Part 341: Supercopa de Espana
The whistle blew, and brought with it half time, 2-0 already; the white-clad players of their elite opposition were a mix of downcast and furious as they immediately turned heel for the edge of the pitch, whilst the Barcelona players were slower to move, offering up gentle claps towards their Saudi fans in the terraces above.
But one Spanish player amongst them moved with a bit more speed and purpose, unusually offering no interest to the watching fans or the roving cameras; he was smiling, just like every Barca player right now on this hot Saudi Sunday night, but with a fiery glint in his dark eyes and a slight urgency to his pace and the swing of his arms. 20-year-old Pedro Lopez moved quickly among the slow loping figures of his teammates, making a beeline for the edge of the pitch, and zooming in on his target.
He'd already congratulated and celebrated the team's young first goal-scorer, like every other man here, but he reached for him again, finding and grabbing at his shoulders through the glossy material of his brightly striped Barca shirt; the younger midfield player looked over his shoulder at him and his slightly dazed expression of enjoyment split into a more earnest grin, the two young men's eyes connecting as Pedri's thumbs massaged at his shoulders through his shirt and gave him a slight shake from behind.
The younger Spaniard slowed his pace and fell into step with him, and Pedri threw a proud arm about the shoulders of the slightly shorter boy, surrounded as they were by their Barca colleagues moving in on the mouth of the tunnel, and heading into the air-conditioned interior and the smug privacy of their changing rooms.
In the tunnel, they had to pass by the stomping procession of Real Madrid players, and Pedri glanced thoughtfully their way, smiling to himself; tonight's extra clash was an exciting test between the La Liga rivals, and proof of their battled supremacy over Spanish football. But for now, the Madrid team were languishing behind, and in Pedri's eyes, it was all thanks to the efforts of his 18-year-old beauty. The likes of Modric and Kroos marched glumly on the other side of the tunnel from them, and Benzema's loud French swearing could be heard through a nearby doorway - the streams of kitted footballers were parting as they filed into the separate locker-rooms of the Saudi stadium that was hosting El Supercopa.
In here, some members of the Barcelona squad were singing as if they'd already won the one-off fixture and trounced their standard rivals, and Pedri couldn't help but grin as widely as every other lad, sniggering to the echoing voices of Busquets and Kounde through in the big rectangular locker-room beyond. But still, the 20-year-old Tenerifean couldn't really budge his attention from the young guy next to him, who had slid out of his loose grip and was being grabbed and hugged by two other men, clad in the fuller tracksuits of benched substitutes, just ahead - Gavi grinned and chuckled between the muscular hugs of Ferran Torres and Marcos Alonso and then staggered apart from them as one by one, the guys turned right and followed the corner into the main changing room.
Pedri stared his secret boyfriend down from behind, from the shaggy tufts of his honey-coloured hair to the big lettering of his name and number on the back of the beloved shirt, then up from his sharp boots and taut socks to the brief flash of skin before his shorts, loose-fitting and yet still pulled a little more closely across the rear where they covered the bump of his backside, disappearing into the rear hem of his footy shirt. The 18-year-old was hesitating on his way about the corner, glancing back this way, his dazed happy expression once again turning into the more floodlit joyful smile that always seemed to occupy his handsome features when Pedri caught his eye.
Others were bustling past them, but the 20-year-old paused, pulling briefly at the chest of his shirt, still feeling the heat, his whole kit seeming to stick to his body with the sweat of a tense 45-minute battle. Past him went ter Stergen and Lewandowski, and then another of the substitutes and one of the coaches, and still Lopez paused where he was, long enough to raise the thick brown brows of Gavi's face, and make the other boy's mouth hang slightly open in unspoken question.
Without saying anything, Pedri jerked his head a little to the left, and then moved; the other side of the passage drew away into what looked like a storage area, and against the wall was the door to one male toilet, marked with the primitive stick figure of their gender. Pedri trotted neatly towards it and yanked the door open, shooting a firm and thoughtful look back at his 18-year-old buddy; the surprise and concern was evident on Gavi's moody face, never able to hide a single passing emotion, and yet instantly the central midfielder was tilting this way, drawn back form the doorway that would take him through to the others.
