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The bass drum thundered through Rafael's chest as he pushed through the mass of feathered costumes and glittering bodies. Rio's Carnival was in full swing, and the streets of Lapa throbbed with life, color, and the kind of beautiful chaos that made the city famous. He adjusted his silver mask: half-moon shaped, covering just enough to feel anonymous: and scanned the crowd for his friends.
Instead, he found him.
Thiago Costa. Leaning against a colonial building, arms crossed, wearing the smuggest expression Rafael had ever seen. Even behind that ridiculous golden sun mask, Rafael would recognize that infuriating jawline anywhere.
Their eyes met. Thiago's smirk widened.
"You've got to be kidding me," Rafael muttered.
When Rivals Collide
Rafael and Thiago had history: the bad kind. They'd been competing since university: for the same internship at São Paulo's biggest advertising firm, for the same promotion, for the same recognition. When Rafael had finally landed the creative director position last year, Thiago had quit and moved to Rio. Good riddance, Rafael had thought.
Apparently, the universe had other plans.
"Rafael Silva," Thiago called out, pushing off the wall with that lazy confidence that made Rafael's blood boil. "Didn't expect to see you slumming it in Rio during Carnival. Thought you'd be too busy in São Paulo, taking credit for other people's ideas."
"And I thought you'd moved here to finally be somewhere your mediocrity wouldn't stand out," Rafael shot back, stepping closer despite himself. "Guess we're both disappointed."
The crowd surged around them: dancers in neon bikinis, drag queens on stilts, tourists soaked in beer and sweat. A samba band paraded past, their drums creating a rhythm that seemed to sync with Rafael's accelerating heartbeat.
Thiago laughed, the sound somehow audible even over the music. "Still sharp as ever. Come on, let me buy you a caipirinha. Consider it a peace offering."
"I'd rather drink gasoline."
"Suit yourself." Thiago turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. "But you'll miss out on the best blocos. I know this city now. Every hidden corner, every after-party where the real magic happens."
Rafael hesitated. He'd come to Rio alone, his friends having bailed last minute. The idea of wandering Carnival solo had seemed romantic in theory, but the reality was… lonely.
"One drink," he conceded. "And then you disappear back to whatever rock you crawled out from under."
Masks and Truths
The bar Thiago led him to was tucked down a narrow alley in Santa Teresa, away from the main Carnival madness. Inside, the lighting was dim, the walls covered in vintage concert posters, and the air thick with the smell of cachaça and lime. A small group played bossa nova in the corner: soft, intimate, the complete opposite of the frenetic energy outside.
"This doesn't seem like your scene," Rafael said, sliding onto a barstool.
Thiago ordered two caipirinhas without asking what Rafael wanted. "You don't know anything about my scene. You've spent the last five years assuming you had me figured out."
"Because you made it easy. The cocky guy who always had to one-up everyone, who couldn't stand to see someone else succeed."
"Right back at you, Silva."
The bartender set down their drinks: perfectly muddled lime, sugar glistening on the rim. Rafael took a sip. It was damn good.
"Why did you really leave São Paulo?" Rafael asked, surprising himself with the genuine curiosity in his voice.
Thiago's expression shifted behind his mask. For a moment, the smugness cracked, revealing something rawer underneath. "Because I was tired of pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That competing with you was what I actually wanted to do."
Rafael's breath caught. The bar felt suddenly smaller, warmer. Outside, fireworks exploded: the city celebrating, unaware of the tension building in this tiny corner of Santa Teresa.
"I don't understand," Rafael said quietly.
Thiago reached up and slowly removed his golden mask. His eyes: dark, intense: locked onto Rafael's. "Then let me make it clear. I didn't hate you because you were good at your job. I hated you because every time you walked into a room, I forgot how to think about anything else."
The Dance Changes
Rafael should have left. Should have laughed it off, made some cutting remark, and walked back into the Carnival chaos. Instead, he removed his own mask and set it on the bar next to Thiago's.
"You have a terrible way of showing interest in someone," he said.
"So do you."
The bossa nova band transitioned into something slower, more sensual. Around them, couples began swaying together, lost in their own worlds. Thiago stood and extended his hand.
"Dance with me."
"Here? Now?"
"When else? We're in Rio during Carnival, Rafael. If not now, when?"
Rafael took his hand.
They moved together awkwardly at first: years of rivalry creating tension in their shoulders, their movements. But gradually, as the music wrapped around them and the cachaça warmed their blood, something shifted. Thiago's hand settled on Rafael's lower back, pulling him closer. Rafael's fingers found the nape of Thiago's neck, where his hair curled slightly from the humidity.
"I thought about you constantly in São Paulo," Rafael admitted against Thiago's ear. "Told myself it was professional competition. But then you left, and I realized the office felt empty without you there to argue with."
"Argue with? That's what you call it?" Thiago's breath was hot against Rafael's jaw.
"What would you call it?"
"Foreplay."
Rafael pulled back just enough to meet Thiago's eyes. The want there was unmistakable, burning bright enough to compete with the fireworks still exploding over Rio's skyline.
"Your apartment," Rafael said. "How far?"
"Ten minutes if we're walking. Five if we run."
They ran.
After the Masks Fall
Thiago's apartment in Botafogo was small but perfect: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay, where Sugarloaf Mountain rose like a sentinel in the distance. The sounds of Carnival drifted up from the streets below, but inside, everything narrowed to the space between their bodies.
"We're going to regret this in the morning," Rafael said, even as he pressed Thiago against the wall.
"Probably." Thiago's hands were already pulling at Rafael's shirt. "But right now, I don't care about tomorrow. I've spent too long caring about tomorrow, about five-year plans and career trajectories and pretending I didn't want exactly this."
They kissed like rivals: competing for dominance, for control, for the last word. But somewhere between the wall and the bedroom, between shedding clothes and inhibitions, the competition transformed into collaboration. A give and take that had nothing to do with winning and everything to do with surrender.
Rafael had imagined this, though he'd never admitted it even to himself. The reality was so much better than fantasy: the way Thiago gasped his name, the flex of muscles under sweat-slicked skin, the feeling of finally, finally being honest about what he wanted.
Later, tangled in sheets that smelled like salt air and possibility, Rafael traced lazy patterns on Thiago's chest.
"So what happens now?" he asked.
"Now?" Thiago pressed a kiss to Rafael's temple. "Now we have three more days of Carnival. I say we enjoy them. Dance, drink, kiss in the streets where no one knows us and everyone's wearing masks anyway."
"And after Carnival?"
"After Carnival, you go back to São Paulo. And I stay here in Rio."
Rafael's chest tightened. "That's it?"
Thiago propped himself up on one elbow, his expression serious. "Unless… unless you want something else. Something that doesn't end when the music stops."
Outside, the drums continued their relentless rhythm. Inside, Rafael's heart matched the beat.
"I want something else," he said. "Something that feels like this: real and messy and nothing like the rivalry we've been hiding behind."
"Good." Thiago's smile was genuine now, no smugness, no armor. "Because I'm done competing with you, Rafael Silva. I'd much rather kiss you instead."
"Best idea you've ever had."
"Don't get used to admitting that."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They kissed again as fireworks painted the Rio sky in colors that rivaled the Carnival costumes. And for the first time in five years, Rafael wasn't thinking about work, or competition, or being the best.
He was thinking about possibility. About masks falling and truth emerging. About how sometimes the best enemies to lovers MM romance stories happen when you least expect them: in a city built on celebration, during a festival designed for losing yourself.
Or maybe, Rafael thought as Thiago pulled him closer, for finding exactly what you'd been looking for all along.
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