Part 321: Stir Fry
The buzzer rang and interrupted him just as he was about to finish prepping the vegetables, and he hadn't realised how tense he was with expectation until the edge of the sharp blade made a tiny nick in one of his fingers a he started at the abrupt noise; it was only a tiny mark and he scoffed bashfully at his own clumsiness and apparent nerves, before chucking the kitchen knife into the soapy depths of the sink and stepping out of the open-plan kitchen to travel through the spacious apartment. Cursing himself, the 19-year-old football starlet shook his left hand and willed away the little jab of pain, then pressed the hand into his side as a fist as he reached the intercom and tapped at a couple of buttons to unlock both the outer and inner entrances that would lead his visitor up through the luxury complex on the hills outside of Barcelona.
This still gave him a minute or two to hurry back into the huge sparkling kitchenette of his flat and wash a little blood away from his finger under the tap, glance about nervously at the dinner prep, and then hurry back to open the door and wait on the landing by the entrance to his penthouse. By now, Pedri's guest was already halfway up the last short flight of steps, and the other teen footballer lifted his head - their eyes met and both youngsters smiled instinctively. The smile lit up Pablo Gavira's naturally serious face, the 18-year-old's thick brown brows tilting and his eyes sparkling with happiness to get here, and Pedro Lopez returned the look with a slight sense of bewilderment at how someone could feel so happy to see him, just simple old him.
And then the 18-year-old fellow midfielder was up on the landing and Pedri was grasping him in a brief hug, the kind of simple laddish embrace any pair of footballers might share on the pitch, and no onlooker would have been able to sense the greater intimacy that lay underneath their teenage bromance. `Come in,' Pedri said quickly, ushering the marginally shorted 5ft8 teen in through the tall doorway and into his apartment, hastily shutting the door behind them.
It wasn't often that Pedri got the place to himself, even after splashing out on this expensive penthouse earlier in the year. He shared it with an older cousin and two close friends from back home in Tenerife, partly at the insistence of his parents and his agent, and though his close teammate buddy was here often for games nights and hang-outs before or after training, it was not somewhere they'd been able to spend any time alone so far - for that, it had ended up being discreet sleepovers at the Gavira villa, where the wholesome backdrop of the 18-year-old's family felt strangely less risky than the nosy eyes of Pedri's own young entourage.
But tonight was a rare treat: Pedri had supplied his flatmates with tickets to a Latin music star's concert in the coastal city, but then faked a little sickness to get out of the trip, and thus the apartment he owned actually felt like HIS.
The two boys had spent much of the day together in training, prepping for tomorrow's home game against Inter Milan in the Champions League... only a couple of hours had passed since Pedri dropped the younger player off at his home, grinning sheepishly at each other as they negotiated the time for their private dinner, and been waved off the driveway by Gavi's unsuspecting family. Still, they hugged each other again, Pedri really squeezing his strong lean arms about the slightly thicker body of the other central midfielder, and planting a single peck of a kiss on one of his soft cheeks, before retreating into the kitchen area and beginning to pour drinks for them.
`What are we having?' Gavi asked. He'd pushed his hands into the pockets of his chunky grey sweatpants, kicking off his trainers and trailing his white-socked feet over the shining floor tiles. A dark blue polo shirt draped from his increasingly muscular upper body, and his chestnut hair was a little tousled by Pedri's hand as they had hugged. His natural smile of joy outside had shifted to a more anxious grin, the resting worry face that seemingly always lined his boyish features.
Stir fry,' Pedri told him self-consciously. Recipe off mum. Hope it's good.' He lifted his head and grinned almost manically at the other teen. `I've made non-alcoholic cocktails, ha. Fake mojitos. I think they're quite cool.' He flashed a broader smile at Pedri as he poured them, trying to gauge the 18-year-old's reaction to this flashy little effort - he wasn't sure that Gavi looked especially impressed, and he approached him almost skulkingly as he pressed one icy glass into the tanned hand of the other Spanish player.
`Cool,' Gavi said simply, and he sucked on the metal straw. They both did, eyes meeting, and then both laughing quietly; they were both a bit nervous, it seemed, at the adult aloneness of their night in, rather than loitering in the background of one of their families, or stealing risky little moments close together at the end of Nou Camp visits.
`Is it nice?' Pedri asked.
`It's... different.'
