Chapter 14: Championship Fuck
The roar of the Allianz Arena was a physical force, a ninety-thousand-strong earthquake of sound that vibrated through the plush leather of the VIP box. Vanja stood, her knuckles white where they gripped the brass railing. On the pitch, a blur of red and white, Manuel was a Titan, a fortress of concentration. But now, in the 89th minute, with Bayern clinging to a 2-1 lead, Borussia Dortmund launched one final, desperate assault. The cross was perfect, arcing away from the defenders, meeting the head of their star striker. The connection was clean, the ball screaming towards the top corner.
Time stretched, snapped thin.
Manuel launched himself, a symphony of muscle and instinct, his body horizontal, a superhuman extension. His fingertips, those legendary, impossible fingers, brushed the ball, deflecting it onto the crossbar with a crack that echoed through the sudden, collective gasp. It bounced back into the fray, was cleared, and the final whistle blew.
The stadium erupted. Pure, undiluted bedlam.
Vanja’s heart hammered against her ribs, a wild, frantic bird. She was still processing the save, the sheer athletic beauty of it, when a hand closed around her wrist. Joshua. His eyes were bright with adrenaline and something else, something darker and more urgent.
“Come on,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the celebratory chaos. He didn’t wait for an answer, pulling her through the celebrating executives, through a discreet door and into a private bathroom behind the box. It was all cool marble and polished chrome, the roar of the crowd now a muffled, distant storm.
The door clicked shut. He backed her against the sink, his body caging her in. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faint, metallic smell of the room.
“Did you see that?” he breathed, his gaze intense. “Did you see what he just did?”
Before she could answer, the door flew open, crashing against the marble wall.
Manuel stood there, still in his full kit, his chest heaving. Sweat plastered his dark blond hair to his forehead, dripped from his jaw. Grass stains smeared his knees and elbows. He smelled of salt, effort, and victory. His blue eyes, usually so cool and calculating, were wild, blazing with the aftermath of his superhuman effort. They locked onto Joshua, then onto Vanja, pinned between them.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The air crackled, thick with a tension far more dangerous than anything on the pitch.
Then Manuel was on them. He didn’t shove Joshua away. He moved past him, his body crowding Vanja’s other side, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, his mouth crashing down on hers. It was a claiming, brutal and absolute, tasting of salt and the metallic tang of his mouthguard. She moaned into it, her hands coming up to grip his sweat-soaked jersey.
Joshua watched for a second, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. Then his hands were on her hips, turning her slightly, hiking up the silk of her dress. His fingers found the waistband of her thong and dragged it down her legs. “Fuck, Vanja,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re already soaked.”
Manuel broke the kiss, his breath hot against her cheek. “She’s always ready for it.” His voice was a guttural growl, stripped of all civility. He kept one hand firm on her neck, using the other to unbuckle his shorts, pushing them and his briefs down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, pressing against her stomach.
Joshua’s fingers found her first, slipping through her slick folds, making her jolt. “Jesus,” he breathed, working two fingers inside her, stretching her. “Look at her. She’s dripping for both of us.”
Manuel’s gaze was locked on hers. He spat into his palm, a crude, animalistic gesture, and slicked himself. He nudged Joshua’s hand away. “My turn.”
He drove into her in one deep, devastating thrust, filling her completely, stretching her to the brink. A sharp, choked cry tore from her throat. The cold, hard marble of the sink dug into her back, a stark contrast to the burning heat of him inside her. He didn’t move, just held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting her feel every inch of him.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he growled, his eyes boring into hers. “Both of us. The hero and the bastard who wanted you first.”
Before she could form a thought, Joshua was in front of her, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her mouth to his crotch. He fumbled with his own fly, freeing his erection. “Open,” he commanded, and she did, her mind a whirl of sensation—Manuel’s possessive fullness inside her, Joshua’s salty, musky taste on her tongue.
Manuel began to move, a slow, brutal rhythm that rocked her entire body against the sink. Each thrust pushed her further onto Joshua, who groaned, his hips jerking as he fucked her mouth. The sounds were filthy, obscene: the wet slap of Manuel’s skin against hers, Joshua’s ragged groans, her own guttural, muffled cries.
