Part 324: Jack's (Still) The Lad
Grealish woke up abruptly but pleasantly, almost immediately struck by the knowledge of where he was and what he was doing: out here living the dream, following the full football fantasy and donning an England shirt in a World fucking Cup. Day 2 of hot weather training pep, and Day 4 of the international break altogether; with a boyish enthusiasm that had already charmed the coaching staff and player liaison crew, Jack had already memorised most of the busy schedule and knew exactly what training sessions and minor media work this Doha Thursday would hold, and he was buzzing with excitement for every last detail of it. For the fifth or sixth day in a row, the 27-year-old was waking up with a wholesome smile on his face, instead of just a lazy semi to rub at, though there was a little bit of that too going on in his dark grey trunks.
Fresh from a deep sleep, the Man City winger made a move to get out of bed, lifting his head off the pillow and pushing his athletic form across the super-comfortable hotel mattress; doing so made him more fully aware of the other warm presence beneath the covers, a limb or two slung over his own, and he had to move more carefully, disentangling himself from the gently snoring figure of his club and country teammate. Shifting free of the bed, Jack got to his feet and spun on his heel, turning back to face the sleeping cherub even as he tugged idly at the heavy front of his underpants and fiddled with his gold chain crucifix with the other hand: Phil Foden's head adjusted gently in the groove between the pillows, his sharp young features frowning a little in the remnants of sleep, and his slim but developing arm reaching across to rub and feel at the warm cotton where Jack's body had formerly lain.
Grealish was just smiling gently to himself at how innocent and sweet the 22-year-old Stockport scally looked in this state, when he heard the murmuring sleep-talk from between those dirty lips: `Mmm... Jack? Mmm... love you, baby, love you...' The harsh facial features scrunched up sleepily and Phil nuzzled his face dozily against Jack's pillow, his body sliding further this way in a knot of duvet.
Instantly, the older City player moved away from the bed, turning his back on the sleepy form, and ushering himself through into the spacious bathroom area of their shared suite. He caught sight of his freckled handsome face in the mirror and couldn't help but scowl slightly as a pang of guilt crossed him, Phil's `love you, baby' echoing for a moment in his otherwise happy mind.
Grealish knocked on the shower and left it unnecessarily to heat up while he hunched over the sink and examined himself - his looks, his slight lines about the eyes, the wild shag of his undone hair, the quality of his stubble and the smooth toned architecture of his torso - for a thoughtful half-minute.
He'd vowed to cut it out, hadn't he? This... thing with Lil Phil. It was... Well, it had been many a moon since he'd been able to pretend that Foden didn't have some feelings for him more than the friends-with-benefit convenience that they both laughed off in private conversation, and for much of this new Premiership season, Jack had managed to cool it off successfully without overtly offending the kid. And he was a kid, really, just 22 and yet in many ways more level and mature than Grealish could ever pretend. He'd watched the lad with his sons and his missus and realised that more and more.
He'd meant to freeze it and let the scally shrug off whatever feelings he thought he'd developed, but never quite voiced, because... well... He was still Jack the Lad, wasn't he? And he was young, free, and single. Not as young as you were, mate, grunted a sceptical voice at the back of his head, which made him scowl some more as he splashed cool water over his face and plucked an unruly hair from one eyebrow. Nah... STILL Jack the Lad and totally free, he wouldn't let his two or three girlfriends pin him down, and he certainly wasn't gonna let this bright-eyed Golden Boy do that either.
Grealish glanced over a bare shoulder to the bed, hearing a few heavy snores or snorts from a gradually waking Foden. He shouldn't have fucked him last night, nor the night before; shouldn't have ragged him against that headboard or thrown him into the armchair or pummeled him right here up against the sink, holding his head and watching their reflections on the steamy mirror glass. He shouldn't have done any of that, or allow the under-the-blankets handjob on the flight out here, for fuck's sake. So much for cooling it off.
`Jack?' came a sleepy moany voice.
The former Villa hero paused and moved back into the doorway, only half-aware of how irresistible he looked peering through the curtains of his hair, his heavy grey bulge drooping between the furry walls of his thighs. Phil was sat up in bed, shirtless and shivery, and smiling dimly over this way. `We've got time,' the 22-year-old said quietly but meaningfully, and then sniggered almost nervously. He really did have a strange cherubin innocence to his face, though Jack knew exactly what those lips had got up on his big Brummie cock in the middle of the sweaty Doha night.
