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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Bastian Schweinsteiger/Lukas Podolski/Philipp Lahm
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction. I have no idea what these people actually do in their spare time.
Notes: Set after the VfL Bochum-Bayern game on Aug. 20, 2006.
Summary: The boys celebrate Philipp’s goal. Popcorn is abused.
***
“You did it!” The words bounced crazily in the air around them as Bastian cannonaded into Philipp, sending them both up against a nearby car.
Bastian was still dripping from the showers; his shirt was wet all the way through and when he hugged Philipp, the moisture instantly seeped into Philipp’s own clothing. Little drops flicked from Bastian’s hair splattered Philipp’s face and bombed into his mouth, wide open because he couldn’t stop laughing. It was crazy. His face hurt from all the grinning, and he just hoped he hadn’t said anything stupid to the reporters on the way out.
“You did it, you did it, you did it,” Bastian chanted. As if he wasn’t holding Philipp tightly enough, he clamped down even harder and lifted Philipp off the ground, face pressed firmly into Philipp’s neck so his breath riffled Philipp’s hairline. “That was awesome!”
“I know!” Philipp wrapped his arms around Bastian’s head, suddenly dizzy. He’d been fine right afterward, he’d gotten right back to playing, but now that they had time to really, properly celebrate, he just couldn’t catch a breath. He was reeling, lights were dancing around and everything and he was in such a good mood he attacked Bastian’s hair for no particular reason, ruffling it all up and playing with how the highlights were and then accidentally getting a mouthful of it when Bastian abruptly lurched them back to the ground.
The car was still there, and reminded them by banging its side-mirror into Philipp’s leg on his way down. But he didn’t even feel the pain, honestly; he just kicked out his feet so he wouldn’t fall over when he hit the pavement. Then he readjusted and grabbed Bastian’s waist, smushing his face into the other man’s shoulder. Man, it was so good. Coming back from the World Cup, getting over the sheer whirlwind that’d been—it’d left Philipp feeling awkward and a little empty and unsure of himself, but that was all gone. They were back where they belonged, and it was perfect.
“Guys!” someone else called.
Philipp stiffened a little, then let go of Bastian. Just in time, since otherwise the incoming Podolski missile definitely would’ve flattened him against the car. As it was, he actually hiked Bastian five or six centimeters up the side, both of them laughing like crazy people and trying to knuckle each others’ heads under.
It made Philipp grin to watch, but at the same time he felt a little at loose ends. Well, things weren’t exactly the same—Lukas was here now, and that meant that Philipp wasn’t seeing nearly as much of Bastian as he’d used to. Not on the level of national team meets, when those two basically had only three legs between them, and one of those an oversized fused one, but then, Lukas hadn’t been at Bayern for too long.
Not that Philipp begrudged Lukas or anything; Poldi and Schweini just seemed to be one of those universal things, like peanut butter and jelly. There wasn’t any point in being annoyed at it because it just was. But it just made Philipp feel awkward and out-of-place, standing by them and watching.
Well, he didn’t have to stand around. He started to back off and turn around, but suddenly the world was spinning and full of chortling again. “No, you don’t,” Bastian said, rubbing his grin into the side of Philipp’s face. He jounced Philipp, getting a better grip, and then rapidly back-tracked while Philipp was still busy yelping with his initial surprise. “Oh, no, you’re coming with us. No way are you celebrating your first senior goal alone.”
“I wasn’t! I have—”
“You need guys who know how to do it right, too,” Lukas said. A hand came out of nowhere to muss Philipp’s hair, which had to belong to Lukas unless Bastian had suddenly mutated a third arm. Which probably hadn’t happened yet. “Nope, I think you’ll just have to come with us.”
Philipp twisted around, but all that got was make him slip really suddenly so he thought he was going to fall, and instead ended up helping Bastian hold onto him. He heard a loud groan behind him and craned his head about to see Lukas holding a car door open. “Aaaah, Bastian!”
“Hey, what’s going on over there?” somebody shouted. Roy, maybe.
“We’re kidnapping Lahmi!” Bastian yelled back. He swung himself and Philipp around so Philipp accidentally kicked the door. Lukas scrambled to pull that open again as Bastian turned back, then—oh, God was he falling was he no he wasn’t thank God--backed into the seat and fell over. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring him back to Munich tomorrow! He’ll be okay! We promise!”
