Part 139: Unbeatables & Centurions
Phil Foden gripped the cup of tea in both hands and stared into its steaming pale brown swirl, a little afraid to lift his face and look down the breakfast bar of the executive apartment's quiet little kitchen space, to where Pep Guardiola still stood, too restless to sit. Without looking up, Phil could see the tight button-down front of his white shirt, the splay of his tanned hands on the counter, the glimpse of belt buckle resting impatiently against the edge of the counter.
The drive here had been tense and quiet for the first ten minutes, and then a rushed conversation of painful honesty. Foden's confession of the first creeping touches between himself and Kyle Walker on the night of the troublesome prostitutes, the interaction he'd hidden from his dear manager whilst Guardiola fixed things, protecting him from the media and rescuing him in full; the quick, sweaty play Phil had given in to at Newcastle in his anti-Pep sulk, dragged along by Kyle's forceful magnetism and restless hands. He'd confessed, tears in his eyes, how Walker had begun to finger him and he'd squealed for it, only stopping him when he felt his cock on his buttocks; he described in miserable, guilty detail the way he'd sucked on Walker's dick and taken his seed. Pep had kept his eyes on the road, but the car interior had seemed to burn with his mood.
Phil, innocently horrified, wasn't really sure of the proportions of his master's foul mood. Was Pep angrier at Walker and his brutish extortion efforts, or at Foden himself for stepping out of his possessive reach...?
Foden knew he'd been impatient and silly, sulking and spitting his dummy out over a cool period between them while the older Spaniard was stressed out and trying to steer City into a series of big wins. He knew that whatever happened now was his fault. He'd invoked Kyle's mood and revenge, he'd clumsily allowed the truth to slip through -- without saying anything, really!
You do not have to do this,' Guardiola said, after a long cold silence in the stark, impersonal interior of this club-owned city apartment. Phil finally looked up, flinching as he met Guardiola's eyes and saw the lined worry on his beautiful older face. Filipe,' murmured the 49-year-old, `this is not right...'
`We can't let him tell anyone,' Phil told him, his voice sounding cracked and weak as it came out. Besides, he thought, this wasn't his plan! It had been Pep, hurrying him into the car away from the prying eyes of other City players or staff, insisting on driving him straight to the apartment for the rendezvous he seemed to have negotiated with Walker. The first things Pep had said to him, looking close to exploding with white hot rage, were that he, Phil, needed to sort this out, needed to give himself up and satisfy the belligerent defender. Now, Phil noted, the older guy looked grief-stricken by the scheme.
Guardiola stared at him, looked like he was going to speak, then just pulled his hand up and rubbed it over the dark and silver hairs on his chin, backing away into the kitchen and turning his lined, worried face away from Phil, who picked up and sipped his hot tea. He'd known how much Walker wanted it, in the disabled loo at St James' Park, he'd felt his greedy lust that Sunday evening. And god, he thought, he'd wanted it to, in his sulky anger at his manager and master, in his petulant defiance of having to wait... Did he want it now? Would he be able to take it? He took another sip of hot sweet tea but it tasted foul to him tonight, and in his effort to put it down on the counter, he realised how much his hand was shaking, tea splashing over the rim and onto his wrist and the sleeve of his tracksuit jersey.
He sat there, worriedly anticipating Kyle's arranged arrival, the transaction of his own body; in front of him, Pep hugged his arms to himself and stared away out of the window. Unable to look at him now, clearly, horrified by his betrayal...
`And now you can relax and stop apologising to people,' Andy Robertson barked in mock scolding, holding the door open for him and guiding him into their shared Manchester hotel room; irritatingly, City's stadium was clearly visible over the road from its huge windows, a big hulking reminder of tonight's systematic destruction.
Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain tramped in, just nodding vaguely at his close friend's attempts to cheer or comfort him. The 26-year-old Englishman went straight to the curtains and yanked them shut to obscure the early night view of the football ground, theatre of his embarrassment. When he turned back around, Robbo was right next to him, that almost infuriating look of kindly reassurance on his chiselled features.
Andy, as he had repeatedly took him aside today during the glum, muted hour in the hotel bar with the other lads, was of the opinion that tonight's loss didn't really count. In twenty years, he'd kept arguing, this weird season would be remembered for their historic win, delayed but inevitable, and nobody would remember that this brilliant squad had come a cropper against Guardiola's overpaid pricks. As always, the rowdy Glaswegian's tone and language had earned many a laugh, but others were despondent like Alex, their joy struck down by such a full-on defeat. Nobody, though, was feeling it as keenly as Ox, whose own goal had consolidated City's win and really ended the match prematurely for them.
The whole team was a close-knit, supportive community; nobody had said a single negative word to Alex about his performance, not in the changing rooms or the debrief, not on the short walk over to the hotel, not during their brief supper and soft drinks in the bar area. Even in his gloomy paranoia, he hadn't caught one funny look or gesture or suggestion that anyone was angry at him. But still, it was his own self-esteem that had taken the knock, and he found it hard to meet Andy in the eyes now, more irritated than comforted by the handsome Scotsman's efforts.
Oi,' Robbo muttered, stop looking away.'
