Part 221: `21
On a clock on the mantelpiece, the seconds ticked into minutes, heading towards the new hour, the new day, the new year -- on a large television screen, brash light and colour signified the same countdown to leaving 2020 behind, and cast dancing glow on the pale creams and beiges of the blandly tasteful footballer's lounge.
The two men stood mere metres from each other, separated only by a crisp rectangle of rug beneath their feet. That, and the immense tension that had grown between them today, this past six months in fact. It seemed like a gulf now that he was here, facing him, with nobody else in the way and all the noises in his head finally quietening at the end of this special day.
Still, the seconds ticked on and they just looked at each other, neither quite able to make the first move. It seemed that the year would pass by before either man moved closer or said anything meaningful, their eyes meeting for a second or two at a time then flickering indecisively away.
Around them, the sands of 2020 trickled away, and if neither moved soon, it would take away this strange opportunity between them too...
Earlier that day, and a cold fog over the training ground. No fresh snow today but the scrappy remains of some that had fallen yesterday, and a hard frost coating everything. You could still feel the midwinter cold beneath layers of training kit, biting at Leif Davis' toes and fingers and neck.
But the young Geordie bounded through the morning's drills with a great fat smile on his face, gratefully receiving the respectful birthday greetings of each older player as he went on his way. '21,' proclaimed the skipper, shaking his shoulders as they went toe to toe in some defensive exercises, you're a man now, Leify, wow!' The gruff honorary Scotsman shook him and cackled in his ear then gave him a hearty slap, moving on to his usual lewd humour, Maybe 2021 will be the year you finally lose your virginity and grow up...?'
Today, Davis smirked and chuckled along with the banter, trying his best to be less sensitive and reactive. He hated all the cliches but they were kinda true: the less he responded to the daft jokes of the loutish Leeds players around him, and the more he just acted with newfound confidence, the easier he seemed to fit in and stand shoulder to shoulder with the more experienced fellas. Things had really moved since the awkward end to summer and all that teasing.
Today was his 21st birthday, and the fact nobody could do much to celebrate the new year meant his own big day felt a little less overshadowed and obstructed than an average December 31st -- a petty silver lining to the current state of affairs in England, but still. He couldn't help but be upbeat and celebratory as he worked his way through the morning, skipping energetically from activity to activity and trying to make a claim for a starting position on 2nd January when they would hopefully play their next Premiership game.
When the organised rounds outdoors came to their chilly end and the huffing, panting men broke indoors, he agreed to some extra time in the gym with some of the other younger players -- beyond his own birthday mood, there was a real high among the squad generated by their latest result, a 5-0 masterclass over fellow promoted team West Brom. The shared enjoyment of that away game was evident in the energy and banter of the footballers spilling in and out of the gym, few rushing through to get showered and break for lunch.
The newly 21-year-old Tynesider found himself spotting some weights with his housemate, Jamie, enjoying the quiet relaxation that had returned to their friendship after the Pennine night that had briefly threatened their closeness. That bit of silliness seemed to be all but forgotten between them, which felt odd and awkward, but Leif was grateful that Shackleton had never brought it up or shown him any resentment since returning from the cold motel that night. Rather, the two of them were in cahoots for a fun New Year's Eve together with their partners, a four-person little shindig to see in 2021 (and celebrate Leif's birthday too).
When short chunky Shackleton was done with his reps, Leif took a break to top up his water bottle, making his way through the distanced stations of the big fitness suite, grinning in observation of the efforts of various other blokes on the squad, bashing it out on treadmills and bikes, or matching Jamie's enthusiasm on weights machines. The foggy cold of outside was easily forgotten in here in the atmosphere of male sweat and strong-scented deodorant.
Leif let icy refreshing water trickle into his bottle then hunched his own square shoulders in surprise as a hand gently rested against one of them. Oh,' he exclaimed quietly, glancing over to find a sweaty-faced Bamford joining him at the cooler, wiping an arm over his shiny face and giving him an oddly serious look. Hey,' he greeted him more easily, always quite glad to see the kind assertive figure of their champion striker, the guy who'd helped him to overcome his inferiority complex on this brusque manly team.
`Birthday, eh?' muttered Patrick with uncharacteristic awkwardness.
Sure is,' Leif confirmed, frowning amusedly at him. You know that, I got your card and gift when I got here this morning. Really kind of you both, that champers will go down a treat tonight at our place, haha...'
`Right, yeah,' said the older footballer stiffly. Leif studied his incongruously serious face, having seen him as jovial and pumped as anyone else when things kicked off earlyish this morning. Paddy was fixing him with a thoughtful look now, creasing his dark brows and supping from his own Leeds-crested water bottle.
`Everything alreet?' Leif asked hesitantly.
Fine,' Paddy answered immediately. Can we -- just need to -- can we have a chat, mate?'
Davis nodded brightly, unsure why that had to be such a formal and awkward request, between two good buddies like them. Yes, he'd had some qualms about what they'd done to each other, but he thought he understood the hierarchy of it and really did feel that something had been implicitly relaxed by the way Bamford... evened it out. As part of his drive for more confidence and comfort, he'd tried not to be too paranoid or second-guessing about the lack of contact between them ever since, figuring they were both busy and focused. And it didn't matter too much that they hadn't shared a hotel room again -- it made sense for Davis to lodge with his actual flatmate...!
