#temsah

NEULLER – BLISS 5: “Move out of my way before I make you.” 

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Look, it has been a shit game. They know that. Thomas knows it more than most of them, what with all his attempts on target either being unsuccessful, or, infuriatingly, hitting the crossbar. But in the end, the meager one goal they managed to scratch together was still nothing compared to the four they had managed to concede. Four.

Unsurprisingly, Manu is pissed. His eyes are cold, ablaze with a dangerous blue fire, teeth clenched, with rage surely bubbling in his stomach only waiting to burst out.

He’s a volcano ready to erupt, and, Thomas thinks, their defence is doing good by avoiding him for as long as they can. After showering, they’ve scrambled to the far corner of the dressing room, huddling together, talking quietly among themselves. They look a crushed, and Thomas can only relate to the feeling.

Just as he wants to walk over to them and give them a few encouraging words as Nikki’s eyes grow wide as their captain walks – no, stomps – through the door, looking ready to kill. Lucas and David seem almost equally apprehensive and only Jo has raised his chin defiantly, that crazy little bastard.

Thomas sighs.

It’s well known amongst the team that he is the only one who dares to approach Manu when he’s in a mood like this, and certainly the only one with the ability to calm him down. Getting up, he rubs his hands against his sweatpants and takes a few steps towards his husband.

He puts a hand on Manu’s shoulder before the older one has a chance to plant himself in front of the defenders, flinching a little bit when Manu whips his head around to now glare at him, instead. Thomas gently kneads Manu’s shoulder, looming dread pooling in his stomach when it doesn’t make their captain look any more placid at all.

At first, he wants to talk to him in a quiet voice, to offer a distraction, but Manu is still glaring at him, eyebrows drawn tightly together, mouth tense.

“Manu?” Thomas asks, realizing that this time, calming down the storm brewing might not be as easy as usual, “is everything alright?”

His suspicion is confirmed only seconds later, when Manu basically growls at him. 

“Thommy, I swear to god. Move out of my way before I make you.”

And okay, that’s – that’s different.

Thomas would be lying if he claimed the coarseness of Manus’ tone, his assertiveness didn’t send a shiver down his spine, but as it is, he just so manages to keep his composure, offering his goalkeeper a tight nod, letting his hand slip away. Letting him go.

It’s not pretty.

Thomas is convinced that all the defenders feel at least one foot shorter once Manu’s is finished tirade, more or less shouting at them for the better part of ten minutes, with everyone else scrambling out of the room as fast as they can. 

Thomas himself observes it all from his own locker with bemusement, respect and something awfully close to appreciative desire. 

At some point, Lisa texts him some new information on a pregnant mare of theirs, so he gets distracted to the point where he doesn’t even realize when Manu’s torrent of words stops, startling only when his husband drops down next to him on the bench with a grunt.

His expression has eased, at last, and now, he simply looks exhausted, slightly grumpy, and a little more defeated than generally Thomas likes him to.

Pocketing his phone, Thomas feels a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “Did that help?”

Manu groans, running his hand over his face, tousling his hair until it sticks out at odd angles. He shrugs quitely, then and unpromptedly drops his head on Thomas shoulder. He hums when Thomas lifts a hand to scratch his scalp, and while Thomas massages the worries away as well as he can, they just sit there quietly. 

In leaving, Nikki cast the two of them another look. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip, and his cheeks are still reddened with what’s probably embarrassment, easing up a bit only when Thomas nods at him, managing a small smile before rushing after the others.

Then, they’re alone.

“You scared the kids quite a bit there, babe.”

Manu huffs. “They’ll be fine. I just, um – had to let that out.” He shrugs again, a small motion against Thomas side when his shoulder rises and falls.

Thomas grins. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was kinda hot.”

When Manu blinks up at him with wide eyes, he only winks.

“Hmm.” Manu fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt. “Well, don’t get used to it,” he grumbles as he gets up with a groan, reaching for his gym bag. “You coming?”

And when Thomas gets up, grabbing his own bag and then taking the hand Manu has extended, waiting for him, he knows that things will be just fine.

