Part 153: Discovery
It was interesting to watch the way they were with each on the training ground, knowing what he knew: the easy to-and-fro of the pair's banter and teasing, the light delicate touches to an elbow or hip or hair, in quiet moments between drills and exercises and play. The taller of the two footballers was coy and awkward at times when they spoke or interacted, something guilty and hidden all over his long handsome features beneath that bouncing overgrown mop, yet to be trimmed down after the lockdown months; his older companion, the shorter of the two defenders, was almost excessively casual in his manner, acting in much the same way with everyone (their observer included) but becoming even more noisy and bullish when it came to this one teammate in particular. Officially, the training session was over anyway, the July afternoon cooling into hushed grey and half the men already moved indoors -- but still, those two joked and kicked on in their way, as they had done for as long as De Bruyne had been at City with them.
Perhaps it had been going on for years, he supposed. He knew they had history, had played together on the England national side or even at another club too, he became hazy on the details of British careers. Looking at them as he left the pitch, the 29-year-old Belgian almost felt silly that nothing had ever occurred to him before. Even knowing their tangled affairs with various women and joining in the gentle locker-room teasing, how had he not noticed the way they were with each other, even in front of everybody else...?
The weight of the secret knowledge at bothered Kevin, combined with his existing frustrations and then the borderline humiliation of losing out on the FA Cup Final to Arsenal -- but he had to remind himself it wasn't a particularly moral or prejudiced reaction. Now that the secret had had a bit of time to settle in his placid thoughts, Kevin De Bruyne found himself watching the two men with some renewed fondness. It was not remotely in his nature to let what he'd seen fester into scandal, to threaten or endanger the two in any way -- it hadn't once occurred to him to mention it to another bloke at Man City or to his other footballing friends or to his cool, distant and sexless spouse. He had simply decided that the best way to preserve his fairly strong friendships with both Stones and Walker was to more or less delete the gym cupboard image from his brain... something that would be easier if the two loping defenders weren't, well, frolicking and giggling like schoolgirls amongst the props and kit of the training session that they were meant to be tidying up and sanitising.
De Bruyne moved slowly indoors, blinking away his thoughtful observations, reminding himself of his clear intentions to forget it and move on. It wasn't his business, was it? Sure, perhaps SOMEONE ought to speak to the two horny buggers about risk and discretion, going at it like that in these very grounds... I mean, who the fuck took risks like that in the storeroom of the team fitness suite, for god's sake? But no, other than that, it was THEIR business, and that's why he mostly felt a sort of bemused fondness -- they were two guys he had a lot of respect and time for and if they wanted to carry on like that away from the world, fair play to them! He wasn't gonna be the big-mouthed dope who ruined whatever they had, and he felt like even showing Kyle or John that he knew would somehow dent it or complicate their light, jovial sporting relationships. Silence was golden.
Inside, he kicked off his boots and peeled away the long-sleeved new training top over his vest, dumping these dirties in the assigned shelves before moving into the training ground changing rooms, warm and sweaty from the day's work and quite glad at how quiet and private the rooms felt for him now. All he wanted was a cool shower, maybe a massage if he could find one of the physios free, and then to drive home for a relaxing evening with his family; relaxing, that is, except for the sexual frustration that he knew would simmer under his contentment while they ate and drank and binge-watched box sets, then lay quietly side by side without touching.
De Bruyne stomped his sweaty socked feet over the changing room flooring and went to his locker to find his shower things, whistling a tune he couldn't name and thinking about the articles he'd been reading in some online men's magazines from Europe; `ten top tips to get your lady interested again' and other such noxious headlines. A lot of the reads had been depressing, since they were ideas he'd already tried (like buying her sexy underwear, and arranging more specific couple time) or couldn't imagine himself attempting (like buying himself sexy underwear, and entering into roleplay scenarios). No, the steady Belgian football star was coming to a slow decision that the sexless status quo was probably just something he needed to accept, and maybe when the kids were older, things would be different between them again.
Moving away from his locker, he caught sight of himself for a moment: his exercise-red cheeks and the tufty dry tangle of his ginger hair, the bulge of shoulder muscles exposed at the sides of his dark blue vest, hugging his thick torso... for a second, it was like he was kinda seeing double, two pale-complexioned gingery faces staring back at him from the wall mirror. But if it was a sudden and bizarre doubling, it was a much younger version of himself. Aha, no... He turned round and faced his young teammate, not realising Tommy Doyle was in here too, padding down the centre of the room to meet him. He grinned awkwardly at the 18-year-old, vaguely aware he might have looked kinda vain or self-absorbed, caught in the act of that reflection.
