Work Text:
The bedside clock glowed a soft green in the darkness.
02:43 A.M.
Jamal Musiala stared at the numbers for a long moment, still caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness. His apartment was silent, the kind of silence that only existed in the middle of the night, where even the hum of the refrigerator seemed too loud.
His phone buzzed against the wooden nightstand.
Once.
He frowned but didn’t move.
A second vibration followed.
Then a third.
With a tired sigh, he reached over, blinking against the brightness of the screen as he unlocked it. He expected to see another late-night message from Alphonso, probably some ridiculous football edit, or maybe a text from his mum asking if he was free to call tomorrow.
Instead, his eyes landed on a name that hadn’t appeared at the top of his messages in weeks.
Michael.
Jamal frowned.
Their conversations had slowly faded after the season ended. Not because anything had happened between them they still good friends—but because life had pulled them in opposite directions. Munich. Madrid. Training camps. Commercial shoots. Different schedules. Different worlds.
Still, seeing Michael’s name made something tighten in his chest.
There wasn’t a message.
Just a video.
Thirty-eight seconds long.
Half-asleep and not thinking much of it, Jamal tapped the screen.
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then the video began
The phone sat on what looked like a low dresser, angled up toward a massive bed in a dimly lit bedroom. Warm amber light cut through the shadows, catching every angle of the room in sharp relief. And right in the middle of the frame stood Michael.
He didn't have a stitch of clothing on.
His dark skin caught the glow, slick with a light sheen of sweat across his shoulders and chest. He was staring straight into the lens—no shyness, no hesitation. His eyes were heavy-lidded and intense, burning with a raw, unfiltered heat that Jamal had never seen in him across all their years of being friends.
Slowly, Michael began playing with himself. One hand drifted down his chest, his thumb briefly dragging across his nipple and the other hand moved lower, wrapping loosely around his dick stroking as his rhythm began to take over. Every movement was slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving the camera lens. His chest rose and fell in heavy, uneven breaths and moans escaping his mouth , muffled slightly as he bit his bottom lip
Jamal sat frozen, staring at the screen, the noise from the speaker filling the quiet room around him as the reality of what he was watching fully set in
He lowered the phone onto his chest, ignoring the fact that he just got tuned on by his ex teammate ,staring blankly at the ceiling.
His thoughts crashed into one another.
No…
That wasn’t meant for me.
It had to be an accident.
Michael had been seeing someone for months now. Jamal knew that. Everyone did.
The realization settled over him like cold water.
Wrong chat.
Wrong person.
Wrong everything.
Five minutes passed.
Then another.
He still hadn’t moved.
Every time he closed his eyes, flashes of the video replayed in his mind—not because he wanted them to, but because his brain refused to let them go.
His phone buzzed again.
Jamal looked down.
Michael: Delete that.
Another vibration.
Michael: Please.
A third.
Michael: Wrong person.
Jamal read the messages over and over. A strange, reckless energy was pulsing through his veins, chased by a sudden, stubborn refusal to let this hang in the air. He couldn't just type "no worries mate" and go back to sleep. He couldn't live with this elephant in the room, especially not when Michael was currently staying at a luxury hotel just twenty minutes away in central Munich, having flown in early for a commercial shoot before his brief summer break ended.
Twenty minutes.
Jamal swung his legs out of bed. His movement was decisive, driven by a raw, unsettled impulse he didn't care to analyze. He grabbed a plain black hoodie from the floor, pulling it over his head, and snatched his car keys off the dresser.
He was going to settle this. Right now.
The drive across Munich felt much longer than twenty minutes.
The streets were almost deserted, washed in the muted glow of streetlamps that reflected off rain-darkened pavement. Jamal kept both hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tighter than he realized.
His phone buzzed again.
He didn’t look.
Whatever Michael was saying now could wait.
His mind refused to settle. Every attempt to convince himself to turn around lasted only a few seconds before dissolving into another question he couldn’t answer.
What was he even doing?
Showing up unannounced in the middle of the night was ridiculous. Impulsive. Completely unlike him.
Yet he kept driving.
