Part 245: Midnight in Budapest
His eyes snapped open from the little daze he'd been slipping into, and he found himself staring straight ahead into the LCD digits marking out the time on the speakers on the shelf: 00:00, midnight in Budapest. It went from the 10th to the 11th of March, and just like that, he was a year older, 27.
`Here it is,' announced the smooth voice of the man whose chest he was lounged on, hard pecs making a surprisingly good pillow for the weight of his sleepy head.
Andy Robertson blinked wearily at the time and then slid his eyes across to the television screen and the dubbed movie they had been watching, cuddled together in one of two beds, so pleased to have cheated the usual rotation and secured a room together on the Hungarian jaunt for tonight's Champions League match. Then he craned his neck and turned his head, lifting it off his man's broad pec, to grin receptively at Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain as the handsome fucker wished him `Happy birthday, mucker.'
Aye, great,' Robertson grunted ironically, giving him a lopsided grin and shifting his weight from the comfortable pose he'd allowed his wiry body to slip into against the muscled landscape of the heavier athlete. Where's my cake?' he quipped lazily, pushing fully off Alex and propping himself on one elbow, then turning to yawn blankly at the film, wondering just how much of it he had napped through while soothed by the rise and fall of Ox's chest.
One of the other lad's bulky arms rolled about his shoulder and chest, pulling him into a hug, and then those soft lips were on his freckled forehead, planting a slow kiss there. He pretended not to enjoy it, chuckling and writhing against the strength of Alex's arm, then twisting his head around and kissing him cheekily on his iron jawline before sliding away and stifling another yawn. In the pocket of his sweatpants he could feel the buzz and chime of birthday messages arriving in his inbox, clawing at his attention even though he was so pleased to be reaching 27 here in this room with his best mate.
The Glaswegian left-back sat up in bed, feeling his teammate and lover still pawing at his back and shoulders and kissing now at the nape of his neck, lips tickling against the fuzzy auburn hair that sprouted and curled there. He released a pleasurable little moan at this attention, sliding out his phone and making the important step of opening and responding to his fiancée, but ignoring all of the other messages popping up on his phone, and pushing it away into the pocket so he could be more present in this precious and anticipated night with just Ox -- even if the big stud had refused sex on the grounds that they were both tired from their part in the match and needing to preserve energy for intense training tomorrow almost as soon as they landed at John Lennon Airport. It had been a decision that left him confused and disappointed, but now made sense as he felt so sluggish and wiped out, apparently unable to stay awake during a film.
Alex was letting go of him now and hopping off the bed, adjusting his baggy shorts around what perhaps was a bit of a semi, and going to switch off the TV. `Sorry, were you not enjoying that?' Andy mumbled, wondering if his dozing had ruined the film for him somehow.
It's your birthday now,' Alex exclaimed brightly, far more awake and upbeat than he felt himself, standing there in front of the TV, 5ft11 of broad muscle. No movies getting in the way of that, Braveheart...'
`Yep, party time,' Andy joked at him, blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes and rolling out his shoulders. He reclined back to the bed, patting down the close-fitting band tshirt that clung to his lean upper body, and pulling the sweatpants back up his waist where they'd started to slide down and reveal his stripy trunks below. He watched with faint amusement as Alex did a brief mime of dance, his equipment swinging visibly in those shorts, and then began to unfold a pair of trackies form his bag and yank them over his thick legs on top of the shorts. Andy was about to mouth a question at this reverse striptease when a jumper of his was grabbed from on top of the unit and tossed into his face and chest for him to catch.
`Pull that on, will ya, Scottie?'
You feeling the cold tonight, babe?' the Scotsman asked with raised eyebrow, cuddling the garment to him and watching as Alex began to shove his large feet into one then another trainer. Erm -- are we going somewhere then, Mr...?'
Yup,' Alex said simply, almost dismissively, in the middle of zipping up a hooded top that he'd pulled over his broad shoulder, lifting his broad freckled face and giving one of his incredibly sexy gap-toothed boyish grins. It's your birthday, innit.'
`Yeah but... it's also midnight?'
Old man,' teased Oxlade. Get that jumper on and shift your skinny arse. I've got something to show you.' He clapped his large hands impatiently and Robbo just laughed, finding his tiredness swept aside as he caught the playful mood of his fellow Liverpool player, looming over him and grinning gleefully. He had no idea what his birthday surprise was, but he felt a surge of affection for the other man that was almost painfully intense.
