Premiership Lads Curious Luke Shaw

Part 308: Designated Drivers

After the 9-0 goal-fest against Bournemouth, a party had been inevitable; Henderson had been close to suggesting his own home and garden to the happy marauders in the Anfield home locker rooms, before the call came through that the club executives had rapidly booked this wine bar on the edge of the city. The rip-roaring atmosphere of the changing room had been relocated to what he assumed was normally a pretty swish venue, its small bar room and balcony area now occupied by a horde of red tracksuits as the entire squad and training personnel made the most of the free tab that the club had opened for them at the bar, some enjoying more than their fair share.

Hendo could only smile proudly - who could blame any of the guys for being a bit excited after that scoreline and result after the team's rocky start to the new season?

The wine bar's jazzy background music was drowned out by chants and sing-songs that had travelled here straight from Anfield, and he could see that the black-clad serving staff looked more amused than annoyed to be dealing with the football stadium atmosphere packed into their uptight little bistro.

Jordan himself, however, was pretty much sober, other than a couple of frosty beer bottles in the locker-room straight after his Sky interview. I mean, we all deserve it,' he explained again now to his ally in sobriety, but I just know the face I'd be arriving home to if I went and got out of my tree like this lot tonight, ha ha.' He turned and grinned at the other senior Liverpool player, enthusiastically reiterating what he'd already told him earlier this evening. But it's so good to see everyone buzzing and celebrating,' he went on, nudging the other bloke, and part of me is tempted to just grab a wine bottle and get involved, ha, but... you know how it is, family Sunday plans and all that, so...'

Next to him, James Milner nodded and smiled, following Jordan's gaze to look across the busy bar. Sure,' the Yorkshireman agreed readily. I know that feeling, mate, I really fuckin' do. Thanks for watching my back all night, hah.'

After downing their second beer bottle at the football stadium, the two seasoned Liverpool allies had quietly agreed to help each other pass the drunken shenanigans in cheery soberness, and had stuck to the deal - Jordan had ducked in to rescue James when a couple of the other guys were trying to order him some ridiculously strong cocktail, and the 36-year-old had been a legend by grabbing Jordan away from the bar just as one of the coaches started pouring him a big red wine. Luckily, the whole LFC entourage had been so pissed within the first hour that people had ceased to notice or judge that the two `old men' of the squad were being sensibly boring, and both men were in too good a mood at the 9-0 result to suffer any annoyance from being surrounded by the noise and physicality of guys who'd had a few too many on a Saturday night.

The 32-year-old captain grinned conspiratorially at his fellow midfielder, grabbing and shaking his hand. Teamwork,' he laughed, on the pitch and at the bar.' He lifted his hand and gave a joky stroke across the matching beard that had sprouted on the other guy's face, laughing some more. `Beard bros looking out for each other.'

`Hey, don't touch mine just cos it's better than yours,' Milner guffawed back, shouldering him playfully and scratching at his own face-fur. Jordan grinned, glad of his friendship with the club's self-professed king of boring, actually one of the smartest and kindest guys he'd ever known.

Hardly,' he laughed, I think we both know who suits their beard better, old man. I'm not even sure I'll be reaching for the clippers when September comes.'

`We'll see, since you're so under the thumb to Mrs H,' retorted Milner with a wink.

Jordan laughed at him and checked his watch, rolling back the sleeve of his red tracksuit jersey a little. The club had made closing time very clear and specific, with their `free bar' gesture coming to a close at 10pm in five minutes - but Hendo had a feeling that it would take a while for the small but rowdy party to really die down and empty, and no doubt some of the younger fellas would already be talking about hitting the city centre.

Yeah,' he heard James grumble in his deep Leeds accent, I think I'll be making a quiet exit soon too, before this gets out of hand and someone embarrasses themselves too much, ha. I mean, look at the lads go...'

It was the goal-scorers in particular, Jordan had decided, who were making the place such chaos, leading the chants and toasts and really riding their separate moments of glory. It had become a running joke since arriving here that Bournemouth's Mepham should have been invited along for his own goal, though there were plenty of lucky scorers here in Liverpool crests to keep the congratulations rolling around.

Hendo parted from Milner with a pat on the other man's big shoulders, scratching at his own beard, happy with how it looked but still unused to such growth on his face; he made a quiet beeline for the boss, giving him a hug and saying a discreet goodbye before starting to retreat from the bar rooms and then pausing to graciously thank a wary-looking manager in the foyer.

Once out on the stone steps, Jordan could pull his car keys from one pocket and his phone from another, strutting down onto the leafy suburban street, then focus on the real reason for his sensible non-alcoholic night and careful exit. It had nothing to do with Mrs H, who would totally understand the need to party after that result, wholesome family plans or not. The Sunderland-born football captain loitered on the pavement at the foot of the entrance steps and hit call on his phone.

Hey,' he breathed eagerly down the line. I'm outside. If you still, er, want that lift.' He smiled at the dim voice on the other end, drowned out by the noise of indoors, which from here was largely muffled, and then Hendo slipped away from view of the townhouse-turned-wine bar, finding the spot down the road where his own vehicle was parked, having refused the big multi-seater taxis that most of the lads had rode in from Anfield.

He hesitated at the door to his car, key in hand, glancing back down the path. He felt a familiar flutter of nervous energy, wondering if the lad really would rather come and spend some alone time with him than just carrying on partying with his mates, or getting out on the town in search of- No, there he was, swaying down the steps from the venue, and looking briefly unsure which way to go at their bottom.

Jordan gave him a slight wave and a grin through his thick new beard, then unlocked the car and opened up the passenger door ready for him, whilst a seriously inebriated Trent Alexander-Arnold staggered down the path to meet him, beaming ear to ear.

Trent was not even the drunkest of the goal-scoring lads who were the stars at the centre of tonight's party. Diaz was trying to come up with a new song about himself, now that he was `a Liverpool legend', with Firmino and van Dijk as co-writers at the centre of the bar, ignoring the polite messages of a barmaid that last orders had just passed them by. None of them had noticed Alexander-Arnold's sudden disappearance from their triumphant foursome holding court at the bar, and to the other side, by the balcony area, the game's young heroes Elliott and Carvalho were bouncing about to their own chant with sloshing wine glasses in hand, the 19-year-olds making a messy scene that perhaps signalled the end of the shindig as Jurgen Klopp went marching diplomatically away to speak to the manager.

And though he hadn't graced his boot with a goal of his own, the team's boisterous Glaswegian was a little worse for wear himself. After a high-energy few hours at the heart of the party, as always, Andy Robertson was now slumped slightly in a high stool by a window, sipping a glass of water that he had reluctantly taken from his companion.

He scowled critically at the clear liquid and downed the rest, then pouted wildly at the guy on the next stool. Right, I've drank the water,' the Scottish defender barked, now I can we go and order another bottle of plonk, mate?'

Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain's calm smile was infuriating from where he sat, hunched over a little in his chair with his grey t-shirt straining over big shoulders and chest. `Right, say that all again without slurring,' the other footballer chuckled, dressed in his casual outfit having arrived here a little late on his own - the big lad had been missing from Klopp's team-sheet this afternoon and only a flurry of insistent phone calls had convinced him to pop in and toast to the win. Robbo had spent almost the entire taxi ride from Anfield to here on that mission, ignoring the other guys in his cab, and he'd taken the triumph as an excuse to pop a bottle of champagne on arrival.

The 28-year-old left-back was only partly aware that sensible new dad Alex had turned down all alcoholic beverages all night and just hung at the edges of the party, maybe out of some polite acknowledgement that he hadn't been very involved. That simple idea made hot-blooded Andy feel very moody, suddenly tempted to go and argue with their manager about why the Ox wasn't even on the subs bench - but his best mate had told him in no uncertain terms that he should NOT do that.

In Robbo's drink-addled brain, he was still tempted to do so now that things were winding down, but he glanced over at Alex's oddly serious face and decided against it. He tapped impatiently at his empty glass. `They really aren't serving any more?' he demanded, tuning in and hearing what Ox had just told him.

`Doesn't look like it,' the southerner said thoughtfully, stretching his upper body and glancing over the crowd. Fuck, Andy thought, look at how he fills that t-shirt, what a proper stud this guy is. He almost drooled but steadied himself on his stool and blinked his eyes to clear his head, unsuccessfully.

Well, we better get the party moving on somewhere else,' he mused. He was just about to shout across at some of the others when one of Alex's big firm hands landed on the shoulder of his club t-shirt. Is that a great idea?' the midfielder asked in his warm gravelly voice, giving him a squeeze and a slight shake. `You're half-cut, buddy, how much have you already had?'

The Glaswegian scoffed noisily at this, briefly attempting to count his drinks and then giving up, shrugging and folding his slim, freckly arms across his chest. `You're being a bore,' he shot accusingly, but also thinking just how fucking gorgeous that big smile was on the other guy's placid face.

What do you say I give you a lift home?' Oxlade offered smoothly. I need to go now, I told you I could only be out for an hour and it's been nearly twice that - got to get back to the fam, you get it.' There was no apology in his face or his speech, he had the happy glow of a man who was getting lost in domesticity, and Andy had mixed feelings at noting it. But...

`Maybe,' he said grumpily, unsure where the time had gone. The drunk Scot stared accusingly at an empty wine glass between them, smeared a little with the dregs of his last red, and wondering if he had the energy left to lead the other lads into fresh taxis and off to some overpriced nightclub to keep this going... 9-0! 9-fucking-0!

