Part 305: Up-and-Cumming
Troy whizzed the short distance on the motorway before turning his BMW in at the junction for Blackburn, resisting the urge to keep up a wilder speed as he entered the suburbs of the Lancashire town; his eyes flicked back and forth to the satnav instructions on the dashboard screen, unsure of his journey and impatient to be off the road. He rolled through close to the town centre, vaguely unimpressed by the ordinary northern town, and then squinting again at the online map and its vivid green cursor taking him out the far side of Blackburn and into another set of slow quiet suburbs.
It had been such a short drive. He'd known that, vaguely, though it hadn't registered until tonight's journey that the distance between their new towns was quite so slim; the north west of England was a vague blur to the 20-year-old footballer, though he looked forward to having close access to Manchester and Liverpool, big cool cities that were iconic in his sport. So far, his own new hometown of Preston wasn't quite living up to those images of the region, and this other footballing town didn't look like it had much more than kebab shops and run-down pubs either.
Officially, Parrott was here to celebrate the other lad's achievement, but he was still buzzing from his own, and his generalised disappointment with small-town Lancashire was tempered with an overriding optimism about the near future. It's not that the Irish player's resilience or ambition wasn't being strained - this was, after all, the fourth loan spell in a row for the young striker, farmed out to yet another lesser club by Tottenham Hotspur. But if the North London side had anything, it had world-class forwards, and Troy had learned to accept that the club wasn't ready to make use of him, but just wanted him to become more mature and experienced. Millwall, Ipswich, Milton Keynes, and now Preston North End - the talented young striker was trying to see the positives in each mediocre new setting, and his performance just last night was helping him to do so. In the opening 6 minutes, he'd netted the first of four goals for PNE, launching their EFL Cup win over Huddersfield and setting himself up as a significant new weapon for the Championship side, one of the longest-established teams in English football.
But that was yesterday, and this was today: Troy's intense looks moved from the computerised screen to the street signs that glared under the beams of his headlights, trying to make sure he was on the right cul de sac. He couldn't help but grin to himself at the memory of last night's goal, and had been much the same all through the day's late training work, toasted and celebrated by his teammates as the thing that would take them towards Premiership promotion.
He paused the car at yet another junction, craning his neck to see its name, and then taking the left turn on the quiet road; it was still relatively bright with summer sun despite the late evening time, and he had the air-con on full blast against the lingering heat. He cruised his BMW down the curving road, counting down the buildings, and then finally spotting the higher-rising block on the right that must be the right apartments - angling his vehicle gently into its forecourt of parking and prodding eagerly at buttons to shut down the navigation and background music of his journey before undoing his belt and climbing out of the car. He was just unlocking and leaning into the back to grab his overnight bag when he heard footsteps crunch on gravel and then his own voice called eagerly across the warm air: `Troy mate, nice one!'
Parrott briefly abandoned his luggage and turned his confident grin towards the approaching voice, pulling himself up to his full 6ft2 height as he opened his arms and greeted the other 20-year-old warmly. Dilan dawg,' he wheezed happily, instantly grabbing the other young footballer in a tight manly hug and then quickly releasing him to pat him on the arm and give him a brisk nod. This the new digs, then? Looks decent.'
The other lad was still in his Rovers tracksuit, seeming breathless and hurried, clearly just back home to the suburban apartment block after his own night of Cup triumph. Troy pulled away from him, still grinning gladly, and dragged his backpack out of the back of the car before shoving the door shut with a satisfying click. Great to see you, man,' the Irishman exclaimed firmly, swinging the bag over one shoulder and looking his friend up and down. But,' he said with mock sternness, `how come you're greeting me without a beer in hand, you prick?'
Immediately, his fellow Tottenham academy graduate was bursting into matey laughter and telling him to go fuck himself, establishing the easy banter that the pair had enjoyed for several years. Troy laughed and grabbed at his friend with another hug as they crossed the small car park, trying and failing to dislodge the stocky forward from his feet, two cheerful young talents bustling and barging their way to the building's entrance.
Dilan Kumar Markanday emerged from the one bedroom of the top-floor flat, doing up the last couple of buttons of a simple print resort shirt, pausing to glance critically at himself in a mirror before joining his guest in the living room - they had the second half of the Super Cup on, and Real Madrid were already 1 up against Eintracht Frankfurt. Troy was lounged comfortably on the grey leather sofa, slugging from a tall can of Guinness, and shouting criticisms at the sportsmen on the huge screen. Dilan's massive TV had been one of his rushed first purchases in the new flat, a disproportionately large one that made the living room feel pokey and awkward.
`Still 1-0?' the 20-year-old Blackburn Rover called to his friend, crossing the room to fuss through a laundry stack on a chair in search of fresh socks.
Aye,' drawled the Dublin brogue of his visiting pal, but Madrid have wasted SO many opportunities, the feckers.'
Markanday chuckled a little at the scoreline, stepping up behind the sofa as he unfurled a pair of plain black socks in his hands. `So much for Super Cup. Boring game. The Helsinki crowd will wish they were at the EFL Cup tonight instead, haha.' Both lads laughed happily at this, and Dilan moved around to sit on the arm of the sofa as he pulled one sock and then the other onto his large hairy feet.
Like Preston North End, the Rovers had just sailed through the first round of the EFL Cup, and Dilan was feeling pretty delighted with himself for bagging his side's fourth goal over Hartlepool - sure, the 3-0 game was already a safe win by the last quarter, but it had marked Dilan's first adult professional goal, and felt like a move that would buy him more regular starts in the Championship season, rather than bench time in his first year. Obviously the North London youth was not quite full of himself enough to mock the likes of Madrid and Frankfurt on the screen, but he was giddy at the club's big win, and very glad to be celebrating it tonight with one of his closest footballing friends.
He'd been suggesting a meet-up with Parrott for the last couple of weeks, basically since the other player's loan deal at Preston had been confirmed, and he was glad they'd finally managed to sort something; he'd hoped his buddy might make it across for the game itself, but a late finish to training had put paid to that. Still, Troy was here visiting, and they were watching what remained of the Super Cup together before heading out.
He looked around for his own drink and found he needed a fresh one, nipping through into the small thin kitchen of the flat to raid the fridge. He was just cracking open a fresh Guinness for his mate, from the big multi-pack he'd bought in especially, and flipping the lid from a lager bottle for himself, when a roar of excitement summoned him back to the living room. Fucking Benzema,' cooed Troy from the sofa, his long lounged posture now swapped for tense uprightness. That man is INEVITABLE.'
`2-0? Fuck's sake, I've missed BOTH goals. Here, thought you might need a fresh one.'
`Cheers Dil. Come on, here's the replay. Stunner.'
Markanday muscled himself down onto the grey leather beside his friend, slurping from his second beer of the night and fixing his eyes on the screen to catch a slow-motion repeat of the French player's decisive goal. Both attacking players nodded and sighed appreciatively, fully impressed by one of the world's leading strikers. That man is a monster at the minute,' Dilan grunted admiringly. Fucking unstoppable. I was reading about how it's all since Ronaldo left, y'know, that he really had to change up his style and that's how he started to properly come into his own.' He tore his eyes away from the screen as play re-started, leaning over to clink his bottle lightly against the other lad's can. `To Championship goal machines,' he chuckled eagerly.
Too right,' the other young player agreed, giving him a bright grin. Setting the league on fire, us two. Fuck Benzema, I'm so made up for you man, that goal tonight. I was watching a video of it on my phone while you were getting changed. Quality.'
Dilan felt oddly surprised and touched that his mate would bother to look up a clip, and his smile was as coyly emotional as it was beaming with pride. He shrugged bashfully and drank more beer, trying to laugh off the sincerity of the praise. `I just finished what the other guys started,' he said dismissively, turning back to the screen.
Nah, bro, that was sick,' Troy continued forcefully. People better sit up and pay attention to my boy Kumar! I reckon there'll be some regrets back in Tottenham, you know...!'