The hotel came into view, its glass façade glowing softly against the quiet city. Jamal parked in the underground garage and sat for a moment after switching off the engine.
Silence.
His heartbeat sounded impossibly loud.
He pulled his hood over his curls and stepped out into the cool night air.
The lift carried him upward in near silence.
Floor five.
The hallway was immaculate, thick carpet muffling every footstep. Warm lighting spilled across polished wooden doors until he found the one he was looking for.
504.
Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked. Three sharp, firm raps.
There was a long silence from inside the room. Jamal waited, his pulse hammering in his ears, half-convinced Michael was asleep or ignoring him.
Then, he heard the faint sound of footsteps.
The lock clicked. The heavy door swung inward, opening just a few inches.
Michael stood in the gap.
Jamal’s breath caught in his throat. Michael was still in the exact same state as the video. He hadn't put on a shirt. He was wearing nothing but a pair of loose, grey cotton sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, the elastic waistband resting just above the sharp, defined V-line of his pelvis. His chest was bare, his skin still dark and gleaming under the warm entryway light, and his hair was a wild, damp mess.
But it was his face that made Jamal freeze.
Michael’s eyes were wide, blown out, and bloodshot. His cheeks were flushed, a dark, heavy color blooming under his skin. He looked completely caught out, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven hitches. His hand was gripping the edge of the door so hard his knuckles were white.
"Jamal?" Michael’s voice was incredibly rough, a deep, dry rasp that sounded like he hadn't used it in hours. He stared at him as if he were looking at a ghost. "What... what are you doing here?"
Jamal didn't say a word. He pushed past the stunned winger, his shoulder brushing against Michael’s bare chest as he stepped into the warm, luxurious warmth of the suite.
The air in the room was thick. It smelled of expensive cologne, cedarwood, and a heavy, unmistakable musk that made Jamal’s stomach do a slow, violent flip. The lighting in the main bedroom area was low, cast in the same amber glow from the video.
Michael closed the door slowly, the lock clicking back into place with a sound that felt incredibly final. He turned around, his back against the wood, his eyes tracking Jamal’s every move with a mixture of intense panic and sheer confusion.
"You didn't reply," Michael muttered, his voice shaking slightly. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the heavy, dazed look in his eyes, but it didn't work. "I told you to delete it. Why are you here, Jam?"
Jamal turned to face him, pulling his hood down. He stood in the center of the plush, carpeted room, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie to hide how badly they were shaking.
"I couldn't just delete it, Mike," Jamal said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos in his chest. He took a step closer, his eyes scanning Michael’s bare torso, the visual confirmation of the video making his mouth go completely dry. "You think I can just pretend I didn't see that? You think we can just go back to normal after... after that?"
Michael’s jaw clenched. He looked down at the floor, his chest heaving as he let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "It was an accident. I was trying to send it to... I was sending it to her. I tapped the wrong name. I’m sorry, alright? It was a stupid, brainless mistake."
"I don’t care if it was an accident," Jamal said, taking another step forward. He was close enough now to feel the sheer heat radiating off Michael’s body. "But it happened. And now I’ve seen you. Really seen you."
You liked it that much?" Michael murmured, his voice dropping an octave, a dangerous, slow smile playing at the edge of his lips.
"I didn't say that," Jamal replied, though his throat was bone dry.
"You didn't have to," Michael said. He took a slow, deliberate step away from the door, moving further into the amber light of the bedroom area. "You drove all the way here at three in the morning, Jam. You want to see it? Really see it?"
Jamal’s heart hammered against his ribs. "Mike—"
"Shh," Michael whispered. He walked over to the low dresser, mimicking the exact angle of the video. He didn't pick up his phone, but he set the scene with terrifying precision. He stood under the warm, glowing light, his eyes locking onto Jamal's, refusing to let him look away. "Since you liked the video so much... let me give you the real show."
Michael slowly raised his hands, his long, elegant fingers coming to rest on his own nipples. Jamal felt his breath hitch in his throat, completely paralyzed by the sheer audacity of the man in front of him.