`Hey,' breathed the young City player, a graduate of their youth academy like Foden.
De Bruyne gave him a bland smile, a little disturbed by the approach given his private wonderings about his sex life, but always pleased to speak to and encourage the team's younger fringe members, none more than this cheery local lad who had put in a couple of good shifts over the rapidly ending season. But when neither of them actually said anything, the moment of shared smile felt quickly awkward -- there was something expectant and braced about Doyle's manner, standing two metres from him and clasping his freckled hands together in front of him.
`How was training?' De Bruyne asked him, hearing the strained interest in his own question. He wished he was a little easier in speech and banter with guys here, but it was hard. His English was as excellent as anyone else in his home country, so he wasn't sure he could blame language barriers, he was simply not a talkative or expressive guy, and laughing along was usually the best he could offer. He tried to smile more fully and look welcoming to the young lad, who was rubbing palms against the thighs of his City tracksuit bottoms and making an oddly fawning grin.
`Can we talk?' Tommy asked in a quick burst of interest.
Kevin lifted his reddish-brown brows at this. `Are we not?'
`Heh. Er, yeah, guess so.'
`Everything okay, Doyle...?'
`Grand, grand.'
`You look nervous...?'
`I am! Heh... I mean, I just wanted to...'
City's 29-year-old midfield star smiled patiently at the youth, moving away from the mirror and rubbing idly at his thick pale arms, clueless as to what had brought his teammate to him and why the lean, bearded kid of a player was shuffling form sock to sock and fiddling with the drawstrings of his kit. He kept his eyes on him, waiting there, and saw Doyle shoot a nervous look about them, checking that this dressing room was actually empty but for them, before suddenly bursting forward and grabbing at one of Kevin's hands with his. His touch was clammy and warm, fitting his nervous facial expression and shaky young voice, thick with local accent. I wanted to say I'm the same,' young Tommy burst at him, biting his lip as soon as he said it, I'm like you, mate, and I...'
Kevin held his smile, bewildered and affectionate. `Like me how, Thomas...? We both play midfield, yes...'
No,' Tommy grunted, becoming frustrated, I ain't talkin' bout footy, mate, I mean...'
`Tommy...?'
`I'm gay too,' Doyle exclaimed at him in a hot whisper of terrified excitement, squeezing his bigger hand and leaning in closer at this quiet end by the mirrors and lockers, eyes widening in the thin freckled gasp of his face. Kevin stared at him and blinked, blindsided by the confession, vaguely outraged by the accusation, and slowly dawning with understanding...
On the Watford away trip, Doyle hadn't even made the bench in the end, he was really just there as a bit of a spare part -- but he wasn't ungrateful for that, he liked that Guardiola and his team were so invested in youth talent, and he liked the communal culture that treated him like a regular senior player even though he'd only recently made his Premiership debut. He could learn so much on away trips like this, and he had no complaints.
Besides, it had turned out to be quite a trip of discovery for the rather shy 18-year-old, whose excited career beginnings at City had long been plagued by the bubbling undertone of his own secret lusts. He'd suspected he might have such inclinations in his mid-teens but had spent about three years burying them deep beneath homophobic humour and a series of attractive young girlfriends, all social media `influencers' he picked up via Instagram messages. But his shy and awkward nature had meant the relationships only lasted as long as the first selfie with him boosted their local following, and his disinterest in losing his virginity to them had been a killjoy he knew.
In about the last year, he'd begun to accept the truth. He'd read various online articles always speculating about the inevitable and hidden `gay footballers of the Premier League', who logic and statistics dictated must certainly exist. Despite the absence of a current reference point, these hastily read articles (safely found on sports sites rather than typing anything dodgy into his google) always pointed to one optimistic conclusion: things were changing and younger generations held bold new attitudes. In that optimism, Tommy had found the confidence to accept a couple of things about himself, if not the confidence to tell a single soul, or seek formative experience!