`Somewhere a bit more, erm, private?'
Leif tensed a little with interest at that tone and the evasive look in Bamford's eyes, but nodded. Aye,' he agreed quietly. Erm, that's cool.' He took a swig of water and licked his chapped lips. `What, you got another birthday pressie for me...?' Nervous laugh. He cricked his neck and scratched his tummy through his layered training tops, then started as Patrick brushed by him and stalked silently away down the side of the fitness suite towards the exit into the changing areas. Leif took a deep breath and followed him, telling himself that this would not be half as serious as his older teammate was making it sound...!
Bamford looked seriously at the younger, shorter player, folding his arms formally across his chest as they moved aside into the little nook on the way into the quiet changing rooms. He looked back to the left, checking the doors through to the gym had swung shut, and then the other way to make sure that the changing rooms really weren't busier than they looked. When he glanced back at his single audience, he could see he was worrying Leif, and he braced himself and started.
`Look, we need to talk about this,' he said in what he hoped was a calm, reasonable voice.
This?' parroted the young left-back. What d'you mean, man?'
Patrick spoke in an awkwardly formal voice to get it out of the way. This crush you have on me,' he said, having rehearsed and considered how to approach this all through the Christmas period. We need to talk about it and get this sorted, you know? To make sure we can play okay together and all that. Look,' he added, keeping his voice very level, I'm not angry or offended or anything, you know, it's nothing like that, I'm touched really, but you know I'm dating a girl, so-
`Wha'?'
Look, there's no need to be embarrassed,' Paddy assured him. Apparently it's really common, happens all the time in the footballing world, really, and so -- I mean, look, don't take this the wrong way, but you know it's never going to happen, if anything too much has happened already, hasn't it, so I think... well I just think -- if we can talk about it, you know, man to man, and really sort it out, then --`
What are you on about?' demanded Davis, his face flushing and his body language awkwardly confrontational. What crush? Who's got a crush? Fuck! Mate? I just... what are you on...?'
Paddy paused, glancing left and right again, huffing frustratedly at this predictable response. Mate, don't worry, it's not like I'll say anything to anyone or make things difficult, I just thought-
`How fuckin' vain are ya?' Leif demanded of him suddenly in a ferocious little voice he was unused to.
Leif-
`You vain prick!' snapped the 5ft11 defender, jabbing him at the top of his chest with one finger.
Oh come on,' grunted Patrick wearily, this isn't about MY ego, mate, I'm having this word now so that- well, so that we can, I don't know, clear the air and just...' He rolled his eyes and rested one hand each on the stocky Geordie lad's shoulders. Look, mate, maybe we need to go somewhere more private to sort this out. I dunno -- would it help if you got to touch it again? Would that be enough? Would that get it out of your system, so to speak? That's what he said, anyway, that's what-
`Who?' Leif demanded, sounding outraged, almost shaking with his moody reaction.
Stu,' Paddy said, though he instantly regretted mentioning his confidante and advisor on this matter. Dallas, that is. He just said... Look, it doesn't matter what he said.' He squeezed his shoulders. Leif, mate, we're good friends and I don't want to change that, I just want to make sure you're ok and- His hands were roughly pushed away and he felt that finger jab between his pecs again before Leif took a couple of staggering steps back from him.
Fuck you, Paddy,' Leif snarled, though for all his red-faced rage, his grey-blue eyes sparkling with potential tears. I can't believe you're being like this. It was YOUR idea, both times! Fuck!' His voice was a little choked and shaky. `Coming at me like this, man, on ma birthday?!'
`Leif,' he began, but his attempt to reach for an restrain the enraged youngster was shoved violently aside and then as he made to grasp for his wrist again, those double-doors form the gym burst open and Alioski, Raphinha, and Casilla came barging by, all bare biceps and sweat-dripping tops after a competitive weights session between them. Instantly, Leif was swallowed up by their presence, his short tufty hair scrunched and grabbed and his backside noisily slapped; Paddy stood awkwardly back, his mouth hanging open, consumed by the sense that his sensitive and cautious approach to this issue had gone very very wrong.
In a moment, those muscular three were gone from them, bowling on into the changing rooms and peeling off garments as they went. Paddy reached for Leif's shoulder, moving closer to him and lowering his voice. Look, don't be arsey about this, buddy, I'm just trying to-
Don't fucking touch me,' the young birthday boy insisted, shrugging his hand off and glaring furiously at him. I thought we were mates, but I realise you're as much a prick as the rest of `em. Fuck you, Paddy Bamfrod, fuck you very much.' And off he went, barging back through into the gym, where it would be far too public and obvious in both directions if Bamford suddenly went chasing after him. This left him stood uncomfortably in the passage, the other blokes' echoing laughter and voices finding him from the right, and the door to the left swinging slowly shut on the clanks and low dance music of the gym.
He found Stuart Dallas on his own, benching more than Leif could contemplate himself, grunting painfully with each upward thrust, his vest clinging about his pectorals and exposing a flare of underarm hair. At the sight of a scowling younger sportsman at the side of the bench, Dallas brought the bar and its weight scraping into its rest, huffed out his breath, and rose up in a single sit-up, shorts tightening about his thick hairy thighs. If there was a general smug pleasure among the Leeds squad this week, then it was magnified in the Northern Irishman for his `man of the match' accolade in that last Premiership triumph.
