Part 126: The Leaving Present
It will be mad as fuck leaving,' Andy King sighed, half-leaning into the coach window and watching the Midlands whip by and disappear, the coach Watford-bound through the grey summer evening. The 31-year-old footballer yawned gently into his hand and turned his eyes from the rolling view to his neighbour on the bus, sprawled open-legged on the parallel pair of comfortable seats, one eye on his phone screen and the other on this conversation. I mean, 16 years I've been at the club, 16 years!' the Devon-born athlete remarked to his nearby teammate, raising his voice a little over the background hum of the travelling Leicester squad.
Facing him across the aisle, Jamie Vardy lowered the hands that held his iPhone and grinned empathetically across the divide, slouched back luxuriously in the cosy grey-blue tracksuit they were all wearing for today's journey south. `That is quite the stay. Thank fuck we're finally getting rid of you,' he teased with a contradicting grin of affection. King smiled back; there was such a bond between the more established members of the Leicester squad, among any of them that had shared the club's surprise Premiership rise, those underdog months of triumph.
`I know you'll miss me,' Andy chuckled quietly.
The two men began to reminisce, harking back to that 2015-16 year of glory where both men's talents had contributed to the Foxes' surprising title as Premier League champions. Both players lolled idly in their double seats, comfortable on the slow journey to Watford for the first game of this final leg, less dressed in glory but still riding on those years of ascendency. A radio station was playing out this evening early game, Norwich versus Southampton, at a low monotone, occasionally bursts of noisy interest from boisterous Leicester players sounding out up and down the coach. The return to real football, with tomorrow's midday match against Watford, had infected them all with a reckless machismo and joy for the team.
King smiled fondly at it, knowing he would miss these lads when he departed on his end-of-contract free transfer in a matter of weeks. This was the team he'd arrived at from Barnstaple as a nervous and ambitious teenager, eager to please and find success. Since 2015, of course, the Midlands team had seen plenty of in-and-out in its squad, a high turnover and an influx of younger talent; his own place here had diminished greatly in four seasons, an `old dog' at 31 and knowingly past the peak of his footballing years. He looked over at Vardy and supposed the same may be true there, the goal-scoring working-class hero already dropping from his England national presence and beginning to slack in his ferocious performances of a couple of years ago.
Jamie was looking at him too, a thoughtful little smirk on his pinched, narrow features, picking his phone back up in both hands and twitching his thumbs as he punched in a message to god-knows-who. Andy sat up a little, resisting the soporific effects of coach travel and the late evening travel schedule taking them to their hotel.
`What's that smirk for, eh?' the 6ft midfielder asked, shifting forward a little and pulling his jogger-material tracksuit closer about his cooling body.
Vardy tilted his head and grinned more wickedly than ever. `You'll see.'
Eh?' The outgoing Leicester player frowned with pleasant bewilderment at Jamie's face and tone, and stifled another yawn. What's that, troublemaker...?'
Just a little send-off for you,' Vardy told him with a tiny dip of his voice. In our hotel room, tonight. A little leaving gift for a genuine Leicester legend, that's all.' His lips curled more in that foxy little grin and he scratched at his short mousy hair, stretching back and flexing his powerful legs. He was back on his phone, its glare reflected in his beady grey-blue eyes.
Send-off!' Andy King chuckled distantly. I'm not actually RETIRING you know, mate... and I may make a couple more appearances before I'm carted off to the glue factory, too...'
Ah shut the fuck up,' chuckled Jamie with a fond grin, reaching one trainer-clad foot across the aisle to kick him gently in the calf. I've done a whip-round and there's a bit of fun lined up... don't worry, we won't be getting too wasted or up too late... fuckin' match tomorrow, I KNOW...'
The 31-year-old paused and felt a little rush of gratitude towards the other player, smirking across the cosy warmth of the coach at him, genuinely taken aback that anything might be organised or arranged to mark his contract's expiry and the public announcement of his Leicester exit this afternoon. He stared with a mixture of suspicious unease and ruddy sentimentality at the Leicester goal machine, dismissing his momentary accusations of a fellow `has been'. Jamie was two years his senior, and aged by his wild life and patchwork career, but he still sometimes had the spark of a teenage newbie about him, a joy in the top-flight footballing life that revealed his shaky early days in the lower leagues, the miracle of his arrival at Leicester, the right place at the right time.
Seriously?' King asked softly. A surprise for me, tonight?'
Jamie nodded fervently. `Don't get your knickers in a twist, it's nothing too fancy -- just a bit of old-school fun like before 2016, mate. Us and a few... likeminded fellas. Will be a laugh, set us up for tomorrow, smash the shit out of these Watford cunts, ey?'
King laughed vaguely at Vardy's constant harshness and nodded slowly. `Aye, something like that, pal... Well... I'm intrigued now, that's for sure...!'
