Part 346: Defenders Unleashed
Without a manager about the training camp, there was a strange afternoon; after all, the sullen mood of defeat and almost inevitable relegation had already settled over the place since late last year, and now it was further soured by the exit of a manager they had all fought to believe in. There was an air of almost lazy indifference in the way the men performed in their drills and exercises, even though tomorrow was matchday. Matchday, Conor thought grimly, against the increasingly likely league winners, Arsenal - for fuck's sake, just what we need.
The 29-year-old defender usually did his best to bring bucket-loads energy to work, and few lads in the squad had tried harder to rouse some determination and resilience in the battle-weary bunch of football players, and he wasn't even here on a permanent contract. The loaned Wolves man had thought he could help to turn the Merseyside club around, back home in Liverpool after years in the Midlands; now, he was building up the grim energy to speak to his agent and finally discuss what plans were after the loan spell ended.
Today, though, even Conor Coady was feeling low under the somewhat toxic atmosphere, and he huffed out a big jet of condensing steam from his chapped lips, resting his hands grumpily on his hips and pausing before booting the ball away in a clumsy pass towards one of his fellow defenders, then immediately hanging his head and malingering before cantering after the others and trying to apply a bit more of himself to the work.
It was a sunny winter's day, bright and golden in spite of the icy cold, but the frosty beauty of the afternoon training ground was lost on Coady and his fellow defensive players, jogging clumsily through their routines and barely listening to the half-hearted assertions of the junior coach who was working with them this afternoon. Conor was thinking grimly about tomorrow and their fixture to host the North London visitors, and daring to think critically about how unready so many of his dejected teammates were - then checking himself and adding the pessimistic notion that he was no readier himself, based on recent form. Oh, fuck it. So much for a big new chapter back home on the Mersey, even if it was at the wrong one of the two club options.
The St Helens 29-year-old was as relieved as anyone else when they were dismissed, the coach seeming to call it a day early because he was getting so little out of this gaggle of defenders, who were all the more unmotivated for the fact that their weaknesses were being held responsible for most of the recent defeats. Every face was a picture of resigned disappointment, and Conor clocked them, and tried to correct his own; he forced a smile, clapping cold hands together and panting out more little clouds of frosty breath, coming in behind the other lads as they filed off their quadrant of the pitch, and barking generic praise at the others one by one. Solid work, mate,' he told Holgate firmly, and Looking sharp' he lied to Godfrey; Give us a smile, Mina!' and Oi, shake my hand, Patterson'. And then, falling into step with his closest buddy in the Everton defence, he opened his mouth to speak to James Tarkowski in the same forced manner, only to get a withering look from the bulky 30-year-old, and he shut his lips once more.
`What a shit-show,' he sighed instead to his friend, keeping his rasping local accent low and discreet, and earning a heavy nod from the Mancunian centre-back at his side. The two 6ft1 defenders trudged on, muscling in through open doorways into the relative warmth and shelter of the training building, where a member of staff had a tray of hot drinks set up, and Conor could gratefully get his hand on a cup of tea before stomping away to flop down into one of the sofas at the window, able to look out on the other clusters of players who were still being worked out in the cold.
James sat down heavily next to him, grumbling to himself, `We may as well stay in bed tomorrow, it's gonna be a fucking disaster.'
Well, that's the attitude,' he teased back half-heartedly, nudging the other man with his elbow, then slouching back in the sofa, and kicking off his muddy boots one at a time. But, er, yes lad... it's gonna hurt. Fucking Arsenal, for fuck's sake. Ugh.' He glanced up from the steamed glass view of the training pitch, nodding acknowledgement as two more of the defensive line-up slumped in onto the nearby chairs, clutching their own tips of tea or instant coffee, and looking every bit as prematurely beaten as Conor felt.
Chin up, lads,' Coady grumbled weakly. Everything to fight for.'
Hmm,' was Ben Godfrey's uncertain murmur, sipping from the mug in his large gloved hands, whilst the younger lad next to him at least managed a firm nod and a Sure, sure, we can't just roll over for the fuckers.' The gruff young Scotsman slurped his hot chocolate boyishly and then wiped a thin brown moustache from the fluff of his upper lip, a gangly 21 next to the more developed muscular centre-backs. Conor smiled waveringly at young Nathan Patterson, momentarily wondering if the youth was being ironic, then realising that the Glaswegian kid actually might think they had a chance - yikes, the naivety.
