Part eleven: Birthday Boy
Ben Chilwell had certainly had better birthdays in his now 23 years. It had been a crazy early morning departure from Leicester for this afternoon's game against Manchester City, and the rush of loving messages from friends, family and fans had only just taken the edge off an early start and chaotic journey. Ben was a naturally cheery, positive lad, but the day had been fatiguing and his trademark grin had been strained through the morning's preparations and all the rigamarole of arriving in Manchester. And then the game had been a bit of a nightmare, a decisive victory for City and largely an embarrassment for the Foxes.
Bulging Ben had found himself uncharacteristically irritable in all of the post-match routine, not normally one to give in to the glumness of a loss. In the changing rooms, he did little to get involved with the conversations: neither the angry, frustrated self-analysis of `how did we let this fucking happen?' nor the more jokey, upbeat attempts to look ahead to the next game. He kept to himself, peeled off his kit, showered, dressed in a bit of a gloomy daze. The birthday blues were a new problem for cheery Chilly, and he wasn't loving it.
There was a formal dinner before the Foxes could exit Manchester: some stupid sponsor-related event that in a better mood could have been hijacked as a wee birthday party for the excitable young defender, but he was really not in the mood for it as they got dressed up in their club-branded suits and ties and paraded into some expensive Northern Quarter restaurant just to pander to whatever bloated billionaire's company they needed to keep sweet.
On the way in, Ben felt a hand grip him by the elbow and a harsh whisper in the ear. Oi, pick your fucking chin up, mate,' heckled his respected teammate Jamie Vardy, giving him a firm but friendly slap on the back. What's eating you, birthday boy?'
Ben halted in the foyer and gave Jamie an apologetic look, unable to resent the true criticism. Sorry, man,' he groaned, don't mean to be a pain!'
Seeing his despondent young face, Jamie's harsh expression softened and he rested his hand on the back of Ben's blazer for a moment and leaned in. Don't be sorry, just relax,' urged the hardened, experience striker, a man whose career journey was much respected by younger players at the club, but none more than Ben. I know today's been a bit shit, but... we'll celebrate your birthday soon, somehow. We can't have you looking like a sack of shite through this dinner. What's getting you down?'
Nothing, nothing,' Ben said, eager to both shake off his gloom and convince Jamie he was okay. Just been a long day, not a great one for celebrating...' He wilted under Jamie's piercing eyes. `Stuff on my mind, that's all. I'll push a smile, promise.'
Well, you better,' Vardy insisted but with a grin. The others had all filed in to muted applause and they were falling behind the group. Jamie shook his shoulders a bit. Can't have a handsome little cunt like you feeling blue, can we? Bulging Ben is usually our fuckin' mascot.'
Ben blushed and grinned at the jokey label, which felt so much more meaningful after the last couple of weeks. He shook his head, tried to straighten his posture. I'm good, I'm good,' he insisted, let's get this over with.'
Yep, let's do that,' Jamie said, and we can party later.' He gave Ben an ambiguous wink and led the way in through the doors. For a dazed moment, Ben found himself overthinking the older player's comments and body language, but... probably nothing was meant. Almost certainly. That Sunday at Maguire's had really shook Ben's confidence in things: he could never have predicted his enjoyment of that, or what big Harry could get up to in private, and now he found himself second-guessing his relationships and, if honest, his desires all the time.
Dinner was dull. Lots of corporate types and limited banter. About midway through the ordeal, Ben was pleased to be interrupted by a phone call. He found himself even more pleased to see the incoming call was none other than his ex-teammate Harry Maguire. He nipped back into the foyer, glancing about to check he wasn't going to get in any trouble for absenting.
Happy birthday you absolute bell-end!' the big guy chuckled down the phone at him and Ben couldn't suppress a smirk at this. He found himself picturing Harry's bell-end, apart from anything else. Fucking sorry your team had to get trounced just now but hope you're enjoying turning 23 all the same...'
