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Erling Haaland loved pushing buttons. Especially Jude Bellingham’s buttons. And lately? He’d decided the best way to rattle the usually unflappable midfielder was to lean into the filthiest, most shameless edge of his flirting. He figured he was safe—Jude was polite, Jude was proper, Jude would probably just grimace, tell him to shut up, and change the subject. Perfect for Erling’s ego, perfect for getting all that tension out without actually risking anything.
He started small at first, just testing the waters.
They were lacing up boots before training, and Erling leaned over, voice dropping low and lazy: “Y’know, those boots look pretty tight on you… but I bet I could make them look even tighter somewhere else.”
Jude didn’t even pause. “Focus, Haaland. Or you’ll be running laps until sunset.”
Erling just cackled, clapping him on the back. “Boring! You’re no fun at all.”
He got bolder as the days went on. He made it his personal mission to say the most audacious, borderline obscene things he could think of right in Jude’s ear, then sit back and watch him pretend not to hear. It became a game he was winning, hands down.
They were in the canteen getting lunch, Erling leaning against the counter next to Jude, watching him pick out fruit.
“Careful with that peach,” Erling murmured, loud enough only Jude could hear, grinning like a devil. “Squeezing it that hard? You’re making me think you’ve got some… pent-up energy you wanna work out. I’d be happy to volunteer. I’ve got plenty of stamina. And I’m very thorough.”
Jude just picked up his tray, gave him a flat look. “Eat your lunch, Erling.”
“Only if you’re on the menu,” Erling shot back, winking so hard his eyelashes fluttered. Still nothing. He was untouchable.
By the time they ended up back at Jude’s place later that week, Erling was feeling completely invincible. He’d had a few beers, he was loose and comfortable, and Jude was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa looking unfairly good in just a plain dark shirt and sweatpants. Erling decided to pull out his absolute best material.
He shifted so he was leaning right into Jude’s space, elbow propped on the back of the sofa, chin resting in his palm, eyes glinting sharp and playful.
“Y’know what I’ve been thinking about?” Erling started, slow and smug. “I bet you look all serious and stern on the pitch… but behind closed doors? Bet you’d be so desperate you’d let me do whatever I wanted. Bet you’d take it so good, all quiet and wide-eyed for me. I’d ruin you, Bellingham. Make you forget your own name.”
He leaned in even closer, voice dropping thick and heated, practically purring: “And the best part? I’d go slow. Edge you for hours until you’re begging. Then I’d make you come so hard you can’t walk straight for three days. Sound like a plan?”
He pulled back, grinning wide and wicked, waiting for the usual eye roll, the usual “you’re disgusting”, the usual deflection. He was ready to tease him for being uptight, ready to bask in another easy win.
Jude just took a slow sip of his drink, set it down on the coaster with deliberate care, and turned his head to look right at him. His expression didn’t shift—still calm, still steady, but his eyes went dark and heavy, focused right on Erling like he was dissecting every single word.
“Cute,” Jude said, low and even. “You talk a very big game for someone who I know would fold the second someone touched him properly.”
Erling’s grin faltered just a little. He wasn’t supposed to engage! “Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure?”
Jude shifted, turning fully toward him, one arm stretching out along the back of the sofa—caging Erling in without even touching him yet. “Because I know you, Erling. All that big talk? Ruining me? We both know it’d be the other way around. We both know you’re the type who’d go soft the second someone actually takes control.”
He leaned in slow, closing the space inch by inch, his voice dropping rough and smoky, filthy and calm all at once—so matter-of-fact it hit Erling harder than any shout ever could.
“You think you’d be edging me? Please. I’d have you so desperate, sobbing into the sheets before I even touched you properly. I’d stretch you open slow, make you take every inch until you can’t tell where I end and you begin. I’d fill you so full you’d be leaking me for hours, walking funny for a week, and you’d thank me for it. You’d beg for it. And you’d be so pliant, so good for me, you wouldn’t even remember how to be loud.”
The air left Erling’s lungs. Completely.
He just sat there, mouth hanging slightly open, brain stalling out like a broken engine. His face went bright, blazing red—burning up his neck, across his ears, even down to his collarbones. Every single filthy, bold line he’d ever practiced just evaporated into smoke, leaving him completely blank, completely flustered, completely stunned stupid.