Come on,' Alex offered, hopping off his stool and leaning this way. He smelled really fucking good, as always. Let's slip out and I'll drive you back to the missus before you're in a worse state, you sexy bell-end.' And the well-built midfielder almost scooped Andy out of his seat, supporting him as he found his tipsy balance and then elbowed him proudly away.

Aye, aye,' Andy agreed, sensing that the party was about to burn out anyway, and able to see a few of the other players engaged in an argument of sorts at the bar over whether they could get any more booze in. Better to duck out now, he thought in a moment of better clarity, and his eyes fell back on Alex's smile and the strong arm gesturing at him to follow, the big kind hand at the end of it. Sure,' Robertson slurred, and he ducked after his friend, through the crowd and out into the cooling Saturday night.

Despite his agreement with Henderson, Milner was yet to make his own quiet exit from the party just yet. Unlike his beard bro', the 36-year-old had made the mistake of starting to say a few goodbyes to other guys, and a simple See you at training, mate!' had turned into a sequence of hugs and heart-to-hearts as he struggled to break away from the very drunk friends and colleagues.

The last of these had involved being grabbed sideways by a passing Andy Robertson, who was red-faced and manic with too much wine, announcing his undying love to him and calling him `the Sexiest Grandpa in the Premiership'; Milner gave the 28-year-old a playful clip about the head for this and pushed him into Oxlade-Chamberlain's capable hold, shaking his head at the constant age banter that he largely encouraged, and seeing the pair off out through a glassy side-door.

James ducked after them into the passage, taking this opportunity to break away from the noisy main bar area and the prospect of more lengthy farewells. He laughed to watch Ox supporting Robbo down the corridor and around the corner to the exit, the seemingly sober player having to drag the drunk Scot as he tried to dive away and give a hug to the frazzled looking bar staff who was manning the unnecessary cloakroom hatch.

He checked his phone as he took slow strides after them into this foyer, dismissing a few notifications and stifling a patient yawn. He was just about to follow the echo of Robertson singing loudly and tunelessly on his way to street level, slipping away from the party that he'd endured sober, when he became aware of an equally loud but less playful voice coming down the other passage. It was such a loud shout that it caught the attention of the young man in the cloakroom hatch, and also the manager who came ducking through double-doors from the main bar; keen to stop the team getting in any trouble from the place, James motored down the passage instantly, the manageress just behind him, and the source of the new noise becoming quickly apparent.

The loud voice, surprisingly, belonged to Fabio Carvalho, Liverpool's new Portuguese signing of the summer - the slight 19-year-old had just exploded out of the door to the gentlemen's loos, and was mouthing off loudly in a mixture of cockney-accented English and Portuguese that James could only half-understand. Hey,' he barked, suddenly blocking the ranting youngster's path and facing him down. Hey, hey, keep it down - what the hell is wrong?'

Carvalho, who he had last seen dancing happily on the balcony and celebrating his debut goal, now looked a clammy state, his face red and shiny, and his mass of dark hair mussed up over his brows. He paused briefly in his incoherence, noticing Milner, and then the confrontational manager just behind him. It's HIM,' the young player more-or-less screamed at them, jabbing a finger back towards the door to the toilets, which opened on cue, and a second swaying teenager came tumbling into the corridor with blotchy cheeks and eyes that couldn't concentrate on a thing. This freak!' Carvalho practically squealed, almost leaping to be further away from the other 19-year-old who had tumbled into him on his way out of the loos, and now Harvey Elliott was shouting too, his voice loud but struggling to sound out any specific words. Instantly, Carvalho went from lunging away from the other teen to diving aggressively back at him and swinging a fist, and Milner pushed his bulky physique between them in an instant, catching the rather weak punch off one pec and giving the Portuguese lad a shove back against the wall, shielding Harvey with his body and, at the same time, shooting an earnestly apologetic look at the wine bar's manager.

Lads, lads, lads,' the seasoned footballer barked over the babble of their two voices, and he turned and gave Harvey Elliott a rough shove back towards the toilet door, before grabbing one of Carvalho's arms and steering him in the other direction. All of Milner's teammates admired his apparent IQ, but he didn't need to be too smart to work out what might be going on, Carvalho yelling PERVERT!' and Elliott defensively grunting `Fuck off, mate' as if ready to square up to him in aggression.

He shot a warning look at the English teen, silencing him, and then focused his strength and attention on young Fabio, piloting the goal-scoring newbie down the corridor and past the manager, into the foyer. A nervous-looking barmaid was hovering in the doorway to the main bar, holding a couple of empties and smiling at flirty comments from the tipsy players streaming past her. Here,' huffed James, pushing the wiry teenager her way, could you get this guy a pint of water for me, darlin'?'

In moments, a dazed-looking Carvalho was staggering back into the bar after her, caught in the confusion of exiting players. A couple of them were shouting the names of Liverpool nightclubs, and Milner heard at least one shout pointlessly for him to join them. Instead, he turned back down that passage, and next focused his attention on the manager, all dad-mode responsible and Yorkshire charm as he apologised for just how rowdy things had become, in general, before starting on about the youth and inexperience of the two who had alarmed her - he was aware of Harvey nearby, sheepish and thankfully quiet, and in a couple of minutes, he had the bar manager smiling uncertainly and nodding along. Milner felt slightly ridiculous, a 36-year-old trying to beg bar staff into not grassing them up to the club management and causing any further bother or fines, or worse - anything leaking to the media.

Lastly, he went with the universal language, patting at the pockets of his baggy tracksuit bottoms, and finding his fat wallet. A few notes were deftly removed and slipped into the manager's hand before she could even look down at them, and then he was taking Harvey by the shoulders and steering him out into the foyer with a loud `Thank you, cheers!'

The majority of the guys seemed to be outside already, spilling down the street, and huddling around a couple of newly-arrived taxis. James kept strong hands on either of Harvey's shoulders, marching him down the steps and then pulling him sharply to the right as a few voices whooped from the left: Come on, into town!' Milner, don't be boring!' `Harv, where are you going?

Like Henderson, Milner had his own car parked a few spaces down the road, and he didn't slow his quickstep until he was close to it, also letting go of Elliott's shoulders which he'd perhaps been grabbing a little tightly - released from that grip, the 19-year-old staggered a bit, and had to steady himself against the side of the car.

Blinking and gurning, he yelped, `I can walk myself, fuckin' hell. Where's everyone else going?' He turned shakily on the spot and stared back down the pavement, clearly intending to speed after them and find a spot in one of those taxis. James didn't grab for him or block his way, but just stood next to him and gave him a steady stare. Almost instantly, the dad stare had its impact, and the younger Liverpool player was hanging his head, swallowing his loud voice, and rubbing at his face. He groaned and then, to Milner's slight surprise, sniffed a bit, and when he looked back up, his eyes had the shine of potential tears. God, the lad really is pissed, he thought grimly.

`Thanks,' came the lad's begrudging grunt.

No bother,' the 36-year-old said in a low voice, ignoring the vague noises of more men exiting the wine bar and hailing cabs. You want to go join that lot, and risk sharing a taxi with Fabio, or do you want a lift home, eh?' He kept staring levelly at the 5ft7 winger, unlocking the car with the click of a button, and waiting for his answer.

In the passenger seat, Trent made himself comfortable, pushing buttons until it was tilted luxuriously back and he could shove his socked feet, trainers discarded, up onto the dashboard whilst folding his hands behind his head and wriggling his back and buttocks against the leather until his position was perfect.

Alreet,' the Mackem driver laughed, make yourself comfy there, yeh...'

Trent giggled stupidly at his own behaviour, smiling across the front of the car, enjoying the faintly serious look to Jordan's profile as he navigated suburban traffic and wheeled them around the edge of the city. He reached his left arm across and jabbed at the touchscreen between them, skimming through the tracks in the captain's playlist, and cracking up in laughter at some of the schmaltzy R&B ballads that loudly filled the interior of the expensive vehicle.

What?' Jordan called defensively. Hey, volume down a bit, come on...'

Is every other song Alicia Keys?' Trent chortled, jabbing more at the touchscreen and shifting his position to squint at the track details as they shuffled and re-loaded. Man, what are you like, Hendo...'

`They're good tunes,' the skipper laughed awkwardly, trying to just concentrate on the steering wheel and the road, his body language a bit stiff and awkward either with that effort, or with any teasing from the younger guy - or perhaps just at finally being alone in a space together after trying to organise some time for a couple of weeks now.

Trent was too drunk to stop himself laughing, but in a signal of his approval and apology, he left his constant skipping on an old Alicia Keys banger and slid back into his relaxed position, humming along and distractedly rolling his window part-way down. Aren't you gonna sing along then?' he chided playfully at the driver. I wanna hear these Hendo pipes, man!'

The midfielder glanced this way, smirking through his beard, but quickly knitting his brows and returning his fierce attention to the traffic; he looked so hot doing that, Trent thought, like he did in training or at the height of a competitive game. The 32-year-old guy was never hotter to him than when he was roaring out instructions or encouragement on the pitch, right at the heart of the action always, leading by example, a real fighter... and somehow some of that translated into Henderson the driver, the same tension and focus, the seriousness and maturity of him, something in it which made him feel... safe.

`I am NOT singing for you,' Hendo was laughing self-consciously, changing gear.

`That's alright, I just remembered I'm more interested in another PIPE,' the 23-year-old Scouser muttered cheekily, shifting again in the cradle of the passenger seat, and sliding a hand adventurously across the gap to stat rubbing the other guy's thigh through the rustle of his trackies.

