Part 145: The Birthday Cake
It was a cute little place, a real biscuit tin image of rural comfort. Thatched roof and everything, small squares of windows, a chubby little structure in the patchy Peak District woodland. Inside, its downstairs seemed to be about 50% comprised of a huge inglenook fireplace, and the other 50% of twee wooden beams and chintzy décor. Upstairs, there was just one big bedroom and tiny bathroom, where they had spent last night curled up. Hot and stuffy in the July humidity, but cute and much-needed all the same.
Luke Shaw surveyed the sleepy little building from outside, stood on the patchy lawn of its very private garden, the dry grass tickling his feet, bare but for the heavy wrap around one injured ankle. He hugged his arms to the front of his tshirt; not HIS tshirt, actually: Harry's from last night. He'd picked up the white garment, a size too big from him, from the bedroom floor when he eventually woke up -- had he sought its comforting lingering smell of the man it belonged to, or was it just more convenient than searching for his own discarded clothes...?
Luke had woken alone in the big, squeaking old bed of the cottage. He'd slept in extraordinarily, sleepless new-parent nights catching up with him and the hot comfort of the little country Airbnb rental utterly consuming him. Limping groggily from bed, he'd been shocked when he found his Rolex on a rickety side table and saw the time, almost midday! That shock had then been coupled by the emptiness of the cottage, birdsong flooding in through the open bedroom windows -- he made his way downstairs in just tight-fitting boxer shorts and the borrowed tshirt, and then out here into the garden, marvelling at the chocolate box scene he found himself in.
It had looked nice in the dark, but only a vague scene. It had been fairly late when they made it down here into the Peaks, having snuck away from the post-match fuss at Old Trafford and escaped Manchester for their night away. Luke smiled up at the place with a mixture of indulgent fondness and mild confusion. It certainly hadn't been the night he'd expected.
Two days ago had been his actual 25th birthday: a gentle family-oriented weekend, a seeming blessing that United's match was scheduled for Monday night this time, meaning only a brief morning training session interrupting his day of celebrations. Of course that also meant only a brief hidden snog with Harry Maguire behind a changing room partition, but he knew it was foolish to try and invite the captain to his homely garden barbecue with the family. He had invited a couple of players and their partners, in the end, including a covetously smiling Dan James, and young Brandon Williams seemingly convincingly satisfied with his airhead missus -- but he and Harry had agreed that it would be difficult to hold back from each other if he attended. So Sunday had been cute and fun and relaxed, but Harryless. Luke had enjoyed it, relaxing in the bosom of his family and being spoiled by everyone, but he had to confess that the most exciting moment of the whole day had been answering his phone after a single cider and stealing away to the bottom of the garden to listen: `Tomorrow night, after the match -- make a story for your missus, okay? I'm taking you away.'
The cover story had turned out to be easy enough. Luke had dreaded trying to negotiate it, but no sooner had he mooted the idea of a cheeky night stopping with the lads for post-match drinks as an extension of his birthday than she was eagerly agreeing to it and insisting that he needed the break from dad duty. Her excitement for him that brought the sting of guilt, but he was getting better at swallowing that down. By the time he was leaving home on Monday afternoon to prepare for the game against Sheffield United, he'd even convinced himself that yes, he really did deserve the night away, the treat...!
When he'd gone off the pitch with a knock to the ankle, he'd briefly worried it might look serious and scupper the plan. He was in pain but not excessively, and though he had to wait for some scan results being sent over today, he was reasonably confident he might be fit enough to continue starting for the recently unbeaten squad by their next game on Thursday evening.
No wonder he'd slept so long and so heavily, thinking about the hard-fought draw to Southampton last night, 2-2. It wasn't ideal, every point mattering heavily to Manchester United as they sought a top four finish to the season, but it extended a long unbeaten run and before the moment of injury, Luke knew he'd put in a good battle in defence alongside big Harry Maguire.
Luke hobbled back over the lawn, kicking idly at the patches of longer grass, admiring the heavy banks of wildflower, the little feeding table for birds, the few aged hunks of garden furniture littering the cottage's amorphous grounds, which blurred with the thick sloping woodlands of this remote spot. He supposed that was what Harry had looked out for when booking it: discreet remoteness. Or, he thought with a chuckle, maybe Maguire did have a fetish for this twee country life; pulling at the heavy white tshirt, Luke looked back at the place and tried to imagine it being the United captain's secret fantasy. No, probably not. In all likelihood, Maguire had just searched for the single most remote property he could hire, and here it was. A surreal fairy-tale.
On the drive here, Shaw had been giddy with pleasure. The Southampton stalemate had left a frustration over all of the players, but it disappeared as soon as he was in Maguire's car and swinging out onto the roads, leaving behind the fraught masculinity of the post-match banter. The concept of an overnight getaway with Harry had been thrilling him for about thirty-six hours, and he felt like a child going to Disneyland, wriggling about in the passenger seat of the man's jeep and stealing cautious strokes and grabs of his thigh as they whizzed down suburban and then country roads, away from the fringes of Manchester. On top of the exciting freedom of the night away, he'd enjoyed Harry's coy excitement at the mystery of it, dropping little clues about their destination and what he had in store for them. Every five minutes or so, the big centre-back would turn and look at him with a crooked grin of anticipation.
He headed indoors, pausing to inspect the swelling of his ankle and really take in the garishly countrified interior of the little cottage, then limping upstairs to see about taking a shower. In the bedroom, he thought about last night: his romantic excitement as their car wound deep into the countryside, his eagerness as he almost fell out of the jeep. His injured foot had gone pretty numb and Harry had ended up having to support him on the way across the crunching gravel driveway into their pastoral idyll. This had enhanced rather than detracted from the cutesy cosiness of the place, Harry lighting candles and revealing a bottle of expensive red from the back of the 4x4.
Luke paused in the undersized doorway at the top of the uneven, ancient staircase, looking into the bedroom where there things were scattered messily. Somehow, dazed with sleep, he hadn't noticed the message on the mirror before. He hobbled over and plucked the scrap of paper from it, recognising Harry's bold but scruffy handwriting: `gone to pick something up from station, be back soon x'. Luke had more or less assumed this, clumsily wandering the cottage and its garden alone, but there was still something tender and sweet in finding his lover's note, left for him to wake to.
