luc.

He wanted to make out for hours and he wanted it sloppy, he needed your lips as swollen from kisses as his were and he needed you both to be breathing heavily with drool trailing down your chins. It didn’t matter how badly his dick ached in his pants, he needed as much of your saliva in his mouth as he could get and he was simply unable to explain it when you ask him about it.

“Just.. tastes good?” He tries to answer and you raise a brow at him. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He mumbles the rest of his reply. “Such a pain to think ‘bout..”

You pause for a moment, comfortably straddling his lap still from your impromptu make out session and you ease your weight onto your knees so your face is hovering above his. “Sei, do you trust me?”

He blinks at you as he registers your question, lips falling into that natural resting pout of his as he nods. Because of course he trusts you.

His breath hitches when he feels your right hand loosely wrap around the front of his neck as your left hand cups his jaw and your fingers gently dig into his cheeks to make him open his mouth. He does so hesitantly but just as obedient as ever, head tilting back slightly to look up at you properly as his mouth opens wide for you.

His eyes go almost comically wide for a moment when you spit a wad of spit onto his tongue and he immediately swallows it down, face flushing a dark red and an involuntary - satisfied - moan escapes him. 

You blink at Nagi’s reaction, unable to stop the surprised grin that stretches on your kiss bitten lips as your left hand grips a little tighter on his face so he can’t close his mouth. You let the saliva pool in your mouth for a few seconds, letting your sweet boyfriend sputter out words but make no effort to pull away from you before you hover above his mouth and spit once again.

He can’t help the way his hips impulsively hump up into you, can’t help how his body shudders at the sensation nor the way his dick twitches in his pants. He just savours the feeling of your saliva on his tongue before he feels your fingers loosen on his jaw and he closes his mouth to swallow, much slower than the first time and then he’s opening up wide again - tongue poking out slightly as if silently begging for more.

“You’re so dirty Sei..” You hum out playfully, the fingers on his throat squeezing ever so gently as you prepare to give him another helping of saliva.

He doesn’t reply to you verbally, just an incomprehensible whine echoing quietly from the back of his throat as his eyes droop to that comfortable half-lidded gaze he normally wears. Though there was definitely more weight to it than normal. 

“Don’t joke like that! You need to take this more seriously, come on. You don’t know this guy you’re meeting now and they still haven’t caught this killer. He targets girls just like us and you could be walking right into his trap!” She whines and sighs, “just be careful please. Sure this Sae guy doesn’t look crazy or serial killer like but still! You need to be careful, remember the codeword?” You roll your eyes and lean against the telephone pole as you wait for the light, “yes, it's mayday. I’ll text it to you and you’ll come to save the day. My hero.”

You laugh and stop a few stores away from where you’re supposed to meet your date, “seriously, be safe okay? I have your location on too so I’ll let the police know where you are if you don’t check in.” You scoff and pull your phone from your ear to check the time before bringing it back, “yes mom, now I’m here. Let me go in before he thinks I’m standing him up. Bye, love you!” You don’t give her time to respond before you hang up then slip your phone into your bag. You grab your compact mirror and hold it up to check your makeup and you retouch your lipstick before putting everything away.

“Here goes nothing, hope he’s not a catfish.” You mumble to yourself as you open the door to the dimly lit restaurant and make your way over to the host. “Hi, I believe there’s a reservation under the name Sae?” The host looks over the names and nods, “yes, he just came about ten minutes ago. Let me take you to the table.” He grabs a menu and while you follow behind him, you take the time to glance at the screenshot you took of his profile. When the host stops, you put your phone back in your purse and look at the man at the table. When his eyes meet yours, you let out a sigh of relief. The same piercing teal eyes and the same reddish-magenta hair like in his profile. He stands and you tilt your head back to meet his gaze, “you look beautiful, come sit.”

He holds a hand out for you to take and you place your hand in his as he leads you to your seat and he pushes you in. “Thank you, I was a little worried that you weren’t actually real. It wouldn’t have been the first time I got catfished.” You laugh lightly and he chuckles as he sits down in front of you, “yeah I was a little worried too. Good thing we both look like our profiles then.”

The date goes extremely well. He tells you about himself, how he pursued a career in professional soccer, his little brother who followed the same path, practically everything. Not only is he attractive but he can uphold a conversation and keep your attention. When the bill comes you reach for your purse but he lifts a hand, shaking his head. “No way, I’m paying for this date. Maybe I’ll let you pay for the next one.” He winks and puts his card in the slot. “Quite bold of you to assume that there will be a second date.” You tease and lean back against the chair. “I have high hopes, what can I say?” He chuckles and hands the bill and his card off to the waiter.

When the waiter comes back with his card, he slips it back in his wallet and looks over at you. “Ready?” He stands and holds a hand out to help you out of your seat then places a hand on the small of your back as he walks with you out of the restaurant. “Did you drive here?” He looks down at you as you two walk. You shake your head and smile at him, “I live pretty close by. I live in the complex near the old library.”

He nods and smiles, “if you don’t mind I’d like to walk you home. It would be a shame to cut this date off early when we’re still having a good time.” He wraps an arm around you and gently squeezes your arm, “I’d like that. You’re a true gentleman.” He chuckles and keeps you close to him, “if only you knew.” He mumbles as a car blares its horn, making it impossible to hear what he said.

He keeps you close to him as you two walk then stops by an alleyway. “I don’t want to keep you out later than I have to. We should take this shortcut.” You chew on your bottom lip as you look at the dark path then nod. “Okay, that sounds fine. It is getting pretty late. I didn’t even realize how late it had gotten.” You smile at him as he leads you into the entrance of the alley.

“My friend would kill me if she knew we were walking down this alley. She was even worried about me going on this date, considering what’s been going on lately.” His grip tightens on you a little and he raises an eyebrow. “She’s not wrong. I mean you can never really trust someone especially from a dating app. Consider all the things that can go wrong. You could meet some crazed cannibal or some guy that’s gonna end up stalking you or this serial killer. You fit the type perfectly, young, beautiful, very naive and too trusting.”

Your eyes widen at his words and you tense under his grip. “And look, we’re just in this alley. You don’t really know my intentions. I could’ve been lying the whole time. I might not even have a little brother, my name might not even be Sae. It’s not like you know the truth. There’s no one around, I could do anything to you. You’re smaller than me, probably weaker and you had a couple of drinks so you’ll be disoriented.” Your heart beats faster in your chest and you look at him with wide eyes. “Sae, you’re freaking me out. Maybe we should just go to the main street. And you should let me go.”

He releases your arm and you start moving faster then you just freeze. The dim lighting shows a brick wall blocking your path and your blood runs cold. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as the realization of your situation hits you like a ton of bricks. You don’t even have time to turn around because he’s right there. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you don’t even hear the clicking of the box cutter in his hand.

But you feel the cold blade against your throat.

Tears spill from your eyes and you open your mouth to scream but he clamps his free hand over it. “No. Don’t scream. It won’t be worth it, there’s some heavy traffic on the streets tonight and there are so many horns blaring. No one will hear you.” He whispers in your ear and smirks as he presses the blade more firmly against your throat. “Are you gonna scream?” You shake your head and blink hard as the tears spill down your cheeks.

“Good girl.” He murmurs and sticks his tongue out, dragging it along your cheek to collect some of the salty tears that spilled. He moves his hand from your mouth and you ball your fists. “Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die. I’ll do whatever it takes just please don’t kill me. Please.” He rolls his eyes and sighs as you blubber out the words.

“I had a really good night tonight. I honestly don’t even feel like killing someone. But it’s not a feeling, it’s a burning urge like it’ll eat at you and burn through your body. But once those lifeless eyes look back at you, it’s a thrill. Fuck it’s almost as good as an orgasm.” He chuckles and licks along the shell of your ear. “I can’t leave without anything though. So I’ll offer you a choice that no one has ever had. You either make me cum or you give me your life. It’s pretty easy, plus you’re wearing this cute dress. It gives me such easy access.” He trails his free hand down your body to the hem of your dress and traces his fingers along your thigh. “Choose.”

You take a few deep breaths to try to calm yourself and your hands shake. “I’ll fuck you.” Your words are shaky and barely above a whisper, making him shake his head. “Louder. Or I’ll slit your throat and watch you bleed out.” The threat brings a fresh wave of tears down your face, “I’ll fuck you!” You cry out as your body trembles. “Good. I knew you’d be smart. Now go on your knees.”

He lowers the box cutter from your throat and takes a step back, allowing you to turn to face him and sink to your knees. “Take my cock out.” He nods to his belt and watch as you bring your trembling hands up to his belt and start undoing it. To add to your fear, he brings the box cutter back to your neck and points it at your jugular. “Just a little insurance plan, just in case you get any funny ideas.” He tilts his head slightly and smirks at you before glancing down at your hands on his belt.

He watches as you undo his belt and pull his cock out. If you weren’t scared beyond belief, you’d be more turned on at the sheer size of it. He moves his free hand to grip a handful of your hair, tugging on it tightly to make you gasp then shoves his cock into your mouth. He throws his head back as he starts thrusting, fucking your throat. “Shit, you have a perfect mouth.” He bites down on his bottom lip as he thrusts harder and faster, your gags and choking sounds just spur him on more.

He thrusts faster, his heavy balls slapping against your chin each time he presses your nose against his neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wanna cum down this throat so badly but it deserves to go in your cunt.” He continues to move your head along his cock then holds your head in place as your nose gets buried in his pubic hair. He bites down on his bottom lip as he watches you raise your hands to hold onto his thighs. You try to push back but his grip in your hair is too tight then he pulls his cock out of your mouth.

You suck in air greedily as you pant, your spit coats your bottom lip and chin and you look up at him. He releases his grip on your hair and slaps his cock along your face, smearing your spit on your cheeks. “Stand up and face the wall.” He watches as you hesitate for a moment and he lifts the box cutter so it’s right in your line of vision. “Do I have to repeat myself?” He raises an eyebrow and you shake your head, “n-no…no you don’t.”

You get up on trembling legs then turn to face the wall. He tucks the box cutter in one of his pockets and uses his feet to spread your legs wider then flips the skirt of your dress up. “Wow, look at these panties. Fucking soaked and they’re slutty. You were hoping to get fucked tonight weren’t you?” Before you can answer, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your legs. He bends slightly and grips your ass, spreading it so he can get a look at both of your holes. You gasp as the cold air hits your pussy and bite down on your bottom lip.

“They’re both calling to me. You ever had someone fuck your ass? It looks so tight, like a virgin asshole.” He spreads your cheeks wider and sucks in some breath between his teeth. He moves his thumb and presses it against your puckered hole and chuckles when you jump. “I’ve never done anal before.” Your words are low and his real eyes flick up to look at the bashful expression on your face.

“We’ll do that for our second date.” He leans in and bites down on your left buttcheek hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth then he stands straight. He grips the base of his cock and pushes it inside of your pussy. He groans and moves his free hand to your chest and gropes your tit as he inches in until he bottoms out. The stretch of his cock makes your mouth fall open and he presses his chest to your back as he starts thrusting.

“How is your pussy better than your mouth?” He rasps in your ear as his hips snap against your ass. He moves the hand that isn’t on your chest to your pussy and starts rubbing your clit. He nips at your earlobe and groans in your ear, “tell me how good it is. Tell me how much you love this serial killer cock stretching this needy cunt out.” Sweat builds on his forehead and starts trailing down as he thrusts faster, his breathing getting heavier in your ear. “Fucking say it.”

He reels his hand on your pussy back and brings it down in a quick slap to your clit. You let out a mix between a moan and a gasp and arch your back. “I love your serial killer cock Sae. It feels so good when you fuck me like this. I can’t get enough of it.” You hate it as the words leave your lips because deep down you know it’s true, you’ve never been fucked like this and you’d want it again and again if you could have it.

He slaps your clit again and thrusts harder, pinning you against the wall in front of you. Your cheek is pressed firmly against the cold brick, a stark contrast to the heat of his body and the heat that's building inside of you. You feel the knot in your stomach tighten and a louder moan leaves your lips. “Sae! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” He smirks and rubs your clit faster, “do it. Make a mess all over my cock and I’ll give you a nice, sticky creampie. Fucking do it my dirty girl.”

As the words leave his lips you almost go boneless as your orgasm rips through you. Your pussy constricts and squeezes his cock as he continues to pound into you. He thrusts a few more times and grips your chest tighter as his balls tense up and his cock starts twitching inside of you. Thick ropes of his cum fill you and he keeps himself pressed to you as he floods your pussy with cum.

He sucks in a breath as he slowly pulls out and he watches a thick glob of his cum seeps out of you and lands on the concrete beneath you. He pants and tucks himself back in his pants then lowers the skirt of your dress to cover you up. He bends down to where your panties have fallen to your ankles then taps your legs, “up.” You lift one leg up then the other as he slides your panties off your legs completely and tucks them into his pocket. “A perfect little souvenir from tonight, a trophy of my conquest.” He winks as he stands then cups your face as he looks at you.

He swipes his thumbs under your eyes to clean up the mascara that has run down then swipes them along your lips to clean off the leftover spit and lipgloss. “Perfect. Now it looks like you haven’t been fucked. Now let’s get you home.” He pulls you close to him as he leads you out of the alley and starts walking to your apartment complex.

He taps his fingers along your side as you two walk and you let out a sigh of relief when you finally reach the complex. “It looks like we’re here.” You smile and pull away from him but he grips your wrist and pulls you to him. “Not so fast.” He shakes his head and moves his other hand to grip your face, he gently squeezes your cheeks and the action makes your lips jut out.

“Tell anyone what happened today or tell them who I am and I’ll make sure you’ll breathe your last breath. I’d hate to see your pretty face on another news headline. And if you think you’re untouchable, you’re dead wrong. Apartment 307 right? I love those throw pillows you just got, they’re really cute. Oh and don’t worry, I’ll change your locks for you. You never know what creep might be lingering around.” He smirks and squeezes your cheeks as he leans in and kisses you. He releases your face and nudges you to the entrance of your building.

You don’t even spare him a second glance as you rush into the building and go straight into your apartment. You drop everything and lean on your kitchen counter as you let out the deep breath you’ve been holding in. Your phone vibrates and you dig into your purse to fish it out then see it’s a new message from Sae that reads: looking forward to date #2 <3

taglist: @pixelcafe-network

“mnnghh—haah—aahh—f—fuck—! can’t—no more—“ your words came out in between gasps and choked out in between moans as he knocked the air out of you. your arms were about to give out, propped up on your elbow as he fucked you at a back archingly good angle, the whites in your eyes showing while tears fell out of of it endlessly. “so now you remember who you’re dealing with, huh?” he growled, his large hand wrapping around your neck as he shifted angles, blunt tip grinding on your sweet spot precisely. “oh—god! barou, fuck—too much—aahh!” it was pathetic how he had you reaching backwards, clawing at his thighs in attempt for him to at least slow down. but to him, your desperation was just punishment and satisfaction. especially when he did slow down like you’d wanted, just not at the right moment, feeling the way your walls convulsed around his length right before your climax like it was protesting about the sudden lack of friction.

“mmngfh—barou, move! hnngh—wanna cum! oh—!” you yelped when his palm met your ass with a harsh sting again, walls clenching tighter at the abrupt pain. “repeat after me.” he ordered, leaning down beside your ear as his chest pressed into your back, looming over you. “i’m sorry, please, and thank you.”

“i’m s—nngh—sor—fuck, barou!” another strike landed on your ass again, the pain amplifying on the same spot, highlighting your skin in a bright red tint. “try again.” he said, hips slowing back down into a teasing pace, waiting for you to speak just to plunge into you harder again. “not—not fair—nngh—you did that on purpose!”

“did what?” he mocked, thrusting into you once — deep and precisely hitting your sweet spot — just like before. “did this?” you cried out again, thighs trembling with need, walls clamping down tight as though they were demanding for what your weeping cunt needed. “please, barou! please, please! i’m sorry—i’m so—nngh—haah—fuuckkk—!“ you weren’t even done pleading when he gave you what you needed, feeling the ache build up in your lower abdomen again. but just when you thought you finally earned forgiveness, he stopped right before your peak, once again, leaving you wailing and shaking from frustration.

“you missed one.” he pointed out, tilting your face to the side for you to meet his eyes that shone with a cruel glint. “but you can thank me later, after i fix this attitude of yours.”

“You know, the chase scene. Do you wanna try it?” You ask through another mouthful of noodles, gaze leaving Rin’s for a second when a scream from the TV draws your attention. But then it's back on him a moment later, eyeing his blank expression, like he’s trying and failing to pretend he’s not really thinking about it.

"What are you even talking about?" He says first, but he’s too obvious about his feelings when he can’t look at you to continue. “That sounds stupid.”

“Is it?” You tilt your head at your boyfriend, squinting your eyes as if to examine Rin’s pretty side profile as he stares off at the TV. It’s hard to bite back the way your lips are trying not to smile, his reactions to these things are always adorable but this in particular, you have a feeling he won’t be able to refuse.

Presenting a horror fiend with the opportunity to chase his girlfriend around a hotel for fun? What’s not to love? You can already feel the anticipation beginning to gather and hum beneath your skin, making you shudder from your space on the couch next to him.