`Why, you gonna give me another cheesy pep talk?' Ox muttered back, and he knew this was unfair, so he scowled at himself and sighed and finally looked properly in the other lad's face, picking up on his mischievous smirk as he pulled closer, both of them in their fresh red polo shirts and dark tracksuit bottoms, matching as always.
`Nah, I'm gonna give you a fuckin' kiss, you grump prick,' commented the Scotsman, with a much more relaxed acceptance of their new intimacy than he'd yet managed; Alex was touched as much by the verbal comment than the physicality of it as Robbo pulled in, grabbing his biceps and planting his mouth against his own lips. Alex relaxed unconsciously into it, tightening his arms a little to let Andy feel his dormant strength there, parting his own soft lips and twisting his head to the side a little, sighing into that kiss.
Sorry,' he murmured, when their lips broke, I don't mean to be a downer, just...'
Everyone knows how you feel,' Andy said, his voice quiet and gentle now, rather than forcibly cheerful and jokey as it had been in the lift and the bar and in the changing rooms, hugging at him with everyone else and slapping him on the back. Which is like us all, a bit shit, but come on... it's one game, and it's City. Those fucks didn't win. They're just bitter. We can chill, bro, we really can... eh?'
Alex sighed again, enjoying the feel of Andy's slightly rough palms sliding up and down his own thick arms and pushing up his sleeves a little, their bodies shifting closer together now; close for the first time since they'd lain side by side on the floor of that meeting room in the golf club, drunk as much on each other as the pints they'd knocked back.
You better cheer up,' Robbo murmured, or you won't be getting your consolation prize...'
`Oh, and what's that?' Oxlade demanded, allowing a half-hearted grin to emerge on his features, baring his white gappy teeth and dimpling his freckled cheeks.
I reckon you might be able to guess, sexy arse,' Andy chuckled, and he looked as surprised as Alex was by his coarse confidence, so tentative and unsure of everything that had gone on before them over the weeks. Well there's that sexy smile, eh,' the other 26-year-old player added in a more apprehensive giggle, about to lunge in for a second long kiss; stalling then at the gentle rap of knuckles on their door. Both men held still, bodies close, sighing then laughing gently.
`Fuck's sake,' Robbo grunted. Alex pulled away form him, patting him once on the cheek, and moving slowly over the room towards the door, wondering what misunderstanding or fussiness was arriving to get in the way of their privacy and relaxation. He'd been excited for tonight since seeing the rooming plan on Klopp's clipboard at lunchtime; the shitty match itself had been a mere delay in this carnal anticipation, his bumhole a bit sore but excited at the prospect... He unlocked and opened the door, expecting a staff member of the big chief coach himself, some minor announcement about tomorrow's plans, or...
Oh,' he said, Trent...?'
The 21-year-old right-back stood there with his hands in his trackies pockets, not even looking forward, his long neck turned to glance cautiously up and down the hotel corridor then slowly pulling his frowning gaze back towards Oxlade-Chamberlain, chewing his lip. Alex felt Andy tense up a little and pace closer in the room behind him, and for a second perhaps all three of them imagined the last time one had walked in on the other two; but Trent looked troubled and vulnerable, and Alex's heart melted at the sight of that anxious young face.
`What is it?' he heard Robertson demand less kindly, somewhere behind him.
Guys,' murmured Alexander-Arnold in a secretive voice, can I come in...? Er, sorry, guys, just... mate, I... I really need to talk...' He gulped audibly and pulled his hands out of his pockets. `Please?'
Kyle Walker pulled the main door to the big converted apartment building shut with a firm slam, then shoved the key into his hoody pocket. It had taken a bit of explaining, getting back from the footy and heading out again in fresh clothes, a splash of aftershave on his stubbled neck, but he'd covered it as a couple of local drinks at another player's house. Foden's, in fact. Well, it wasn't a total lie, was it? He was gonna be accommodated comfortably inside that smug-grinned little upstart, in about half an hour's time...
Still a little unused to living back here at his own home since his weeks as a guest elsewhere, the 30-year-old footballer turned away from the entrance and began stomping over the gravel of the driveway, not pausing to count the number of expensive vehicles lined up ahead. They were just staying here for now while they figured things out, and it was a bit weird having his fiancée with him in this luxury lad pad that had housed hookers and cocaine during lockdown; soon, they'd be back to the big suburban family home she had kept without him, and he'd know he was finally secure in her love once more, ready to plan a wedding.
But for now... other needs came first.
Grinning wickedly to himself, the ambitious footballer crunched his trainers over the gravel and towards the sports car he was gonna spin up the road into the city, towards the address Guardiola had hastily scribbled down for him, his old hands shaking and his bearded face lined with horror. Well, the old prick deserved it, Kyle reasoned, he'd treated Walker like shit at times this season, despite all his hard work and solid performances, consistent as fuck, but... And as for Phil, he thought, that twink was gagging for it, he could tell! Tonight was gonna be fantastic, fucking that tight virgin arse and making Guardiola watch and suffer, oh yes... his fat dick was almost stiff in his CK briefs at the thought, his big muscular body full of energy despite the night's heated football match to beat the so-called champs.