But last night...
He didn't want to dwell on it, but it was definitely odd. The elephant in this bedroom, other than his secret boyfriend's massive trunk, was that they'd stolen away in the night to this uber-romantic location, away from their hetero commitments as dependable father figures and boyfriends, and yet... they hadn't fucked. Still holding the note, as if the scrap of paper and the heavy cotton tshirt on his body could connect him to the absent man, Luke looked at the vague untidiness of the big old bed, something from a period drama about aristocratic marriage, and pieced together his memories of last night.
Nibbling posh cheese and supping vintage red wine in the comfy furniture downstairs, laughing at the décor and curled up against each other in a tiny sofa. That, he thought with a smile, had been a special kind of bliss. Long wine-flavoured kisses and roaming hands, punctuated by a few pained groans as he would sit with his injured ankle at the wrong angle or Harry, getting carried away, would push or pull him the wrong way. And then Maguire's playful attempt to carry him upstairs, abandoned before they even reached the stairs, because the confines of the cottage were claustrophobic, and Luke was no petite fella.
In bed, tearing their United tracksuits away, exposing aching muscles from a tough night match. Harry kissing at his throat for so long and so aggressively that he was surprised not to be covered in teenage hickeys, despite having just turned 25. Clothes tossed everywhere, still evidence now: he saw his tracksuit top draped on a windowsill, a sock of Harry's snaking about a lamp. Bodies bared and hands and lips going everywhere, but not QUITE everywhere, and... to put it simply, from his jagged memories, dulled around the edges by tiredness and red wine, Harry had edged him into the night, obsessed with his enjoyment but refusing to let him... finish. One minute Maguire had been going down on him in the bed, huge and hulking under the sheets, and then he'd been tickling his balls from behind and kissing his neck; he'd ran his finger down Luke's crack but not pushed at all at his tingling, eager hole. Whenever Luke had reached for Harry's monstrous dick, as hard and ready as ever, he'd been pushed away, scolded playfully, told to wait.
The windows were wide open, just as they were this morning, but the loft bedroom was hot and stuffy and their bodies had dripped in sweat after over an hour of this frustrating back-and-forth -- in the end, they'd found sleep before they could find completion, or before Harry would let them. Luke had only given up trying to grab hold of that big tool, or rub his bare cheeks provocatively into the bigger man, because he'd ended up on his side in a tight vice of spooning, Harry purring sleepily into his ear and saying it would be better in the morning, it would be better tomorrow... so he'd given up, let the aching tiredness of the night consume him, and fallen asleep in the captain's thick arms. And then woken alone.
He showered, hopping about the small bathroom a little bit and discovering that for all its old world charm, plumbing was not among the cottage's strengths. He endured alternating bursts of icy cold and skin-melting heat, laughing off the inconvenience and discomfort and scrubbing himself dry with a towel that seemed to have been produced in the middle ages. He was just pulling on fresh clothes -- a new pair of Tommy Hilfiger briefs, denim shorts and a plain pink tshirt -- when he heard the muffled engine noises and gravel crunches coming in through the bedroom windows, joining the woodland opera of the songbirds.
As quickly as his injured ankle allowed, Luke made his way downstairs, jogging through the small interior and out of the door, then around the thick corner of shrubbery towards the driveway entrance, where his expectations were immediately confounded: not Harry's big solid jeep, a four-wheeled metaphor for his own indomitable physique, but a smaller and slicker BMW, at least two figures inside it. Luke paused at the corner of the house in mild alarm, the intense privacy of Maguire's chosen destination called suddenly into question; he rested one hand on the solid old stone of the cottage and pulled the other up to stroke his bearded chin, staring at the vehicle as it crunched to a halt, trying to read the situation. And then his eyes fixed on registration plate, dimly registering the personalised lettering: GR34L15H.
Luke stared at the three of them from behind a slightly fixed grin, standing in the big living area that dominated the downstairs of the cottage, holding an open wine bottle in one hand and a couple of glasses in the other. In front of him, the three arrivals were restlessly engaged in their new setting, crackling with the same odd energy from which they'd bounded out of the car and inside with him at his vague, bewildered invite.
Jack Grealish, looking somehow shifty in his stance by the fireplace, was inspecting the long row of objets d'art that decorated the wooden mantel, hands shoved into the pockets of tight-fitting casual shorts -- his taste in casualwear was as carefully undersized and leg-hugging as his Aston Villa kit, clearly. The 24-year-old had been the least enthusiastic of the trio, stepping out of his BMW and giving the cottage (and Luke) a slightly dubious, cynical look, then grinning almost aggressively and following everyone in. Now the small solid midfielder was inspecting the interior of the country getaway with the marvel of a young man who'd never left his urban roots.
Not far from him, James Maddison had flopped into one of the two massive armchairs, behaving like a bored child in Ikea testing out new furniture. The slim, bearded 23-year-old stuck his legs out in the air and brought his hands up behind his head in a chuckling pantomime of a king on his throne, clearly satisfied with the rural luxury of Maguire's chosen venue for this `party'. He'd chattered excitedly since bursting from the back of the car, all hugs and eagerness, the one to demand that Luke should get the drink flowing already, rather than waiting for Harry to get back.
And most calm of the three, Ben Chilwell was stood close by him now, an expression almost of apology for the other two on his quietly handsome features. The young Leicester hero had his arms folded about the chest of his light oxford shirt, turning to give Shaw a faint grin, and holding his own empty glass ready for the first pour. Luke held out the bottle and sloshed some of the white wine out for him, fixing his slightly strained grin on the 23-year-old left-back. Cheers,' Ben said brightly, that'll go down nicely. Happy birthday again, mate.' He held the glass aloft in a moment of Gatsby-like charisma, sparkling with grin behind the floppy curtains of his hair.
