Part twenty-eight: Captain's Ritual
There were lots of things Jack Grealish loved about captaining his side. Apart from the boyhood fantasy filled and the adulation from the fans and footy press, he liked the extra responsibility, the closer working relationship with the gaffer, the respect he had earned from all the blokes on the squad. Generally, it was what kept him a big fish in a little pond, and kept making him say no to his pushy agent as the offers came in from bigger rivals: this January was the same story as always. He had a number of voicemails from his agent every time he left training!
Another part of the captaincy that Jack was coming to like was taking the newbies under his wing, though: right now, Danny Drinkwater, who had just joined them and made his debut in their recent slaughtering against City. Perhaps because of that tough game, the Manc lad didn't seem to be settling in as well as the gaffer would like, so now Grealish was feeling a certain challenge. He needed to really make the bulky midfielder one of the lads, and that either meant a softly softly approach to get some male bonding going on, or a tougher angle to make Drinkwater raise his game. He didn't know the northerner well, but he knew his career was patchwork to say the least: Danny had skipped from club to club, loan to loan, barely had a consistent stint anywhere.
He'd been mulling the issue over all week, amongst the general malaise of a club that had just lost 6-1 – it was hardly a hoot at training any day this week, though morale was recovering as the weekend approached, and with it their next clash, down at Brighton on the south coast.
Get him to relax and muck in,' the gaffer had said, or I ain't risking him in the selection on Saturday, that's for sure.'
It was a harsh line, but Jack had a lot of respect for the boss. He liked the way things were ran here, not least because he knew how valued HE was, and that sometimes the team formation was planned around how he was doing, as their undisputed leader and biggest talent. So he also knew it was up to him to get Danny Drinkwater properly integrated in the gang, to bond him with the other lads, any way possible.
He was on his way into the last training session of the week, as these thoughts milled over in his mind, Beats headphones on as he strolled in through the gates at Villa Park. Just inside the foyer of the training entrance, he spotted his favourite lanky centre-back, Tyrone Mings, chatting idly to his own good pal John McGuinn, his Scottish midfield ally. He drifted towards them slowly, knowing he was a bit early for the Friday team talk. In the pocket of his tracky bottoms, his phone buzzed with the arrival of a message: he slid it out, hoping it would be that fit blond gal he'd matched with on Tinder last night, but no luck, it was just... ah, Chilly.
In the past, a message from good old Ben would always give him a buzz of interest in what his Leicester pal was up to: but since their recent catch-up, he always felt a slight tug of uncertainty. He didn't exactly regret what had happened, but he wasn't sure how to deal with it. Ben Chilwell had just been so... cool about it, so... relaxed. And so surely it wasn't a big deal! But... Well, there was no polite or respectable way of describing what the two buddies had done in his Birmingham apartment that twilit afternoon. He opened the message: just a dumb meme. But he scrolled a bit in the Whatsapp thread and realised it was the fourth message in a row that he'd not bothered to reply to. He felt a pang of guilt. He wasn't actively ignoring Chilly, as such, but...
`Oi, get those off so you can here,' chuckled McGuinn, punching him in the arm.
Grealish started, tugged off the pulsing music from his ears, and gave a grin of welcome to the other two lads. `What's that, mate?' he said, pushing the phone guiltily into his pocket.
We were just saying hello,' laughed Mings in his softly Somerset twang, towering over the other two at his mighty 6'5. The black lad rumbled with laughter and shook his short mop of dreads a bit. You okay, Jacko, you look like you've the weight of the world on your puny shoulders.'
`Yeah, you okay?' John asked a little less bluntly.
I'm good,' Jack said with a firm nod. Just thinking couple of things over.' He paused before confiding. I need to get the new guy properly in the mix, lads,' he admitted in a stern voice that he hoped sounded captainly. The gaffer is a bit worried, he just didn't seem to... you know, commit on Saturday.'
`Did anyone?' McGuinn quipped cynically. He hadn't even made the team last weekend, so at least he could take no blame from the disastrous clash.
`He definitely wasn't totally there,' Tyrone agreed in a thoughtful voice.
