Part 205: Lions In Love
The players were all spaced out across the seats of the private jet that ferried them to Belgiam, but it had still been important to the 21-year-olds to secure places beside each other on a discreet back row, behaviour that was chucklingly dismissed by the majority of the squad as naughty schoolboy instinct -- few being in a position to notice the adoring glances and reassuring little flecks of body language that passed between Mason Mount and Declan Rice as they boarded the flight and set off on the short journey to their next destination.
Mason, in particular, knew that Declan was a secretly nervous flyer, and needed distracting during take-off and landing in particular -- though he would never mention this suspected phobia to the tall muscular West Ham player, for fear of denting his ego. He would just gently chide and amuse his lover and best friend during the slow damp take-off from Gatwick Airport until the stressful moments were over, pretending not to see the little frowns of concern on Declan's rugged face, and popping a jokey new line at him whenever he saw the bigger lad lean away to look worriedly towards the window.
`God, he could make it a bit more obvious, couldn't he?' the young Chelsea star murmured, sinking back into his cosy hoody in the cushioned luxury seating of their four-seater row. He turned to grin at Declan's long frowning face and then nodded ahead up the broad aisle, towards where another of the young England stars was distractedly fussing through his hand luggage and trying to untangle the wires of his bulky old-fashioned headphones.
Huh?' The West Ham ace gave him a puzzled look then leaned this way a bit to get a view of the other player. What you chattin', Mase...?'
Mason rolled his eyes and gave a whistling little laugh. Trust you not to notice, haha...' He relaxed further into the seat, slipping his feet out of their loose trainers and lifting them to rest on the headrest in front, glad it was empty so he could stretch out like this in his own private corner of the carriage, with his favourite teammate. You seriously haven't picked up on it?'
`What?!' Declan demanded in a hissing little whisper, laughing nervously and turning a bit more comfortably in his seat, seeming to forget about the nauseating view out of his window, cloudy wet England disappearing below.
Mason jerked his head in another suggestive nod at the player in question, a few rows in front and seated alone in the other half of the sporadic seating plan. Lil Phil,' he sniggered, and his huge fucking crush on YOU.'
He grinned at Declan's instant flush and raised brows, and nodded again. His boyfriend just gawped stupidly at him for a moment then laughed more deeply, making a little cluck of amusement and fiddling with his belt self-consciously. `Very funny, Mounty, hilarious lad...'
`Ain't kidding...!'
Declan gave him a weary smile, retracting a bit to his seat. I know what you're doing,' he told him simply, and I love you for it, but you don't have to. It really doesn't bother me like it used to when we were kids, y'know... but thanks for the effort, trying to distract me with silly shit, and...'
It's not silly shit,' Mason said honestly, giggling along with him though, and leaning over so they could speak in lower, more confidential tones. I'm not making it up. You should see the way he looks at you, Dec. All day. Especially during that old versus young match, he was LOVING you in your shorts.' Declan frowned sceptically and shook his hand. Just watch the videos they posted on our social if you don't believe me...!' He sniggered mischievously, biting his lip for a moment. Not that I can blame him, obviously...'
Stop being a tit,' mumbled Rice with a blush on his cheeks, trying to become very interested in a safety notice stuck on the seat in front of him then seeming to regret it. Honest, the things you come out with, Mase...'
If you say so,' trilled the Chelsea midfielder playfully. I've been noticing all week, Dec. He's literally always checking you out. Always seeks you out in a group. It's hilarious. Every group meal at the training ground, he even wanted to try and sit back with you here on the flight but...'
But you wanted it more?' teased Rice, giving him a brief smirk. Shut up, will ya, we both know half the team wants a piece of you, so...'
Not him though,' Mason whispered provocatively, reaching over and stroking him briefly at the elbow, giving him a wink. Trust me. I think I can pick up on these things more than you, seriously.'
Foden is... he's got a kid! He isn't...' Awkward muffled laughter from the bashful taller football stud, squirming a bit at Mason's patient smirk and little flicker of tongue between his lips. Honestly, what are you like...! You don't need to distract me any more, I KNOW we're in the middle of a flight, babe... I mean, mate...' He blushed and fumbled more at the intimate slip, the little pet names they tried to avoid if they thought they could be overheard.
Just you watch out in the dressing rooms tomorrow night,' Mason teased. You'll find I'm not the only one looking at your big arse in the showers or trying to peek your equipment while you change, hehe... What, why is it so hard for you to believe that...?'
Give it a rest!' his boyfriend hissed grumpily, dragging a big fat crime novel out of his backpack and flopping it onto his lap with a thud that closed the banter. I'm not the team poster boy, no need to make fun of me for it, handsome...' He scoffed and tutted, thumbing through his novel, and Mason just chuckled guiltily, sad that his half-serious prods had touched that nerve of insecurity instead of just amusing or thrilling the tall rugged Londoner.
A few rows in front, another secretive couple were carefully placed a seat apart as per the flight regulations, but with their legs pulled up onto the cushioned seating and blankets spread over their laps, allowing them to play a slow and sensual game of footsie while one of them pretended to focus on a new Spotify playlist and the other read his fashion magazine.
Ben Chilwell giggled as the other lad's oversized foot came rubbing up against his ankle, socked toes creeping beneath the inside leg of his tight blue trackies, making him pull his knees back further where he was comfortably installed against the window seat of their little row, losing his place in the GQ magazine on his blanketed lap. He lifted his icy-blue eyes off the glossy pages and watched Jack's little smirk of triumph, nodding facetiously along to the new hip-hop album he was supposedly lost in beneath his wireless headphones. There was something special about the Brummie hunk's playful little grin that was utterly infuriating for Ben but that also drove him wild with lust: he wanted to rip the blanket off his body, launch himself down the row of seats, snog the hell out of that smirking mouth, and get his hands all over his fiancé's gorgeously toned physique.
