Part 286: Late-Night Recovery
The three strapping sportsmen stood there, posing with varying degrees of self-consciousness, a perfect triangle of muscular but different physiques, up to their navel in rippling cool water, all three of them grinning inanely towards the camera and flexing their chest and arm muscles for the right pose - and inevitably, he was the first to break the pompous moment, his grin cracking into a nervous laugh and his toned young body creasing up with jolts of laughter. He splashed his arms stupidly through the water and shook his head, unable to take himself so seriously, neither a natural poser like Salah nor a mischievous joker like Robbo - he just splashed cold water over aching muscles and rolled his eyes at the prospect of the photo that Hendo must have snapped for them, immediately drifting away from the other two into a light swim and then settling with his elbows hooked over the edges of the recovery pool.
`Great shot,' the Liverpool captain was laughing from the other edge of the hotel's smaller pool, still holding Salah's smartphone and tittering at the calendar shoot scene that he'd co-directed with the surprisingly exhibitionist Egyptian; Hendo was crouching down at the pool's edge to hand the device back to its owner, resting large hands on wet hairy thighs as his damp boxer shorts pulled more tightly into place.
Trent Alexander-Arnold politely pulled his eyes away from the momentary risk of ogling the skipper, looking instead at the supreme physical condition of Mo Salah, the photo's centrepiece and strangely show-off initiator - Trent was deeply respectful of the gifted striker's religious commitments, but something about posing in your Versace briefs seemed at odds with the long days of fasting. Still, the performance levels of the Egyptian forward under Ramadan conditions was incredible to Trent, and who was he to pick apart religious doctrine he didn't understand?
Salah was lounging at that side of the pool, laughing throatily at the image and boasting that he would be splashing the three of them onto social media; Andy Robertson was messing about loudly in the water behind him, quipping that the internet would break over his skinny white body, making vaguely lewd comments about the bronzed muscle of his two fellow models being too boring and vanilla. Trent just rolled his eyes, unsure why he'd agreed to stand there and puff out his pecs for the sake of an Instagram thirst trap, silly behaviour for top-flight professionals like them!
But here they were, winners in Lisbon, of the first leg at least - 3-1 against Benfica, and though Trent had not made the scoresheet, he knew the football world was abuzz at his contributions and that a video of his cross was supposedly going viral. As modest as he always tried to be, it felt like a good stab back at his recent England snubs, and he hoped that he could grab even more praise before the season closed, or perhaps his agent's whisperings were right, and he SHOULD be quitting Anfield for a squad where his gifts would stand out more.
It was then as if his loyal captain had read his mind, because suddenly Jordan Henderson was hunkering down at this side of the pool instead, patting one of his muscular brown shoulders and giving it a squeeze. Fucking class tonight,' the Sunderland-born midfielder told him bluntly, the crucifix around his neck dangling and glimmering as he leaned over the pool's edge a bit to talk to him. Really, seriously. I just wanted to say that.'
Trent grinned, much more interested in THIS attention than flexing his guns for some ephemeral online audience. He dug the heels of his hands into the stonework and pulled his lithe frame up to sit his wet arse on the side with Jordan, his own bright red boxer trunks glued to his body by dampness. Thanks skip,' he said earnestly, I love to hear that from you, I really do.' He beamed at the stalwart leader of the team, as seriously awed by Hendo has he had been when joining the senior squad as a much younger lad - the man's gravitas and leadership were everything he aspired to in his career, and as a lifelong Red, he couldn't not worship the skipper that had led them to that all-important league title in 2020.
Jordan was still holding him by the shoulder as he leaned in to speak - he was of course raving about the same moment and kick that seemed to be blowing up online, and Trent tried to modestly shuck off the hype, but he felt a warm buzz at this attention from the captain all the same - and in the shifting rippling lighting of the fitness suite of this Lisbon hotel, he found himself noting the movie-star sharpness of the older man's jawline and good looks, then telling himself to chill out and behave. But Jordan's hand, patting with encouragement, had slip a few inches down onto his back, and he felt a little shudder of physical interest that would not quite go away.
`You're an absolute asset to this team, Trent,' the captain told him simply, sitting upright and stretching out his own ripped torso, above the clingy black fabric of his long boxer shorts - and Alexander-Arnold could only grin vaguely back, immediately chastising himself for entertaining the prospect of leaving Merseyside!
Fuckin' incredible,' the sparky Scotsman had boomed, splashing to the far end of the pool and dragging himself up a short rung of ladders to pose again on its top step, turning his wiry pale body and flexing up one arm for the general half-amused audience of Liverpool players scattered around the fitness rooms, but getting a little less attention than he'd like - My skinny white Glaswegian arse next to those two beefcakes,' he continued, clambering ashore and casting his eyes about self-consciously for a towel because he was just stood in simple black sports brief rendered skimpier by dampness. I'll break the internet,' he joked again, since not enough people had laughed the first time, you might not like it, fellas, but THIS is what physical perfection looks like.'
At least one player was listening, and laughing along - a chuckle that was deep and gravelly, full of relaxed confidence. Robbo turned and shot a cheeky grin at his apparent audience, seeing another Anfield defender lounged out on a nearby daybed like some holidaying prince, a pair of baggier shorts tugged on and a folded towel draped about his very broad shoulders. Joe Gomez, the 24-year-old beast of a centre-back, was fixing him with an amused expression, and playing some online gambling game on the screen of his iPad, his body fully dried off from a similar cold recovery dip.
Andy gave him a playful wink and gestured back in the vague direction of where Trent had drifted, and where Salah was chatting to the others still in the pool. Those two posers,' he chuckled in his rich Glaswegian accent. What are they like? Can't believe they pulled me into it, this skinny wee NED.'
And just to underline the self-deprecating humour, he did another bodybuilder pose in front of the bigger lad, then snatched at a nearby towel rail with a speed that revealed some of the anxiety beneath the clowning. Robbo wrapped one about his slim waist and another about his shoulders, dropping his arse down onto a parallel lounger beside Gomez, and shooting anxious little glances back about the pool, regretting his boldness in posing for the photo. Skinny was hardly a fair description of Robertson's build, compactly build with dense muscle and melatonin-challenged by comparison to his golden-brown pals, but Andy had always had a slight small-man syndrome after years of playing alongside bigger brutes, especially in defence.
He stared for a moment at Joe, case in point: `Why weren't you wading in there to flex your guns, eh?' he chirped at the younger Liverpool player, his voice still brittle with humour and uncertainty.
The well-built 6ft2 Londoner shrugged massive shoulders and concentrated more on his online game. `People can see my build from miles off, little pal,' was his dry retort.
Andy made a scoffing little laugh at this, deciding that Joe's quiet arrogance was fully deserved, and glancing distractedly about the room again. It was getting late, but the Benfica match and first leg win had left the whole squad restless, hence the later-night recovery sessions and general reluctance to head to their shared rooms around the edge-of-town hotel that was booked out by Liverpool FC. He could head to his own room, he thought, but his roomie was busy - another long nocturnal video call with his popstar missus and their offspring. Robbo could hardly resent that, of course, but the realities of Daddy Ox were a little more full-on than he'd imagined, being a seasoned family man himself. He never could have guessed at the cooling of Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain's interest in him now that he was a father, though officially the two best mates had done nothing to close their `bromance' relationship - the action was just wilting away through difficulty, tiredness and... disinterest. No wonder he was feeling a bit body-conscious or attention-seeking tonight, he reasoned, wanting to steal the photo Hendo had taken and post it immediately to his roomie's inbox, interrupting smug family time with his bared body.