`Okay, it sucks.'
`No! Just... haha. I dunno. I'm not sure I like mojitos. Sorry.'
Pedri blushed and took the glass back. `I'll pour it away, it's rubbish - I'm sorry, I thought it would be cool.' He moved quickly and fussily, embarrassed now and casting judgmental eyes against his own food prep on the counters, the sliced vegetables and meat that would be thrown into the wok as soon as he was ready - he was a typical 19-year-old lad and not quite at home in a kitchen, and the privileged bubble of his talent had made him even less domesticated than most. He'd really psyched himself up to do some cooking for them both tonight, feeling a need to impress and reassure his best pal after a few cancelled hangouts where his busy schedule had kept him away from the other teen.
The Tenerifian football prodigy huffed out a little pant of stress and surveyed the neatly arranged chaos of his cooking efforts, wondering if he should have called on his private chef instead, or looked up local takeaway options, or-
He felt one of Gavi's hands against his side, sliding in against where his own hand rested above his hips, and suddenly the other midfielder was right next to him, cosying up against his slim-fit black t-shirt, and leaning his cheek against his shoulder. It looks great,' his friend told him in a quietly apologetic voice. Thanks for going to this effort.'
Pedri lifted one arm and draped it about Gavi's shoulders, holding him at his side and blushing some more, self-conscious of how obvious and unnatural the effort was, the wannabe chef that he'd psyched himself into for the evening, and still tasting the bitter mess of the attempted mocktail in his mouth. Gavi squeezed at his side and he laughed awkwardly at himself. Who am I kidding, I'll probably set the place on fire,' he murmured, still staring at the little side-bowls of chopped veg, and the shiny greased interior of the black wok waiting on top of the range. What will you drink instead...?'
`Huh. I know we shouldn't, but... a beer?' Their eyes met again, a lingering and warm look, and Pedri nodded his semi-rebellious agreement, before slipping away and removing two beer bottles from the fridge. When he had done opening them, he felt Gavi cuddle against him, this time from behind. He loved the warm thickness of developing muscles that pressed against his back and side, the closeness and friendliness of Gavi's presence, and that he could enjoy it here in his own prized home - how many times this year had they just had to share lingering, wistful looks across the seating of this penthouse, stuck with a cluster of friends or family, and wanting to sneak away and rip each other's clothes off with their teeth...?
He supped one Estrella bottle and pushed the other into Gavi's hand, and turned to hug him back, pulling him close and planting another light peck of a kiss on the side of his face, more the kiss of a benevolent relative than of two boys who had enjoyed the moments they had... but he felt prim and reserved in here, even though they were alone, as if his crew of flatmates would return from the concert at any moment, or Gavi would have been followed here by half a dozen other Barca stars...
But Gavi, he found, was a little more relaxed: as they stood face to face, beers in hand, he felt the other boy's free hand brushing at the front of the skimpy running shorts he was wearing, finding the draped hang of his cock and balls in the rustling nylon, and rubbing gently up and down. He grinned excitedly at this pre-dinner contact, and took another sip of beer, then pressed his beery lips against Gavi's in a proper kiss at last, a snog that connected tongue to tongue, and was accompanied by a firmer grab and rub of the other lad's hand at his crotch.
Mmm,' Pedri sighed. Thank you for coming over, buddy.' It sounded anodyne and silly, but he meant it, and for a moment he didn't want anything more, anything physical, he just wanted to cuddle the pretty boy and roll over to one of the sofas and collapse onto it in front of a documentary - but Gavi's hand was insistent and greedy, and the expression on the 18-year-old's face had the gritty determination he wore when arguing with a defender twice his age and a referee three times it.
`I'm not hungry yet,' young Pablo informed him simply, and that was that.
In the large master bedroom of the apartment, its windows too high and secluded to need covering up with blinds, Gavi was getting to exactly what he wanted. Pedri's skimpy runner shorts and the black boxer briefs that had lingered beneath them were both in a heap on the floor somewhere, and he had his face between the furry tanned skin of the 19-year-old's inner thighs, his mouth a wide circle about the firm shaft of his lad's beautiful prick.