But Gareth Southgate was taking a business call across the aisle from them and such open displays of their reinvigorated feelings were probably not quite advisable on an official England FA flight.
Instead, his retaliation was simple; he relaxed one knee and slowly, discreetly outstretched one of his own muscular legs until, without much warning, his pointed toes were nuzzling into the gap between those Grealish thighs and tickling at the inevitably sagging mound of his boy's bulge, making Jack's body jerk and fidget and almost fall sideways off the chair, prompting a loudly silent pause from Southgate over the aisle, looking their way with the arched brows of a disapproving teacher.
Grealish coughed, balanced himself, held in his laughter, and sat up a bit more carefully in his slouched position. Ben grinned wickedly at him, closing and giving up on his magazine, and pulling his feet back towards himself before he was dangerously tempted to really use his toes on that irresistible lumpen package that had been all over his face this morning in their hotel room.
`I need the loo,' he announced pointlessly, wriggling out from beneath his blanket but keeping a tactical hold on his magazine, since the little footsie scuffle had left him sizeably semi in his underpants and he didn't want anyone noticing or commenting as he made his way down the aisle towards the tiny cubicle.
`You wanting me to follow?' jibed Jack, lifting up his strong legs to block his route out of their row, lowering the headphones from his ears and making another of those provocative goateed smirks that could drive Ben so wild. He was worried he might actually have to toss one off in the little toilet cubicle, a mile-high wanker, in order to come back and sit calmly across from the charismatic Villa captain.
Oh yeah, that'll end well,' he muttered, shuffling awkward forward and waiting for those infamously powerful calves to drop so he could slip past and into the aisle. It was awkwardly exciting, this spot of flirtation so close to their straitlaced national manager, but he didn't want to play into Jack's cheeky mood right now, it felt a bit too dangerous. Come on, you promised -- best behaviour this trip, otherwise I'll have to swap rooms with someone safe...!' He'd dropped his voice to a tiny whisper, but he still glanced nervously at old Gareth as he said this.
Yeah yeah,' murmured Grealish dismissively, no bum-fun tonight, I got the message...'
`Mate,' he half-giggled in an outraged whisper, concerned by the casual volume of Jack's whinging. He shoved him gently in the arm and got up to move past, his hip and arse clashing with those steely calves for a moment until Jack relented and spun around to let him into the aisle, flashing him a smirk and wink first.
`I'll behave,' the Brummie lad promised unconvincingly, and Ben just reached to mess up his slicked-back hair from its band before leaving him to scowl and snigger, heading into the bathroom for a much-needed piss and maybe a very necessary wank if he couldn't calm his rising libido.
Though he was doing his best to keep his thoughts disciplined and directed towards tomorrow's intense clash with a notoriously strong Belgium squad, it was hard for Declan Rice not to give a little bit of thought to Mason's in-flight teasing. Particularly when the Three Lions were finished checking into their rooms at the remote Belgian hotel they were basing themselves in for the next two nights, and the lads filed into the restaurant to be served a late dinner -- the wiry little City prodigy seemed to appear out of the bustle of footballers, coaches and support staff and occupy the remaining seat at the round table Rice was at, taking the spot he had been discreetly saving for his bestie.
`This looks good,' Phil Foden said brightly, picking up his cutlery and nodding at the steaming beef stew they'd been served, and the other fellas on the table were noisily tucking into already: Kyle Walker, Eric Dier and Conor Coady.
Declan nodded slowly, still a little taken aback that his attempt to reserve a spot for Mason had failed, and distracted from his own healthy appetite, keen to get started on the local dish and fill a hole. He found himself staring distractedly at Phil for a moment instead, blinking stupidly and remembering Mason's teasing claims, his stupid distracting bollocks, his innocent banter. Nah, the self-conscious defensive midfielder told himself, what a load of bollocks, why would this Stockport scally with a missus and a son be interested in him at all, it was just...
Oh,' he heard Phil say suddenly, and glanced aside; Mason, tray in hands, was paused by their table with a little know-it-all-grin on his handsome big-nosed face, eyeing them up on his way past. Was this seat taken?' Foden was asking, looking worriedly from Mason to himself, gripping the edges of his own tray. Declan blushed red and saw the knowing laughs held down by Mason's polite grin. But the Chelsea player just shook his head, made some passing comment, and disappeared on to find another seat, while Rice picked up his fork and tried to focus just on his dinner, refusing to accept that this daft little seating arrangement signified anything at all.
To his right, the other three were ploughing through their dinners between snatches of forcefully cheery conversation about certain Belgian players they were worried about in tomorrow night's game, everyone a little alarmed by the briefing Southgate had delivered this morning with a run-down of all the different threats their opposition brought to the table. But as Rice tried to tune in and join the other defensive players in this focused conversation about the upcoming match, his attention was pulled the other way as Foden began to reminisce about their teamwork in the damp afternoon session, where they had bested the older midfielders in a 6-on-6 old/young contest against the likes of Henderson and Dier.
Seriously, it'd be so great if we got to play together more often,' Foden was saying now, barely getting anything eaten as he chattered on. If you ever get sick of flirting with Lampard's Chelsea, I'm sure Pep would be ready to pick up the phone, hehe...'
Huh, yeah,' he said slowly through a mouthful of beef. I kinda ruled out a move up north, y'know, there's a lot for me in London, so...'
Right, right,' the Stockport lad agreed quietly, but still, you don't wanna waste your best years in a team like West Ham, right...' He stopped, awkward and embarrassed, seeming to regret his derogatory words, eyes flashing with apology that just forced a little rough laugh from Declan.
`Charming,' he quipped.
Sorry,' Phil mumbled, I didn't mean...'
