Calcio Fic: Rites of Passage
Title: Rites of Passage
Pairing: Yoann Gourcuff/Paolo Maldini/Alessandro Nesta/Alberto Gilardino/Alessandro Costacurta/Filippo Inzaghi/Pretty much any other Rossoneri you care to imagine.
Rating: NC-17 (oh, you think?)
Warnings: Group sex, blindfolds, mild bondage.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not true. Although if anyone ever stumbles upon Billy’s camera, the photos are mine.
A/N: Set after the CL first round home game against AEK Athens in September last year. It was Gorky’s first appearance, and his first goal, so naturally he needed rewarding. Inspired by these pictures of the San Siro showers. And I know Sandro wasn’t called up for this one but seriously, can you see him missing out on all the fun?


It was like a dream come true. His first game for a team filled with players so illustrious they were spoken of locally in the hushed, reverent tones more usually used to describe saints and prophets, and he had scored a goal. He sensed the whispers in the stands, saw the faces following his movements and the hands pointing him out to their neighbours, and felt as though he was on top of the world. So much so that he even began to wonder if his team-mates were treating him differently; he could have sworn they were smiling slow, deliberate smiles at him and nodding knowingly at each other when they thought he wasn’t looking. He also thought Paolo winked at him, but that must have just been a trick of the light.

The final whistle blew, and after saluting the crowd and exchanging shirts with a random, nameless Greek player, Yoann made his way down the tunnel to the changing room, feeling as though he was walking on air and failing to notice the fact that the rest of his team were lagging behind him. Unable to wipe the grin from his face he stripped quickly, dropping his sweaty clothes carelessly to the floor and walked to the shower. He registered neither Paolo muttering something in Billy’s ear, nor Sandro sliding sinuously through the half-open door. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand and stood, face lifted into the water, reliving his moment of glory.

As the elaborate replay in his mind (the one where as the ball went in the entire Curva Sud was rising to its feet for him, clapping and chanting his name) began looping yet again in his mind he felt a hand brushing his shoulder. Turning slightly under the spray, smiling broadly in anticipation of the congratulations he felt sure it preceded, his eyes widened when they took in Paolo and Sandro stood shoulder to shoulder, grinning wolfishly. Paolo’s hand continued to caress his shoulder before sliding confidently down onto his chest; while Sandro twirled an elasticated eye mask around an outstretched finger. Yoann was so busy trying to process the sight in front of him that he didn’t hear the soft splashing of footsteps behind him and nearly gave himself a whiplash when a pair of warm, soapy hands smoothed their way down his back.

‘Congratulations, Mr. Gourcuff,’ Alberto murmured in his ear, chin resting on his shoulder, hand curving over his buttock. ‘You did very well tonight.’

He stopped short at an admonitory raised eyebrow from Paolo and turned his face into Yoann’s neck, sucking gently on the wet skin.

‘As Alberto was saying,’ Paolo continued, ‘your performance tonight was impressive. We,’ - his hand gesture encompassed both Sandro, who was moving to Yoann’s other side with a knowing smirk, and Billy who was balling up his socks, camera resting on the seat beside him – ‘We have decided you deserve a reward.’

‘Us.’ Sandro’s breath brushed Yoann’s ear as the blindfold was pulled down over his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, we’re worth it.’

All thoughts of the game driven from his mind, Yoann couldn’t hold back a whimper as he was spun round and cords wrapped round his wrists.

‘What the-?’ He was powerless to resist as strong arms raised his hands above his head and tied each of them to a shower head. Water cascaded down the undersides of his arms, drumming on his ribs, pummelling skin that was made extra sensitive by the absence of sight.

‘Don’t be afraid, little one,’ Alberto whispered in his ear, ‘This is how it’s done.’

Yoann tried to keep track of who was where around him as hands and mouths began to roam his body. He knew Alberto hadn’t moved from behind him, so that was his mouth sucking on every nub of his spine, scraping them with his teeth. Sandro’s mouth had slid from his ear to his neck where it was biting down gently – and that hand tracing shapes on his thigh had to belong to the Roman, it was so soft and smooth. Paolo was unmistakeable, his voice murmuring wordless reassurance around the hard nub of a nipple, his calloused thumb flicking over its companion.

Moaning helplessly, his head rolling back, Yoann felt his cock swelling and choked back a yell as a hand curled around it. As a thumb rubbed the head there was a sharp slapping sound.

‘Pippo, hands off. That’s mine.’

With a petulant mumble, a mouth latched itself to Yoann’s inner thigh, closely followed by bony fingertips pattering down his leg.

‘Stop moaning and don’t be greedy. When you’re captain, then you get first option.’

The flick of the tongue along his wet shaft caused Yoann to cry out in surprise and want. The hands and mouths around his body seemed to be multiplying, and he had completely lost track of what belonged to whom, so focussed was he on Paolo’s mouth teasing his erection. A thumb and finger circled the base as Paolo took him into his mouth, flattening his tongue against the underside and humming gently in the back of his throat. Yoann gave a strangulated sob as his knees almost collapsed beneath him until yet more hands caressed him, supporting his weight under his arms.

His breathing ragged, every nerve ending singing, Yoann was almost choking on his own arousal, his hands clenching in their bonds until the knuckles turned white. He felt a hand cupping the back of his head and a mouth – Sandro’s, it had to be Sandro, those lips were unmistakeable – met his own. With a needy whine Yoann kissed back as hard as he could, tongue probing, devouring the other mouth hungrily. Pulling back slightly, chest heaving, he panted,

‘Please, the blindfold. I want to see you.’

