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Marco’s room was a mess; old clothes on the floor, magazines and CD’s everywhere, and the carpet was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t the perfect setting to drag your new boyfriend to and have sex with him for the first time – he was aware of that – but Mario had been friends with him for too long to care about it; he barely noticed the mess.
They stumbled over obstacles while Marco planted kisses on Mario’s neck, until the back of his legs hit something hard and they landed on the bed. Clothes ended up amongst the mess on the floor way too quickly and the silence was way too… well, silent; but Mario barely had enough time to breathe, let alone to overthink all the things that were wrong about this situation. It wasn’t until Marco’s phone rang that they finally slowed down and gave Mario some time to think. Marco didn’t seem eager to pick up, yet he did check from whom the incoming call was, before politely ignoring it.
“André,” he mumbled, throwing his phone aside.
“André Schürrle?” Mario asked and Marco nodded. “Why did he call you?”
“Why would I know?” Marco responded too defensively, and it was then Mario realised that ‘too’ much of something is never okay.
“Listen, Marco, we need to talk,” Mario said, sitting up straight.
Marco’s face expression went to panic. “Areyoubreakingupwithme?”
“What? No, god no, please.” Mario laughed uncomfortably. “I only think we should talk about what just almost happened.”
Marco’s mouth formed a soundless ‘O’.
“Look,” Mario started. “I think I need to know a lot more than I know now. About everything. The thing is… I have zero experience with guys and well, I’m just scared, to be honest.”
Mario hoped for a ‘me neither’ or a ‘I’m scared too’ but when he remained silent he looked up and found Marco looking back at him, guilt in his eyes.
“Who is it? Do I know him?” Mario commented immediately.
“Mario, don’t…”
“Don’t what? I don’t have the right to know about your exes?” He realised his voice was angry and desperate and scared, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. He couldn’t tell why exactly; because of almost getting intimate with someone, or because of almost getting intimate with someone he – apparently – barely knew.
“You’re right,” Marco said calmly after a short while. “You have every right to know.” He sat down on the edge of his bed next to Mario. “I had my first kiss at fourteen with a girl named Nina. I lost my virginity at sixteen to a girl named Nina too – a different Nina though. We went out for a while. Then I had a period where I went to a lot of parties and… Don’t pull faces like that, I’m not really a slut! I just kissed a lot of girls – I lost count because I was too drunk to remember half of them – but it never got any further than that! Oh, those days…” His eyes went off a little while as he blushed and Mario could see part of him was nostalgic for that time and part of him was extremely embarrassed. “Anyway. When I was eighteen I met Deborah and she was my second. One year later Caroline and I started dating and she was my third.” He paused a few seconds, reconsidering his words. “It’s just… This year – end of the winter or beginning of the spring, I don’t quite remember – I made a little mistake.”
Mario didn’t say anyway but raised an eyebrow to encourage him to continue and tell him what exactly ‘a little mistake’ meant, even though he knew that he wasn’t going to like what Marco was about to tell him.
“We were at a party at someone’s house and there were a lot of guys and even more alcohol. I – I don’t even remember anything of it itself, just waking up… well, without clothes and in a pool of someone’s cum obviously. Just that one time…”
“Who was it?” Mario insisted, his heart beating loudly, so afraid of the answer. He was pretty sure he knew all of Marco’s friends, at least by name, so he should know the guy.
“André. Schürrle.”
Mario wasn’t so much shocked – hell no, he should have seen this coming for months – as he was disappointed. He shook his head and looked at the floor. “I should’ve known.”
“What?”
“I should’ve known you’re more than friends. The way you act around each other, it’s totally obvious.”
Marco’s mouth fell open. “I cannot believe you are saying this!” he shouted angrily as his eyes widened. “You wanted to know the truth? You’ve got it now. I made one fucking mistake and you think you know me better than I do? You can’t judge me for this, Mario, you can’t. André and I are just friends, really good friends, but if you believe we’re lovers, you’re fucking stupid. Because I think I’ve made it pretty fucking clear the past few weeks that I only want you. And you can’t tell me that you’ve never been drunk before, Mr. Innocent, because I know you and it may not have been with one of your teammates, but I’m sure you made quite a few fucking mistakes, too.”
He walked out the room and threw the door shut with a bang. His footsteps still echoed through Mario’s head, but the sound of Marco’s words was still louder than anything and they hurt more too.
Mario was mad at Marco for feeling so easily insulted, for getting so angry, for swearing so much. But if truth be told, he was mainly mad at himself, for letting his jealousy take over.
Stronger than his anger still was his fear. He was scared of losing Marco and scared of never changing, of always being a jealous, possessive boyfriend, even in future relationships. And that only freaked him out more, because he realised he could not imagine future relationships. All he had been able to think of lately was a future where he and Marco were a happy couple, like the happy ending of a romantic comedy. Except that maybe it wasn’t. He started to think that maybe this was just the beginning of a movie in a different genre.
