Chapter 7: Kitchen Counter Carnage
The last savory bite of Käsespätzle vanished from Vanja’s fork. The rich cheese and caramelized onions had been a grounding comfort after the storm of passion against the window. Now, the quiet hum of the dishwasher was the only sound, a stark contrast to Joshua’s ragged breaths still echoing in her mind. He hadn't touched his food much, his grey eyes, usually sharp and assessing, holding an unnerving warmth as he watched her eat. That intense focus, so different from his usual dismissive coolness in the hallways of Säbener Straße, made her skin prickle.
"Good?" he finally asked, his voice a low rasp that vibrated down her spine.
"Surprisingly," she managed, setting her fork down with a clink. "Didn't peg you for a Spätzle master." She tried for casual, deflecting the charged atmosphere with a shaky smile.
He shrugged, a ghost of his familiar smirk playing on his lips. "Swabian grandmother. Some skills are non-negotiable." He pushed his barely-touched plate aside. "Come on." He stood, stretching, the muscles in his abdomen rippling beneath the damp sheen still clinging to his skin from the shower. Vanja’s gaze snagged on the line of his hip bones disappearing into the towel. "Let's go to the room."
Her breath hitched. "The room? What, no guest room for Lady Vran?" The sarcasm was a flimsy shield.
He turned, that familiar, infuriatingly handsome face softening almost imperceptibly. A faint pink tinged the tops of his ears. "I tried to be a gentleman," he murmured, the words rough but genuine.
A startled laugh burst from her. "After you fucked me three ways to Sunday against your fancy window? Sure thing, Kimmich. Lead the way." The crude words, flung like a challenge, hung in the air.
He blushed. A full, undeniable flush crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks. Vanja stared, utterly stunned. Joshua Kimmich, the ice prince of Bayern's midfield, blushing? Because of her?
He cleared his throat, the blush deepening, and gestured wordlessly down the hallway. Vanja followed, her own cheeks burning now for a different reason. He led her past minimalist art and framed jerseys to the master suite. It was dominated by a vast bed, the dark linen sheets looking impossibly soft and inviting under the low, ambient light. He pulled back the duvet. "Get in."
The sheets were sinfully comfortable, cool against her overheated skin. She sank into them, the exhaustion of the day – the match, the adrenaline, the sheer intensity of him – crashing over her. He slid in beside her, the mattress dipping, his body radiating heat. He didn't touch her, just lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. The silence stretched, thick with unsaid things and the raw memory of touch. Gradually, the warmth, the softness, the surreal peace of being in Joshua Kimmich’s bed after hating him for months, pulled her under into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The shrill, insistent buzz of her phone shattered the stillness. Vanja jerked awake, disoriented, heart hammering. 2:07 AM glowed on the screen. Aleks. She fumbled for it, her voice thick with sleep. "Aleks? What happened?"
Beside her, Joshua sat bolt upright, instantly alert, his expression tight with worry. "What is it? Who?" he demanded, low and urgent.
"Joshua wasn't at the debriefing," Aleksander's voice crackled, tinny and worried through the speaker. "He played so fucking well, man of the match level, and then just... vanished. We're all worried sick. Nobody can reach him. His phone's dead."
Vanja blinked, the absurdity of the situation momentarily overriding the panic. She met Joshua's eyes in the dim light filtering through the blinds. He raised a brow, then silently mouthed, "I turned it off. Didn't want any distractions." A smug, utterly male smirk curved his lips.
She swatted his arm, hard. "Umm, Aleks," she stammered, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm sure he's fine. Totally fine."
"But how can you be sure?" Aleks pressed. "He's not answering! Thomas is here too, and Manuel. They're pacing like caged tigers. We thought maybe... I don't know, concussion protocol missed something? Or worse?"
Joshua's smirk widened into a full-blown, shit-eating grin. He leaned closer, his breath warm on her ear.
"Well, Aleks," Vanja said, her voice climbing an octave, "I can be sure because... because..." She shot Joshua a desperate look.
He snatched the phone from her hand before she could react. "Aleks," Joshua said, his voice calm, clear, and carrying perfectly. "It's Joshua."
A beat of stunned silence screamed through the line. Vanja could almost picture their teammates freezing mid-pace.
"I'm fine," Joshua continued, effortlessly smooth. "Thank you for worrying. More than fine, actually." He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes glinting wickedly as they locked onto Vanja’s wide, horrified ones. "I'm fucking bloody amazing."
A cacophony erupted from the phone – whoops, barks of laughter, Thomas Müller's distinctive cackle loudest of all. Then Aleksander's voice, strained and mortified. "Stop! For the love of God, stop! There are things I don't need to know, especially at two in the bloody morning!"
Joshua chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied. He winked at Vanja. "Then don't call us again at... what, 2 AM? Some of us are trying to recover." His gaze dropped meaningfully to where the duvet had slipped low on Vanja’s chest.
Aleksander made a strangled noise. "You absolute wanker! Vanja, I am so sorry. Goodnight! And congrats, I guess? On the win! Just... goodnight!" The line went dead.