Hah, thanks, you big prick,' Ben responded, and then tried to fight away the visual in his mind's eye of that very big prick, tightly held in his hand. Had any of that shit really happened? Was having a fucking lovely birthday til City had to shit on our parade,' he said quickly, distracting himself with the realities of the day.
I'll bet. Well chin up, you awesome bloke,' Harry said. I'm sure you played fucking awesome, even if the other lads let you down?'
This was hardly true, but Ben enjoyed hearing it, grinning to himself like a schoolgirl with a crush and dawdling away from the restaurant doors, glancing back in through the glass, but it was busy in there and nobody would be missing him. He chatted on to Harry, giving his rough summary of how badly the game had gone, maybe exaggerating his own defensive performance a bit to try and earn more of Maguire's respect.
`Yeh, sounds like it. Good lad, good lad...' Harry said, sounding kinda distracted.
But yeh, can at least celebrate my birthday properly now,' Ben exclaimed, as if he hadn't been sulking all day, maybe push a few bevvies tonight... see if I can get another couple of lads on board...' Ben paused, bit his lip, thought about Harry's face as he blew, then that commanding behaviour as he had finished him off even with his fiancée in the house, holy shit. `Maybe see if I can get some fun like you and I had the other Sunday, buddy.' Ben held his breath, unsure how or even if Maguire would respond to this open reference to that secret incident.
Harry's laugh was hard to read. Aye,' he murmured, I hope you do, big lad.'
Yeah?' Ben responded thoughtfully, feeling a pang of desire in his tight suit pants. Glad to hear you say that, big man. Been on my mind a bit since.' Was this too much to admit?
`Aye, aye... could do with some of that myself. The wife is still not... up for it Shame you're playing in Manchester the weekend I'm away, eh?' Shit, thought Ben, as if he was even hinting that! For a second all Chilwell wanted was to hop on a train south.
Fucking awful shame,' he said but trying to sound like he wanted that a lot less than he really did. I dunno. I'll see what's going on up here, heh. We'll be leaving for Leicester soon enough. Home I go.'
`Well, I'm sure I can... get some tonight, but it might not be as... as fun as when you... You know.'
I know,' Ben said softly. Well, you know where asking about what I wanted for my birthday?'
`Aye?'
Ben bit his lip, then went for it. Send me a video.' He cringed at the needy tone to his own voice. Go on... just a short one, doesn't have to show the other lad's face, if you're still being protective... just something to er, get me off, in case I... Come on, mate. Birthday boy and all that.' He'd spoken in a feverish rush and he nearly dropped his phone in a panic at the explicit request.
You fucking prick,' Harry teased down the phone, and Ben felt that pang of longing in his loins again. Okay. Okay. No promise. But... yeah. Okay. I best go now, pal, catch up later... okay, I'll see what I can... shush, you fucking perv... hah.' Ben was nervously giggling as the phone clicked with a hang-up, and his heart was going mad in his chest: had he just risked asking that, and had Maguire tentatively agreed???
Video of what?' interrupted a voice behind him, and Ben whirled round. Jamie, of course. What other lad?' Oh shit, how much had Vardy actually heard?
Ben burst into nervous, high-pitched laughter, cheeks flushing, and shoved his phone away into a pocket. `Alright, stealth mode unlocked, is it? What you doing, sneaking up on a mate?' He grinned dumbly at the older bloke, whose cynical smile was terrifying him right now. What had he actually said to Maguire just now that would let slip...? Vardy returned his grin and they both laughed.
`But video of what?' Jamie insisted, but quietly.
Oh just a daft joke,' Ben assured him. It was a mate. Another birthday message. Come on, let's head back in. Forget it.'
Maybe I will,' Vardy said, but I'm really really curious to see the video when it comes. I hate missing out on the birthday boy's banter. Come on. They're serving dessert and some more wine at fucking long-last. Lets drown our sorrows.'