On the trip to Watford, this had been far from his mind. The Tuesday night visit to the Hertfordshire town (clinched in a 4-0 victory that warm evening) had been a trip that occupied him with totally professional thoughts, roomed with his near contemporary Foden and observing all of the players in their matchday rituals. The game had been fantastic and the win a real tonic to the squad's dipping mood after Arsenal; Doyle had gone to the sleep in the Watford hotel that night grinning to himself, albeit a bit confused since his organised roomie had vanished after some minor health issue to see a team medic and, apparently, been assigned a room on his own after all. The same thing had happened twice before, and it made Doyle wonder if the 20-year-old bloke was a bit of a weird hypochondriac or summat. But each to their own, he loved Phil as much as everyone else in the team -- he was exactly what Tommy hoped to make of himself in two years, perhaps minus fathering a child already...
It was the following morning when the, erm, discovery had taken place -- after breakfast, to be specific. He'd ended up sat on a table with a lot of the major players, still something of a thrill for the youth graduate, listening in to their mixed discussion of the 4-0 thrashing and their plans with their families once they got home to Manchester that day. He'd been sat next to quiet, serious-faced KDB, his most highly rated teammate and something of a hero for him, of course. He'd noticed De Bruyne failing to take much part in the conversation, but then he was quiet and withdrawn himself, grinning along with the older guys' talk and pretending to always know what they meant -- and the Belgian was pretty reserved all the time.
At some point, they had become the only two left at the table, Kevin toying with his mobile phone in both hands, staring oddly at it. Then Pep Guardiola, seeming energetic even though he looked a little bit like he'd suffered a sleepless night (Tommy had struggled to guess what might have kept the Spaniard awake all night since the win had been so fucking comprehensive and their season was all but wrapped up!) and enquiring after Kevin's wellbeing. The two men had sloped off to speak and left Tommy out of the discussion, which seemed fair enough; it took him a few moments of biting into his apple and sipping his sweet tea to recognise that his teammate had left his phone on the table by him, dropping from his fidgeting thumbs as soon as Guardiola arrived.
Doyle had been a bit pleased at this -- he was no creepy sycophant, but he did crave stronger links with the first-team blokes, a bit more common ground and that, so the idea of finding and rescuing De Bruyne's property to him seemed like a tiny but pleasing opportunity, an excuse to speak to him on the coach soon and build more of a connection there. He grabbed it off the tablecloth and was just about to stuff it in the front of his Man City hoody when his thumb must have brushed over the right bit of screen and flashed up its lock message and a note about `facial recognition' -- and before he knew what he was doing, his clumsy thumb and gawping young face had done the trick. How shit was Samsung facial recognition software if a similar hair colour and earnest expression was all it took to unlock in the morning?!
But then Tommy wasn't questioning the crappy tech in his hand, he was staring at the web browser revealed on the large bright rectangle, paused on incognito mode with a square of footage frozen in his hand. The triangular `play' button hung tantalisingly over the alarming sight: two naked men hunched over a bed, both orange-tanned and bleached-blond, stilled in the act. Tommy gawped at this and then weblink in the top, Pornhub or something, and then instantly smacked his finger at the lock button. When, after a moment's recovery, he pressed that button again and stared cautiously at the device, the facial unlock failed -- or more accurately, succeeded. Whatever trick of the light or passing expression had made him Kevin-ish enough to unlock it the first time was gone, and the weighty Samsung phone sat heavily in his palm, loaded with secrecy and revelation. Tommy, bright pink and dazed, gripped it to his chest and panted out his private awe.
When he gave it back to Kevin in the coach queue, he couldn't muster the boldness or wit to broach what he'd seen, even in some kinda secret code. He just smiled awkwardly into the older bloke's heavy gratitude and the jokey jibes of the men around him, asking if he'd managed to sneak any nudes of Mrs De B off the camera roll before handing it over. Kevin had laughed heartily at this and pushed the phone in his joggers pocket, grinning appreciatively at his young teammate and then leading the way onto the vehicle that was taking them north and home.
Kevin stared at him, blinking his blond lashes slowly, watching the strained excitement and youthful hope around the eyes of his young contemporary. Oh, fuck.
`No,' he said in a low voice, bringing his other hand down on the thin forearm that held his, patting and squeezing at it then prising Tommy's hand off his, but holding onto him with a nervous tension. How the fuck to explain this? How could he tell this youth about the confused uncertainty that had led him to that Google search and brief, almost upsetting glimpse of what he had tried to see?
Tommy stared at him, his expression wilting immediately. The tense excitement in his mouth loosened into a miserable upside down smile and his eyes seemed to bulge. He yanked back from Kevin's big hands, lean and wiry and suddenly poised as if to run. `No?' he questioned hesitantly.
