Part 310: A Taste of Toffee
`Family reasons', he would say ambiguously, whenever people really questioned his loan move here from Wolverhampton Wanderers; after all, he'd worked his way to captain at the previous Premiership side, and his side-step to Everton had surprised many. The move to his hometown club, supported by all of his friends and family, shouldn't have caused such a stir, and Conor Coady had been irritated when it provoked so many questions - questions from lads back at Wolves, who'd lost their captain overnight, and questions even here, where members of the troubled Merseyside squad seemed a bit bamboozled to have the England international suddenly in their midst, here to help them rescue last season's dismal performance and almost relegation.
Family reasons', the 29-year-old centre-back would continue to mutter, if the queries persisted, because it probably wasn't kosher to say Oh, la', my missus walked in on me nutting in Pedro Neto's face in our livin' room one afternoon when her hair appointment got cancelled `cos of Covid cases, you know what I mean?'
All these weeks later, Coady still chafed at the memories of that showdown and the tough talks that had followed. No babe, he'd had to argue repeatedly, I ain't gay, I still love you, that was just a dumb team thing, stupid captain pranks, a joke taken way too far, sorry babe, sorry babe, love you... I'll do anything,' he'd said, and the anything' had turned out to be an immediate move away from the West Midlands and back to the security of their St Helens families in the North West. Not exactly a huge move, all told, but one Conor had hastily made happen, terrified about an explosion of his cute family life, riddled with regret for the way he'd been carrying on in secret. Conor had never considered his naughty antics with the younger Portuguese lad as cheating, per se, and had never really contemplated that any damage could be done to his life, his marriage, his reputation.
And now he was here, at struggling Everton, abandoning the status and network that he'd built up at Wolves over the years, and rampantly fucking his wife twice a night to reassure her that hers was the only body he wanted to share a bed with. So it was hardly a torment, he had to remind himself, having landed on his feet at a team that was thrilled to have him, and with their Merseyside life embracing them with the same ready enthusiasm; so why did so many people keep rushing to question it, and find it so odd that he'd ditched Wolver-fucking-hampton??
The Neto blowjobs, and the other stuff, were in the past for him now, but... on certain days, like this, arriving at the quiet training ground on a match-day, passing through the patchy car park and echoey tunnels of the campus, Coady couldn't help but be reminded of the times he'd driven into work early on similar Saturday mornings, sharing coded text messages with Neto, and meeting the pouting pretty boy in a discreet spot to have his aching footballer cock serviced with such aplomb. It's not even that Everton's training facilities on the outskirts of Liverpool were so identical to the equivalent site in the Black Country, it was just the general atmosphere and pre-match expectancy that called back those secret opportunities... and perhaps, pushed firmly to the back of his mind now, a slight craving, a repressed little urge to dwell on the enjoyment he'd found with that one smirking accomplice. Guiltily, his mind began to wander back a little further, visiting an Icelandic hotel and the deal he'd once struck with Harry bloody Kane, England hero, to buy his first match start for the Three Lions - he bristled with resentment when he thought of Kane, sometimes, and saw that one reckless transaction as the starting point of all this trouble.
Of course, Harry Kane could hardly be blamed for him fucking Pedro's wet mouth with both hands locked about his head, knelt in front of him on the rug, snorting with enjoyment, Coady's buttocks clenching and unclenching as he filled his gob, panting too loudly to hear the jangle of keys or click of heels, only the gasp of horror, and the shrill voice of feminine outrage. And his Wolves career ending.
The 6ft1 defender willed himself not to become morose about it, and it wasn't hard to find enjoyment in his changed circumstances, proud after all to be a Toffee at last; even if he'd spent his entire youth working upwards through the Liverpool academy and reserves, making a single appearance in red before finding success elsewhere. The circular journey made him laugh brightly and put aside the bitter thoughts of a moment ago, swaggering into work in his jeans and hoodie, making his way through the training centre to find the slow assembly of his new teammates.
Coady gravitated quite naturally to the other newer arrivals in the Everton camp, coming in for a laddish handshake and shoulder pat with his fellow tall defensive recruit, James Tarkowski; the Manc lad matched him in age and height but was a lot broader in build, and training alongside him was making Conor want to build up his arms and shoulders more as he entered these prime years of his senior career. Still, he knew his own ripped physique made him quicker and more nimble than the heavy Burnley recruit, giving him the edge over Tarkowski once the squad's other full-backs recovered from injury. For today's Liverpool derby, he knew it would be both of them at the rear of the formation, flanked by another newbie who was joining them here at the side of the rec room where they'd flopped into stiff armchairs with mugs of tea in hand.
The young right-back perched on the arm of Tarkowski's chair to join them, chewing on some kind of energy-loaded breakfast bar as he spoke, spraying crumbs at James, who laughed critically and batted playfully at the 20-year-old Scot. Nathan Patterson was another new signing, and one the pair of them had naturally taken under their wing as apprentice, both enjoying the young right-back's cluelessness and gullibility.
`Have you seen the team-sheet yet?' the Glaswegian youth demanded, continuing to munch through his bar and dust crumbs off the tight-fitting tracksuit bottoms that clung to his legs, a hunched 6ft brute on the edge of James' chair.
Not yet, but we pretty much know the plan,' Conor reassured him calmly, slurping mild tea and trying to get comfortable in the bony chair. And I think us three are gonna be holding off the Liverpool big guns for 90 minutes, lad, so get ready, heh.'
`Defo,' grunted Tarkowski in agreement.
`Fucking hope so,' the young Scot grumbled crudely, scrunching up the wrapper in one fist and then looking furtively about the room, a broad space overlooking the training pitch where a sporadic fraction of the squad were already hanging out in clusters, waiting for the rest of the lads to arrive for the morning meeting that would precede their journey to Goodison Park and warm-up for the derby.