Shaw was very aware of the close bond between Maguire and Chilwell, and dimly aware that some stuff had occurred between the former teammates in the early days of their own relationship. He'd never pushed for details and Harry had never been forthcoming. He himself liked and admired his young fellow defender, but their paths had barely crossed, he didn't know him well; nor Grealish or Maddison, for that matter. Fleeting England teammates in training if not actual matches, these three slightly younger fellas had been excelling in the Under 21s squad while he made his own short-lived dents on the national team. To Luke, they were a slightly different breed of footballer to himself: flashy, social media savvy, celebrity pals. The question burning behind his slightly awkward grin of welcome was why the hell Harry Maguire thought this was an ideal crowd for a small birthday party for him...?
Such a cute place,' Ben said to him, sounding just a bit awkward himself, helping him now to pour more wine, and passing glasses to the other two. Maddison made some jokey comment about a girly drink and Grealish stared at the glass as if wondering why his pint was small and a funny colour. Nice wine,' Chilwell added, after a quiet sip, `but I think we'll move on to cocktails after this. I've brought a few things.'
Luke nodded, slowly, feeling his sense of hosting control slipping away, and still really quite startled by the interruption to what he'd gently assumed would be 24 hours of utter privacy and discretion. His quiet, private escape with Harry seemed to have been discarded somewhere in the wooded Peaks and replaced with a scene from a lads' holiday. He was just wondering how the hell to reply to Ben's cocktail offer without sounding resentful or totally lost when the door to the cottage sounded behind him, shunting open with its already familiar creaks and groans. He turned in time to see Harry stoop through, that mysterious crooked grin on his big face, shoulders hunched down to let him through the cottage's small space -- a building never designed for strapping men of 6ft4. It would be a miracle if the United skipper left without a concussion.
In his hands were a couple of loaded plastic bags, making it look like he'd raided the closest shop for all the supplies he could. So much for a well-planned escape? Luke felt the instant comfort and reassurance of his presence, but eyed him quizzically, trying to communicate his baffled questions in just a smile. I see some of your surprise turned up early,' Maguire remarked coolly, something scolding or unimpressed behind the humour of his comment. Next to Luke, Ben chuckled, and the other two began bickering quietly about travel plans. But here's the rest of it,' Harry added then, and Luke stared at his shopping bags, half expecting something significant to leap out of them and explain the comment. But Harry, still stooping, just came closer to him, and stepped aside a little, allowing Luke to realise another tall figure was hunching through the doorway, 6ft2 of heavy muscle wrapped in Jack Wills clothing.
Hey birthday lad,' said Eric Dier smoothly, holding a big carboard box in his thick arms, grinning from behind the gingery-blond fluff of his beard, following Maguire into the cottage, his charming eyes fixed for a moment on just Luke, sparking memories of admiration and friendship with the more experienced England player as they made their early appearances side by side. The Tottenham midfielder cast his ruggedly charismatic smile over at the other guests, a jerking nod of acknowledgement, then back at Luke. I hope there's another couple of glasses for that?'
The six men ate lunch outside, since there wasn't really enough furniture indoors; a cute rural picnic, just not of the private and intimate kind Shaw had fantasised about as he was swept off his (injured) feet and out of Manchester for one night. One night, he reminded himself, neither of them had thought it possible to lie to their families and secure a second -- surely the cottage was booked over tonight, too, but they would both need to return to their partners and duties with fake stories and real hangovers.
But Harry had taken great pains to organise this, he reminded himself, and at least his story to his girlfriend was less of a lie. Here he was, drink in hand, sat out on the cottage lawn, surrounded by fellow footballers, all seeming to toast his 25th. For another moment of sulky inner protest, he thought how he might liked to have invited Dan James or Brandon Williams, if he'd actually known the plan, and that led him to think of young Brandon's bleeding face as the substitute left the pitch, injured too after replacing Luke in the second half. He hoped the teen defender was okay.
He was brought back to the here and now by the feel of Harry's hand creeping onto his shoulders, discretely stroking just below his neck, toying with the neckline of his tshirt. The gentle contact made him shudder a little with desire, all of last night's sweaty unfinished business rising up in him. But he turned and grinned awkwardly at the other man, slumped as they were on the grass, a mess of leftover food in front of them. His eyes aid take me upstairs and fuck me, baby' but his frowning mouth said not in the front of this lot!' Luke could feel a simmering tension in the air but he didn't yet know how to feel about it, or what it could mean. He was piecing the scenario together with what little he knew of Ben and Eric's alleged experiments, but he was still recovering from the disappointment that he wasn't alone with Harry.
Letting Maguire's fingers continue their magic on his upper back, he turned and looked curiously at the small party of men. Dier, such a looming presence though he was only an inch taller than Shaw himself, sat cross-legged just to his right, barely saying a word, just seeming to laugh along at whatever story Maddison was now telling. And opposite them all, Grealish and Chilwell, somehow removed from the conversation in their own private way. Jack sat with his strong legs outstretched and his lean body propped up with arms behind him, his scruffy long hair falling over his face a little from on top; Ben sat more delicately, close by him, leaning over as he spoke quietly, and then... Luke watched as the Leicester defender placed one hand in a gentle squeezing pat on Jack's thigh as he grinned and chuckled at him, their faces close for an instant. Realisation dawned slowly, wading through the rigid belief that he must be the only closeted footballer enjoying a secret romance: Jack and Ben, together...?
Harry's finger seemed to stop moving at the top of his spine, a shift in the bigger guy's posture where he sat; perhaps he too was noticing something new about those two? Then his hand was squeezing Luke's shoulder, then leaning on it, as he hoisted himself up off the ground in his long chinos and tight-fitting shirt. I think it might be time for this lad's birthday cake,' he announced in an oddly formal grunt, addressing their little gathering, making Luke look curiously up at him. Can I get you guys to give me a hand?' Maguire was asking now. While Luke sat there, comfortable on the lawn, questioning whether it took five men to light some candles and cut a cake, the other footballers got up one by one and trailed indoors until he was here alone.
He looked idly at the scrappy mess of food on trays and platters. They'd all barely touched it, and his own appetite had faded dimly with nerves and confusion. He wasn't sure if he could face some sickly birthday cake, though judging by the fancy box Eric had been carrying on the way in, Harry had spent a lot of money on it from some local baker's or whatever... He sat there, gripped by the age-old dread of anyone about to be sung `happy birthday', combined with a strange sexual awareness. All of those abortive touches last night, the frustrating almost-sex, and now all of these fit young men around him, under the idle humidity of early afternoon...