Jordan sniggered in a similarly self-conscious and almost shy way, a less secure side of him that Trent loved to see emerge once they were alone, away from the 32-year-old's duties as captain. He gave his thigh a tight squeeze and pushed his hand further to try and grab said pipe', swatted at by chuckling Hendo. Oi, come on...'

Whaaat,' the drunk young right-back drawled happily, giving the outline of his captain's big dick a furtive grab then pulling back, hands up in a mime of innocence. It's what you dragged me out of the bar for, right...'

`Dragged? Come on, hold on, I'm trying to drive.'

`You've got it under control, just let me... he he... Oh, come on!'

`When we get to yours,' Jordan protested, trying to sound cross through his happy laughter.

Ugh,' Trent groaned, stretching out his increasingly broad shoulder muscles against the back of his seat, peering out through the windscreen at the dying light of a summer night over too many cars on the road. It'll take ages right now, the traffic is shit... Come on, let me have a feel now, we're not even moving...' He wriggled closer, stroking at Jordan's hairy forearm and tense thigh, and trying to push his hand back into his crotch, but pushed away by the driving guy's quiet protest.

`Just hold on!' urged Hendo through his laughter, clamping a hand over Trent's in the middle to hold it there, one hand still on the wheel as he moved a little bit forward in the crawl of vehicles. A flash of worry on his face suggested that he too was calculating the scale of this Saturday night traffic, though, and thinking the same as Trent: the longer it took to get to his city-centre apartment, the less time they'd have before the married dad would need to get back on the road to his own home.

Trent interlocked their fingers, pulling his clammy hand about the strong grip of Jordan's, and sighing with contentment in spite of his drunkenness and the temporary frustration in front of them. He was still replaying parts of the day in his head, a montage of happy scenes from the masterclass match win and the happy team time that had followed... but his brain was starting to take a backseat to the urges of his cock, and he bit his lip thoughtfully.

`I can't wait,' he hissed.

`What do you want me to do?' Jordan scoffed, but not with any annoyance to his voice.

Get off this road,' mused Trent. We'll go somewhere else.'

Jordan flashed him a nervous look. We're going to your flat,' he said vaguely. We're safe there, Trent, you know that I can't-'

It's pretty dark,' the young defender sighed lustily, stretching out in the passenger seat and loosely grabbing his own bulge with his right hand as he stared at his captain's handsome profile, newly bearded. And I'm absolutely gagging for that pipe, skip... Come on. We can pull over somewhere. I know a place.'

`Trent...'

I want you to fuck me in the open air,' the 23-year-old rasped excitedly, and he felt Jordan's hand tighten against his own in between their seats. I want you to shag me out in the dark.' He licked his lips, and met Jordan's eyes in the rearview mirror, pouting greedily at him.

Henderson wasn't the only Liverpool player trying to indulge the manic chatter of a wine-drunk buddy in the passenger seat. Alex grinned into the traffic lights ahead of him and drummed his thumbs on the top of the wheel, enjoying Robbo's blow-by-blow narration of a winning game that he already knew all the headlines for, but was still enjoying from a left-back's perspective in the rambling narrative stylings of a Glaswegian who's had one too many. Reaching goal number 9, Robbo fell more or less quiet, apart from the whistling and snatches of song.

Just wish you'd been there,' the 28-year-old murmured, the glow of his phone-screen reflected on his pinched features as he frowned through these latest thoughts. You should have been on the bench at least, or playing instead of... oh, I dunno, not the captain obviously, but Lil Harv or maybe Fabinho, so... You'll get selected for the next game though, I'm sure, just look how hard you were going in training all this week, so...'

It's okay,' Ox told him calmly. I'm not worried, it'll be fine.' It wasn't a FULLY honest answer, but it had enough truth in it. The 29-year-old man was enjoying being able to spend any extra time with his Little Mix babe and their kid, and was surprising himself with how much his priorities had shifted in the last year. And still... it was strange to find himself on the fringes of this team of winners, the team he loved so much. And it raised questions about what he should really be doing in the final days of August...

It ain't okay,' Andy grumbled distractedly. It ain't fucking on, I say...'

`Haha, just leave it, buddy. All good here. You're just drunk as a skunk.'

`Aha! Well, let me tell you, Ox, I might be drunk tonight, but in the morning you'll still be fuckin' gorgeous, haha...' He paused, unsure if he'd manhandled the alleged Churchill quip correctly, not seeming to immediately notice the slightly awkward quiet of the man doing the driving.

Andy,' he said gently, we should be careful, saying things like that...'

A grunt from the Scotsman. `Guess so, guess so. Fuckin' hell.'

Alex frowned a little, deliberately not looking across at his passenger, just focusing on the winding suburban route they'd turned off onto. We did agree,' he said quietly, trying not to sound too critical or irritated, since he was naturally just pleased to hear one of Andy's flirty little compliments, except that... We did agree,' he repeated, a little bit more firmly, `and we put a stop to all that, didn't we? It was... I mean, you were pretty sure about it at the end of the season, so-'

`We fucked goodbye, you mean,' blurted his passenger crudely.

`Yeah, that,' Alex sighed awkwardly. It had been getting harder and harder to spend time intimately, and they'd felt themselves lashing out resentfully every now and then with stupid comments, so...

`Is it cos of what I did with big Joe?' Andy demanded suddenly, and now he did glance at him, glare at him, then pull his face back to the road.

Fucking hell,' Alex muttered. No! No, it's not that, I told you, I'm fine... Andy, mate, we AGREED, we talked it over and...'

We thought you were leaving,' Robbo reminded him, a bit less coolly. We were pretty sure you were being pushed into a transfer, and...'

Well, yeah,' he muttered uncomfortably, still not 100% sure that wasn't going to happen, with or without the pushing. Could he really stay at Anfield out of love for it, and because of the history he'd been part of, and accept such irregular appearances on the pitch...? He'd set down roots here and was building his family, but there were other teams, and Perrie often talked about wanting to be back in the North East, so... Yeah, there was that,' he said slowly, but was cut off by Andy.

`We fucked goodbye cos we thought it was the end,' Robertson said, more loudly and fiercely, grabbing for his thigh, and Alex tried half-heartedly to push the hand away from the denim on his thick leg muscle.

Mate,' he sighed sadly. We both agreed, it's too hard to make work, with our lives and everything in it, and... and...' Andy's hand was rubbing at his leg and the Scottish lad was pouting at him across the front of the car, seeming calmer and less wildly intoxicated now in the seriousness of this topic. He glanced at him but kept his focus on the quiet road, squeezing both hands against the wheel. `We shouldn't be making things even more complicated than they need to me,' he said in a voice of strained certainty.

Robbo sighed and they both fell quiet. The last of the light leached from the horizon as they dipped between the outlying villages of Liverpool and towards the neighbourhood where the Robertsons lived. Drop him off, Alex reminded himself, and then it's just a short drive further into the next suburb and his own home. He gripped the wheel and locked his strong jaw, refusing to look across at the passenger seat.

`It's already so complicated,' Andy said in a low growl, seeming to pull further away from him, his hand leaving his thigh, and there was a wistful sadness in his gruff voice that cut at Alex's resolve. He chewed his lip.

`We're best mates,' Oxlade-Chamberlain said, half to himself.

`Yup,' grunted the left-back next to him.

`And I really want to kiss you,' he continued in a brittle voice. He felt the stillness of Andy's body and breath, and he really couldn't bear to look over at him, at those rugged good looks and the intensity of his eyes or mouth. He focused on the road instead, staring at the sign for the next turn-off, that would take them through Andy's little corner of Liverpool - and he ignored it, speeding further along the line, in the wrong direction for either of their safe family homes.

`We can get a hotel room,' Robertson muttered quietly.

Alex nodded, felt the hand back on his thigh. `There's one at the next junction...' The hand squeezed his muscle through the jeans, and lifted one hand off the wheel to place on top of it, closing his strong grip over Andy's white knuckles.

Harvey Elliott hunched his body together in the passenger seat of another car, trying to make himself as small as possible, feeling like he'd just reversed a few years in age and was a naughty lad being driven home to his parents... which, in a sense, he was. It reminded him of being escorted out of the caretaker family home a couple of years back, and dumped at Mo Salah's place for a while... yep, THAT had worked out, hadn't it...

It had been an over-exciting day for him, and it was only partly the football. He was shaken by a family loss and it had added such emotional intensity to the game, to his goal, to the way everyone went so mad after it and how heavy the Liverpool celebrations had continued to be, into the night... He knew it was all of that, but not just that, which had made him so reckless and stupid tonight at the end of things, in the toilets of the wine bar.

He'd been pretty sure of the signals from Fabio Carvalho, apart from anything else - the lad was so touchy-feely! He'd not noticed it so much in training over the summer, to be honest, but today around the Bournemouth game, the skinny Portuguese lad seemed to be constantly at his side, hanging off him, grabbing at him with hugs and high-fives and every other little touch of their sweaty young bodies. Before the game, at half-time, when they slapped places in substitution, and especially afterwards in the changing rooms, posing for selfies together and ruffling each other's shaggy hair, and... A critical internal voice reminded the 19-year-old that sporty lads were like that, and Latin European guys even more so, and that really Fabio hadn't done or said anything to make him think that whipping his cock out and following him into a toilet cubicle was a sensible thing to do, and the amount of beer and spirits he'd drank were the REAL signals going on.

He cringed to picture it, even though it was already hazy, and he dragged a miserable hand across his clammy face, pushing his body further back into the passenger seat of Milner's car, hearing a soft kindly laugh from the older man behind the wheel.

Stop beating yourself up,' James told him quietly. I'm guessing you just made a bit of an error of judgement, kid, and it'll all be forgotten tomorrow...'