The intrusive thought that respectable family man Alex might be more easily distracted by overtly muscular Mo or Trent made its way into the forefront of his mind, and the Scotland international scowled quietly and hugged the towels more tightly about his freckled lean muscles.
Just bantering,' Gomez grunted, seeming to pick up on his mood without looking at him. Anyone who's seen you in left-back knows you're all muscle, bro, and we all know you got bollocks of pure steel like every other cunt in the Scotland team, ha.' The big youngster looked up from his game with an ambiguous smile.
Robbo chuckled uncertainly at that, not wanting to appear too needy for the reassurance. He just scoffed and grinned and rolled his eyes. Still, no melons for biceps like you, you big wanker,' he chided playfully - then, as if necessary to make his point, he leaned over and punched Joe stupidly in the arm before taking a gentle grab of the upper muscles there, a little shocked by the rock-hard bulge of it even after his remark. Where's all the modelling deals for our Big Joe, eh?' he demanded in a chirpy voice, needing to joke more to undo the odd tension of feeling up his teammate like that.
`That's not my style,' the South London man muttered disinterestedly.
I hear fucking Grealish is about to model for Gucci,' Robbo rambled irrelevantly, and our Salah is turning into a real poster boy for everyone - but where's all the love for Gorgeous Gomez?' He beamed mischeivously at the other guy with his usual humour, a force that was often central to team spirit on Liverpool away trips, and yet he suddenly felt that the nickname was a step too far for the brooding figure of the centre-back. Joe was quiet and unresponsive, and then staring at him quite seriously.
`Didn't realise how much you'd been studying my body,' Gomez grunted seriously.
Andy scoffed. `Calm yerself, matey.'
`And if anyone around here should be getting their kit off for a billboard, it's probably your boyfriend Oxlade, huh?'
The accusatory jokey label sent a jolt of panic through Robertson, but he had to remind himself that this was standard laddish banter in their world - EVERYONE here liked to make jokes about ANY close friendship that occurred in those same mildly phobic tones, and it was just part of the tone of it all, even if Captain Hendo clamped down on it and lectured them on being more inclusive. Robbo HAD to laugh, and seem to enjoy Joe's jibe, but really it touched the same jangly nerve - six months ago, he might have smirked knowingly and enjoyed the banter, happy to think of Ox in exactly those terms in secret. Now? He was less sure. If Alex was off the video call to Perrie when he got back to their room, he would no doubt be `too tired' for more than a cuddle, even though the big bugger hadn't set foot on the pitch tonight.
`Jeez, just kidding,' Gomez muttered after he took to long to retort.
Ach, was just trying to work out whose got the bigger pecs, your or him,' Robbo teased back immediately, then added, cos I know for sure which cunt has the bigger ego, aye?'
Joe smirked at this and, whether consciously or not, puffed out his dark chest muscles and lifted his big arms behind his head, stretching out more luxuriously and letting the towel drift off his chest muscles more. He was an impressive lad, Andy thought with a little surge of guilty longing. His eyes lingered for moments too long on the pecs and the neatly defined six-pack below, and then the curving biceps that folded up at either side of Joe's tilted head - and then their eyes met in a little guilty moment that both scared and thrilled the Scostman.
`I wonder how we compare in other departments,' Joe said with arch innocence.
Robbo laughed uncertainly. `I wonder,' he agreed, and he let his eyes flicker down towards the loose, ambiguous crotch of the bigger man's shorts, quick but obvious - and then looked back at him, knowing Gomez would have seen his thoughts wonder. The centre-back just stared and grinned, and then nodded.
Throwing the photo online excited him, but then so much did at the moment; being on his best behaviour during long days of fasting had Salah on edge, rattling with physical and psychological tension, and then another performance like tonight just made it tougher. He felt like a beast uncaged, but he knew he would soon need to go to bed and then be up sharply before sunrise yet again. He did his best to keep himself centred and calm, and lingered for several minutes at the pool's edge, finishing up the Instagram post of their three bare bodies, knowing his family would tease him for the attention-seeking, and yet wanting the world to see and enjoy the hard work that went into every muscle of his athletic form.
He could hardly disguise from himself that sometimes his posts had a more specific audience than he'd ever admit, and right now that audience was slumped on a chair a little distance from the recovery pool, busily involved in another smartphone, perhaps in the same wormhole of social media. It was too much for Mohamed to hope that the weary-looking teenager on his phone was also on Instagram and about to encounter the post, but... even from this distance, his arms hooked over the pool's edge and his head carefully angled to stare discreetly across at the lounge area between swimming pools, he saw it: the flash of interest in Harvey Elliott's eyes, the shifting of his posture and the angling of his held phone screen away from those around him... the darting movements of fingers that had been using touch-screen since an early age, as if to zoom in on an interesting photograph.
And then Elliott was looking this way, and Salah's eyes knowingly met his across the cool dappled lighting of the basement fitness suite of the elite hotel. And the Egyptian goal machine knew that his thirst trap had hit its mark. One minute, the Liverpool starlet was draped slobbishly across a seat, staring disinterestedly into the online void whilst relaxing with a couple of other youngsters who had played no active part in tonight's important result, but now the lad looked alert and fidgety, and couldn't stop staring this way.
Salah, overcome with the same showy streak that had led him to jokily gather Trent and Robertson to him, now grabbed at the rail and hoisted his dripping body from the water, bare but for the tight black Versace briefs and their gaudy Greco waistband - bulging obnoxiously at the front and the elastic dragging tightly up the carved muscles of his thighs and glutes. He stood at the pool's edge for a long moment, dripping wet, and kept his dark eyes fixed on the middle-distance position of the watching teenager.
Then, with only a brief discreet glance either side of him, Mo ignored the rack of towels that could cover up his body, and he made a quick but swaggering walk along the side of the room - there was an easier route to the changing facilities in the other direction, but he marched his bare physique on a slightly more circuitous way so that he had to stomp past the cluster of seating and lolling teenagers from which Harvey currently eyed him up. And then, disappearing from the echoey chatter of the pool oom, the striker paused only for a second to look over his shoulder: sure enough, there he was.
The scowling young upstart who had refused to meet his eye since returning from injury - who did he think he was? - but had first lit this sinful fire in his loins a couple of years ago, was dragging himself up out of his seat and making his excuses to his pals and coming this way with a falsely casual lilt in his step. As soon as he was close to the archway exit, a smirk cracked his goateed features, and Salah strode on into a quieter space, sure of his commanding presence and what he needed from the younger man.
Henderson was talking too much - he could feel himself doing it, chattering on and landing dozens of showy compliments on the 23-year-old defender in a way that he knew must make it very obvious the bosses had warned him about a few rival offers affecting contract negotiations. Though it was hardly just that, was it? He really did love and respect the right-back Scouser, and he knew that Trent had experienced ups and downs in form that rattled the earlier hype of his arrival in the League - he'd been there himself and he felt a particularly strong duty to mentor and reassure this prodigious talent.