Deliberately, agonizingly slowly, Michael recreated the footage. His palms slid down his pants . His eyes never left Jamal’s face, heavy-lidded and burning with a quiet, seductive intensity. He let out a low, soft exhale—the exact same sound that had kept Jamal awake
Michael reached the waistband of his grey sweatpants. He hooked his thumbs into the soft cotton. With a slow pull, he dragged the fabric down his hips, leaving himself fully exposed and naked and letting the sweatpants slide all the way to the floor.
He stood entirely bare in front of Jamal, bathed in amber light, his body a masterpiece of lean muscle, completely unbothered by his vulnerability. If anything, the power dynamic had shifted; Michael was weaponizing his own body to drive Jamal to the edge , spreading his legs in front of Jamal giving him a full sight of what he’s missing out
"Is this what you wanted to see, Jam?" Michael whispered, his voice a dark, velvet purr. "Is this why you came?"
The sight of Michael standing there—bare, beautiful, and completely smug in his ability to dismantle Jamal’s composure—did something to Jamal’s brain as he stepped forward, his eyes darkening, his posture completely changing. The quiet, polite "golden boy" of Munich vanished, replaced by a raw, dominant authority that made Michael’s breath hitch.
"Yeah," Jamal rasped, his voice dripping with a sudden, commanding weight. "That’s exactly why I came."
Before Michael could react, Jamal closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He reached out and grabbed Michael’s wrists, his grip firm and unyielding, and yanked him forward.
Michael let out a soft gasp, his eyes widening in surprise as Jamal’s body collided with his. The contrast of Jamal's cool, cotton-clad torso against Michael's bare, radiating skin was intoxicating. Jamal didn't let go of his wrists; instead, he pushed Michael backward toward the edge of the large, unmade bed.
"Jamal—" Michael started, his voice suddenly lacking its previous smugness, replaced by a quick, excited hitch.
"Shut up, Mike," Jamal commanded.
He pushed Michael down onto the plush mattress. Michael fell back onto the tangled sheets, his long legs sprawling, but before he could even attempt to sit up, Jamal was over him.
Jamal climbed onto the bed, straddling Michael’s hips, pinning him down with his body weight. He grabbed both of Michael’s wrists in one hand, forcing them up over his head and pressing them firmly into the mattress.
Michael looked up at him, his dark eyes wide, his chest heaving rapidly beneath Jamal. The smug, teasing seductress was gone; in his place was someone entirely captivated, yielding to the sudden, fierce dominance radiating from Jamal.
"You think you're in control because you sent a video?" Jamal murmured, leaning down until his lips were barely an inch from Michael’s ear. He could feel the violent shudder that went through Michael’s frame. "You wanted to show off? Well, now you're mine. I’m in charge of what happens next."
A low, needy sound escaped the back of Michael’s throat. He didn't struggle against the grip on his wrists. Instead, he arched his back slightly, pressing his bare hips up against Jamal’s clad ones, a silent, desperate surrender.
"Please, Jam," Michael whispered, his voice entirely stripped of games. "Please."
Jamal’s dark eyes flared. He reached down with his free hand, gripping the hem of his own black hoodie and pulling it over his head in one swift, impatient motion, tossing it blindly onto the floor. His t-shirt followed immediately after.
When he looked back down, Michael was staring at him with a hunger so raw it made Jamal’s blood boil.
Jamal released Michael's wrists, but he didn't give him freedom. He slid his hands down to cup Michael’s face, his thumbs pressing firmly into his high cheekbones. He leaned down and captured Michael’s lips in a kiss that was nothing like their past gentle touches.
It was bruising, possessive, and entirely dominant. Jamal claimed Michael’s mouth with a fierce, demanding hunger, his tongue sliding against Michael’s, tasting the mint and the heat of his breath. Michael let out a muffled moan into the kiss, his hands flying up to grip Jamal’s biceps, clinging to him like a man drowning.
It was a rough hungry kiss that felt like heaven.
any warning in michael’s head was gone and he was consumed in the kiss.
Jamal was sliding his pants down along with his boxers.
“Don’t you need to be prepped?” Jamal’s eyes have gone soft when olise meets them. In sharp contrast to his previous words, these are said with a tone of concern. There’s so much tenderness in his expression it makes his heart skip a beat. He smiles at his teammate’s worry, chest tight with affection.
