Part 229: Performance Management
They were just playing some lazy passes from foot to foot on their slow journey towards the main building of City's training complex, and the other well-built defender was making him snigger and smile with his daft impressions of other players; interrupted on their slow tap-tap journey by a shout of John's name catching his attention as one of the youth coaches passed them by on his way to another section of the rain-soaked training grounds. Oi, Stonesy,' called the mid-40s bloke with a sack of balls over his shoulder, keep up the work rate pal, legend -- more of this and you'll be back on Southgate's England squad by summer, eh! Pure class, mate, pure class...!'
John Stones paused to turn and grin over at the guy he only half-knew and gave him an appreciative wave for the random burst of praise, still readjusting to the surge of positivity around him at Manchester City since he broke back into the starting line-up and began really making a difference again, a stark contrast to the doldrums of last season. There had been so many times the big centre-back had doubted his place and future here, and now to be called out like that by random members of the club hierarchy was amazingly satisfying.
The 26-year-old turned back and was quickly brought back to earth by the single raised eyebrow and pursed little smirk of his defensive companion and secret lover. Oooh,' mocked Kyle Walker instantly, shoving an elbow into his arm, coaching fwend, luverly... haha, you gonna go suck him off now or summat, John-boy...?' The coarse Sheffield right-back burst into booming laughter, kicking the ball they'd been passing almost violently off away from them and picking up the pace as they followed the distant others up towards the big glassy front of the building.
Stones laughed awkwardly at this. `Alright, sorry, not my fault I can't go anywhere without a compliment at the minute...'
Oh, alright,' laughed Walker now, be careful with that or your big head might not fit in those glass doors, eh eh?'
The broad muscular footballer laughed more maniacally, shoving him again and then reaching up to rag aggressively at the bunched curls of his chocolatey-brown hair before slapping him a little too hard on the back. Silly twat,' he giggled. Honestly, don't let it all go to ya head, Stonesy, some randomer like that cunt shooting a bit of hype at you... it'll just distract you when we got big fights ahead of us, mate.' Then, distractedly, Kyle sped ahead a little to get through the doors before they shut, pausing then with a gentlemanly flourish to hold them open for his (as much as the word scared them both) boyfriend.
John paused at the doorway, looking down at the thickset older lad, giving him a critical look, then stepping through into the big airy foyer of the training building and slipping the face mask about his hairy chin up over nose and mouth. He made to speak his thoughts and then stopped himself, making his way over to the side to pour himself some water from one of the cooling machines, listening to Kyle whistle oddly to himself and bustle along after him.
I mean, who even is that bugger?' Kyle muttered, leaning on the machine and stealing the glass he'd just filled, forcing him to stop topping up a second little tumbler of icy cool water. Do you remember his name? Is it Kev something?'
John took a long sip of water, fixed his mask back in place, and then gave Kyle a thoughtful look. `Are you jealous?' he demanded in a quietly challenging voice, a conflicted twitch in his big friendly features as he sized up the other guy.
`Huh?'
Stones felt himself frown and he did his best to just smile. You're being weird,' he said lightly, still needing to get the accusations out in the open. What, did you prefer it when I was moping on the bench and needed you to make me feel better, or...?'
The 30-year-old Sheffield brute started at this, eyes bulging and lips pouting, then gave him a long look before bursting into fresh chesty laughter. You mad or summat, kiddo?' he demanded loudly. Just you go get as many starts and minutes as me on Pep's team and then ask me that silly question again, you mad bastard... Jealous, haha...' He grinned broadly and stroked the chest of his training jersey, gulping back the stolen water then dumping his glass in John's hand. `What were you smoking at lunchtime, you daft wanker? Ha ha.'
Stones gave him a thoughtful stare and shrugged one shoulder. `My bad,' he said ambiguously, jolting as he was shoved and elbowed in the playful tactile way his muscular friend had always held with him, long before their bodies had ever touched more in secret. He shrugged his pawing hands away with uncertain laughs, unable to shake the little sense of conflict and tension that had crept into their banter this afternoon as teammates heaped praise on him and made bold predictions about his contributions to their ongoing title race.
The tall defender trailed across the foyer with him, falling quiet as he struggled with the notion of some competitive envy or even resentment for his closest friend in the sport, the man who had always been there for him at every stage of his City and England career. He'd been slow to pick up on it, but Walker had definitely different with him over the last few wintry games, and certainly not the quickest to congratulate him on awesome moments like his two goals against Palace last weekend... he found himself staring curiously at the other guy, suspicious of his distracted cheery whistle and the heavy swagger of his steps, muscles rippling showily beneath the glossy layers of training kit, damp with rain so that they hugged his back and arse more closely.