Classic City patter,' he told him with a smirk. Chill. I'm not offended.'
`I was just trying to say how good you looked today- wait, I just mean, how you were...'
`Nice to be appreciated,' Declan found himself responding with the hint of flirtation in his voice, enjoying for a moment the idea that Mount hadn't been totally taking the piss or misreading the situation, as the sharp-featured shorter lad eyed him admiringly across their side of the table, disinterested in his dinner. He blinked the moment of vanity away, questioning the idea that Foden was anything but 100% straight and, even if he was a bit bi, why would he be at all interested in a big blocky nothing lad like him?! It was a miracle enough that Mason Mount found him worth a second glance, never mind anyone else...!
Well,' mumbled Foden, dropping his eyes and starting to eat his meal at last, I definitely appreciate you, don't worry about that, huh...' He busied himself with his dinner and Declan glanced back at him, the little circle of pink blush in his sharp cheekbones, the nervous fidgeting of his hands and cutlery. No way, he thought, surely not...?!
Jack did actually drop his fork off the table by accident: he was so excited to be served hot food after a busy day of training, team talks and air travel, and he was fumbling about the dining table in a feverish appetite, when he sent the bit of cutlery skidding off the edge and down onto the floor of the hotel canteen. Total accident! Just an act of total clumsiness, that's all.
Of course, the fact that once he'd ducked under the table to fetch it, he reached across to the right and groped his hand in between those sexy thighs to get a little feel of the famous Ben Bulge, well that could only be described accidental in the most hormonal terms. It had just been too fun an opportunity to resist! In the centre of the busy, noisy little restaurant where they were feasting, readying themselves for hard work tomorrow, his baby boy chatting confidently to the other guys at the table, waxing lyrical about Southgate's leadership, his legs gently parted and his package just SITTING THERE, waiting to be stroked...!
You have to behave,' Chilwell hissed at him as they loitered at the drinks table, topping up their glasses of fruit juice. The Leicester left-back was still a little red in the face, fidgeting with the front of his trackies with one hand and then darting self-conscious glances about the dining hall. You know tomorrow night is a biggie, you can't be pushing me like this all the time, not in front of everyone...' He was so flustered and discomposed, something quite odd to see from a lad as gregarious and extroverted as Ben usually was, everybody's tactile best mate no matter what team he was on.
Oh, relax,' the Brummie mumbled, you're not even the newbie trying to prove himself here, are ya... everyone loves you, Benjamin, it's me who's a question mark on actually starting tomorrow...!'
Yeah, but I need to... focus,' the defender muttered crossly, passing him the grapefruit juice he'd poured for him, not even needing to confirm his favoured flavour. And I can't be getting all turned on like this at the dinner table, you doughnut...' He shook his head irritably, then turned to look this way while Jack did his best puppy dog eyes and loveable pout.
Your fave doughnut though, right?' he asked in a singsong voice, and as he tilted his highball glass of juice, he flashed the little signet ring of gold on his little finger, the new symbol of their togetherness. He saw Ben's frown melt instantly and grinned. Your favourite doughnut to fill with jam, or...'
My favourite ring to ice,' Ben snapped back, rolling his eyes. Don't be so cringey.'
I'll be good,' Grealish promised again. Not my fault I can't keep my hands to myself, when you go swinging that bulge about...'
Oh yeah, like you don't do the same,' Chilwell returned sulkily in the harmless back-and-forth of their coupled chatter. Were you even wearing any underpants on Thursday night's game, eh...?'
Look, don't go asking to change rooms,' Jack said quietly, sensing how nervous and agitated the defender actually was, perhaps as much about the prospect of the Belgian forwards tomorrow night as his own provocative moves of public affection over the past twenty-four hours. He patted him on the arm, a calculated friendly move that nobody could read too much into. Just cuddles tonight, okay? Nothing heavy, I get it. You wanna be fresh tomorrow and-`
It's not just me,' Ben mumbled politely. You need to be at your best. I'm thinking of you! I don't want you to have any regrets if tomorrow ends up your big moment for England, babe...' Jack melted at the term of endearment, with the busy restaurant so close by them. He let his fingers linger on Ben's arm, wanting to grab and kiss him here by the fruit juices, throw him on the table and climb on top of him.
Yeah, true,' he sighed wistfully, cos if you fuck me tonight, I might hardly be able to walk tomorrow, sooooo...' They both laughed, but it wasn't exactly far from the truth, given Ben's proportions and Jack's slow journey into bottoming. Before turning back to the room, he threw his arm about his shoulders, briefly embracing the good-looking left-back and trying to undo the little flickers of tension and irritation between them, here as teammates and permanently distracting each other from the job at hand.
Mason emerged from the en suite bathroom of their pleasingly large hotel room, one towel strapped tightly about his slim waist and the other in his hands, towelling at his spiky little mop of hair, glad to be clean and refreshed after the busy chunks of the day. Even more pleasing was the sight of his roommate sprawled attractively on one of the two beds, their separate luggage spilled out across the other, unused one; it occurred to him, not for the first time, that he must remember to make the spare bed look used before they checked out on Monday morning, just in case invasive questions were asked.
He hated the need for secrecy, especially since Declan's bold request that they find a way to start telling family and friends about their relationship, but he understood and committed himself to it -- whereas Rice, who was often the more panicked and reserved one when their bromance was mentioned in a joke, yet could be dumb and thoughtless about the little details of keeping their private life safe and secure.
Just look at him now, his trousers already off, his 6ft1 physique sprawled out on the bed, still in his jazzy England jersey, bulging away. Mason, with a discreet smile on his face, crossed the room to confirm his playful suspicion that, yep, Dec had forgotten to lock their door and really anyone could have wondered in. He gave it a little twist, grinning at how well he knew the other 21-year-old footy lad, and then realised that Dec was speaking to him. `Hmmm?'
