Premiership Lads Curious Luke Shaw

By writer guy

Published on Mar 22, 2023

Gay

Part 354: Gift-wrapped Package

Having left his Cheshire home at the crack of dawn, he was one of the first blokes to arrive at the shiny glass entrance hall of the St George's Park training campus; one of the first to be handed a sack-full of new gear by the support staff after being greeted with a kiss on the cheek by a flirtatious player liaison officer. Still a little sleepy, the 32-year-old Sunderland man could just smile amiably at the welcome party and make the lightest of efforts for the roaming camera-work that was always there to capture the details of life at another England international camp, the first since the World Cup.

Like many of the men on Southgate's latest squad, Jordan Henderson was pleased to be here, especially as if his captaincy at Liverpool this season had been one of tension and frustration at their yo-yo results and uncertain prospects across all competitions. He knew that it was pretty unfashionable to be patriotic at Anfield, but the Mackem midfielder couldn't help himself; he got as excited as anyone else here to wear those Three Lions on his muscular chest. It was just a shame, he thought, to have to be separated from his lover, and he wasn't only thinking about the dawn goodbye kiss shared with his wife over their rumpled bed-sheets this morning.

Still, he was here to play his part, and to enjoy his sport at its highest level. Jordan lingered in the foyer, arms folded across the chest of his England tracksuit jersey, catching up with some of the older coaches who had been working with this team since his first caps. He chatted pleasantly to a couple of familiar faces on the site team who were providing refreshments and keeping the operation running smoothly, and he interacted with polite blandness towards the media crew who he wasn't quite awake enough for this morning - smiling properly for the cameras and cutting a dashing figure as one of the England squad's `old boys' at 32 could wait until the next couple of days' training, and the Thursday trip to Napoli for a qualifier match versus Italy.

One at a time, Henderson greeted the few other players who followed his arrival, always finding it hard to put aside his responsible captain duty when he was away from LFC, unable to cede that paternal vibe entirely to his friend Harry Kane. He grabbed Manchester City's John Stones in a big hug, complimenting the lanky defender on just how hench he was looking in his tight-fitting tracksuit; he greeted Luke Shaw from the other side of that rival city, always charmed by the bearded lad's humble good spirits, and was unsurprised when a car delivered big Harry Maguire to the entrance steps only two minutes later. He was drawn out onto said steps to join the welcome for a pair of Arsenal stars who were arriving together, Aaron Ramsdale and young Bukayo Saka; minutes ago, the 6ft athlete had been fending off slightly irritating questions from a media officer about club rivalries and how he might feel training again with stars who were beating Liverpool in the league. Ridiculous, he thought, though he'd been more polite with the young media twerp - the Premier League was a distant entity once they were here in this bubble of friendship and commitment, and he was pleased to see the young stars here to play for their country.

And then there was an evident flurry of interest from the various parts of the St George's Park welcome committee - whoever was next arriving at the sweeping driveway of their state-of-the-art training complex was causing a bit more interest than an Arsenal goalkeeper and attacking midfielder, and Hendo instinctively picked up on this, seeing the change in the behaviour of the female staff, and the quiet interest of the guys. He paused in the doorway, hands in his pockets, and looked down the kerb - ah, right.

An impressive figure at the end of his teens, the Bundesliga talent unfolded from his vehicle in a slow and awkward manner, looking far from fresh and eager as he came out into the light, blinking and grimacing. With a captain's friendly concern, Henderson paused to watch, a little taken aback by the uncomfortable way in which Jude Bellingham received his luggage from the driver and then approached the steps in a stooped and sluggish manner. Instantly, Borussia Dortmund's 19-year-old Brummie was enveloped by welcome, and Henderson himself was peripheral to the activity - he drifted inside with everyone else, failing to be distracted by the arrival of two more players out on the roadside.

Inside, he could hear the natural slur of Bellingham's Midlands accent, but he was particularly quiet and gruff, and blank and charmless as many reached for handshakes and back-pats to welcome the squad's current teen sensation. A suspicion forming, Jordan zoomed in on his teammate, politely shouldering his way close and throwing an arm about the broadening shoulders of the 6ft1 midfielder. `How hungover are you, exactly?' the Liverpool captain asked in a discreetly low voice, smiling brightly at his young friend. Jude's long serious face turned his way, grimacing miserably, and the bearded older stud could only laugh sympathetically.

