Work Text:
“Here is your key. Check out is at eleven AM. If you need anything, someone will be at the desk at all times.”
11 AM. You would be out before the sun rose. The NEL was over, Kaiser’s flight was early in the morning, and you had to leave shortly after.
Kaiser took the keys, two cards for a digital lock, and nodded to the receptionist. He could understand her through the translator that was still in both of your ears, but he didn’t seem to know any pleasantries in Japanese.
As soon as the elevator door closed on the two of you, your hands were all over each other. Running under each other’s jerseys, lips fused in a desperate kiss, made only more intense by the waning heat of competition and adrenaline.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he said, the translator in your ear doing the work of converting his German into words you could understand.
“You better,” you taunted back.
The elevator opened on your floor, near the top. He found the room matching your key and swiped the card just as you slammed him into your door with a kiss, fumbling for the handle as it clicked open.
You kissed him into the room, taking the key from him and throwing it on the TV stand as you pushed him against the nearest wall. Breathless, you inhaled through your nose as he smiled, deepening the kiss. You both smelled of sweat, skin still sticky and hair plastered around your faces. Your hands fell onto his chest, onto his jersey, soaked and cool to the touch.
You moved to his neck, licking the stripe of skin where the thorny vines connected to the rose. Over the past week, that had become a favorite spot for you to kiss and bite and suck. Kaiser always liked it, whether that was because of the significance of the tattoo, or because he really was that sensitive there—he never said.
His hands crept up your sides, one resting on your waist and the other just over your heart. Something about your pulse, he liked. His hands always found their way to your wrists, your throat, your heart. His finger slipped over the light fabric to press and pinch your nipple.
You growled, biting the skin just below his ear, and pushed your body against his. Now that he didn’t have to be on TV, you could mark him wherever you wanted.
“Was your game that good? Or that bad?” he asked.
The game had nothing to do with the hunger that stirred inside you. You had only been fucking Kaiser for a week, and certainly hadn’t had your fill yet. And now, you wouldn’t be seeing each other until the World Cup, and would probably be too busy for each other. If you saw him at all, but you had a feeling that part of your appeal to Kaiser was that this ended after a week.
Tomorrow.
You grabbed his jersey. “Take this off.”
He grabbed yours—by the collar. “You’ll have to get off me, first.”
You stepped back, pulling him with you and stripped him of his shirt. You fell to your knees and tugged his pants to his ankles, kissing his cock through his sweat-stained boxers. Savoring the taste as a pre-cum blot formed where your mouth sucked.
Kaiser’s breath hitched, and his hands fell into your hair. Not holding it, but carding his fingers through it. Petting you. His eyes fluttered shut, and in sync you tasted more pre-cum through his boxers.
“Come here,” he said.
You rose to your feet, grabbing his head by his hair and leaning in for another kiss. You took his hand and led him to the bed, where you sat and let him put his hands by your sides. His tongue sank deep into your mouth, then pulled away.
You opened your eyes, expectant.
“Take your shirt off,” he requested.
“Take it off me yourself,” you said, and leaned in for another kiss.
He dodged back, eyes alight. “You’re so worked up today. Are you going to listen to a word I say?”
His hands fell back into your hair. You were always weak there, and Kaiser wouldn’t miss a vulnerability on his partner.
You snapped your teeth at him playfully in lieu of an answer.
“If you’re going to act like a dog...”
His hands drifted to your ears, and plucked the translators out.
“Hey!” you said, grabbing for the translators.
He placed them on the end table, just out of reach. Then he spoke, in German as he had been. But the words came from his mouth, not from the speaker in your ear. Analog, real, in sync with the movements of his mouth. You had heard his voice on TV before, but it didn’t compare. You were hearing him speak for the first time.
The translator couldn’t do him justice. Its technology was the best of its kind, but digital waves couldn’t replicate the hum of his chest, the hiss of his tongue. You didn’t care what he was talking about, you just wanted him to keep talking.
He stood in front of you, arms crossed. He said something short, probably an order.
You pointed to your ears. “Kaiser, I don’t fucking speak German—”
He slapped you across your face. “Nein,” he corrected, harshly.
You touched your cheek where the skin stung. Okay, you knew that word. No.
No talking?
If you’re going to act like a dog…
“Seriously? How am I supposed to—”
He smacked you on the other side of your face, harder. “Nein!” he shouted, though he was sporting a grin that scrunched his nose up in a way that was both endearing and infuriating.
You stared up at him, waiting for him to explain himself—non-verbally, you supposed, or for him to reveal that he had secretly known your native language the whole time. Unlike you, he still had the translators in his ear, and understood what you were saying. If you told him to stop, he would.
He repeated the command from earlier. It was short enough that you knew it was the same phrase, but you were no closer to guessing what it meant.
Before he had taken the translators out, he had asked you to take your shirt off. You grabbed the hem of your shirt, and tilted your head at him. He nodded.
You removed your shirt, feeling the cool, sterile air hit your skin. He touched your shoulder, leaned over you to pull you closer.
“Brav,” he whispered. You could remember a simple word like that, and guessed that this one meant praise. Brav, good.