“I wont die or anything, it's just the chase. You can even get a different type of the reward if you catch me.” You wiggle your brows as if to imply something but then only end up scoffing when he continues to look away plainly. You focus on gathering some more noodles on your chopsticks instead. "Oh, but no axes or weapons allowed obviously." 

A roll of Rin’s eyes brings his gaze back to you and he scoffs. “Tch. Obviously.”

“So? What do you say?” He's baffled. Really. 

"Why are you even thinking about that stuff?" 

"You don't like the idea of chasing me around a hotel? The adrenaline… the hunt…" You nudge yourself a little closer to him, as if trying to seem convincing. You're more sly than anything. 

But Rin can't answer you. 

The silence is very telling. You’re not one to press Rin to do things that you know he won’t like, but you also like to think that you know him better than other people might. Which means you also know that he would just say no if he wasn’t interested, that’s why his lack of an answer is all the more intriguing for you.

You feel another shudder rake through you at the possibilities, you’ve saw what a force to be reckoned with he is on the field, so the idea of him coming for you. It’s hard to even put into words the way it makes you feel. 

The image is so stark in your mind that you barely realise the way your food goes down all wrong when you try to swallow, making you splutter and choke before Rin has the opportunity to even answer your question.

“Idiot. You’re gonna choke if you don’t chew your food.” He scolds you, a little panicked yet still quick to shove some water into your hands and rub on your back.

But when you notice the soft dusting of pink on the tips of Rin’s ears, you don’t think your fantasies are too far from being somewhat aligned. The little victories count. 

He's just obviously never thought about it before. 

— 

The click of your heels on the marble of the hotel lobby feels loud at this time of night. You and Rin are just now returning home from the banquet after-party, though it’s not as late as it would be had you stayed out longer, you know he had just attended to satisfy your itch for being social.

Really, you just wanted him to spend a little more time with his friends off field, and as much as he’d never really mention it outright (especially not to them), you think he had a pretty good time.

But tonight, Rin’s palm feels much heavier than normal as it rests on the exposed skin of your back, the low-cut of your dress doing little to cool your overheating skin as you give him a look from over your shoulder. He looks especially handsome tonight, roused hair from his hands and yours being pushed through it, his shirt a little creased at the collar and his cheeks a little flushed from the crisp night air.

“What is it?” Rin asks when he feels you staring. 

“Nothing, you just have a pretty face.” Your quick response immediately flusters him, turning him an even cuter shade of pink. You always found his inability to take your compliments charming, but know that he enjoys them none the less.

“Shut up, you always blurt out stuff like that.” 

“It’s true though, you do have a pretty face." You repeat, smooth and sincere. You feel Rin's hands hold onto you a bit tighter as he turns his head to look at something in the distance before answering. Muffled and cute. 

“Stop smiling at me like that.” 

"Like what?"

"You know what."

You both come to a stop in the middle of the lobby and immediately the topic drops off into silence. Opposite one another. Your hands rest flat on his broad chest and Rin just looks at you. As if waiting, affection pooling in his teal gaze. 

It's mostly quiet. Just the odd shuffle of a few dwindling reception staff, most have been sent home already for the night. You both chose this hotel deliberately knowing it was stationed just outside of the busy district. Close enough to Uber, but far enough to avoid unnecessary crowding. 

It still wasn't cheap. Rin's choice obviously. 

His eyes trail down the nape of your neck, the slope of your shoulders. You admire his long lashes from where they rest against the apples of his cheeks, complimenting his gentle expression. There's a soft ringing of a phone at the front desk. The sound of your own heartbeat, a little louder than it was a minute ago when Rin stretches his neck to the side. Warming up.

“Are you ready?” You say, a seductiveness to your way of speaking that makes him stiff. 

"Yeah," Not even thinking about it. He looks at you, as you stare back at him where he stands, wide-eyed. You feel his fingers brush low down the length of your spine, toying close enough for it to be considered quite scandalous by Rin's PDA standards. 

But the touch is so delicate it makes you shudder and you lean in to smear a kiss across his lips before you break apart completely. "Play nice, yeah?" A small smile rests on your face as you make your way towards the elevator, looking back at him. 

He scoffs at you. 

"Don't make this too easy for me."

"Don't get cocky already, we haven't even started yet." You respond quick and sarcastic, sticking your tongue out at him as you get close enough to press the button to call the elevator. You're incredibly outmatched in alot of ways. But you don't care.

"I'm not. It's just," He fidgets, like he's getting too hot. "Don't end up lost somewhere weird."

"Are you worried about me?" He's so cute you can't help but smile "Aren't you sweet."

"I told you to stop that." Rin flushes an even deeper shade of pink, shoving hands in his pockets. Before he can say anything else for you to tease, the elevator arrives with a low chime and you waste no time stepping between the sliding doors. 

You stand up straight and grin at him. Chest pushed out, a sultry look in your eyes. Your hair stands on end now, goosebumps rippling across your arms and legs and you reach over to press a random button on the elevator keypad. One that Rin can't see as he gives you a sharp look of his own, one that's dark and lidded. Unfamiliar for you. Predatory. 

You can't look away from the weight of his gaze, like he's ensnared you in some sort of hypnosis. The elevator doors begin to close and that signals that everything's finally begun as your heart begins to pound. 

Your last words reach him through a huff of breath. 

"Let's hope you're not all talk, Rin."

The elevator doors close with a dull sound. Leaving you alone with your thoughts, your arousal and the rapid beating of your heart. You readjust the straps of your dress in the floor length mirror behind you, admiring yourself for a moment as you wait to arrive at your destination. Like your legs aren't shaking as you balance on your heels. 

Your heart thuds loudly as you listen carefully, passing by each floor. You need a plan and fast. 

Your best bet is to make it back to your room. But you know that's the obvious choice and if you wanted to be really boring about it, you'd make your way there immediately. 12th floor. Fourth door on the left hand side of the wall. A swipe of a keycard and you're home free. 

But you don't. That's no fun. You twirl the card between your fingers before shoving it into your bra for safe keeping.

You cast the glowing key on the elevator a glance. 7th floor. You can take the stairs from there, but your best bet is to avoid Rin entirely. He's faster and stronger than you, so the hopes of outrunning him are slim to none. You need to be smart about this, he's probably made a break for the stairs already. 

Your palm rests over the space where your heart rests in your chest and you release a shuddering exhale. You cast the glowing numbers above the door a glance, watching them change in anticipation, your thighs clench together.

5th floor, 6th floor, 7th floor. Followed by a sharp chime to let you know you've arrived and the doors open. 

Then complete silence. 

You peek out first, looking left to right. Still, aside from the shuffling sound of your first step and the muffled click of your heel against the carpet when you carefully step out into the corridor. There's doors lined across each wall from left to right, leaving little cover for you to hide behind if you're discovered, so you need to make your choice very carefully. One no doubt leads to a dead end, and you're sure Rin isn't too far behind you. Urging you to make a decision and fast. 

You turn your head to face forward before making your move but immediately freeze. STAIRS rests straight opposite you, adorning a large door in big, bold letters and your gut twists, you know you need to get moving. 

Your insinct tells you to go right, so you turn left. Pushing yourself to act deliberately out of character because surely your boyfriend would assume you would make the same decision. 

But you can't deny how eery the 7th floor feels knowing there's someone hot on your heels. Your pulse races as you shuffle down the corridor, constantly looking over your shoulder, right back at that door with each big stride as you try to move quickly. 

There's an end to the doors on this side, a left turn up ahead that you hope leads to another entrance to the stairway on a different side of the building. A gamble considering Rin could be on those very stairs aswell, but given how far back it is you highly doubt it. 

You're only about four big steps away before you hear a click behind you and your heart almost drops to the ground when it's followed by the creak of a door opening back where you just came from. 

It's pure luck when Rin's figure emerges from that door to the stairs, and his first instinct turns his head the opposite way, looking down the other side of the corridor before he turns towards your side. By the time he does that you've managed to duck into that little space between the rooms, hand clasped tightly over your mouth as you stand still and try to focus hard on regulating your uneven breaths. 

The silence settles again, even knowing he's there, it's unnerving. Your heart is pounding, accompanying the ringing in your ears as you press your back tight against the wall behind you. The carpet muffles his steps enough for you to not be able to hear them much unless you focus. 

You hold your breath, glance at the door just a few steps away from you, another brightly lit STAIRS hangs across it. You can probably make it there before Rin makes it here if you move now, but then you hear a shuffle around the corner behind you and your heartbeat becomes even more erratic. 

You feel your head twitch in the general direction of the door again, and then you're off, one step, two steps, three steps. You move as quietly as possible, heels sinking into the plush, expensive hotel carpet. Your breath is caught in your lungs as you approach it, it's going to make a sound when you push it so you brace yourself, he's going to figure out where you are. 

The metal clangs, louder than you would like and it startles you enough to gasp. With your pulse in your throat, you step through it before clicking it closed again with another too-loud metallic sound, and you make the decision to hold onto it for a bit longer incase he noticed. 

You wait. Lower lip beneath your teeth. Ears listening. Eyes wide. Legs shaking. Your hands are clasped so tight onto the knob of the door you're surprised they haven't cramped. 

But only silence follows the stretch of hesitance and you don't realise you've been holding your breath until you finally let yourself exhale. The rigid form of your body relaxes into something less on edge. 

Just about anyway. 

But then suddenly, you feel a slight wiggle of the knob in your hands and when you accidentally let yourself shriek, it becomes more insistent. The door rattles from the other side, as if someone is bracing themselves against it, eager to get through to you despite your efforts to keep it from unlatching and you feel like screaming as your clammy hands grab at the metal. 

There's a bang on the other side and your whole body shakes, your heart thudding in your chest so hard it feels like every beat threatens to kick your feet out from under you. 

But then it stops, and that unnerving, eery silence comes back. You don't know what's worse. 

You stumble back from the door, hesitant to unravel yourself from the position but far too nervous to stick around any longer. He knows where you are now, so you put that that adrenaline to good use and make your way up the stairs, bunching up the fabric of your dress to make sure you don't trip. 

Your heels click on the stone steps and you're only two floors away from your room before you're met with a big yellow hazard sign at the bottom of the next flight. Your breath heaves as your eyes scan over the warning written across it in black. 

Maintenance. Please use the north stairwell or the elevator for floors 11 and up. 

Typical. Big fancy hotel with their maintenance, it makes you scoff. A habit you've acquired from Rin no doubt, but you abide by the rules and make your way towards the exit anyway. 

You swear you hear a door click a floor or two down, but put it down to your own anxieties as you make your way out onto the 10th floor. 

The first thing you notice is that it's pitch black. 

The automatic lights don’t immediately come on like you expect them to, a fault you internally blame on the maintenance they're carrying out, but which ultimately leaves you in the darkness of the 10th floor hallway. 

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust, but then you find an odd, single lit bulb half way down and make your way towards it, sliding yourself down the wall to sit beneath it and catch your breath. You're completely exposed here, but you just need a second and you doubt anyone else will be making their way down this floor any time soon given the air of abandonedment it carries. Guess this is the beauty of offseason. Rin’s probably on the north stairwell or in the elevator by now.

Still, you're scared, sweating hard, shaken from your earlier encounter and your feet are beginning to ache too. A consequence of your pretty shoes that your boyfriend had bought for you, really plays into the beauty is pain scenario, but how you look isn’t really your priority right now.

So you take this opportunity of respite to begin to fiddle with the buckle of your heels, trying to unclasp them despite the tremble of your fingers. You manage one, sliding it off your aching foot with a sigh of relief before you begin on the other.

But then you hear it, a creak down the corridor. From the darkness that you just came from and it makes you tense, stiff, completely frozen in place. You squint at the long stretch of rooms that extends into nothing more than a gathering of shadows, eyes struggling to adjust. 

"……..Rin?" Your voice sounds meek, scared. 

Another creak, your heart rate picks up on it, your breathing too as it gathers back in your lungs, as if too afraid to exhale or to make any sound at all. Terrified to move, breathe. Your fingers up their efforts at the buckle, barely able to rush it through the clasp with how much you’re shaking.

But then you hear it. Him. 

Footsteps……

And he's running.

Fast.

You almost shriek when you manage to finally unbuckle the heel and throw it off of your foot, scrambling to kick them aside before rushing to stand and you take off as fast as your body will allow you. You don’t look back, don’t have to, you feel his quick approaching form; can hear how close he is from behind, can almost feel his breath on the back of your throat.

You can imagine how menacing Rin must look now that he’s ripped himself from those shadows.

A surge of warmth bursts along the back of your neck, like your skin is rising to his touch, like he’s reaching out to grab you, to pull you back and you’re so scared. You’re terrified actually. Your feet are kicking out from beneath you with a speed you didn’t even know you had but he’s keeping up, you can hear it. He’s an athlete, he’s used to this. Your lungs shake, exhales becoming heavier and louder as you try to escape his grasp.

The door to the north stairway fast approaches and you almost barrel your way through it at a speed that could be considered dangerous. You don't look back, aim straight for the next flight of stairs and even when you no longer hear Rin's footsteps behind you, your pace doesn't falter. 

It's strange. Why did he leave you? Did he deliberately let you escape? Both questions you don't have the luxury of asking as you scramble up the final two flights between you and the safe haven of your hotel room. 

Everything feels like a blur after that, the cold floor of the stairs easing the ache in your feet as you take them two steps at a time. It takes you under a minute to reach the 12th floor and you don't even hesitate before slamming yourself through the door. 

It takes you a breath to readjust to where you are and then you're off. Straight down this corridor, take a left and then you're the fourth door on the left hand side. 

But then you see it. The soft light above the elevator, the way it changes, counting down. Your legs almost give out from beneath you, your heart plummeting to earth. 

10… 11… 12. 

The doors come to a halt before they chime, the sound suddenly so loud and blood-curling it feels like it rattles your bones as you twist to your left. You nearly lose your footing, darting up the last stretch of hallway, just as the elevator begins to open and you listen over your shoulder, following it with a glance. 

Your heart throbs with excitement and a lick of fear, the fabric of your dress billowing behind you, 

Rin's taller, broader form almost bursts into view from between the bright light of those doors, his legs taking long, purposeful strides towards you as he enters the long stretch of hallway to give chase. His shadow gains on you alarmingly quick considering your head start but you're seconds away, your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest, throbbing wildly as fear wraps around your spine. 

You can't waste breath on a scream, the distance he's closing quickly fills your ears and you can feel the way warm air rushes over your too hot skin as you run, the floor slamming beneath your shared footsteps. 

You fumble with your keycard, almost drop it, losing your footing and you hear Rin spit out a curse at your trip, gracefully skidding behind you. It gives you seconds to shove your body against the door and swipe your black card, darting into the room and turning to slam the door closed behind you. 

But all your efforts, all your desperation is completely in vain when you watch the door swing back open instead of click back into place. 

Rin's body looms in the doorway and your poor, spent body crumbles to the floor at his feet. 

"R-rin." You say, voice cracking. The adrenaline pumping through you almost has you feeling high, thighs squeezing together as you look up at him. 

"Not fast enough. You're still too lukewarm." He grits, jaw tight. He looks like he's barely broke a sweat.

Rin looks particularly menacing in this lighting, particularly good. The glow that beams in from the hallway paints him as an intimidating, dark figure in the doorway, broad muscle that pinches in at the waist, teal gaze that holds you at his feet. He look's particularly pissed, riled up even, the smothering darkness that surrounds you both almost spins in your vision.

"I was close." You argue breathily, inching yourself back along the carpet when he takes a step closer, closing the door behind him. He clicks his tongue at the distance. "You just caught up to me."

"I went easy on you." Rin grits, voice lower now. Less breathless than yours. 

"Did not." 

"Don't be annoying." 

"Hmph. Anyway," You ignore his harsh tone, giving him a look that's glassy and beautiful. "Come claim your prize already."

You push yourself onto shaky legs before making a break for the bed, like it's a safe haven or a means of escape as you flop down on your front and begin a poor attempt at crawling away. You wiggle faster when you hear Rin kick off his shoes in the doorway and cross the room in three big strides, standing at the edge of the bed as he glares down at your retreating form. 

"Fucking come here then." In a second, his hand clamps around your ankle and he drags you back the few measly inches you'd attempted to escape. He keeps you there with that hold alone, like a panther who's ensnared a gazelle within it's strong jaws. 

"No, let me go!" You tease, trying to kick him off. Your hair falls over your face as Rin keeps your struggling form pinned. 

"Stop it." He gives you a little shake to settle you, shoving you back down with a hand on your back when you try to get up and his breath gets heavier from behind when he growls out. "Get on your back."

You twitch at Rin's command, body clenching, eyes fluttering before you finally go limb. Your shaky limbs suddenly move much easier when his strong hand molds to your thigh and he twists you onto your back with force. It makes you keen, quiver, tingles running beneath your skin when he bunches your dress up to your hips and he gives your soaked underwear a sharp look. 

"Tch. You're this wet over that?" Rin says, acting unamused despite the tent in his dress slacks. 

You scoff through the whoozy sway in your brain, "Says you." eyeing his bulge before he makes his way to crawl over your smaller body. 

"Shutup, this isn't about me." 