Nope,' the 29-year-old sighed with hesitant approval. We'll go down fighting.' He grimaced, hearing the nihilism in his own sentiment, but the other three didn't seem to notice. Sipping his strong tea, made just how he liked it by the elderly lady who he always flirted with, he leaned back and cast his eyes up and down the room - it seemed like the other defenders who they'd been working with had already headed on to get showered down, even Godfrey's usual companion Holgate. The atmosphere back in those dressing rooms was not an attractive prospect, and Coady found himself with no rush to pull his body up and stagger on after them, to undress and get hot and clean. Instead, he clutched the mug in both hands and just stared blandly out of the window, and then shifted his focus between the gloomy faces of Nate, Ben, and James. Well, what a bunch.
For a couple of minutes more, they sat in silence. Godfrey and Patterson had already pulled out their phones and were staring soullessly into the void of social media, though Tarkowski was just cupping his chin in one hand swilling the remains of his coffee gently in the grip of the other. Coady slurped down a last mouthful of tea and then placed the cup down on the floor with a little click of a noise, before slapping his knees in a very dad fashion and getting decisively up to his feet. Ah, come on lads,' the native Scouser remarked to the small group. Let's stop moping and wake ourselves up, eh? We can't go into tomorrow in this bloody awful mood, can we?'
In a minute, the four of them were strolling through the downstairs of the Everton training building, but not towards the locker-rooms to join the other defenders, or the stream of midfielders who'd also called time on their Friday training. Instead, Conor strolled along with dirty damp socks padding over the linoleum floor, and chilly hands tucked into the relative warmth of his tracksuit pockets, the slim-fit training gear clinging to his long lean legs. Like the others, he was a bit sweaty, but it was such a cold day that the body heat beneath the layers was welcome, and he wasn't exactly soaked. After him traipsed the others, the other three tall defenders, dragged along by his pretence of positivity and energy, even if York-born Godfrey was gently moaning to know what his plan was: `Where are we even going?' complained the 6ft 25-year-old, his face a stern frown, less accepting and trusting than the broad grin of Patterson at his side.
Just at the moment, Coady didn't have much of an answer, although he already had an inkling of an idea. He'd steered the blokes away from their silence and pessimism without a clear direction, but playful memories had been roused in him as they passed the corridor to the showers and lockers, and he couldn't help but think with a smirk about that dirty day when he'd chanced upon the secret tryst between Dominic Calvert-Lewin and Tom Davies, and it had ended up a pretty chaotic scene of transgressive enjoyment.
But those two were nowhere to be seen, he thought: he'd noted blond pretty boy Tom Davies leave the pitch early with an ankle concern just after lunch, and big Dom CL would still be out on the pitch with a couple of other forwards, working on set-pieces in the hope of sneaking a cheeky goal past the iron-clad Arsenal defence. Still, the 29-year-old, his Qatari experiences still relatively fresh in mind, couldn't help but enjoy the memory as he strolled past gym doors and hovered at the entrance to the indoor pool, couldn't help but picture himself sat on that bench by the lockers, joining Dominic in using the greedy mouth of Davies and then encouraging others to join in. And as he remembered the climactic interruption of the gaffer, he even let out a little chuckle of thought, earning a grumpy `What?' from Ben.
The gaffer, he thought. No more. There had been no clear goodbye moment for Frank Lampard before the Chelsea legend exited the training campus at the start of the week, though Coady had been quick to message his thanks and support to the 44-year-old, like most of the lads. Ah well, it had been inevitable for a while, the total lack of wins or progress, so many second chances for Lamps before the board made their chop. Huh.
Come on,' he suddenly suggested with a thoughtful brightness, pulling back from the glass doors that would take him through into the chlorinated air of the pool-room. He nodded encouragingly at the other lads and then gestured to the nearby stairs. I know what we can do,' the almost 30-year-old married dad announced with the air of a naughty schoolboy ringleader, earning curious looks from his friends.
It was a stupid idea, but he felt a little pang of intrigue and fondness, and it was better than moping anywhere else with his fellow relegation fodder. So for some reason he led them up the stairs and into the largely abandoned suite of offices, glad that there was nobody about to tell them that they ought to get downstairs and to the showers - with the bright confident smile of someone who was prepared to blag and lie at any interruption, Coady found and opened the door into the gaffer's office, letting himself into Lampard's former den, and ignoring the uncertain mutters from Tarkowski: `Are we allowed in here, mate?'
There were still quite a few signs of old Frank's occupancy, from a spare coat on a hook to a few scraps of Chelsea memorabilia on one shelf next to the window. The young Scot went to inspect these with an air of quiet distraction, whilst Godfrey stood thoughtfully in front of a big framed England shirt at the other wall. Tarkowksi hovered at the door, thick arms folded over the broad chest of his tracksuit top. And Coady himself went over and dropped himself playfully into the high-backed leather chair at the desk, placing his arse in the grooves left by their departed manager, the midfield hero whose management career was hardly setting the league on fire.