Vanja could feel her own face blazing. Aleksander hadn't sounded just embarrassed; he'd sounded beet red. She slapped Joshua's hand again, harder this time. "You unbelievable asshole. Did you have to?"
He just laughed, a rich, warm sound that filled the dark room, utterly unrepentant. Before she could launch into a proper tirade about professionalism and boundaries and the absolute mortification of having the entire team know she was in his bed, he moved. Lightning fast. One moment he was smirking beside her, the next his body was pinning her down into the luxurious depths of the mattress, his weight deliciously heavy.
"So," he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear, making her shiver despite her outrage. "About that Milan midfielder..."
Vanja's breath caught. He was talking shop? Now? After that display? The sheer, arrogant audacity of it... and the unexpected thrill of him engaging her mind, her passion, not just her body. A laugh, half-disbelieving, half-delighted, bubbled up in her throat. "The one whose defensive positioning you demolished? What about him?"
Joshua didn't answer with words. His mouth captured hers in a kiss that was nothing like the brutal possession of before. It was deep, slow, claiming, but laced with a newfound intensity, a hunger that felt like recognition. His tongue swept against hers, deliberate and devastating. One hand tangled in her hair, holding her head still for his exploration, while the other slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, his fingers finding the damp heat already gathering between her legs even through the thin barrier of the borrowed t-shirt she wore.
He broke the kiss just enough to growl against her lips, his voice thick and rough. "Shut up and argue later, jaka95." The name, her forum name, spoken in his voice, here, now, slammed into her like a physical blow. The world tilted. kimmi95? Here? Now? This man pinning her down, his cock hardening insistently against her thigh through the duvet, was kimmi95?
his hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt. No preamble. No teasing. His fingers, long and surprisingly deft, found her slick folds, already swollen and eager despite her confusion. He traced her entrance, a feather-light touch that drew a choked whimper from her throat, then plunged two fingers inside her without warning.
"Fuck!" she gasped, arching off the bed. The stretch, the sudden, brutal fullness, scrambled her thoughts.
"Exactly," Joshua breathed, watching her face, his grey eyes blazing with a feral light. He curled his fingers inside her, finding that spot that made white light burst behind her eyelids. "So tight... so fucking wet for me already." He began to piston his fingers, deep and relentless, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit with every thrust. "Is this how you argue online? All that fire... channeled right here?" He punctuated his words with a sharper grind that had her crying out, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in.
The duel identities, the anger, the bizarre phone call, the overwhelming desire – it all fused into a molten core of pure sensation. She tried to form words – accusations, questions, something – but all that emerged were ragged gasps and moans as he worked her with cruel, perfect precision. His thumb circled her clit harder, faster, matching the punishing rhythm of his fingers. Heat coiled low in her belly, relentless and urgent.
"Joshua..." It was a plea, a warning, lost in the haze.
"Let go," he commanded, his voice guttural. "Come for me, Vanja. Show me." He buried his face in the crook of her neck, biting down gently on the tendon, sending fresh jolts of electricity through her. "Show me what that brilliant fucking mind feels like when it shatters."
The command, the raw need in his voice, the impossible pressure building under his relentless touch – it detonated. Her body seized, back bowing violently off the bed as a silent scream tore through her. Waves of pure, electric ecstasy crashed over her, relentless, drowning out thought, drowning out everything but the feel of his fingers still pumping inside her, drawing out the convulsions until she was trembling, boneless, gasping for air against his shoulder.
Before the last tremor had subsided, before she could even process the aftershocks, Joshua was moving. He yanked the duvet down and shoved her thighs apart, his movements urgent, almost rough. Her borrowed t-shirt was rucked up around her waist. His own towel was gone – when had he lost it? He knelt between her legs, his cock thick and rigid, the head glistening, aimed right at her oversensitive, dripping entrance. His eyes, dark and predatory in the low light, locked onto hers. There was no tenderness now, only a stark, hungry possessiveness.
"No more games," he rasped. "Mine." And with one powerful thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself inside her to the hilt, stretching her anew, filling the aching emptiness with one brutal, claiming stroke. Vanja cried out, a sound torn between shock and overwhelming sensation, her body still humming from the climax he'd just wrung from her. He didn't pause. He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back in, setting a ruthless, demanding pace that stole her breath and silenced everything but the slick, obscene sound of their joining and the guttural groan ripped from his own throat. The bed frame began a rhythmic protest against the wall. He braced himself over her, muscles corded, driving into her with the same fierce, controlled aggression he displayed on the pitch, each deep plunge hitting a spot that sent sparks flying behind her closed eyelids. The world dissolved into heat, friction, and the relentless, conquering rhythm of Joshua Kimmich.
The cold glass bit into her palms and cheek, a shocking counterpoint to the furnace heat of Joshua’s body pressing her into the vast Munich panorama. His cock plunged deeper than she thought possible, stretching her with a brutal, claiming stroke that tore a ragged cry from her throat. "Fucking look," he growled against her ear, his breath hot and damp, one hand fisting in her hair, wrenching her head back to face the glittering city sprawled below. "Look at it while I fuck you."
