Archive of Our Own

“Yoichi…” Kaiser says softly from below, the sound curling to a sigh—a product of his frustration over his teammate’s—rival’s—uneasiness. “You’re too tense. Relax, or we’ll never finish with the preparations.”

Isagi scoffs, huffs, rolls his eyes, everything together, and his leg jumps once more under Kaiser’s soft touch just below his left knee. The older man stops his movements to shoot him an icy glare.

Two fingers from each hand remain hooked under the inner band of the lacy cerulean garters Kaiser has been trying to slide up to his thighs for the past few minutes.

“Preparations?” Isagi mocks, meeting his gaze fearlessly, some anxiety and defiance swirling in his eyes. “You spent 40 agonizing minutes prepping me, what else could I possibly need?! And is this really necessary? Why do you have these? Why’d you even make me wear your stupid jersey?”

Because I wanted to see you come apart with me and my name on you, Kaiser thinks in a typical corrupt manner, knowing he can’t say that. He opts for another defeated sigh, busying himself with dragging the thin material around Isagi’s leg.

“Well, Yoichi, those 40 minutes were just so I could undress you. And prep you, as you said. We kind of stained everything with lube and your pre-come, this was the first shirt I grabbed from the drawer. Don’t think too much about it,” he lies through his teeth with practiced ease, so much he almost wants to laugh about it.

Just as he finishes his sentence, he lets the elastic band snap lightly on the muscle of Isagi’s thigh, which makes him twitch again. Perfect.

The younger boy is squinting his eyes at him in disapproval, Kaiser can tell from the weight of it. His lips lift to a small smirk.

“And the garters?” Isagi questions, leaving it to drop heavily between them.

“They’re necessary,” Kaiser replies without hesitation, amusement dancing in his voice and demeanor as he removes the other piece of lace from the box. “Isn’t that what you asked—‘Is this necessary?’—I’m saying they are.”

“For what, Kaiser?”

So you’ll never forget you look best in blue.

“It’s just a cute little present,” Kaiser mumbles from where he’s kneeling on the floor, and motions to Isagi to straighten his toes so he can tug the ring of thin material over his right ankle.

Once Kaiser is close to his upper thigh, he may or may not have allowed his fingers to tease across the skin, waiting for another strong reaction from Isagi, whose cock is also painfully hard under the shirt draping over his stomach and reaching near his hips. It looks a size too big on him.

Kaiser stretches the material outward, and releases. The elastic loop smacks against his thigh again.

As expected, Isagi squirms for a second, then tenses up.

“Still jumpy, Yoichi.” He’s snickering as he speaks, and Isagi burns holes into his head. It’s a miracle he hasn’t kicked it clean off with one of his lethal direct shots.

There is a pause that Kaiser doesn’t notice anyway because he’s preoccupied with leaving his palms to cup the sides of his thighs, completely unintentional. It’s warm, soft, but meaty and solid underneath—if he can get to squeeze he can confirm it one more time.

But he is aware it’d translate to desperation in Isagi's brain. And he can’t have him thinking Kaiser is desperate right now. No, Kaiser isn’t desperate. Tonight, he’s been assigned the role he was born to play.

“It’s worse when I don’t know what you’ll do to me,” Isagi says eventually, raising one foot off Kaiser’s lap and laying the sole flat on his collarbone. He applies pressure to push his shoulder back, like he’s a rug that simply happens to have the ability to stand instead of laying lifeless on the cold floor.

As much as Isagi wants the simple action to affect Kaiser, it’s not an easy feat. The blond grips his ankle at lightning speed, pulling it away from his shoulder. The motion almost forces Isagi’s legs to part wide as his body is swerved to the side, but Kaiser is quick to catch the other ankle too.

He binds them together in his grasp, and observes as Isagi fights to free himself.

Godly soccer legs versus that deadly 80kg grip.

“You have a general idea. Of what I might do to you,” Kaiser comments from above, no longer kneeling but standing near the edge of the mattress. His voice and eyes have hardened, solidified at last into something darker, very predatory.

Isagi continues to struggle with his legs stretched up.

“Relax, Yoichi, and drop the tough act. It won’t get you anywhere today. You asked for this, remember?”

He receives a scowl and a lot of grumbling from Isagi.

“Shitty clown, I never agreed to submit to—you!”

Recently, their nights have carried this chaotic, destructive energy. It seems as if it started recently, but it’s been going on for longer than what the average person defines as recently.

Isagi tends to prowl until he finds an opening, the smallest cut that will permit him to get under one’s skin.

Kaiser knows it better than anyone else, he tells himself.

Beneath it all, there exists ample love—Isagi is full of love. For life. For soccer.

Love that is not suited for Kaiser to accept, he has persuaded himself.

In striking contrast to Isagi, Kaiser is oppressive. He wears the role, and allows his innate need for control to radiate off him in waves, unrestrained, until it stifles the room.

Beneath it all, there lies a beast, craving love and recognition. Love it is fundamentally unfit to give, forever unable to receive or process.

But maybe, just maybe, it is guarding a sacred droplet of that feeling Kaiser won’t ever name—love—for his most hated rival, hopelessly reserving it, hiding it between facades and layers.

Not like it matters. Not when they’re like this.

Somewhere along the line, the two forces began to cancel each other out, chipping at the edges of their complicated dynamic in ways neither wants to acknowledge.

He lets go of his ankles, choosing to wrap one of his palms around his knee, pushing both to the side and securing them under his savage grasp. He’s climbing on the mattress faster than Isagi can make an attempt to escape him.

Isagi finds himself forced to recline sideways with his legs confined between Kaiser’s thighs.

“Repeat that for me,” Kaiser orders from above in a voice that would have others obeying, wanting to show their bratty side so he can subdue it, or their eyes filling with tears immediately.