He met James' eyes and smirked mischievously at his fellow centre-back, who looked deeply uncomfortable with their foray up into the quiet offices of the manager-less club, a room that had housed many serious meetings between each of them and the former boss at different points in the past year. Crisis talks in a club fighting for survival... and now just a stupid empty room to be explored by bored blokes in need of distraction, he thought, swinging the chair in little semicircles, and resting his arms at his sides, before beginning to look nosily through the drawers.
`He'll come back for this stuff?' mused Nathan awkwardly.
`Probably just send a rep,' grunted Ben.
I'm not sure we should be touching his shit,' James said stiffly. Come on lads, fuck this - it's a bit creepy being in here, like the house of someone who just died.'
`He ain't dead!' laughed Godfrey gruffly and uncomfortably.
`He'll be dead to the fans,' Patterson muttered with rare cynicism.
But Coady was ignoring all three of them, pausing with his hand on the edge of the left-side bottom drawer, pulled open against his own thigh, its contents rattling and shifting a little bit from the sharp tug that had brought it open, even though a flimsy lock had apparently been used to try and secure it. The Scouser stared into the open drawer with wide brown eyes and a white-toothed smirk lighting his mouth. Well, well, well.
Still,' Tarks was muttering, I feel like we should leave this crap alone and go get changed - I mean, we all need to get a good rest this evening, cos of-'
`Ah, chill out dad,' chuckled Patterson, playing with an obscure little trophy that he'd picked up from the windowsill.
`Anyone else feel like the next guy to have this office won't even last the rest of the season?' was Godfrey's sombre contribution to the chat, unacknowledged by anyone else.
Lads,' Conor barked, interrupting them. Take a peep at this, will you...?' And picking up an Everton-branded pen from the desktop, he used it as a little device to fish into the drawer and drag it out, twirling it on the tip of the pen and then flicking it into the grip of his other hand, with which he held up and dangled it for the sudden attention of his three teammates, who all stared.
`What is it?' young Nathan asked dumbly.
`Is that a... jockstrap?' Tarkowski was suddenly more amused than cautious as he suppressed laughter through this question.
`Fucking hell,' laughed Ben awkwardly.
Conor raised his dark brows and then flicked the odd garment down on the surface of the desk, a skimpy strappy affair of black fabric that strung in loops from the Calvin Klein waistband, and lay there in a little heap. Confused-faced, Nathan was approaching the desk to pick it up and inspect it, and Ben and James took steps forward too; but Conor was already reaching uncertainly into the desk drawer and retrieving another surprising find. Whilst the young Scot picked up the underwear with two fingers like it might bite, Conor held the small glass bottle and peered curiously at its shiny label, confirming it as a dose of amyl nitrate: poppers. Jeez.
Tarks,' he mused, will you shut that door a minute?' And he inspected the little vial of odoriser thoughtfully, while Ben and Nathan were still sniggering stupidly over the skimpy undies that one had just thrust stupidly at the others, reduced to schoolboys. Conor glanced up, smirking, and then twisted off the lid and placed the small bottle to one nostril for a deep sniff, and then the other. His giggle of rush caught the attention of the others, and the two younger lads stared expectantly at him. `What is that?' demanded Tarkowski, who had dutifully closed them into the office despite his reservations, and now loomed at the side of the desk, seeming genuinely oblivious. Coady just sniggered and held a thumb over the bottle-neck, blinking away the headrush - he hadn't taken a playful sniff on these since a few silly nights out in his St Helens teens, though he was now trying to remember where he'd last come into contact with the daft little party drug.
`These can't be Frank's pants,' Godfrey grunted dimly to himself, still holding on to the jockstrap with one cautious finger hooked under its waistband.
`Give me a sniff,' Patterson demanded curiously, and Coady passed him the bottle, registering the little flicker of interest on the youngster's honest face, then smirking at his bewildered 30-year-old buddy.
You never done em, Tarks?' he probed.
Done what?' the burly Manc bloke asked honestly. What the fuck are they? What is all this? Where did you find this shit, mate?' The 6ft1 centre-back looked a little stressed out by it all, fiddling with the zip at the neck of his tracksuit, whilst Nate proceeded to sniff clumsily on the bottle in his grazed knuckles. Conor gave him a playful frown, resting back properly in the managerial chair and bringing his socked feet up onto it. You need to do it one nostril at a time, you tit,' he coached. And hold down the other, I think. Big sniff now, lad.'