"It's for you actually."

Your legs have to spread a little more to accommodate him, heat radiating from between them as Rin grits his teeth and grinds his hips down between your legs. The movement allows you to feel the impressive strain of his cock against his clothes, sharing your breaths when he finally leans down to kiss you forcefully. 

"Fuck." His chest heaves, voice cracking beneath the weight of his desire for you. 

His hands shake as they push down the straps of your dress and you help him, until your breasts are haphazardly revealed, spilling over the neckline and Rin pulls away to mouth at your arching throat. 

"Hurry up, Rin." You try to lift your weak legs up to wrap around his waist, your hands in his hair as he ruts his cock between your legs. His teeth graze your neck, making you clench. 

"Don't rush me." 

"But I can't wait anymore." You whine in a way you know he secretly likes, his cock throbbing from where it presses against you.

"Stop that." He hisses and you moan, voice tight with need as your hips lift into the rock of his. 

"But why would I stop when I know you like it?"

"Because it's annoying when you do that."

"Do what?" 

"Fucking tease me." Rin's teeth bite down around the base of your neck, making you scream as he gets you back for that bratty little attitude. But you feel his hand slip between you both to squeeze at your cunt anyway and it makes your body curl beneath him then twist, his fingers tug so hard at the soaked lace it easily rips away. 

"My underwear, you brute!" You huff when he pulls back suddenly to unbuckle his belt and pants, tossing your shredded panties onto the floor before he shrugs. 

"I'll get you a new pair." 

The room is dimly lit, but you can still see the silhouette of Rin's cock as he frees it from his slacks, kicking them down around his feet as you admire the thick curve of him with an open mouth. He crawls back over you immediately, pinning your hand away when you reach out to touch him and he drags his cock through the mess of your soaked cunt as he sees fit. 

Rin sucks his lower lip between his teeth as he rubs your swollen folds and clit with his cock, gasping when you make a wet, tacky sound and your legs wrap around him again to squeeze. 

"Rin—" Your lips pout, hips moving to try and beg for a little more. 

But Rin just keeps rubbing at you instead, back and forth over the needy little bundle of nerves as you try your best to look at him. You try again, whinier this time. "Rinnnn,"

"What?" His hands fist your hair when he answers you, shoving your head back so hard your back arches. All caught up in the adrenaline of the chase and his own lust. 

"Please. I need you." It makes you croon, voice cracking, even through the slight sting in your scalp, you choke on an exhale of his name and as his teal gaze meets yours it softens. 

"Shit. I know." Rin breathes through clenched teeth before flattening himself against you, his dripping cock finally pressing between your parted lips to meet your twitching hole and finally, finally Rin sinks into you. 

You're so tight it hurts, but you're soaked enough for him to be able to slide in without too much of a fight. Your mouth parts for a whimper, your hands pressing into the back of his shirt and Rin's grip drags you across the mattress as he pushes himself even deeper into the desperate hug of your cunt. 

"Fuck, you're tight." Rin moans, lips smearing against your cheek as his long lashes flutter. It makes his whole body quiver, shaking over top of you as he drags his nails along your waist. 

"But it feels so good, please— just, you can keep going." A rough grunt escapes his throat and he gives you a second to adjust, just one, before he draws his hips back with a wet, loud sound and then the snap back is even louder. 

The pace that Rin begins is ruthless and almost impossible for you to keep up with as his hips slap against yours with long, deep thrusts. It makes your breath come uneven, gasps punching from between your lips in time with every stroke. You're so close already, your pleasure is beginning to sting, wound up so tight from the chase that you can see the edge. 

"Give it to me, shit—" He huffs against your cheek, dragging his hands all over your body as he twists into kiss you. It's messy and filled with teeth but it's dizzying, along with the adrenaline from the chase, the hunt. It's all too much it's going to overflow. 

"What do you want?" You mutter with your final semblence of sanity, still not giving up that attitude of yours even when Rin's splitting you open.

"You know what it is." His reward, he doesn't want to say it. Doesn't trust his voice, you feel too good. 

"And what's that?" You tease anyway. 

"Stop talking." 

"You didn't answer the question though a-and your ears are all red." Rin's teeth grit as he presses his sweating forehead against yours, hips stuttering at that saccharine tone you use with him. Cooing at his efforts like he's not plowing you into the mattress. "How cute." 

You feel him shudder against you and grunt, no doubt close himself with how wild his pace has become. His cock presses in even deeper, as if possible and you can tell your teasings getting to him when you feel him begin to drool along your chin.

Your hips wiggle beneath him, cunt beginning to flutter and clench and he carves the pleasure he needs out of your body, pulling it out from the depths of your nerves. It makes your eyes roll, vision blurring, slick sound of your pussy growing louder and wetter.

"But you're gonna make me c-cum if you keep putting so much effort in. Do you want that?" You offer him an out and his features pinch, your toes curling from where they're resting at his lower back. The plow of his hips keep yours pinned to the bed, your eyes on him. 

"Y-yeah. Yeah, fuck." His voice cracks, so thick with lust.

"R-rin, oh my g--od." You let yourself go at that, even if not on purpose, victim to how well Rin fucks you as your hips begin to twist without rhythm but you don't care. Your skin burns and you feel him begin to lose his pace with the first milking compression of your cunt, curling over you as he growls in your ear. 

He continues to fuck you through it, the intensity of your orgasm stealing your breath and you squeeze so tight around him you're surpised he can even thrust back in.

But then his hand is in your hair again and he tugs, dragging you to look at him with your fluttering lashes and within that next moment, Rin presses his body deep into yours before he stops. His body shakes and you feel him throb inside of you, spilling a load so deep it almost hurts as your limbs stroke and squeeze around his big form, his cock stirring in your guts. 

It lasts a few more seconds, his hips swirl with yours, followed by a few short, back and forth stutters of his cock to make sure it's all in there, squelching loudly, and then Rin melts. 

You both go limb within the next breath, unsettling the silence with your desperate pants for air. You more than him. As expected from an athlete of his caliber. 

You nuzzle your head back into the mattress and settle, feeling Rin's grip on your hair loosen until he's massaging at your scalp with a softer touch, it makes you purr. Your hands stroke up and down the length of his spine as you feel cum begin to drip down between your ass and it makes you shudder.

“You didn’t say the line.” You hum, absentminded and drowsy, but it draws Rin's attention regardless, making him prop himself up to look at you. 

“What?”

"Don't make me do it. You know what one I mean."

"No."

“Here’s Rinnie!” You mimic The Shining before breaking into a little fit of giggles, one that makes your insides stir enough to have Rin's softening cock twitch in its place. You can tell he wants to smile, biting on the inside of his cheek. 

“Shut up, I wasn’t saying that.” He says, giving you a drowsy look. You reach up to brush his bangs back, wanting to see more of it with pouty lips. 

“Come onnnn, it’s part of the bit!” He leans into the touch. But scoffs at you.

“Nope.”

“Just once!”

“No.”

“Rinnnn.”

“Stop that. You’re being too loud.” He melts back down again but his arms press beneath your hips so he can really hug you in this time, his face resting at your neck. You both go back to resting like that again, in the comfortable silence, the sleepy bliss making your body feel heavy as you continue to stroke your fingers through his soft hair. 

You last a few more minutes before you speak again. 

"So, did you like it?"

"What?" Rin squeezes you, voice softer this time. Like he's falling asleep. 

"The chase, did you have fun?"

"Yeah, I guess." His voice rumbles a bit from where his lips rest against your throat, ticklish enough to make you restless but his soft breathing settles you again a moment later. His huge body feels like a blanket, so big and warm, you could fall asleep like this. You almost do, before you're struck with the sudden memory of your prior escape.

"Oh no! My shoes." You try to sit up when you realise, remembering back to how you'd just left them lying around in that abandoned hallway. Not that it's your fault. Definitely Rin's. He shouldn't have scared you so much. 

But before you can even really make an attempt to get up, he holds you tighter, tipping his head towards the door.

"I brought them." 

"Huh?" You blink into the dimly lit corner, eyes adjusting just enough for you to see your heels tucked away behind Rin's shoes and immediately your body melts back down again. A little smile on your face when you feel your boyfriend turn his head to leave a drowsy and chaste kiss against your collarbone. 

It makes you tender as ever, your hands in his hair. 

"How cute."

That’s how you ended up in the back of your shared closet, tugging at a black garment bag wedged behind his suits. The zipper squeaked open, and you froze.

“Barou,” you called, your voice already bubbling with laughter, “what the hell is this?”

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Trash. Get rid of it.”

“Oh no, no, no…” You yanked the hanger free, and with it came a frilly, short-skirted maid outfit— ruffled apron, lace trim, everything. “Shoei Barou. Why do you have this?”

His head snapped up at the sound of his entire government name coming off your pretty lips, “The fuck—?!” He jumped off the couch, stalking toward you like you’d just caught him committing a felony. His ears were already pink, “That ain’t mine!”

You held it up against his broad frame, fighting back wheezes of laughter, “It’s literally your size. This is custom made for your scary ass.”

“It was a gag gift,” he growled, snatching at it, but you dodged easily, “Fucking Isagi and that sloth gave it to me. Thought it’d be funny.”

You grinned like a cat with cream, “And you kept it?”

“I forgot it was in there!” His scowl deepened, but the red blooming down his neck betrayed him.

“C’mon,” you sing-songed, holding it out, “Just try it on.”

“The hell I will.”

“Barou…” You stepped close, sliding a hand up his chest until your fingers curled around his collar, batting pretty eyes up at him, “Please? For me?” Your grin softened into something more teasing, more dangerous. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

His jaw flexed. You could see the battle in his eyes, pride versus the heat crawling through his veins. Finally, he snatched the outfit from your hand with a muttered curse and stalked into the bedroom.

When he came back out, you nearly fell to your knees.

The frilly black and white maid dress stretched across his broad chest, the skirt scandalously short against the bulk of his thighs. The apron strings strained at his back, and his arms looked even more massive sticking out of the puffy sleeves. His face was murderous, but he was blushing so hard you thought he might combust.

“Well?” he snapped.

You covered your mouth with both hands, muffling a squeal, “Oh my god… you’re adorable.”

“I’m not adorable.” His voice was sharp, but you noticed the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, the way his throat bobbed.

“Adorable,” you insisted, stepping into his space, running your fingers over the frilly hem of the apron. “Sexy, too.”

That got his attention. His eyes darkened, sharp and hungry, and the switch flipped in an instant. His hand shot out, gripping your chin, tilting your head up.

“You think this is funny?” His voice was low now, dangerous.

“A little,” you whispered, breath hitching.

“You’re laughing at me?”

“Not— not at you. Just—” You gasped as he pressed his body flush against yours, the skirt brushing your thighs. “It’s—Barou, you look—fuck—”

“Say it again,” he demanded, lips brushing your ear, “Say I look sexy.”

“You look so fucking sexy,” you breathed, clinging to his arms.

That was all it took.

He shoved you back onto the bed, the ridiculous maid skirt flaring as he loomed over you. “Good. ’Cause now you’re gonna get fucked by your little maid.”

He shoved you back onto the bed so fast you barely had time to gasp. The frilly skirt fluttered around his thighs as he caged you in, the bulk of his body overwhelming every inch of your space.

“Look at you,” you teased breathlessly, sliding a hand up his thigh where the skirt bunched, “My scary boyfriend in a maid dress.”

His eyes narrowed, dangerous, “Keep running that mouth. See what happens.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer before his lips crashed against yours, teeth and tongue stealing the air from your lungs. His hand slid down your body, tugging at your waistband until your pants were halfway down your legs.

When his fingers slipped under your underwear, you jolted, clutching at his shoulders. “B-Barou—”

“Already wet,” he muttered darkly, dragging a thick finger through your folds, “Figures. You love this shit.”

“I—fuck—” You arched as he pushed two fingers inside you, his pace immediately brutal, curling them just right. The lace trim of the skirt brushed your stomach with every movement, taunting you.

He growled against your ear. “You gonna beg for your maid to fuck you?”

“Yes— yes, please, Shoei—”

That was all he needed. He pulled his fingers free, dragging them up to your lips, “Suck.”

You obeyed, tasting yourself as you sucked them clean, and his groan was low, filthy, vibrating straight through you.

Then he was yanking his cock free, already hard and angry red, the head smearing precum against your thigh as he lined himself up. The maid skirt lifted as he shoved into you, inch by inch until you were clawing at the mattress.

“Fuck, you feel tight,” he hissed, gripping your hips so hard you knew you’d bruise, “Clenching on me like you were made for it.”

The pace he set was relentless. Each thrust drove the breath out of your lungs, the slap of his skin against yours echoing in the living room. The skirt kept slipping down to brush against your stomach, the ridiculous sight only making your arousal worse.

You moaned his name, and he bit at your shoulder.

“Louder,” he demanded. “I wanna hear you scream for your maid.”

“Shoei— oh god— harder—”

He grinned, feral, and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up. The skirt rode up completely, the ruffles bouncing off your ass with every thrust as he slammed into you from behind. One hand fisted in your hair, the other pinning your wrists to the headboard.

“Pathetic little thing,” he growled into your ear. “Giggling at me, thinking this was a joke. Who’s laughing now?”

You sobbed out his name, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming pace, “I’m not— oh fuck— I’m not—”

“That’s right.” He reached around, rubbing your clit in tight circles, “Not laughing. Just begging.”

Your body broke apart under him, orgasm ripping through you so hard your vision went white. You clenched around him, pulling a guttural groan from his chest.

“Fuck— gonna fill you up—” His thrusts grew sloppy, desperate, until he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, hot and thick.

For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the rustle of lace as he collapsed over you, still in that absurd outfit.

When you finally managed to turn your head, sweaty and trembling, you grinned weakly, “Best… maid service… ever.”

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“Thank you for coming out,” you say, and Kaiser is at least glad that you know your place.

“Of course. I thought it was so cute when I heard you were talking to everyone on the team,” he says, resting his chin on the fat of his palm. The bottoms of his eyes scrunch with undisguised mirth. If his teasing rankles you in any way, you do a good job of not showing it. “Ask away.”

“When asked which historical figure you’d most like to talk to, you listed Nietzsche. What exactly resonated with you about his work?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. Kaiser does his best not to find it a little charming.

“What an enlightening question,” he drawls, “I didn’t resonate with him. I just thought he was right.”

“About what, specifically?” your hands fold together. A few ink stains mottle the back of your right hand. Faded blotches of color stain your fingers, which interlock beneath your chin. You look neither enraptured nor entirely uninterested.

“Nietzsche said that you have to overcome yourself and your surroundings to set yourself apart from the unwashed masses,” Kaiser says. Perhaps Nietzsche had not directly said anything about “unwashed masses” but Kaiser knows it was implied. They were of the same mind. Their values nearly identical.

“Take me, for example. I suffered through Blue Lock, dealt with Noel Noa’s shitty personality and spartan training practices, spent countless hours perfecting my technique, my skills, myself all while dealing with lousy players and big-headed agents and inept coaches. They crowded me at every opportunity. Like flies,” he finally pauses, looking at you for a long moment. Do you catch the implication? He’s not annoyed with you. You’re a far cry from the bothersome journalists and paparazzi he’s had to deal with over the years.

But he is curious. How far can he push before that perfect poker face breaks? “They all wanted a piece of me. Clawed for it, actually. I’ve even had a few stalkers.”

“I endured every obstacle thrown at me and came out the other side stronger and better than any other player in this league. I’m a two time champion. No one else on my team can say that.” he finishes laying out the undisputed truth with an air of finality.

“‘That which does not kill us, makes us stronger’,” you eloquently summarize. Not a single word wasted. Kaiser appreciates that.

“Exactly. I’m glad to see you understand,” he coos. “I’ve even perfected all of the meaningless, vapid conversation required for interviews.”

You regard him flatly. Not even the slightest creasing of the brows. Maybe he’s losing his touch. “Interviews like this one?”

“I didn’t say that,” he says, but he’s smiling. “If you’ve read that interview, then you’ve really been digging. I’m impressed by your dedication. Or is it just an excess of free time?”

“It’s my job,” you inform him. Quietly and without mirth or edge. “Getting to know the team better improves the final product. That’s all.”

You’re devoted to your work. Kaiser can respect that. But there’s something in what you say–the implication that he is merely a task to you. A chore, even. It’s dismissive in a way that rankles him. Just a little bit. It’s not like any of this matters. He smiles at you over his coffee (the coffee that you bought and had ready for him before he arrived–you remembered he takes it black). It’s not like you’ll be talking much after this. Yes, this is the last time he’ll be speaking to you.

—

That is not the last time he speaks to you. Over the past few weeks, Kaiser has noticed a perplexing change in his perception. He sees you more. You’re still on the bleachers, off to the side, but he registers you in his periphery, now. It’s fucking annoying. He wishes it would stop. He doesn’t want to be aware of your gaze tracing the contours of his body. It’s distracting–what have you done to warrant so much of his attention? Nothing. Nothing at all.