Oi oi,' he remarked, still breathing heavily and straightening out his limp arms. What the fuck's that face for, Davey boy...?'
Leif glared at him, looking furtively about this end of the fitness suite, largely abandoned now as one by one the Leeds men called it a day, glad of their afternoon off to go home and begin a sober celebration of New Year with their nearest and dearest. He stared hard at Stuart and hissed at him, `What you been sayin' about me then?'
Faced with his snarling wrath, the 29-year-old winger just chortled. `You gonna give me a clue what this is about, kid?'
To Paddy,' Leif snapped, already a little derailed by this good-humoured response. He could see that Dallas still wasn't quite on his wavelength so he dropped his voice to a mutinous whisper, I don't have a fuckin' crush on him...! Why are you sticking your nose in, man? Jesus!'
Oh. Ha!' He stretched his shoulders and neck and laughed to himself. So, it's about that, eh? Well, it's none of my business, that stress is between you and Pretty Boy Paddy, mate, so kindly fuck off and let me finish my workout, yeh...?'
Leif was impotent with rage. He stood beside him, wanting to grab for the bar-bells and club the smug older man in the head. Instead he just gawped and mumbled. `What the...? Mate, what are you spreading about me? Telling Paddy I have a crush on him for fucks' sake...! I'm not- What's it to you, anyway? Fucking hell!' He could hear his voice getting more high-pitched as his stress and annoyance built, his buoyant birthday mood now ruined.
Dallas just gave him a sidelong glance then swung one of his hairy legs over the bench and got up to his feet, a solid and broad 6ft in front of him, heat and manly scent rising from him. You really wanna talk about this, kid?' he asked in a blunter, harsher voice. You really wanna open that box, do ya?'
Leif cowered a little at his height and breadth, but he was a left-back used to clashing with bigger older men and he squared up to the abrupt Northern Irishman. `Keep your nose out of my friendships, will ya?'
Noted,' Dallas snapped back. But anyone with fucking eyes in their head could see what I saw, lad -- trailing after Bamf like a puppy, sniffing around his arse and begging to sit next to him at every meal. You were practically hard in your trackies, you little ponce.' Leif glared at him and bunched his hands into fists. We could all see it, mate, why d'you think there were so many fuckin' jokes?' Dallas asked, really leaning in towards him threateningly. And I don't just mean what you did on promotion night you upstart twit. I mean everything after. You even let Barry and me spunk on ya, you little twerp, cos you were so starstruck...'
Leif scowled uncomfortably at him, unsure how that messy incident between the three of them was exactly his fault and how it evidenced anything about his alleged feelings for Paddy. `Less of that...' he mumbled angrily back.
Dallas just smirked. I can see what you are, Geordie boy,' he said accusingly. Even if you can't.'
`And what's that?!'
The 29-year-old chuckled softly. `You'll figure it out over the years, mate, they always do. Now, if you're gonna stand around here ogling my muscles, let's at least go somewhere private and you can get on your knees, kid...'
Leif's eyes bulged and he took one step back immediately, outraged. First Paddy accusing him of a crush' and now this old perv who'd once taken advantage of him trying to imply he was queer! He stared stonily at the smirking and chuckling winger, so appallingly smug and solid. That ain't funny,' he spat unhappily. He felt suddenly very conscious of the night he'd sheltered in a room with Dallas and Douglas and ended up teased further for his soft, useful hands...
`Who says I'm joking?' Dallas responded simply, a glint in his eyes.
Leif moved away from him as quickly as his feet would carry him, done with this unhelpful conversation and the mocking tone of the old womaniser. He rushed for the changing rooms in a whirlwind of energy, done with this strange end to the morning and the way it was pissing over his birthday vibes. He showered alone in a separate cubicle and didn't dare make any contact with another guy until he was joining Jamie in the car and heading back over the city. As they did, he caught a glance at Bamford from a distance, talking to the gaffer by the doors, and it seemed for a second like he looked this way too. He flushed with outrage at the whole lot of them and the nonsense idea they'd gathered of him -- who did they all think he was?
Shortly before that brief conversation with their team manager on the kerb of the training ground car park, Paddy was in a cubicle a dozen yards away indoors, where he'd rushed to with his selected teammate in the hot-tempered aftermath of the failed conversation with Leif.
He'd grabbed at the other lad by the elbow and steered him into the toilets quite recklessly, and even here in this locked narrow cubicle, it was risky behaviour that he would never be able to explain to himself; he stared down to crotch height where the 24-year-old was slobbering and gasping, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes squinting in shameful self-loathing even now in the middle of the job, spitting and licking and rubbing his lips against the long chubby semi between Bamford's legs.
Jack Harrison whined and purred for him, a little noisily for his liking given their location, and he kept clumsily grazing his teeth against the fat flesh of Paddy's prick. The Manchester City player had looked at him in horror when he steered him in his here, but then he was racing into the last cubicle and getting on his knees, absolutely tearing down Paddy's gym shorts to get at his equipment once the door rattled shut behind his back. The two had barely shared a word since the motel but here they were, back in that exact same dynamic the moment Patrick allowed him.
