Chapter Text
The match thus drew to a close amid the cheers of the crowd.
Erling took a deep breath, shook off his exhaustion, stood up, and walked back onto the chaotic two-toned pitch. He wasn't sure whether cameras were once again focused on his face, trying to capture his look of disappointment. Although his eyes were red-rimmed and his nose stinging, he did his best to tug at the corners of his mouth into a polite smile.
People used to constantly discuss his expressions online, whether in praise or criticism. They said his look before and after matches always appeared relaxed and easygoing, as if he could smile away any result, win or lose. Many even claimed to envy such a carefree personality.
But this time felt truly different, Erling thought. As extra time drew to a close, he sat on the bench, the sweat-soaked quick-dry fabric pinned between his back and the hard plastic seat, sticky and stifling. He felt his heart no longer pounding fiercely as usual, but beating at a strange rhythm, dragging his blood downward through his entire body, as if gravity around him had suddenly grown stronger than for everyone else. With every breath, he drifted closer to becoming a lifeless, soulless corpse.
All hope slowly sank underground, second by second, minute by minute.
Erling recalled many opponents he had defeated before; their faces now floated before his eyes—old and young, extraordinary and ordinary. They embraced their teammates, weeping until they could barely breathe. They collapsed, burying their faces in the dirty turf, trying to spill their last drops of sweat and tears onto the green field, struggling desperately to swallow each sob back into their bellies.
Not until this moment did he feel as if waking from a dream; the four years of buildup (strictly speaking, more than four) that he had amassed deflated like a punctured soccer ball the instant the final whistle blew.
He quickly embraced each Norwegian player returning from the battle, gently patting their arms, handing them water, and uttering those same words of encouragement they always shared after a loss.
Then, adjusting their kits, they stepped back onto the grass to shake hands and bid farewell to England's victorious players.
Nearly every opponent on the field treated Erling, whose team had fallen short, with remarkable kindness—especially Harry. People often said this war sparked by Premier League insiders had left Harry on the outside, but Erling knew that steady, reliable man held an absolutely central leadership role within the Three Lions. A rough, warm hand firmly patted the back of Erling's neck while constant words of encouragement were whispered in his ear: "Young man, the future belongs to you." Then, with lightning speed, Harry ruffled Erling's hair, cupped his own mouth, and mouthed, "Keep rowing. Don't disappoint me, and don't disappoint Jude."
Erling laughed heartfeltly in return, thanking them, and covered his mouth with his hand as he said, "I wish you all the best in reaching the finals."
Beside him, Martin and Declan embraced excitedly, exchanging words only understandable to their club members. Under Declan's arm, this most resilient Viking captain finally couldn't help but tremble, faintly murmuring things like "I'm a failed leader," while Declan tightly wrapped his arms around him, saying, "You will always be Arsenal's number one leader; Bukayo and I will never question that."
Erling turned and walked toward his former Manchester City teammates, continuing the routine of "handshakes, shoulder pats, and whispered blessings." These routines were like lines of code, with different sentences tailored to players of varying familiarity—something Erling had silently organized in his mind after playing five World Cup matches within a month.
But even code sometimes has bugs.
Jude Bellingham is that loophole.
Huge cameras are positioned all around the stadium, continuously providing close-up shots from various angles for the audience, while beside them stands a cameraman shouldering his equipment, seemingly ready to serve online viewers across the globe.
That hand suddenly appeared in Erling's line of sight.
Five fingers stretched open, knuckles sharply defined, his palms lined with faint calluses built from years of cinching football boot laces, flecks of turf clinging to his forearms from clashing with other players during play.The moment their hands clasped, it was as if some magnetic force took hold, drawing them together into each other's warm embrace.
Even years later, they still tacitly left no space between each other; their shoulders pressed firmly together, chests meeting, necks crossing sideways. Their hands reached across each other's broad bodies to land one after another on the other's back. Resting their chins on each other's shoulders, they whispered softly. Sweat trickled down their cheeks onto the other's shoulder as they breathed into the hollow of each other's necks, attempting under hundreds of cameras to use each other's bodies to conceal their lip movements.
They were like two precise gears, constantly locking into each other's gaps, interacting and rotating together.
Erling slowly patted the name on the back of Jude's jersey with his hand moving up and down, as if it were a rope dangling before him; holding onto it might prevent his body from sinking further. He wanted to say many things, much of which could not be captured by the cameras—about the World Cup, about England and Norway, about Manchester City and Real Madrid, about the relationship between the two of them... He tried to steady his emotions, but the words stuck in his throat like a mouthful of compressed biscuit, leaving him unable to speak.
