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The floor is uncomfortable. The game is pointless. You’ve lost every round so far.
The boys tried to teach you, but the rules slipped past you, or maybe you never cared enough to focus on learning them. Simon talks too fast anyways, not really explaining the rules so much as proving he knows them. König tries to chime in with advice, but you’ve been out of it for a few rounds already.
It’s a little ridiculous anyways; the three of you on the floor, legs folded like kids at camp. Your hair is still damp from your shower, water soaking through the towel on your shoulders. It’s not like you expected company. They just showed up at your door; Simon, card deck in hand, coming in like he was offering premium entertainment, König on his heels, lingering in the doorway because you hadn't actually invited them in yet. You didn’t mind. What better thing was there to do on an off night? Game or not, this could be fun.
You sigh dramatically and let the cards fall from your hands, “I give up.”
“Oh come on.”
“Leave her alone, she’s clearly not having fun.”
Simon pulls a face, not used to seeing such audacity coming from König. “Did she tell you that?”
König looks at him like he’s stupid. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you mate.” Simon is sprawled out, crowding the space, just in reach to kick him in the leg.
They’re speaking as if you're not even there, and though part of you is offended, you’re about twice as entertained.
“Are you having fun?” Simon inquires, finally including you.
“I don't know. We could try a different game maybe,” you shrug, trying to spare his feelings. “I'm craving something sweet though,” you add, hoping to change the subject.
Simon perks up, quick to make it a challenge. “Reckon the mess has some lollies. König’ll go.”
“Why me?” König grunts.
“You’re closest to the door.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not sending one of you to forage. Go together.”
That gets them both standing. Neither wants to be the one who refused. The door clicks shut behind them and the room is suddenly quiet again. You collect the scattered cards, lips curling at the corners despite yourself. You’re not entirely sure what game is being played anymore, but you might like this one better.
—
When they return, they’re a bit out of breath, shoulders bumping as they file back in like they didn’t try to outpace one another.
Simon already has a red lollipop in his mouth. König is empty-handed.
“There were only two left,” Simon says smugly, plucking the spare from his pocket and offering it to you between two fingers. “Enjoy.”
You take it without breaking eye contact, press it to your mouth. It clicks against your teeth. And then the sweetness floods in, artificial cherry bleeding across your tongue. The red is vivid. A little garish. Your lips are sticky after the second pass, and you know it must show.
They join you back on the floor. Simon falls into a sprawl like the spot he claimed earlier now officially belongs to him. His thigh brushes yours and he doesn’t adjust. The lollipop shifts from one side of his mouth to the other as he watches you, amused and cocky, like he’s just dealt a winning hand no one else saw coming.
König settles across from you, busying himself with shuffling the deck. He keeps his gaze down, on the cards, flicking through them like they might lay out how to be what Simon is without coming across as a total jackass. His eyes dart up, catch your lips, then drop, and come back up just as fast. It’s not subtle—subtlety is the last thing you’d expect from either of them.
Simon's rambling again, filling the silence like he got bored of not hearing his own voice. Whatever he has to say doesn't get your attention; König has it, but, admittedly, he doesn't know what to read in your insistent eyes—pity, genuine interest? Perhaps both.
He's looking at your mouth again. Can't help it. You'd have to be blind, stupid or both not to see that he likes you. You wonder how long he’s been harboring that crush, why you were the one to catch his eye. It wouldn't be below Simon to go after a girl just to piss off another guy. But König’s not like that. He most definitely likes you for you.
You look at the situation. Weigh your options.
And then you do something stupid.
You reach out and offer your lollipop to him.
“Do you want it?” His eyes widen slightly, caught off guard. “I mean, you’re looking at it like you want it,” you try to justify.
König’s eyes pass from your hand to your face, looking for any sign to indicate you’re joking. You’re not. Simon shifts beside you, having gone uncharacteristically silent. Watching. Fuming. König leans forward, takes the lollipop. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his mouth around it, eyes briefly meeting yours before darting away. The wet click of it pulling free from your fingers is louder than expected, though not as loud as Simon’s own piece cracking under his clenched jaw.
Serves him right for being greedy.
You turn to face him.
“Wanna try explaining the rules again? Or just teach me another game.” But he’s not listening. If looks could kill, König’s brain would be splattered on your walls. “Simon?”
—
You’re much better at this new game. That or the boys are too busy juggling two competitions to focus on winning the one against you. You win yet another round, and nobody rushes to hand out the cards again. It seems you’ve all grown tired of it.
You stand up with the excuse of stretching your limbs. König collects the cards. Simon stares. A frown has been etched between his brows ever since that little stunt you pulled. You act clueless; it’s not like you actually did anything wrong, he’s the one who needs to grow up. Or perhaps not. It’s too much fun watching him get upset over petty stuff.