`It's half-time,' the youngster reminded him in a nervous hiss, as he drew closer, and Pedri brought one clammy hand up against his elbow, then just jerked his head again, into the toilet cubicle, holding the door wider. With a startled look on his face, young Pablo Gavira slipped past him and into the narrow space, at which Pedri bowled in after him and yanked the door quickly shut behind him, recklessly sure that nobody had noticed a thing - sure, they'd be needed through in the other room in a few minutes, for a team-talk from the boss, but for now...
Pedri slid a sweaty finger against a light switch to knock it on, illuminating the tight space of the toilet, and staring hungrily into Gavi's handsome earnest face, a smirk splitting the whole of his tanned features as he enjoyed the wide eyes and gently parting pink lips of the 18-year-old's face. `I just needed you,' the attacking player grunted simply in their shared Spanish, drawing even closer to him in the tight space and resting one hand in against the hot skin on the side of his neck, feeling that Gavi was just as hot and sticky as himself, and trembling a little to the touch. Those simple words, meant in all seriousness, seemed to melt the shaky nervousness of the other player, Gavi looming forward slightly into his arms, and bringing his face in - Pedri kissed him promptly, pecking their lips together once, twice and thrice, and then gripping the surprisingly thick muscle of Gavi's upper arms through the sleeves of his Barca shirt and the dark blue long sleeves beneath.
`The team,' Gavi purred at him in concern, even as he melted into his grip.
`Fuck it, we have a minute,' Pedri insisted, though he knew their absence, two young starlets, quickly arouse the notice of their teammates and manager; but ever since the 33rd minute when his beauty had put them in the lead, the horny 20-year-old had barely been able to pull his eyes away from his best friend, and so he'd rushed straight for him at the half-time whistle, and quickly knew that they needed a moment alone. He kissed him again, a little more fully this time, still not quite a natural at locking lips with another lad, but becoming increasingly comfortable with it as Gavi's lips and tongue surrendered to him, and the hot muscles of the 5ft8 boy shuddered under his grip.
Come on,' Gavi told him once their mouths parted, we should...' He giggled gently as he spoke, because Pedri was pushing his hands firmly down his sides and past his hips, reaching around to lift his shirt and squeeze his pert arse through his shorts, holding their faces close so that their noses and brows touched.
Not yet,' Pedri told him, his voice low and breathy, and then, turn around, against the wall.' He could hear the gruff edge of command in his quick speech, and he could see the mixture of worry and surprise all over Gavi's helplessly honest face. A moment's pause, and he did it, spinning away from him and then gasping as Pedri pushed him forward, further into the plain grey plaster of the wall, reaching in and kissing him once on the back of his neck, tasting his sweat on the soft skin and fuzz of trimmed hair.
`Oh,' gasped the 18-year-old instantly.
`Mmm,' he groaned back at him, holding him briefly by the shoulders like he had on the pitch, always glad that he could paw a little at this gorgeous lad, because their sport made men so tactile and comfortable in the right moments, and no onlooker would overthink the closeness between these two prodigies of the game. But he didn't hold him there for long, because they weren't out on the pitch now, they were in this tiny discreet space, and he knew what he wanted.
He kneeled quite quickly down, pressing bare strong knees against the linoleum, and letting his hands run down the back of Gavi's shirt and onto the sides of his shorts as he did so, settling there behind him on his knees. He pushed his fingers in under the baggier team shirt and then beneath the tight lycra of the under-armour, hoisting that a few inches so he was holding just over the hips, feeling toned muscle and hot clammy skin. Gavi gasped again, anticipating what was coming, and Pedri pushed his face in to kiss at the small of his back, tasting his oddly sweet sweat again.
Pedro,' murmured Gavi's worried voice, the team talk...'
He ignored this, he ignored the world. His goal-scoring prince needed to be treated right, rewarded for that goal, and he told him so. `Shush, a moment - you were brilliant, you are so brilliant, I need to show you...' And he pulled down on those shorts, hooking his fingers into not just their waistband, but the tight sports brief below too, so that both layers came pulling back of the firm dough of that backside, two perfect cheeks bared for him - hooked under the bump of their globed shape, and his face now close to the mottled pink and sweaty gloss of the two orbs. He pushed them open, squeezing his hands onto the quivering warm muscle of the buttocks, and stared between them at the crack, little streaks of dark curling hair on either side of the tiny pink knot.