`Is it drugs?' Ben asked.
Fuck,' slurred Nathan. Feels mad, don't it? Haha.'
`Should we be doing drugs in the gaffer's office, for fuck's sake...?' Tarkowski grumbled.
`Here, give me a go,' Godfrey contradicted quietly.
Haha, it's not even illegal,' Coady advised them with a shake of his head, still swaying the wheeled chair, and then glancing back at the open bottom drawer. Well,' he thought aloud, `isn't old Lamps a bit of a dark horse...?' He was thinking about that day when the former player joined them and seemed briefly furious, as if he'd be dishing out fines for inappropriate behaviour on club property... only to whip out his middle-aged cock and take full advantage of Davies' soft pink lips. Hah. But... Conor was thinking differently about that memory, and wondering if Frank's experience with fellow footy lads was a little more fruity than imagined. He could picture his last encounter with the silly little bottles of amyl now, and he knew where and when: a hotel room in Iceland, the bedside table of Harry Kane, sniffed deep by the England captain before he bent over and exchanged his strong arse for a word in Southgate's ear. That seemed a long time ago now.
Fuck,' grunted Ben, shuddering a bit and passing the poppers back to Nathan. Dunno if I like that. Ugh. Instant headache. Ha.'
Nah,' muttered James, who had just been offered the small bottle. He frowned and shook his head and then glared at Conor, as if the Wolves captain should be the one to end this naughtiness. What are we doing in here, mate? Let's clear off. This is a bit - I dunno - disrespectful, or...'
Mate,' chuckled Coady now, wait til you see what else is in the boss man's bottom drawer...!' And with a little cackle, he flourished the third mystery item hidden in the badly locked depths of the Everton manager desk. In front of him, the other three fell silent and stared, and the Scouser nodded his agreement. `Either I've got a very dirty mind, or this thing is a rubbery doppelganger for a fuck-off big dong. Ha ha ha.' He waved the dildo about like a dagger and then tossed it playfully at Tarks, who caught it instinctively but gurned in disgust and then threw it against the desk between them instead.
`Nahhh - that isn't a fucking sex toy, is it?'
`Well it bloody looks like one.'
`None of this is Lampard's, for fuck's sake, is it?'
`How should I know...?'
`Here, give us another sniff on that stuff, I kinda liked it.'
Sprawled back in the gaffer's chair, Conor Coady simply could not pull the naughty smirk off his handsome stubbled face, or extinguish the little fire of mischief in his dark brown eyes. It was all he could do not to reach down and instantly rub himself hard in his deep blue tracky pants, settling instead for a gentle tug on the lime-green of his top. He watched as big sturdy Godfrey took a couple more sniffs from the bottle, watched loyally by pink-cheeked Patterson, and Tarkowski just glared accusingly from the fallen dildo to himself, waiting for the punchline of this bad joke.
Here,' Conor laughed, snatching up the CK jock. Who's trying this thing on for a laugh?' His question was met with a ripple of amusement, even from serious James, but he pushed the idea. `I'd do it myself but I've hardly got an arse - come on thunder thighs, why don't you try it on for size, Tarks? No? Haha. Here, Nate, give us a striptease, for fuck's sake.' And he tossed the scrap of black at the giggling 21-year-old, who was so gullible and impressionable that he fell quiet and serious with it in both hands, unsure what to do.
`He's messing with you,' Tarks insisted.
Nah, don't be a bore,' Godfrey laughed, screwing up his face and then putting down the poppers. Coady is right - try it on, hah. No way is it Frank's though, right? He wouldn't have this shit in his desk...!'
`Then who would?' Tarkowski wondered aloud.
It's just a pair of pants,' Conor reasoned persuasively, catching Nathan by the eye. He'd taken back the poppers himself and gave the bottle a good sniff in each nostril before screwing the lid on and shaking himself, pretending to offer it back to a spooked James, then wielding up the flesh-coloured rubbery phallus again like a wand or weapon, glad by the way it put the lads on edge. Across the desk from him, Patters was laughing and scratching at his short mop of sandy-coloured hair, then shrugging and backing off from the table. Alright,' he concluded, and he set about dragging down his blue pants, dragging them down long footballer's legs, hopping from foot to foot with his baggy check boxer shorts exposed. Tarkowski just groaned earnestly and Godfrey tittered like an idiot, and Coady swung about on the seat, lowering his ankles from the table.
Oh Lampard, he mused, if only you hadn't been given the sack.