“Nah, I already prepped in my room.”
With that, the worry leaves his eyes, face breaking out in that cocky, arrogant smile once again, “that eager for my dick, huh?”
Olise tried nodding his head the best he could, then without thinking Jamal grabbed the lube from the drawer next to them and smeared it on his huge dick. The second it was coated he slammed his dick inside Michael moaned loudly as Jamal continued to thrust fast and harsh into his hole then he proceeded to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from making any more sounds. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel Mike” musiala whispered before roughly thrusting into him again, stilling his hips inside of him completely for a few seconds before slowly moving back in and out again.
Michael let out another loud moan as Jamal hit the spot inside of him that made him see stars. “Fuck! So nghh so good ” he yelled out before burying his face in the pillow again and tightly scrunching up the covers underneath him. "Need you so bad jam" he mumbled into the pillow before letting out a cry when jamal slammed his hips forwards again.
"You like showing off, don't you?" Jamal murmured, his voice incredibly low that sent a shiver straight down Michael’s spine. He leaned down, his chest pressing heavy and warm against Michael's naked form, his breath hot against Michael's ear. "You wanted to send a little video. Wanted her to see you like this."
Michael swallowed hard, his throat dry. He tried to shift his hips, but Jamal immediately pinned him down with his thighs, locking him in place.
"What do you think she’d say, Mikey?" Jamal whispered, a cruel, teasing tilt to his lips. He let his fingers slide down Michael’s neck, his thumb pressing just firmly enough against his pulse point to make Michael gasp. "What if your lil’ gf sees you begging me like a slut? What will she say?"
"Jamal..." Michael choked out, his voice cracked and pleading. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Jamal countered, his eyes dark as he looked down at him. He didn't ease up; instead, his bare hips grinding deliberately against Michael's, rubbing against his teammate’s erection. "Don't talk? Or don't stop? You're so loud for someone who was trying to play it cool. Look at you. You're completely undone."
Michael let out a broken, needy sound, his head rolling back into the plush pillows. Every defensive wall he had spent years building—every bit of the quiet, untouchable persona he projected to the world—was stripped away, leaving him entirely exposed to the one person he couldn't hide from.
"Answer me, Mikey," Jamal commanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he tightened his grip, demanding absolute submission. "Who are you begging for?"
"You," Michael gasped, his eyes wide and swimming with tears of sheer overload as he stared up at him. "Only you, Jam. Please."
Jamal’s gaze softened with a dark, possessive satisfaction. "Good boy," he murmured, before leaning down to capture Michael’s nipples, licking them one at a time. Michael moans loudly with the action, which made Jamal have to cover his mouth with his hand, what he didn't expect was that Michael would grab his wrist and put two of Jamal's fingers in his mouth, sucking them. Jamal lifted his head to face his teammate sucking on his fingers, his brain turning to mush.
"Didn't know you were a whore, Mike." Jamal spoke before he could stop himself, and Michael turned completely red, which only made Jamal want to kiss him again, so he did. He rocked his hips along the kiss kinda roughly, and Michael's moans against Jamal's mouth started getting louder.
he kept slamming his dick into Michael’s hole and immediately met his prostate. Michael practically screamed at the contact. He wasted no time harshly thrusting in and out of Michael’s tight hole.
The sting of pain soon started turning into pleasure.
“YESS~ oh FUCK!! Jam plea—”
He continued fucking him roughly, making the room filled with loud moans and groans while reaching to grab his phone
When Michael heard the quiet click of the screen waking up, his entire body went rigid. His eyes flared, the pupils blown wide as he looked from Jamal’s face to the black lens of the camera now pointing directly down at him.
"Jam..." Michael’s voice was a panicked, breathless rasp. He gave a sharp, instinctive pull against the grip on his wrists, his muscles tensing. "No. Jam, put it away. What are you doing?"
Jamal didn't lower the phone. He adjusted his grip, holding the camera high enough to capture the entire frame—Michael, completely bare, pinned beneath him, his chest heaving with ragged, desperate breaths, his skin flushed a deep, dark red under the amber glow of the room.