But his over-enthusiastic ramblings in his warm Wearside accent were also covering up another truth. He couldn't quite look at the youngster in the same way as he had before that embarrassing little incident in his England hotel bathroom, could he? I mean, it had just been a clumsy accident on his phone during a moment of private need, that was all! It was ridiculous to see Trent's warm eyes as perceptive and knowing, as if the poor lad could have any idea that his captain had accidentally... erm, enjoyed his image, just that one time, because of a mistake with his phone, so...
Captain,' said Alexander-Arnold very sincerely, stood beside him in the changing facilities of the hotel's basement fitness centre, you don't have to butter me up like this, you know?' He had one of those infectious laddish grins on his face as he spoke. `I'm so happy at Liverpool, I really am!'
Caught off-guard in the middle of drying off his chest muscles, Jordan laughed softly and tried to act as if he had no idea what the 23-year-old was on about, as if his rapturous monologuing was totally natural and unprovoked. `Glad to hear it, kid,' he told him heavily, hoisting the white towel about his broad shoulders and going to remove his wet clingy boxers now, struggling out of them and exposing the cool damp flesh of his hips, muscular buttocks, and the dangling cock below a trimmed welcome mat of pubes. He thought he saw Trent's eyes flick momentarily to it but he dismissed that thought, because so many of the younger generation players were oddly private and reserved about nudity in a way that Jordan's early years in the sport did not match.
Going quiet after talking too much, Hendo cupped his lolling privates through a handful of towel and dried them, and then paused with his hand there as Trent turned back this way and spoke with even more earnestness - It really should be ME heaping praise on YOU, skip,' he said in a rush. I never would have settled into first-team life without a skipper like you, that's god's honest truth.' He was staring very trustingly at him at close quarters, and Jordan noticed yet again how plump those lips were, how wide and kind the eyes - he was such an attractive young man, really, quite beautiful.
`Ah, Trent..' he began dismissively.
Nah, really,' the Liverpudlian lad insisted, edging a bit closer as if to emphasise his point, seeming to forget their bared bodies and his own sopping red trunks. You've been such a rock for me, cap,' he slurred in his West Derby accent. `I dunno where the fuck I'd be in the injuries and rough patches if I didn't have you...'
Jordan was so captured by the earnest quality of his younger friend's voice, and also by the angelic handsomeness of his features, that he let the towel slide from his hand, wriggling past his knees and shins and to his toes - this left him stood stark-bollock naked and very close to the other footballer, who didn't seem to realise how much personal space he'd invaded in his effort to sound genuine and grateful. There was an awkward pause as Trent did seem to become aware of this, and his wide brown eyes flicked downwards again too, unmistakeably focusing on the way the captain's equipment hung in the narrow space between their bodies, almost brushing at the front of Trent's damp undies.
Jordan began to let out a gentle laugh of embarrassment, but when Trent looked back up and their faces remained almost painfully close, the mirth died in his throat - all he could see was a beautiful young prince with devotion in his wide brown eyes, and he was remembering his own private lust in a hotel bathroom in Surrey, faced with an image of Trent in Dubai... He didn't really know what he was doing as he lifted one large hand to just above Trent's elbow, gripping him fiercely by the arm, but it was a signal that the 23-year-old immediate took: in a moment, the Scouser was leaning in, and their lips were brushing. He was tasting those plump pink lips and a brush of tongue, locking their quiet mouths for moments that felt like hours in an undeniable manly kiss.
But no sooner had it started than Jordan was pushing his other hand firmly into the shapely bulge of Trent's smooth pectorals, even whilst his other hand was slow to release the arm it held; gasping a little, Hendo broke the kiss and pulled back, blinking, frowning deeply at the lad whose kiss he had tasted and, he realised, badly wanted. What the fuck was he doing? He was cheating on... The end of that sentence went blurred in his head, and he honestly couldn't be sure if his sense of betrayal was more to his wife, or to... his Neco.
`Skip,' murmured Trent, rolling a fat tongue along his bottom lip and hovering there with a shuddering expression of pleasure.
Jordan glanced, very quickly, down at the softly swelling mass of his dangling prick, and then stooped rapidly for his towel, hooking it sharply about his waist. There were wet footsteps, to both his panic and relief, and low voices as other men verged on the same changing room, but he was already backing off from Trent with bright pink cheeks and a tight expression on his face. He turned away from Trent without saying anything to him, but he did let out a hollow and pitchy `Hey!' to Joe Gomez as the tall Londoner swaggered in, followed close to a grinning Andy Robertson - Hendo breezed past both of them, one hand holding the knot of towel at his hip and the other hoisting the kit-bag of clean clothes that he'd snatched from the rack. He rounded a corner so quickly that his still-damp feet almost slid on the tiles, and he had to steady himself before jabbing a finger at the lift controls that would take him back to the upper floors and their accommodation.
If the lift had arrived more rapidly and pinged open, the episode might have gone no further. But unseen machinery growled and whined slowly as the elevator wound down to him, and behind him he heard footsteps and low rustling breaths. He turned, and there was Alexander-Arnold, dressed like him in just a towel with a small kit-bag clutched in the other hand, and a needy look on his face. `Captain?' the local hero murmured - at Jordan's side, the lift doors opened, and the boxy space loomed emptily - Hendo cast his kit-bag to the floor and snatched Trent by the wrist, dragging him into the lift with him in one sharp movement just before the doors growled shut again.
`Wonder what was up with them?' Gomez chuckled, though he had his cynical suspicions - after all, he'd had cutesy Trent on his knees himself once upon a time in an Anfield gym, and knew just how irresistible those soft lips of his were. The idea that their conventional captain might have enjoyed that hole was surprising to Joe, but not excessively; there were all hot-blooded men with their needs, Hendo as much as himself. It wouldn't overly surprise him if any number of men in the squad had done the same to the right-back Scouser.
What surprised him more, come to think of it, was the greedy look on Robbo's pale and freckled face, wandering through the changing rooms at his heel now, totally disinterested in the way Hendo and Trent had scampered so rapidly and rudely by them. Joe turned and grinned invitingly at the eager-faced 28-year-old, shocked but delighted that the older defender had picked up on his lazy signals and hurried after him when he left the poolside in a slow strut, pulling idly at his shorts to make its contents that little more visible and obvious... and leading him here, to the quiet back space of their changing rooms, cautious eyes assessing which corner might allow the most discreet moment of late-night `recovery' pleasure before curfew fell.
And Gomez found it quickly - a man with his impatient needs was always conscious of quiet little spots where an indiscretion might take place, though he was controlled and careful and only allowed himself male company here and there when his various girlfriends had been unavailable. He knew the dangers of dipping his pen in LFC ink, in this toxic macho environment, and he knew his own boundaries with sharp clarity.
`In here,' the 24-year-old grunted impatiently, nodding into the solo shower cubicle with its weakly lockable plywood door - not perfect, but it would certainly do!
Robertson sniggered a bit as they ducked in, and so Gomez clamped a large hand over his mouth to send a message about discretion, and he loomed over the 5'10 Glasgow man with an authority that did not match their status or experience. With his other hand, he took one of Andy's, and pushed it down the front of his loose, baggy bottoms, pressing his mate back into the tiled wall whilst Robbo began to jerk and pull at his semi.