Well, you did your best,' Ben Chilwell mumbled fondly down the phone line, tucked in against his cheek and ear as he leaned in the windowframe, watching soft warm rain patter the glass. The outskirts of Watford were an ugly hotel view, but he was enjoying the last of the sunset burning through the slightly gloomy weather, a single cold beer bottle tucked against his free arm. Yeah, that's the main thing. Yeah. You're right. Haha. Well -- look, Jacko, I best be... Hah, yeah, yeah. Me too. Okay, okay. I gotta go now, J. We're doing these goodbye drinks for...' He paused, sighed with fond impatience, no more willing to break off the quick chat than the other young lad at the far end of this line, but knowing his roommate would emerge from the bathroom any second to hurry him along. Right, bye... erm...' Dropping his voice self-consciously, Love you too.' Click.
Chilwell felt the little buzz of red in his high plump cheeks, still quite unused to saying it to anyone, never mind a lad, one of the best friends he'd ever been gifted. The newness of the feelings, and of saying it aloud, was hotly exciting and hotly mortifying, all at once.
On cue, his younger roomie was emerging from the adjoining bathroom, spraying a couple of puffs of Armani aftershave at his thick neck and then scrunching fingers into the gingery pile of his hair, looking up at Ben's blush and distraction. `What's up, Chilly?' the 22-year-old northern lad demanded as he brushed by, adjusting the plain white tshirt over his lean muscular torso, doing up the belt of his jeans.
Ben let the phone hang at his side in his hand and unhooked the beer bottle from beneath the other bicep, giving Harvey Barnes a critical look. `Aftershave? Denim?! You know we're just popping down the corridor to raise a toast to Kingy, don't you... not out to fuckin' Yates wine bar with the lads...' He chuckled idly at the slightly younger midfielder, relaxed in his own baggy black tshirt and slim-fitting grey jogging bottoms. He was pleased they had even these modest plans, otherwise it would be a fairly quiet and early night in the Watford hotel, with the pressure of tomorrow's re-start match looming ahead of them all.
Barnes was fussing at his baggage, offering Ben the aftershave bottle before stuffing it in with his other toiletries, pink-cheeked and freshly showered, boyish-looking in his scrubbed-clean enthusiasm for the night. Ben was fond of the fellow player, a rising star in their squad, and often amused by his small-town naivety for all aspects of footballing life.
`Ain't just a beer though,' tittered Harvey knowingly, breaking his thoughtful pause.
Ben shifted away from the window, eyeing him uncertainly, and pulling his dark curtains of hair away from his eyes. Eh?' he asked. We better be moving, anyway. We were meant to be down there ten minutes ago, but you were singing Little Mix songs in the shower, so...'
`More than a beer, I heard,' Barnes said again in a low sniggering voice, giving him an eager pink-cheeked stare and clapping his big firm hands together, then heading for the door. He picked up two cans from the mini-bar on his way and Ben followed in contemplative quiet, part of him still detached and in the gentle, aimless chatter of his phone call to Jack Grealish, hearing more about Villa's damp re-start match yesterday, and the recovery training sessions this afternoon. Things were certainly back underway, everyone would have played professionally again by the end of Sunday...!
What does that mean?' Chilly asked, as he and the 22-year-old made their way down the hallway now, in the direction of the final room on this floor, the designated meeting spot for Andy King's casual send-off. More than a...?'
Harvey elbowed him between sniggers. Well I were sat next to Kasp on the coach, y'see, and I hear it's a bit more than just a drink, that he's ordered a- Another hotel room door just ahead of them opened and two more of their teammates spilled out, headed for the same quiet gathering. Justin James was silently locking the room after them while James Maddison paused in the corridor with an open beer bottle in one hand, grinning expectantly at them both.
Alright, big boys,' the 23-year-old midfielder said with a little jerk of the shoulder, gesturing ahead towards Vardy and King's room. Party time it is, fashionably late just like us...' He began jabbering on about some minor issue with he and the other James' room, while Ben looked seriously at blushing, smirking young Harvey, and then ahead to the opening door of the final room, King himself there to let them in, face wide with an appreciative smile at the discreet gathering.
Inside, Ben found himself ignoring the general patter and immediately looking at Jamie Vardy himself, sat on the windowsill with his socked feet against the arm of a chair, a contraband cigarette smoking in one hand and a tall lager can open in the other. 33, married, father, hero, but still the mischievous scally who had stormed the Premiership by surprise when Ben was just a teenage hopeful. He gave him a critical look, becoming deeply suspicious of what had been sold to him as `a quiet drink' to mark Andy's sad decision.