In another room on the same floor, midnight ticked into place on a clock on the wall, and one of the two athletic occupants stretched his mouth wide in yawn as he registered the late hour and the need for sleep before tomorrow's return flight to Merseyside. He looked back from the clock to the television and then across at his roommate, who was uncharacteristically alert and stood at one of the mirrors, staring quite critically at his frowning reflection.
Oi,' the 35-year-old Yorkshireman grunted across at his roomie for this international trip, I'm gonna start calling you Vain Mo if you don't quit that, pal.' He grinned jokily at the nervous expression on Salah's bearded face, watching as the Egyptian star backed off from the mirror and folded the muscular arms that rippled from his loose white vest. He mumbled something vague and dismissive and not entirely audible then drifted back towards the edge of his bed.
James Milner was sprawled out on the other of the two beds, head and muscular shoulders propped on a stack of pillows as he flicked through the channels, a mixture of Hungarian and American, and scratched idly at the strip of rock-hard abdomen on show between his hoodie and the waist of his sweat-shorts. He turned his attention back to the TV and flicked on through a few more channels of late-night dullness, then realised that Mohamed was still frowning concernedly from the corner of his bed, hands resting on the knees of his pyjama bottoms.
What is it?' Milner demanded gruffly. You seem out of sorts.'
`Nothing,' Salah told him, simply and unconvincingly.
The muscle-bound midfielder just smiled thoughtfully his way, patting his hands across his ripped stomach and stretching out his legs, bare feet jutting upwards. He could not help but think of last time he had caught out the earnest striker's nervous mood and managed to wheedle the source of that anxiety out of him in carefully censored confession; the possibility that this was something similar now making him shift uncomfortably and seem so awake in the middle of the night, it made James smirk a little and peer curiously at the other Liverpool player.
You aren't worrying about when that pip-squeak comes back, are you?' he barked with a mixture of genuine friendly concern and some complacent amusement. He saw the instant flare of recognition and distaste in Salah's face, and he shrugged his bulging shoulders apologetically. Well, I haven't seen you lookin' so worried since those days, that's all. I know how it bothered you, the attentions of that grubby kid -- but he's out of the picture for now, so dunno what could on your mind, pal. It's not that, then?' He stared inquisitively at Mo's bristling refusal.
I have not thought of him,' the Egyptian player muttered starkly. That is history.'
Yes, good,' was Milner's grunted reply, shifting a bit on his bed and then laughing quietly to himself. Mind you, he's doing bloody well up there in Blackburn, ain't he...? I dunno how closely you've been following it...'
Not at all,' Salah told him, far too quickly. Milner did not look back at him then, but he did grin gloatingly to himself and watch the late-night Hungarian talk show with a growing mirth in his chest. No,' he sighed in superficial agreement, `I suppose not.' He did not need to look directly at his teammate to sense his shifting and fidgeting on the other bed, pulling at his vest and PJs, getting back up to his feet. When he announced he needed to go for a walk and get some air, James just nodded dismissively and kept his attention on the screen, allowing his thoughts to wander briefly to that cocky teenager and the trouble he'd roused whilst still on the Liverpool roster; god knows what mischief the little cub was up to at Rovers, though it was hard to imagine him finding many playmates at a club like that!
A relaxed and self-secure 35-year-old, he had few qualms about his own encounter with Harvey Elliott, nothing like Salah's -- the door slammed somewhat behind his exit from the room -- and for Milner, it was just a daft thing that had happened. Admittedly, he hadn't dipped his wick like that in quite a while before being tempted by the chavvy youth, but Harvey was not the first guy he'd fucked, and he could hardly promise himself he'd be the last. He was relaxed and confident in the fact of what he had done, but he was also fiercely cautious enough about exposure to have engineered Elliott's loan deal to Rovers, securing his own privacy as well as rescuing Salah from whatever had actually gone on there. If Mohamed was to be believed, it was some kinda inappropriate crush from the young footballer to the prized goal-scorer, but James had more than a few suspicions that forbidden fruit may have been consumed.
Left alone in the room, he slid one of his large brutish hands inside his shorts and teased at his privates, fiddling with the remote until a Pay-Per-View menu was up on the screen, and entering the Adult' category with a boyish smirk on his craggy manly face. Thinking reminiscently about how hard he had slammed Harvey against the walls of his walk-in closet -- had he been a virgin? Sure fucking felt like it! -- he cycled through the unimaginative porno titles on the menu and then scrolled beyond the hetero stuff to the one homosexual option at the bottom. Making an indecisive expression, his muscular body sprawled on the bed and his hand beginning to really attend to his waking cock, Milner mused over the possibility of watching something a little different from his usual fare, almost rejecting the idea and pushing back up towards the MILF porn that had caught his eye at the top of the list. Nah, why the fuck not, he thought with a laugh, and hit ok' on the gay stuff instead, smirking and chuckling at the taboo and thinking that knocking one out to it once every few years was probably almost normal, wasn't it?