The Nordic giant, tongue-tied, managed only, "What a player! I'm eager to see you deliver an outstanding performance in the semi-finals." Damn it, he had missed his last chance; now Erling had added yet another mark to the list of mistakes he'd made that day.
Jude, equally aware that cameras were shining on them from all directions, smiled and offered a perfunctory reply: "Don't worry, those guys went way too far today. Harry and I will put them in their place, mate."
"You do know that many of them are older than you, right?" Erling turned around, switching to hook his left arm around Jude's neck while patting his chest with his right hand, feeling the steady and powerful heartbeat beneath his palm.
Though it lasted only half a second, Erling saw Jude lower his head and fall silent for that brief moment. Sweat streamed continuously down his bronze-colored cheeks; his nostrils flared slightly, and his lips pressed together repeatedly...
"Erling," he pressed his forehead against the side of Erling's face. The distance between them was so close that Erling could clearly see, with just a sidelong glance, the dark circles under the boy's eyes caused by days of anxiety and lack of sleep. He wanted to reach out and smooth away the furrows between Jude's brows, to turn his head and feel those soft, full lips, but he knew he couldn't.
Their current posture already appeared exceedingly intimate in the eyes of the mass media; he could not cross that line and shatter the harmony they had spent years carefully maintaining.
"You know, the World Cup semifinal is still four days away. So if you finish handling your luggage and the flood of interviews," Jude paused again for a moment, blinking several times and shaking his head slightly as if choosing his words carefully, "you could share your World Cup journey with me, whether via video call or... you know."
This was the first time today that Erling Haaland wanted to throw his head back and burst into joyful laughter, but his national team had just lost a World Cup knockout match, so he clenched his lips tight to avoid revealing that signature grin everyone always turns into memes.
"Then you'd better secretly tell me the address of the England national team's hotel."
This has been a habit Jude and Erling have maintained for years: occasionally contacting each other via text messages and video calls, taking turns updating one another on recent events, sharing opinions about new players, discussing how smoothly their club leagues are going, and venting about life's annoyances.
They are always separated by over a thousand kilometers; even if one of them is laughing and wants to rush over to punch the other, they cannot do so immediately.
They only meet during matches, exchanging playful banter in the most efficient and confidential manner possible.
On one occasion, when Jude showed Erling his newly toned upper body to show off, the troublemaker sent him a sultry late-night photo: he was sprawled across the bathroom sink, only clad in underwear, sweat still glistening on his skin. The big Nordic guy remembered it for three months before personally draping an arm over Jude's shoulder during a match, kneading and squeezing along his arm, then emboldened, poking back and forth at the soft dimples of his lower back. And when Erling texted Jude a photo of a large new pack of colorful rubber bands, Jude mocked him like he was Rapunzel, yet he secretly planned to run his fingers through his hair to test the durability of those colorful bands.
Every seemingly normal scramble for a loose ball was, in fact, filled with mutual banter and playful probing.
This World Cup was no different; under the widely known premise of their close friendship, they slapped each other's backsides, and whenever referees and teammates wore expressions of speechless bewilderment, they clung together like two magnets.
It all looked very much like flirting and affectionate display, yet they were not lovers.
Every time Jude recalls those beautiful, secret moments, the pain and suffocation gradually erode his steel-hard heart with the fact that they are not lovers.
The two years in Dortmund felt like a vibrant high school life, during which Jude and Erling regarded each other as their closest brothers.
They shared countless intimately close moments: lying together on the same bed talking all night about life goals and dream clubs (then secretly taking messy photos of each other drooling in sleep), appearing inseparably in every corner of the club, sitting in the back row of the team bus sharing the same pair of earphones, jokingly fighting over the same towel in the locker room after training, lying on the fresh yet slightly prickly grass complaining about the devilish training schedules (only to halfway through obediently resume practicing passing and shooting).
They shared every cheek-cupped celebration out on the grass: every playful tackle that sent them stumbling into one another’s arms, every hug that felt strong enough to melt their bodies together...
until later, they engaged repeatedly in lip-to-lip contacts that broke the skin, followed by intense penetrative sex—not frequent, but fierce each time (with Jude always screaming through tears, begging Erling to push deeper).
They made love, but they never spoke of love.