No awkward singing of `happy birthday', as it happened, but the creaking swing of the cottage door, and rustling footsteps. He turned, propped up on his elbows, and opened his eyes wide at the sight of them. Eric came first, leading the way, a bronzed adonis in his tight white CK trunks, which bounced enjoyably at the front and clung to his thick waist as he trudged this way, not another scrap of clothing on him. After him came James, fiddling self-consciously at the waistband of his black boxers, and grinning behind his tufty lockdown beard. Ben was bulging monstrously in skimpy black briefs as he strolled forward, hand in hand with Jack, whose own dark blue trunks left little to the imagination. Harry himself marched along behind this near-naked tribe, carrying the big ornate birthday cake in front of him reverently, while his package swung neatly in the same pair of black CKs he'd worn when they first shared a Dutch hotel room.
In moments, Luke was surrounded by bare rippling muscle, hairy thighs, swollen packages, nervously seedy grins. The cake, its little candles flickering at the jerky movement, was laid on the lawn in front of him, and Harry's warm hand was back on his shoulder. Nobody said a word, and he just grinned foolishly around at them and back at his partner, then to the cake itself, all buttery icing and primary colours. He stared at it, seeming to fixate on his lack of an appetite for eating, because the other appetite being stimulated right now was really just too overwhelming. Then Harry, still silently, reached a hand down and dug his fingers savagely into the presumably expensive masterpiece of craft baking and tore out a messy chunk. He brought his hand up and pushed his savaged hunk of cake, jam and icing straight into Luke's gawping mouth, smearing its creamy decadence against his lips and beard, squeezing on his shoulder as he did. Uncontrollably, Luke let out a little groan of sugary and physical satisfaction, chewing on the sample of cake and licking its messy decorations from around his mouth, breathy and taken by surprise.
Relaxing into the mood of the moment, Luke reached forward and plunged his fingers into the cake where Harry had broken it. He scooped up a large messy chunk of it, weighted it in his hand, slapped it lazily against the fold of Harry's left pec. Giving in to appetite, Luke leaned close and licked a mix of jam and icing from near the big hunk's nipple; Harry groaned softly and stroked the back of his neck with sticky fingers. The party had begun.
As he ate cake off Maguire's chest and chuckled through sticky lips, he felt hands settle on his other shoulder, and fingertips stroking one of his hairy calves. He twisted his head a little to see Maddison on his knees, stroking up his leg, beginning to reach for the hem of his denim shorts. `We can't be getting these messy,' the slight Leicester player murmured playfully. He was reaching up the leg of his shorts towards the fly, letting his knuckles graze Luke's twitching bulge.
He turned his head more to see who was gently pulling at the shoulders of his tshirt, found Dier on his knees behind him, smiling down. `James is right,' the Spurs man whispered, and both he and Maguire now pulled on the soft pink garment, dragging it up until Luke's torso was exposed to the warming sunshine. He could feel Eric's strong hands on his back now as he folded back in against Harry's body, licking more cream from amongst his sporadic chest hairs then slowly tilting his neck until their faces could meet in a much-needed kiss. Even as their lips locked, out of the corner of his eye he could see a parallel snog: on the other side of the cake, Jack and Ben were up on their knees now, gripping each other and grinding their mouths together.
Luke rose onto his knees, surrounded by their bodies, and grappled with the button fly of his shorts, keen to shed them, but not because of the messy cake. He giggled uncontrollably, feeling his face still sticky with icing, and pushed the shorts down over his thighs and arse cheeks, slipping back onto the grass and letting James take control, feeling the denim dragged past his knees and then, more carefully, around his ankles and hoyed aside. Almost instantly, he was pulled into a cuddle by Harry, who'd got more cakey mess on his fingers, and slid them provocatively in against his lips, letting him suck sugary goo from his digits with puckered lips, their strong bodies interlocking on the scratchy dry grass beneath.
Luke was obviously lost quickly in the hold of his favourite man, but he was still dimly aware of his surroundings. Even as Harry began to cup and squeeze at the contents of his fresh white briefs with a big hand, he could see Eric still on his knees, pulling James' head down to kiss his rock-hard abs; he could see Jack and Ben squeezing and grabbing at each other's bulges as they kissed and rolled down onto the grass. Fucking hell, what a scene of his wildest dreams...! But back to Harry, hehe. It was all well having these beautiful distractions beside him, but... Harry had one strong arm curled beneath him, supporting his abdomen, and the other glued between his thighs, toying with his semi through his briefs, kissing him roughly on the neck again like last night. Luke let out free gasps, liberated by the remoteness of the cottage and the muffling circle of trees that rose over them, stretching up into the blue sky. The birdsong felt like a challenge to be noisy now, to drown out those cheeky winged fuckers with his own chorus of groans and sighs.
With his own hands, he found the size and shape of Harry's whopper and teased it through his black briefs, loosening it down the inside leg of the undies, thumbing at its fat tip and provoking a little howl of enjoyment from the big brute of a man. They rolled over, bodies twisted, and Luke felt his limbs brush others, grazing at a muscled thigh that must be Eric's, tickling at a firm shin that was probably Jack's. He closed his eyes and lost himself in a passionate embrace, Maguire's body heavily on top of him, and the messy cake now rubbing at his side, smearing icing onto his thick waist and tummy. Harry was moving aside and someone else was coming to kiss and lick this off -- Madders -- making Luke ticklish and excitable in his chuckles. `Oh mate,' he groaned, feeling the tickle of the younger player's beard on his smooth skin, the gentle caress of his lips.
In a series of rapid tugs, his briefs were off, pulling over his chunky buttocks and letting his bare arse scratch against the grass instead. He felt Harry's hand caress his cock as it came to life, and he stretched back; Harry's hand was replaced by James' lips, and the smaller footballer, a lad he barely knew, was going down on him with relish, his overgrown dark hair falling out of place in a messy tangle as his head bobbed up and down.