"Why are you getting nervous now, Mikey?" Jamal murmured, his voice incredibly low, dripping with a quiet, mocking amusement. He tapped the red record button. The small timer began to tick. 0:01. 0:02. "You love filming yourself. You're the one who started this. I’m just helping you finish it."
"Jamal, please," Michael pleaded, his jaw clenching as he tried to turn his face away from the lens, burying his cheek into the plush white pillow. "Someone will see... if that gets out—"
"No one’s going to see it," Jamal cut him off, his voice dropping to a harsh, commanding whisper. He leaned down, pressing his chest firmly against Michael’s bare torso, forcing the air out of Michael’s lungs. He brought the phone closer, angling it so the lens was inches from Michael’s flushed, tear-stained face. "Unless you don't behave. Look at the camera, Mikey."
Michael shivered, a low whimpering sound caught in his throat. The sheer humiliation of having the tables turned so completely, of being recorded in the most vulnerable, undone state of his life by the very person he had tried to seduce, was overwhelming.
"I said look at it," Jamal repeated, his grip on Michael’s wrists tightening until it was almost bruising he slammed his dick in and out. Pulling his cock out to where his tip kisses Michael’s hole to only slam it as far in as he can. The room was only filled with Michael’d whimpers and moans. He gripped as hard on he could onto Jamal’s shoulders and the bed sheets as he could feel his insides being demolished by Jamal’s dick. It didn’t take long for him to obey ,He looked straight into the camera lens, his eyes glossy, swimming in absolute submission.
Good boy," Jamal whispered, a dark, satisfied smirk touching his lips. He tilted the phone slightly, capturing the tight, possessive hold he had on Michael’s wrists, then slid the lens down to record the flushed, sweating expanse of Michael’s chest and flat stomach. "Look how pretty you look when you're being quiet. What if I send this to her, hm? What if I show your little girlfriend how you look under me? How loud you beg when you don't have a screen to hide behind?"
"Don't..." Michael choked out, his fingers curling tightly against the mattress, his head shaking weakly. "Jam, please... don't send it. Just... please."
"Then show me how much you want me to keep it private," Jamal commanded. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of Michael’s ear, his voice a dark, velvet purr. "Tell the camera who you belong to, Mikey. Tell it who’s holding you down."
Michael closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his chest rising in a massive, shuddering breath before he looked back at the lens, completely shattered, his voice cracking with raw, unshielded emotion.
"You," Michael whispered, a single tear slipping down his temple into his damp curls. "I'm yours, Jam. Only yours."
Jamal’s eyes darkened with an intense, burning satisfaction. He lowered the phone just enough to keep it rolling on their locked chests, his fingers finally releasing Michael’s wrists only to slide down and grip his hips with a fierce, and thrusting in and out as hard as he ever did before
“Oh- oh my god~ so rough I can’t ~” Michael moaned while tears streamed down his cheeks from the pure humiliation
"Remember this," Jamal growled, and few seconds later, Michael came all over the bedsheet and his stomach. It only took a few more minutes for Jamal to do the same, cumming inside of Michael ’s hole.
Jamal started thrusting slower, riding out their climax. He then pulled out of Mike and leaned against the headboard behind him. He smirked after seeing his own cum flow out of Michael ’s ass. And while they were catching their breath he was the first one to speak again
"Up," Jamal commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
before Michael could even think of pulling away or covering himself, Jamal’s hands moved down to grip his waist, lifting and shifting his weight with a quiet, dominant strength.
"Sit up, Mikey. On top of me."
Michael’s breath hitched. He scrambled slightly on the tangled, damp sheets, his long legs flexing as he shifted ,he moved himself back into Jamal’s ’ lap more so on his thighs
"J-jamal," Michael whimpered, staring at the other, forcing Jamal's eyes back on him, attracting him by the pathetic noises he was making.
Jamal leaned back against the headboard, his bare chest gleaming, completely at ease. In his right hand, he held the phone up, angling the camera perfectly. Now, the lens captured the entirety of Michael’s vulnerable posture—his arched back, the hard dick throbbing against his stomach , and the flushed, desperate expression on his face.