Food, drink and defeat made for a sleepy bus trip back to Leicester that night. Almost the only two people awake on the whole coach were now Ben and Jamie, stuffed away near the back. 32-year-old family man Vardy had never really changed his ways, not fully, and he had sneaked a spare bottle of red out of the posh restaurant and was now discreetly tipping it into two plastic beakers right at the back of the coach with his tipsy younger teammate Bulging Ben, enjoying a very select birthday party for the adorable defender.
Ben supped from his beaker with a worried grin, knowing they could get really bollocked by the manager for this, even though there was nothing important tomorrow and surely all losers deserved a good piss-up to get over such a disaster. And at least Vardy here was the only one who had done his job properly, with his solitary goal the only silver lining in an otherwise poor performance today. So they clinked beakers and drank to that goal, and to Ben turning 23, and to a fun Christmas period even with a couple more very big games coming up so soon.
Yeah, I do miss Maguire too,' Ben said, when the topic came up. Such a good fucking lad.'
Aye, definitely,' agreed fellow Sheffield-born player Jamie, who had also been very close to their lanky pal before this season. You were up visiting him recently, right?'
Yeah, yeah,' Ben said. They were speaking in hushed tones to avoid waking up the rows in front, or drawing attention to their covert wine. Was good to see him.'
`Bet he's really changed, playing up in Manc with those cunts,' Jamie said a bit viciously. He topped up their beakers with the last of the expensive red.
Ben was a bit taken aback. Nah, nah, same old Maguire, really,' he insisted a tad defensively. He's got a level head, J, he doesn't get stuck up just cos...'
Hmm, we'll see,' Jamie said cynically. But still, am chuffed for him. He's doing well there, the big lad. And we'll be grand without him, with a wee powerhouse like you in our back line, eh?' Jamie patted Ben's thigh. `It's not like you don't measure up to him in other ways, eh?'
Ben spluttered wine in a tipsy snigger and elbowed Jamie in retaliation. Oh shut up,' he mumbled, you been looking too long in the showers, maggot-prick. Jesus, what a comment...'
Ah, come on, Bulge,' Jamie murmured in a sleazy tone, squeezing his thigh now, we all know you deserve that silly fucking nickname. You got the big balls to keep our defence going, even without that Yorkshire giant at your side.' Another squeeze of thigh muscle, and both men took a swig of red. Ben eyed Jamie nervously and curiously, his head spinning a bit from more drink than was needed on a post-match night like this. The coach was hot and stuffy and it felt like they'd been stuffed back here on the motorway forever.
I do my best,' Ben said humbly, finishing off the dregs of his wine and licking his lips. But you're the real star, don't you worry. A top fucking goal-scorer let down by us lot, I'm sure.'
Jamie just chuckled, the look on his face showing he knew this to be quite true, but he leaned in and grabbed Ben about the shoulders affectionately. `Shush, you little flirt, or you'll find out how good I am at scoring,' he slurred a bit drunkenly, and Ben's eyes bulged at the ambiguous joke.
Fuelled by the drink, the strange mood of the day, the lingering hours of his birthday, and thoughts of that phone call with big Harry, Ben took a plunge. Yeah, well,' he muttered in a voice there was no chance of being overheard in, what if I wanna find out?' He eyed Vardy up at close quarters and for a moment the England ace was silenced, then burst into laughter and clinked their empty beakers.
`You silly prick,' Jamie mumbled cheerily. Clearly it had been just a joke, and nothing more!
The coach rumbled on, and the familiar suburbs of Leicester soon came into sight. After quite a lengthy silence between them following the uncertain joke, Jamie leaned in again and squeezed his arm a bit. `Bud, can I crash at yours tonight? Bekah will fuckin' lose it with me if she smells all this wine on me. Please?'
Oh,' Ben exclaimed, of course, any time pal... that's fine.'
`You are a legend mate,' Jamie slurred, and squeezed his thigh even more thirmly. Ben felt a tingle of excitement that he tried to suppress, just nodding assurances and (for the 100th time that journey) sliding his phone out a bit to check for any message from Maguire. Nothing, still. And by now the pre-match curfew would be in place. He wasn't going to be hearing anything from Harry now, probably the poor guy had just felt really awkward and not known what to say to Ben's ridiculous demand!