In he went, pushing out that unusually long tongue, sliding it into his boy's sweaty crack to taste him, and making Gavi's purring moan become an anxiously happy yelp. Close by, the 2-0 merriment would be fading, and the guys would be settling down to re-hydrate and await the boss. But in here, he was pulling open the lightly tanned butt cheeks of his gorgeous teammate, and rolling his tongue in against the damp sweaty furrow between, pushing his tongue-tip in against the chico's hole.
It was different, rimming him like this, all sweaty and hot from the game, and it felt a bit dirty and wrong, but Gavi smelt so good and clean even after 45 minutes' play, just with a faint spice and edge to his musk. Pedri pushed the cheeks a little further apart, opening them up as much as he could, and really pressing his face between them so he could tongue that hole again, needing to taste it, and loving the way Gavi trembled and whimpered for him, pushed in against the wall of the toilet cubicle with his legs apart.
Pedri could feel his fat cock becoming stiff, but trapped awkwardly within the confines of his briefs, and he knew he didn't have time to do anything with it, so he ignored it, focusing entirely on eating Gavi's arse, pausing only to land a quick spank on one cheek and to run his hands more fully about the arse and lower back and down his hips, stroking the outside of his thighs, and then reaching around to find and tickle his balls. `Wank yourself,' he moaned, before pushing his tongue back between those cheeks, desperate to reward and spoil the goal-scoring little hunk.
Gavi was obedient again, his body jerking with the movement as he reached down for his dick, and began to toss himself off, whilst his cheeks were jiggled and kissed and lightly nipped and then pulled apart once more so that Pedri could really get in. He spat noisily against the hole and then poked it with his tongue, pausing again to rub a single finger across it and make the lad really groan for Jesus.
He edged the tip of his finger almost into Gavi's hole but stopped, remembering how unsure he'd been about that when he tried it with him in Qatar, but feeling such an urge to open that hole up and make it his pussy, like he'd started to fantasise when he woke up alone with a stiff prick in his PJs. He rubbed his finger over it and tried again, just testing the muscular ring, but then replacing it with the laps of his talented tongue, and hearing new gratifying moans of excitement from above.
Gavi's body rocked and shuddered and he realised that his sweet 18-year-old was going to cum in so little time at all, and it made him super glad. He could tell that his excitement and eagerness was well-matched in this talented stud, and that his tongue skills were pushing the teen rapidly over the edge. He spat noisily into his crack again and muttered loud enough for him to hear, `You gonna come for me, Pabs? Cum for me, do it...'
Fuck,' was Gavi's muffled whimper. We should-'
He spanked him on one cheek again, just enough to sting, and pushed his face in to eat him some more, glad of the smell and taste of his match sweat. He pulled back on Gavi's hips, dragging the pert little arse more fully in against him, really tonguing on the hole and breathing in his crack, and then reaching his hand under again to stroke and tickle his balls, which bounced and jerked with the motion of his wanking, until...
He could hear how hard the sexy 18-year-old was trying to suppress the sounds of his climax, and it made him snigger and smirk, pulling his damp face away and kissing again at each rounded cheek and at the base of his spine. Gavi's body shook with the waves of orgasmic pleasure, and Pedri climbed up him, letting his shirt fall back down but holding his sides, kissing that downy fur on his neck, and then the back of an ear, and then reaching around him and rubbing his hands on the quivering cock and the traces of spunk at its tip, whilst Gavi panted and gasped in his hold, feeling like he would collapse if released. And somewhere, muffled by door or wall, a voice could be heard calling - it was unclear, but it was calling at least one name, and Pedri chuckled into his boyfriend's ear.
`Come on,' he purred, running his dirty tongue against the side of Gavi's neck, then helping him to yank up his briefs and then shorts, not before he'd grabbed a good squeeze of one cheek, and then elbowed awkwardly back into the door, which he opened and strutted out of; he could feel his own hard-on trapped in his crotch, held firmly down by the taut material, and he had to fiddle and adjust with his baggy Barca shorts to make sure its outline wasn't too obvious. He held his hands inside the waistband to stretch and disrupt the nylon, hiding the extent of his bulge as he swaggered around the corner and through into the changing rooms, where everyone was hurrying to sit down and look attentive for the team talk that would carry them back into the second half.