Even if given the chance to go back and choose again, they would still hide this relationship deep within their hearts, allowing their own hearts to be pierced by blunt needles.
They are too young, two rising stars who have just begun to shine with their own light.
Many have come from afar to follow in their footsteps, and many have placed their hopes upon them.
They represent not only themselves but also their nation, their team, their club, and the very sport of football itself.
They have already chosen their own planetary orbits, two paths that will only drift further apart, never to collide.
He knew that inviting Erling to his room after the match was crossing a line, and he also knew that abandoning his teammates during the team's celebration dinner to take a taxi back to the hotel solely because of an unexpected, heart-racing text message was utterly irrational.
Yet his heart pounded like a drum all the way back, as memories surged forth, flipping rapidly through page after page of the past.
He opened the hidden album on his phone, filled entirely with photos of them together. A few were popular shots taken by reporters and posted on Instagram, but most were private pictures they had taken themselves. Only a handful of these had ever been shared online, sparking considerable discussion.
People always hoped that either he or Erling would share more photos, yet each time, after carefully selecting images for what felt like an eternity, he ultimately chose not to send them. He simply didn't want others prying too deeply into the beautiful moments that belonged solely to them.
He sensed that their relationship might be on the verge of change, for better or worse. His intuition, which had helped him score goals in matches for years, now told him that Erling Haaland was struggling badly. As best friends, Jude had always received comfort and encouragement from Erling whenever he hit rock bottom.
Now, looking at the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed man on his phone screen, Jude thought it was finally his turn to lend Erling a helping hand.
The moment Jude stepped out of the elevator, he spotted a tall figure leaning against the door of his room.
The person's hair fell loosely beside their face, dressed in a white T-shirt and shorts, wearing black slippers, with headphones hanging around their neck. One arm was crossed over their chest as they stared at their phone, their gaze gradually shifting toward the elevator entrance upon hearing movement at the end of the hallway.
"Oh my god!" Jude quickly ran toward the grinning blond boy in the distance, laughing as he pulled his room key card from his pocket. "Did you run into anyone? Did they put you on trial for your sneaky behavior?"
"As far as I know, your teammates are still at the victory banquet held especially for you, drinking and celebrating," he said, spreading his long arms wide toward him.
"So no one noticed me; I was all alone, scrolling through freshly uploaded match videos on my phone, waiting in this empty hallway for my hero to return."
Erling seemed to have just finished showering. Jude greedily inhaled the scent of shower gel and conditioner from his embrace—faint notes of cedar and seaweed.
Once again, they pressed close, feeling each other's warmth intensely. Then Jude led Erling into the room, kicked off their shoes, and sat side by side on the ornate, soft carpet beside the bed. He placed one hand on Erling's back, slowly gliding it along.
"Wow, what are you writing?" A ticklish sensation kept rippling up his spine; Erling could clearly feel that Brit, always brimming with mischief, writing something on his back.
"Nothing much, just helping you relax those tense nerves." Those bright black eyes seemed capable of piercing through any psychological barrier, seeing straight into his every thought. "Say it first, yeah? You promised me."
He slipped an arm around Jude’s back, his palm settling firmly on the other side of his waist. His fingertips brushed the garment, catching the soft warmth trapped beneath the material. He rested his head on Jude's solid shoulder, pressing his nose gently against that perfectly angled jawline as he took a soft breath, a small stray lock of hair accidentally slipping into Jude's collar.
He prepared himself as best he could to speak calmly. "It's not that bad," he said, yet his vision suddenly blurred and his ears began to ring. "It's just..."
Jude's breathing and the various noises from outside the window all sounded as if filtered through a layer of fog. He only felt the crushing emotions building up in his chest, that heavy sensation of being dragged downward surging through his entire body once again.
"I don't know; I just feel I've mishandled so many things—the match, and our relationship too. Right now, I don't feel I deserve anything." His cheeks burned, his limbs went numb, and his hands clenched tightly into the fabric at the other's waist; he felt his body trembling uncontrollably.
He was like a rogue star knocked out of its orbit, plummeting endlessly through the void. Everything he once had turned to scattering dust, leaving only aimless despair.
He couldn't remember when he started crying. When his vision finally cleared, he felt Jude cupping his face, gently wiping away tears with their fingertips.
"Breathe slowly, brusjan. It's such a relief to see you cry freely instead of bottling up that pain for a lifetime."