Kyle pulled the keys back out of his pocket and thumbed the button to unlock the car with a series of beeps, clicks and flashing lights, reaching the door to the driver's seat and standing there, trying to work out what was catching his attention and making him pause before wrenching open the door. Slowly, stiffening up and breaking his mental visualisation of having Phil's pale skinny body stretched in front of him and Pep in a chair nearby, tied back if necessary...
`Hey, mate,' said John's voice softly, stood on the other side of the car. The tall, broad-shouldered Barnsley lad was still in his City tracksuit, fresh from leaving the football stadium, and he had a quite nervous frown on his long handsome face as he hovered there, divided from Kyle by the vehicle.
Kyle stared at him, the wind knocked from his sails, jingling the car keys form hand to hand. `Huh...'
Mate,' John repeated, quietly, guiltily, can we... talk...?'
Walker realised he hadn't breathed for several moments, and that he was just staring dumbly at his fellow City footballer, struck still and awkward in his cheerful mission. Finally, he let out his breath in a long whistle, tried to reply a couple of times, but felt his lips and tongue go dry. Jeez,' he said slowly, you trynna give a bloke a heart attack, or summat...'
Huh, uh, sorry,' mumbled Stones, glancing past him towards the rising Victorian bulk of the apartment building, then back at him. Kyle recognised the other lad's car behind him, on the end of the row of residents' vehicles, in the guest space. He slowly turned his eyes back to the near-distance and John's earnest stare. Please Kyle, don't just fuck off, mate, let's have a chat, aye...?'
Kyle, since words seemed to have abandoned him, nodded his head slowly, and clicked open the car door in front of him. `Alright then, mate... uh, get in...?'
The anxious-faced 21-year-old Scouser sat between them, at the edge of one bed; beyond him, Alex was poised on the side of the other bed, leaning forward a little with a kindly expression on his broad, handsome face. Andy stood, arms folded, facing them both, too nervous to sit down. Nervous, he thought, and a little frustrated at the interruption. But mostly nervous: as close as he and Trent were, very close buddies amongst a team of very strong friendships, he was terrified by the lad's knowledge of his behaviour. In the days since, he'd dared to hope that drunk and confused Trent wouldn't even remember what he'd seen! Alex's assurances of a second-hand promise had held little weight for him, but his hope for the power of booze was strong.
However, Trent's arrival in the hotel room had not quite been the confrontation he was expecting, so now he was cautious and defensive, but also... intrigued.
`Joe Gomez,' murmured Ox, rubbing his dimpled chin and scratching his broad chest through his top a little.
Trent turned to stare more fully at him, stammering a bit as he got out his next revelation. Yeah, Joe,' he murmured, can you actually believe it...? He was so fuckin' chill about it too, you know...'
`Gomez,' Robertson muttered in shared shock, watching Alex's slow thoughtful reaction.
I just can't figure it out,' Trent went on, like... who'd ever have thought? Seems like he's enjoyed that kinda thing before, you know? Like obviously I know he has, I seen it with my own eyes, yeh, but... not just Harvey, maybe others, and...'
`Hard to fuckin' believe,' Andy found himself agreeing in a slow, curious voice, but he could see a slightly different reading from his lover, who almost looked guiltily as he sat upright and patted his thighs a little.
Yeah, erm, I think you might be right there, erm...' Both Andy and Trent looked hard at the third man then, Alex glancing from Trent to him and meeting his concerned, probably suspicious facial expression. Robertson found himself tensing up with presumptuous jealousy, knowing before Alex's lips opened what he was going to say next: I might have gobbled on him once, lads, er...'
Trent's jaw pretty much hit the floor. `What?!'
`Alex?' Andy demanded, involuntary in his envious shock.
`Just one time,' Ox mumbled back, ignoring Trent's shock and staring apologetically over his way. Andy coughed, cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable and self-conscious at how firmly this revelation had hit him; but they weren't exclusive, they were just friends, and... well, had he really believed he was the first person Alex had sucked off since their awkward induction with Jamie Redknapp, all those months ago...? Hadn't he suspected Ox's experience...?
Shit,' Trent said, shit shit. Guys, what the fuck is going on with us all?!' He got up from the bed, his lean young body shaking, pulling at his afro hair and ignoring both of their gestures and calls to calm down. `Lads, couple of hours ago I were on my fucking knees...! In front of Joe Gomez...! I... I... I sucked a fucking dick!!!' He stood there in a state of distress and, like Alex, Andy felt the surge of fondness for his young pal, his obvious confusion and suffering; after all, it was a troubled thought process Robertson knew well. And hell, it had taken him months to get through it!
As one, Andy and Alex found themselves moving towards Trent, but it was the Englishman who spoke first, grabbing Trent around one shoulder with both hands. Well,' he admitted in a slightly cheered voice, putting aside his own gloom to comfort their young mutual friend, if it helps, Robbo and I have... you know, both done it too, so...' Trent stared at him then looked over at Andy, who flinched a little at the exposure, but rubbed him on the shoulder.
Aye,' he said simply, nodding. Aye.'
And you don't think less of us, right?' Ox continued gently. So... why think less of yourself, huh?'
`I guess...'