Jack nodded, already feeling a little better for recruiting their support. If only he could recruit mates' advice so easily on the matter of his dented friendship with Chilwell! Of course, he was hardly gonna tell anyone about THAT, but... As the two problems brushed each other in his conflicted mind, an idea formed, and he gave a decisive nod to the other two. `Lads, are you up for helping to getting him involved more? I think I might have a bit of a plan, actually...'
It was a long day. It had been a long week, in fact. Pretty much double intensity training, as nobody wanted an embarrassment in Brighton tomorrow. Consequently, the lads were dripping in sweat as they filed back in at about 3pm, the afternoon light already failing and more rain falling. Wet, sweaty and streaked with mud, the Villa guys stomped their way through the training ground tunnels and into the changing rooms. Jack Grealish strolled among them, doing his captain's best to raise spirits by offering encouragement and criticism wherever it seemed needed: he knew that older players could potentially resent a 24-year-old local kid telling them things like this, but he'd developed a good rapport with all of them, and he was widely liked by the squad.
As agreed, however, McGuinn and Mings hung back, volunteering to help tidy things up, and roping Drinkwater into it after the coach had finished giving him a bit of one-to-one. It perhaps hadn't been the most encouraging chat, since the 28-year-old new signing to Villa's midfield looked fairly dour and contemplative as he trailed into the changing rooms after the other two, all dripping wet.
Most of the others were now almost changed and in various stages of heading off to get home – Captain Jack, however, was still in all his dirty kit, seemingly from doing the rounds and giving pep talks. He approached the three latecomers, some of his highlighted longer hair falling down in a scruffy fringe.
Hey lads,' he greeted with a nod. Well done today, Danny, mate.'
He grasped the older lad's hand, and noted his uncertain expression, as if Drinkwater wasn't sure how to take the compliment. `Right, thanks,' was all he said, a bit wearily.
You were grand today,' Jack told him quickly. Working hard already.'
`Hmm. I think you're the only one seeing that,' Danny said pointedly, with a weak smile, making his way past Jack to go and start undressing. A few of the other Villa players drifted by on their out, freshly showered. Jack gave a falsely confident look to Tyrone and John, who had been unsure about his vague plan when he outlined it, but sure enough were here as organised, and doing their bit.
Jack followed Danny. Nah, you'll be good,' he said encouragingly, sliding both hands idly into the front of his short shorts for warmth, and sidling up to the newbie. If the coaches are being tough on you, they're just trying to get you... integrated.'
Yeah, you have to be one of the lads,' John pointed out, the Glaswegian 25-year-old arriving at Jack's side and leaning an elbow on his shoulder casually. Which is what we were, er, hoping to chat to you about, actually.'
Jack gave John a warning glance: he was pleased the Scotsman was getting involved in his idea, but he was the one calling the shots here. He turned back to Danny's mildly perplexed expression, that almost caveman expression that swung between ruggedly handsome and blankly doped. Tyrone joined them, whipping off his training shirt as he did, releasing a strong waft of his sweaty scent.
`Well, I hope you guys will see me as one of the lads,' Drinkwater said with a hesitant tone.
`Ah, we do, we do,' Tyrone said, over Jack's shoulder, then laughed oddly. He sounded on edge. He had looked even less sure than John when Jack made a rough outline of the half-baked plan.
Yeah,' Jack said slowly, but you have to break down some barriers first, yeh? We'll explain it to ya in the showers, yeh?' He clapped a hand to the back of Danny's sweaty jersey, and then backed off to undress himself. His mind raced as he crossed the changing room, second-guessing how this might go. It was a mad idea, and it was only half to do with inducting the newcomer, he told himself angrily. He knew part of it was a hangover of that fateful meeting with Ben.
Jack tugged his slightly baggy jersey up and off, relieved to bare his overheated torso to the clammy changing rooms air. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, seeing the effects of the tough training week on just how ripped his six-pack was looking, but also in the sporadic bruises on his arms and legs, now streaked with mud and glossy with sweat. He yanked down on his under-sized shorts and black boxers, and kicked off his socks and trainers, getting fully naked. Shyness had never been an issue for Grealish, least of all nowadays.
But still, there was a hint of self-consciousness as he turned about to check on the others, and to check that they were really the last ones left. He was playing with fire here today, and all because of lingering questions after seeing his mate in town. Big Ty was already heading to the showers, and John was making to follow, and then went Danny, still a trace uncomfortable. Jack followed up, and couldn't help his eyes survey their backsides on the way in. It was the new guy's who stood out there, rounder and fuller and pinker than pale Scottish John or thin muscular Tyrone. Fuck, why was he even looking?!