When Isagi quotes himself again, it’s none of that. He’s not trying to put a bratty front. He’s truly fighting Kaiser tooth and nail, and his words function only as a reminder of the conditions of their contract.

“I never agreed to submit to you! I won’t, ever.”

Good. Kaiser soars. Feels he might bite his tongue off and choke himself to unconsciousness.

This—this is what he loves most about him: the authentic nature of Isagi’s resistance.

Kaiser feeds off of it. With his right forearm he presses enough on his shoulder blade to pin the younger man’s torso to the bed. He leans over him, stopping under his ear.

“But did you ask for it?” It’s low, suggestive, a promise for the night.

A shiver rushes down Isagi’s spine, and it’s useless to try and hide it—Kaiser has taken note of it already with how firmly he’s got him glued in place.

“Did you, Yoichi?” he whispers again, tangling merciless fingers into the man’s silky midnight blue strands. There’s a harsh tug, accompanied by a pained hiss.

In retaliation, Isagi reaches back at an uncomfortable angle and really pulls at Kaiser’s mullet and tails with every ounce of frustration brewing in him.

“I did,” he spits once he hears that delightful groan slip through Kaiser’s teeth. “I asked for it.”

“Say it, Yoichi. What was your request? Loud and clear.”

Kaiser has the nerve to check in now, at this very moment, like he cares about Isagi, like whatever he’s about to take from him is valuable to the cold emperor that yearns for nothing and everything at the same time.

“Stress has been bearing down on me. Directly affecting my performance on the field,” Isagi grinds out, reluctant but honest, “and I… I’m asking you to help me.”

“Good boy, Yoichi.” Kaiser relaxes his grip on his tufts for a brief moment before clutching lower, around Isagi’s nape. “You need a reset, isn’t that right? Say it.”

What an infuriating man.

“Yes. Yes, that is what I’m asking for.” Isagi’s throat is tight and burning as he voices his admission.

In comparison, Kaiser is somehow blazing hotter against him as he hears it. A few more seconds in this horrible position, under his bone-crushing weight, and Isagi might attempt to break his kneecaps if Kaiser doesn’t manage to push his dick in his ass instead first.

Isagi squeezes harder in his hair. “There, you happy, right? Then get to fucking—work,” he adds, heaving and kicking underneath him, testing if he can get the grip around his knee to unclench a little, before Kaiser’s thumb cuts off the blood circulation to the rest of his body.

“I’ll tie your hands if you pull my hair again,” Kaiser warns. Is it really a warning?

Stop with the check-ins, Isagi wants to scream at him.

“Do it, Kaiser. I don’t care.”

Satisfied with his concession, Kaiser gets off him. A suffocating wave of desire hits him upon seeing his jersey; his name plastered on his back as if it belongs between his shoulder blades, until it burns a hole through him to settle between Isagi’s ribs.

He clenches his jaw, collecting himself, knowing he’s got more important duties to perform. His palms retract from the places they were applying pressure to find the line of his waist instead.

Isagi is rolled over, and he can’t help but notice that Kaiser is being uncharacteristically careful despite the blatant manhandling. He doesn’t have it in him to move and test both of their patience as Kaiser leaves, looking for something to bind his hands with, coming back with a dark blue necktie.

Ridiculous. No leather cuffs, no rope?

“Seriously?” Isagi utters, raising an incredulous eyebrow at him as he collects his palms in one hand.

Kaiser doesn’t answer, and the seconds pass in silence. He’s laser-focused on twisting the silk around, under, and around Isagi’s wrists.

“It’s more organic, don’t you think?” he mumbles under his breath while he’s inspecting his work, checking if the knots are too tight.

If they’re not, the knots in Isagi’s stomach should make up for it just fine.

The front of the jersey—Kaiser’s jersey, his mind won’t let him omit the particular detail—is already damp from the amount of pre-come he has leaked.

“Stop stalling, Kaiser.” Impatience, that’s it. It’s growing inside of Isagi, too acquainted with Kaiser’s ways of toying with his prey.

And Kaiser would be stalling and toying with his partner for the night, were it any other “prey”. But he’s dealing with Isagi, an impatient Isagi at that. So he’s weighing his options, searching for the safest way to handle him while avoiding the possibility of a meltdown, a burnout.

Threaten Isagi with a soccer-related burnout around the peak of their careers, and Kaiser might be the one to crash and fall instead, because… because no way it’d happen, right? Not to Yoichi, strong, stubborn, fiery Yoichi.

Kaiser needs to gamble his money on one option and pray it’ll alleviate a portion of his distress.

He wants to do a good job, because—fuck, Isagi entrusting his body along with his mental state to him, and seeking his help on top of that, is enough to bring him to his knees; ready to comply, to torture his anxiety out of him.

What greater pleasure for Michael Kaiser than knowing he’s explicitly the person to relieve Isagi Yoichi of his worries, just so he can make room and feed him new ones.

Cruel as he always is, he settles on top of Isagi’s knees, wanting to establish that the younger one won’t have many opportunities to run and flail around.

“Lie down, hands above your head. I’ll bind your wrists to the headboard if you touch any place you don’t earn permission for.”

Isagi listens, but the smirk doesn’t fade from the corners of his lips. “Earn? Don’t make me laugh, Kaiser.”

“Either we play by my rules or you’re free to find someone else to do this for you,” Kaiser taunts even if it burns his throat to utter such nonsense, Isagi shouldn’t, ever, have to look for this twisted passion and obsession in a different person.

However, he realizes too late he has made a grave mistake.

“But you don’t want that,” Isagi says, sharp, dripping with beguilement, “do you?”

He rocks his hips up once, testing the pressure of Kaiser’s weight on his legs, and the hem of the jersey rides up, revealing his flushed, glistening cock.

Kaiser shuts the provocation down immediately, unable to come up with a reply caustic enough not to betray the angry pulse of his blood in his ears.