On my phone?' De Bruyne prompted carefully. Through the quick outrage of his own confusion, he was seeing this confrontation from two perspectives: his own bewildered shock at what Doyle had just thrown at him, and then the tender fear with which the 18-year-old must surely have approached it. He could see a quivering terror in the player's expression and body language, and he thought about it: in all likelihood, here was a panicked young guy sharing something personal and difficult for the first time and expecting his audience to understand. Sensing Doyle about to burst away, his cheeks going bright red, he grabbed his arms and held him there, leaning in. You've misunderstood,' he told him simply, `I am not... but... do not worry, Tom, it is okay...'
`Fuck fuck fuck,' Doyle hissed, dragging back; Kevin held him by the wrists and refused to let go.
Let us talk about this?' he pushed, thinking both of his own need to explain and the obvious distress of the teenager. He lifted his hands and grabbed his broad but lean shoulders instead, holding the marginally shorter fellow midfielder close and looming at him. Please, let me explain, let us talk. Thank you for telling me this, Thomas, I know it cannot be easy, so...'
Fuck, just let me go,' Tommy hissed, his bright blue eyes a bit shiny with misery. Was just messin', pal, erm, no need to...'
Hey,' Kevin grunted, silencing him and using his greater strength to drag him close and hold him still. Let's talk. Are you okay? Not here, Tommy. Not here.' He looked about, the room still empty but voices echoing in from the showers and the corridors to the other side, any number of their fellow City players milling about nearby. Upstairs,' he said, forcefully, in the gym. Please.'
Tommy sat against the weights bench, his hands gripping it at his sides, avoiding any eye contact with the earnest older man as he listened. He lifted one hand and rubbed it irritably against his dry lips and the short ginger fuzz of his teenage beard, hoping his cheeks were less scarlet than they felt, and that the fitness suite was as entirely empty as it seemed. Eventually, he looked up at the other footballer, struggling to keep the annoyance out of his voice. `So you were just checking what men do,' he echoed in a tone that was inevitably sarcastic and accusing. He scowled at the man he had confided in, resenting him for the pain of his own secrets, and folded his arms across his lap.
De Bruyne was stood over him, an open hoody pulled over his tight-fitting City vest and loose blue-and-grey shorts, still rolled up a little on this thick white thighs as he loomed there, 5ft11 of solid continental muscle. Doyle was entirely used to being around men in and out of kit, but given the intimacy of what he had hissed at him, the man's bare white legs and flash of sturdy chest seemed ostentatious and provoking.
Yes,' Kevin told him again. I know it sounds mad to you. I am worried for two friends of mine, that is all. I wish I could explain more but it is their secret, not mine. I did not... I am not... I was looking it up for... yes, research, as I said, and I did not WATCH the thing you saw on my...'
`The thing,' Tommy echoed miserably, sensing the hints of judgment or repulsion in the first person he had ever whispered his truth to. He groaned and lifted his hands to his face, struggling to hold onto his resentment or scepticism towards the big married midfielder when the stress of his own revelation was so much more pressing. He hadn't been ready to share this, not yet, not really; now a stupid misunderstanding had forced him into exposure, and how much did he really know or trust KDB, for all his footballing brilliance...?
The... sex,' Kevin corrected in a faintly prudish manner, but then suddenly he was folding down and joining him on the bench, grabbing at his shoulder and leaning over him again in that earnest and almost protective fashion. Please, do not be angry with me, I am not going to tell a soul, Thomas,' he said in his fragmented and formal manner, but his every assurance just made Doyle wilt more at the risks he'd thrown himself open to here. He tried to pull away, uncomfortable with any further discussion, but he felt the big hand squeeze at his shoulder and he turned his head reluctantly to meet the older man's wide concerned eyes and encouraging half-smile. There is nothing wrong with you,' De Bruyne said with all the sensitivity and personality of a textbook, making Tommy raise his own twisted smile and spit out a bitter but welcome laugh; where had big Kev and his bland approval been when he was REALLY struggling with self-acceptance? He didn't need to be told now that there was nothing wrong', he just needed to be told that the big Belgian bastard would keep his mouth shut!
I just assumed, when I saw that,' Tommy told him glumly. And I never went snoopin', if you're thinkin' that, pal, it just unlocked and I saw it, like, right there on the screen an' that, gave me quite the shock, ya know...'
