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Erling shut the door behind him softly, letting his bag drop to the floor with a quiet thump and exhaling a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding since that fateful game against Brazil ended.
They’d won. Norway was going to the quarterfinals.
To play against England.
To play against Jude.
And only one of them would continue on to play against one of the big three.
All of a sudden, his chest felt tight again—as if he’d consumed a ball of jumbled emotions that he couldn’t quite decipher.
God, he was supposed to be happy—this was Norway’s first World Cup in twenty-eight years; and they were going to the quarterfinals! This should’ve been a joyous occasion. He should’ve been out partying with his teammates, not trudging back to his hotel in almost a fugue-like state.
So why did he feel so… troubled?
He made his way towards the kitchen, moving to boil water almost on reflex, grabbing a tea bag and a carton of milk from the fridge automatically. Filled the kettle up with water. Turned on the stove, standing there in the lonely lights, all alone in his hotel room.
This was routine. It was an activity where he didn’t need to think.
One where he didn’t need to think about the person he’d be facing on the pitch within mere days.
Of course, the universe had other ideas.
His phone buzzed on the kitchen countertop—once, then twice in quick succession. Erling paused, turning and turning it face-up on the cool marble.
He immediately regretted it.
Jude: are you out right now?
Jude: was hoping to see you
“Faen,” Erling cursed under his breath. Just his luck. One way or another, it seemed like he was inexplicably drawn to Jude. Like the Earth needed the Sun, Erling needed Jude in ways that he couldn’t begin to even fathom.
He recalled back to their days playing together at Dortmund; the late night calls, every second spent together had eventually led to Erling feeling something more than just friendship. They were practically glued at the hip at the time—one would never be seen without the other.
He remembered the day he realized his feelings, watching Jude bask in the sun beside him, laughing at some stupid joke he'd made, and Erling had thought back then that this was the person he'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Of course, he never acted on those feelings. How could he? He simply dismissed it as hormones and shoved it aside. If he ever said them aloud, he would've ruined the team dynamics they had worked so hard to build.
He would've ruined their friendship.
So, silence was the answer, then and now. Even when he caught Jude looking at him when he wasn't, he refused to see it as anything more than friendship.
Even when he desperately wanted more, like a moth drawn to flame, Erling Haaland would forever be drawn to Jude Bellingham.
Then he remembered Jude was still waiting for a reply—he fumbled with his phone for a second, then typed back a quick response:
Erling: yeah
Erling: my hotel or yours?
It only took a few seconds before Jude replied.
Jude: i’ll come to yours
Jude: address?
Erling sucked in a breath, fingers flying over his mobile keyboard, then sent it before setting his phone face down at damn near the speed of light.
Was this a bad idea? More than likely. Jude wasn’t his teammate anymore; he was part of the opposing team. The late night hangouts that were once an almost-daily occurrence while in Dortmund became less and less common over the years when Erling went to Manchester City, and Jude to Madrid. Naturally, the distance between them would have gotten bigger, both physically and mentally.
At least, that was what should have happened.
Yet his emotions overrode his rationality—something that hadn’t happened since he was a hormonal teenager.
It seemed that when it came to Jude, it was like Erling would never be able to stay away from him for too long.
The boiling of the tea and the knock on his door snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned off the stove, then rushed to the door and swung it open with far more force than he should have used.
And there, in all his doe-eyed glory, stood Jude Bellingham; the very source of Erling’s troubles.
Jude smiled softly. “Hey.”
Erling swallowed, hard. “Hi. You got here quick.”
Jude rubbed his neck, looking away. "Yeah, I kind of asked one of your mates where you lot were staying beforehand. So, uh, yeah."
Oh.
His heart thumped in his chest so loud he wondered if Jude could hear it from where he was standing outside the doorway. “Come in. I made tea.”
He stepped aside, letting Jude walk in. His shoulder brushed against Erling’s chest as he dropped his bag right beside his own.