Instantly, Henderson was steering him past the kit pick-up and chatting loudly at him with half-joking exclamations such as Aren't you sick of Germany yet?' and I have a Liverpool contract in my suitcase if you want to read it over?' Tactfully, he guided the youngster away from the fuss and attention, allowing the sound of Jack Grealish and captain Kane himself to draw away the interest of the crew - until he had the peaky-faced Brum lad in the broad doorway through towards the passages that connected the training site with the hotel wings.

Bellingham groaned deeply. Fuck, is it that obvious?' he asked weakly. His shoulders drooped and he hooked his thumbs into the bag-straps in a way that was decidedly teenaged, despite his physical maturity. Ugh. Fuck.'

Well, I've seen that look before,' Jordan chuckled warmly. Good night? Oh god - you need to get out of here and get some rest, look at you.' He was unjudgemental and calm, thinking just about Jude's wellbeing and also the young star's reputation - he didn't need the England PR machine capturing too much of his toxic state, his sallow cheeks and hazy eyes, or his clumsy still-drunk gait. Jordan laughed sympathetically and patted one strong bicep. `What's your room situation? Do you know who you're sharing with?'

Jude shook his head, and it was amusing to see how sheepish and therefore boyish the Bundesliga star looked, for all his maturity on a football pitch. He looked like a young lad who'd been caught at his parents' vodka, rather than a 19-year-old international athlete. Jordan shook his head in mock disapproval. Bad lad,' he muttered in his own thick Wearside accent. Look, just go get your head down - you look like you'd throw up on one of those liaison people if they try to get anything over to you.' He fished into the pocket of his jersey and retrieved the heavy key and fob that had been handed to him minutes ago as he completed his player registration at the formal kiosk. I dunno who I'm meant to share with, but they can just swap over, stick with me - take this and go get yourself in the room. I'll take care of your stuff down here.' Jude stared at him in wide-eyed misery, as if barely able to keep his eyes open or scared to open his mouth. Leave that,' Hendo told him, as the younger guy reached for the tall handle of his case, `I'll sort it all. Go look after yourself, Bells.' He nudged a fist-bump into his sturdy chest and nodded firmly through the doors in the direction of their hotel quarters.

And the tall teen just gave him a very grateful look and backed off, grabbing his bag straps and grimacing with one of those fresh waves of nausea - it made Jordan glad to be in his 30s and happily married, not often suffering those kinds of heinous hangover like he had in his 20s. He thought about that particularly stinking hungover morning where he'd woken up next to his best mate Ads and things had begun to wake up in his body.

`Thanks, bro,' was Jude's slurred remark before loping off, tall and ungainly, and Jordan just waved him lightly off, before making a beeline back for the centre of the foyer and drawing any possible attention away from the lad's exit by going in for a big huge with Kane and then Grealish, the photographers all over the cross-club interaction like moths to a flame. And then Henderson set about quietly speaking to the registration staff and clearing things up for Jude, making it clear that the teen would room with him for the next few days; once that was sorted and he had some forms tucked into his tote bag ready for the youngster to sign, he paused to check his phone.

On his way to start following Maguire and Shaw through into the hotel, Hendo couldn't help but grin to himself and feel teenage butterflies somewhere in his muscle-toned stomach. The first message that pinged up on the unlocked screen was one from his absent Liverpudlian, one of Southgate's 2023 snubs. Hope today goes ok, big man' read the first of several subsequent WhatsApp messages from the 24-year-old defender, but Jordan's eyes were instantly drawn to the last one and its winking emoji: Look out for our Jude, will ya - he's gonna be tender. Look after him haha, he's gonna be a Red xx'

Jordan raised his dark brows slightly, surprised at the coincidence of topic and that he'd been the one to do just that, adopting the hungover youth out of protective instinct without any encouragement needed. He and Trent thought alike; he smiled absently, remembering that the two younger lads had made plans in London before the meet-up, and vaguely sad that he hadn't found a way to join them, but also conscious that they wouldn't necessarily want a married 32-year-old killing their fun night out. Before pausing to make sure he had all of his, and Jude's, luggage, Jordan punched in a rapid reply to his Anfield boy-toy: Lol, already on it - poor kid is sick as a dog, I'm sorting things out for him,' and then, Thanks for messaging, means a lot to hear from you x'

And off he went, struggling under the collective cases, and piling into one elevator on his own that would take him up into the player suites above, wondering just what state he'd find young Bellingham in.

