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Kylian likes to make people feel good. That’s really what he gets off on, at the end of the day. He likes learning all of his partner’s little idiosyncrasies, the weird turn-ons, the stuff that they’re maybe embarrassed to say out loud.
He’s been with enough people to know that sex is the great equalizer. It really doesn’t matter how rich or smart or sophisticated a person is, once they’re naked, they’re all just the same kind of filthy animal. He likes that about sex, that’s it’s honest and simple in a way people are usually not.
However, there’s nothing simple about Michael Olise.
The moment that they leave the party, Kylian is overcome with a terrifying thought:
He might actually get what he wants.
It feels like leading one nil in the last minute of added time at the end of a world cup final. Like all of his wildest dreams may come true and he is holding that glowing possibility in his hands, aware that it could yet slip from his fingers if he doesn’t keep his wits about him.
Michael is walking half a step ahead of him, still holding on to his hand.
He only lets go when they reach the elevator and he suddenly seems to remember that they are in public.
Kylian hates that they’re not touching any more, especially when the elevator arrives empty and there wasn’t even any reason to stop. Michael pulls out his phone and Kylian is reminded of his own phone, heavy in his pocket. There are probably hundreds of messages waiting for him, hell, he hasn’t even spoken to his brother yet since the game’s ended.
But he finds that he doesn’t want to deal with any of that right now.
So he settles for looking at Michael, which he does all the time anyway, he just usually tries to be more subtle about it, because he knows that his teammate does not like being stared at, as a general rule.
“What you lookin’ at?”
Olise asks him finally, when he can no longer ignore it. He sounds even more West London than usual, leaning against the wall of the elevator, and Kylian thinks that that’s what people mean when they use the phrase “effortlessly cool.”
“I like your face,” he responds, because the time for subtlety has truly come and gone. “Is that alright?”
Michael’s expression doesn’t change much, but he lets his shoulders drop a little bit.
“Yeah, that’s alright.”
Soft voice, deep dark eyes, the kind of stuff that Kylian dreams about at night, and sometimes in the daytime too.
Michael turns back to his phone, to hide the beginnings of a smile on his face.
Because he’s watching him so closely, Kylian can see the exact moment when it happens.
He stops swiping for a second, maybe two, eyes glued to the screen, and then very quickly shoves his phone into his pocket again. He has turned stone faced, the way he does when there’s cameras and microphones around and he is trying not to give the media anything.
Kylian doesn’t get to ask him what’s wrong, because they’ve reached their floor and as soon as the elevator door slides open, Michael has grabbed him by the hand again and is pulling him down the corridor.
He doesn’t mind being pulled this way and that, is quite happy to follow his number 11 wherever he wants to go, except that Michael doesn’t seem to have planned this far ahead, so he walks slower and slower the closer they get to their destination.
The question my place or yours? hangs in the air between them but is not said out loud.
What Kylian does end up saying is
“I’ve got some weed in my room.”
There’s a moment of silence. He scratches his head, backpaddling immediately.
“I mean, if you like to smoke. I didn’t want to presume…”
He doesn’t get to presume anything more, because Michael takes the key card from his hand and unlocks his door for him.
“That was smooth,” he comments, faintly amused, already stepping into the room. “I always wondered how you pulled all those pretty girls.”
“There weren’t that many of them,” he protests. “And I pulled them by being a nice guy, you know that.”
Kylian had expected Michael to laugh at that, had expected him to make fun of him some more about his storied past, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stops walking and turns around only a few steps into the room, causing Kylian to almost run into him.
“It’s true. You are a nice guy.” He says.
“D’you think so?”
“Yeah.” He takes a step forward, and then another one, has Kylian backing up until he hits the door.
“Too fucking nice.”
And suddenly Kylian is being kissed. Michael has his fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt and is kissing him so desperately that Kylian feels light-headed from it, so overcome with the sensation of soft lips and sharp teeth that he forgets to breathe. It’s not at all what he’d expected their first kiss to be like, but he goes with it, tries to match Michael’s energy.
He kisses him back, until he feels Michael’s hands sliding under his shirt, cold against his heated skin, making him shiver.
