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Ness’ hands are shaking, even folded behind his back like this. His spine is so straight he thinks it might just shoot out of the nape of his neck or his ass and ricochet around the room; his ribcage is so tight he thinks it might blow up any second. Wouldn’t that be something? Painting this sterile Bastard München office space sanguine with viscera?
Though he thinks, of course, that Noa wouldn’t take all that kindly to that.
Noa.
He’s right there: standing behind the office desk—it’s not his desk, naturally; Noel Noa is the world’s best striker and not someone who sits at desks and wastes their time with bureaucracy—knocking against the wood with his knuckles, almost experimental, almost curious. Ness has to bite down on the inside of his cheek until the flesh bursts so he doesn’t flinch. Copper floods his senses just as Noa’s golden eyes flick up to look at him. His hair is the color of salt.
“Ness,” he says. Ness stands up impossibly straighter, muffles a yelp in his mouth.
“Y-yes?”
For a moment, Noa just stares. Ness must look ridiculous, he thinks: ramrod-straight and sweating. Trembling, maybe, though he hopes the low light hides it. The sunset cuts in from the window behind Noa, framing him aureoline, all sharp edges Ness could cut his palms on. Would cut his palms on, if he could ever, ever touch Noa.
It’s stupid. Ness isn’t even a fan of Noa’s—not that much. His favorite football player in the whole world is Michael Kaiser, and always will be. It’s stupid, but like this, larger than life, having asked Ness to join him here for a talk, Noa is… intimidating.
Ah, did Ness mess something up? Ah, ah, ah, is he going to get kicked out? Ah, will he never see Kaiser again except on TV screens and billboards, for there’s no doubt in his mind that Kaiser will become a star?
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here.”
Well, yes, Ness thinks. ‘Ask’ is a strong word, Ness thinks, it really was more of a demand. “Yes,” Ness says out loud, voice embarrassingly breathy, embarrassingly high-pitched. I’m going to be kicked out, Ness thinks. I’m going to be kicked out. I’m going to be kicked out. I’m going to be kicked out.
“It’s about Kaiser,” says Noa, and the spinning in Ness’ head stops all at once. Reels to a complete halt and drops, drops, drops.
“Oh,” slips out of him, tumbling out of his mouth and shattering into so many pieces on the floor. “Oh, I thought—”
Noa’s gaze is unwavering, inscrutable, flat. Ness clicks his jaw shut, swallows, squeezes his intertwined fingers so hard they ache. Finally, before Ness’ body has the chance to shut down all functions and just drop dead right where he’s standing under the sheer pressure of this, Noa’s head tilts, inclining towards the desk, his eyes flitting there, too. For a moment, Ness thinks his legs might give out underneath him.
“Come here.”
It’s ridiculous, frankly. What in the world is going on here?
A part of Ness wants to refuse. Wants to walk out now that he knows he’s—probably?—not being kicked out for some sort of huge transgression that he didn’t even notice committing. Wants to tell Noa that the only person he listens to is Kaiser, or something of the like, even when that’s obviously not true. Kaiser is the most important, of course, but he, too, makes fun of Ness for how polite he is. Obedient little puppy, echoes in the back of Ness’ mind as he takes one, two steps towards the desk. What a good boy you are. Here, I’ll pet your head for your troubles.
Noa doesn’t pet his head, naturally. No, he keeps staring at the desk almost thoughtfully, leaving Ness to swallow, to try his best not to sway where he’s staying. To lean into or away from the sheer gravity.
“Kaiser is,” Noa says, slowly, then pauses. Flicks his eyes back up to pin Ness into place. “…Reckless.”
Ness swallows. He wants to deny it, wants to defend Kaiser’s honor, but his mouth is entirely too dry to do so, salt taste flooding it, so he’s left staring. Standing, staring, like he doesn’t exist at all, even though Noel Noa is talking to him right now, alone.
(Not to mention Noa is probably right, too. Ness bites down on his bottom lip and hopes he’ll die.)
“I’m worried,” Noa continues, not sounding worried in the slightest. “He’ll burn fast and bright and then burn himself out.”
“Uh…” And what do you expect me to do about that…? he wants to say, but it doesn’t manage to come out, either. There’s some weird sense of pride blooming in the very pit of Ness’ belly, too: that Noa did apparently expect him to be able to do something about that, that he asked Ness to talk about this right here, and not their coach, or any of the other players, or even Kaiser himself. That… that Noa can see it; that Kaiser is special to Ness. That Ness is special to Kaiser. That they belong together, that Noa has been watching them enough to know that. Things like that.
