Work Text:
The full-time whistle blew, and the Emirates erupted in cheers.
Arsenal beat West Ham 2–0, another solid home win, another three points which will be important in the title race.
Bukayo stood in the middle of it all, grinning wide as he hugged his teammates.
The energy was infectious, the whole squad was buzzing.
But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Viktor lingering near the edge of the group, head down, hands on his hips, a faint, unreadable look on his face.
He wasn’t joining in the celebrations, not smiling, not talking.
Just… distant.
Bukayo frowned for half a second, wondering what was up.
But then a teammate slung an arm around him, and he was pulled back into the laughter and victorious chaos.
By the time they reached the tunnel, the corridors were alive with noise, boots clattering on the floor, staff members congratulating players, the hum of post-match adrenaline thick in the air.
Inside the changing room, music was blasting, speakers shaking slightly with the bass. Shirts were off, players shouting over each other, reliving the best moments from the match.
Someone sprayed a bottle of water into the air like champagne, and laughter broke out again.
Amid the noise, Bukayo noticed Viktor sitting quietly at his locker, still in his kit, scrolling on his phone, barely responding when someone tossed him a towel.
He looked like he wanted to disappear.
Bukayo thought about saying something, but before he could, somebody from the media team called him over for a post match interview.
By the time he was done and had showered, most of the team was already dressed and filing out.
The chatter didn’t stop on the way to the bus. Music continued to play through portable speakers, and jokes bounced around the group.
Bukayo sat by the window, watching as the team filed in, Viktor among the last, slipping into a seat alone near the back.
No headphones, no talking, just staring out into the night.
As the bus pulled away from the stadium toward Sobha, where Mikel would hold the brief post-match debriefing, the team’s laughter filled the air again.
Bukayo, a PS4 controller already in hand, slid into the empty seat next to Viktor.
“Yo, you wanna play Mario Kart?” he asked, smile on his face.
Viktor didn’t even look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the window, watching the North London streets slide by.
“No. I don’t feel like it.”
The tone was so cold it was like a shard of ice. It shocked Bukayo, the casual friendliness of the moment instantly shattered.
“Oh… okay,” he mumbled, smile dropping into a frown.
The rejection hung in the air between them, heavy and awkward.
Bukayo stood up, his face burning slightly, and moved a few rows forward to sit with Leo, who greeted him with a warm smile.
Throughout the drive, Bukayo kept stealing glances at Viktor. He was trying to piece it together.
The lack of celebration, the cold shoulder on the bus. What had he missed?
Then, his confusion deepened. He saw Viktor turn and start chatting with Declan, a small, animated smile playing on his lips.
When they reached Sobha, the players piled off the bus, the lively energy returning.
They all shuffled into the briefing room and took their seats.
Mikel stood at the front, a look of immense pride on his face.
“I am so proud of you boys today,” he said, his voice echoing in the quiet room. “And it’s a personal honour to have managed 300 games with this incredible team.”
The room erupted in a heartfelt round of applause, with a few whoops from the back.
“And another milestone was reached today,” Mikel continued, his eyes finding Bukayo.
Bukayo felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest, he knew what was coming.
“Our very own Starboy, Bukayo Saka, on his 200th appearance for the club.”
The entire room turned to him, the applause even louder this time, peppered with cheers.
Mikel motioned for him to stand, and Bukayo did, a proud, slightly shy smile on his face.
“Speech!” Big Gabi’s voice boomed from the back row.
Instantly, a chant started, low at first, then growing in volume.
“Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!”
Bukayo shook his head, laughing, but the chanting only grew louder.
“Okay, okay, fine!”
The room cheered. Everybody except Viktor.
“It’s an honour to have played 200 games for this club,” Bukayo began, his voice clear and steady. “My club. And to score a goal makes it even better.” More cheers. “I really believe this will be our year. Let’s bring it home, boys.”
The room roared its approval, a unified chorus of belief and ambition.