Nah, just need to shower,' Jack grunted simply back in his low slow burr. Not in the mood, kiddo.' He left it at that, and showered, but found Philip still looking a bit hurt and confused when he was drying off across the room from him and pulling on Three Lions gear to go down to their hotel breakfast. He smiled brightly but refused to allow lingering eye contact with the youngster, ignoring the swell of dismay and resisted temptation that emanated between them, and just focusing on being Jack the fucking Lad.
Midway through the day, his press agent in the UK rang up to confirm the release of his Homme+ cover; the 27-year-old football player mumbled his way sheepishly through the call, unable to keep up with the fast-talking media whizz in London who was using a bunch of marketing terms he'd never heard of but didn't want to ask about. He talked into his phone and kicked loosely at a large pebble, unable to stop playing his sport even out here when he was being brief on a fashion photoshoot that would be hitting social media later in the day, and then skimming over the photos and clips attached to the email and mumbling his Brummie approval to the guy in Soho.
The phone call over, the 27-year-old stood hunched over his device, looking at the photographs of himself in a mixture of vain admiration and slightly alienated confusion, not fully able to recognise himself in the posing fashionista he saw biting at his red wool jumper and exposing his six-pack, or flaunting casually in leather trousers that his entire Birminham crew would absolutely rip him to shreds for. Jack gave a hollow little laugh and remarked a semi-ironic `Sexy fucker' to himself before putting the smartphone away in the pocket of his shorts, where it bulged as heavily as his crotch, and he made his back around the corner and across the open-air training section back towards the other guys who were using this midday break in the shade in their own different ways.
Looking at himself in that strange magazine light had made Jack pretty horny again, and luckily the footballer wasn't too given to introspection on the implications of that auto-erotica. He felt pretty fucking sexy and like the world was gagging for more of him, as he had more or less since he inked the City deal, if not before. He knew it was vain but it excited him and it made him want to live up to the aura of sporty sex appeal that surrounded him, that made him play with himself whenever he looked at that silly Instagram page dedicated to his leg muscles.
Almost on cue, Foden was trying to spark a conversation with him, rising up from a comfy position in the shade and following him over to the water and snacks station; Grealish remained quiet and evasive, thinking about this morning, and after a few non-committal grunts, the 22-year-old faded into the sunny background and seemed to return to lounging about with the youth contingent of the England squad, though Jack suspected that if he looked that way now, he might find the Stockport kid's eyes roving up and down his legs; he untucked his taut shorts and let them fall a bit further down in his thighs at the thought, resisting his usual urge to keep his mighty legs out on show.
He was horny, but he shouldn't go for that... Too easy, he thought coolly, suppressing the more sympathetic reasoning for now. Too easy, like most of the saps here on the squad, hah, he wanted some real fun, a real challenge. Phil was gagging for him night and day and there was something blandly irritating in that dynamic, he was Jack fucking Grealish wasn't he... As he did most weeks, he thought about the Tuscan villa with David Beckham, and the ridiculous deals that the footy mogul had been tossing his way. He didn't need to settle for samey action with a chav from outer Manchester, he should be tasting new excitement whenever he fucking fancied it, right?
In the afternoon training drills, Jack found himself looking thoughtfully at the men of the Three Lions, and he knew Phil wasn't the only ready opportunity that was waiting for him to knock; as blatantly coupled as they were, he caught Mason Mount giving him a cheeky once-over with the eyes when they were doing some passing work together, and he shared a knowing smirk with James Maddison shortly after. He'd hooked up a few times with the Leicester player in the past, via Ben, and he knew Madders was game. Then there was No.1 Pickford, he thought, who he didn't know well, but he was pretty sure was staring at his arse every time he ran past his goal, and blushed when he winked at him.
None of it quite tickled his fancy today.
Grealish found himself looking with a slight sense of longing at some of the bigger and older fellas, struck with pangs of curiosity and even a kinda rivalry, wondering what they might be like in bed, if they were even more powerful and athletic than the seeing-to he'd given Foden last night around the hotel suite.
