Chapter Text
“Isagi is gay.” Reo paces back and forth in the lounge of a Mikage-owned building in Germany, having stayed there to handle some personal matters that required his attention. Along with him are his friends— err, rivals.
Nagi is sprawled on the sofa staring at the ceiling after finishing a game on his phone, palms a little sweaty. Chigiri sighs as he grabs another cup of chai tea, and Hugo, his teammate from Arsenaly, sits in a chair across from them, blank book between his fingers.
Hugo is no stranger anymore, having been around them enough since the wee days of the U-20 World Cup, which is already two seasons ago. Naturally they'll always meet in the same environment, and the future world cup. The next league starts in about two weeks, which leaves them with nothing but more training, and more media appearances.
“It’s not like it’s bad,” Chigiri sighs, nearly spilling his chai, as he frowns. “Isagi has this magnet around him that just pulls people in. Men are no exception.”
“He just said he rides cocks. A penis,” Hugo replies to no one in particular. It doesn’t necessarily mean Isagi is gay, but the implications are there. “If he finds it stimulating to do so, I don’t see a problem.”
“Huh, probably why people say the French are good at fucking,” Chigiri muses. “Not like I’ve experienced it. Hell no.”
Hugo lets out a tiny smirk, uncharacteristic given how he is usually one giant personification of 'I don't give a fuck.' “If given the chance, I’d love to be the one Isagi rides.”
Nagi suddenly sits up straight. Reo pauses to send Hugo a deep frown, while Chigiri looks ready to chuck a sofa pillow across the room.
“I’ll be the one to fuck Isagi,” Nagi declared. It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact, delivered with the same flat tone he used to describe a tap-in goal.
Reo’s entire body went rigid. He swung a velvet throw pillow with enough force to make a thwack sound against Nagi’s head. “The hell are you saying so casually?!” Reo’s eyebrow was twitching violently. “You think you’re the only one who’s thought about it, you lazy genius?”
Nagi didn't even flinch, just adjusted his shoulder that was almost hit. “So you want to fuck Isagi first then, Reo? Is that why you’re so loud?”
Before Reo can even retort, Chigiri and Hugo are already interjecting. This stupid conversation is making Reo's blood simmer in irritation, as to the reason why, Reo himself is not sure.
“Don’t leave me out,” Chigiri adds, leaning back with a competitive glint in his eyes. “If we’re talking about who Isagi chooses, I think I’ve got a better lead than a lazy bone, a European guy, and a rich kid.”
Hugo didn't look offended. Instead, he raised an elegant eyebrow, his long lashes fluttering against his cheek in a way that looked almost mocking. “Didn't Yoichi say it doesn't matter whose cock he rides?”
The French midfielder frowned then, his expression shifting into something more serious. “So the rumors are true that he's seeing someone then.”
The silence that followed is heavy.
Reo felt a vein pop in his forehead. The irritation that had been simmering was now a full-blown boil. He hated how they were all dissecting Isagi’s words like they were analyzing game matches.
“He was exhausted!” Reo snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. “He probably didn't even know what he was saying. You guys are acting like he just dropped a sex tape.”
It had to be the exhaustion, Reo gnaws at his bottom lip. Fuck, it had to be.
Nagi, who was still sitting up, looked between Hugo and Reo with a dull stare. “But he said it so clearly. Isagi doesn't usually lie when he's that angry.” He paused, his brain actually working for once, then a frown spread across his handsome face. “If he is seeing someone... I’ll just have to make him forget them.”
“In your dreams, Nagi,” Chigiri huffed, crossing his arms. He looked annoyed now too. The idea of some random person having Isagi's attention while they were all stuck in training was actually grating. “If he’s seeing some nobody from a bar, then his standards have hit rock bottom.”
Hugo hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. “Or maybe he just wants someone who isn't a teammate. Someone who will work him out to his full potential.” He looked at Reo, Nagi, Chigiri and smirked.
“Which means most of you are already disqualified.”
Chigiri narrowed his eyes at Vivian, “You're one to talk to.”
Reo groaned, burying his face in his hands as he slumped back into his chair. The poised, billionaire-heir persona is now completely gone, replaced by a guy who looked like he was one headline away from a nervous breakdown.
Reo can practically see it: Isagi, usually so composed, completely undone. He imagines the way Isagi’s thighs would tremble as he tried to keep his balance, his fingers digging into someone's shoulders for leverage.
He’d be breathless, making those small, sharp sounds, the kind of ego-shattering noises that would make any man lose his mind.
He pictures Isagi’s back arched, his sweat-slicked skin glistening under soft lights, his usual pretty face melting into something hazy and vulnerable as he ride, ass bouncing up and down to whoever the lucky bastard was.
Isagi wouldn't be passive; even in bed, he’d probably try to take control, moving with a desperate intensity until he is completely spent.
Shit. Reo clenches his fist. “I am seriously going to lose my mind because of him.”