“That’s it, take it,” Manuel grunted, his pace quickening, becoming punishing. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, sure to leave bruises. “This perfect cunt is mine. But you can have her mouth, Josh. You can remember what you almost had.”
Joshua’s control snapped. He thrust deep into her throat, holding himself there as he came, a hot, bitter flood that she had no choice but to swallow. He shuddered, pulling back with a gasp, leaning his forehead against the mirror, spent.
Manuel watched it all, his eyes dark with a feral triumph. He pulled out of her suddenly, spinning her around to face the mirror. Her reflection was a mess of flushed skin, wild hair, and dazed eyes. He bent her over the sink, her cheek pressed to the cold glass.
“Now watch,” he commanded, his voice raw. “Watch me finish what I started.”
He entered her from behind, deeper this time, making her cry out. His eyes were locked on hers in the mirror. One hand wrapped in her hair, pulling her head back, the other gripping her hip, his body slamming into hers with a force that rattled the fixtures. He was marking her, branding her, exorcising every ghost of jealousy and doubt in the most primal way possible.
“Come for me,” he snarled, his breath a hot gust against her ear. “Now.”
It was an order she couldn’t disobey. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsing, her inner muscles clenching around him in frantic waves. With a final, driving thrust and a guttural roar that was ripped from the depths of his soul, he followed, pulsing deep inside her, his own release a hot, claiming rush.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing, fogging the mirror. The distant roar of the celebrating stadium was a world away.
Manuel slowly pulled out, tucking himself back into his kit with a grimace. He turned on the tap, splashed water on his face. His eyes met Joshua’s in the reflection. There was no animosity now, just a shared, exhausted understanding.
Joshua zipped his fly, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Vanja, her dress still rucked up around her waist, her legs trembling. A faint, almost apologetic smile touched his lips. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” He slipped out of the bathroom, leaving them in the sudden, heavy silence.
Manuel turned off the water. He didn’t look at her. He grabbed a handful of paper towels, wet them, and gently began to clean her thighs, his movements now surprisingly tender. He smoothed her dress down. His hands were shaking.
He finally met her gaze in the mirror. The wildness was gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling calm.
“Lina is leaving him,” he said, his voice quiet, devoid of all emotion. “She knows it was never really about her. It was always about this.” He gestured between the three of them, the charged space they had just occupied. “The game within the game.”
He straightened up, the legendary goalkeeper once more, the mask firmly back in place. But his eyes, as they held hers, were utterly, terrifyingly honest.
“It’s only us now,” he said. “The three of us. And this is just the beginning.”
The silence in the car was a solid, heavy thing. Joshua gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles bone-white. Lina’s perfume, once a scent he associated with comfort, now smelled like accusation.
“You love her,” she said, her voice flat and final. The city lights slid across her face like tears. “You love her more than you ever loved me. You care about her, even though she’s with Manuel. Your ‘brother’. I guess you learned to share your toys.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Joshua snarled, the words tearing out of him. He didn’t look at her. “You don’t get to talk about her in that way. You don’t get a say in this. Get out of my car.”
She didn’t hesitate. The door slammed, a sound of absolute finality. He watched her stalk away, a furious silhouette swallowed by the night, and then he drove, aimlessly, for a long time. His mind replayed the bathroom, the raw possession on Manuel’s face, the devastating surrender in Vanja’s eyes. The truth was a stone in his gut.
He found himself outside their building, the engine idling. He didn’t remember deciding to come here. He just was. He took the elevator up, the climb feeling like a verdict.
He knocked. Manuel opened the door, dressed in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. He looked tired, peaceful. “Come in,” he said, as if he’d been expecting him.
The aroma of baking dough and tomatoes washed over him. And there she was, in the kitchen. Vanja stood at the counter, stretching pizza dough, wearing nothing but one of Manuel’s old jerseys. It hung to her mid-thigh. Her hair was piled in a messy knot. She looked soft, real, utterly at home.
On the small dining table, three plates were set. Three wine glasses. Three sets of cutlery.
Joshua’s breath caught. He stared at the third setting, then at Manuel, who just smiled a small, quiet smile and shrugged. The gesture said everything. Of course. It was always going to be this.
Vanja turned, her golden-green eyes finding his. She didn’t look surprised either. She offered a faint, knowing smile before turning back to her task.
Joshua felt as if his heart might burst. Him too. The three of them.