“Mostly.” With a wink, Lukas grabbed Philipp’s feet and pushed them inside. Then he did the same to Bastian’s before he slammed the door and ran around to the driver’s seat.
Completely out of breath, Philipp flopped on top of Bastian and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to be able to see straight again after all that spinning. Whose car was this, anyway? “What are you going to do to me?”
Something wet and warm smacked against Philipp’s skin, just behind his ear. He shivered and Bastian laughed again, hugging him closer. “You’ll like it. Just trust me.”
* * *
Excited or not, Bastian and Philipp were coming off a hard-fought game, and even if Lukas hadn’t played as long, he had to be tired too, if only from all the practices. It wasn’t long till they ended up in somebody’s room, collapsed on the floor in front of some horribly bad horror movie on TV with popcorn and soda bottles scattered all around them. Whose room—and whose car—still hadn’t been explained, but Lukas and Bastian seemed to know what they were doing, so Philipp…really hoped they weren’t faking and they were just borrowing from a friend. He was strangely unworried about it, actually. Bastian had that effect, and Lukas just made it worse.
Philipp had no idea what he was giggling at—and he was giggling, like a little girl. Lukas was sprawled over his hands, keeping them pinned to the floor, and Bastian had his head on Philipp’s stomach; Philipp’s shirt had gotten shoved up over his ribs at some point so Bastian’s hair-spikes were tickling him very badly.
“No, no, really. It sounds incredible, but it’s true,” Bastian protested. His chin was gouging into Philipp about an inch above the belly-button, and when Philipp tried to squirm away, the other man casually grabbed Philipp’s knee and held him in place. “I said I’d show Prinz here too, so you should come with us and then you’ll see I’m right.”
“Okay, okay, but Bastian, your hair’s—” Philipp giggled again as the tips of Bastian’s hair brushed over his left ribs, making him helplessly wriggle. “Get it off. It’s too much.”
Lukas flopped over and stretched down alongside Philipp, letting one of Philipp’s hands free. But then he batted at Bastian’s hair, saying “Yeah, I don’t know why everyone doesn’t call you a rooster” and Bastian was retaliating before Lukas had even finished talking. The two of them got into this weird wrestling war, which Philipp couldn’t make much of from where he was, but he did know that he was getting a lot of elbows to the belly and chest so he tried to twist out.
He’d gotten his arms and most of his upper body out from under them when suddenly his hips were pinned down and the tussling stopped. Bastian dropped his head back onto Philipp’s stomach and looked up at Philipp with ridiculously mournful eyes while Lukas rolled off and curled back around them somewhere. A couple moments later, popcorn was being munched.
“What, you’re not gonna leave already, are you?” Bastian said.
Philipp blinked, then tried to indicate the whole room with his chin. “Er, I don’t want to interrupt…”
“Oh, no, no, no. If anyone’s interrupting, it’s Lukas, but he said he was going to try really hard and fit in with us. You know, the team.” Bastian grinned up at Philipp, and it was almost drunken, but they hadn’t had anything to drink. It still had that hazy, happy quality to it, and that plus Bastian’s usual generously magnetic personality made Philipp’s head swim. It put thoughts into his mind that made him flush up and suddenly want/didn’t want Bastian off his legs. “C’mon, stay. We haven’t even really shown you how much we really, really loved that goal.”
“Okay,” Philipp found himself saying. A bit lightheaded, he started to lay back down, but lost his balance and barely caught himself on one elbow. “Um, weren’t we doing that? Celebrating the go—whoops.”
“Watch out,” Lukas said, grabbing for Philipp. But then he kind of lost his balance as well, and they nearly knocked heads as he went down. He rolled to land on his side and his hand slid up Philipp’s forearm, smearing a buttery-smelling grease-trail behind.
Philipp thought he might as well get all the way down while he was at it; he couldn’t fall if he was already on the ground. That put his buttered-up arm right by his face, and the butter-salt smelled really good, and he just sort of licked at his arm. “Mmm. Pass the popcorn, Lukas. You’re hogging it again.”