Like a complete slut, Harrison was kneeling in the toilet floor, rubbing his nose in the short fuzz of Bamford's pubes, taking the floppy length into his mouth and pulling on it, nuzzling at his balls and the sides of his thighs, rubbing his hands brusquely up and down over his hips. And above, Paddy was leaning heavily against the wall to the right, burying his face in the crook one folded arm, using the other to hold up his shirt and vest halfway up his abdomen to make Jack's job a little easier. But... it wasn't working.
The other man's mouth felt wrong and abrasive and Paddy could just feel his usually fat balls shrinking and retracting as his impressive length failed to grow and stiffen. It wasn't just the insane risk of the moment, the foolhardy potential exposure of this toilet cubicle in the training ground -- he stared down his chest and exposed tummy at the flushed pink face, narrowed eyes, the carefully tied back little knot of black-brown hair. He looked at him and could feel little but contempt, just as he had in the hotel room when he'd finished using him, as per Dallas' dubious advice.
That, he thought, had meant to be it over, resolved. Jack shouldn't have been up for this, he should have told him where to go; he shouldn't be on his knees now sniffing at his balls and running his tongue up the base of his floppy shaft, rolling his tongue optimistically against a little fold of foreskin and failing to have much effect. Paddy stared angrily at him, this whimpering bully-boy and his stupid `crush'. It had felt better in the motel, somehow -- more important and urgent, he'd been hard in moments and ready to fuck this stupid lad's mouth. But now he just felt numb and silly.
Enough!' he grunted, pushing Harrison's face away. He could see the dismay as his eyes rolled up to meet his and his mouth hung hopefully open, but somehow the expression of sexual need just made him shiver more and elbow painfully at the wall. I need out,' he told him angrily. `I'm sorry. This wasn't right, mate.' His dick swung as he shuffled about him, reaching for the door; Jack grabbed it again in a final effort, holding the base and wrapping his lips about the head, but Bamford just clipped him dismissively on the side of the head and furled his privates into the sweaty insides of his shorts, frustrated and regretful.
`Paddy,' gasped the other football lad unhappily, jerked awkwardly aside by a leg and the swing of the door, but all Bamford spared him was a muttered apology for knocking him with the door, hurrying across the room and tying the front of his shorts. He looked back over his shoulder as the winger slunk from the cubicle and wiped at his mouth embarrassedly -- he looked rightly pissed off but Paddy didn't give him any further explanation or apology for his prick-teasing action. For a moment, this had certainly seemed the perfect solution to his disrupted mood, riled and confused by Lief's unwillingness to discuss what was so obviously going on -- and now it seemed like the worst possible option, an idiotic gesture that just made him feel uncomfortable and arrogant.
Jack Harrison left the toilets, muttering `Dickhead' under his shameful breath, and Paddy remained on his own, glaring at his red-rimmed eyes in the reflection, and thinking what a fucked up year 2020 had become.
In the kitchen, the two 21-year-olds were mixing the next round of home cocktails and preparing some party snacks for their girlfriends, who were cackling and karaoke-ing in the next room. The `birthday' flavour had quickly been ditched in favour of a generally drunken celebration of 2021 and its potential to be slightly less awful, but Leif wasn't precious about it -- he was just happy to be relaxing and sinking a few drinks with his good mate and the girls... albeit with a vague agitation at the back of his mind ever since he'd been pulled aside by Paddy at work.
Away from the music and the fond kisses of his girlfriend, the thoughts loomed to the fore of his mind uninvited, while trying to smash and separate a bag of ice against the kitchen counter. He glanced repeatedly at Jamie, the short broad midfielder reaching up on his tiptoes to fetch more obscure spirits down from the shelf, so that his skinny jeans really pulled tight about his sizeable rear.
`Mate?' Leif asked tremulously, separating jagged block of ice into the four glasses. He knew he shouldn't be starting this conversation, but he'd been on the beer and spirits since the middle of the afternoon and it was now only three hours to the midnight gong.
`Aye?' grunted the local Leeds lad, peering curiously at the bottle in his hand then consulting an open iPad on the counter with their chosen cocktail recipes for the night. He glanced grinningly over this way, slick and relaxed in a tight black tshirt.
Can I just,' Leif began, then paused, shifting aside a little bit as the shorter player muscled over to slosh a fruity dark liqueur into each glass. Look, Jamie, mate,' he started again, cut off now as Jamie began to commentate on the dubious mixing required for their next round of cocktails. He broke through his accented patter and cleared his throat. `Jamie, I'm sorry about the other night, y'know,' he said loudly and firmly, just needing to spit it out and clear his conscience.
Shackleton paused in sloshing a measure of vodka but didn't look at him. `Let's not,' he said.
Leif pushed on anyway, moving to the fridge to fetch the juice they were going to be mixing in, his cheeks and brow burning with self-consciousness as he glanced cautiously out of the kitchen door and down the hall to the lounge where the girls were now dancing and squealing. With his back to his mate, he stumbled further into the pit of conflict: `I didn't mean to get weird or anything, it just sorta... I mean, we were both carried away, y'know, and...' He turned nervously in Jamie's direction and found the other young footballer staring sideways at him, in the middle of chopping a lime.
`Leif, mate... leave it...'