He watched a playful tussle between Walker and Stones with a hazy memory of previous encounters, but felt there was something impenetrable about the laddish bromance energy of the two City defenders, and he didn't want to knock his banter friendship with those blokes right now. He watched Everton's Conor Coady play-fight with Tottenham's Eric Dier and let his mind wander about both the cropped Scouser and the Hotspur Viking - he'd heard a rumour or two about the defensive midfielder, but then Dier had just got engaged to a stone-cold hottie back home in London, and Jack knew he wasn't the only one a tad surprised it was a she. He glanced hesitantly at their big tall captain, Kane, and the likes of Maguire and Shaw in defence, and even Liverpool daddy Hendo - there was a bit of Jack that wanted something a bit more substantial to toy with, not another supple twink. But... Jack's enormous sense of his own sex appeal was weirdly twinned with an increased fear of rejection, unsure what would happen if his bubble was burst.
Despite the restlessness and sexual frustration beneath his training gear and tanned skin, the 27-year-old fixed his attention back on his sport, and put the tension into a competitive set of penalty shootouts in which he came close to matching Kane's record, only to have to laugh off defeat when the superlative striker held strong and unbeaten.
It was in the hot lull before dinnertime that Jack found the opportunity to let off some steam and prove to himself what an unpredictable lothario he remained, and it didn't quite come from the England roster that he'd been perving on all day in the sun and shade.
Jack had a retro England bucket hat and large Dior sunglasses on, and had swapped his sweaty training shirt for a plain white vest, moving through the courtyard gardens of the hotel on his way back to the room for a nap - or a wank. His hands were pushed into the pockets of his shorts, pulling them more tightly about his thighs, bulge, and butt, and he kinda wanted to pass a mirror so he could check out just how he looked.
`Oh, hey,' he called, spotting a familiar figure at the corner by one of the pools, stood just out of the low evening sun, and squinting down at a tablet in his hands. Clad in a 90s England shirt and an almost matching bucket hat, it was the national team's regular social media rep and content creator, Josh Denzel, and in a flash of hot inspiration, Grealish found himself looking at the 31-year-old Londoner in a new light.
`Oh, hey Jacko... Sorry pal, be with you in a sec, just trying to get this vid uploaded...'
`Ah, cool,' Grealish said disinterestedly, slowing to a stop and pausing in front of the handsome mixed-race lad, rocking on his heels in his designer sliders, and giving the slightly older lad a slow look up and down then letting out a thoughtful and optimistic whistle. Josh looked up at him from the device, a friendly smile breaking his slightly frustrated frown. He paused, seeming briefly uncomfortable with being stared at, before melting into the usual talk-show host patter with which he carried himself.
How's today been, bruv?' Denzel asked. Everyone on good form? How come you're on your own?' The slew of questions poured casually out in a warm rush, something instantly likeable and easy about the guy that had made him a popular fixture among the actual players, who might otherwise be deeply irritated by a Love Island runner-up getting them to perform inane quizzes and debates for an online audience. Likeable as he was, there was also something faintly desperate about Denzel, Jack thought, this standard wannabe footballer who `coulda been big but for that injury, y'know?' and now settled for being the younger generation's chosen sports correspondent on half a dozen different platforms. This was more thinking in half a minute than Jack preferred to do in most hours, and he shook himself, realising that Josh had asked another question.
`Hmm?'
`You wanna hang out and shoot some content?' the London bloke was asking in a voice a little more strained and needy than his usual composed manner, and Grealish thought that perhaps being alone with him made the fella a bit uncomfortable or something, more used to the easy banter of performers like Mount and Rice. Grealish had embarrassed himself once or twice with Denzel when he didn't understand a word in his stupid little interviews, and though he couldn't really resent it, he wondered if there was some imagined beef between them on the presenter's side.
Content,' Jack chuckled. What are you, thirteen?'
Josh laughed and shrugged. `It's my industry, mate. I know it sounds wank.'
Sure does,' he chided, but with a friendly inviting grin. Shall we just hang out for real, mate, and forget about the fucking content, eh?' He saw a flash of excitement in Josh's eyes at that, and he thought vaguely about his peripheral position here, a bit of a hanger-on on the edges of Southgate's army. Jack felt a dollop of sympathy, but more-so frustration and piqued curiosity. Just how desperate was Josh Denzel to be... one of the lads?
That'd be cool,' Denzel told him brightly. You sure you're free, chief?'
`Free as a bird,' Jack cooed, assuring himself of the same thing: free and fucking single!