Suddenly it’s all too much, too fast.
“Hey, hey…”
He tries to speak, tries to turn his face to the side to get the words out, but Michael doesn’t let him go, seems desperate to keep him from talking, in fact, judging by the way he has attached himself to Kylian’s face.
Finally, Kylian grabs his wrists and pulls his hands out from under his shirt, keeps them pinned to Michael’s own chest and pushes with just enough force to make the other man take a step back, just enough space so that he can look him in the eyes.
“You gotta slow down, fuck.”
He is breathing heavily and his heart seems ready to explode. It’s a relief to see that Michael’s not doing much better, pupils blown wide like a cat ready to pounce, spit drying on his lips, his own or Kylian’s or a mixture of the two.
It makes the captain want to lean back in, have a taste, but he’s scared that if he does, it will make him lose control completely.
And he’s barely hanging on as it is.
Kylian watches Michael’s face carefully, watches him break eye contact and stare down at the tips of their shoes, looking down as if he’s suddenly embarrassed by his own behavior. It makes Kylian’s chest hurt.
He leans in to brush his lips against the top of his head, waits for him to lift his face up again, so he can kiss his cheekbones and the tip of his nose and the space right between his eyebrows.
He can feel that Michael is holding his breath, is holding himself unnaturally still.
Finally, he starts twisting his wrists in Kylian’s hold.
“I don’t like slow,” he whispers into the warm air between them, but he doesn’t stop looking at Kylian’s lips while he says it.
And he’s not really trying to break free, either, is using maybe half of the strength he actually possesses, and Kylian knows how strong he really is.
“No?” Kylian asks, kissing his cheek again, so soft that it’s barely anything at all.
“That’s too bad.”
Kylian had not expected Michael to be this responsive, simply because he was so chilled out in every other avenue of life. But it was the most beautiful thing, to see the way that Michael reacts to the smallest touch, leaning into his hands and his lips and greedily clawing at his back, trying to pull him even closer, as if he was trying to climb inside him somehow, merge them into one creature.
They’ve moved to the bed, but Kylian is still moving slowly, still kissing Michael everywhere except his mouth.
He is not sure why he’s holding back, why it feels like such a head rush to see Michael writhe in frustration under his soft, careful hands. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe he just wants to see what Michael’s going to do. He kisses down his neck and pulls on the collar of Michael’s shirt to kiss his chest too, his shoulders and the lines of his collarbones.
“Take this off,” he whispers and sits back to watch. There’s something about the way Michael obeys before he’s even finished his sentence that makes Kylian feel warm and happy inside, a rush of affection so strong that he can’t help but break.
He leans back down and kisses him, properly this time, feels the shiver that goes through the other man when he finally gets what he wants, the way he opens his mouth and kisses back, feels Michael’s fingers digging into his back again, pulling them impossibly closer. Kylian breaks the kiss to take his own shirt off and maybe he takes a second or two longer than necessary, just because he wants to remember this hungry, impatient look on Michael’s face for as long as he lives.
“…please.”
It’s barely even a word, barely more than a breath, but Kylian knows that it probably took all of Michael’s willpower to even say this much.
“Please what, hmm?” Kylian asks, can’t help himself, wants to hear Michael talk more.
He watches the other man’s face twist in frustration, watches him open his mouth and close it again.
“What do you want, baby?”
Kylian knows that he’s being a little shit, knows that he’s playing with fire.
He still doesn’t expect it when Michael slaps him.
It’s a controlled slap, not hard enough to hurt, really, but it’s a shock, so loud in the quiet hotel room.
He can’t help but laugh, touching his own face to feel the heat in his cheek.
“What was that for?” He asks, still laughing, feeling quite giddy with it.
Michael doesn’t answer, keeps staring at Kylian’s hands and back into his eyes, trying to communicate telepathically.
Kylian stops laughing when it finally clicks.
“I’m not gonna hit you, bro.”
It’s not that he’s categorically opposed to it, even though it’s not the kind of thing he seeks out himself. Fuck, maybe on another day he would go along with it, because who was he to deny Michael Olise anything he wanted? But not right now, not today. Not when everything is still so new and confusing.