Jude's other hand continued to trace the shape of a heart softly against Erling's back.
"Once, a genius told me that when you're lost, don't look back at past problems alone," he kissed the forehead of the tearful person, "but instead find him, cry your heart out together, and then both gather the courage to embrace the future side by side."
That surge of bitter feeling within Erling wore off gently. He grasped the hand that had been restlessly moving behind him, interlaced their fingers, gently pulled it to his chest for a moment, then slowly raised it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss upon it.
"You don't mind if this genius now seeks your guidance in return, do you?" he asked with a smile, his breathing having steadily returned to normal without him even noticing.
It felt to Jude like an entire century had passed since their previous kiss.At that moment, long-suppressed longing surged forth the instant Erling drew closer.
He pressed against the golden-haired head to deepen the kiss, their lips rubbing firmly together, tongues exploring each other's territory and gliding back and forth between teeth, while sticky, wet sounds echoed through the room.
But Erling halted his movements just as they were about to take their next step. Supporting Jude's already limp body, he helped him sit up to face him directly.
"This kiss, all of this..." His light-colored eyes shimmered with a gentle glow on the surface, yet concealed turbulent emotions ready to erupt beneath, "I want you to know that this has nothing to do with any match loss"...
"For all these years, the sole source driving every outrageous act I've committed toward you is my feelings for you." He gently lifted Jude's chin, forcing him not to avoid eye contact.
"Every single day since we parted, I have missed you. Each time I saw you lonely and helpless through my phone screen, or witnessed your pain from injuries, I wished I could instantly appear by your side."
He rubbed his thumb over the slightly parted, sensual lips before him. "Meeting you on the field today only strengthened my certainty about the bond between us." He noticed Jude holding his breath, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply upward.
"I don't want to hold back anymore. I want to embrace you, protect you, and walk with you through every grand moment and ordinary day of life. I love you, Jude Bellingham."
Jude blinked, letting overflowing tears soak his thick lashes, each drop sliding down his cheeks to splash onto the other's palm. His lips trembled beneath Erling's fingertips; he opened his mouth, his tongue bitter, unable to form a single complete sentence.
He heard a faint, hoarse breath escape his own lips: "Yes."
Then he reached up, grabbing Erling's collar, leaning close to the man's ear, and whispered with a heavy nasal tone, softly yet firmly:
"Erling Haaland, you are a complete fool. Did you think you were the only one enduring all this? You can never imagine how much I wanted to rush toward you today when I saw you lost in confusion, to shout at you and affirm your abilities. You—you are absolutely the greatest striker in the world. And I... I am hopelessly, irretrievably in love with you."
The moment those words landed, all the pain, all the wandering, all the restrained longing across the distance, was swallowed by another fierce and passionate kiss.
Foreheads pressed together, lips and tongues entwined wildly, the room filled once more with rapid, chaotic gasps. Erling slid his hand from Jude's jaw down to his neck, his fingertips resting on the prominent Adam's apple, greedily stroking it as he clearly felt the pulse beating beneath the warm, soft flesh. Jude's breath hitched; his Adam's apple bobbed gently, his slender neck instinctively tensing. His breathing fell into complete disarray, a shiver spreading from his neck throughout his entire body.
Erling sensed a layer of heated mist rising in Jude's gaze as he looked at him, brimming with pure desire. "Do we have a chance to take things to the next step today, darling?" Erling's palm continued downward, covering Jude's chest through the fabric, lightly flicking one nipple with his index finger before moving to his abdomen and lifting the hem of his T-shirt.
"Wait a moment." With the last shred of his reason, Jude halted on the cliff's edge of desire. "I need to take a shower first. You know, to wash off this awful smell of alcohol and make some preparations beforehand."
He hoped that their first experience after officially becoming a couple would be perfect and smooth. He was slightly worried Erling might grow impatient, but the feedback he received was filled with tenderness and reassurance.
"Of course, baby," Erling said, helping Jude to his feet. "Don't forget, today you're the victor. You deserve everything you want."
It was now two in the morning.
Inside the bathroom, water flowed gently, mingled with the soft rustling of scrubbing skin and faint, fragmented gasps—sounds that would surely stir vivid imaginations in anyone who heard them.
Erling rose from the carpet and paced back and forth across the room, observing the English player's hotel space. The demanding match schedule forced the players to constantly travel between cities; collective training and physiotherapy sessions occupied every waking moment aside from sleep.