Stones took another sip from the thin glass in his hand and slowed his step, spotting another member of the extended coaching team moving over towards them. The guy seemed to be catching his eye and he paused where he was. A few strides ahead, Kyle spun on his heel, patting both hands against his big chest, and laughing to himself. Oi, Stonesy,' he barked, not every guy we pass wants to smell yer arse and tell you how good you are, y'know-`
John, can I have a word?' cut in the tracksuited football coach, butting into Kyle's muttered call without seeming to notice or acknowledge him, just pulling up beside Stones and patting him by the elbow. The gaffer needs to see you upstairs, if that's okay. You got a few minutes?' Seeming now to notice Kyle, he looked that way and gave him a brief, dismissive nod. John was distracted from responding to this sudden messenger as he caught the flash of annoyance or snub on Kyle's honest angular face. The little gurn of dismay twisted back into a leering grin and he shrugged before turning back around and disappearing on through the doorways leading into the gyms and changing rooms, leaving John silently thoughtfully beside the assistant coach. John?' the bloke asked again. You got a few minutes? Pep wants to see you.'
He nodded slowly, distantly, fixing a smile and giving the guy a grateful look, assuring him that of course he had time, he'd be right up there, good good... and off the trainer went, leaving him to pause on the spot and stare down the other direction where Walker had vanished, mulling over that look on his face and the seemingly casual little jibes he'd been firing off all through January.
The boss had turned 50 at the start of the week but, to John's eyes, he looked well on it; slick and sophisticated and full of a youthful spark. He certainly seemed in one of his bright, playful moods, sat across the desk from him in the office. Like all of this, it was a far cry from a year ago, John thought, and that was to be fucking celebrated.
`It really was another strong performance,' Pep Guardiola said of last night, where Stones had played his own key part in a 2-0 win over Aston Villa under the heavy Mancunian rain; and Walker, he thought dimly at the back of his mind, had been benched and replaced while he sustained a 90-minute performance and clean sheet. The Spanish football manager had already waxed lyrical about the previous game, Crystal Palace, and his brace of surprising goals that had formed half of a 4-0 win over the South London side -- stroking his salt-and-pepper stubble and twinkling those dark wise eyes as he pattered on in his formal and stilted Spaniard's English.
`Well, thanks,' John said, trying his best to convey every inch of his gratitude in his grin and posture, seated in his slightly damp long skinny-fit tracksuit, his curly fringe almost hanging in his eyes, hands clasped awkwardly over his lap. He swung a little in the comfortable guest seat on this side of the managerial desk, not sure exactly what he was nervous about, but not able to fully relax in the company of the gaffer, even as praise was heaped on him for his most recent contributions.
`You are really putting last year behind you, as they say,' Pep murmured.
He nodded quite frantically at that. `It was a tough one, boss.'
`A lot of... changes,' the older man said quietly, something knowing in his half-smile.
Er, yes,' Stones responded uncertainly to that. He clared his throat. A lot of, erm, complications, in my erm, personal life, y'know.' He made a vague gesture of frustration at the boss and shrugged both of his broad shoulders, trying to relax his 6ft2 frame in the seat and lifting his arms onto the rests at the sides to stop himself swinging awkwardly from side to side. He tried to read the ambivalent expression on the chief's face, then gave up, and just stared down at his neat tie and collar instead, the slow tap of his tanned fingers on the smooth tidy desk surface.
`You seem... how do you say... on edge?'
Hmm? Ah, no, I'm good,' Stones told him. It's just... Well. It's just really nice to be hearing... nice things. Erm. I really worried at one point, y'know, that...'
Guardiola lifted and waved one hand dismissively. Last season is last season, boy.' He dropped the hand to some paperwork that was stacked beside his laptop. This is your performance management papers, John... I am reviewing with the board whether we can... adjust your pay, somewhat.' He gave a tight thin smile behind the dark and silver of his facial hair, eyes twinkling again beneath the gleaming pate of his shapely head. `That sounds good, no?'
John gave a couple of long slow nods. Oh yeah,' he agreed readily. If you think I deserve it.'
Oh, yes,' the manager assured him in a thoughtful low voice. We think you deserve it very much, Stones.' He smiled more fully, leaning back in his seat, one hand still resting on the paperwork. It will not be a big change, but it will be... favourable, shall we say?' He gave a single nod. Everyone is very pleased with you, John. Myself especially.'
Stones grinned at this, finding a certain intensity in the positive review a little challenging to sit with, quite at odds with his usual humility around his footballing life, if not in other aspects of it. He grinned loosely and scratched at the side of his head. `Great stuff,' he told the retired defensive midfielder, very pleased by all this but unsure what remained to be said; he had been in here a good twenty-five minutes now, picking apart last night and other recent matches, with Guardiola even sharing a couple of memories of his own defensive playing days, and some speculation about City's next fixture. It was odd for Pep to be confiding any strategy or decision-making thoughts with him about an upcoming match in this confidential manner, even if it was just a low-risk FA Cup tie with Cheltenham. For a second, Stones allowed himself to enjoy the prospect that he might be groomed for the next captaincy at the ambitious club of champions, and he almost laughed out loud at his own hubris.
Then, in the same warm but professional tone with which he had praised his ball skills and addressed the contract renegotiations that would follow this performance management meeting, Pep fixed him with a strange look and said, `Of course, there are other ways you can be rewarded.' There was almost a lilting question mark at the end, and Stones blinked a few times at him, slowly digesting this strange and forcedly casual remark.