He knew Foden was engaged in a group interview for the BBC with a few others, so he brought Denzel back to their second-floor room, and wondered if it still smelt at all of last night's sex. Not really, though, it smelled of sweet reed diffusers and the lingering perfume of expensive toiletries, and also a kind of hazy hot food smell drifting in through the opened French windows onto the balconies that ran along this side of the building.
The 31-year-old sports reporter was draped in one of the basket chairs near the window, still fiddling with something on the screen of his tablet, and Jack was perched on the unused of the two beds, flicking through TV channels as they spoke casually about favourite World Cup memories from the 90s and 00s.
You really should let me film this shit,' Josh chuckled. The socials would blow up for a bit of this nostalgia, y'know. Everybody out there loves what a real fucking fan you are, Grealo, and they love to hear how you're just like them, totally dedicated and geeky about it, y'know?' He looked up from whatever he was trying to do an app and smiled this way, and Jack grinned ambiguously back, both pleased with the compliments and vaguely bored by the cynical marketing mind of it all.
He made a vague noise and riffled through a few more channels, then came up with an idea. Yeah, but I'll be getting loads of er, what do you call it, reach, is it? Loads of reach, anyway, cos I've got this magazine shoot out this eve back home, and you know the pussies are gonna be drippinnnnnn' for it, Joshua, trust.' He winked and smirked at the other lad and then fussed with his phone before tossing it over. There's me looking a right sexpot for the ladies, y'know.'
There was a moment's quiet where Denzel didn't seem to know what to say to all this boastfulness, but then a playful whistle and a furious agreement. `Oh sure, England will flood with pussy water when this hits their newsfeeds, ha ha. For real.' He was laughing but he also looked on the verge of calling him a smug twat and Jack quite enjoyed the social or professional barrier that stopped him; either Josh had to tread a careful friendly line with the players because of his job, or was just worried about not being besties with a player as high-profile as Man City's £100 million man.
The ladies will go mad,' Grealish said calmly, but probably also the lads, haha.'
Oh... er, yeah! Yeah, for sure, everyone know you're a pin-up for the gay lads, that's true.' Josh looked down and pushed around at his screen for a bit then seemed to give up on it. You don't mind all that, do you?' he asked, and he sounded genuinely interested.
Jack fixed him with an intense and deliberately unreadable look, rolling aside slightly on the bed to face him, and spreading his big legs lazily, a little jiggle of hairy thighs as the shorts rode up their insides. What? Why should I?' he asked lightly. Is the Qatar vibe getting to you there, mate...?'
At this suggestion of homophobia, the Londoner became flustered and awkward, putting his tablet aside and getting up from his seat. `Don't joke about that, hah. No, not me, I'm not one of those kinda guys, I'm live-and-let-live on everything, me. I didn't mean anything by it, I just wondered, cos-'
I love it,' Jack said with a shrug. I love the attention.' He meant it. And he loved Josh's attention right now, whatever it was - a mix of admiration and professional interest, and maybe a slightly cringe desire to post a selfie on them online with a caption like `Great talk with this one!!!! Loving my job!!! Hashtag hashtag hashtag', or summat.
Denzel had paused again, and then sat down at the foot of the bed, his hands on his bare knees where his baggy board shorts ended. Well, that's cool,' was all he had to say, and then a self-conscious laugh, and Seriously, can we do an interview on that for the Lions Den or for my YouTube? You know it's such a hot topic these days, since the Jake Daniels thing and all that, and the hits I'd get on my channel if-'
Jack couldn't help but scoff audibly. Gay rights for the clout, yeh?' he said, sounding and feeling cross, but then remembering himself and smirking. Whatever, I don't mind.'
Josh looked embarrassed now, caught out in his cynical hunt for attention and success, and unsure if he'd ruined the chilled vibe of their hanging out. Jack picked up the remote and switched off the TV, enjoying the way this new silence made his visitor's posture more awkward, and he let the quiet linger before breaking it. `You want an interview exclusive with me, do ya?' he blurted, his accent thick with his sexual frustrations.
Josh raised an eyebrow, something of his online cool returning to him as he adjusted the chains about his neck and took off the bucket hat. `An online exclusive with Grealish? Oh, nahhh, bro, I don't need the extra half million hits or whatever your name and face would get me, haha, not at all... In case you can't tell, Brummie, I'm being sarcastic.'