`Nice of the injured lads to show up,' Patterson announced with his usual energy and cheer, scratching at his stubbled chin and lifting up from the seat as Tarkwoski shifted positioned and nudged him in the arse to make space for his own broad shoulders.
`Who?' James demanded, leaning to one side and peering over to follow Nathan's gaze.
Oh, Mason and Ben?' Conor murmured distractedly, checking his phone for any messages from his wife - she was a lot less vocal in her support for him on match-days now, which he could hardly complain about, but he was using her gradual encouragement and interest as a measure of his journey towards being totally forgiven. Nothing from her yet, so he sat upright and tuned into the low chatter of the other two. Yeh, good of them to be here and be part of the squad,' he agreed half-heartedly, knowing that it was just the kind of behaviour he'd always encourage as a captain back at his old side.
It's not just Holgate and Godfrey,' Patterson was explaining to them with an air of excitement. I heard someone say Calvert-Lewin is in too, before he starts back training with us on Monday, aye.'
Coady and Tarkowksi shared an amused smile and then noted the blush of Patterson's cheeks, both of them finding it slightly funny that the celebrated young defender might get starstruck by Everton's favoured striker. To Conor himself, Dominic was an England teammate, but he couldn't totally dismiss and laugh at Nathan's thrill; he knew what a massive talent the 6ft2 striker actually was, even if he did spend half of his time injured or on a catwalk, and the DCL factor had been helpful in convincing his own agent that this loan deal had potential for real success.
Big Dom,' whistled James in an ironic tone. Is he one of your faves then, Scottie?' He reached one of his large hands to ruffle Nathan's reddish-brown hair and elbow him playfully. `You got him in your sticker books, shiny?'
The 20-year-old swore aggressively back at him and then giggled nervously, and Conor gave the other senior centre-back a gentle shove. Leave him, he's just enjoying being a Prem star,' he said warmly, giving Nathan a wink. And Dom is a pretty big deal, it'll be good to play with him again this week. We could do with him this afternoon against the Reds, mate.' Quickly, the younger defender was eagerly echoing this sentiment and James was continuing to tease their protegee about his apparent fascination with the fashionista forward, whilst Conor idly surveyed the other two injured lads - Ben Godfrey was still on one crutch, and both he and Mason Holgate looked a bit grumpy, clearly impatient to be back in action, and Conor wondered if they were really here by choice today, since a lot of injured guys found it tough to sit and support in person, for that reason.
Who else was already here? The team's hero goalkeeper, Jordan Pickford, was being unusually anti-social, still hunched over on his phone in the kitchenette area where he and James had brewed their tea; near him, Neal Maupay was locked in conversation with Senegalese defender Idrissa Gueye, lounging in seats at the main table by the windows. There had been a couple of other guys here a minute ago, he thought, but the men had time to kill, with Lampard himself apparently running late, and the 10am meeting pushed back to at least half past.
As he disinterestedly watched, Maupay and Gueye got up form their table, clutching their own soft drinks, and disappeared outside through one of the French windows, maybe going for a kickabout on the damp training field; Pickford at last looked up from whatever text convo he was buried in, and seemed to notice that anyone else was here with him. He called out obnoxiously in an instant, the squad's on-off captain and sure to be wearing that armband today if Coleman didn't start - another of Conor's colleagues from his recent England experiences, but not one he admired quite so much as Calvert-Lewin. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something untrustworthy about the goalie, though he knew none of the other Lions seemed to share his wariness.
Where the fuck is everyone?' the 28-year-old keeper demanded ,strutting across the centre of the room and drawing attention from the injured pair as well. I know it's early, but where's the team banter? Anyone up for a game of pool or something? Oi, Patters? Kowski?'
Don't,' Conor barked jokingly at the two lads next to him, getting slowly up from his seat and going to deposit his dirty cup and saucer at the kitchen counter. He's a terrible nightmare if he loses, which he pretty much always does...' He flashed a smug grin at the other England player, who was cackling cheerily at the complaint and potting balls randomly on his own, whilst the other guys loosely assembled around the games table.
Conor joined them, arms folded and his usual wry smile on his dark-stubbled features, watching as Pickford proceeded to showily dispose of each ball on the table, regardless of colour. He rolled his eyes at James to his right, and then joined Nathan in chatting amiably with the two injured lads, who he'd not really had much opportunity to meet since signing for the Toffees in summer.
Both young-ish defenders were immediately deferential and respectful as Coady spoke with them, matching the keen interest of everybody else at his arrival here - but fortunately not fucking about with any pressing questions about why he might ditch Wolverhampton. He was almost too modest and chilled to pick up on the obvious respect that the pair had for a more experienced Premier League and England defender, but not quite; he shrugged along and enjoyed the compliments from the two Everton regulars, which faded only as young Nathan interrupted with demands about the whereabouts of Dominic: was he really here to watch the game from the stands, or was that bollocks? Again, Tarkowski teased the Glaswegian, and bullying Pickford gladly joined in, chiding Patterson and making dismissive jokes about `Poster Boy' being too busy at Crewe Fashion Week.
He went off with Davies,' Ben muttered, a hulking broad-shouldered Yorkshireman pressing much of his weight into a single crutch. Been a while.' Pickford made a lewd whistling noise and Godfrey just sniggered nervously.
`If those two didn't joke on about being lovers so much, you might actually wonder it,' Mason added next to him, not sounding too serious on the matter, just leaning in over the pool table and twirling the nearby white-ball with a couple of dextrous fingers.