He turned to the left to snog Maguire, still supported by his hold, tasting sugary icing on his strong lips, laughing into his mouth at this. Harry was pulling away to get up though, and unleashing his cock from his pants. Shaw sat there, waves of pleasure coming up from the work of Maddison's tongue, and pulling his own mouth open around the girthy size of Maguire's tool. He heard a loud gasp and muter, clumsy and Brummie, that must be Jack Grealish getting a similar service or mouthful!
The ensuing half hour dripped by in a series of sunlit images that were scorched on Luke's brain, birthday gifts he couldn't have conjured up in his wildest wank fantasies.
First, he was pushing his cock more forcefully into the young Leicester player's mouth, fucking James Maddison's tight lips and curling his fingers through his hair and beard as he did; now up on his knees, looming over the slender midfielder, making him choke and gurgle on his own thick meat, its above-average length pushing deep inside a hungry, sluttish mouth, perhaps the best blowjob he'd received -- in physical terms, anyway, since it could not compare to the intensity of having a man like Harry Maguire go down on him.
But minutes later, that was happening: he was on his back, on the grass again, writhing around with his underpants around his ankles, and Harry sucking ferociously on him while dragging big paws over his thighs and tummy, slurping on his cock noisily, the debasement of the alpha male somehow all the more enjoyable and special for the fact that he was happily doing it in front of others. The comfortable position gave Luke the chance to stare around, getting an upside down view of fragmented pairings: Grealish was cuddling up to and jerking off Maddison from behind, and Chilwell seemed to going down on Dier, his big arse in the air, stretching those black briefs.
And then, not long later, Luke himself was going down on Dier, swaying on his knees as he took hold of the Hotspur's big thick member and licking at the tip, feeling it slick with the other lad's spit as he stroked on the shaft, enjoying the depth and tone of the England player's groaning. He loved the solidness of Dier's smooth torso in front of him, running his hands up those tight-packed abs and resting his hands into the crook of firm biceps, tasting his precum as he swirled his tongue around his foreskin and the thick head of his hard-on.
Next, he was suddenly between the lovebirds, a hand each on Jack and Ben's cocks; both lads were very well-endowed, but whilst Jack's Brummie boner was similar in length and girth to his own, Ben's huge rod seemed more or less equal to Harry, all the more vivid on a less towering fella. He gripped and stroked both of them, enjoying the feel of the two lithe, tightly muscled players, who were stroking hands up and down his back and kissing his shoulders, fawning over him as if commanded to spoil the birthday boy by the party organiser -- speaking of whom, Luke stared ahead to where Harry and Eric were taking it in turns to shove their big cocks in James' face, stood over him like two monoliths of footballing excellence.
Soon, Luke found himself back on the floor, sucking now on Chilwell; it was amazing how similar his huge thing felt to sucking on Harry, the only cock he'd been near that could actually compete with that massive weapon. He fondled the Leicester defender's heavy balls and rested an arm across his tight six-pack, enjoying his wail of enjoyment. Simultaneously, Luke was being tossed off by Dier, crouched by him, feeling up his cock with slow, teasing motions, patting another hand against his buttocks very gently; the chubby glutes felt sensitive and tense against this touch, since nobody but Harry got to touch back there!
Titillated by the Tottenham player touching up his arse cheeks and thighs, he slurped off Ben's cock and grinned up the glorious sight of his chiselled six pack at his grinning features, warming to this bright-eyed bestie of Harry's, a lad he'd previously just felt a vague jealousy towards. Jack was sinking down next to them, grabbing a little possessively at his waist and shoulder and kissing him on one cheek; there was something shy in the peck, and Luke felt that perhaps the Villa captain was less sure of himself here, less confident in sharing his sexuality with the others. Luke saw something incredibly sweet in the way Ben took this kiss and returned it, on the lips, then cradled Jack's hand in one hand and rubbed their brows gently together. Sweet fuckers.
Luke was distracted by that view as Eric grabbed one of his cheeks more firmly; he looked his way and just saw a sheepish, hopeful grin on the hunky defensive midfielder's face. Eric was rolling his palm over the big buttock and slipping fingertips into his crack, tickling at him excitingly. He smirked back at him, torn between desire and loyalty. Automatically, he swung round to see Harry, realising how close the bigger guy was now, sat close to them with his long mighty legs wide open and Maddison curled up between them, licking his shaft and balls and making giddy whines of hunger, wanking his own prick excitedly as he worshipped his former teammate's tool. Harry and Luke's eyes met over this scene, Eric's hand still wandering, and Luke saw a warm grin curve over the United skipper's face. Their eyes danced for a long moment and Luke formed a silent question with his lips; Maguire just nodded. Luke looked back at Dier, pulling up alongside him and stroking up from his butt cheeks to his lower back, then planting a single kiss on his shoulder, ticklish but sweet. Luke looked at him and saw that this was his real gift. Eric saw that he understood and grinned back, determined and horny. Oh, yes.
Luke turned gladly, pushing his palms into the grass, lifting onto all fours, doggy-style, while Eric's hands squeezed and played with his buttocks before beginning to finger between them again, pushing and running down his crack. Someone had brought some lube, apparently, as he felt some squirted at the top of his crack and then slicked down it by one thick rough fingertip, which hovered over his hole gently in each stroke. While his arse was gently prepared by the hot 26-year-old, Luke was getting a good view of Jack and Ben, who had pulled away from them a little, kissing passionately and grabbing at each other's sizeable dicks. Ben was manhandling Jack into the same position as Luke now occupied, and he began to see some of the dynamic between them: watching as Jack, wild-eyed and giggling, pressed his face and elbows low into the grass and stuck his chunky round backside in the air for Ben to kiss his cheeks and spit between them. Wow. Just as he saw this, he felt one of Eric's fingers slide into him -- ohhhh -- and he looked over at Harry for more approval, but saw James being pushed down roughly as Harry bit and kissed at the back of his neck and slapped his cock against his lean buttocks. This was a free-for-all.
Eric Dier was a gentle but powerful lover. Luke moaned and gasped as two fingers worked his relatively experienced hole, working him up and preparing him for the impending meat. He made wordless noises of appreciation and parted his thick legs more to give Dier access, sweat trickling down his face from his short sandy hair, pooling in his thick short beard. Then the fingers were gone and it was the head of his dick being pushed slowly between his cheeks, and he could hear Eric's concentrated moans. He tried to look over his shoulders, catching a sliver of the beautiful sight, the big muscular midfielder beginning to mount him. Ohhhh yes...