Ness has no particular feelings towards Isagi Yoichi. Sure, he wished that Yoichi would just grovel and die at his feet because Kaiser had an interest in him, but that wasn't the whole story.
The truth probably stems from Alexis thinking that Isagi should have an interest in him instead. Was he jealous that Michael was obsessed with Yoichi in the NEL? That’s not the whole truth of it. Alexis is fucking pissed because he’s not the only one now who thinks the doe-eyed striker is interesting.
And yes, Alexis Ness is only admitting it to himself now. Because he’s not feeling like himself for the last few weeks after Yoichi officially joined Bastard München.
“Ness.” Isagi saunters over to him, completely unaware of the fact that he looks infuriatingly sexy, his shorts are taking up the shape of his thighs… and his ass.
Isagi arches an eyebrow, blinking in that really pretty way that Ness can’t help but store in the I Hate Isagi Yoichi files in his brain.
“Alexis, are you alright?”
To say his breath hitched is a fucking understatement. Ness is sweaty and nervous, his palms itching beneath his athletic gloves.
Wait, what the hell did Yoichi just call him? Since when are they on a first name basis? Shit?! Didn’t people in Japan make a big deal out of that?
Isagi sighs, but nonetheless, he continues. “I know we didn't have the best cooperation in the NEL, but it doesn't have to stay that way—”
Ness is zoning out. What the actual hell? Does Yoichi always smell this good? They’re supposed to be sweaty and disgusting; as a matter of fact, Ness is used to stank body odor given how much time he spends around other guys, but why the fuck does Yoichi smell so pleasant?
Is he born smelling like this, or what? He smells of fresh linen with a subtle note of something sweet that Ness can’t quite pinpoint.
“—the last game was good, Ness. But I suggest reading my position from the left side of the field. That way, I feel like we can both visualize the same goal—”
Wait, didn't Yoichi just admit that he’s gay? Or that he loves to ride a dick? Shit. Ness’s eyes trace the subtle baby fat of Yoichi’s cheek. Disgusting. Cute. Distracting. Those doe-eyes look like they’ll swallow you whole if you so much as look at them. And those lips— pouty at the bottom and perfectly balanced at the top.
He imagines Yoichi’s pink lips wrapped around a cock, and Ness disgustingly feels himself strain against his boxers. God damn it.
Ness mentally slaps himself. Since when did he find Yoichi… attractive?
What the fuck.
“—I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I'm merely suggesting we can up our play so we can beat Real Madrid next season. You have skills, Ness—”
At this, Ness’s distracted eyes perk up. Is he complimenting him?
What? What.
“My skills?” Ness squeaks out, his voice cracking in a way that makes him want to swallow his own tongue. Tone baritone as he felt his cock twitch at the sudden compliment from this, not-so-very attractive striker.
Isagi nods, looking far too sincere. Eyes blinking up at him. “Yeah. Your technical passing is top-tier. If we synchronize our vision, we’d be unstoppable. Think about it, Ness. Just the two of us, dismantling the world's best defense.”
Just the two of us.
The phrase echoes in Ness’s head, colliding violently with his loyalty to Kaiser, who is now in Real Madrid, and well, Alexis is still keeping in touch with him (can’t teach an old dog new tricks after all). He looks at Isagi— really looks at him, and notices a stray bead of sweat rolling down the side of Isagi’s neck. His brain immediately suggests licking it off.
“I,” Ness stammers. “I don't take orders from you!” Ness finally snaps, though it lacks his usual bite. He takes a frantic step back, tripping over a nearby ball. Fuck, he’s pathetic. “And stop calling me by my first name! We aren't friends, Yoichi!”
Isagi blinks, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, Alexis. I’ll see you at the meeting later.”
As Isagi walks away, giving a casual wave, Ness stands there frozen. His heart is doing backflips, and his mind is a dumpster fire of conflicting emotions. He needs to find Kaiser. He needs to tell Michael how much he hates Isagi.
He needs to visualize how to kill Yoichi, not how to bend him over the mattress, or how pathetic he– Ness, will look once Yoichi ride him.
But as he watches the way the striker’s shorts cling to his thighs with every step, Ness realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s in deep, deep trouble.
“Shit, damn it,” Ness whispers to the empty field, his face burning. “I’m going to need a very cold shower.”
Noel Noa let out a long, heavy breath as he rubbed his temples. He was supposed to be a man of pure logic, but trying to manage this team or hormonal young adults is like trying to calculate a trajectory in the eye of a hurricane.
He could feel a migraine pulsing behind his eyes.
"I know that this is probably my fault!" Erik Gesner exploded, his face turning a blotchy red as he pointed a trembling finger at himself while talking to Bachman who genuinely looks confused and concerned. "If I hadn't cornered Isagi about that rumor, I wouldn't have had to hear it! I wouldn't have known that he rides dicks! That he's fucking gay!"
Birkenstock didn't even look up from his locker. He just blinked slowly with his usual deadpan expression. "If you don't like Isagi, why are you so bothered by his sexual preferences? It doesn't change his goal count."