“He always does. Never listens to me when I warn him,” Bastian said, and surprisingly enough, he was still glommed onto Philipp’s waist. He’d moved to accommodate Philipp’s turn and was now digging his chin into the top of Philipp’s hip.
Lukas said something in Polish--probably something jokingly rude from the way Bastian rose in mock-offense, then snorted so his breath wisped over Philipp’s stomach--and crawled around, trying to find the popcorn bowl. He had butter all over his mouth so his lips gleamed. “So teach him manners, since you’re older,” Philipp commented, half-heartedly pushing at Bastian’s head.
“You’re even older.” Bastian snagged Philipp’s wrist, then pulled himself up, rubbing over Philipp’s knees and shins, to sniff at Philipp’s arm. “Gah, he’s so messy too.”
“You’re messier,” Lukas shot back, flopping down in front of Philipp.
They were lying with feet in different directions, but with their faces right across from each other and Philipp was still staring at Lukas’ mouth, and for some reason it didn’t feel really weird. Maybe because Lukas and Bastian were so casual about everything else, like right now Lukas was holding onto a handful of popcorn that should be going into Philipp’s mouth, only Philipp had his hands full keeping Bastian’s silly hair from tormenting him into laughing to death, and so Lukas just shrugged and held up one piece of popcorn. And Philipp opened his mouth and Lukas put it in.
Crunchy and butter and salt and good, and then Bastian suddenly rammed his head into Philipp’s stomach, mouth open so it was like a punch of heat to Philipp’s gut and then the jackass blew into Philipp’s stomach. Noisy and sputtery and oh, God, Philipp wanted to hit him but it tickled so badly that Philipp was nearly crying into the carpet, weakly kicking and pulling at the other man. “Bastiaaaaaahhh—an!”
“Schweini!” Lukas said, like a scold, only he was leaning so his and Philipp’s foreheads were together, and he smelled like butter. His nose grazed Philipp’s cheekbone at one point and it left butter behind; Philipp could feel the slick warm trace of it on his skin.
Bastian was saying something, making some outrageous excuse, but Lukas had craned his head around to look at Philipp and he was startlingly serious. “I don’t just want to play at Bayern—I want to be at Bayern. Like how we are the national team—we’re not just on it.”
Philipp looked at him for a second, memories of when he’d first come to the club surfacing and how nerve-wracking that’d been and how nice everyone had been till he’d gotten the rhythm of it himself. And after all, Lukas was two years younger, wasn’t he? And Philipp finally grinned softly and pushed his head at Lukas, getting a strong whiff of warmed, fragrant salt on the other man’s breath. “You will. You will! Really. And then when you score—”
“We’ll kidnap you and take you to Phil’s place!” Bastian crowed. “It’s a new tradition! Score lots, Phil, ‘cause then we can drag you around more.”
“What?” Philipp yelped. He tried to get up and look at Bastian, but the other man just buried his face in Philipp’s belly again, but this time, he nuzzled and his mouth pressed a wet ‘oh’ around Philipp’s bellybutton so he arched and groaned.
He caught a glimpse of Lukas and was momentarily—but Lukas was smiling, leaning in and wow, there was so much grease on his face, as if he’d just been smashing the handfuls of popcorn to his mouth. Philipp’s lips grazed one streak. Then he backed off; he absently swiped his tongue over his lip and it tasted pretty good, so he just leaned over and got some more off of Lukas’ jaw. And Lukas turned into it, so okay, Philipp followed the stripe all the way back to the point of Lukas’ jaw.
The other man put his hands up and cupped Philipp’s face, then suddenly licked Philipp back, laving the whole side of Philipp’s jaw with the flat of his tongue, which was shockingly hot and firm. It stroked over Philipp’s skin with enough force so that he had to turn his head a little bit, and then he gasped and jumped because Bastian had suddenly swiped his tongue down beneath his waistband.
Lukas rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop for a second with licking at Philipp’s face. He was smudging butter on Philipp and then sucking it off, but when he did that, he ended up getting more butter on Philipp, and so Philipp decided he probably needed to help Lukas out better. So he ran his tongue over as much of Lukas’ face as he could reach, but there was so much on Lukas.