Harvey just gave a surly grunt of response, not answering him properly. After all, James hadn't been there, hadn't seen the look on Fabio's face, the way he'd lashed out, then retreated, then lashed again, the things he'd been shouting, ANYBODY could have heard them, who knows who did... His drunk brain raced and raced and it made him feel nauseous. He groaned again to himself and rubbed at his forehead, pushing off his trainers and pulling his feet up onto the leather, hugging his knees.

Seriously,' Milner repeated quietly. It'll be forgotten. You were both wasted.'

He lowered the hand from his face and glanced at the burly figure of the midfielder who was driving him home, the square-jawed beefcake leaning forward slightly at the wheel. Somehow, Harvey thought, the calm supportive manner of this old prick was just making it all worse, of all the people who could have intervened and helped him out there. And there was no doubt that old James HAD helped him out, quick and strong and authoritative - he'd silenced the chaos, as far as Harvey could remember, stopping the fight and magicking Carvalho away somewhere, as well as placating a manageress who looked like she was about to call the police. It was all so mortifying and shitty, what an end to a momentous day, and what a way to ruin the goal he'd dedicated to his lost grandmother.

He remembered almost crying when Milner first hurried him into the car, and he cringed again, and fought back the sensation that it might happen again, like it almost had during his TV interview. He leaned against the window instead, glad of the cool glass on his face, and stayed quiet as Milner fiddled with the car radio, skipping stations before eventually choosing silence. For Harvey, the silence seemed to fill with all the things the smug old guy might or should say, the demanding questions or the critical comments, the stupid advice and patronising platitudes... and yet, he noted, the midfield player just stayed quiet, and had been nothing but kind and helpful to him in the last half hour. Well, that made a fucking change, he thought bitterly.

It was almost as if Milner was reading his mind. `I know you aren't my biggest fan, kid, but I really am just looking out for you,' he said in the same calm, quiet growl of his Yorkshire accent, maybe looking this way as Harvey stared out of the passenger window.

He couldn't help but scoff and retort, he was too agitated and uptight. Right,' he muttered, just like you were looking out for me when you left me limping for a few days, right?' He hadn't meant to be quite so explicit in his remark, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and then he followed it up by turning his head and squinting his red-rimmed eyes at the driver, who turned his big rugged face this way with a guilty expression - good!

Harvey,' Milner sighed, and Elliott thought how trapped he felt in this stupid car, how little he wanted to hear any more from this old hypocrite, but... I really misjudged things, back then,' he said, lowering his voice even more, `and I thought you were a lot more experienced than you were, I've regretted it for the last couple of seasons...'

The 19-year-old shifted uncomfortably in his seat. `Let's not talk about this...'

No, let's,' the older guy was insisting. I'm kinda glad you mentioned it, even though I know you must think I'm a right old twat, but... I dunno what to say. At the time, mate, it just seemed like you were eager for me...' Harvey heard himself snort derisively at this and pull further away against the window, staring back out of it rather than at James, but he knew with a shudder how true it was, how frenzied he'd been then with his new discoveries, the mad fun that had started over a midnight joint with Neco Williams...

I think we both wanted what happened,' Milner said, but I totally under-estimated it for you, and...'

And then you had me sent away,' Harvey snapped. This was the fact that he'd been holding in his chest for these last few months, clinging to his bitter resentment and losing all respect for the beloved stalwart of the Liverpool midfield. Fucking hell! Salah told me, you know. Salah told me it was you. Getting me sent to fucking Blackburn. What, cos you felt so bad about what we did? Felt so bad about, about, p-popping my fuckin' cherry!' He resisted the sting of more tears and just turned to glare accusingly at the older footballer, remembering the way their quick fun had escalated.

`If I'd known it was your first time...'

He hated hearing James sound so reasonable about it. Really, he hated having this conversation at all. It was one thing muttering about his dirty deeds when he was horny, and with lads nearer his age like Neco, but... Milner was so fucking boring and ordinary and he could still hardly believe that he had messed about with this Leeds daddy. Again, the stinging truth at the back of his mind: he'd wanted it so bad, just because of that, he'd wanted to seduce and mess with the sensible older man, the happily married bloke, the DILF... he just hadn't been ready for it to go so far, not back then...

Look, I get it,' the midfielder grunted. You ain't into bottoming. I was never keen myself.'

`Oh just leave it,' Harvey mumbled, cringing, but then stopping when the implications registered in his head, bit by bit. Firstly, the idea that boring old Milner had ever done those things with anyone else, had ever had another lad suck his cock, never mind the rough fucking that had followed and hurt like hell; and then, cranking into place, the more startling information there, that at some point this muscle-bound bloke had taken it too, just like him... He blinked, feeling fuzzy, and stared at the driving footballer with a lot of different emotions contorting his young face.

Milner gave him a glance with a hint of a smirk. What, did you think that was a one-off for me, did you?' he was chuckling. Oh, mate, you'd be shocked how much of that nonsense goes on in our footballing world, seriously... I mean, I know about some of YOUR exploits, you little devil...'

For the first time, the comment made Harvey blush in a way that was less cringing, and more... what, the swell of today's big ego coming back a bit? The pride in his own prowess and growing strength that had pushed him to corner Fabio in the loos and think that maybe that Portuguese pretty boy might get on his knees and-

I'm not judging,' James added swiftly, still chuckling. I just mean... well, yeah, these things happen all the time, but - seriously, Harvey, I want to apologise for what happened between us, cos I handled it so badly, and I hate for you to think I'm as brutal or unkind as that.' Harvey was a little too drunk and stunned to answer. It isn't what you think, you know,' Milner said in a murmur. Yeah, I did have a part in your move to go on loan, but... I did it for both of you, you and Mo. You got to understand how much is going on with a guy like that: the religion, the ego, the danger of someone like you in the middle of that. You were better off at another team, away from him, for a bit at least.' He sounded a bit like he was trying hard to convince himself, and yet Harvey could see the seed of truth in it, and he sighed confusedly at it all.

He'd spent quite a while resenting Milner, especially since Salah threw that gossip at him in the early summer. And Harvey resented them all, really, all of the powerful older men he'd played with, James and Mo and... Ugh. The Scottish DJ had been there today, at Anfield, and though Harvey had only seen Calvin Harris from a distance at full-time, apparently a celebrity guest of Virgil's, it had been enough to remind him of being pushed to the dirt outside the golf club in summer, used and discarded by the international popstar after taking his load like a total weak slut. Harvey was sick of that role, sick of being treated that way - he was a senior player now, scoring Premiership goals, and he deserved...

You're quiet,' James said, cutting across his thoughts. You still think I'm an old twat?'

`I dunno,' Harvey just muttered ambivalently, giving him a look over, then staring back out of the window. They were almost back at his, moving through a swanky neighbourhood where he'd bought the big new house and moved half of his family in.

`Hmm. Dunno is better than some answers I might expect, ha. Honestly, I am so sorry. I wish it had gone differently. Cos... well, you were...'

Harvey felt a little more alert at that dangling ellipsis. `Cos I was what?' he demanded, as the car took another turn and they entered the long street that led to his. He stared more fixedly at the man in the driver's seat now, his mind racing back to the very brief episode they'd shared a couple of years back, when all of this was so new and exhilarating to him, and he was making trouble everywhere he went.

James laughed a bit, slowing the car down as the navigation on the car's computer told him he was almost at his destination. He shrugged his big thick shoulders, shook his head a bit. `Nothing,' he said, smiling infuriatingly.

`What?' Harvey pushed.

`Is that your place there?'

Milner,' the 19-year-old muttered impatiently, what were you gonna say?'

Milner parked up on the kerb, taking his time. He flashed Harvey one of his broad goofy smiles, shrugging again. You sucked cock like a pro,' he chuckled, and then waved one of his big hands this way. See, you didn't wanna hear that, cos clearly you've moved on from that shit. You were such a greedy thing when you tempted me into your room, you know, and I ain't blaming you there for a second, I couldn't believe my luck. Hadn't had a blowie in ages, the wife hates doing it, talk about a cliche...' He trailed off again, and Harvey found himself staring a bit more thoughtfully at the 36-year-old footy hunk.

For a second, he glanced past the outline of James' big body, towards the dim windows of his new mansion, and thought about how he had sensibly bought somewhere with a pretty much separate wing for his own quarters, so at 19 he could feel independent whilst paying full respect to his supportive family and housing them in new luxury. He didn't need to disturb any of them on the way in, had his own side entrance which led up to his rooms, and...

`Are we cool, then?' Milner asked him softly, hopefully.

The boldness that had pushed Elliott into trouble earlier tonight was back, and he paused with his hand on the release of his passenger door, not looking at his driver as he said it. We will be,' he said, keeping his voice a lot more level and firm than he'd managed all the way here, when you return the favour and show me what a good cocksucker you are, old man.' Then he turned his beady eyes on his teammate. `What d'ya say, Milner?'

Jordan couldn't help but cast nervous glances back and forth across the layby, still questioning why he'd given in to Trent's drunken pestering, and pulled over in this dark quiet spot in the middle of nowhere. Every few minutes, a car passed close by on the road, and the sound of it made the Liverpool captain tense up and stare over his shoulder, unsure if they were really screened and sheltered on this side of his parked car.

Trent's hands squeezed at his, and pulled back his attention; when he turned to face him, the handsome young defender was just giving him a lopsided, critical smile, and leaning back on the side of the car, his hands gently tugging Jordan closer to him. Still tense, he allowed himself to follow that direction, leaning in against the shorter guy, stooping a little as their mouths connected to kiss - Trent's lips were greedy and eager, but Hendo held himself back, keeping his muscular body ready to spring away and flee into the undergrowth if there was a worrying noise or onlooker, or...