Pedri was resting back against the mounded pillows of the huge bed and its lothario silk sheets, his top also peeled off away from the lean tan muscle of his torso and arms, and that sexy dark stubble framing his mischievous sharp features; but Gavi was pressed on his front, fully dressed, lying across the bed so that he could be face-down between the legs, tonguing and kissing at his prize. He took inch after inch of the hot cock into his soft thick lips, increasingly confident in doing so without a noisy gag or losing control of his breathing. His hands he rubbed up and down the insides of Pedri's thighs, loving the feel of that iron muscle and the little tickle of trimmed leg hair there. His muscular front and his stiff crotch rubbed uncomfortably against the bedding as he lay there, focused only on the important task of sucking off his host.
Gratifyingly, Pedri gasped and moaned, not suppressing noise like he did when Gavi was blowing him at his place, both of them terrified of alerting any of the Gaviras. The 18-year-old loved to hear this noise, the soft moans and half-formed words, the sounds of pure relaxed enjoyment from the young icon, his best mate and now lover, the guy who occupied so much of his brain, so much of his energy.
He gladly relaxed his own control as Pedri's hands wrapped about his fluffy hair and the back of his neck and became a bit more forceful, pushing more of his cock into his hungry mouth. He gagged then, couldn't help it, and he always felt a bit embarrassed and stupid when that happened, but Pedri seemed to like it, just moaning more and telling him `Good boy, good boy' in their shared whispery Spanish.
Pedri stopped this, parting stiff cock from wet lips only long enough to grab at the shoulders and tug off Gavi's own polo shirt, chucking it away to join the other garments on the bedroom floor, and then tilting his hips so that he could run fingers through Gavi's hair and push his face down to fuck into his mouth. Gavi breathed deeply and did his best not to choke on it: as he got more confident and secure in sucking this beautiful dick, the more rough and pressing Pedri became in response, losing his usual reserve and gentleness and really forcing his long curved weapon in against his throat and sometimes making him splutter and get a sore throat for days, though he never dared complain.
They shifted position again, Gavi pressed down onto his back with his head sliding between to pillows, and Pedri actually straddling his shoulders with his dick angled down; the Spain starlet seemed to grip the expansive headboard and angle his strong young body to thrust down and fill Gavi's mouth with cock, the force and angle of it making him really gag and his eyes water a little, until Pedri's Good boyyyy' turned into a yelped Sorry buddy' and another shift of position. Pedri whispered another apology as he kissed him on the cheek and stroked his broad smooth chest, tumbling down over him, seeking a new position and a new way to have his dripping wet prick pleasured, whilst Gavi gasped for air and cleared his throat, blushing at the tears that had welled up on his lashes.
Insatiably horny, the young midfielder pushed down the front of his sweats and felt his shorter thicker erection through the skin-tight gunmetal of his Under-Armour pants, his dick aching to be out and held. He dipped his head to lick the dark-pink head of Pedri's curved cock, enjoying the rough brush of fingers through his fringe and against his ears, then gasping as he was pulled in for another rougher treatment, the cock plunging back over his tongue and filling his mouth up. An aggressive grunt from the 19-year-old drove him wild and he peeled back the elastic to take his own cock out in hand and jerk it furiously, wriggling his strong legs so that the layers of clothing stretched down his upper thighs.
The teenage bodies parted in another moment of gasping relish, both of them shifting to find comfort and support on the silken sheets and the little cliff-face of pillows; Gavi squeezed the base of his freed cock, holding it there at an angle, and grinning excitedly at the lad next to him, whose hand was roving over his tummy, almost reaching for it. Pedri had wanked him off before, most memorably in the stadium showers, but he didn't always touch it directly, not these last few times; Gavi longed for his member to be held and attended to, and he found himself staring at the little lick of the lips and the long curved mouth that split Pedri's handsome face in half. Their eyes met, and the darker-featured Spanish boy was looking downwards, and Gavi felt a surge of impatient excitement - he would feel those thin lips on it, he'd push Pedri's face down between his own thick leg muscles, and... No. Pedri's shady eyes darted up and down and he looked uncomfortable, and Gavi was reminded that this secret fun between them was quite one-way... he was the one who did the wanking and sucking, and Pedri's ecstatic moans were his only repayment, mostly.
He made a smile cover his face, rather than the instant frown, and pushed down the little wave of injustice that welled in his bare chest. After all, he didn't really mind, did he? He enjoyed this, he'd been so eager to get into those shorts and suck off the other player, so... He averted his eyes and stroked the wet skin of Pedri's dick, readying himself to plunge down and take it once more between his mouth.