He’s completely normal about it, really. He’s being normal when he comes up behind you. You’re seated on the bottom bleacher, sketchbook in your lap. For how present you are, he doesn’t often see you in conversation with others. The only time he can recall is a few days ago. Chigiri had been taking a break in the bleachers, talking to you in hushed tones. Your attention had remained on your sketchbook, lost in focus. Just like you are now. There’s a cute wrinkle to your brows when you lock in on your work. Silently, he leers over your head. And on the page–

He recognizes Oliver’s spotty stubble, the gentle curve of Reo’s nose, but he, himself, is most noticeably absent. The drawings are good–beyond good, really. You’ve managed to articulate each strong cord muscle in the human body with only a few distinct lines. The poses are fluid and in perfect perspective. He isn’t an artist, but he understands immediately that you’ve labored for hundreds or perhaps thousands of hours to attain this level of skill.

You haven’t drawn him. Not on this page, at least. Strange. After the interview, he’d assumed you have good taste. You were smart, at the very least–

“Looking good so far,” Kaiser says, and you visibly jump. Cute. The corners of his lips curl up. You are cute, aren’t you? He hadn’t thought of it before, but now, when you’re doe-eyed and trying to compose yourself and so obviously disconcerted… yeah, that’s cute. “I think there are a few things you need to work on, though.”

“Kaiser,” you stare at him flatly. It’s the closest you’ve come to genuine irritation so far. His chest thuds with delight. “These are just practice. They don’t have to be perfect.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted your work to be the best it could be,” Kaiser drawls.

“It is,” you snap your book shut and shove it into your bag, clearly able to tell that you aren’t going to get any more peace. “I’m the artist here. You’re a football player. Stick to your own job and I’ll do mine.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder. You’re trying to leave. Kaiser shifts to the side, blocking your way. It’s an instinctual reaction. He moves before he even realizes it. This is the most reactive you’ve been. He likes the faces you’ve started to make, and isn’t keen on being deprived of them so soon.

You jolt a second time, finding your path to exit suddenly sealed. You look at him, wide-eyed. Are you suddenly registering the difference in size? The fact that you’re alone with him? The visible fear twitches something in him.

“That’s not very nice. I did you a favor with that interview, and this is how you treat me?” Kaiser asks, leaning into your space. “I’m doing you a favor now, too. Don’t artists depend on feedback to help them improve?”

“Kaiser, look–” you start, but cut yourself off with a sigh. The mounting frustration snuffed out like a candle flame. Oh, well. “I’ll ask for feedback when I finish the first draft of your poster, alright?”

“Where are you off to, in such a hurry?” Kaiser rests his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, thigh jutting out to block the way out of the bleachers.

“To have a consultation with another client, and you’re making me late–” you hiss. Apparently, this is the end of your tether. It’s reassuring, to know that even you aren’t a complete robot. That even you can fall to the whims of petty annoyances. There’s a deep wrinkle between your browns, and your lips are pulled into a taut frown. Pouting, really. His grin widens as he watches you clamber over the bleachers.

With his longer legs, it’s easy to just step over them. He’s there when you inevitably lose your footing and stumble with a muted curse. He catches you by the arm, steadies you with the weight of his body. If he weren’t so gentlemanly, you would have tumbled to the floor, sketchbook and backpack and all. Thinking about it, maybe he should have let you. You’d look all pathetic with your pencils and erasers and papers scattered around you. Maybe you’d tear up? That could just be wishful thinking.

“You should be more careful,” he says with a smile that betrays none of his above thoughts. He holds onto you, even when you right yourself, fingers stubbornly wrapped around your elbow.

“I’m fine–” you insist.

“Thanks to me,” Kaiser butts in. He’s the reason that you fell in the first place, but shh, “Slow down. Am I really so unpleasant to talk to? I’ve been nothing but kind to you.”

Bullshit, and he knows it. He pretends not to, smiling through the stupefied look you give him. Cute. You open your mouth, hopefully to deliver a stinging retort, but someone else beats you to the chase. A familiar voice calls your name, cuts into the conversation with the grace of a three-legged elephant and the tact of Rin Itoshi. Kaiser grinds his jaw. He turns to give the interloper a venomous stare.

“Hey, this guy bothering you?” Oliver asks with a languid smirk, completely unbothered by the daggers.

With great pain, Kaiser releases you. “No, no. We were just having a nice chat about their upcoming projects. Isn’t that right, mäuschen?”

Your face twists in disgust at the unwarranted and unearned nickname. It’s an immediate, visceral reaction that he can tell comes straight from the gut. Ah, you are really fun to play with.

“I appreciate your answer,” Oliver says, without a lick of sarcasm. Shit-eating smile still locked in place. “But I was asking them.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you grumble. You hastily stomp away from his side, boots thudding against the turf. His good mood topples when he realizes it’s Oliver you’re going towards. “Let’s just go.”

The nosy bastard has the nerve to grin at him, over your head. It’s knowing and snide, completely at home on his scruffy face. Kaiser smiles back, the plastic upturning of his lips filled with as much venom as he can possibly muster. He watches you go. His gaze lingers on your back until you round the corner, leaving him alone with the vast emptiness of the stadium.

—

Your apartment is warm, and it smells like you. It’s full of things that inform him of your tastes. When ruminating over your conversation from a few days ago, Kaiser had realized he knows very little about you. Besides the fact that you’re fun to chase. He likes the way your bottom lip juts out somewhat when you’re upset. He thinks your dedication to your work is something to be commended. His thoughts routinely return to you for reasons he cannot quite explain.

He stole one of your sketchbooks. A few days ago. You left your bag unattended while you went to the bathroom. Maybe you assumed the people around you were kind enough to not touch it. Or maybe you’d just forgotten it. Either way, this would be a valuable lesson in looking after your belongings.

Kaiser pilfered through your things because he was curious about your other drawings. Who did you gravitate towards the most? Was this sketchbook exclusively for observational drawings? If not, what else would he find there? (Have you drawn him?)

He’s discovered a few things. You draw Chigiri the most.

He gets it, he really does. Chigiri is one of the most photogenic members of the team, one of the most beautiful people he’s ever laid eyes upon. His long, crimson locks are eye-catching and they flow beautifully when he jets across the field, lithe and quick as a wild cat.

There are drawings of Kaiser, too. (A heaviness that he hadn’t even been aware of lifts from his chest when he sees them. He pointedly dismisses this feeling as indigestion.) They’re all good, but one captures his attention above all the others.

A portrait, drawn in strikingly intimate detail. You’ve paid thorough attention to the fan of his eyelashes, rendered each one in delicate strokes of ebony ink. There aren’t any notes, no body language, but he knows by expression alone that this was drawn as he struck a goal. Or right after. You’ve captured the ferocity in his eyes, the beastly satisfaction with startling clarity. He’s enraptured by it.

A week later, he texts you saying he found your book abandoned on the bleachers, and kindly offers to return it to you. His favorites have been dutifully photographed, stored in their own gallery folder on his phone.

You have a dog. It’s a purebred. He can’t quite recall the name, but it barely reaches his knees and looks up at him with wide eyes and a wagging tail.

Your apartment is homely. Soft, earthy hues and lighting that’s easy on the eyes. There’s a bookshelf in the corner. A copious amount of blankets and pillows stack atop the couch and loveseat. Clustered closest to the window is a gathering of flourishing houseplants. They dot the rest of the space, hardly a withered leaf to be seen.

The dog yips at him. One of its eyes is a dark brown, the other a stark, icy blue. Its white fur is mottled with grey and black, twin patches of orange surround its eyes and cover its cheeks.

Kaiser doesn’t really know what to do with dogs. When he was a boy, they proved quite the menace. They were hungry, just like he was. One of them chased him, once. It’d been a lean and hungry thing with long, rotting fangs.

Your dog is nothing like that. It’s got a healthy sheen to its coat. No visible scars. It’s a healthy weight. Well-looked after. Loved.

“Don’t mind him,” you mutter. He then firmly decides to do the opposite.

“Don’t mind him?” Kaiser asks, and crouches down. “How could I be so heartless?”

That softens you. Your shoulders loosen. You look small in your oversized cardigan. The rumpled sleeves cover your hands. Weariness weighs your features. It softens your edges. He recognizes your lingering anxiety. His hands suddenly feel empty and restless, like he wants to squeeze something.

“Isn’t this an expensive breed?” he asks, tilting his head to look up at you. He brushes his fingers through your dog’s fur, scritches beneath its chin. “You seemed more of a… what do they say–’adopt, don’t shop’ sort of person? Where did you find a breeder?”

“I didn’t buy him,” you object, expression hardening with consternation. It’s audacious, to question you like this in your own home–but he finds it hard to help himself. You’d be well within your rights to kick him out, so he sticks to playful jests.

“What, did you steal him?” he presses.

You hesitate. A brief silence settles over the room.

His eyes pop wide open. You? A thief?

“It’s not like that, listen–I went to a house party a few years ago and they weren’t taking care of him. I could see his ribs!” you hurriedly explained. Kaiser is again shocked at just how quickly you confess. He could get you in so much trouble–do you know that? Or are you just that desperate to defend your character? “One of his owners hit him, Kaiser. I saw it.”

When you look at him with such desperation in your eyes, he can’t help but believe you. This is intimate, he thinks, this sharing of secrets. You’ve confided in him something precious. He won’t forget that.

“Oh? And why should I believe you?” he can’t help but ask.

Your expression contorts beautifully. A cocktail of anger, fear and sadness which makes your eyes go wide.

“Just what kind of person do you think I am?” you ask, and there is something new in your voice. An emotion which he has yet to extort from you. Hurt. Your dog moves away from him and heads to you, sensing your distress. A soft whine wobbles from its chest. Your shoulders tense up, hands clutched close to your chest. Vulnerable. Cute.

Such an honest show of despair should excite him. But it doesn’t. Instead, he recoils. His gut squirms in discomfort and his chest goes tight. It’s some sort of inner body wince that seizes him, a reaction that has him rising to his feet to comfort you.

“I’m just kidding, mäuschen.” he says, voice becoming a soft coo. “Of course I believe you. I couldn’t imagine you stealing a pencil, much less a dog for no reason.”

“Asshole,” you bite out, but your posture loosens. Your jaw relaxes. He’s made it better. The lead in his stomach evaporates at the sight of your incensed glare. “Gimme my book and get out.”

As he hands it over, his gaze sweeps over your apartment a second time. Despite its dismal size, it feels like its own thriving ecosystem. The downy softness of your furniture is the loamy, fertile earth. The plants which you have nurtured and sustained with your own hands make up the flora of the forest. Your dog, who you risked a burgeoning career for, the fauna which prowls through the underbrush. And your tender care is the glue that holds it together, that fuels it.

Ah, he realizes, stomach sinking, you really are full of love.

—

He doesn’t talk to you for two weeks. His time is better spent on practice. They have important games coming up. He’s wasted enough time thinking about you, letting you take up valuable real estate in his head. These feelings—the ones you’ve saddled him with—are a mere passing intrigue. So he throws himself into practice, relishes in the sweet agony of his straining muscles, in the sweat that slicks up his back, a sign of his exertion. His work. His pride. He is as close to perfect as can be, and you are—

Still at the stadium. In the stands. You spare him no more than a passing glance, every now and then. Which is fine. He doesn’t want your attention, certainly doesn’t need it. But his jaw still clenches whenever he sees you looking at Chigiri and he still stares at your art on his phone screen almost every night before bed.

Kaiser doesn’t much like parties. They’re loud, abrasive occasions laden with “industry insiders” and oversized egos. He would much rather remain home with a good book. The pages of The Ego and the Id wouldn’t bombard him with pointless small talk. Brand representatives hoping to score a sponsorship will.

But he needs a change of pace. A jolt to the system to recalibrate what you’ve fucked up in him. Walking in, he’s confident that he’ll only be here for fifteen minutes. He takes a comfortable seat on a chaise, lounging across the velveteen upholstery like a jungle cat. A few party goers flock instantly. He lets one of them brush her slender fingers over his tattoos, while a member of the publicist team sits on his other side. He looks up at Kaiser with wide, wondering eyes, typical to starstruck interns who are new to the job. In a month, he’s sure that luster will have faded. But it’s here now, hanging onto his every word, so Kaiser spares no details, fully mapping out his latest feats against Manchester.

He’s in the middle of describing Isagi’s gnarled, furious glower when he catches sight of you across the room. His jaw tics.

He tries to ignore you, he really does. He busies himself with expensive champagne and tries his very hardest to listen to the inane surface level chattering of those around him. But his eyes still flicker to where you’re posted up against a wall, looking lost and alone. He’s glad that you’re at least having as little fun as he is–and annoyed at whoever invited you here only to ditch you. How dare they leave you, vulnerable and unsupervised? You’re perfect prey for the kinds of creeps that lurk at the edges of these parties.

His gaze routinely seeks you in the crowd, through shifting throngs of people. This, for a time, satisfies him.

Ten minutes pass this way. The twelfth time he spots you, his stomach drops. You’re no longer alone. The bastard in question is leaned against the wall, tilted towards you with unmistakable interest. Leaned in close, too close, listening to you with rapt attention.

Kaiser could have tolerated the interloper if he was a member of the team. But it’s Kunigami, who, last he checked, is playing in Spain.

It won’t do. It just won’t do. Kaiser extricates himself from the tiresome conversation with an apologetic look and a few, paltry promises of speaking next time. Then he’s cutting through the crowd towards you.

“Mäuschen,” he calls, voice a dulcet purr. Kunigami gives him a steely look. You just seem bewildered and surprised to see him. “Oh–am I interrupting something?”

“You know this guy?” Kunigami asks, thoroughly unimpressed. Kaiser hears the unsaid offer–”do you want me to make him leave?”–and he could laugh, really.

“Of course she does. She’s been working with Bayern for months now,” Kaiser replies coolly. Still smiling. “The rest of Europe is going to be embarrassed when our new merchandise line releases–”

“Kaiser,” you interrupt, sounding weary. It throws him, admittedly. Where is your fire? Your frustration? “Did you come over here just to brag?”

“It’s fine,” Kunigami shrugs. “Let him ramble all he wants. We’ll fold him at the Euros, just like we did last time.”

“If you even make it there. When was the last time Billao won a match? You should worry about the rest of La Liga before coming at me,” Kaiser returns with equal distaste.

Kunigami’s face goes dark. The shift in atmosphere is palpable, a shadowy gloom settling over your miserable trio. Across from him, Kunigami opens his mouth to speak.

“Kaiser,” you cut in, eyes narrowing with displeasure. You’re nervous, too. He can tell. Your gaze flickers to Kunigami and your stance shifts, a hand coming up to rub at the joint of your elbow. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk about the posters. I had… a sudden rush of inspiration,” Kaiser bullshits.

“Oh,” you say, something in you set at ease. “Alright. Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”

He could kiss you right there. He crushes the impulse.

“Great idea,” he says instead, bee-lining for the door. Kunigami’s gaze burns a hole into the back of his head. He nearly snorts. He doesn’t stick around to hear what you say to him. You’ll forget that wannabe’s name before the night is over. Fold him at the Euros? Really? Laughable coming from a man with half his accomplishments.

Leaving that room is instantly relieving. The temperature drops by at least five degrees. The cloying humidity brought on by the crowds is gone. There are a few people lingering on the cavernous hallways, but the night air flows in through some opened windows. It’s easy enough to find an empty balcony.

“So–about the posters? you ask as he closes the doors behind you.

“I lied,” he shrugs.

You blink in disbelief. “You… lied?”

“Of course. I have the utmost faith in your artistic vision,” he says, very sweetly. You don’t seem satisfied with that answer.

“Then why did you–”

“It was too loud and stuffy inside. And you were as uncomfortable and annoyed as I was. I could see it. So, I decided to help you out,” Kaiser shrugs, leaning against the wall. The balcony overlooks a sprawling statue garden, beyond it a rolling green lawn illuminated by slender, black lamp posts. The city glimmers in the distance, blurs of glowing gold and orange. You’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” you sigh. “I would have left already, but Reo invited me and I wanted to be polite...”

“Look out for that man. Give him an inch and he takes a mile,” Kaiser advises, eyes narrowing. It’s in their nature to be greedy. Every player drawn into Blue Lock’s orbit possesses the same, single-minded sort of craving. A cloying need, as urgent as breathing, which contaminates their lives both on and off the court. Kaiser can say this with certainty because he is possessed of the self-same ailment.

“Let me guess. You’d rather be at home, cozy in bed with a nice book?” Kaiser supposes after you don’t say anything else.

“I’d rather be at the club with my friends,” you take him by surprise again. He’d assumed your wallflower nature would bleed into the rest of your preferences—clearly not. “This party is nice and all, but it’s a little too quiet for me.”

“The club? How do you handle all that noise?” Kaiser asks.

“The same way you deal with arenas packed with screaming fans?” you reply, looking a little incredulous. A wry little smile curls your lips. He wants to bite if off of you.

“By tuning out the music entirely?” he plays along. “You must be a terrible dancer.”

Your smile drops. Your mouth balls up a little bit, like you’re genuinely offended. Kaiser isn’t sure which expression he finds more endearing. “I’m not bad,” you protest.

“But can you prove it?” he presses, leaning into your space with a sneer.

“Name a time and place,” you dare.

“Right now,” Kaiser sniffs, and watches as your face wrinkled in disbelief.

“Right now?”

