruto down with him.
For one heart-stopping moment he felt Naruto shake and feared he'd re-injured his knee—until he realized that Naruto's chest was seizing not in pain, but in gasps of uncontrollable laughter. Naruto was half-draped over him, his chest implausibly warm in the spots it touched Sasuke's.
Naruto's laughter seemed to seep down into his chest, filling him up until he couldn't help but burst.
His laugh was quieter than Naruto's and more controlled, but couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this. The absurdity of it all, of the past few weeks, of this moment, made him laugh until his ribs ached. In the span of two weeks he'd been forcibly inducted into the Naruto School of (Football) Enlightenment, had a few life-altering epiphanies, made a complete ass of himself, gotten addicted to football, and, against his best efforts, gotten addicted to Naruto as well.
And now, here he was, tangled up in the grass with the man he was quite possibly—
Naruto's laughter had abated and drifted away. Sasuke opened his eyes to find Naruto staring down at him. In the fading afternoon light, his expression looked almost wistful.
Neither of them moved.
Sasuke had never done much of anything with a girl—finding them too clingy and shrill and not worth the aggravation—let alone a guy. But the staccato beat in his chest was veering sharply off course from its time signature and his palms were sweating like some nervous teenager and maybe right now that's all he was and he didn't really know how these things were supposed to work and—
Naruto was kissing him, and in some ridiculous part of his head he heard an audience rise up and cheer itself hoarse.
It was rough and wet and messy, lacking finesse or skill and somehow that made it perfect, made Sasuke think that maybe Naruto hadn't done this before either—kiss another man—and that this strange, relentless pull had ensnared the both of them.
After they'd managed to achieve some semblance of a rhythm, Sasuke tilted his head to deepen the kiss and was rewarded with the sensuous glide of Naruto's tongue against his own.
Naruto's rough, large hands seared like a brand wherever they touched—the jut of his hip, the area under his ribs, the space behind his ear, his left collarbone, his sternum, his right nipple. Naruto wasn't even close to touching him where it mattered most and already Sasuke was harder than he'd ever been in his life.
"All I've wanted since I met you," Naruto breathed, the words half-rasped against the skin of Sasuke's neck, "all I've wanted was to see you laugh, to see you smile… to see you look just like you do now."
Sasuke bit back a groan as Naruto's hips met his. It should have felt strange—the answering press of a hard bulge against his own, the scent of sweat and grass and something unmistakably masculine filling his nose, the warm weight grinding him down into the ground—but Sasuke's brain quickly ruled out "strange" and moved on to "quite possibly the hottest thing that's ever happened ever".
It was awkward and imprecise and wonderful and they both prayed they wouldn't come embarrassingly quickly.
Through the fog in his brain, Sasuke registered that they were in the middle of the football field where anyone could happen upon them. And while some dark promise of a thrill pulsed through him at the thought, the last vestiges of his sanity whispered that it'd be pretty difficult to explain to some kids or their parents why their coach and a strange man were dry humping on the field.
All he had to do was break the seal of their lips and breathe the word "bleachers"—or maybe it was just "Naruto"—and they were up and scrambling under the bleachers like two high school delinquents unable to keep their hands off each other.
It was stuffy and dark under the bleachers, and they were much too tall for the cramped space, so their fumbling led them to end up on their knees in the dirt. Sasuke wasn't sure what he was doing or what was happening but he was fairly sure they were in the middle of a giant cobweb—everything faded into the background, though, when Naruto's fingers inched below his sweat-soaked dress shirt and rubbed a teasing path down his stomach.
The tortuous fingers slipped lower and lower, until they hovered over the tent in his dress pants. The heat from the hand alone nearly pushed Sasuke to the edge. Naruto hesitated for only a heartbeat before unfastening the pants and pulling down the zipper.
Sasuke's pants and underwear were unceremoniously pushed down his thighs and he was exposed to the stale air for just a moment before that rough hand gripped him. The strokes started out tentative but quickly grew firmer and more confident as Naruto followed his instincts.
Hearing his own gasping breaths bouncing off the metal beams around them, Sasuke was incapable of feeling embarrassed as long as Naruto's hand was wrapped around his cock, tugging yes, just right, just like that and palming the dripping head. Had he not been kneeling he might have fallen over—as it were, he pitched forward, hands lurching out dazedly to grip Naruto's bare biceps to steady himself.
