Part 272: Return to Mykonos
The holiday was waning to its end, pre-season work calling for them back in England; but for now, he thought, they were still free to bask in the muted glory of their near-victory, and right now that took the form of excessive dinners and drinks on beautiful seafront terraces like this. Not worrying about how much he ate or supped, just sprawling out in a wicker chair and grinning with tipsy eyes about the table of friends and comrades -- a smattering of England players and hangers-on, a fluid little group that had shrunk and swollen at different points in the week as guys came and went from Mykonos, the chosen getaway of the Premiership stars for another summer.
Some of the other guys wore loose open shirts even at this late sunset hour, but Luke Shaw kept his firm body self-consciously masked beneath a baggy white designer tee, relaxed and happy as he was in this company. The Manchester United player licked the remnants of a sweet dessert from his spoon and pushed the bowl away, stuffed and contented, and leaned in to join the conversation of the other lads, though he couldn't quite pick up the thread.
Obviously, one key figure was missing from the table for him, but he could understand why Maguire's family had been reluctant for him to come back to the Greek island this year, after all that trouble; big Harry was enjoying a more family-oriented break and the two defenders had not seen each other since that final night in Wembley, the early hours of Luke's 26th birthday. He'd worried about the sudden break from each other after such prolonged togetherness, but the carnal madness of that overnight visit had remained comfortingly with him as he went back to reality, seeing his own partner and family, hanging out here with the lads as well, constantly thinking about how intimate and powerful that exchange between them had been.
So whilst his captain stayed on his mind, he didn't feel too bad to be away from him. He was unworried by the distance and time, knowing that they'd be reunited in pre-season training very soon and getting ready for another fierce season at the back of the United line-up. Luke saved up his thoughts on Harry for late in the night in his air-conditioned villa, where he could touch himself inside his shorts and reminisce about the nights they had spent interlocked during the Euros, not just that role-reversing last fuck for his birthday and goal.
Shaw tried to make himself more present, tuning in to the casual end-of-night banter of the other guys, chuckling along to the jokes. But a couple of the guys were stifling yawns, and everyone knew it wasn't going to be a wild one this time, as drunken and silly as a couple of the Mykonos evenings had been, usually fired on by the obnoxious energy of Kyle Walker, absent now. Luke had watched the City man with cautious excitement, thinking about the time he and Harry had shared a bed with Kyle and his John, hardly daring to believe it had even happened; he'd looked at Walker strutting about, ostentatiously shirtless and showing off, and wondered if he might hook up with him in a quiet moment, but then dismissed the ideas as silly and ambitious. Kyle in Mykonos seemed utterly absorbed in his fiancée, even apart from whatever he had with big handsome John Stones.
Luke chided himself, but with a lazy buzz, for being so horny, but he was without either of his own lovers right now and he couldn't believe how horny he felt in the Greek sun! He knew the loose rules of his and Harry's playtime and he didn't fret too much about his wandering eyes, even when they fell on the moody-faced Jack Grealish at the other side of the table, sat with an invisible wall between him and his neighbour. It was apparent to everyone that both Jack and Ben were left a bit uncomfortable by the holiday they'd booked together before the Euros, and the guys here who had no idea about their proper relationship found it weird and mood-killing that the former besties barely seemed to give each other a second look.
Don't get involved in that, Luke warned himself, watching as near-shirtless Grealish casually took the bill for tonight's feast and cocktails and then began excusing himself with a moody pout to his lean face. He'd coveted the Brummie stud all through the international work, but he knew as well as anyone that something complicated and difficult was going on there and sticking his toe (or something else) in that water could hardly improve it.
He wasn't the only one giving an odd intense look to the Villa man as he prepared to go: next to him, he saw, Declan Rice was eyeing both Grealish and Chilwell uncomfortably as they got up and said their goodbyes. Luke reached a reassuring hand over to pat his newer friend on the shoulder, giving him a thin smile when Dec glanced this way. `Stop worrying,' he advised him simply, not needing to say any more -- Rice had really confided in him lately on the way that charming Ben Chilwell had almost ruined his and Mount's togetherness.
Brief hugs and yawned good wishes passed between the assembly of footballers and friends, Luke anticipating the quiet short walk to his small villa where he was holidaying alone after his own girlfriend and siblings had flown home yesterday. He only had a few more nights here, time he'd booked out for himself after such manic strenuous weeks -- from tomorrow until his flight home, he planned to just work on his fitness and mindset so that he could transition from this holiday luxury back into Premiership preparations.
He was just patting at the pockets of his loose dark shorts to check he had everything he needed when Declan leaned over his way and returned the pat and squeeze to the arm. Hey,' the fellow southwest Londoner called quietly, you fancy another couple of drinks before we quit?' The tall rugged player was giving him an earnest smile and plucking at the collar of his showy fashionable shirt, doing and undoing the upper buttons as if he couldn't decide how much skin to show.
Luke shrugged his big shoulders, nodding. `It couldn't hurt,' he agreed, pleased at the suggestion but also at the quiet separation of it -- this was clearly just a suggestion between the newfound pals, rather than to the group as a whole. Although not JUST the two of them, he realised, with grinning Mase suddenly right next to Dec, reaching up to sling an arm over one of his shoulders.
We're staying on the yacht again tonight,' Dec said. Wanna come hang out?'
It'll be great,' Mount chipped in. Come live it up with us for a bit.'
The two younger men grinned invitingly at him and Luke had no intention of resisting their friendly bubble, nodding casually and looking past them out onto the twilit harbour. Cool, cool,' he agreed readily. Just lead the way. I could definitely face another beer before bed.'