“Why not? It’s only nine. All of the clubs are still open,” Kaiser shrugs. The night is young, and why waste it here when he can have you alone?

You eye him warily. Your lips wobble a little bit, trying to smother the beginnings of another coy grin. “Fine. But you’re driving.”

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Munich’s nightlife is electric. Synth and jazz vibrate onto the streets of Glockenbachviertel. The sound vibrates the floors. Ring shaped lights hover above the dance floor, the writhing throng of dancing bodies. The entire room is awash with flashing, crimson light.

Something in you changes when you walk in. You move differently, a slinky confidence to your step that he has not witnessed before. You slip through the people like a minnow darting through the reeds–trace a path only you can see. Kaiser’s eyelids lower, tracking both the sway of your hips and attempting not to lose you in the crowds. It gets harder and harder, between the low light and the amount of people. He eventually gets tired of it and grabs your hand.

Your head swivels. Your eyes gone wide. A cute, hunted expression that slips back beneath your surface at the sly, smug look he fixes you with.

Time passes in shuttering snapshots. Even while sober, it becomes a nebulous concept. You’re a good dancer, just like you said. Lively, vivacious in ways he never could have imagined. In the deep dark, his eyes can freely roam without you catching on. He admires the sway and roll of your body, hands twitching with the urge to grab, to hold, to anchor you in place.

He doesn't lose himself with the same voracity as you do. Instead, he keeps a careful eye out, makes sure you don't go tumbling into the arms of any opportunistic strangers. In places like these, you're as good as a gazelle amidst a pride of lions. Who knows who'll steal you up if he looks away?

Once you’ve had your fill of dancing, you crowd up against the bar. You catch yourself on its lacquered wood with a bark of a laugh.

“Careful,” Kaiser chides sidling up behind you. This is the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. It’s an abrasive cackle of a sound. He’s immediately obsessed with it. You devolve into a series of giddy little chuckles, eyes a little glazed, a sheen of sweat glimmering on your brow. “What are you cackling about?”

“I just–never thought I’d be here with you. Of all people,” you reply. His brows nettle together. Did you really think him such a bore?

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps. The sharpness of his voice jolts you, sobers you a little. He immediately regrets it.

“I just didn’t think you liked me that much,” you confess, and look away. You flag the bartender down, and Kaiser digests the statement as you order. Amidst all the thinking he does, he still catches your order.

“You’re tolerable,” Kaiser says. He settles in, partially behind and beside you. This close, he can feel the heat of your body. “Much better company than anyone else on the team. That’s for sure,” he sighs, drumming his fingers against the counter, pretending that the sweet scent of your sweat doesn’t affect him. You crane your neck to look up at him, unsure and tentative. Gone doe-eyed with confusion.

He wants to eat you. Shove you into his mouth and carry you there, cradled in the cage of his ribs. The suddenness of the desire steals his breath away. He white-knuckles the edge of the bar.

“Then why do you always act like that?” you ask him flatly, now irritated.

He feels his lips twist into their own pout. “Like what?”

“Like a dick!”

“That’s a little far. You’ll hurt my feelings,” he chides.

“Kaiser.” you’re glowering now. This is also a good look on you, one he’s far more accustomed to. Your barbs are an integral part of your charm. Eventually, he will prune those thorns–and will find the act as pleasurable as the end result. But for now…

“You’re fun to tease. That’s all,” he shrugs.

The palette of your trembling rage is equal parts endearing and intriguing. With each conversation, you reveal some new and unexpected part of yourself. He can’t help but want to core you out, to taste each flavor. That’s all this is. The savoring of a meal. “If I hate you, I wouldn't be here–and you wouldn’t be working with the team at all.”

“Jackass.”

“What did I just say about my feelings?”

—

You talk to him more. In the week that has passed since your escapade, you seem to have grown more comfortable with his company. At ease with him, even. The underlying tension which was laden in your first few interactions has completely faded.

His poster is almost done. You want him to approve this final draft. He tries to ignore the thrill that rolls down his spine at the implication. You don’t have to let anyone on the team look at the work. You don’t need their permission, but you seek it anyway. The familiar buzz of anticipation rolls beneath his skin as he pushes open the door to yet another eclectic cafe.

This one is filled to the brim with plants. They cluster against the windows and hang over the bar counter in pale ceramic pots. Green vines snake around the curtain rods and gold raid, rustic little lanterns hang from the ceiling to loom above the bar. He’s once again reminded of your dinky little apartment. The smell of it like the earth after rain.

He finds himself missing it as he pads over to you, burrowed in a booth at the very back.

“Good afternoon,” you mumble. He sighs out of his nose as he settles across from you.

“No ‘thank you’ this time?” he nettles you, rewarded by the slight clench of your jaw.

“Absolutely not,” you grumble, fixing him with a flat, unimpressed expression.

“No desserts or coffee, either,” Kaiser observes. You’re hardly paying attention, fishing something out of your bag, brow wrinkled with frustration. “Don’t think you can skimp out just because we’re—”

A binder thuds onto the table. Loose pages jut out the sides. He finds himself watching, admittedly fascinated, as you flip through it. He catches glimpses of your work on the loose leaf and sketch paper, blots of ink and flashes of vivid color. He thinks he sees Oliver, once or twice. His stomach sours.

But the feeling vanishes as you finally find what you were looking for.

It’s a printed version of the larger poster. Kaiser sees himself, body coiled like a striking snake, in the middle of taking a shot. His keen blue gaze is alight with manic fervor. It’s all blue and white lines on a black background. Thorny vines coil around his foremost leg, and dip behind his back. The shape guides the viewer’s eye straight to him.

Why hadn’t he found and hired you first? Is his first manic thought.

“Oh, it’s splendid,” he says, because how can he not spare you the compliment? You really do deserve the praise. “The dynamic line of action, the accurate depiction of my form—this is during blitzkrieg, isn’t it?”

“You mean the sidestep thing you do before shooting a goal?”

“Precisely. You’ve been paying close attention,” Kaiser croons, chin resting on the palm of his hand, lips twisting into a lofty smirk. His tone curls sweetly with implication.

“No more than I do to anyone else, trust me,” you snipe.

“Oh, believe me. I know just how friendly you are with the others,” Kaiser drawls. A cruel insinuation. Surprise, first, makes your eyes grow wide. Like he’s just struck you. Something immediately twists at the center of his chest, in the pit of his gut.

“I’m doing my job,” you snipe.

“If you say so—but don’t you think it’s a little shameless? Poor Oliver is already eating out of the palm of your hand—are you hoping he hires you next?”

It isn’t fair of him. Over is anything but poor and helpless—and he knows you aren’t that kind of person. Your mouth drops open in pure outrage, face twisting with indignation, with hurt. The expression flatters you. For a single, thrilling moment, he thinks you may reach across the table and slap him.

“Fuck you, Kaiser,” you hiss instead. The binder slams shut. The sound cracks through the quiet bustle of the cafe. You shove your things into your bag and stomp away, leaving him alone at the table. By far the most explosive reaction he’s pulled from you thus far. But in the wake of your rage fire, he’s unable to find the typical satisfaction.

—

You avoid him at every turn, cowering behind bleachers and teammates alike, diving into bathrooms and closets and offices–he’s sure he’s even heard the locks click shut, like you were afraid he would chase you down. Which isn’t a wrong assumption, because he’s coming quite close to it, despite how desperate it’ll make him look. Does he even care about looking desperate? In front of these troglodytes?

Despite all of his worst instincts, he’s not resolved to do anything, but the moment is here and it is now. Now, specifically, when he’s almost literally run into you in a stadium stairwell. A wild urgency seizes him in the moment, and he shoves his arm directly in your path. The both of you stand there, frozen. You look at him with wide, doe eyes and he tenses up like a predator about to pounce.

“Kaiser,” you stiffly break the silence. Brave.

“I’m sorry,” he says in almost the same breath. He feels pathetic for what he said to you, for being so aloof with you, for handling you so indelicately. He’s not used to feeling so bothered by his own cruelty, but he wants love out of you. He wants the same delicacy you pay to your plants. “For everything I said.”

You look at him, discerning. “Really.”

“Yes, really,” he insists. “I’ve been thinking about it all week. Regretting it the entire time.” He drops his arm, stands back to appraise you coolly, prepared to take any amount of venom and rancor you (rightfully) could lob his way.

“Alright.” you say, and walk away. He listens to your footfalls as they trail down the metal stairs. His hands ball into fists at his sides, a gnawing hunger howling in the pits of his soul.

You don’t speak to him for a week after. It’s agony. He’s so very badly misses the sound of your voice, the cute wrinkle between your brows when he teases you. More than anything, he wants to bridge the gaping chasm between you—but this isn’t something he can fix with an armful of roses. You need time to think, and he’ll give it to you (a lie. He’s attempted to talk to you several times this week. His teammates always seem to have an excuse to pull him away. “Kaiser, we need another for practice and Oliver dipped” or “Kaiser, there’s a call for you which definitely isn’t a crank call by Chigiri’s stupid friends in Barcelona pretending to be life insurance agents claiming someone created a policy in your name. Not this time, we swear!” He’s trapped in a den of thieves, rakes and liars.)

If he can’t approach you in person, he at least has your number. Which he has only called. Twice. Not that you’d ever picked up, but you hadn’t blocked him, either.

After that long, lonesome week, he shoves his pride aside and texts you in sleepless hysteria, apologizing again and confessing to enjoying your company—to missing you. To admit it cuts him to his knees, but this is his last resort before he becomes insane and shows up at your apartment in person.

If goes unanswered for a day.

And on the next, it happens. His phone chimes. The murky clouds part. You’ve at last replied to him. It leaves him both immensely relieved and hopelessly annoyed. Yes, he’s glad you responded, but did you have to make him wait an entire day? Has he not been pathetic enough?

He doesn’t know what he expects, but you still somehow manage to surprise him. It’s an image of a cat outside, rubbing contentedly up against your leg.

“Met this guy outside” the caption reads. His fingers twitch.

That’s… that’s it? No inclination that you had read his heartfelt confession? No profession of your own feelings, that you enjoyed your time with him too?

He has half a mind to press the matter, before he realizes this is your form of acceptance, the only way in which you can comfortably reciprocate. You’re so shy, after all. Grandiose admissions aren’t your style. Jumping back into the flow of things, as though nothing had transpired in the first place, is easiest.

“Cute.” he replies with shaking fingers.

And that’s how it starts. A steady return to form. He finds time to bother you at practice, like before. You have regular correspondence over text. He feels stupid getting giddy over something as simple as a few texts—little glimpses of your daily life that he hadn’t been privy to before. Where you walk your dog, your favorite bookstore, the time of day when you move certain plants from the sunlight to the shade. It fills him with a fluttering, nervous sort of energy. He’s never felt this way before. His fingers flex with the urge to grab onto something, to hold.

He slips into your life gradually, but like he belongs there, and somehow hopes you both do and don’t notice.

—

It’s incredible how quickly things can change. For weeks, he endures mere scraps of your attention. Text messages. Brief exchanges and small conversations between practice games and drills. It’s nice, to have developed a steady rhythm with you, but he can’t help but long for something fuller. He’s being drip fed, at this point. He’s a parched man in the desert, desperate for a deluge.

But when is the right time to demand more of your attention? When has he earned the right? Will you even want to see him any more than you do? Could you come to care for the sick, rotted thing that his heart has become? Oh, how badly he wants it. He wants it so much that it keeps him awake at night, prolonged periods of fitful wakefulness that leave him exhausted come morning.

In the end, all of his agonizing is for naught. It’s another grey, fall day when you call him. He doesn’t even let the first ring fully play. He’s desperate and he’s stopped giving a fuck if he looks it, anymore. Maybe it’s better that he does.

“Kaiser,” you sputter from the other end, completely not the greeting he’d expected. His stomach drops. You’re crying. “I-I can’t find Barley—and I know you probably don’t care—”

He is possessed, almost immediately, by the urge to personally reach in and fix whatever is upsetting you. It’s an impulse that he’s never quite had before.

“Where are you now?” Kaiser’s legs are already carrying him in the direction of your apartment. Which is only a few blocks away (pure coincidence).

“At my place, just outside. I—” you break off into a sobbing, shuddering little breath and oh, oh Kaiser aches for you. Alone and afraid. “I’m sorry, it’s just, no one else is picking up—”

“It’s alright, mäuschen,” he ignores the implication that you called other people (numerous) before resorting to him. he files it away for later obsession. “I’ll be there in a few minutes–we’ll find him. Just stay where you are.”

He’s there within five minutes, slowing from a run into a gentle jog as he catches sight of you. Even from this distance, he knows he’s never seen you in such a state–stricken and wide-eyed. Grass stains on your jeans and a leaf stuck in your hair. His stomach pitches sour at the sight of your tears. Your despair isn’t nearly as sweet when he isn’t its root cause.

He calls your name, and you jolt to look at him. The waterworks seem to start all over again, and you buckle a bit, clumsily pawing the tears off your cheeks with a tattered sleeve. “Really, what am I going to do with you?” he clucks at you, swiping a thumb beneath your cheek. “No more tears, alright? We’ll find him together.”

It’s shockingly difficult to delegate which comes first–comforting you or finding your wayward animal. Of course, the latter makes more sense, but the idea of releasing you while you’re still so distraught almost sickens him. He finds it inane how someone so soggy could render him so illogical. But he’s long been aware of this, knows from all his reading that love burdens and affects people in irrational ways. Before, it had terrified him.

But when you had turned around, just now, you had looked so relieved to see him.

Much to his and your relief, you find Barley in the community garden, in the middle of attempting to dig up a neighbor’s beets. He’s in perfect health–nothing that can’t be fixed with a quick rinsing. Kaiser trails after you, up to your apartment. The dog yips and squeals and furiously wags its little tail, worming around in your vice grip.

Ungrateful. He thinks, watching its puny struggles over your shoulder. It’s above him, as a human possessed of intelligent thought and superior logic to be upset with a fucking dog. But to be loved and cared for so thoroughly, to be fretted over and held with such fervor–can’t he be just a bit jealous of that?

Oblivious to his pathetic deliberations, you invite him inside. He idles on your living room couch while you wash the stupid dog.

Your apartment is nice and it smells like you. Your plants still thrive. There’s a used mug on the coffee table. Some of the books on your shelf have been shuffled around. He shuts his eyes and breathes in deep. Before, it’d been mildly interesting at best to see how you lived. Now, being here is enough to make him light-headed. He leans fully back, melts into the couch and tosses a forearm over his eyes. You’ve–you’ve unhinged him.

The bathroom door flies open. Barley bursts out of the bathroom first, a cloud of steam billowing behind him. He flings himself onto the throwing and rubs his soggy fur against the couch. You follow, plopping onto the cushions next to him. You watch your beloved beast with sleepy eyes. Your shoulders slump and your head drops onto the cushions.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” Kaiser hums. He throws an arm over the back of the couch. He spares you another look, only to see new tears welling up within your gaze. Something in his chest crumbles at the sight.

“Oh, mäuschen,” he coos reflexively. A warm, hefty arm wraps around your shoulders to bring you close–and you let him. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong–oh, poor thing. Don’t cry.” His palm presses up against your shoulder, palm massaging the taut muscle. You shake with a new, pathetic little noise.

“I’m sorry–” you say between sniffles. “I know everything’s fine now–”

“But it was scary, wasn’t it?” Kaiser croons, soft with sympathy. “I know, it’s alright.”

And you let him cradle you. He murmurs delicate reassurances into your temple and breathes in the sweat salted scent of your skin, notes every trembling breath, feels the flutter-quick of your heartbeat beneath his greedy palm.

Eventually, the tears abate. The fear drains from your system like high tide returning to sea. It leaves you bleary and hollowed out. Your resistances are thoroughly hindered. You do not argue when he orders takeout for dinner. You do not argue when he suggests a long, relaxing bath. You even let him pick a movie, something light and easy for you to settle into. It’s all disgustingly domestic, a pantomiming of some of his rawest and realest fantasies.

The play is complete when you fall asleep next to him. The curtain falls as night does. A chill sweeps over the city. The first barbs of winter prickle your skin. The radiator kicks to life as you fall asleep against his shoulder. He’ll decide whether to stay or go later. For now, he just looks at you.

—

Rarely does Kaiser entertain the tedium of team outings. He spends all day with the blathering fools he calls teammates. He doesn’t need to pub crawl with them too. Bars are one of his least preferred places to be, especially at night and especially in this kind of company. The worse personalities on the roster go from irritating to incorrigible after a few pints–which is exactly why he’s here tonight.

They’ve invited you, for some reason. Reo must know it’s a bad idea. Chigiri must know. But he doesn’t trust either of them to ensure your safety, either. They’re both still among the wolves–still men. For all he knows, this is the opportunity they’ve been waiting for, a chance to get you while you’re guard down. In that way, they’re the same as every other drooling simpleton that’s shown interest in you. Worse, even, because there’s a very real risk of you entertaining them.

The level of upset this imaginary scenario provokes within him is–well, some would call it ridiculous. He would call it due caution.

The bar isn’t loud until they get there. Several of his teammates swarm the bar.

“I can’t believe you want to spend extra time with this slovenly group,” he remarks with a small sigh. He’s all but herded you into one of the booths, sandwiching you between the wall and his body.