Dilan laughed at this remark but it touched a nerve for him, and he shifted a little uncomfortably on the couch beside his visitor. After all, it was the big separation between the two of them: yes, they were both in the Championship for now, but he'd been fully sold off by Spurs last summer for a minimal price, whilst Parrott was retained on their books and loaned out repeatedly. After working his way up every rank of the London club's academy and youth squads, Dilan couldn't help but feel somewhat spurned by the Hotspurs, and Rovers were hardly his dream football club, as much as he'd tried to commit himself to their promotion-chasing campaigns.
`Well, I doubt THAT,' Markanday mumbled distractedly.
He glanced at Parrott and saw a hint of regret on the Irish lad's handsome features at having even brought up the matter, something they'd never quite explicitly discussed - as close as the two young lads were, they tended to focus on bigging each other up and half-jokily boasting about their dream careers in future, rather than ever sharing the obvious worries and insecurities of up-and-coming talents on the edge of success. And in recent years, the divergence between them had felt more obvious, with Troy now a safe fixture in his senior national squad, whereas Dilan felt lucky to get a touch of Under-21 action for England. And, crucially, Tottenham wanted to keep their hold on the Irish forward, but had been happy to sever ties with HIM.
Seriously,' murmured Troy, his attention back on the game, I won't be surprised if Benzema gets another before this game closes, yeh.'
Dilan was happy to quit thinking about his own trajectory and just focus on the ceremonial game, the play-off between Champions League and Europa winners that always marked the return of the competitive seasons. He trained his eyes on the action and quietly agreed with Troy's observation. He was mildly distracted by a nagging thought about how messy and cluttered the flat was tonight, making its boxy rooms feel even smaller - he'd tried his best to sound proud and satisfied as he gave Troy `the tour' and talked him through the small pad that he'd invested in, having put most of his money into a new outer London place for his family. But he couldn't hide the soulless bachelor gloom of the little place, nor the scruffy chaos it was falling further and further into. Still, Troy would hardly care, he was a slob himself when allowed to be, and the lads knew this of each other - after all, Dilan's own family had hosted the Irish transplant for a couple of years before he turned 18 and was allowed by the club to live independently.
Heh, maybe not,' Parrott was saying now. I reckon 2-0 is as exciting as we're getting.' A knowing grin and wink again: `Not like the 4-0 victories some Championship teams are having this week, haha.'
`Yeah, the game feels finished,' he agreed. Two beers in and he already felt a buzz, probably helped along by the mix of adrenaline and exhaustion that he felt after the early evening win at Blackburn's home ground. He suppressed a yawn, thinking how rude it would be to appear tired when his friend had made the effort to travel here on a week night and share some cheeky beers against both lads' squad rules.
`He's just a fucking king at the minute,' Troy was murmuring wistfully, clearly imagining himself reaching the same Ronaldo-and-Messi-esque heights as the Madrid hero, being such a dynamic forward and game-changing influence.
`He's in his prime,' Dilan said vaguely, no less impressed or envious, but starting to lose interest in the Super Cup game - after all, it felt worlds away from his own footballing life at the moment, and he just needed to focus on that. Never mind getting all starry-eyed with future images of the Champions League and such, like Troy here, he needed to stay focused on building his profile in the second tier and catching the eye of a mid-table Premiership force who might snap him up this time next year. Tonight, he thought gladly, had been a great moment for that, and perhaps a few scouts and coaches were already starting to turn his name over in their thoughts.
`You can just tell he's in charge though,' the Irish lad said thoughtfully.
`Well, he is captain now.'
`Nah, more than that, you know?'
Dilan shrugged, unsure what his friend was getting at. The game was dragging slowly into its last ten minutes or so and his beer was empty again. He got up, adjusting his slim-fit black jeans and wondering where his nice shoes were in the mess of the flat. Troy belched loudly before hoisting an empty can his way as signal for another.
I mean, he is definitely getting head after that performance, haha,' Troy was saying when he came back with two new drinks, and Dilan laughed heartily at this. He sat on the broad arm of the sofa again, since his guest had sprawled out comfortably, his tall physique spanning the couch and his socked feet poking against Dilan's own thigh. For sure,' Parrott chuckled, taking his third Guiness and giving it a slow sip.
`From some Icelandic hottie?' Dilan sniggered, the two lads slipping into the hopeful boyish banter of their teenage years housed together and graduating from the Tottenham youth academy.
A gruff laugh from lounging Troy. Huh. If not from one of his teammates.' Dilan cracked up at this stupid idea, though he paused a little uncertainly when the other young lad carried on in a thoughtful voice, frowning analytically at the screen: My money would be on Valverde or Asensio, y'know.' Almost immediately, Parrott was upright and barking at the screen, the Madrid players failing to make a third goal seal their win, but Markanday just sat quietly on the side of his own sofa, blinking his thickly lashed eyes.
He fixed Troy with an almost mocking look. `You don't seriously think Real Madrid players are rushing off the pitch to decide who's gonna blow who's stupid cock, do you?' he retorted, both alarmed and amused by Troy's level of thought into the random comment, and his almost smug expression as he turned back to face him.
`You make it sound like some shit 90s sex comedy,' Troy teased.
Oh fuck off,' Dilan laughed, unsure why he'd latched so firmly onto the passing comment anyway, shaking his head and slugging his beer, looking back at the closing minutes of the Madrid game. I just forget how bloody random you are, mate, with your stupid jokes and obsession with sex.'
`Obsession!' yelped Troy, playfully defensive.
Dilan already regretted that word and he laughed at both of them. `Oh, whatever...'
`We were BOTH pretty obsessed, the way I remember it...'
`We were sixteen-year-old virgins, of course we were.'
`Yeah and at least you finally can't still call yourself that, ha ha!'
`Oh leave it out, it's been ages now, no need to-'
`I'm not making fun of you, just celebrating that my boy Dil finally lost his-'
`You make me sound ridiculous,' he blurted back, but he laughed anyway, and met Troy's joky toast with his own bottle before getting up off the edge of the sofa and pacing the flat looking for his trainers. Nineteen isn't even that young, he wanted to argue back to his more confident buddy, but he wanted to drop the subject - he knew Troy meant no harm, but the other young footballer was the only friend he'd admitted it to in those awkward sexless years before he finally experienced it. A time of such silly desperation that he even remembered wanking with a sleeve toy he'd found on the floor in the Spurs changing room, for fuck's sake! To this day, he didn't know who that rubbery thing had belonged to, or why he'd been so daft as to use it on himself in a lonely shower cubicle, all horned up and clueless at eighteen.
He found a decent pair of shoes in a corner of the large bedroom and moved back out into the hall, where Troy was emerging from the living room, and behind him came the crowd noises of the football game ending. It's a sweet place,' the visitor said conversationally, glancing neutrally about him at the confines of the flat, and Dilan nodded with forced enthusiasm, gesturing between rooms. I think it was a good investment,' he claimed, moving through into the living room and snatching up a little aftershave spray where it sat among the other random detritus of his little-used dining table. `Really starting to settle in,' he said, looking at the mess of possessions in front of him, all random and disorganised and suggesting a young man who hadn't a clue how to live like an adult.
`Still, no place like home,' Troy remarked ambiguously, giving him an awkwardly polite smile.
`I'm stuck in sharing with a couple of Preston youth players myself, since I had to get moved up here in a bit of a hurry.' He shrugged, hugging his arms across the chest of his black Gucci t-shirt, and moving away to watch the trophy ceremony on screen.
Dilan joined him, spraying himself about the neck and chest before offering the stuff to his friend, who took it gladly. Dilan glanced back to the huge TV and the sight of the celebrating Madrid players. Benzema, the burly bearded beast of the winning European side, was holding up another trophy and standing at the centre of the jubilant blokes. To either side of him were the players Troy had named, annoyingly, the South American Valverde and Spanish Asensio. Dilan heard himself about bring it back up and ask the question, You don't REALLY think that...?' but he was spoken over and quieted by Troy's eager exclamation: Right, time to head out and taste a bit of Blackburn! Where we headed, chief?'