`Right, you can open them now!' He took his paws off the other man's face, giving him a gentle push forward as they took faltering steps out across the broad stone terrace. Alex grinned uncontrollably and grabbed Andy firmly by the shoulders, steering him forward and then hugging from behind, leading him in these clumsy steps until they were out by the parapet, reaching the edge of the hotel roof and enjoying its sprawling panoramic view of the Hungarian city in its valley of twinkling lights and glittering river.
Aye,' the man in his arms responded with typical dry Glaswegian restraint, it's canny.'
Fuck off,' chuckled Oxlade-Chamberlain, kissing the side of his neck, it's bloody magnificent, you grumpy prick, and look up to.'
`Yep. That's one starry sky.'
Grinning foolishly, Ox squeezed his arms and turned him round, face to face, daring him not to laugh. Don't sound too impressed,' he chided. Come here, kiss me, you bastard.' They locked lips, briefly but roughly, and then he shifted away and nodded to his left. `Check this out, Highlander.'
He was fucking proud of himself. He'd been scooting about the hotel website in his efforts to plan tonight, and the fact that certain local restrictions were keeping the rooftop bar closed had played into it perfectly: here was a deserted venue where he'd been able to sneak up and prep things, and now Andy was staring in almost awkward delight at the spread out rugs and struggling candelabras that marked the nocturnal picnic spot. Well?' he demanded needily, shoving at the slighter man in the small of the back, kissing him again on the stubbled cheek, then slapping his high pert arse in his sweatpants before moving ahead to gesture dramatically at each detail of the romantic rooftop picnic for the birthday boy. Glass of fizz, Robbo? Chocolate truffles? Don't mind if I do, eh!'
Andy's face was wrinkled up in an expression that almost looked like discomfort but then broke out into a madly happy grin. You romantic bugger,' he said accusingly. Mate, this is... aw. Come here!' And Andy was pouncing at him with the same restless affection that he'd shown all evening in their suite, clutching at his hips and rubbing the tips of their noses together. You lying fucker,' he said now in his sexy Glasgow growl, I bet you weren't even too tired for a shag, were ya?'
He winked. `Just waiting for midnight, wasn't I? See in 27 the right way, beautiful.'
Well,' Andy said gruffly, why don't I have a glass of champers in my hand, eh...? Get on with it, sexy butler, or I'm going inside where it's warmer... hehe. Aw, thank you man, this is so great... love you, mate, fucking love you.'
It was a difficult knock: loud and firm enough to definitely catch the attention of someone on the other side of the door, but not wishing to wake anyone unnecessarily or draw the wrong attention to the fact he was here in the corridor a little after midnight in his bedclothes, rather than sleeping off the night's win against RB Leipzig.
Mo Salah stood back, questioning whether he had rapped his knuckles clearly enough against the door, and wiped two sweaty palms down the tummy of his white vest. He stood awkwardly there in the amber light of the hotel corridor, already regretting the detour past this neighbouring room, and decided that his knock had been too silent -- he should just head back to his own suite, but maybe take a long way around so that he could kid Milner he'd actually been outside for the alleged snatch of fresh air, and...
There was a gentle scuffling noise behind the hotel room door and then the handled jerked. A click, and it shot inwards a few inches, a scrap of weary frown appearing in the gap, blinking in the light... then the door pulled a little further inwards and Trent Alexander-Arnold leaned out, staring blearily at him and stifling a yawn with pursed pink lips. There was something distinctly cute about his disturbed bush of hair and the wrinkled expression of his young face.
`Mo?' yawned the young Scouser.
Salah tightened his facial expression from a nervous frown to a more expectant stare, tensing his rock-hard upper body and giving the youngster a firm, demanding look. `Come with me for a minute, yes?' he said in a series of low, discreet barks. He breathed deeply and in some semi-conscious communication of his desires, he pulled loosely at the thick pyjama fabric over his crotch, drawing Trent's eyes to the way his loose privates bulged there, commando beneath the cotton. He saw the unmistakable flare of interest in the beautiful young man's expression and he surged with his own excitement, feeling the need for that attention and subservience again tonight.
`It's late,' mumbled Alexander-Arnold.
`You're awake,' Salah pointed out tersely.