`I said I think you might be right,' Rice was saying in a quiet, private kinda way.
Well I usually am,' he answered simply, but what about this time...?'
`Ha bloody ha. About Foden, I mean.'
Oh?' He grinned, enjoying the lingering impact this little teasing had actually had, just as he'd enjoyed seeing Phil muscle in next to his boyfriend at dinner, keen to pick up earlier conversations and revel in their teamwork of the afternoon. Well, it's like I said... who can blame him.'
Do you really think he fancies me?' the West Ham player asked, sitting upright, toying with the phone in one of his hands. I mean, first he has to sit by me at dinner like that, now he's texting me little good luck memes, hah, I mean not even in the group chats, just... heh, fuck off, don't smirk at me like that...!'
Like what?' He giggled, draping the second towel about his smooth bare shoulders and hovering by the bed. Are you FLIRTING with Philip Foden, Ricecakes...?' He loosed the folded towel from about his neck and flicked it playfully at the long exposed muscle of his lover's legs, giggling. `Should I be jealous...?'
Declan looked embarrassed and apologetic at that, but Mason just sat down on the bed by him, rolling his eyes and patting one of his thick muscular thighs just below the line of his stretchy dark green boxer trunks. I'm kidding, obviously,' he added. I love that he fancies you. Horny Manc bugger. Hehe. Must be a lot of guys who see you and just want to...'
Hardly,' his insecure boyfriend muttered evasively, beginning to redden, now you're just...'
What's he texting now?' Mason demanded, seeing the little flash of newness on the phone screen reflected in Declan's face and his sparkling eyes. Is he sending you dick pics now and telling you he needs to Rice up his life...?'
Shuddup... I'll stop answering him, he's being odd. This is your fault, making me imagine things...! He's just being friendly, probably a bit lonely out here, dunno who he's that close to on the squad, y'know... Stop giving me that look! What do you want me to do? Invite him over for a threesome?' He put on a high-pitched panto voice: Ooh, hello England fwend, come join me and Mase for a bit of fun if you're bored, easy does it...'
Mason laughed, mostly at the loosening up of the baffled young stud, squeezing his leg a bit more and tickling his fingers at the edge of his underpants. He looked up, meeting his wide eyes and blushing cheeks. Why, is that what you want?' he asked in a casual but knowing voice, unable to stop himself from smirking. You know I'm not easily jealous, Dec...'
Rice huffed and adjusted his broad body against the headboard, pulling at the collar of his casual training jersey and seeming embarrassed; then, after a pause, looking back up, biting his lip, tilting his head. `Do you really think he'd come if we did invite him...?'
Just cuddles, they'd agreed; easier said than done. Snuggled up early in bed as suggested by the gaffer -- well, he'd said something about making sure they had an early night and not wasting their time on online casinos or Tik-fucking-Tok, he probably hadn't added that they should be spooning in their underpants and breathing in each other's scent in one shared bed.
Ben was, as often was the case, big spoon: he lay on his side with a strongly muscled arm curved about Jack's side to hold him there against him, enjoying the soft olive skin of his neck and shoulder as he leaned in there and breathed in his clean-showered scent, the various product in that sleek bundle of highlighted hair. The smell of him alone was enough to cause a stirring in his crotch, but the hard rounded feel of those buttocks pressing innocently (innocently?!) back into his lap was making his skin crawl with nervous energy.
He huffed out a sexually frustrated sigh, his breath playing across the side of Jack's neck and against the whispy beard hair on his jawline. He kept his hand on his, playing his fingertips over his knuckles and the veins on the back of his hand. Their bare feet gently interlocked somewhere further down the bed, skin on skin, warm and smooth. This cuddle should be enough for him, they didn't always have to give in to their lusts, did they? They weren't a pair of horny teenagers, they were proper grown-up men, and they'd agreed that tonight would...
Beside him, Grealish shifted, his bare tanned muscle rippling beneath Ben's arm, and most notably, his large rear pushing softly back across the front of Chilwell's loaded grey CKs. A little tickling shudder was prompted by the feel of one peachy cheek running against the outline of his soft tingling prick. He let out another frustrated sigh, tried to move his hips back a little to create some space there, but back came the buttocks, rubbing into his private region in a way that could be no longer accidental.
`Jack,' he purred drowsily.
`Hmm?'
`Stop that,' he said without enthusiasm.
`Stop what...?'
`Mmm, babe...'
`Not doing anything...'
`Babe!'
Ugh, SORRY...' But even with that empty apology, Grealish was pushing back, rubbing his rounded muscular bottom back into the twitching, growing contents of Ben's undies, making him shiver and cuddle more tightly against his lad, ignoring the taunting tone of that sorry'. He kissed him gently just below the ear. `You're insatiable,' he whispered at him, forcing a tone of annoyance.
You're irresistible,' Jack returned fairly, rotating his cheeks arousingly down there and pressing back against his hard six-pack and little pecs. Come on. I can feel you getting hard.'
But we promised,' Chilwell complained weakly, stroking his wrist and hairy forearm, nuzzling his neck and the arch of his shoulder muscle. We need to be fresh tomorrow, and... we can't FUCK... We need to be comfortable and ready, and...'
`No fucking, but... we can still... play...' Jack's breathy little speech coincided with more twists of his body, pressing his buttocks back and making Ben's cock rigid and raging. No fucking, he was saying, but he knew what he was doing. All Ben could think about was that muscular arse, one of the best he'd ever seen in his life, so much hotter than any of the booty-shaking ladies he'd bedded in the adventurous years of sexual competition that had marked their friendship for so long. Yes, he thought, they could just do other stuff, but now all he wanted was... He let out a little frustrated growl as Jack pushed back more firmly, his undies so tight that Ben could almost feel the wedgie between those glutes as it rode against the line of his hard-on, and...