There’s an honest to god groan of frustration and Michael covers his own face with his hands.
“Putain.” He removes his hands and glares up at Kylian. “Can you do something, then?”
“What?” Kylian’s not asking to be difficult, he just feels truly out of his depth. “What do you want me to do?”
Michael doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits up as much as he can with Kylian still on top of him. He pushes at his chest, trying to get him to move.
“Can you just…” He points at the headboard next to them. “Sit over there.”
Kylian follows his instructions and sits, feeling cold in the air-conditioned room without Michael’s body pressed close to his. But he only has to feel the cold for a second or two, because it seems that all Michael really wanted was to switch their positions. He crawls on top of him, starts kissing him again, running his hands all over his chest and his arms and his shoulders, as if he’s trying to map out his territory.
Michael moves down to his neck, not wasting any time now that he’s finally allowed to set the pace. He kisses and licks and he bites, and Kylian moans helplessly, his mind blissfully blank, happy to let Michael do whatever he wants, happy to let him mark him up with lovebites all the way from his jaw to his chest.
Michael slides off his lap and trails more kisses down his stomach, finally slowing down when he hits the waistband of his jeans. He hesitates with his hand on the button, looking up.
“This okay?” He asks.
“Yeah, yeah, please.” Kylian can’t even feel embarrassed anymore about how desperate he sounds, that’s how far gone he is. He lifts his hips to make it easier for Michael to slide his pants halfway down his thighs, still in disbelief that this is real, that this is actually happening.
It occurs to him that he’s been dreaming of this for so long, has been imagining what it would be like to have Michael like this, but that’s all it’s been: Dreams and fantasies.
Michael was such a deeply private person that Kylian wasn’t even sure, for the longest time, if he liked men at all, or women, or anyone, really. He never talked about girlfriends or boyfriends, he never even made a passing comment about finding anyone attractive. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Michael wasn’t interested in sex whatsoever, because he simply didn’t give off any kind of definitive vibe.
It becomes clear very quickly, however, that Kylian’s been wrong in his assumptions. Michael’s definitely done this before.
He gives head the same way he does everything else, with single-minded determination.
His mouth is the hottest, wettest place that Kylian’s dick has ever been and he doesn’t seem to need oxygen the same way that other boys do. He keeps his eyes closed and moves his head up and down in a hypnotizing rhythm, his tongue sliding along the length in his mouth with just the right amount of pressure to have Kylian cursing and clenching his hands in the sheets.
It’s so good that it’s almost too much, right on the edge.
He puts his hands on Michael’s head, running his fingers through his locks, more for something to distract himself from the ever-mounting pleasure, than anything else. Michael hums around his cock and pushes himself down just that little bit more, trying to touch his nose to Kylian’s stomach and not quite getting there. He pulls off for a second and Kylian makes the mistake of looking down, almost spontaneously combusts when he sees the line of spit between the tip of his dick and Michael’s bottom lip, when he sees the way that Michael collects more spit in his mouth and lets it drip down the length of him, before he goes right back to taking him as deep as he can.
He’s never felt this out of control before while getting his dick sucked.
At some point the radio static in his head clears a little and he realizes that he’s talking, mumbling all sorts of nonsense while he’s caressing the other man’s hair and the back of his neck.
“…yeah, just like that, c’est parfait, gonna keep you forever, you’re so beautiful…”
Michael makes a muffled little sound and tries to take more, swallowing around his cock until it’s pressing into the back of his throat.
He pulls off to take a breath and barely stays still long enough for Kylian to wipe the tears from his face. Big brown eyes look up when he feels the touch to his cheek, dazed, as if in a trance, as if there’s not a thought in his head anymore.
He’s quick to take Kylian’s dick back in his mouth and this time, he pushes himself too far and chokes on it. He stays down, trying to push past his gag reflex, and whines unhappily when Kylian gives a gentle tug on his hair to pull him off. He rests his head on the other man’s thigh for a second, catching his breath.
“That’s right, baby, breathe.” Kylian’s not usually chatty like this, during sex. It must be something about Michael that renders him unable to stop running his mouth.
It doesn’t take long until he loses all ability to speak, however, because what Michael is doing to him is simply too good. A man can only withstand the forces of nature for so long.
