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Eleven and counting

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This is what they know how to do. After winning eight championship titles together, they've learned what works best. Thomas knows to kiss Lewy's neck, Lewy knows to crowd Thomas against the wall and press his leg between Thomas's. Their kisses are hungry, even after a win, especially after a win because the euphoria drives them on.

 

*

 

When they have cheered with the fans and celebrated securing the championship, they finally make their way back to the locker room. Their celebration continues there, as it always does, and Lewy congratulates Thomas.

"Eleven-time German champion, Thomas. You have the record now."

Lewy is proud of Thomas and his record. With a career like that, Thomas absolutely deserves it.

"And we will win it next year, too. Then you will have eleven titles."

Robert smiles, because it is so like Thomas to ignore his non-question of how it feels to hold the record and still answer it. He knows that the number of titles isn't important to Thomas right now. They both just love winning more of them. And winning them together is a definite highlight.

Robert thinks about his two titles won with Dortmund instead of Bayern, thinks about Thomas never playing for any other team than Bayern. Thinks about the eight that they've now celebrated together and silently thanks Dortmund for signing him and bringing him to play the Bundesliga, so that his path could meet with Thomas's.

"And you'll have twelve," Lewy counters.

"Then we just need one more and we'll have won ten together," Thomas grins. The thought warms Robert's heart. Not the number of titles itself, ten is no more special than eight, not really, but that Thomas is thinking about the future. So sure about the team and them, his eternal ray of sunshine.

They kiss in the showers with Robert's hands on both sides of Thomas's neck, with Thomas's hands sliding on Robert's wet shoulders before his fingers curl against the nape of Robert's neck and his spine. They're smiling into the kiss, can't help the happiness bubbling up, and they separate to wash themselves and get ready for the inevitable party.

 

*

 

They don't need to stop because they already know all the moves, like on the pitch. Thomas lies on his back, Robert's weight half on him, half on Robert's left arm that is braced on the bed next to Thomas's head. Robert's right hand pulling Thomas's hair, exposing his long throat, Robert kissing him. Thomas's hands exploring the muscles of Robert's back, the dip of his spine, the curve of his ass. Robert's hand making way to Thomas's hard cock, his fingers pressing against Thomas's hole when his legs fall open. Thomas makes a broken sound and Robert reaches for the lube on the night stand.

 

*

 

Lewy wonders how with all the practice they've had over the years Thomas never gets any better at dancing. Although he suspects that Thomas is perfectly happy with his bad moves because he makes everyone laugh and that is the essence of Thomas: he encourages, spreads good mood, and he supports everyone while not caring what others would say about him. Usually it means that Thomas is doing ridiculous things like wearing a dirndl (and making it look really good too) or showing up in the practice field in his underwear. Lewy sighs and heads to the dance floor. You can't argue with tradition and tradition dictates that Lewy would at least try to make Thomas a better dancer. It's pointless, he knows that much at this point, but he gets to touch Thomas, laugh at his jokes, and have those joyfully sparkling eyes trained on him. That never gets old.

He also gets Thomas's hands on him, wandering around his body. Robert wonders how Thomas can know exactly what the touching is doing to him and still joke around seemingly unaffected because Robert can't focus on anything else than the electrifying feeling that Thomas's hands leave on his skin. But Thomas's jokes are getting less loud, his breathing is getting heavier, and he is sneaking glances of Lewy's body. Lewy knows that they will be leaving the party soon.

 

*

 

They practically fall through the front door, too busy kissing to focus on anything else than finally closing the door behind them and stumbling towards the bedroom. A stop to press Thomas against the door first, a pause to sneak their hands underneath their shirts to feel the warm skin there. Another one to finally take off their shirts. It leaves them in the dark half-naked when they reach the bed.

Lewy kneels to pull Thomas's track pants and underwear down and off, stays there to drink him in because that is what he does: everything Thomas says, everything he is, goes directly into Robert's head and heart. And in times like these, his cock, too. And he can never have enough of Thomas.

Thomas moans, fingers pulling Robert's hair while he licks and sucks Thomas's cock. Robert stops before Thomas can get too carried away and he pulls his own track pants and underwear off before he pushes Thomas down on the bed and follows. He can't draw this out, maybe in the morning but not now when they have been sizzling with energy for the entire evening. He tastes the salt on Thomas's skin, feels Thomas touching him everywhere he can reach, everything becoming sensations that are both familiar and as exciting as if it were the first time they are doing this.

Thomas opens his legs wider still when Robert pushes his lube-coated fingers in, can't really focus on anything but how Thomas trusts him and hothothot and soon he settles between those long, slender legs himself. Robert presses in, the heat and tightness welcoming him, the look on Thomas's face absolutely captivating: a war between pleasure, relief, some pain. Robert leans down to kiss Thomas, to steal all the sounds he makes, and they settle into a familiar rhythm, their bodies moving perfectly together as always. He can feel the urgency building, reaches down to jerk Thomas's cock. Thomas raises his hips, tries to fuck Robert's fist and from Thomas's moans and grunts alone Robert can match the moment when Thomas comes.

Robert pulls out, settles on his side next to Thomas. They need a shower, soon, but right now Thomas is smiling contentedly and Robert has always been physically unable to not match Thomas's smiles. Knowing that he can put that look on Thomas's face is even better than winning titles, but on this blissful moment he can enjoy both.

He gets an idea then, just from looking at Thomas like this.

Robert gets up, still smiling, holds out his hand to Thomas. "Come on, Thomas. Shower."

"But I'm so comfortable here," Thomas almost pouts like a child. Lewy can't help but laugh.

"I'll wash your hair for you, so you can continue being lazy. Also I think I should reward you for your title record."

"And we need to shower for that?"

"Yes."

Thomas looks at Lewy through narrowed eyes and a small frown on his face, like he's suddenly suspecting something. He's right to, actually, because Lewy's plan, while awesome, will become hard on Thomas at some point: he'll make Thomas come for every title he's won. This was the first time and he won't wait until the morning for the next one.

"Fine. But you're up to something evil. I just know it."

Lewy grabs Thomas's out-stretched hand and pulls him up, like they've done countless of times, and presses their bodies together for a second.

"Oh, you'll be up, too," he whispers in Thomas's ear and steers them towards the shower.

 

--end--