The first bar the pair went to was a failure, and Troy had to just smile and laugh it off, quickly able to see how embarrassed his keen host was. It's way busier on a Saturday night,' the Londoner was still telling him as they entered the second of the two venues a short walk from Dilan's suburb. This one was a bit less classy and expensive-looking than the first, which seemed to make the British Asian lad a bit uncomfortable at being recognised by fans, but Troy dismissed that and told him that if punters recognised him they'd just be gagging to buy him a pint for his superb goal. It's all white in here,' the marginally older 20-year-old told him quietly on the way to the bar, `so one young Asian lad looks the same as the next to them, I don't need to worry.' Troy laughed at the comment but found it to be true, as the pair of them got a round in undisturbed and made themselves at home by a quiz machine, feeding it coins and failing spectacularly to win any back - it felt like a real ordinary lads' night to him, a bit like being back in outer Dublin, and he was glad to spend it with someone who'd been so kind and loyal to him in the early days of his English life.
Though confident and charismatic, the Irish striker was also quite intuitive, and he could tell that Dilan's mood was falling - Troy wasn't sure if it was the shoebox flat he'd spent too much money on, or the old ghost of being let go by Spurs, but his wingman just wasn't buzzing enough for someone who had scored in a cup game just a few hours ago. Troy's answer to this was the same as most 20-year-old lads' lads might be: jagerbombs, and lots of them.
It wasn't long before he was back on the topic of his friend's love life, or more accurately his sex life - he wasn't about to loudly announce to the half-crowded Blackburn bar that his good-looking footballer buddy had been a virgin until late last summer, but he was trying to hype him up. That short trim makes you look way more sophisticated,' he informed him, slurring a little bit as he lost count of his drinks, and the beard. Girls are into that these days-' He stroked his own chin of dark tuft - `and I'm sure the bitches of Blackburn will be calling you Daddy after tonight's goal.'
`Girls don't care about a goal,' Dilan tittered back at him, sipping cider.
Whoa, calm down there, sexist,' he teased him. You must have your eyes on someone at the minute, who have you been chatting to this summer?'
Nobody,' the 5ft10 Londoner protested, and Troy just scoffed loudly at him. You got to put some graft in, matey, you really do,' he informed him earnestly. Not slipping into anyone's DMs or hooking up with any girls you bumped into on your Ibiza trip...? Criminal. Tell me you got some action in Ibiza, Dil, tell me!' He laughed heartily but then saw the other lad's creased face and he paused awkwardly, feeling that he was starting to veer from hyping up his friend to just rubbing salt into his wound. Ah, come on mate, don't look glum, you're a fucking Rovers hero tonight,' he insisted at him, a bit annoyed that nobody in the bar had recognised his friend and given him that validation - ungrateful twats.
Troy's focus shifted, their rambling matey conversations not seeming to do the magic - the tall handsome Irishman scanned the pub around them for the younger and more attractive female clientele, deciding that some field action was what was REALLY needed to encourage and motivate his inexplicably shy pal. Dil had always been like this, he thought, which was weird cos he was a good looking guy and seriously buff, but he'd never had the gift of the gab or much talent when it came to chatting up girls. Troy drank from his vodka mix and looked contemplatively around them.
I just can't pick them up like you do,' Markanday said next to him, sounding almost resentful. The shorter footballer had his broad shoulders hunched within his pale summer shirt, leaning back against the wall as if literally trying to shrink into it rather than standing out. Parrott frowned at this, stood tall next to him with his garishly printed designer t-shirt on and some severely ripped dark blue jeans clinging to his long powerful legs. Everybody knows how popular YOU are with the ladies,' his friend grumbled vaguely.
Troy just laughed that off. `Now and then - buddy, I'm not exactly Casanova or nothing.'
Right,' challenged Dilan quietly, you've been living and training in Preston for a few weeks now, right? Tell me you've been chilling up there and you've not already pulled a couple of local hotties, then.' Dilan frowned this way, his young face too serious.
Troy just blanked at him, unsure how to easily and convincingly deny the half dozen girls he'd been through in the last fortnight, three of which he was still texting on and off right now. Already, his former Spurs teammate was rolling his eyes knowingly and tugging uncomfortably at the collar and top bottom of his shirt, making Troy gurn self-mockingly and gesture at himself. `I can't help what the Good Lord gave me,' he said, siding with mocking arrogance rather than trying to patronise his less confident companion.
Dilan now was looking past him, one strong arm folded across his chest and the other clutching his bottle of fruit-flavoured Swedish cider. Troy leaned on their high table and strained his long neck to see the mounted TV screens that were playing sports highlights in the background of the bar's drunken midweek atmosphere: close-ups again of the Real Madrid winners and, in particular, the bear-like bearded presence of Benzema himself. Troy laughed idly to think of their brief conversation before, wondering if it had been too saucy a comment to make in front of his slightly prudish mate - a long-time virgin and a product of his fairly strict family rules.
Dilan was looking at him with one thick eyebrow raised. `Reckon he's been sucked off by his teammates yet then?' he barked, quietly but confrontationally - he sounded sarcastic and irritated, as if these ideas about the Super Cup winners were tied up in his own lack of confidence and Troy's better luck - this felt wrong, Troy thought, where had the celebratory mood gone from the night? Why hadn't the jagerbombs been a miraculous solution? This lad had just scored his first senior goal!
Playful and engaging, Troy pretended to look at his heavy wrist-watch and then made a slow calculating expression. Nah, he'll be tucked up asleep on their private jet by now, I reckon,' he laughed, downing the remains of his vodka drink. All satisfied and sorted.'
`You're mad,' Markanday accused simply, but less sarcastic.
Parrott knew this was something he shouldn't really be bringing up in front of the less experienced guy, even if his friend would be turning 21 in a week or so; but he was drunk and playful and he needed to keep the buzz going, to turn Dilan's thoughts away from whatever dry spell he was experiencing, whatever loneliness was striking him up here in his Blackburn life. Jeez, that flat.
`You've never noticed anything like that going on then?' he demanded, tapping his empty glass on the tabletop between them.
`What?'
`A bit of cheeky action,' Troy laughed, treating it with the lightness he needed to. A drunken blush was in his cheeks above the line of his dark brown beard, and he was already unsure what truths might spill from his overactive mouth.
`What, are you saying you have?' demanded the other young footballer.
He laughed and shrugged one of his lean shoulders. Might have,' he said dismissively, and then picked up the glass and nodded at Dilan's bottle. Another round?'
`Er - I think it's my round, mate - but, wait, what are you actually saying? You're having a laugh, aren't ya, Troy?'
He carried on laughing, hesitantly, and moved away from the table to approach the bar, but Dilan was next to him, then barring his way, and looking at him quite crossly. He seemed riled by the topic and Troy admitted to himself that it wasn't ideal casual convo for them tonight, he really shouldn't be provoking this... Look, I'm just saying mad shit happens!' he said, gesturing vaguely with both arms. And yeah - some mad shit has happened in my experience, but... Ah, it's all just daft, whatever, it don't mean nothing, and...'
Dilan was still frowning a bit intensely at him, a shorter but hulking figure in front of him, looking genuinely worried for him as he squared his broad shoulders and puffed out his gym-inflated chest. `Mate, has someone done something to you?' he barked with a protectiveness that tugged on all of Troy's feelings of brotherly affection for him, so that he grabbed him for a moment in a hug that turned into a shake.
I'm SAYING, buddy, that the girls of Preston aren't the only ones who've had my cock in their gobs, alright?' he yelped ambiguously in Dilan's ear before letting him go and then shaking him again by the shoulders. Honestly, keep an open mind, bro, it's a funny old world when you start being open to opportunity, hah.'
Dilan was gawping at him in a way that no longer felt protective, and Troy was in no mood for introspection or questioning the more discreet events of the past few years - and besides, looking over the bulky shoulders of the Rovers player, he'd spotted just what he'd been looking for a few moments ago. At the far end of the long bar area, two girls were picking up an ice bucket of prosecco and retreating to a booth, skimpy dresses clinging to tanned curves, Love Island fodder done up like it was the weekend; he ignored whatever Markanday was mumbling worriedly at him and guided him by the shoulder. Opportunity,' he announced brightly to his friend, opportunity!'