`Right,' was all he could find to say.
A breathy little half-laugh. I think this will be all, John,' Guardiola told him in odd contrast to the vague and suggestive previous comment. I can complete this paper by myself at another time.'
Yeh,' he said slowly, pressing his hands down on the seat's armrests and leaning forward, pausing in the act of stretching his tall lean body to get up from his seat, watching the gaffer curiously and trying to figure out what Guardiola meant by other ways'. Again, he thought how swarthy handsome the Catalonian legend actually was, sharp-featured and ageless. He wanted to laugh at his own overthinking and overreaching as he contemplated this Iberian handsomeness, reminding himself that the gaffer was a securely married man and father of several grown-up children, not some oversexed beast like himself or Walker!
Still... he paused, sensing Pep's critical eyes on his face and shoulders and upper body, flickering away back to the screen of his laptop, and then... There is something for you, in fact,' he said, his voice becoming more brittle and formal, almost... shy? A more immediate... bonus. This contract work, it may take... well... it may take time. You know how these things are.' A big, glassy grin. `So I have made sure there is a different bonus for you, my friend.'
`A... different, erm... what? Sir...?' He wasn't usually given to the overly deferential, but the moment seemed to call for it. He paused halfway out of his seat, waiting for some clearer word or signal from the gaffer.
Pep maintained a long quiet pause that dragged this uncertainty into real awkwardness. John sat back down, but hesitantly, as if poised to lunge up and depart the small tidy office as soon as he was dismissed. He wasn't overly sweaty from today's light training, soft after last night's match in the heavy local downpour, but he did need a hot shower and a change of clothes before he drove off home to his missus. Confusingly and frustratingly, Pep was no longer even looking at him, but at the screen of his laptop, reflecting electric blue in the dark pools of his eyes. `Sir?' he repeated in a muffled, schoolboy voice that made him squirm and clear his throat.
Ahem. Yes.' Guardiola seemed to remember he was there, and his face was calm and detached, his voice serious and almost disinterested. You will find it in the hospitality bar. Go and see for yourself now, if you are free. I believe you will... enjoy it.'
Okay, this was weird, and a head-scratcher. He nodded slowly again and rose once more, dusting off his sleeves and standing awkwardly for a moment more in front of the boss's desk, then backing away and reaching for the door. He thanked Guardiola in a series of mumbled outbursts and then left the office in a perplexed state, even more distracted and intrigued than he'd been downstairs, interrupted and parted from moody Walker.
But if there was a `bonus' waiting for him in the bar area, then he would just have to go and see what the hell the boss was talking about, right...?
The bar was closed at the moment, like a lot of the peripheral features of the football club's sprawling and expensive training campus. It was supposed to be out of bounds in fact, but Guardiola himself had directed him here, so... Well, this was all a bit daft, but he had to see what the boss was on about, didn't he?
He tottered through the passages of the top floor and found the door unlocked, allowing him into the long thin bar area that overlooked the main training pitches. It was lit only by the soft gold afternoon light, the on-off bursts of rain patterning the big windows and their footballing view. Most importantly, it seemed entirely empty and quiet, and Stones wondered for a moment or two if he was the butt of a really obscure joke by the club's manager.
He felt silly, taking long steps inside the hospitality area, swallowing the instinct to call out Hullo?' into the quiet, just pawing awkwardly at the front of his zipped-up jersey and shaking more moisture out of his curly hair. What weird banter was this? What kind of a gift might Guardiola have left in here for him as a bonus'? It was all very strange.
He rounded the corner and stared down the bar itself, his eyes noting first the oddness that just one section of the metallic shutters were rolled upwards at the far end, and then the seemingly more obvious fact that another guy was seated on a stool in front of it. John paused to stare at this familiar figure, who lifted his eyes to meet him, a fleeting smile playing on his thin pale features. `Phil,' he coughed awkwardly, taking a few steps down the length of the bar, trailing a hand over its surface.
The younger City player was perched there on his stool in matching trackies and top, having been training in a different bubble of men all day too in the gentle recovery from last night's win. He was leaning one arm on the bar and holding the other against his thigh, staring this way with those beady thoughtful eyes beneath the neat trim of his short dark hair. He didn't say anything until John was right beside him, dropping an elbow to the bartop and staring at him in bewilderment. `Hey man,' Foden said, the 20-year-old midfielder sitting up straight to bring himself anywhere near John's superior height.
You've got a pint?' Stones asked, as he registered the third interesting detail, and then, aha, the fourth. You've got two pints?' Two freshly poured lagers sat in front of Phil, squat and brown on their beermats, and the disarmingly normal image made the big Barnsley lad laugh warmly then fire his questioning eyes at Foden again. `Mate, is this it? Is a freshly poured pint my performance bonus from the gaffer? Ha ha. Well. I've had worse!'