Huh,' scoffed Trent ambiguously in return. He lingered there, the door edging back and forth a couple of inches; he was shirtless, his caramel torso catching the glow of light from the corridor. He ducked back a little as if staring back at his sleeping roommate. Returning to stare warily out at Mo, he frowned deeply and demanded, What if you'd woken Gini up? It's not just me in here, y'know.' His voice was edged with a frustrating resentment that Salah had no time or patience for.
Come on,' he coughed brusquely, flexing his lean muscled arms at his sides and just nodding authoritatively at the young Liverpool defender. He took a couple of steps back from the door, and gestured down the corridor. There is bathroom,' he muttered. `By elevators. We can be quick.' He sniffed and blinked and stared hard at the 22-year-old.
To his silent outrage, Trent's response was just a sigh. He lifted a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes and nose. It's not a good idea,' he said in a tight whisper that suggested plenty of indecision behind his words. Please just go back to bed, Mo. Don't do this, mate.'
This was not quite how Salah had expected the visit to go. He knew the riskiness of his jaunt between suites, the more active and demanding nature of his visit, compared to the strange accident of how things had occurred the previous few times when he had shoved his circumcised meat inside Trent's plump hungry lips. It had seemed as irresistible to the Liverpudlian man as it had to wild-eyed little Harvey, but this sighing rejection came from nowhere and made him feel foolish and ugly out in the corridor, flexing and stretching his short muscular frame.
`No?' he questioned.
You're married,' muttered Trent. This is stupid, mate. Erm.'
But...' But what? He stared at the 22-year-old, his surprise transmuting as hostility. You won't?' he asked, hearing the imposition and arrogance in his own awkward English.
I'm not your toy,' Trent muttered back archly. He glanced back behind him again, his smooth body rippling as he moved. And keep yer voice down, mate -- I could do without Wijnaldum waking up, ya know...? Just leave it, man, yeah...?' His expression looked restless but irritable, and he was already backing away, beginning to push the door shut. In a moment of stupid impulse, Salah stopped him -- pushing one hand roughly against the wood of the door and then prodding the toes of his slipper into the narrow gap. `Hey,' coughed the younger man awkwardly in reply.
`It won't take long,' Salah said, his voice strained.
Wow,' retorted Trent in a near-hiss. Romantic.' He looked as hostile and irritable as Mo now felt, pouting at him and shaking his head a little. He looked tired and annoyed. I think I'll pass,' he added under his breath, and save my time for guys who don't treat me like shit.' He pushed at the door and Mohamed quickly relented, releasing his hand from it and dragging back his slippered foot. The door shut quietly but firmly in his face, and he half-heard the annoyed sigh of the young man behind the inch of wood. He stood there, face-to-face with the closed door and the snub, his semi-hard cock throbbing annoyingly in his pyjamas, so sure that it would get serviced by his submissive young friend... but no, not tonight, not in Budapest.
The words `love you' played on his mind as he lounged there, their backs to the wall of the bar itself, legs outstretched and the low parapet ahead revealing the glittering view of Budapest. Their mouths locked and wrestled, Alex's mouth and lips feeling so big and fleshy against his, but also so open to the pushiness of his tongue, the rasping aggression of his kisses and his desire to overpower this thickset beast of a midfielder.
They had been kissing for ages, kisses that tasted of the champagne and truffles that they broke for, but never for long. When their lips felt dry or numbed, the kisses moved, and now Andy writhed back against the bar as Alex snogged and nipped at the side of his neck, hands wandering about the heavy layers over his upper body, cuddling him forcefully and grabbing at his limbs.
But he'd said `love you' too many times there, his gratitude and affection spilling over. And he meant it, of course he did, he loved this guy -- but what did that really mean? It had bothered him, sitting there in the bed they were to share, staring at the sweet message from HER, whilst still tingling from the kisses with HIM. Now he was just trying to lose himself in the physicality of the moment, the sweetness of what Alex had set up for him up here on the roof, and the distinct pleasure of writhing against this hunk, anticipating more... but his mind raced and asked familiar questions over and over, and he struggled to fully relax his body into the wriggling embrace.
Eventually, between little groans of pleasure, it was slightly too much, and the Scottish defender yanked back, catching his breath, and holding Alex's face away from his. Wait,' he murmured through heavy breaths, while one of Ox's hands explored down the front of his jumper and teased about his belly-button. Wait, just...' Alex was amorous and handsy, and he had to push him away bit more forcefully to say his piece, whatever that was: `What the hell is this?' he demanded, more harshly and bluntly than he had ever intended in all of the minutes of overthinking, tonight or in the months and months since this had begun.