He got up and hugged an arm about Tarkowski's broad shoulders, freaking him out by pulling the mystery toy too close to him, brushing it against one of his lime-green pecs. He mussed at the man's chestnut hair and got pushed roughly away, making him snigger more and then go running about the desk to tickle an alarmed Godfrey with the faux cock instead, the York lad getting more noisily freaked out by it than tutting Tarkowski.
There,' declared Patterson, standing there looking like an idiot in his long playing socks and the low-hanging hem of his vivid training shirt, which he had to lift up to display to them the flash of black across his bulging crotch, the branded strap at the waist pulling in against his pale goosebump skin. And then, grinning stupidly, the young player turned about to show them the back, the chubby rise of his big white bottom, cut across by the black straps that framed it, and Godfrey went awkwardly quiet as he stared at it, whilst Coady himself clapped his hands together appreciatively. Get your booty out for the lads,' he jeered mockingly, and then he strutted right up to the younger player and gave his big bare arse a good noisy spank, leaving his scarlet handprint there for several moments.
`Sod this,' Tarks moaned.
`Shit,' muttered Godfrey in a strangely distracted manner.
Hope that didn't hurt?' Coady sniggered, giving the 6ft youngster a playful hug and then tousling his hair in the same way he'd done to his older mate. He pushed and pulled at the giggling youth from the side, and then gave his arse another grab, squeezing one pale cheek quite hard and slapping it gently as he released it. Have another sniff of the poppers,' he suggested, steering him to the desk. And then he couldn't stop himself: he reached down and squeezed at his own bulge in his trackies, almost licking his lips.
In front of him, sniggering Patterson was snatching up the bottle and pulling off the lid. At his side, Godfrey was coughing and folding then unfolding his thick arms, seeming flustered. And Tarkowski, shaking his head, was turning for the door. Oh come on,' Conor pleaded, blocking his way and pouting at the other big fella. It's just a laugh.' But as he said this, he couldn't help but rub his crotch, and he knew James noticed, flinching and shrugging and scratching at his red neck.
Does it feel weird?' Ben was asking quite innocently. Pants without an arse on them?'
I think this is what some sportsmen wear,' Nathan murmured to him. Like, back in the day...? With a protective cup in it, or...?' He trailed off, his thick Glasgow accent becoming a low grumble.
Here, try a sniff of these,' Conor suggested, steering James to the desk. Give them to Tarks, mate - come on, just a sniff. Everyone else has done it. Mate, they aren't illegal or anything...! You ain't gonna get arrested, ha. It just... well, they relax you, or something...'
Relax?' Ben mumbled. Just giving me a headache, to be honest.'
Conor timed his next comment well, waiting until begrudging Tarkowski was inhaling deeply on the stuff. They're used for relaxing bumholes, y'know,' he said sagely, making his friend splutter and grimace and almost drop the amyl. I mean, clubbers like it too, but it's mainly for gay fellas, y'see - makes certain things easier, know what I mean...?' At that, he turned and landed a third meaty spank on Patterson's exposed backside, really making a hand-print on the doughy white buttock, and just making the 21-year-old explode with giggles. In one hand, Coady still wielded the dildo like a dagger; he brought it stroking and prodding against the stinging red cheek, tapping it against the young right-back and making his cheeks jiggle, and making Ben's eyes bulge out of his head.
`Fuck,' murmured Tarks through the headrush.
`You think that's really Frank's?' Pats demanded, giggling some more to feel the toy tap and prod against his bum.
`Nahhh, can't be,' Godfrey said wonderingly.
Must be,' disagreed their Scouse ringleader, biting his lip. He pressed the taboo toy into one of the York lad's hands, clapping his own together and wondering how far he could take all this. He turned playfully towards James but the 30-year-old just glared at him and shook his head, then pressed the bottle of poppers into his palm. I'm out,' the Manc guy declared simply, and he lurched for the door again - this time, Conor didn't try to stop him, unsure he could push the right buttons to make the big muscular Burnley transplant change his mind and relax into some mischief. He slammed the door after him and then it was just the three of them, a new playful tension thickening in the popper-scented air.
Conor grabbed and squeezed himself shamelessly, and he winked when Ben caught his eye, glad that the big strong mixed-race lad had noticed. Then he took a good squeezing grip of one cheek and leaned in closer to Nate. `You reckon you've sniffed enough of that magic stuff to take Lampard's big cock in ya, Scottie?' He shook him by the shoulder and chuckled and he saw the younger athlete's face flush pink.
Fuck nah,' was Ben's awkward comment. He'll never take that?'
`That might be a joke too far,' sniggered Nathan, but... hesitantly.