Opportunity, or to use her real name Candice, sat very close to him now, and he could just about hear her (with a bit of help from lip-reading) over the increasing noise of the pub; it must be approaching closing time, on a Wednesday night, but the local place was just getting busier and busier, and the crowd felt rowdier. And right next to him, an intimidatingly attractive mixed-race girl was batting her lashes at him and telling him all about how many Blackburn Rovers tattoos her dad and uncle had on their torsos.
He was TRYING to be charming and confident, he was - he knew that was what you had to do, had observed it in enough of his school and football mates over the years, and he knew he had to put himself out there and make moves. But this girl was ridiculously hot, actually, kinda porn-star or reality TV hot, and it was making him sweat profusely in the armpits of his shirt and the crotch of his jeans, and also he couldn't fully understand her Lancashire accent against the crowd noise and music, and he was pretty sure he'd drank too much.
He was also...
Well, he couldn't deny the distraction. He and Candice were on one side of the booth, her legs sliding close against his own, and her laughter bringing their upper bodies and faces a tad closer with every burst of interaction - but on the parallel seat, Troy was making his moves on the girl's friend, leant in close beside her and a hand already on one of her legs. But it wasn't his smoothness or speed that was putting Dilan off his stride, well not just that - it was the vague revelation of the things he'd said twenty-five minutes ago just before they bought new drinks and got chatting to these girls.
What the hell had Troy gotten up to? What did he mean? What was he really saying? He couldn't be talking about anything at Tottenham, Dilan assured himself - after all, they'd trained and progressed together there as friends and brothers over years, and Dilan was pretty sure he knew most of the gossip that went on at Spurs. Pretty sure. But Troy had been posted to some pretty obscure and rough teams, hadn't he? Millwall, for fuck's sake. Or - what about life on the Ireland national team? International football was a pretty uncertain landscape to the Londoner, who'd only made a few hopeful forays into squad selection for England's youth sides.
He felt worried for his friend, more than anything else - he hated the idea of anyone taking advantage of his buddy and he felt fiercely defensive of him. Of course, he could feel the disconnect there. Just look at how confident and in control Troy Parrott was in most situations, and had been long before he left his teens. The quick-witted Irish teen that had lodged with the Markandays was not someone Dilan could see being taken advantage of very easily, which begged other questions: what was Parrott secretly into? What wasn't he sharing here? Who the fuck had he been hanging out with if these ideas seemed pretty normal to him...?
It was these questions and others that played on the Rovers winger's mind and, eventually, broke off his stilted conversation with the girl named Candice - she got up to `go powder her nose' and didn't return in a hurry, and more than anything, Dilan felt relieved. He'd seen her eyes glaze over as his conversational attempts got weaker and his ability to follow her chatter got more frowning and clunky. And so once she was gone from the booth he just sagged back against the worn seating, undoing a top button and finishing both his and her drinks, just for the cool refreshment.
He assumed, wrongly, that the friend would follow; after all, the lads had targeted these local hotties for HIS sake, according to Troy, who'd announced that he needed to clear some cobwebs and get more experience. Dilan had feared that his friend might challenge him for specifics and ask him just how many girls he'd fooled around with since bravely losing his virginity at a summer party last July, a number he was NOT keen to share. (Was zero a number...?) But in front of him, the other girl was now tenderly held by the tall figure of the Preston striker, who'd stooped his long neck to bring their mouths together. Half an hour and the pair were openly snogging. Fuck.
Dilan left them to it, sliding out of the booth before he could look full voyeur, watching his made get off with someone and playing gooseberry to their hook-up. He left them to it, shuffling away from the booth, passing through the dim crowd and moving back to the bar, thinking that what he really needed right now was re-hydration.
Troy pulled his body through the crowd, feeling sweaty under his clingy Gucci t-shirt, and unable to wipe the smug smile from his face after sitting in the throes of snogging with the hot girl whose name he couldn't quite remember, her manicured hands occasionally sliding a little further over his crotch and getting him almost stiff in his CKs and jeans; the young footballer smiled uncertainly at several people he bumped into on the way, since it was hard to tell if the sharp looks he received were for pushing past, for just being annoyingly handsome, or because local football fans had actually recognised him as Preston's borrowed goal threat for the season.
He made his way to the bar, where he found Dilan hunched over a pint, and grabbed him with one long arm about his shoulders. There you are,' he hissed in his ear, pulling a little too close because he was drunk, oblivious to his vodka breath on the other lad's face. Where's your girl? What happened?' He stretched himself and leaned an elbow on the bar, stealing a long sip from Dilan's cider bottle.
Markanday turned a surly expression on him. `Think I bored her. Want a beer?'
Nah,' said Troy in a singsong voice, taking out his phone and checking his messages idly before giving the other 20-year-old a leering wink. Look, mate, can we head off and take the party back to your place? Or - mate, what do you say if I borrow your key and-' He paused, the grin fading on his bearded lips, and he noted Dilan's soulful eyes and stooped posture, halting in his excited schemes - the girl was fucking wet for him and he was hoping to capitalise on that soon, aware that one or two drinks more might just knock him to sleep after the long day he'd had. His brain registered Dilan's solitary position here and the dynamics of the situation, and a crashing freight train of empathy got in the way of the more basic instincts that were telling him to sneak his date' into the disabled loos for a quick bit of action. Instead, he smiled sympathetically and leaned back in closer to the Asian lad. Forget that, it's probably time to call it a night, huh? We both got training, and that.'
Markanday looked awkward, and Parrott knew he would be embarrassed at it all. Troy hadn't even noticed Dilan or the other girl leave their booth, wasn't sure how long he'd been sat getting cosy with... god, what WAS her name? He didn't let Dilan speak, wanting to save his dignity as much as he could here. I'm tired,' he told him loudly, forcing a yawn, and actually that girl is a bit annoying and clingy, y'know? We should get back to yours - let's order a fucking pizza or something instead of staying in this dive, yeah?' He could see the embarrassed relief on the other lad's face and he just patted one of his thick arms. `Let me go be polite to this soggy lass and we'll bust a move, okay?'
Troy didn't wait to listen to the murmured thankyou from the Rover, just slipping back through the crowd and seeking out the attractive prospect who was touching up her lipstick when he arrived at her table. He went there to cool things off, maybe take her number without risking giving away his own - although he could easily get up around here to meet for a date if she looked as good with a clear sober head in the morning - and ditch her to make sure his mate was okay and not feeling too down on himself. Those were definitely Troy's intentions, it's just that the plan become very difficult to stick to once she'd cheekily whispered the word `threesome'.
This was exciting, Dilan told himself. This was a fantasy, the sorta thing young lads joke and banter about and secretly hope for when jetting off to Ibiza. Okay, the 2-to-1 ratio was maybe the other way round in the fantasy, he'd admit, but even so - sharing a girl this hot with a football bro was exactly the kinda shit people assumed Premiership football studs got up to, and Dilan told himself firmly that he'd enjoy it and banter about it with Troy for years to come, a bonding adventure that would also shift his friend's (correct) assumptions about how inexperienced and shy he actually was. This was exciting. And not at all awkward or terrifying, nope.
They were on his double bed now, after a brief spell on the grey leather of the couch. She was almost entirely undressed, had been within mere minutes of entering the flat, and she genuinely seemed eager to have them both, had practically chewed his mouth of in bouts of snogging on the clumsy walk from pub to apartments. And right now her hand was in the front of his jeans, feeling him through his boxer briefs, and he was being allowed to kiss hungrily at one of her glorious tits, slobbering across her tanned skin and rolling his tongue across her hard nipple in the hope that she was into it. Dilan felt self-conscious and awkward as he did it, none of the ease or drive that he'd observed in the male porn actors from whom he'd learned that this was the sort of foreplay you were meant to do.