“You gotta move, bro, I’m gonna…” He warns and curses when he feels Michaels fingers digging into the backs of his thighs. There’s no pushing him off now and he comes down the other man’s throat with a strangled groan. It’s the first time in his life that he understands why people call it la petite mort, because he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven, specks of unearthly white light still floating in his field of vision when he opens his eyes again.
Michael looks like an angel, sitting there, running a hand up and down Kylian’s thigh while he waits for him to come back down to earth. He smiles when he meets his eyes, and he’s so pretty that it almost hurts to look at him.
“Good?” He asks, innocently, and Kylian grabs his hand, pulls at him with all the strength that’s left in his wrung-out body. He kisses him first, tasting himself in his mouth, and then he wraps his arms around Michael’s body, squeezes him hard enough so that he can feel his heartbeat.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He asks, pushes Michael down onto the mattress beneath him and kisses him again. “That was… I don’t even know what that was. They should put a warning label on you or something.”
He touches his thumb to Michael’s forehead as if he’s putting a sticker there, for everyone to see.
Michael laughs, turns his face away, the way he always does when receiving a compliment, trying to evade the attention.
“S’nice. At least that’s something I can do.”
It’s a strange statement and Kylian’s brain is not back to running on all cylinders yet, so he just stares, confused, until Michael sighs and shakes his head, looking as if he already regrets saying anything at all.
“I mean, at least you know I’m not completely useless, yeah?”
Kylian opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, trying to process.
“Who said you were useless?” He finally spits out, putting his hand on Michael’s cheek and trying to turn his face so that he can look him in the eye. Michael’s not having it though, pushes his hand away and keeps his eyes fixed on the little trinket dish on the nightstand, empty, because Kylian doesn’t own any trinkets.
“I’m saying it.” He swallows. “Everyone who saw that fucking match is saying it.”
Kylian remembers Michael looking at his phone in the elevator. He’d only spent a minute on it, if that, but apparently it had been enough to send him down this spiral of self-loathing. Suddenly, everything makes a whole lot more sense. No wonder he’d been so desperate to try and get out of his own head after that, so frustrated with Kylian trying to take it slow.
Too fucking nice, indeed.
Kylian is angry at himself for not being more observant, angry at whoever it was that thought inventing social media was a good idea, angry at the world.
Something inside him snaps, some tightly wound rubber band of self-control, and he gets on top of Michael, takes his face in both of his hands and forces him to make eye contact.
“You’re good,” he says, starting small, testing it out. “You’re so good.”
He can feel the resistance building up inside Michael’s body, can see him open his mouth to respond, to disagree with him.
He moves one of his hands to cover Michael’s mouth.
“I’m talking now,” he says, switching into his captain voice. “How many assists did you give me during this tournament, huh? How many times did you save our asses out there?”
Michael closes his eyes, trying to block him out. Kylian finds it fascinating, how he reacts to kindness the same way other people would react to cruelty.
“You’re the key, baby.” He leans down to kiss his forehead. “Everyone who claims otherwise doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”
He lets his hand slip from Michael’s mouth.
“But you know what?”
Michael slowly opens his eyes again, blinks up at him warily.
“I don’t give a fuck. All of that doesn’t even matter.” Kylian smiles. “Because I like you so much.”
“I like you so much it scares me sometimes. Did you know that?”
Michael shakes his head, and Kylian is shocked to see a single tear spill over and roll down his cheek. Michael quickly wipes it away, looking mortified, and Kylian leans down to kiss the salty patch of skin left behind.
“You’re my favourite.” He lies down next to Michael, so he can wrap him up in his arms again. “Fuck everyone else, yeah?”
Hiding his face in Kylian’s neck, Michael’s breathing slowly evens out.
Kylian waits until he thinks it’s safe to do so and then he moves backwards just enough so that they’re lying face to face. It’s clear to see that Michael’s been crying, his eyes still shiny and his cheeks rubbed pink.
He pushes the younger man’s hair back and just looks at him.
“How are you real?” He asks, stunned.