Ah, I dunno, that stuff is meant to proper relax you, la',' snarled Conor eagerly. He nodded at it, watching the rather protective way Ben clutched and gripped it, then giving a gentle slap to Nate's backside and giving the bare-cheeked lad a bigger hug, steering him against the desk. Why don't we give it a try, eh?'
Patterson giggled. `I don't think I'll manage that, boss!'
`Would you try it though?' came Godfrey's almost breathlessly curious demand.
You up for it?' Coady asked bluntly, stroking a shoulder of his training shirt. Let's get this off,' he suggested before getting answer, and he and Ben now helped their younger friend out of the lime-green Everton prep gear, stripping him to just his footy socks and the skimpy black jockstrap, glad of the heated air of the deserted office. Turning to Godfrey, he said, `Tough Scots lad, ain't he, he'll be able to take this no problem.'
`I dunno lads!' giggled Nathan, but he didn't protest as Conor steered him further forward, encouraging him to bend slightly over the desk that had so recently been Lampard's seat of power. The nervous laughter of the tall pale Glasgow lad made his body judder and tremble, making the chunky bare cheeks jiggle just a little, and both of the centre-backs stood behind him.
Here,' Coady purred to the 25-year-old, you wanna lower the blinds on that window in the door, matey?' He leered encouragingly at the endearing gormlessness of Godfrey's face, nudging the well-built defender into life. He did as he was told, quickly, and stood by Conor's side, eyes wide and mouth hanging open a bit - he looked excited, and Conor glanced down for confirmation. Yep, the bulge in those deep blue pants was even more pronounced and urgent than his own, and he wondered if the dopey young Yorkshireman even realised how aroused he was becoming.
Grinning wickedly, the former Wolves captain brought the toy up, and spat heavily on its chubby moulded tip. Then, with a little grace and ceremony, he brought it down and played it down the deep crease between the young lad's cheeks, making Nathan snigger and murmur some more, and say Why's it wet?' with earnest curiosity. Conor smirked and he exchanged an eager look with breathless Ben, whilst working the rubbery toy up and down the lad's crack, gently parting his chubby cheeks. Nate,' he said quietly, `why odn't you take another sniff of them poppers, hey...?'
To the sound of Patterson breathing deeply, twice per nostril, he began to push in a bit more, and used his other hand to tug on one cheek, easing accent into the mousy brown fluff of hair between the smooth dough of each cheek. Godfrey was watching in astoundment, and unconsciously starting to rub himself, which reminded Coady to pull a hand back and play with his own stiff outline in the nylon. `Take another sniff mate, make it a long one,' he advised Nathan in a deep slow voice, and then - ah yeh, that was it! He pushed it in experimentally as if just teasing his wife's lips, making the young lad tremble and gigle awkwardly, and making Ben gasp interestedly.
It was easier than he expected, but then the 21-year-old was high on poppers for the first time. In went the tip, nudging open the virgin hole of the straight right-back. As he pushed it in, Patterson yelped, and Godfrey gasped again, and he just bit his lip, hard as a rock in his own tight compression shorts under the tracksuit. `Sniff some more,' he repeated, and the younger defender did so - and Conor pushed more, easing the tip of the toy in between those cheeks, very slowly, and wanting to go rougher. The groan from the Scots lad was ambiguously pained and interested, and he didn't dare go further, pulling gently back and then nudging it in, teasing and testing him, and then... he glanced at the astonished look on handsome Ben's face, and nodded invitingly. Conor's own grip on the toy softened as the shaky brown fingers came exploring, and then the 25-year-old centre-back was taking over from him... Conor patted and stroked the centre of his broad back as he moved aside slightly, letting Godfrey in to take control and push the toy a little more firmly into Patterson's big white backside.
Breathless with excitement himself now, the 29-year-old Scouser got on with it: he quickly undid the tight little drawstring knot and pushed his tracksuit pants halfway down his thighs, and then pulled his hard-on out of his boxer briefs, unnoticed for a moment by either of the others. He spat in his right hand and pulled on his long slender prick, licking his lips eagerly, and watching the heavy clumsy strength with which Ben pushed the toy further and further into the youngest defender, mixed with a kind of awkward delicacy as increasingly pained yelps showed Nathan's doubts - Conor helped by patting and stroking his bare back and shoulder, and murmuring support. `You can take more, big Scottish stud like you - take another sniff if you need it? Go easy on him, Ben, mate - he's not some slag you've picked up in Wetherspoons, y'know...?'