Consequently, the spacious hotel room bore few traces of Jude. His suitcase stood upright against the corner, cracked open just a narrow slit. On the desk sat only two unopened bottles of mineral water and the handbag Jude had set down upon entering. A few scattered items of clothing were neatly folded at the head of the bed, while charging cables and earphones rested on the nightstand.
Well, while praying that Jude had brought lube for the World Cup match (though he had little confidence in that), Erling pulled open each nightstand drawer one by one, hoping to find some of the hotel's complimentary essentials for sex.
Hard work pays off: from the second drawer, he retrieved a small, previously opened bottle of honey-flavored lubricant, its surface still slightly cool from the constant chill of the central air conditioning.
Just as he straightened up after taking out the bottle, he heard another sound; a silicone massage wand rolled out from the back of the drawer.
Jude, having dried himself off and wrapped a towel around his lower body, had just opened the door when he saw Erling sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed, carefully examining the massage wand in his hands.
"Wow, it actually has so many vibration settings to choose from?" The seriousness in his voice as he asked resembled how he usually watched football match videos, as if the object in his hand weren't something obscene at all.
Jude genuinely considered turning around, heading back to the bathroom, filling the sink with water, and dunking his head right in. This was fucking humiliating, awkward beyond belief. Oh, that damn dildo; he should have packed it away in his suitcase the moment he was done with it.
"Baby, can I use it today?" They tumbled together onto the bed, soft as cloud fluff. Erling pressed down on top of Jude, his voice hoarse as he greedily sucked along Jude's neck from left to right, savoring the fresh scent lingering after his shower. The warm breath from Erling's nose brushed against Jude's chin, tickling like a tiny kitten scratching there. "Use it instead of my fingers."
"Ah...~ Just, take your fucking clothes off first." Jude placed his hand in Erling's hair, twirling strands of those meticulously cared-for, incredibly smooth locks. "Hurry up, you blonde beauty!"
"You unruly little wildcat; just you wait." Erling got up and stripped off his clothes at what he believed was the fastest speed of his entire life, simultaneously yanking the towel from around Jude's waist. He grabbed Jude's plump calves, shoved them apart with force, eliciting a series of startled cries from the other.
"Is that it? Is this all it takes to make you desperate?" He knelt between the other's widely spread legs, gripping the trembling thighs with both hands, then leaned down and blew a warm breath over the already erect penis and the eager hole behind it.
"Have you been living like this all these years? Whenever you felt the urge? Even right after your recent matches?" He squeezed out a dollop of lubricant and smeared it onto the vibrator that had been neglected for a while; an explosive burst of cloying honey fragrance instantly filled the air, permeating the entire bed.
"Oh fuck, you're so damn slutty."
He placed the now slick and sticky vibrator against Jude's entrance, rubbing it in slow circles before gradually pushing it inside, accompanied by the moans drifting down from above. Though this toy was obviously insignificant in size compared to his own cock, its back-and-forth thrusting still served effectively to stretch and prepare the hole.
"Tell me what you're thinking, Bellingham,"he said, trying to distract Jude with conversation. "Have you ever thought about me while masturbating?"
He lifted his gaze to meet the other's dissatisfied expression, then, while continuing to pump the vibrator, opened his mouth to take the erect tip between his lips. He didn't take it deep; instead, he swept his tongue repeatedly across the glans, using the fine, rough texture of his taste buds to stimulate this young, accomplished, yet stubbornly sharp-tongued English football star.
"Ah~ fuck, I'd never miss you, you arrogant bastard." Jude yanked hard at his hair, jolting his nerves.
Jude Bellingham is built this way: he surrenders to softness, clashes against hardness, sharp as a chili pepper.
Yet Erling Haaland always finds a way to swallow him whole.
"Well, if you insist..." He sucked hard on that penis, then spat it out and set it aside.
"Plan B initiated!" He flipped the switch on the massage wand to the third setting, then climbed back on top of Jude, sealing his mouth over those thick lips that kept spewing profanities.
"Wait... uh-ah... is there still a Plan A?" Jude trembled violently on the mattress, struggling to endure the intense vibrations from the massager.
"Oh no! It's too much! I never... I never use the third setting!"
"Oh, my little darling, actually I'm not entirely sure what Plan A specifically entails~"
Erling murmured cheerfully, pressing their penises together and stroking them up and down with the remaining lubricant on his hand.