You calling me thick?' Grealish asked, and he kept his voice and expression flat enough for Denzel to seem briefly worried - in seconds they were both laughing heavily and Jack spread his legs more, letting one run further down the bedding, closer to one of Josh's arms. He patted his tummy through his vest and sniggered cheekily. Never mind an exclusive, I think what you really want is just to be good mates with all of us, ain't that right? You're a sweet guy, Mr Denzel, we all know you just wanna be our buddy, yeh?'
Josh was still laughing, and he shrugged off this slightly odd suggestion. Happy to mix work with friendly banter,' he said, sounding like a TikTok explanation of his job, and don't see why I can't be part of the squad in my own stupid way, y'know?' All broad smiles and bright eyes, and edging a little closer on the bed, as if Jack was about to confess all sorts of secrets into a microphone for him and make him an even bigger Internet sensation.
Yeah,' Jack slurred. Part of the squad. One of the lads.' He'd leant a little forward as they spoke, but now he relaxed back against the propped pillows, and let one of his hands fall in between his thighs and rub at the front of his shorts, doing it until Josh's eyes followed the motion and the online presenter made an odd awkward face, lost for words. `What?' the 27-year-old lad demanded.
Buddy...!' He laughed it, but it was a strained and jerky laugh, and Josh looked ready to edge away and leap off the balcony to escape if he needed to. Jack just grinned at him, rolled his eyes, and pushed a hand inside his shorts. You know what us footy lads are like,' he groaned idly. `You spend enough time sniffin' around us, you know we can't fuckin' control ourselves, haha. Right?'
Josh made a short strange laugh and then cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders and slapping his knees gently. `I guess that's my cue to-'
Don't go,' Jack said, quietly. You don't get horny in this sun?' No answer, just an odd stare. `Ah, well, guess you're not all pumped up with testosterone and adrenaline so much of us actual footy players, maybe... I get so fucking horny every day out on a trip like this, you should make a Lions Den video about THAT, haha. Want to interview me now and I'll whop it out for you on webcam? Haha!'
Josh was laughing a bit more now, but he still seemed lost. He looked away as Jack really energetically fumbled with himself inside his shorts and briefs, and then Josh looked back and he seemed way more amused than concerned. You're just like everyone says,' he muttered, both laughing and shocked. I thought there might be a more soulful fella to reveal to the world, but...'
`All my brai's in my undies? Yep, that's me. You wanna see it? Haha.'
`Imagine I was filming all this...!'
`I wouldn't mind.'
`I'll bet...'
`I'm gonna wank. You wanna join?'
`Oh, mate...'
`Oh, come on. Thought you were one of the lads. One of the squad. Ain't that right?' With that, he hopped off the bed, his shorts tenting strongly around his erection, and he went to shut the French windows and lower the shutters; though Denzel hadn't even been out on the balcony, it still seemed as if he was trapping his prey. He turned and smirked at the man on the foot of the bed, and pulled his cock firmly from its trap, giving it a few pulls and enjoying the look of scandal on the London bloke's handsome features.
`I dunno-'
It'll be a laugh,' Jack promised, and he knew his unsubtle manipulation was already drawing this bozo in. Josh was getting up, but one of his hands had strayed to the waistline of his baggy shorts, and the other was pulling a bit at the heavyish silver chain at his neck. Jack bustled past him, cock bouncing, and then peeled his vest off before leaping back onto the bed and reclining there, hand on his nob and eyes on Josh Denzel. Join me,' he barked, a little commandingly, and then added, `toss one off with me and I'll do a live fucking interview about Qatari homophobia on the night before our first fixture, yeh?'
He thought he'd twisted Denzel's arm even before this offer, but now the retro 90s England shirt was straight up and off, and he was enjoying how well-maintained that Love Island six-pack was underneath. Josh pushed a hand down his shorts, but not inside his undies, and he didn't seem ready to be as brazen as Jack, who was spitting on his palm and pulling on his thick curved weapon in long slow strokes.
Their eyes met, a challenge more than a seduction, and down went the board shorts, and he could see the outline of Josh's delicious cock through the soft pink cotton of the Jack Wills boxer briefs. Josh grabbed it through them and laughed self-consciously, then sat back down on the edge of the bed, next to his hairy legs, and wanked himself a bit through the material, not yet exposing himself fully. Jack laughed too and he pushed his shorts and briefs away, dragging them over his thighs and past his knees. Naked now but for dirty white ankle socks and the grin on his face.