Coady spat more lube down onto his prick and jerked urgently on it, and he saw Godfrey glance warily at it, before reaching his free hand to squeeze the alarmingly big outline in his own pants; but Patterson was oblivious, bent forward over the desk to rest on his elbows, laughing between pants and awkward groans, and telling them, `It really don't feel that bad...! How far is it in? Is it nearly all in? Haha - this is mad, guys! This is wilder than that time with Davies, y'know, when we all.. He-he-he...'
Here,' Conor grunted at the other centre-back, move over.'
Ben offered him hold of the toy, but he shook his head, and Lampard's forgotten dildo fell to the rug on the office floor. Instead, Conor shuffled into position behind the younger player, a wicked enthusiasm tensing every muscle in his 6ft1 physique. See how this feels,' he told Nathan quickly, and went for it - pushing his hard cock in against the damp hole, sliding into him with far more ease than he might have expected. He wasn't quite as girthy as the toy that the pair of them had just sneaked into this big pale bottom. Still, Patterson yelped and flinched, and Conor rubbed tender hands up his back and held him by the biceps. How's that?' he purred and groaned. `How's it feel, Nate?'
`F-f-fuck,' the Glaswegian stammered - was he sure what he'd just taken?
`Fuck,' echoed Godfrey, in shock.
Relax,' purred Conor, to both of them, beginning to grind his hips. This feel better than the toy?' he demanded quite, finding his slow rhythm.
`F-f-fuck, I d-d-dunno, er... oh... ohh... mmm... wow...'
`Take another sniff or two, matey, you'll be grand.'
Slowly and carefully, Coady began to fuck the other Everton lad against the desk, careful not to start rushing and giving in to instinct; he guided his cock in a little deeper with every tender stroke, the first time he'd entered a lad's backside since the sweet Portuguese hole that had got him in so much trouble in Wolverhampton, finally giving in to anal after a lengthy affair of steamy one-way blowies. He'd sworn never again, but here he was, almost balls-deep in this quivering pale Caledonian, bending him over the gaffer's desk, reaching round to hold the bottle of poppers under one of his flaring nostrils. `That okay?' he growled in his ear, pushing himself a bit harder against those chubby cheeks.
`Ohhhh,' was all Patterson could groan, pinned against the wooden desk.
`Fucking hell,' whispered Godfrey close by, and Coady could hear the fap fap of wanking from the burly Yorkshire 25-year-old - soon, he thought, he'd swap positions with him, but not yet, oh god, not yet! He fucked him a little quicker, but only a little, conscious of how fresh and virginal this beautiful arse was, so soft and broad against his own slim muscular form, and he loved the tight muscles that enclosed his prick.
It was an act of restraint that allowed him to pull back, panting and planting a single kiss at the top of Nathan's spine - pulling aside, his cock wobbling in the gap between the green of his shirt and the black of his lowered boxer briefs, he turned and looked seriously at Ben, who just gawped silently. Conor planted a hand down to spank and jiggle one cheek, making Nate giggle uncertainly - It felt weird,' was his quiet review, should we stop?' - but then Ben was pushing forward, cock in hand, and Coady caught sight of just how bloody big it was, jesus christ. It wasn't on show for a long before the big pink mushroom was pressed between the cheeks and the thick brown shaft was going in - and now Godfrey was the one humping hard into Patterson from behind, pinning the quivering Scotsman against the managerial desk, making him groan very loudly and swear violently.
And all Coady could do was pull back to admire the sight of it, and tug furiously on his own slick cock, close to blowing his load. `Sniff the poppers,' he growled at Patterson through the whimpering sound he made as he was impaled on the much thicker tool, maybe thicker than the toy. Godfrey was awkward and clumsy, big hands gripping and bruising at the other lad's arms and sides, and sweat pouring down his pale brown face. But his thrusts were strong and solid and more urgent than Conor's own self-control. Thrust after thrust, the excited 25-year-old ploughed the younger lad into the table, and it was clear enough that he'd never buried himself in another man like this before - fucking beautiful.
`Go easy on him,' he encouraged, though he loved seeing the brutal strength mixed with nervousness that rocked and jolted Godfrey's motion, and he loved the depth and uncertainty of Patterson's whining cry. He wanked harder and harder on himself, and even reached about to pull the poppers away to take a sniff himself, riding the little wave of blood-rush and feeling his balls tingle excitedly. He stepped closer, pumping his prick, and Ben seemed to take this as some sign that he had to stop - and then there they both were, jerking off behind the quivering white bottom, until they were painting those doughy cheeks with a silvery icing of their manly juices, listening to the whimpering breaths and moans of the deflowered Glaswegian.