The stinking hangover had hit Jude like a articulated lorry from the second he awoke. He hadn't even realised he'd had quite so much to drink, or that he'd got so wasted - after all, the pair of them had been pretty reserved at the Chris Brown arena gig, conscious of the cameras that would swing their way to see two top-flight football buddies gracing such a public event. They'd been sensible at the restaurant beforehand too, but at the elite VIP bar afterwards and at the bar of this hotel, things had clearly gone a different way: the insides of the teenager's mouth felt scorched and velvety, his tongue too big, and his head throbbed with slow pulses of pain that made it very difficult to wrench one eye and then both open. He brought one hand up to rub at his temple and across his clammy brow, and then ran the same sweaty palm across his bare six-pack, his tummy feeling all kinds of wrong.

Ugh.

Bellingham lay there very still, bracing himself against the physical consequences of drinking. Like all young professional footballers, he was an unpractised drinker. He'd been greatly protected from such vices as a Birmingham youth and then even more heavily coddled when he was transplanted to Germany for his big break. He wasn't exactly a puritan about it, but he'd always put his developing fitness ahead of such normal pleasures... but last night he'd clearly let it slide, and just enjoyed being out and about in London town, a rich young stud with everyone's eyes on him!

He had vague memories of chatting to some supposed fashion models at the bar, and trying very hard to get their number, and cringed at himself. Instinctively, the hand flat on his abs went south, and he felt his manhood through the musty boxer shorts that had weathered the sweaty concert and drunken aftermath, and the cock that had gone unattended due to his abysmal flirting and, it turned out, utterly intoxicated state.

Oh, there it was. Not just the headache and the hotness, not just the nausea and the self-loathing... but the hangover horn was here too. His cock felt fat and ready in his pants, and he hadn't even realised he was feeling that. But as his fingers found its sturdy outline, he knew how aroused he was, the proverbial extra symptom of a horrible beery hangover, stiffening to his lazy grip. Fuck's sake, what a waste.

It took Bellingham a little longer to piece it all together: quite how the night had ended, and where in fact he was waking up. He was swathed in a tangle of duvet that his sweaty body had resisted in the heat of the night, and in a large bed in a fairly sprawling hotel suite. And, he remembered whilst blinking dizzily over the room, it was one of two beds. Another body lay not far away in a similar condition - strips of bare brown muscle contrasting the fluffy white of the disrupted duvet. Oh, yeh - they'd agreed to share the big suite, after Trent's other accommodation plans had apparently fallen through, and that had perhaps been half the reason they went on to drink so much. Jude could picture them being big ballers in the hotel bar, buying shots for everybody, and then drinking more up here, mourning the absence of the two 10/10 girls they'd been chatting to earlier.

Sensibly, the teen pulled his exploring hand away from the loaded front of his black-and-grey striped trunks, remembering that he wasn't alone with his beer sweats and his hangover horn. But not for long. He couldn't help himself. His own long fingers crept down the bottom of his ripped torso and stroked across the warm fabric, finding and pulling at the outline of his increasingly stiff nob. Well... Alexander-Arnold looked and sounded fast asleep, so there wasn't really any harm in it, was there?

He lay there in his awkward giddy state, pretty sure he was actually still quite pissed, and played with himself through his pants, enjoying the strange inconsistent numbness of his dick and balls, the gentle throb of abstract arousal. There was something pleasantly indulgent about lying here in his self-inflicted pain and grabbing loosely at his neglected prick, thinking about the great shag that he might have enjoyed if his flirting skills were less blunt. He was pretty sure his chat had amounted to `I'm pretty rich and famous and you're hot, so shall we?'