The route to their hotel took them through the town centre of the resort, still relatively lively, and he could see Jack looking hesitantly at the overflowing beer gardens and neon signs of the Mykonos nightlife. `You want to stay out for one?' he asked quietly, his hands dug into the pockets of his khaki shorts, slowing his pace as they crossed the square and approached the sloping lane that would bring them back into the area that they were staying in.
Grealish glanced this way with a frown knitting his attractive features. `What's that?'
Ben winced at his blunt tone, shrugging his shoulders and regretting vocalising the idea. `Nothing,' he answered dismissively, wiping some beads of sweat from his sun-red cheeks and walking on across the square. He couldn't bring himself to look frustratedly back at the 25-year-old, just fixing his eyes on the route and the slope that would return them to the hotel.
What did you say?' Jack pushed in a glum voice. I didn't catch it.' He sounded interested, but when Ben dragged his eyes that way to look at him, he found that the other young footballer was on his phone, staring at it with great concentration as they climbed the hill.
`Nothing,' Ben repeated, unable to stop himself sounding bitter and tired.
`Don't be like that,' Jack muttered.
`Like this!'
Oh, leave it out,' Ben told him with feeling. I'm sunburnt as fuck and I can still feel the cold shoulder you're giving me. Who are you even texting, for fuck's sake? You never put your phone down once during dinner there, I swear.'
Er, what's it to you?' Jack demanded back, stopping so sharply that Ben was a couple of paces ahead of him before he could stop himself. He whirled around to look crossly at the other footballer, and Ben saw genuine anger on that handsome face. I don't think I have to check in with you on my phone usage, do I?' grunted the Villa captain unhappily.
No,' Ben conceded awkwardly, but...' He let that but' hang stupidly between them, fiddling with the front of his t-shirt and the chains at his neck. He wanted to snap impatiently at Jack, who had seemed so distracted and distant for each day of their Mykonos stay -- he'd made it clear that he could miss the holiday if Jack preferred, leave him to it and just hang on in England instead, he'd really offered to give up his share of their hotel suite and make things easier, so there was no need for him to be treated like crap while they were here! Come on,' he said more quietly and encouragingly, stepping back down the sloping path and reaching for Jack's arm in a way that was perhaps too tender, making the lad yank it away and frown at him. Ben tensed unhappily with a fresh sense of his own guilt.
`I think I'm going to go for another beer,' Grealish announced.
Okay,' Chilwell answered in monotone. That's what I was thinking. That's what I said before.'
Er, no,' was the awkward response -- blunt but not cruel. I meant -- like, just me.'
`...Right. Oh. No worries.'
Ben squared his shoulders and stared awkwardly at him, accepting this forced distance and backing away. There didn't seem much helpful or positive he could say now. Rather than appear as vulnerable and hurt as he felt tonight, knowing that he'd brought all of this aggro on himself, Ben backed further away and half turned away. `Enjoy yourself then,' he said curtly, and he strode on with his hands shoved back in his pockets. After a few hurried strides, he dared to look over his shoulder, expecting to see Jack stood uncomfortably on the lamplit pavement there, maybe regretting their terse little confrontation: but no, Grealish was halfway across the square on his own, heading away from him and into the anonymous swirl of nightlife.
Ben, knowing he'd ruined the magic of their relationship, grimaced sadly, and headed for the hotel.
The last of the sunset was beautifully visible from the side of the deck, and Mason was buzzing at the luxury spot he and his best man had bagged here on the boat, even if tonight was the last one they would share in their glamorous cabin. The boat belonged to a rich West Ham fan who had allowed them to say here for much of the week, ditching the more-than-luxurious villa they were supposed to be sharing up the coast, excited to be living it up on the yacht shooting hoops and making the most of the crystalline waters.
But the sunset wasn't the only attractive view on offer. Dribbling a basketball across the deck, Mason took a cheeky glance across at their additional guest -- an open beer in one fist and the other playing idly against his hip -- before speeding up to ping his shot at the elevated hoop and then celebrating with both arms thrown out to the sides. Facing him, Luke pumped a fist in the air in matey celebration and Mason skipped extravagantly past him, bubbling with laughter, only to be grabbed and shaken by Dec on the way past, collecting the ball and leaping up to dunk it himself.
Fuck, he's handsome, Mason thought. He liked the size and build of Luke, a very solid guy who had shown his peak fitness over and over in the tournament; but more than that, a laidback and friendly guy, someone who had been really calming and important during England's tough contests. Someone who had also been very calming and important to Declan in particular, he had to remind himself, aware of the bond between the two defensive players, and that Luke had been the one to look out for Dec while he himself was trapped in unfortunate isolation midway through the Euros.
It was this connection that made him stop gurning affectionately at the other holidaying footballer and stroll away to collect another beer bottle from the ice buckets laid out by their hosts, resolving to stop perving on the Man Utd beast who'd come aboard for tonight's little afterparty. He'd more than noticed the attractive Englishman in their weeks together playing for their country, but he had to stop doing this! Letting his eyes rove and take in all of the excitement athletic men around him. Misreading friendships and naively bonding with guys who might cause problems!
Mount was very aware of a narrow escape. He hadn't really meant to get entangled with Chilwell, he still felt it was a series of honest mistakes and that he deserved Rice's full forgiveness -- but he knew his own sluttish appetites, had been really honest with himself about them since those early days flirting with Barkley and succumbing to randy Lampard. He loved his Declan and he'd fought to reclaim that connection towards the end of the Euros, but he also knew how easily distracted and tempted he was, and he needed to start controlling that -- otherwise his new season at Chelsea could be one of great difficulties and heartache!