The first few minutes alone Mario felt more depressed than ever, but then a few sunnier thoughts crossed his mind. For example: he was still in Marco’s apartment, in his bedroom even. He hadn’t been sent away and that seemed like a good sign. Maybe Marco just needed a little time alone and they could talk it over, apologise, and make up and kiss and cuddle afterwards. Also, Mario could hear him listening to Drake on the other side of the door. Mario knew the familiar bass lines too well. Marco and all the idiotic things he did and liked – including his taste in music – had become too big a part of his life to let him go now. He had to hold, no matter what. He felt the warmth of hope spreading through his body and then suddenly he found himself bursting through the door and talking to a very confused Marco.
“Lena. We took it slow. Went from first base to fourth base between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. After her I only had a short fling with one Nadia. It started out with kisses that tasted like Malibu in foreign clubs. We had awesome summer sex but it meant nothing in the fall. Once, in a celebratory mood, I accidently kissed Nuri in the locker room. That’s all.”
He had no idea how the hell he had run out of breath, but for some reason he found himself panting.
Marco stayed silence for a couple of moments, his mouth open as he was searching for the right words. “I’m sorry, Mario. I shouldn’t have become so angry. I really crossed a line there.”
“I’m sorry, too. I’m going to try to be less jealous in the future.” He was still half hoping for make up sex and Marco could tell so much from his smile.
“But I still think we should slow things down.”
“But you never said we should…” Mario started but then he saw the smirk on Marco’s face. “You bitch.”
“I’m serious, Mario,” Marco tried, but Mario was upon him before he could say anymore. He pinned him down on the couch and struggled to keep his hands still, but eventually he gave in because he simply couldn’t resist the sweet look on his boyfriend’s face.
“I’m glad we had this fight,” Mario admitted as he placed a quick, tender kiss on his lips.
Marco frowned. “Why?”
“Eh, relationship development? Come on, don’t tell me you’re not feeling even better about me now.”
Marco hesitated. He didn’t like to talk about this kind of thing too much. “I guess,” he answered shyly and he was rewarded with a tight hug that nearly strangled him.
As it turned out, they didn’t really need the sex that afternoon. Talking and hugging and pillow fights and thousands of kisses were intimate enough.
That week they kept stealing glances and smiles whenever they were with others. They liked it; the secrecy, as if they had their own secret club; sharing something nobody else knew. This love was theirs and theirs only. Nobody else knew the true meaning of their subtle touches during practice, their friendly hugs, or their long stares. They liked the endless waiting before they could finally touch each other again the way they wanted to, because the longer they delayed it, the more pleasure it eventually gave them.
They went to Mario’s on Monday and Tuesday and Thursday, where they had tea with Mario’s mother and sometimes played a game with Fabian. Although their families knew about their relationship, they didn’t show their affection much when they were around. That is: not obviously. They never kissed when Fabian was around, because they knew he found it a bit disturbing and they were okay with that. Somehow it was even better this way. Their fingers brushing when Mario gave the dice to Marco, or the exchange of meaningful looks, that were empty to the eyes of outsiders. Those little things were the bricks of their relationship.
And then it was Friday sooner than they had expected and they didn’t go to Mario’s, but instead they went to Marco’s after practice and there was something in the air, some sweet smell that had been there all week and now they could feel how close it was. What exactly it was, or what it meant wasn’t clear, until they entered the apartment and the curtains were drawn and as Mario reached for the light switch, Marco pushed his hand away.
“Wait right here,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss under Mario’s ear.
Mario watched as Marco disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind him and then his stomach tied up in a knot and he awkwardly leaned against the wall, because he was clueless about what to do while waiting. He knew there was no camera, no one to care about what he did – he could pick his nose for all the world cared – yet he felt like it was the most important thing on earth.
After a few minutes that seemed more like an eternity, Marco finally came out again and he gestured Mario closer. He played with his lover’s fingers and swayed their bodies as he softly hummed a song. Mario barely heard his voice, but he could feel his chest vibrating against his own. Next to his lungs, he could feel two loud heartbeats synchronising.
“You were right,” Marco breathed in his ear. “About… you know what I mean.” He blushed.
Mario shook his head and frowned. It wasn’t just that he wanted to hear the words from Marco; he also had honestly no idea what he was talking about.
“About relationship development,” he whispered as if he didn’t even want to be heard. “And because… we have a better relationship now, I want to ask you if this is too much.” He gently guided Mario into the room.