`Well, ain't she here yet?' his own roommate piped up, flopping into a sitting position on one of the double beds, broad young shoulders hunched and open can of IPA lifted to his lips. Still blushing slightly from eagerness or the heat of his shower, the young redhead looked from one lad to another and supped his ale.
In the seat Vardy's feet, the hulking figure of Kasper Schmeichal laughed complacently and slugged on an oversized bottle of cider. Someone is keen,' the Danish goalkeeper pronounced in his clipped accent, waving his bottle in Harvey's direction. I like that.'
It took Ben a moment to realise that he was the only fella here a bit confused by the `she', having apparently been invited to the select soiree on rather different conditions than some of these blokes, given by the knowing nods and looks and nervous titter from Barnes himself; Vardy just smirking calmly over proceedings and taking another drag on his cigarette before flicking it out of the open window and pulling it almost shut, leaving a cooling draught to cleanse the smell of his dirty indulgence.
She'll be here soon enough, I'm sure,' remarked James Justin, the 22-year-old defender roomed with Madders, now folding down onto the bed beside Harvey and sipping his own drink, Jamie knows what he's doing... who here's fucked more prozzers than that fella... heh...'
A little snort of derision from the last man present, Christian Fuchs, sitting on the other bed, knocking back heavy German beer from a can. Like his roommate Shmeichal, the Austrian left-back towered in height and physique next to the majority of the eight men, and he turned a casual sneer in Vardy's direction. Some of us have less need to pay for that attention, huh?' the big defender remarked coolly, then took another sip. Still... Andy's special day, so... hah, when WILL she be getting here...?'
So, thought Ben with a little sigh, that's the plan. Dirty Vardy's somehow hired some local `talent' to service King and we all bay along like thugs. Chilwell was vaguely aware at the excitement he might have felt, not so long ago, at the kink of sharing, the thrill of the taboo, the lust for some fresh pussy. But in all honesty, he'd rather hit his bed and have a wank off thinking about his recent picnic with Jack, the last taste of sex he'd experienced. He was not in the mood for Jamie's mischief, or the risk of pissing off their manager, or any of that bullshit... I'll finish this beer then make my excuses, he thought firmly, I don't need this fuss on a Friday night!
`Not excited, Bulging Ben?' came Maddison's cheery voice, a few minutes later, Ben having successfully receded from the banter and lingered with his arse against the disused writing bureau, trying to signal his lofty disinterest without being rude. James looked sparky and wired, almost as if he'd done more than drink a solitary beer, at least a line of coke, it was hard to be sure. The wiry 5ft9 midfielder was still ruggedly bearded from the lockdown, something almost comical in his exaggerated masculinity.
Chilwell grunted nonchalantly. `Not sure I'm in the mood for queuing up to pump some bird.'
Aw come on, don't go boring on me,' Madders chirped, punching him lightly in the arm. This'll be real funny. Vardy's only invited lads who'll be up for it. It's gonna be-`
Ah, shit.' It was Vardy's voice, lounged still on the windowsill, tilting an empty can from one hand and staring at the open phone in the other. Maddison was grinning broadly as if he knew something, turning away to face Jamie; the other men had paused their chat and were looking expectantly his way, none more than Andy King himself, opening a second beer bottle noisily and looking wildly nervous at a return to shagging prostitutes as he had in his wilder youth. It's her,' Vardy said, after both King and Fuchs demanded to know the problem. `She's cancelling. Oh well. No paid pussy for you boys tonight, after all... you can keep your notes, haha...'
At the centre of this, stood between the two beds, King's disappointment was palpable, lifting the fresh second beer to his lips and staring at his older roommate. The 31-year-old seemed to have become rapidly excited about the plan; Ben was vaguely aware that King had once been a wild one in the old regime of Leicester's relative obscurity, though he only knew him as a sensible older teammate, a grinning yes-man in the close-knit squad. There was something odd to see him hyped up by Vardy's pervy lusts, never mind so publicly and communally... the whole scene had taken on an eerie light to Chilwell, who was confusedly aware that his reaction to it was atypical, a long way from the playful what-you-will attitude that had taken him into Harry's Maguire garage for a dick-measuring contest... and everything since.
So,' grunted Kasper, no fun.'
`Fuck that, just a quiet drink after all?' Justin muttered, tough there was something in the younger defender's face and tone that suggested a private relief after all, somewhat intimidated by the plan.
We can't,' Madders piped up, and he was patting Ben forcibly on the arm as he spoke. We have to mark legendary Andy's decision to fuck off... and come on, we all know this handsome cunt is gonna be ditching us as soon as the ink is dry, too...' He leered playfully at Chilwell, who coloured and avoided the amused stares of the others, so many question marks still hanging over his own future at the club, questions he carefully avoided whenever around his squad-mates!