He grimaced. `I just don't want you thinkin'...'
I'm not thinking anything,' Shackleton insisted, but he spoke quite cheerfully, dismissively, to Leif's mixture of relief and frustration. We were just playing about like a pair of twats. I don't really think you wanted to touch my nob.'
But what if I did? That question stayed silent in his head. But you must think I'm proper weird,' Davis said breathily. You must be a bit uncomfortable with me after I...'
I'd rather not think about it!' Jamie protested through a loud laugh, beckoning him over to help. But seriously, Leif, forget it, it was just a night of being silly buggers. It were funny, weren't it? Nowt fuckin' more! It sure ain't happening again, matey. Ha ha. Stop worrying and enjoy your birthday, mate.'
Leif paused awkwardly next to him, feeling the drunken heat of their two tight-packed bodies in thin tshirts, hip to hip at the kitchen counter. One of the girls, he couldn't tell which, squealed impatiently for a drink in the other room. He felt a strange rush to speak more, to confide and question -- why was he so disappointed to find Jamie flippant and unconcerned by what had happened between them in their little messy experiment last week? Shouldn't that be a fucking relief to him?
Right, get mixing those,' barked Jamie in a businesslike way, and he gave him a look that screamed Move on!' He was grinning boyishly and making some little jerking dance moves away from him to take stuff out of the oven, whistling and showing not a jot of worry about the fact Leif had grabbed his cock in a hotel room only a week and a bit ago.
Aye, will do,' Davis said in a strained, distant voice, staring down at the neat row of glasses, all the ice and ingredients, the sliced limes and such. He felt hot and dizzy with a mix of the afternoon's drinking and the strange jarring middle of his birthday -- he could see Patrick's serious patronising face and Stuart's cynical sneer, vivid and distracting in his mind's eye. From just beyond the kitchen door, his name was called loudly and demandingly by his girlfriend, and he got on with the job at hand, mixing their next powerful dose of booze, and taking a cheeky glug of vodka straight from the bottle, needing to annihilate the word crush' from his vocabulary.
`If this is how you're going to carry on all night, then I'll just fucking go and see the year out at my sister's, will I? Honestly, Paddy! What has gotten into you today?!'
He knew that the correct response was a bit of supplication and ruefulness, but he found himself just staring provocatively across the kitchen of their shared house, and shrugging his shoulders in the figure-hugging white shirt buttoned down his chest and six-pack. `If that's what you want,' he retorted sulkily at her, stuffing crisps from a nearby bowl into his mouth, slouching back against the counter while she glared furiously at him from behind a fizzing glass of champagne.
They'd just popped and poured it and, somehow, the extortionate gifted bottle had become the focus of the fourth major argument of the night, meaning neither man nor woman had took a single sip from their gently bubbling flutes. Instead, they were just staring confrontationally across the room at each other at an awkward angle -- and more specifically, she was now glaring at him in disbelief, waiting for him to relent and apologise.
For real, Paddy?' she yelped now. Is this how you're gonna be?'
I'm not being anything,' the 6ft1 footballer responded with all the emotional maturity of a 13-year-old. You're just overreacting to everything I fucking say tonight, babe-`
`Don't swear at ME!'
YOU swore first,' he barked back emphatically. Jesus, babe, you're being so touchy-`
Oh my god, "touchy", what the fuck even is that?' She put the champagne glass down beside her so firmly it nearly snapped at the stem. You think I'm going to stay here and drink this £500 fizz and put up with you being nasty to me just because you're some Premiership bigshot now, hun? As if!'
Paddy sealed his fate on tonight's argument with a lazy half-shrug and a little sneer. `I don't really mind,' was his fatal answer, earning a stricken look and a loud gasp from the attractive model staring at him now. Her tits bounced a little as she reeled away and snatched her handbag from the table. Again, he felt the narrative momentum urging him to apologise and chase after her, but instead, he just picked up his own glass and followed her through the house at a slow pace.
`You're being ridiculous,' he said, a comment which was always like oil tossed on a fire.
In the middle of snatching her coat from the bannister, his girlfriend turned and glared daggers at him down the hallway -- it was as if she had so far only been performing upset and pretending to leave, but now her intentions became as fixed as concrete. Patrick!' she wailed at him. I can't BELIEVE you...' And off she went, heels clicking on the floorboards, and even out on the doorstep, staring widely back at him as if he was going to back down and beg her to stay at any moment. But nope, Patrick found himself just standing dimly in the doorway, sipping quietly from his glass, unable to bring himself to offer a single word of apology for his odd, snappy mood all through the night so far.
This is not okay,' he was informed shrilly. You absolute prick, Paddy. Don't expect me to be ringing you up in the morning. We're OVER, boyo. Oh my god!'
The door slammed in his face and he just stood there in a strangely numb manner, clutching the glass of champagne and sipping it tastelessly in small mouthfuls. Then he walked slowly back up the passage and across into the kitchen, blinking in disbelief at the various symbols of their couple's New Year together, now shattered and abandoned because he couldn't get through a conversation without picking fault and starting an argument. It was so very unlike him.
He moved over to the side of the kitchen, staring with bland disinterest at the big champagne bottle that had seemed such an exciting centrepiece to their romantic night in. He sipped more from his own glass, then picked up hers, and knocked it all back in one long self-destructive gulp, desperately obliterating the day's frantic thinking and strange, unhelpful confrontations.