He could not believe his eyes. The room was bathed in a red-orange light coming from two little lamps, placed on bedside tables on either side of the bed. His old Formula 1 sheets had been replaced by simple red ones that emphasised the red glow in the room. The colour of passion, he knew well enough. And maybe the most wondrous thing of all was the empty floor; he remembered how it had been just five days ago and figured miracles must have been going on here.
“Well?” Marco asked after a while.
Mario pulled his gaze away from the room to look at his boyfriend instead and realised his mouth was open. “It’s… no, it’s not too much. It’s perfect.”
“Thank God,” Marco sighed relieved. “You know, I had considered a hundred little lights on the floor, but I’m glad I chose this plan instead.”
Mario was surprised to hear this overly-romantic side of his friend, but then he looked at his face and realised he was just joking. Why, he didn’t know. It definitely didn’t make the situation less awkward, or fearful, or beautiful.
“Thank you,” Mario said as he sat down on the bed, pulling Marco along. And then they were lost in love and the world was spinning, or maybe they were spinning and the world kept still. And the neat sheets were disheveled and the floor was covered with clothes again. The air was way too cold; their bodies way too hot.
“There’s just this one thing,” Mario whispered, interrupting their endless kiss.
“What is it, Liebe?” The way his lips formed the last word sent tingles down Mario’s body.
“We’ll be playing Monchengladbach tomorrow. And I’m…” Halfway through the sentence he realised that, once again, he was screwing up something lovely. “Never mind.”
“No, tell me, love. I want to know when something is bothering you.” He stroked his thumb against Mario’s cheek to comfort him.
“I was just thinking… André… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay,” Marco interrupted him, before he could roll away again. “You know what? I promise you I won’t do anything inappropriate. If I do, you can find your own way to punish me for that.”
Mario wasn’t sure if it made him any more comfortable, but at least it had somehow hushed his fears.
Slowly, killingly, Marco ran his fingers up Mario’s torso, while biting down his neck. Then his hands went back down again, down his chest and stomach, and Mario entangled his hands in the blonde hair when his slender fingers started stroking him through the fabric of his boxers. Such a simple motion aroused him more than he would have thought; but then again, he hadn’t gotten any action for way too long.
“You are sexy,” Mario whispered, torn between keeping his eyes open to enjoy this sight, or closing them to enjoy the pleasure Marco was giving him.
Instead of replying, Marco’s mouth went down his chest and softly bit his nipples and nibbled at his skin. His lips trailed a wet line of noisy kisses on the bare flesh, telling their own story. And god, it was a beautiful one.
“What?” Marco asked. He knew the blameful look on Mario’s face all too well, but he refused to give in. Instead, he kept walking over to the referee to shake his hand.
“You swapped shirts, idiot.”
“Oh that,” Marco grinned. The calmness in his voice and attitude worried Mario. He stood there being his own normal self as if nothing bad had happened. As if things hadn’t just gone incredibly wrong. As if… as if this had been part of the plan all along.
“Did you do this on purpose?” Mario asked. When Marco didn’t answer but just kept smiling that stupidlittlecute smile of his, he felt the blood rise to his face in anger. “Why would you do that?”
“Don’t you remember what I said?”
Mario looked away as he crawled back through his memory. Somehow he could not recall Marco’s exact words, because his head was filled with pictures of what happened afterwards. They made him smile involuntarily.
When he looked back up, Marco was leaning in, putting his hand on the small of Mario’s back as he whispered in his ear. “About punishment?”
He swore Marco blew in his ear to tease him. And he swore Marco let his hand slide down his ass purposely. And he swore he had never left the building so fast.
Mario’s kisses were way too soft and his touch way too gentle to be punishment. In fact, they were quite the opposite. They were like a silent reward for all the things Marco had done right. Both the great, like coming to Dortmund, and the simple, like telling Mario how beautiful he was every single day of his life. For leaning in to kiss him at all the right times and saying all the right words and being in all the right places. For knowing exactly where Mario was on the field without looking. For being there even when everyone else had left.
“I love you,” Mario whispered, so quietly he was certain even the blankets couldn’t hear his words. He opened his eyes in the dimmed light to look at his boyfriend. Marco’s stomach turned around when he fell in love again at the sight of the beautiful glow in Mario’s eyes.
“Even when I wear André’s shirt?” he asked smiling, as he entangled their fingers without a thought.
“Especially when you wear André’s shirt,” Mario answered. Marco raised an eyebrow in surprise, but then Mario explained; not by words, but by slowly pulling the white jersey over Marco’s shoulder, baring his beautiful body. As if he wanted to say how much he liked taking it off.
“I love you too, Mario.”
Marco’s room was messy as hell again, not just with old clothes and shoes, but with empty bags of chips and books as well. It was just the way his room was supposed to be and it was the way Marco was supposed to be. And this time, Mario swore, it wasn’t too much. It was just right.