It had been a big day for Luke – a proper return to the first team and a solid recovery from months of patchy injury, and on the day of the Manchester derby at that. It had been just the kinda decisive comeback Shaw had been after, and it felt great to be even a small part of that win.
The buzz had stayed with him through the celebrations and into the dugout, and been enhanced rather than dulled by missing some of the winning banter with the lads as he was ushered off for a special post-match interview for Manchester United's online fans channel. He'd beamed his toothy smile and been wide-eyed in boyish excitement as he relived the match blow-for-blow with an equally excited reporter.
It did mean he was shattered and feeling the damp sweatiness of his kit though as he finally got to make his way to the changing rooms twenty-odd minutes later. The rooms were obviously emptying from the lack of noise, and young Luke felt a pang of regret at missing the excitement. But the interview had been fun, and it would be good for his profile. He had been in and out of the fans' eyes since his move here as a bright new hope. At 24, he was feeling the pressure to really prove himself as one of the lads, and worth his place at such a prestigious club.
With these thoughts in his head, Luke paused to untie and tug off his boots and cross the threshold into guest changing rooms at City's ground, listening out for much sign of his teammates around. Not a peep. He heaved himself in with a sigh, flexing his toes in the sweat-damp socks and making his way into the large, musty space of the changing rooms.
For a moment they seemed empty, but he turned down the left side along the row of lockers and hooks and was surprised to see someone else had just arrived: his tall, northern teammate Harry Maguire.
Hey, lad,' called the big guy softly, glancing up from rolling down his footy socks. Where you been?'
Of course, Luke thought, Harry had been called off for interview too, but for Sky. Not just some shitty online thing, he reflected with a momentary burst of envy. But he laughed this off to himself as he broke into some brief chat with Harry, grinning admiringly at the tall Sheffield-born defender.
Luke always felt a bit intimidated in Harry's presence, but it was hard to say what it was. Perhaps the guy's height, a good few inches towering over the stockier frame of Luke, or his overnight success as a big name for England, or even his more immediate competition: the big bloke was a star of United's defence since his arrival, something Luke had not quite reached in his time here yet. Regardless, he felt so much more young and inexperienced when faced with his close teammate and potential rival, even though Harry was never anything but lovely.
In fact, Luke thought with an odd blush to his blond-stubbled cheeks, that kind manner was maybe what was so intimidating after all.
`Well played anyway,' Harry continued to chat, landing a friendly slap on Shaw's upper arm before reaching to tug his taut red jersey up and off his broad frame.
Yes, Luke thought, as his eyes played for a moment on the bared muscular torso of his big mate, it was Harry's surprising softness and disarming chat that made him feel weirdest – did that make any sense? Still getting his composure back from the post-match excitement, Luke sank onto the bench to sit for a moment whilst Harry tossed his top onto the hook next to them and begun to untie the waistband of his white shorts.
Yeh, well, thanks,' Luke mumbled quietly, still watching his mate undress while only slowly beginning to drag off the sweaty nylon of his own shirt. But I... I didn't do much. You had it under control as always, hah. One-man defence, you.'
Harry laughed at this as his shorts loosened and dropped. Somehow less clothes made Maguire look bigger, taller, broader – so much pale toned flesh. Luke realised how much he was staring, after a moment, and blushed more. He seemed to do this all the time, lose track and let his thoughts wander and find himself stare at guys way longer than was appropriate for a straight lad!
But Maguire was just chuckling at the compliment, a towering presence in his tight green boxer briefs, fumbling in his kit bag for some soap. `What are you like, you little flirt,' he joked.
`Hah god, calm down, was just a comment,' Luke mumbled, still laughing nervously himself but a bit sting by the implication of the comment – had Harry actually noticed he was looking his way a bit too much?
I know, I know,' teased Harry, and he reached out, tousling Luke's dark-blond mop of hair, in an almost brotherly show of affection. You bloody tit. Bless ya.'
With that, Harry finished undressing, tugging his undies down and off smoothly, whilst Luke sharply averted his eyes to avoid the awkwardness of accidentally looking too obviously – why did he keep doing that anyway?! He pulled up his own top so he was lost in red fabric for a moment and when it was off, a towel-clad Harry was sweeping past him towards the showers with another rough tousle of the 24-year old lad's hair.