It's okay,' Vardy drawled confidently, waving a hand as if for quiet in some bigger meeting. It's okay, we can still have a bit of fun without the hooker. I mean, it's a bummer, right, but... you do what you gotta do.' He slid off the windowsill in a fluid motion, pulling open the zip of his hoody and shrugging it loosely from his shoulders. Eight guys here, one beer down, all in the mood... I'm sure we can enjoy ourselves without needing some Hertfordshire slag over-charging us for her services...' He looked around the room, his tight smile showing a little teeth, his eyes sparking with impish enjoyment, and a fresh cigarette untucked from one pocket, ready to light. Not when we have some fuckin' skilled whores in the room with us right now.' Ben Chilwell stared at him as he felt the older man's gaze fall his way, his heart skipping a beat, his newfound romanticism and his tenuous trust in Vardy's discretion both squashed at once.
Harvey stared between them now, the charismatic striker and the laddish left-back. He must have missed the punchline of Vardy's banter there, because he wasn't sure he followed why Vardy was wheezing with laughter and his mate Chilly was looking furious. But Madders seemed to find it funny, folding his arms and tittering; Barnes looked to the older men, who seemed impassive, then to James Justin, perched beside him, whose grin was a bit unreadable.
Ben gives great blowies,' Jamie announced coolly, and Harvey laughed instinctively at the idea of it, one that big Ben might stoop to that, and two that Jamie fucking Vardy would know anything about it! He watched with a foolish grin as Jamie stepped into the centre of the room, then looked at the intense redness of Chilwell's face. Mind, so does Madders -- fuck, who's better, do you reckon?' Maddison was laughing, so Harvey did too, but he noticed a nervous tension on Justin to his right, and Fuchs was unfolding his arms and stepping forward as if about to intervene. Harvey looked at the guy this was all meant to be in honour of, Andy to his left, but King looked more confused than anyone!
Mate,' King said then, stepping out from between the beds to join Vardy, what the fuck...?' He looked half-amused but the 6ft midfielder was pulling a bit at Vardy's arm and shoulder, sensing the rising tension.
`Well, maybe they can both suck you off and you can decide!' the striker cooed, tossing a wiry arm about Andy's shoulders then and grinning over at Ben and James. On the bed, the other James tensed up, and Harvey frowned from man to man, feeling somewhat left behind.
Jamie, mate,' grunted Fuchs, holding up a hand warningly; the 6'2 Dane was stepping up close, frowning deeply and about to say more, but Jamie just let out a mean laugh and pulled his other arm about Christian's shoulders instead. Now now, Copenhagen, let's not forget about your noshing skills that time...' Instantly, Fuchs was red-faced and pulling away from the Englishman. Harvey stared at them, the humour of all this dying for him now; everyone looked too serious. He glanced firmly to the right and saw the way his fellow youngster Justin was biting at his lip and eyeing the situation, his knuckles tightening where he grabbed the bedding.
What the fuck is this,' interrupted Kasper from his throne-like chair by the window, getting slowly up, is there any Englishman in this room who does not suck dick behind closed doors...!' He let out his booming Scandinavian laugh, looking less troubled by the conversation, but deeply perplexed.
Well you might never have used your lips,' retorted Vardy quickly, but those big goalkeeper's hands can do their magic when you need them to...' He turned and grinned mischievously over at the 33-year-old keeper, who was instantly flustered and pulling back at his fjord blond hair. All of the men were looking sharply from one to the other now, the air of the cramped hotel room was thick with testosterone and tension. Harvey felt utterly out of his depth, picking up his second can of beer to crack open; the metallic twang and liquid fizz broke a moment's awkward silence, and Jamie turned to look his way, giving him an ambiguous wink.
`What the hell is going on?' Andy demanded loudly, seeming to hover at the centre of this stand-off, still flushed with enthusiasm for the prostitution he'd expected, his lean body bulging in a tight white tshirt above the baggy hang of his grey joggers. Jamie was patting his back and laughing, and James Maddison was stepping forward, cracking his knuckles in a business-like manner.
`Let Madders here give you a proper send-off, the Leicester way, eh?'
`Bloody hell mate!' King said, still staring at the striker, while Madders sank down to his knees, laughing along with the whole joke of it. Okay, it was a joke, then, this was all a joke; was everyone in on it? Was he, Harvey, the butt of the whole thing, were they taking the piss out of the young northerner, were they suddenly about to...? He stared between the tall figure of King and the loitering profile of Vardy, and watched as Maddison settled on his knees then began pulling gently down on the front of those grey joggers, dragging them from just above the knees. No way!