Except, of course, for the one silent figure.
Bukayo’s eyes locked onto Viktor for a few seconds, just long enough to see him deliberately, slowly, roll his eyes.
The sight was a punch to the gut.
Bukayo looked away, forcing his smile to stay in place as he accepted congratulations from his teammates, but the image was seared into his mind.
It was bugging him too much to brush off this time.
The briefing ended, and the players began to leave, heading for their cars.
But Bukayo didn’t follow them. He watched Viktor walk away from the group, heading back towards the changing rooms.
He followed, his steps quiet but purposeful.
He saw the door swish closed behind him and pushed it open a moment later.
Viktor’s back was turned as he pulled something from his locker.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Bukayo asked, his voice low and sharp, standing just inside the doorway.
Viktor stiffened, turning around with a surprised look that quickly hardened into a scowl when he saw who it was.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, turning back to his locker.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Bukayo said, stepping fully into the room, letting the door close behind him. “Did I do something to you?” He took a few steps closer.
Viktor didn’t reply. Instead, he slammed his locker shut with a crash that echoed through the empty room, making Bukayo flinch.
“Of course you wouldn’t know,” he snarled, finally turning to face him fully. “All you care about is yourself.”
Bukayo’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“You think this is your team? You’re not even captain,” Viktor spat, his voice laced with a bitterness that was shocking. “And you’re not the only one who needed a goal today, by the way.”
Bukayo scoffed, a knot of anger and disbelief tightening in his stomach.
“Is this what this is about?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “That fucking penalty?”
“It’s not just the penalty,” Viktor shot back. “It’s the fact you didn’t think about anybody else. You didn’t even offer it to anybody.”
A strange calm washed over Bukayo, sharpening his anger into a fine point.
“Why should I?” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet level. “Huh? Tell me, why should I?”
He took a slow step towards Viktor, then another, until he was standing right in front of him, invading his space.
Viktor’s boldness seemed to shrink under the intensity of Bukayo’s gaze.
“Tell me why I should’ve offered it to anyone else.”
Viktor tried to take a step back, but his legs hit the changing room bench, stopping him cold.
He was trapped.
“Especially you,” Bukayo continued, his voice barely a whisper but carrying more weight than a shout. “Why do you deserve it more than me?”
Viktor’s throat went dry. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
All he could do was stutter, a pathetic, broken sound in the suffocating silence of the room, utterly dismantled by the simple, devastating question.
Bukayo’s eyes narrowed, catching the subtle tremor in Viktor’s jaw, the flicker behind the anger.
He leaned impossibly closer, lips almost brushing Viktor’s ear. "Just because you can’t score a goal on your own," His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Doesn’t mean you deserve it more than me."
His hand shot out, wrapping around Viktor’s throat, hauling him forward until their faces were inches apart.
"You’ve been playing like trash all season. So you don’t deserve a sympathy penalty until you start acting like a striker."
A choked gasp escaped Viktor, his eyes glistening.
"Please..." The plea was ragged, barely audible.
"Please what?" Bukayo hissed, pressing his body flush against Viktor’s.
His thigh encountered unmistakable hardness beneath the thin fabric of Viktor’s shorts.
Bukayo glanced down, then back up, a cruel, knowing smirk twisting his lips.
Viktor’s face flooded red.
Bukayo laughed, a harsh, humorless sound bouncing off the lockers.
"Look at you." His hand slid down, palming the rigid outline of Viktor’s cock through the material, feeling it jump against his touch.
"Can't even control your dick around me. Is that why you hate me?" He squeezed deliberately, eliciting a ragged groan that Viktor desperately tried to swallow.
Bukayo’s grip tightened, grinding the heel of his hand against Viktor’s trapped erection.
Viktor’s hips bucked helplessly, a low whimper escaping his clenched teeth. Pleasure warred violently with shame in his glazed eyes.
"You can't even deny it," Bukayo taunted, his voice a sibilant purr now. "Your body’s screaming it, even if your head’s still stuck up your ass."