Despite trying to suppress this though, he idly surveyed the rest of their bodies while they trooped into the communal shower. Tyrone's muscle definition was so enviable. The powerful defender was so taut with muscle all over, especially his compact 8-pack, jesus. John was skinnier, less developed, but still in good shape, not so firm or well-built as Jack himself was becoming though. And then there was the new guy, the oldest among them. Danny was an inch or two taller than Jack and very broad, and like Mings, he had an enviably well-defined six pack and even better pecs. Jack felt a sting of envy, knowing his own lithe body still had a touch of boyish leanness rather than the almost rugby physique of his new teammate.
Right, lads,' Jack said, after a moment's hesitation, before we shower, time for the ritual.'
Danny looked sharply from him to the others and back again. `The ritual?' he asked.
`Yeah, captain's ritual,' Tyrone said in an unconvincingly casual tone.
Usual rules,' John put in, a bit more lightly, shrugging his thinner shoulders and grinning a bit overexcitedly from man to man. No big deal.'
When he'd leaned in and said the words `circle jerk' to these two, Jack had feared their reactions might have been worse. There had been giggles and protests and some mockery, but they had both quickly looked convinced of his seriousness, and curious at his motives. Shared secrets, Jack had labelled it, and proper male bonding. He'd lied, quickly, and said he'd heard a few stories of older captains doing it to get inexperienced lads in the fold. And really, that had been all it took. He was glad he'd picked two such easygoing blokes, really.
All the same, he knew he was the one who needed to get things moving, and he positioned himself firmly close to the other lads, letting his sizeable cock and balls swing a bit as he stepped up to the centre of the shower block, and reached out with his right hand for John's crotch. Danny's eyes, wide with surprise, followed his hand as the Aston Villa captain wrapped a hand firmly about the soft cock flopping between John's legs, beneath a roughly trimmed bush of pubes. In turn, McGinn let out a midly alarmed chuckle, and reached over towards Mings.
And you have to take mine,' Jack said, quickly but firmly. Captain's ritual, innit.'
`What the fuck?' Danny said, staring at him, then at McGinn's dumb grin, then at big Tyrone, whose long thick brown nob was now in the other midfielder's hand. Mings was reaching one large hand towards the new guy, who didn't move away, but looked as if he was waiting for the punchline. Jack studied his reaction carefully, and felt confident. Here was a bloke who'd moved teams far too much, whose reputation bounced up and down with the season. He was desperate to make a go of it here, to get on track, to fit in...
`A circle jerk?' Danny grunted, finally.
Yeah,' Jack responded quickly, come on, your turn – grab my nob, mate.'
And simple as that, he did. Danny stepped into the ring, parted his big smooth thighs to let Tyrone grasp his decent hanging meat, and reached over to Grealish. Jack smiled commandingly as the bulkier guy's hand reached down, brushing his lower abs, and neatly shaved crotch, and took hold of his gently waking flaccid length.
Are we really doing this?' Drinkwater asked in his heavy Manc accent. What are we, 13...?'
`Relax,' Jack said, and he began to rub and stroke at his mate John's piece, ignoring how new and weird that felt to him. The hint was taken in a clockwise shuffle of effort. As he rubbed on McGinn's Scottish meat, he could see the lad's pale freckled hand really yanking on Tyrone's almost alarmingly long one, and in turn, big tall Mings was giving a very explorative pull to Danny's own nob, and so... Danny seemed more reluctant. He narrowed his eyes confusedly at his captain, and Jack thought for a moment he had misjudged everything, and then he felt the fingers tighten about his own piece, and give it a very slow stroke. Oh, yes.
The lads all moved unconsciously a little closer to ease their reach. They were so close they could smell the sweat rising off each athletic body, and really see and compare the sizes of their slowly growing cocks now. Jack could hardly believe how easy this had been to initiate. Although he knew the next step might be a bit more challenging...
He was surprised (and secretly quite freaked out) by how rapidly John got hard. It seemed like a fleeting moment before he was pulling on another guy's erection, and he thought non-judgmentally how notably smaller and slimmer the prick was compared to his own (thank fuck) as he toyed with it. He studied McGinn's face for enjoyment, but that big dumb grin was kinda unreadable: was the Scotsman just going along with his daft idea, or actually getting into it...?