"Yeah," Jamal whispered, his eyes flicking from the screen to the real thing, a dark, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Just like that. Now you do the work."
Michael shivered, his hands coming down to rest weakly on Jamal’s broad, bare shoulders for balance. "Jamal... I can't... it's too much."
You can," Jamal countered, his left hand coming up to wrap firmly around his waist helping him lining his entrance with the tip of his dick then slowly sunk down into him ,taking his full length . Michael moaned loudly his hole stretched around his cock and they waited til Mike adjusted
“Mmmm, I can- I can’t it’s so big fu-ck" He reassured, his fingers digging into Jamal’s skin, his eyes fluttering closed
He tilted the phone, showing Michael the screen. "Look at yourself, Mikey. Open your eyes and look how perfect you look riding me. Your little fans think you're so quiet, so untouchable. But what a sight.”
Michael’s gaze reluctantly dragged to the display. Seeing himself on the screen in real-time—bare, flushed, straddling his best friend while Jamal recorded it like a trophy—sent a fresh wave of heat straight to his lower stomach. The humiliation was intoxicating, completely stripping away any remaining resistance.
"Ride me," Jamal ordered, his voice dropping to a harsh, commanding whisper. "Make it look good for the camera."
With a ragged, trembling exhale, Michael lifted his hips slightly and slid down.
A loud, ruined cry escaped his throat, his fingers digging desperately into the muscles of Jamal’s shoulders as he took him in. The sheer depth of the sensation made his head roll back, his chest expanding as he gasped for air.
" I said don't close your eyes," Jamal growled, his left hand tightening on the back of Michael’s neck, forcing him to look down. "Look at the screen. Watch what you're doing to yourself."
Michael forced his eyes open, his vision swimming with tears of pleasure. On the screen, he watched his own hips move, a slow, desperate rhythm as he began to push down against Jamal, seeking the friction, completely consumed by the need to satisfy the man beneath him. Every wet, sliding sound of their joined bodies was captured perfectly by the phone’s microphone.
"What would they say if they saw this, Mikey?" Jamal mocked softly, his thumb tracing the line of Michael's jaw as the phone stayed locked on his flushed face. "Real Madrid's golden boy, acting like a complete slut in a Munich hotel room. Begging for his friend to keep the tape."
"Please, Jam..." Michael sobbed out, his pace quickening, his hips rolling in a frantic, disorganized search for release. The friction was driving him past the point of reason. "Delete it... please, just don't let anyone see..."
"I'll keep it safe," Jamal whispered, a dark, possessive promise in his eyes as he watched Michael fracture completely under his touch. "But only if you're good. Only if you do exactly what I tell you."
"I will," Michael gasped, his body trembling violently as he reached his limit, his forehead dropping onto Jamal’s shoulder as he rode him to the very edge. "I will, Jam. I'm yours. I'll do anything."
Jamal’s eyes, dark and heavy with a quiet flicked from the screen to the real, trembling and shaky boy on top of him.
"Look at you," Jamal murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that seemed to vibrate directly against Michael’s skin. He reached up with his left hand, his long, cool fingers wrapping around Michael’s chin, forcing his head up.
Michael’s eyes were glassy, completely unfocused, and heavily hooded. He looked down at Jamal, his bottom lip trembling slightly.
"You really thought you were something, didn't you?" Jamal mocked softly, his thumb pressing firmly into the soft skin of Michael’s jaw, tilting his face directly toward the camera lens. "Sending that little video. Trying to act like some untouchable, desirable man who could just tease me and walk away. But the second I touch you... the second I actually take what you offered... you turn into this."
A small, shaky breath hitched in Michael’s throat.
"You're pathetic, Mikey," Jamal whispered, the words sounding incredibly quiet, almost gentle, which only made their edge cut ten times deeper. "You're just a sad, desperate little slut begging your best friend for a scrap of attention in a dark room. You’re so starved for me that you’d let me record you like a dog just to keep me from walking out that door. If anyone else saw how easily you broke, how quickly you gave up every single piece of your dignity... they’d realize you’re absolutely nothing without me holding you down."