King was laughing too, a gruff nervous sound from the older bloke, looking sharply from guy to guy as if somebody was going to explain to him what was happening; but down went the jogger bottoms, so that from her Harvey saw a flash of his black undies and the hint of butt-crack, and the side-on view of Madders ducking his face down to his crotch... Harvey's jaw dropped open and he stared as he saw the fleshy pink of one man's meat taken in by the tight red lips of another's mouth, Maddison's bearded face dipping forward... Barnes blinked repeatedly then turned a little to the side, found that Justin was staring now at him, an odd look on his face.
That's it,' Vardy exclaimed rapturously, good lad, Madders... how is he, Kingo?'
Whoa,' came the vague assent from Andy, whose face Harvey couldn't really see. Whoa lads...'
Ah it's just a blowie,' grunted Schmeichal dismissively, look at the boy go...' A deep chuckle from the Dane, who seemed to have recovered from whatever indiscretion Vardy had muttered about him. `Jesus, Maddison, I never thought you would...' Maddison himself was ignoring the reactions from anyone, bobbing his head up and down at Andy's crotch, his overgrown hair slicked back and tied behind a band. Harvey lifted his eyes past this sight to see how uncomfortable but excited Ben Chilwell look, idly grabbing at the front of his own slim-fit jogging bottoms; Fuchs was next to him, still bright red in the face, practically growling at Vardy's accusations.
Harvey jolted at a touch; the other James, handsome 6ft defender James, was gently touching him on the shoulder, giving him a testing kinda look. Harvey glared uncertainly back at him, and then threw back a big mouthful of beer. What?' he demanded hotly. Justin smiled at him oddly, and let out an almost dismissive chuckle, leaving his hand on his shoulder. When Harvey looked back around, things had spiralled -- both Vardy, an excited leer on his face, and big Schmeichal, frowning intently, had their hands down the front of their pants. At that moment, Andy let out a groan of blatant enjoyment, followed by a self-conscious laugh. Holy fuck, guys!' he exclaimed. `Nobody better be fucking videoing this... ohhhh, Madders, mate...'
Harvey gasped again, shocked all over again by what he was seeing, hearing, feeling in the grip on his shoulder. James Justin leant in a little, closing the short gap between them, speaking in a murmur. Relax, bud,' the Luton-born defender muttered, this could be fun, yeah...?'
Jamie slid his cock out from his pants and gave it a good slow tug, looking down ahead of him at the sensual blowjob James Maddison was administering to their outbound teammate; Andy's tanned features and narrow eyebrows were awash with surprise and enjoyment, and his eyes met Jamie's with intensity. `Oh buddy,' the younger man groaned across at him, reaching his fingers into loosen and tug at Maddison's dark brown locks, disentangling the hairband keeping them under control.
Vardy pulled up on his own tshirt, up and off, stripping to the waist quickly as the room began to heat up. Next to him, Christian Fuchs had dropped to his knees beside Maddison, a look of guilty anticipation on his long, bearded face; oh yes, Fuch-face, get on your knees, Vardy thought, seeing the 34-year-old left-back descend. Jamie had first pushed his dick in those hairy chapped lips back in 2016 during that winning league, one of his longest-term playthings on the squad, though it had been a while since he brought this submissive side out in the big strong Austrian defender. Next to Jamie, their handsome Scandinavian goalie was dragging his hooded top up and off, baring the pale taut muscles of his torso, and wrenching his semi-hard cock from within his baggy shorts, holding it towards Fuchs' face. Kasper met Jamie's eyes with a mixture of defiant competition and needed approval; like Christian, it had been years since a drunken and erratic Jamie had managed to initiate some play with Shmeichal Junior, though it had never gone as far as he would like. Mutual handjobs and shared sluts, where hands could stray but lips never got to; until now. He grinned to watch the Dane shove his Viking prick inside Christain's gob, and squeezed on his own erection with the delight of a voyeur and manipulator.
Vardy pushed past these two pairs to where Ben lingered, hands pressed back against the desk, face still a little reddened behind the wiry curtains of his brown hair. Oh Chilly,' he murmured playfully, coming in close to him and lifting the lad's firm hands to his smooth sides, were you really gonna fuck off and miss out on this...?' He reached in with both hands to stroke the young defender's neck, pushing gently down. `Been a while since you noshed me off, handsome, ain't it...?'
Chilwell shook his head at him, his speech an embarrassed grunt. I told ya,' Chilly said, I ain't doin' that for you again, sorry pal. I've... got a thing going on, and...'
Jamie wheezed a laugh and pinched one of his cheeks. `Then turn around.' He let his long powerful tongue slide across both lips, and saw the inability for resistance in the southern Englishman's blue eyes. With a bit of gentle manhandling, the talented 23-year-old was turning his back on the room, and Vardy was pushing up his baggy tshirt over his broad back then yanking down on the waist of his joggers and undies, baring the narrow but solid cheeks of his rear.