It was coming to half eleven now, and the DJ set they were streaming on the TV was becoming more raucous and obscure; he stared at it without really seeing, clutching a beer in his hand since the good cocktail supplies had totally ran out and they were just reduced to drinking whatever they could find. Between them they were burning through the two lads' supply of Christmas gifts: IPA sets and novelty gins.
Try as he might, Leif could not relax into the night. He was sat on the arm of the sofa, stroking his other hand down the back of his girlfriend's hair while she took a series of carefully angled selfies of them both, preparing for her midnight Instagram post. On the other sofa, Jamie was snogging his bird and giggling mouth-to-mouth.
Music was blaring and time was slouching towards midnight. He was drunk and with the right people, he needed to just let go and enjoy it. But he couldn't. All he could think about was lying down in a hotel bed side by side with Patrick Bamford, and making a little gasp of surprise.
`Mate, are you deaf?'
He shook himself and looked at Jamie. `Soz, mate?'
`I said -- want another drink?'
Er- He looked at the beer in his hand and realised it was empty. `Aye but I'll get it. Anyone else?'
He took the orders and moved through into the kitchen in a daze, finding himself just staring at the fridge for a while and then, having already forgotten everyone's orders, just pouring a ridiculous triple measure of obscurely flavoured gin into four different glasses. His hands trembled on the bottle, and he swore angrily at himself for clumsily spilling some of the strong-scented liquid. Fuck them,' he muttered after that, thinking about Bamford and Dallas, angry at them and angry at himself. Fucking idiots.' He moved over to the fridge and retrieved a fresh bottle of tonic, then knelt to pull open the freezer and -- aha, there was no more ice. Ice. Ice is important. Can't have gin and tonic without ice. He stared at the empty drawer then moved away from the freezer, accidentally leaving it open, and wandering empty-handed back into the hall.
On a table by the side were his house keys and his wallet. Guys,' he shouted through, we're out of ice. I'm gonna go to the corner shop, it'll still be open. We need ice. Ice!' There was a vague, muffled collection of response that amounted to vague, impatient assent. Leif pulled his big puffer coat from a hook and a beanie hat from a pocket to pull over his hair. Then, still almost entirely believing that he was heading out to go and buy ice only, he picked up his keys and left his wallet, and moved for the door, secretly knowing that he was not going to be back soon.
He stared at the lad on the doorstep for a good minute before stepping aside to let him in, noting the deep pink shade of his face from the cold night and walking between their suburban homes in the same little outer patch of Leeds city. Leif's arrival at his house seemed the least surprising intrusion, but by now he was pretty wasted. He just pushed the door shut and followed the lad through into the big main lounge, looking somehow ridiculous in his big chunky coat and its faux fur hood, all pink-cheeked and bleary-eyed, incongruous here in Paddy's home but also exactly who he'd expected when he heard the short flurry of rapping knocks.
And so the two men stood and eyed each other in silence, and on-screen, a celebrity TV presenter chirped on about how few minutes remained of this awful year. Platitudes and resolutions were shared by the random famous figures on the screen, but Bamford just looked Davis up and down and then, eventually laughed -- just a single peal of laughter at how ridiculous his night had become, drunk alone after driving his girlfriend away.
He supposed, staring at Leif's quivering lip and moody expression, that he too was replaying their earlier confrontation today, tucked away beside the changing rooms and the gym, a terrible location for such an intimate challenge in the first place. Paddy's drunken mind swam and he had to remind himself they weren't still there in the training ground but here in his own pad. He walked away from Leif into the kitchen, and the lad shouted at him as he followed.
`Don't just walk away from me,' he said in his rich Newcastle accent, but pleading rather than anger.
Bamford, not quite ignoring him, stopped in the doorway, and Leif bumped into him from behind, their bodies and faces now suddenly very close. He stared hard at him and caught sight of the TV again behind him: a countdown was starting, a matter of minutes left, how many? Don't know, don't care. No. He just grabbed Leif by the upper arms and pulled him drunkenly in. `Hey,' he purred with boozy breath, stooping a little to connect their heights.
`What are you doing?' Davis whispered, but he was shut up as Paddy pushed his face to his and kissed him experimentally on the lips, slowly but not tenderly, just trying it out, feeling a little numbed with too much to drink, but still... mmm.
Nearly midnight,' he muttered stupidly as if this explained everything, and held his face there, their mouths an inch apart, breath mingling and cheeks rubbing together a little. He tightened where his hands held the lad's upper arms, rubbing at his body through the layers of coat. Happy new year, matey. Happy... birthday?'
He heard Leif's sharp intake of breath and murmured `Paddy?' as if from a great distance, and then pushed him roughly away and lunged after him again, grabbing at the stupid collar of that oversized coat and tearing it open. Leif almost tripped and fell but he scooped an arm about his waist, tumbling across the littered lounge with him, looming towards the huge white leather sofa, not quite kissing him but letting their noses and mouth touch and rub in this tight mobile hug. Then they were both tumbling back against it, he on top, the coat sliding away and his hands roving under the lad's tight white tshirt, finding the hot smooth skin of his tummy and back.