The 22-year-old Pompey lad set about being cool and indifferent, supping his last beer of the night and ditching the energising fun of basketball. He draped himself on one of the long couches and let the music wash over him, rather than prancing about enjoying the ball games and being more openly flirty with Dec. The problem with this plan was that Rice stayed on his feet and engaged in a series of tackles and runs with Shaw, meaning that as Mount tried to relax on the cushions and just enjoy his beer, he had to watch two attractive bigger lads duck and dive in front of him in the last syrupy gold of the Mykonos evening. Fucking hell, what a pair of studs!
Calm it, calm it...! What added to Mason's private guilt was knowing that he had probably made damage to another relationship close to his heart -- he'd hated seeing the frost between Ben and Jack this week, the consequences of his playful times with his Chelsea buddy. He thought longingly of the easy friendship that had previously existed among the four, and then tried hard NOT to think of the pleasant man-swapping night they'd shared in London once too! He was gutted and confused that his play with Ben seemed to have come at Jack's expense.
All the more reason to sit here and enjoy your beer, he scolded himself, resisting his natural energy and urges to get up and play with the others. Instead, he just looked away, out across the cove and to the bobbing skyline of the island, past a speckle of other luxury yachts and smaller boats that swayed on the inky blue. When his balls ached and his cock throbbed lazily in the folds of his navy blue shorts, the slim attacking footballer just focused on the night ahead instead, his last one tucked away in the cabin with Dec before the West Ham player exited for a second holiday stay in Ibiza, and Mason would need to travel back to the UK. The prospect of rolling around in their cramped cabin bed, surrounded by the yacht's gaudy décor, warmed and excited him.
After a short while, they were joined by the hosting couple and another guest, and it became a little easier for Mason to calm his thoughts. He fell sleepily quiet and said little, just giggling quietly at the odd discreet touch of Dec's hand on his back or the grazing of their bare ankles as they lounged about the deck furniture and enjoyed some shots of local liqueur to round off the night. Mason felt a real glowing happiness in him at being away like this with Dec, having just fought through that massive tournament together -- he just felt incredible lucky to cling on to his best friend and his insatiable lover, not left in tatters like those other two...!
Luke was up on his feet and chatting away with the middle-maged millionaire who owned the boat, by the sound of it making jokey excuses for why he wouldn't be interested in a transfer to West Ham; and Mason's hungry eyes fell instead on the man beside him, the tall strong 22-year-old whose cock he would suck as soon as they were behind closed doors. He admired the strong profile of Declan's long neck and angular face, the kind tilt of his smile, and then realised how fixedly those grey-brown eyes were staring across the deck to watch... Luke.
Leaning in against him, their knees brushing a little where their shorts ended, Mason propped himself up a little and stared quizzically at the relaxed form of his boyfriend, surprised, amused and then intrigued, as the notion really settled on him. He glanced from Declan's admiring expression to the way Luke now turned away from them, resisting a top-up of his drink from their host, covering the small glass with one large hand and making his most sparkling white smile of refusal. There was no doubting the way that Declan watched and stared at him. Mason just smirked.
Gently, he leaned in, dropping his voice below the hearing of any of the other revellers, just a friendly suggestive purr. `What do you say we invite him to stay the night?'
The messages had started soon after the lost Euro final, before even he or any of the other lads had jetted abroad for these boozy holidays. The first had landed in his inbox at some point on the night of defeat in Wembley, though Jack had been too exhausted to see or open it at the time; it had been in the wreckage of the following morning and the days that followed that he'd really paid attention to the unknown mobile number and the undoubtedly flirty messages that were coming his way.
They'd started out pretty innocuous -- don't worry, you did your best!' and you were the sharpest player in that game' -- and were only interesting because he had no idea how some randomer had got his number and the author wouldn't really respond to his repeated emojis of confusion and questions at who it was. He wasn't sure what had stopped him going for an immediate block on the seemingly anonymous messenger, but he'd resisted that cautious instinct and engaged in slow roundabout chat with the mystery figure, the innocent messages becoming more admiring and... interesting.
Grealish flicked back through some of them now, sat in the quieter beach bar he'd found after parting ways with Chilwell. His wide brown eyes flicked across the thread of flirty messages and his own short responses, the LOLs and emojis of his earlier disinterest giving way to sly questions and encouragement as he'd indulged the weirdo messages over this week in the Greek sun. It was an odd little dialogue, in some ways very like the average thirsty DMs he was used to on social media, but veiled in anonymity and ambiguity, and also... well, just that bit more knowing and weird. He supped his bottle of Mythos and shifted uncomfortably in the wicker seat, vaguely wondering if he should allow himself another drink before taking a slow stroll back toward the hotel.
Jack had made the connection between the messages and the flowers fairly rapidly, though the mystery admirer had been slow to confirm this. It had only been after asking where they got his number from a dozen times that it had dawned on Jack, spotting the flower emojis that dotted some of the earlier messages when it was on the turning point between condolence and outright flirtation. When he confronted them with this belated realisation, feeling stupid, he didn't get any straightforward confirmation, but he knew it was right. He'd called the strange number on the flower delivery card a few times during the latter stages of the tournament, bewildered by the obscure London office that seemed to be responsible for them -- a little bit of amateurish digging told him it was some kinda wealth management company, but nothing more than that.
It had been this connection that started to lead him to his recent conclusion, his hazy holiday theory that he knew who was behind both the flowers and the ghostly text messages. The whole thing felt incredibly silly to Jack, but it did the double job of giving himself something to focus on other than how sick he felt when he looked at Ben, and the complex negotiations going on back home to decide whether he would be staying on in Birmingham for the new footy season.
