Chapter 9: Sauna Showdown
The sauna door hissed shut, sealing the three of them in the thick, pine-scented heat. The sound was a full stop, followed by a deafening silence broken only by the sizzle of water on hot stones.
Joshua Kimmich stood frozen, his hand still on the brass handle. His eyes, wide with shock, were locked on Vanja. She hadn’t moved from her position astride Manuel’s face, her body gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat and her own arousal. Her thighs still trembled from the force of her orgasm.
Manuel’s gaze, cool and challenging over the curve of her ass, held Joshua’s. He didn’t flinch, didn’t try to cover them. Instead, his tongue swiped slowly, deliberately, through Vanja’s slick folds. The intimate sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Close the fucking door,” Neuer said, his voice low and rough, “or join us.”
Vanja’s breath hitched. A fresh wave of heat, unrelated to the sauna, flooded her core. The power in the room had shifted, tilting on its axis. She saw the conflict in Joshua’s face—the rigid line of his jaw, the way his eyes darkened with a mixture of outrage and a raw, undeniable hunger. He was still dressed in his training kit, a stark contrast to their naked, tangled bodies.
“Don’t you dare look away,” Vanja moaned, the command leaving her lips before she could stop it. She arched her back, presenting herself more fully to his gaze, a deliberate act of defiance and invitation.
A muscle ticked in Joshua’s jaw. For a long, suspended moment, he remained statue-still. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he let his duffel bag drop to the wet tiles with a soft thud. His eyes never left hers as he pulled his damp shirt over his head, revealing the lean, defined muscle of his torso. The decision was made without a word.
Manuel’s hands tightened on her hips, a possessive grip. “Come here, Josh,” he said, the command leaving no room for debate.
Joshua approached, his steps cautious on the slick wood. The bench creaked as he sat beside Manuel’s head, his eyes raking over Vanja’s body with an intensity that made her skin prickle. He reached out, his fingers tracing the fresh, dark bite marks on her throat that Manuel had left the night before.
“He marked you,” Joshua murmured, his thumb pressing against the bruise.
“She’s mine,” Manuel growled from beneath her, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh. “But tonight, she can be ours.”
The words sent a jolt through her. Manuel’s hands guided her, shifting her weight until she was kneeling over Joshua’s lap. His erection strained against his shorts, and she rocked against him, a slow, grinding motion that made him hiss through his teeth.
“Fuck, Vanja,” he breathed, his hands coming up to grip her waist.
She leaned down and captured his mouth in a savage kiss, all teeth and clashing tongues. It was nothing like the tender kiss she’d shared with Manuel hours earlier. This was pure conquest. As they kissed, she felt Manuel move behind her. His hands spread her ass cheeks, and then his tongue was on her again, licking, probing, from her clit to the tight pucker of her asshole.
She cried out against Joshua’s mouth, the dual sensation overwhelming. Joshua fumbled with his shorts, freeing his cock. It was different from Manuel’s—slightly thinner, but just as hard, and so long, the tip already glistening. He positioned himself at her entrance.
“You want this?” he asked, his voice ragged, his eyes searching hers.
“Yes,” she gasped, as Manuel’s tongue delved deeper. “God, yes.”
Joshua drove up into her in one smooth, firm stroke, filling her completely. She threw her head back, a guttural moan tearing from her throat. She was impossibly full, stretched and speared, Joshua buried deep inside her cunt while Manuel’s mouth worked her from behind.
Manuel pulled his face away. “Fuck her, Josh,” he commanded, his own voice thick with arousal. “Make her scream.”
Joshua needed no further encouragement. He set a brutal, pounding rhythm, his hips slamming up into her, the sound of their bodies meeting a wet, slapping echo in the small room. Vanja braced her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she rode him, meeting every thrust.
Manuel watched for a moment, his blue eyes blazing with a possessive fire, before spitting onto his fingers and pressing one against her other hole. She clenched, a shocked gasp caught in her throat.
“Relax,” Manuel ordered, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the frenzy of Joshua’s movements. He worked the finger inside, a slow, burning intrusion that made her see stars. The feeling of being filled in both places, owned by both of them, shattered her.