The coach rolled into the car park of their stadium, and people began to disperse. Some staff and players had left cars here to get home but others were piling into booked cabs. Ben was not this organised, but Vardy was: they clambered into his booked car but changed the address and headed for Chilwell's small but trendy apartment on the edge of town. There wasn't much more chat on the way, both a little bit sleepy and dazed from too much wine and the soporific coach journey. It really had been a long day. Ben began to realise that all he wanted was his bed, fuck that silly chat with Harry or ambiguous flirtations from this older wreckhead.
They got out, and Jamie slapped a big cash tip into the hand of their driver, then followed Ben through the porch and up two flights of stairs to his flat. As they were heading inside, Ben felt a surprisingly ping in his pocket: now it could be anyone really, at this time of night, and given it was still (for a few more minutes) his 23rd birthday. But instinct told him to expect Harry. Seriously, had the big legend actually fucking made a dirty video for him? God... But he couldn't check it, not yet, he had to be the good host.
They both found themselves drunker than expected now they were back in the dark of Ben's flat. Ben walked into two pieces of furniture just trying to turn the lights on, and Jamie almost tripped over the bin going to pour them some life-saving pints of water in the open plan kitchenette.
`Well this sofa turns into a really comfy bed,' he assured Vardy, slipping off his blazer and emptying his pockets onto the kitchen counter as he dashed about the room in shirt and tie, going looking for his spare duvet and pillows for the married guest. He was tipsy and confused and disorganised and he had to nip to and fro between the small set of rooms several times: when at last he returned with an extra pillow to keep his guest comfy, he found Jamie standing by the kitchen counter with his phone in his paws.
Vardy had undone his tie and a couple of buttons, shirt untucked, looking a bit scruffy and worse for wear, and was holding up Ben's phone and staring down into the screen, swiping a bit as if skimming through a video recording. Ben hurried over, dropping the pillow, feeling his throat choke with paranoid fear.
`Mate, leave that, it's...'
`Whoa! The jackpot,' Vardy whooped, and he held the phone out of Ben's grasping reach but held it up and twisted about so they both view the brightly glaring screen: a slightly grainy, low-quality angle of what looked like a hotel room, with one near-naked figure on a bed, and a clothed figure on another bed, and a tall bloke coming in from another room with somebody else, and... Ben's eyes focused and the quality of download seemed to improve, and clearer faces pixelated into existence before their drunk gaze...
`I can explain,' Ben blurted.
I bet you can!' Jamie retorted. The message read... HAPPY BIRTHDAY BULGE... haha... and... PLEASE DELETE STRAIGHT AFTER VIEWING... Well, we definitely will, won't we?' he cackled. `Except, Big H doesn't realise you aren't the only one viewing it... Fuck!' Ben lunged into him to try and snatch the phone but Jamie pulled it away again, laughing loudly now: in a drunken mess, the two guys, equally matched in height and weight, tumbled back onto the sofa bed with a squeak of springs, and the phone went spinning across the floor. Jamie burst out laughing afresh and Ben just whimpered, desperately trying to pull away from his teammate to go and fetch his controversial phone off the carpet, and... fuck, fuck, fuck... Jamie grabbed onto him, pinning him to the sofa bed, and then shook him a bit.
Chill – the – fuck – out,' Jamie panted into his face one word at a time, then loosened his hold and rolled away a bit, rubbing his face. It's cool... I dunno what mad joke you and Maguire got going on but I am full of respect for you... Had him down as a MUCH duller fucker...' Jamie sat up on the bed and laughed again, as Ben scampered off it and snatched his phone up off the floor, then whirled round to give him a panicked, drunken glare.
`It isn't like that,' Ben said in a rush.
Isn't like what? It isn't like Harry just sent you some homoerotic little sex tape to perk you up on your birthday? Mate... If think I've played on the teams I have all these years and don't know what can go on between frustrated blokes...' Jamie swung himself up off the bed and stepped up to the panicky younger guy, grabbing him by both arms then planting a red wine kiss on his cheek, then belching, then cackling again. Relax you dumb fuck... can I just see the fucking video, or what? Or are you gonna scamper into your bedroom and toss one off like a teenager?'