The hurt on Ox's face was unmistakeable, as much as he tried to hide it. `It's your birthday,' was his pleasantly mundane response, squeezing at one of Andy's arms and leaning in to begin reaching for a fresh kiss.
Robbo resisted. I mean -- us? I just... ugh. Sometimes I feel so sick, y'know -- I'm cheating on her here, Alex, and so are you! We both... I mean, we love them don't we?' He was speaking quickly and shakily, things he'd been wanting to say to his man for many months bubbling over in a froth of emotion. I'm sorry,' he added sharply, hating himself for breaking the spell of the night -- the candles long-since blown out by the wind and the rugs dragged around them for warmth, the chocolates half-finished and scattered by their socked feet.
Yeah,' Alex said hesitantly. I do know what you mean.' He looked crushed, his face crumpled with sadness and perhaps guilt, stroking at his legs. `This was too much, wasn't it? It was too much. I should have just...'
Nah, nah,' the left-back protested quickly, pulling on him so there faces came closer. Nah, it's not this, it isn't you, matey... it's just in my head, it's... well, it's all such a fuckery, eh? What are we really doing here?' He thought about the dangerous words he'd said so many times up here as they kissed and groped. I do love you,' he admitted once more, but I love her too. You know I do. She's my world.'
Oxlade's expression was mixed, but his sighing voice was terribly reassuring. I know that,' he said, stroking the side of Andy's face so that he couldn't help but turn and kiss his thumb then his palm, hungry for him even as he pushed this away. But... it's cool, isn't it? Like... we both love them. We're both the same. We love them, they're everything, they're our women -- but you and me, well, that's different, innit? Separate. It's... I know it's not, like... normal. But it's... us.'
Andy clung to every reassuring syllable. Is it okay? Will it be okay?' he asked, gravelly with mixed emotions. Can we really keep doing this and be okay?'
The nod that came back was firm, authoritative. Why the fuck not?' Ox demanded simply. I love you mate, you love me. And WE love THEM. It's good. It works. Stop getting in your head, Rob Roy. And... let me give you head.'
`Alex. That was awful. I'm cringing.'
`No, you're throbbing.'
And he was pushed back, one of Ox's hands on his chest, and the other scooping into the front of his sweatpants -- and then Alex was sinking down, burying his face in his crotch, mouthing his cock first through his striped trunks and then peeling them away and taking hold of his rapidly rising hard-on, swallowing its slender length into his soft warm mouth -- and Andy was melting back against the wall, rolling his neck and sighing into the night air, soothed and rescued from overthinking.
Curtis Jones wasn't sure what had woken him up, but he committed himself to the age-old method of simply pretending he was still asleep in the firm hope that dreams would reclaim him. It was always a little harder to get a proper sleep in a foreign hotel when you hadn't actually made an appearance on the pitch; full of the hype and adrenalin of the football away trip, and the intensity of the win, but energy unspent and body untested. So now all he could do was lie there, face pressed into lukewarm pillow, fidgeting a little beneath the curls of thin duvet, and thinking sleepy thoughts.
He discerned the other breathy noises of the shared hotel suite and remembered he was not alone in the night, though it was hard to tell if they were the heavy droning noises of his roomie snoring or if they were frustrated sighs from a fellow non-sleeper. Refusing to open his eyes and find out was fundamental to operation pretending-to-still-sleep.
However, a little springy creak of mattress got the better of that half-conscious resolve. The dozing 20-year-old opened one eye, the other squished against the mattress, and stared into the blackness of the night. He blinked his lashes a few times and let his vision adjust. Across the two-metre gap between the beds he could make out the sight of his fellow occupant, or at leas the vague outline of white sheets and dormant body. Flickers of movement made it easier to see, and there was a thin crack of light leaking in between the curtains that lanced across those bedcovers.
Jones lay still, naked but for baggy worn boxer shorts, leaving his eyes half-open and breathing out deeply through his nose. His brain was not quite awake and it took a good few minutes for him to register what he was watching: the gentle movements, the little rustling shifts of bedding, the tiny just-audible squeaky motion of a mattress beneath a restless body. But then the clues seemed to come into some relative clarity... the visibility of one bare arm shifting back and forth in private rhythm, the shapely pulsing against the white of the duvet, the gruff heaviness of those breaths!
He stared, one eye opening more fully and the other narrowed by the way his acned face still pressed into the pillow. He froze. Instinct told him to roll away, to turn his back on the other bed in the room, just squeeze his eyes shut and pretend not to have noticed -- but then what if the bed squeaked in the same way that the other one did, and his movement actually drew attention to his attention rather than the opposite?!
Instead, Curtis just shut his eyes and lay there, on his side angled towards the other bed.