Her orgasm ripped through her with violent, uncontrollable force. Her body seized, her inner muscles clamping down on Joshua’s cock in rapid, milking spasms while she screamed, a raw, broken sound that was swallowed by the steam.
Feeling her climax, Joshua lost his rhythm, his own release hitting him with a choked groan. He pulsed inside her, his body shuddering beneath hers.
Before she could even catch her breath, Manuel was moving. He pulled Joshua’s softening cock from her, a trail of their mixed release slicking her thigh. He pushed her forward, bending her over the bench, her cheek pressed against the hot, damp wood.
“My turn,” he snarled.
He entered her from behind, his thick cock sliding easily into her well-used, dripping cunt. He fucked her with a single-minded intensity, his hands gripping the marks on her hips he’d made earlier. It was a reclamation. Each deep, punishing thrust was a reminder of who she ultimately belonged to.
Joshua, still breathing heavily, watched them, his hand moving slowly on his own cock as he hardened again. The sight of it, the sheer deviance of the moment, pushed Vanja over another edge. She came again, a weaker, shuddering wave that left her boneless.
Manuel followed soon after, groaning her name as he emptied himself deep inside her, his body collapsing over hers for a brief, crushing moment.
The only sound was their ragged breathing, competing with the hiss of the steam. Manuel pulled out, and Vanja slumped to the bench, utterly spent. Joshua leaned back, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, his expression unreadable.
Manuel stood, his naked form towering over them both. He looked from Vanja’s wrecked, beautiful body to Joshua’s stunned face.
“What happens in the sauna,” he said, his voice quiet but absolute, “stays in the sauna. This doesn’t change a thing on the pitch. Understood?”
Joshua gave a slow, sharp nod, his eyes still fixed on Vanja. The understanding was there, but so was a new, dangerous spark. The game had just become infinitely more complex.
The steam thinned, leaving their skin clammy and exposed. Joshua’s mind, usually a whirlwind of tactical precision, was a scrambled, static-filled mess. He mechanically pulled on his shorts, the fabric abrasive against his sensitized skin. Every breath he drew was saturated with the mingled scents of sex and pine.
Manuel moved with an infuriating, practiced calm, wrapping a towel around his waist as if he’d just finished a routine workout. He glanced at Vanja, who was watching them both through heavy-lidded, satisfied eyes. “I’ll walk her out,” he said to Joshua, a clear dismissal. “You should use the cold plunge.”
Joshua just nodded, his throat too tight to form words. He watched them go, Vanja’s hand briefly resting on Manuel’s bare arm, a gesture of intimate familiarity that felt like a physical blow. The door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the humid silence. The fuck was that? The question screamed inside his skull, unanswered. He had just shared a woman with his captain, his friend, Manu. He could still taste her on his lips, still feel the violent clench of her orgasm around his cock.
His own girlfriend, Lina, was flying in from Berlin next week. She’d already texted him about wanting to try that new Italian place. The thought of her, of her predictable smile and clean, uncomplicated scent, made his stomach twist with a nauseating wave of guilt. He could still smell Vanja on his skin, a musky, primal perfume buried under the soap. He brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled, a jolt of raw desire shooting straight to his groin.
He stumbled into the icy water of the plunge pool, the shock stealing his breath. It did nothing to cleanse him. His mind replayed the scene on a vicious loop: the way Vanja had commanded him not to look away, the possessive grip of Manuel’s hands on her hips, the filthy, wet sound of his own thrusts. He saw the dark purple marks on her throat from Manuel’s teeth and remembered the fierce, territorial urge he’d felt to add his own.
He got out, shivering, his body a confused map of sensation and shame. Driving home, the memory was a phantom passenger in his car. He could feel the ghost of her weight on his lap, see the defiant gleam in her golden-green eyes. He walked into his sterile, modern apartment, and the silence there was accusing. He stood under a scalding shower, but the water couldn’t wash away the feeling of her inner muscles fluttering around him or the image of Manuel claiming her right after.