(And Ness knows Kaiser is special, alright, obviously he is, but right here, it almost tastes like Ness is special, too.)
“You two are…” says Noa, waving his hand, not elaborating further. Ness flushes. “I expect you to be able to get him to reign it in a little.”
It’s not like that, Ness wants to say, desperation squirming in his veins, fingernails digging into his hands behind his back. We’re not like that, it’s not like that. But Noa is looking at him so impenetrably, and he didn’t exactly specify anything, anyhow, and Ness thinks he’d like if someone thought him and Kaiser were like that. Thinks he’d like it if Noa did. Thinks maybe one day, they’ll be like that, anyway, so it’s not like it matters.
And still.
“I can’t control Kaiser,” Ness manages to gasp, in one continuous breath. Bristles under the way Noa looks at him. Swallows. “I don’t want to,” he adds, feeling petulant.
How could anyone control Michael Kaiser? How could anyone want to?
Noa doesn’t frown. Doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t call Ness useless or annoying or stupid. Somehow, Ness realizes he had expected him to do so, and now, he flushes even darker in the wake of it. I’m sorry, itches in his throat to be added, but that would ruin the whole thing, it would. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“I don’t want you to, either,” says Noa. Ness blinks. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. I simply want you to take care of him. You’ve been doing that, yes?”
Oh. What? Huh?
“Y-yeah,” startles out of Ness, because, well, he has. Of course he has. Of course!
Before he can work himself up into some sort of nervous, frenzied rage at the imagined implication that he hasn’t, Noa, always measured, always clipped, always icy-cold, continues. “You are sensible,” he says. Ness definitely thinks he’s dreaming now, because he’s been called many things, but never sensible. Sensible. Noel Noa thinks he’s sensible. “I don’t want you to control him, I want you to be a good influence.”
Noel Noa thinks he’s sensible and could be a good influence. Ness almost laughs.
His parents would laugh hearing this, if they were at all joyful people, which they are not. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t think he can remember them ever even so much as smiling. Ness almost laughs, thinks he should laugh, thinks he wants to laugh, but all his body manages to do is make his face burn, make him fiddle with his hands behind his back.
“Umm,” he manages, ducking his head. “Thank you.”
Noa blinks at him blankly. Right, this wasn’t meant to be a compliment, was it?
Suddenly, all over again, Ness realizes where he is. In the lull of conversation, it managed to wash away, but right now, in the dimly lit silence, it comes rushing back: Noel Noa—from the main team that Kaiser and Ness and the others are still just a little too young for—asked Ness to come talk to him here, in this fancy office space, where important things happen and important deals are made. What Ness realizes, too, is that this is such an important deal. Isn’t it? If Noa himself is talking to Ness about it? If it’s about Michael Kaiser?
“Why,” says Ness, before intimidation can crash into him again and freeze him into place, “why, um, I’m sorry, sir, but why does that matter to you?”
Which does seem to surprise Noa, at least for a fraction of a second; then the minuscule widening of his eyes is gone again. In the half-dark like this, Ness isn’t quite sure he didn’t make it up in his head. Isn’t quite sure he isn’t making all of this up in his head.
Noa’s head tilts. “The next generation is important to me,” he says, slowly, like he’s measuring out the words. And Ness thinks—
Absolutely nothing, because that’s when Noa’s hand brushes Ness’ thigh. Everything in Ness’ brain short-circuits, until there’s nothing left but the sensation of Noa’s fingers, probing over the fabric of Ness’ tracksuit pants. Digging into his muscles there. Is… is that it? Is Noa… checking Ness’… thigh muscles…?
What? Ness thinks, helpless, frozen in place. What? What? What?
It certainly doesn’t feel like any sort of heated caress, but…
“Sir—”
The flick of Noa’s eyes to his—oh, god, Ness hadn’t even noticed that Noa had been looking at his legs—shuts Ness up immediately. For a moment or two, Noa just stares at him, no longer probing, but with his hand still resting against Ness. Ness doesn’t know what to do, but he thinks that a part of him would like to run out of the room this very moment.
And the other part of him, well.
“Sit,” Noa says, then, gesturing with his head… towards the desk, and not the chair, for some reason. “You must be uncomfortable after practice.”