Unbidden, thoughts returned to him from earlier in the day, thoughts from the afternoon rain showers at the training camp - he'd been watching Pedri from a close distance, unable to stop his eyes tracking the dark-haired and impish charisma of his bestie, often at the centre of any action or camaraderie in the Barcelona side. But for some reason today, Gavi had found himself pouting and frowning, watching over the training field as Pedri bantered and wrestled with a cluster of their bigger, older teammates - one minute the central mid player was being hugged and pushed by Lewandowski, the next being briefly lifted and pushed about by Raphinha or Alonso. Then, and this was the bit where Pablo's stomach had done a somersault, there was one of Memphis Depay's stupidly muscular arms curled about Pedri's neck as he hugged him side-on, and whispered something in his ear... probably just a joke or bit of team gossip, but from here it looked far too intimate, too familiar.
Even as he thought them, Gavi knew the ideas were ridiculous: Pedro probably prefers playing about with those guys, those bigger lads who are a bit more experienced and confident in themselves, who've strutted out for their countries and aren't stuck living at home with their parents like kids, or- And even more stupid, but not entering his head for the first time: I wonder if he'd be different if he was getting it on with Memphis on the sly, I wonder if it would be a different vibe to what we do. Standing there in the light blustery warmth of the Spanish afternoon, Gavi watched Depay shake Pedri's shoulders and questioned whether his friend might actually suck on the obnoxious Dutchman's prick for him in return for some attention. He'd mentally pictured their hot tub experience in Australia a number of times since Pedri shyly admitted it to him, and he felt unfairly jealous, given that he too had held a little encounter with a teammate in the same summer of distance between the teenagers.
In seconds, Memphis and Pedri were nowhere near each other, and the 19-year-old was just doing keep-ups with a ball and paying no attention to anything but his own fancy footwork. Gavi was getting shoved in the shoulder by Fatu and told to get moving, and he replayed his own mad thoughts in his head, annoyed at himself but unable to answer or delete the question: Was it just him? Was he too much of a kid, or not hot enough? Would Pedri be different if he was playing about with a different kinda guy, would he treat them differently? They were so close and yet he was stuck in a certain role, he guessed, where he was supposed to do this dirty deed of sucking off, and just handle his own erections alone, and it made him wonder what the hell was happening!
But then Gavi was mentally back in the room, and his cheeks burned scarlet. He felt silly, getting distracted by such a moment's paranoid fantasy, and ruining his own enjoyment of a night in together that he had been looking forward to for over a week. Gavi could never hide his feelings well and his pouting face must have shown his resentment, because Pedri's brows were knitted and he was reaching out a hand to stroke his thumb along his chin and jawline, very tenderly.
Gavi was trying to smile and shrug off the doubt, but he felt insecure and stupid, just a boy and not a man to his friend here, picturing the likes of Busquets and the intimidating Pique, and feeling sure that he really was just the least powerful and impressive specimen in the Barca squad, and that surely Pedro saw it like that, looked down on him as a runt.
`Hey,' murmured Pedri's voice, cutting across his thoughts, and suddenly one of those tender hands was on his cock, rubbing up and down the length, and Gavi couldn't help but shudder in delight at the rare contact, the reciprocation of it, even if it wasn't quite the full attention that he deeply craved.
Pedri had been able to read his friend's face for most of their friendship, and it was even easier when they were in such an intimate position. He could see the sad disappointment and growing resentment in Gavi's eyes and the set of his mouth, and he reached instinctively for his thick pink cock to stroke and hold it, as if that bit of touch would make up for it all, and equalise something unsaid between them; not just the loving wet blowjobs, but the quiet admission of feelings that had gone unobserved between them at the start of this adventure.
And for a moment, the 19-year-old football ace thought he might actually do it. He leaned over, pupshing Gavi further back into the pillows, and kissed him twice in the centre of the stomach, inches above his navel. He patted at the side of one thick thigh and pushed the undies and sweatpants further down past his knees. And then he hung over the middle of the teen's body and stared at his dick, the thick rod that emerged from his tufty pubes and tightly-nestled balls. He stared it in the eye, but shuddered. He just couldn't. Something about the sight or smell of it, something just felt still so wrong to him, even though he would so willingly push himself into Gavi's mouth and use it like a toy!