Down to his knees he went, parting those glutes and pushing his tongue in, eager to taste the bulging left-back after too many weeks without him in his bed.
Harvey lay back, his body quivering in nervous enjoyment. James' hand was down the front of his jeans, stroking the thick hardness of his tool back and forward, his warm hand trapped between the denim and the cotton. A look of intense concentration was on James Justin's face, his pale brown cheeks blushing hot pink. He began to carefully the edge the jeans more fully open and off, and Harvey just propped himself on both elbows; he tore his eyes off the sight of his tented erection and JJ's fingers prising at it, looking instead across the narrow gap to the other bed.
Kasper Schmeichal was sprawled back on it, seeming to be fully naked now, and Christina Fuch's head was between the silver-haired mass of his thighs, lapping at the long white cock of the Danish goalkeeper. Schmeichal was groaning freely and muttering in his own jagged language. Just then, beyond this, Maddison flopped onto the same bed, pulling King down with him. The double bed was over-occupied, a sudden tangle of half-dressed male skin. Harvey watched in silent, gasping fascination as Andy resisted attempts at a kiss but kept pushing Madders down into the bed and fucking at his grasping fist with his crotch.
22-year-old Barnes blinked and shuddered and when he looked back he saw his dick was free of his pants and held firmly at the base. JJ's face was near it but his eyes were wide and looking up at him for approval. He didn't know what to say. A hand on his big meat always felt good, and the other lad's lips looked full and moist -- but no way was this normal, no way was this okay...!
`Fuck me,' he heard Madders whine in a needy growl. Both Harvey and James looked sharply over at the other bed at that, and on his back, big blond Kasper seemed just as alarmed; but Andy King, good old dull reliable Andy King, was grabbing and tugging at Maddison's body with shocking force and desire. Here was a man who'd gone from expecting nothing to expecting a hot local prostitute; he'd been built up by Vardy to expect his pussy, and he was going to have his pussy. Suddenly, the other two were closing in on the scene, completing the octet of athletes: Vardy was behind and beside King, slapping and stroking at his back and talking dirty, but Ben Chilwell was on this bed, pants around his ankles and tshirt on, his big hard cock rising up between meaty thighs. Wow. Harvey had become aware in his early teens that he was a relatively lucky boy, but Bulging Ben was... something else. He was unsurprised to see JJ's other hand reach for it, until the 20-year-old defender was wanking them both and looking like he couldn't decide who to suck first.
Again, Maddison's whimpers stole the show, drew attention. His legs were in the air, his top pulled off, lithe naked body wriggling beside Schmeichal as King went to mount him, face bright red with driving lust. And then he was fucking him, it seemed, and Harvey's eyes bulged out of his head in deeply fascinated horror, seeing a lad nailed like this, up close, nothing he'd ever imagined or thought of... when he looked back this way, he saw only the wiry afro of Justin's head, his own dick disappearing into those soft wet lips. Harvey's mouth made a little `O' of amazement and he looked over his younger teammate at Chilwell, who was leaning back whilst the sucker wanked him too, pulling gently on the intimidating rod that rose up there beneath the folds of Ben's black tee.
It didn't shock Ben when Andy was pushed aside and Vardy took over the fucking. There were a number of key words he'd use for Leicester's raptor as a playmate, but `selfish' was probably no.1. Talented might be no.2, admittedly. He watched, still feeling the dampness of Jamie's tongue beneath his buttocks, as the striker delivered a rimming to Madders instead. The 5'9 midfielder was on his back with his legs right up in the air while Vardy's head dipped low between his thin cheeks and tongued him, then shoved his own slender prick into the crack and took over where King left off.
Between here and there, Kasper was fucking too, but only Fuchs' mouth. He held his dark hair between his two big keeper's hands and thrust upwards, ramming his Danish meat inside that surprisingly eager mouth. Ben moaned softly as he watched, feeling the clumsy, half-attentive pulls of Justin James grow less energetic; fair enough, the handsome mixed-race lad was very busy giving Barnes his first man-on-man oral. Clearly, Chilwell thought, here in JJ was yet another young Leicester player who had been privately initiated by Vardy's overactive libido. Just how many blokes had the England ace been through...?
Ben let JJ's hand drift away, he was being motioned over by Maddison. Getting up, he pulled his tshirt up and off his body, his pants still hanging about his ankles as he shuffled round to the far side of the bed. Beneath him, Madders reached up to stroke at his cock and balls, looking at him with a mad twinkle in his eyes. Little had really happened between the young pair since they discovered their mutual appetite on the sands of Dubai -- a little bit of one-way attention here and there, but Chilwell's mind had quickly become occupied by only one fella. Jack, he thought guiltily, watching his cock tugged and his bell-end licked by his teammate. Fuck.