I mean, just look at Andy here,' Oxlade said then, rubbing Trent's shoulder a bit and half-pushing him round to look Andy's way, look at the big rough fucker, eh... no less of a man just cos he's gobbled my nob, is he...? Hah... Still a rugged thug on the pitch, right...' Alex laughed uncertainly and Trent let out a giggle; Robertson grinned bashfully at them both, and thought about what he'd been pressing for minutes ago, before Trent's interruption.
`We've done a bit more than that, to be fair,' he put in hesitantly.
So are you two like... a couple?' the younger footballer asked, then looked embarrassed by his own question when they didn't immediately answer, and just stared at each other; Andy tried to read Alex's face, unsure what the hell to say. But he knew what answer was hovering on his tongue, so he went for it anyway. Kinda,' he told Trent, and simultaneously Alex, `kinda a couple, I think... summat like that...?' He was staring questioningly at Alex, who just had a shy grin creeping over his face.
I just don't know what to think,' Trent sighed to himself, missing their shared moment of realisation and affection, pulling gently away form them, back toward the bed. Andy found himself less interested in his presence or his dilemma, eyes only for Alex now, hearing his own vague clumsy answer back: kinda a couple, I think...' He stepped almost irresistibly in the other lad's direction, ignoring Trent talking to himself, and slid a hand into one of Ox's big paws, realising how shivery and goosebumpy he suddenly felt.
He realised Trent was looking back at them now but he ignored him, and pulled in for a snog, the kiss that had been interrupted by knocking at the door. One arm slung about the broad hard muscle of Alex's back, the other limp at his side, his mouth wrestling with Alex's. To his tingling frustration, Alex broke away, but reciprocated the hold, sliding an arm about his back; to his minor annoyance, Oxlade was turning in the direction of their guest, but not letting go of him. Andy could feel his cock growing hard in his trackies, and he thought the bulge in Alex's was getting bigger too.
Hey, Trent...' Oxlade-Chamberlain's fingertips stroked tenderly at Andy's lower back as he spoke, and grinned over at the nervous, shifty figure of their young pal, come here... you wanna... join in?'
`I dunno what to say,' John grumbled, gripped by the intensity of the meeting. It somehow made things better and worse that they were in the front seats of THIS fucking car, parked in the shady quiet of a country lane two minutes from Kyle's gravel driveway, his own vehicle temporarily abandoned there.
Kyle hadn't said much at all, still staring at him like he'd seen a ghost, his hands on the wheel, his body hunched a little in the tight hoody pulled over his physique. John, who'd not been home and changed, having just driven indecisively around the Cheshire roads before eventually coming here, pulled uncomfortably at the lapels of his tracksuit top and the thighs where it clung to his muscular legs. He twisted a little in the passenger seat so he could look properly at the other man, but the words he'd been rehearsing and editing in his addled brain all the way here just weren't coming together.
It's impressive enough you're saying anything,' Walker grunted at him, almost accusingly. Been nowt but cold shoulder for long enough...'
Kyle,' he said, hearing the pleading in his thickly accented voice. But he was pleading, he was begging. He gulped and reached to grab Kyle's arm over the gearstick and dashboard, squeezing into the sleeve of his hoody. I'm fuckin' sorry, okay? I've just... I've really struggled to...' He let out a frustrated gasp, because no sentence he started sounded anywhere near right. Maybe he should have written all this down? He'd thought about it, but then the terror of it falling into the wrong hands had held him back...
`You dumb prick,' Walker was saying to him, but with no malice or anger, just a sort of dazed expression of incomprehension, making a feeble effort to shake off his hand then slapping his own right fist against the edge of the steering wheel, taking some frustration out on the car.
John pulled on his arm, and reached over more fully with his body, grabbing and pulling Kyle's thick chest until their faces were finally brushing, nose to nose, breath hot and desperate against each other's lips, close-but-not-quite-kissing. I've needed you,' John confessed earnestly. I've needed you so much, mate.' Kyle purred, mouths close, eyes shut, fists clenching and unclenching. Say something,' John begged, say you feel it too.'
`I never wanted us to stop,' Walker said, through gritted teeth.
I can see that,' John said hesitantly, but... fuck, I just...' Again, how could he explain how much it had hurt, the regression into their `real' lives? Walker's rapid willingness to PROPOSE? The fear of their exposure, without Kyle's arms to sink into...? It had been a difficult couple of weeks.
But then, for all his grunted withholding, Kyle was pushing forward at him, their lips finally clashing. They kissed roughly as Walker crashed forward over the gap in seats, gripping the front of his tracksuit in both hands and pulling their faces tightly together in the noisy, physical snog, both men grunting into each other. At the same time, Kyle was letting go of him, but needn't worry; he felt the passenger seat slacken beneath him, reclining his body; and the weight and pressure on him as the driver tumbled over with him. Now John was pressed back against the reclining seat with Kyle really on top of him, their lips and tongues clashing hot and wet, their hands grasping and tugging at the fabric of each other clothes, the car rocking somewhat at the movement and imbalance.
