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Isagi Yoichi wasn't planning on staying the night, but there he was.
Sometime around the party thrown to celebrate that Bastard München won the Bundesliga for the 38th time, Isagi Yoichi—dizzy and slightly tipsy—leaned onto the tall and lanky frame of Michael Kaiser and asked him to take him out of there against his better judgement.
He should've known better than to drink, as one of the top strikers of Japan—and one of the top scorers in the world—was a lightweight. He should've known better than to trust Hiori to take him safely back to the place they shared. And he should've known better than to let himself be drawn by the shitty rose whims.
So when Hiori, later that night, texted him, asking where in the world he was, Isagi, in a tipsy outburst of sincerity, replied he was taken away by Kaiser.
‘okay have fun then!’, Hiori messaged back almost immediately, staying radio silent since then.
As if the fucking sadist knew better, it seemed.
Isagi didn't mean to stay; he really didn't. He just needed some fresh air to cool his heated thoughts. He was still pissed he hadn't scored the final goal—the one that broke the tie against Dortmund in the last seconds of the game.
It had been Kaiser.
Michael fucking Kaiser.
Isagi had been so mad up until then that when he stumbled with his own feet and Kaiser held him by the arm to keep him from falling, the blue-haired striker turned around, leaned forward, and smashed a kiss on the blond's mouth.
He wasn't expecting Kaiser to return the kiss with such ferocity.
They didn't stay outside for much longer after that.
Kaiser lived nearby, and they quickly moved straight to his place, a luxurious penthouse in the heart of the city. The chilling night wasn't cooling his head, and by the time they crashed inside the apartment, Isagi got bolder.
He was still so angry it had been Kaiser who scored the winning goal instead of him.
So he kissed him again, out of spite.
It should've been his. He envisioned the play; he positioned himself right. It was a matter of one pass. He saw his goal. It was all his.
But Kaiser stole it, predicting the course of the ball, intercepting it, and ruining his luck. The fucking bastard.
Kaiser teased him about it between kisses, and Isagi hated it but didn't pull away. If anything, he got wilder.
Their hands got daring. The friction became a need.
Clothes were in the way, the bed so far away.
Then he babbled, delirious, probably because of the alcohol. Bet Kaiser couldn't make him cum. The Emperor took the challenge with pride.
Their bodies met. First cool, then hot, then sweaty, sticky, desperate. And Isagi only could think of keeping it together as Kaiser plunged into him, to not let him get what he wanted, to not let him humiliate him any more than he already did.
But it got way worse, since they came together.
And now, full of shame and embarrassment, dreading to text back to his former Blue Lock mate in fear he would question him right away, Isagi Yoichi was there—cooking breakfast for two while Michael Kaiser was still asleep in the bed they lay on the night before.
The fridge was his first stop, and he was utterly surprised by what he found. For someone who behaved as if eating chocolate could hinder their performance on the pitch, Kaiser sure ate a ton of junk food—his food pantry was filled with it. Still, his fridge was clean and well stuffed with other, more decent food, and Isagi quickly found some eggs and sausages and began to cook.
But not even getting busy with food could keep his thoughts at bay. They were all scattered around, louder than ever.
This didn't mean anything, right? They just had sex. Casual sex. Nothing out of the ordinary. Other teammates did it quite frequently; why wouldn't they?
Yes, it was his first time, but it had been plainly regular, hadn't it? Not that he could have other experiences to compare, and despite feeling so good, it couldn't mean Kaiser was really good in bed, right?
So this shouldn't mean anything. Nope, not at all. They still hated each other; they were just really, really heated last night. Those things happen, right? Gessner did that all the time. Whenever they were partying as a team, he and Hiori always caught him sneaking out with a girl, a different one every single time.
Last night, he left with a curvy redhead, by the way.
So no. For once, Isagi was certain of something.
He wasn't in love with Kaiser. Like, at all.
Then why did Kaiser touch him with purpose, as if his body was a wonder he ought to explore and conquer? If it was just the heat of the moment, shouldn't it have been messier? They could have done it against the door, for all he cared.
But no. Kaiser pushed him straight to the bedroom and hovered over him until Isagi lay in bed fully naked.
(And why did it matter so much, all of a sudden anyway?)
A buzzing sound took him back to the kitchen, where he was about to crack an egg into a pan. Isagi looked over his shoulder to look for the source. It came from the couch. The same couch they stumbled upon last night, more focused on eating each other's mouths than finding their way to the bed.
The buzz rescinded, only to charge back a couple of seconds later.