The hungover self-care progressed quietly, his knuckles rustling against the bedding that covered his middle. His other hand strayed against his own chest, giving his own soft nipples a little tweak; he'd quite liked it the other week when his buddy Salih Ozcan had begun to play with them in another hotel bed, though at first he'd slapped at his hands and told him to focus his attention elsewhere. He'd quite like it though when the German Turk gave them a little lick. Jude rubbed a single finger over his lips and tongue and then circled it against one hardened nip, almost laughing at himself for the sensation. No doubt, though, it got him even hornier, and he couldn't stop himself - the cock came out of the restrictive elastic of his trunks, and he wanked it under the fold of duvet, pulling back and forth on the thick shaft, letting out faint sleepy moans, his headache somewhat soothed by the sensations in his crotch. The harder he pulled on himself, and the more he tweaked at his left nipple with two fingers, the less he felt like he needed to roll out of bed and be sick off the Mayfair balcony.

His pants became more audible, really shifting his 6ft1 lean body on the bedding, pushing the impossible swirl of duvet away until his cock was properly out, held at the base, and he could look down the pale brown of his pecs and abs to see and admire just how well-equipped he actually was for a young guy.

He was so braindead with drink, that's why he'd lost his sense of time and place, just physically needy for the self-comfort of the wank - otherwise he'd never have been so stupid as to wank his cock openly like this, duvet pushed down his strong thighs, hand sliding down his six-pack and reaching about to cup his fat balls - and then eyes squinting open and looking over at the next bed, only to recognise the shifting posture of the exposed flashes of muscle, and the face that was forming where he hadn't expected to see one. Eyes open, and looking this way.

Jude froze, mortified, and met Trent's eyes with his own. He lay still and said nothing, hand about his cock, and much of his 6ft1 physique bared and exposed on top of his messy bedding. Only a strip of his mighty legs were covered by a stretch of duvet now, down where he'd pushed it to get a proper grip on his cock and really pull on it in a way that abated the pains of the hangover. Oh, bugger.

`Having fun over there, are ya?' drawled the unmistakably Scouse tone of the right-back's voice, and Bellingham tried to let his eyes focus enough to properly take in Alexander-Arnold's facial expression in the unlit gloom of their suite.

`Uh, sorry,' Jude moaned awkwardly, hand still about his hard dick, frozen in the act.

`Sorry for what?' moaned the voice of the Liverpool star, sounding every bit as groggy and indulgent as he felt; he was immediately relieved by the tone of amusement and approval in Trent's voice, but still somewhat panicked and awkward, feeling exposed. It was as if baring his cock like this and being caught in the simple innocent act of masturbation also exposed everything else: the way he'd been drawn into youthful mischief once or twice by Jadon Sancho, or the way he'd asserted himself against their England captain last winter in Doha - or worse, the sordid group session he'd been led into by Eric Dier, the six of them standing over a gasping Harry Kane and feeding him their dirty loads. Meeting eyes again with the other hungover football player, Jude felt sweaty and anxious, as if the entire world had just seen him fucking the mouth of his Dortmund teammate Ozcan. Trent was a close buddy and favourite player - he didn't want to be judged by him.

Don't let me stop ya,' yawned the Scouser's voice. You do what you got to do, lad.'

Still the teenager paused, gripping awkwardly at his hard-on and wondering why it hadn't wilted the slightest in these moments of awkwardness and shame; the hangover horn was as raging in his touch as it had been when he woke up, and as oddly numb, as if he could play with it for HOURS and edge himself out of the hangover state.

Or,' droned Trent's voice, after a slight pause, do you need a hand with it?' The offer was followed by a gentle snigger and a sort of groaning sound as if Trent was too hungover to think straight; Jude's whole 6ft1 body tensed up against the bed, and he stared across between their beds, unable to catch sight of the Scouse lad's face now that he'd spoken so wildly. Trent was shifting about, his locs bouncing as he moved positions, wrestling with his covers - but then spinning around to sit over the edge of his bed, his bulky 5ft9 body on show, increasingly thickset with defender's muscle.

Jude stared at him, noticing the poised manner of the 24-year-old player's body; and finally focusing in properly on his face, the bleary baggy eyes and lazy pouting smile, the lad looking every bit as drink-destroyed as himself. Up he got, to his feet, his whole body on show in white CK boxer briefs, exactly as photographed by the brand - the images in December had left Bellingham thoughtful about his own future side-hustles, and the deals that might eventually come his way.