He stood straight, and said something else. Maybe he wanted the rest off, too? You grabbed your pants and tilted your head like you did before. “Ja,” he said, and something else. Yes, was the first word, and you supposed the second didn’t matter.
You took the rest of your clothes off, abruptly realizing that you had soaked your boxers and were now leaving a wet spot on the white hotel comforter.
He took a step away from the bed and gestured for you to follow. You did, standing in front of him with your arms at your side. You raised an eyebrow at him, waiting to see where he was going with this.
He said something. Two words. You didn’t catch either.
Now what did he want? He wasn’t giving you any hints, just smirking at you. You shook your head.
He repeated it. You caught it this time, “Knie nieder.”
Not that it helped. Maybe, Kiss me? You wanted to kiss him, if only because it would shut him up. You touched his shoulder, closed your eyes, leaned in—
His hand shot at your throat, causing you to stumble back. “Nein.”
You coughed, glaring up at him while clutching your throat. The smirk on his face only grew.
“Knie nieder,” he repeated, impatiently.
You could only think of one other thing it could be. Unless he was just fucking with you, and saying nonsense while watching you helplessly try to satisfy him.
You got on one knee, flinching away from his hand in case he hit you again for getting it wrong. He waited.
You sank to both knees. “Brav, Liebling,” he praised. His hand nestled into your hair, scratching gently. He rattled on, unbothered that you couldn’t understand and didn’t care to try.
Your eyes flicked between him and his cock, hard and straining in his boxers. Partially as a flirtatious gesture, and partially because you couldn’t get the taste of it off your mind.
His tone changed, another command. Three words this time. One of them was the same as before, Liebling, a nice sounding word that from context you guessed to be a pet name.
You leaned forward to suck him off, but his grip tightened in your hair, holding you in place. “Nein,” he said, then repeated the order, “Bettel darum, Liebling.”
What the fuck did he want from you? Your hands balled into fists. If he was going to be an asshole, you wouldn’t give him what he wanted.
“Bettel darum.”
You stared him down. Your anger only seemed to encourage him. The spot of pre-cum in his boxers grew, cock still hard.
“Bettel darum,” he repeated, along with something else.
“I don’t know—”
He hit you. The smack landed on the fat of your cheeks, and stung. His hand had held you in place, making you take the full force of the hit.
“I don’t know what you—”
The second one landed in the same spot as the first. The sting of it lingered, and tears pricked in the corners of your eyes.
“Please—”
His hand left your hair to backhand you hard enough that you fell on your hands. You didn’t want to pick yourself up. To face his smug face and his stupid orders.
“Bettel darum.”
God, you could’ve walked out then. You can’t believe you would let the forward of a rival club treat you like this. Let fucking Kaiser treat you like his pet. How would you face him at the World Cup after this?
You picked yourself up. Sat on your knees.
Bettel—wait. You knew that tone of voice. Coy, slightly bored, but focused. He was asking you to beg.
Somehow, the realization made you more furious.
Kaiser tapped his foot—tapped his fucking foot—while you figured it out. That he was making you beg like a dog for a taste of his cock.
You didn’t know which was worse: that, or the fact that you wanted him bad enough to go along with it.
Your eyes widened, pleading up at him. Anger and shame burned your cheeks, burned hotter where they still stung. You whined, high pitched from the back of your throat.
He nodded, and ordered, “Mehr.”
You whined louder, knowing what he wanted from you without having to think about what the word meant. His mouth parted, and he exhaled with a smile. “Ja. Brav, Liebling.”
You looked at his cock, and he took it out and stuffed it in your mouth. Your tongue needed no warning, tasting the sweat and musk from the game, the pre-cum from watching you humiliate yourself on your knees in front of him. It was criminal that it still tasted so fucking good.
You moaned around him, taking him deeper in your throat. He let you suck him off at your pace. Slowly, teasing his head, then deepening it, swallowing the excess of saliva and letting it coat your chin. Breathing in his scent through your nose as his length filled your throat. Tears welling up in your eyes.
You looked up at him, expecting to see him watching you. Instead, his head was thrown back, tilted so that he was holding it up with a hand over his tattoo. His lip trembled as he breathed. His eyes were closed. Not tightly, just shut as if lost in the moment.
Without warning, he grabbed you by the hair on the back of your head and took control, fucking your face at a brutal pace. Your throat made obscene noises, gagging and sucking air through your nose as his cock cut off airflow at a rhythmic pace.
As he did it, he was chanting, “Ja, brav, ja.” He said other things, too, full sentences you didn’t catch a single word of. Even as your focus was held on not gagging or biting him, it struck you as odd. He wasn’t usually very vocal. In fact, throughout the short course of your fling, he was mostly quiet after some initial banter, other than bossing you around to move into some position or other.
He pulled his cock out of your mouth, a strand of saliva connected you to it snapping. You gasped for air and swallowed around your rough, abused throat.
Kaiser didn’t order you this time, picking you up from your waist and chucking you onto the king-sized bed. He crawled on top of your legs, placing a hand on your stomach.