Isagi turned back to his cooking, setting his attention on the eggs. Kaiser liked them over hard—no, he didn't mean to know that small fact from him; it was just pure coincidence—while he preferred them sunny-side up. So he focused on the cooking, trying to brush off the thrum coming from the living room.
But the buzzing didn't stop.
He was finishing serving the eggs—along with a bread roll while the sausages were cooling down in the still-hot pan—when Isagi's patience ran thin and he finally rushed for the couch.
It was Kaiser's phone, buzzing with calls non-stop.
For gods' sake, it was fucking Sunday! Who in the world would call this early anyway? Kaiser wasn't up yet, and he didn't seem the type of guy to rise with the sun. So why couldn't they call lat—?
His thoughts died right there when he saw on the screen the caller ID. It was Ness.
His humor soured right away.
Why couldn't he get a little peace and quiet from the stupid mage? Why did Ness have to cling to Kaiser that much? And worst of all, how could the shitty rose breathe with Ness almost panting on his ear at all times?
No, Isagi wasn't in love with the Kaiser. He was just—concerned. About Bastard München's superstar's weird relationship with the trickster magician and how he, as an outsider, fitted in there. Were they both a thing? Perhaps they had that kind of relationship? But if so, where did that leave him, then!?
Already sulking and upset at the sudden intrusion of Kaiser's lapdog in his up-until-then-peaceful morning, Isagi took the phone in his hand to silence the call.
He shouldn't have extended his stay in Kaiser's place as far as he had already done; he should've gone already. Yes, better now than facing the blond after what happened last night.
Isagi was already looking for his things to leave when his own phone—stuffed deep in the pocket of his trousers—began to vibrate. Still distracted, he pulled the device, watching the screen flicker as the pop-up notifications of Hiori’s chat messages appeared and disappeared with every new message.
It was a long chain of stickers and emojis that ended in a single four-word question.
‘so how was it???’
Isagi looked at the chat history mortified, feeling his hands getting sweaty and his face warmer.
As if the sadist knew things.
‘dunno what youre talkin bout’
He replied right away.
‘u slept w kaiser
stop pretending u didnt’
Isagi felt his face boiling at the immediate accusation.
‘how did you know!?!???’
‘cmon
did u think i believe u literally sleep?
kiser never does dat’
But Isagi certainly didn't see that coming.
‘what’
And Hiori went silent. His replies stopped and a minute passed, then two. Isagi's anxiety spiked.
So he texted again.
‘Hiori
Hiori wat did you mean
Hiori
you stupid sadist wat u meaaan’
As if gracing him with some mercy, Hiori replied then.
‘u always do tat
when you get drunk’
‘i wasnt drunk!!!!’
‘yes u were
anyway
u always get clingy
with him’
‘im not clingy!’
‘yes u are
but only w him
and 4 some reason
he always entertains u
but when its time 2 leave
he always bring u back wme
so ur welcome
it is i who take u back home every time’
‘no fucking way’
Isagi wished the Earth would split in half right below him and swallow him already.
‘yes way
[sticker]
anyway
i think
this is the first time i see him taking *someone* w him
he always leaves alone
not even ness goes w him
no one
only u
so im guessin if ur texting me rn is bcuz u 2 were havin fun www’
Isagi stuffed his phone back in his pocket before burying his face between his hands, mortified. Why hadn't Hiori told him that before!? That way he could have been more conscious and probably avoided drinking at all last night!
Why did this happen to him?
Now, he felt utterly stupid for over-welcoming his stay at Kaiser’s, aware of the words plastered in Hiori's chat messages. What have he done!? This, without a doubt, could mean something. And staying for longer just fueled Kaiser’s advantage over him—
In a hurry, Isagi returned to the kitchen and picked up the served plates to put them on the dining table.
He had already decided he wouldn't wait for the shitty emperor to wake up to start eating so he could finally leave for good, when Michael Kaiser in the flesh appeared on the threshold of his room. The sound of the door crackling open caught Isagi's full attention, and he turned to see him attentively.
Eyes hooded, chest all bare, wearing loosely fitted pants. He was sniffing the air, probably stirred awake by the smell of the cooked sausages.
And the purple bite marks around the tattooed blue rose on his neck were more than a gentle reminder of Isagi's feistiness, as he didn’t stop until Kaiser was marked as his. Because if Michael Kaiser thought he could steal his chances to score a goal whenever he saw fit, Isagi had better claim him as his own.
That way, Kaiser’s goals would always be his.
Isagi’s mouth went dry. ‘Just what the fuck was I thinking while I was drunk!?’
Recollections of the night came embarrassingly quick. Isagi’s mind wandered immediately, imagining the feel of Kaiser's sculpted chest on his fingers, remembering his lean body against him. Memorizing it with sheer clarity, even.