`You fucking tease,' he purred into his ear, and gripped him above the elbow, pulling his crotch away from him but taking decisive action. He pushed at his arm, turning him quite firmly over so he was pressing face-down on the mattress beside him -- and at the same time, he pushed his own body downwards, sliding further beneath the bedding, dropping his mouth to kiss his way down the curving spine of that magnificent lean torso and its olive skin.
Ben swung one thick leg over Jack's hairy calves, hunching beneath the covers, going on elbows and knees over him as he pinned him down on his front, finding the waistband of those silky black undies, peeling them away, revealing the prized cheeks to himself in the little grotto beneath the covers. He heard an anticipatory chuckle from Jack, muffled as his face pressed into the pillows, and he met it with a loud gasping intake of his own, smelling the sweet soapy cleanliness of that gorgeous arse. Down slipped the black undies and between the cheeks he pushed his face, pulling the cheeks apart and darting his tongue against that warm crack.
Phil Foden padded the short distance down the corridor, counting the room numbers off that separated his and Declan's suite, hands shoved firmly into the loose pockets of his baggy grey sweat-shorts, drawn cautiously along here by the string of increasingly suggestive messages that had pinged into his phone in the past half hour, making him warm and agitated in his bedtime rituals while his roommate, Raheem Sterling, sang to himself and did some extra yoga exercises to loosen up for tomorrow.
This was going to be a joke, he thought, nearing the correct door; Declan was being vague and cheeky and probably winding him up. Maybe they knew, the 20-year-old footballer thought with a sort of resigned humiliation, maybe somehow everybody knew what he'd been up to, knew what kinda lad he was. His big musclebound teammate Kyle rose up in his mind at the end of that paranoid strain of thinking: would he really let loose to be people what had happened between them in a stadium toilet back in summer, when he'd been so desperate and uncomfortable with his desires? Yeah, he thought bitterly, Kyle WOULD tell people that, maybe the whole England squad thought he was a little slut who could be...
Oh, to be Declan's slut, another little voice in his anxious head cut in, picturing the tall West Ham star and England colleague, a lad who had really stood out to him lately as coming into his own, attractive and sturdy in a way that so many players of their age couldn't claim to be. It had begun as an idle attraction when the England team first convened at the start of autumn, but seemed to have blossomed into full lust this week when he found himself training alongside the bigger, slightly older lad for much of the camp.
He hadn't really been FLIRTING with him, as such -- he was telling himself he was just trying to make friends here, since actually he did feel a bit isolated and distanced for some reason. Well, his only two teammates here were Walker, who he tried his best to avoid as a rule, nervously intimidated by his sexual prowess, and his roomie Raheem, who always just seemed to become super-serious and single-minded once called up to the national team, someone who took the pride of the duty more seriously than the average excitable footballer. Phil just liked the idea of being a bit more included in the matey clique of players like Rice and Mount, Chilwell and Grealish, all these other young stars who were so much more experienced in top-flight football than Guardiola had allowed him until lately; it was the hype and reputation of being his manager's `golden boy' that seemed to make him a bit isolated here, not handled in the same brotherly fashion as other youngsters like Jude Bellingham or Bukayo Saka.
So now, adjusting his polo shirt and rapping a knuckle awkwardly on the hotel room door, he really wasn't sure what a bit of chill time' really meant, or whether watching a movie or summat' was all he'd been summoned for. But all those leering little emojis and then the one random eggplant. He stood awkwardly in the corridor, unsure what to think, wondering if actually he should just bugger off back up the corridor to his own room, where he could listen to Raheem Sterling's terrible singing voice and start winding down for sleep-
The door was opening, and it wasn't Declan, it was his almost inseparable BFF; Mason Mount was grinning at him with that same boyish energy he brought to every training session, looking quite casual and welcoming except for the mildly alarming fact he was only wearing a pair of super-tight white boxers. Hey,' the 5ft10 Chelsea midfielder welcomed, stepping back and pulling the door a bit further open, good to see you, Phil.'
As he stepped welcomingly aside, Foden could see beyond him, to the bed, where the room's other occupant was lounging on his side, equally undressed as Mason to longer but equally tight trunks of dark forest green, banded at the waist with a designer he couldn't recognise. Declan's long handsome face was propped up in one hand and the other was patting at his broad flat tummy of pale skin, his eyes fixed on the doorway. Foden gulped and took a step inside the room with them, these two footballing contemporaries seeming transformed and mutated by the moment.
`Don't be shy,' came Declan's vaguely amused voice from where he lay.
Beside him, Mason hovered with one hand on the doorhandle, eyeing him up almost cautiously. Phil glanced sharply between the pair of them, knowing his sharp little features must be crimson with awkwardness and thrill. Was this really everything it seemed to be...? He let out his breath in a long whistling sigh that provoked a warm little chuckle from Mount and a broad, eager grin from Rice, who lifted his single hand off his abs and patted the bedding beside him. Come over here, Fodes,' he said gruffly, and we'll put a movie on... or summat.' Phil gulped again, nodded excitedly, and heard Mount push the door shut behind him.
Jack moaned wildly, lying on his front with his big hard prick trapped beneath his body, jerking and arching at each fresh licking attention down below the sheets. He could heard Ben's grunting breaths and the damp noise of his slobbering, but mostly he could hear his own heartbeat thumping excitedly as the rim-job panted on and on; every time he thought Chilwell would get bored and pull away, he seemed to get wilder, biting at a cheek or spitting noisily into his whole then burying his tongue against his quivering hole, really making him tremble and grunt and giggle. Those steely stubbled cheekbones tickled so harshly against his glutes that he thought he'd have a rash, and that strong tongue made his hole melt so that he thought he could actually take Ben's dick without the usual pain! On and on it went, noisy and wet and so infinitely enjoyable, he didn't even care that he couldn't reach down and attend to his leaking cock.