The sheer, cold weight of the words slammed into Michael’s chest.
For a second, the room felt entirely devoid of air. The humiliation didn't just burn; it crushed him. The stark, brutal reality of what he was doing—riding his best friend’s cock, naked, while being filmed like a prize, completely surrendered to a boy who was younger than him but currently held his entire life and reputation in the palm of his hand—finally fractured something deep inside his chest.
A soft, broken sob caught in Michael’s throat.
His eyes filled instantly, the hot tears spilling over his lashes and tracing clean, gleaming paths down his flushed, sweat-slicked cheeks. He let out a low, whimpering sound, his shoulders shaking violently as he tried to pull his face away from Jamal’s hand, suddenly desperately wanting to hide, to shrink away from the burning lens of the camera and the heavy, mocking gaze of the only person who mattered.
"Jam..." Michael choked out, a raw, miserable cry tearing from his throat. He covered his face with his hands, his fingers trembling as his body shook with deep, heavy, humiliating sobs. "Please... please, stop."
The second the first real sob broke from Michael’s lips, the cold, dominant mask on Jamal’s face instantly shattered.
The dark, teasing spark in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, fierce rush of panic and deep, protective warmth. He tossed the phone blindly onto the mattress beside him, not caring where it landed, and immediately reached up with both arms.
"Hey, hey... Mikey, look at me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby," Jamal whispered, his voice cracking with sudden, desperate tenderness.
He pulled out of Michael, wrapping his strong arms fully around his bare, shaking torso. He hauled him flush against his chest, burying his face in the crook of Michael’s neck, his hands running frantically up and down Michael’s smooth, damp back to confront him
"I've got you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I promise you," Jamal murmured frantically, his lips pressing warm, soft kisses against the side of Michael’s neck, his jaw, his wet cheek. He rocked them back and forth slowly on the bed, his voice thick with genuine remorse. "Shh, Mikey, look at me. You're not pathetic. You're beautiful. I’m so sorry. I was just... I was just talking. I’ve got you."
Michael clung to him like a lifeline, his face buried deep in Jamal’s shoulder, his hands gripping the skin of Jamal’s back so hard his knuckles turned white. His chest heaved against Jamal’s as he let out all the built-up tension, shame, and overwhelming love in a torrent of quiet, shuddering tears.
"You're not a slut, Mikey. You're mine," Jamal whispered fiercely, his hand tangling in Michael's wild, damp curls, pressing him as close as physically possible. "I love you. I love how much you want me. I’m never letting anyone see that video, I swear to God. It’s just for us. It’s just ours baby.
The hotel room was dead quiet, save for the awful, wet sound of Michael trying to catch his breath
The duvet was pulled high over both of their shoulders—a heavy, suffocating shield against the air conditioning—but beneath it, Michael wouldn't stop shaking. It was that deep, bone-deep tremor that starts somewhere behind the ribs and just rattles a person from the inside out. His face was buried right in the crook of Jamal’s neck, hot tears pooling in the small dip above Jamal’s collarbone and leaking sideways into his hair.
"You're... you were so mean to me," Michael choked out. It was barely a whisper, completely wrecked, the tone of someone who had run out of pride about three steps ago.
He pulled a hand out from the tangled sheets. His fingers curled into a weak, trembling fist, and he brought it up, knocking it against Jamal’s bare chest.
*Thump.*
It didn't hurt. It couldn't have hurt if he’d tried. It was just useless, purely reactive frustration.
*Thump.*
"You were so rough, Jamal..." Michael gasped, his voice cracking straight down the middle. He hit him again, weaker this time. "You scared me... bringing out the phone... saying those things..."
*Thump.*
The third one didn't even have any force behind it. Michael’s knuckles just kind of rested against Jamal’s sternum for a second before his wrist gave out completely. His hand flattened, fingers trailing uselessly over Jamal’s skin, and then he just dropped his head forward. He buried his face right over Jamal’s heart and let out this miserable, broken sound that vibrated straight through both of them.
