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Erling has been expecting the knock all evening, but when it comes it still surprises him. The party at the hotel bar fizzled out hours ago, Norwegian players stumbling back to their rooms, arm in arm with one another as they sway and sing.
Norway are in the semi-finals. It's never happened before, and Erling knows he should feel proud, but he can't shake the way Jude looked as the final whistle blew, the way he sunk to the ground as England got knocked out. He wouldn't even look at Erling.
The knock comes when the LED face of the clock on his bedside table blinks 3:12—the only light in the hotel room. He's been sitting in darkness for hours, replaying the expression on Jude's face as though he could do something to fix it. It's just a game, he tries to remind himself. Jude won't hate him.
The knock reassures him though. It means even though Jude is hurting and angry, he's not so angry he doesn't want to see Erling.
He turns the bedside lamp on and slips out of bed, his joggers hanging low on his hips as he heads to the door. It's not always that he manages to get a private room on the road, but he's grateful for it tonight. He would've been grateful even if Jude hadn't knocked. He feels slightly disconnected from the world around him, like he still can't quite believe they actually won.
He glances through the peephole to make sure it's Jude and he's alone. In the hallway, Jude, dressed in a set of plain black joggers with the hood of his jumper pulled over his head to conceal his identity, shifts from foot to foot anxiously. When Erling opens the door, Jude practically knocks him over in his haste to get into the room.
"Did anyone see you?" Erling asks as he shuts the door.
Jude stops in the middle of the room, his hood still pulled and his eyes downcast. He shakes his head, but doesn't speak.
Erling feels his stomach flip. He hates seeing Jude upset. It's not just a game—it never has been. He knows Jude takes losses particularly hard, having been subjected to multiple frosty bus rides and nights in hotels when they played together for Dortmund, but this is something else.
Jude looks devastated.
"Vennen min," he says, the Norwegian pet-name slipping out on instinct.
Jude shakes his head before finally tugging the hood of his jumper down, the warm lamplight catching his tear-stained cheeks. "Please," he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
It breaks Erling's heart. He surges forwards to hold Jude, but before he gets there Jude takes a step back, shaking his head again. He still won't even look at Erling.
"Lile venn, what can I do?"
"Help me forget." He says it so earnestly, with so much conviction. He sniffs, dragging his hand across his face, before he speaks again. "I want to forget it all. Just—I don't know. Please, Erling? I can't—"
"Okay. Okay." His mind is already racing with a million different ideas of things he could do. Sometimes, back when they played together—when the kisses stopped being drunken fumbles and moments emboldened by victory, when they became something more—Jude would need to get out of his head when the pressure got too much. Erling was only too happy to help, and he's missed it.
The stolen moments they've grabbed since their transfers have been few and far between—the quick blowjob in the toilet of the Football Awards where Erling split his own lip with how hard he bit down to muffle his noises, the jets they've chartered to get to each other on precious days off where their schedules finally align. They've been not enough to fill the itch that settled under Erling's skin within weeks of no longer having Jude in arm's reach and being able to watch him every day at training. The moments have also been, for the most part, tender. Heated, and sometimes trying to find somewhere private, yes, but Erling hasn't had to get Jude out of his own head for a while.
"Please, sir."
The title sends heat up Erling's spine and snaps him into action. He reaches out for Jude, and this time Jude doesn't try to retreat. He lets himself be dragged forwards a few paces until they're chest to chest. Erling grips Jude's chin between his thumb and pointer finger, roughly pulling his head up and forcing Jude to make eye contact.
"I won't go easy on you," Erling says. He's giving Jude an out. He wants to make sure Jude wants this as desperately as he does.
"I know," Jude replies. "I want it."
Heat flutters in Erling's stomach as he ducks his head down to connect their lips. Jude tastes minty, and he can picture Jude still prepping for the hookup, despite how gutted he was about the result. The thought makes the heat in his stomach curl into something tight as Jude returns the kiss with force, their teeth clattering together with how desperate he is.
Erling lets the kiss continue for a moment longer before he breaks it, releasing the hold he has on Jude's chin.
"Strip and get on the bed," he commands.
Jude's head drops down again, averting his gaze as he kicks his shoes off before dropping his joggers, bundling them up and throwing them in the corner of the room. He strips his jumper off too and throws it to the pile. He's not wearing a shirt underneath it, so Erling is greeted by the defined chest and abs he's missed so much. He wants to reach out and touch him, to see if Jude's skin is as alight as his feels, but he waits.