He reached down and took one of the two pint glasses in hand. Phil did the same, and they clinked their pints together before taking a sip. Phil avoided his eye contact and left a shimmering little moustache of lager above his lips that made John privately want to reach across and wipe it dry. There was something about little Phil that did that: brought out the brotherly and the protective, he was such a wiry little whippet of a guy, so youthful and oblivious for all his talent and promise.
`Bonus?' Phil murmured, nursing his drink.
Yeah,' John said in slow confusion. You're in on it, then? This little joke of the gaffer's? He said I'd find a special reward in here for me. You know, hah, after the last few games, erm...' It sounded daft from his own lips, this boastfulness. He thought of Kyle's sneering resentment and coloured in his high cheeks. He rubbed his soft stubbled chin and loomed over the other lad, still unsure quite how and why his younger teammate was in here, waiting for him, and with these drinks poured out...
The drink isn't the bonus,' Foden said in a small voice that was trying to be bigger. Stones blinked and stared at him. Guardiola wants to really treat you. The pint is just... the warm-up.' He grinned in his tight, foxy way, eyes flickering nervously, knuckles tightening as he gripped the pint glass. John stared at him in slow-dawning understanding, as one of Phil's legs parted a bit further and their knees rubbed a little through the thin tight fabric of the almost skin-tight tracksuit bottoms. Drink up,' Foden encouraged quietly, I've got very strict instructions to... erm, reward you, mate...'
He sat on the stool next to the younger lad and finished his pint in slow bursts of thirst -- they chatted in low, conspiratorial voices, but not about anything important, least of all the situation they now found themselves in. Stones, wary but excited, made vague comments about the training sessions today, and about the news that the squad was to be without two key names: Aguero, positive with the virus, and de Bruyne, injured after last night. John thought privately of Tommy Doyle, and what he had learned about big Belgian Kev, and how thoughtfully he had sat on that knowledge over these busy weeks since.
The conversation turned somehow to the boss. He's been... very good to me,' Phil said in his quietly evasive manner, and John tried to get his head around the set-up that faced him. But he wants to share me,' the prodigious midfielder murmured in an even lower, breathier tone, his feelings on the matter sounding ambivalent.
John put down his finished glass with a clink and looked to the right at the awkward seated posture of his fellow player, piecing this together. It was not entirely news to him that Foden might find enjoyment elsewhere than his childhood sweetheart, though he'd never been sure about the exact details of Walker's boastful account of playing about with the then-teenaged prodigy in a stadium toilet. But... Phil and Pep? He looked hard at him and thought about this surreal `bonus' in front of him, then lifted his hand from the pint glass and rested it on his shoulder.
`So how were you planning to reward me?' he asked him.
`However you want,' Phil answered quickly and loyally.
Right,' John chuckled back. He tightened his hand on his shoulder a bit and slid it across to the base of his neck, rubbing a thumb against the exposed skin of his neck. So Guardiola is lending me his Golden Boy, is he...?'
Phil nodded his head and his face was a mixture of bold smirk and nervous eyes. `That's it, yeh.'
Stones made the move, lowering his tall body and bringing them closer between the stools, and kissing him on the lips. He wasn't sure how the Stockport youth would respond, but it was instant and melting, the smaller sportsman craning upwards to keep their lips together and open up for John's tongue. Mm. He snogged the young lad and wrapped his strong arm about his back, enjoying his quivering mouth -- it was more like kissing a girl than the raspy aggressive kisses he shared with his Kyle, which were like a kind of oral contest for dominance that he often conceded in pursuit of pleasure.
He broke away from the kiss and made a breathy little laugh. `Hmm, this might be quite an interesting bonus,' he commented, then kissed Phil again, but on the brow rather than the mouth. He slid his arse cheeks off his stool, standing over him, and pushed him back with both hands, keeping him seated on the stool but with his back pressing against the side and rim of the bar -- then he leaned in and kissed him on the lips from above, hunching over and holding his slim strong body while their tongues lashed and their teeth briefly clashed.
Mmm, little Philly,' he murmured, pressing him back hard and feeling the tight compact muscles of his torso through the jersey, leering into his blushing naïve face. How long have you been this much of a slut then, that's what I wanna know... heh...'
I'm Pep's,' he said in a coy rush, then more confidently, But he says you have proven yourself an, erm, real man, says you've really come into your own... says you need to be treated like a proper man now, and he reckons I'm the one to do that...' A nervous but flirty giggle. He says you've earned it good and proper,' he said breathlessly. Stones shut him up with a kiss and rubbed his hands under his top, in against the cool smooth skin, rolling it up over his abs and lean chest and then up over his shoulders until he was shirtless. He thinks you've become really crucial to City,' Phil went on, needlessly echoing the sentiment of the light-hearted meeting John had already enjoyed, as if it was a script he had been heavily prepped with.
Enough of that,' John said, standing over him and enjoying his toned slim twink's physique against the bar, before yanking down the zipped front of his own top and then pulling it and the vest below off his long muscular trunk, both of them stripped to the waist. He could feel Phil's beady eyes taking in every detail of his sturdy chest and solid six-pack, his long resting arms. He bit his lip excitedly and thought how fun this might be, this apparent reward for his hard work and his goal-rich comeback. Phil's hand came snaking forward for the front of his blue tracky bottoms and found the thick bulge coming to life there, and John just grinned approvingly at him. I think you might be the one getting the real bonus here, Phil lad.'