Ben stared at him, bewildered. `You WANT to see this...?' Already, he was thinking about how furious big dominant Maguire might be at this, how aggressively he might deal with such a betrayal of trust, and yet... here was Jamie, grinning like a Cheshire fucking cat, looking EAGER to see the daft thing, and... had he just KISSED him? Ben could have passed out in a drunken heap there and then, this was getting too much for him. But Jamie patted and squeezed him again and backed off.
Can you put it on that big fuck-off telly using wifi or summat?' Jamie said, and start to undo more buttons on his shirt, kicking his smart black shoes off clumsily without really bothering with the laces. Pop it on, get the popcorn, we'll have a good fuckin' laugh...'
Ben didn't know how to answer. `Er... Jamie... I think... Fuck. Mate, can we just...'
Jamie gave him that piercing look, pulled his shirt open, and flopped bare-chested onto the sofa bed once more, just in his suit trousers, boxer shorts poking out at the top below his lean torso. There was something so scruffy and aggressive about his look and his body language now, as there always was on the pitch. Something animalistic that had perhaps always excited Ben, even if he'd never really realised it before.
`I guess I can do that,' Ben finally mumbled, opening up his phone; the video in front of him was paused and blurred but he could make out what looked like (holy fuck) Daniel James towelling his big mate down, watched by... who were the other two? He glanced at Jamie again. His anxieties were giving way to excitements, just like that day in secret with Harry. Was Jamie Vardy really this open-minded? Ben could almost feel the semi forming in his undies now at the question.
He fiddled with his phone, grabbed a remote to switch the TV on, and then... yep, there it was. The quality didn't transfer well, but the connection was better, so a blurred but engaging picture formed and began to play. Ben drifted back, sitting down on the edge of the sofa bed. Behind him, Jamie whistled and chuckled.
`What is Big Harry fucking up to?' he asked, and then loudly patted the sheets beside him in invitation. After a pause, Ben slid awkwardly up the rickety creaking mattress to join him, and began undoing his own tie and top buttons to try and relax. On the screen in front of them, a range of blurred figures seemed to be jerking off and clambering onto the same bed... the faces were really hard to make out, was that first little on even Dan James...? The lighting was shit, but...
`This is hot,' Jamie announced beside him, to his surprise. He glanced to his right and saw Vardy's hand slide down to feel the front of his trousers. Fuck.
`It is,' Ben agreed slowly, still a bit scared to vocalise that desire. He watched the screen again, making out Harry's muscular form in the middle, the most recognisable and definite of the fleshy characters in this amateurish snatch of porn...
That must be Luke Shaw,' Vardy surmised, the one on his side. He always struck me as a bit... you know. Flexible.' Jamie sniggered meanly, and Ben suppressed a laugh, feeling too hypocritical for that streak of homophobia. Jamie seemed to see this mixed reaction and reached over to slap his back a bit. I didn't mean anything twattish,' he insisted, just... I mean... I had an inkling. This shit turning you on, Chilly?'
How the fuck to answer that? Ben just looked at him drunkenly, and gave a slow nod, and looked back at the screen. Was Jamie even right? Was that Luke Shaw? And was that James? And so who was the slimmer black or mixed-race guy with them... could that be... Greenwood...? The guys were on each other now, handjobs going. Fuck. Ben flashed back to that garage and those intense minutes with Harry, and... yep, his suit trousers were absolutely straining against an erection now.
`I'm gonna need to wank,' Vardy announced loudly and crassly behind him, at that exact moment.