The Romeo and Romeo of Goodison Park,' the England No.1 was sniggering on the other side of the table, dropping the cue onto the baize with a dull thump, and flexing out his neck and shoulders before hopping aimlessly on the spot, apparently ready for a warm-up already. Two biggest posers in the fuckin' sport,' he added with the bland sneer of a traditional Mackem lad, too steeped in Sunderland convention to gel with the metrosexual future of football stars.
The gathering glanced to one side and called out their greetings as Idrissa and Neal drifted back in, but the topic of Dominic Calvert-Lewin seemed unshakeable from the group-think for now. I wanna meet him,' Nathan blurted honestly, giving James a sharp look, and I don't give a fuck if you take the piss out of me. Bloke's a bit of a legend already, ain't he? Everyone knows he's gonna take Everton places once he's fit.'
Like he did last season, and the one before, Conor thought critically, but he stopped himself, and patted Patterson affectionately on the shoulder. `Sure, let's go find him,' he said simply, taking the Scot's side before Tarkowski or Pickford could start berating him for turning fan-boy on the morning of a big game. Besides, he was curious about where DCL had gotten to, and was looking forward to that England reunion a lot more than his sparring banter with gurning Pickford.
Coady and Patterson left the rec room, followed at an idle distance by at least Tarkowski and Pickford, probably the slow-moving injured lads too; Conor again reassured Nathan that he would be making another start with them at the back of the squad today, deciding to inflate the Glaswegian lad's ego since he seemed so in thrall to more famous teammates at the minute - you needed a bit more self-belief and a little less starstruck if you were going to make it in the tough lower half of the Premiership, Conor knew.
`Don't go fawning over any fella who's been capped for his country, otherwise you'll never get looked at with respect,' he counselled the right-back as the pair of them stepped through another door, making their way through the changing areas of the Everton training camp, automatic lights clicking and buzzing on overhead, and the voices of the other guys drifting along behind them as they followed out of boredom.
`Right,' agreed Patterson tentatively, and Coady wondered if he was even listening.
You can hardly be an England fan anyway,' he muttered pointlessly at the 6ft youngster, shaking his head, and have you already been capped for Scotland at your age, or...?' His question fell short, the pair of them rounding a corner from one long galley of lockers to another, and pausing as their search found its easy conclusion.
There was Dominic Calvert-Lewin, sure enough, the big handsome forward stood to one side of the room, one arm lifted up and pressed at the elbow against the pale grey metal of the locker doors; his luxuriously curling hair scraped back from his face into a bushy ponytail, and his other hand lifted up against the face of the lad next to him, whose straggly blond locks were dragged into a similar knot too. The closeness of the two Everton players was immediately jarring and meaningful, stood there in momentary intimacy, Dominic in loose-fitting couture-looking trousers, tee and blazer, and Tom Davies clad in the same blue-shaded club tracksuit as Nathan here. The bodies of the two men jolted at the footsteps and instant sound of Nathan's `Hey!', and as they moved, the closeness of their position became all the more revealing - as 6ft2 Dominic lurched away from where he was leaning on the lockers, Conor's eyes flickered downwards, seeing that still one of Tom's hands was stuffed into the front of those baggy pastel-coloured suit trousers, retreating awkwardly from it as the men sprung apart and turned wild eyes this way.
Patterson's friendly and excited greeting died in his throat and, stood to Conor's left, the lad stared ahead with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, his tall muscular posture visibly deflated by what he was not sure he'd seen - and next to him, Coady kept a hand to the lad's shoulder, staring rapidly from the youth's gawping face and back to Tom's startling blue eyes and tight-lipped awkwardness, and then the terrified mask that was Dom's face.
`What the fuck were ya doin'?' barked Patterson with a mix of naive confusion and sharp accusation.
`What? What were they up to?!' That was Pickford's voice, he realised, with the goalkeeper and Tarkwoski having rounded the corner too, almost bumping into them as they stomped forward and entered the scene. Jordan thrust himself between Conor and Nathan, marching closer to the wide-eyed frightened faces of Tom and Dom. For a painful moment, nobody said anything, the Scouse midfielder just stepping a little closer to the lockers as if to disappear into one of them, and the tall striker straightening up and fiddling with the lapels of his loose blazer.
Conor could feel a pressure on himself to save the day, even if the pressure was only internal, the result of years' responsibility for other players, and from his weeks of wriggling out of his own embarrassing exposure this summer; he wasn't blind or stupid, and he'd seen what he'd seen. The closeness and intimacy of the bromance pair that he'd heard so many Everton lads joke casually about this past month - the brush of Dominic's long brown fingers against Tom's pale pink face.
He had his hand down his pants,' blurted Nathan before Conor could think, lifting a shaky hand and not quite pointing a witch hunt finger at the pair, but turning with desperate looks to first Conor and then Jordan, seemingly baffled. What the fuck?' he added simply. Jordan, Conor noticed, looked fucking DELIGHTED.
Another awkward silence loomed, but Tom Davies spoke quickly. I'm sorry,' he said, apparently to the locker-room as a whole, but then turning his blushing face back towards his taller friend. I'm sorry, Dominic, I got carried away.' The bigger man looked about to speak, hovering there in front of them, but Tom was turning his red-cheeked face this back way and shooting pleading looks at his unwanted audience. I admit it, I'm a gay, okay?' the 24-year-old Liverpudlian blurted in a trembling voice, hot with emotion. I'm- I'm- I'm gay, right, and I got the wrong end of the stick just now, tried it on with Dominic, not the first time, so-'
`What?!' yelped Pickford stupidly.