`Paddy?' Leif breathed again, voice full of panic and need.
Bamford shushed him quietly, kissing him roughly on the cheek and then the neck, pushing his jaw back so he could snog him there, breathing in a woody scent. He was wasted now with no real sense of where they were, but he was painfully conscious of his dick stiffening in the front of his tight grey jeans, hard and ready in a way it just wouldn't get for Jack earlier today. He pressed it commandingly in against the top of Leif's leg as he pinned him to the sofa, wanting him to know and share it, wanting him to feel how ready he was for... something.
Leif was drunk too, but perhaps less out of control than Paddy, wriggling beneath his weight and sliding sideways down the sofa, feeling the leather on his back as his tshirt was rolled up to nipple height. For his part, he thumbed awkwardly at the buttons on that linen white shirt, wanting access to the long toned six-pack of the taller bloke, and feeling an odd thrill when he glimpsed the branded waistband of his undies above the slip of jeans. He reached up and down Paddy's sides, feeling his body heat while the bristly kisses tingled at his neck and collarbone and shoulder. He gasped loudly and stupidly, and for about five seconds, thought about the fact he'd bluntly walked out on his best mate and girlfriend for `ice' he would never buy, then forgot about them and lost himself in the present anyway.
His tshirt was pulled away from him and he felt exposed once shirtless, writhing against Paddy and pushing a hand down the front to feel his huge hardness in the jeans, the cock he'd touched before, almost familiar to his hand through the thick taut denim. He wanted it in his hand properly and he struggled at the button fly until Paddy had to help him out, rising up in position straddled over him, undoing the front of his jeans below his magnificent abdomen, then pushing his thick monster out of his dark CKs and letting it jut there for Leif to grab and play with, staring at it and then up at Paddy's slack drunken face. Their eyes locked intensely as, again, he jerked him off, gripping and stroking his long member that had won that competition between the guys, the alpha prick in the Leeds showers...
For the drunk birthday boy, though, touching it wasn't enough. He began to crunch his own abs and lean in, holding on to the thickness of Paddy's thighs, until he could dart out his tongue and touch it against the tip of Paddy's member. Responsively, he ground forward, really sitting almost on his chest and letting his long rod push in against Leif's shaky lips, which couldn't really taste anything but beer, but closed longingly around the head of the cock anyway, tonguing the foreskin, letting it be guided in against his mouth until suddenly it felt too huge and thick and choking and he had to stop, spluttering and drooling against the side of it, too drunk maybe to practise something so new and thrilling.
`It's okay,' Paddy whispered, stroking the side of his face.
`I want to,' he found himself murmuring stupidly.
It's okay,' the striker just repeated, rubbing a thumb over his lip instead of his cock, but turn over...'
Leif caught the look in his eye and half-knew what was coming. He began to wriggle over, rubbing his face against the back and then seat of the coach then trying to rest it forward on the arm, his bottom jutting up in the air and his skinny jeans dragged over it without even being unbuttoned. Down too went his undies -- neat black Tommy Hilfigers -- to expose his cheeks, which Paddy immediately patted and squeezed and then -- oh! -- spat on, between. And there it was, just like before, a single slicked finger in his crack, making him whine and push backwards knowingly.
It was all a difficult physical tussle, garments still being dragged uncomfortably away to strip them -- Paddy's white shirt went flying, rejected at last, and he felt the tentative fingering pause as jeans were properly peeled down, not just Paddy's legs but his own. He gasped and murmured responsively at the control of Patrick's hands, letting his undies and jeans be yanked all the way down his fluffy legs and then, almost comically, his socks gently rolled away. He was naked now, on his knees and elbows, pushed in against the sofa with Paddy behind him -- he wanted to turn and see him in all his glory but already the finger was between his cheeks again and he just couldn't focus on anything but that, oh wow.
In it went, right into him, oh fuck, just a single finger felt so massive, but he knew how good it had been in the hotel room that night, and he trusted Bamford so completely, he could just dig his fingertips into the arm of the sofa and lean his face close against it and bite down the rush of pain, waiting for the more pleasant sensation of being... tickled inside, prodded and rubbed, deep -- deeper than last time? Maybe... ohhhh... He lost track of his internal voice and the loud gasping yelps he was making, repeating Paddy's name and, to his own shock, begging `More'.
Two fingers felt insane, he probably would have cried out more if not so drunk already, or if he didn't have utter confidence in the powerful footballer pressing down on him, kissing him on the spine and spitting into his crack repeatedly to ease the process. And then, what was this? Paddy's knuckles? No, softer, wetter, oh! The tip pushed between his cheeks and he braced himself in fear, one of Paddy's hands running up his side and over his shoulder to his neck and jaw, holding him both assertively and soothingly as his hole burned and the pushing sensation grew impossibly big and immediate and then- `Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.'
Bamford felt inch after inch of himself inside the other man, holding him in place to steer this, pressing him down into the creaking and squeaking leather, beginning to sweat, also feeling the room blur a little so that it could be his own home or it could be the team hotel or the changing rooms or back in the stadium that night they won the Championship.
Everything outside the tight little body in his arms was irrelevant. He squeezed and held at Davis and pushed a little harder, knowing he was too big for him and that this was so much, so intense, but really unable to stop himself, and... well, Leif just kept gasping his name, `Paddy, oh Paddy, ohhhh PADDY' and that was somehow the sexiest and most compelling thing he'd ever heard.