Right now Troy was kissing her, holding her neck at an angle as they did, his much taller body lying alongside her and one of his legs, bare now that his jeans were around his ankles, spread over hers. Her other hand was on his tight six-pack, his t-shirt rolled up to the chest, though that was not what caught Dilan's eye and made him feel a bit awkward - after all, he was pretty ripped himself these days and had hit the gym even harder since moving up north away from family and friends to play here.
No, it was another part of his friend that made things uncomfortable, something already infamous to him - after all, it had been regular banter amongst the immature lads at the Spurs youth academy, hadn't it? Everyone had known indistinctly how blessed their Irish friend was, even if they hadn't seen it, it was the source of too many crass jokes and stupid comments, even at a point where Dilan knew that Troy was chastely dating a girl back in Dublin and was as virginal as himself! The size and shape of it was pronounced and obvious in the white Calvin Klein pants and Dilan was now feeling an attack of discomfort at sharing a stage with the `Trojan Horse'.
Still, action proceeded. Now she was snogging him instead of Troy and it was his wet fingertips playing with her nipple, and he could feel her pushing at his jeans, getting them down his super-hairy legs, and clawing at the backside of his grey Sloggi boxer shorts; suddenly he felt insecure about his body hair too, having been joked around with on that for a lot of his teen years too, the only South Asian lad there, prematurely furring up under the arms and boasting a beard before he could legally buy cigarettes. He kept his upper body waxed as a result, but he felt her hand claw against a hairy arse cheek and he shuddered, wondering what she thought of it. Troy's legs were hairy too, but not like his own.
He felt a strong grip on his wrist and it made him glance sharply across, surprised by her strength; but it wasn't HER strength, it was Troy's hand on his, pushing it between her legs. He made brief, uncomfortable eye contact with his playmate and saw Troy's dirty grin and intense eyes, and he let his fingers follow instinct as they entered her wetness. Even that instinctive action he now questioned: did girls like it like this? He'd heard that all of the real stimulation was on the outside for them and that he should just focus there, but you saw a load of deep fingering in porn, so...?
More shifting of their sweaty drunk bodies on the bed. His boxers were still on, even if the waistband was awry and half his chunky glutes were exposed, and her hand was in the front of them, playing with his chubby dick, which was taking its time to decide whether it wanted to get hard or not, nervous. More nervous, he realised, as he saw Troy's white underpants slide down his thighs and calves, and the huge thick thing released slap against her thigh and make her gasp. Jesus christ - Dilan had seen it in the showers, caught embarrassing glimpses of its pendulous swing, but to see it engorged like this - it was again something like he'd observed in porn and it made him cringe in comparison, suddenly sure that his dick was tiny and embarrassing compared to THAT.
Troy was tickling above her cunt while his own two fingers were in there, and kissing her on the neck, and rubbing his hard cock against her leg until she took hold of it for him. Her hand had become limp in the front of Dilan's own undies and he thought she was probably confused why he wasn't as rock-hard as his accomplice. A stir of panic was rising up through Dilan's hot and flustered body as he hunched there at her side, and he knew with sudden force that he couldn't go through with this - couldn't bear the thought of trying to turn her on and be part of the fun, couldn't bear the idea of climbing on top of her and being watched by Troy, or WORSE, lying here limp and voyeuristic and seeing the other young striker use that thing inside her, fuck.
`One minute,' he whispered vaguely to her and Troy and separated from them, skidding from the bed and disappearing across the room with his shirt open over his waxed chest and his underpants halfway down his hips, one sock on and one sock off. He could only bear one quick glance back to the bed as Troy climbed on top of her and buried his face between her breasts - most of the view was the lightly tanned smooth muscle of the 6ft1 Irishman's back, and then the spread of his hairy thighs and, surprise, the swell of his arse cheeks, the canyon between them a little darkened by chestnut hair that made him, dizzied, acknowledge that maybe a hairy arse wasn't such a horror after all. And then he fled through the flat and into his bathroom to splash cold water on his face, his brown cheeks burning red and ashamed.
It took Troy more than a few moments to register that three had become two, but he did; even with his face buried between her thighs and his tongue rolling on her clit, the thought strolled through his brain that Dil had vanished and not returned, and this three-way was not quite fulfilling its promise to the owner of the flat. His cock was hard and leaking pre-cum and the girl was, he thought, even hotter here on the bed than she'd looked in the dim lighting of the Blackburn pub. But... Leaning up over her and having her tickle his low-hanging balls and start guiding his foot-long against the wet lips of her fanny, he felt a sense of being a traitor, and of a question: where the fuck was Dilan right now whilst he was smearing sweat and other juices on his bedding? This wasn't right.
He kissed her and resisted slipping her his tongue, holding himself up firmly and parting their clammy bodies, making eye contact with her and ignoring the way his massive nob tingled as it brushed her soft wet entrance. This isn't working,' he grunted very quietly. He saw the instant change in her ecstatic expression, the frown and then sneer to her attractive features. Her hands stiffened on his lean sides and her legs closed subtly beneath him. What?' she demanded, but Troy was already pulling aside from her and then hopping up off the bed with the most casual and bored expression he could muster, clashing with the perpendicular edifice towering from his trimmed bush.
`I'm not feeling it,' the Tottenham player announced in a quiet and blase voice.
`What the actual fuck?'
`Just not enjoying it, sorry. Don't think I can do it.'
`But you're-'
I don't consent,' he announced awkwardly. I'm not cool with it any more. You'll have to go.'
`I'm wet as FUCK.'
Are you?' h sighed in a pantomime of oblivious innocence. I'll pay for the Uber-'
Too fucking right you will!' she screamed loudly at him now, rising up from the bed with one arm folded over her tits and a snatched garment (Troy's t-shirt) covering her crotch. She was an explosion of drunken indignation now, and Troy knew she was right to be baffled and fuming, but he kept a straight face and, half-consciously, goaded her further. Everyone's entitled to change their mind,' he informed her tartly, as if he hadn't greedily chased every aspect of their hook-up, of their three-way with another player; he met her anger with a dopey expression and took the brunt of the awkwardness, allowing her the outrage she deserved until she was sticking the middle-finger at him from the rear window of a taxi whilst he pulled the borrowed dressing gown shut about his naked body in the entrance of the apartment block.
Back upstairs in Markanday's flat, he let out a whistling sigh of relief and let the fluffy gown hang open instead, enjoying its softness against his hot sweaty skin as he strolled through the small place and wondered where the hell his buddy actually was. The door to the bathroom opened and Dilan stared awkwardly at him. `You didn't have to do that,' the lad said in a small voice.
Troy was ready to extend his Oscar-worthy performance. Wasn't she annoying?' he blurted, forgetting for a few moments that he was naked but for socks under the robe. Not my type at all, and she really wasn't how she seemed back in the pub - good riddance to her, I say, and-'
Mate,' Dil grunted, and he thought for a moment that the host just wasn't buying his performed disinterest. I really didn't like the way she kept biting at me,' he lied. `And I don't think she was really into me as much as you, so once you left, it was just like-'
`Mate!' the Rovers player hissed again, gesturing downwards.
Oh,' Troy said, looking down at the restless rod. Oops, yeah.' He burst out laughing at himself, particularly conscious now of rock-hard he must have been the whole time he was rejecting and seeing out their unlucky playmate. And stood here now in the narrow corridor with his best English mate, the throbbing veiny evidence was somewhat spoiling his attempt to sound unbothered by the aborted hook-up. Still, all he could do was drunkenly laugh, and shrug his shoulders. It didn't really enter his head that the scale of his erection might be part of Dilan's problem, because he regularly forgot how well-endowed he was and tended not to think of it as anything special other than when Eric Dier was whispering it in his ear after swallowing his load.
Dilan rubbed a hand over his face, standing there in just his saggy grey pants and one sock, groaning dismally. `I feel like shit. I'm already hungover. I'm so sorry, mate, I really am. I fucked that up for us both.'