“Shut up. Will I need to gag you too? Maybe that can work for you, Yoichi. Bound, with your mouth full, one way or another.”

“Don’t propose challenges you know you can’t win, haven’t you learned from your past mistakes?” Isagi is using that same tone, like he’s unearthed a gem—a truth—and he’s flaunting it to Kaiser. Chuckling throughout it.

“Be fucking quiet.” It is all Kaiser manages to spit through gritted teeth as one palm fastens around the dip of Isagi’s waist, the other darting to his chest. He pinches his nipple, twisting it meanly between thumb and forefinger.

Isagi’s own fingers brace in the sheets above his head, pulling until his back arches off the bed and the column of his throat stretches seductively, like he’s inviting Kaiser to take a bite out of it.

“Always so fucking sensitive around here,” Kaiser comments with a sick grin dancing on his lips. He flicks the little nub that’s hardening under the fabric of the jersey with his nail, emboldened by each grunt Isagi tries to choke back. “You love having your nipples played with. Cute little slut.”

The degradation makes goosebumps burst across Isagi’s shoulders, he would prefer it if his body weren’t so honest with its reactions, and his teeth nibble on his bottom lip. Still, there’s nothing that could stop his sharp tongue from talking back.

“So eager to play with m-me… ah… Kaiser… Wonder if that makes you… an even bigger slut.”

Kaiser’s gaze hardens, and he’s shoving his fingers far into Isagi’s mouth, feeling his warm tongue slide against them and his throat gurgle around the intrusion.

Being someone who is sustained by patience as thin as a thread is not easy, especially when he’s got his hands full with Yoichi. His free hand abandons the man’s waist entirely—Kaiser is slipping his palm underneath his shirt to tweak the other nipple directly.

It draws hot, open-mouthed gasps from Isagi, he writhes and twists his limbs whenever Kaiser rolls it rather harshly, leaving it burning and stinging.

The tip of his erect dick dribbles runny strings of fluid on his stomach with every rough pinch. Kaiser is no less influenced by the sensations; the temperature of Isagi’s skin steadily rising against his fingers, the erratic rise and fall of his chest, his trembling eyelids, the small noises that escape his lips.

Even with his fingers in his mouth, Isagi is sighing.

Kaiser feels disordered. Deranged.

It’s most definitely on purpose, how the younger boy licks the pads, trailing faintly down the middle, until Kaiser grows compelled to separate them slightly to feel the slide of his tongue between his digits.

“Maybe I should make you come from this, little Yoichi,” he suggests in a throaty mumble as another strip of pre-come pools on Isagi’s abdomen, still thumbing mercilessly at his chest.

Isagi shakes his head no, trying to whip his head away while Kaiser shoves deeper in his throat.

He scoffs, loud and condescending, giving one final twinge to each raw and perked bud. 

Pushing the shirt all the way up to his shoulders to admire the exact shade of red they’ve turned is tempting, but he refrains in favor of the next big step in his plan.

“Was that a no? What do you want then, Yoichi?”

A dark blush has spread across Isagi’s cheeks, reaching the tips of his ears. His lips are coated in shimmery saliva, they’re just as red as the rest of him, and for a moment the carnal desire to kiss them to a bruised blue flares up in Kaiser’s gut.

Most likely aware that he’s staring intently, Isagi licks them, tugging the flesh between his teeth for a quick second towards the end.

“Touch me.”

Do what you came to do.

A vicious, sweet, mellow command, weaved within a tone that could whip anyone into shape.

Kaiser’s heart thumps a beat faster than his blood can handle, he gets dizzy.

Yoichi, never one to be underestimated. Just the thought of Isagi using this tone with other people in bed—he utilizes it far too often on the soccer field to forget it—and Kaiser wants to slit his own throat about it.

But here, now, it is him he’s directing it at. Kaiser will oblige, if only for a chance to engulf the boy in a false sense of control.

“Spit,” he says in that even voice of his, reaching out near his face with an open palm. It’s still sticky from having been buried in Isagi’s mouth for the time Kaiser was entertaining himself with his nipples.

Cobalt eyes flicker up to Kaiser’s face in mild surprise, and Isagi leans forward to spew a drop of saliva onto his fingers. Unexpectedly, the blond adds his own spit to the mix—it’s a dirty, wet sound—and envelops Isagi’s leaky head.

A beautiful hiss echoes in the room, it crackles with lust and a tinge of pain just as the length twitches in Kaiser’s hand, almost in harmonious unison.

It’s ridiculous how attuned he’s become to Isagi’s body, and never makes an effort to fight it. Kaiser brushes over the slit, collecting everything Isagi is dripping to make the slide wetter.

“Hurts?”

Isagi makes a noise of assent, but it fades to a strangled gasp when Kaiser rubs and twists around the tip, not too tight or too far down, strictly teasing the upper part.

“You’re too frustrated, Yoichi—”

“It’s the third time you’re saying that!” Isagi cuts him off, voice climbing to a screech. His hips rock into the strokes that aren’t there yet, chasing any amount of friction Kaiser is granting him.

Kaiser’s palm slides to the base, fingers squeezing and spreading their saliva along the way, then he moves back up to the head. Isagi gasps louder, dribbles more under his touch, seeping through his joined fingers.

“Relax,” he advises again in a low rumble. “Let me work you through it.”

“You had your fingers in me like you were trying to milk me and still didn’t let me come, now you expect me to relax?!” Isagi fusses, eyebrows furrowing as his angry stare switches between Kaiser’s face and the hand jacking him off.

“You didn’t ask, Yoichi. If you want to come, you need to ask.”

The slimy hold of his fist drops to the middle, pumping up and down in a delicious rhythm, and the moan that spills from Isagi’s mouth is filthy enough to haunt Kaiser’s dreams forever. He’ll have to pull every possible sound out of him by the end of tonight’s charade to regain a semblance of sanity.