Luke watched him go, noting the muscular triangle of his mate's back, not dissimilar from his own sturdy physique, but on a different scale – and noting too the way the white towel hugged a prominent rear, the source of the big man's strong legs. It looked for a moment like the round pert arse of some hot Instagram chick Luke might follow and hit on, and he laughed inwardly at the comparison, thinking how ridiculous – big dumb Yorkshireman Maguire and the hot young chicks Luke was always chasing.
He sighed, dumping his crumpled shirt onto the bench beside him so he was sat topless in his sweaty recovery, and glancing down as he dumped it: his hands brushing the heap of Harry's discarded things as he did. The shirt, sprawled out, a size or two bigger than Luke's, and the mound of the shorts, and the dark green fabric of those sweaty boxer briefs.
Luke reached out to stroke them before he really knew what he was doing.
You could feel the big guy's sweat on the fabric, but not unpleasantly. Luke snatched them up idly and half-lifted – wondering, in one of his weird straying thoughts, how bad they smelled. The thought surprised him and so did the pang of excitement in his chest and his groin.
As it happened, they didn't smell so bad. If anything, the musty scent was quite exciting, Luke thought slowly, almost like the adrenaline feel of a tense moment on pitch, or the atmosphere at half-time, or... He held them a bit closer to his flared nostrils, and inhaled his big teammate's tangy aroma deeply. He felt a twitch of excitement in his balls and pulled them a little further from his face, alarmed, and went to –
`Mate,' barked Harry, in a confused tone.
Maguire was towering to his side, a perplexed look on his rugged features. Luke's eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped and he clung to the moist fabric of the undies clutched in front of him. There was a long moment, the only sound each man's barely controlled breathing, before Harry reached down and grabbed them back, the questioning look still on his deep-set eyes and creased brow.
`Just wanted to see where they were from,' Luke slurred uncomfortably.
To his surprise, big Harry looked more embarrassed than angry now, scrunching them up and tossing them down the bench away, shrugging his big bare shoulders and rippling his defined torso as he did. Fucked if I know mate, just cheap crap ones, I ain't no designer panties lad like you are! Jeez – with that Harry brushed by to his bag again, having forgotten his shampoo. Luke sat awkward, realising his odd lie had worked, and Harry was blushing as if HE was the one in the wrong here. Luke's head was still spinning – both at what the heck he had been doing, and how much worse Maguire's reaction could have been.
Luke got up, trembling a bit, and got one leg up at a time to roll off his socks, whilst Harry padded past him, still looking a bit bewildered.
`You showering or not, pretty boy?' barked the older defender.
`Yeah, yeah, I'll be right behind you,' Luke murmured.
He took several deep breaths when Harry vanished around the corner, and looked over guiltily at the disturbed mess of his mate's used kit, wondering what had possessed him. And why he still felt so excited. As he yanked his shorts down, and his CKs (momentarily laughing at Harry's accurate banter), he felt a bit of shame: he was pretty much semi, his chunky meat hanging half-mast between his fluffy thighs.
He wrapped a towel firmly around his thick waist and willed the unwanted arousal away as he made his way round the changing rooms and into the shower block, which was filling with the steam of their belated showering. The space was hot and suddenly oddly intimate, devoid of the loud milling lads during the usual post-match showers.
And amongst that mist was the pale muscular form of Harry Maguire, framed in rolling steam and the pale blue tiling. The muscular back, again, Luke's eyes drawn up and down it, but now to its formerly hidden highlight, the strong tensed cheeks of Harry's backside. Luke's loins blazed and his face flushed and with great uncertainty, he hooked up his towel at the entrance. Was the steam enough to hide his excitement?
A lot of the lads at football were the opposite of shy, it was the norm to see your mates naked all the time, but Harry was at an extreme end of this confidence, clearly: he turned comfortably at the wet footsteps, his face still looking a bit confused, but utterly unconcerned about his wet, slick nudity as Luke joined him two showers away in the communal space.