The other bed, where Nathaniel Phillips was making a series of low wordless gasps that seemed to have picked up some pace. The other young defender, another youth academy graduate and a close friend of his, discreetly pleasuring himself in the midnight silence of their shared suite! God, how mortifying to wake up and stare right across at it, he thought. I mean, we've all done it, once you're sure your roommate is snoring, and you just really gotta release that tension, but... fuck's sake. He squeezed his eyes more firmly shut, becoming cramped and uncomfortable in the foetal position his tall body had rolled into it, and trying to blank out the heavy breathing of the Bolton lad in the nearby bed, the strapping centre-back fella who was jacking off under the covers.
Somehow, his eye flicked open. His face felt itchy and uncomfortable and the effort of staying silently still suddenly made the posture and bedding feel deeply restrictive. But his eye was even more adjusted to the darkness now and so the image of his wanking roommate was all the clearer. He could make out some features of Nathaniel's heavily bearded face, his freshly cropped dark hair and the strong prominent bridge of his nose in silhouette. The covers had pulled down a bit, exposing a bit of chest fur, and the pale bulges of his left arm, the one that was doing the work. If he focused, which for some reason he now did, he could really see the tip of something jabbing upwards against the covers in sync with the jolting movement of that exposed arm... quicker and quicker towards the inevitable.
Jones shut his eye again, unsure why he'd even opened it. Now the image of it was scorched in his mind's eye and all he could see was the heavy outline of the footballer attending to his own needs in what he thought was safe midnight privacy -- bloody hell! What stung at Curtis now and made him resent this scenario was the strange memory of derby day and the weird behaviour of the new lad, Kabak, sorting himself out after becoming quickly bored with video games. It suddenly seemed as if bizarrely public masturbation was just a present feature of the young Scouser's day-to-day life, and he felt hounded by it -- he'd been appalled by the brazen attitude of the surly Turk, and he found himself similarly annoyed with Phillips now, even though he knew he had enjoyed similar furtive fumbles with his own big junk when he was 100% sure the other guy was asleep. But only when 100% sure, like actually able to hear buzzsaw snores chopping annoyingly through the air, from older blokes Milner!
Briefly and torturously, the 23-year-old's heavy breaths became more, pretty much selfish groans, and Curtis cringed with the knowledge of what that signified. He heard a rustle of covers and again his eyes jolted open -- why?! -- and he saw far too much, the covers pulling further over the tall bare expanse of the other guy's body, and a fuller view of that jerking arm, snaking up to a curled fist and... as the peak of those short groans sounded, he thought he saw the glimmer of wetness on that dim outline of fist and what it held, some physical evidence of the climax he was hearing, but he snapped his eye immediately shut again, painfully so.
When he'd finished sucking hungrily on the Scottish sausage, he dragged his mouth away and just kissed the underside of it, rolling his thick tongue against the base of the shaft then taking one bollock into his mouth at a time, rolling and massaging them with talent and making the handsome lad growl and yelp in delight. With each hand, Alex dragged the sweatpants and undies further down the gingery fur of his chunky thighs, past the bony knees, then dragging warm hands back up, massaging at his skin and kissing his fat heavy balls again, letting his hard-on rub about his face, smearing pre-cum against his cheeks.
He lifted his head a little so that their eyes could meet, Andy already quite red-faced with pleasure and beginning to tug at his jumper. Alex pushed at the bottom of it to help him, excited to see his hard lean tummy exposed and then the flat muscles of his chest and those pointy hard red nipples that he wanted to suck and tweak. But he didn't go climbing forward for them or to return to mouth-to-mouth snogging more -- instead, he just continued nuzzling and prodding at the balls, pushing the legs apart and then dragging his fingers beneath the thighs to lift.
Up and apart went the legs, and down went his face -- rolling that fat tongue against his gooch, feeling the tight little curls of hair there, the slight moistness of night sweat. He rolled his tongue against the fleshy gap and pushed the legs further apart, lifting more, until he was licking into the hairy crack, making Andy whine out an OH GAWD' in his deepest Scotch. Alex lay flat against the rugs, pushing his face low as he could and really hoisting his lover's legs so he could open and rim his arse, loving the feel of it just as much as when he'd first done it in a training ground shower block in the peak of last summer. Oh god, oh god,' Robbo panted for him, absolutely his in these moments of attentive pleasure.