“Ahh, look at you…” he croons, a cloying smile resting on his lips. “You’re leaking all over my hand, Yoichi. Very cute.”

Isagi can’t hide the grimace that emerges on his face, but one, two heady pumps later, his eyes are rolling back in his head. His wrists in their bonds somehow find their way to the older man’s forearm, digging nails in unforgivably, like a warning.

The short slick slick slick sounds stick to Isagi’s eardrums with an annoying kind of volume, and that’s probably another sign of the irritation that has been permeating his life recently. Isagi usually moves like a calm force, never ruled by agitation. Even more so during sex.

His orgasm dangles in front of him; a teardrop above an overfilled glass of water.

“I’m close, I’m going to—” he chokes on a sharp inhale as he’s blurting out the syllables, and while the heat is fizzling in his stomach Kaiser pumps harshly down to the base, only to release his cock from his grip afterwards.

Head to toe, Isagi shakes with the force of a climax that’s been denied to him before it had a chance to crest. It’s a miracle the necktie hasn’t come undone with the way his wrists have contorted in it. Belatedly, he realizes he’s whining and heaving, as though in pain.

Kaiser shifts lightly on top of his legs, giving him a minute to breathe—benevolent asshole. His thumbs trail over the frilly satin bands that decorate the middle of the blue garters, from side to side.

Unfortunately, Isagi doesn’t plan to ask or beg to come. Whatever Kaiser has got in store for him, so be it.

A hand creeps to his balls, gently cupping and coaxing the tension out of his cock, but still feeling good enough to make his eyes flutter shut. It’s undeniably sensitive there. Isagi is sensitive, always. Kaiser knows, and he’s determined to exploit it.

Soon enough, both of his hands come to fondle the heavy sack. The heel of his palm presses too nicely against the skin and Isagi twitches through it, the burn swarming to his neglected cock anew.

Before he can whine out a protest, Kaiser returns his attention to the tip, rubbing two fingers over it in slow circles. The sensation bolts to Isagi’s legs and belly, evoking little breaths and bumps of his pelvis upward.

“You’re quiet today,” Kaiser mutters, vaguely disappointed.

They’ve been in each other’s bed more times than it should be acceptable for two rivals, and the bastard is acting entitled over his noises.

Isagi keeps his eyes closed, ignoring Kaiser as he stops his movements to squeeze lube onto his fingers. Seconds later, a slicked up palm closes around the root of his cock. He gives a long stroke up, lingering around the tip again, before plunging back down.

This time, Isagi can’t stifle the loud moan that rises in his throat. Kaiser idles, adding unnecessary breaks between thorough strokes, causing the sensation to bloom then wane.

“C’mon… Kaiser…” Isagi breathes into the sheets, head whipped to the side. That annoying blush is tingling across his cheeks.

“I’ll do it properly if you agree to let your voice out.”

Kaiser is being ridiculous and it has Isagi groaning and clicking his tongue, bound hands coming up to his face as embarrassment begins to creep up on him.

“Fine, okay, damn it, just touch me, you’re infuriating me!”

“Still not going to beg, I see. But since you agreed to this at least…” Kaiser trails off and starts to drag his fist top to bottom, speeding up and tightening with each smooth pump.

“Fuck, fuck—Kaiser, agh—shit—slow—” he tries to form a coherent sentence but his deep pants overwhelm his functions, permitting no breath or oxygen to be wasted for another useless word.

His hips buck into Kaiser’s fingers, trying to fuck the opening, desperately holding onto every touch he’s offering.

The wetness is too much for his poor aching length, each rub wrings more fluids out of it, adding to the slippery mess in Kaiser’s palm. Each stroke displaces the lube to a different place, giving Kaiser the incentive to swipe the escaping beads over his sensitive slit with the pads of his fingers.

“Slow down, slow…”

His vision blurs, dimmed by a thin film of haziness. Kaiser is being ruthless, precise and methodical with his hands.

“But you said to touch you. That’s what I’m doing, Yoichi,” he croons in a honeyed tone, as though trying to gentle-parent him. His free palm comes to rest on Isagi’s left hip bone, preparing to keep him steady, nailed to the mattress, before adjusting his hold.

Twisting his slick cusp around Isagi’s girth has the boy writhing to an intensity unlike before—tensing and untensing his muscles reflexively, violently, panting out high-pitched Kaiser, Kaiser, slow down.

Kaiser doesn’t dare blink. He can’t miss this sight. His throat goes dry.

Enamoured. That’s one word that could describe his being at that very moment. He’s seen multiple of Isagi’s sides, on the field, inside the bedroom. He’s had him on his bed and over his sofa more times than he can count.

Those days are engraved into the plates of his memory.

Remembering all about the times Kaiser has mounted him like an animal, threatening to break him in half as he confessed the scope of his hatred for him directly in his ears, all about the times Isagi has made him beg, forced him, Michael Kaiser, into sweet submission for a taste, an opportunity to have mean, demonic Yoichi ride him stupid, fuck him nasty.

This, however, is different. It’s bewitching.

An Isagi wracked by anxiety, an Isagi steps away from collapsing under his own weight. Not begging, not yet. But moaning, gasping, Kaiser, Kaiser, Kaiser; indirectly asking him to slow his hand down so he doesn’t blow his load pathetically over his stomach, in Kaiser’s fist.

Because he’s so frustrated, he actually needs a violent orgasm pulled out of him in order to unwind. He just doesn’t want Kaiser to see him like this, yet still asked.

He could go to anyone else, yet still came to him in the end.

Isagi’s lips part to let out a heavenly, ruined sob as he fights off the height of his climax, perhaps seconds too late. The tension multiplies inside him until that distinctive warmth tickles on the back of his neck.

Kaiser observes, waiting for the tender pull to peak, risking to ruin all the buildup. Then, Isagi’s voice loses all its urgency, melts into sticky syrup.