Jude takes his boxers and socks off last, his cock finally springing free. He folds the socks into themselves before throwing everything in the corner of the room. Only then does he seem to become aware that he's completely naked while Erling is still wearing his joggers and slippers, a blush of awkwardness blooming on his cheeks. He looks up at Erling, as though expecting further instructions.
Erling raises an eyebrow at him, waiting to see what his boy will do.
"Um…how do you want me?"
"Sitting up against the headboard. I want to see all of you."
Jude visibly swallows before he turns and arranges himself on the bed exactly as Erling instructs him to. He takes a moment to prop the pillows up against the headboard before leaning back, the expanse of his torso catching in the lamp-light. He plants his feet against the bed, bending his knees to partly conceal himself.
Erling loves it when Jude pretends to be coy. He doesn't comment on it, instead going over to the desk in the corner of the room and getting the chair out from where it's tucked in. Slowly, he drags the chair back across the room, the scraping the only sound breaking the stifling silence.
"What are you doing?" Jude asks, curiosity colouring his voice.
Erling doesn't reply. He stops with the chair at the foot of the bed, before he sits down, looking back over at Jude.
"You're going to give me a show," he commands.
Jude's knees knock together as he attempts to conceal himself even more. It makes Erling smile when Jude is like this.
"Legs down. I want to see what's mine."
Jude lets out a little whine, but he complies almost immediately with the instructions. He drops his legs down flat against the bed, finally giving Erling the view of Jude's hard cock that he's been craving for what feels like months.
"Touch yourself."
Jude drags a hand down his chest, stopping for a moment to play with his nipples. The day they'd discovered how sensitive Jude's nipples were, it was a total accident. In their shared room in a town Erling can't even remember, Jude stole his Switch, and, in a furious attempt to get it back, Erling had pinched Jude's nipple through his t-shirt, twisting hard. Instead of yelping and dropping the Switch like he'd expected, Jude had practically mewled at the contact.
That was the night they discovered Jude could come from just having his nipples played with, although it did leave them puffy and raw for training the next day. Jude had spent most of training half-hard, glancing over at Erling with such open lust it was amazing no one figured them out.
He plays with his nipples. alternating between the two of them as he twists and pinches them, occasionally scraping his short nail across the hardened buds. Erling can feel himself straining against his joggers, so he puts a hand below his waistband, taking out his cock and giving it a lazy tug to relieve some of the pressure.
Jude's nipples look puffy and thoroughly fucked by the time he finally relents on them, his hand dragging down lower and lower before he grips his cock with a loose fist. He gives a few pumps, his back arching into his own touch, like he's been craving it for hours.
"You can't come until I give you permission," Erling says, continuing to tug his own cock lazily.
Jude whines, throwing Erling a glare. It means he knows he’s going to push him to his limit. Erling is fully intending on edging Jude until he can't remember his own name, let alone the match.
"Fuck," Jude hisses, his hips bucking at the touch. His hand stills for a moment as his chest heaves, like he's trying to contain himself.
"I didn't tell you to stop."
Jude whines again, but his hand starts to move, slower this time. Erling wants to admonish him for it, but he's finding it difficult to slow down himself after so long of not seeing Jude. The performance is dirty and slow—time being something they so rarely ever seemed to have and something Erling intends to take full advantage of. The rest of the England team will no doubt be drinking themselves into a stupor in their hotel bar a few blocks away from the Norwegian hotel, and none of them will think anything of Jude's absence.
None of them would even consider for a moment that Jude would be touching his cock at the direction of the Norwegian player that scored the game deciding goal.
"Fuck," Jude hisses. "Fuck, I'm—I'm so close." His cock is leaking, his abs contracting with each desperate twitch and whine of desperation.
"What do you want, vennen?"
Jude's head falls back against the headboard with a dull thunk, exposing the column of his neck as his eyes flutter shut. "I don't—I'm so hard," he practically sobs. "Please, sir. Can I come?"
"No. Not yet."
The sound that leaves Jude's lips doesn't even seem to be human anymore, animalistic and desperate as his hips leave the bed, bucking up into his own touch. Erling knows his tells for when he's close, and if he keeps going as he is, he's going to be spilling into his hand in a matter of moments.