Between the hot kisses, John tried speaking: snatches of apology or explanation or garbled confessions of strong feelings. They were all crushed by his own clumsiness and drawling accent or by fresh kisses grasping at his mouth from Kyle's. Soon he gave up and let his tongue and his fingers do the communicating alone, running his hands up over the muscles of Kyle's torso, evident even through that thick top; he yanked up on it, at the arms and shoulders and the neckline, desperate to get it off and feeling Walker's ripped body bare beneath it. Getting it off him was made difficult by the way Kyle was furiously wrenching at HIS clothes too, the zip and collar of his tracksuit, the thin tshirt beneath. The men grappled impotently with these layers until, laughing, they pulled apart a little and helped each other out; tops came tumbling up and off in a tangle of sleeves, hoods, zips, then thrust aside. When they held each other again, their chests and six-packs rubbed, warm and scented with aftershave.
`I'm sorry,' John said for the last time, unable to believe he'd let his feelings prevent any close contact like this for so long, after almost nightly play for weeks in lockdown in his house.
Shut up, you cunt,' Kyle advised him, in between kissing his cheek and jaw and the side of his neck, shut up and fuck me.'
`Kyle...'
I said shut up and fuck me,' hissed Walker. You dumb fuck, didn't you hear me?'
John held his face in both hands and looked him in the eye. `You really want that?'
Well apparently your arsehole is cursed,' quipped the older man, so this time, I reckon we should try mine... now are you gonna carry on mumbling shite or are you gonna get your prick out, big lad?'
Oxlade-Chamberlain leaned back, pressing an elbow into the bed to support him, and watching as sweet sexy Robertson explored his crotch, caressing the thick weight of his thighs and pulling down at the legs of his boxer shorts, possessive but nervous. Alex reached one hand over and stroked his fingers through the lustrous auburn curls of Andy's hair, guiding his face down into the space and encouraging him to sniff and nuzzle at the big bulge there waiting for him.
To Alex's other side, Trent had curled in with them on the same bed, his pants down around his ankles where Alex had teased out his cock minutes before; he stroked one firm calf and pulled on the leg, easing the nervous younger fella closer into this circle of muscle. Trent began to pull up on his own tshirt, clumsily, which inspired Alex to turn back and start wrenching on Andy's red polo shirt by the collar, disrupting him in the middle of nudging his bulge from side to side with his lips. Robbo giggled and lifted his lean body to make this easier, and off it came. Alex was already shirtless, the other two having stripped the top from his body earlier on to expose his solid muscle, notably thicker in build than the other two, though both Andy and Trent's torsos were compact and toned and rippled with partly hidden strength.
Alex leaned in on his side and ducked his head in next to Trent's one lifted knee, kissing the inside of his thigh and looking over to meet his nervous brown eyes, then pushing further down and running his bottom lip across the stiff glistening tip of that young cock. The 21-year-old moaned immediately, grabbing at the bedsheets with one hand to compose himself.
Even as he began to lick and kiss the end of Alexander-Arnold's piece, Ox could feel himself getting equivalent attention; his boxers still on and hugging his hips and ass, but his button fly open and his semi pulled through it for Andy to plant trembling kisses on and slowly take between his chapped lips again, hungry but a little inept.
Alex licked right down Trent's shaft and planted a kiss in the centre of his big loaded balls, then lifted his head and slowly licked his own lips. Go on,' he encouraged, complete the circle, heh...' Trent smiled awkwardly back at him, and Alex wondered what the poor lad thought would happen when he hurried here tonight to speak to them; had he ever imagined he'd end up noshing his second prick of the day, albeit in much more comfortable circumstances...? Oxlade watched as Trent curled in and made a circle or a triangle of their bodies, reaching down to pull on the tight grey boxer briefs and unveil Andy's erection. The Scouser took the Scottish meat into his mouth in a hurried now-or-never way, far more nervous than Robbo but less slow and tender. Alex grinned and ducked down to lick Trent's cock, and the chain of blowing was complete. It seemed to excite all three of them equally, or perhaps that was part of Ox's imagination; for him, the younger lad's long slim cock felt all the better for the thought of him pleasuring sexy Andy, and the sloppy blowjob being lavished against his own dick was even better for the happy certainty that Robson was being pleasured at the same time...
Robbo, though, couldn't seem to keep his lips on Ox's big tool, the horny fucker! He'd had his taste, now he wanted more. Alex parted his legs more, allowing one thick thigh to be lifted a bit, so that Andy could get in and lap at his balls, and under them; he knew where he was headed. Trent hadn't noticed yet, was too busy with his eyes screwed shut, licking down on Robbo's cock, while Robbo himself gently pushed his face further and began to kiss at Alex's meaty cheeks. He shiftied his body to ease this slow rimming and moaned through his mouthful of Trent's dick, which was leaner than his own chunky tool, but a good length, and a beautiful caramel colour but for its pink tip. He shifted into doggy, face buried between Trent's sturdy legs, arse lifted up for Andy to kiss the cheeks and began licking the crack.