Confidence was its own discretion, Conor advised the younger two, encouraging them to strut nonchalantly away from the area of offices, as if nothing dodgy had happened. Nathan was understandably a bit shaky, his face blotchy pink, and his erection badly hidden in his pants; an awkward kindliness in his body language, Ben helped him along, steering him by one shoulder whilst wiping his sweaty face with one green sleeve. And Conor himself strolled confidently ahead of them, still smirking, picturing the dirtied sex toy left in the waste paper bin under the desk, and the poppers now resting in one of his zipped pockets - the jockstrap, he thought smugly, was still tight about Nathan's waist and bottom, left on and stained with cum where his and Godfrey's load had dribbled over it, left on as the young lad dressed in a flushed hurry.
You two good?' the 29-year-old asked hesitantly as he led them down into the quietened changing rooms, noticing how shaken and scared they both looked by the new experiences they'd all shared. Surprisingly, bent-over Nathan nodded more firmly than Ben, who looked like he'd just spent a night in a haunted mansion. Conor smiled encouragingly at both lads and grabbed them in a group hug. Go get showered, you two bad boys. That was fucking fun, huh? But y'know... our little secret.' He tapped his nose, and then laughed, unable to smell anything but the poppers.
Nodding, the two younger defenders drifted away from him to one edge of the quiet locker-room, both starting to tug off their green shirts and bare their muscular backs. Coady lingered where he was, enjoying the dull throb of his spent cock and balls in his black undies, and feeling the hard outline of the little poppers bottle in one pocket. He grinned to himself and went over to another side of the room, hunkering down on one bench under his locker, and wiping both palms across his clammy face, unable to believe how risky it had been to just fuck a lad in an upstairs office.
He sat there, pulling off his socks slowly, and the naked towel-clad figures of Ben and Nathan gradually slipped past him, disappearing into the steamy showers in awkward silence. Almost at the same moment as they did, the figure of another showered player emerged, barely acknowledging them on his way past, and re-entering the darkly decorated locker-room where they'd once all shared Tom Davies' mouth. It was James, still looking as severe and disapproving as he had upstairs. Conor smiled upright and grinned at his pal, watching as the big smooth body of muscle came close and then passed him to reach the next locker. Steam rose in plumes from every bulging muscle.
`Glad you saw sense and ditched that bugger's office,' Tarkowski said quietly.
Coady just laughed lightly at this review. `You missed out.'
`Not sure I wanna know, fella.'
`Hmm.'
`Ugh.'
`Relax, lad.'
`Huh.'
Next to him, Tarks hesitated, having grabbed a second towel to rub over his chest, neck, face. He seemed to want to undo the knot at the front of the first towel, to carry on drying off his 6ft1 body of thick powerful muscle, especially his famous legs. But he seemed nervous, uncomfortable, self-conscious. Conor just grinned, as if oblivious to the fact he was the source of this discomfort. He smirked up at the standing brute, and rested his back on his locker door, hands draped in the lap of his trackies. `What?' he asked politely.
Tarks just grunted a `Huh' again, pausing with the second towel hugged against his chest. He let it droop, and undid the main towel, which slid away from his thick hips and down towards the floor, flashing ridiculously chunky thighs, and... for a moment, a strong view of his crotch, the neatly buzzed pubes and the thick dangling sausage over his tight hairy balls. Conor stared thoughtfully at it, remembering his first taste of dick in that Doha hotel room, coaxed and encouraged by his surprising friendship with Eric Dier.
His eyes shifted up and met James' frosty gaze, despite their close friendship; still, Conor smirked, friendly but naughty, and he winked once. Then, conscious of how alone they were here, he reached out to touch it, cupping the big man's privates in one hand, weighing the cock and ball over his palm, and staring up at James' unreadable expression as he did so. He let out a slow quiet chuckle. Tarkowski moved, but not immediately, not quickly; there was a long moment of physical contact and then the big hunky bugger pulled back with his hips, dragging his cock and balls out of Conor's hand, and throwing a towel over his crotch once more, his high cheekbones scarlet.
Mate,' was his monosyllabic warning, and he broke the stare, looking anywhere but at his friend. Conor, spent and exhausted, just chuckled, and leaned heavily back into his locker door, feeling very hot and sweaty. What?' he protested meekly, as if he hadn't just groped a feel, and he smiled quietly to himself whilst James dried and dressed in a huffing hurry, then told him that `I'll see you tomorrow for match-day'. Coady nodded and grinned, and watched awkward Godfrey and Patterson begin to emerge from the showers, keeping a safe two metres away from each other now, as if they weren't very intimately acquainted now - oh, what a fun afternoon, after all. Relegation or not, the Scouser thought, maybe he DID have a future at Everton after all...?
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