He felt the push of momentum, the need to escalate their special time together, and the need to repay this beautiful boy for the way he constantly served his cock like an altar... but he couldn't make himself. Couldn't open his lips and pull in closer, reach out his tongue to try the taste of it - it still made him feel a little bit sick and almost killed the throb of his own erection as it slapped at one of his thighs in a shift of his slim 5ft8 body. Only almost. It still raged and he felt Gavi's fingers reach back for it, trying to move on from the moment of awkwardness; but as Pedri retreated his tight-lipped smile from the outline of Gavi's cock, his eyes flickered to one side and they met gazes, and a grim understanding passed between them. Gavi could see that he was almost disgusted by the thought of it, and Pedri could see how much this reality stung at the younger lad, who had just gobbled down on him and been brought to tears by his rough thrusting. Fucking hell.
Just like Gavira, Pedri's thoughts wandered nervously: back to another moment in today's Barca training camp, where spirits were high and everybody was nervously eager for the Inter Milan game tomorrow night to progress further into the UCL.
But unlike Gavi, Pedri wasn't thinking about the way he often watched his friend on the pitch or in the gym, though he did exactly the same, and sometimes felt the same sting of envy when he saw other lads getting close or tactile with the grumpy-faced pretty boy. No. The 19-year-old was thinking about a stray moment of banter during the cool-down phase, as he was shooting a few hoops with some others, and becoming deliberately obnoxious in his celebration poses as he whipped the arses of three older players without putting much effort into the graceful and accurate moves. After another easy finish, he'd turned and stuck his tongue out at the other guys, a silly gesture he sometimes ventured to after a football goal too, though he had other preferred celebratory gestures for the home crowds who worshipped him already.
It had been Hector Bellerin who shouted it at him, he thought, though the others quickly picked up on the idea, and made similarly crude comments to him in the following moments: Put that monster away, you little creep - it's no wonder he's got the most Instagram followers here, showing off that disgusting XXL tongue in front of the fan-girls all the time...!' and then Do you do exercises to stretch it or something, you nutter?' and lastly, `Lil Pedrinho here must make them SQUEAL with that thing, creepy little fucker...!'
All just good-spirited humour about the length of the tongue he was sticking out, but it had made the teenager turn beetroot and immediately swallow it back into his mouth, losing interest in the basketball fracas and head away from the others to finish off his exercise plan. He hated to be objectified and sexualised like that by guys who didn't know shit about him, although this was probably due to some simmering paranoia that others might start to guess at the full nature of his close friendship with Gavi. Even when Bellerin, who had started the joke, took him by the shoulder and gave him a concerned smile - `Hey, sorry, did I offend you there, bro...?' - he made an unconvincing laugh and stalked off, wondering if he DID have a weirdly long or odd-looking tongue after all.
As he did his last few reps on a fitness station, away from those guys, he did think about one of his first fumbling encounters with a short-lived girlfriend two summers ago, when he'd tried to go down on her at a sleepover. You're not using it right,' the slightly older girl, a local model, had snapped at him as he buried his face between her bony limbs and slid his long tongue across her crease; for fuck's sake, all that tongue and you don't know what to do with it?' the girl, who he only dated for a month, had said irritably, but then he had re-thought his technique and shut her up with a few delicate flicks of said appendage. A few sweaty minutes later, she'd been screaming, and he'd felt her vulva get wetter and wetter, and he'd smugly decided that he DID know what to do with it after all...!
All of this returned to him now, curled alongside the other teen on the bed, feeling Gavi's hesitant fingers on the damp veins of his arcing cock, and a sudden idea taking him away from the prospect that he wasn't willing to entertain; he couldn't bring himself to try sucking a dick and breaking that boundary, but he DID know how to use his weirdly long tongue, those remembered screams and the stupid coarse banter of his older teammates told him so, and maybe, just maybe, could that help him here...?
He pushed the flat of one hand against the bottom of one of Gavi's dense thighs, pushing it so that the legs parted and lifted more, and the thick weight of the lad's neglected cock slapped back against the bottom of his abs. His balls were a tight mound beneath, and then past that, the almost hairless gooch, and then... as he pushed him into a tighter angle, he exposed the swell of tanned cheeks and the darker furrow between them, which smelled fresh and soapy, either from the showers of the training buildings or a hurried wash whilst Gavi was getting changed at home. Pedri didn't stop to decide which. He was gripped by a sort of panicked inspiration, and a need to prove himself, and in seconds he was ducking his face forward and low, beneath the bulge of balls, and darting his tongue against the skin of his friend's gooch - and then lower.