Conor squinted at the evident confusion on Calvert-Lewin's scrunched face, quickly picking up on the subterfuge here. He looked from that bewildered frown back to Tom's hot pink cheeks and shiny eyes. I'm so sorry,' he was babbling. Fuck, I always get confused, I'm sorry - I just got over-excited, cos of-'
`You're gay?' exclaimed James, looming behind Nathan, his face a pained look of comprehension, his voice full of not quite condemnation, but a surprise so great that Davies looked immediately mortified.
Something, apparently, went click inside Dominic's head, and he caught on to what Conor's shrewd eyes had already seen. He was taking another shaky step away from the blushing blond midfielder, and his face was suddenly a picture of anger rather than pity. Fuck's sake, Tom,' the Sheffield-born striker was yelling at him. How many times do I have to tell you not to try that, eh? Jesus, can't you keep your hands to yerself?'
Conor watched Tom's piteous shudder as he lowered his face and answered. I said I'm sorry, mate,' he said, his voice almost a whimper now, I just thought-' It pained Coady to watch the likeable young player throwing himself on his sword like this, but he could see what was going on - Davies was sacrificing his own rep here in front of the other men to protect what Coady guessed was his occasional lover at least, if not something slightly more. And big Dom was going along with it, quite loudly: `Fucking hell, Tom, how many times do I have to say No, mate?!'
Jesus,' exclaimed Tarkowksi awkwardly. Feck,' swore Patterson, mind blown.
So what, Tommy D here was after a taste of the striker before we get ready for the visitors, was he?' ranted Pickford, and Coady heard every drip of excitement in his voice - but he could only assume that the goalkeeper's intensity was about the potential banter and humiliation of it all, clueless to the lusty way that Jordan was now staring at their striker, their own shared past a secret to everybody else in the room. Dirty boy,' Jordan cackled, staring intensely at Tom now.
Don't be homophobic,' Conor grunted, driven by a mixture of justice and self-consciousness, elbowing loosely at Jordan's arm and then frowning across at both Nathan and James - but, fuck, not just those two, because the tracksuited figures of Mason and Ben had rounded the corner now, making them a real huddle of players, closing in on the awkward performance of Tom's humiliation and Dominic's outright denial. What's going on?' another voice demanded, and it wasn't even one of the injured two, but the strong French accent of Maupay, he and Gueye catching up - Conor could see the numbers registering on Tom's face, the shine of his eyes and the quiver of his lip, as a small scene of mortification spiralled wildly. Would the poor lad have thrown himself at their mercy like this if he knew just how many teammates were in the locker-room? Would he still have protected Dominic, who was now glaring at him as if he hadn't just been stroking his cheek.
`S-s-sorry...'
`Fuckin' hell, Tom!'
Conor butted in before anyone else did, taking a step forward. It's just a fucking blowie,' he said before he knew what he was doing, waving aimlessly at them and glaring at first Jordan and then James. There was a ripple of other voices: What's a blowie?' Maupay's French accent was demanding, and `Who's blowing off who?!' came an agonised yell from Godfrey, mingling with Patterson's dumb mumbling and the rattling snigger of Pickford.
Just a blowie?' Dominic retorted hesitantly, stood there between Conor and Tom, and both of them were staring now at the loan player, who just shrugged and laughed, turning appealingly to the rest of the huddle. Well, it's no biggie,' he laughed, registering the mixed facial expressions of the other players. Why the fuck am I doing this? What am I playing at? I don't owe these twats anything... But here he was, playing the hero.
As if none of you lot ever got a cheeky handjob off a mate when you were in the youth academy,' Coady continued expressively, choosing to direct his ire at Pickford in particular, confronting the smirking goalkeeper and then going as far as to prod a finger into his puffed chest. I bet most lads try it once, for fuck's sake.' He shrugged again, turning to stare cheerily at Tom, whose eyes he locked onto, willing the lad to go along with his gambit. Are you actually gay, or just curious?' he asked dismissively, and then, Dominic, you ought to just chill out a bit, if you ask me, or you'll be injuring yourself as soon as you get back to training, you nob-head.' Finally, he turned and winked at Nathan Patterson. What?' he barked at the lad. Don't they get up to any mischief north of the fucking border, kiddo?'
Tom, he realised, was speechless, a bit lost, but Dominic, thankfully, had caught on, and was giving an uncertain hollow laugh, fumbling with his tied-back hair and then peeling his baggy blazer away from his shoulders. What the fuck, then,' he announced, and Conor saw him try to smile confidently, but his eyes lined with worry - maybe I should give you a go on my dick, if you're so eager for it!' And saying this to his secret partner, the tall striker let out a mean laugh, playing his part, and squaring up to 5ft11 Davies.
Conor felt the solution click into place as Jordan's voice chimed in: `Well, if he's getting a blowie, I'm having one too, haha - right lads? Ha. Ha.' There was a forced awkwardness to him that surprised Coady, and a penny dropped somewhere: so, sleazy Pickford has definitely had a bit of this kinda fun before, huh?
Conor could hear an ambivalent murmuring in the voices and reactions of the others, this stupidly large gathering of witnesses now, as he threw a matey arm about Tom's shoulders by the lockers, and then looked demandingly at James, inwardly praying for support. What about you, Tarkowski, eh?' he called. Big lad like you must be used to the same attention as our Poster Boy here, haha. You getting your cock out for hungry Tom?' The 29-year-old Mancunian looked ambiguously horrified by the question, but he didn't have a chance to answer - the powerful presence of Calvert-Lewin, coming to the end of his rehab and almost at full fitness, pretty much elbowed Coady aside and grabbed Davies by the elbow.
Fuck that,' the forward announced, he's my best mate, I'm having first dibs.'