“Cat got your tongue?” Jude asked, and there was a sharp, satisfied little curve to his mouth now. He lifted one hand, slow as anything, and hooked a finger under Erling’s chin—tipping his head up so he had nowhere to look but right at him. “Funny. You had so many very detailed ideas about what you’d do to me. Suddenly you’ve got nothing to say?”
Erling made a tiny, strangled noise in the back of his throat. His heart was hammering so hard it shook his whole chest. He’d imagined Jude being polite, Jude being awkward, Jude telling him off. He never in a million years imagined Jude would look him dead in the eye and describe exactly how he’d ruin him—and sound so sure, so calm, so like he’d already thought about it a hundred times before.
“I—you—” Erling stammered, then had to clear his throat hard, voice coming out all cracked and breathless. “You can’t just—say things like that! That’s—you’re—you’re supposed to be the nice one!”
“I can be very nice,” Jude murmured, his thumb brushing slow and heavy over Erling’s bottom lip, making him shiver so hard his shoulders jumped. “But I can also be thorough. And you asked for it. You walked right up here and dared me to match you. Don’t pout just because I can keep up.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, their breaths mingling, and dropped the quietest, most devastating line of all: “Besides… I know you’d love it. I can see it in the way you’re blushing so hard you’re practically glowing. I can feel how fast your heart is beating. You’re not scared, Erling. You’re already half-way there.”
Erling wanted to argue. He wanted to say you’re wrong, I’d be the one in charge, I’d make you see stars. But the words wouldn’t come. Because Jude was right. Every single word of it hit him right where it mattered, coiled hot and tight in his gut, made his hands shake a little where they were curled into the cushions. He felt stripped bare—seen through, completely laid out, and instead of feeling exposed he felt… safe. And so turned on he could barely think straight.
“I hate you,” Erling mumbled, but there was no heat in it—just flustered, breathless wonder, and he leaned his chin further into Jude’s hold like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re not supposed to be this… lethal. It’s unfair.”
“Life’s unfair,” Jude said, but his tone softened, just a little—warm and fond under all that sharp heat. “But for the record? Everything I said? I’d only do it if you asked me properly. If you told me exactly how much you wanted it. And if at any point you want me to stop, or slow down, or change anything—you say so. It all stops. No questions asked. Always.”
Erling stared at him, big bright eyes dark and dazed, and all that cocky swagger just melted right down into something soft and open. “Okay,” he whispered. “Maybe… maybe I’d like that. A lot. Please, Jude.”
That quiet, earnest please was all Jude needed. He closed the last of the space between them, kissing him deep and claiming right from the start—no tentative testing, just sure, heavy pressure that made Erling’s head spin instantly. Erling didn’t even try to lead this time. He just let himself fall into it, arms looping up around Jude’s neck, melting pliant and soft against his chest, letting Jude set every pace, every angle, every bit of pressure. He tasted like mint and warmth and something entirely, uniquely him, and Erling decided right then he’d never get enough.
Jude pulled back only just enough to stand, keeping one hand firm on Erling’s waist. “Upstairs. Now.”
It wasn’t a question, and Erling didn’t treat it like one. He followed automatically, legs feeling a little unsteady, heart thrumming bright and fast. Jude led him straight to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them, and then right there between them he started undressing Erling slow and deliberate—like he was unwrapping something precious he’d been waiting ages to hold. He pushed the jacket off his shoulders, pulled his shirt up over his head, dropping each piece aside carefully, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin as he went.
Erling stood there and let him—big, sturdy, usually so self-assured Erling—standing quiet and compliant, hands resting light on Jude’s shoulders just to ground himself. When Jude got to his jeans, he paused, looking up. “You want this?”
“More than anything,” Erling breathed, and lifted his hips to help, trusting completely.
Jude stripped them both down until they were skin to skin, then guided Erling back to sit on the edge of the bed, stepping between his spread knees. He ran his hands slow up Erling’s thighs, strong and warm, watching the way Erling leaned into his touch like he was starved for it.
“So ready already,” Jude noted, low and satisfied, his thumb brushing over the sensitive crease of his thigh. “All that big talk… and you’re already this soft for me.”
Erling just nodded, cheeks burning but unashamed, reaching up to curl his fingers into Jude’s wrist. “Stop teasing. Please. Just—fuck...just show me.”