Erling closed the door and tried not to fiddle with his hands. “So, what’s up?”
The question made Jude stiffen ever so slightly. Had he not known the other man for so long, Erling would’ve merely dismissed it as a trick of the light.
“Could we sit down first?” Jude said after a pause, avoiding eye contact.
Okay. Weird.
Erling nodded nonetheless, motioning for him to sit down. “I’ll get the tea.”
Whatever it was, it was clearly bothering Jude to the point that he couldn’t wait until after the game. But what? He had watched the England vs. Mexico game all the way through—just hours after his own game against Brazil, no less—and there was no way Jude wouldn’t be able to play on Saturday.
So definitely not about that, he thought while serving the tea—chamomile for Jude, earl gray for himself.
A small part of him hoped the chamomile would make Jude sleepy enough to agree to stay the night. He quickly squashed that thought down. They weren’t close enough to do that anymore on such a whim.
That didn’t stop him from hoping, though.
Jude took the cup graciously, taking a small sip. “This tea is really good, Erling. Thank you.”
Every time he said Erling’s name, the way the syllables rolled off Jude’s tongue in his English accent, it was like a swarm of butterflies burst into motion in his stomach, fluttering around and making him feel lightheaded. “You’re welcome.”
He wasn’t usually this awkward, especially around Jude—but in such a private setting, the atmosphere was completely different than it was on the field, with the crowd roaring in his ears.
It was… intimate.
He took a seat beside Jude, their shoulders brushing together as he shuffled into the chair that was much too small in a space that was much too cramped for two men of their stature.
Erling watched Jude closely as he fiddled with his teacup, fingertip tracing over the rim of the glass repeatedly. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so tense.
“Jude.” Reaching out, he lay his hand over Jude’s, enveloping the other’s hand entirely. Something tingled inside of him from the way he completely dwarfed the brunette. His hand was warm under Erling’s own.
Jude looked up at him, wide-eyed. Man, those doe-eyes were seriously lethal. “Yeah?”
“Is there something you wanted to say to me, or did you just want to come over and drink tea for the sake of it?” Erling half-joked, chuckling.
Jude let out a laugh of his own, but it sounded on edge. Sounded… wrong. “Maybe I just wanted to steal some of your chamomile, mate.”
God, it was so fucking awkward.
This was very, very strange. Most of all, very out of character for someone like Jude Bellingham.
Jude’s expression faltered. “I wanted to wait until after the game, but—” his breath caught. “I don’t know, man.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Erling gently pried.
“I mean, like, we’re playing each other on Saturday, and I know we’ve played each other before—but when it’s the World Cup, it’s just different, you know?” Jude sighed, running a hand through his hair. “UEFA is one thing, but this is, well…” he trailed off, looking away.
Erling knew what he meant. The World Cup was a completely different ball game, one way or another.
“I thought I’d feel fine playing against you, but I’ve been thinking about us all week and I can’t get it off my mind when you do shit like—” Jude cut himself off mid-ramble. “Like…”
Erling reached out, subconsciously tilting Jude’s chin up with his fingers to make him meet his gaze. “Like?”
Jude’s ears flushed pink, eyelashes fluttering. “Like—shit like that, Erling,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Do what?”
“That thing you do, it’s—” Jude huffed out a nervous laugh. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore, Erling.”
Erling’s heart dropped to his stomach.
What did he mean by that?
Had Jude found out? Was he here to… to…
“Not like, y’know, I’m done with you or anything.” Jude must’ve seen the shift in his expression. He reached for Erling slowly—his hands trembled a bit, like a newborn fawn. His fingers brushed against Erling’s light blonde locks, skimming over his shoulders and wrapping around the back of his neck.
“God, I shouldn’t be doing this right now,” Jude whispered, voice filled with guilt as he finally closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together gently.
The world seemingly stopped at that very moment, as if time itself had come to a standstill.