Oxlade-Chamberlain took his time, spitting and blowing in there and rolling his tongue up and down in loving motions, years of eating out pussy having made him artful and devoted in this area of lovemaking -- and by god did Robbo appreciate it, whining and gasping and swearing like a trooper, his cheeks tense and his cock absolutely rigid. Alex reached up to tease it while he licked, and felt it so hard that the guy could probably cum in seconds if he wanted him to -- but he didn't, he wanted to make this last!
And he wanted to get a bit more of that pleasure for himself. He heard the disappointment in Andy's growling moan when finally he took his mouth away from between his peachy cheeks. Pulling back on hands and knees then rising up on his knees and tugging his vest, tshirt and hoody off in one Diet Coke gesture of masculine power, baring his torso for Andy's bulging eyes. Then shoving his trackies, shorts and boxers down in similar fluid strength, naked but for his socks, and rising steadily to his feet, towering over his lounging lover. His own cock, hard for ages, bounced and jerked between his massive thighs, a thick dark brown rod that glistened at the tip -- but he spat on his fingers and reached them behind instead, sliding them in between his own chunky buttocks, wetting and rubbing the smoother passage there, getting it ready.
No words were spoken, just the sharing of a smouldering look of desire, as he stepped heavily forward and began to squat over Andy's crotch, lowering his meaty backside until it was rubbing on top of the sexy bastard's prick. He parted his own cheeks with his hands and squatted low, allowing the tip of Andy to run up and down his barely lubed crack, and all the while just staring into his eyes with fiery lust, ready to push down and ride his cock.
Listening to the dialling tone pressed against his ear, he felt strangely nervous, not 100% sure that the call would be answered -- in complete defiance of the fact that a flurry of terse WhatsApp messages in the last thirty minutes had confirmed that Jordan would be sneaking down to the converted garage home gym and locking the door so that he could both pick up the call and speak freely.
Neco Williams chewed a little at one of the drawstrings on the neck of his hoody, seated on a chilly wooden bench in the rear gardens of the Budapest hotel. His brown eyes drifted up towards the imposing block of the building and the dark outlines of plants and trees that surrounded him, then back down to his bare knees and fluffy shins stretching down to his socked feet, sat there in shorts and hoody and feeling the cool of the night deepen.
When Hendo answered, he was a little breathless. `Hey,' came his brief, warm greeting.
Hi,' the Welsh teen returned coyly. Hope you're not too tired.'
I'm grand,' the Sunderland bloke breathed down the phone, now I get to hear your voice.'
Neco chuckled a bit, shy but pleased. `I was glad you messaged, cap'n. Wish you were here.'
Not as much as I do,' the Liverpool skipper told him gruffly, with a seriousness that could either have been professional dedication or more personal and intimate longing. But I got to focus on my recovery, y'know. Could be a while yet, they think. But I'll be back at my best as quick as I can.'
Neco found himself nodding pointlessly. Everyone agrees,' he told the married stud who he lodged with and longed for. Everyone knows what a fighter you are, skip. We've all got your back.' Deep dry breath. I've got your back. I'll be back before lunch tomorrow, I think,' he added in a quick and practical voice. Wish I'd got to play tonight, but... a good result, right...?'
Their conversation turned comfortably to the game, as it often did -- it was good lubricant for both guys' nervousness and restraint around the throbbing passion they shared, and also prevented awkward questions about Jordan's infidelity and Neco's precious virginity. The latter was an elephant in the room, even over the phone call. When they talked about Hendo's fitness and his promised return to action before the close of the season, it spoke to Williams of the other thing that would come with that fitness -- he knew how much his captain wanted to take their sexual exploration further, and knew that such deeds would not be possible while the Mackem hunk recovered surgery on a groin injury. But once Henderson was well enough to return to Anfield, then he would also be well enough to... Neco shuddered with completely equal thrill and horror. He so desperately wanted to be ready and willing to please the captain, but... he found his sturdy buttocks clenching against the bench and eating up the rear of his shorts even thinking about the way Jordan had begun to toy with him, literally.
You okay out there without me?' asked Hendo, when the footy chat had subsided; he sounded almost jealous as he said it, which surprised and distressed him. I know you don't need me or owt, but-`
I do,' Neco was vowing earnestly before he could stop himself. I mean -- I...' What did he mean? He felt it to be true, he did NEED Jordan, but in what way, and how could he explain that without sounding entirely mad? He cringed at his dazed speech and chewed on the cord. But Jordan was laughing down the line, a buttery melting noise that was more comforting than the hugging weight of his hoody.
I don't like to think of you in training and games with me stuck at home,' Henderson admitted in a tone that was uncharacteristically playful. All those guys around you -- feel like you might get your head turned and realise there are much better-looking blokes at Liverpool than my ugly mug. Sometimes I just wanna keep you in your room here and not let you go anywhere, because you're too fucking beautiful.' He spoke quickly in a hot rush that seemed to surprise him as much as Neco, who lapsed into stunned silence before eventually laughing uncertainly and answering.