No fucking, he laughed inwardly, no way... he knew how wild and ravenous his lover was, could feel it in his tonguing. No way was Ben not going to get his dick in there, he was going crazy for it. Pawing at his thighs and cheeks and lower back, a grunting animal beneath the duvet, none of his innocent handsome charm, just a dirty lusty pig.
Jack loved it, embracing the selfishness of the pleasure, starting to relax at last in the new confidence of their relationship -- no longer frightened that Ben would be stolen away by Timo Werner or anyone else, no longer fearful for what this special connection between them meant. Since Ben had popped the unbelievable question and he'd worn his ring, nothing else had seemed to matter. He'd been able to arrive here for England duty on top of the world, utterly confident in himself and his power.
Now he anticipated the inevitable, hearing the raggedness of Ben's breath, knowing that soon he would have to give up on this wonderful rimming to satisfy himself properly, since both of his strong hands were over Jack's buttocks and legs, he wasn't attending to himself with a cheeky impatient wank. He moaned loudly, knowing how the sounds of his groans and sighs would thrill and motivate his generous lover, but not needing to exaggerate or perform at all.
The inevitable came -- at last, after what felt like forever of being licked and kissed back there by that sexy bugger, he felt the hot wet push of the tongue removed from his arse, felt the duvet lifted off his naked form as Ben got up on his knees, presumably grabbing at that big monstrous cock of his, so comically huge when fully hard, too big for his frame -- and for once, Jack wasn't even a little scared or nervous at the thought of giving up his hole to him, always a bit embarrassed that their flip-flopping was imbalanced in his favour because Ben was better at taking...
With sluttish glee, he lifted his arse a bit, pressing his face into the pillow and spreading his elbows out to the sides, knowing that his ring was so loose and wet from the tonguing that he would be able to take Ben's massive tool inside him and not have a little cry afterwards; he might even be able to run around on a pitch for 90 minutes, given the chance, hehe...!
And then, just as he expected to feel the thick huge head of it pushing into his wet furrow, he heard the telltale whimpering groan and half-formed words of Ben's excitement, and felt a fresh wetness flick against his buttocks and spray down his back, the air rich with the salty smell of his lover's climax, cum dribbling against his skin. Oh fuck,' he heard Chilwell pant in horror, oh fuck, I'm sorry, I just couldn't... fuck!' As his boyfriend's cum oozed down each of his big round cheeks, Jack realised what had happened: Chilwell had become TOO excited, and shot his load prematurely!
Declan found himself repeatedly looking at Mase, seeking an approval or confirmation that never quite felt enough; he couldn't shake the sense of broken rules and something being risked in this playful extension of their night together, and yet he was also incredibly turned on, loving the appreciatively and almost reverent way Foden was now reaching into the front of his underpants and removing the long rigid form of his prick.
They were on the bed, all three of them. He was more or less on his back, the young City twink crouched over his spread legs, and Mason curled beside him, stroking his chest and grinning and playing with himself in his whiteys. Phil now had Declan's big hard-on on his hand, brushing it very tenderly up and down its length, then looking up with darting uncertainty at him, and at Mason, then back again. Declan, again seeking that confirmation that this was all okay, reached over and groped Mount's hard-on too, connecting the three of them in their excitement.
Go on,' Mase said with a throatier and more seductive voice than normal, you can suck him if you want to, he loves it...'
And just as Foden bent over and touched his lips hesitantly to the swollen red tip of the Rice manhood, Mount ducked too and planted their mouths together in a kiss, making Declan's whole tall body shudder with enjoyment as he was very sensuously teased at the cock and passionately embraced up above. He lifted and wrapped his left arm about the smooth tight muscle of Mase's upper body and reached his right hand down to stroke the protruding little loves of Phil's ears, then stroking the short soft brown of his neatly trimmed hair, guiding him down to suck properly on him -- which the 20-year-old lad did with exciting skill.
And then again the bodies were shifting. Mason was moving down, unlocking their wet lips, and kissing softly down his chest until he was almost bumping heads with the City player. As he did so, Declan ran his hand down his back and reached to squeeze his plump bubble-butt through those white undies, loving the firmness of it there, patting and grabbing at it and then pulling the waistband lower so he could feel it properly and tickle a finger into the downy crack. He looked down his own body and watched as the two young England twinks serviced his cock all at once: Phil was licking around the base and kissing his tight chubby balls while Mason swirled his tongue over the tip and edged up and down a little, and then... oh FUCK...
The pair of them kissed briefly just by the quivering shaft of his cock, Mason playing his lips teasingly against Phil's, seeming to know the equal envy and arousal it would send in jolts through the London-born footballer, desperate to break them up and yet also to have them BOTH, NOW.
Ben stared miserably down at the streaks of his seed on the glowing skin of Jack's arse and up the hollow of his lower back, then the surprised and disappointed expression on his handsome face as he twisted his head to look over one sweaty shoulder. Ben glared regretfully at him, dick still throbbing in his right hand, then shuffling aside, trying to squish his meaty calves beneath his own knes and shins, whimpering out another apology. `Sorry babe, sorry about that, I just...'
He crumpled down into the bed on his side, gasping, feeling a hot mortified blush burn at his good-looking face as he realised how few tender touches had been needed to set his dick off like a rocket and blow up over his boy. `I'm so sorry,' he said again, feeling his cum cool against his outstretched fingers, lying miserably on his back, feeling the mounting failure of it: he'd got too excited! He'd barely touched himself! He'd been just about to try and push inside him, give him what he was gasping for, and... fuck, premature! This had never happened to him in YEARS of rampant sexual adventure, NEVER... not even as a spotty inexperienced teenager...!