The Japanese striker shook his head, trying to shift his focus to something else, so he kept his whole face directed to the breakfast platter served before him.
“What the fuck are you? My fucking wife?” Kaiser mumbled in a sloppy German that Isagi—still a novice in the language—almost couldn't get. His voice was charged and rough with sleep, his fingers scratching gently his naked stomach. He didn't look happy in the slightest.
‘So he really isn't a morning person, huh?’, Isagi thought with wonder, the satisfaction of getting to know a little new tidbit of the shitty clown bubbling happily in the farthest corner of his brain, solving a puzzle no one had seen before, then hiding the whole pieces away right after. The blue-haired man felt the sudden urge to gulp at the sight of the blond, staying shut.
Noticing Isagi hadn't retorted back, Kaiser smirked. “Well, you moan like a bitch in heat anyway.” He blurted out before yawning.
Isagi felt the rush of a blush warming his face, his ears, and his neck instantly. “I don't—! What could you—!? Fuck you!” He hissed, sourly, more ashamed than ever.
“Like I did you last night?” Kaiser wondered, his tone teasing and haughty, his light blue eyes finally staring at him, opening up with a trace of curiosity.
“I was just trying to be nice.” Isagi mumbled, feeling his head all hot and his cheeks warm with a scarlet blush.
“Really.” Kaiser deadpanned, cutting the distance between them short until the only space between them was occupied by the table.
“Just say thank you and eat.” Isagi continued, frustrated.
“I didn't ask for it.” Kaiser observed.
“Listen, if you don't want the food, just throw it away—” The Japanese striker finally groaned, exasperated, standing from the table and taking the plates away, ready to get rid of them.
But Kaiser stretched his hand, taking him by the arm to keep him from leaving.
His grip was firm but never rough or mean, Isagi noted. It had been exactly the same last night. As if he was claiming something inherently his.
“I don’t like to waste food, Yoichi.” Kaiser punctuated carefully, and Isagi, all flustered and warm inside, turned back to leave the dishes back where they were.
That's when Kaiser's phone buzzed again on the sofa. Isagi felt the bile gurgling up his throat, and he grinned as the blond looked out for his device.
“Who the fuck calls this early in the morning!?” Kaiser hissed in German, clearly irritated by the buzzing sound that seemed to drum loud in their ears.
“I dunno, maybe you should ask your stupid servant.” His tone had more bite than intended while Kaiser found his phone on the couch, turning off the call. Then went back to see the Japanese striker with an amused expression on his face.
“Jealous?”
“As if!” Isagi retorted right away, only to notice the entertained face of Kaiser as he replied with such haste, giving off more than he intended. So he shrunk in his place while the flush on his face deepened.
‘Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—’
Letting his thoughts steam through his flushed face, trying to avoid Kaiser's stare. “Just sit and have breakfast with me. Then I’ll leave.” He demanded in a gentle, almost begging tone. ‘Give me at least this small mercy’, he thought desperately.
After a microeternity stretched in the silence between them, Kaiser hesitated before walking back to the table and sitting right at the head, while Isagi was next to him along the side.
The fork was in his hand. In utter silence, he poked at his food.
Then he took a bite.
Isagi watched Kaiser eating the food he just cooked. Still half-asleep, mumbling incoherencies, hair all tousled, horrible.
Pretty.
Awful.
An Adonis incarnated.
Disgusting.
But he wanted more.
Isagi was still staring so shamelessly that Kaiser’s next words felt like a whiplash. “Too soft for someone that was enraged last night.” The blond mumbled, disinterested, his apparent focus solely on the food.
Isagi’s fury reached new heights. He had a reputation to hold onto. An Egoist on the pitch, a fierce player. He was already considered a top striker, and even if he hadn't scored his goal in last night's match, he was still bleeding his body out to become his better version every day. And this clown dared to tease him!?
‘After all we did last night!?’
“You fucking stole my goal!” Isagi kicked him under the table, but Kaiser didn’t flinch.
“Rightfully mine if you couldn't take the ball back.” The German spat back, full of himself.
“Asshole.” Isagi hissed.
“I paid you tenfold last nite, Yoichi. We should be even now.” Kaiser raised his face away from the food, a smirk on his lips. Isagi felt the piercing light blue eyes watching him with amusement, and he couldn’t help but back away with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. “Oh? Don't tell me you don't remember? How you threw yourself at me and—”
“STOP!” Isagi shrieked, and the room went all silent, if not because the Japanese could hear his heart banging on his ears.