Soon, Alex stopped licking at Trent, wanking his spit-lubed cock in his left hand instead, watching the lad's surprise and mild disappointment as his lollipop was removed; Andy pulling away from him but stroking his shoulder and his neck, prising his dick away with new intentions for it. Trent lay there on his side, face wide in amazement as Andy got up on his knees and shuffled over, and Alex just remained there, squatting forward into the bed, an expectant grin all over his face. Sure, he was a bit nervous, cos last time had hurt like hell, but he'd seen the desperate appetite in Robbo's face, and he could not wait to please him. He found that watching Trent's prudish shock and nervous fear took away much of his own; by contrast, he felt confident and in control, opening up his chunky powerful arse cheeks for his lad, feeling the wet tip and knowing it was lubed up with Trent's saliva. As Andy began, slowly, to enter him, he let out a loud purring moan, and squeezed on Trent's dick, so that the pleasure could run through all three of them. His moan was joined by Andy's rough grunt, and then a long gasp from Trent, all three of them interlocked and ecstatic.
Rocking the car with their motion and weight, Kyle had scrambled underneath now, positions reversed, bare back and thighs rubbing against the leather of a passenger seat he'd never sat in, a perfect metaphor for what was about to happen; on top of him, John was still being cautious and sensitive with his touch, but Kyle didn't want that. He yanked on John's forearms and slapped at his sides and his back, full of the aggression that he'd wanted to take over to Guardiola and Foden and unleash! But fuck them, fuck that waste of time, THIS was what he wanted, this here...
Kyle reached down between them to push his jogger bottoms down more fully from his knees, then grabbed his hard-on through the strained black fabric of his briefs. John's hand joined him there and, working together, they freed it from his undies and began tugging them over his thighs, which brushed with John's, tattoos on tattoos. Their bodies writhed against the seat and bumped into the framework of the car. Kyle knew they were being daft, since a reckless tryst in some woods by the road had caused all this drama in the first place, but he couldn't give a fuck; he knew how dead this area was, knew it was safe enough, and he just DID NOT CARE.
He reached both hands down the smooth toned expanse of John's lower back and found the waistline of his boxers, rolling them comfortably back over the smooth white globes of his cheeks, which he squeezed and grabbed, knowing how he'd just about managed to force himself between them once, and would hopefully get to again. But that was for another day, he wanted John to experience him fully, he was desperate for this, had worked the idea up in his mind...
Kyle, having committed to the terrifying prospect, was rough and impatient with it, pulling on John's body and reaching between them to find his alarmingly big cock. Fuck me,' he grunted, go on John lad, shove it up me...'
It hurts,' Stones warned him jarringly, whispering in his ear, I dunno if you really want...'
`Fuckin' do it, you prick, come on.'
`Aww, Kyle...'
`Just put it up me you big fucker, get in there...'
Kyle spread his legs more, edging his body a little further down the reclining seat, his big buttocks squeaking over leather; he pushed his ass down and lifted it a little, his ankles hitting the roof in a rough scrape of trainers on fabric and metal that made him laugh and cuddle tenderly at John's shoulders. He killed the laugh and turned it into a more bestial groan and pulled John in on him, kissing his neck roughly, biting a little. One hand went back to his arse, pushing on it and pulling it in close, daring John to try and mount him; he could feel the thick fleshy tip of the taller lad's massive nob, bouncing at his inner thighs and brushing his ball sack, but not just going for it.
`I don't wanna hurt you,' Stones moaned, still full of wounded apology.
Kyle growled and pulled their faces together. `I want you inside me, John, I wanna feel every inch of that massive fucking tool, you hear me? I know it's gonna hurt like fuck, okay, but I wanna show you how much I need you... just... FUCK ME...' Something in his monologue did the trick, because John was suddenly like an animal uncaged, rushing his weight at him and grappling with his fully body; Kyle focused on their rubbing bodies and wandering hands and the taste of John's sweat and perfume on his neck and shoulder, and felt the forceful meat of it pushing at his firm buttocks. He did his best to relax and stretched his legs further apart, the heels of his trainers digging into the ceiling of the sports car's claustrophobic interior. He felt his ring react to the push of John's cock and he almost laughed; his hole felt like a tiny pinprick and John's cock like a gigantic bulldozer. No way was this happening! But it had to, it was what they had to do -- he thought about his own entry to Raheem's tight cunt, the way he'd forced his fingers inside wriggling gasping Phil, the way he'd managed to slide himself inside aching whimpering John... fuckin' hell, if those three could take it, so could he!
`You're ... so... tight...' gasped Stones, sounding halfway to orgasm already.
You're tellin' me!' Walker groaned back. Don't stop, don't stop, just...'
`Fuck, mate, aaah...'
`Push in, come on, get it up me, you big dirty cunt...'
`Ohhh, Kyle...'
`Fuck yes, FUCK YES...'
`Ohhhh...'
Kyle felt the intense sting of it, the almost ripping sensation of being spread open down below; it felt like a whole fucking limb was inside him but when he looked carefully down between their grinding bare bodies, he could see much of John's cock, so only a tiny inch or two were in him. Haha! Madness. But he hugged madly on John's body, wrapping his thick muscular arms about his chest, and pulled him aggressively forward, while kicking his own feet into the roof and bending his back more, opening himself up and -- ohhhh, aah, fuckkk!
Oh god,' John screamed in his ear, oh fuck...'
Yes mate, yes,' Kyle panted back, consumed by the bizarre pleasure-pain of it, come on lad...'