In the centre of it all, Vardy pounded one of his favourite bottoms like a battery-powered toy. Maddison was a little irritating at times, but catching him out eyeing his cock up in a shower after their first training session had been an excellent start to the pipsqueak's career at Leicester, and he'd kept him under his wing ever since. Admittedly, he'd been a bit riled when Madders and Chilwell seemed to `discover' each other, as in the past he'd always made a point of keeping his toys separate -- but why? It had been a long time since he'd had this much fun going on around him, all at his puppeteering!
When he felt too close to cumming, he abandoned Maddison's loosened arse and backed off. Go on,' he growled at Schmeichal, get up and pound him, big man. Show him what Denmark's made of.'
Laughing at this, he collapsed sideways onto the other bed, grabbing idly at his own dick and twisting round to watch as Harvey Barnes was sucked off. The beautiful young ginger had been his target for over a year now. His body, his energy, his boisterous naivety; if the season hadn't stalled when it did for lockdown, he was pretty sure he'd have made a successful move on carrot-top already. He licked his lips and watched James Justin work his amateurish talents on the quivering 22-year-old. What a pair of toned young lads, Jamie thought, wanting to fuck them both. He'd never topped JJ yet, but it was suddenly all he wanted. Greedy, assertive, he pulled at the lad's curling frizz of hair and stole his mouth away from Harvey, exposing the rock-hard pink tool that reverberated against his smooth glossy abs. Wow, big boy.
Jamie lay back and pushed Justin's mouth over his own aching hard-on, then looked over to see Maddison on all fours, with Schmeichal slamming into his backside and Chilwell fucking him in the face. Oh yes. He pushed and manhandled at JJ's shoulders. Sit on my prick,' he barked at him, come on. You fuckin' pussy.'
Harvey looked to his left and watched as James began to sit on Jamie's crotch, making howling noises of what he decided must be pain, because how could that be pleasurable? And yet for all his prudish marvelling, he was playing with himself, pulling back and forth on the veiny thickness of his own cock, feeling it wet with saliva and drool. He felt like he'd cum soon, if he let himself, but could he really do that in this room full of mad fuckers?
Driven by fear of Vardy's behaviour and a curiosity to see things more closely, Barnes dragged himself from the bed, dick in hand, jeans halfway down his thighs, and stared ahead as Schmeichal's big Scandinavian form ploughed at squealing, gasping Madders. Fuchs was next to them, pawing at Kasper's big pale bottom and kissing him on the shoulder. He turned and looked with mad eyes at Harvey, who just staggered past, and straight into the strong grip of Chilwell, who had left his position at Maddison's mouth.
`This is mad,' Barnes gasped at the sturdy defender, just a little older than him but much more worldly and experienced.
But Chilwell, his bare shoulders and chest sticky and shiny with sweat, just reached for and grabbed his cock, holding an arm about his side. Let's just finish off and get the fuck out of here,' his roommate gasped at him. Come on, grab me too...'
No,' muttered Harvey, but not confidently, holding his hands away from their crotches, no I ain't...'
Without even saying anything, Fuchs had turned away from Schmeichal and was on his knees beside them, grabbing both their cocks and rolling out his tongue. Harvey saw that Ben was as bewildered as he was by this side of the Austrian, a man they both knew as tough and battle-hardened on the pitch. The 34-year-old lapped at both of them and Harvey wondered what the hell had gone on between Christian and Jamie in the past, in fact between Jamie and any of these fellas, for him to know their dirty secrets and get them all involved like this...! But his thoughts melted and he found himself leaning into Ben's body for support as Christian took his cock in mouth, much more firmly and excitingly than JJ had... ohhhh fuck...
Vardy observed their orgasms one by one. He was sprawled on his back, head propped up against pillows, with James Justin bouncing up and down on his cock, his cherry well and truly popped. Vardy held him about his thick hips and guided him in his bounces, looking past the toned brown muscle of his back to see Maddison's dick explode against his own hand and the bedding below. He was howling through his beard and squeezing his eyes shut, a noisy little primadonna of a cum slut as always!
Behind him, Kasper was violent in his cries, but he pulled out before he came, and Vardy got a proper view of his dick spewing seed over Maddison's back, and down one of his thighs, and onto the carpet between the beds. Next to him, he saw Harvey practically swoon with excitement, seeming to empty his seed into Fuchs' mouth.
All of this was pushing Vardy towards the edge, but the final straw was then seeing Ben Chilwell wank himself to completion and utterly spray Harvey's six-pack and Christina's face with white ooze. Vardy had always loved the expressiveness of Ben's anxious young face, never more than now, though he looked more rugged and manly each time he saw it. On the floor, lapping cum from both Ben and Harvey's dicks, Christian himself was cumming, noisily.