He’s right, Ness realizes; his legs ache underneath him. They’d started new drills this week. Noa, apparently, knew about this. Noa, apparently, does care about the next generation of football. And really, just from the looks of it, just from afar, Ness’d thought this is the kind of guy who only cares about himself with single-minded focus that doesn’t even manage to really taste like arrogance, but it appears he was… wrong.
What a concept. His heart is racing when he, for some reason, does shift to squeeze past Noa—who doesn’t budge—to then hop up onto the edge of the desk. “Umm,” he says, and then nothing else, because what is there even to say, really? In a situation like this, what is there even to say?
“As far as the youth team goes, you and Kaiser are definitely going to be offered places on the main team,” Noa continues seamlessly, and it takes Ness a moment or two to remember where they even started from. “None of the higher ups have told me anything,” he says, probably because of how Ness perked up just a little, “but I can see that. It’s not hard to recognize.”
What about the others, a part of Ness wants to ask, but he doesn’t quite manage to. It doesn’t quite manage to matter right here, with Noel Noa in front of him, staring him down. With Noel Noa telling him he’s going to make it. He didn’t have any doubts about Kaiser, naturally.
“Oh. Um, thanks.”
This time, Noa nods, so it probably was a compliment. Or something. A fact, Noa would probably call it, all things considered.
Ness’ head is spinning.
“There is nothing wrong about the way Kaiser plays, except still being unrefined because he is very young,” says Noa. “It’s the rest I’m worried about.”
“Right.”
He can’t think clearly at all with how Noa is looking at him, with how close Noa is. Thinks he can feel Noa’s breath on his face, thinks he can smell him, though he can’t place the scent at all. Salt, maybe. Like, sea salt, instead of sweat. Like sea salt nose spray right up Ness’ nose. And isn’t that just ridiculous a concept? Isn’t that just insane? Nobody is going to believe Ness. Who could believe this?
(And who could he tell? There’s only Kaiser, there’s only Kaiser, and he couldn’t tell Kaiser about this.)
“I am counting on you,” says Noa, voice so flat that Ness aches. Noa isn’t touching Ness anymore, but he thinks he can still feel it, burning right there on his thigh like a brand. Digging into his skin deep, deep, deep. Itching, self-conscious, Ness shifts where he’s sitting. Shifts his legs apart. “Yes?”
Ness’ head is spinning. “Yes,” slips out of him before he realizes what he’s agreeing to, that he’s now agreed to it, after all.
But it’s not so bad, right? He’s been looking after Kaiser, anyway, right? And Noa—Ness doesn’t care about Noa, not in the way some of the others on the team (regular fanboys, the lot of them) do, but it’s not like it means nothing to him that Noa sees him like this. That Noa thinks he can do it. That Noa thinks both Kaiser and Ness will make it, together. For is that not what all of this is about?
Noa nods, just a curt bob of his chin, and for a moment, Ness feels inexplicably compelled to kiss him. Or to burst out in tears, or something. Just something.
He doesn’t manage to, however. Noa’s hand comes back up to rest on Ness’ thigh, and Ness squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again.
“Yes?” Noa repeats. There is nothing warm about him, but there’s never been anything warm for Ness to find in adults. Or anyone, really. Noa squeezes Ness’ thigh, and it does feel nice, actually. Ness swallows and swallows and swallows and feels guilty somewhere very far away, but it does feel nice, actually, it does. Noa isn’t gentle, but he’s not rough either.
“Y-yeah,” Ness manages. Noa hums, flat and neutral. It manages to feel safe.
There’s no disdain, no judgment in Noa’s tone, on Noa’s face, just flat neutrality. This, too, manages to feel safe. Ness thinks he hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Though what this is, exactly, he couldn’t say.
What are you doing? a part of him wants to ask, but his mouth is dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of it. He wets his lips with his tongue. Noa’s hand brushes higher, not shaky or hesitant whatsoever, so straightforward that it dies in Ness’ mouth. It doesn’t really matter. Noa’s hand feels good. Ness hasn’t really been touched in a while, and especially not there. His gaze drops into his lap, to Noa’s big hand, the way his knuckles go pale when he squeezes at Ness’ thigh. Embarrassingly, Ness lets out a high-pitched gasp.
Oh. Oh no, oh crap, he’s getting hard. Oh—
“Ness,” Noa says, unwavering. “You’ll do good.”