He sank onto his bed, the duvet crisp and cold. He should be thinking about tomorrow’s training, about the set-piece drills he needed to run. But all his brain would supply was the sight of Vanja’s back arching, the sound of her scream echoing off the cedar walls, and the crushing weight of Manuel’s dominance over them both. He palmed his own hardening cock through the sheets, a groan of pure frustration tearing from his chest. He was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked, and he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Completely and utterly fucked, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. The memory was a brand, seared into his mind every time he closed his eyes.
Three days later, the memory was a live wire under his skin, fraying his nerves during a simple possession drill. The ball felt alien at his feet, his timing a fraction off, his focus shattered by the ghost of Vanja’s breath on his neck. He miscontrolled a simple pass, sending it skittering out of bounds, and the sharp blast of the coach’s whistle was a mercy.
“Kimmich! Kopf in das Spiel, oder geh nach Hause!” the trainer barked.
He snatched his water bottle, squeezing a stream into his mouth, but the liquid did nothing to douse the heat coiling in his gut. Across the pitch, Neuer was a statue of calm, effortlessly plucking crosses out of the air as if the world hadn’t tilted on its axis. His composure was a provocation.
The final whistle blew, releasing the team into the cool down. Joshua’s muscles burned with a tension that had nothing to do with exercise. He watched Manuel peel off his gloves, his movements economical and sure. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He cut through the dispersing players, his cleats clicking a staccato rhythm on the concrete floor of the tunnel. He found Neuer alone by his locker, pulling a clean shirt over his head.
“We need to talk,” Joshua said, his voice low and tight.
Manuel turned, his blue eyes assessing him with unnerving calm. “About?”
“Don’t.” The word came out as a snarl. “You know what. The sauna.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Neuer’s lips. “What about it?”
“What the hell was that, Manu?” Joshua stepped closer, the scent of grass and sweat doing little to mask the deeper, more intimate scent of Vanja that seemed to cling to the air between them. “One minute I’m walking in, the next… that.”
“You had a choice. You made it.” Neuer shrugged, the gesture infuriatingly casual. “It happened. It’s over.”
“Is it?” Joshua challenged, his mind flashing to the possessive way Manuel had looked at her, the way he’d claimed her again right after. “Because it doesn’t feel over. It feels like you set a fucking trap.”
Neuer’s gaze hardened, the casual mask slipping to reveal the steel beneath. “Be very careful what you’re implying, Josh.”
“I’m implying that you wanted me to see. You wanted me… involved.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, frustration boiling over. “She’s a coach, for Christ’s sake. And you… you just marked your territory like a goddamn animal in front of me.”
“She is mine,” Neuer stated, the words flat and absolute. “That was established long before you walked through that door. What you witnessed was a reminder. For her. And for you.”
The confirmation hit Joshua like a physical blow. It had been a display of power, a brutal lesson in the hierarchy he existed within. He had been a participant, but he was not an equal. He was a tool used to reinforce Manuel’s dominance.
“And Lina?” Joshua asked, the name of his girlfriend tasting like ash in his mouth.
“What happens off the pitch,” Neuer said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “stays off the pitch. That was the rule. Can you handle that? Or is your head too fucked to play football?”
The question was a direct challenge to his professionalism, his identity. Joshua held his captain’s gaze, the air crackling with the unsaid things, the shared, degrading memory of Vanja’s body between them. He saw no regret in Neuer’s eyes, only cold, calculated possession.
“I can handle it,” Joshua bit out, the lie tasting bitter.
“Good.” Neuer picked up his bag, the conversation clearly terminated. “Then we’re done here.”
He walked away, leaving Joshua standing alone in the echoing tunnel, the ghost of Vanja’s scream and the chill of Manuel’s control clinging to him. He was in the game, but it was a game he suddenly realized he didn’t know how to play.
He was in the game, but it was a game he suddenly realized he didn’t know how to play. The phantom sensation of her body, the memory of Manuel’s challenging stare, followed him out of the tunnel and into the shower’s scalding spray. He scrubbed at his skin until it was raw, but the stain of the encounter felt permanent.
Later, wrapped in the sterile silence of his penthouse, Manuel poured two fingers of whiskey and watched Vanja trace the condensation on her glass. The city lights blurred far below them, a distant galaxy. “You were hard on him today,” she said, her voice quiet but cutting through the quiet.
