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“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Kaiser murmurs.
The words taste familiar in his mouth, a phrase he’s now said three times, all in these exact same circumstances. A mouth against his jaw, broad hands cradling his hips. They say that once is chance, twice is coincidence, and three times is a pattern, but to call this coincidental would be laughable, and to attribute it to mere chance even more so.
An accident might be a more accurate description, if Kaiser were to take the definition of an unfortunate incident, a disastrous collision, a flaming wreck of a thing that never should have occurred in the first place. Kaiser has no business hooking up with anyone in darkened hallways and secluded hotel rooms, much less another football player. Much less one of his teammates. Much less—
“Do you want to stop?”
Those hands, burning like a brand through the thin fabric of Kaiser’s too-expensive dress shirt, loosen their grip on his hips, and that hot mouth draws back from trailing kisses along Kaiser’s jaw. Kaiser looks up into pale gold eyes as Noel Noa draws up to his full height, looking as unruffled as ever, as though he isn’t pressing Kaiser up against the wall in an unnecessarily fancy event hall bathroom. As though his thigh isn’t tucked between Kaiser’s legs, knee just shy of rubbing up against Kaiser’s crotch, maddeningly close to where Kaiser already desperately wants him to touch.
It’s an addiction. An itch that never should’ve been scratched, because now Kaiser is hooked on it. Hooked on the way Noa’s palms fit into the curve of his waist, on the low rumble of Noa’s voice in his ear, on the sheer allure of being with the star of Bastard München, being the number one football player in the world’s dirty little secret. It’s not a relationship—Kaiser would rather die than use that word for this thing between them—but given that this is the third time they’ve ended up like this, bodies tangled, sharing breaths, Kaiser has to admit that it isn’t exactly a one-night stand anymore. A fling, maybe. A tiny flame, burning hot and fast before its inevitable end.
“Kaiser,” Noa says. Not impatient, not quite, but there’s an edge to it that draws Kaiser out of his thoughts. He blinks, gaze refocusing. It takes a moment to find the dropped thread of their conversation and pick it back up again.
Do you want to stop?
It’s funny. Hilarious. Because they really should stop. But Kaiser doesn’t feel like laughing. In lieu of an answer, Kaiser fits his hand against the marble-cut line of Noa’s jaw and presses their lips together.
For a moment, Noa’s mouth is unyielding; Kaiser wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled back and made Kaiser answer his question verbally, but then Noa relaxes, reaffirms his grip on Kaiser’s waist, and parts his lips. His mouth is warm, the taste carrying traces of the single drink he’d had at the bar before they snuck back here—the faint bitterness of whiskey, along with something a little sweeter. The first time they’d kissed, Kaiser recalls, he’d somehow been surprised by how soft Noa’s lips were. As though everyone constantly calling him a cyborg had half-convinced Kaiser’s brain that Noa really was a robot. But he wasn’t. Isn’t. With his mouth against Kaiser’s, warm skin and warmer breath and liquor on his tongue, he is very much a man.
Outside the bathroom, the rest of their teammates are milling around the event hall, eating overly expensive food and ordering even more expensive drinks, rubbing elbows with paparazzi and investors alike. The evening is winding down, though, so Kaiser doubts they’ll be missed—which is the only reason, he suspects, that Noa even felt safe to drag him off like this. An hour ago, no matter how badly Kaiser might’ve wanted his attention, Noa’s focus was steadfastly on the press event. On maintaining his image.
What would all those investors think if they knew Noa was pinning a man twelve years his junior to a wall just two rooms over and kissing him breathless?
“You seem distracted,” Noa murmurs against his lips. His hand slides around to the dip of Kaiser’s back, fingers splaying out, pressing Kaiser closer to him. At the same time, his thigh nudges up between Kaiser’s, his knee applying a little pressure, just enough to make Kaiser suck in a sharp breath. “What are you thinking about?”
Kaiser curls his fingers around the firm swell of Noa’s bicep, suppressing a shudder as Noa slowly rocks his knee against Kaiser’s cunt through his slacks. Fucking tease. “I was thinking about you,” Kaiser admits, voice hoarse.
Noa hums, a low, rumbling thing that vibrates through Kaiser. His tongue sweeps into Kaiser’s open mouth, skillful and slick and hot, and for a long, long moment, Kaiser doesn’t think about anything at all. Just Noa’s hands, Noa’s mouth, Noa’s thigh, the taste of whiskey and the friction between them and the heated buzz of arousal in Kaiser’s gut. He sighs, arms winding around Noa’s neck, and sinks into the warmth.