Nah, it's all good.' The honesty of the drunk and the comfort of being here with just one really great mate fuelled his casual solution to the situation. But I am gonna have to wank this off - you got some porn on your laptop in there, lad?'
That's how they ended up side by side on the bed, their lower legs separated by only the width of a MacBook; this wasn't exactly a solution to the crisis of confidence that had curtailed Dilan's almost shag tonight, and yet here they were anyway, and there seemed to be no reasonable exit from the awkwardness, not now he'd mumbled his agreement and acted like a quick wank over the same porn video was totally fine with him. He could hardly get up and wander out of the room now like he had while Troy was all over the girl, or so said some code of politeness and normalness in his frenzied brain - some weight of social pressure had him lounged down one side of his bed with one sock still on, and his hand buried in the front of his grey boxers, and the heat of his friend's body tangible against his right elbow as their skin almost brushed. At the base of the bed, between their shiny sweaty shins, the open laptop glowed with the vivid colours of the chosen porno scenario, two girls and a guy, and their obscene squeals seemed to fill the room.
Although... it was less intimidating, wasn't it, with the girl gone? Lying here like this, Dilan could see clearly that his body was a bit more developed than his friend's more lanky frame; he was trying not to move his eyes from the laptop screen too much, admittedly, but he could see that whilst taller, Troy almost looked a bit gangly and pale lying parallel to his own thick and muscular physique, and he wondered if his friend felt any envy or awkwardness about that. Still, there was no denying the stupid proportions of the thing that Troy held lazily in one hand, stroking back and forward on it with apparently no qualms about another lad so close to him - a stray thought that took Dilan backwards through this strange evening, and brought the question out of him that he instantly regretted.
Have you really let a lad suck you off?' he asked, and felt the weight of the question and the topic sit on the bed between them like an obese elephant. He daren't look at Troy's face after dropping that bomb, squinting at the action on-screen and tugging on himself in his underpants, feeling the stirring of his dick and balls now he was slightly more relaxed and could fixate on the detached action of fantasy. The pants and cries of the online video meant there could be no awkward silence' in the double bed, and yet there still felt like one, stretching from the question mark to Troy's eventual murmur: `Er - yeah, I told you, it's not such a big deal.' The answer, which actually sounded kinda shy and embarrassed now in this setting, weighed heavily between them too, and the gasps of a porn actress occupied the hollow it left in the room.
`Right,' Dilan said eventually, trying to sound cool and unfazed.
Does it bother you?' he was asked, and now he did twitch his head to glance at Troy's knitted brows and puzzled mouth, and he shook his head instantly. Nah, why would it? I'm not gonna judge you. I'm just... surprised.' There were a couple of dozen follow-up questions lining up as he toyed with himself and shifted his weight on the bedding, quite hard now and wondering if he really had the bollocks to just whip it out and play with it in front of a friend, as body-confident as the well-hung Irishman.
Don't ask who,' came Troy's guarded mutter now. I mean - I don't wanna be cagey or weird, it's just...'
`Sure, sure...'
They're not the kinda guys who'd appreciate that being said about them, I don't think. Couple of them have wives, and...' It was Troy who sounded nervous now and it made Dilan cringe and feel a bit of a cunt for bringing the subject up again. He nudged his elbow against his friend's. None of my business,' he insisted quietly. `No wonder you're so fucking sure of yourself, married men chasing your big dick, haha.' He'd meant to defuse the tension but his comment sounded loaded and lewd and it made him twinge uncomfortably, pausing on the verge of pushing his boxers away and getting his dick out to play with properly.
Oh fuck,' Troy was laughing, thankfully, and then, it has been a bit like that at times, but... Fuck it, I enjoy the attention, I won't lie. I'm sure that makes me a vain prick. I don't care. I just do what feels right in the moment, me. That's the key, mate, I swear. Live in the moment.' There he was, the gangly stud, jerking himself and spitting lube into his palm, but muttering out life advice and looking out for his friend at the same time. It made Dilan blush but also decide to stop being a pussy and let out his cock, which he did, fumbling with it and cupping his own heavy hairy balls as he pulled on the shaft. His cock was thick and chunky and only looked small because of the nearby comparison point, which Dilan thought NASA could probably see from space.
Yeah,' he said slowly. Live in the moment. I need to do that more, I get it.'
`I'm not trying to be a prick or a know-it-all, just...'
Nah, you're right, mate, you are. Thanks. Let's just enjoy this vid, shall we? Er - haha - I should shut up and stop talking, putting you off.' It was visually obvious that his chat was doing no such thing. I just talk when I'm nervous.' Why did you say that? `I'm sorry again, mate, I really ruined that threesome, I must have pissed you and her off, I'm really sorry-'
Parrott was just laughing heavily, not even pausing in the stride of his pumping fist, moving up and down the glistening thickness of his weapon - `Just shut up and wank that fat cock, you gibbering idiot!' And now they were both laughing, though the notion that Troy had looked over and sized him up made him tingle self-consciously.
He was pretty much hard, but not quite. He spat on his hand like his mate had done and pulled it up and down the slight sag of his heavy dick, appreciating privately how fat it actually was, and a fair length really, building up to the think pink tip, circumcised unlike Troy's long and gentle curving thing - god, stop looking at it, he'll think you're some perv like those married men! What married men? Who does he mean? The questions plagued him when he ought to be focused on the porno and it made it difficult to really pull himself to stiffness that might reach an end and finish this difficult scenario - whereas the Ireland national was tugging quite ferociously on himself now, his tall lean body tensed and his free hand pressed hard against the lower rungs of his six-pack. He was red-cheeked and making a noise that alternated between laughter and panting.
God, Dilan thought, he's actually about to shoot his load. In my bed. The latter thought hit him like a brick, and he didn't really know why - he'd left the room expecting Troy to finish inside that girl on these same sheets, and hadn't really thought about the lack of a spare bedroom in his flat. But the thought pushed and pulled at him and he found his eyes were most definitely sliding from the MacBook. He couldn't help himself, it was just cos Troy's cock was so annoyingly big, and the pumping of his white-knuckled fist was so fierce, and his pants so breathy and urgent - I'm gonna have to blow,' Parrott was grunting at him now with a tone of friendly warning, I'll try to aim it at-' The words became gasps, the loan player going redder and falling into a convulsive ecstasy - and the jet of white was bursting from his cock like Vesuvius, showering his fluffy thighs, but also the leaf-print bedding, and -and -and Dilan's own hairy lower legs, grey-white splodges against the curly forest on his shins, knees, thighs, oh fuck. It made the nervous Londoner tense and cringe, of which he was very aware, less conscious of how much harder his solid Asian cock was in his grip, or the throbbing of his full balls.
Troy's pants were turning to hoots of laughter and he was stretching out his long body, eyes shut and mouth hanging open. `Sorry, sorry, I didn't think it would be so messy, I already came twice this morning,' he was admitting in a lethargic slur, and the porno on the screen was finishing up, ended with a cheesy blast of muzak, leaving a quiet but for the sound of Dilan's own hand jerking uncertainly at his rock-hard member.
He stared at his own cock, framed between the dense fur of his thighs, and then at the splashes of Troy's mess in among that leg hair, and felt uneasy. You know what,' he announced, listening to the rise and fall of Troy's recovery sighs, I don't really need this, I'll just stop there, now you've had your moment-'
There was an instant transformation in the lounging lethargy of the lad at his side, and Troy was propping himself up on elbows and frowning. Nah go on mate, you can do it,' he said, as if they were encouraging each other on a training pitch again. Don't let me faze you,' the other lad said in his Irish brogue, rather than something more sensible like offering to fuck off into the other room. `You just need to relax,' he was insisting, and Dilan knew he was talking more generally than about this drunken activity.