`Go for it,' breathed Ben awkwardly, and as one, they began to undo their belts and flies, wriggling against the creaking sofa bed to get out of the tight tailored trousers. Ben's black undies were really bulging now, and he left them on as he kicked his ankles out of the trousers, feeling his cock through the silky fabric. Beside him, Jamie had pulled his nob out through the button fly of his looser old-fashioned boxers, and boy was it seeping pre-cum. Both guys gave themselves a good, slow, feel, a little numbed by wine but both feeling the mood coming on. On screen, a wilder scene was developing, but getting worse-lit, harder to see. The sounds were muffled and hardly audible. But the fact Harry had even TRIED to record it... wow.
`You wanna toss me off, Chill?' Jamie blurted, after a few more minutes. He was really sprawled back now, leaning back against the back of the sofa, his chest and tight abs tensed, his thinly muscular legs positioned comfortably, his red-hot cock gripped in hand. He was giving Ben a weirdly casual look as if he'd just asked for a beer or a fag, not a...
Ben pulled himself closer on the bed, and struggled out of his half-buttoned white shirt, so just in his black undies, as he sidled up to the warmth of the other guy's body. You really cool with me doing that?' he mumbled a bit sleepily. I mean... you... want me to...?'
Fuck's sake,' Vardy snapped, get on with it.' He grinned, and it was a wicked one, all toothy and full of the sleaze Ben had long associated with his famously hedonistic older chum, a guy who had partied his way up the leagues scoring as many lines as goals. The glint in his small blue eyes was wicked and knowing, nothing like the bullish curiosity of Harry Maguire, or Ben's own reckless exploration.
Ben gulped, tried to rally, and reached out for the dick, taking it in his hand. It was a good touch smaller than the rod he'd handled in the garage, but to be fair, he knew he and Maguire were pretty well-hung lads: Jamie was easily average, not small. It still felt novel and hot in his hand, and he enjoyed seeing the immediate satisfaction in Vardy's leer as he tugged back and forth on it. Jamie reached out a hand to stroke his stubbled cheek and then pull back his floppy dark hair, seeming to enjoy its almost feminine length in this moment.
Hah,' Jamie exclaimed, whoever those lads are, mouths are getting involved...'
Ben repositioned himself so he could watch properly whilst keeping his right hand on Jamie's dick, building some rhythm in his wank. He pulled his hand back, spat in the palm, tried again: better. Sure enough, on screen, he could see fuzzy heads bobbing, whoa... both Harry and the smaller darker-skinned lad were getting head... `Do you think that's Greenwood?' he asked in an eager, breathy voice. He didn't know the 18-year-old well but the thought of Maguire corrupting some teen striker was just so hot...
Aye, I'd bet on it,' grunted Vardy coolly, but don't lose focus on the task at hand, Chilly, eh? Ah, that's better... mm, good lad.'
`This is only my second time,' Ben said, half-apologetically.
You're good at it,' Vardy assured him in a satisfied hiss, you're a... natural wanker.' A sly chuckle.
`You er, wanna do mine?' Ben murmured hopefully, parting his legs a bit more, letting his thigh brush Jamie's. He looked hopefully down at his swelling, tented package.
I don't do that,' Jamie said bluntly, so just fucking enjoy this, you slutty birthday boy, okay?' His harshness was sort of appalling and exciting all at once to Ben, who could not quite see himself as some submissive bitch, yet... well, it had really thrilled him when Maguire urgently took control and finished him off. But even Harry had been... well, reciprocating...
`Suck it,' Jamie said, a subtle instruction that dripped off the tongue. He rolled his drunk, sleepy eyes at Ben, and they were still as fiery and piercing as earlier tonight. Ben just gawped a bit, and slowed his strokes.
`I've never...'
I didn't fuckin' ask for a Chilwell history lesson, Bulge,' snapped Jamie, I want my fucking dick sucked.' He slid his fingers in amongst Ben's hair again and pushed the head firmly downwards. Ben gasped in response and his mouth opened instinctively, and next thing he knew, he was tasting sweaty salty foreskin and pre-cum against his tongue, and that veiny cock was making its way into the warmth of his inexperienced mouth. For a moment, he gagged, but he recovered, and thought with surreal clarity how glad he was Jamie was NOT as well-endowed as his chum Maguire! `Oh yes, you fuckin' slut,' growled Vardy appreciatively, massaging the back of his head and toying with his ruffled hair.