But Noa doesn’t let him go too deep. The hand not cradling Kaiser’s back slides up to tangle in his hair, winding blue-dyed strands around his fingers—gentle at first, but then his fist tightens, pulling Kaiser’s head back, separating their lips with a wet noise. Kaiser whines in the back of his throat, trying to chase his mouth for another kiss, but Noa’s fist is unrelenting, keeping them apart.
“What could you have been thinking about regarding me that was so distracting, lionceau?” Noa’s tone is mild, the slope of his mouth soft, but Kaiser knows him well enough to see the glimmer of amusement in gold irises, faint as it may be. “Should you not focus on the real me, when I am right here in front of you?”
It’s a battle not to roll his eyes, one that Kaiser very nearly loses. Noa may be teasing him, but Kaiser also knows him well enough to know that he isn’t going to let this go without an answer. Well, if Noa wants to be a tease, two can play at that game, right?
“I was thinking about our first kiss,” Kaiser purrs, low and heady, fingertips trailing lightly up the nape of Noa’s neck just to feel him shiver. Not a cyborg, not a marble statue, just a man. “And about all those people outside, who have no idea that we’re in here, doing this.” To emphasize, he nudges his hips forward, a sigh shuddering out of him at the spark of pleasure, the warmth of the bulge in Noa’s slacks that’s formed in answer to their heated kisses. God, if Noa would just get over himself and get back to kissing him, Kaiser would be able to consider doing something about that for him.
And yet, Noa hasn’t quite let this go. “So you weren’t only thinking about me,” he says—still so calm, but now there’s a thread of something darker that winds itself around his words. The fist in Kaiser’s hair loosens in order to pet through the fluffy waves, almost proprietary. “I want to be the only one on your mind when we do… this.”
Now Kaiser does roll his eyes, if only to mask the sudden heat in his cheeks, the sick little thrill of butterflies in his stomach. “Feeling jealous, are we?” he snips, hand trailing over the back of Noa’s neck again, this time with fingers curled and nails scoring lightly over his skin. “Relax. It’s hardly as though I was thinking about kissing somebody else.”
A slight crease forms between Noa’s thin brows, the only indication that Kaiser’s words have affected him. His hand slides around Kaiser’s head, down his jaw, until he can cup Kaiser’s chin, a calloused thumb tugging at Kaiser’s kissed-pink bottom lip. “Foolish, pretty little thing,” he murmurs, eyes hooded. “This is not jealousy.”
The inside of Kaiser’s mouth feels terribly dry. “Possessive, then,” he manages against the press of Noa’s thumb. “If you’re going to get caught up on semantics.”
Noa’s lips twitch—the closest thing Kaiser ever sees to a smile on that stony mouth of his. “Possessive,” he echoes. “Yes, perhaps. Is that wrong of me, mon petit lionceau?”
He’s definitely teasing Kaiser now. That pet name—French for lion cub, Kaiser looked it up after the first time Noa had called him that—never fails to make Kaiser’s stomach flip over on itself. And the thing is, Kaiser should say yes. They shouldn’t be doing this, and Kaiser shouldn’t encourage Noa’s possessiveness over him. It’s a mistake, a disaster, an accident waiting to happen. If Kaiser were smart, if he had any kind of self-preservation instincts, he’d put a stop to this now.
“I don’t care if it’s wrong or not,” he says instead, and slips a hand down Noa’s chest to wrap around his tie. Using the leverage, he tugs Noa closer, until their faces are little more than a breath apart. “But if you’re feeling so possessive, if you want me to think about you and only you, then you know what you should do?”
Noa sighs, a heavy, warm exhale against Kaiser’s mouth, fingers threading into Kaiser’s hair again. “What should I do?”
“Kiss me again,” Kaiser whispers, “and make me forget about everything else.”
“Hmm.” Slowly, Noa rubs his nose against Kaiser’s, lips just barely brushing his. “Your wish is my command, Kaiser.”
Later, Kaiser will curse himself for getting carried away, for allowing Noa once again to kiss him, to touch him, to pull him deeper into this illogical entanglement. But the flame hasn’t gone out just yet, so for now, Kaiser surrenders to the hot press of Noa’s mouth, and lets himself burn.