A little huff of friendly laughter from Kevin too. Tell me about it. Imagine how I felt. I am so stupid, sorry Tom, I don't mean to... I was just... It is a long story. You know I have a wife, children. I am not... I am not like you, I am sorry...' Tommy felt his clumsy, hopeful stroke at his shoulder and back, almost paternal in its attempted comfort. And it was, in its way, comforting, but also mortifying. He twisted where he sat and stared at Kevin's open, trusting face. You do not need to worry, please,' Kevin assured him. `I am good at secrets, I am. You have told the right person. Please, trust me.'
I do,' Tommy admitted, knowing it only as he said it. In fact, there were few lads at City he trusted more, when he thought about it. Even the ones he knew better like his old academy classmate Phil Foden, well, who knew how that Stockport scally would react to something like this?! He saw the faint smile of gladness and friendship on De Bruyne's face at his admission of trust, and he returned it hesitantly. I'm just not ready,' he told him quietly. `Not really, mate. I got confused and excited when I thought you might be... for fuck's sake...' He felt a deeper fresh blush returning to his cheeks, thinking about the implied confession that went with that: I was as excited as fuck at the prospect you might be open to a shag, he may as well have said. He couldn't tell if the 29-year-old had picked up on that, smiling calmly over at him and patting at his warm shoulder.
`It is okay, it is okay. Do not panic. Just a misunderstanding, man.'
Tommy wiped at the vague moistness of his eyes, determined not to cry over this daft mess. You're being very kind,' he said distantly, the compliment quickly brushed off with a mutter by the other man. God, I've been so freaked out. I mean, I've never even looked at stupid gay porn myself, y'know...! Too scared, on like my family wifi and at the club here, and...' He felt pathetic as he explained it, felt like there was a gulf of knowledge and experience between them even without the thing that perhaps made him so different as a man. `You can see why I... y'know, jumped to conclusions, mate, and... ugh.'
Kevin stroked his shoulder a bit more firmly, something final and encouraging in the gesture, as if psyching him up for a game. `Yes, I understand, and I am so so sorry for even confusing you or adding to your stress...' He looked at him again, genuinely marvelling at the slow patience and unflappable openness of the European. He imagined having this same conversation with an English teammate: he imagined the cruel jokes that would follow him all year if he was in this muddle with someone like Kyle Walker, a fella who he couldn't imagine accepting him like this, no matter how many Stonewall rainbow laces he knotted in his boots, surely.
Nah, don't be sorry,' Doyle grumbled at him, rubbing at his knees through his blue tracksuit bottoms and looking distractedly about the gym, the silent mass of its machines and kit, all reflected in a mirrored wall. You're being... real sweet, mate. Thank you. I feel such a dick.' He groaned to himself, as embarrassed for his near-tears and bursts of anger as by the heavy secret that he'd shared. Now that it had occurred to him that he could maybe trust De Bruyne, he found he had no doubts of it. It was impossible to imagine this kind, thoughtful fella betraying his trust and ratting him out as queer to the other guys, not with him sat here like this, stroking his shoulder and giving him a look of brotherly protectiveness. He returned his smile a bit more convincingly. `I've just had a bit of a shock, that's all. I'll be fine. Fuck.'
Huh, yes,' Kevin agreed quietly, seeing THAT for the first time...! I can understand.' It was clear from his expression that his emphasis came from disbelief or some kinda vague physical empathy, not the prudish moral outrage Tommy had guessed. I mean, how men do that, I do not know...' He gave him a puzzled frown and then apologised again, Sorry, I do not mean to be negative, just-`
No, no, it's okay. I mean, it's just, I would hardly know, I've never even...' Doyle laughed at himself, not able to be any more graphic, just shrugging his shoulders into De Bruyne's comforting touch and then hugging his arms about his front again. I'm as clueless as anyone is!' he complained ironically. `So don't expect me to help you with your research, haha, I'm not the guy to ask...!'
Kevin seemed to flinch a little bit at the word research, as if there was still more to his story than met the eye, but he was so honest and blunt with it; did Tommy really suspect there was anything more suspicious or deceptive in him having gay porn briefly loaded on his phone browser? Not really, not now. He just gave him a sad wistful smile and turned over the fact he was sharing: was it embarrassing, to be so unworldly at 18? It could hardly be blamed on him -- how was he supposed to go out there and try things, get experience, with the pressure of exposure hanging over him like a dark cloud? He could read all the sex-positive articles about the mythical `gay footballer' he wanted, it sometimes felt like 2020 might as well be 1978, or 1643.