And the way he’s saying it, god, it’s like he looked into the future and saw it happen. It’s like—it’s like his grip on Ness’ body will guide him right into it, will hold him steady, will allow him to flourish. Ness feels himself flush all over, skin boiling everywhere, feels his breath quicken and his heart slow, for some reason. A part of him is almost inclined to tilt back his chin to bare his throat or something stupid, animalistic like that. Idiot dog, Kaiser’s voice says at the back of his head.
In any case, it doesn’t manage to feel like a weird progression of things anymore when Noa’s hand reaches up to cover Ness’ erection. When Noa squeezes.
Doesn’t do anything about the bitten moan that spills out of Ness, of course, or about the juvenile twitching of Ness’ hips up and into Noa’s touch. Ness burns all over. Ness aches, like there’s saltwater up his nose and boiling between his legs.
“Um,” he starts, but then Noa ducks his head, flicks his eyes up to look into Ness’ again. It hits Ness like ice water over the head: the sun has almost gone down by now. Everything has its color drained from it. Noa’s eyes are the color of salt by now, too. For some reason, it’s this that makes Ness continue, “I… please…” and perhaps it is that, too, that makes Noa drag his hand decisively up the outline of Ness’ cock, squeezing at the head of it.
Ness’ leg kicks out instinctively. He doesn’t hit Noa, but he still blindly says, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I—”
“Don’t worry,” says Noa, tone still at the exact same flatness, and Ness realizes here he had been worried. Worried about looking ridiculous, juvenile, stupid, worried about messing up the view Noa has of him, worried about disappointing. Always, always worried about disappointing. And Noa is not kind—not his tone, nor the way he moves his hand, nor the way he breathes in Ness’s space—is not soft, or warm, but he doesn’t have to be. Like this, he doesn’t have to be.
Ness thinks he hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Ness thinks he has never, ever, ever felt like this before. Ness thinks… thinks…
Nothing. Ness thinks nothing. Ness thinks nothing, and right now, right here, that feels okay. Is okay. Don’t worry, Noa says, and nothing else, clipped and precise, like there’s no need for many words at all, for over-explaining, for floundering around, for spinning in circles. Like this, Ness feels at peace, almost. Feels like he’s floating somewhere else entirely.
He does lean in to kiss Noa, now. He can’t help it; and anyway, it’s not a thing saturated with much thought, it’s something he does instinctively. Shame burns low in his gut—twitches in Noa’s grip over his tracksuit pants—when his lips brush Noa’s, and he’s just about to recoil and apologize and perhaps just go die when Noa kisses back. They’re surprisingly soft, Noa’s lips. Somehow, that’s the only thing that manages to arrive in Ness’ brain. They’re soft.
Right here, Noa is warm. Hot, even, leaning closer into Ness with his lips parting, licking at Ness’ teeth, alive and human and electric. Ness’ cock gives another jump, and Noa another squeeze, rubbing up and down Ness’ shaft. The friction is all wrong with so much fabric in the way, but it’s so nice, so nice, so nice.
Ness moans. He thinks he’s trying to say something—anything—but it’s muffled into Noa’s mouth, into the heat of Noa’s tongue gliding against his own, pushing, prodding, sliding. Noa licks at the back of Ness’ front teeth and Ness feels like some stupid virgin when he comes in his pants, trembling so much he might have fallen off if it weren’t for Noa’s hand at the small of his back.
Ah. When did that appear there?
When Ness opens his eyes—ah, when did he close these?—Noa is close, close, close, still staring. Ness flinches just a little, but Noa doesn’t mention it. His expression doesn’t shift even the slightest bit.
And his other hand is still squeezing where Ness’ cum is slowly but surely leaking through the layers of his clothes.
“Ah,” Ness says, “um.”
Noa pats Ness’ softening cock, and Ness almost winces. “I’m counting on you,” he says. Then he leaves.
Ness sits on that office desk until his underwear turns into a cooling, gooey, disgusting mess, swallows the salt taste in his mouth, and stares. It’s dark, dark, dark by now; if he hadn’t been here this entire time—how long has it even been, it feels like years—he couldn’t make out anything at all. And who would believe him?
There’s something heavy and buoyantly airy inside of him both when he finally slips off the edge and out of the room. I’m counting on you, Noa said, and all Ness wants is to take care of Kaiser, anyway.
Mostly, however, he really does need a shower, now.