Grealish drained his beer bottle and ordered another, sitting stiffly alone, and glancing awkwardly around the quiet seafront terrace away from the showier bars that he and his footballer pals had been largely occupying this week. Then he looked back at the latest messages, three of them today, though he hadn't bothered to reply yet -- this was quite normal, the attention flooding into his inbox indiscreetly without the need for much encouragement or interaction from himself. It had started today with have fun in the sun x' and then shifted to don't get up to anything too naughty out there', before this evening's latest message while he was leaving the restaurant: `hope you look as good in your beach shorts as you did in your England ones lol x'.
It made Jack think back to the night of the final, as gloomy as a memory as that could often feel, and the moment he'd laid his eyes on his probably admirer. An earlier message had referred to the moment in a way that seemed hard to doubt. I saw how disappointed you were not to take a penalty,' they'd messaged a few nights back, and you looked crushed -- but so fucking beautiful at the same time.' He'd not interacted with many in those moments, hardly able to watch the penalty-taking of his England teammates, but he had bumped into a pair of VIP guests lurking low down in the seating and ready to go wild if the penalty shootout went the right way. Really, in Jack's memory, there was only one person who stood out in his memory of those tense minutes, and who could possibly have been close enough to see his facial reactions as he was cast aside and unused by Southgate.
The glamorous celebrity couple had been hovering just out of sight, along with a load of other keen high-profile England lovers, all poised in the lower reaches of the Wembley stands, keen to be seen and involved in the medal ceremonies once England had won, as seemed so possible at the time. Grealish had passed close to them, the married celeb royalty at the edge of that row, and seen them looking briefly his way -- David and Victoria Beckham, joined by some other sporting legends along the row just behind the player section. Putting all the clues together, as slow as he could be, Jack felt eerily sure now of the identity of his mystery admirer, the person who'd bombarded him with them stupid flowers and now somehow obtained his number to pester and pursue him while he holidayed in Mykonos...
It could only be her, he thought. Posh Spice. Victoria Beckham. It had to be her.
Dec led the way into the cabin, holding the door briefly for his guest, and then folded his long bare arms across his front and stepping aside to make space. Luke drifted in, broad and heavy and glowing with suntan, and Dec felt even more aware of the other player's attractive physicality, his warmth and the gentle spice of his fragrance. He felt his cock stir impatiently in the front of his undies and he hugged his pale arms across the front of the basketball vest he'd changed into for antics out on the deck. Luke glanced at him with those smiling eyes, a question flickering in them.
Nice,' the United player told him distantly. Nice space. Bigger than you'd expect.'
Declan nodded. `Like a TARDIS,' he suggested geekily, unfolding his arms and gesturing vaguely about the opulent space he and Mason had been allotted by the yacht owner; although the owner was hopefully oblivious to them sharing the big dominant bed and its slightly gaudy Gucci sheets, the unused single bunk to the side strewn with a few personal belongings.
Luke made a sleepy little laugh, `Something like that. But yeh, it's nice. The whole boat thing is. Pretty cool connections. It's been good visiting tonight.'
Rice nodded firmly, stepping a bit closer to Shaw in the middle of the cabin room, letting their arms and shoulders brus ha little. `Well, it was good to have you back here,' he said, his voice feeling clumsy and purposeless as he figured out what he really wanted to say. To do.
But,' Luke said with the same light friendly weariness, what was it you wanted to show me?' The 26-year-old defender smiled confusedly at him and then across the neatly organised suite, then back at the thin dark door that had fallen gently shut behind him. He scratched at the short scruff of his beard and made another hesitant laugh, looking to Declan for answers or explanations.
Drunk on liquor and friendship, Dec made his move. Grinning boyishly, he lifted a hand to stroke Luke's bicep just below the sleeve of his baggy white t-shirt, feeling the firm resting muscle there. He patted the strong flesh there and leaned in closer. Oh, that was just rubbish to get you back here for a bit,' the West Ham youngster murmured in a breathy voice. Surprised you couldn't tell!' He leaned in, clamping his hand on the arm muscle more firmly and running the knuckles of the other against the older lad's big chest, teasing soft nipples beneath the cotton.
A soft murmuring laugh from Luke, bringing a big sun-red hand up to catch Declan's where it played and stop him, but not quite pushing him away or shifting his own strong posture. Er, buddy,' the other Kingston lad said warningly, I dunno if you wanna be doing that...'
The 22-year-old pressed shyly at him in the lamplit cabin, letting their fingers interlock gently and rubbing both of their hands back against one pec. But do you wanna be doing it?' he asked quietly. Cos I'm sure you've been having a quiet week and need some attention, Shawberto...'
Well, it isn't so straightforward as that,' Luke sighed, as Dec pulled his fingers down his chest, teasing his skin and hair through the tee, and pulling their tall strong bodies close together at the foot of the king-size cabin bed. Now Luke did push him away, a bit more firmly, stepping away and hugging his thick arms across his front in a way that suggested the hands might like to do some wandering. He gave Dec a lopsided grin that was reserved and wary. Neither of us are free men, eh?' he said very softly, and he looked fucking irresistible.
Declan, realising just how tipsy he was after the drinks at dinner and up on the deck, felt silly but reckless, and he pulled idly at himself in the front of his shorts, feeling where his underpants creased about his semi. Some drunken truth spilled out. We been eyeing each other up all through the Euros,' he mumbled gruffly, ain't we?'
Luke's scoffing laugh was hesitant enough to be no denial. `Mate... mmm...'