He was balls-deep in him now, but he felt like he couldn't quite fuck him properly, not yet -- he pulled back and forward a little but he could hear the shrill pain in Leif's drunken groans, and he had to move carefully. The muscular body behind him felt suddenly fragile and vulnerable and he wrapped his arms about his chest, just wanting to hold and protect him -- protect him from what, the size of his own cock? He rolled his hips to thrust a little more, driven wild by the tightness on him, but hearing an `agh' in Leif's gasps for more.
He controlled himself, with difficulty, and pulled carefully back until his cock was free, but he didn't break the hold. He grabbed and jerked at himself, knowing how quickly he would have peaked if still inside him, but unable to stop it now: soon he was jetting cum on his buttocks and lower back, streaking him in lines of sticky white, panting into the back of his neck and feeling the maddest drunken headrush. He wasn't sure if he was going to throw up, pass out, or just keep pumping jizz against the soft fluffy butt cheeks still spread in front of his fist.
Then, gasping inaudibly, he took his spunky finger and pushed it back inside Leif's now looser entrance, lubed by his own seed as he began to finger him again, safer and more confident on that. Wank,' he breathed into his ear, wank yourself, mate...' He watched Leif's nods from behind and then slid in the second finger, really frigging him now, doing what he'd been scared to with his own massive equipment, fingering him silly and making him really squeal until he knew from the high pitch that he wasn't alone in his orgasm. The only regretful thought in his dazed head as he kissed and cuddled at Leif from behind was an image of his girlfriend finding these greasy stains on the extortionate white leather and hitting the roof; and at the mental image, he just chuckled, falling drunkenly in against the younger guy and drifting almost immediately to sleep. On the TV screen, Auld Lang Syne was being sung, and outside, fireworks were popping like crazy; indoors, Paddy snogged lazily at Leif's shoulder and squished him beneath his own sleepy weight, stuck together with cum.
Leif didn't know how many minutes he slept for, but he suspected only a few, staring blearily over at the TV screen and the ongoing celebrations, rubbing backwards into Paddy with his whole body, his arse aching like hell even through the novocaine of alcohol. He felt a little surge of distant panic though, looking at the crumple of the jeans on the floor nearby and able to see the vibration of the incoming call in the pocket, little flares of blue-green light leaking from the phone screen in there. He tried reaching for the jeans and in doing so disturbed Paddy too from his brief postcoital nap, their bodies still sweatily tangled as he had to crawl partly off the sofa and snatch at his own clothes to remove his phone.
As he stared at the screen and the list of missed calls (15 from his girlfriend, 7 from Jamie, 2 from Jamie's missus), he could hear Paddy's slow dazed breaths and thinking behind and above him; he could also feel his hands stroke gently at his shoulders, sides, buttocks. `Hmmm,' murmured the striker in a sleepy, dry-mouthed way.
I should go,' Leif whispered, halfway off the sofa and still arse naked, speaking as much to himself in a reckless guilty horror as he was to his dazed, drunken host. He felt the weight and pressure of the 6ft1 guy's body shift off him and it allowed him to pull himself sideways and sit up, expecting to look up at Bamford and see regret or conflict or anger; drunk and satisfied as he was, he couldn't shake the day's tensions. But standing by the sofa, Paddy just grinned sheepishly down at him and when he spoke, it was not the fuck off' or `what have done?' that seemed so inevitable.
`You want some fizz?' Bamford offered, scratching at his pubes.
`Huh?'
The 27-year-old wandered away, naked too, giving Leif a good show of his cheeks rising and falling with each unsteady step. He slid up from the sofa, gripping his phone and its guilt-ridden missed call list, and followed in a slight limp, backside throbbing. In the kitchen, Paddy had removed a massive champagne bottle from the fridge and was topping up two glasses. Leif walked up to him in a trance, half-listening to the roars of cheers and music from back in the lounge, and more popping fireworks out in the night sky, booming through a kitchen window with brilliant flashes of colour that reflected against their two naked bodies.
`Happy new year,' Paddy told him through a mouthful of champagne, clinking their glasses a little too hard, stroking his arm, standing over him in a wave of green light from another firework.
`Er, aye,' Leif returned hesitantly, the champagne tasting weirdly bitter against his tongue, shivering a little at the play of Bamford's fingers on his arm and now his neck, feeling his chin lifted and their faces grow close again. The kiss tasted of champagne and manliness. He was left breathless and speechless, and another firework went off, coating them in red and gold.
`Not yer birthday any more though,' chuckled the footballer in a drunken slur.
No,' Leif agreed quietly. No more 2020.'
Paddy nodded, slugged back from his thin flute of fizz, then picked up and drank from the bottle instead. Leif stood close to him, basking confusedly in his body heat, feeling the sting between his cheeks but the insane comfort of closeness and their ridiculous nudity, here with this man when his household would be baffled and maybe terrified by his growing absence. Paddy,' he asked quietly, reaching for his hand down by their sides, thinking abstractedly about the ice cubes he never bought and the half-made gins on the kitchen counter. What do we do now...?'
HAPPY NEW YEAR! HERE'S TO 2021 xx