And with that, he took two strides and sat heavily down on the bench that lined the other wall, slipping his loose white t-shirt off his upper body in one movement, exposing the chiselled tan brown muscle of his pecs and abs, and parting his trousered legs whilst Tom stumbled into place between them, dropping obediently to his knees. In just one moment, Dominic had one hand over the blond lad's ponytail and was pushing his face down into his crotch, while Tom's shaky hands dragged those couture trousers across the thighs and knees to give him access to the dark green briefs beneath.
`Haha, brilliant,' came Pickford's assessment.
`Are they joking?' asked Godfrey in a low grumble.
Fuck this,' announced Idrissa Gueye, I'm getting out of this.' And that was that - the 32-year-old defensive midfielder was marching away with a shake of his head, and Conor felt the whole room become more tense - the African player was not to be taken in by ideas of casual experimentation and laddish banter, but how many of these other fellas would share his attitude...? Right, he thought, so much for staying well-behaved in my fresh start... and he began unbuckling his own jeans, then dragging his hooded top up and off, taking his khaki t-shirt with it, and baring a six-pack that almost matched up to Dom's.
Conor sat himself next to his new teammate on the bench after pushing his jeans to his knees, planting himself down there on one side of the striker, whose briefs were being kissed and nuzzled by Tom's bright red face. Coady slapped at one of DCL's thick thighs in a matey gesture, laughing and nudging him, seeing the gratitude in his alert eyes. `Alright lad, I hope you're gonna share,' he told him gruffly, then turned his wicked smile back on their audience - who, he realised with pleasure, were drawing in closer, all of them.
Come on,' barked Dominic, largely ignoring Conor, but staring down his impressive body at Tom, get your lips round it, like you were begging a minute ago, buddy! I thought you fuckin' wanted this?' Well, Conor thought, he's certainly happy to take this aggressive role - what IS going on between those two...?
But it was happening: Tom's fingers, his knuckles white and shaking, were taking hold of the designer briefs, and pulled them away, and - wow - he had Dom's wildly intimidating length in one hand, and then immediately in his mouth, lips closed about the veiny shaft, taking it in DEEP - oh, yes. Coady was reminded of Neto and his greedy lips, his grasping hands, his glittering playful eyes.
Dirty bastard,' cooed Pickford; Is this for real?' slurred Tarkowski; `Fuckin' hell!' boomed Patterson. And there was Mason Holgate, stuttering uncertainly forward, clutching at the bulge in the front of his skinny sweatpants, rubbing himself and chewing a lip hesitantly; behind him, Ben Godfrey still looked aghast, his face thunderous. But the gathering closed in, and between Dominic's powerful legs, his hand guided Tom's head up and down at rapid rhythm, and the stud smiled a bit more happily. Mad, Conor thought, that he'd looked like he might die of fright just five minutes ago.
Fuck it - he'd thrown himself into this mess, the least he deserved was a sucking off. Come on,' he grunted at Dom, pass him this way, I'm pretty horny this morning.' He had been feeling himself up through his white CKs already, so his cock was semi as he yanked them down his fluffy thighs and parted his legs - Calvert-Lewin laughed, nodded, and pushed Tom's pink face up off his great cock. For a moment, the blue-eyed Scouse boy just stared up at his first target with glossy eyes and wet lips, his devotion obvious to Coady; but then he was remembering the situation and shuffling this way, patted along by Dominic's big hand, and his mouth was quickly around Coady's stiffening member.
Fuck this,' he heard Godfrey shout, as if to leave, but then, Chill, bro,' from the other Yorkshire defender next to him, and Holgate was yanking him forward, still grasping his own sizeable bulge. It's just oral,' the Doncaster 25-year-old was muttering insistently, it doesn't really matter.'
`Sure,' Pickford agreed readily, and Coady realised that the goalie had his cock out, stood to one side of them, jerking himself off with his combat pants about his knees, and his t-shirt pulled halfway up his muscled tummy. Ah, the returning Scouser thought to himself, a little cock: that explains a lot.
They passed Tom Davies around, and to his credit, the long-haired sidekick took it well, his lips and tongue soft and attentive, just as Coady liked it. Feeling the lad's long hair didn't add any feminine touch, mind, and he couldn't help but compare his oral skills to his former regular sucker in the West Midlands. Still, he was reluctant to let the action stop as Pickford demanded his turn, and Dominic himself intervened and squeezed his lad on the shoulder, urging him to do so. Now Davies was on his knees facing the other way, leaning into nosh on the goalie's chubby little prick, and Conor felt a trembling Nathan sit down on his left beside him, cheeks red and eyes wide with fascination. Mason and Ben were sitting down on the far side of Dominic, and James still loitered on his feet, looking conflicted.
Apparently Pickford was also fixating on the centre-back's hesitation. What is it, James?' the Sunderland-born goalie threw at him. Did your lass already give you head before you drove in this morning, haha?' Thrusting his crotch into Tom's face, groaning showily, he added, `Lucky bastard if so, mate.'
Tarkowski's worried eyes flicked this way and Coady just smiled encouragingly at him; like Calvert-Lewin, he was sat comfortably back against the brick wall with his slippery cock in his hand, wanking himself off and wishing he still had Davies doing the job with his loving mouth.
Or,' Pickford continued obnoxiously, are you just intimidated by Dominic's big wang like these kids?' And he gestured stupidly at Holgate and Godfrey, seemingly unabashed about his own lesser equipment, which slid from Tom's lips now as he pushed the blond midfielder aside and towards the two injured lads on Dom's right.