“He needed to hear it,” Manuel replied, his tone flat. “His head is a mess.”
“It’s a mess you helped create.” She took a sip, the ice clinking. “You love him like a brother, and well… I’ve had a crush on him for a while.”
Manuel swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “He has a girlfriend.”
“What?” Vanja’s head snapped up, her golden-green eyes wide with genuine surprise. “Fuck, I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. I didn’t either, until recently. They are on again, off again. She’s… not my favorite person.”
“Why?” Vanja asked, setting her glass down with a sharp click.
“She’s plain, but that’s all for show.” He took a long drink, the whiskey burning a familiar path. “She saw the potential in him early on and hasn’t let him go since. He feels guilty. She was there before he played for Bayern.”
Vanja nodded slowly, processing the information, her mind connecting dots he couldn’t see. “And yet,” she said, “he was playing for Leipzig, not some 2nd league club.”
“Exactly. But she is plain. And well, normal. Uncomplicated.”
“Unlike me,” she laughed, a bitter, sharp sound that held no humor.
He crossed the room in two strides, his hand cupping her jaw, his thumb stroking the mark he’d left on her throat. “Yeah. You need a man, a real man, to handle all of this.” He kissed her, a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of whiskey and possession.
“Manu,” she breathed when he pulled away, her eyes dark with a renewed hunger. “As for Jo, we’ll see. But I doubt he’ll be able to stay away for long, no matter what he says to himself.”
Her confidence ignited something primal in him. He backed her toward the sprawling leather couch, the same one he’d taken her on the first time. “He can want,” Manuel growled, his fingers working the button of her jeans. “But he can’t have.”
He peeled her clothes off with a rough, efficient urgency, his mouth finding her skin, biting and sucking new marks over the old ones. She gasped, her hands tangling in his dark blond hair, pulling him closer. “I want to see you come apart,” he muttered against her stomach, his hands gripping her thighs. “I want to feel it.”
He pushed her onto the cool leather, the scent of it filling her senses. He didn’t bother with foreplay, his own need a frantic, driving force. He freed his cock, thick and already leaking, and positioned himself at her entrance. She was wet, her body already yielding for him, but he paused, looking down at her flushed face, her parted lips.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice a low rasp.
“I’m yours, Manu,” she whispered, her gaze unwavering.
He drove into her with a single, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, her back arching off the couch, her nails digging into his shoulders. He set a punishing rhythm from the start, each snap of his hips a physical affirmation of his words. The leather squeaked and protested beneath their combined weight, a filthy counterpoint to the wet, slapping sounds of their joining.
“This cunt is mine,” he grunted, his breath hot against her ear. “Every tight, perfect inch. You take me so fucking deep.”
She could only moan in response, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper still. The world narrowed to this: the weight of him, the smell of their sex, the raw, unfiltered filth pouring from his mouth. He shifted, hooking her legs over his arms, spreading her wider, and the new angle made her see stars.
“There,” she screamed, her body seizing. “Right there, don’t stop!”
He fucked her through her climax, his pace never faltering, watching her unravel beneath him with a fierce, possessive satisfaction. When her contractions began to subside, he pulled out abruptly, flipping her onto her stomach with a rough hand on her hip.
He entered her from behind, one hand fisting in her dark blonde hair, pulling her head back. The other hand slid around her front, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles. “Come again,” he commanded, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more focused. “Do it. Now.”
The dual stimulation, the sheer dominance of his control, shattered her completely. A second, more violent orgasm ripped through her, a raw, guttural scream tearing from her throat as she clenched around him. The feeling of her pulsing around his cock was his undoing. With a final, deep thrust, he emptied himself inside her with a choked groan, his body collapsing over hers.
For a long time, the only sound was their ragged breathing. He stayed buried within her, his weight a comforting pressure. He nuzzled the sweat-damp hair at her nape. “He’s not strong enough for this,” Manuel murmured, his voice soft now, almost a whisper. “For you.”
Vanja closed her eyes, the image of Joshua’s conflicted, hungry face flashing behind her lids. She knew Manuel was wrong. The guilt, the complication, it wouldn’t be a cage for a man like Joshua Kimmich. It would be a catalyst.