`Here,' he grunted, and he moved back against the pillows but made space for his buddy.
There was some hesitation, but Denzel joined him, the attractively muscular 31-year-old leaning in with his back to the pillows and his attention on the inactive TV on the wall, making a joke about how they should load up some porno. Nah,' Jack groaned, teasing a thumb against the pre-cum on the head of his cock. I'm the show here, mate, don't need nuffin on the screen.'
A stupid snigger from the other lad, who Jack believed was engaged to some hot internet celeb or other. Right,' chuckled Josh. A show for your gay fans, not for me...!'
Wonder what they'd make of you, though?' Grealish grunted. Body like that, damn. And... Let's see that cock of yours?' He squeezed the base of his own, exaggerating its size and virility, and staring hard until Josh pulled himself out of his baby-ink boxer briefs, and then the pair of them couldn't help but look between the tools to compare.
Jack went for it. He spat on his left hand and put it against the other man's cock, and felt him tense up entirely, his arm rubbing over his abs. Neither said a thing. He gripped the prick and gave it a slow soft stroke. Then laughed. `It's a nice one,' he commented, and pulled back, as if all he'd been doing was confirming its size. He played with himself.
Josh was breathless and quiet and unable to look at him. He took hold of his nob now, but as if he was protecting it, rather than playing with it. `Jesus, mate...'
Jack ignored him and just groaned loudly as he pulled harder on his equipment, but he wanted way more than a wank. Let us suck it, man,' he said bluntly, putting a hand on one of Josh's strong thighs, coated in little wiry curls of black hair. Go on, just shut yer eyes and give us a few minutes. You'll like it.' Denzel looked astonished and certainly didn't know what to say. Jack could only take this as a yes, and he leaned heavily that way, ducking down. First, he spat heavily on the tip and shaft, gave it a good pull, then opened wide and took it into his gob. He heard and enjoyed the social media star's gasp, and he sucked it long and deep, playing his tongue around the glans; after a couple of minutes' tension, he felt Josh's right hand settle on his upper back and stay there. Without pausing to look up and find out what his boy Denzel was thinking or feeling, he just sucked hungrily on it, taking it deep in his mouth and letting himself gag slightly on the length and curve of it.
`Fuck,' gasped Denzel after a while.
Now Grealish did pull up, wiping his mouth on the back of one hairy forearm, and settling back into the stiff pillows. He chuckled and played with himself and watched as one of Josh's stunned hands began to jerk his spit-wet cock. They sat there quietly and pleasured themselves for a couple of long minutes before, Fuck,' Josh groaned again. What the hell was that, mate...?'
Oral sex,' Jack sniggered. You not heard of it?' He spat on both palms and in one motion, took both cocks, white and brown, in hand to slide up and down of in synchronised moves, giggling a little still. Relax,' he sighed. You're hard as a rock. Now you ARE one of the lads, haha, a real part of the team.' Josh just stared at him, dumbfounded.
Jesus,' he muttered after a minute, but then groaning a bit in pleasure, and pushing his broad shoulders back against the pillows. Sweat glistened on his brow and his neck. Jack stopped wanking himself and just focused on long tender pulls of the other guy's nob, thinking about going down on it a bit more, but also conscious of his own needs. Come on,' he muttered. `Your turn, ain't it.' He patted Josh's thigh and nodded down his own lean body at the swollen tower of his prick.
Josh blinked. `What?'
`Ugh. Come on. You wanna be one of the lads, don't ya? You want that exclusive interview?'
`Mate, I'm not-'
We're on tour,' Jack grunted forcefully. Labels are whatever.'
`Yeah but I don't-'
Oh come on, I did you. How about, we sixty-nine, or something? That'll be hot. Come on.' And with that he slid away from the pillows and onto his side. He propped himself against one arm and dipped his head between Josh's slightly spread legs, taking the cock in his lips and teasing his tongue over the tip repeatedly. Denzel practically whimpered. Jack lay on his side and didn't quite suck it, just licking and nuzzling it, and wanking his own big one with both hands for a while, before pausing and pouting at the overwhelmed face of his Love Island match. Go on, just give it a go,' he breathed, a little hint of pleading in his voice; it was a good impression of needy desperation, when Jack Grealish always knew how to get what he wanted.