"Bukayo… please… stop," Viktor choked out, the plea thick and unconvincing even to his own ears as he pressed against Bukayo’s tormenting hand.
Bukayo chuckled darkly, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic waistband of Viktor’s shorts and boxers, finding hot, bare skin.
"Stop?" His fingers traced the straining vein on the underside of Viktor’s cock, slick with pre-cum. "Or do you want me to make you feel good for once?"
His breath grazed Viktor’s earlobe as he slid his hand fully inside, wrapping his calloused fingers around Viktor’s burning length.
It throbbed against his palm, velvet steel.
"Look at you," Bukayo murmured, admiration laced with contempt. "So fucking needy."
He started pumping slowly, deliberately, the glide easy with the abundant slickness leaking from Viktor’s tip.
Viktor’s hands flew to grip Bukayo’s wrist, not pushing away, but holding on as if it were a lifeline as Bukayo’s strokes grew faster, harder.
A desperate moan tore from Viktor’s throat, his knees trembling dangerously.
"Is this what you wanted?" Bukayo rasped against the shell of his ear, fingers tightening near the head.
Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, head dropping back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat.
"Answer me." Bukayo demanded, twisting his wrist slightly.
"Yes," Viktor gasped, the word ripped from him. "Yes. Yes, yes."
Bukayo felt the frantic pulse beneath his fingers, the tell-tale tightening in Viktor’s balls.
Just as Viktor arched, a deep, guttural groan building in his chest, Bukayo ripped his hand away, leaving Viktor gasping on the precipice.
The loss was a physical blow. Viktor slumped onto the bench behind him with a ragged cry of pure frustration, humiliation opposing with agonizing need on his sweat-slicked face.
Bukayo chuckled, stepping back slightly to admire the wreckage. Viktor trembling, shorts tented obscenely, dark stain on the front.
"Look at that," he drawled, wiping his wet hand casually on his own shorts. "Second time today I took something you really wanted."
Before Viktor could recover, Bukayo hooked two fingers under the waistbands of his shorts and boxers and yanked them down to his knees in one ruthless motion.
Viktor’s cock sprang free, flushed dark and straining upwards.
Without hesitation, Bukayo pushed his own shorts and boxers just past his hips, freeing his own thick erection.
He stepped forward again, the swollen head of his cock brushing Viktor’s slack lower lip.
"Suck," he commanded, voice devoid of warmth.
Viktor looked up at him, pupils blown out.
"If you don't want this to be painful, you're going to have to suck," Bukayo warned, tapping his tip on Viktor’s lips.
Defeat flickered weakly in Viktor’s eyes before he gave in to something darker, needier.
Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his mouth.
He wrapped his lips around the tip, tongue grazing the slit.
Bukayo pushed forward immediately, filling it before Viktor could adjust. The head hit the back of his throat, triggering a violent gag reflex.
Viktor pulled back sharply, coughing and spluttering.
"None of that," Bukayo growled. He fisted his hand in Viktor’s sweat-damp hair and pulled him back onto his cock, deeper this time.
Bukayo grunted, pushing relentlessly until his hips met Viktor’s face, the thick length buried deep down his throat.
Viktor’s nose was crushed into Bukayo’s dark curls at the base of his shaft.
Tears streamed from his wide, watering eyes as he struggled to breathe through his nose, gagging weakly around the intrusion.
Bukayo held him there for agonizing seconds, savoring the desperate vibration around him, the tight heat. A low groan rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough for Viktor to gasp a strangled breath before thrusting deep again.
He looked down, meeting Viktor’s tear-filled gaze looking up at him from under wet lashes.
"You like that?" Bukayo rasped, grinding his hips shallowly.
Viktor managed a jerky nod around the cock stretching his lips wide.
"Of course you do," Bukayo sneered, then pulled out entirely.