It’s been so long your hair’s already mostly dry. You remove the towel from your shoulders and set it to dry on the back of your chair. Making your way back over, you step over limbs to settle on your bed. The air changes. You’re standing over them now, no longer playing bumper in their rivalry.
“It’s getting late,” you observe.
Simon huffs. “You throwing us out?”
You look at him, unimpressed. He stands up like he’s challenging you, though you’re not really sure what’s supposed to be your loss here.
“Come on, König. Princess needs her beauty sleep.”
“I never said anything about König. And stop talking to him like he’s your dog.”
“Oh great.” He’s starting to sound aggravated. “Give me my cards then. Sorry, please. Since Miss here thinks I’m too mean.”
König hands him the deck, seemingly as entertained as you.
“Will you stop acting like a little bitch? I’m not throwing either of you out. Sit down.”
Simon pauses. His eyes drill holes into you. He’s weighing his options. The urge to fuck off, slamming the door on his way out to let you know he’s not one to take orders or be toyed with is strong. But that would leave you and König alone together, and that’s a worse outcome than taking a little bruising to his ego. So he lowers himself quietly, eyes full of defiance.
“So, what now? You sit up there, we just stare at each other?" he bites out, still on the defensive. He’s clearly not into the little power trip you’re on.
You roll your eyes. “I never told you to sit on the floor.”
Simon stops being angry to think for a second. He looks over to König, who’s figuring it out at the same time. Their eyes meet. Simon’s quicker. He moves first. Of course. Always first. Climbs up the bed with that same self-assured roll of muscle you see in training, always three seconds ahead of orders. In the rush, he lightly bumps into you. But König's already plastered to your right side, absorbing the shock.
You feel a bit cramped between them. A bit indecent too. From the outside, this probably looks obscene: a girl in her tiny pajama shorts, flanked by two big guys who like her about as much as they can't stand each other.
But that’s the thrill of it. You know exactly what you’re doing.
Simon spreads out again, thigh pressing into yours. You let him. König keeps a few inches of space between you, shoulders tight, spine too straight for comfort. You’ve known for a while now that you want them. Both. For different reasons. König tries to be good. To be respectful. He doesn’t realize that in this moment, that’s the more dangerous game to play.
You lean toward him first. He responds like someone who’s imagined this a hundred times and still isn’t ready; awestruck, processing the feeling of your lips on his before it clicks that he should probably kiss you back. It’s a bit hesitant, clumsy, but that’s what you like about König. He follows when you pull away, and you have to hold him back with a hand to his chest to break away from the kiss. He seems devastated to see your attention go to Simon. But you’re not a monster. You’ve made him work for this, and it wouldn’t be fair to make him wait any longer.
His kiss is nothing like König’s. Hot. Immediate. Greedy. His hand cups your jaw like he’s claiming territory. Like coming second doesn’t mean he can’t leave a lasting impression. You reach back blindly, finding König’s hand in his lap and bringing it to your thigh. A nudge. A yes. A greenlight. You half expect him not to know what to make of it, but he can’t rely on Simon to nicely give him his turn.
His mouth finds your neck, unsure at first, then bolder. You tip your head to the side, eyes fluttering as he kisses down to your collarbone. Simon pulls away, watches him. Then watches you. He reaches behind you to slide his hand over the small of your back. The other settles above your knee, bumping into König’s before he’s lightly nudging your thighs apart, claiming his side.
They’re both on you now, one kissing your collarbone, the other tracing his teeth across your jaw. You feel König's palm tense against your leg whenever you let out a pleased sigh. Simon smirks every time König makes a sound in his throat.
Your mouth finds his again, then Simon’s, then König’s mouth is lower and Simon’s is at your ear and… it’s becoming impossible to tell whose hand is where and whose breath is whose.
You're dizzy from it all, nerve endings on edge every time a rough touch brushes higher on your skin. Their rivalry softens at the edges, dulled by need. Their hands meet under the hem of your shirt like they’ve forgotten they’re supposed to be competing.
You lean back a little for air, propped on one elbow.
And then it happens.
König turns, lips already parted to take you again. Simon turns, intent on the same. They meet in the middle.
You sit back further, blinking, stunned. Watch as König pulls back, looking at Simon like he’s surprised to find him there. You’re given just enough time to notice that neither look upset before Simon fists a hand in König’s hoodie, pulling him back in. It's like they crash into each other. Their teeth clash. Their breaths stagger. It’s messy, almost brutal. But it feels earned: they’ve been circling each other for far too long, using you like neutral ground.
A flush rises in your chest.
Not jealousy…
Arousal.
Realisation.
They were always going to do this.
You just got to be the excuse.