Erling’s body felt frozen, rigid, before he remembered that the Jude Bellingham—the man he’d loved since their formative years at Dortmund, when they were starry-eyed young players with big dreams yet to be fulfilled—was kissing him.
Erling then also remembered he actually had to kiss back (scary!), standing up and planting his hand firmly on the countertop. His other hand came up to cradle the back of the other man’s head. The movement made their noses bump together clumsily, forcing them to part momentarily.
When Erling opened his eyes, Jude was already looking back at him with wide eyes, golden tan skin painted with a flush of crimson under the kitchen lights. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, which were slightly swollen.
Men have gone to war for less, Erling thought as he hauled Jude up by the waist, pulling him as close as possible, then surging forward and connecting their lips tenderly once more. He planted his hands firmly on the other man’s hips, feeling the lean, hard muscle rippling under his touch. He swept his tongue over the seam of Jude’s lips, a silent demand for more. Jude gave in willingly, a soft whine escaping as he raked his fingernails along Erling’s scalp, both hands now tangled in his hair.
Shit, Erling needed to hear that again.
He swiped his tongue over the roof of Jude’s mouth, squeezing his hips and relishing in the soft sigh Jude exuded.
They broke away again, this time because, well, they needed to breathe (Erling could’ve totally survived off of just Jude’s kisses, though). “Jeg elsker deg,” Erling muttered, pulling Jude in for another kiss.
The other looked like a fish out of water when he pushed Erling away to flash him a quizzical look. “What’d you just say?” His voice sounded hoarse, which made his words slur together a bit. The slight rasp sent a warm buzz throughout Erling’s entire being.
Erling shook his head. “Nothing important.” Then he paused. “What did you mean when you said you shouldn’t be doing this right now?”
Jude stared at him—as best as he could, at least, while looking dazed all the same. “There’s less than a week before we play each other, mate. I didn’t want to distract you by, well,” he gestured at the non-existence space between them, “doing this.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish look crossing his face. “Kind of went and mucked that up though, didn’t I?”
“Nei, nei,” Erling pressed a kiss to Jude's forehead. On the contrary, it felt... felt like coming home. “I'm glad you came.”
This was where he needed to be.
Jude blinked. “Really? I thought you'd be mad—I thought you would've accused me of trying to throw you off your game.”
Erling raised an eyebrow, tightening his arms around Jude's waist. “Are you?”
If this was all a ploy, then—
“No! No,” Jude quickly squashed the idea. “I would never. Not to you. Ever.”
“Then what is the problem?” Erling questioned. There were a lot of problems, actually—but Erling was much too high on the adrenaline to care at the moment. What mattered was the two of them, right here, right now, in this moment.
“How can we play against each other now? Fuck, what am I going to tell my manager? The team? Oh, hey guys, by the way, I just went ahead and slept with the enemy right before the game.” He disentangled himself from Erling's grip, throwing his hands up in the air. “I shouldn't even be here. I—”
Erling cut him off. “Stop. I know what you are going to say next. You have not screwed up anything. We will play against each other to the best of our abilities, and whoever wins, wins. And,” he added, “we haven't even slept together yet.”
“Seriously? That's what you're focused on?” Jude sighed, exasperated. “I'm just worried, y'know? What if I don't play as well as I should because of you? What if I become a burden to the team?”
Oh.
“You're not a burden, Jude. You are loved. Loved by so many people who believe in you. You would never be a burden.” Erling stepped forward, extending his arms. “Come here. I got you.”
Perhaps that was exactly what Jude needed to hear. He almost fell into Erling's arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
Erling's heart broke at the sight. Jude was so young—freshly twenty three and already holding the expectations of the entire country of England on his shoulders. He rubbed Jude's back comfortingly. He wished he could do more. Take Jude into his arms and protect him from the media, the critics, the terrible things that came with the spotlight.