Declan approached him again, reaching for the front of his baggy chino shorts, stroking what he felt there and liking it, the hot soft mound that formed against his fingers. He grinned broadly at the left-back, breathing in his scent, pushing them close together until their crotches rubbed a little. `Just a bit of fun,' Rice urged hopefully.
`But Mason,' his new friend sighed wistfully back at him.
Right on cue, the door clicked open and in he slid. Dec turned gracelessly, leaning his tall weight in against Luke's stocky frame, and smirking towards the other young stud now leaning on the closed door, a massive smile plastered on his lean features. Mason's eyes sparkled and he made a little giggle of expectation before crossing towards them, almost drooling as he came close. Dec reached out to stroke his shoulder and the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, then turning his smirk back towards Luke. Don't worry,' he chuckled, Mase wants to play with you too...'
The air-con in the villa bedroom was on full blast, waves of cooler air tickling against his bare upper body as he stretched out alone on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Ben's handsome square features were set into a contemplative frown, one of his toned arms stuck up behind his head to rest on, the other draped across the relaxed muscle of his torso, meeting the waistline of the baggy bed-shorts he'd changed into after pacing the holiday home alone for an hour.
Ben thought about Mason. He thought about the irresistible smile and infectious energy of the Chelsea twink he'd befriended this season, and he thought about the tantalising fun they'd enjoyed on and off -- whether it was just the two of them or mingling with naively excitable Pulisic or sternly detached Werner, or more adventurously in seeing off sleazy Lampard. Ben weighed up his feelings for Mase, confused about where friendships, fun and romance started and ended; after all, he still thought of Jacko as his bestie even once they'd become so much more than that.
Lying alone with the air-con tickling his nipples and stubble, Chilwell was beginning to really appreciate what a fool he'd been. His stupidity and recklessness had had time to swell and become obvious to him, having spent the entire Euros on the side-lines, watching the other guys get their chances... Covid isolation aside after fraternising with his other Chelsea pal, Ben knew that his distraction and self-absorption had made him a poor choice for the gaffer. Ben had never stood a chance of supplanting Shawberto at the back there, he'd thrown away his chances in this mega tournament. Still, he was only 23, he knew that there would be other opportunities ahead... throwing away what he'd shared with Grealish was something much more terrifying.
Waiting for the sound of an opening door, the Chelsea defender tossed and turned from side to side, resting uncomfortably on his back and pawing at his clammy body. The images of Mount and the fun they'd shared became less romanticised and more trivial, and instead he found himself reminiscing about the more passionate lovemaking with his real partner. In particular, Ben thought back to a night in the first lockdown, drunk and horny Jack turning up at his family's place and hiding out in his bed with him, the first real signs of how much the pair needed each other.
Chilly groaned and rubbed one sweaty palm over his face, against his handsome features and the rough red-brown stubble of his unshaven jawline. His other hand he stuffed inside the front of his shorts, grabbing at the flop of his large cock in the mindless comfort-seeking way of all lads, then holding and stroking it a bit more purposefully as he thought of Jack touching and kissing him, their strong young bodies clambering together in shared beds. He thought about that time in Jack's Birmingham flat, high on his own early exploration with Jamie Vardy, the way he'd eagerly shared his newness with his mate, squatting behind him and tonguing at his bum... and now Ben was rock hard, his cock straining against his palm and his shorts, and he bit his lip hungrily.
Still waiting tensely for any sound of Grealish returning, Chilwell stroked and grabbed himself in a desperate heartbroken frenzy, wanting nothing more than reconciliation with his man.
Luke felt his cock grow fully hard and erect, and almost laughed out loud at the stud's position he found himself in: lounging back on the sulky sheets with his t-shirt off, cuddled at either side by the slender athletic forms of Rice and Mount. It was Declan's hand working his dick, sliding up and down the shaft and stooping to tickle his balls; Mason was busy licking and kissing at one of his nipples whilst tweaking the other with his fingertips. Luke groaned, his own arms stretched to either side to grab and hold at the bare shoulders of the attractive 22-year-old lovers, submitting to the horny three-way and relishing some release after such a sensible week.
He kissed one and then the other. Mason first, the keen grinning face lifting off his chest and ducking in to quite tentatively peck at his lips, before Luke took control and snogged him more fully and dangerously, knowing that this was a bit much -- pulling close to a betrayal of his Harry but also a big display in front of the sexy lad's own boyfriend! But then he was kissing Dec instead, and Mase seemed to gasp in pleasure at seeing it, the lingering kiss between the two bigger lads.
Fuckin' hell,' Luke groaned. You two are naughty.'
`And you love it,' teased Mason, on his way down to suck him.
`It's just a bit of a laugh,' huffed Dec gently, as Luke found the outline of his cock in his shorts.
They formed a short chain: Luke spreading his thighs and helping Mount to slide down his bottoms so he could wrap his lips about that thick meat, while Declan was propped back against the pillows and Luke hunched over his crotch, not removing his shorts but loosening his cock down one leg and sucking it against the inside of his muscled thigh. For Shaw this was heavenly, a mouthful of the masculine youngster's shapely prick, while his own dick was quite expertly slobbered by one of the cutest players in the Premier League. He coiled one arm about Dec's lower back and reached his other hand to stroke Mason's soft brown hair, occasionally pushing his face more firmly into his crotch to deep-throat him in a way he would never dare to command with Maguire.
Mmm, Maguire. This was okay. Harry would be excited when he whispered of it to him. Harry would be fine with it, they knew the score. Luke could let neither lad fuck him, he knew that much, it would only be oral. He had to keep his big arse for his dominant boyfriend, but everything else was game!