“Slovenly is a little harsh,” you scoff, taking a sip of your drink. Water, much to his relief. As much as he’d like to handle you while you’re tipsy, he doesn’t trust anyone here as far as he can throw them. Not that he’ll be leaving your side at all, tonight, but better safe than sorry.

“I saw Rochemann drop a protein bar on the floor, pick it up and eat it,” Kaiser insists, glaring at said teammate’s broad back.

“Did you call him out on it?” you ask, voice light with amusement. You’re relaxed. The most relaxed you've been in his company in weeks. Your jacket slips down your shoulders, eyes a little glazed. A little sleepy.

“Of course I did,” he snaps, as though offended you would even ask.

“And, let me guess, he said–”

“–Four second rule,” Kaiser finishes. “Disgusting bastard. And he’s not even the worst of them.”

“It’s the five second rule,” you correct, taking a deep drink. Kaiser watches your lips press to the rim of the glass, traces the column of your throat as you swallow. A stray droplet rolls down your chin.

“You should tell him that, then,” Kaiser swipes his thumb to catch it. The brewing, petty argument dies right there. He can see it play across your face–surprise, embarrassment and then frustration, all processed through the sluggish haze of sleepiness. He says nothing, but he smiles knowingly.

The night lapses on. You run out of social battery quickly tonight, drained by the noise and bustle of the space around you. He can tell from the way your eyes listlessly flicker around like you’re looking for an out. With great relief, Kaiser broaches the idea of leaving. You acquiesce with a small hum and a nod.

“Leaving already?” Chigiri asks when Kaiser stands, a delicately manicured brow quirked. If he’s tipsy, he doesn’t show it.

“This one has hit their limit,” he says with a shrug. One of his hands finds your shoulder to bring you close, rubbing up and down your back. “So I’ll be walking them home.”

Chigiri tilts atop his stool to get a good look at you, partially and purposefully hidden behind Kaiser’s bulk. “Are you okay with that?” he asks you directly. He takes you in with thorough consideration, as though attempting to gauge your sobriety, “Someone else can walk you home if you’d like.”

“Hear, hear,” Reo chimes, cheeks flushed, eyes crinkling with bastardly amusement. “Don’t let this guy push you around. It’s not good for his ego, y’know?” He points a crooked finger in Kaiser’s direction and slumps against Chigiri’s shoulder. Strands of purple spread across the redhead's corded sweater.

“Don’t listen to them–they’re slandering me,” Kaiser huffs, narrowing his eyes at the nefarious duo. “Throwing dirt on my good name because they’re jealous,” Lost somewhere in the crowd, Oliver snorts.

“It’s fine,” you assure them, getting flustered now. In your haste to escape the scrutiny, you gently seize Kaiser’s sleeve and pull him towards the door. He follows your lead, catching up in only a few strides. His arm slips around your shoulders, a warm, secure weight.

“Make sure to call us if he tries anything,” Chigiri calls behind you.

“Fuck off,” Kaiser snaps behind him, steering you past the tables and booths and into the crisp autumn evening. No one follows because they already know that you are completely and utterly safe with him. He looks down at you with slightly narrowed eyes, searching for any sign that you may have taken their snake-tongued lies to heart. He finds nothing but sheer focus and determination, because you are doggedly attempting to button your jacket with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers.

“Don’t listen to anything they say,” he says. He steps in front of you and brushes your hands away. He does the buttons of your jacket and finds the act calms his blood pressure. “They’re just being petty. They can’t stand knowing that I’m your favorite.”

“Who said you’re my favorite?”

“No one–” he glances up at you through hoarfrost lashes, lips pulling into a coy grin. “But they can see it. Everyone can. Even Rochemann, and he can barely count to ten.”

“Rude,” you deflect.

“Honest. I’m being honest,” Kaiser doesn’t push the matter. You hum in half-hearted acknowledgement.

The conversation tapers out into comfortable quiet. The golden glow of the street lamps illuminate aged cobblestone and brick facades. The light halos your silhouette in wide glass display windows as you walk by them. He appreciates how you don’t scramble to fill the silence. Instead, you drag your gaze over the closed storefronts. Sounds of merriment and music bleed onto the streets. The air is cool and heavy with coming rain, but for now the night sky remains clear and black as pitch.

Despite the hustle and bustle–it’s peaceful. He never knew he could be content to simply exist beside another person. Do you feel the same? He sneaks furtive glances at you every now and again, and feels like a stupid, blushing schoolboy each time.

Blocks later, close to your apartment, you break the silence.

“I’m almost done.”

“Oh?”

“With all of the posters. And merch,” you elaborate, “You’ll see everything soon enough, but man, it’ll feel weird not coming to the stadium, anymore.”

His gut flips, because fuck, he had forgotten the very pretense you had stumbled into his life under. After you’ve wrapped up, you’ll have no reason to see each other anymore. He won’t be able to bother you during practice. No more stolen glances towards the bleachers, safe in the knowledge you’ll be there, perched with your sketchbook in your lap. Dread balls up in his stomach–could you really do that? Just up and never see him again? How dare you, he thinks, hollowed by betrayal. How dare you?

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, you continue, ”I wasn’t expecting everyone to be so nice. Thought you’d all have nasty egos–well, you all do have egos, but most of you are–”

“Were?” Kaiser bites out, hands balled into fists. You blink at him, at the coldness in his voice, the severity written across his expression. Face of his lines gone deep and dark.

He steps up to you, breaches your personal space with a single step. Hovering only a centimeter away, he can feel the heat of your body, make out every fine facial feature. Your eyes have blown wide, a nebula of emotion sparking to life in the depths of your gaze. It’s become clear to him now. He can’t bear to part from you, not until he’s seen your every side, savored every flavor. He leans down, hoarfrost lashes fluttering, and fixes you with an expression of deadly sincerity.

“I’m not done with you, yet,” it’s spoken like a vow.

A shiver rolls down your spine. You take a step back, up against a thick oak. Greyish bark frames your retreating form. Fear flitting across your face and something in him thrills at the sight, at the knowledge he can still so deeply affect you. He can fix his teeth into your haunches and ground you tight whenever he so desires. The moment hovers there, and he lets it. The quiet is purposeful, this time.

He smiles. “We’re friends now, after all.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice. “Right.” Your eyes narrow, trying to gauge his honesty. This is as far as he’ll push you, tonight. Any further, and you’re really liable to run away. He has to be careful with you. Hold his tongue a little longer. So he lets you scuttle into the dark, up the concrete steps of your apartment complex. He waits until you’re inside to leave.

—

PART II - ABLATION

—

The sunlight gleams harsh. It slips in through the edges of the curtains and stabs into your eyelids. You stir with a headache. It’s a sudden, throbbing pain that nags at your temples. You realize, a few minutes later, that you’re clenching your jaw hard, teeth grinding together. Perhaps it’s the meager amount of sleep you got, perhaps its the overcast weather. There’s a pressure in the air, a moisture that hovers and warns of oncoming rain.

In the miserable fog of the early morning, it's easy to believe that all that occurred last night was some bizarre, idle vision, not quite a dream and not quite a nightmare. No, perhaps closer to a nightmare than a dream. It had to be, really. There’s no way Kaiser would–

No, should you even think about it, it will materialize. You’re listless and nauseous as you stifle the memory. Bustling around your kitchen keeps the thoughts at bay. You go through the motions, painstakingly crafting the most appealing platter of dog food possible. High-quality muscle-meat and a boiled egg and various other odds and ends that Barley will find delicious. He lunges up against your calves and yips in glee until you set his bowl down.

Your phone chimes. Another cruel reminder of the world outside your four walls. It’s a text. From Kaiser.

Are you awake

yes

Good. Come outside

?

I’m waiting

A quick glance outside your window makes your stomach drop. Kaiser stands on the curb, hands shoved into his pockets. The nerve of this freak, you think to yourself. The leftover anxiety and pain of what is now an oncoming migraine fumes into a sudden, striking need to put him in his place. You throw yourself together as you usually do, stumbling down the concrete steps of your building. The first drops of rain have begun to fall.

“Good morning,” he smiles. Like this is normal.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you gape at him. It’s difficult to decide whether to be outraged or astonished at the audacity.

“That’s no way to greet a friend, now is it?” he frowns. “If you must know, I happened to be passing by and thought I’d give you a ride. You’re still coming to work today, right?”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling very stupid. The wind is knocked out of your sails. It’s suddenly easy to see why he is here.

He scoffs. “Come on,” he urges, waving his hand at you. He doesn’t even wait for you to catch up before he’s turning around, heading towards the car with purposeful, long strides.

Against all better sense, you follow.

—

Something changes between you. A shift in this strange, unconventional relationship. A strange undercurrent touches every single one of your interactions. New habits, which you cannot help but notice the implications of. He opens doors for you. He drives you to and from the stadium now. He leads you to and from the car with an arm over your shoulders, urges you down the street with a hand on the small of your back. Little, tactical touches that more often than not take place in front of his teammates.

“Kaiser,” you hiss, when he steers you out of an uncomfortable crowd.

“Kaiser,” you warn when he shoves himself between you and a man making you uncomfortable at the bar, looking deadly.

“Kaiser,” you hiss as he takes your hand. His lips brush feather-light against the backs of your fingers, but his eyes stay locked on you from beneath the fan of his pale lashes. “Cut it out! There are other people here!”

“So?” he scoffs, like you’re being the ridiculous one here–like he’s not endangering both your public images. And for what? For the weird kick he gets out of bothering you?

You get lucky that day. No paparazzi or opportunistic onlookers present, but it’s still too risky, and not to mention uncomfortable for him to flirt so openly. So shamelessly. He may not care about his image, but he’s not a freelancer. You depend on clients to find you via your squeaky clean online footprint–your cabal of social media accounts and online galleries. Scandal would tarnish your brand, a brand you need since this gig is almost over and done with. You have a few projects lined up after this, sure, but they could always fall through.

You’re not jeopardizing all you’ve worked for, so you make the admittedly depressing decision to pull out of Kaiser’s life. This would have always been the outcome. Ripping the band-aid off will hurt, but you doubt he’ll feel it as deeply. Being a famous football player puts him smack in the middle of myriad interesting personalities. He’ll find new people to amuse himself with, you’re sure. Someone more suited to his tastes, a belief you cling to when your texts become drier and clipped.

It’s not difficult to outright avoid him. You don’t really don’t go to the stadium anymore, long past the need for sketches or interviews, but with each day that passes, you miss it more and more. The people were kind, but never felt the need to force you into conversation. The environment was lively, but in a way you could easily tune out if you felt overwhelmed.

Unfortunately, you can’t wait him out forever. The merch drop is today. It’s… surreal. Months of work, all laid out in front of you. The management raved about the art nouveau touches and graphical style. Your posters line the walls of the rented ballroom. It’s a charity event. Signed versions of each poster are on auction, all of the proceeds going to local organizations devoted to the underprivileged.

You’ve been on the wall all night, content to admire the mingling crowds over the rim of your lass. The punch washes sweet over your tongue. The alcohol numbs the thorny edges of your anxiety. occasional sponsors and guests come to see you. They ask about your artistic process and pry for the supposed hidden meanings embedded within each work. It’s… exhausting, really. There’s no music to lose yourself in. People know who you are, so you can’t hide in the crowd. Nothing but light fare alcohol to busy yourself with. An hour into the event, you’ve decided you’ve done enough unpaid socializing for the night.

The stairwell is saturated with stinging, overhead light. Your eyelids feel heavy, fatigue weighing heavy. It is most likely this weariness that rends you unaware of Kaiser’s presence until he’s in front of you. It’s déja vu. Hadn’t you done this already? You’re half-convinced that you’re seeing things.

“There you are,” he clicks his tongue at you. “Is this where you’ve been hiding the entire night?”

“No. It just got too crowded,” you sigh.

“That didn’t bother you at the club,” Kaiser points out, a little impish. Your lips purse into a pout.

“That’s different. Everyone here keeps asking me questions,” you grumble, rubbing the side of your bare arm, skin chilled from the air conditioning.

“My most heartfelt sympathies,” Kaiser smiles wider and sidles into your space. He smells good–looks good. He’s tucked his hair behind his right ear, pulled it upright. A few, frosty strands cover his forehead and frame his face. “I hope you won’t mind answering one more?”

A part of you is sure you’ll regret this. “...Shoot.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asks in a way that is suddenly very deliberate, very careful. You squint at him.

It takes a moment for you to really process it. Why does he need to know that? Is he just curious? Surely, it isn't because—because he genuinely feels something for you.

A wave of nausea pushes through your gut. Unable to trust yourself to keep your pilfered hors d’oeuvres down, you shake your head. The atmosphere hangs heavy on your bare shoulders. Pinned by his gaze, you feel naked, stretched pliant, vulnerable.

“Good. Because I’d like to make things between us… official,” Kaiser continues airily. Like you’re somehow on the same page.

You stare at him like he just kicked your dog. “Kaiser–I–what?”

“You heard me right. I’m asking you out,” Kaiser elaborates, getting a little prissy about it. “Are you really that surprised? With the way I’ve been acting?”

“I–I didn’t want to assume,” you stammer, heartbeat alive in your throat. “You could have just been messing with me,” you feebly protest. Your back hits the wall. When you look down at your shoes, you see double. It’s all too much, too much at once.

“I wouldn’t toy with your feelings like that,” Kaiser protests. His feline countenance softens at its edges. “That’s the first misconception I’ll have to correct.”

“No, Kaiser,” you begin weekly, attempting to gain some sort of foothold in the conversation. It’s not fair. He has more energy than you do, and is probably full of less wine. The few drinks you sipped to take the edge off are coming back to haunt you. “Kaiser, we wouldn’t work together.”

“Wrong, but I’ll humor you. Why?”

“Our lives are completely incompatible. You spend so much of the season traveling, we would hardly see each other for weeks at a time,” you begin, and hold up a finger as he goes to open his mouth. “I’m not done. No matter what you say, we exist in separate spheres. Entirely different social echelons. We have so little in common, and could you imagine the reaction? You might be used to having everything you do picked apart by strangers, but I couldn’t handle that. You need to date someone who is—who is in your league, because only they can really understand—”

“In my league?” Kaiser repeats, eerily quiet. A cold pit of dread builds in your—

—in his stomach. Kaiser looks at you with wide, frenzied eyes. Your implication is not lost on him.

All this time, he thought of you, wanted you, and you dare tell him he’s wrong? You dare act like he hasn’t been envisioning a life together for months.

“Are you questioning my taste.” he asks—demands a moment later. He’s crossed the distance between you before even realizing. You flatten to the wall, eyes going wide. He looms over you like an ill omen, stares into the depths of your gaze with manic hunger.

“What—”

“Are you implying I don’t know what I want?”

“Kaiser, just think about—”

“Think about it?” Kaiser laughs, palming a hand through his hair. “You’re all I’ve been able to think about, since that very first interview,” he continues and ah, he feels himself coming a little unhinged. “For months now. You really didn’t notice? You think you know better than I do? I’m offended.”

“I never said that!” you hiss. Kaiser, halfway offended that you would question his taste and halfway endeared at how the argument scorched you back to life, scoffs.

“No, but you absolutely implied it,” Kaiser argues back, and you’re—

—you’re trying not to run out of steam. You hadn’t expected him to push this hard. He’s a famous football player. His name is printed on the backs of jerseys, chanted by audiences of thousands. Doesn’t he already have the pick of the litter? Reminding him of it only seems to make him more stubborn. Every excuse and argument, no matter how well-crafted, goes in one ear and out the other.

You’re not prepared for this kind of commitment, for Kaiser’s specific brand of it. He looks at you like a man starved, endless blues dark and hollow. There’s a vacuousness within him that he seeks to fill, and the very prospect of it frightens you.

“Kaiser, I—” There’s the slightest wobble in your voice. He picks it up like it’s blood in water, expression softening and gods, you can’t do this, so you wrench your gaze away. As if he’ll cease to exist the moment you stop looking at him.

“At first, I couldn’t believe you’d question my taste like that, but I think I get it, now,” he takes a step closer. Your heart rabbits in your throat, a shock of adrenaline. You can feel yourself beginning to sweat. “But I get it, now. You’re just scared.” Kaiser coos. The words are like a dagger through the chest—

—he can tell. You recoil like he’s bit you. That’s how he knows he’s hit the mark.

He sympathizes with you, he really does. Not long ago, he was stuck in an almost identical position. Craving love, but too terrified to receive it. Too sure that he’d be burned the moment he received it—but for you, he’d done the work. Clawed past those internal complexes, languished in the agony of his psyche all to reach this point.

You owe him the same courtesy. You don’t get to back out, to be a coward. Every fear that trembles in the cavity of your chest can be crushed and conquered.

“You’re just scared,” he repeats, softer this time. Soothing. “I don’t blame you. It’s scary, isn’t it? Don’t worry,” he steps away, allowing you a moment to breathe. You’re shaking. “I can be patient. I can prove that I’m worth it.”

A part of him balks at the idea of needing to prove anything at this point in his career, but the logical part of him concedes that playing football and being an outstanding lover are indeed two different skills—and he’s done a poor job of the latter.