Dilan fixed on the drunken aspect. I'm too pissed,' he groaned, and felt it was half-true. I don't think I'll cum, you know how it is when you're-'
Relax,' Parrott was insisting loudly, shifting ever-so-slightly closer on the bedding, lifting up onto his side a bit. Just relax and keep going, you'll get there.' Was it weird? Was it a bit off that his friend was encouraging him like this, over this really private thing? Dilan didn't know, but he felt trapped by politeness again, and he felt his cock harder than ever against his own hand, his balls tingling - truth be told, he felt closer with every word spoken by this lothario, this uber-confident Irishman, this Tottenham Hotspur player who had outlasted him at his home football club.
`I dunno,' Markanday felt himself groaning, even as his hand pumped up and down and his fingers played uncertainly against the fleshy sag of his bollocks.
Jesus, keep going like that,' Parrott was laughing, you're really close, I can tell - just be in the moment, bro, like we said, yeh? Think of that bird from before, imagine she's with us now, haha - licking my cum off your thighs.'
`Fuck's sake,' Dilan hissed at him, turned on in spite of himself.
Licking up every drop, the dirty bitch,' Troy said - it was a giggle, but also a deep throaty voice made for dirty talk, the way Dilan had heard him speak urgently and quite dominantly to the girl as they climbed into bed with her. It had made him nervous then, but now... That's it, mate,' the striker said, his voice feeling worryingly close, just imagine she's slurping on that big Asian cock of yours, yeah? Jeez it's thick, haha, you never said you had a big whopper, Marky!' Dilan was laughing and blushing uncomfortably, but something in his tense body language or urgent handiwork must have revealed that he was liking this pep talk, this verbal encouragement, because his friend didn't stop: Wank it mate, just like that, spit on your hand some more - good one, you'll be done soon, fuck yeah, come on-'
`Fuck,' Dilan cursed anxiously, unsure what exactly he was swearing at.
Think of her tits,' Troy urged, think of her wet cunt on your fingers...'
`Fuckkkk...'
Remember how she felt,' Troy groaned. He was close now, oh wait no, he'd reached over - his arm was on Dilan's bare shoulder and his fingers were on the back of his neck, cupping and stroking it a little as he spoke. In the corner of his eye, he could see the lazy flop of Troy's spent cock, still huge as it wilted, spread against one mucky thigh as he tilted this way on his side - Yeah, think of her sitting on you,' Troy hissed, sounding quite excited, `and you're pushing up into her mate, you like that yeah? Fuck her good, give your big Indian cock like she's begging for, and-'
How long would Troy have gone on like that? How dirty would he have got? Dilan wondered these questions as his own physical release cut the throaty Irish voice off, because his body buckled and his back arched a little and he unloaded days of cum, eyes closed and head pressed back into the pillow. Not just the pillow - the strong hold of Troy's palm on the wet nape of his thick neck.
Jesus,' Troy cursed loudly, reaching instinctively and apologetically with his right hand for the gold St Christopher that hung close about his neck, just above the gentle flicker of chest hair between his hard rep nips. Wow!' It was the only word he could find to say, seeing just how much mess the other lad had spewed, he couldn't remember the last time he'd held himself back long enough to make that much of a load; it drooled from the mottled pink-and-brown meat and oozed over Dilan's shaking hand, and was intermixed with splashes of Troy's own seed on his leg hair, matting his bush of pubes, staining the sheets. If Troy's orgasm had been Vesuvius, this bugger was Krakatoa.
Markanday was gasping loudly next to him with his eyes still shut, mouth wide open and his bearded jaw flexing wide; his face was soaked with sweat and his short dark curls of hair were damp to Troy's touch as he let go of his neck, briefly tousled his hair and then pulled a few inches back form him on the bed, still watching the volcanic ooze of spunk that was coming out of the other lad's short thick monster.
`Jesus,' he said again, and laughed heartily. That had been weird but fun, he thought, feeling somehow worthy and selfless for coaching and reassuring his uptight friend like that in such an intimate way - it was harmless, wasn't it, to try and help the daft lad let loose and enjoy himself a bit more?
`Fuck,' the 20-year-old Rovers lad was sighing again, this time sounding apologetic.
Enjoy that?' teased Troy, inching politely away from him and reaching down to play idly with his softened nob. Dilan opened his eyes and glanced momentarily this way before staring at the ceiling. He looked mortified, and it made Parrott laugh more. Silly question - look at the mess you've made, you monster.'
Dilan was sitting up, quickly, revealing the glossy wet sweat of his back muscles. Troy reached over and gave one of his shoulders a squeeze, thinking momentarily just how bulked up his friend was becoming. You dirty monster,' he teased again, before climbing out of the bed and looking about them for a towel or similar. You didn't even need the porno,' he commented quietly, giving the blank laptop screen a glance - and privately toasting his own skilled dirty talk, learned from those weird phone calls where he'd been able to listen in on Shane Long giving it to his wife, wanking uncertainly along as invited.
Fuck, fuck, fuck,' the Indian lad was muttering to himself, and Troy picked up his own black t-shirt from the ground to use as a cum-rag against his crotch and thighs, wiping his mess from himself and then spotting a crumpled towel which he threw against Dilan. Relax,' he told him, `that was stupid, but it was fun. Glad you let go, mate, proud of ya. Next time you're in a three-way you'll be way more chill, don't you think?' He grinned brightly at his best mate as if he'd just performed an obvious public service.
Dilan was wiping tenderly at his body, looking startled by how much spunk he'd jettisoned. He laughed nervously and began to say sorry. Troy cut him off. `Don't be, you obviously fucking needed that - and I'm the one who should be sorry, getting it on your leg like that. Here, actually, let me...' And in penance, he stooped over the bed and used the wad of black t-shirt to wipe some flecks of cum from around Dilan's calf, unsure whose it actually was, but wiping it matter-of-factly away and then tossing the dirty garment in the direction of what he hoped was a laundry basket.
Dilan was sitting up, his large chest heaving, and his hands loosely covering his crotch as if everything hadn't been on show between them both. Troy picked the robe he'd borrowed before off the doorknob and tossed it his way, conscious of his shyness, before finding his own white undies and pulling them neatly up his long legs. You made SUCH a mess,' he said, unwilling to let that matter drop just yet. How long since you spunked, you mad bastard? You're gonna make your balls drop off if you carry on like that. Or do you always just jet it out like that, for fuck's sake?'
Dilan was vague, slurring, uncomfortable. Troy felt bad for teasing him and he wanted to just make things chill. Hey,' he said, as if an important thought had just hit him, you probably spunked more than that big bastard Benzema did in Helsinki, you know.' He was glad of Dil's half-hearted laugh and flash of more comfortable smile. And still Parrott couldn't help but goad further, he was just too sexed up. Only question,' he joked, is whose face it was on, like I said... Haha!'
Oh for fuck's sake,' Markanday told him as he got up and covered himself in the robe, but laughing rather than sounding prudish. Let that go, you perv. Karim probably spent the night in fucking prayer, you idiot. Don't try and tell me Marco Asensio has been on his knees handing out BJs to Ballon d'Or candidates, fucking hell.'
Hah, maybe you're right,' Troy relented, patting his hands musically against his ripped tummy muscles and wondering what he'd wear tomorrow now his t-shirt was a spunky messi in the laundry basket. He yawned heavily through his laughter. Maybe, maybe. Just praying and being a good husband, yeah? After a game of that kind? Hehe.' He winked cheekily across the bedroom at his friend.
A dimly-lit bathroom stall. The sounds of the Helsinki nightclub were muffled, but the bass of the music could be felt through each wall of the narrow space, a throbbing backdrop to the other noises: the creak of the toilet lid beneath his muscular weight, the odd rattle of the other body jutting back against the cubicle door... the wet slurps and gasps from waist height, and his own eager grunts and French whispers.
`Suck it,' snarled the 34-year-old striker in his own language.
The answer below was just a willing choking sound. He slapped at the head between his bare thighs, spread wide to accommodate the kneeling figure on the bathroom floor, now deep-throating his huge heroic cock, taking it deep with skill and enthusiasm. Karim groaned and grunted and pushed and slapped at the head, tweaking his small ears and angling the keen face to better pleasure his throbbing circumcised hard-on.
