"Ey, was willst du eigentlich, du Arsch?"

Christoph Metzelder shoves Robbie Keane, hard.

Keane looks up at Christoph, glares. He is a lot shorter than Christoph. Christoph enjoys that. He looks down to Keane, steps closer, crowds him. They are almost touching.

Keane steps closer as well, opens his mouth. There’s no doubt that the babble erupting now is meant to insult Christoph in a most obscene manner, but Christoph can’t tell for sure, doesn’t understand the thick Irish brogue Keane lapses into when agitated, understands that dialect as little as Keane understands German.

From the corner of his eye, Christoph can see Olli jogging towards him, as always trying to clear. Christoph doesn’t mind. He can feel the heat radiating between him and Keane, on this hot day in Ibaraki. He can feel the tension crackle between them, can smell Keane’s pungent sweat. Inwardly, Christoph smiles. Olli doesn’t know what he knows. Olli doesn’t know about later.

Later, Christoph will wait until Sebastian Kehl’s snoring echoes through the room they share. Though Christoph will be careful not to make too much noise, when he gets out of bed Kelly will look up sleepily. "Give her my regards," Kelly will say with a tongue heavy from drowsiness, and Christoph will only grin and close the door softly.

Later, Christoph will knock on Robbie’s door, and will be admitted immediately. He will not ask how Robbie managed to get rid of his room mate.

Later, it won’t matter which team won. Whether Miro’s goal really did decide the match or whether the Irish team had a chance to get even, or possibly even outscore the Germans, later it won’t matter. Either way, Robbie’s lips will attack Christoph’s with the same fervor the moment the door snaps shut behind them.

Robbie will kiss like he plays football, passionate, fiery, unrelenting. He will shove Christoph into the door despite the difference in height between them, and for a moment the battling of their tongues will consume all of their thoughts and sensations. Neither will give in, giving in will not be the point. Robbie’s teeth will nip and bruise as Christoph’s tongue takes possession of his mouth. Christoph will growl in the back of his throat and shove Robbie back, now taking advantage of every centimeter he is taller than Robbie.

Christoph will make sure that during their kissing they move into the direction of the bed, any bed, whether it is Robbie’s or not won’t matter to him. Once they reach the bed he will push Robbie down to it, and will be pulled down vehemently only seconds later into a kiss more bruising, more frenzied. Christoph will feel Robbie poke into his side, already hard.

Robbie will break the kiss, breathing heavily, and begin to get rid of Christoph’s clothes. With Robbie only wearing a T-shirt and sweat pants, he will be of the firm opinion that Christoph is hopelessly overdressed. Christoph will agree on that.

They won’t be on the green then, so at last they will be able to work as a team. Together, they will manage to get rid of their respective clothes very fast.

Robbie is short and somewhat sturdy, Christoph is tall and somewhat angular. They will fit together perfectly nevertheless.

Later, Christoph will find the cross, as he always does, and trace its black lines with his tongue while Robbie's body is throbbing, grinding, pushing against his own. The room will be dark, but Christoph won't need any light, he knows the pattern by heart. His hands know the planes and curves of his lover's body by heart, too. Soon, much too soon Robbie will pull Christoph closer to end his game, imaptient, hot and hard, and crush their lips in a bruising kiss.

There will be fumbling with the nightstand's drawer, spreading of coldness and oh, Robbie's fingers, breaching and brushing all the right places. Christoph's moan will be muted by Robbie's mouth and in a blinding flash of pain and delight the two will become one, frozen on the spot for the briefness of a second before Robbie will start to move, excruciatingly slow at first. Sweet frustration, aching pleasure will make Christoph groan into Robbie's shoulder while fisting his own erection.

Robbie will quicken the pace, still too slow, much too slow. Christoph's free hand will grab his lover's back, ass, anywhere he can reach to urge him on.

"Fuck," Christoph will gasp, for in English, swearwords come over his lips the easiest. "Fucking hell, oh fuck yes, don't you fucking dare stop..."

Robbie won't show any inclination to stop; his answer will probably be a grunt as he'll finally lose control and start to thrust faster, with no recognizable rhythm. Words will leave Christoph then, and afterwards he won't be able to remember what language he cursed in when he was pushed over the edge. Neither will Robbie.

When they've both recovered their breath a bit, Robbie will clean their sticky stomachs with some paper tissues between kisses no longer urgent, but sweet and lingering. Christoph will revel in the heat their two bodies give off in the aftermath, inching closer towards Robbie, embracing him tightly to savour every last bit.

Christoph Metzelder shoves Robbie Keane, hard. In the moment before Olli seperates them, he can see in Robbie's eyes that he knows about later, too.

fin.