If you were in there with me, you could shut me up anywhere,' he murmured, then laughed again, as if this was all a laddish joke and not something he wanted with all his heart and all his cock. He knew his face was flushed and red and was glad he was alone out here in the cool. It's late, though, I shouldn't keep you long. Or stay out of my room for long.'
Mmm,' murmured Jordan in vague, wistful agreement. I suppose you're right. I'm supposed to be maximising my rest, after all, aye. I'll see you tomorrow though. I'll cook lunch. We... we won't be alone, but... it'll still be good to see ya.' The seriousness and conviction of his voice was so pleasing to Neco's blushing ears.
You don't have to worry,' the Welshman muttered now, a bit bewildered the captain's flash of possessive envy. I don't know who you think is... well, erm, better-looking than you, or...! And who would I want anything to do with, other than, erm, you... ha... ugh...'
A slightly uncomfortable pause followed. Forget it, I'm being daft,' said Hendo stiffly, and Neco regretted pointing out or questioning his unusual jealous streak. Just... Everyone is okay out there, aye? Lads all getting on well?' Then, after a beat, `Robbo behaving himself? Ox glad to get a run out in the second half, was he?' There was something pointed and thoughtful about the way he brought up those two first-team regulars, and Neco had the weary bewildered sense of a point lost on him, but he just murmured back his answers, relaying the banter and enthusiasm of the named two at half-time and in the brief post-match celebration of beers in the locker-room.
Good, good,' the Liverpool captain said distantly. Good to know.'
`Right,' Neco answered blankly. He knew he should say his goodnights and head back inside: if his roommate awoke, his absence would seem suspicious and strange, and his bare legs were really starting to shiver and pimple. But even sitting silently on the bench and listening to the skipper's gentle breathing was... reassuring. Neither of them said anything for what felt like forever, and then the stiff grunted goodbyes came, full of the unsaid.
Andy had lain on his back and accepted the riding for ages, shocked that he was managing to hold in the balls-full of cum that had been saved up for days, knowing he would room-share with his man on this trip. But eventually they had to switch positions, if only to stop him bursting too soon, and he had Alex bent over the parapet, both of them able to enjoy the view while he thrusted roughly into that big broad backside, holding his thick waist and building up an Energizer Bunny rhythm that would have shocked his energy levels an hour ago in bed.
But then the fucking at the edge was too dizzying and alarming, in case they got over-excited and went flying over the edge -- and now Ox was down on all fours, doggy style fucking on the rugs and the smeared remains of the chocolates. Somewhere, the champagne bottle had toppled and its overpriced soggy dregs spread beneath their hands and bare knees as they fucked and humped and grunted for one another.
Robbo went mad on him. That was, in a way, what he really loved about sex with Alex. The sheer strength of Oxlade as a lover meant that Andy could let loose, really shove into him and hump at him like some wild animal, none of the gentleness and caution that had always seemed to come with charming women. He felt able to treat and manhandle Alex in ways that he'd never managed with girls, not without feeling sleazy and horrid; somehow, the rough athletic shagging never seemed to upset anything between them whatsoever. Why had he ever worried about loving this beauty?
So he said it again -- lying fully on top of him, letting his chest and tummy slide sweatily against the bare rippling back muscles - and then he said it again and again. Love you,' he grunted rhythmically, I fucking LOVE you mate...' Over and over. And Alex said it back, as smoothly and pleasantly as if it cost him nothing in guilt or worry. `Love you, love you, LOVE YOU!' And still Andy pounded, wondering if he'd gone too numb to blow his wad now, but then feeling the mounting pressure and giddiness of it -- hugging tightly at all of Alex's bigger body and just thrusting his achingly hard cock in and out of that precious hole until he was edging gloriously towards climax.
He came inside him, reaching underneath to milk and satisfy the thicker veiny tool of his lover, both of them whispering and gasping I love yous' between deep groans and panting laughs, until eventually Alex collapsed off hands and knees and they were rolling into cuddles and snogs, bodies tangled up in friendship and lust and affection. Birthday sex beneath the stars, their naked bodies too heated by passion to feel the Hungarian night, not yet. Just kissing and groping and their cocks aching and oozing spunk, muscles aching and hearts drumming in their strong chests. I love you mate,' Andy gasped for the hundredth time before being silenced by a kiss, the birthday boy fucking into another year of beautiful madness.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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