`So you have never slept with a man?' the experienced Belgian midfielder asked in a polite and still faintly prudish way, his hand resting in the flat of Tommy's narrow back, seemingly desperate to be the perfect older mentor here, when clearly he could detach himself from this difficult chat and retreat into the safe ignorance of his married life.
God no,' Tommy muttered at him, and before he could stop himself, never even touched another lad's cock, for fuck's sake.' He coloured quickly at the frankness of this and turned dismally away from his confidante, queasy with the novelty of discussing what had only ever existed in his head.
Well,' the other guy chuckled quite awkwardly, that would be a start...!'
`Yeah, something like that,' Doyle laughed back, shaking himself and grinning uncomfortably at the straight married athlete, something surreal settling on the conversation now his secret was open between them and his utter virginal inexperience was there with it. He wondered if one was more embarrassing than the other, or one brought more curious judgment from that big concerned smile on De Bruyne's face. He smiled vaguely at him, waiting for the hand to retreat awkwardly from his back, the close half-hold of his concern to disappear. It didn't.
I was going to ask how you know, if you have never,' Kevin murmured, but that is probably... offensive. How does anyone know anything, yes?' A simple, reassuring smile on his curved pink lips. A heat still rising from his sturdy worked out body, the mixed scent of laundry and masculine odour. Tommy corrected himself, it was their shared scent, as likely to be from his lean young body as that of the master midfielder. He nodded vaguely at the man's loose philosophising and just shrugged.
`When you know you know, I guess.'
`So you know you want to,' Kevin pushed gently.
`Want to... what, touch a man's cock, or... that crap in the video, haha?' He squirmed at the openness again and broke eye contact with the calm solid presence at his side. He laughed a bit more but Kevin didn't seem to be; there was something thoughtful and kinda worried again in his face. Was he rethinking his supportive tact here now Tommy was being a bit more open and crass?
Any of it, I guess, but the first bit,' De Bruyne elaborated slowly, pausing to almost sigh. His hand was still up there on Tommy's back, just below the loose collar of his training top, resting on the sensitive vertical of his spine. The touch swayed between comforting and discomfiting and seemed to be approaching something new now: intimate? What he said next sounded like a false blur and Tommy had to squint at him and replay it in the sound-system of his brain to get around it: I don't mind, if you want to try that, I won't freak out.'
Tommy stared dumbly at him, still unsure if he'd really registered this; was he misunderstanding the man's crisp and careful English? Had he misheard him a bit there? Was he just reading too much into a simple statement of acceptance? The firmness of Kevin's hand somewhere just below his neck said otherwise; the hand shifted up and he felt the firm press of his thumb tip on his nape.
I am being silly,' Kevin said, and Tommy felt his posture collapse a little with a kind of relieved clarity, this WAS a joke, an attempt to lighten the moment, a- I don't suppose a young man like you would want the first cock you touch to be old and-`
You're not old,' Doyle mumbled at him in a quick, breathy voice, his world spinning. He stared at the passive, contemplative look on his senior colleague's face, felt the warmth of those fingers at the base of his slim neck. Hah, you're like, barely 10 years older than me, you're just...' He felt the hot quick tumble of his words and pulled a hand over his mouth and cheek, feeling the scarlet burn there. He waited for a cheeky grin to crack De Bruyne's serious expression. `Are you...?'
I mean, if you want to touch one,' the Belgian said reasonably, I have one, so...? Haha...' When Tommy just stared at him in intense silence, he leaned a little closer and added, `I have upset you today... perhaps it is the least I can offer you...?'
Who the fuck takes risk like this in the fitness suite cupboard? The question played repeatedly in his head as he held the door open for the young lad, glancing anxiously behind them across the mirrored sprawl of abandoned equipment then pulling it to behind him. He yanked twice on the handle, remembering the way it had hung dangerously and invitingly open for him as he slowly approached the rhythmic grunts of the two City defenders in their private moment. He stared dimly at the handle in his fingers, lost in that confusing and alarming memory, then looked over his shoulder at Tommy Doyle, who was stood awkwardly beneath the single exposed bulb that lit the well-stocked cupboard, his slim tall body hunched uncomfortably.