“Kaiser, aah, Kaiser, it’s—”

It’s more than Kaiser needs to kill the rhythm in cold blood and pull his hand away.

“No, no…! Again…” Isagi shudders helplessly, mewling soft complaints, fingers clinging stiffly to the sheets. His cock bobs in the air from the subtle cants of hips that seem instinctive if anything, guided by pleasure that dwindles once more.

Dark eyelashes quiver as he blinks fast through the fog of the ecstasy in his mind.

It’s dull, but the remnants of his unfulfilled orgasm continue to tingle in his navel, which makes him tremble, feeling he’s about to come despite receiving no stimulation.

Noticing the hints, Kaiser tuts, slinking two fingers to the base of his erection and squeezing around it to delay it.

“No, Yoichi. Not yet.”

Even the plain touch has Isagi wheezing, back lifting off the bed while Kaiser cruelly suppresses the last flickers of his peak.

“Why…” Isagi whines into the inside of his elbow, leaving it to come out muffled. “You didn’t… you didn’t tell me that…”

Kaiser’s fingers are pressing around the tip now, thumbing under it with extra pressure.

“That…?” he urges Isagi to finish his sentence in that flat, almost uninterested tone of his, even if it contradicts the dusty pink tinting his cheeks and blue eyes that have lost all color due to his pupils blown to their fullest.

When Isagi doesn’t reply, his palms return to the garters on his thighs, caressing the skin. Maybe too intimately.

“Why didn’t I tell you I won’t be letting you finish?” he says seconds later, having guessed the protest sitting on the tip of Isagi’s tongue. “That would take all the fun away, Yoichi.”

“I’ve had enough,” Isagi croaks out, the edge thick in his throaty complaint, “I’ll do it on my own if you can’t.”

He’s already reaching down as Kaiser barks out a crazed laugh, but the blond yanks his restrained wrists away swiftly, and pins them to the side of his hip.

Isagi thrashes in a futile attempt to liberate himself.

“Sick bastard, let go, I’ll do it myself, I don’t need your help, you’re not helping! You’re making it worse!”

To Kaiser, the wasted effort is endearing. He’s even smiling about it.

So while Isagi is still distracted throwing his little tantrum, Kaiser finds his rock hard length again—now flushed darker, warmer in his hand. He pumps it thoroughly, slimy and hot, with a dizzying amount of pressure that takes Isagi’s breath away. Any and all silly protests die in his throat.

“Don’t fucking make me tie a blue bow down here. And I’ll make it real tight if I do,” Kaiser growls, working around his cock in fast, messy strokes. Isagi sighs loudly, arousal claiming all his senses.

“I’m—too sensitive, it’s so sensitive, it’s too sensitive slow—go slower, Kaiser, I’ll—”

“God, you’d look so fucking cute with it. Flustered, trembling with how badly you want to come, yeah, little Yoichi?”

“Shut up! Shut it, you shitty blue rose, I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have—ah, slow down, don’t—it feels weird, Kaiser—slow down, Kaiser, Kaiser!”

And suddenly the room feels too hot; Kaiser’s own cock begs for attention in his boxers, every speech filter has decayed and every fragment of rationality has liquified to rush to his painful erection.

“Such a cute fucking slut when you’re struggling. Struggling to keep up with me on the field, struggling until you can’t take it anymore, and now you’re struggling in my bedroom too.”

“No, I’m not—it’s not—mmh!—Kaiser! Let… let go—ah, hah!”

Unable to hide his face with his arms immobilized under Kaiser’s hold, Isagi can only sink further into the mattress, let the warm bedsheets brush against his ruddy cheeks and ears, feel the fabric stick to the sweaty side of his neck and temples.

His thighs press together involuntarily as the sensations ravage his body; a miserable shot at staving off the searing heat pooling in his stomach, now heaping twice as fast from his previous delayed orgasms.

“Ohh, fuck, Kaiser, Kaiser, go slower, just a bit slower, ah—ahn…”

Kaiser does show a modicum of mercy, lowering the speed of his strokes by a fraction, but quickly making up for it with filthy words he knows will have Isagi wanting to crawl into a hole.

“Wish you could see yourself right now—squeezing your thighs and fucking into my fist like a desperate slut.”

Isagi digs his nails into his hip and moans, whimpers—it’s impossible to act immune to the obscenities falling from Kaiser’s lips.

Thus, he continues, “Did you pay attention to yourself, Yoichi? You don’t just sound like you’re begging to come, you look the part too, in your dainty little garters.”

That does something to Isagi, it cleaves through him like a stroke of lightning. “I’m going to come, oh I’m going to come, let me come, I’ll—”

“Uh-uh.” Kaiser locks his fingers around the base, holding there for a couple seconds as Isagi wails, effectively urging the bliss to taper off.

Again.

Then starts back up, at some point grabbing Isagi’s jaw to force him to look into his eyes while he’s stroking languidly, tracing lines up and down, following the veins of his cock.

He works him up to that sweet point with the patience that Isagi doesn’t seem to possess, then reels him toward nothingness.

“I can’t, not again, just let me come… let me come…” Isagi bleats hoarsely into the skin of his shoulder, sapped and tingling. His nerves feel laden with sensory overload.

“Say please, and I will, Yoichi.” Kaiser is leaving featherlight touches as he’s saying that, aware that Isagi is starting to relax—he can’t have that.

Soft touches turn to intense rubs to the hilt. Watching, he’s watching so, so closely, cataloguing his noisy gasps, the pulsing of his cock in his hand, the way his body jerks away, but most importantly those cobalt eyes drifting back.

Cobalt eyes that are no longer simply hazy or filled with need. They’re red and watery.

Any time soon.

“No, don’t, can you just make me come, don’t stop me again, I feel weird, come on, Kaiser, don’t do it again…”

The heat swirls, the arousal settles. Kaiser’s grip around him is maddening.