Gavi's mouth opened in a tight O of surprise, and he let his body be pushed back into the pillows and the rustle of silk; he felt one of Pedri's hands pushing roughly against the underside of each thigh, spreading his legs more. More importantly, he felt the wet stroke of a tongue-tip on his perineum, and then sliding into the downy hair of his crack; he couldn't even let out a sound, he was so startled. He just lay there, arms spread out either side, and his head knocking very gently at the wood of the headboard, and felt that snaking strength enter the crack between his muscular cheeks - a wet sensation running down the insides of the cheeks and tickling against his most intimate spot of skin, oh hell.
The 18-year-old, who was not stupidly naive, but had only the roughest estimation of what real gay sex actually involved, was taken by surprise. The word `rimming', or its Spanish incarnation anyway, was not in his vocabulary, and not really an idea that had been introduced to his sheltered teenage life. If the notion of he and Pedri ever doing anything anal had ever once entered into his head, it was a distant concept that the footballer lad would have suppressed urgently, not wishing to get ahead of himself, or to admit quite what this was: a steamy love affair. Except now he had a tongue against his bumhole, and the sensations were like pure electricity coursing over his skin and through the entirety of his 5ft8 build.
Pedri, holding him still by the thighs, dragged him forward a bit, off the pillows, and pushed his legs even higher into the air. This apparently gave the other teen a better angle, better access, and... oh fuck, oh wow.
Now Gavi did make noise: a series of low grunting gasps followed by a thin wail of `Ohhhh baby', as he felt the strange wet strength muscle against his knotted little rosebud, and up and down the lightly haired skin of his arse-crack. Over and over, Pedri licked him, stopping every thirty seconds or so to spit heavily against him, and then plant little nipping kisses on the curve of either buttock. His fingers and thumbs dug almost painfully in where they gripped the sides of Gavi's legs, but he didn't notice that until he found the bruises later on; right now, all he could feel was that wet sensation, that touch that was at once delicate and forceful, and entirely fucking novel.
He gasped and whined and hooked his own fingers under his knees, feeling how clammy his smooth skin had become, and held himself like that, legs akimbo and upright, arse exposed against Pedri's face. Scratchy little tickles irritated his skin as Pedri's dark stubbled roughed against him, but that too went unnoticed, compared to the throbbing sensation in his hole and the tingle of his cheeks, and the way his cock now leaked pre-cum against the fluffy trail below his belly button.
The action paused. Pedri had pulled away, though he still held him by the legs, and their eyes met over the draped mound of Gavi's privates. Pedri's eyes were dark and bright at once, his expression unclear; his stubble above his lips and on his chin was a little wet with his own spit and a loose lighter brown hair was stuck at the side of his mouth like a crumb, a curled one that must be from the downy fluff between his own tingling cheeks. For a moment, they held each other's uncertain gaze, and Gavi had no idea at all what his lover was thinking - but just as he was about to speak, it began again, and this time it was different. Pedri wasn't just licking his crack or kissing his cheeks. His tongue, which felt like a limb of its own, was prodding meaningfully at the knotted little muscle of his entrance, poking and wetting it and making him think terrifying new thoughts about what they might get up to in future, thoughts so alarming and fresh that they almost killed his boner. Only almost.
And then he heard it, the muttered speech slashing through his lavender haze, and hardly registering with meaning until it was repeated a bit more loudly and commandingly. He stared at Pedri, still not quite processing the grunted instruction, as the other lad pulled away and sank down onto the bedding, rolling over. `Sit on my face,' growled Pedro Lopez for a third time, and Gavi's body obeyed.
Lopez didn't really know what he was doing; he'd heard lads make comments about `eating ass' for years, but he'd somehow thought it was just a turn of phrase. In his own relatively limited sex life, he'd not had cause to wonder why a guy might go exploring the wrong entrance instead of a girl's vagina. This had never been part of the plan.