`You need to relax,' the Scouser giggled at him, their mouths rubbing as he spoke.

`I'm trying,' Jordan said, trying to sound light and amused, but his Sunderland accent lifting in pitch and revealing his nervousness as he pulled closer to the 23-year-old and groped at his torso through that thin dark red t-shirt, feeling the sturdiness of the muscles below. He tried harder, closing his mind to the nearby road and the cool breeze that tickled the back of his neck, kissing Trent a bit more fully, reaching up a hand to the side of his neck and cradling his handsome head as he tongued his mouth-

Trent was pulling away, giggling, and even the noise of that happy laughter made Jordan's buttocks clench and his mind wander with the consequences of their al fresco fun. What?' he demanded, sounding both cross and amused, unsure what he really felt. He groped some more at Trent's body, feeling the outlines of those strong shoulders and upper arms, then rubbing his hands under the t-shirt, rolling it up his abs a little. He went in for another kiss and paused awkwardly as Trent pulled away slightly, still sniggering. What?' he repeated, a bit more forcefully.

Damn, you need to shave that!' Trent confessed in a loud whisper, pulling on the sides of Hendo's liverpool jersey, dragging him close even as he teased him. It tickles so bad, you big beardy bear!'

He laughed nervously, reminded of similar comments from his wife, and let his wet lips hover a few inches from Trent's mouth. `Oh, didn't realise it bothered you,' he said hesitantly, pushing the t-shirt up further and running his thumbs over the large dark nipples on Trent's smooth chest, making him shiver and sigh, feeling a little more confident in this setting as he did.

`I'm joking,' said Alexander-Arnold lamely, and his strained voice made it obvious he was lying, hooking his arms about Hendo's waist and letting their bodies rub close. As if in penance for the criticism, he started to kiss the side of Jordan's neck, and it felt so good; the midfielder held his lad tightly against the side of the car and tried not to groan too loudly as the soft mouth danced against the side of his throat, and he pushed his hard crotch in against the other man's, rubbing them together through their matching tracksuit bottoms.

Don't get me wrong,' Trent gasped, shifting positions, you look hot as fuck, daddy, but...'

`Is it really that irritating?' Hendo demanded, his voice a little pleading, disappointed to find that both of his lovers were irritated by snogging his furry face, even if he felt so fucking manly and strong when he looked in a mirror.

A bit,' Trent laughed, his voice full of apology, kissing him on the mouth now in spite of his alleged beard problem, gently and tenderly, even as their strong bodies began to grind together and they could feel each other's stiffness becoming more urgent down below. I'm just messing with you, I don't mind, you're sexy whatever, you know, the fucking hottest stud I've ever...'

Hendo thought about the night recently when his wife had made such similar comments, complaining about the scratch and tickle of his beard as they kissed goodnight, and then he thought about his cheeky spur-of-the-moment counter-argument to that spousal complaint. He held Trent a bit more tightly by his growing biceps and grinned into his close-up face, adopting a stronger and more assertive tone, beginning to forget about the layby and the occasional hiss of tyres on the road. `I bet I know where you wanna feel my beard tickle,' he whispered, pulling his furry mouth close to Trent's soft cheek and ear, deliberately tickling his facial hair against the skin, making his lover wriggle and snigger and grind even more against him, locked between his 6ft frame and the car.

`And where's that?' gasped the Scouse lad hungrily.

Jordan kissed his earlobe and his cheek. `Turn around and I'll show ya,' he moaned under his breath, releasing his grip on the compact muscle of Trent's body, backing off an inch or two... allowing the 23-year-old to slip quickly around at his instruction, leaning in close to the side of the car now with his back to Jordan... whose hands now dove into the sides of his waist, pushing beneath the elastic of both trackies and underpants, firm on Trent's hips, and pushing downwards, whilst he briefly kissed the nape of his neck from behind.

Unable to quite let go of his public sex fears, Hendo gave a last glance around them, but saw nothing but dim leafy outlines in the darkness, and he bent his knees, beginning to descend, kissing his way down Trent's spine through the cotton of his tshirt, simultaneously thrusting his layers of clothing down the sides of his chunky thighs, until he was kneeling down and face to face with the perfect brown globes of his arse-cheeks.

Jordan spread them with both hands, wet his lips, and moved in, gratified when the younger athlete immediately wriggled and gasped at the hairy tickle on his cheeks, between his cheeks, against his crack, and Jordan's tongue lashing over his tight pink hole, telling it how much he'd missed it.

In the hotel room, Andy immediately pulled away at his t-shirt, hoying it wildly onto a lampshade, and turning his slim upper body towards the advancing bulk of his English lover. Still ridiculously drunk, he flexed his arms and chest, revealing the tight lean muscles that clung to his slim pale body, and earning a big lusty grin all over Alex's handsome broad face - instantly, those thick arms were closing about him and Alex's lips were on his, kissing for the first time in many weeks, tongues finding each other, and body heat simmering between them. Andy hooked his hands under the sides of that tight grey t-shirt and peeled it rapidly away, baring the thick caramel-coloured strength of Ox's torso, until they were cuddling skin to skin, teetering back and forward on their feet for minutes until their passionate kiss led them staggering and falling onto the cheap bed.

Robertson moved and gasped like a horny wild animal, and it was only partly the red wine taking control. God, how he'd been craving some time with this big beautiful body, with his gorgeous friend, with the sexiest bastard he knew - he'd needed this, all summer, even in the midst of his fucking wedding! He could remember how much he'd begged Alex for his cock on the night before the big day, and how strong and dutiful his mate had been, telling him it was bad timing and that he'd regret it in the ceremony. But somehow this never felt like cheating, or anything wrong at all, just the most beautiful depth to their closeness - oh, okay, and a fucking randy sweaty fucking passion.

He kissed Alex everywhere, wrestling away from their snogging lips, so that he could kiss about his shoulders and pecs, licking at his hard nips, and then even burying his face in each pit, kissing the fuzz of hair before pecking his way down his sides and running his tongue over every abdominal muscle he could. Ox laughed at his clumsy eagerness, rubbing and stroking at him as he did it, tickling at his wiry hair, his freckled neck, thumbing down his cheeks and jawline.

Off came the jeans, button fly popping open to Robbo's eager hands, and now he could kiss at those legs instead, snogging the smooth skin of his thighs and calves and stopping short at the feet from which sock after sock were pulled. Then into the centre, feeling how hard his man already was in his black boxer briefs, kissing him through them, buried between muscular legs, feeling the thighs tighten about him to hold him safely in place, Alex's strong hand on the back of his head.

Robbo whipped the thick cock out of the underpants and wasted no time in getting in his mouth, nothing teasing or slow or sensitive, just greedy cock-sucking, the mouthful that he'd been after since their `goodbye' fuck in the golf club at the end of last season. He shifted positions, sideways on the bed, crouched over the other man's waist, his head bobbing rapidly up and down, wet lips pumping the thick veiny shaft of Alex's beautiful member. And Alex, groaning in happiness at this, was rubbing down his bare back and pushing away his tracksuit, his clingy white boxers, giving one of his lean arse cheeks a good squeeze, and then running a single finger up and down his sweaty crack, teasing him there whilst he deep-throated the handsome hunk's wonderful prick.

He felt Alex's thick fingers work across his crack and knead at his uber-tight hole, and he lifted his head up, spit and pre-cum trailing from his lips, to look at Oxlade in the eyes, grinning foolishly at him, all red-cheeks and glazed eyes. `That feels good,' Robertson slurred at the other player, pushing his hips back a little, rubbing his arse against the questing fingers.

Alex smiled and murmured softly, `We don't have to do that, though, if you aren't okay for it, it's been a while for you and-'

`I want it,' Andy whispered, ashamed to think of how many times he'd denied Alex that in their secret nights together, how nervous and reluctant he'd been about swapping roles, how one-sided their fucking had remained for too long. And yeah, he felt ridiculously tight and even Alex's one finger hurt on his ring, but he wanted to feel his man inside him, wanting to give up his skinny arse to him... he wrapped his mouth back around the cock to get it good and wet, to make sure it was rock hard, and then wriggled up onto his knees to clamber out of his clothes properly, almost falling off the bed as he did. Alex, laughing, caught him and pulled him right, kissing his neck and chest, sucking on one nipple and then, at Andy's insistent pushing to his pecs and shoulders, slid onto his back again, head on the pillows, and the Scotsman started to straddle him, stretching his thighs apart to cross his hips and wriggle backwards, lowering his arse onto the prize.

`You sure?' Ox growled at him, and everything in his face and voice revealed how much he wanted this, giving Robbo all the certainty he needed. He nodded vociferously, pushing his hands down on the lower end of Alex's six-pack to steady himself, and rubbing his crack back and forth over the fat wet head of his boyfriend's cock, feeling his hole twitch and soften for it, biting his lip and locking eyes with the stud on the bed, his own cock leaking at the thought of it, slapping down on Alex's navel. He relaxed himself back, mouth falling open, and feeling that big wet thickness against his inexperienced hole, thinking of the times he'd yelled out and cut short their attempts - all until Joe Gomez had surprisingly broken him in, the big arrogant stud, and he'd ran back to confess all to his man. Alex smiled lovingly at him from the pillow, holding onto his upper thighs and pressing upwards a little with his own hips, and Andy stared back in devotion, thinking about how this gorgeous stud had batted aside the problem of his infidelity, uninterested and totally secure.