“Hold it, Yoichi,” Kaiser instructs sternly, “you can last longer. Not yet.”

“I want to come, I’m going to, it’s—”

“Not yet. You’ve done well until now, you can last just a bit longer, until I say it’s okay to come, yes?”

It flows towards him the way Kaiser directs it to, that beautiful, beautiful crest approaches with all of its sweetness, and Isagi is helpless before it; a wave preparing to crash furiously against rocks.

A lusty sigh dissolves to mellifluous, feverish sniffles, and that first tear—finally, finally—spills, rolls down Isagi’s cheekbone, and disappears somewhere into the halo of his tousled hair, absorbed by the cotton sheets.

Kaiser’s eyes widen, hand abstaining from another pump. His heart pounds in his chest, threatening to burst out.

“Make me come…” Isagi murmurs softly, still overpowered by weak sobs that sneak into his irregular breathing. “Please, fuck me, and make me come. Please, Kaiser, please.”

If the room was hot before, now it’s a furnace. Kaiser’s tattooed arm is reaching for Isagi’s jaw without thinking, twisting his head to the side so he can dip down and whisper directly to his ear.

He pecks under it once, hot and moist, relishing the shudder that tears through Isagi’s whole form. He can’t wait to see the kind of squirms he’ll pull out of him when he breaks into pieces in his hands.

“Good boy, Yoichi. I’ll fuck you nice and hard for how prettily you begged, love.”

Within the next moments, he’s on autopilot, flinging all the trivial steps out of the way one by one. Boxers, smearing lube over his cock—it is furious with him, because edging Isagi means a lot of holding back is demanded of him too.

And, oh, he’s dizzy again, Isagi is prepped, open and slick and waiting for him. He parts his legs with rough movements, grabbing under his knees and throwing his ankles over his shoulders.

“Mmn, condom…” Isagi mewls with heavy eyelids. It falls upon deaf ears—Kaiser is gone, vying to nestle into his warmth.

Pressing past his rim, and the delighted groan he receives from Isagi, is all the incentive he needs to continue shoving inside, inch by inch, until he bottoms out, until the smallest grind knocks the breath out of the other.

Too bad Kaiser is not faring any better; hissing and burrowing his nails in the meat of his thighs like a needy cat, solid cock welcomed into that warm, slick passage.

“So… deep, Kaiser…”

Perhaps not the best time to be stroking the blond’s totally baleful ego, seeing as that twisted smirk reappears on his lips. Absent-mindedly, he hums in contemplation, eyes wandering to the skin under Isagi’s belly button.

“Hmm…” His thumb glides smooth along the flat of his navel, appreciating the softness. Isagi is burning on the inside, and he’s lucky he’s letting him touch so tenderly, while he’s stuffed with his cock. “Around here…?”

It’s a question and a statement for himself more than anything; mentally trying to measure the kind of depths he’s reaching inside his rival like a maniac. Isagi stirs by a mere centimeter, and his walls clench lightly around him.

“Should we check if we can go deeper, Yoichi?” he croons, melodic, brimming with a combination of confidence and arousal, before drawing his hips back to ram inside.

Their rhythm requires no complex calculations. They fall into place easily, similarly to the way his cock is devoured by Isagi’s hot and hungry hole.

Maybe it’s simple for Kaiser. To drive into the boy so he can be rewarded with his ruined cries, or to drive into him until he’s clenching and gasping for air.

Isagi is batting his eyelashes fast, always bracing for something, be it an oncoming orgasm or the force of Kaiser’s brutal thrusts as he pummels into the spot that feels so sore from his thorough fingerfucking hours ago.

“Fuck, fuck, Kaiser, I am—it’s so much!”

Every thrust pulls choked noises, the oxygen, out of him, yet Kaiser is the one drowning in them, in him. Hungry eyes skim over his stomach, sullied with pre-come, his jersey that rolls up when he slams against the back of his thighs, noticing he’s making his toned body jostle and bump upward.

“That deep for you? I think it’s deeper now,” he pants, laughter sneaking shamelessly into the syllables, exposing his depravity and all of its layers.

Isagi is too far gone in his carnal fever, but everything that spills out of Kaiser’s lips finds his ears nonetheless, so much that he’s searching for his cock knocking against the muscles of his stomach to touch it out of desperation.

For all of its subtlety, it doesn’t escape Kaiser’s wolfish sight.

“No, you don’t get to touch yourself, Yoichi,” he purrs, catching his bound wrists, and pulling his arms taut. “Did you get used to me denying you your climax that you want it again? Is that it?”

His pace changes to match his chastising, giving slow, mean thrusts, dragging his cock all the way out, then snapping back in.

Wet and messy and insistent.

“No, no, no, please—agh—please, oh, please go faster…” Isagi slurs, clamping down on him, throbbing deeper with want, accepting him deeper with every wet snap of his hips.

Wet like the rest of the tears he ends up shedding while Kaiser maintains that rhythm, getting them nowhere and everywhere at once. 

Tear tracks dry on his cheeks. He’s somewhere between sighing and gasping, taking deep, broken breaths.

Kaiser pulls out, and a curt smack follows, hitting right below the meat of Isagi’s hip.

“Come on top.”

Isagi coughs out a snicker, scornful and testing even through the low sniveling. “Fuck you, Kaiser. What, you're tired now? Gonna make me work for it, too?”

“Yes, little slut. Move.”

“Untie my hands first, shitty blue rose.”

Who tackles who doesn’t quite matter. Isagi finds himself sinking down on his length with his back turned to him. The first sway has Kaiser swearing under his breath, hissing, pushing just a bit deeper when his palms rest on Isagi’s hips, steadying him on his cock.

The edges of his jersey billow, spill over each wrist.

Roll after tantalizing roll, Kaiser’s fingers scale, climb higher on his sides as Isagi’s spine bends harder to feel him nudge against sensitive walls. Dampness sits at the dip of his waist.