You are sure you want to do something?' De Bruyne asked in what he hoped was a light and confident voice, trailing his fingertips from the handle and taking one step closer to the 18-year-old Mancunian. If it is a daft idea, if I am being stupid, then...'
No,' the closeted young footballer whispered quickly, quite urgently. No, it's... it's cool.'
De Bruyne smiled anxiously at him and nodded once, then took another step closer.
This is about him, he told himself. This is about a frightened and confused young man, who YOU have accidentally misled and confused even more -- you owe this to him! Look at him. He's scared but he's excited, this is good for him. This is about him, not you. This has nothing to do with... your wife, or how long it's been since you were touched, or even what you saw, what you witnessed, what you were so bewildered and angsty that you had to fucking Google, this is about...
I'll just touch it a bit and nothing else,' Tommy said in the same rushed whisper, lifting one hand to his mouth and chewing a bit on his thumbnail, all teenage awkwardness beneath the dim orange glow. Like, if it's weird, just tell me to fuck off, we'll leave it, it hardly matters, y'know, like I really appreciate this mate, it's so fuckin' sweet of you, but like...' His rambling trailed to a stop as Kevin reached him, laying a hand gently on each of his shoulders. He chuckled, and the nervous youth joined him, both of them breathing out their edgy amusement at the position they were in. `Thank you,' Tommy mouthed almost silently.
Kevin wasn't quite sure how to proceed, but indecision made him quick and forward. He held the front of his vest and pulled it up but not off, rolling it halfway up his torso, exposing his thick toned midriff and the gingery trail of hair that dipped down past his naval. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waist of his City shorts, and forced them down to just above his knees. He felt Tommy's gaze shift to the bulging front of his grey underpants. Well then,' he said stiffly, formally. You can have a feel.'
Doyle touched him like he might explode, or bite. He seemed to shiver a bit as he leaned in and put his hand to it, and De Bruyne had to force himself to stay relaxed and smiling; it really had been a while since anyone but his own clumsy resentful hand had been down there, after all. He felt careful fingers brush the outline of his prick through the tight package of fabric, pull away, come back, trace it gently. That's okay,' he said in a kindly voice, when the younger man looked apprehensively up to his face, his hanging mouth seeming to mouth apologies. Go on, if you want...' Tommy did. He pulled a little on it, and cupped the full sag of the grey bulge, shivering uncertain breaths and a fractional step closer so that their bodies were close. His other hand came in and stroked his knuckles against his tummy a little, sending more jolts of stimulation through Kevin's heavy presence.
`Just tell me to stop,' Tommy whispered.
It's okay,' Kevin answered cautiously. Go on.'
Doyle fumbled at his package for a little longer but then seemed to become too nervous -- one of his hands remained stroking the side of his torso but the braver hand fell away from his bulge. De Bruyne sighed quietly, pulled at the black waistband of the briefs, then pushed them down until his cock and balls fell free. Big, pendulous, topped with a neat curl of pale wiry hair. He saw Tommy's eyes bulge and his jaw drop a little more, and the attention was gratifying to say the least. Kevin knew he was not as well-hung as some (he'd shared too many showers with John Stones to kid himself), but he also knew was above average, and what was jokily termed a `shower'. He watched in a sort of private slow-mo as Tommy's hand came back to his crotch and grabbed hold of his loose fat penis.
That's okay,' he encouraged. How's it feel?'
`Weird. I mean, good weird. But. Weird. Huh.'
`Hmm, yeah. And for me. Haha.'
`Erm, good weird for you too?'
Yes,' he answered, and the one word seemed to contain a lot of meaning and consent. He felt the boy pull a bit more firmly on his tool, grazing at his thick low balls with his knuckles. He brought his hand back to Tommy's shoulder and squeezed it a little, feeling his moan rise somewhere below his chest and slowly creep out into the gloomy space between them, a little oh' of unexpected pleasure as his foreskin was gently pulled back and his heavy dick lifted up a bit more in Tommy's hold. He forced a grin, despite the galling surprise of that pleasure, and kept his eyes locked on the young lad's, those crystal blue irises seeming to glow in the bulb's light.
`Should I stop?'
`Do you want to stop?'
`I don't wanna stop.'
`Then don't stop.'