“I—” you begin, and then go quite You don’t look energetic enough to argue. Exhaustion weighs heavy on the planes of your face. You’ve wrapped your arms around yourself tight. So, so small tucked up against the wall. “I’ll talk to you later.” you mutter.

“Let me drive you home,” Kaiser steps in your way, brows creasing.

“Are you serious?” you hiss, “You’re the last person I want to be alone with right now!”

“Don’t be ridiculous—I know you need time, but it’s too late for you to walk home by yourself.”

“I’ll have Reo call a car, or ask Chigiri to drive me,” you duck away from him. He doesn’t try to stop you. Though it stings (oh fuck, it pisses him off so bad) to know you’ll be alone with either of them alone, but he can at least have faith in their ability to see you home safely. Both are perceptive enough to not try anything with you, intuitive enough to pick up on your caution, your anguish. So, he lets you go.

Later, when he texts to make sure you’re home safe, you tell him that Reo drove you personally. He pictures you on the upholstered leather of his car seats and grits his teeth.

—

Kaiser lets you run. For a day. hen, he invites you out for coffee. He's actually kind of stunned when you actually show up. He rewards you by not mentioning what unfolded in the stairwell. He pays attention to what you order (a chocolate croissant) and pays before you can even think of reaching for your wallet.

And so the world continues turning. He makes time for you in between practice and press releases, accompanies you to the club with the express intent of ensuring you arrive home safely, and notes your mannerisms and habits with a voracious hunger, eager to know you in ways others don't, to dig his claws in so deep that you'll bleed to death should you remove them.

On an odd, rainy day, you invite him to your studio. He's elated. This can only be a good sign. You're allowing him into yet another intimate space, one defined by your artistic vision. He brings offerings—snacks he knows you like, a sandwich from a restaurant down the block. He waits in line, tapping his foot on the tiled floor, restless.

On the other side of the door, anticipation dredges you down, makes you feel hot in the face as the minutes tick by. He arrives with an armful of paper bag and a coy smile.

"Oh, you really didn't have to—"

"You have a habit of skipping breakfast when you come into the studio, right?" Kaiser regards you with a raised brow, "So save it and thank me, instead."

You splutter and his smile widens. The smell of fresh food makes the hunger pangs sharper. As much as you hate to admit it, he's right. You would have ignored them until lunch came around. He leans on the counter and watches you tear into the meal, savoring the freshly baked bread. No matter what happens, you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling of his eyes on you. Or how keen his gaze becomes whenever you eat.

Fortunately, the studio is full of other things for him to gawk at. After you finish your food. It's a wide open space partitioned by desks, drawers and a long industrial table. Paint stains every visible surface and canvases lean against any wall unobscured by the furniture.

Some are works in progress, others finished pieces you haven't gotten around to moving yet, and might not for several more weeks. Instead of paying them any heed, Kaiser cracks open one of the thick, crammed sketchbooks that sit on the long table which splits the side of the room opposite the kitchenette.

It's a smaller size and perfectly square. The inside is a mess of observational sketches. Mostly of flowers, intermingled with a few portraits, all done in posca marker and nothing else.

"Was this one for a client?" he asks.

"No," you reply softly. He reaches a more experimental section where both subjects merge, petals furling from muscle and bone, being spat up by sickly faces.

"No sketches underneath?" he asks, and hums when you nod. "What do you do when you make a mistake, then?"

"Cover it," you sidle up next to him, flipping to a particular page. Squares of different-colored paper dot the default brown. "By painting over them or doing something like this. This paper is pretty high quality, so I wouldn't waste a whole page just because I made a mistake. " his thumb brushed over the page's corner. Is he even listening to you? Are you boring him? "Sometimes, though, when you realize something isn't working, you just gotta throw the whole thing out and start over."

"And give up?" Kaiser needles, shooting you a wry glance.

"No, you just come at it from a different angle. Change the composition or maybe the medium you're using? That sort of thing."

He stays quiet, after that. You can't get a read on him. He finishes looking through and picks up another, one you had used for both observational sketches of the team and concept sketches of the posters. His lips curl into another smile as he realizes.

"Tell me about these—"

"You've probably seen them already," you murmur, "They're just early drafts." you insist, reaching for the book. It's your mistake, really. Trying to snatch anything out of Michael Kaiser's iron grip is borderline impossible. He pulls it away, holding it above his head. It's a move so out of a schoolyard bully's playbook that you have to gape at him. "Kaiser."

"Why so protective? Is there something in here you don't want me to see?" he taunts, flickering through the pages for added emphasis.

"No, but if you're gonna be annoying about it—"

"Really? I'm almost disappointed. You artistic types are always pretty perverted, aren't you?" he continues, maneuvering away from your grasping hands with infuriating ease.

"Huh? What do you take me for?" you snap, foot lashing lightly at his shin. He gives you no indication that he's even listening. "If anything, you're the pervert for even implying something like that!"

He doesn't acknowledge your argument, likely because of how solid it is. You comfort yourself by knowing that you're right.

"You draw Chigiri the most. Why is that?" is his next question, posed with careful nonchalance. You feel like he's implying something.

You don't bother denying it. "Because of his hair. It's long and flowy and fun to draw." You declare, almost indignant.

"So that's your taste. Interesting," Kaiser hums. "I feel like I'm learning so much about you." He snaps the sketchbook shut and relinquishes it to your grasping hands, which isn't as satisfying as reclaiming it by force. You huff and stuff it into the first drawer you see. When you turn back around, he's already wandered onto the next thing to catch his attention.

He combs through the rest of the studio with calm, deliberate focus. He asks questions, treats every piece with unmistakable intrigue. It's… a little embarrassing, if you're being honest. And flattering. You spend so much time creating for others that you sometimes forget how intimate personal artwork can be. It's like peeling back layers of yourself that you weren't even aware of.

Among the frills and flowers of your mind's eye hide darker, more complicated images. Ghastly beasts made of red, rippling flesh and muscle, wide maws crammed with too many teeth. These pieces intrigue him the most.

"Tell me, what were you thinking while you were making this one?" Kaiser's slender fingers skate over the top of the reddish-brown frame.

It's an oil painting of a boar and a wolf. Gnarled, beastly figures craned over the limp body of a skinny hare. A moment when predator and prey cooperate for the sake of beating down and consuming another, weaker animal.

"Well, I can't really say… I read that prey animals sometimes eat birds or other, smaller animals if they're hungry enough," You thought it was interesting, because people tend to think of deer as pure, vulnerable animals, but really—they're just like any other.

"They're willing to do whatever it takes to survive," Michael finishes softly.

"And that isn't a bad thing," you continue, "'Good' and 'bad' are human concepts. Morality is a system of values that we made up. Animals just want to survive and thrive. Who could blame them for that?"

Kaiser looks at you quietly.

"Men are also animals," he says. "Maybe beasts would be more accurate."

"No love for your own species?" you tease.

"No. I find most of them to be—" he pauses for a moment, "loud. Thoughtless. So don't trust any of them, alright?"

You blink at him. "Even you?"

"Oh, I'm the only exception," Kaiser purrs without a hint of irony. His eyes glimmer wickedly.

"That's the most suspicious answer you would have given," you deadpan.

"Maybe," Kaiser shrugs, "But it's also true."

—

It escalates, starting with a phone charger. Kaiser forgets it at your apartment. He'll pick it up next time he comes over, he says. This exchange, as inconsequential as it may seem, moves you to a startling realization. Kaiser has become… your friend. You've finished your work with his team (for now, management hinted at upcoming projects and several players have expressed interest in personal commissions). He has no professional reason to keep talking to you, but he does. He's quietly crept into your life with surprising, stubborn consistency. You're not sure why you let it get this far.

No, that's a lie. From the very start, you wholeheartedly believed that he would get bored and move onto the next mildly interesting person he came across. But he hasn't. He texts you everyday. He visits every weekend. He knows how you like your coffee. It's disquieting. Strange. But at the same time, you enjoy the time you spend together. Quiet, stolen moments in the plush comfort of your home or loud, chaotic nights when he plays chaperone.

His phone charger lies in a kitchen junk drawer, one of his jackets stuffed in the hall closet. His water bottle haunts your cabinets, routinely shuffled around dishes and mugs and glasses. It should put you on edge. Isn't this a thing that couples do? But you shove the ugly thought down, unprepared still to face the threat of affection and commitment.

You don't know why you're playing such a dangerous game, and you're in no shape to find out. Cramps and chills have you bed-bound, huddled beneath your favorite covers. You're sure you look a mess, as Kaiser steps into the room. You'd done your best to dissuade him from coming over, but he insisted, brushed aside your qualms in a way you've admittedly grown used to. He cuts into your space like he belongs there. Permits himself to your presence with the ease and confidence of a born king.

He clicks his tongue, crouching next to your bed at eye-level.

"I would ask how you're holding up, but it's pretty obvious from here," he says, voice soft with sympathy. The space between his brows pulls tight together.

"I'm just tired," you grumble.

"Liar," he accuses. His thumb smooths over your cheek. The tenderness startles you, making you freeze in place. "Did you take anything for it?"

"Painkillers," you submit yourself to his questioning with a blank face, smooshing your face back into the pillow.

A guilty silence settles over the room. He sighs at you and you frown, feeling scolded. This jackass. The nerve of him to scold you in your own home! After you specifically warned him that you weren't feeling well!

"Painkillers on an empty stomach? You know better," he chides.

"Well, sorry! I was a little too delirious with pain to get up and cook," you snap.

"Alright, alright," Kaiser hums. "But just call me next time, alright?" He taps his finger against your forehead. You bite and he yanks his hand back with a chuckle.

"Don't laugh at me," you pout. Do you look as pathetic and miserable as you feel? You shuffle further beneath your duvet like a turtle pulling into its shell, and relish in the way the dark falls against your eyelids. Outside of your makeshift shelter, Kaiser's footsteps head towards the door. Is he leaving already?

Disappointment hits you like a spray of cold water. It's stupid, of course you can't expect him to stick around while you're unable to entertain, but it still hurts. You swallow, and blink back the building tears, burrowing your face into your pillow. Your body coils like a snake's, precious organs coddled behind the shelter of your calves and thighs. It eases a fraction of the miserable aching, but most of it remains. Yet another bitter pill for you to swallow whilst all alone—

The sound of the stove top flickering on jolts you from your wallowing. You then hear rifling through your cabinets, the soft clink of a bowl on the counter top, the breaking of two eggs. The gentle noises of someone else moving in your space. Cooking for you.

The stark relief of knowing you don't have to worry about feeding yourself suddenly makes everything else seem possible.

You melt into the bedding. That's how he finds you, as a veritable puddle. You look up wetly when he pulls the blanket back. He's come with a plate of eggs and fruit balanced on one hand. The aroma of fresh food has you salivating, distracts your weary self so much that you don't catch the way his pupils dilate. You don't spot the naked hunger which alights him for but a moment, and then is gone.

"Sit up," he commands, softer than his typical, kingly bravado. "And don't eat too fast."

Kaiser, much to your surprise, isn't a bad cook.

"Don't look so surprised," he pouts. He's seated on the edge of your mattress—Michael Kaiser, on your bed, after making your breakfast in your kitchen. You've known him for what feels like an eon, and somehow you're just now coming to realize how outlandish the entire situation is.

"I was just thinking," you begin between bites. "It's kind of crazy that you're here."

"And what do you mean by that?" he asks, dangerously close to offended, "Where else should I be?"

"No, that's not what I meant. It's just—a few months ago I only knew you from TV. And now you're… here. Your super fans would kill me if this got out," you scoff. Kaiser doesn't seem to share in your amusement.

"I could care less what they think," he asserts coolly. The space between his brows pinches together, "And neither should you."

"Wow. No love for your most devoted supporters?" you tease, trying to offset the looming unease. Something in the room has changed. You know why—you know, which is why you can't help but try and steer the conversation in another direction.

"Not when it involves you," he frowns, like this should be common sense. His expression then deflates. He looks at you like you're a small, unfortunate creature he found in a wet cardboard box. "For someone so quick on the uptake, you can be pretty dense. Let me spell it out for you. You're important to me," he speaks slowly, glacial blue gaze keen and searching. Endlessly interested in a way that makes your gut squirm. "All of that nonsense about being in different leagues—it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I want you, and you want me. So don't waste your time worrying about anything else, alright?"

You swallow, sorely tempted to remind him that you never made such a declaration. If you had, it would have haunted you into your dreams. But can you wholeheartedly deny his claim? You're not sure anymore. Not when you let him wrap his arm around your shoulder, not when he's the only person you text daily. You shift restlessly.

"I'm not expecting a grand declaration of love. You're scared, so I'll give you time." Kaiser tells you.

"I never even said that I like you," you snap, finally too annoyed by his presumptuousness to stay quiet.

"Believe me, I'm well-aware," Kaiser says, soft as silk. "Take your time. Think about it, before you do something you might regret."

—

"I want to hire you," Kaiser says one day, out of the blue. You stare at him like he's grown an extra head. "What? Is that so strange?"

"Why? And for what?" your pencil stills, hovering over your most recent sketch.

"I'd like some prints to hang up around my apartment," Kaiser hums. He's sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other. The newspaper is spread wide over his lap, a cup of coffee held in one of his hands. He looks at you from beneath his long lashes.

He's grown his hair out, you realize. It's come to rest like a lion's mane on his shoulders, bangs filled out to frame his face. A pair of circle frame glasses perch on the bridge of his nose. Kaiser is always handsome, but you suddenly are struck by the sight of him. It's the best he's ever looked.

"I would be lying if I said my motives were entirely pure," he continues. "Oliver has been talking about commissioning you, and it'd be satisfying if I could steal you out from under his nose."

"That's petty of you," you remark, "…What would you want me to draw?" Your eraser taps erratically against the smooth, white surface of the table. The gears are already churning. "Roses?"

"You know me so well," Kaiser hums, pleased. He flips the page. "I trust in your artistic vision enough to let you have full reign. Do whatever you think I would like."

"And if you don't like what I make?"

"Impossible," he scoffs, like it's a foregone conclusion. "I like every piece of art you make."

"Even all those sketches of Chigiri?" you pry, unable to resist the temptation to nettle at his ego. His lips press into a flat line. That glacial gaze darts up to fix you with a look, a single brow raised.

"Don't get clever with me," he scoffs. You know he's full of it. He loves it when you get clever. Just not when it pertains to other men.

—

Time spent with Kaiser becomes… normal, over time. He still teases you. He pokes and prods until you snap, then coos at you. Soothes the lashing fires of your agitation with crooning apologies that make you feel weird and tingly inside. It's a push and pull dynamic that becomes oddly comforting, easy to sink into after a long week of work. When a band you like announces they'll be playing at a small bar venue close to your apartment, you don't even bat an eye when Kaiser invites himself along.

You treat yourself to one, two drinks while the band plays in slow, mellow tones. The long day has worn you down, made you just a bit more pliable. When Kaiser asks to walk you home, you agree.

And then you let him stay.

He's made you drink two glasses of water, and now he's sitting at your side. There's no space between you. The hot line of his body pressing up against yours. His lips press to your temple, and then to your forehead. You make a mumbling, protesting sound.

“Tired?” he asks. He presses his nose into your cheek, and kisses there too. A big hand cups your jaw. Your eyelids fall half-mast as he looks at you. Your face is getting warm, now, but you’re not as panicked as you thought you would be.

“No,” you protest, the word syrupy on your tongue.

“Good,” he says, and then kisses you.

It’s a deep, firm press of his lips to your own. You go shock still. Your hand reaches up, fingers grasping onto his wrist. But you don’t pry his palm away from your cheek. His hand is cool against your overheated skin. He’s a good kisser. He pulls away from you with a quiet exhale. Your foreheads touch. He looks at you, measuring your reaction, and you’re not quite sure what kind to give him.

Kaiser is… infuriating, but you’ve come to like him a lot. The way he makes you feel scared you, before. To be so at the mercy of someone else frightened you more than anything. But right now, you can’t quite remember why you were so intimidated. Or, rather, he doesn’t give you the chance to think that far. He kisses you again and again. Longer every time. Deeper. Warm, firm kisses, with his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. Slowly, steadily. Breaching deeper each time until he’s licking into the warm, wet seam of your mouth.

Your face is hot. There’s a pulse between your thighs, steady and thumping. It’s the tenderest you’ve ever seen him, you think. He trails kisses away from your mouth, running his lips over your jaw.

Absentmindedly, you hook your fingers into his hair. He's grown it out. Long, pale strands that frame his face. Shaggy like a lion's mane. He preens as you pet him, leaning his head into your hand.

“After all of that fussing…” he sighs fondly, “You’re unbelievable.”

You shut your eyes. You have a distinct feeling that you should be annoyed with him.

“Bedroom,” is all you manage to mumble instead.

“Oh?” he hums into the space beneath your jaw. His lips flatten to a patch of bare skin and suck. You whimper, fingers curling into the warm fabric of his sweater. He laughs, a little breathless, a little giddy. “I didn't know you could be this forward," he murmurs. "Alright. Lead the way.”