That jersey will have soaked up his scent, his sweat by tomorrow. And that name written in gold, spanning across Isagi’s back, is taunting its owner; about the sloppy plunges into his ass, the indecent moans he attempts to drown out by chewing on his bleeding lower lip.

Isagi bounces rougher, presses impossibly deeper.

“I know—mm—what you’re doing…”

“Yeah?” Kaiser breathes out, barely composed. “What is it, if you’d be so kind as to enlighten me?”

“You know—agh, fuck—very well, Kaiser.”

Whatever it is, the temptation, the magnetism, it gets to him. Two slaps strike against Isagi’s ass, an excuse to grope the cheeks. His thumbs tear into the cleft, spreading him wide open. Isagi mewls about his naughty mannerisms, thighs shaking.

“Shit,” Kaiser heaves from below, meeting the swaying of his hips with upward bucks, feeling him loosen and tighten around his cock. “Your greedy little hole is taking me so well. So deep. All the way down.”

“Shut up. Stop—Stop ta—aah—talking…”

“You begged for this. You wanted it.”

“Shut… up… I’m gonna—I need—”

Kaiser yanks him backward to his chest by the shoulder, snaking his palms under his knees to force and fuck him open. In the back of his mind, he wishes a mirror were positioned directly in front of the bed. To make Yoichi look, to show him how he destroys his ass in their reflection.

“Gonna come? Cute slut Yoichi,” he murmurs into the clammy line of his neck, inhaling the remnants of his body wash and fresh sweat.

“Don’t stop, Kaiser—unh—Kaiser!”

“I won’t. You’re like velvet around me, Yoichi.”

“Don’t… say it like that…” Isagi rasps, tensing so hard he might snap.

“Why? Should I lie?” Kaiser exaggerates his intonation, almost like he’s lilting, arrogance spilling from his vocal cords. “Should I tell you it doesn’t feel good, that you’re not sucking me in? That your body’s not begging for me?”

“Shut up! Shut up, I hate you.” Each of Isagi’s inhales is followed by a frenzied shriek; humiliation, lust, and years’ worth of grudges burning in his veins.

“You can hate me, but you can’t deny you are addicted to this cock. The stretch, the warmth. How you come apart when I’m handling you.”

“I’m not!” Isagi yelps, shaking and squirming against Kaiser’s body, denying his filthy accusations even if his walls grip tighter after every word.

“No? You think anyone else could fuck you the way—I do?” Kaiser snarls against his dewy temple, the blue hairs sticking there tickling his lips. He’s completely out of his mind, punctuating his self-assuring, delirious expressions with raw, weighty pounds.

“You’re—embarrassing!” Isagi gasps, twitching and throbbing wildly throughout it, “hng—oh fuck—I’m… coming…!” His fingers thread in Kaiser’s hair, pressing into his scalp as his mind begins to go blank from the white molten heat of his looming orgasm.

“Fuck. Come, little Yoichi.”

“Touch me,” Isagi whimpers, too sweetly, tears collecting on his flittery eyelashes.

Kaiser doesn’t even get to wrap around his dick properly—a couple of mean thrusts and whispers to him about how utterly swollen and sloppy he has fucked his hole—and Isagi is arching, tremors assaulting every nerve, a full body onslaught.

His come shoots out in long, consecutive spurts, dirtying Kaiser’s fingers and his jersey, all while the blond is grinding his cock deep, hitting his prostate over and over in a sadistic manner.

Peaking and coming down from that mind-melting crescendo doesn’t feel gratifying in the slightest, however. Isagi, entirely overwhelmed, with his heart beating in his throat, begins to vibrate as violent sobs pour out of him.

Forearms are tossed over his face in a desperate effort to shield his pitiful features from Kaiser, from the exposure.

Somehow, it is not merely the openness of the moment that coerces the anxiety to materialize in the form of salty droplets.

Just a suspicion, he often consoles himself with that, but while the spite and aggression of the field enable him to unload his own blistering wrath liberally within its green confines, the field itself doesn’t allow him to exhibit weakness, to cry.

The tips of Kaiser’s fingers glide across his wet thighs, slipping under those blue garters, tugging and letting the elastic bands snap back into place, around flushed skin.

Isagi lets out the breathiest of moans, chest expanding with it. Kaiser’s cock twitches at the reaction, hot and heavy inside him.

“Agh—I’m—I’m still hard, damn it…” he wails against his arms, warm exhales blown into damp skin, now prickled with goosebumps.

Before he can put another shaky breath out, Kaiser is flipping their positions, caging his powerless form between arms and broad shoulders.

When Isagi manages to glare up at him as his hands finally relinquish their blockade over his face, the expression he discovers sears every circuit in his body with maximum voltage.

Kaiser looks infatuated, with little hearts instead of a cunning glint in his eyes. Flustered from cheekbone to cheekbone, a shade of pink that is only deepening with every passing second.

And once he perceives that Isagi has finished analyzing everything about it, his feral smile grows.

Nearly beastly, lupine.

He leans down to Isagi’s cheek, causing him to hold his breath, and laps up the wetness accumulated there in one smooth stripe of his tongue.

“I like that face. You’ll only ever make it when you’re with me, got it?” he purrs above him, the blush persistent with its glow on his handsome face.

Not on the field, not anywhere else, not with anyone else.

Isagi gulps, too stunned to reply, then groans as Kaiser fills his oversensitive hole again. His voice cracks, turns wet, dull.

“Fuck me more, it’s not enough—I’m so frustrated—not enough, please!”

How could anyone deny this creature when he begs.

“I will…” Kaiser says near the jut of his collarbone, breath scorching hot as it fans over it, “…I’m going to ravage you, Yoichi.”

None of the thrusts that follow are kind or tender. Isagi’s weak legs are pointing to the ceiling, hugged tightly to Kaiser’s torso, ankles bumping against each other as he gets fucked within an inch of his life.