Perhaps, Gomez mused as Andy's towel fell away and he stood there in just those skimpy briefs, it was not such a surprise that the cheeky chappy from north of the border might be open to this play - he did consistently room with Ox, another mildly bewildering cocksucker in the LFC ranks, whose mouth had graced Joe's thick brown cock at least twice. (It was always hard to keep track of these encounters, because he invested so little interest in the physical satisfaction that they brought.) Perhaps Andy and Alex were at it, he speculated mindlessly, wondering if the Scottish bugger would be quite so skilled.
Quickly, the other defender was down on his knees, and Joe was planting both palms into the wall to steady himself. He'd shed his towel and now his loose shorts were being dragged down the fluffy dark trunks of his legs. His cock swung free and Andy licked at it without hesitation, stooping to apply that same pink pointed tongue to the folds of his low-hanging bollocks - taking his time, Joe appreciated, before opening up wide and taking the shaft into his mouth properly, at which the lengthy weapon was quickly stiff. Mm, yes - Robbo WAS skilled.
Yesterday had been Harvey's 19th birthday - although it was pretty cool to spend it on a Portuguese rooftop bar drinking mocktails with his world-famous teammates (such a lifestyle felt even more ridiculous and awesome after his Rovers loan spell), Champions League duty had prevented a wilder celebration at home... and then tonight in the Benfica first leg, his plump glutes had been glued to the subs bench for the whole 90 minutes, forced to just watch and cheer. As much as he loved the club, such sidelines activity could no longer satisfy the up-and-coming winger, and turning 19 felt like another step towards a life of more regular starts for the team he lived and breathed.
So that night, while hard-working heroes of the 3-1 victory were in their various states of recovery, he'd been resigned to skulking about the fringes with other unused players and youth team hangers-on, frankly a bit bored and disappointed at the way his birthday trip to Portugal was panning out.
The young footballer's growing ego had been more than ready to attach meaning to Salah's muscle-packed picture upload. He'd been equally happy to traipse out of the chlorine-smelling lounge, making excuses to his mate Curtis, and trail into the shadows after the skimpily-clad Egyptian god... glad that the two-day Lisbon jaunt might end on a saucier note than soft drink toasts under coach supervision.
He smirked at the 29-year-old married Muslim once Mo looked back over his shoulder again, and the older man smirked back - but as always, there was a nervous tension in Salah's face that showed the conflicts their fun had brought to him. Conflicts that Harvey partly empathised with... and partly enjoyed, adding more mischief and transgression to the memory of crawling across his bed and handling his snake whilst his wife slept next to them. How many times had the teenager jerked off at that midnight boldness of that eternal lockdown summer...?
Mo, still just in those sexy black briefs, had led them around a couple of corners and into what seemed to be a room for massage or other treatments. As soon as Harvey was inside it, the 5ft9 striker was reaching behind him and tugging the door shut with a little too much force, his eagerness and fear palpable in the small room. He really was majestic up close, fiercely handsome and defined muscles from head to toe, so much resting power in that compact frame. He let out an impatient growling breath but didn't actually say anything - his look and his posture were expectant, demanding, presumptuous. Harvey smiled.
He'd been careful to avoid the older man on his return to Anfield after that fucking annoying injury break... He didn't really want to feel so submissive or beholden to ANYONE, his growth away on loan had changed his view on his early explorations - and then he'd scored that amazing secret blowie from Trent Alexander-fucking-Arnold, and he'd felt like a complete baller, only to find the 23-year-old evasive and distant from him in the weeks since the deed... so much for having his talented cock worshipped, as it had felt in that Anfield storeroom, for fuck's sake.
`This is nice,' he muttered cheekily, stood in this secretive corner with the Egyptian stud, and Mo just nodded warily, stepping up even closer to him, but still not putting his obvious desires into words. Harvey helped him out: he ran his knuckles down the rigid landscape of abs and then caressed the big wet package in those briefs, making Mohamed moan gently but immediately. He did it slowly, rubbing and nudging the bulge, then tracing the obvious outline of that cock to its bulky circumcised head, grinning and maintaining eye contact all the while. Mo made to help him out by grabbing at the sides of the waistband but Harvey pushed those hands away, shaking his head. Instead, he just grinned silently and fumbled with the older man's privates through tight black cotton, making him breathe heavily and bite his lower lip. Harvey enjoyed the agonised anticipation that was evident in every muscle of that handsome bearded face.
He took Mo's cock out once it was so hard that the briefs were stretching to their max, gently pulling on it and letting his fingers explore every curve and bump of it - he could remember how good it felt in his mouth, and he knew he wanted that, but he also pictured a younger version of himself, mischievous but ultimately subservient. Nope, that wasn't him, that was some kid he'd left behind.
Harvey kept smirking into Mo's expectant face as he took one of his dangling hands in his and pulled it over. He brought it rubbing against the front of his loose sweatpant shorts, where his own dick was already rock-hard, pressing Mo's fingers onto it - it was as if the Egypt international had been stung or shocked, jerking his muscles back a little and frowning seriously. Harvey made a face of innocent dismay and dropped his hand immediately from the throbbing erection that protruded from Salah's bush of pubes. `No?' he sighed wistfully, remaining calm and still. He knew he was pushing it here, but he also knew this powerful man's urges too well. Mo glared fiercely at him, saying nothing - he tried, quite gently, to grab Harvey's hand and pull it back to his dick, but he resisted, just grinning, and then did the same back to him, dragging his fingers across the front of his shorts. With more force, provoked, Mo dragged Harvey's fingers about his thick member, wanking himself via the lad's hand, and then reluctantly he reached over and did as Harvey had indicated, rubbing him at the same time. Ah, Harvey thought, much better.
Now they could get down to... business. He spat in his right palm and applied it a bit more generously to the older footballer's prick, then with his left hand he pushed down the shorts and his CK underpants, letting his own thick hard-on out so that it slapped against Mo's hesitant hand. He stared fixedly at him to show that he could pull his wet fist away whenever he liked, and Mo seemed to begrudgingly concede, so that both football studs were now stood close together, slowly pulling on each other's rigid erections.
Trent kissed passionately at the captain, reaching a hand quickly in and under the tightly wrapped towel until he had hold of the meaty cock that had brushed against him before - it wasn't quite hard yet, but it felt firm and hot an he couldn't wait to taste it. But then a click and beep signalled the lift reaching its destination and Hendo was already wrestling away from him, despite his urgent physicality dragging him into the lift. By the time the doors were fully open and facing out into a (fortunately empty) corridor of hotel rooms, Henderson was breathing heavily and a good three feet away, shoulders hunched as if ready for a fight rather than a snog. Apart from anything else, the Mackem midfielder seemed to be realising he'd come all the way up here in just a towel and sliders and dropped the rest of his gear in a basement corridor four floors away.
Trent thought quickly, and took the calculated risk. `Fabinho was still in the sauna, last I looked,' he breathed, taking a step out into the corridor, adjusting the fit of his own towel now that his hard-on was pushing at it. He nodded down the corridor, trying to reassure himself that his roommate would still be ages downstairs with the others, and that their shared room would be perfectly private... for long enough.
Henderson stared quite intensely at him, and his expression and manner suggested he was about to push close' on the panel of buttons and whizz away down into the lower regions of their Lisbon hotel... so Trent was thrilled and surprised when the captain took rapid steps past him, muttering What room number?' in a low growl.