Of course he remembered everything, including all the dirty details—Kaiser's hand sticky with his cum, the heated kisses that followed then, where he could taste himself after Kaiser licked everything from his own fingers. Then his needy voice begging shamelessly for more—
Of fucking course he remembered.
But he wouldn’t let himself fall that easily. “You brought me here.” Isagi accused him.
“You kissed me first.” Kaiser alleged.
“My point stands.”
“So what? I didn't do anything you didn't want to.”
‘That’s the fucking problem, to begin with!’, Isagi thought while feeling the thunderous beat of his heart drumming in his chest, a toll for Kaiser to hear eventually.
“I was drunk!” Isagi screeched.
“Two drinks is barely considered tipsy.” But Kaiser wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.
The feeling of being cornered by Kaiser’s quiet demeanor only pushed Isagi further into despair. As if he were a little mouse in the claws of a not-so-gentle predator. What could the shitty emperor know anyway!?
And so, he pressed forward. “It didn’t mean anything.” He spat, the puzzle finally taking form.
If he could show he wasn’t concerned about what happened between them, Kaiser would lose his temper, and his suave attitude would be replaced by his search for control instead. That would be his win, Isagi knew all too well, and so he waited.
“Of course.”
But the rage never came.
The world shook around him, as if it had just moved its axis to never come back the way it was before. This wasn’t in Isagi’s vision of his conversation with Kaiser. Where did he go wrong, then!? The dark-haired man stared at the blond with contained fury, his thoughts running wilder than ever, unstoppable. How dared he!? So what happened the night prior didn't mean anything to him!?
And that's when it hit him. The truth, the piece that changed everything in that secret puzzle he’d been solving since that very morning.
He realized he wanted more of Kaiser.
More of their synchronicities, their vision together, and their playing style, where no one could beat them in and out of the pitch. More of that heated rivalry that somewhere over the years turned into a friendly game of teasing and banter brightening his every day, even if he hated Kaiser mocking him with all his might.
When did his will to ruin Michael Kaiser's life turn into something so different!?
Trying to keep his thoughts at bay and the warmth off his face, Isagi took a spoonful of his breakfast, only to find his eggs were too runny for his liking. His heart leapt in his chest. The food tasted weird. His fingers twitched. His throat closed away.
As if Yoichi’s heart had just grown a couple of sizes overnight, the realization seeping slowly under the nape of his neck, giving him goosebumps, settling with definite conviction.
Gods be damned. He was in love with Michael Kaiser, wasn't he?
“Are you gonna finish that, or will you keep pretending your hands aren’t shaking?”
Michael Kaiser’s voice reached his ears with practiced ease, as if his whole body was attuned to the blond’s existence.
Isagi’s entire world shook again. And suddenly, he was aware Kaiser was seeing through him, of his reaction, of his hand barely holding the fork.
Kaiser was paying attention. To him.
“I’m not hungry anymore.” Isagi answered, humorless.
“Fine.”
And that’s when Isagi noticed how Kaiser was holding his own fork with enough force to turn his knuckles all white.
The world shifted again and turned upside down—or perhaps it simply adjusted instead?
The chair Kaiser was using backed off and fell as the shitty blond pulled it away with too much strength as he rose from it. And the next instant, Isagi felt Kaiser’s hand entangling in his hair, his face so close, his breathing uneven and hot against his skin.
And now he was so close he could taste it, even if the Emperor seemed to hesitate. But why? And when he focused on his pretty and perfectly sculpted face, Isagi caught onto the flare of hunger in his light blue eyes and the tremor of his lower lip before Kaiser bit himself.
“Now, listen carefully, little Yoichi.” What else could Isagi do but focus on the way his perfect, plump lips moved? How could he redirect his focus away when he couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel to have those lips latched on his neck and leave a mark of his own branding in there? “You clearly don’t act as if this meant nothing. So you don’t get to tell me what happened didn’t mean anything, waiting to bait me into rage. And for that, I’m gonna make you regret it.” The German striker warned.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How?” Isagi dared, the anticipation coiling in his stomach, waiting.
And suddenly, Kaiser filled all of Isagi’s personal space, the feeling too overwhelming and suffocating before the world stilled as he kissed the dark-haired striker this time. Demanding, rough, and exactly what Isagi Yoichi needed at that very moment.
All his defenses crashed down as he focused on the heat, the urgency, and that awful need that felt like a ravenous black hole threatening to consume everything without mercy but was appeased as Kaiser pushed his chair to give him enough room to maneuver and undress him again.
But Isagi Yoichi couldn’t care less at that moment. Because now everything made perfect sense.
After all, it wasn’t love.