Andy sighed as he opened up for the big meat, sliding down onto it inch by inch, taking the other Liverpool stud inside him and groaning out his enjoyment.

Milner was on his knees at the foot of the bed, a pillow placed under them. He'd sneered playfully at the age joke that accompanied the offer, but then decided he'd take the comfort after all, hunched here in front of the teenager, who was lying back on the bed with his legs spread, and a strange expectant smile on his drunken face.

The 19-year-old had been full of showy authority as he got out of the car and led James up through the garden, guiding him away from the house's dark main entrance and to a door at the side, which he unlocked and held open in the manner of a circus ringmaster welcoming his crowd. James had smiled at the show of composure and dominance from the young lad, not entirely convinced, but settled on indulging him, before being guided up a short flight of stairs into the gaudy den of Harvey's games room, his private lounge, his large tacky bedroom, decorated and filled in exactly the way you might expect a teenage millionaire to do so.

And now they were here, and the 36-year-old married bloke was faced with the return gesture he'd silently promised when he stepped out of his car, and he let out a begrudging little sigh, kneeling in front of the resting figure of his young teammate. `You know I ain't done this in a decade at least,' he said quietly, not seriously trying to discourage Harvey from what he certainly deserved, but enjoying playing with the lad's excitement, and partly knowing that his unlikeliness and reluctance were only turning the young Surrey kid on more.

I'm sure you'll remember how,' Elliott fired back, and his voice was like all of his behaviour. He was trying to sound cold and aloof, like none of this mattered much, and he was just the kind of irresistible stud who every married DILF would kneel down and open wide for; but there was a tremble to his voice and a glossy light to his eyes, and when Milner reached out and stroked both of his thighs, he could feel a tremor in his strong limbs that was more than just match recovery. But okay, if the slutty boy wanted to play at being in charge, James Milner felt generous enough to go with it, and he knew this seedy one-off would restore the balance between them, redeem his own impatient and heavy-handed behaviour in their past. He squeezed those legs and murmured, We ought to get these off first, huh?'

Again, Harvey's speed betrayed his eagerness, his shaky excitement for the act, as he first pulled up and off his Liverpool t-shirt, and then shoved at his own trackies; with his strong mits, James took over, brushing Harvey's smaller hands away, yanking the trackies right down over the knee and down the hairy shins, then reaching instantly for the grey CKs that were left behind, tugging on them so sharply that a seam almost ripped as they crossed Harvey's pleasantly thick thighs and went down to his ankles. Exposed now, the 19-year-old was still trying to appear cocky and arrogant, sprawled back and resting on his elbows, thighs gently parted and fat cock lolling between them, already pretty hard, and even glistening at its staring pink tip.

James let out a sigh of only part-exaggerated reluctance, then decided to whip off his own team shirt, baring the ridiculously ripped details of his upper body, finely honed year after year. He suppressed his satisfied smirk as the teen's eyes boggled, and he echoed Harvey's casual confidence, except his had all the reality of a man in his mid thirties who'd seen and done it all. He adopted an almost gloomy expression of resignation, as if falling into a severe punishment, and unable to resist Harvey's cocky demand that had led him up here from the car - if he'd really wanted to, he would have driven off and laughed off Harvey's lingering sulk, happy that he'd done the right thing tonight by rescuing him from the Carvalho mess. But he wanted to be here, right now, even if taking a cock in his mouth had always made him a bit queasy, had always been his least favourite bit of extra-curricular fun, back in his more adventurous years at Newcastle and Aston Villa, before City and Liverpool made him into the steadfast king of boring, an act he played with gusto.

Well,' grunted Harvey, aiming for demanding and just sounding anxious, aren't you gonna suck him?'

Him', James thought with an inner smirk, enjoying the foolish ideas of the teenage brain, and nodding his head heavily. He rested his big palms against the fur of Harvey's upper thighs and stooped in, making sure his pecs and shoulders flexed as he did, bringing his bearded face tickling between the legs, and... running his tongue gently against the lad's tight ball-sack first, making him gasp immediately, taking his time with the job. He flicked his tongue across each fat ball, his nose incidentally nudging and rubbing the sides of the hard shaft, and he squeezed his strong hands over Harvey's thick legs, feeling him tremble and clench, hearing the rattle of his excited breaths. Only when desperation made the winger hiss, Go on, suck me off', did he let out a cool laugh and run his tongue up against the shaft, opening his big mouth wide and taking it in. Mmm, fair, he'd tasted worse.

In the dispassionate manner of someone who'd never found cock very appealing, but knew how to get himself off in times where a pussy wasn't available, Milner held himself against the foot of the bed, lifting and pushing with his face, lips pursed about the quivering teen cock, enjoying the wild vulnerable gasps of pleasure from Mr wannabe-dominator on the bed, whose hips he now held in both hands, and who he could throw across the room with his bulging arms if he wanted to.

The 36-year-old kept it up for as long as he could be bothered, his simple mechanical oral that was driving the nervous youth wild, and then he lifted away from it, licking the wet tip once and then chuckling to himself. His eyes met Harvey's across the firm smooth line of his torso, and he smirked into that clammy, panicky face. `Okay, think it's your turn,' he muttered, feeling the strain of his own big dick inside his briefs, and beginning to climb up from the pillow on the floor.

W-wait,' grumbled Harvey, breathless, that weren't the deal, man.'

But as the 19-year-old propped himself up with hands at his side, a little coating of sweat on his goateed face beneath those attractive curls, James could see his eyes flicking hungrily across; he was stood in front of him, pushing down the front of his trackies and black briefs, and unfurling his own thick semi, giving it a slow tug, refreshing the horny bugger's memory for the time he'd chowed down on it in the past. James shrugged one thick shoulder. Oh, I just thought you'd want another taste,' he said in a low voice. But I get it, you're not the same lad now, right? No more slutty cock servicing for Harv, right?'

Failing to pick on the drip of sarcasm, Harvey scowled and toyed with his eager cock, almost hanging off the edge of the bed as he seemed to lean instinctively closer to Milner's weapon. Nah,' he insisted in a moody hiss. Done with that shit, too many guys treating me like their fucking toy, y'know?' His eyes were locked onto James' trouser-snake.

Yeah, no more nervous tight bottom,' Milner sighed, remembering how good it had felt to push inside a virgin arse, but regretting how rushed and unhelpful he'd been with it - You're an alpha now, I guess, a big hung top, with that fat cock of yours there... you're the one doing the fucking, these days.' He was just mumbling, happy to slowly hypnotise the lad with the length and girth of his meat, which he pulled lazily to stiffness, ready to have that cheeky mouth around it once more, as he'd often thought of since - but always stopping himself, always cautious about the messy situations such play could lead to, as he'd counselled the great Mo Salah.

Well,' Harvey murmured, blinking rapidly, I mean, I've not actually fucked a guy yet, but-'

Huh?' He couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter. What, really?'

Harvey was blushing deeply, not meeting his eyes. `I mean, it just hasn't happened, cos- Well, I mean I'm pretty much straight anyway, so-'

Yeah,' James grunted in amusement, me too, but... Seriously? You've never... used that thing properly? Fucking hell.' He stood there, cock in hand and body on show, and smiled down at the twitchy bravado of the goal-scoring young hero on the bed, who he'd initiated so roughly by mistake, probably putting the poor little bugger off anal for all this time. A slow argument churned in Milner's head, and he sighed out his decision. `Alright then,' the 36-year-old DILF conceded quietly.

`What?' the 19-year-old asked blankly.

James reached behind to pat himself on the muscular rear, and with the other hand mussed up Harvey's crown of blond-and-brown curls. It's been a REALLY long time,' he muttered, but I think I'll be able to take you, kid. You got any lube handy, mate...?' Wide-eyed, the other Liverpool player just gawped up at him, apparently unable to answer.

There was only so much of the rimming that Trent could cope with. He didn't want to blow his load yet, against the door of his captain's car, and go all limp and sleepy before they'd got to the main event. He pushed back with his cheeks, which jiggled a bit as Jordan fondled and clasped them, bearded face buried between, and he reached back gently, pushing softly at his face and arm. Enough,' the 23-year-old Scouser rasped, falling sideways a little, turning wide eyes to stare at the skipper, not wanting him to think there was anything wrong. It was good,' he breathed, locking eyes with the handsome Mackem stud, `but you're gonna make me bust a nut, and... I want you inside me, properly.'

Instantly, Hendo was up on his feet and hugging him from the side, looking all the sexier for the dampness of saliva about his furry features, taking on that look of serious focus like when playing football or driving in mild traffic. Hendo melted into his arms and kissed his neck and shoulder, then down to his increasingly hairy chest - he might be full of his quips about the stupid beard, a daft pissing contest between Hendo and Milner, but it had been him encouraging the captain to let his chest hair grow back, even though Trent happily waxed his own. He loved the slight rugged feel of it as he ran a hand over Jordan's pecs and clutched at his sides, wondering where he'd thrown the other man's tops a few minutes ago in a break between arse-lickings.

But no time for such questions, because apparently his hunky captain had forgotten all about the risks of public sex, had lost his cute nervous edge; Hendo was almost picking him up, despite his dense muscular weight, and dragging him around the side of the vehicle. A thrill exploded through the Liverpudlian as he was pushed forward and bent quite roughly over the bonnet of the car, the aggressive buzz only mildly dented by the whispered, `You okay?' from his sensitive and tender lover behind him.