Before he knew it, they were BOTH on his cock, one tongue on the tip and the other on his bollocks, and he was dragging his fingers through both lads' brunette tufts. Luke arched his back, groaning and rubbing his upper body against the bedding whilst his privates were lavished with this attention. His leg muscles were stroked and pinched by wandering hands and then their bodies were tumbling into new positions, he and Dec both up on their knees and Mason beneath them, a cock in each hand, smirking excitedly up whilst they dared another snog and then Luke stooped to suck and nip at Dec's pectorals.
It was Rice who initiated the anal, not him -- reaching to grab and pull at his boyfriend's surprisingly muscular behind, then slipping him one and then two fingers whilst he was on his hands and knees fellating Luke's leaking erection. One thing led to another quite quickly, and the phrase `surprisingly muscular' seemed to really sum up the compact athletic form of sexy Mount between them. Quite suddenly they were spitroasting him, a lad at either end and Mason's small form tensed and strikingly tanned -- his mouth going crazy about Luke's meat whilst gentle strokes of attention from Rice ground up against his rear, a grin of stupid pleasure beaming from the tall lad's rugged face.
Shaw would never have requested or dared to imagine taking Rice's place there, seeing the way things were between the two close lovers, and yet soon he was doing just that, manhandled and encouraged by both Mase and Dec: Mason was plunging his face and elbows down into the pillows and jutting his peachy arse into the air, his hole a little open where it had been casually fucked once. Now Luke slid himself in there, his bigger piece replacing Declan's, pushing deep inside the sexy young player. So soon after topping his own brutish hunk, this felt right and natural to Luke, felt great to be in this position again, so refreshing and different to his usual pleasures. And so he happily pounded Mount into the bed, taking care not to be too aggressive or noisy, whilst Rice caressed and toyed with him both, kissing and stroking at muscles on Mason's back and Luke's side.
Luke could feel himself go into a different mode when he was the one doing the fucking. He felt oddly less in control, like he was just a massive cock and nothing else to do the thinking or deciding. So he was pretty shocked at himself when he pulled out of Mason, his cock glistening and veiny, and grabbed roughly and greedily at Declan's body instead. Mase was rolling aside, legs in the air for a moment, then lounging on his back and jerking himself off, whilst Luke reached one powerful hand for a pale hairy buttock and squeezed it, kissing Dec's shoulder whilst pushing him forward. Dec flashed him an indecisive look and then they were both staring at Mason for some arbitration.
He fucks like a steam engine,' gasped Mason, fingering himself at the same time and as wanking. Bend over and take it Dec, I'll fucking cum just seeing it happen. Go on, babe.'
Luke felt mindless and lust-driven, but also relieved at this authoritative request. He wasn't sure if Dec was stooping forward and bending to him because he wanted to experience it, or as some indirect way of pleasuring his true love. But Luke's cock didn't care. He spat on his fingers and pushed them between the firm meaty glutes, finding and prodding at Dec's inexperienced hole -- how often DID these two shake things up, then? Rice had claimed it happened, but his hole felt SO tight and unused, he wondered if it had ever really been more than one or two experiments. It was obvious who was usually on top of this love affair.
Fingering him quite roughly, powered on by opportunism and excitement, Luke opened him up, and beckoned Mason across to suck on his own cock and keep it hard. Then Mase swapped, pulling under Dec to suck on him, relaxing and soothing him whilst Luke stretched and toyed with the tight muscles of his ring. The bed creaked and the men slid against each other, skin all glistening and sweaty, last garments curled away and discarded from the bed.
Fucking Declan was different to fucking Mason. For Luke, the tightness felt better, but he had to be so much more careful. He was closer to Rice, the intimacy mixing excitingly with the novelty of it. Once he'd edged himself some way in, he pulled up on his body so they were both up on their knees. This way Mason could come up in front and the sexy bastard could be sandwiched between them, Luke holding him from behind while he was kissed and jerked at the front by his boyfriend. Luke and Mase shared a kiss too, over his shoulder, and it became a wet three-way snog, a clumsy tangle of tongue and lips whilst Luke eased his cock deeper into the unpractised arse.
He continued to fuck him gently, not with the quiet power he'd topped Mason, gripping and steadying him and sliding about half of his thickness in and out, making him gasp and whimper. Luke found his arms holding them both, grabbing at the lean muscles of Dec and Mase and grinding into the mass of flesh until he was no longer sure who he was fucking.
He stopped, partly because he could see it was too much for Rice, and partly in deference to his other host. Luke fell aside, resting on his back and clutching the base of his aching cock, and watched as Dec lay down next to him, but not to fully stop: his thick hairy legs were being pushed up so that Mason himself could become the top. Right by Luke's side, the two attractive young stars groaned and gasped -- Mason's slimmer prick was an easier take after Luke's gentle fuck, and Mount went at it with the same Duracell bunny energy as everything else. Luke just watched now, not touching or tasting anything for himself, but sliding his fist up and down on his cock until he was exploding, shooting streaks of his cum against Dec's thighs and Mason's shimmering flank. Fucking hell, Luke thought, lost in attraction and appreciation of the hot young pair, who were suddenly on him, licking him from his hand and his legs.
`I bet you are an absolute beast in bed,' read the latest message in the thread. Jack was paying up his bill, thrusting an overly generous wad of Euros into the barmaid's hand, and exiting the deserted bar to walk the quiet lamplit street. He had been messaging with them all through his final beer of the night, not realising that the bar had closed and emptied, and his VIP status had shrouded him in untouchability whilst the staff quietly bristled with resentment. He paid off his guilt about this rudeness and walked away, re-reading the last few sexually charged messages from Vicky, the only realistic explanation for the wealthy admirer who had tried to smother him in bouquets.