“I'm right here,” he whispered, clutching Jude as close to his chest as humanly possible. He could feel wetness seeping into his shirt, but he didn't care. If Jude needed him, he would be there.
“Thanks.” Jude murmured, voice slightly muffled. “What a sight to see, eh?” He joked self-deprecatingly.
Now that wouldn't do.
“Jude,” Erling started, “look at me?” Jude looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed. “You're only twenty three. You've come so far. Accomplished so many things that most players wouldn't even dare dream of.”
He hoisted Jude up into the air, forcing the other man to wrap his legs around his waist so he wouldn't fall. “You're one of the best players I've ever had the honor of playing against.” He kissed Jude firmly to emphasize his point, carrying him towards the bedroom.
He placed Jude down on the bed gently, climbing over him to let their lips meet again in a tangled waltz of raw, unfiltered passion. “I wouldn't ever wish to play against anyone else for the rest of my life,” he husked, trailing soft kisses down his jaw, then his neck, nibbling at the warm skin. When he pulled away, there was already a bruise forming.
Jude covered his face with his hands, but Erling could see how tense he was. “I got it. I got it. Just—” he took a deep breath, like he was trying hard not to cry again. “Just touch me,” a pause. “Please.”
“Alright,” Erling shifted downward, kneading Jude's side with one hand. “But I want to see your face.”
Jude slowly removed his hands, unable to meet his eyes. He swallowed, and Erling watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “Okay,” he breathed.
He still seemed hesitant to let his walls down. To fall apart and trust Erling to piece him back together by dawn.
Erling would change that.
He slid his hands up Jude's shirt, scrunching the fabric as it bunched above his chest. “Relax,” he muttered as he went down on his chest, licking a stripe right over his nipple before closing his lips over the nub and sucking.
Jude whimpered from above him, which only fueled Erling more. He swore to himself to try and make Jude come from just nipple play alone later, but for now, the only thing he was focused on was making the other man feel good.
He kissed down Jude's stomach, watching his abs clench and unclench from the featherlight kisses he placed. Stopping right above the v-line, he looked up at Jude. “Okay?”
Jude nodded silently.
“Words, kjære.” Erling hooked his fingers over the waistband of Jude's shorts, where his already-hard erection was tenting the fabric.
Jude somehow flushed even redder at that. “Y-yeah,” he murmured, now unable to look away from Erling—a stark contrast to his behavior from earlier.
Erling tugged his pants off along with his boxers in one go, watching Jude shiver as his dick was exposed to the cool air in the hotel room. Spitting into his hand, Erling locked their gazes together as he reached down to wrap his hand around it, his grip firm as he began to stroke.
Jude moaned softly as Erling set a rhythm, his quiet pants filling the room alongside the squelching sounds of his hand sliding up and down echoing between the walls. Jude bit his lips, teeth digging into the plump flesh of his lower lip as he tried to stifle his own moans.
Now, that wouldn't do.
“Don't hide your voice from me,” Erling said, digging his thumb into the head of Jude's cock. The pressure made Jude whimper, hips bucking into his hand.
“T-then don't stop,” Jude gasped out, fisting the sheets. “I'm close—fuck,” he groaned loudly, like he couldn't control his voice anymore. It sounded like a symphony, made for Erling's ears only.
He hiked a leg over his shoulder, mouthing at Jude's inner thigh as he sped up; his own dick was already bursting through the seams of his shorts, and he felt like he could orgasm just by looking at the breathtaking scene before him.
“I'm—oh, shit, shit, shit—” Jude cried out, his cock twitching once before spilling his release all over Erling's hand. Erling stroked him through it, only stopping once Jude was trembling uncontrollably at the overstimulating friction, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
He pulled back. “Do you want to keep going?”
Jude looked up at him, still trying to catch his breath. “Dude, does it look like I want to stop?”