`Why did you wanna know where my undies were from mate?' he asked, his voice half drowned out by the rush of water beside each of them.
`Hmm? Oh – I just liked them...'
`Oh. Right.'
`Sorry, buddy...'
`Sorry, why sorry?'
`Just...' Luke hesitated, staring into the shower wall, lathering soap into his own broad smooth chest, glancing down at his hovering half-aroused privates, then up past the mists at Harry's creased brow and confused expression.
You don't need to be sorry unless you were fucking sniffing em or something weird like that!' laughed Harry.
Luke laughed, a bit too loud, and half turned away to cringe, letting the blast of hot water distract himself from the wavering awkwardness of the whole scenario. The two men continued to wash in silence, and then the noise reduced, as one shower turned off, and Harry brushed close by on his way out of the shower area. In the swirling steam of their washing, the two men looked at one another in a fleeting moment of exposure.
Luke, looking his taller friend up and down, realised just how impressive Harry's physique had become of late: the broadening of those lightly haired pecs and the growing definition of the abs leading below to his... to his... to the trimmed garden of pubes and the thick swinging length beneath them, slapping against wet thigh as Harry strolled by. It was really big, more than in proportion with the Yorkshireman's general physicality.
And in that same flash of steamy intimacy, Luke not only seemed to see Maguire in full for the first time, but felt he saw Harry observing his attention: perhaps it was paranoia, but it was hard not to feel Harry withdraw from his inappropriate eyes, and was there a flicker of Harry looking downwards and perhaps noticing that Luke was failing to stem an erection between his own legs? Holy fuck, this could be so awkward...
Luke turned fully away, tense and awkward and questioning: was it just his worried head that saw that look, that reaction, that flinch? They were always in and out changing rooms together, why would Harry suspect anything now – and what was there to even suspect? Luke was straight, seeing multiple hot girls, not at all interested in blokes, and yet...
He turned back to the wall, letting the steamy water hit him, and splashed more shower gel into one hand. And then, knowing he was alone, he gave in, and grabbed his nob in this lubed up hand of frothing soap. His own quite thick meat was straining in frustrated excitement and responded quickly to his own touch. Luke looked over his shoulder for a moment- the shower block was definitely all his – and then tugged with furious energy on his cock.
In his head, the images could not be dispelled: Harry on the pitch, a masterful presence, and in the changing rooms just now, intimidating but reassuring. Harry's height, his broad shoulders – the clustering dark hair around his nipples – the way that thick sausage swung – the tensed buttocks as he turned... oh fuck. Luke never normally came so quickly and yet here in the shower, his head a blur, it took only a couple of minutes. His seed shot and was lost in the rushing water and he leant against the wall, gasping his recovery, letting his embarrassment and confusion wash away.
When eventually he turned off the hot water, took a moment, and towelled himself down in the showers entranceway, he realised how late he must be. He tied the towel and hobbled damply back around the corner. Not far from his own kit, stood Harry, now all suited up and fresh-faced, just packing up the last of his things into his kit bag.
`You took yer fucking time!' Maguire laughed, but it was strained, and there was an unmistakeable note of accusation or suspicion in his voice and his eyes.
Luke gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence and shrugged. `Felt gross after touching your sweaty pants, big man.'
The banter seemed to do the trick. Harry laughed. He was embarrassed but amused. He finished doing his tie, zipped his bag, and strolled on, and once again he tousled Luke's now soft wet hair on the way past.
You southern muppet,' he quipped. Hurry up; see you on the coach lad!'
Luke watched him go, relaxed a sigh, and then buried his face in his hands. What the fuck? Had he actually just tugged one off thinking of his teammate? Jesus... Post-match adrenaline could do funny things to you if you were in the wrong mood! He set about drying and dressing in a hurry and by the time he was getting into his own freshly pressed team suit and hurrying out to catch up with the squad, he was laughing to himself at the ridiculous encounter. Harmless imagination, that was all!
When he got on the coach, facing a series of tired and repetitive jokes about lateness, laced with toilet humour, his recovery faded. Across the busy coach, he saw big tall Harry staring right at him, and there was no mistaking the suspicion in those dark eyes.
To be continued... feedback welcomed!