There will always be games that they lose. 

But for Thomas, there’s always a Manu waiting for him. And honestly, most days, that’s all he needs. (But even he can’t deny that wins usually leave a better taste in his mouth.)

Schnaf hör auf!

Es gibt auch schwarze Amerikaner, die sind mit Schokolade.

...wenn man manche sätze ohne kontext lesen würde.... :D

Die Antwort überrascht mich etwas XD Auch wenn ich für Kramer-Bashing ja immer zu haben bin XD

who hogs the duvet: Mats. listen, he’s the little shit who’d even do it on purpose, and we all know it! (he loves Benni, we know he does)

who texts/rings to check how their day is going: both of them. they’re in a long distance relationship, and this is the way they show that they care for each other – also Mats does it more, cause we know that man is basically glued to his phone

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts: probably Mats, I feel like this is something he’d be good at!

who gets up first in the morning: definitely Benni

who suggests new things in bed: Mats, but Benni has done so before and will again

who cries at movies: Mats (he will deny it on his deathbed, tho)

who gives unprompted massages: Benni, he can tell when Mats needs one, even when Mats is too proud to admit that his neck is sore

who fusses over the other when they’re sick: both, because Benni’s a mother hen and Mats is very very fussy when it comes to Benni

who gets jealous easiest: neither. Benni would have more of a reason too cause Mats is a flirt even when he doesn’t try, but he trusts him

who has the most embarrassing taste in music: Mats. Benni is definitely the cooler out of the two

who collects something unusual: Mats and his eccentric self (tho maybe Benni does collect cool hats or something?)

who takes the longest to get ready: MATS

who is the most tidy and organised: Benni, I mean c’mon, Mats’ the most chaotic person ever

who gets most excited about the holidays: Mats!

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Mats is the big spoon, Benni’s the little spoon, but they do switch sometimes

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports: Mats is a terribly sore loser, so him

who starts the most arguments: they both do so equally; also, they don’t argue often but if they do it’s quite the big blowout, usually

who suggests that they buy a pet: I …. honestly don’t know

what couple traditions they have: long calls until they both fall asleep on different ends, going for coffee together, going somewhere nice to see the sunrise/sunset, cooking together

what tv shows they watch together: pass, I hardly watch TV myself

what other couple they hang out with: Manu and Thomas and whatever baby ship they end up adopting (cause again, Benni is a mother hen and all the younglings come to him for dating advice)

how they spend time together as a couple: talking on the phone and texting when they’re away from each other, making up for time lost when they are reunited in their breaks, hardly leaving the house or the bed

who made the first move: probably Benni

who brings flowers home: Mats – let’s face it, he’s a hopeless romantic

who is the best cook: they’re both really good, but Mats does make an art form out of it

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Matze would compliment the way Julian is so gentle with him but also insistent, his golden heart and his confidence. Whereas Julian would call Matze sweet, talented and humble, as well acknowledging how talented he is as a player, how hardworking and ambitious. He’d also compliment his cooking skills (which are okay but not professional chef level; then again, Julian himself doesn’t really know how to cook)

you also sent me these: 9 for Hömmels please! and 24 and 27 for Neuller please! (answered below)

9. Have they made each other cry?

I am very sure Mats has made Benni cry cause he’s quite a handful so I bet Benni has cried out of frustration quite a few times, but no, Mats never made Benni cry on purpose. Benni on the other hand … he’s an angel, a saint, usually so patient and kind and supportive … but when he feels too caged, when he gets angry, he’s a storm roaring so loud, lightning striking the trees, striking down things he doesn’t mean to. It’s a powerful image, seeing Benni like that, words used as weapons that he won’t mean once he’s calmed down. It’s a powerful image, picturing Mats, cheeky, ever-strong, self-confident Mats crying. It’s one that makes Benni realize his words, apologize over and over, asking for permission to take his hands, kissing Mats’ tears away, vowing it won’t ever happen again, cause he loves him and seeing Mats weep like this ? It broke him, and he doesn’t want to make him cry ever again.

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for? already answered here!