The skin tasted oddly nice to him, something scrubbed clean and fresh about every part of Gavi, and he liked the feel of the firm muscular cheeks, the little tickle of hair on his face. The sensation of it was weird, but not so unlike going down on a girlfriend, not really - the pants and shakes it seemed to cause in his best friend's body were familiar, reminding him of the squeals that day as he tongued at the girl who'd challenged his competence.
But now he was going deeper, and he didn't really know if he was allowed to do that - was this normal and okay? Was Gavi actually enjoying it? Should he be doing it?
He was on his back, naked but for the white ankle socks on his feet, and he had Gavi squatting right over him. Even in this new position his hands were clamped to the sides of meaty thighs, holding Gavi in place where he squatted, and the boy's bare bum pressed down over his face so that he could barely breath - he lifted his neck muscles and lapped his tongue against the hole, feeling that tight knotty spot change and relax. If he really concentrated and pushed, it was like he was sliding his tongue between the lips of a vag, and eating out the arse like he would a cunt, which he had quickly realised was one of his early strengths in the whole lovemaking malarkey.
Overhead, Gavi's voice assuaged his doubts: `Ohhhh god, ohhh baby, ohhh that's it' and more. The tension in the bent legs that jutted out to other side of his shoulders rattled against his gripping hands and he tried to believe that was out of enjoyment rather than panic or disapproval. Really, he didn't think much at all, he just shoved his tongue against the wet tightness between Gavi's plump cheeks and did what he did to any girl he liked, something more wet and natural to him than trying to put a strange object in his mouth. As he did so, his own dick ached and leaked, perpendicular to the flat rest of his six-pack and the stretched posture of his hairy legs.
He didn't mean to initiate the 69 position. He was actually just trying to spread the firm melons of Gavi's glutes further apart and to bring the squatting ass closer into his sweaty, rough-stubbled face; but in doing so, he bent his boy forward until Gavi was lying atop him, and suddenly that soft beautiful mouth was back around his cock, and they were working in unison. Pedri held the cheeks apart with bruising strength and flicked his tongue back and forth over the tight little cunt, and Gavi's mouth enveloped and explored the head and shaft of his aching cock, working him closer and closer until he knew he would cum any second.
Gavi took every drop of it, or tried to - much of the gooey treat spilled over his pouting lips and oozed down his lightly haired chin, dropping in flecks against the dark-haired skin of Pedri's inner thighs. He swallowed the salty load and sucked in air, feeling so excited and breathless that he might pass out. The wet poking feeling on his hole had stopped but he could feel Pedri's fingers kneading at his chunky cheeks and, a few times in a row, slapping one of them in a strange spanking style that made him jiggle and snort with nervous laughter. He stroked and kissed his bestie's cock, his own dick aching and unsatisfied, and he thought that now it would be over. Pedri's cock was stiff and hot to touch but the balls were emptied and the cum he'd swallowed would mark the end of the other teen's excitement and energy, as usual.
He readied himself to roll aside, his body pressed back-to-front on top of the other midfielder's, muscle-to-muscle. He kept his hand around Pedri's quivering member for a moment more and then slopped one last slow kiss across its tip, tasting the salty traces against the sensitive scarlet skin. But the hands had not let go of his bum cheeks, would not stop pulling them open, and he heard then felt more spit land in his crack.
A little dazed, Gavi began to straighten back up into the confused squatting position he'd adopted when gruntingly commanded, his cheeks resting back against the scratchy feel of Pedri's stubble, his knees pressing into the silk. Back up on his arse, which pressed strangely down on his friend's face, surely suffocating him! And - ohhhhhhhh - Pedri's tongue quested against his hole once more and the 18-year-old's whole body shook with pleasure. He took hold of his cock in both hands and went mad on it, sitting on the other lad's face, and feeling his crack get wetter and looser with all that lavish attention.
Another gentle spank on one of his buttocks, and another strangely invasive feel of tongue pushing into him, and his balls were erupting through his cock. Gavi sat back at an angle, pushing his chubby arse fully down on the hungry mouth, and his thick nob released string after string of white cum over Pedri's torso and crotch, coating him in trails of slick gossamer that caught the dying light through the tinted windows.
The young Barca star squealed out in a way that he never could in his own bed, the house never his own despite what it said on the deeds; he felt exhausted and released, and he only stayed in the awkward squatting position for a few moments more, the long tongue still roving between his cheeks, until he collapsed sideways and parted his legs with a weak and almost effeminate gasp.