Erling threw his head back and laughed aloud. There was the Jude he knew. “I hope you don't have practice tomorrow then, because you might not be able to walk.”
Jude raised his eyebrows, eyes glinting. “Is that a challenge?”
Erling grinned, competitive spirit rising. “If you want it to be.” He lowered his hand in between Jude's thighs, tracing over the small, tight furl, letting the cum on his hand drip down onto it. The sudden touch made Jude jolt, breath hitching as Erling slowly inserted a finger, Jude's earlier release easing the stretch. “Comfortable?”
Jude nodded, giving him the go ahead.
He watched Jude's face as he slowly pumped his finger in and out as it slowly shifted from oversensitivity to pleasure, especially when he brushed over that one sensitive spot that forced out a small, breathless oh from the other man.
Erling pressed down on that spot again, adding another finger, relishing in the way his fingers could make Jude feel this way. His touch, his technique, made Jude curl his toes and cry out in euphoria. His and only his.
He scissored his fingers gently, watching Jude's hole stretch around his fingers, pink insides peeking through. Jude moaned above him, a cacophony of ah ah ah's slipping through his lips as he writhed under Erling's touch.
Jude’s hand shot out to wrap a hand around his wrist, halting his movements. “Enough,” he croaked, quivering. “Just get in me already.”
“Someone can't wait,” Erling said, shuffling his pants down roughly and shivering at the cold air meeting his bare skin. He reached over Jude to grab the lube and condoms on the night table.
He silently thanked the hotel staff, ripping a packet open and rolling it over his cock. He grabbed the lube and squirted a generous amount over his dick, sliding his hand up and down a few times, hissing at the touch.
Positioning himself, Erling rubbed the head of his cock up and down against the rim of Jude's hole a few times, teasing him. Then he does it again, watching Jude's eyebrows furrow in annoyance.
Jude instinctively pushed back impatiently, frowning. “Could you be any slower? I feel like I'm about to fall asleep over here,” he yawned for dramatic effect, smirking all the while.
Little minx. “Oh?” Erling took one more moment to appreciate the view before him, then lined up his cock and pushed inside in one smooth motion, groaning when Jude instinctively clenched around him. “Are you now?”
Jude's eyes fluttered at the stretch, shuddering when Erling bottomed out. “Y-yep. Definitely.”
“I'm finding that hard to believe,” Erling gritted his teeth as he rolled his hips experimentally—man, Jude was so fucking tight, “with the way you're trying to cut my dick off.”
“Just shut up and kiss me.” Jude grabbed Erling by the face and pulled him down to smash their lips together in a fiery dance of tongues, already fucking back onto his cock on his own.
This was so much better than any wet dream Erling could have ever dreamt of.
He leaned over, pressing in deeper than before and essentially folding Jude in half, his legs now on each side of his head.
The new position made the other man sob, tears finally spilling over and rolling down his cheeks in fat blobs, evidence of his ecstasy.
A sadistic part of Erling found it terribly sexy.
He picked up the pace, thrusting faster than before; the sound of their flesh slapping together echoed obscenely in the room—Erling would make sure to apologize to the neighboring rooms in the morning, but for now, he was too busy pleasuring the love of his life.
He could feel pressure building within his core, simmering and ready to boil over at any moment. The bed creaked beneath them, and the stench of sex filled the air. It was perfect. It was raw. Animalistic. Everything Erling could've ever dreamed of. Jude's tight, round ass squeezing around his cock, their bodies slotting together like two perfect pieces of a puzzle.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, each thrust sending him closer and closer to the cliff's edge. He pulled away from Jude, who whined in protest. “Are you close?”
Jude keened, almost choking on his own wanton moans. “Ah—fuck, yes—” Their eyes met, and Jude's gaze was so intense it made Erling almost want to look away. “Give it to me, Erling. Please.”