`Brilliant,' he gasped, spreading himself forward over the hood, his arse bared and still damp, and feeling Henderson begin to mount him from behind. He groaned, becoming the cautious one now as he tried not to scream too loud in his enjoyment, feeling his wet hole stretched open and the entirety of the Mackem bloke's physical force lie against him, pinning him to the car and kissing the backs of his shoulders, gently filling him up until surely the whole length of the captain's cock was in him.

And then Hendo was humping him rapidly, no more sensitivity or gentleness, just wild animal motion, riding him against the car until it squeaked and bumped a little on its suspension, Trent's body squashed between his man's thrusts and the cool metal of the bonnet. He whimpered and groaned, gasping out Hendo', Jord', Captain', YES'. Arching his back to make a cave of space, Trent tried to reach under him to attend to his own cock, hard and aching and already close to cumming - but Jordan had gone mad with control and stopped him, holding back his hands, both of them pinned behind his back as he slammed into him, and it drove Trent wild, made him really scream out, forgetting where they were, `yes yes yes, ohhh god yes'. The quick burst of almost violnet fucking then burnt out and Hendo was closer to him again, cuddling him as he humped, kissing his neck and his cheek, and whispering in his ear.

I love you,' the 32-year-old moaned into his ear, saying it so naturally and earnestly, and Trent almost had to push him back and stop the fun, so taken aback by the three magic words, that surely had slipped out in the heat of the moment because Henderson was too horny, but then I love you,' he was repeating, grunting it desperately in his ear, I fuckin' love you, lad...!' And Trent could only whimper an honest response that he hadn't quite known until just now: Love you too,' he panted, feeling Hendo's cock push deep in him, `I love you...'

A swift change in topic, tone, pace... `I'm gonna cum,' the captain gasped.

Not in me,' Trent begged, not this time - cum on my face!' He said it because it turned him on, but also cos he knew how much it turned the horny bastard on. Instantly, Henderson was pulling out of him, giving one of his cheeks a slap, and Trent could slide down and flip over and drop to his knees in front of the car, crouched in front of the skipper, wanking his own dick and staring up at him for only a matter of seconds before the bukkake was spattering on his handsome features and stray locs, drizzling his neck and shoulders, a spray of Henderson's fertile seed.

I love you,' Trent gasped in a tone that felt almost hopeful, as if willing the other man to say it again now he'd cum, unsure that he'd be able to, even if he did mean it... And sure enough, it was just heavy gasps and moans from the standing midfielder, and Trent felt a little lurch of disappointment, annoyed with himself for getting his hopes up. He pushed his hands back against the front of the car to lift himself, and then felt his body instantly grabbed and turned back around by Henderson, who growled in his ear. I love you,' he said with a steely firmness that sent shivers down Trent's spine and along the length of his slim cock, and he felt the captain pushing him forwards. `Now bend over, and I'm gonna lick your arse until you cum hands-free, you sexy bastard.' And with a shove from the captain's hand, Trent did just that, bending back over the car and feeling not a thick Mackem cock on his ring, but the tickle of beard and that muscular tongue, and he lasted less than two minutes before he reached for his dick and broke the hands-free rule, shooting his load all over the personalised registration plate.

Only when his dick was almost sore from being ridden did Alex OC grab a firm hold of Robbo's body and, hugging him close, slide him upwards and let his aching dick slip free, both of the men glossy with sweat and taking in great gulps of air, pausing these gasps to lock lips and snog deeply, sighing into each other. Alex held him tight over his lap, folding his arms about the small of his back, rubbing him there, then reaching down to hold and squeeze his quivering arse cheeks, thinking how much he'd fucked that pretty arse, still a novelty for him after always being the bottom.

Yet that was what he wanted now, looking into Andy's reddened face, his wild excited eyes, and feeling the rough grasp of his kisses. He carried on snogging at his man's face, rubbing his hands right up and down Robbo's back, feeling it become slippery with sweat, and patting and cupping those red cheeks in his hands some more, before pushing him away and rolling aside slightly, turning his muscular back on the Scottish bloke.

Oxlade-Chamberlain didn't need to find words and speak, too breathless anyway, but he just turned his back on his playmate and leaned forward, grasping his hands to the cheap wooden headboard and presenting Robertson with the pale brown expanse of his back muscles, travelling down to the firm round globes of his lightly haired buttocks, which his Glaswegian lover was quickly stooping to kiss and pinch, and then climbing up against him, those kisses descending on his upper spine instead.

`My turn?' the 28-year-old Scot was purring behind him.

`I wanna feel you in me again,' Alex sighed for him, gripping the board of wood and jutting his strong arse back, letting it brush against Andy's excitable prick, eager for him; as much as he'd loved lying back and letting the grinning drunkard ride up and down on his big cock, he wanted to feel that too, that physical intimacy, he wanted his cheeks spread and to feel Andy's urgent thrusts against his back, like old times. He didn't have to wait long.

Robbo entered him in a rush, spitting noisily against his cock and only giving Ox's hole a peremptory prod and rub before trying to angle his dick there and prise him open, holding him lovingly despite the greedy roughness of this action. The bed creaked as the two athletes piled against the headboard, and Alex groaned softly as he felt Andy enter him, thinking back to their first time on the floor of that meeting room in the golf clubhouse, the same place where they'd fucked this summer and whispered temporary goodbyes to each other on the floor... goodbyes! Fuck, as if Alex could give this up, and just be the wholesome family guy, no way...

Andy fucked like an Energizer bunny, always. Rampant, bouncy, chuckling, so much fun and force. Alex loved it, the tight thrusts inside him, the loose hold of slim strong arms about his sides, the contrastingly soft and slow kisses that caressed the back and sides of his neck, his cheek, and then when he twisted his head around, his parted lips.

He reached down and pulled on his cock, feeling how stiff and veiny it was, still rock-hard from being inside the other man, and so close already to shooting. He told Andy this, wanted to try and sync their orgasms, warning the rabid fucker that he was nearly there, wanting to bring his Glasgow lad closer with him... and Andy gruffly assured him this was the case, spelling out in his ear just how good his arsehole felt tonight, how good it always felt, and how close he was too. Grinning happily, Ox let himself climax, pulling tightly on his dick, shedding his seed over the pillows, and feeling the quickening and intensity of Robbo's thrusts at his behind, knowing that he would soon take a load of Andy's cum inside him, both men gasping and groaning with such ferocity!

In moments they were falling apart, loudly sucking in their breaths between happy laughs, and they lay apart for just one sweaty moment before finding each other, Alex grasping for one of Andy's hands, rolling close to him, grabbing and spooning him, the heavier and thicker of their two athletic bodies. He held Andy's paler frame in his, hugging him from the side and kissing his shoulderblade, and listened to the mix of chuckles and exhausted moans that came from the man in his arms.

I need this,' the 29-year-old admitted quietly, brushing his lips against his boyfriend's ear. I really can't end it. Even if...'

`Don't,' Robbo murmured, almost sleepily.

Even if I move on,' Alex whispered insistently, squeezing him, I don't think I could move on from you.'

`You're staying at Liverpool,' Robertson assured him in his dazed voice, already on his way to a drunken nap that would make him very late home to his wife, and Alex already knew he would have to help the pissed-up Scot to invent a tale about the club they'd been to with the other lads when he dropped him off.

Alex just smiled at the other guy's confidence in his place at the team, and willed it to be true, hoping he could do several more seasons in red, and keep his place here at Anfield, keep this legacy going... but he meant what he said, and he realised that some things were more important to him than what team jersey he pulled over his muscles of a weekend. His little family, yes, but also this stud, this sexy fun bugger, this Scottish prince.

And now it was Harvey who stood at the foot of the bed, stark bollock naked, his chubby prick standing to attention away from the exposed flesh of his increasingly lean body, more and more toned with each month. His arms were pulled up against his front and he was struggling to rip open a condom packet, going at it with his teeth and snarling a bit at the irritating difficulty of the task. In front of him, James was sat on the foot of his bed, where he'd lain back to be sucked off, and though it was not needed, the older bloke leaned in and pecked a little kiss against the shiny tip of his dick, then went lower and gave his balls a last slow lick, making him shiver excitedly.

The condom packet tore open and he tossed it aside, stretching the rubber in his thumbs and then starting to pull it against the fat tip of his cock. His fingers were a little shaky with eagerness and he struggled at this next task too, but Milner took over, pushing his hands aside so that they hung limply at his sides, and confidently rolling the sheath down his tool, turning his face upwards and giving him a strange encouraging smile, broad across his square-jawed face.

And then the experienced midfielder was pulling back, further onto his bed, and sliding onto his back, a bare expanse of muscle that was almost intimidating to the 19-year-old - it was the size of those pecs and the ripped detail of his six-pack, the thickness of his hairy legs that now lifted and parted in front of him, inviting him down into the crotch, the thick tool rising up from the bush of greying pubes.

`Here,' said the midfielder, pushing the small pump of Durex lube across the sheets for Harvey to pick up in his hands. He spunked a dab of it into his fingers and stood there for a moment as if he didn't know what to do, just taking in the sight of this big naked man on his bed, right in front of him, feet up in the air in front of his own smooth chest.

Well,' grunted Milner, rub a bit on my hole, mate, otherwise your cock is going nowhere. And put a bit on your cock over the rubber, yeah?'

Harvey felt vaguely that the instructions were patronising, and yet his slowness and hesitation was inviting them. Trying to shake himself awake, pulling his moppy fringe out of his eyes with the other hand, he lowered his lubed fingers and explored beneath the sag of James' huge balls, pushing between the rock-hard glutes into the strangely warm canyon of his crack. His slimy fingers rubbed against thick hair there, and he felt Milner's calf muscles relax against the front of his shoulders as he crouched a little to do this. Staring over James' strong body and meeting his ambivalent gaze, he pushed his wet finger against what he hoped was his hole.