`Mate...' began Denzel.
`Come onnnn,' Grealish muttered, and then he wrapped his mouth around the strong black cock of the Londoner, sliding down the shaft and giving it a good full suck. He heard the loud gasps and only paused once he felt Josh's body begin to lean carefully onto its side to reflect his posture. Jack licked his lips and tickled his fingers on the wet cock, looking down their bodies and watching as Josh Denzel awkwardly wrapped a fist about the Grealo cock.
`Give it a lick,' he encouraged with a laugh in his voice.
`Fuck, shut up,' the straight engaged bloke muttered.
`Foden loves the taste of it,' Jack pushed, and he knew this was a bit much - exposing his 22-year-old like that to an outsider was far worse than anything else he already felt guilty about in stringing the kid along, but he was horny and out of control here, and in the moment it seemed worth name-dropping. It did seem to do some magic on hesitant wannabe Josh, who stared at the dick as if it was a new celeb for him to get on his YouTube channel. Jack leaned his face to the side so he could lick the lad's cock a bit, tickling him along, and then watching transfixed as Josh leaned in and parted his lips and... yep, ohhh yep, ran his tongue against the wet tip... He recoiled ever so slightly at the taste, but Jack wrapped his lips about his cock to encourage him, and he felt Josh try harder, felt wet lips and tongue on his dick, and... mmmm, oh yes.
For several minutes, they performed this unequal 69... unequal in the sense that whilst Jack was wet and quite skilled in sucking off his new playmate, Josh just kept kissing and dabbing at his cock in an awkward and hesitant style, not able to figure out what to do, or just unwilling to really go for it. It was more excitement than annoyance that made Jack break from the 69 and hunker onto his knees, guiding his cock more properly in between Josh's parted lips and feeding that world-prized member in against his rolling tongue. Josh's nervous wide eyes stared up for approval and Jack smirked down at him, licking his lips. He still reached over to give his cock a few pulls, then stopped, concentrating on just his own pleasure. He took Denzel's head in his hands and positioned it better so that he could feed him, filling his gob and then his throat with footy cock, not quite fucking his face, but really letting him take it and choke and then letting him recover before sliding it back into place.
And now... Grealish slid back into the more mutual positioning, happy that he'd shown Denzel what he needed. They lay side to side across the bed and now Jack's energy was, in some way, matched by the attention on his own cock. He still had to reach a hairy arm down and push at the man's neck and the back of his head, really helping him out and making him gag on it, whilst he lavished sloppy wet love on Josh's D.
It was the newness of it, and the challenge, that made Grealish wild with excitement for it, and so quick to reach climax. He didn't bother to warn his new friend. He just held Denzel's face a bit forcefully between his thighs and spunked at the back of his throat, feeding him the creamy load that many of his fans would risk it all for. And then he pulled his slick messy cock away and helped Josh into a position where he could gasp for recovery, laughing as he comforted and held him, not even scowling as his greasy load was spat against the pristine sheets, and Josh stared at him with wild nervous eyes.
Before Denzel could panic or anything, Jack pulled in close and began to wank him head-on, propping their kneeling bodies together on top of the bedding. That was great,' he growled, patting and squeezing at one of the bloke's strong arms. Good fucking action with that mouth, matey, defo one of the lads...'
`Your... spunk,' mumbled Josh, freaked out, a few glistening drops on his lips and his chin.
But Jack knew how to distract him from that shock. He pushed him back so he fell into the pillows, and then planted his mouth to the curved black dick, and sucked him with full force, going mad on it, using a hand as well as his mouth and lashings of spit. Josh was soon groaning and moaning and not saying anything, just a writhing muscular figure on the harsh white of the sheets, until a different kind of white was released and Grealish was lapping up his London spunk, tasting it all and laughing as streaks of it dribbled onto his stubbled cheeks and hung at the tip of his chin.