Bastian grunted and grabbed at Philipp’s hips, his hands wrapping around the middle. He squeezed, then let go and shifted his hands back a few centimeters to squeeze again; Philipp groaned and Lukas snorted, ducking down to suck at his lower lip so Philipp started to groan again before he’d even finished the first one. “Schweini…get up here if you’re going to do that,” Lukas muttered.
“But I like it down here. It’s a good view. And there’s lots to do.” Which Bastian proved by scooting down and pushing his head between Philipp’s legs and suddenly it wasn’t funny and relaxed anymore; it was hot and hungry and Philipp was probably biting Lukas a little too hard.
Lukas hissed, but pushed forward and edged their mouths together. At first Philipp didn’t know what he was doing and leaned over to finish lapping salty butter off Lukas’ cheek, but then the other man grabbed his face and turned it and then Philipp had Lukas’ tongue in his mouth. Nails scratched along his thighs and he jerked, grabbed onto Lukas’ arms for support; Bastian tugged and pulled till Philipp’s trousers were down. He might’ve been doing something to Lukas, too, since every so often Lukas would shudder or would suddenly twist about, and it wasn’t from anything Philipp was doing.
Philipp was almost hissing before Bastian even touched him, the idea of Bastian’s hand touching him, running between his thighs and then…the blood burned up in his cheeks till his face felt almost more uncomfortable than his erection, halfway risen and already feeling ungainly and stiff and—and then Bastian’s fingertips were skimming over him, just barely on Philipp’s skin and it was electric. It made Philipp’s muscles jump and twitch so it was easy for Bastian to reach in, to take hold of him and then to—
Lukas grabbed Philipp by the back of the head and hauled him into a long, deep, messy kiss that completely smothered Philipp’s initial shock. But even afterward, he still was shaking, hopelessly stunned that Bastian could even—but something was hot and tight and wet around the tip of Philipp’s prick, sucking so he squeezed his eyes shut and still the light was a ferociously bright white in front of them. He couldn’t even picture it—the images came up and his mind skittered away, terrified that if he looked at it straight on, the whole thing would disappear. Bastian’s mouth, Bastian’s hand riding gently on Philipp’s hip, Lukas’ hand roughly threaded through Philipp’s hair and Lukas dipping in again and again to catch at Philipp’s mouth in between gasps.
Things were starting to really spin now, all that stuff about Philipp being dizzy earlier nothing in comparison, and he held on harder to Lukas but something about that seemed wrong. Unfair. He had a hard time getting his limbs to move now but he managed to convince one hand to shift down, to press low till Lukas abruptly bucked and rolled up against Philipp, and then it was right. It fit, the way they all were, with nobody left out and everyone connected so when Philipp finally couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep himself from coming anymore, Bastian cradled him while his shattering touched off Lukas, and it all worked out. Nobody slipped through the cracks.
* * *
Of course, Bastian wanted some ‘gratitude’ for waiting his turn later, but Lukas showed Philipp that apparently Schweini could be shut up. With the appropriate application of certain things, like mouths and hands and lots and lots of butter swiped from the sides of the popcorn bowl.
“The carpet’s so dirty now,” Philipp said, more in wonder than in guilt. “Wow. I’m really sorry.”
“The color’s ugly anyway.” Lukas poked at Bastian till the other man finally roused enough to just roll over on top of him. “Ow, you fat ass…”
Bastian casually reached around and collected stray popcorn kernels, which he proceeded to stuff into Lukas’ mouth. “I’m not fat, and ick, Phil’s right. We’ll have to borrow a steamer from somebody, or else what are you gonna tell people?”
“It’s a Bayern thing? Good luck for the games, and all that?” Lukas suggested.
Eyes rolling, Bastian kept pushing himself over Lukas till he could reach Philipp. At first he seemed to be going for Philipp’s head and Philipp started to lift himself, but then he abruptly darted down and Philipp scrambled—but no good, Bastian got to his belly and mercilessly tickled him.
“Well, it’s going to be a Bayern thing,” Bastian said when he finally stopped. He grinned and wrapped an arm around Philipp, thumping lightly on Philipp’s back while Philipp tried to catch his breath. Then Bastian smacked a kiss on the side of Philipp’s forehead. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Philipp grinned. “Yeah, definitely.”
***