`Lower,' instructed the 36-year-old in an almost purr of a voice.

`R-right,' Elliott muttered, sliding two fingers down.

`Start with one?' the older man was suggesting; again, something in his tone felt condescending, or maybe the situation just felt a bit pressurized, but again Harvey could see the need for the guidance, the feedback, and there it was, his one lubed finger finding the knotted rosebud in amongst the fur, seeing instantly on Milner's face that he'd tickled his hole now, and he ran his finger back and forward over it in a way that he hoped would feel good...

There was no confirming moan of pleasure from the muscle-bound midfielder, but James was nodding his head as he lay there and giving him a wide-eyed look, something warm and encouraging about his expression on that bearded face. The horny teenager found that he was more glad of the words and the look than annoyed now, and he circled his fingertip against the entrance there. That's it,' he was glad to hear his older teammate say in a voice that was ALMOST a groan, but too controlled - That's it there, keep it slow like that, I'm not used to this remember...' When Harvey began to push the tip of his finger a little firmer, he was warned `Not yet, slow down, wank your cock if you need to, come on mate...'

But a couple of minutes more and his finger was in there, pushing inside the body heat, feeling the puckering of tight muscles about his digit, excited and a bit panicky, and hunching forward against the foot of the bed; he was also jerking on his condom-wrapped prick, at James' suggestion, keeping it hard enough for the challenge ahead.

Slide it in,' growled Milner, his voice a bit more raspy and maybe pleasured now, slide it in and out, go slow yeah, take it easy on me, that's it lad, mmm...' That little moan at the end sent shudders through Harvey and made him go a bit too fast, a bit too deep, and earned him an uncertain grunt from the prone form of his new mentor. Not yet, not yet,' breathed the older man, just... slowly, push it to the sides a bit, that's it, just like that, and... now,' he purred, `now go deeper, mmm...'

This might have gone on for a while. Harvey was in a daze, focused on one thing only, the tightness of the man's hole, and how much he wanted to smash his cock in there, but he knew he needed to follow James' command to make this work, knew that if he rushed or got things wrong, his chance to top this legend would disappear. The moments felt precious and fragile in spite of the steady hulk on his bed, in spite of his own false confidence, the bravado that he was brimming with and trying to believe in, trying to forget Carvalho rejecting him and reacting like that.

`Two fingers now,' Milner was growling, and he complied, and he only pushed the two slipper digits in three or four times before that big head was nodding, the smile fading a little, a manner of serious acceptance and determination over the older player's rugged looks - there was nothing horny or sexual about it, as such, more the look of an ambitious man in the gym about to attempt the next weight setting or something... but Harvey DID feel incredibly turned on, absolutely desperate for this, struggling to maintain an air of aloofness or authority as he'd hoped when leading the older guy in here.

Now,' he was instructed, and he took hold of James' calf muscles as he bent his knees a little and started angling the rubbered tip of his cock down there into that hairy crack, pushing it in against - dammit, where was the hole? Lower, no, not quite, up a bit, just lift yourself a bit, and-' The quick muttered instructions frustrated him, made him feel incompetent or disappointing, and if it had gone on too long he might have pulled limply away in defeat and humiliation, but then... That's it,' grunted the Yorkshireman, press it in there, go for it, lad...'

Harvey felt that same muscular tightness on the tip of his cock and he pressed carefully forward, keeping up the caution and slowness that his mentor had demanded, but was now told, `Go firmer, really push, it'll be tight but just... that's it, go for it... ugh, agh...' He struggled to read the growls of noise from the other guy, unsure if he was doing it right or wrong, but feeling the tightness extend over more of his shaft as his cock was slowly buried inside that lubed hole. He tingled with the intense concentration, trying to keep his body at the right height and angle, suddenly realising that anal sex was not so simple as he'd always vaguely assumed...

Hold it there,' he was told, and then, Push in a bit more, that's it...' and also Pull back, almost out, and then... yeah, go in, go deeper, just like that, lad...' It was strange, trying to concentrate on the task, and follow Milner's voice, when the seasoned Liverpool star was grunting and muttering at him like they were tactics on the pitch, encouragement in a training drill, and oh god his arse felt brilliant. As Harvey pushed more and more of his cock in there with each stroke, it got harder to follow James' growled words, and he tightened his hold on the man's ankles up by his head height, starting to pick up speed, but slowing down when Milner barked for him to go easy. If Elliott could have seen himself, he'd know he had failed in tonight's apparent mission: in no way was he dominating or overpowering this brick-built hunk, even with his cock buried in his arse. He was a trembling nervous wreck, and Milner was calling the shots, but he was far too drunk and horny for such analysis, and all he cared about was the tight muscles gripping his nob as he plunged in and out with a bit more force, a bit more confidence, a bit more encouragement: That's it, you're hitting the spot, more of that, lad...'

At some point, the hunk on his bed had begun to pull on his own big cock, which Harvey's eyes instantly fixated on, loving the sight of it pumping in that grazed fist, and he let his body match the pace of those hand movements, clenching and unclenching his large buttocks as he powered his cock into the wet tight hole with a little more speed, a little more rhythm. `That's it, keep that up,' James grunted in a voice that now felt totally ambiguous: pleasure, pain, encouragement, admiration, impatience, criticism? It could be any and all of those things and Harvey felt tense.

Go a bit harder,' he was told, and did. Now slow...' and he slowed. Take it out, just rub the tip over my hole...' He nodded, gasped, did so. Now push it back in...' Back in, all the way in, pushing deep, feeling his balls throb... `Keep going, fuck me like before, keep that rhythm going...' If his entire body wasn't shaking with the pleasure to his dick, he might have stopped to find the pep talk infuriating, but... those thoughts might come to him later, lying alone, but now he was going for it, keeping up the medium rhythm that he'd been told was right, and holding his body carefully at the right height and angle to maintain it, his knees and leg muscles straining.

Go on,' grunted Milner, equally pulling on his cock with a fast rhythm, and staring intensely up, their eyes connecting. Harvey felt sweat pour down his brow and some loose curls brush his forehead some more, his body shaking as he moved it back and forth in this rhythm, feeling himself get closer, closer, CLOSER- Oh fuckkkk,' he moaned, starting to fill the tight condom with his spunk, and briefly closing his eyes - when he opened them, he could see James emptying his balls over the lower rungs of his impressive six-pack, and yet not even blinking, just staring stolidly up at him, nodding that heavy head. `Good lad,' he was praised, again in a soundbite from the training pitch, not the bedroom, and he slowly pumped his hips forward a few more times, feeling weaker and weaker.

`And... withdraw...'

The 19-year-old did what he was told, but strangely that motion felt even tighter and more difficult than pushing it in, and he staggered back a bit, dizzy, and instantly wiping a hand over his cock to roll and tug the dirty condom off and away. His breathing was heavy and loud and he had to push backwards and lean on a chair to support himself, his heart feeling like it might explode out of his smooth chest.

On the bed, Milner had lowered his powerful legs, feet almost hanging off the bed, and he was just lying there, a 5ft9 mass of tanned muscular skin, heaving slightly with deep breaths and slow, satisfied chuckles. Harvey stared at the heavy flop of his big cock and the glisten of cum on his muscular torso, and he wiped a hand over his own clammy face, his cock throbbing between his legs.

When Milner was up and off the bed, the thickness and strength of the older man's body felt even more apparent all over again, and Harvey just stared dumbly at him, hardly able to believe that he'd just topped this bastard. Dominated him, he told himself unconvincingly, barely able to find words to speak. Milner was laughing at him, but not unkindly, and quite suddenly he grabbed him in a tight naked hug, patting his upper back.

`And now you're a man,' laughed the senior player, and Harvey sniggered nervously along, sinking down into a seated position as he was let go.

Next to him, the married man quickly and quietly re-dressed, and Harvey just let his heart rate and breathing recover, then reached down to toy with his softening prick, staring at the condom on the floor where he'd dropped it. He glanced to the side and found the broad older bloke already back in his Liverpool tracksuit and wiping his face and neck on a towel he'd found. Harvey became aware of how shaky and nervous he must look, and he shot back up onto his feet, letting his dick swing free as he did, and squaring up to the visitor. He cleared his throat before speaking.

`I guess we're even,' he declared, staring his guest down.

Milner's smile was benevolent or patronising, depending how he chose to look at it. Right,' the older footballer agreed simply. Enjoy that, kid?' The `kid' might have stung before, but Harvey was high on what had just happened. He laughed nervously, and then started to glance about for his clothes, suddenly self-conscious about his slighter body, its softer outline compared to the rigid muscle definition of Milner's.

I'll be off then,' the midfielder announced, and he nodded his head. The young winger found and tugged on his undies, and was then grabbed in a second tight hug by the slightly taller guy, squeezed in his muscles and then released. I'll see myself out,' Milner told him quietly, and then gave him a last look as he retreated to the door. `I hope you did enjoy that, cos it were a fuckin' one-off, haha. God, my arse is gonna be sore all week, you horny twat.' It was all spoken with coarse good humour, and he disappeared through the door and the rest of Harvey's private rooms, until he could hear his heavy tread descending the stairs to the exit. Then the teen collapsed sideways onto his bed, pants not quite on, and just lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about how far he'd come: his debut league goal for the Liverpool first team, and he was the dom top he'd fantasised about becoming. Fuck yes!

'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/

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