27. Do they have any kinks/fetishes that they share? already answered here!

ANGER 18: “I didn’t ask you to do that!” 

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Not hiring a moving company had seemed like a good idea at first. After all, they had more than enough time to move everything out of the Berlin apartment out on their own, considering they both had been facing retirement for a good few years now and had more free time that they knew what to do with.

But then, after they’d already stored all the bigger furniture they intended to keep and bring back to Munich into the back of a truck with the help of a few neighbours and had bid them all goodbye afterwards – because surely, with the help of an elevator, moving a few lamps, books and side tables downstairs couldn’t be that difficult – said elevator had broken down.

Which, to quote Thomas, was “ever so slightly inconvenient”. 

Well, Manuel thought, as he finished up packing the last of the cardboard boxes as he stored the last handful of books into them, that was one way to put it.

He’d bought this place when he’d not even been thirty yet, hadn’t dated Thomas and real estate investments were still a good idea. Now, as he was approaching his mid-seventies faster than he would ever like to admit, looking after it was just a hassle to deal with, and they never really used it anymore anyway. 

Sometime about ten years ago, constantly switching your living quarters – if only for a couple days a month – had lost its appeal. Maybe it had started when Manuel’s feet had started aching every morning when he got out of bed, or when Thomas started coughing every winter and blamed it on the dry air every time but they both suspected that it was probably something more permanent than that. Or maybe big city life just wasn’t for them anymore – Manuel didn’t really know. He didn’t really care, either, but in the end he’d just been glad when he’d finally made the decision to call a real estate agent and to sell it.

It would be a family of four buying it, she had informed them. Manuel was pleased with that. He’d always liked children, even though he and Thomas never had any of their own, and as his eyes flicked through the hallway, he imagined tiny little feet running around on the warm-toned wooden floorboards, climbing up on the window sills to peer down at the little park in the inner courtyard or trying to reach up to the kitchen counters to snoop in their parents’ pans.

Yeah, it would be a place well suited to a young family, he thought, only shaken out of his musings by a loud shuffle, causing him to lift his head.

Thomas had appeared in the doorframe, crouching down, picking up the last of the cardboard boxes. Frowning, Manuel realized that he must have already hauled the rest of them downstairs too when he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” He hated the annoyance in his own voice, but he knew that Thomas must be out of breath by now, that he shouldn’t have done all of this on his own–

His husband grinned one of his sparkling grins, one that still made him look like the young man Manuel had fallen in love with more than forty years ago. Thomas still had a youthful air to him, even with his salt-and-pepper hair, the crinkles by his eyes deep and the laughter lines by his mouth countless. Only when he looked closer, taking in his body that had once been lithe with lean muscle, and how almost fragile he seemed now, taking in his posture that was a little more bowed, was Manuel reminded that even Thomas hadn’t escaped the years unscathed.

“I’m fine, sweetheart, don’t worry.” 

Thomas winked. His voice was raspier than it used to be, too, but Manuel loved it that way, the way it always felt like a tender caress in the mornings, how it reminded him that he’d been so lucky, being able to wake up with his head on Thomas’ chest for forty-three years now.

Yet, Manuel felt his eyebrows draw tighter together, something coiling in his stomach, pressing his lips tighter together. He didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t as foolish as to believe that Thomas hadn’t noticed. 

His husband sighed, putting down the box with a tiny little groan, before crouching down, mustering Manuel intensely.

“I know you hate it when I don’t let you help.”

Manuel just barely suppressed a huff. They’d known each other for fifty years, and yet, in moments like this, it still a bit annoying, how easily Thomas was able to read him – even if it was not surprising in the least.

Thomas extended his hand, gently putting it on Manuel’s, thumbing over his knuckles and over the spots that had appeared on the back of his hand over the past few years.

“Babe, I saw you rub your knees half an hour ago. I don’t want you to hurt any more than necessary.”

God, Thomas. Sweet, considerate, amazing Thomas.