Her vision blurred, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes – pain, overwhelming sensation, the sheer obscenity of being taken like this against a window in Joshua Kimmich’s penthouse. "You... arrogant... prick..." she gasped, the insult dissolving into a low moan as he withdrew almost completely, then slammed home again with punishing force. Her inner muscles clenched involuntarily around his hard length, trying to pull him deeper still.
His low chuckle vibrated through her spine. "That's it, jaka95. Fight me." He released her hair, his hand sliding down her trembling back, over the curve of her ass, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. His other hand snaked around her front, calloused fingers finding her swollen clit instantly. He didn't stroke; he pressed down, grinding the sensitive nub against the heel of his palm with each powerful thrust.
"Oh fuck! Oh god, Joshua!" Her legs threatened to buckle. The dual assault – the relentless pounding deep inside and the ruthless pressure on her clit – shattered coherent thought. Her fingernails scraped uselessly against the smooth, cold windowpane. Her breath fogged the glass in frantic bursts, obscuring the view he’d forced on her. The slick, wet sound of his cock pistoning into her dripping cunt filled the silent room, punctuated by his own guttural grunts and the occasional sharp slap of flesh against flesh. "Feels... too... much..."
"Not enough," he snarled, driving impossibly deeper, his hips snapping against her ass. "Not fucking enough after you... argued every fucking point... after you looked at me like I was dirt..." His rhythm stuttered, losing its brutal precision, becoming frantic, desperate. His fingers pressed harder on her clit, circling now with bruising intensity. "Come on, Vanja. Now. Let me feel it."
The coil snapped. Her climax hit like a freight train, violent and all-consuming. Her body convulsed, clamping down on his invading cock with a strength that forced a shout from him. Wave after blinding wave of electric pleasure ripped through her, wringing a raw, wordless scream from her throat. She felt him lose control then, the rhythm disintegrating into frantic, shallow lunges as her inner muscles pulsed around him. "Fuck! Vanja! FUCK!" His roar echoed in the high-ceilinged room as his own release tore through him. She felt the hot pulse deep inside her, the primal spurting of his cum, his hips jerking erratically against her ass as he emptied himself. He collapsed against her back, his weight pressing her harder into the glass, both of them gasping, trembling, slick with sweat. The city lights blurred into streaks of color beyond the fogged window. He buried his face in the sweat-damp hair at her nape, his breath ragged. "Jesus..." he exhaled, the word thick, almost reverent. Then, silence, heavy with the scent of sex and exertion. The tension bled out slowly, replaced by a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. He eased back gently, pulling himself out of her with a soft, wet sound that made her shiver. Without a word, he scooped her up, her legs weak and useless, and carried her towards the dark expanse of his bed. The world faded fast. The last thing she registered was the cool slide of expensive sheets and the solid warmth of his body curling around hers before oblivion claimed them both.
Sunlight, sharp and intrusive, sliced through a gap in the blinds, landing squarely on Vanja’s face. She groaned, burrowing deeper into the pillow that smelled overwhelmingly of cedar, spice, and Joshua. Awareness returned in fragments: the deep ache between her legs, the unfamiliar contours of the mattress, the heavy arm draped possessively over her waist. Blinking, she saw Joshua watching her, propped up on one elbow. Grey eyes, clear and unnervingly focused, traced the line of her shoulder where the sheet had slipped down. "Morning," he rasped, voice thick with sleep. His thumb brushed lightly over the faint shadow of a bruise blooming near her hip bone.
Vanja felt heat flood her cheeks, the memories of the night slamming back with vivid intensity – the window, his hands, his cock, the names… jaka95, kimmi95. She cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze. "Morning." Silence stretched, awkward and thick. "I should... um... go?"
Joshua didn't move. "Come with me to Säbener Straße." The invitation was casual, almost offhand, but his eyes held hers, steady.
Her blush deepened, spreading down her neck. "To training? Are you insane? After... last night? After Aleksander's call?" The mortification was fresh and scalding. "Half the team probably thinks—"
"Half the team already knows you slept here, Shatzi," he interrupted, a faint, infuriating smirk touching his lips. He shifted closer, the sheet falling lower, revealing the hard planes of his chest. "Might as well help save the planet."
A startled laugh burst from her. "Save the planet? How is my presence at Bayern training saving the planet?"
His smirk widened. "Car pooling, obviously." He traced the curve of her hip bone again, his touch sparking dangerous little flickers. "Efficiency."
Vanja raised an eyebrow, the absurdity momentarily cutting through her embarrassment. "Does this efficiency extend to the shower? To save water?" The quip was out before she could stop it.
Joshua’s eyes darkened instantly, the sleepy amusement replaced by a predatory gleam. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "Yeah," he breathed, moving with startling speed. He flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head, his weight heavy and sudden. His body blanketed hers, already hard against her thigh. "We are very environmentally conscious in this household." He dipped his head, his lips brushing hers. "Conservation is key." His kiss was deliberate, slow, promising a different kind of water usage entirely. Her laugh turned into a gasp as his hips rocked against her. Efficiency, it seemed, was about to take a very personal turn.