He blinked through the sweat dripping into his eyes and, tearing his gaze away from the sight below, dipped a quavering hand under the band of Naruto's athletic shorts. Naruto was thick and heavy in his palm—so impossibly warm—
Drawing it out, he curled his fingers around it and gave a few slow, testing strokes. It was a new sensation, so similar and yet so different from his own. He applied more pressure, jerking his hand a little faster. He figured he was doing something right when Naruto's breath stuttered in his ear.
He looked up and took in the sight of Naruto. Pieces of blond hair were plastered to his forehead and his eyes were dark and hooded. The expression in them was enough to make pleasure churn sharp and volatile in his gut. A moan bubbled up in his throat without his consent.
Their pace became frantic, their hands moving more and more slickly as they grasped at dripping flesh. They tried kissing but it was too difficult to breathe; all the air in the world had evaporated and left him in this vortex of stifling heat.
Whether due to inexperience or the build up of two weeks worth of sexual tension, they didn't last long. As Sasuke swiped his thumb over Naruto's slit, Naruto made some glorious twisting motion with his wrist and Sasuke's vision flared into a kaleidoscope of bright-colored splotches against endless white.
And at the center of it all was blue.
Afterward, Sasuke laid down on the ground and closed his eyes, way past caring about getting dirty. His white dress shirt clung to his skin, streaked with grass stains, and his pants were now coated in soil. His hand was sticky and he wiped it off on the ground as best as he could.
He could feel Naruto settle down beside him. When his mind finally drifted back to him, he was at a loss of what to say. What do you say to someone who's just given you an almost laughably hurried handjob under the filthy bleachers of a random football field—and, mortifying as it is to admit, the best orgasm of your life?
Naruto leaned over and moved sweaty strands of hair off Sasuke's forehead with gentle fingers. It made residual pinpricks of that bizarre electricity prick at his skin. Sasuke decided that he rather liked it.
When Sasuke peeled open his eyes, he found Naruto with his hands behind his head, lounging peacefully. Apparently life-altering sexual awakenings didn't stress him out much. "I forgive you, by the way," he smirked.
Sasuke snorted. "So is this what you call 'living a little'?" he asked dryly, but then mentally winced as it recalled images of their fight.
Naruto just looked smug. "Told you I'd get you interested in… football."
And moronic, irritatingly attractive football coaches. Sasuke rolled his eyes. "Idiot."
"Hey, I thought by now you would've picked up on the fact that I don't give up easily," Naruto teased. "So now you're stuck with me."
"That whole… 'Will of Fire' thing, huh?" Sasuke gave a tiny smile, but Naruto's impish grin indicated he'd caught sight of it.
Not for the first time in the past few days, Sasuke privately marveled at how Naruto had not only overcome so much adversity, but had somehow ended up the victor.
Sasuke sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "That's it."
Startled, Naruto scrambled to a sitting position. "Wha—?"
"My campaign." Before Naruto could figure out what was going on, Sasuke grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and hauled him over to drop a hard kiss on his mouth. "Thanks."
"You're… welcome…?" Naruto replied, confounded, as Sasuke took off running from under the bleachers.
He crawled out behind him and watched as Sasuke grabbed his suit jacket, tie and shoes and took off sprinting across the field to the parking lot, still in his stocking feet. With a bewildered shake of his head and a face-splitting grin, Naruto gazed at the shadows stretching across the field in the mid-afternoon sun, drawing in a deep lungful of summer air.
It was one of the largest and most successful merchandising campaigns ever associated with Japanese football. Advertisements for sneakers, clothing, jerseys, sports drinks, breakfast cereals, football gear—all emblazoned with the endorsement of the Samurai Blue. The advertisements peeked out from magazines, were splashed across billboards and city buses, and played endlessly on television sets.
They featured images of the Samurai Blue both scoring goals and holding their heads up high, facing defeat with dignity. Images of cheering audiences and people dancing in the streets. Images of a children's football team wearing jerseys bearing the signatures of members of the Samurai Blue, helping an opponent up and running towards the goal with grins on their tiny faces—and their coach, arms raised to the sky in elation as they won the championship, his blue eyes twinkling.
The Will of Fire, the ads proclaimed. Let it burn brightly.
The End.