It took a while to see Josh Denzel out of the room, though Grealish was conscious of the scene that might be caused if little Phil Foden came back and found him here, cum-dazed and muttering on about how open-minded and cool he was and how this didn't need to be a big deal or anything - he sounded like he was trying to convince himself, unable to make eye contact and gladly taking the offer of a spare toothbrush and a lot of mouthwash. Quietly grinning and casually naked, Jack followed him about the suite, trying to hurry him without being rude, and cheerily telling him, Yep, properly one of the lads now, for sure.' He patted him on the back once he was dressed and pulled on a robe before ushering the startled 31-year-old out into the corridor. Give my love to your fiancee bird, aye?' Jack quipped in the doorway, and the online presenter turned to give him a startled and guilty stare with wide eyes, but Jack pushed the door firmly shut and retreated into the room so he could wallow in the naughtiness of his early evening.
He lay on the bed in the robe, replaying it all in his head, and wondering if he'd be able to rely on Denzel for a little more fumbling as the tournament went on - it wouldn't be quite so mad a thrill next time, he supposed, a sucker for the new and fresh, but the guy was so obviously straight and inexperienced, and his willingness to cross lines for networking and clout made him a totally fascinating project.
Grealish smirked to himself and thought again of how the likes of Beckham must sometimes wank off thinking about him, and he almost felt his fat cock rise up stiff again. Instead, he went and took a second shower of the day, sensibly cool, to get himself calm and wholesome ready for the team dinner where they would be hosting some UK dignitaries and trade envoys for some bullshit reason or other.
One of the schmoozing evenings, he thought, and he needed to just be his fun likeable self, and not cynical about it. He was here to enjoy every detail and live his World Cup dream! And thank god he still had the wiles to get some random horny fun in the late afternoon, hehe, even with a slightly goofy wannabe like Denzel as his object of play. He licked his lips as he dried his hair, thinking how good that cock had tasted, and how fun it had been to feel that inexpert mouth on his own. Great fun.
He was still Jack the Lad, still the horny centrefold of this team of studs, and still young, free, and single.
He pulled on fresh boxers and finished dressing on the balcony, glad of the sunset glow on his skin as he pulled on a short-sleeve shirt and the thin light chinos that struggled to contain his bulging leg muscles. Somewhere in the room, he heard the vibrations of his phone on a bedside table, and he scampered inside; his mind was a rolodex of the probable contacts, swerving from the Soho media agent to his darling mom, but then also to one hoped-for call that he'd been waiting on more or less since their flight landed.
After all, he'd text him eight or nine times this week already, starting in the taxi from Manchester to Surrey. He'd left him a few voice-notes that he thought were pretty kooky and cute, and dug out a few `Memories' pictures of them on England youth exploits back in the day. All of it intended to show how he was thinking about him and missing him here, wishing he hadn't gone and got himself injured, and was part of Southgate's World Cup plan. He'd made quite a lot of effort, he thought, to make Ben Chilwell feel included in the first few days of this camp, and to reach out an olive branch to his estranged bestie.
The phone call was, it turned out, from a panicked John Stones, who wanted to know what the dress code was for tonight's meal. Jack casually rinsed him and tried to convince him it was full black tie, before the Barnsley hunk swore at him and hung up. Jack put the phone back down on the table and then picked it up again, and sighed slightly as he opened up the left-on-read messages to Chilly, all ignored. Voice-notes unopened. He chewed his lip a bit and stood there, pulling the highlighted sheet of longer hair out of his eyes, sweeping it back into boyband chic.
`What are you up to, Benny?' he asked aloud in a quiet little voice, and then locked the device, his sigh turning into a grumpy humph.
Didn't matter. No big deal. All in the past. He wasn't that guy any more, wasn't stuck in that rut. He was, after all, still Jack the Lad, and he was free. Free to fuck about and find out, and have all the random fun he wanted, with almost anyone he wanted; who else could get a straitlaced reality TV wanker like Josh Denzel 69ing in a hotel bed just like that, spunking in his mouth and convincing him it made him an honorary Lion...?
Jack picked up his phone again and decisively switched the piece of crap off, and then went to the mirror to fuss over his hair and check that his stubble and brows were looking perfect. He wanted to look his hottest for this meal, cos you never knew who was there to impress and pick up...! Hot, free, single, Jack the fucking Lad.
He left the room in a rush, just as the phone on the bedside table shut down: the device throbbed very briefly against the varnished wood as the call came through, the screen jangling green and the contact name flashing across the top, just once, before the shutdown took over and it all faded to black, left behind and switched off. The call from Chilly unseen and unheard, wiped out by the shutdown.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
Amazon Wishlist here if you wanna say thanks LOL
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