Mason, his face sharp and eager, wasted no time in pulling his dick out of his sweatpants, giving it a few strokes and spitting into his hand, looking anxiously ahead as Tom shuffled forward on his knees and leaned in. `Go on, son,' Coady boomed enthusiastically, wondering just how much the cocksucker was enjoying this - would this be something of a fantasy come true for a gay lad in the Everton ranks, or did the blondie just wish he'd been left alone with Dominic's huge one...?
James was moving in closer, he saw, and on the bench at his side, Nathan was feeling himself in his trackies, leaning forward slightly to stare down the row, as Tom's head bobbed up and down, and Mason let out tell-tale groans of surprise and enjoyment. Oh come on,' the 25-year-old gasped, elbowing Ben - just get your nob out, this feels so fuckin' good, pal.' And despite the distressed expression on his face, the York-born centre-back was reaching into the front of his sweats, and lifting his other arm to scratch awkwardly at the back of his thick neck.
Yeah,' Jordan moaned in the background of the action, get your big black cock out, mate.'
`Watch it, Pickers,' Mason muttered at him, still feeding his meat to Tom's lips.
`It's Ben's turn,' Calvert-Lewin grunted authoritatively.
`I don't know,' Godfrey said, and his voice was a nervous whine.
Fine,' DCL snapped. Pass my best mate back here, and let him have what he wanted all along, yeah?' There was real relish in the dominant growl of the striker, whose big slippery dick kept attracting stares from the anxious eyes of the other horny men, and which Davies happily scrambled back to, falling between those awesome legs. Conor laughed appreciatively at this, patting his England mate on the thigh again. He knows what he wants, sure enough,' he chuckled, then nudged and smiled and at the Glaswegian. What's it gonna be, Patters, you want noshing off, do ya la'?'
Whilst Tom Davies noisily slurped on his lover's dick at the centre of the sleaze, Nathan gurned uncertainly back at Conor, then looked as if for approval at James, stood in front of them, hands on the hips of his jeans, his face an intense frown, eyes unreadable. Coady just gave him a wink and a shrug. `No pressure,' he said, just as one of Tom's wandering hands found and played with his sensitive cock, making him moan and twitch. Tom's slobbering lips were already commuting from the huge shapely head of Dom's cock, and arriving at Conor's slimmer curved weapon, which the midfield lad happily took to the back of his throat. He was obviously fairly experienced, and probably trained on the huge starting point of Dom's dong.
Fuck,' moaned Patterson softly. It won't make him gay if he does me?'
A scornful noise from Tarkowski. `For fuck's sake, guys, are we really this horny?'
I know I am,' Jordan Pickford laughed, still wanking himself off, and a throaty chortle from Mason Holgate chimed in his agreement: Oh just relax, what's a little wank between teammates? Nobody will know.'
`Nobody except the whole bunch of you!' James railed back, throwing his hands up in consternation, and taking one step away. But looking at him, the well-built Burnley centre-back and his new ally here at Everton... Conor thought that the front of his tight dark jeans looked pretty swollen and strained, as if parts of the big fella's body were reacting a bit differently to the scene than his conscience. Well, Coady thought, that was fair enough, remembering how tortured he'd been after what he did with Kane ages ago...
`I'm so fuckin' hard now, haha,' rattled Patterson, and Coady glanced back - sure enough, the 20-year-old was pulling himself out of his pants, a real short thick tool, already glistening with pre-cum as the foreskin was pulled back. Jesus, this kid was probably that hard just over meeting a famous striker, never mind this!
Tom went to it quickly, and their dirty gathering shifted around him - Dominic rose up to his feet, cutting a dominating central figure as the tallest of them, made to look taller by the mass of his tied hair, as he wanked his cock hard and stood impatiently behind Tom, joined close at his side by a hunched and eager Jordan. Mason was sidling over, wanking himself in long slow strokes, and his eyes alight with novelty. Ben hung back, playing with himself inside his sweatpants, and chewing his lip so much it would end up bleeding. And still James Tarkowski was off to the side, his face watching Nathan get blown, but with a very conflicted twist to his features, a look of surprise if not disgust.
How's that?' Coady panted at his young pal, nudging and grabbing Nathan's shoulder. The 20-year-old couldn't even answer, his head leaning back against the bricks, and his mouth a round O' of passionate silent moan, his shoulders stretched and chest puffed out. Tom's head lifted a little higher and his tongue swirled circles around the thick tip of Nathan's prick, and Conor laughed approvingly, taking hold of his cock and letting Tom's fingers trail down the dark fur of his left thigh.
`WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE?'
The new voice exploded through the scene, spreading between the horny men like wildfire. It came from behind James, who leapt to one side as if electrocuted, and his movement exposed the new audience who was watching them - arms folded, face screwed up in fury, and feet planted firmly apart in the posture he usually adopted on the sidelines during a tough league match. The middle-aged ex-midfielder was staring from one of them to another and when his furrowed brow and dark gaze fell on Conor Coady, the ex-Wolves captain was surprised his hard-on didn't immediately melt into a floppy in his hand - holy fuck, his new manager seeing him like this, and him the fucking ringleader of the whole sordid event, even if he HAD been trying to rescue to secret lovers...
Frank Lampard repeated himself. `What the fuck is this?'
It was Tarkowski who responded quickest, suddenly beside the 44-year-old Chelsea legend, grabbing at his shoulder through his navy blue polo shirt, the sleeves of which still looked tight about well-maintained arms on a slowly-going-to-seed athletic build. I tried to tell them, gaffer,' the Manc bloke muttered hurriedly, frantic with denial of the event, and I said this was a bit out of order, fucking idiots, and-'
Godfrey was yelping out too, variations on `I didn't let him do me!' as he jostled about behind Holgate and Pickford, but when Conor looked that way, he could see how rock-hard the 24-year-old was, his cock an impressive diagonal mound in the front of skinny-fit sweatpants. Whoa, he was probably as big as Calvert-Lewin down there.