Erling did not hesitate, slamming into Jude’s sweet spot at an unrelenting tempo, and he watched as Jude's face contorted in pleasure. Euphoria rushed through his veins, making him lightheaded. “Come for me, kjære,” he grunted, wrapping his hand around Jude's cock, pumping once, twice, “let go for me.”
Jude clenched around him hard as he orgasmed, pleasure rolling over him in waves upon waves, like the tide crashing on the rocks at sea. He shuddered as his release spurted onto his stomach and Erling's hand once again.
Erling followed suit soon after, riding that intoxicating high and squeezing his eyes shut as he groaned, fireworks exploding behind his eyes. He bit into Jude's thigh at the same time, sinking his teeth into the flesh as he flooded the condom with his semen.
He collapsed on top of the other man soon after, both of them breathing heavily.
Erling mustered all his remaining strength to pull out, eyeing the way Jude's hole twitched, unable to close fully. He roved his gaze over Jude's body and face, sweaty and red, dried tear stains on his cheeks, and his stomach was painted with lube and cum.
He never looked better.
“Still feel like you want to fall asleep?” He joked while admiring his handiwork, then he pulled the condom off of his dick and tied it, throwing it into the garbage can beside them.
“Nah,” Jude laughed breathlessly, still heaving. “I think you've woken me up enough.”
“I'm glad my performance was up to par.” Erling smiled, getting up to grab tissues. When he came back, Jude was sitting up and looking at him with a curious expression.
“Something you want to say to me?” he asked, wiping Jude's thighs and abdomen down.
Jude hissed at the oversensitivity when Erling brushed over his cock. “Ow. I was just wondering,” he licked his lips, “when did you start… you know.”
Erling’s breath hitched as he tossed the tissues in the trash. Okay. They're doing this. “Would you believe me if I said since Dortmund?”
Jude's mouth dropped open slightly. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
“You're serious?” Jude’s eyes followed him as he clambered into bed beside him, pulling the covers over both of their bodies. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Erling didn't meet his gaze, instead tracing over the hickey he'd left on Jude's neck. That would be difficult to hide in the morning. “Really.”
He only looked up when Jude extended his arm to twirl a strand of his blonde hair in between his fingers, smiling softly. “I'm glad I wasn't the only one.”
Erling blinked. Once. Twice. Then he pulled Jude into his arms, hugging him as close as possible. They were both still sweaty as hell, but he couldn't give a shit. “That makes two of us, then,” he whispered, unable to keep his face neutral. "Because I really like you, Mr. Jude."
"I really like you too, Mr. Erling." A pause. "By the way, what did you say before in Norweigan? I didn't recognize the sentence."
Laughter rumbled in his chest before he could stop it. "Jeg elsker deg? It means I love you. I've loved you for too long, kjære." Perhaps it was because sex had melted his brain and loosened his lips, but the words came out of his mouth with zero hesitation nor shame.
"Oh." He felt Jude hide his face in his chest before murmured something unintelligible.
"What was that?"
"I love you too, idiot." Jude mumbled before burying his face back in his chest, refusing to look at him.
Oh.
Oh.
To know it was one thing, but to hear it from the man himself... seriously, Erling felt like he was going to simultaneously combust and implode all at once from the sheer lovey dovey gooey mess of feelings he was feeling right now.
He squeezed Jude even tighter. "Words cannot describe how sappy I feel right now, man."
Jude laughed from below. “I suppose you won't be mad when we beat you on Saturday then, eh?”
“Hm. I think it'll be the other way around, actually.”
“Oh, really?”
“A hundred percent.”
“We'll see.” Jude smirked, snuggling in closer. “Don't come crying after the game, then.”
“Same goes for you, too.” Erling said, grin so wide his cheeks hurt.
Whatever happened on Saturday, at least he knew now—
They’d always find their way back to each other, one way or another.
“...Hold on. Did England send you to distract me before the game? Is that why you came here?”
“Do you think that low of me?” A hand came up to hit his chest.
“Ow! I was kidding!”