He groaned and brought his clean hand up over his eyes, ashamed and disappointed and feeling his dick wilt and sag between his sweaty thighs, felt the guilty cum oozing against his skin. And then Jack was on him, grabbing his cum-stained hand and licking his fingers, then kissing him on the chest and on his cheek, and he pulled the hand away from his eyes, looked up at him.
I'm sor-
Don't you apologise again you fucking stud,' whispered Grealish sensitively, hovering over him, stroking his taut abs, smirking at him. That was amazing.'
`I wanted to fuck you...'
`I know you did! Mmm... babe...' And Jack dropped his head to kiss him on the lips, nuzzling their noses softly, breathing against his lips. And then he was backing off and Ben felt another surge of guilt and his own selfishness, finishing himself off like that so rapidly when his lad had been primed to take it from him...
He propped himself up on his elbows, lying weakly there, so drained by the force of his sudden and early orgasm, almost too wiped out and tired to try and attend to his lover's needs. But Jack hadn't backed far off, was just on his knees beside him, his pants stretched between his mid-thighs, and his own big cock in hand. He jerked it slowly and rested there on his knees, his other hand stroking up and down his toned torso as he played with himself, happily solo in his fun.
`Jack,' the Chelsea left-back sighed regretfully.
You got a bit carried away,' Grealish said forgivingly, and now... I get to... wank off... just... looking at you...' He was staring at this way with that same puppy-dog expression as in the restaurant, his eyes just full of an intense love. He pushed both hands down, cupping his balls in one and jerking his thick veiny rod with the other, while Ben lay pathetically next to him, spent and marvelling.
The three bodies intertwined on the bed, all toned young muscle and marginally different shades of pale Englishness, flushed in spots with the red heat of their passion. Right now Mason was on his side, ducking down to suck gladly on the rather surprisingly generous proportions of Phil's equipment, his rather long and thick rod emerging as a shock and a delight to his teammate's, made to look all the more impressive and weighty against his lithe little frame.
He rolled his tongue up and down this side of the shaft, teasing and enjoying it, finding Foden so much more attractive than he'd ever imagined now he was actually naked. His body was so much less skinny than it looked, tightly packed with wiry muscle, a bit like Mason's own physique really. And as he licked and fondled at his surprisingly big dong and his tight little balls, he also moaned at the feel of Declan's middle digit pushing inside his hole, and the ever-awesome feel of his strong clumsy mouth over his own juddering cock, close already to climax.
And, completing the erotic triangle of their bodies, he could look across the tight muscles of Foden's torso and wash as he pushed his face down firmly into the open crotch between Dec's big legs, mouthing happily on his cock and trying to swallow as much of him as possible. They tangled and writhed on each other in these positions, and Mason decided to replicate the fingering of his top; he squeezed and slapped lightly at the lovely doughy cheeks of Phil's bottom, slipping one finger into the dark-furred canyon between them, finding his tight (but clearly not virginal, wow!) hole and teasing it while he sucked him.
Well, that soon did the trick! Before he knew it, he was taking a gushing mouthful of the youth's cum, which seemed to come out of nowhere and shock him with its sour taste on his tongue, his digit just nubbing gently into the warm moist hole between his cheeks. He rallied, licking and swallowing as much as he could from the still alarmingly sizeable thing, tasting the newness of another male lover after so many months of absolute monogamy with his Kingston boy.
Mason himself came last, only pushed over the edge once he got to witness his boyfriend's orgasm: much more loudly announced by Declan than Phil's discreet little burst of excitement, big manly groans and pants and demanding `Suck harder, that's it'. Before he came, Rice pushed Foden's face away a little and took control, jerking his meat furiously in one hand so that Mount could crawl across a bit and join them, his face splattered as equally as Philip's when the gushing spunk came. He shot his own load almost simultaneously, Declan's big hand now clasped around it to replace his absent mouth. Cum dribbled everywhere and the air rang with their sighs.
Jack came heavily, his body rocking with the deep internal pleasure of it, spurting his load across the spread form of Ben's hairy thighs and over his sweaty sticky crotch, splashing into his tiny bell-button and over the ridges of his six-pack. Grealish sighed loudly, squeezing every drop of cum from himself, hovering still on his knees over the beautiful form of his exhausted man, still really tingling with the wet sensation of his backside after that long luxurious rimjob.
The 25-year-old star remained on his knees for a few moments more before collapsing forward and lowering himself to the bed, finding Ben's mouth with his and kissing him again, a slow sensitive one followed by an intense stare into his eyes. He could see that Chilly was still upset with himself, guilty and embarrassed, and he tried to kiss that away.
The ex-Leicester lad began to try and apologise again and he kissed that away too, snogging him and wrestling tongues for a minute. He broke it and stroked the sides of his face, lying half on top of him, rubbing his meaty thigh against the sleepy bulk of Ben's spent cock, grinning happily as both their cum formed a sticky mess between their warm skins.
`God, that was hot,' he told him honestly.
What, me acting like a 15-year-old virgin and-?
YES,' he insisted, a laugh in his voice. You really wanted me THAT much...?'
Huh? Oh -- yeah -- I mean -- I ALWAYS want you that much, Jacko, it's...' Ben began to laugh too, relaxing into his own mirth as they held each other, stuck together with sweat and jizz. You're not annoyed? That's never happened to me...'
That's cos you've never been with anyone as hot as me,' Grealish pointed out fairly, and pecked him on the lips. No wonder you've been such an arsehole every time I touched you in the restaurant or the plain... if THAT'S how horny you were, boyo...' He pulled some loose fronds of dark hair off Ben's sweaty brow, still holding his face over his. `Fuck, you're amazing,' he said earnestly.