"It changes the locker room atmosphere!" Gesner scoffed, looking like his head might actually pop off.
Theo Sachs, the team's designated pretty boy, leaned back against the wall. He had that model-perfect jawline and hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial, a shame really that he kept it in a band back in BLTV. He watched the chaos with a thoughtful look on his face.
"Huh. Come to think of it," Theo mused, his voice sounding entirely too calm for the situation. "Doesn't Isagi kind of look like, hmmm, feminine?"
"He's got those huge eyes," Theo continued, tilting his head as if he were analyzing a painting. "And he's quite small compared to the rest of us. But sill quite muscular. He looks like a doll until he starts insulting everyone on the field,” Theo bit his lower lip as he rolled his shoulder, “but damn, he looks so pretty even when he’s insulting us. If he's as aggressive as he says he is, I can see why he’s so confident being at the top–“
Theo wiggles his eyebrow, “–riding.”
"Shut up, Sachs!" Gesner barked, though he looked like he was suddenly picturing it too.
In the corner, Ness looked like he was suffering through a total system failure. He was gripping his water bottle so hard it made a loud, plastic crunching sound. His face was a messy mix of horror and a very visible, very awkward flush.
"Enough," Noa finally snapped, his voice cold enough to drop the temperature in the room. "We are here to play football. I don't care who Isagi rides as long as he’s in position for the next drill. Now get out there before I bench the lot of you."
But as the players filed out, the silence was way too heavy. Theo was still smirking, and half the guys were looking everywhere but at each other.
The egoist had won. Isagi had dropped a bombshell and walked away, leaving the most rational team in the world in a state of complete sexual confusion.
Noa looked at the boy standing in the doorway, and for the first time in his professional career, his Master Striker brain struggled to find a logical path forward.
Isagi stood there with a slight tilt of his head, his dark hair slightly messy, and those wide, clear eyes blinking in genuine confusion.
He looked entirely too innocent for a man who had just told Gesner what he likes to do.
“What was that about?” Isagi asked, stepping further into the room. “The guys are all bright red. I passed Gesner in the hall and he looked like he was about to faint. Did I miss a position change?”
Noa closed his eyes in exasperation. He took a long inhale of air, letting the silence hang until the only sound was the hum of the locker room air conditioning.
“You need to be careful with what you say, Isagi Yoichi,” Noa finally said, his voice flat but carrying a weight that made Isagi pause.
“Sorry?” Isagi let out a confused sound, his brow furrowing.
Noa didn't respond immediately. Instead, he allowed himself a single second to actually look at the striker. He saw the soft curve of Isagi’s jawline, the way his training shirt hung off a frame that was deceptively lean, and the pouty set of his lower lip as he waited for an answer.
He internally agreed with what the team is saying earlier, Isagi Yoichi is attractive.
Noa is a man of cold facts. The fact is, Isagi had a face that looked like it belonged on a porcelain shelf, paired with a personality that wanted to tear the world apart. It is a jarring, high-contrast combination. The kind of honey trap that you’ll want to keep licking even after falling into it.
The kind of aesthetic that made people, apparently his entire team, lose their ability to think rationally.
Noa knew exactly why they were all spiraling. He could see the magnetism everyone kept whispering about.
“Is it about the ride thing?” Isagi asked, his eyes widening as he finally caught on. “I was just tired, Master Noa. I wanted Gesner, and like, everyone to stop asking about my personal life.”
“The method you chose was... inefficient,” Noa replied, finally opening his eyes. He saw Isagi’s throat bob as he swallowed, the movement drawing attention to the soft skin of his neck.
God help this team, Noa thought silently.
“Just go to the field, I’ll handle the meeting later,” Noa sighed, giving him a look that bordered on pity. “And try to keep your mouth shut. For the sake of the team’s mental health, if not your own.”
As Isagi turned to leave, Noa watched the way the other players in the room tracked his movement like heat-seeking missiles. Noa felt a rare spark of sympathy for them. It was hard to play rational football when the ace striker was walking around looking like a doll and talking like a deviant.
Isagi shrugged, still looking like he didn't quite get the gravity of the situation.
“Whatever you say, Master.”
Noa felt his eyes widen for just a second. In any other context, it was a title of respect, a recognition of his position as the world’s best.
But coming from Isagi right now as he left, with his lips still slightly parted and that realization as to why everyone is hooked on Isagi Yoichi, it sounds inappropriate to Noa.
Fuck, maybe he’s the problem and his student is just being grateful. But the way he said the word ‘Master’…
It made Noel logically understand the way his team is struggling at the possibility that Isagi is attracted to the same sex. His grip tightened on the board where he was explaining their strategy earlier.
If Isagi Yoichi is looking for a Master, Noel would just have to ensure he remained the only one qualified for the job.
After all, it was only logical to keep the team's most valuable asset under the strictest possible supervision.