“So deep… Kaiser, you’re so deep. Harder, do me harder,” Isagi babbles, feeling the other’s fingers curl forcefully around his thighs in tandem with his slams.

Kaiser has no choice but to cater to his demands, the volume of his grunts increasing equally as much whenever Isagi spews obscenities and contracts around his cock.

He presses his nails meanly into the muscle, leaving red marks where those garters are supposed to girdle neatly, but now sit slanted.

Despite his uneven breaths, he speaks—an even bigger slave to the fever and passion that has consumed mind and body, “I’ll fucking leave you gaping… fucked out, ruined in these goddamn garters so you can’t forget about me.”

Isagi bucks his pelvis so hard against his hip bones, adjusting ever so slightly, that they both see white behind eyelids as Kaiser’s cockhead drills into his sweet spot at a rapturous angle.

“Oh fuck, it’s too much, so good. So fucking good, Kaiser.” In his blurry vision, Isagi catches him kissing and mouthing at his calves, like a predator. His gaze shifts to the delicate, frilly garters next, then his leaky cock flopping in his lap from the force of Kaiser’s pounding. And that stupid jersey, stained with his own come.

Don’t think too much about it, he said.

Kaiser remembers to utter more vulgarities before Isagi gets the chance to spiral over their predicament. “I am the only one who gets to shove deep in your guts like this, yeah? You only have—me—to ruin that pretty ass of yours.”

Isagi moans, lewd and unrestrained, grabbing at the fabric of the shirt, twisting his fists in it, and proceeding to spiral anyway.

“Fucking hell, Kaiser, oh my god,” he cries out, head knocking against the mattress as he shivers at each jab to his prostate that turns his spine to liquid.

“Say it,” the blond growls from above, lighting Isagi’s whole body up with his glare.

He can’t deny it, any of it. He’s got him balls deep in his stomach, stretching his hole like he’s trying to mold it to his shape.

“Only—ooh fuh… fuck, Kaiser—only! You! I hate you so much!”

“Yeah, Yoichi, me too. I loathe you. I despise this hungry little hole too, for taking me so well, so deep. Gonna make sure you’ll fucking feel me—for days, wishing you didn’t. Wishing you could have it all again.”

The filth tumbles out of Kaiser’s mouth as if he won’t be jerking off in the shower thinking back to this night, until his come splatters pathetically onto the tile. Until they repeat their ruinous cycle of supply and demand.

“You’re horrible! You're a horrible, arrogant bastard, I don’t—mm, hah—like you!”

Paying no heed to his rude chants, Kaiser locks Isagi’s wrists in one hand, forcing every muscle in his upper body to pull taut and strain.

He slides out halfway, holding there for a moment before shoving to the hilt, repeating it over and over, each slam echoing with a wet smack.

“Slut. Cute fucking slut. You still came to me. You came to me, you asked for it, you knew. Knew I’d tear you apart.”

Desperation bleeds and bleeds into Kaiser’s words, but Isagi is too heated to recognize more than the muffled moans elicited from his own throat. A pulse thrums distantly in his ears and throbs beneath his navel.

Kaiser separates his legs, slotting one ankle over each shoulder, then tilting Isagi’s ass so he can pin it under his hip bones. One long thrust and Isagi is wailing in bliss, mouth hanging open. His fingers tense around whatever part of Kaiser’s hand he can grip.

“The sole… and biggest worry you need in your career, in your life,” Kaiser says feverishly, dizzy and out of breath, “is me.” Velvety walls clench around his length, smothering it through every small stir and throb. “The pitch crumbles under our feet. I’m the only opposition that matters. Same club or not. Do you understand?”

Really, Isagi’s body seems to understand it better than his comprehension. And its reaction suffices as an answer to Kaiser leaving his mark on him with their rivalry as an excuse. Maybe this is all they are, and another night in his bed means nothing.

“Cum—’m coming, Kai—”

He seizes up from the inside, brutally. That heat coalesces in his abdomen, after swishing and pulling and burning for this long, so it can shock his spine, overheat his nerve endings.

“Shit—so tight, you’re so fucking tight, Yoichi,” Kaiser sighs against the skin of his calf, orgasm ripping through him no less violently than Isagi’s. His hips lose their rhythm, thrusting deep once, twice more, before coming completely undone and pouring his warm load inside him.

Isagi trembles on the sheets, making little wrecked noises for as long as the tinnitus lingers in Kaiser’s ears. When he extracts himself from the boy, he watches him turn face down on his stomach, legs tucking upward.

Loaded with endorphins, Kaiser takes in the view before the afterglow begins to fade.

Curious eyes examine Isagi’s drained silhouette, inevitably landing on his backside. His seed trickles out of his puffy, quivering rim, slowly, in a long, white strip. It runs down the part where his thigh meets the fat of his ass, pooling thick against the linen.

“You came inside…” Isagi mumbles, doing his best to force a sulky expression, but it just makes his cheeks burn redder. “I told you beforehand, condom or pull out. You’re terrible at your job.”

The gravity of an impulse pulls Kaiser forward, ego—pleased and triumphant—commanding him to place a kiss on his shoulder. It startles the younger man, evident from the way he goes stiff.

“You wish this were my job. My place is on the field.”

With you, next to you, Kaiser doesn’t divulge.

It earns him a snort from Isagi whose eyes soften once the initial shock from a kiss far too tender wears off. 

And Kaiser can feel in his bones that his next words won’t quell the heat of his twisted yearning, but ensure it’ll continue raging inside him.

“Promise to go back to hating me tomorrow, Michael?”

The deep gash on his lip stings and stings, along with the quiet urge to maul Isagi’s lips as well.

Kaiser crosses his heart, and hums in agreement. Because, truthfully, he’ll accept this poison—his own personal vice—up to the day it kills him.