His hand slid down to your clit, swollen, and crept past to graze your dripping cunt. He teased you with feather-light touches until you were chasing his fingers with your hips.
“Bettel um mich.”
Stupid fucking Kaiser! You whined, eyes squeezing shut and hips thrashing for more.
“Tsk.” He shook his head and pinched your nipple, hard enough to hurt, painful enough to drive you crazier. “Ich sagte betteln, nicht jammern.”
You caught the word for beg, but in his tone you caught more. You hadn’t begged correctly.
Fine. You locked eyes with Kaiser, parted your lips. Waited. Waited long enough that he leaned in, almost imperceptibly. Long enough that his eyes grew wider, so subtle that if you weren’t drinking in his every movement, you might not have noticed.
Not a sound left your lips. You begged purely with your eyes, and with your back, arching slightly, and with your hips, raising towards him, ready for him to meet you.
Kaiser nodded. He flipped you onto your front, and planted your face into the mattress with a hand in your hair. His cock slid in you easily, and your eyes fluttered as his sizable length bottomed out. Your hands flew above your head, nestling in the comforter, and it took all you had not to mutter a curse under your breath.
The hand in your hair tugged you onto your hands, and he whispered in your ear. It was a full sentence, and you didn’t catch a single word, except that it ended with “...ja?”.
You answered with as much of a nod as his grip would allow, grabbing his thigh and pulling him tighter. It didn’t matter what you were agreeing to, as long as it would get him to move.
He dropped your head and settled his hands on your hips, using them as handles to fuck you into the mattress. Kaiser was the only man you had ever been with who could fuck you both animalistically and with a calculated edge. He fucked you fast, with the perfect angle that pressed deep in your gut, hitting that spot over and over that drove moans from your chest.
“Göttlich, Liebling,” he purred. The praise made you moan stupidly. He could’ve said anything to you, and it would have made you clench around him all the same.
Apparently, he realized the same thing, because he didn’t shut up. Kaiser murmured, grunting between sentences that swam around in your head. Your body responded to it like praise, and your mind filled in the gaps with all the things you wanted to hear.
“Gefällt dir das, Liebling?”
You like that?
You whined loudly. “Yes, fuck, yes.”
Kaiser smacked you across the ass, burying himself in you. His cock that deep and still was painful, and the sudden stop had you squirming underneath him.
“Fresse!” he hissed.
You whimpered by way of apology. He pulled you onto your back and drove into you, watching your face scrunch into pain, then melt into a gasp.
His pace quickened, and his speech stuttered. He spoke with a gravel into your ear, not looking at you as he got closer to finishing. Certain words, he spat like curses, and you concluded he must be saying something cruel. As insulting as he could be, in bed, he hadn’t called you anything harsher than slut. Now that you couldn’t understand him, he was letting loose.
It was strangely vulnerable. It made you want to kiss him.
You grabbed his hair and crashed into his lips, caught midway through a speech to himself. He bit your lip, and when you broke away a fury flared in his eyes.
“Kaiser,” you moaned into his mouth, and came.
His hand squeezed your throat as he fucked you through your climax. Blood caught in your head and rushed, loud, behind your eyes. Colors danced as your mouth hung open in a silent gasp.
He didn’t let up until he came inside you, nearly collapsing on top of you with the force of it. He froze, catching his breath as his cock twitched in you.
A small laugh escaped him. “Du bist unglaublich. So brav. Meine Rose.”
You wondered if he knew that rose was a cognate in your language.
Kaiser got you a fluffy white towel from the hotel bathroom to clean up with, and handed you your translators. You popped them in your ears, cleaned yourself up, and flopped back on the plush pillows. Your muscles gave out, exhausted from the game. He laid next to you, and you wrapped an arm around his head so that he rested on your shoulder.
“Fuck,” you exclaimed.
He caught his breath. “Too much?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried. He turned his head up to face you at an awkward angle.
“No, not at all,” you replied.
“Oh,” he said, dazed, “Okay.”
The translator kept Kaiser’s tone, and the timbre of his voice, but you would be dreaming about the way that he sounded without it. You resolved to study German every second you weren’t on the pitch in preparation for the World Cup.
You scratched his arm. “What were you calling me?”
“Darling?” the translator spoke in your ear. He must have said that word, Liebling, without thinking, and the translator gave you your answer. “It’s a good word.”
You hummed, deciding to pretend that the translator didn’t just fill in the gap for you. Your cheeks flushed, thinking about it. “You think they’ll let us keep these?”
“The translators? I hope so,” he said, and then clarified, “It would be useful at the World Cup.”
“At the World Cup?” you asked.
He hummed, not elaborating. “So, you liked it? I mean, you really liked it?”
You slid your arm out from under his head to crawl on top of him. You plucked the translators from his ears and kissed him on his nose. “I loved it.”
His pupils swallowed his eyes, and in a flash he kissed you. You reached for the nightstand, caught in his embrace, and left his translators on it. The night was young, and morning would come fast.
You pressed your forehead to his with a mischievous smile. “Now, my rose, how should I pay you back?”