Viktor slumped back onto the bench, choking and gasping for air, spit slicking his chin and chest.
Before he could draw a full breath, Bukayo grabbed his thighs and hauled him to the very edge of the bench.
He spread Viktor’s legs then pressed the hard tip of his cock against his tight hole.
Viktor arched off the bench with a sharp cry as Bukayo pushed relentlessly past his tight hole.
Bukayo’s fingers dug into the flesh of Viktor’s hips as he buried himself fully with one brutal thrust.
He held still, buried deep in the clenching heat, letting Viktor feel every inch stretching him open.
Viktor whimpered, hips rutting upwards instinctively seeking friction, seeking release from the agonizing fullness.
Bukayo tutted at him mockingly, “Not yet.” He said.
Viktor looked up at him desperate.
“Please…” He begged
“Not until you tell me whose team this is,” Bukayo says, his tone low and mocking.
Victor’s head fell back, he groaned throwing an arm over his eyes, hips writhing uselessly beneath Bukayo’s immovable weight.
"Go on," Bukayo urged darkly. "Or you won’t get to come at all."
The threat hung in the air, thick with promise.
Viktor whimpered pitifully.
"Tell me," Bukayo repeated, his free hand shot out and closed around Viktor’s throat. “Whose team?"
"Yours," Viktor gasped out, voice shattered.
"I can't hear you." Bukayo’s hand tightened around Viktor’s throat, not choking him entirely, but applying just enough pressure to flood him with dizzying submission.
"Your team!" Viktor choked out, eyes wide and desperate as he stared up at Bukayo. "This is your team!"
Bukayo smiled. "Good boy," he murmured approvingly.
His hand tightened around Viktor’s throat as he began to move, slow and deep at first, then building speed and force.
"And if I want to take a penalty," he groaned out, each word timed with a hard thrust that made the bench creak under them, "I take the penalty."
"Yes," Viktor gasped, arching wildly. "Yes! Yes! YES!"
“Say it after me,” Bukayo grunted as he sped up his hips. “I take the penalty.”
“You take the penalty!” Viktor repeated in a high pitched cry.
Bukayo let go of his throat and gripped both hips hard enough to bruise, driving into him with relentless power now, hips slapping against Viktor’s ass in a steady rhythm that echoed off the tiled walls.
He aimed unerringly for Viktor’s prostate with every stroke, drawing ragged cries and high-pitched whimpers that echoed against the cold walls.
Viktor scrabbled at the smooth wood of the bench, knuckles white, back bowed off it like a drawn bow.
"Don’t come yet," Bukayo ordered through gritted teeth, sweat dripping from his brow as he hammered into him.
Viktor whined, a high, desperate sound torn from deep within him. "Can't…"
"Not until I say so," Bukayo snarled.
He pounded into Viktor with focused intensity, skin slapping against skin in a primal rhythm that filled the room, marked by Viktor’s broken moans.
The knot of tension coiled unbearably tight in Bukayo’s gut. He could feel Viktor trembling on the edge beneath him, every muscle locked tight.
"Now," Bukayo growled, slamming home one final time and burying himself to the hilt as he erupted deep inside Viktor with a guttural groan.
The command shattered Viktor’s control instantly.
His cock pulsed untouched between them, ropes of thick come striping his own stomach and chest as he convulsed around Bukayo’s cock with a strangled scream that echoed off the tiles.
Bukayo stayed buried for long moments, standing over Viktor as he caught his breath.
Slowly, he pulled out with a wet slide that drew another weak moan from Viktor.
He tucked himself back into his shorts with detached efficiency, ignoring the slick mess between Viktor’s thighs and on his stomach.
Bukayo picked up Viktor’s discarded shorts from the floor and tossed them onto his heaving chest without a word.
"Get yourself cleaned up," he stated flatly, turning on his heel.
He walked out of the changing room without a backward glance at Viktor lying splayed and wrecked on the bench, trembling and gasping.
The door clicked shut softly behind him.