The other guys, the lot of them who had willingly thrown themselves into this bit of fun, were silent, awkward - well, what could they say? Jordan had stopped wanking but still held his cock in his hand, his face red and shiny, chest heaving; Dominic himself was stooped a little awkwardly, as if in the process of scooping up and rescuing Tom, like he might launch into a sprint and carry the cock-sucking sub away from danger any second! And Nathan was rigid and pale, his dick exposed and shiny as Tom's mouth slid awkwardly away from it, hands clutching the Scot's knees. And Conor himself... just staring apprehensively back at Lamps, waiting for the old-school football icon to explode at them with more than just his outraged question. Fines? Exposure? Emergency contract expirations?
On a match day?' came Frank's next barked comment, but there was a laugh in his voice, and the 44-year-old former player was unfolding his thick arms and just shaking his head, then bursting out into more open laughter. Then he stepped forward. Come on then, Davies,' growled the older man, beginning to undo the belt of his black chino pants, and whipping down the zip as he neared the crouching blond. `You're not going to let your boss miss out on the fun, are you...?'
And just like that, Conor thought, the game was back on. He clutched at his still-hard cock and felt the shudder of relief run through all of his muscular 6ft1 frame, realising that of course things hadn't changed since the 90s; surely old Frank had been up to just this kinda nonsense at Chelsea or even in the England squad. The retro idea thrilled Coady more than he might have expected, and he found some comfort in the idea that his Pedro Neto disaster might have been experienced by some of his own football heroes.
Lampard growled and groaned even more loudly than any of them had, holding Tom's head in place and fucking his mouth, without removing his polo shirt or letting his chinos drop further than his thighs. The older man moved with a sleazy confidence, feeding his prick to the player's mouth, and moaning passionately as he did. Pickford, validated, was wanking himself into a frenzy, whilst Holgate and Calvert-Lewin were more tentative. Tarkowski, Conor suddenly thought, was gone, vanished - apparently, the involvement of their middle-aged manager was the straw that broke that camel's back, and Coady wondered if he'd be able to patch up that friendship now that his centre-back buddy had seen him in this delicate position.
Soon, they were unloading on Davies, one at a time. Pickford came first, shooting a surprisingly large and messy load against the side of the 24-year-old's face, even as he continued to enjoy Lampard's equipment; the gaffer actually groaned in disgust and gave the goalie a light slap for this, annoyed to have to look at a load dribbling on the mouth that was working his prick. And then it was Patterson, whose cock had barely had any attention, bringing himself to climax and his cum shooting in a violent arc so that it coated Tom's brow and nose, whilst the blond slut was shuffling from one dick to another, bringing his messy face back to Conor himself, stooping to taste and devour him.
Coady laughed merrily and reached out to other side, clamping his arms against the sweaty fabric of Nathan's t-shirt, and on the other side over the bare sweaty muscle of Dominic's shoulders, the striker sat back down. Conor closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the mouth that worked his cock, unfazed by the othe rmen's cum that must be dribbling onto his crotch as it happened: his own explosion of delight, filling the sub's mouth with his seed, cumming in a man's mouth for the first time in many weeks.
Post-orgasm, Conor watched the rest of it unfold in a daze... the way Tom crouched low and licked at Mason's big balls whilst the inexperienced man jacked off and then dumped string after string of spunk across his face and lips, slapping his thick brown member on those sticky cheeks and laughing happily as he did. Nobody else probably noticed the injured lad's pal, Ben, making a face as he came inside his pants, a wet patch forming down one inner leg, his seemingly massive member never being pulled free for anything more than this awkward frottage.
Tom's mouth back around the gaffer's cock, Lampard seeming to eye up Dominic in a challenging manner as he fucked Tom's throat - did the gaffer know something about the connection between these two then? Or suspect? Or did he just know that DCL as the alpha here, the one who needed to be challenged and faced down, so that Frank could stay their respected chief - there seemed to be so much meaning in his squinting glare, his hard-set body language, his sweat cheek and brow. For all his loud groans before, his moment of climax passed with just a throaty sigh, and Conor saw a dribble of his load leak free as cock and mouth separated.
The climax of it all: Dominic up on his feet once more, holding Tom's head in one hand, plunging his length in and out of that dirty mouth, taking full control of his bitch. Conor now felt pretty sure he understood the master-sub dynamic between these two, and wondered how long it had blazed behind the scenes. They'd been infamously close for years! A pair of fashion-mad young dudes together... He felt a surge of fondness for the pair, glad that he'd risked his own reputation to defend them like this, even if it had opened a whole can of worms.
Dominic groaned heavily and threw back his head, pecs glistening and arm muscles bulging, as he emptied himself into his boy's mouth, watched by the rest of them, and slurped to perfection by the quivering crouched form of his Tom, and the moment was so stupidly perfect that Conor found himself immediately applauding, slapping his hands together and wheezing out a satisfied laugh, set up for the rest of the day - he charged into the Liverpool derby with a fierce new determination, choosing not to dwell on the risks he'd taken around his own marriage, and just focusing on the brotherhood with his selected teammates. Even when his goal was VAR disallowed, he didn't reach a high of excitement or dismay that could compete with the drama in the morning locker-room; a draw against Klopp's side always felt like a win, and Coady ended the day in a good mood, sure that he was going to enjoy his Everton life.
His fellow newbies to the Toffees were more shell-shocked as the team cooled off in the changing rooms, listening to their gaffer in his debrief talk, congratulating them on their resilience and determination in holding Liverpool to a draw...