He looked over his shoulder before ducking towards his space and sitting down, glad that the posture hid his excitement more easily; Gavi followed him, red-faced and dribbling with sweat down either cheek and all over his neck. The 18-year-old dropped into a seated position next to him, panting and ever-so-slightly shaking, and he discreetly slid a hand in against the back of his arm, cupping it at the elbow, so that the other midfielder glanced shakily this way, eyes wide and shiny.
Pedri grinned at him. `It was a fucking great goal,' he told him simply, and then turned his red-cheeked attention and sweaty fringe back towards the posture of their manager, who was about to launch into his big team talk for round 2 of El Supercopa de Espana.
In the second half of the game, Gavi struggled to get his head back into it with the same ferocity and determination that he usually did, that he'd shown all through the first half. He couldn't believe what had happened to him in the short break, that he'd been in that stadium toilet with his shorts down; his cock felt sensitive as it bounced in his sports briefs, and his arse cheeks were so tightly clenched. He felt like his secret enjoyment must shine from him like a beacon, a sex glow on his face, but everybody was hot and sweaty and he was still getting kudos from each older teammate for his performance; when he watched Gavi make it 3-0 in the 69th minute, he actually held back from immediately congratulating his slightly older boyfriend, unsure he'd be able to hug or high-five him without going in for another snog. But after Gavi shrunk back form the leaping group antics of victory, the 20-year-old raced straight for him and they double high-fived before Pedri wrapped his arms about him and practically picked him up off the ground. In the tightness of their hold, Gavi thought he felt a stiffness in the other Barca player's shorts, rubbing against him, and in that moment he was determined that he would match the excitement that had been lavished on him.
The pair of them were benched in the 90th minute, as Barcelona danced almost lazily into additional time, sloppy enough to allow Karim Benzema his too-little-too-late response and end it 3-1. In the comfortable seating of the subs bench, the two youths sat side by side, and Gavi struggled to keep his hands to himself, pressing them beneath his sweaty thighs and clamping down on them to stop them from reaching over for one of Pedri's dark-haired legs, or even to lock fingers and hold hands.
But inside...
There was real singing now, no pause of respect for the defeated Madrid men, who were flatly ignored as the Barcelona squad zoomed into their quarters, boots tossed off and shirts being pulled away from shiny muscle. To the showers - but Gavi had no intention of making it there, not yet, and not only because he would probably spring a second erection if he tumbled into that steamy space surrounded by everyone else.
He slowed his pace and looked behind him: Pedri, shirtless, was swaggering in out of the tunnel, and their eyes connected. Rather than lighting up like usual, the 18-year-old tried to look at him in a way that was intense and sultry, and then dived in the direction of the same loo, grabbing the handle awkwardly and standing there as a couple of other players went rushing past in a whirr of testosterone and aftershave, and then leaving the youths alone at this corner junction again.
Into the toilet he backed, licking his lips, and he sat backwards onto the toilet lit, still fully kitted himself, and there was a dreadful moment with the door ajar where he thought his fellow Supercopa champion might not join him: perhaps Pedri had misread the signals or thought now was the time for caution, or perhaps he'd had enough excitement before, and wasn't really as desperate or needy for their togetherness as Gavi himself felt every single day. A thousand hurtful reasons that Pedro might move on to shower instead raced through his head, making him frown and pout, before the seconds were over and Pedri was diving in here with him and yanking the door shut after him.
The 20-year-old stood over him, a little taller at 5ft9, with a sexy splash of dark hair sprouting in the centre of his developing chest muscles. Gavi looked up his six-pack to this, and to the big grin of his shiny face, the little dark curls where his neat fringe was disturbed, the blotches of red on his cheeks and neck. So handsome, he thought, and all mine.
He leaned forward on his seat and dragged the shorts down without ceremony, to about Pedri's knees, before pushing his face in against the tight black Nike briefs that enclosed the precious jewels of cock and balls; through sweaty fabric he mouthed at the shape of a semi, his big eyes rolling upwards to connect with Pedri's lusty gaze. Stern fingers slid through his soft hair and about the sides of his face, cradling his head there without taking command, as Lopez occasionally did when he got excited - his more forceful touch would send shivers of panic and arousal through Gavira, and he didn't know if he wanted to beg his man to take it easy, or to go harder, but right now things were relaxed.
