An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
title: life just sort of dances through you
pairing: Neymar/Paul Pogba
word count: 1.2k
summary: Paul and Neymar have an adventure at the Balon d'Or gala in Zürich.
I will literally go adopt a litter of kittens and two human children and name them all after you if u write pogba plus neymar. I'll take anything like, 10000000 words just describing their secret handshake? gimme. 10000000000000 words about them trying to find gummi bears in zurich? GIMME.
oh my god why am I such a fool for this
here you go, Paul Pogba and Neymar trying to find gummi bears in Zürich.
Paul Pogba is tall. For some reason, Neymar always forgets that, until the next time they meet, where he’s stuck with his head tipped back all over again.
The thing is that, what he keeps remembering about Pogba is his sheer grace on the field, and maybe it seems impossible that a person who’s that graceful could also be so tall, so big, with a smile lit up brighter than the dazzling chandeliers.
Paul Pogba is a little bit dazzling himself. And Neymar would know; he’s come here with Leo.
They never rehearse their handshake, but it always comes out effortlessly anyway, the hand clasp fading into a series of fist bumps, all coming together into a dab, their glossy awards making it a little bit awkward.
“Congratulations,” Paul says, following with something Neymar doesn’t get entirely, but gathers is a congratulations on his nomination.
“Congratulations on the suit,” he says and gets another grin in return.
He gets introduced to Paul’s mother, steps forward into an embrace instinctively to kiss her cheek. Her perfume smells of wildflowers. He briefly wonders about asking her where she got it; his mother would love it. But she’s already stepping away, flashing him a smile as wide as her son’s.
A passing waiter jostles him and he pitches forward a little bit, Paul’s hand coming out to grip his elbow and steady him. The embroidery on his suit gleams up close.
There’s a moment of silence between them, standing in the middle of the teeming crowd that probably wants a piece of both of them.
Neymar eyes a passing plate of canapes with distrust. There’s something on them that could be cheese, but could just as well be mushrooms, and his stomach growls mournfully in response. He chances a glance up at Paul, only to find him already looking, smiling quietly.
“You know what, I’d kill for some gummi bears,” he says absently, as another tray passes, with something that looks and smells like fish, but probably isn’t.
Paul tilts his head to the side, quizzically. He seems to Neymar rather like a large bird and the thought makes him giggle.
Paul’s hand is still gripping his elbow, a steadying point of contact as the crowd seems to press closer.
“Gummi bears!” Paul says suddenly, his face clearing into a grin. He lets go of Neymar’s elbow to mime a pair of claws, letting out a grumbling sound that sounds rather remarkably like Neymar imagines a bear would sound. “Gummi bears. You want?”
“Yeah,” suddenly it seems like the best idea Neymar has heard all day (besides giving Leo the Balon d’or award - that was pretty good). “Are you coming?”
He grabs onto Paul’s wrist and tugs on it to emphasize his point. There’s a canape tray rapidly approaching their location.
“Oui,” Paul nods, “let’s go.”
That’s all Neymar needs, leading him through a gap in the crowd, nearer to the wall. He tugs Paul into a crouch as they sneak pass the tables in the press area. Andres is in the middle of an interview and for a moment, Neymar is afraid they’ve been spotted, but Andres gives no indication, except for a minuscule twitch of his lips.
Paul taps his side once to get his attention, points out the emergency exit that’s only a few tables away from where they’re crouched. Neymar nods, winks at him for emphasis that he’d understood, and then they’re off, dodging behind tables and sneaking through the crowd when the its attention is diverted.
Neymar spots Joana standing off to the side, watching Dani talk to the press, and he tugs Paul in her direction to tap her on the shoulder.
“Hey, Jo,” he whispers, subtly stepping on his tippy-toes (she’s taller than him in heels) and she turns, raises an amused eyebrow at their mussed up appearance. “We’re sneaking out for some gummi bears.”
“Of course you are,” she sighs, “do you even have your wallet on you?”
Neymar freezes, swings around wildly to look at Paul, who’s blinking at them curiously.
“Money?” Neymar asks, watches the same realization overtake Paul’s features. Neither of them have wallets on them. They both swing around to look at Joana, who sighs again, pulling a ten euro note out of her bag.
“Don’t lose it,” she says, “and bring me some chocolate.”
Neymar beams at her, tucking the money into his underwear for lack of where to put it, before pulling Paul along to the emergency exit door.
They almost get tangled up with a waiter carrying a tray full of champagne, but manage to sidestep him to burst through the door and into the stairway on the other side, giggling hysterically and leaning on each other.
When they finally stop, straightening up, Neymar notices that in the confusion, his hand had slipped from Paul’s wrist to grip more securely around his palm. Paul’s hand is warm, and his palm is dry, and he makes no move to pull away from the handhold, so Neymar doesn’t either.
They wander the hallways of the convention center for a while in companionable silence, their hands swinging between them.
Finally, they manage to find a vending machine in some half-abandoned hallway, which miraculously has one last packet of gummi bears left to sell. Paul navigates it with his knowledge of French and it’s not long before they have a veritable feast in front of them. There’s gummi bears and soda and crackers, and an assortment of different chocolates for Joana. They settle with their backs against the cold wall, side-by-side, their loot spread between them along with their awards.
They take turns eating the gummy bears. Their hands brush on the small plastic packet. Neymar likes the pale yellow ones best, and Paul takes the red ones.
It’s cold in the hallway. Someone must have left a window open. Neymar shifts closer, because Paul is warm and because he’s hogging the gummi bears.
As inevitably happens, they come down to the last gummi bear.
“We should split it,” Paul says, drawing a line along the bear’s soft squishy belly. “Do you have a knife?”
“Don’t need one!” Neymar says, clamping the bear between his teeth and wiggling them around to separate the candy in two.
And either Paul misunderstands, or maybe he’s impatient for his candy, or maybe he’s been looking, just like Neymar’s been looking.
Paul’s lips are soft when they cover his, just briefly, and Neymar feels the barest hint of tongue on his lower lip before they’re suddenly gone, leaving him with only half a gummi bear.
He tips his head up. Paul grins at him. The hallway is badly lit, but that barely seems to matter.
They stumble back into the gala reception about half an hour later, a lot more mussed up than when they left, and get scolded by their parents who’ve apparently banded together in their search for their wayward offspring. Neymar slips Joana her chocolate behind his back and she shots him a wink.
Then, someone is touching his elbow to get his attention and there’s a chairman of this and that that urgently needs his ear, and by the time he looks away, Paul is gone.
But, it’s okay. He’s got a number in his phone with an Italian area code, sticky marks on his glossy award and a rather nice hickey forming underneath his shirt.