`I'm gonna cum,' John said, again almost apologetic, though whether for the speed or the pain it was hard to tell, but again Kyle just grabbed at him more, pulling on his back, on his arse, forcing him forward, opening himself up for more of his mighty tool.
Yeah, cum in me,' Walker found himself growling, shoot yer dirty load in me you sexy fucking bastard, breed me like your missus...'
Oh god,' whimpered Stones at this, oh god yes...'
`Fill me up,' Kyle told him, trying to roll and wriggle his hips and arse a little in the awkward position he occupied, helping, since John seemed barely to have the strength or wherewithal to thrust; how much of his dick was in now? Fuck knows. Kyle pulled their faces together to kiss, and he knew as they did that it was happening, that John was really losing control inside him, stimulated right to the edge by the tightness of his own virgin hole. They gasped and groaned together and one of John's hands, always so rushed and boyish in energy, found his prick and rubbed it between their abs until he felt close too; inside him, he was aware of fresh heat and stickiness, but moreso of the seemingly endless inches of John's manhood, deep inside his manly body.
Alex was on his back now, legs in the air, resting up the front of Andy's body, which was blotchy with heat and passion, little red patches all over his chest and his tight abdomen, his hands grabbing midway up the shin and his bright red face pulled in, a mask of excited labour. He was thrusting his blissfully slim hard-on in and out of Alex's bottom and, to his surprise, it didn't hurt half so much as last time, and he'd been wasted then. Maybe it was the position or the slower start, or the greater lube of spit on them both, or maybe he just really fucking wanted it...
He lay there, aware of his own resting strength, his thighs parted and lifted, his ankles brushing at Andy's stubble, and to his left, his hand pumping gently on Trent's cock where the other lad kneeled beside them, gasping and whimpering at what he felt and saw. In turn, Trent was becoming more tactile and affectionate; one of his hands was in Alex's thick mop of hair, stroking his curls and his ears where they rested on a platform of pillows, and the other was stroking Andy's arm and Alex's thigh.
Ox could see the way Trent watched, his eyes fixed on the movements of Andy's body; obviously a lot of Alex's energy was fixated on his own resilience here, lying back and taking a prick for only the second time in his life, but he could sense the nervous eagerness of the newbie, could tell by the way Trent touched him that he was starting to feel left out and needy. Grinning widely, he turned to look up his own mighty body at Robbo, who was fucking him with much more speed and certainty than on the floor of the golf club.
Buddy,' Alex moaned softly, buddy...'
You feel so good,' Robbo gasped back, almost blind to Trent now, so so good...'
Does he?' murmured Trent. Fuck...'
Robbo,' Alex purred, reaching his fingers beneath Trent's dick to tickle his balls, while his other hand played on his own thick rod and he clenched his buttocks a little, teasingly, about Andy's thrust; Robbo mate... you think maybe we should give the young un a go too...?' Andy paused, holding his legs tightly, a flash of possessive envy on his red, gasping face, but then he looked at Trent and the friendly, loving smile was obvious enough. `Go on, share's fair,' Alex chuckled through the renewed pain of a clumsy few thrusts inside him.
Then Andy was pulling back, dick flopping greasily against an inner thigh, and nodding his head. `Aye. Trent, mate, come on, have a go on him.' Ungainly and sticky with sweat, Robertson shuffled aside on his knees, unable to keep one hand off his stimulated cock, while Alex held his bent legs awkwardly in the air and watched Trent clamber round, biting his lip and keeping his eyes wide open. As Trent took up position, grabbing him about the ankles and hunkering down at his bottom, Alex kept his eyes on Andy, looking over to the right and reaching for one of his hairy thighs, stroking it up towards his prick, which Robbo was wanking furiously.
Hey,' he murmured, come on...'
`I'm so close,' Robertson gasped, looking down at him.
`I've got more than one hole, you dumb-ass,' Oxlade muttered, and pulled gently on that thigh. Quickly, Andy was following his idea, lifting a leg over to straddle the chunky platform of his chest. Alex grinned and opened his mouth, feeling Andy's legs spread over his pecs and shoulders, and tasting his dick as it pushed between his lips; for a moment, he felt a bit hesitant, knowing it had been inside him, but then he just licked it and all he tasted was Andy again. He kept his mouth open, more passive than his previous efforts at oral sex, and allowed Andy to start thrusting, fucking his mouth now that his arse was occupied; and down at that end, he could feel Trent pushing into his hole, finding it quite easy since it was puckered and wet from the first fucking.
Oxlade-Chamberlain lay there, confident and in control, two dicks inside him, two quivering excited footballers about to spend their loads in him; odd that he didn't feel used or degraded by it, the way he might have when he first started trying things. He'd felt like dirt when he ate the cookie, he'd felt like such a dirty slag in the woods with Barkley, or toying with Gomez. But with these two fellas, teammates he cherished more than anyone, nah... Trent was pushing clumsily into him and making weak raspy groans, obviously close; Andy was basically trying to fuck his lips like a pussy, gasping and whingeing as he did. Two beautiful blokes, Alex thought fondly, I just wanna make them cum!