Down went the briefs and he took a moment to admire the curving weight of the sweaty cock that was released, not quite hard yet, but getting there; he panted with his mouth half-open, still staring lovingly up, before opening his lips wider and sliding them about the heavy pink head of Pedri's meat, glad to use his mouth to bring it to full mast. Like his boyfriend, he was a little startled and more than a little turned on by the musky sweat and rawness of it, rather than the cleanliness of their bedroom exploration over these beautiful months together - but he didn't stop to gag or worry, sliding his mouth up and down the hard length of Pedri's beast of a prick.
He felt less pressure now, less urgency, than when pressed to the side of this cubicle and eaten out, because the game was over, and there would be too much excitement in the locker-room and showers for anyone to be calling out his name - other than Pedri, who breathed it gently and then a bit more loudly, calling him, My beautiful Gavi' and Oh god yes, just like that, ohhh'.
In this team toilet of the King Fahd International Stadium, one cup-winner gorged on the hard veiny shaft of the other, desperate to repay him for the brief but beautiful attention that had been lavished at half-time. Gavi would never have boldly initiated this naughty fun in such a risky scenario, not without the first round of action coming from Pedri, which still shocked him to contemplate. But he felt like he needed to restore some balance and reward his man for his goal, just like the rimming that had had brought him to such astonishingly quick climax up against this very wall. Gavi bobbed up and down on the cock, sucking hungrily and sloppily, pausing only to spit on the shaft like he'd seen some pornstar do, and seeming to drive Pedri wild by doing so.
Pedri rocked his hips very gently to match his rhythm, and he did his best to just take it, this fucking of his mouth, without gagging or coughing or needing to stop, as he'd often done in the past; he wanted to get better at this, to be utter pleasure to his beautiful older friend, this stud who was no longer a teenager like him. He loved the beginnings of that hairy chest, the sexy darkness of the Tenerife footballer. He looked up as much as he could, though Pedri didn't hold his gaze now, his eyes closed in pleasure and his face rolling from side to side, clearly enjoying it so much.
Gavi couldn't help but start to feel himself up in his shorts, and eventually pull his cock out of them down one leg, stretching the material of briefs and shorts aside so he could jerk his second erection, gob full of Pedri, craving the taste of him. And before long he got it, though Pedro Lopez didn't cum with such ridiculous speed as his own teenage explosion; the moans got deeper and the rocking of his hips got faster, really pushing his hard meat into Gavi's throat, and then announcing his ejaculation in a deep murmur: `You ready...?'
Gavi took it against his tongue and his mouth, that salty blast, and he swallowed as much as he could, his eyes watering a little. He wanked harder and faster on his own cock as cum splashed in his mouth and Pedri took hold of his face at the sides to really pump the last of his cream in there, feeding him generously.
Gavi wanked himself rapidly, wanting to cum quickly in this moment of glory, worried that it would need to end soon and that he would be left frustrated, unfinished... but he needn't have worried. Pedri, huffing and panting, was in no rush to exit their private stall. He pulled him up by the crook of his arm and kissed him, even though Gavi's lips were a little salty with cum - he either didn't notice or didn't care, and that thrilled and warmed him. And then, their faces close, Pedri reached down and took control of his dick. Gavi lifted his arms and held onto the biceps of his arms, rocking against him as the jerking was done for him, both of them trembling and groaning. Pedri kissed him again, with tongue, and that was what pushed him past his limits. He spunked messily against Pedri's wet cock and trimmed pubes and over his thighs and below his tummy, and he groaned into the snogging mouth on his, held tightly and supported.
By the time they both slid discreetly out of the toilet cubicle, Gavi's breathing had just about recovered, though his heart was still beating an 808 in his lean chest. He followed Pedri around the corner in an almost limping stumble, still lost in the headrush of his second orgasm in 90 minutes. In front of him, the other player began to step nimbly out of his shorts and socks before they were halfway over the square room, which was sparse of men because most of the Barca squad were already in the showers.
As they found their places at the wall, the teen smiled weakly at his lover, drained and overwhelmed, but deeply happy. And Pedri just smiled very simply back, so much confidence and reassurance in that face. It was a shame that he couldn't just pull closer to the other young star and grab another kiss, but the secrecy was also its own pleasure, and he knew that they would be cuddling later in their hotel room, before tomorrow's flight back into Catalunya. For a moment, the teen forgot about the win, the trophy, and the moment of restored glory for their club - he knew that he would remember tonight in Saudi for one thing alone, and that was what went on in that toilet.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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