Four nights previously, in a hotel bed in the centre of London: Phil touched another cock, the still hot and throbbing erection of his papi, lounged beside him in the nest of warm sheets, breathing heavily to the ceiling in the afterglow of orgasm. Phil stroked gently at the big Spanish weapon, still tasting its salty prize against his tongue and lips, but wanting more. They were naked and glossy with sweat, his shoulder and cheek almost sticking to the furry rug of Guardiola's chest.
It had been fantastic sex again tonight. Pep as always at his most powerful and randy after leading the team to such a big win. The great Spaniard had given him such intense eyes across the changing rooms during the celebrations that Foden had almost expected to be dragged into the showers and ravaged there and then, with the rest of the City squad watching; disappointingly, that fantasy had not unfolded, but he'd barely been in the hotel for minutes than he was being led away from the assembly of unwinding players and thrust into an upbound elevator.
A lot of sweating and grunting and squealing later, here they were, wrapped up in each other. Phil knew that he would need to leave soon, that he would be required to show his face in the hotel lounge and with his roommate of the trip, but for now he could enjoy just basking in the body heat of the man who could make him feel more pleasure than he'd ever known possible, just enjoying the sound of his deep raggedy breaths and the soft little bursts of satisfied laughter that came between them as he recovered from the force of his own fucking.
As he always did, Guardiola wrapped a hairy arm about him and pulled him in for cuddles, and Foden just groaned happily to be held and protected like this, especially as it had become rarer and rarer as the season -- and pandemic -- continued. He writhed comfortably against the hold of the bigger, more powerful, and older man -- 50 at midnight! -- and twisted his neck to look into his face. The expression that greeted him was less dozy and contented than he might have expected, and the serious frown there was disconcerting. Phil stared quietly back, resting against him and his chest and arm, and letting their naked ankles rub and play beneath the covers.
`Papi?' he whispered.
Pep sighed. It was a long and ominous sigh, but it was accompanied by his hand lifting up to come and stroke down Phil's cheek and jawline. `My boy...'
`I don't like the sound of this,' the young footballer said to him very quietly, cutting him off. Pep paused, made a sad little face, but then seemed to brighten. His hand slid from Phil's face to grip his bare shoulder.
Filipe, listen to me,' the City manager told him in the man-scented paradise of their bedding, I do not want you to get upset with me when I say this, but...'
There in that Sunday night cocoon of satisfied lust and post-match exhilaration, Foden had felt his world begin to collapse, and just stared at the older man in anticipatory anguish. He'd wanted to pull away from him, flee the bed still naked with his arse still burning from the fierceness of what it had taken; he wanted to escape so that Guardiola could never say what surely he was about to say.
`You're finished with me?' he asked with a tremor and a little catch in his throat.
Finished?' purred the Spanish man, stroking the side of his arm with a few fingers. Fuck, no! Finished! Never. I have barely begun!' And he leaned in, almost biting his lip in a quick little kiss. No, no, no... Filipe! Not that, no, not finished... BUT...' A long deep breath that made Phil nervous again, though he trusted in Pep's words deeply. I do need to... pause.' And so he had explained it, slowly and carefully and never letting go of Phil as he did so, reaching his hands about his body and even playing with his flaccid spent cock as he murmured in his ear. He explained how much he had relied on sex bans as a player to sharpen his mind and bring him to the top of his game; he explained how fragile the League was for the club right now, with their Manchester neighbours in ascendance and the whole Premiership so scattered with uncertainty and surprising rivals. I need to be like a... like a...' He scrabbled for the English. Like a monk,' he announced, then gave him a very un-monk-like snog on the lips before finishing his quiet bedtime monologue. `I must not have this delicious pleasure, Filipe, for some weeks, maybe months. Not until we have victory in sight. You understand, do you not? Tell me you understand, boy...'
Phil did, or he thought he did. But he couldn't keep the heartbreak out of his eyes, cuddled in against his dominant man, his king. The thoughts tumbled quickly through his head and, although it wasn't the first, the selfishness of his young desire was there among them. Could he really go without these intense sessions for a matter of months, for potentially the rest of the season?!
It was like his master could read his mind. I will not expect you to wait,' sighed Guardiola. Of course, Phil's instant response to that had been rash promises, desperate pleas, even guilty apologies for the England trip when he'd allowed himself to play along with Mount and Rice, even though he knew how much his manager had enjoyed hearing about that. Still, he lay there, gabbling earnestly about how he never wanted any other man to touch him, nor woman if he was totally honest; and when his outburst had ran its course, Pep just rested a finger on his lips and shook his head. You are young,' he said wistfully. I do not want you balls to dry up and your cock to fall off. I think there are ways we can find you pleasure even while I... resist.' He smirked, the spark of an idea in his warm eyes. I think there are ways you can serve me without touching me, my Filipe.'