I'm gonna cum,' Kyle said through gritted teeth, still pressing John's body to his, the car rocking a little in the swaying grind of their embrace; he could still feel Stones' dick inside him, though less painfully, so perhaps it was already wilting from the orgasm within. But his own was his priority now, John playing with it between them, but the firm rub of both six-packs doing more to stimulate its head than the flailing handjob. When he shot, his spunk slid up between both their bodies, an oil slick of manly goo sticking their torsos together as they snogged, Kyle's orgasmic groans swallowed into his lover's kiss. Fuck,' he gasped, when finally their lips parted, `fuck fuck fuck...'
`OH FUCK,' the Scotsman was yelling, and Trent watched form behind as his shoulder muscles and his perky little buttocks clenched in perfect sync, sat astride Alex's pecs. Seeing this, and hearing the deep animal moans of the other footballer, Trent couldn't hold back any more. He wasn't sure if he was meant to pull out first or something, but it wasn't like he could make the big lad pregnant, was it? This was the daft thought in his mind as he clung to Ox's thick legs and pushed his dick inside his gorgeous tunnel for the last time, blowing his wad of spunk in there and throwing his head back in a long gasping cry, unable to believe just how good it felt to be in there, between those muscles, and sharing Oxlade-Chamberlain with Robertson, the three of them so intimately connected.
John stroked the damp hard flesh of his man's pecs and lay there on top of him, aware he was probably inconveniently heavy, but unwilling to pull them apart just yet, their bodies stuck to the leather with sweat and cum, his cock soft now and resting in against Kyle's at their crotches, little pained expressions crossing Kyle's face as he shifted from buttock to sore buttock.
`I missed you so much,' he mouthed weakly at him.
We can have both,' Kyle told him more firmly. We stay with the birds, but we keep each other. I never left you for her, I went for her so I could KEEP you...'
Oh god,' moaned John, I've been such a prick...'
Nah,' Walker told him, kissing his chin, nah, you have a massive prick, but you... you're a fuckin' angel, John Stones...' Their lips met again, then their tongues, but they didn't kiss properly, just gasped exhausted into each other's faces then fell into slight giggles.
Where were you going?' Stones asked with only the mildest curiosity. When I turned up? Where were you off to, eh...? Where does your fiancée think you are, while you spunk on my abs, Kylie...?'
A brief conflicted look on Walker's face, some secret or embarrassment flickering in his eyes. Nowhere,' he muttered dismissively, nowhere important.'
Guardiola stared at him, the young lad on the sofa, his eyes trained on the mindless colour and movement of the muted TV screen. This talented young lad who he had lifted and prioritised, whose career he felt so invested in, but now so much more than his career. Sat awkwardly on the arm of the sofa, Pep lifted his hands from where they rested on the thighs of his suit trousers, and pulled them to his jaw, stroking his beard, and watching the tiny little gestures of Phil's nervous anticipation: the tapping of one ankle-socked foot on the carpet, the needling of one set of fingers on his kneecap, the other lifted to his mouth so he could bite his nails, his little brow furrowed in a concentrated frown, his shoulders hunched either side of his delicate neck...
Fuck it!' Pep burst out, shooting upright off his perch and to his feet. Phil flinched in alarm and looked his way, giving up watching the silenced film playing aimlessly on the plasma screen opposite them, and just staring up at his manager. Fuck it,' the middle-aged Spaniard repeated, loudly and fiercely. He stared down at Phil, saw his confusion, but he lunged forward and squatted down directly in front of him so that they were more or less level, the young player curled on the sofa and he sank to the floor in front of him. He grabbed his hands in his.
What is it?' Phil asked, sounding frightened. What are you...?'
Fuck this nonsense!' Pep told him. I will not stand here and let that bully come and...'
It's okay,' Foden told him dimly, we need to just...'
He is nothing to us,' snapped Pep. He thinks he so special, hah! He belongs to ME, I am manager here, not Kyle Walker. Fucking English prick.' He squeezed at Phil's clammy hands, pulled closer to him in this crouched position. I will not give you up to him like some... some... some toy...!' He saw the rush of emotion on Phil's face as he continued. You are mine, Filipe, not his or anyone else's, mine...'
`Yes,' Foden murmured breathily, leaning off the sofa into him, so close.
Kyle can... well, he can shove his blackmail up his fat ass,' Guardiola cried out. You're mine.'
`Yes sir,' Foden said, even more eagerly. Pep threw his arms about him in a hug, and squashed him into the soft softa, pressing their chests and bodies together, tickling his beard into the crook of his neck as he squeezed him. When he let go, Phil seemed reluctant, clinging to him and smiling with the faint suggestion of tears in his eyes.
`Pep?' he whispered.
`Si, my boy...?'
`Does this mean you... er, you're gonna... are you gonna fuck me now then...?'
Oh yes, Filipe, but not tonight, not like this. Not in this... situation. No.' He stroked his hair and pinched his cheek a little and grinned softly at him, their faces close. I will make you mine so soon, my boy, as I promised, when you are ready and when I can focus on you and nothing but you. And it will be incredible, my boy.' He leaned in and sealed the promise with a kiss.
THANKS AGAIN FOR SO MANY KIND EMAILS, ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR HOW YOU ENJOY THE STORIES AND WHAT YOU HOPE TO SEE HAPPEN... THANKS FOR KEEPING ME INSPIRED!