Manuel hated it, hated how sometimes now, more than ever, it was obvious that his husband was the younger of the two of them, that he had obtained less injuries during his active career. Hated how his feet and his knees gave him trouble every day, and how, apart from weekly physio sessions that only could only do so much to relieve the chronic pain, this was something he had to live with now. Hated how it restricted him, sometimes, how he wasn’t able to go hiking anymore, how he had to sometimes sit down when he took their dog for a walk. 

In the end, he knew it couldn’t be helped, and he was thankful that Thomas was looking out for him; but still, it sometimes was a tough pill to swallow, that the ache in his legs would never fully fade anymore. But still, the warmth pooling in his stomach as Thomas looked at him so fondly managed to override the bitterness so effortlessly, and so, he bit his tongue, and instead allowed a smile taking over his features.

“Thanks, Thommy,” he mumbled, getting up with a repressed groan.

After sitting on them for half an hour, his knees felt even worse for wear. Begrudgingly, he once again silently admitted that his husband had been right, just like he’d always been, for all those years.

Thomas’ responding smile was as warm, and when he reached out, putting his hands on Manuel’s waist, pulling him closer, Manuel had no intentions to stop him. Thomas’ lips met his cheek, his beard scratching at Manuel’s skin in a way that was so comfortingly familiar, the same way his laughter was balm to his ears and his hands the anchor to his silly heart.

But it was only when they closed to doors of the van, Thomas getting behind the wheel, humming a song they’d heard on the radio earlier that day, slowly steering them out of town, that Manuel realized:

They might have been old, and grey, and their bodies were giving them grief, but throughout all of it, every bump, every hiccup, they’d always had each other.

And growing old with the love of your life, being just as besotted with each other, if not more, than when they’d shared their first kiss?

Yeah, that made Manuel feel like the luckiest man in the world.

BLISS 10: “I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt.” 

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It’s almost midnight, and Mats is drunk. Above him, the stars are sparkling, and as he kicks a pebble ahead of his feet, for just one second, he wonders what the heck he’s doing. He’s twenty years old, and every logic in the world tells him that he shouldn’t feel like this – not so soon, not when he’s still this young, when he hasn’t even had those feelings for long.

But he can’t help it.

See, Mats Hummels is fully, irrevocably, truly, madly, deeply in love.

That in itself is nothing new, of course. Already a month back, he fell so quickly for his fellow U-23 centreback – Benedikt Höwedes. Benni is older than him by a good ten months, a Schalke player with galaxies all over his cheeks and sunshine in his eyes. And Mats is lucky – Benni feels the same for him too. They’d confessed, they’d kissed, they went their separate ways for a few weeks of holidays and then they’d reunited. Everything since then has been pretty much out of a dream, but still, there’s something Mats hasn’t done yet. Something very important.

His head is swimming, and this time he’s sure that it’s not only the alcohol that is making it spin. Because Mats Hummels, drunk and clumsy as he may be, is on a mission.

Of course, all his friends slash teammates have told him it is a terrible idea. They’re probably right, too, but at this point, Mats couldn’t give more of a fuck.

He can’t believe he hasn’t told Benni yet.

It hit him out of nowhere, really, when he’d been nursing his fourth beer, talking to Neven, Schmelle and Nuri. He almost dropped his glass when he thought of it, gaping at the red brick wall in front of him. Schmelle had waved his hand in front of Mats’ eyes, but not even that helped. No, instead, Mats scrambled up from his chair, throwing some excuses over his shoulder as he searched for his jacket among all the others, leaving the small dive bar with nothing more than a few hasty goodbyes.

They were in a bar in Essen, so really, it wasn’t all that far to Benni’s place in Gelsenkirchen. Surprisingly, Mats remembered which bus to take even in his inebriated state, missing the right stop though, so now, he had to walk back all the way to his boyfriend’s apartment.

It’s a warm night, and he feels slightly too hot in his burgundy dress shirt and denim jacket, but he figures he might lose it if he took it off – he learned a few years ago that his drunk self isn’t to be trusted.

Of course, that begs the question why he still thought it a good idea to come to a halt below Benni’s bedroom window, of course, tilting his head to look up at it until his neck starts to hurt. But also, Mats is too far gone to really care all that much.

“Hey, Benni!”