There was an undignified snort from the region of his backside.

‘That’s never going to happen,’ Alberto laughed as his tongue delved the crease beneath Yoann’s buttock. ‘I begged and pleaded, but they wouldn’t take it off.’

‘Alberto’s right,’ confirmed Billy between the clicks of a camera shutter. ‘It’s not the Milan way. You need to submit completely.’ There was a scrabbling sound and he continued, ‘Can you just lean forward a little, Mr. Gourcuff, that’s-’

Doing as he was bid, Yoann yelped as a finger slid between his buttocks and pushed inside him. The camera clicked encouragingly. Alberto’s finger probed more deeply, crooking slightly to brush against the Frenchman’s prostate. It was all too much for him. The combined sensation of a second finger inside him, Sandro’s mouth on his throat, the random assortment of hands stroking every inch of his body and Paolo swallowing around his cock pushed him over the edge. Every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation of the shuddering orgasm that ripped through him, causing him to buck his hips convulsively into Paolo’s face and stars to appear behind his blinded eyes as his hoarse yells rent the air.

Trembling, panting, he felt Paolo’s mouth leave his cock as the other man stood, body leaning into him. Yoann turned his face slightly, lips parting in anticipation of tasting himself on his captain, but they met only air. A hand removed his blindfold for him to see Paolo pressed against Sandro, tongues twining together familiarly. Simultaneously, they turned to him.

‘I think you’ll like it here, Yoann,’ Paolo said, before Sandro tugged him impatiently by the hand and they almost ran from the room.

Blinking hard, Yoann snapped his head in the other direction, to find Pippo holding out a hand to help Alberto up, slinging an arm possessively around the younger man’s shoulders and rubbing small circles in his upper arm with a thumb.

‘It’s pretty good here,’ Alberto smirked, and he pinched Pippo’s arse. Giggling like a schoolboy he ran off, Inzaghi in hot pursuit.

As the others left, Yoann’s head whipped round in panic. What if they left him here?

‘Feeling ... abandoned, Mr Gourcuff?’ Billy emerged from the shadows, prowling towards him. ‘Don’t worry. We look after our own.’

He reached up and tenderly untied the Frenchman’s wrists, rubbing them gently to get back the circulation and smoothing a strand of hair from his forehead. Yoann forced himself to breathe and tried his hardest not to stare at the bulge in the other man’s trousers.

‘I think you’ll fit in here just fine.’ Billy pulled Yoann’s arm around his shoulder and half-walked, half-carried him towards the bank of hairdryers. Responding to the older man’s unspoken command, Yoann leaned back against the sinks, hissing as the cold porcelain bit into his hot flesh.

‘We need to get you dry.’ Smiling through hooded eyes Billy turned the hairdryer on and played the warm air on Yoann’s chest. Feeling hopelessly overwhelmed by the turn the events had taken, Yoann biddably parted his thighs as Billy played the jet from the hairdryer across his body, gradually moving it lower, nudging at his knees with an elbow. As the warm air ghosted over his groin, Yoann groaned in embarrassment as he felt his cock twitching again. He tried to struggle to his feet, just wanting to leave before he showed himself up, but Billy’s hands wouldn’t let him. One splayed across his abdomen, pinning him in place, while the other played the jet of hot air up his inner thighs.

‘Not so fast, cucciolo. I didn’t get my turn earlier.’ He dropped the hairdryer and leant into Yoann, hands resting on the mirrors either side of his head. Yoann swallowed audibly and bit his lip. Oh my God. I’m going to have to score again next game, if this is what I get! Tentatively he stretched up his head, brushing Billy’s lips with his own, thrilling at the growl of want it provoked. Suddenly the veneer of polite civilisation cracked, and he was spinning himself round into the sinks at the same time as Billy was urging him round, pushing his arse into Billy’s groin and whining with need, biting his tongue to prevent him from begging Billy to finish what Alberto’s fingers had started. He felt nails scraping down his spine and heard impatient grunts as Billy fumbled with his trousers, hurriedly shoving them down to his knees. There was the familiar sound of flesh on flesh as Billy slicked his cock with whatever substance he had chosen from the many dispensers on display, and then he was being filled. There were teeth digging into his shoulder blade and nipples pressing into his back; and the initial spark of pain was dissipating into a welcome ache as Billy moved within him.

Yoann watched himself being fucked in the mirror, saw the heat rising up his body and the gleam of want in his eyes and barely recognised himself. There were red marks spreading on his hipbones where Billy’s fingers were digging in, and he could watch no longer, craning his neck round and seeking Billy’s mouth, kissing him greedily as every thrust ground him into the cool ceramic curves. Yoann slid his hand down to his aching cock, unaware that Billy could see his every movement, and the defender soon snaked his own hand round to cover it, both of them working the hot flesh together.

Suddenly, Billy froze behind him, and then, as lips worked at his neck Yoann felt Billy’s cock spasm and pulse as he exploded deep inside the Frenchman. That, so closely followed as it was by a long, shuddering sigh and a damp forehead resting in the well between his shoulder blades, was enough to send Yoann over the edge; and he came with a yell, spurting over their twined hands. There was a moment of stillness as they both recovered their breath, then Billy gently turned Yoann round and kissed his sweaty cheek.

‘Welcome to Milan, Mr. Gourcuff,’ he said as he pulled up his trousers and wiped his hand on Yoann’s abdomen. ‘And now, I think you could do with a shower.’