I just want things to be good,' Ben told him quietly. I'm still scared about how we fell out, y'know. Tomorrow could be huge for you, if it's your first competitive start. I didn't want stuff to happen that would get in the way of that, or anything. I love you so much, Jack.'
Jack nodded slowly, wanting to say it loudly back but fearing it might sound less meaningful as a response. And tomorrow, if I do get to start on that pitch, I'll do it knowing the most important guy in the world is there to back me up,' he said seriously, and that will do more to up my game than any abstinence or safety...! Fuck...' They pulled close and kissed again, unable to keep their hands off each other, dicks limp and clammy but bodies restless as they cuddled and snogged and grabbed for the duvets to cover them, losing themselves in a nest of lovemaking.
Phil closed the hotel room door behind him, closing it on the noisy wet kisses of the couple on the bed, and standing still for a panicky moment, expecting some other teammate or one of the coaches to round a corner and find him red-faced and smelling of sex in the corridor on his own. He pulled uncomfortably at his tshirt and rearranged his shorts, fumbling his feet at the Nike sliders he wore over his whites socks until he felt calmer and less dishevelled. His hair was far too short and exact to be messed up by that passionate little experience, but still he found a mirror a little further down the hallway and fussed over it guiltily. He took one last look at the hotel door and moved grimly away, suddenly overcome with the regretful sensation that had been only distantly present as he lay on the bed and enjoyed the strong bodies of his two slightly senior teammates.
Little had really been said between his arrival and exit, but he was bright enough to intuit the situation: so the close bond between Mount and Rice was exactly what other lads said it was in their dirtiest jokes, one of the Premiership's most open sources of laddish humour turned out to be perfectly true. They weren't just messing about in there. He'd seen the way they looked at each other and touched. And somehow it had been registering that which made him suddenly tremble with knowledge of his own bad behaviour and betrayal, not the sordid deeds themselves.
While he sucked on Declan and then Mason and then Declan again, finally tasting the oozing white cum of the hunky West Ham bloke, he'd been lost in the physicality of it, no real thought for the other commitments in his life; no thought for his Papi, specifically.
But in the afterglow, when it became clear that Dec and Mase were up for more, pawing at each other and playing with themselves only minutes after cumming once, he'd just felt nauseated and out of place. Fortunately, since the 21-year-old lovebirds were pretty lost in each other, he'd been able to steal off the bed and get dressed, washing his face in their bathroom and observing all their little matching toothbrushes and shared toiletries, unable to believe how obvious their intimate relationship now was to him.
Out in the corridor, hurrying to a landing of the stairs where he could open a window and suck in some of the Belgian night air, he knew with horrible certainty what he had to do. He thought about Iceland and what had ALMOST happened there; the almost-excitement of those Icelandic girls and, even more so, the very near suggestion that something MIGHT have taken place between he and Greenwood, had they not been so rapidly interrupted and caught out by the powers-that-be. He thought about how sick he had felt on the flight back to Manchester, cloaked in scandal and awaiting the wrath of his manager -- the wrath that had just been an enveloping, breath-taking understanding and tenderness. But how understanding would Guardiola be when he explained to him what he'd been up to tonight, on the eve of England's biggest football challenge of the year...?
He just knew he couldn't even stomach the notion of keeping it a secret. He took out his phone and looked at his Favourites at the top of his contact list, which was entirely family but for the simple three-letter capitals `PEP'. Minutes ago he'd been tasting Declan Rice's cum and stroking the firm muscles of Mason Mount's six-pack, lost in a youthful lust with two of his bright young contemporaries, overexcited by their talent and their potential. Now he felt like he could throw up on himself, consumed with guilt and embarrassment and also a special kind of loneliness that came with seeing the true love between Dec and Mase; it made him long for his Papi, who he could never quite have enough of.
Foden, still flushed with orgasm and passion and now self-reproach, dialled the number and held the phone to his scarlet burning ear, greeted quickly with a click and then the sugary Spanish accent of his club manager back in Manchester. Filipe?' he said breathily. What is it, my boy...? How are you...?'
Papi,' he sighed, agonised, we need to talk...' He closed his eyes and sucked in another breath of the cool air from the open window. `I did a bad thing.'
`What is it? What is wrong? Filipe.'
`I... oh I'm so sorry, sir... Pep... Papi... erm... I got carried away, it's been so tough out here with the lads, y'know, I miss you, and...'
`What is it, what happened?'
I did stuff with other guys,' Phil whispered. Two of them. Two of the guys. I... I'm so sorry, boss. God. I'll come home now. I'll quit the team. I'll tell Southgate now, he'll be furious but-`
Filipe,' sighed Pep's voice. There was a kinda rustling sound wherever he was, a sense of him shifting his body in a seat or bed, seemingly alone. Filipe,' he said again, his voice as sweet as honey down the line, both comforting and aggravating Foden's agonised mood.
I'm so sorry,' Foden whispered at his dominant manager and lover, unable to believe how easily his loyalties had snapped and he'd been lured into playing around with the loved-up pair when he should have been saving himself entirely for his master. I... I... it just happened, and...'
Filipe...!' This time, that sugary voice came with a rough throaty chuckle, and the pleasure in it was jarring. You are young. This is fine. This is okay. You are away and alone, you have... needs.' Phil paused, hot-cheeked, unable to believe what he was hearing, unable to take hold of the obvious forgiveness coming his way, and then feeling a little heart-stopping thrill at what came next; the rustling sound of a shifting hand and a change in posture, wherever Guardiola was sitting taking this call on his own. Now,' the Spanish football coach murmured silkily, I'm going to unzip my jeans and you, my boy, are going to tell me EVERY detail.' A deep sensual sigh from him that made Phil's cock twitch in his shorts and briefs in spite of his physical exhaustion. Start from the beginning,' Pep commanded him quietly, and tell me EVERYTHING...'