Jack pulled his eyes away and looked down at his own tool. Danny was giving it the most feeble, uncertain caresses, really not convinced by this, but there was still a reaction. Jack was excited, by his own power here as much as anything, and the memory of that strange man-on-man contact in his bedroom, with Ben. Now he just needed to...
God this is weird,' Danny blurted out, almost on cue, since his own dick was clearly reacting to the firm guiding hand of big Ty. I've heard a lot about these things going on, but I thought it was a fuckin' joke, so...' Both of the other two laughed nervously, and Jack wondered if they might stupidly give the game away. For this to work, Danny had to think it was routine, ritual, normal... he couldn't think it was a stunt for HIS benefit.
`Yeah, but doesn't it feel good?' Grealish then asked in a challenging tone.
Danny hesitated, but then nodded. Aye,' he said in a slow Mancunian drawl. Aye, it does.'
For some reason that agreement thrilled Jack, who smirked triumphantly, then sensed John and Tyrone seemed to relax. Perhaps one lad admitting pleasure was enough to make them all accept the truth: another lad's hand on your nob felt good, because these blokes had spent way more time wanking than any girlfriend or wife had.
`Who knew I could be such a natural,' Ty laughed, and it was a hesitant, mildly shameful chuckle.
`Danny here isn't too bad himself,' Jack cut in, watching his own cock stiffen and strength, and Drinkwater's fingers find some confidence on the shaft. He realised he'd stopped tugging on John as he fixated on this, and got back to it, pulling gently on the less well-endowed Scotsman's piece, keeping the awkward elbowing rhythm going around their little circle.
It was Tyrone who let out the first grateful moan, and his unsuppressed noise brought all their attention to the sheer scale of his dick, which was clearly the longest of the four, and the most rigidly upright, wow. John was spitting in his palm then pulling in a right frenzy on it, and the other three picked up their pace in semi-conscious mirroring. Tyrone then laughed, maybe at himself, and John too let out a little trembling groan of enjoyment. Both blokes had closed their eyes as if needing to block out the sight of their teammates to more fully enjoy the cheeky handjob, but Jack looked sidelong at his new pal Danny, who still looked as baffled as anything else, just more flushed in his high cheekbones...
Oh, captain,' came the Glaswegian moan beside him, and he looked back sharply: oh fuck, John had gone really red in the cheeks and looked totally tense. Was he already...? Oh Jack,' McGinn groaned with surprising relish, so intensely that it halted the other three, and Jack just held his hand uncertainly to the throbbing dick, and then... yep, there it was. The Scotsman's load shot across the tiled floor between their feet, and all four of them burst into awkward, tension-relieving laughter.
`You horny bastard,' Ty said, and it was hard to tell if he was admiring or critical.
`Sorry, it's been days,' moaned John deliriously.
Jack pulled his hand off him, a bit irritated he'd finished so soon, but determined now to move further. Right, time for captain's treat, then,' he snapped. You lost the game, McGinn, so get on your knees.' He saw the luxurious relief of orgasm slide from his good mate's features and be replaced with one of bewilderment; beyond him, Tyrone looked equally perturbed, and Danny seemed near oblivious, just pulling slowly but steadily on his captain's nob as ordered.
`Jack, mate,' John breathed.
`You heard me, captain's treat,' Jack repeated firmly.
McGinn didn't seem to need a lot of persuading. It crossed Jack's mind for the first time that perhaps he wasn't the only one with curiosities to fulfil here. The Scottish 25-year-old had been weirdly quick to agree with a controversial idea, and... well, here he was, sinking onto his muddy scraped knees, looking scared but compliant. You thought you knew a lad, and then...
`Jack, seriously?' came Tyrone's firmly cautioning voice.
It's my prerogative as captain,' Grealish snapped back, and this bugger lost, fair and square...'
He sure did,' came the surprising agreement of their new teammate, who cums that fucking quick, eh...?'
`But is he really going to...?' Mings began to ask, but his answer was physical.