Trent scurried after the 5'11 stud and then overtook him, reaching the door to his suite and fisting his kit-bag until he found the keycard to let them in. He was breathless with impatience and risk, tumbling into the room and looking cautiously about in case Fabinho had randomly come up without his known. Nope, empty and safe, and the more angry and uncertain Jordan looked, the more Trent overwhelmed with desire for the captain. He was ready to drop straight to his knees in the submissive way he once had for studly Salah, but was pleased when the captain grabbed and kissed him instead, full of that same romantic force that had overcome them in the changing rooms.
He was turned on and excited but also... how to describe the feeling of being in Jordan's muscled arms? It was a kind of safety that he'd always associated with the skipper, the man who had really looked after him when he was just a gangly teen stepping up to the Premiership. He kissed back and wrapped his arms about the thickly muscled torso of the 31-year-old, melting in his ferocious grasp, and feeling their hard cocks jab and rub through two towels that were gradually unwrapping from their bodies.
Then Hendo was pushing him back down so that his arse bounced on the foot of a bed, while the skipper stayed standing in front of him, and he didn't need telling twice. He took hold of Jordan's big pink hard-on and leaned forward to kiss his chest and tummy, seated below him and ready to please him in any way he might desire. He thought Hendo might become more aggressive and pushy, like Salah had, but the captain just stayed standing, nostrils flaring and face pink-red, staring sternly down whilst Trent kissed below his nipples and tongued down the little furry trail to his trimmed pubes and pushing prick - and took it all into his soft lips in one deft move, tonguing the head and swallowing as much of it as he could, well-practised now.
`Oh god,' moaned Hendo in those sexy North East tones, and Trent felt a real thrill that had escaped him in the months since breaking off his brief sleazy romance with Jonjo Kenny, and since Robbo and Ox had stopped ever inviting him for threesomes - there had been young Harvey, quickly in that cupboard, but Trent had felt ashamed afterwards because Elliott was so young and impressionable, and he was wary of his bolshy attitude - he'd told himself that no more awkward straight men would fuck his mouth, he'd been used and neglected too much for the past couple of years - but here he was, spitting on the shaft of his captain's cock and taking it greedily into his mouth, utterly transfixed!
Robertson slobbered over the big black cock and then gripped it around the base, leaning back with drool on his chin, and grinned upwards to see just how much big Gomez was enjoying the attention. The tall centre-back had his head thrown back and was making little noise, too cautious (he'd slapped impatiently at Robbo's head when he made too much slurping or gagging noise), but clearly he was enjoying it, his muscles kept spasming and relaxing and beads of sweat pricked the dark brown of his body.
It briefly occurred to Andy that he might feel bad about this when he was cuddling in with Alex later tonight, but... well, if the mood became the two of them became a bit more normal, he'd be able to TELL Ox about what he'd done, and they could wank off about it together... more realistically, Alex would be tired and disinterested, and Robbo would be glad that he'd been naughty.
Wanking the slick wet length of Joe's impressive cock, he leant his back to the tiled wall of the shower booth and reached down to let his own stiff nob out of the constraints of the black sports briefs, rubbing it down the side of his thigh and longing for his own blowjob.
Excitably, he clambered up to his feet, using the 6ft2 centre-back's body for support, stroking and grabbing at those muscles without really letting go of the cock that he kept on jerking. Fuck, he thought, this big bastard was so hot - why had Joe never really caught his eye much before? Well, he figured, probably because he only had eyes for a different broad-chested hunk on the squad - a pang of guilt troubled him, but his throbbing erection was a bit more influential just now, and he leaned in to kiss at the taller guy's shoulders and chest muscles, stooping to tongue and nip at his large nipples. This made Joe grunt a bit with amusement but he shushed himself and pushed Andy back against the far side of the narrow cubicle.
Andy grinned wickedly, excited by this new dalliance, and staring hungrily back down at the generously sized cock in his hand, which had really gagged him with its girth. But it was his turn now, he thought, playing for a second with his own slimmer cock and its angry-red tip. Come on,' he purred at the other fella, grinning at Joe and grabbing at one of his burly shoulders to encourage him downwards. Suck me now,' Andy whispered gruffly in the throes of his arousal.
Joe gave him a puzzled look that turned quickly into a smile. Er, nah,' the Londoner scoffed playfully, and instead reached around behind him and gave one of his pert white buttocks a good squeeze - Andy was a little troubled by this outright refusal to reciprocate, but he was also turned on by it, enjoying the aloof entitlement of the musclebound centre-back, AND by his rough grabbing of his rear. Not just grabbing - pushing him further back down and fucking his fist with a few swipes of his big cock, Joe was also reaching further, and pushing a damp finger between his clammy cheeks to stroke and push at this furry crack. Dirty bugger,' Robbo hissed excitedly at him, liking the feel of the big digit up and down his crevice.
`Shush,' encouraged Gomez dismissively, but still grinning lustily down at him.
Andy stifled a yelp as one big finger found and entered his ring a bit roughly, making him swing instinctively onto his tiptoes and lean his weight into the support of the big broad lad. `Oh,' he murmured, feeling Joe's finger quest inside his tightness - he chuckled and moaned, despite Gomez hissing at him to be quiet, and he felt a mixture of excitement and resistance at the development.
All of this time, things between he and his Ox had remained pretty one-sided, with Andy never quite relaxing enough to take it like his man could - but it was fun that he was open to, and he found himself incredibly turned on as Joe now pushed more of his finger in and out of his hole, overcoming his uncertainty with forcefulness. It made his cock and balls throb and he really struggled not to make more noise. But he should probably stop this and get back to his knees, finish sucking off the big guy, if a blowie from Joe was off the menu!
Gomez, it seemed, had other ideas - his hands felt big and strong on Andy's more slender shoulders, turning him around and pushing him chest-first into the slippery towels. He heard excitable grunts from the 24-year-old, whose touch became a little more tender, but whose finger was know fully inserted between his cheeks and up into him, making him whine quietly with pleasure.
`Can I fuck you?' his teammate grunted breathily in his ear.
Robbo made a hesitant laugh, pushing his palms to the wall and even pressing further back with his perky bottom, loving the feel of the thick finger inside his hole - he'd never been able to take it, he reminded himself, thinking of the awkward times trying to offer his arse up to Oxlade-Chamberlain, it had just never worked out! Too nervous, too tense, too fumbling...
`Can I?' hissed Joe eagerly.
`You can try,' Robertson mumbled uncertainly back, reaching down with one hand to grab and stroke his own straining cock over the waist of his briefs, which were dragged down to his upper thighs to give access to Gomez's forceful hand. That finger was sliding in and out rapidly, playing with his hole - and very quickly upon its exit, he felt something much bigger and thicker replacing it, rolling across his tightness and prodding at him before retracting. He heard loud spitting, then it was back, slicked wet against him.
`Ohhhh, fuck,' Andy muttered.
`You'll have to be quiet,' Joe reminded him in grunts.
Alex, he thought. I shouldn't do this. I've been promising my hole to him for ages now. Fuck. Stop him, he told himself, and just suck him off instead, take that big black cock in your gob again and- Ohhhh,' he groaned, as Joe angled his meat more carefully, really teasing it across his entrance, seeming to stoop lower to get a better angle at the target, manhandling him with ease as he did, and... Mmm, it was never going in, Andy thought, no way was he going to take this massive cock after struggling so much, but... That's it,' came Joe's determined grunts in his ear, just relax...' Andy gasped, unable to hold in the noise despite his discreet partner's insistence, feeling himself stretch and give way, putty in Joe's powerful hands - the bigger man's cock slid very gently into him and he groaned more loudly into the cool air of the shower booth. The groan must have been a bit too loud, because now Joe's hand was clamping over his mouth again, and his voice hissed in his ear, Remember, quiet, just relax for me...'