Erling pushes himself out of the chair, trying to resist the urge to groan as he lets go of his own cock, leaving it throbbing and hard as he strips off his joggers. Jude watches him through heavily lidded eyes as Erling approaches. Then, with deliberate slowness, he crawls up the bed, his knees bracketing either side of Jude's legs, pinning him in.
When they're like this their size difference feels even more heady to Erling. He knocks Jude's hand away from his cock, before settling down on Jude's knees, stopping him from being able to twist away. Only once he's sure Jude will stay where he's put, does he wrap a hand around Jude's cock.
"Fuck," Jude hisses. His cock blurts out more precum, twitching in Erling's hand. He can see the rippling strain of Jude's muscles as he tries to stave off his impending orgasm.
"Flink gutt," Erling praises, rhythmically stroking Jude's cock.
"I'm—fuck I'm close." He tries frantically to twist away from the touch, like he knows he'll get in trouble if he tips over the edge without permission, but Erling plants his free hand on Jude's hip making it impossible for him to get any sort of leverage, before gripping the base of Jude's cock hard.
Jude's whine is almost deafening, his arms thrashing as he's denied the relief. His eyelashes are damp, and it's nothing to do with the tears that had stained his cheeks earlier. He tries to buck his hips up like he's trying to find some kind of relief, the need to come driving him half insane, but Erling keeps him pinned until his panting subsides, his heart rate slowing again.
Only then does he release the grip on Jude's cock, resuming his slow stroking. He loves seeing his boy like this, seemingly twisting between wanting to find the momentarily relief and pleasure that Erling can give him and trying to retract away from it because he knows it'll come at a price.
"Please, Jesus, please," he babbles.
Erling raises an eyebrow at him. "What do you want?"
"More, more, please."
Erling complies, speeding his hand up until Jude is writhing again, his fingers twisting into the sheets as though they'll give him salvation.
"What's the matter?" Erling asks, twisting his wrist in the way he knows drives Jude wild. "I thought you wanted more?"
"I'm so fucking close," Jude pants out.
"Already?" He gives Jude a few more punishing strokes, somewhat mesmerised by the way his abs clench and tremble as he tries to obey.
"Erling." It's a warning as much as it is an encouragement. He grips the base of Jude's cock and holds him down through the inevitable squirming as Jude’s body tries to fight him for his release. He can feel himself beginning to lose control himself, his own cock aching and desperate for some kind of relief.
"Flink gutt."
Jude whimpers as he comes back off the edge again, his whole body trembling under Erling. It makes Erling want to do terrible things to him, makes him wonder how many whines and whimpers he could draw out before not even Jude's voice could make sense of the waves of denied pleasure. It's not enough to just imagine it, though. He wants to feel more of Jude, have him totally pliant and fucked out underneath him.
He lets go of Jude entirely, trying to not let Jude's little whimper of dismay change his mind about his plan. He's fully intending on taking Jude so far out of his mind before he even gets his cock in him, but if he's not careful, he'll end up rutting against Jude's hip and coming in his joggers like the first time they ever hooked up.
"Hands and knees, babe. Facing the wall."
He doesn't wait to see if Jude will obey—he knows he will. Instead, he goes to his suitcase, to the small toiletry kit that he always has with him when he knows there's a chance of seeing Jude, and gets the half-empty bottle of lube.
Jude is a picture of debauchery on his hands and knees. Some of the pillows must've fallen to the floor in his haste to get into position, and the sheets have tangled up around his ankles as he practically presents himself. His cock hanging down between his legs, heavy and hard. For an insane moment, Erling wants to take a photo of him like this so he never has to worry about forgetting the way Jude looks.
He thinks about sending it to the England squad, showing them what their top player is doing on the eve of their defeat.
"God, Jude," he says as he comes back to the bed. Sometimes he can't believe he gets to have this, that Jude is his, despite their transfers and the distance and the crazy schedules that keep them apart. Jude pushes his hips backwards, enticing Erling in. It's cheeky, but he'd expect nothing less from his boy.
The sound of the bottle opening makes Jude visibly shiver, the desperation clear in the clench of his muscles. Even still, Erling takes his time to pour some out, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it up a little, before he places his un-lubed hand against the small of Jude's back. The instruction is clear, even if it's unspoken. Do not move.
He drags the tip of his finger down Jude's crack before ghosting over his hole, the touch teasing and barely there. Jude whines, his head dropping down as Erling continues to circle his hole. He's not going to rush this.
"What do you think the others would say if they saw you like this?" he asks.
"Shut up."