McGinn tottered forward, staring into Jack's crotch, then the Villa captain reached a hand around the back of his head, and pulled his face in, prodding his thick uncut dick into those quivering virginal lips. The other two stare on as Jack pushed the fat tip of his eight inches into John's mouth, and gasped in delight. This was what he'd been craving, it had felt so good when Ben briefly tried it, so different to a girl... (that OTHER thing, well... it still scared him to dwell on how intense that had felt, he wasn't ready to deal with THAT memory yet, but...)
God, mate,' exclaimed Drinkwater, one of the lads already, that's mad... Hey, Ty, you've stopped playing with me dick, summat wrong...? Hah...' This bloke was coming out of his shell, after all!
Jack dropped his hands to his strong hips and watched as Ty and Danny took hold of each other in mutually awkward but grasping motions, jerking in badly syncopated pulls... and at Jack's waist, John's fringe brushed his pube stubble as the lad's head bobbed about, trying to take more of his thick length in, but struggling. It was clear this was McGinn's first time, he really didn't know what he was doing, and yet it felt incredible. The hot wetness of his tongue, the drag of his rough lips, the scratch of his stubble... not as electric as Ben, but then there just wasn't the same... intimacy...
Don't worry,' Grealish barked, between slow gentle thrusts of his hips, guiding the first half of his lengthy meat in and out of John's gagging gob, I'm happy to share my treat... lads?'
`Count me out,' grumbled big Tyrone instantly, but Danny's eyes lit up curiously, and Jack grinned. He slid his clammy hand through John's hair and pulled his head away from his own meat for a moment, then beckoned Danny closer. The group closed about the kneeling Scotsman now, Jack still resting a commanding captain's hand on his head, as Danny muscled in and prodded his own prick at the bloke's lips and chin. Danny was pretty well-hung, Jack noted, of similar proportions and shape to his own cock, which was odd to see. And Ty, despite his protestations, was with them too, tugging slowly on his big long meat, looking wide-eyed at what he saw.
Fuckin' hell,' Drinkwater mumbled, I ain't had head in too long...'
`Go for it then,' Jack murmured encouragingly, patting his muscular back and watching: slowly, Danny's own girthy prick was pushed in against John's wet tongue, and the muscular newcomer let out a slow, low groan of almost agonised stimulation. Jack sniggered and smirked, Tyrone swore worriedly under his breath, and John just slurped and gasped at their knees. Holy fuck, this was like some dirty fantasy spilling out, Jack thought, in ecstatic panic. Captain's fucking treat. He patted and grasped at the flexing muscles of Drinkwater's broad back, then slide his land lower, across the downy fuzz at the base of the spine, and onto the fleshy curve of his backside. It was such a pretty arse, he remembered faintly, and gave one cheek a squeeze. It didn't seem to faze Danny, who was sliding in and out of John's gob with shocking confidence.
`Shit, are you okay, McGinn?' Ty asked in a loud mumble, seeming so anxious from his towering physique. For all his uncertainty, he was pulling on his prick like mad, and precum was frothing from its dark pink head. A nod from McGinn, gurgling as he tongue and sucked at the new cock on the team, seeming to enjoy its thickness.
`My turn again,' Jack said, a bit impatiently. He pulled John away from the newbie, and back towards his own throbbing, aching nob. He needed that hot wet hunger on him. On his cock, and well... (again, he thought of the other thing – of Ben in the dark, behind him, getting his tongue out, and... fuck, fuck) – and as he stood there, his chest and abs rising and falling with each eager breath, pushing his dick further into John's mouth so he felt him gag, he felt fingertips brush the sticky sweat of his back. It was Danny's hand, reciprocating. It patted and stroked his back, upper then lower, then was reaching round his arse. He shot a sidelong glance at the 5'10 midfielder, as Danny's strong hand cupped and squeezed one smooth cheek of Jack's plump backside: Danny winked, and Jack trembled. What the fuck did that mean?
`I'm gonna cum,' Mings announced suddenly, hoarsely.
`Me too,' Jack realised aloud.
John was pulling away, white-faced, panicked. Not in my gob,' he insisted desperately, not...'
`On his chest then,' Jack snapped, a little disappointed. He slid his strong fingers through John's short dark hair to yank his head back a little, stretching his neck, and more exposing his pale, slightly haired chest, their goal. He pulled on his thick, saliva-slicked hard-on, and felt himself nearing orgasm. And with wet slapping pulls, Danny and Ty were going for it too, three big cocks pulling desperately and angled onto the slight Scottish lad on his knees, whose face was one of unreadable awe.