Soon Eric was pushing into him, stretching him. Luke yelped and whimpered, exaggerating his noises a little bit to turn the rugged charmer on, and enjoying the sound of his own pleasured voice mingling with the other two bottoms -- Oh Ben,' gasped Jack, oh yes baby', and `Fuck, fuck, you're HUGE,' James was whimpering -- as the three pairings began to fuck. Luke alternated between staring at the other two couples and just letting his eyes close so he could really focus on the sensual delight of Eric's thick member entering him and sliding back and forth. It was hard to just relax and centre himself on the intense pleasure of that when he was being treated to these sights, though! Ben Chilwell, stocky with muscle, piling down on Grealish, fucking him into the ground with powerful strokes, holding his slim waist and ploughing the cheeks that Luke had always admired tightly packed into Aston Villa shorts; Harry Maguire on his side, gripping Maddison to him and pushing his dick with some difficulty inside the young lad. This was clearly not James' first fuck, but it was likely the Leicester player had never taken anything so big.
`God you're tight,' Dier whimpered at him from behind, now buried deep in him.
And you feel amazing,' Shaw whispered back. Fuck me, mate, go on...'
Eric began to slide back and forth artfully, his actions ringing with confidence and experience as he handled Luke's big body and fed his big prick into his tight muscular hole. Luke kept position, enjoying the doggy-style fuck and the views it offered him, excited by the outside setting and the beautiful natural world around them. He gasped in rhythm with the strokes of Eric's strength, and couldn't help but fantasise about what blokes big Dier had been inside to do this with such masterful assertion. Ben and Harry, those two big-dicked former teammates, were ploughing their chosen arses more roughly, and Luke was enjoying the smooth carefulness of his temporary lover, something different and entirely sexy. Eric Dier was his gift, and he was taking it with the love it was intended, his cock rock hard between his shaking thighs.
But then another gift was offered to him. Chilwell, panting, was climbing off Jack's body, flopping aside with a weary laugh, and playing with his big nob; then slapping and stroking Jack's bare back, and looking over his body, right at him. Your turn?' he asked teasingly, whilst kissing Grealish between the shoulderblades then on the crown, stroking and messing with his shaggy loose hair. As Luke stared at this offer, he felt the slow drag of Eric withdrawing from him, leaving his hole gaping for a moment, then slowly rubbing the wet tip of it against one of his cheeks; with his other hand, the sexy top slapped him on the side and chuckled. Go on, birthday boy,' he murmured.
Luke clambered eagerly forward for his next treat. Grealish remained in position and twisted his head to look up at him, grinning, their eyes meeting briefly -- but then he was turning away, because Chilwell was pulling at his face and stooping to kiss him, controlling and relaxing him as Luke clambered up to his backside and took the lube that Dier tossed his way, squirting some into his palm and rubbing it thoroughly over his own hard cock. Wow, he thought, just look at those buttocks. Was Jack Grealish's the sexiest little arse in the Premiership? (Luke had sometimes privately wondered if that title belonged to his own heavy behind, but he supposed it was really just a matter of taste.)
He pushed a couple of fingers inside the Villa stud first, though he'd already been opened up by Ben's massive one, but it seemed only polite; then he pressed his dick forward and rubbed and pulled open those gorgeous tanned globes above the thick hairy thighs. Jack was up on his knees in front of him, supported and cuddled and kissed by Ben, so that actually Luke reached over to grab and squeeze that hunk's firm muscular backside too, staking some claim in both gorgeous fellas as he began to shove his cock inside Grealish. Ahead of them, he saw, Maddison was on his knees, spit-roasted by the two powerful figures of Dier and Maguire. Yet again, Shaw's attention was fragmented by the excitement of the orgy, unable to fully focus on the intense delight of a tight ring on his member because he was also trying to enjoy everything he could see and hear. Still, even distracted, this felt GOOD.
He entered Jack and stroked up and down his back and his sides, trying to be firm but soothing, knowing as he did how it felt to be taken like this. Ben was moving around to simulate the action of the others too, moving into position so that Jack could stoop down and lick and suck at his massive dick whilst Luke pushed deeper in him. Grealish and Maddison were both fully occupied now, fucked at either end by the other studs. Luke met eyes with Ben again over the gorgeous shared property of Jack's body, and he realised just how handsome and lovable young Chilwell was -- but instead of a return to previous simmering jealousy, he just felt a strong appreciation that he was getting a bit of everything here. He tried to imagine Harry ringing Ben up at some point to suggest this wild meeting, calling in favours with these sexy friends, all to satisfy HIM... wow...
He could have lost control then and just fucked Grealish until he filled him up, and he did pick up some pace and begin to pound him more heavily, loving the fleshy slap of Jack's buttocks on his pelvis. But Jack, moaning wildly, began to pull away from him, and he relented, sliding back with weak, ecstatic groans. Jack was grappling for Ben, clearly done with playing bottom for now; ah, Luke realised, a bit of equality there, then... Ben was happily sliding onto his back on the grass and lifting his thick defender's legs while Jack bore down on him for his turn in charge. As Grealish began to fuck Chilwell, Luke realised that the other threesome had also separated, and he picked himself off the ground to shuffle forward. Maguire and Dier were in the middle of swapping ends, Eric taking up position behind Maddison, but Luke reached out and grabbed Harry by the end.
`I need you now,' he said demandingly, loud enough for them all to hear it. Well, they all needed to know. This mountain of a man was HIS.
Harry, who was holding his big lubed up cock in one hand and wobbling on his knees to go round to slap it against James' red cheeks, turned and fixed him with the most intense stare before answering. Oh aye,' he grunted, you fucking do.' And then he was tugging Luke's wrist forward, pulling him rapidly into a hug, both of them on their knees beside James, who just groaned and whimpered as Eric slapped and pinched his bottom and lubed up his cock afresh.