Nathan Patterson stared at the boss, unable to listen to his lecture, just thinking how mad it had been to see the older man march in among them and take over, engaging in that same risky business. The 20-year-old thought about how good it had felt to be sucked by Tom's mouth, glancing anxiously across the sweaty locker-room at the other player, who was leaning on a post with his arms hugging about his chest, a big jumper over his kit from sitting on the bench. How could that lad not mind sucking on all those cocks like that and being treated like a slut by all his friends?! Nathan's mind span, and he wondered whether this was something he could admit to his friends back in Glasgow.
Sat squarely next to him, hands on his sweaty thighs and eyes staring into the middle-distance, James Tarkowski wasn't really thinking about the kink and shock of what he'd witnessed and discovered - the revelation about how fluid and adventurous his new mates were was second to a different idea in his head. He'd been quick to deny his involvement and slam the others, hadn't he...? He'd yelled at the others for their dodgy behaviour, and yet it was obvious that the gaffer was into that same sort of mad shit...! The idea that was giving the Mancunian a headache as he sat and sweated in that team talk was the question of how the manager might look at him now, the spoilsport who wouldn't take part in that, in that, in that... filth. Tarkowski frowned and turned his uncertain gaze on the manager as he wound up his speech.
Stood close by this pair, still clutching his gloves in one hand and a water bottle in the other, Jordan Pickford just smirked and caught his breath, still buzzing from the events of the morning - he thought he'd still be thinking about it when he was fucking his wife tonight at home, that the imagery of it all would make him hard as a rock all night long, and he just hoped she would be in the same randy mood! Maybe he could try again and get one of the hung black lads to join them for a threesome, like that brilliant time in the past...
And elsewhere in the damp heat of the room, as the debrief ended and the Everton men began to peel off more kit and disappear into the steam of the showers, two players were particularly cautious about exposing themselves: Gueye and Maupay, shooting suspicious looks in all directions, wondering how many of their colleagues were into sucking each other's dicks.
Disappearing from the home changing rooms, the injured players who hadn't even been on the bench separated from the active squad, loping through the tunnel at different paces, and heading already for the car park where they would either join the coach of players back to the training camp, or pick up different transport to get them straight home... Ben Godfrey was set on the latter, marching through the stadium as quickly as his crutch and limp would allow him, and ignoring a few friendly shouts from behind. Hey,' Mason Holgate called, wait up - shall we get a pint, mate? Mate? Mate...?'
Later that afternoon, in the car park of the Everton training ground, in the front seats of Dominic's car: his hand resting on Tom's on the console between driver and passenger, whispered exclamations passing from footballer to footballer. And then the two lovers bursting into mad laughter, feeling the mixed relief and panic of what had gone on, what had and hadn't been revealed, and more than anything else, the unforgettable sight of Frank Lampard striding into the fray.
I was so turned on,' sniggered Tom Davies, rubbing at his cheeks and then running his fingers through his loose hair. Could hardly believe it. Sucking off the boss like that, haha. What the ACTUAL fuck...?!'
Next to him, staring out of the windscreen and taking his time before starting the engine, a slightly different thoughtful expression on the face of Calvert-Lewin, lounged back in his driver's seat, hands dangling now on the crotch of his loose trousers, in which his dormant cock rested in those designer briefs. Yeah,' he said uncertain. That was pretty mad.' He was thinking about the challenging look on the gaffer's face as he pushed his cock into Tom's mouth, trying to assert himself as top dog; Dom didn't like that, didn't like it at all. Sharing his boy with the other players had been one thing, a necessary game, and yet the arrival of the boss had made it something different... and he wasn't sure it was a dynamic he was going to be able to accept.
He realised that Davies was talking to him and shook himself out of the daze. He smiled caringly at the other player, starting up the engine and reaching back to squeeze his hand. What do you think?' Tom demanded breathlessly, and Dominic realised that he'd missed the important previous question - his submissive boyfriend stared at him, and then repeated it. Do you think those lads will be okay with me when we get into training on Monday...?'
The 25-year-old striker scoffed, reversing them out of the parking spot. Just let them try and not be,' he snapped firmly, and they'll soon know about it.'
Dominic's car zipped out of the campus, watched by one of the tinted windows on the top floor of the main building. Frank Lampard fondled himself loosely through the front of his chinos, still in his office even after dismissing all of the players and staff, and frowning a little in the low September sunshine of evening. Flash by flash, the sexy lads and bare cocks of the morning scene flowed through his excited head, and the Londoner gently licked his lips, wishing they were all here in his office with him.
In one of his hands, his phone began to vibrate, the expected and awaited call finally coming through. Recovering from his cock-hungry reverie, the Chelsea hero lifted the device up to his ear, eyes still on the car park gates, watching one vehicle depart after another. He clicked the screen and answered the call.
Well done on the draw,' growled the other Cockney voice on the line, and Frank thanked him quietly, his thoughts distracted. Tomorrow,' grunted the voice of John Terry, and the 44-year-old shivered all over in anticipation. I've booked a place. I'll see you at midday.' A long pause filled with their heavy breathing and then, I'm bringing the ropes again. Okay?'
`Yes,' Lamps whispered down the line with a tremble, thinking about the things his teammate and dominator could do to him once he was tied up, and squeezing his bulge a little more firmly through his pants.
What is it?' JT grunted impatiently at him. You seem... different.'
`Nothing,' Frank murmured.
`You can make tomorrow, yep? I'm not driving up there for no reason, am I? Franko?'
Frank was nodding slowly, and then realised that John couldn't see that. I'll be there,' he promised in a breathy voice. I can't wait.' The line cut, the call over, no affectionate goodbyes from his best mate, and Lampard knew that today was just a warm-up for what tomorrow could bring.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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