“It’s okay, you can stop now,” Michael tries to dodge the compliment, but he’s smiling at last. Kylian feels a huge weight lift from his chest when he sees that smile.
“Nah.” He pushes his mouth close to Michael’s ear. “I’m never gonna stop.”
It happens very quickly: There’s his lips brushing the shell of Michael’s ear and then a jolt of electricity seems to go right through the midfielder’s body. All Kylian hears is a muffled hiss of “Oh, fuck off!” and then he’s being pulled into a kiss, deep and all-consuming and almost angry.
For a second, Kylian is so high from the epiphany that even Michael Olise has secret ticklish spots that he doesn’t even reciprocate the kiss, just lets it happen to him. After that it’s all hungry, desperate intensity, just like the first time that Michael had kissed him, with his back against the door. This time it doesn’t scare Kylian.
It does serve as a reminder, though, that he hasn’t been living up to his reputation on this particular evening.
He really hasn’t done anything to alleviate the obvious sexual frustration emanating from his number 11. All he’s done is fucked his face and made him cry.
He shifts around as much as he can, with Michael still holding him tight enough to bruise, pushes his thigh between the other man’s and swallows the shocked gasp he lets out. He keeps moving, the whole length of their bodies pressed together now and feels everything, the way that Michael starts to lose his grip on him, the way he starts breathing faster through his nose but never stops kissing him, how hard he is under the jeans that he is still wearing for some godforsaken reason.
Kylian reaches down to unbutton them and pulls away from the kiss.
“Spit.” He says and holds out his hand, palm up. Michael spits and stares at Kylian, hesitant, yes, but trusting him enough to do as he’s told. He follows the movement of his hand downwards, only shuts his eyes when he feels fingers close around his dick, already wet enough, even without the spit. His hands move aimlessly, sliding across Kylian’s shoulders and down his back, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself, as if he can’t just lie here and let himself be touched, as if he doesn’t know how to.
“You’re doing so good,” Kylian whispers into his ear and even just the touch of his breath seems to be enough to make Michael squirm. Or maybe that’s just because Kylian’s talking again.
“So good for me,” he keeps saying, keeps doing the things Michael seems to like, putting pressure on the spots that make him gasp, keeps saying it until he can feel that Michael’s close, every muscle in his body tensing up. He’s quiet when he comes, arms locked once again around his captain’s back, holding onto him for dear life while he’s riding out the shock waves.
He’s quiet afterwards, too, but he seems happy, so that’s alright with Kylian.
He drinks from the water bottle that Kylian brings him and watches through half-lidded eyes while his captain is rolling a joint next to him.
“You’re so bad at that,” he says.
“Watch it, or you’re not getting any.”
Michael smiles, confident that he’s going to get whatever he wants.
“I don’t contemplate, I meditate, then off your fucking head…”
Kylian knows all about winning and losing. What he didn’t know, until tonight, was that the two are not a true dichotomy. Sometimes you lose one game and win another, all at the same time. Heureux au jeu, malheureux en amour, that’s what his mother used to tell him when he was a child, crying after a lost match. Maybe there was something to that, after all.
Ousmane texts him a little while later, no words, just a single question mark.
Of course the man is too nosy to wait until the next morning to hear about the newest developments in Kylian’s love life.
How does he explain to Ousmane that his heart is still aching from the bitter defeat, that he can still feel the raw emptiness inside that comes from losing and being eliminated from the competition and yet he also feels happy enough to burst?
He’s got Michael Olise in his bed, wearing his favorite sweatpants and rapping old Kendrick lyrics at him.
How does he explain to Ousmane that he feels like a winner right now? Without sounding like he’s lost his mind?
mind your business, he responds, because he doesn’t even know where to start.
Michael reaches up from where he’s laying down, head resting on Kylian’s lap, and shoves a sour gummy worm at him.
“I got realness, I just kill shit, ‘cause it’s in my DNA…”
They had taken a stroll down the corridor to the vending machine, once Michael had recovered from his orgasm-induced lethargy and realized that Kylian had no proper snacks in his room.
Artificial watermelon flavor fills Kylian’s mouth.
Ousmane’s response comes through only a second later.
that good, huh?
Kylian throws his phone down.