The world span as Harry's strong hands grabbed Luke around the sides and pushed him roughly back down into the grass, which scratched and irritated his broad bare back. The outdoor scene cast him back to Christmas Day and the icy woods near that rented home, where Maguire had first tried to mount him. God, things had been so different between them then. How far it had all come in six and a bit months. Luke lay there and realised he didn't need to do a thing, not move a muscle; his lover hoisted and parted his strong legs into the air so he could mount him in almost missionary style, guiding his cock between his chubby cheeks and finding his twitching hole, readied by Eric. And then Harry was on top of him and inside him, everything to him; it was like the sights and sound of the two fucking pairs either side of them on the lawn just VANISHED and all that remained were two things: the deep, penetrating power of Maguire inside him, and the intensity with which their eyes connected, their mouths hanging an inch or two apart, caught on the edge of a kiss. In this position, Harry railed him to the ground, thrusting like a piston and claiming his arse completely.
Yes,' Luke screamed, letting go like never before, here in the middle of nowhere, oh yes, oh yes, fuck me, fuck meeeee, FUCK ME...'
Grass and leaves and twigs scratched at the back of his arms, at his big shoulders, at the upper curve of his meaty behind, but his hole was satisfyingly pulverised and the almost bruising touch of Harry's hands on his chest and biceps felt like magic. The gap between their mouths closed and his squeals were lost in a long, wet kiss. Harry's sweat dripped on him and mingled with his. When the kiss broke, they were still staring into each other's eyes, and now their voices were low and private, nothing for the other four to hear. I fucking love you,' Harry reaffirmed in a deep growl that he almost felt inside him, I love you so much.'
Luke silenced him with a fresh kiss before saying it too. `You're all I've ever wanted,' he admitted, knowing it to be true.
Harry fucked on, grunting with each thrust, but the deeply satisfied groans of Ben and James had ceased or quietened or at least changed, and the men were scrabbling closer again, bodies brushing and stroking. Luke felt Harry slow then stop then pull out, but his disappointment was shortlived; Maguire gripped his forearms tightly and yanked him up in one movement, then flipped him around, with the kind of grace and ease that their drunken attempt to carry him upstairs last night had failed at. Luke laughed loudly at the rushing sensation of it, his big sturdy figure a ragdoll against the big defender's strength, pressing him into new position. `OH YES,' he groaned, his arse pressing back down on Harry's cock in a sitting position, slipping onto the big man's lap and held back against the tight hard muscles of his torso. Luke began to work his legs too to follow the bouncing motion, sitting into Harry's upward thrusts, fucked in this seated position whilst Ben Chilwell was suddenly between his legs, kissing his bollocks and the underside of his cock. Jack was on the floor, sucking Ben. James was next to him, leaning in and kissing one of his nipples. Eric, he suddenly realised, was standing on the other side, wanking furiously, guiding his cock towards his face so that Luke could lean over a bit and suck the tip, even as he was fucked powerfully from below.
The gorgeous position could not be sustained for long, too uncomfortable and strenuous for both Luke and Harry's aching bodies. Luke even felt a twinge of new pain in his injured ankle, forgotten about in the heady rush of the orgy. The other men's bodies stretched and posed around him, a dazzling buffet of options. But all he really wanted was Harry! Once he was off his dick, he was turning around and pushing him down towards the ground, shoving his pecs back so his big towering figure fell onto the bouncy lawn, allowing Luke to drop down and suck on him, wrapping his lips around that beautiful rod. Someone was sucking his own dick too but he no longer knew or cared if it was Ben or Jack or James. In fact, he realised, there were multiple mouths down there.
Luke was the first of them to cum, which seemed to be the desperate effort of them all. He was lying in Harry's open crotch licking the treat of his big throbbing hard-on, but as his body crashed with pleasure, he had to look around and down himself, finding Jack sucking him off and Ben kissing his balls, and Eric on the other side of his horizontal body, gently kissing his cheeks and reaching to flick his tongue against his crotch. Three mouths, one goal: his climax. He turned and stared up Harry's body, meeting his eyes, seeming the sheer enjoyment on his face, and not just at the greedy blowjob he was giving. It amazed him to see how much Maguire could enjoy his enjoyment. He could have blown then and there, with three tongues flickering against his most sensitive areas, but...
`Come here,' Harry growled at him, reading his mind. Luke pulled instantly away form the others, who took the message. He clambered up alongside Harry, who wrapped an arm about him, gripping their sweaty bodies together; mentally, the past twelve hours vanished, and it was late at night in the sweaty loft bedroom, when Harry had edged and teased him into exhaustion. Harry's hand was on his cock and their lips met. For all the sucking and fucking, this was all it took. Luke whimpered into his lover's mouth and blew his load, spilling sticky cum all over the ridges of his man's six pack, whole body shaking at this long-delayed orgasm.
The rest of it became a dizzy blur for Luke Shaw. Having spunked over Maguire, he still grabbed at his own dick, which refused to stop being hard and still felt weirdly sensitive, but the movements of the other men were in a glamorous slow motion and he felt like he was truly enjoying the filth of the party from a distance, his own private porno to watch and enjoy over and over in his head.
He saw Ben Chilwell grabbing James Maddison to him and pulling him close in standing position, clearly entering him from behind and thrusting madly at him. He saw Jack Grealish on his knees, sucking off a loudly moaning Eric Dier. He saw Harry lying beside him, wanking himself off and watching the others, while cuddling one arm about his own body and keeping him close. But then Luke blinked and it all seemed to flip around: now Ben was on his knees sucking on Harry in front of them, and Jack was behind him, fucking his chunky backside, and it was James on his knees taking Eric's load as the Tottenham star howled out his pleasure.
One by one, the men completed. Dier fed his heavy load to Maddison and left streaks of it in his beard and hair then collapsed onto the grass, body glistening and heaving; Maddison came in a frenzy of wanking, shooting much of it on Luke's body and some on Harry's, lost in an almost transcendental climax; Grealish seemed to cum inside Chilwell and collapse on top of him in a moaning cuddle, still impaling his arse; Maguire and Chilwell seemed to cum at the same time, the United beast oozing into his ex-teammate's mouth while the Leicester star's seed spilled over his and Luke's thick hairy calves. And then, spent, the men were a heap of bodies, heaving and panting and sweating and laughing. Above them, the birds sang and the treetops swayed in a breeze, and the sun shone gloriously.