Anything,' begged Phil in a whisper. Anything, papi.'
And now here he was, cock becoming hard in his pants, relaxing into the harms and hands of this commanding presence. To begin with, he had been bursting with guilt because of how much he wanted the big grinning man over him -- how many times had he perved on Stones when they were obliged to share a room on away games? Or just in the dressing rooms and showers. Big and handsome and well-hung, the Barnsley bloke was incredibly exciting to look at and be touched by, and wow... but Pep! It felt so wrong to be cuddling up against another man's strong hot body like this, even if his cock revealed his enjoyment, and it was all with Guardiola's blessing.
But he also kept thinking of the promises he had made his papi, the firmness of his plan and resolution, the fact that they must not touch each other until City were back on top of the table and another League title was within their grasp. Heart-breaking but important promises for Phil, who had every intention of sticking to them. And so this action right now, well... it was a double duty to the powerful man he loved. It was loyalty in abstaining from the intensity of their shared time, and it was acting as his proxy here in rewarding the centre-back...!
He clung to this second line of thinking and sunk his face in against John's hard pecs, kissing them and finding his nipple with his lips, sucking devilishly on it and then squeezing his hands about his biceps admiringly. He was lifted from the stool and pulled to his feet, dragged around a tight little corner into the space behind the bar, which would be all the cover and discretion they needed.
Down to the floor he sank, dropping to his knees in front of the big manly defender, staring up at him wide eyes and gently parted lips. I want to suck you,' he offered throatily, Pep wants me to suck you, wants you to know how much your big cock means to the club...' He loved how blatantly excited this stupid dirty talk made Stones, whose cheeks flushed and eyes lit up at the mixture of lust and praise. Phil grabbed and pulled at the fabric of his tight trackies and soon John was helping him, pushing them down, and the tight Umbro sports briefs with them, and out it swung...
Wow. It was big. Bigger than Pep's? He wasn't sure. Longer, perhaps. He took hold it, lifted it, and began by licking just the balls, teasing with his tongue. Stones' groans were deep and Barnsley-accented and he grabbed the back of Foden's head with one masterful hand, the other planted into the bartop for support. Phil opened wide and took the big Yorkshire cock in his gob, excited in spite of his deep possessive loyalty to be tasting another prick once more -- just as he had been with Mason and Declan in that England hotel room, excited to be involved and included.
He sucked frantically and skilfully on the long thick weapon of the big 26-year-old, bobbing back and forward and keeping his eyes trained upwards to enjoy the sweaty roll of his six-pack and chest below his gurning face. Phil brought his hands around to the back to clutch at the big round cheeks of John's prominent rear, feeling their bare downy muscle as they clenched and relaxed with each wave of orally gifted pleasure.
Fuck,' growled Stones, above him, how often does Pep get this...? No wonder he's so cheerful... ohhh...'
He wanted you to feel my mouth,' Phil gurgled, pulling his mouth away from the big cock and just stroking it at the base. He wanted me to serve you, Stonesy, he wanted me to make you know how important you are to us.'
Fuck yes,' the big guy went on, keep doing that, mmm...'
Anything,' Phil moaned. You are our big sexy centre-back.'
Mmm... yes... and tell me, mate...' John looked down at him, smirking. Was it just your mouth the gaffer wanted me to experience...?'
He pressed him down against the carpeted floor behind the bar, a little rough against their bare skin, but not enough to stop or distress either of them. The short wiry midfielder groaned and gasped beneath him as he found his way between his pert cheeks and began to finger his hole, lying beside and over him, tugging at his own hard-on with his other hand.
There had been a little hesitation at all this madness as he first began to kiss and grab at the clearly nervous younger lad, but then it had been like something snapped in Foden and he became a horned-up animal! His sluttish lips around John's cock had woken up his own animal instincts and now he just needed to be properly inside him.
They had both been a little rain-damp and sweaty to begin with, but now John could feel his own lean muscles oily with perspiration, and Phil's body felt similar as he groped and grabbed at him. He angled his wrist and jerked two fingers more fully into his tight little hole, pressing them into him and letting go of his own cock so he could stroke and hold onto Phil, stretching an arm under him and about the top of his narrow chest. He brought his face in close to side of his to whisper in his ears.
`So the boss is okay with me fucking you?' he muttered in filthy tones.
`He said you should use me properly,' came Foden's subservient moan.
`He wants me to fuck his toy, does he?' Stones gasped, loving the idea.
I'm yours,' Foden gasped back, he wants you to enjoy me.'
`Fuck, you feel good on my knuckles, mate...'
`Mmmm, yes... Will you tell him? Will you tell him I felt good?'
Fuck yes,' he gasped, loving this idea even more. Yeah, I'll tell him what a good slut you were...'
`Please,' whined Foden in his arm, pushing his firm little arse back against his hand.
The submissiveness of this talented little fucker was very new and exciting to John, who was used to a more aggressive tussle of physicality and ego. He continued to frig him deeply, wanting to really relax and loosen him before trying his own mighty equipment on him. Clearly this was not Phil's first rodeo, but had he ever taken anything of John's proportions before...?