It was Tyrone who came first, his long mocha cock exploding in a spurt of white heat that sprayed John's neck and shoulder, and Jack followed quickly, unable to hold it in: one thick globule after another spattered the strands of Scottish chest hair. Jack panted and trumbled and tugged a bit more on John's shaking head, then looked over at the last of them still going. Danny was throwing his own head back and howling his pleasure, reaching a second hand down to tug and squeeze his big balls as he rushed towards completion. And then he too was dumping his load on the fourth man, who gasped and yelped in vague enjoyment of the humiliation.
Ohh shit,' Drinkwater gasped, and backed away with stomping steps, shaking at his quivering nob and gasping down gulps of air. Oh shit...'
Tyrone was backing off more quickly. Jack reached down, took John's hand in his, and helped yank his pal up onto his feet. McGinn looked shaken but okay, his chest and neck and shoulders splashed with three men's juices. He looked almost apologetic. Jack grinned, bumped fists with him. You're a good man, McGinn,' he grunted. Took one for the team. Or three.'
John laughed faintly and stumbled into the nearest showerhead, knocking it on. Jack noticed Tyrone sidling further down the block, as if making some point about things having gone too far, showering as far from the other men as he could. Jack laughed quietly to himself and bashed on the shower next to John's, whilst to his right, Danny did the same. Jack closed his eyes and let the hot rush envelope him. He moaned contentedly to himself, pressed his palms to the tiled wall, and enjoyed the force of the shower. After long moments of this, he pulled his soaked long wave of highlighted hair out of his eyes, scraping it back, and looked about the shower. Tyrone was gone, hurrying, and John was walking in a daze back out, grasping for a towel. Jack laughed at their seeming shellshock from the circle jerk, and turned his eyes to Danny, who was lazily soaping his big chest.
`Lightweights,' he chuckled at him. Danny just grinned. Now the fun was over, he seemed returned to his mild, quiet, even bland self, how he'd come across so far in all team interactions. Now that Jack had seen his inner animal released, he looked at the body language differently. Danny wasn't disengaged, he was poised.
Aye,' agreed the newcomer in a slow drawl, pulling his head back under the shower for a moment. That was... er, fun.'
`Yeah, it was,' Jack agreed with a little smirk.
Danny smirked back, and looked hesitant then, leaned in closer to whisper. It wasn't my first blowie off a lad, though,' he admitted in a deep growl. That's crazy, right...?'
Jack considered agreeing, but felt that would invite more questions than he needed. Plus, he knew he needed to maintain a front here, as if casual jacking off was a thing around here, not some random new prank he'd pulled today on a whim. He leaned in, feeling the soapy smell of Danny's body wash by him. No?' he said with a curious frown. Well...?'
`Just a few times at Chelsea,' Danny murmured.
`At Chelsea?' Jack echoed. He couldn't hide his surprise. Was this sort of stuff going on everywhere then? For a moment, his mind wandered: what else was going on at Leicester to have empowered cheeky Ben Chilwell, then?
Aye, Chelsea,' Danny continued softly. It was...' He looked about, as if the paparazzi might somehow be lurking in the tiled confines of this steamy shower block. Ruben Loftus-Cheek. Would you fucking believe that? He was...' Danny chuckled, shook his head, rinsed soap from his pecs and erect nipples. Well, let's just say your mate John is an amateur.' And with that, Danny switched off his shower and retreated, and left captain Jack alone to his thoughts.
In the dressing room, when he emerged, the other three were silently drying and dressing. He stood in the middle, towel about his waist, enjoying the steam rising from each of his taut muscles, and feeling powerful despite being the shortest guy in the room. Good work, team,' he quipped playfully. Three good goals. John mate, you need to work on keeping a clean sheet.' Passing his Scottish buddy, he spanked him gently through his jeans, then winked at a troubled looking Tyrone, and strolled past chuckling Drinkwater, into his own corner to dress. One by one, the blokes finished dressing, and left in their own silent contemplation. By the time Jack the lad was strolling out, his grin was wide and eager, and his mind racing. Today felt like the beginning of something new and exciting.