"I suppose it was probably me giving you oral sex until you climaxed? Now you can only fully feel your favorite dildo and enjoy the orgasm it brings you."
He raised his hand to caress the arched chest, just as he had done earlier that day under hundreds of camera lenses, feeling the heartbeat beneath Jude's chest. However, the meaning behind these two caresses was entirely different. He gently pinched one nipple while biting the other, allowing the small bud to be squeezed between teeth and tongue, as if truly suckling milk.
"Fuck! Ah! Please! Uh-ah~" Under Erling's relentless stimulation, Jude felt nothing but blankness before his eyes. The little hole beneath him gradually went numb from the repeated vibrations of the massager; pleasure had long since overcome pain. He wrapped his arms around Erling's head moving back and forth against his chest, his body convulsing upward with effort, his penis trembling as he ejaculated onto Erling's chest.
Erling raised his hand to wipe the semen splattered on his chin, pulled out the scorching hot dildo, stroked his own penis a few times, and then gripped it to pry open again that already slick and softened hole. "Oh, my dear boy, your room has everything except condoms?"
Jude was still desperately trying to regain his normal breathing rhythm; he was essentially overwhelmed by desire. He slid his fingers over the other's hard pectoral muscles, extended his tender tongue from his full lips, sucked the semen off his fingertips, and flashed a smile so captivating it could knock someone unconscious:
"You know, sluts don't use condoms, so forget about those damn protective measures. I want to feel you cum inside me. Can I have that, my Viking god of war?"
Erling felt the rope in his brain that had been restraining his primal desires casually severed by Jude with a giant pair of scissors.
"Oh, fuck!" He lifted Jude's leg onto his shoulder, thrusting his hips forward to drive his entire length into the already slick, scorching heat. He began a relentless, fierce assault, using the tip of his cock to batter that special ridge, drawing out fresh gasps and moans.
"I hope that when you wake up tomorrow complaining about your sore ass, you don't forget what you said, Bellingham," he pressed forward hard, grinding their lower bodies together until not a sliver of space remained between them, their contrasting skin tones fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.
"I don't think a vibrator could do this..." Erling guided Jude's hand to press against his own abdomen, swollen from the force of his thrusts. "Ah, can you feel it? My love." He had no concerns about either his or Jude's stamina; they were both physical monsters capable of sprinting nonstop for a full ninety-minute match, and neither would faint from a single session of sex.
"Oh, fuck! Erling!" "No, it's Erling fucking you." "Ah!" The intensity escalated; Jude was now shouting without any restraint.
Come to think of it, the entire floor's residents were still at the banquet celebrating the two goals he'd scored today, while he himself lay in his own bed, being fucked breathless by a rival three years his senior. The absurdity of it all was overwhelming.
They made love for a long time, perhaps because it had been so long since they last did; filled with excitement, they later tried several different positions, leaving Erling with crimson marks beneath Jude, behind him, and across his chest.
Eventually, during rear-entry thrusting, Erling lost control and spilled his seed; he leaned down to bite Jude's nape, feeling the tremors as the man beneath him reached another climax, leaving a deep tooth mark on that smooth, flat skin.
"Hey! You brute, there are no Omegas here~" Jude lay beneath him, feeling himself filled, and teased contentedly.
"Oh, so you watched those videos too!" Erling kissed the back of his ear.
"Oh god, don't even get me started. That morning when I arrived at the training ground, every single teammate was jokingly asking me how I planned to seduce you." His face lit up as he spoke. "But they had no idea I'd already reeled you in, you deep-sea monster."
Erling slowly withdrew his erection, disregarding the mess of fluids, and turned his beloved boy over so they lay facing each other on their sides.
"Why do I feel like the whole world is laying out this grand matrimonial bed for us, yet we insist on hiding away to steal our moments together?"
They exchanged smiles.
"Now you can ask me," Jude said, his eyes sparkling brightly like an adorable teddy dog with curly fur and shining black eyes.
"What are you asking?" The Viking blinked, feigning ignorance.
"The pattern I drew on your back."
"Oh, that," Erling flashed a confident smile. "I think I already know the answer," he said, cupping the other's cheeks, "but I still need to verify through action whether my guess is correct."
He lifted Jude's leg again, guiding his own re-hardened penis back inside.
"Oh, Erling, you really are..."
"True knowledge comes from practice."
The mattress was rumpled and creased; they held each other tightly in the clamorous night, melting all their love into the warmth of their skin pressed together.