"Do you think they knew during the game that you get on your hands and knees for me?"
"Fuck you, they don't know any—" Erling presses the tip of his finger just past Jude's tight muscle, revelling in the way his hole seems desperate to take him deeper. Jude cuts himself off with a whine before he bites his own bicep to try and muffle his noises.
"Mitt lille leketøy. So good for me." He pushes his finger further in, still going slow and teasing. He's going to make Jude fall apart on his fingers alone. Only once Jude is stuck in the waves of pleasure-pain that he knows he can give him, will the game become a distant memory.
Jude whines again as Erling pulls his finger out before pressing it in again, this time tucking a second finger in too. For a moment the only sound in the hotel room other than Jude's heavy breathing is the slick sound of the fingers penetrating him over and over until, finally, Erling brushes the tips of his fingers against Jude's prostate.
The sound he makes sounds somewhere between a whine of pain and a gasp of pleasure, his abused cock jumping. His arms collapse out from under him, sending him plummeting face first into the pillows. Erling wastes no time in gripping Jude's hips, pulling him back and positioning him right, before moving his hand up to Jude's head, pressing him down into the bed as he adds a third finger.
He ruthlessly targets Jude's prostate over and over, feeling the way his body trembles with every brush against it.
"You're going to come from my fingers alone."
"Jesus, fuck." Jude's voice sounds fucked out and desperate. "I need—something, please. Let me touch, please."
"No. You can come from my fingers, or you can not come at all, babe. It's your choice."
Jude lets out a frustrated whimper. Erling knows he can do it. He's done it before, most notably the first time Jude ever took a finger up the arse. The first time Erling's finger had brushed against Jude's prostate, he'd shot off with a yelp of surprise, much to both of their amazement. It felt like a superpower to Erling, one he didn't think he'd ever get sick of.
With three fingers in him, stretching him open and teasing his prostate, Jude looks so debauched and fucked out already. His hips are moving backwards, probably subconsciously, as he tries to get Erling's fingers even deeper. He doesn't even attempt to get his hand round his cock or hump the bed to relieve himself. It sends a little thrill of pride through Erling. His boy is so well behaved.
"Fuck, fuck, I'm close."
"Flink gutt. You're doing so well, baby."
"I'm gonna come."
Erling doesn't relent, roughly pressing his fingers against Jude's prostate as his body begins to tremble. He holds him down, tightening his grip against the back of Jude's head as the whines devolve into more frantic and desperate sounds.
"Do it," he instructs, driving his fingers roughly in again. "Come for me, vennen."
Whether it's the harsh pressure against his prostate, or the Norwegian pet name that tips him over, Erling doesn't know, but Jude falls apart underneath him with a deep groan he tries to muffle in the pillows, his hips driving backwards against Erling's fingers as he rides out his orgasm. Erling is only too happy to keep fingering his boy through the after-shakes, watching as Jude's cock releases ropes of cum. Every time he thinks there must be no more, Jude's cock gives another feeble twitch until there's just barely a dribble coming out.
When Jude starts to whimper and squirm, reflexively trying to escape the overstimulation, Erling releases the hold he has on the back of Jude's head, before removing his fingers and roughly flipping him over in one move. The surprise is clear on Jude's face, even through the post orgasm bliss as he looks up at Erling, fucked out and flushed.
Erling needs to be inside him. He's waited too long, teased Jude too much. He can't think of anything else other than feeling Jude stretch around him. Slicking his cock up with another squirt of lube, he grabs Jude's knees, pressing them back against his chest to expose him. Jude's hole twitches, as though it's longing to be filled. Erling is only too happy to oblige.
Gripping one of Jude's knees tightly and forcing it back, he uses his other hand to guide his cock to Jude's hole, feeling the way it flutters against him in desperation.
"I'm sensitive," Jude whines, but he's not protesting. He's looking at Erling with the desperation to be fucked until he's an oversensitive mess clear on his face. Erling pushes in torturously slowly, feeling every inch of him as he takes him deeply with one long, unbroken whimper. He doesn't stop until he bottoms out, already feeling like he could come from this alone.
"Fucking hell, babe. You feel incredible," he groans. Every time he gets to fuck Jude he's reminded of how good it feels—how well they fit together. Being unable to get his hands on Jude all tournament so far, he's really missed this.
Jude tips his head back against the pillows, exposing the column of his neck as he lets out another little breathy whine. The request is clear to Erling as he releases Jude's knee and pulls his cock out a little before fucking back in.