The messages, paying tribute to his manly calves and his tournament-winning arse cheeks, had given Jack an excitable semi, and his tanned chubby cheeks were flushed with more than too much beer as he climbed the steeper old town roads to the villa they'd rented... They.
Even just looking ahead to the ominous white silhouette of the home was enough to remind him that he was returning to the property they'd found and paid for together, as a pair. As a couple. It made Jack look sourly back at the messages with a little sickly feeling in his body.
His own responses were brief and as littered with emojis or gifs as actual words or sentences, but he was hardly pushing away Victoria's attentions, was he? He'd even hinted at his suspicions about her identity, and received little titbit clues that he couldn't help but take as confirmation. Yes, she confirmed, she was closely linked to the football world. No, she insisted, she was not just some bimbo from his Instagram who'd got lucky on his number. Yes, she'd been at the final at Wembley! No, she wouldn't send him a selfie of what she was wearing right now. Yes, she was married; No, their other half didn't need to know that they were obsessed with Jack Grealish. Fucking hell!
Grealish stopped in the gates of the property, looking across the soft blue glow of the pool and at the squat white building. Upstairs, one window glowed faintly with the light of a lamp or TV or some handheld device -- he imagined a solitary Chilwell in the master bedroom, telly on or tablet in hand, waiting earnestly for him. Jack actually felt tears sting threateningly at his eyes. He hadn't cried for the relationship properly, he'd been too busy keeping his head in the game and wanting to be a winner. No time to really think about the broken promises and lost magic between he and his Benji. His phone chimed distractingly with a new message as he crossed the courtyard and let himself into the house, pausing in the main hallway at the foot of the stairs.
Jack could only see part of the new message showing on the screen, but the direction of it was obvious. Are you alone?' it began. Maybe I can call you and we can...' His body, his heavy cock and balls, thrilled and shivered at the prospect of this high-profile woman and her interest in him, but his heart and soul sagged and groaned. He couldn't even bear to properly open the new message, not with Ben awake upstairs, his brooding presence seeming to fill the villa. Jack punched rapidly at his phone screen with finger and thumb, opening up the messaging app and going to the unsaved contact of his mystery admirer. Block. Yes. Delete messages. Yes. Jack heaved a sigh of relief, holding the phone in his hand and shedding the exciting little flirtation of the past week -- who cared who she was, really? He didn't need the validation or the extra attention! Not when there was a lad upstairs who had quietly and patiently stood by him all this week, taking every cold shoulder and withering look with a gloomy admission of guilt.
Jack stared at the stairs, his thoughts following them up. He could just take it one step at a time and then he'd be on the landing and then he'd be in the master bedroom, rather than the spare downstairs accommodation he had slept in since they checked in on Tuesday. Jack held one hand to the banister, listening for any clue that Chilly was actually awake up there and waiting for him. He was just tensing the tanned muscles of his body and about to mount the staircase when his phone rang quietly in his palm -- he made the obvious connection and felt a note of panic, alarmed that this pushy stranger might be able to ring him even after he'd blocked one number! But no, the screen showed him otherwise, it was an oddly late-night call from his agent.
Jack answered and held the device to his ear, taking his hand away from the banister and half-consciously abandoning the moment that might have taken him up the stairs and back to bed with his Benjamin. `Hullo?' he coughed gruffly down the line, pulling the sheet of his hair out of his eyes.
`Hi Jack -- have I woke you? No, no, you must still be out partying now, I'm sure. Anyway... it's big news, Jacko. It's the City offer. It's finally coming through. They're taking £100 fucking million, kid. This is big.' Stunned awake, Jack backed away from the stairs and away from a return to Ben, his wildest expectations finally confirmed, and his brain on fire with the decision that now lay ahead of him -- to stay true to Aston Villa, or become the most expensive footballer in English league history?
Mason stretched back against the rustling bedding, feeling both exhausted and energised by the brilliant romp that had ended a brilliant holiday. The sated grin lingered on his lips and he felt the cooling stickiness on his chest where Declan's seed had dribbled at the climax of it all. The air was rich with the salty scent and he revelled in it, his cock and arse aching from over-use. Luke had been a fantastic addition to their bed for the night, a lad whose powerful presence had excited Mason this summer, and whose intimacy with Maguire he'd learned about in shocked awe... but it was Declan he was craving with him now, and who he looked up adoringly at when the cabin door opened narrowly so that the West Ham player could slide in and creep across the darkness to rejoin him.
Rice threw off the shirt and shorts he'd snatched up to escort Shaw safely out and across the boat, returning to the beautiful nudity of their sweaty antics, and he tunnelled back into the bed with a few puffy breaths. Mount felt his warmth next to him and then on him, Declan suddenly up alongside him and leaning over to push a wet kiss against his lips. Mason grabbed instinctively back at him, holding his sides and pulling his weight over him, feeling the damp heat of sex all over him and loving it. They kissed again and again, quiet but fierce, and then settled side-by-side, Mase on his back and Dec on his front, heads turned towards each other on the pillows.
`That was fun, wasn't it?' Declan whispered almost shyly.
You kidding?' he teased back. I thought I was gonna explode. Mmm.'
He's pretty hot,' the other young player said. I mean, like... he's... Well. You know what I mean...'
`You fancy him rotten!'
`Yeah, but like... not like YOU, obviously, it's just...' Declan looked crestfallen, apologetic, and that struck Mason deeply, making him interrupt the other lad and hold his arm tightly beneath the covers.
