The match was already over; the players left, not even one forgotten spectator was strolling anywhere nearby. The place was completely empty, except the new ball lying on the grass and two tall silhouettes standing near it, facing each other with a cold stare. The clouds gathering above them were a sign that it was going to rain soon, and indeed – just seconds later, first heavy drops hit the ground. They didn't move, each waiting for the other to break the perfect silence. It was the time for a payback. They were going to re-act the game - with different goals in mind.
"Waiting again? What for, a miracle?" The man in the orange shirt broke the silence at last.
"That won't help you… Just admit it, you're not good enough."
His opponent in red and white actually growled in response. "Knep dig selv, røvhul," he offered and the meaning of his words was clear enough even to the other who did not speak his language.
„It's true... look at what they did, your precious team – they even scored an-„ His sentence ended in a choked sound of sorts when he got knocked to the ground, losing his breath for a second.
„One more word and I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget for centuries," Denmark threatened.
Looking up defiantly, Netherlands challenged: „I bet you can't score even in any other way!"
Lunging forward, Denmark sank his teeth into Netherlands' neck and grabbed the waistband of the other's shorts, pulling down harhsly, almost ripping them off and doing similarly with his own.
„I'll teach you about scoring," he promised. „I'll teach you things you never wanted to know."
Netherlands didn't struggle much when his knees were forced apart and two fingers entered, probing him. Only when Denmark got on top of him, ready to start with his lessons did he show resistance - moving underneath his opponent, twisting his body and trying to get away, accidentaly brushing their erections together making them both groan.
Denmark was growing impatient. It was difficult with their bodies wet from the rain and covered in the mud; Netherlands kept slipping from his grasp, escaping with every little twist of his body or movement he made. Frustration rose in the Dane; even worse kind that the one he felt during the football game.
"You damned Dutch bastard!" he had had enough already. Letting go of his rival, Denmark turned his back to him. He wanted to leave right then, to forget all about his bad luck and above all, about Netherlands, but the pressure between his legs reminded him he needed to take care of something else first. Grasping his erection, he jerked himself in long strokes, biting down on his lower lip to keep in the sounds threatening to escape his mouth.
Focused on his release, Denmark was taken aback when a different hand joined his and wet fingers slipped inside his entrance. He cursed and tried to get away from the intruder but Netherlands had the moment of surprise on his side; leaning forward he pressed the other man face-first to the ground, keeping him there with his own body weight.
"Let me go," the Dane ordered, still struggling against Holland. However, he had different intentions.
"No," he announced, twisting his fingers inside Denmark in a way that drew out a loud gasp. "I'm going to make you beg. Say that you want me."
"Never," Denmark said instead. Netherlands didn't reply with words; only tugged at the other's hard cock and moved his fingers in and out with more intensity. "Say it – say that you want me doing this to you. Say that you love it."
"I hate you," Denmark panted instead, even as he felt himself getting harder and his body betraying him.
Immediately as Holland felt him rock his hips back on the fingers, he withdrew and turned him over, to lie on his back.
"I want to watch your face when I fuck you into ecstasy…when I prove to you that football is not the only thing that I'm the best at," Netherlands smirked.
"What a-" the rest was cut off by a hiss of pain when Netherlands shoved his hard cock inside Denmark without warning.
"Bastard," he repeated again, but it still left Netherlands unfazed as he found a steady pace, pounding Denmark into the dirty field until his protests turned into moans and his body started to move with Holland instead of resisting.
"Fuck you," Denmark gasped when Netherlands grabbed his cock.
"No, fuck you," Holland smirked, thrusting hard and deep, causing the other man throw his head back until his light hair rubbed on the muddy grass and he let out a string of loud moans that he would deny later.
The rain continued falling, as if the sky wept over the loss of one who had been so mighty once; heavy raindrops falling down faster and faster, almost following Netherlands' pace, soaking his shirt and washing away the dirt from his back.
The clouds still hovered over them as a strange kind of voyeurs; the only witnesses of their second game of that day.