Mo felt uneasy about the contents of his hand, but he could not bring himself to let go of it and risk ending the sensuous pleasure of the slow wet handjob on his own meat - he gritted his teeth, conflicted but aroused, and pulled more energetically on the other man's prick, unable to keep looking him in the eye and suffer his smug grin. He wanted to call the smirking kid's bluff and back off from him, reject this stupid compromise and storm away - but he was so fucking horny right now and he was longing to put his fat cock inside that very smirking mouth as he had done so many times in the past, though not in so long!
He could push this young dick away, he thought briefly, and seek out slutty Trent... but that had been another phase of intense free blowjobs that had dried up and ended in awkwardness, with the Scouse star seeming less and less keen, and more and more depressed, when swallowing mouthfuls of Egyptian seed. Huh, no - he needed to feel Harvey's mouth on him again, that was it! His blowjobs were so fucking good, were the dirty deed that had led Mo away from more respectable purity in the past.
`Here,' hissed the 19-year-old winger, shifting away from him.
Salah could only follow him, like a dog on a leash, because he did not want the spit-wet hand pulled away from his throbbing dick. He allowed himself to be led across the small room by the prick, still not letting go of Harvey's each, and glaring furiously at the boy. He deeply resented that he was being made to touch another penis here, and there was a bitter tension between the two footballers as a result... but he was utterly consumed with lust and a need to release it, so he stumbled after Harvey to the broad leathery treatment bed lined against one short wall.
He anticipated himself climbing onto the bed, spreading the glorious muscles of his body onto it, the ripped physique that had lured Harvey back to him via Instagram - he would spread himself out on here and the horny teen would bob between his hairy thighs to suck him off after all!
But not quite: Harvey hoisted himself up onto it instead, pants and shorts about his ankles, hanging about his exuberant designer trainers, hairy legs spread. Mo's hand slid off his upsettingly leaking cock and rested on one of those fluffy thighs instead, poised in front of him, but Harvey was still wanking him, stooped forward with his arm stretched down between them. This was confusing and annoying, but his cock tingled with absolute pleasure and it made his whole body tense and relax in waves of enjoyment, and he let out low growls of appreciation, staying there in front of the seated youth. You like that?' Elliott hissed at him, and he nodded his head, bowing it forward and wrapping one strong arm about the t-shirted shoulders of the young lad. Yeah, bet you do,' the 19-year-old groaned. You want me to suck you?' murmured Harvey. He nodded even more furiously, grabbing a hand to each of Harvey's shoulders and scrabbling with the fabric of his colourful t-shirt, making to drag it off him but then stopping, bunching up material on either side of his neck. You want that?' pushed Harvey without really doing anything.
`Yes,' Mo growled impatiently - of course he did? Why waste all this time?!
`Ok, but you first,' the younger Liverpool player murmured, and it took a few moments for the words to really register meaning with Salah, because he was so desperate and impatient, his cock slippery with spit and tingling so deliciously. He grunted in confusion, pulling back a little, his cock in Harvey's magic hand, and his muscular body pulled back away - his skimpy black briefs were down about his calf muscles.
`What?' the 29-year-old demanded.
`You heard,' Harvey whispered through a villainous smirk.
Salah should not even have been conflicted - he knew that he should pull away from the idiot lad and storm out of the room with his cock swinging. He could go shower off and finish himself off alone in safety, he didn't need to be goaded or misled any further by this wicked imp of a teen. It SHOULD have been just that simple, he thought, but... somehow it wasn't. He seemed to be trapped here by slow wet strokes of his engorged cock, and the provocative smirk of Harvey's lips just reminded him what they could do.
So instead of storming self-righteously from the room, the striker looked down. Harvey's t-shirt had pulled up his body a little in the tussle, showing some of his toned tummy and hairy treasure trail, against which sprung his curved thick erection, glistening at the tip where Mo's touch had already encouraged a leak of pre-cum. `Come on,' Elliott murmured at him, relaxing back onto the massage bed - as he did so, holding Mo's gaze, he seemed to lick his lips, showing off his broad pushy tongue and the soft wetness of each lip - it brought back so many flesh memories for Salah.
Fuck it. His mind was racing, his body electrified. As he lowered himself, he almost felt that he was proving a point, winning a battle, but he had no idea what the point or battle was. He was driven utterly by his own cock. And in seconds, he had his lips against another. Bowing his head down between Harvey's thighs, he tasted the salty tip of the cock and reeled at the tang of it on his tongue, but ran his lips about the thickness and pushed down with his face, taking it into his mouth and making himself gag slightly. Physically, it felt wrong and nauseating, but... the growling arrogant moan from Harvey was exciting in a totally different way, reminding him of the squeals he could make when licking his wife down there.
He didn't stay down for long, the dick in his uncertain mouth, but pulled his lips back over it in a rush, then spat out against Harvey's leg, irritated by the salty taste in his mouth. Back up to his feet, sweaty with stress, and glaring impatiently at the younger player - Harvey's smirk was infuriating and yet SO FUCKING SEXY.
The teen leaned back languidly, stretching sideways onto his back, and beckoning with his fingers. Get on top,' he said quietly, and feed me that sexy fucking cock, okay?' Mo trembled with desire and pounced up onto the bed, feeling Harvey's hands rub against his thighs and cheeks, and then suddenly he was in a slightly alarming position. He'd straddled the winger onto the bed, his crotch angled over the face of the young provocateur (almost instantly, that dirty tongue was on the head of his cock and then he felt Harvey's mouth sucking at him from below) but his own body lunging forward, pressing his hands down on either side of the other guy's hips, so that his face hung directly over those parted furry thighs and the rising curve of flesh between them.
Salah rocked on his hands and knees as he was taken into Elliott's mouth, and he stooped unthinkingly to reciprocate with his own trembling lips, latching into 69.
Hendo found his rhythm, pushing his cock in and out of the gasping mouth. He was rushing, not least because he knew Trent had a roommate on the team who could be unlocking that door at any second, but also driven by his own immolent desire.
He was close, frustratingly close, and almost angry at his dick's refusal to climax and ejaculate. He grabbed at Trent's shoulder muscles and his neck, pushing forward with his own strong hips and glutes, driving his cock into the receptive mouth of the younger footballer, that beautiful lad who had brushed into his path in the changing rooms and who he'd chased up here in a fit of need.
Beautiful Trent seemed to sense his pre-orgasmic frustration, or share his impatience, because as well as tonguing and kissing at his veiny shaft in a frenzy of hunger, he now brought his hands in against Jordan's sides, rubbing up and down his muscles and slapping encouragingly at his hips and buttocks. `Yes,' Jordan grunted at him, loving the feel of those hands coursing up and down to his lower back and then slapping at his glutes again and grabbing the sides of his hairy thighs. Then they were on his front, rubbing up his six-pack and finding his nipples - tweaking them tightly and painfully, making him grunt. But the little extra sensation seemed to be what shoved him over the line, and he felt that unmistakable tingling in his swollen bollocks.