When he was sure Phil was desperate and ready, he pressed him down almost flat on his front and climbed atop him, planking over him for a moment and lining up their waists -- Phil's petite figure made him feel massive and powerful as he aimed his cock between those hand-marked cheeks, pushing his tip in between the clenched glutes, then relaxing his own spine and sliding their firm muscular middles together. Again, John scooped one of his arms around the other player's chest to hold him to himself, and then pressed inside him, loving the accepting tightness of this scally lad below, unable to hold in his own long gasp of delight.
John pushed more firmly at him and found that Phil, for all his compact physicality and trembling youth, took his cock more easily and with more gasping appreciation than Kyle, for whom submitting his backside was still a rare and mildly traumatic sacrifice to their secret love. Not that John didn't enjoy that reluctance and conflict too, but it was a joyous change to be balls-deep inside a lad who could really take and enjoy it! Wow.
He began to fuck him, pressing him down into the rough carpet and loving his short sharp gasps of pleasure, his sluttish whisperings (Fuck me harder, John!') and distracted sexy murmurs (Tell Papi how good I was!'). John's knees and elbows rubbed at the carpet too, so hard they burned, making him sure they would both be leaving this bar with grazes across their naked bodies. Naked but for the socks and trainers they had not removed, bashing off each other in the tangled movement of their legs. The roughness and scraping stung and burned but seemed irrelevant next to the glorious sexual pleasure of pushing in and out of Phil's arse, fucking him to the floor and pinning him down, even pushing his groaning face into the rough shagpile.
It was unlike Stones to enjoy sex so selfishly, to just squash and pin down his partner and focus so much on the rapid stroke of his fucking cock, ploughing on towards completion, but this was his `bonus', this is what he had been given -- a prime slut just gagging to please him and follow Pep's seedy instructions to their natural end. He didn't feel any obligation to blow Phil, though the young lad's surprisingly weighty cock would be a great mouthful, none of the careful reciprocation of the heated encounters he and Walker had shared since last summer's heyday.
The tall energetic defender just fucked his bonus lover into the floor, his own body rippling, his big arse rising and falling with each piston thrust, his bulky thighs covering Phil's leaner legs, their limbs folding against each other until they were like one sweaty extended body writhing down their on the ground behind the bar, poorly screened from any curious wanderer who might come in. Their gasps became synchronised: Foden's reedy trills and Stones' own deep, laddish grunts. John fucked him hard until he felt the little tingle in his gooch and the quickening of everything in him: then he was cumming deep inside his borrowed slut, spunking into his hole and making several final thrusts of particular force.
`Oh yes, breed me,' Foden was whining in a muffled and uncomfortable swoon.
Stones loved to hear his filthy Stockport mouth. He sniggered happily and pulled back with his thick hips, withdrawing his big one from the lad's arse and letting it slap stickily against his cheeks as he pushed himself up on both arms, rising up a bit, looking down on Foden's quivering body. Then he pulled backwards, away from him a little, and the rush of selfish lust gave way to his more fraternal kindness. With a laugh, he grabbed both hands at one side of Phil's body, and in one muscular move, flipped him onto his back. Now, looking down on him, he could see the red grazes above his knees and down the sides of his arms, even on one of his cheeks -- oops! -- but he could also see the leaking pre-cum at the tip of his surprisingly thick nob.
John spat in his hand and grabbed it, kneeling astride his legs, still pinning him down there with the weight of his spread legs, and then pushing his other hand down on his abs. He jerked him rapidly and forcefully, grinning stupidly and enjoying the brief challenge of it, liking the dazzled surprise of Phil's face as he did so. Quickly the job was done and Phil was cumming in several messy bursts up his own pale midriff, his juices oozing against the tight little contours of his abdomen.
`Did I do good?' the City midfielder asked in a voice of total exhaustion.
Better than good,' John told him between pants, looming still over him and dripping sweat from his chin and from the dangling curls of his fringe. You were a fucking awesome bonus, kid.' He burst out laughing, overjoyed at not just the illicit enjoyment of this, but in the career upturn that had ridiculously provided it: yep, this sexy little scally slut was his temporary prize for his massive improvements and his on-pitch achievements for a club he had feared was finished with him.
He recognised the car before he saw its driver. He was almost home, driving back to the big suburban mansion where his girlfriend awaited him -- the big mansion that had become a very different home when she temporarily dumped him last summer over his issues with his ex, and for a number of surreal weeks it had been shared by just he and Kyle, their stuffy love-nest of many hot summer nights before they returned to their female partners and the normality they represented.
And now, driving back to that home in the early January darkness, he recognised his teammate's car, parked just around the corner from his own driveway, and could see Walker hunched in the front of it like an unskilled private eye on a stakeout.
Stones drove past the familiar vehicle and onto his own driveway, pulling out of his car with his big winter coat over his fresh clean tracksuit of grey sweatpants and hoody. Then, instead of advancing up towards the front door, he pushed his keys into his pocket and trailed down the path instead, onto the pavement and then around the sharp corner. He crossed the road and stood impatiently at the passenger door until he heard a lock click, then pulled it open and got inside.