And then he pulls away. All of his warmth goes with him, leaving you empty and blinking at the space he once occupied. He laughs at you, and you fume, pushing yourself off the couch. Which was an uncalculated decision. Your body isn’t on the same page as your brain. Your legs tremble like a newborn fawn’s and you curse, bracing for the inevitable impact of the hardwood floor.

“Honestly. You can’t do anything without me,” Kaiser sounds amused. Broad arms curl around your torso and pull you upright.

He already knows the way to your bedroom. You let him haul you down the hallway and shove the door open. You scramble up the bed, a clumsy palm reaching out for the lamp’s chord. It turns on with a quiet click, illuminating the room in dim, orange light.

Perhaps you’re more addled than you think you are. His chest seems to materialize into view, lean and bare with pink, dusky nipples. Your lips part, words stolen from your molasses tongue as he settles atop of you.

“Speechless already?” Kaiser teases, lowering himself. He smooths a hand up your side, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

You shiver as the fabric slides up, exposing the softness of your underbelly. You want to curl in on yourself, to hide your most vulnerable parts from his piercing gaze. While caught in the paralysis of indecision, your shirt comes up to block your vision. You raise your arms and it’s gone, leaving your upper half exposed. Your nipples harden into firm peaks.

The chill in the air somewhat sobers you enough for doubt to take root. The sudden urge to cover yourself sparks as Kaiser lavishes kisses down your throat. You twitch, attempting to push your limbs into motion.

His tongue trails a circle around the areola. Spit cools over the skin. Your back arches when his lips seal over the stiff bud of your nipple, nails pricking the skin on his shoulders. His groan vibrates against your skin and he sucks. Clever fingers pinch the neglected side of your chest, rolls and squeezes the weight of your breast in his big hand. The thoughts leak from your brain and melt out onto the sheets, leaving you a mindless creature, only able to moan and sigh and roll your hips.

He pops off your chest with a wounded sound, and grinds his hips. The weight of him flattens you tight to the mattress. His cock is hard through his trousers. You can feel it, nestled into your thigh, a long point of heat that makes you swallow.

“You’re so quiet,” Kaiser hums. He nestles his cheek into the center of your chest, looks up at you with hazy, feline eyes. “You have to let me know if you’re feeling good, mäuschen.”

He punctuates the point with an open mouthed kiss to the top of your stomach, sliding down the sheets like an uncoiled serpent. You jolt at the press of his canines into the soft flesh of your belly, nips and gentle bites cascading to the waistband of your pants.

“More?” he asks, breath caressing the very bottom of your stomach.

You nod, eagerly. Anything to get him away from the weakest, most vulnerable part of you. Your heartbeat throbs between your thighs, a lightning-quick pulse of arousal. The seat of your underwear is already heavy with slick.

“Use your words,” he teases. You close your eyes, and resist the sudden urge to smack him.

“More, please,” you ask, and your voice sounds foreign to you. It’s become a wet, raspy little thing. Shared like a secret between the both of you.

“I didn’t even ask you to say please,” Kaiser remarks, remarkably pleased. His thumbs hook under the sides of your trousers and panties. He urges both garments down at once. You left your hips to make it easier, “Good girl.”

The air is cool against your cunt. He eyes you with a soft, unreadable expression. Broad hands come to cup the bottoms of your thighs.

Again, hesitation nips at you.

“You don’t have to,” you mumble.

Kaiser’s tongue rasps over your sodden folds in reply. You jolt, fingers fisting at the sheets. Your heartbeat is a heavy thrum between your legs.

He lazes between your thighs, each stroke of his tongue languid. Like you’re a treat he’s enjoying. His eyes are half-closed. You count each frosty lash in a last ditch effort to keep calm–to distract from the position he’s put you in.

“I don't have to?” he scoffs quietly. Then, the tip of his tongue teases at your inner lips. “Who do you take me for?” he says, hot breath brushing against you. You swallow. He traces the look on your face with a feline concentration, the keenness of a predator about to pounce. Never before have you felt so speared open, legs held apart by his strong body. His face is so pretty that sometimes you forget how big he is. How broad.

Your nervousness must show plain as day on your face, because he starts cooing at you. “Why do you look so worried, häschen? You’re shaking like a little leaf.” One of his arms curls around your thigh, giving it a squeeze. “It’s alright. You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” He soothes, looking much too delighted to be sincere.

“So just lay back and enjoy,” he presses a chaste kiss to your clit, and then devours you.

Plush lips seal around your clit and suck whilst his greedy fingers explore the space between your legs, tracing your folds as if to memorize the shape, the texture. He licks up the seam of you, tongue pressed hard on the underside. His mouth is hot and wet and unyielding against you, the kind of hungry that makes your ankles dig into the firm muscle of his back.

“Kaiser—” you moan.

“Michael,” he parts from you to correct, and then dives back in, making a pleased sound when you grip his hair. The silky blonde strands part around your fingers. You pull, and he moans, the sound vibrating against your clit, before a long finger shoves inside. He goes all the way to the knuckle and you whimper as he thrusts it in and out. Lewd, squelching sounds fill the room.

You whine louder. Your head slams against your pillow. He works you over for a good minute, a second finger sliding in alongside the first. eyes screwing shut as you feel heat coil tight in your gut. It’s close, way too close—and then his fingers curl up and you sob as your stomach twists, slick covering his fingers as he bullies you into your first orgasm.

He fucks you through it, three fingers drilling into that same spot. Distantly, in some crevice of your sex-addled mind, you wonder if his wrist is getting tired. But the thought it gone as soon as it came, because he’s not stopping, he’s not stopping even as the pleasure buzzes to the wrong side of pained. Even as your moans pitch into whines.

“Fuck,” you whimper, tossing an arm over your eyes. “Wait a minute, Kaiser—”

“Wait? But your cunt is squeezing me so tight,” Kaiser coos, stroking his tongue over your clit. Your legs kick out, held fast. His arm flexes as it pins you in place. You whine, louder this time, and he laughs softly against your cunt, lapping you slow and sweet.

His pace slows, providing some relief. But the pleasure still laps low at your center. Your cunt makes lewd, wet noises with each thrust of his fingers.

“It’s like you never want me to leave,” Kaiser muses. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, laves his tongue over the sweaty skin.

You can’t help it. You clench onto his fingers, slick dripping onto the sheets, onto his tongue. You feel your face scrunch, chest heaving with every labored breath and you squeal as another orgasm washes over you. Raw sparks burning your overwrought nerves, legs kicking as your circuits jolt and misfire.

“Michael,” you hiccup. Your nails scrape against the sheets. “Micha—” He groans into your cunt as you say it, redoubles his effort with a ferocity you have only ever seen on the field.

“Aww, don’t cry,” he says, soft with false sympathy. He pulls his fingers out, lifts them to his face. You watch, wide-eyed with mortification, as he licks them clean. “I’ll make it better, I promise.” If you weren’t already so fucked out, you’d be inflamed by the tone he takes with you. He coos at you like you’re a crying child.

“I’m not sure… if I believe you,” you grouse between labored breaths.

He’s worn you out, wrung you dry like yesterday’s wash. You feel like you’ve gotten too much sun. You feel like you just ran a marathon. And yet still–still you cannot help but want more. Your cunt feels cold and empty. The need that still pulses low between your legs is unbidden but unmistakably present. Your insatiable body longing to gorge itself full after such a long drought.

Kaiser shifts up the bed, lithe as a lion. He licks at your shed tears, and laughs at the grossed-out face you make.

“I can’t believe you cried,” he says breathlessly, wide smirk split across his face. He’s mounted atop of you, now. Towering and wrapped in corded muscle. The difference in size is another striking reminder of just how vulnerable you are underneath him. It sobers you, somewhat. It helps you remember to be afraid. “It was really that good, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you sniffle.

“You were being so sweet just a few minutes ago,” Kaiser sighs. He dips his head, retracing his path down your chest. He’s gentler, this time, when he takes your nipple in his mouth. He lets his tongue lavish the bud. The way in which he touches you is slow and aimless, despite the aching erection that throbs against your thigh. You grind against it and he exhales heavy, eyelids dipping low. “Hm,” he pulls back to look at you. Really look at you. Quiet and evaluating.

“Stop fucking around,” you demand hoarsely, “Just give it to me,” Primordial instinct longs for his cock inside of you. Animal fear makes you desperate to detach from his tenderness.

“Just give it to you?” Kaiser exhales. He looks more ruffled than he probably thinks he does. His cheeks are flushed peach pink, a lusty haze in his eyes. The tip of his cock taps against your wet folds. You jolt, nails curling into his shoulders. He holds himself above you. His hair (it’s gotten so long) curtains you in. The rest of the room may as well not exist.

“Are you sure you really want it? That you’re ready?” He asks, mocking. He wets his dick more with each question, dragging it up and down your sopping folds. “You look so scared, bunny.”

You choke. Oversensitive as you are, the heat still builds. It’s a slow and stubborn thing, stoked by his prodding, by the dulcet croon of his voice. Your cunt still longs for something to grip, to clench around. You feel empty. You feel like you need to be made whole, somehow. You’re still not entirely sure how you got here. Will Kaiser putting his cock inside of you make it any clearer? You don’t know.

All you know is that you really, really want it in this moment.

“Michael, Micha—” you break into a reedy sniffle. You weren’t aware that you had been crying. A single tear runs hot down your cheek. You’re scared, you think. All of these emotions have compiled into a heady, overwhelming cocktail. So you cling to Kaiser for comfort, raw and cored open and entirely too vulnerable.

“Oh, oh, don’t cry,” Kaiser coos, “I’ll give you what you need. You’re being so good for me, you know that?” His fingers stroke up your side, a faint touch before he’s reaching down to steady his weeping cock against your entrance.

His lips press to your temple, soft reassurances murmured against your skin. You can’t discern the words. All you can focus on is the steady ease of his cock inside you. You’re gushing, still.

You make a small, gutted sound. Hot walls of your cunt stretch around him. It hardly stings, eased by your previous orgasms, but it still steals the breath from you.

“Micha,” you whimper. He keeps going, keeps pressing until he’s sheathed all the way. His fingers play across your throbbing clit. Your back arches. In the dark, your vision distorts. Motes of color which swim at the edges of your vision. It feels like he’s in your throat. A man this pretty has no right to have a cock this size, you faintly think to yourself.

Kaiser is mumbling, now, sweet little praises into the side of your head. He breathes you in and pulls out until only the head remains inside. You hold your breath.

And then he rolls his hips forward, forcing the air right out of you. The sheer force drives you up the mattress with each potent thrust. It feels—so fucking good. Hot and slick. He pins his weight onto his knees and wraps his arms tight around you. Your bottom half hovers off the mattress as he pulls you back and forth. Effortless, the strength that you always forget he has.

“Oh god—” you moan between all of the other humiliating noises he’s wringing out of you. Kaiser laughs, breath fanning against your sweaty skin. He looks down at you through lowered eyelids, alight with a manic ecstasy. It’s a look you’ve never seen him wear.

“He’s not here,” Kaiser quips between heavy pants. He pecks your cheek, sweet and chaste, like he isn’t fucking the life out of you. “Only me, schätzchen. Just me.” He sounds more like he’s reassuring himself. The thought lingers for a flash, but then is gone, smothered between waves of molten pleasure, buried with each roll of his hips. He smothers it out of you.

Your ears burn. Your legs shake. Another choked sound erupts from your hoarse throat as his fingers bully your clit, working you high up to yet another devastating peak.

It cracks through you, burns your vision white. Lightning streaking down your spine, heady warmth which pools between your legs and swallows you head to toe. Your greedy cunt spasms around him, milking him up to his own bliss. With a snarling curse, he pulls out—and spills onto your stomach. Ropes of milky white glaze your sweaty skin.

The room delves into quiet. You both pant for breath. Your eyes flutter shut, and your head drops back onto the pillows. Eventually, Kaiser unwinds from you, settling you back onto the sheets. He presses a kiss above your brow.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he murmurs, and then he’s off. It’s almost inconceivable that he should remain so nimble and spry after all that exercise. The muscles in your thighs are still jumping, rattled by the manhandling, by the exertion. You’re sure you’ll feel the pounding he gave you in the morning. But now? You feel like a flower left out in full sun, withered and waterless.

In the distance, you can hear Kaiser shuffling around in the hallway. You shut your eyes and track him, audibly, on his journey to the bathroom and back. Briefly, you contemplate calling out to him to ask for a glass of water. But you’re far too tired to even raise your voice. Fortunately, he seems to have the same idea. You hear him head to the kitchen. There’s the opening of a cabinet, the slight clink of a glass, the rush of the tap.

You shut your eyes, submit to inky blackness. The sweat on your skin and his cum are starting to dry, tacky and uncomfortable. You contemplate getting up and heading to the bathroom, but Kaiser returns before you can give it much thought. He’s got a towel slung over his arm, a glass in his other hand.

“I wanna take a shower,” you mumble sleepily, and Kaiser laughs.

“Really? That’s the first thing you say?” he teases blithely. He sits on the edge of the bed. One, wide hand curls against the back of your skull, helping you lift your head. The rim of the glass is cool against your chapped lips. “Drink first.”

The water feels heavenly as it sloshes down. The chill helps wake you up a little bit. But waking up means you have to face the implications of tonight—the implications that have hung around the both of you since the first time he confessed. If you think about it too much, you think you’ll start to lose it. So you don’t. You take in a deep breath and submit yourself to the worst of his affections, his care. Because no matter how unprepared or how inadequate you feel, he’s made it clear that he won’t leave you. And you’re starting to lose fear of that prospect.

“What is your fucking issue!” You stormed up to him without hesitation in your stride, your finger meeting his chest and pressing jabs into it and Barou actually leaned back, a half step backwards as he found himself caught off guard, “-you go off, do your own thing and I let you, you let some physio put her hands all over you to the point the fucking news is writing about it. I let you go with your decision, I didn’t kick off, I didn’t bitch about it. You weren’t even there for my graduation, not even a damn text, I called you that day to have my placement in Italy and instead we broke up…. And you-“

You pushed him, although he didn’t budge, his feet together again regaining his position in not moving back, his solid frame unmoving as he quickly regained himself back to composure. Even Barou could see you were blabbing out everything you’d held in and he didn’t feel the need to stop you. Anyone watching would think you’re insane even speaking to Barou like this, but you weren’t a team mate, you weren’t someone he ever dreamt of pushing around because you would never let him. Besides this? He even knew he deserved this, but what you were going to say next would switch that leniency.

“You have the audacity to act like you have any say on who wants to take interest in me?! I’ll date who I want to!”

At the moment his entire personality changed, you seen it, where he went from looking like a doe in the headlights to locking onto something much darker. His eyes sharpened, his jaw clenched and he was pissed.

So much so he grabbed your wrist, removing your hand from his chest and pulling it over his shoulder, dragging you forward to have you practically nose to nose. You didn’t back down, meeting his gaze harsh and steady, as pissed as he was this was what made that stupid heart of his absolutely soar for you.

“Huh, it’s a different attitude to the other night-“ his smugness soared when he seen your gaze falter for a second, your expression less challenging and he never thought he’d get satisfaction out of seeing you being under his foot. He leaned forward and came in so close his lips were practically brushing against yours

“- I only heard my name being begged and screamed. There’s still marks on my back from you clawing them in because you came so hard, and you think you’re allowed to be dating others? Tch.”

Oh that was it, that ego in him flared thinking your gaze faltering was him winning, but your next words stripped him of that short burst of victory.

Your head bowed and you laughed, the stiffness in your arm slacked as he held onto it tightly keeping you close.

“This is your issue Barou, all you focus on is the win, being the King. You failed to see-“ you looked up, an expression on your face he’d never seen and couldn’t work out but it was enough to knock the hard, cocky expression he wore “-it meant nothing. It was a mistake. I’m not a victory for you to conquer, I’m not a prize between you and whoever. You always did struggle with the concept of team work, focusing on yourself so much the benefit from others means nothing. You also failed to understand, there’s no throne without an army.”

You snatched your hand back whilst turning and the rain fell, small droplets forming into larger more consistent ones. Cooling your hot skin as it silent slid across it, not even glancing back at Barou.

He was a mistake?

He was?

By the time he stopped sulking and refocused to look you were gone, disappearing into the alleyway of the pitch.

“Tch,”

Barou surged forward, a speed that Chigiri would be impressed with and it took him next to no time to catch up,

“Oi, woman!”

It failed to stop your stride.

“You ain’t dating anyone else!” His voice boomed without shame, heart racing in his chest unable to see you slipping through his fingers yet again. His voice echoing through the alleyway of the pitches tunnels to the changing rooms, “-like hell is someone I’m in love with going off with some mutant!”

It wasn’t until those three words came from him did you stop, turning to look at him in the dull lit tunnel in shock as he strode towards you with determination you’d never seen directed at you.

“You think saying that now will save this?”

“No, I got work to do. ‘sides you’re wrong a king ain’t taking the throne without a queen, get it right.”

“That’s corny.”

“Shut up!!”

He seen the doubt flare across your expression, your eyes drifting to look at nothing in particular, your jaw tightened, he knew you were chewing the inside of your cheeks and it any moment now you’d bite your lip.

He softened and controlled himself to let you process, clicking his tongue he rubbed the back of his neck, his own nerves starting to bite at him.