Jordan grasped at the base of his own cock, unsure whether or not it would be okay to jizz in the man's mouth - but even as he pulled back hesitantly and held his aching, peaking cock, Trent opened his mouth wise, cocking his head back and staring up at him with wide eyes. He was holding out his tongue invitingly, and he kept his cock so close that it slapped against the tongue in his final few jerking motions before - ah! - exploding his seed all over that handsome face, painting streaks of jizz across lips and nose, dribbling across tongue and chin. `Yes, yes, yes,' Jordan panted weakly, pumping his cock and expelling drop after drop more of his semen over the wide eager mouth.
Almost instantly, the Liverpool skipper staggered weakly back, gasping for air, still holding his aching cock in one hand and rubbing the other over his sweaty face in a long drag. His head reeled in the giddy heights of orgasm, and a horrible clarity of self-accusation surfaced against the fog of physical lust: it was the earlier question of whether he felt more betrayal towards his wife or Welsh lad, and the simple answer BOTH.
Hendo groaned in dismay at himself, letting go of his dick and letting it bob up and down at his crotch, taking a few more naked steps away from the bed. He rubbed both clammy palms against his face, his head throbbing with bloodrush and regret. Opening his eyes properly, he looked at the hotel room door, fearing interruption and discovery, then instantly casting his eyes for where his towel had dropped en route to blowjob.
As he looked for the towel, which was in a pile to his left, he caught proper sight of his partner in crime, and paused. Trent was still poised on the edge of the bed, clumsily wrapped in loose towel, his increasingly well-built chest heaving with his breaths; his face, still glossy with snail trails of cum, was a picture of disappointment and worry, and something in the emotion of it struck Jordan painfully. He hesitated awkwardly in the middle of picking up his towel, replaying the last thirty seconds and realising how rude or dismissive his gestures might have been as he emptied his balls and then staggered immediately away from the younger man.
Trent...' he breathed awkwardly. His mind was racing: guilt, regret, fear, self-loathing. But a pang of empathy and captainly concern battled with these rushes of feeling, making him slow down and dangle the towel in front of him, making no move to rush out of the room. Unsure what else to say, a practical concern tumbled out of his mouth: My clothes,' he said desperately, shaking the towel in his hand. `I can't just...' He pictured himself trying to get back to his own room, realising his keycard must be down in the basement with the rest of his stuff.
Oh,' said Trent in a slow, awkward voice. He lifted up part of his own loose towel and rubbed it across his cum-smeared face, then shuffled off the bed, dragging the towel up and about his waist properly - Jordan could see the outline of his erection through it, but all he could really feel was his need to be safely out of here and reunited with his discarded belongings. Here,' Trent said to him, having grabbed a couple of items from an open case beside the bed. They were tossed at Jordan, who caught them, a baggy t-shirt and shorts that he could pull on and slip back through the hotel in, thank god.
Stll, he hesitated, his own muscles and body heaving with recovering breaths, still dizzy from the force of his orgasm. He leaned on a corner post of the bed, shaking a little with each breath, and then rubbing a hand against his red face again, kneading at his temples.
`You should go,' Trent mumbled. He was up against a mirror, rubbing at his face some more with a corner of towel. He looked upset, and Jordan could hardly blame him, thinking of his pushy behaviour and... Before he knew what he was doing, he was lunging towards him and the mirror, and slipping an arm about him. He pulled him unthinkingly into the reassuring kiss, not quite the rough snogs in the lift, but a slow gentle one on the lips, holding him tightly in a single muscular arm.
As they broke the kiss, Trent just stared at him. When he spoke, it was with a confused stammer, and between that and his Liverpool accent, Jordan hardly knew what he said. But he backed quickly away, dragging the offered t-shirt over his upper body and stepping into the shorts, willing his hard cock to soften and relax more so it would be less obnoxiously visible in them.
He backed off, pausing in the middle of the room. That shouldn't have happened,' Hendo thought aloud, thinking about what he'd done and who he'd betrayed, but again he instantly saw a kind of confused agony on Trent's innocent looks. (A bit more innocent looking without streaks of his salty fluid on them.) But he didn't know what he could say to make anything better on that front, feeling like he'd somehow abused his captain's authority in laying claim to Trent's beautiful mouth like that. I should go,' was all he growled, but with an apologetic frown to his face as he retreated to the door. Trent nodded silently in response, sinking one knee against the bedding and hugging both arms across his chest muscles, looking terribly alone as Jordan rushed for the door and left him, stumbling out into the hallway in the borrowed gear and heading for the lift.
As its doors pinged open, he was greeted to a friendly grin and wave from a huddle of other players, foremost among them was Fabinho. Captain,' exclaimed the Brazilian guy, holding up a bag in both hands, I think you left your things in basement...?' Jordan took the kit-bag from him in a daze, his cheeks and neck burning red with blush as he thanked him and let the gaggle of other sportsmen drift past him - he glanced after Fabinho down the corridor, realising how narrowly they avoided discovery.
Gomez didn't often fuck men, in fact he'd only done it once or twice before - it was a big step beyond just letting someone suck your dick, he reasoned, and there was an intimacy to it that he'd rather avoid. But Andy had just been so good with his mouth, or Joe had simply been so riled up and horny tonight after playing in a Champions League match like that, and he'd really needed to plough the Scotsman's peachy white arse.
The tightness of it was so worth it. He'd cautiously enjoyed Robbo's hesitancy, not wanting to push him too much, but confident that he could get his meat in there, and now he was easing his fat cock in and out and stifling Andy's squeals of lust by sticking fingers into his mouth for him to suck. His surprise was wearing off - OF COURSE Robertson was a dirty slut, he exuded it, Joe had just never realised it might be a sluttishness for men as well as women!
He wasn't fucking him hard or fast, conscious of his own sizeable piece and the tight inexperience of the man's butt, but the rhythm of gradual jabs with his meat had brought him slowly and surely to his climax, and it took some willpower to drag himself out of Andy with a fleshy pop and to jerk himself off in the final delicate moments instead. He pressed Andy to the tiled wall with his left hand and jerked off with the right until he was spilling a fountain of his goo over the man's fuzzy lower back and globed freckled cheeks. `Fuck yes,' he growled in satisfaction, ignoring and abandoning his own quiet discretion.
In front of him, Robbo leaned into the wall, gasping and whining. Oh god,' the Scotsman moaned gruffly, that felt like... ohhh, god...' He seemed totally stunned and even bewildered, and Joe reached out to scrunch his red-brown hair with one hand. You okay?' he demanded in a gravelly whisper. I didn't hurt you too much?'
Robbo stared at him over his shoulder and then turned around, still gasping and heaving, and reaching both hand downs for his own cock. No,' he murmured, and he sounded utterly shocked to be saying it, which made Gomez laugh arrogantly. He leaned in closer to the shorter man, resting his hand on the wall over his shoulder, and just smirked confidently at him. I knew I could do it,' he boasted in a sigh of post-coital relief. Beneath him, Andy began to wank himself frantically, and shot him a needy look. But Joe just glanced down at the cock and sneered, he had no interest in touching anyone else's.