"You want me to choke you?" Breathless already, he brings his hand up to rest against Jude's lightly. He won't do anything unless Jude asks for it. He can feel the way Jude's hole twitches around him, desperate for a good fucking, but he keeps his hips moving as lazily as he can, dragging the head of his cock over Jude's oversensitive prostate.
"Please." Jude's voice is pitiful and desperate, like he'll die without Erling's fingers wrapped around his neck.
Erling carefully applies pressure with his fingertips, watching Jude carefully. Almost immediately, Jude's eyes roll back, his mouth falling open as his cock starts to stiffen. The sight of that—Jude getting hard again so soon after coming so hard—makes Erling pick the pace up a bit.
"Mitt lille leketøy. Perfect fucking toy." He pounds into Jude hard as Jude goes practically limp underneath him, his eyes unfocused and blown out, his cock starting to leak against his stomach.
He releases the pressure on Jude's neck, watching him carefully to make sure he's breathing. It only takes a moment for Jude to start whimpering again. He can't seem to decide between the pain of the overstimulation and the pleasure of another impending orgasm, his body twitching to both get away and take Erling deeper.
The sensations are overwhelming Erling. He's not going to last much longer. He shifts them, hooking Jude's leg over his shoulder to fuck him even deeper, nailing his prostate on every thrust.
"Fuck—Jesus fuck, sir, I'm going to come again."
"Do it," Erling encourages. "Come."
Jude arches halfway off the bed, his cock spurting cum up his chest, so forceful it hits his chin. Erling can feel the way his hole desperately clenches as he comes, his arms coming out to wrap behind Erling's neck as though that would let him go even deeper. Suddenly, they're face to face with barely an inch between them, Jude still trembling and coming.
Erling kisses Jude's slack face, open-mouthed and messy. Jude returns the kiss with vigour, tightening his grip around the back of Erling's neck as though he might never let him go.
That thought tips Erling over the edge. He can feel his balls tighten, his hips losing their rhythm, before he buries himself as deep as he can and muffling the shout he can feel erupting by biting down hard on Jude's shoulder. It feels like his orgasm might never end as he shallowly fucks Jude through it.
The bone-deep exhaustion and relief settles in fast as he collapses down on top of Jude, momentarily crushing him as they both pant. He can feel his cock softening, but he can't bring himself to pull out yet.
"You oaf," Jude grumbles, but he doesn't let go of his grip around the back of Erling's neck. For a moment Erling lets himself stay like this, breathing in everything about sweaty fucked out Jude. Eventually, though, he starts to feel a bit sticky and disgusting.
Jude lets out a little groan of disappointment when Erling finally pulls out.
"You're an insatiable whore," Erling says, flopping onto his back next to Jude.
"It's not my fault you make me wait so long for it." The comment is light, but Erling hears the words underneath. It used to be easy for them to find relief with each other, quick fucks and stress relief. Now, it feels like a momentary treat he misses the moment it's over.
"I know," he says, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one arm.
Jude stays on his back, staring at the ceiling, but his hand reaches out and tangles into Erling's. "I can't believe we're flying home tomorrow. Just—it's so fast, isn't it?"
Erling nods, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jude's hand. "You played well."
Jude snorts, but doesn't reply to that.
"I mean it. Don't tell the others, but I think it was just bad luck you did not win."
For a moment Jude doesn't say anything at all. They stay in silence, Erling's thumb still moving over the back of Jude's hand. "I miss you so much," he says. It's surprisingly open and honest—something they rarely are.
"Stay tonight," Erling finds himself saying. "Sneak back over in the morning before your pick up."
Jude shifts, turning his head to look at Erling. "Could I?"
"Please. I sleep better when you're with me."
"Thank you." He falls silent again, before bringing his free hand up to lazily scratch his stomach. "We should shower."
Erling wrinkles his nose at the reminder of how sticky he is. He helps Jude up, and they wash each other in the shower, gentle and tender, peppered with occasional kisses.
When he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, Jude wastes no time in shifting himself around until he's tucked up with his back pressing against Erling's chest, like it's the only place in the world he feels safe. Erling presses soft kisses into the nape of his neck, holding him as tight as he dares.
Tomorrow, Erling will get to go over tactics for how the hell they're going to win the semi-finals.
For tonight, though, he just needs to hold Jude. Nothing else matters as long as Jude is in his arms.