`My god!' Pablo cried out, grabbing and hugging at the nearest pillow.
The sheets rustled and the bedsprings pinged, and Pedri was crawling over him, pushing on top of his body so that their sweaty fronts brushed, and his own cum was smeared against his own firm body. He looked up, breathless and rosy-cheeked, and looked at the glossy wetness of Pedri's lips, chin, the tip of his nose. His eyes were wide and interested and he looked almost casual about what he'd just done. He stuck out his long tongue for a moment and then ran it about his lower and upper lips, then retracted it back into his grinning mouth. A couple of beads of sweat fell from his blunt dark fringe, and Gavi reached up to stroke his hairy arms and his smooth sides.
`That was...' Gavi said, but he let the unfinished sentence whimper away, unable to describe the sensations of what had been done to his innocent bottom.
Yeah,' sniggered Pedri after a long pause, it was.'
The other teen remained above him, his body rising and falling with each deep breath, but then disappointingly he pulled away and snatched up a pillow to wipe its cover on his face and chest. Gavi rolled onto his side and watched as Pedri left the bed, finding and dragging on his shorts and then t-shirt, covering up the gorgeous toned body that had been all his to explore until they finished. Gavi felt an unreasonable pang of annoyance at the temporary obstacle of clothing, but then reminded himself how incredible and intimate that whole scene had just been. He let out a weak laugh and rubbed his face on the back of one arm, his throat a little sore from gagging, and his arse still feeling wet and tingly, a stubble rash prickling at both cheeks and the insides of his smooth thighs.
He tried and failed to get off the bed, finding himself winded by the climax, when Pedri skittered out of the room and left him. He lay on his front and thought about how good that had felt, how mad a move it had been from his bestie, and what it might mean for their future. He supposed, with a little pang of dread, that Pedri was probably gargling mouthwash hand staring morosely into a mirror somewhere - in Gavi's head, it made no sense that the other football stud couldn't barely touch his dick, but would put his tongue back there...!
He was just propping himself up on his elbows when Pedri reappeared in the doorway. He was carrying their neglected beers, and he pushed one into Gavi's hand. `This won't take long to cook,' the host said quietly, standing at the foot of the bed as the 18-year-old crawled closer to him and took a slow gulp of the Estrella.
`Okay,' Gavi said weakly, having entirely forgotten about any amateur stir-fry, still just thinking about the way his bottom had been made into dinner by Pedri's wicked face. The handsome bastard stood over him now, sweat patches appearing in his black t-shirt, gulping from a beer bottle and wiping sweat from his brow. His spent cock and balls bulged obviously in the runner shorts and Gavi marvelled at the overt beauty of the Spanish superstar-in-the making.
`Hungry?' Pedri said, some of that earlier nervousness resurfacing in his breathy voice.
`Mmm-hmm,' Gavi goaned with a nod, lifting himself up more, conscious of his nudity, his pants and sweats somewhere about his ankles where they'd been tugged. He got up on his knees, grinning bashfully, and started pulling them up, covering up his legs and his sticky crotch. The kneeling position brought him level with standing Pedri, and the older teen threw arms about his shoulders to lean close, their noses brushing.
Pedri said it with natural ease, perhaps as instinctively as Gavi had accidentally said it that first time, and then let it wilt into the shadows without acknowledgement. `I love you,' Pedri sighed, and then kissed him on the forehead. It was more sweet and affectionate than grand and romantic, but it felt right, and it made Gavi weak at the knees. He tilted his head back and stared his big wide Disney eyes into the beady gaze of the Tenerife beauty. Pedri kissed him again, but this time on the lips.
`You mean that?' Gavi asked faintly.
Pedri just grinned. `You know it, bud. Love you.' A touch of ambiguity remained, bromance more than romance, but it was enough for now. Gavi shivered at his lingering touch and he dragged himself off the bed to follow him, the smell of frying vegetables - nope, burning vegetables - meeting them as their half-dressed bodies tumbled through the bedroom doors and back into the open-plan bulk of the apartment.
Pedri walked ahead of him, but let him slip his hand into his. Oh fuck,' the other Barca youth was announcing disinterestedly. I'll order Chinese. Okay?' Gavi drifted after him, staring at their gently interlocking fingers. `That's okay,' he mumbled sweetly. It was so much more than okay. He was in love.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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