Vardy held the defender on his lap tightly and thrust up into his chunky, bouncy buttocks, ready to fill him up. He was dimly aware of the compact gathering dispersing around him -- sweaty half-naked bodies dragging side to side, someone lurching for the door, someone else vanishing into the loos. He heard Andy King's gurgling orgasm in the other bed, delivered into Maddison's beard, and with that sense of closure, he emptied himself inside Justin's hole. He reached round to complete his bottom's pleasure moments later, yanking that dick til it erupted, so that he could push the young slut off him and stretch out, gasping and staring at the ceiling, just kicking out his limbs and grinding his wiry body back into the sweat-damp sheets, riding the wave of dominant pleasure that the whole complicated scene had given him.
In the corridor, Ben tugged uncomfortably at his oversized tshirt an pulled up again on his jogger bottoms, feeling undressed even though his clothes were yanked back over his sweaty muscles; the quiet hotel corridor felt very exposed and risky now, for no real reason, and the door to their own shared room lay just ahead. He looked sharply up and down the corridor as he reached it, then twisted the key and let them in.
He looked at Harvey Barnes on the way inside, his flushed pink cheeks and glassy eyes, still mumbling to himself, `Did I just...?'
Chilwell pushed the hotel room door behind them and twisted the lock, then rested his sweaty forehead on the laminated wood of the door. His chest rose and fell and a vein throbbed somewhere in his temple. His dick stung and ached in his pants from the force of his own wanking to bring it to climax. Cum dried messily against his pants somewhere. He brought up both arms and rested his elbows and forearms into the wood then pushed away from the door; grabbing the front of his tshirt, he brought it up and wiped sweat out of his face and fringe.
`Is he mental?' he heard Barnes ask quietly.
He turned and looked over at where his redhaired roommate was collapsed back on his bed, jeans open at the front but left on, sweaty sex and aftershave smells rising form his body. Is that man mental?' he demanded again in his thick Burnley accent, staring at the ceiling. Jamie Vardy... what the hell... what was any of that...?' He barely seemed to register Ben's presence, just staring at the ceiling and holding the open flies of his own jeans, his sturdy young frame trembling and shivering in the same wearied way as Ben's. `Andy fucking King... jesus... what a leaving gift...!'
Ben stood in the centre of the room and wiped his face on his tee again, then pulled it back off, his abs rippling with a sheen of sweat as he strode into the bathroom and clocked his own image in the long mirror by the sink. He could still hear Harvey's mumbling, and he fancied he could still hear thumping headboards and creaking springs from three rooms away, Vardy's little orgy -- but no, it had ended, they'd all fucked off, the fun and madness was over, the noises were just in his paranoid, guilty head. Ben splashed cold water into his hands and rubbed it against his face, then let out a long sigh.
Andy King stepped out of the shower and back into the musty sex smells of the bedroom, towel loosely around his waist, head throbbing from physical exertion and two hastily drank beers on a light dinner. He stopped still in the doorway, steam rising gently from his bare tanned shoulders and short scruffy hair.
Still glossy with his own sweat, and completely naked, Jamie Vardy lounged on the nearest bed, his wiry arms pulled up and crossed behind his head in a pose of negligent enjoyment. He turned his head as Andy entered, fresh from the red-hot shower intended to blast all sin and experimentation from his body. The 31-year-old still and quiet for several moments, letting his heartbeat relax and his breathing cool, and his imagination stop flashing back at him stills of decadent homoerotica.
So,' the Leicester striker asked from his bed, reaching one hand down to scratch at the flop of his cock and balls, how was that...?'
Andy just blinked and rubbed both damp hands over his heated face, unsteady on his feet and thinking about the boundaries he'd just leapt over in his tipsy, riled arousal. He lowered the hands past his lean torso to rest on the knotted waist of his towel, looking up and staring over at Vardy and his knowing smirks, beady eyes, mischievous pose.
Well?' Jamie asked again. Don't just stand there...' He curled his lips and slipped off the bed, padding right up to Andy until their naked bodies were close and the notably shorter, slimmer man was right in front of him, inexplicably intimidating through sheer presence. `How'd you enjoy your leaving gift, King...? I hope... we've given you something to remember us by...?' A cool, detached laugh, a slap of one sweaty palm against Andy's shoulder, and then he slipped past and into the bathroom, disappearing into the mist for a cleansing shower of his own.
Andy King just wandered through into the bedroom, dazed and confused, utterly satisfied.
KEPT READING ABOUT KING'S EXIT FROM LEICESTER AFTER SO MANY YEARS, COULDN'T RESIST A VISIT TO VARDY'S KINGDOM... COMING VERY SOON, TWO STORIES FROM THE SAME FRIDAY NIGHT, AROUND MANCHESTER UTD'S VISIT TO TOTTENHAM...