Luke felt something sticky against his face and tried to figure out whose messy load he had missed out in his dazed voyeurism, still toying with his aching cock; he twisted his head a little, getting more gooey mess on his beard cheek and then his nose an then his lips... He was turning his face straight into the broken remains of the birthday cake, squashed where he lay, smearing his neck and shoulder in multicoloured icing and leaking crumbs and jam on to the grass. He licked his lips and burst out laughing, overwhelmingly happy.
`Thanks for, erm, coming,' Luke said with a bashful laugh. It felt strange, wrapping his arms around the chunk body of the 6ft2 footballer in pleasantly intimate goodbye; he'd had his cock in him at both ends and seen him unload, but hugging through their dry clothes and feeling his ticklish beardy peck on the cheek still felt strange and taboo. Eric patted him gently on the back and eased out of the hug, smiling warmly at him. Dier turned to Maguire, next to him, and the two men didn't quite hug, just a manly handshake that almost made Luke laugh again. Oh, of course, too manly for hugs, right...
The currently banned Spurs player gave a final wave over at the other three, who he'd already bid his goodbyes to, and climbed into his car, at the far end of the cottage's sweeping driveway. Luke watched his hesitant, rosy-cheeked grin, seeing just how much Dier had enjoyed his secret trip to the north, away from his London teammates. He wondered how the big guy felt about coming all this way as a meaty present for the birthday boy, summoned by Maguire based on their shared experience with Harry Winks. For a second, Luke allowed himself that greedy decadent thought: god, if only Winks had come up here too...! You spoiled prick, he told himself with a sickly grin, haven't you had enough for one day...?
So that was Dier gone, pulling out onto the country road and disappearing between trees that muffled the disappearing sound of his vehicle. Harry was seeing the others into Jack's BMW, and Luke joined for hugs, squeezing the shorter, slimmer forms of James and Jack and Ben, grateful to these handsome young studs and feeling incredibly close to them now after what they'd shared. He enjoyed the almost manic cheerfulness of Maddison's goodbye, the smaller lad unable to resist a cheeky grab at the crotch of his denim shorts before disappearing into the back of the car with a chuckle. He could feel how much more relaxed Grealish was as he squeezed him, and the muscular firmness of Chilwell was a pleasure to briefly hold again. Then, in a blur of chatter, they were going too, reversing and turning and disappearing.
That left the two of them. He felt Harry's hand slide about his and pull him slowly into a hug. He rested his face on his shoulder and pulled his arms about his body, breathing in the mixed scents of soap and aftershave. The afternoon delight had ended in quiet outdoor naps, then cosy indoor naps, then a procession of alternatingly hot and cold showers. A hurried feast of the lunch they'd barely touched, and then these driveway goodbyes. Above, the light was becoming golden as evening crept over the Peaks.
Still holding onto Harry, Luke looked up at the cottage, squat and cute and soon to be deserted. He reluctantly released the hug and steadied himself, sighing wistfully at the rented venue of their debauchery. Booked for another night, but needing to be left behind as the men drove back to Manchester and their `real' lives. Shaw knew better than to voice his mixed emotions and hopeful fantasies right now -- one glance at Harry's wilting smile told him that the wish to stay a second night (if not a third, a fourth, a hundredth) was perfectly repeated in his lover. There was no point crushing the magic of it by saying it out loud.
Harry was pulling away from him now, dragging on his palm a little, needing to disappear around the corner and back inside to finish packing up their things, readying them for the slow winding drive back down to the city. Luke, petulant and full of love, resisted. He tugged on that big firm hand, holding his ground on the gravel drive beside Harry's jeep. The United captain turned and gave him a lopsided, playful grin. `I need to get our things,' he said unnecessarily, then laughed softly. His gravelly laugh was full of all today's pleasures, everything they'd shared. Including the more intimate second fuck and orgasm they'd enjoyed in the creaking bed upstairs while the others either napped downstairs or got up to their own communal mischief.
I know,' Luke sighed. Just...'
`Don't say it,' Harry told him with a smile that covered their shared pain.
`No, not that. I know we need to go. Just...'
What is it?' An almost fearful pause. You loved it, didn't you? The cottage, the plan, the lads...?'
I loved it,' Luke confirmed brightly. I did, I really did.'
`I feel a but coming that's as big as yours, Lukey.'
There's no but, baby. It was... amazing. I can't get over that you planned that, and... It's just -- okay, a JUST is not a BUT... It's only that I want you to know...' He pulled him back closer as he said it, not wanting to shout out his thoughts for the woodland birds to hear this time. I want to make sure you know that if you'd booked this cottage and driven me out here and it had just been you and I for the night and day... it would be enough.' He looked at him as sincerely and lovingly as he could, needing this to be clear. `You are enough, always.'
He saw the tender relief in Harry's eyes, felt the squeeze of his hand. `I wanted you to have everything,' Maguire told him faintly.
And I loved it,' Luke said very firmly. I loved it. I loved sharing those guys with you, sharing you with them. I loved what it felt like, what I saw, what happened... I loved seeing YOU with THEM. And Eric Dier might be the best toy any boy was given for his birthday. Just... don't think that I need that, Harry. Don't think that you ever have to push to give me more, or share me, or... You ARE everything to me,' he concluded lamely, before his monologue ran on. `You want me to have everything, but I already got it. I am NOT complaining about a picnic orgy, I'm really not. I just hope you know how happy I was as soon as we were in your car leaving Manchester. Okay?'
Harry stood there stiffly, as terrible as ever at showing emotion. All he responded with was a slight jerk of his big head, and a squeeze of his warm palm, and then he turned away to head indoors and grab their stuff. Did Luke see the faint spark of a tear in one of his eyes? Or was that just the emotion misting his own? Alone for a minute, he wiped his knuckles over his moist eyes and blinked away the summertime sadness of the moment. A beautiful birthday party, but parties always had to end. He trudged around the corner to follow Harry indoors and collect their stuff, ready to finish the trip and head back to reality.
DUNNO ABOUT YOU GUYS, BUT I'M JUST GONNA GO FOR A COLD SHOWER NOW... HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUKE SHAW!
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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