“Patience,” Jude murmured, but he was gentle about it. He guided Erling to lie back, propping a pillow under his hips to open him up just that little bit more, and Erling let him move his body however he wanted—limbs loose, relaxed, fully surrendered. Jude took his time preparing him—fingers slick and careful, working him open slow and steady, checking in every few moments: This okay? Deep enough? Want more? Erling answered every time, soft and sure, arching into every touch, little quiet gasps catching in his throat.
When Jude finally had him ready—pliant, loose, shifting restlessly and begging quiet for more—he leaned over him, bracing one forearm beside Erling’s head, lining himself up slow.
“Remember,” Jude said, voice rough but steady, his gaze locked right on Erling’s. “Anything you need—you say. I’ve got you.”
Then he pushed in—slow, inch by inch, deliberate, letting Erling feel every bit of the stretch and heat, letting him adjust fully before he moved any further. Erling gasped loud, his fingers digging tight into Jude’s biceps, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he forced them back open, needing to see him.
“Okay?” Jude asked, steady as ever.
“Perfect,” Erling whispered, hooking his legs loose around Jude’s waist. “Move, Jude. Please—move like you mean it.”
Jude set a rhythm—deep, sure, deliberate, hitting exactly right every single time. He didn’t rush, didn’t chase a finish; he made it feel like something significant, like he was staking his claim with every thrust, like he meant to leave no doubt in Erling’s mind who he belonged to. He leaned down to kiss him while he moved—slow, deep kisses that stole the breath right out of him, murmuring praise against his mouth and jaw the whole time.
“So good for me… taking it so well… look how pretty you are all undone like this…good boy.”
Erling just melted under it all—every bit of that usual boldness dissolving into soft, yielding warmth. He let Jude take all the weight, all the control, just lay there and took it, meeting every thrust with a lift of his hips, whispering Jude’s name over and over like it was the only word that mattered. It felt better than anything he’d ever known—intense but safe, overwhelming but held steady, like he was exactly where he was always supposed to be.
“Yours,” Erling got out, broken and soft, every time Jude pulled back and pushed deep again. “All yours--fuck—only ever yours.”
“That’s right,” Jude praised, his pace shifting just a little sharper, still careful but building heat fast. “Say it again. Let me hear you admit it—all that attitude, and you’re still just mine to take apart.”
Erling nodded fast, cheeks flushed bright, sweat beading at his temples. “Yours! Always yours...ruin me, Jude, just like you said...”
That plea was what tipped them over the edge. Jude reached between them, wrapping a hand firm and steady around Erling in time with his thrusts, and Erling cried out, loud and bright, his whole body locking up as the crest hit him—pleasure crashing through him wave after wave, blinding and all-consuming. Jude held him steady through it, driving deep once, twice more, before he followed him over with a rough, broken groan, pressing himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside him slow and thorough just like he’d promised.
They stayed locked together like that for a long time, hearts hammering in sync, breath coming hard and uneven. Jude didn’t pull away—he just shifted to hold him closer, dropping soft, lazy kisses to Erling’s damp forehead and jaw, rubbing soothing circles over his ribs while Erling floated back down to earth, boneless and heavy and warm.
When Jude finally moved to pull back, Erling made a soft, protesting sound and held on tighter. “Don’t go yet.”
“Not going anywhere,” Jude promised, shifting to lie beside him instead, pulling Erling over to rest heavy and warm against his chest, still tangled together. “Just gonna hold you. That okay?”
Erling hummed, sleepy and sated, tucking his face into the crook of Jude’s neck. “More than okay. Best thing ever.”
They lay there quiet for ages, until Erling was half-asleep and Jude finally shifted to clean them both up slow and gentle, pulling the duvet up over them both afterward. Erling curled into his side immediately, like he was magnetized there.
“Y’know,” Erling mumbled eventually, voice muffled against Jude’s shirt, still a little shy but completely happy. “You really… delivered on all that talk. Can’t even be mad about it.”
Jude huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Told you I was thorough. And for the record? You were perfect. Exactly how I knew you’d be—soft, open, all mine.”
Erling smiled into the fabric, snuggling closer. “Guess I really did fold fast, huh?”
“Folded so pretty,” Jude agreed, warm and fond. “And now you know—you can talk all the big game you want… but at the end of the day? You come home to me.”
“Best home ever,” Erling decided, and let his eyes drift shut, safe and exactly where he belonged.