He knows Benni won’t hear him, of course, he’s not that stupid – but he also knows that Benni always keeps his window open on summer nights, something they’ve actually argued over before, back in Sweden, so it was at least worth a try.

Nothing happens.

Mats sighs. With a huff, he fishes his phone out of his pocket. It’s difficult to text with his slow fingers, hitting the wrong buttons all the time, and eventually, he gives up. That of course leaves only one method, if he doesn’t want to get in trouble with Benni’s landlord, that is.

Now, the thing is, Mats can’t sing. Of course, he does have the vocal cords to perform an act of singing, but what leaves his mouth is less an actual, proper rendition of the only song he can remember right now – which is, quite unfortunately, Jingle Bells – and more of an old door’s quiet shriek.

Honestly, it probably doesn’t help that he’s drunk of his ass (though this is a sobering experience in itself) and his voice is hoarse from playing table top football with the others only an hour earlier.

It takes two stanzas and around one minute for Benni to poke his head out of his window.

“Have you gone insane?!” he hisses, before running a hand over his face, groaning. “Mats, it’s half past twelve. Do you want me to get kicked out?”

Mats winces, but then puts on his most charming smile.

“I admit, my methods may be questionable, but, my lord, would you let me into your castle still?”

Benni rolls his eyes so hard that Mats is sure it must hurt. He closes the window, and only about thirty second later, the door buzzes and Mats is let in.

He takes two steps at a time until he reaches the second floor, where Benni’s small two-bedroom apartment is located.

His boyfriend is leaning in the doorframe in only a too-big t-shirt that upon second glance might be Mats’ and striped boxers. His hair is a mess, but he’s smiling, and Mats’ stomach feels so warm, happiness pooling there and overflowing until it reaches every part of his body, seeps out of his fingers that seek Benni out, pulling him close, pulling him in.

“What the heck are you doing here,” Benni murmurs into Mats’ neck as Mats breathes in his scent, a combination of grapefruit shower gel, freshly washed sheets and simply Benni.

Mats kisses his hair as he pulls away gently, wincing when he realizes he must smell of alcohol and the cigarettes some idiots from another party smuggled into the bar.

“I just …”

It doesn’t happen often, that Mats is at a loss for words. But somehow, looking at Benni now, so heart-stoppingly beautiful, his Benni, they evade him, hiding in the dark corners of the hallway, away from his sight.

So instead, he takes Benni’s hand, pulling him towards the living room, stumbling over his own feet but managing to catch himself just in time. He guides them towards the couch, sitting down and pulling on Benni’s hand until his boyfriend sits down in front of him.

“I need to tell you something.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I like you.” Okay, that was stupid, let’s start over. “I like you a lot. I like your smile, your eyes. Your freckles, I absolutely adore those, your dry sense of humor. I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt, that you laugh at my dumb jokes when everyone else would rather I just shut up. I like your compassion, and your ambition, and the fact that you adore your stupid blue club more than any player except maybe Neuer.

“I,” he looks Benni straight in the eyes, locking their fingers together, “I think I’m in love with you.”

There.

There it is.

At first, Benni doesn’t say anything, and for a second, Mats is genuinely worried. Then, a chuckle escapes Benni’s lips, growing into a giggle, then into warm, rumbling laughter.

Yeah, Mats is confused too.

He startles a little when there’s suddenly a hand on his cheek, thumbing over his stubble, his jaw, his cheekbones.

Benni’s eyes are earnest, sincere, and he leans in to kiss Mats on the lips despite the foul smell. They’re fond when Benni pulls away, caressing Mats’ neck.

“Oh, Mats … honey, I know. I’ve known since Sweden.”

Mats is sure he must have looked quite perplexed at that moment.

Benni chuckles again.

“I see the way you look at me. I see your fondness, I see your appreciation. I have eyes, Mats, and I can tell you look at me exactly the way I look at you.”

Oh.

Mats bites his bottom lip. Then, he a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean …?”

Benni rolls his eyes. “Yes, you idiot. I love you too. Now kiss me again.”

And yeah, since he’s already here, Mats assumes they might as well make the best of this night.