`That's it,' he growled, too drunk and arrogant to care how load his growling voice was in this nightclub toilet, or how much the door did rattle as he shoved and manhandled the kneeling figure every few minutes, resting his own strong bulk against the toilet and cistern, legs wide and body prickling with sweat. His shirt buttons stretched over his pecs below his thick neck, and damp patches stained the expensive material where his muscular body sweated too profusely against its confines.
`Take it deeper,' Benzema instructed with authority, knowing how powerful and important he was now. He held the head in both hands and pushed roughly upwards, inserting his cock as deeply as he could inside the soft gorgeous mouth of his teammate, whose nostrils were full of his wiry pubes.
But he withdrew his cock before he came, he always did; he liked the sight of it drizzling down an inferior footballer's face more than he did the knowledge of it filling their throat. He held the other man at a distance and pulled roughly on his meat until he felt the electric spark and began to empty himself over Eden Hazard. The Belgian slut gasped and groaned, sticking his tongue out and opening his mouth wide like the pig he was. He was Benzema's favourite plaything, really, though certainly not his only one.
In rare moments where Karim really addressed his own behaviour, he thought how long ago it seemed: that day at the president's mansion, cornered in a bathroom by Sergio fucking Ramos, and his cock worked and pressured by the dirty bastard until he couldn't help but jizz. Ramos had led him astray, or Ramos had opened his eyes, he wasn't sure which - and then Ramos had gone, and Benzema had been truly king of Madrid. The big tattooed demi-god was gone from the Spanish city and club, along with all his influence and energy, and there was only one powerful force left in the squad who could fill that void...
`Lick it up,' the 34-year-old Frenchman snarled, covering Hazard's face with the icing of his seed, and then slapping his heavy cock against one of his cheeks, and spitting down on him from the toilet seat, the throne of the king of Madrid.
They were too tired to set up the sofa bed. That thought took a few moments to clarify in Dilan's head, when his stretching legs came brushing against others and his feet bashed against Troy's. Fuck off,' was the Irish lad's sleepy protest against the pillows, his back turned this way, let me sleep.'
Dilan stared briefly at the glimpse of bare shoulder and neck, the short mussy brown hair against his other pillow. He had a sudden and vivid image of last night on top of these covers, watching the porno. He pulled away, a little disgusted with them both, and then threw his thick hairy legs over the edge of the bed whilst checking his phone. Fuck,' he growled with all the rich luxurious horror of a hangover. I'm due at training in about an hour. Which...' He pawed at his face, his beard. `Which means you're probably already meant to be in Preston, you dick-head.' He climbed fully out of bed and stretched, glad of the thin white vest and loose check boxers shorts he seemed to have dressed in before sharing his bed with a friend like that. God knows what Parrott had on under the duvet, he wasn't sure he wanted to find out - he stomped out of the room, which smelt of sweat and cum, and moved through into the flat's tiny kitchen to pop the kettle on and make strong coffees.
Dilan hated the prospect of training hungover, though he tried to assure himself that he wouldn't be the only one with a sore head, given last night's cup win. It would be a light morning's work, he guessed hopefully, and he might even get an afternoon nap to try and sleep off this headache and nausea. He wasn't convinced that his PNE mate would have the same benefits, so he shouted impatiently on him whilst making the coffee and buttering some near-burnt toast for them.
He was glad when Troy got up, though he did wish his visiting friend was wearing more than the white CKs that had been eaten up by his buttocks and were all tangled and out-of-shape about his bouncing package. It was a bit much to see whilst he peeled a potassium-rich banana and perched against the back of his sofa, slurping strong coffee.
But for all the pain of the hangover and his discomfort at Troy's bouncing bulge, he felt a surge of gratitude to his friend. He couldn't help but think badly of his own behaviour as host, falling into such a negative mood and then ruining their chances of shags with two hot girls who he now couldn't pick out of a police line-up. He felt he'd been a bit of an arsehole, overall, and he felt incredibly grateful to have a friend who would just patiently make the best of that, and still be... keen to help him, he thought, although the word `help' had big air quotes about it in his imagination, and he felt a bit queasy at the mental image of himself, powering to orgasm with his buddy needing to talk him through it...
Troy felt pretty fresh, but he kept quiet about that - he'd learned through experience that nobody needed to hear about his lack of propensity for hangovers, even other lads as young and fit as himself. He ate the toast and drank some of the coffee, glad that he'd been shouted out of bed. No way would he be on time for Preston training, but he'd be able to make some tale up on the drive there, and the coaches were so besotted with him after his 6th minute goal the other night in the cup. The sun was shining out of his hairy arse at his new club, he thought, and one late arrival was hardly going to ruin that, Preston North End fucking needed him.
Such was the level of the Irish lad's breezy confidence as he borrowed clothing from his friend, old Tottenham youth kit that they both owned, feeling this would be less of a giveaway of his drunken night. He wriggled into the slightly-too-small polo shirt and joggers and downed a pint of water before heading out of the flat, accompanied into the car park by a queasy-faced Dilan, who was swathed in dressing gown over his vest and old man boxer shorts, bearded and grumpy and looking more than his 20 years.
`You sure you're sober enough to drive?' Markanday demanded once they reached the BMW.
I'm golden,' Troy promised. I'll be there before I know it.'
What will you tell em?'
`Dunno. I'll think of something. It'll be grand. Cheers for the fun night.'
The Indian lad shrugged, grumbled. `Not as fun for you as it coulda been, to be fair. Sorry.'
Stop that,' Troy insisted. It was all a laugh, before and after that boring girl buggered off.' He thought this gentle edit to the true events was worthwhile for both their sakes, though he smiled knowingly at his pal. It was all good. You had fun, yeh?' Dilan nodded, but avoided his eye contact. You'll be okay, mate, will ya?' he asked.
The directness of this question seemed to bother his friend. `What does that mean? I'm fine. It's going really well here.' He spoke quickly and hotly and there was annoyance in his vulnerable eyes. Troy just smiled disarmingly back at this.
It's hard, the moving,' he said quietly. The shifting between teams.' He knew how it had affected him at times, the ego bruises and the more literal challenges. The unsettled hard work of it all. It had been Eric, he supposed, who he'd always turned to for advice and support, and it had always been there by the bucketload; the older Spurs star always made time for a call and a chat when needed. Who did Markanday have...?
Dilan still looked defensive, but he kept his voice quiet and soft. I'm sorry it took us a while to organise the meet-up, but let's do it more regularly?' he said, and at that his friend nodded with more certainty. Hey,' he said, the idea forming moments before he put it out loud. This is crazy, cos I know you threw a load of money into this place, but... I dunno, I wonder if there's somewhere mutually good that we could house-share, mate.' He laid it on thick: It's just, my housemates are a bit young and shit, and Preston ain't my kinda town, so...'
He knew Dilan was too bright to take the cover-up, but he was glad to see his hesitant smile and slow nod. That's worth looking into,' came the croaky, hungover answer, and Troy grinned eagerly back, unlocking the car doors and slinging his backpack into the passenger seat. He was about to back away towards the driver's seat door when Dilan surprised him by lunging in and giving him a tight hug, their bodies warm with last night's drink and sweat. Troy laughed and held him back for the long grateful moment, then pushed him away, announcing You smell like you've already thrown up, dick-head. Like I say, just something to think about, might be worth researching, if you fancy - I'm not saying you need to move flats just to improve my situation, matey.'
Dilan was grinning now, his posture more relaxed. Just get in the car,' he was demanding, and get there before your contract is ripped up, nob-cheese. Go on!' Mutual laughter and light flurries of punches between them, Troy climbing into the vehicle and Dilan backing away towards the apartment block, hands thrust into robe pockets. Troy grinned at him over the dashboard and gave him a thumbs up as he started up the engine. Cruising the BMW past him and towards the road, he wound down his window and barked out at him. `I'll get on the phone to estate agents tonight, will I?' And then he threw it into another gear and sped away onto the quiet suburban road, growling through Blackburn and away from his friend's bachelor pad.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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