It was fun, but I'm not jealous,' he promised. You don't need to worry or be embarrassed, babe. It's... well, we both know it's me who steps over the line. You deserved that, and fucking hell I enjoyed every inch of it too. Stop looking worried.'
I'm not,' Rice lied to him, I'm fine. Just tired.'
He's our mate, and it was fun,' Mason repeated gently. I don't mind that you're into him. Heck, we both are. I know you're loyal. So fucking loyal. And I promise I will be too,' he added insistently. `They were the worst days of my life back then, thinking I'd lost you over Ben and his stupid crush. When I was isolating for that week, stuck in a room on my own...'
`And training with him,' Declan pointed out, and he looked instantly embarrassed by the bitter edge to his voice, frowning apologetically.
And missing YOU, I promise you. You're everything I want. I promise you, Dec, I'm gonna be so good. I don't care about anyone or anything else. I wish you'd just come to Chelsea and look after me,' he said, and then regretted the neediness of that, and the implication that he could only be faithful if they were at the same football club. He rubbed firmly up Dec's arm and onto his back muscles, leaving his hand there just below his neck. I'm going to prove it to you. Stop all these doubts. I'm your man, Dec, I promise you.'
I know you are,' his boyfriend told him, but his voice was a little thin and weary, and Mason knew that he was not convinced. He knew that he'd been too careless and casual, allowed Declan to feel taken for granted. Ben is my mate,' he promised, `and nothing more. He just got carried away, I think even he knows that. I'll miss you so much when we both go away with our families tomorrow. You ARE my family, you know that...?' He paused, seeing the hint of tearful glisten in one of Dec's eyes, and he shut up, not wanting to push it too far. He lay very still, then swooned with happiness as one of Dec's strong arms reached over and pulled him to in a tight cuddle beneath the duvet, gripping him fiercely and kissing him on the cheek.
`Love you, baby,' Declan sighed happily into his ear.
Luke tipped the Greek man whose little speedboat had ferried him to the harbour, and waved him a polite goodbye, both amused and scared by the idea that this deeply tanned old man might wonder why he was leaving the quiet yacht in the middle of the night when all the bars and clubs were shut and most people on the boat seemed to be fast asleep. He nipped the seed of paranoia in the bud, dismissing himself and the scene as just more summer revelry in the football world -- the old fella probably didn't know or care who they were.
This left the United player standing on the jetty alone, staring out at the bobbing and twinkling lights of the Mykonos harbour. From here, he realised he couldn't even tell which one was the yacht they'd been on for their little afterparty, and the after-afterparty in bed. He smiled fondly to think of Rice and Mount, glad to have bonded with the loveable pair and even more glad to have shared a bed with them for a little fun of his own.
He set off for his hotel, following the narrow path beyond the harbour and snaking around the island's rugged coast, enjoying the moonlit view. He thought about ringing Harry, as he often instinctively did, but he knew that conversation would need to wait, since his man was at home with his missus and everyone, ready for some close friend's wedding and then their own more private trip to Croatia -- it would be a few weeks yet before they reunited in Manchester, and Luke needed to steel himself for calmly enduring that break after the Euros intensity.
Empowered by his dominant role in the threesome, Luke grinned contentedly to himself and worked his way into the quiet hotel, only a few sparse drinkers at the bar and very quiet music drifting from a corner. He went passed this and to the spiral staircase that would take him up to the second floor and his own solo suite, which he would check out of tomorrow and travel to meet back up with his girlfriend and son for the rest of his break. Back to being safe and wholesome.
Luke fished the room key from his pockets and hummed tunelessly to himself as he mounted the first couple of steps, then heard his name called politely by the woman he had just passed on reception. Mister Shaw? Mister Shaw?' He stopped and shot a sleepy smile her way, backing down the steps and clutching the key against his palm. Yep?'
Self-consciously, because he couldn't rid the paranoia of being a dirty stop-out, Luke crossed back down the tiled passage and to the reception desk where she stood, smiling nervously his way. She stooped and retrieved something from beneath the desk, a package which she then proudly presented to him. `This came with you this night,' she announced in uncertain English, and he smiled gratefully and slipped her a note in gratitude. Luke held the package curiously and backed away from her, then disappeared up those stairs and to his room.
He yawned widely as he sat on the bed and tore it open, unsure what to expect or who it might be from. There was something quickly recognisable about the smell of fresh new sports kit, though, and soon the glossy material of another club kit was unfurling against his hands -- but not the distinctive red of a United strip, and he'd already seen all of the new Man U kits long before their unveiling to the public. This one was different, but perhaps just as iconic. The deep blues and purple-reds of Barcelona were so instantly knowable, but Luke still stared uncertainly at the garment in his hands, the Spanish club's new and barely edited uniform for the '21-'22 season... he turned it over and saw the name printed on its back with a dull thump of surprise, then out from the fabric slid a single scrap of paper with a scribbled note.
`Hey Lukey -- thought you might like to wear this to bed some nights LOL. Visit me in Espana as soon as possible, please. Your boy, Memphis x.'
APOLOGIES FOR MAKING YOU WAIT... BUT HERE IT IS! HOPEFULLY THE QUALITY MAKES UP FOR THE MASSIVE SLOWDOWN IN STORIES LATELY. I HOPED TO BE WAY MORE PRODUCTIVE AROUND ALL THE INSPIRATION OF THE EUROS BUT NEVER MIND... LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS ONE X
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
Amazon Wishlist here if you wanna say thanks LOL
https://www.amazon.co.uk/hz/wishlist/ls/26BW3WSABBHNM?ref_=wl_share