Well,' he said brightly, you gonna sit there and pout, or tell me why you're here?'
In the driving seat of his sports car, Kyle Walker huffed loudly. He didn't look at John, just stared fixedly out of the windscreen, past the hedgerow and at the silhouette of Stones' home against the sunset. Around them, suburbia shivered quietly under the gentle rain. John smiled patiently and reached a hand across to stroke Kyle's shoulder through his tshirt. `What's up, Walkies?'
You were out of order earlier,' his partner mumbled suddenly after the brooding silence, arms folded forward over the wheel, shoulder rippling a little beneath John's hand. Me, jealous of ya. Like I ain't had your back all these, J. Fuck's sake, buddy.'
John felt a mild urge to point out the heavy resentment that dripped from this accusation, and the many little jokes he had smirkingly tolerated before eventually labelling and confronting Kyle's envy this afternoon. Instead, he just sighed and shrugged and patted him on the shoulder muscles. `That is true, mate, that is so true. Erm.'
As if I'm not pleased to see ya do well!' Walker grunted, finally looking this way. He actually, to Stones' quiet surprise, looked a little bit hurt, not just defensive and ego-burned. As if anybody at City is happier than me when you kick a fucking goal in, okay?!'
Okay,' he echoed instantly, squeezing the tense knotted muscles between shoulder and neck, and forcing a little appeasing laugh. Relax, brother, I was only messing... it was just a little joke between us... what's got into you, Kyle? You're being weird.'
`If only you know the things I've done to keep you here!' growled the other chunky defender, finally getting to his point. John looked at him curiously, but no explanation or elaboration came. Kyle just stared back ahead of them at the house and at least shifted his chunky torso back against the leather of his seat, briefly squashing John's hand there. Touching him tenderly like that across the car interior, he was reminded of a heavier rainy day last winter, when a particular storm had brought them quite close together.
What do you mean?' John asked in a murmur. The things you've done? Keep me?'
He decided on a different tact with his hand. He shifted his buttocks in the seat and reached across over the gearstick and other controls and laid his hand calmly on the thigh of the man's jogging bottoms, stretching it into the warm furrow of his crotch, finding the outline of his baggy cock there. Ah yes, Kyle really did like going commando now and then: no underpants getting in the way, just the obvious outline of his heavy privates through the thick, soft material!
`What did Pep want today?' Kyle demanded, as if ignoring John's exploring fingers.
`Just a word.'
`A word?'
`A chat, you know. Actually, performance management.'
`Right...'
`He just wanted to butter me up. Talk contracts. A bit more pay, or something. A... bonus.'
`Huh. He thinks he's so slick. JUST a talk?'
`Just a talk! What do you mean?'
While they spoke, he rubbed leisurely at Kyle's irresistibly responding prick in the loose folds of his sweatpants, his long arm angled comfortably to tease and play with him through the material without looking too weird to the occasional pedestrian that drifted by on the rainy streets. He smiled curiously at him as he began to jerk him through his pants.
Last summer, he was gonna sell you,' Walker snapped, still trying to act very calmly and distractedly, as if his cock wasn't throbbing hard down below and being frantically rubbed into his inner thigh by all four of John's right-hand fingers. I never told you this. He was gonna get rid of you. But... I... well... I...' A long difficult quiet. `I sucked him off to keep you. Okay? I sucked the old fucker's cock to keep him happy and keep him off your back and mine. Okay? That's how much I want you to be here, you fucking idiot, and how much I want you to do well.'
John didn't immediately say anything back to that, he just sat very stiffly and carried on with his determined task. He pulled and squeezed at the older man's thick rager until he was sure the 30-year-old hunk was extremely close, and then... You did that for me?' he whispered. You got down on your knees in front of the boss just for me?' Finally Kyle's tight lips parted and he let out his desperate little high-pitched gasps of climax, clashing with his burly machismo; quickly, John could feel the hot dampness of his seed through the thick sweatpants. He grinned.
`You old romantic, Kyle Walker.'
`Fuck you, Stonesy.'
`I can smell your cum on my fingers, mate. I'm not washing this hand all night.'
`Twat.'
`Jealous prick.'
`Smug cunt.'
`Sexy bugger.'
`Fuck you, stud.'
They turned and grinned awkwardly at each other. John, his hand still playing against the hot crotch of Kyle's pants, and now gripping his thigh gently in reassurance, feeling the broad rounded bulge of muscle there. `Can we just enjoy the fact we actually get to play side by side week after week again, like old times...? You soppy bastard.' Their eyes met at last across the front of the car, and a dopey smile burst into view on the other Yorkshireman's features.
So,' he said to him at last, deciding to spend a last few minutes in this car which stunk of Kyle's ejaculate, before heading inside and dipping his dirty fingers inside his girlfriend, do you want to hear a little bit more about my bonus, or not...? Because I feel like you're gonna find it interesting... VERY interesting.'
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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