"You treated me like a fucking toy you could just use to get off," he sobbed, his shoulders hitching violently. "You made me feel like nothing... "
"Jamal didn't move. He took every single hit, every word, like a physical weight settling onto his chest, suffocatingly heavy. He felt sick—actually, physically sick with himself.
He wrapped his arms around Michael, pulling him in so tight there wasn't a breath of air left between them. He dug one hand into the wild, damp curls at the back of Michael’s head, pressing him close, while his other arm locked around Michael’s waist, holding him together while he fell apart.
"I know," Jamal breathed, his own voice sounding completely scrapped and raw. He dragged his mouth across Michael’s temple, kissing the wet skin there, holding his lips there while Michael shook against him. "I know, Mike. God, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
"Why did you do that?" Michael choked into his skin, his hands blindly twisting into the fabric of the sheets near Jamal’s hips, gripping so hard his knuckles were white. " Why would you do that? I came here because I couldn't bear being away from you... my transfer to Real Madrid already happened, but I couldn't just start my life over there without fixing us first... and you just tore me apart..."
Jamal squeezed his eyes shut, taking a ragged breath that rattled in his throat.
"Because I lost my mind," Jamal confessed, the words pouring out low and fast, heavy with an ugly kind of truth. "I hadn't seen you in weeks, Mike... I was starving just to touch you, I’ve been losing sleep just missing you . Then that text popped up... when I opened that video and saw you looking like that, doing those things, and then realized it wasn't even meant for me…realized that another person was getting what I’ve been dying for thousands of miles away...something in my head just snapped."
Michael’s chest hitched, his sobs pausing for a fraction of a second, though his breathing was still fast and uneven against Jamal’s ribs.
"The thought of you standing in that room... looking like that... doing all of that for someone else..." Jamal’s grip tightened, possessive and desperate, before he forced himself to loosen it just a fraction. "The idea that some other person was supposed to get that from you made me so fucking angry I couldn't think straight. I was blind with it, Mike."
He smoothed a hand down Michael’s back, over his shoulder blades, trying to force some calm into the long, tense line of Michael's spine.
"I was terrified, and I was jealous, and I took this disgusting, paranoid panic and threw it straight at you," Jamal said, his voice dropping, quieter than Michael had ever heard it. "I wanted to own you. I wanted to make sure you were so spun out you wouldn't even think about anyone else. But I just terrified you instead. There’s no excuse for it. None."
Michael let out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead still heavy against Jamal’s chest, feeling the fast, hard thrum of Jamal’s pulse against his cheek.
"You were so mean," Michael mumbled again, though the sharp, panicked edge in his voice was finally starting to dull, replaced by sheer, bone-deep exhaustion.
"I was an idiot," Jamal corrected softly. He shifted, pulling Michael up with him as he leaned back against the headboard, keeping him tucked solid against his torso. He brought his hand up, using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe the damp tracks off Michael’s face, catching the tears as they fell. "You're not pathetic, Mike. You're not a slut—God, you could never be that. You're not any of the awful, vile shit I said to tear you down. You're everything to me. I’ve got you. I'm holding you, okay? I'm right here."
He tilted Michael’s chin up just a fraction, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, then his temple, and finally a slow, quiet touch of his lips against Michael’s swollen bottom lip—gentle, unhurried, not asking for anything.
Michael closed his eyes, his entire body finally going heavy, melting into the heat of the bed and the arms wrapped around him. The frantic pace of his breathing slowly began to even out, settling into a deep, heavy rhythm.
His fingers stayed hooked weak into the fabric of Jamal's shirt, pulling him just a tiny bit closer as his strength completely gave out.
"Don't... don't be like that again, Jam..." Michael mumbled into his collarbone, his voice trailing off, broken and exhausted. "Please... don't leave me..."
Jamal felt his own heart break all over again. He tightened his hold, pressing his lips softly to the top of Michael’s head, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles over the warm skin of Michael’s bare back.
"Never again, baby," Jamal whispered into his hair, his voice thick with emotion as he kept up the steady, soothing stroke down his spine. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you... I'm right here."
He kept stroking his back in the dark, murmuring quiet, tender promises into the quiet room until Michael’s breathing deepened completely and he finally drifted off to sleep.