Despite this praise, Ben struggled, pulling his head away repeatedly to gasp air, a bit freaked out by this fast development, even if it had totally entered his mind that day when pulling on Harry's big one... but he was freaked out by Jamie's frothy white pre-cum all over his chapped lips, and the sour taste of sweat, and the aggressive jerks of the hand on his head. His eyes turned to the screen, but the quality was poorer than ever, as if the phone was running out of battery and recording really wasn't the top of its priorities. Well, Maguire had really fucking tried!
What's wrong, Chilly?' groaned Jamie in a more soothing voice, tugging a bit on his dick and pushing it at Ben's reluctant, clumsy mouth. Too drunk for this...?'
Ben gasped and licked the salty froth from his upper lip. `I'm just... new to this,' he moaned as clearly and assertively as he could. He felt so wasted from wine and exhaustion now that he could pass out in Vardy's crotch, never mind carry on sucking him off. Jamie looked down and met his eyes and seemed to soften at his expression of delirious tiredness.
Right,' Vardy said. This tape is letting us fuckin' down, but... I'm so fuckin' horny. Time to show you my own skills set, you rubbish little cocksucker.' He gave a cheeky, playful slap to the side of Ben's face, enough to perk him up, then smeared his cock along his lips one more time.
`Your skills?' Ben thought aloud, as Jamie helped him upright so both men were sitting up, guiding his tensed lean muscular limbs into place.
`Aye, my skills,' Jamie grunted, a steely expression on his face.
Ben submitted to Vardy's guiding hands, his wiry strength taking control, thrusting Ben onto his hands and knees with a serious creak of the sofa bed, which felt close to breaking beneath the wriggling weight of their combined bodies. Ben fell forward onto elbows, hair flopping into his eyes, though he could still make out the fading visuals of Harry's tape through this curtain of fringe. Behind him, he felt hands paw his lower back muscles and find the waistband of his tight black underpants, which were pulled in a long scratching motion over his buttocks.
`Huh, watch out,' he gurgled in a mixture of confused surprise and sensual pleasure, as his legs were forcibly parted a bit where they rested on his knees, his keks dragged and stretched down those thighs to around the knees, his arse fully exposed to the man behind him. If he'd had more energy or sobriety, he would definitely have resisted this turn, thinking he was totally unready: but then he would have missed out completely on what happened next. On screen, though dim, he could make out the figure of his mighty tall friend, stood behind two similar pronate lads... oh god, was Harry touching their arses? Just then, he felt Jamie's hands on his behind again, running over his cheeks, tickling the downy hair that covered much of them, then parting them a little bit to get to the sweaty canyon of his crack. What the fuck...? There was the sound of spitting, and then a damp finger hitting his hole – oh! – and rubbing up and down quite forcefully along the trail of his arse-crack.
`Whoa, mate,' he giggled in a mix of pleasure and anxiety.
`Relax,' he heard Jamie say in a breathy, eager voice. More creaking and straining of the sofa bed beneath, and the feel of those rough, forceful hands squeezing and parting his cheeks and then...
Whoa!' he yelped again, at the new sensation: warm and wet and slapping his hole and caressing the inside of his cheeks, Whoa, whoa... is that your...' Ben's back arched and his muscles tautened and he let out much less audible mumblings and moans of confused excitement at the feel of Vardy's tongue lapping his behind. `Oh... my... god...' There was a pause in the furtive licking, and he heard Jamie's gasping, and the wet fap of him wanking his own dick... Ben let his weight rest on one elbow and reached under his own body to tickle at his own leaking cock and balls, and then – oh! – there it was again, Vardy's hot winey breath on his hole, and the feeling of that tongue up and down his crack, then on the hole again, lubeing it, loosening it... holy god...