Kevin's cock was growing quickly hard, too long untouched, too long neglected. Oddly, he felt more relaxed as it did, rather than more self-conscious or shy. He looked abstractedly down at the strong thick length of his meat in against his young friend's fingers, and let out a more accepting `oh' of enjoyment as the lad's fist slid up to the base. Again Tommy seemed to pause and look to him for approval or permission to continue, but this time he just nodded -- he didn't have the words, in English or Flemish, for what he felt or wanted now. His body tingled with inappropriate excitement and he tried to ignore the dimly visible outline of the lad's own erection in his blue trackies.
I'll go on?' Doyle asked, with no real need for an answer, as he picked up his pace. KDB tightened his soft grip on his shoulder and leaned gently forward until his brow met Tommy's and they were leaning head to head. He closed his eyes now, rather than staring down at the alarming view of his wanked cock, just relaxing into the boy's frantic teenage touch. He locked his thick legs and sturdy back and arse muscles to stop him swaying, just focusing on the heated pleasure in his middle. He felt the slick wet of a dab of the lad's spit land on his meat and then the hand movements were slicker, faster, even better. He moaned because he couldn't not. Oh, oh, oh...' He daren't open his eyes, but he could picture the wild-eyed freckled excitement of the ginger teen's face all too well.
Their sweat-sheened brows slid apart and Tommy pulled in closer to him as he wanked. He was leaning his head into the crook of his neck and shoulder instead, his eyes pressed into the folds of his vest, his nose and mouth hanging against his pec; even through the vest, he could feel the warm moist breath tingling an inch above his thick nipple. He pulled his arm fully about the slim young lad and held him there while he was tossed rapidly to a conclusion. He opened his eyes and stared past Tommy Doyle at the far wall, between the rickety shelves and cabinets, and could not stop himself picturing two kitted bodies, grinding and pounding against it, all grunts and swearing and Yorkshire accents. Fucking hell, those two...
Oh,' he moaned, oh god, ohhhh...'
The Man City teen stared down into his hand, staring at the slick white smeared from his palm over his wrist and caught up in the reddish arm hairs on the other side. So much of it! It smelled SO strong, too. He blinked and gulped and stared at it, keeping his head pressed into the warm support of the man's chest and shoulder, enjoying the security of the arm that wrapped about him, knowing in moments it would be removed. In his own undies beneath the tracky bottoms, his dick throbbed.
Thank you,' he said again, feeling stupid and immature. Thank you for that...'
A low gruff chuckle from the 29-year-old as they parted under the bulb. `I think it is my thank you,' De Bruyne pointed out fairly, still huffing with orgasmic breath as he let his vest droop and stretched its material to wipe against the red tip of his thick pale boner. Tommy couldn't stop staring at it, even as it was awkwardly angled back into his shorts, balls still flopping over the waist of his briefs. He sucked in his breaths and was about to rub his bearded young face in weary awe when he remembered his hand was slimy with spunk and stopped himself. The smell still filled his breath.
So thank you,' KDB added lamely. I should go.'
`Of course,' Tommy answered quickly, almost apologetically.
`Wife. Kids.'
Of course,' he repeated, no need for Kevin to expand on the obvious reasons. He found he could no longer look the incredible footballer in the eyes, though it seemed even ruder to still be staring at crotch height. He just looked a little to the side and began wiping the cooling cum against the side of his City shirt, knowing it would stain and be obvious, but needing it off his tingling skin. Yeah, if you gotta go mate, then like, go, yeah, it's cool, erm...'
`I really should, I'm sorry.' What did he have to be sorry for? Tommy just nodded silently and said nothing more, sure he would embarrass himself if any of his thoughts took voice: your cock is amazing! That felt so good! I think I want to try licking your cum! Hug me again, please? Nope, they stayed internal, and City's prolific midfielder backed off and left him alone, closing the door gently behind him, heading off to his beautiful wife and children, mature and responsible and... satisfied.
The confused gay teen turned to the side and stuck his left hand out against a shelve of kit, then used the right one to yank his stiff cock, short and chunky, from his pants, and wank on it, his palm still a little sticky with the contents of KDB's ball-sack. The smell of the other man's cum, the sight of his bared tummy and fluffy ginger pubes, even the warmth of his breath near his face, all of those sensuous elements combined in his moments of fantasy, and it didn't take him long to leak streak after streak of silvery white cum over his fingers and onto the shins of his trackies and the dark unseen floor of the closet.
FINALLY GETTING KDB INVOLVED AFTER A FEW SLOW HINTS... LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT! AND WHAT ACTION DO YOU WANT TO SEE FROM THE FINAL DAY OF THE PREMIERSHIP?