Finish yourself off,' he muttered dismissively, and backed off the few inches of space that the cubicle allowed him, but thanks for that, matey.' He saw the flash of dismay on Robertson's face, what might be regret or annoyance... but what was there to regret or be annoyed about? Robbo had wanted all of it as much as him, the greedy little slag. He's probably just freaking out at cheating on his boyfriend' Alex, the Londoner told himself jokily, then let himself out of the booth after dragging his shorts back up his thick legs, swaggering out into the changing rooms space with much less discretion or concern that he'd led Robbo to it. Before disappearing away through the musty space, he heard Andy's dismal moan to himself, What did you do that for, you daft wee bastard?'
Joe rolled his eyes, no time for such puritanism or doubt - he'd got what he wanted and blown a load. What else really mattered?
Harvey hardly minded that Mo's attention to his own cock had been sporadic at best. Even briefly pushing his cock into that pure religious mouth had turned him on so much, and the Egyptian god continued to pull inexpertly at his meat for many minutes after he'd given up trying to suck it and spitting out the taste against Harvey's skin. Gladly, the teen fellated him from below regardless, arms hooked about his sturdy thighs and Mo's hairy bollocks pressing against his brow as he did so.
When he knew the 29-year-old stud was getting really close, he slid out from beneath him, shifting their positions so that Salah, gasping and exhausted and gleaming with sweat, was in the seated position on the leather cushion, legs parted and cock available, and Harvey was where he had been before - head bowed down between the strong footballer's legs, tongue flicking at the glistening head, mouth open and ready for a taste of jizz.
When he got it, he got it - it was as if Salah hadn't unloaded his balls in weeks or something, a creamy wet load covering Harvey's tongue and filling his throat. And he took it all, feeling victorious rather than submissive as he did so.
He licked lavishly at Mo's rod, taking up every dribble of his seed, then kissing flecks of it from his pubes and the insides of his hard thighs, where it mingled with sweat in the dark bristly curls of his leg hair. Then Harvey straightened up to his feet and took his own dick in hand, standing between Mo's legs and grinning at him - he suspected there was a bit of the stud's cum in his `tache and goatee beard, and he saw the older man stare at his face with a beautiful mixture of satisfaction and disgust.
All of it turned him on so much that it didn't take the 19-year-old long to finish. He was impressed that Mo didn't immediately pull away and leave him to it, but the Egyptian looked utterly shattered - and perhaps also just wiped out by shock at the lines he'd crossed tonight in the `recovery' room.
And so the horny teenager, yesterday's birthday boy, jerked himself off until he was releasing an arc of his own semen against the tight glossy muscles of Salah's six-pack, emptying his own smaller load (he could barely go twelve hours without cumming) against the sweaty muscles in a fine drizzle of icing, and letting out a hollow laugh of victory as he did, until he collapsed forward a bit and rested his head momentarily against Salah's brow. The Liverpool striker said nothing but made an ambiguous groan that sounded part pleasured relief and part instant sinful shame.
He muttered something under his breath that Harvey couldn't follow; perhaps a quiet prayer. It might have made the 19-year-old feel a little shame of his own, but why should he? Salah had been more than happy to fuck his throat repeatedly, and now he'd been lured into trying a little of his own medicine. The transgressions had been so exciting for the young winger, and he didn't care if it had freaked out the older guy and prevented any further access to that beautiful cock - he really wasn't that usable slut any more who would just get on his knees and take it.
`Fair's fair, right?' he muttered at his senior, shuffling back and adjusting his loose t-shirt before stooping to pull up his CKs and grey sweat-shorts.
`You've changed,' was all Salah muttered. He meant it reproachfully, even though Harvey had still given him the luxurious blowjob he wanted, and it made the teen snigger a bit at the stupidity and hypocrisy of it all. He shrugged, tying the cords at the waist of his shorts, and backing away from the fierce man, who looked disgusted with them both.
Relax,' Harvey advised him quietly. You think I'd ever tell anyone?' He winked, and tried for a cheeky dollop of charm instead of just smugness. I know you'd never feed me that beautiful cock ever again if I told a soul,' he whispered. Just hoped you'd like the taste of mine a bit more than you did, but never mind. Eh?'
Salah glared at him with unfair indignation, twanging his briefs into palace and flexing his muscles. For a second it seemed as if he might be about to get aggressive and take his own conflicts out on a horny teenager, but then he was just grappling stupidly with the door and letting himself out, trying to strut away with dignity, but looking far too sexy in his black pants to do so. `I enjoyed the thirst trap,' Harvey called teasingly after him.
Salah stopped, shoulders squared and chest puffed out. He looked back with an expression of cold anger on his bearded face, now that the orgasms were done, and Harvey's thin watery jizz was mixed with the sweat on his six-pack. `You should be careful,' he warned.
Harvey just smiled. `We both got what we wanted,' he reminded the older man with his own mock sternness.
Salah ignored this. I've had you sent away once,' he snapped, the soft edges of his North African accent becoming clipped and harsh, and I'll do it again. Don't push me, boy.' And then he was gone, rounding a corner towards the changing rooms, presumably desperate to go and shower the sin off his beautiful sand-coloured skin.
Harvey stood alone for a moment, the message sinking in, and ruining his horny buzz at the play they'd enjoyed in the room behind him. His entire loan season at Blackburn Rovers, he now realised, had been Mo Salah's request...? He'd been banished away from his cherished Liverpool to play in the Championship... because that smug hypocrite couldn't resist shoving his cock in his mouth?! It stung. The idea that he was so powerless, just a pawn for older men like that to toss aside when they couldn't take the heat - it made his body burn with irritation and unfairness. His young ego simmered.
The 19-year-old footballer stalked back through the cool passages and into the pool room, realising how few of the other Liverpool men were still up and about. His pals had disappeared off to their rooms, and he slumped back into the same lounge chair on his own, staring ahead at the recovery pool in which Salah had posed so provocatively to incite his interest - the smug twat!
The captain came drifting by him in a t-shirt and shorts that he momentarily thought looked a bit odd and unlike him, but a sense of dutiful respect made the teen sit up and give a salute-like nod to the passing midfielder. You alright?' Henderson asked him distantly on his way past, not quite properly looking at him. If Harvey had not been quite so lost in his own resentful thoughts, he might have noticed just how worried the skipper himself looked - but as it was, he just made a non-committal grunt of ok' and picked out his phone. The 31-year-old team captain drifted away, swinging a kit-bag by its handle and sighing loudly to himself.
Harvey opened up Instagram and quickly rescinded the like' he'd given to Mo's shared photo, sneering critically at the posed pic of the three muscular men in the pool. Ugh. Then he locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket, just as Robertson drifted past him in the opposite direction to the captain. Again, a vague Alright, mate?' from the Scottish player, and an ever vague `Fine' from Harvey himself. He failed to notice the sad haunted look on the 28-year-old's face as he scratched at his red-tinged stubble and made for the exit.
After a moment, Harvey realised he was the last guy in the room, and he played lazily with his cock in the grey shorts, still a bit horny even though he'd cum on Salah's abs. He scowled resentfully at the sexy man's ire, and at the notion that his loan had only ever been exile on anyone else's demand. None of it mattered, he decided, because he was a fucking star-boy, and he was going to make things happen. He'd show them all, he thought with furious determination, and he'd make the starting line-up in the next few crucial games - a likely title clash with City and then the same team in the Cup final, and also a second leg to seal the deal against Benfica in the Champions League. Harvey resolved to shrug off Salah's inconsistent attention and prove himself purely on the field, and show these boring old fuckers what he was really made of.
And alone in the fitness suite, he got out his cock and had a second wank.