On screen, things had gone totally blank, the video failing. As if Harry had even attempted that, for all the shit quality, for all the uncertainty... wow, there really was some exciting connection between them now, for him to take that r-
OH GOD,' he yelped loudly, grasping the bedding with one hand, feeling his hole loosen at Vardy's questing tongue, then replaced with one rough finger. Oh,' he moaned, `oh Jamie, that is... ohhhh...' He clenched his teeth and his eyes, there was just a bit of pain there, a strange new sensation, and then, ahhh, the tongue again, not the rough finger... oh, yes...
Fuck's sake your tight,' he heard Jamie spit, almost disappointedly. No way am I getting a dick in there tonight.' A spitting sound, a licking of lips, a moist finger tickling his hole, then the tongue all over again. Ben could have fucking cried with intense, perplexed enjoyment. And then it was over, punctuated by a firm, stinging slap to one of his perky strong glute muscles. Jamie was rolling aside and Ben knew what needed to happen now. Still trembling, he crawled round to join Vardy, still feeling the man's saliva cooling against his arsehole, as he reached out for his slimy wet dick.
Good lad,' breathed the older footballer in a sleazy whine, good lad...'
Ben huddled their bodies together and went for a left-handed rapid tug of Jamie's hard-on whilst furiously grabbing at his own bigger, thicker nob. His wanks on both members was fast and desperate, and the men's bodies writhed side by side. He came first, so utterly electrified by the first-time rimming he had just received, and then he felt Jamie's ragged orgasmic breaths at his side, and the wetness of another load hitting his other hand, so that both of his wrists and forearms were streaked with cooling spunk. Their breaths were long, shaky, and interspersed with drunken bursts of laughter.
`You handy little fucker,' Jamie eventually sighed, reaching over to pat him on the tummy affectionately, tracing his lightly defined abs with two rough fingers, the same ones that had tried his virginal hole.
Er... thanks...' Ben panted. I... I've never felt that... Jamie, that was...'
Shush,' Vardy said, a little defensively, a cunt is a cunt, okay? Yours tastes better than my wife's, I'll give you that.' He patted Ben's tummy again, and then rolled away a bit, making his distance clear. Ben let his breathing calm, then scrambled away, clawing his way off the sweaty sheets and onto his feet, which still ached from the match. He stood there with his boxers around his sore ankles, and looked back down in the half-lit flat, as Jamie turned his back on him and disappeared under the spare covers.
Ben reached down slowly and tugged his undies up, then picked his way silently out and off to his own bed, turning the lamps off as he went.
Neither hungover bloke surfaced until well into the next day, although Ben certainly woke first, and lay alone in bed for a good couple of hours turning it over in his head before digging out some pyjamas and making his way out into the open-plan living space. He gingerly woke his aching, groaning teammate, and warned Jamie of the time: presumably Mrs Vardy and family would be pretty pissed off and worried at his absence.
A little while later, they were sat at stools eating some comforting breakfast food on the edge of the kitchenette, making idle chatter about drinking habits and worst hangovers and how awful the rest of the day would be, as if one of them hadn't had their tongue in between the other's cheeks about ten hours earlier.
And then, just as Ben started tidying the bowls up and figuring out what excuse his mate Jamie could use on his enraged wife, Vardy laid a gentle hand on his lower back, sat there on a stool in just his bagger chequered boxer short. Before I go,' Vardy grunted with a playful smirk on his face, fetch your phone.'
Ben made a funny face, but did as he was told, fetching it from the other counter, and reluctantly letting Jamie snatch it off him. We need to delete that crappy video,' Vardy told him, the first open reference either had made to last night. But first...' He slid open the camera app on the phone, flopped it into selfie mode, and swung a bare arm about the back of Ben's thin tshirt, pulling him into a hug and snapping a quick selfie. That,' Vardy said, licking his dry lips, you can send to Big Harry, the twat. Let him know he's not the only bloke who knows how to play dirty.' Vardy swung his hand a bit lower and slapped Ben's pert behind once.
Ben gasped, took back the phone, and nodded slowly. He almost had an erection just at that.
Right,' Jamie said. Now to call the wife. Fucking hell, this is not gonna be pretty...'