whatsername. (thejazzter) wrote in broadaylight,
whatsername.
thejazzter
broadaylight

Everybody's gonna love today; Die Mannschaft

Title: Everybody's gonna love today.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Thomas Mueller/Die Mannschaft
Word count: 1.388
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this are mine, as much as I wish they were. Epic times would be had, but alas...
Summary: Prompt: "Die Mannschaft/Müller gangbang, with Müller loving every second of it."
Author's note: First fic I've written and actually finished in a while. I wasn't going to post it at first, but I figured, why the hell not. People've read it, they've liked it.


Everybody's gonna love today.



Thomas thinks he should feel like a whore.


It seems appropriate, it really does, what with him spread out like this, the other players having gathered in a small circle around him.


Truth is, he doesn't feel like a whore.


He loves it.


In fact, to him, there's something really intimate and even gentle about it. They're taking care of him so well; Thomas is spread out on blankets and big, fluffy pillows, and if he remembers correctly, somebody even turned up the heat to make this room comfortably warm.


As if Thomas wasn't hot enough.


Nobody's talking, but he knows he heard an appreciative hum coming from Miro the second he was laid out in the middle of them like a glorious, naked meal, his skin seeming to glow in the dimmed light of the room.


He feels a little twinge of embarrassment at his cock already filling up with blood and slowly lifting, but that twinge is easily covered by the anticipatory feeling in his belly that has the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.


Thomas watches as his captain, Philipp, wraps his hand around Thomas' ankle, the thumb of the smaller man's hand gently stroking circles on Thomas' ankle as Philipp props up Thomas' leg, safely planting the mid fielder's foot on a pillow.


He remains at Thomas' side, settling onto his knees, his watchful eyes trained on Thomas, leaving a feeling of safety behind that Thomas gladly bathes in.


Thomas is still wondering who will make the first move and really touch him like he's been aching for, when Manuel, their beloved goalie, settles between his legs, a tube of lube in his hand.


A small shudder runs through Thomas, and his dick twitches. Manuel gives him a reassuring grin, his eyes giving off a sparkle, popping the lid on the tube open at the same time. Thomas wants to be as patient and good as he is on the field, make them happy, but he can't help but squirm at the thought of finally, finally being touched.


"You okay?" Manuel asks quietly, stopping in his motion of warming the lube between his hands.


"Yeah, just..." Thomas thrusts his hips a little into the air, a small bead of pre-come already oozing out of his cock as his eyes fix on Manuel's fingers. "Just..."


Manuel raises his eyebrows at this, a smirk on his face. Thomas is glad the goalie doesn't say a thing; he's not sure he should be blushing, especially not when he's about to get fucked by several of the Nationalmannschaft's players.


He's so caught up in watching as Lukas settles on his knees beside his face, so close Thomas can almost feel the fine hair on Lukas' legs against his skin, that he jumps a little when Manuel touches him for the first time, the lube leaving a wet trail behind as Manuel runs his fingers down the inside of Thomas' thigh.


Despite Manuel's warm skin the lube feels cold against Thomas' opening, and he lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes trained on Manuel's face.


"Hey," a quiet voice next to his face says, and Thomas looks up to find Lukas has bent himself over him. “Look at me,” the Pole says quietly. Thomas does, his eyelids fluttering when Lukas' face comes closer, the other striker's lips finally settling on his own.


When Manuel's finger slips in, carefully breaching the tight ring of muscles, Thomas reaches out, wanting to wrap his fingers around Lukas' neck, needing to touch. His hand waves around a bit, feeling around for skin.


Somebody gently wraps their hand around his wrist, bringing his hand up higher. When that somebody wraps their lips around two of his fingers, Thomas gasps into Lukas' mouth, arching up to get closer to the lips of the striker.


This seems like the 'Go!'-sign for the other people in the room, and before long, Thomas isn't even sure who's who.


There's a hand and a pair of lips wrapped around his dick, while a pair of hands is taking turns of pinching and gently stroking his nipples; at the same time two fingers are scissoring him and rubbing over his prostate every now and then while somebody else is still sucking on his fingers, a very skilled tongue curling around them.


He tries to open his eyes, but the second his eyes start to flutter, those talented fingers rub over his prostate again, and he's seeing stars.


"Fuck, he hisses, thrusting his dick smoothly into the hot mouth those lips belong to.


When somebody lightly taps their fingers against his jaw, mumbling, "Open up, Thomas, c'mon, please," he finally manages to open his eyes, just in time to watch as Mesut rubs the tip of his cock over Thomas' lips.


His eyes travel up the mid fielder's face, offering him a grin Mesut barely manages to return. There's something desperate about the way he's looking at Thomas, and Thomas would feel bad for denying him, especially when they're being so good to him.


He locks his eyes with Mesut, slowly opening his mouth and doing his best to relax his jaw as Mesut gingerly guides his dick into Thomas' mouth. As the tip of the older man's cock hits the roof of Thomas' mouth, Thomas hums, his lips curving into a smile around the taut, hot skin.


Mesut cradles Thomas' face in his hand, the tips of his fingers lightly pressing at his jaw, as he mutters, his voice breaking, "C'mon, wider, wider."


Thomas wants to call him greedy, he actually tries, but it comes out as a hum that makes Mesut thrust in his mouth as the Turk groans out something indistinguishable, probably in his mother tongue.


"I want to try, too!" Thomas hears from far away, and he looks over to where he assumes the talking coming from. His eyes find the source just in time, and he watches as Marko shoves Bastian out of the way, the lips of the tiny mid fielder eagerly wrapping around the tip of Thomas' cock.


Thomas' toes curl at this, and he almost doesn't mind Mesut thrusting a little too hard, because Thomas is too busy slipping his leg between Bastian's to let the mid fielder grind down against it.


By now, Thomas feels like this has been going on forever, and it feels so fucking good, so good. He knows he's about to come, his balls tightening, and lets out a loud groan, Mesut's dick slipping out of his mouth. Thomas arches his back, gasping. “Fuck, I'm gonna, gonna...” he tells nobody in particular, face scrunching in bliss.


The grasp he's had on a pillow with his free hand tightens, and he bucks into Marko's mouth, wanting to warn the tiny mid fielder. "C'mon, come for us," somebody whispers, urging him on.


It sounds like Miro, but he's not sure anymore: the voices seem to come through a thick haze as he cries out, shooting his come into Marko's mouth. He watches through slitted eyes as the blonde swallows, a small trickle of come seeping out of his mouth as he shares a grin with Thomas.


Marko barely has the time to register this before he's being pulled in for a kiss by Philipp, their captain leaning over Thomas' body, one hand settled on Thomas' knee, the other wrapped around Marko's shoulder.


Thomas sinks into the pillows, eyes fluttering closed, way too high on post-orgasmic bliss to notice or even care how Mesut comes on him, the Turk's come splattering on his chest.


He comes down, right on time to watch Miro lick the come off his skin, eventually latching on to Thomas' left nipple, while the older man's hand curves around Thomas' ribcage, the thumb of said hand rubbing lazy circles into Thomas' skin.


Thomas lazily swats at him, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Can't,” he mumbles, spent. He's sure if anybody starts something, he'll pass out and only wake up when they're done.


Out of the corner of his eye, he sees their coach shut off the camera he'd put there when they'd led Thomas here, and his grin widens just a tad more.


He'll just love watching that tape.
Tags: !fiction, by: thejazzter, other: die mannschaft, rating: nc-17
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