Now he was getting his own intimate viewing of the Calvin Klein campaign shoot, Trent crossing the short journeys between their beds. He stood there at the side of Jude's, and Jude just lay still, slowing removing his hand from his sweaty cock, resting it on one thigh. He gulped anxiously and watched the other lad's hand come in for a stroke, but once his length was being teased and fondle, he just shut his eyes and let out the shuddering moan of appreciation - he was hungover, horny, and needy, and this was exactly what he wanted. Oh, fuck yes.

Jordan waved goodbye to a couple of others on the landing and then progressed to his room. He half-expected to enter the suite and find the German league player fully dressed and snoring on the nearest bed, collapsed there in exactly the peaky state he'd arrived in. But nope - the large shared suite was visibly empty and undisturbed, and Henderson shuffled the luggage inside one item at a time, blinking confusedly and wondering what had happened, until he realised he could hear the sound of running water, and appreciated that his adopted roomie must be trying to freshen up. He smiled fondly, glad he could do something to alleviate the hungover teen's difficult morning, and dragged the last of their mutual bags into the room before shutting and bolting the door. With several players still to arrive, they still had a bit of down-time before a communal lunch and the afternoon's introductory training runaround.

Into the room, unzipping his jersey top, and rubbing hands down his own sleepy face. He was craving coffee and he immediately began to investigate the espresso machine on the side, studying the bland features of the hotel room and trying to work out if it was a suite he'd occupied here before on some previous Three Lions jaunt.

You alright in there?' he called loudly into the en suite, shrugging off his top and settling into a chair in just his white t-shirt and tracksuit pants, pulling off his trainers and giving his socked feet a slight massage. There was no immediate response, and he assumed that Bells couldn't hear him for the shower; but then the watery noise responded and a garbled Brummie accent hollered back, That you, Hendo?' Well, he already sounded a bit more alert than he'd looked downstairs, which heartened the 32-year-old.

Not quite responding to the question, as the watery noise resumed, the Liverpool skipper pulled his phone out again, and checked to see if his Trent had acknowledged that last message - he was a bit surprised that he had, given that the 24-year-old must be wrecked today too, and didn't have young Jude's schedule. The sexy Scouser had much of the week off as a result of his England snub, a situation which Trent was not overtly worried by.

Oh?' read Trent's response, accompanied by a winking yellow face; What kinda things you sorting out for him?' There was one of those little purple devils next to this, and then a message of ...' and finally a string of crying-laughing emojis. Jordan spluttered with amusement at the suggestive messages from his lover-boy, and felt himself instinctively rush to type in NOT LIKE THAT' before pausing to question the tone that was coming this way - and then saw that his Liverpudlian love was typing more. I told you - look after him lol - like PROPERLY look after him'. Jordan blinked at this imperative and laughed again to himself, then picked an eye-rolling emoji and typed, You're a menace, TAA'. He paused, holding the device in both hands, and then waited awkwardly - there was a part of him that wanted more of this cheekiness from his younger man, this saucy streak that came out when Trent was in a particularly good or frisky mood - but also a little unnerved by it, and now starting to wonder what exactly had happened last night on the younger guys' big London night. Just the Chris Brown gig, or...?

A single purple devil came again from Trent's number, and after a short pause, `I've packaged him up for you good n proper, daddy - enjoy'. The 32-year-old Sunderland man stared blankly at this oblique offer, trying to understand what Trent was actually getting at, and then distracted sharply from the saucy convo by the clearing of a throat. When he looked up, Jude himself was stood a few yards across the room, a towel wrapped about his waist and every deep brown muscle shining and glossy.

Cold shower,' the youth grunted. It's definitely helped. But still, ugh.'

Hendo stared at him. He couldn't help it. The Birmingham teen was so well-built for his age, 6ft1 and broad, already very different to the skinny 17-year-old geek who'd made his ambitious debut with this squad a couple of years ago. Jude's eyes met his and Jordan realised just how overtly he was staring down the towel-clad young stud, making him clear his throat awkwardly too, and blink heavily, and lock his phone screen as if Bellingham was about to see the cheeky communication with their mutual pal.

Right,' Hendo grunted. Sure, of course. Glad it helped.'

`Something up?' murmured Bellingham, his hands falling to the knotted waist of the towel, some arm muscles tensing inevitably in the moment; it was almost as if the 19-year-old was deliberately showing off his physique for him, although that was stupid, why would he bother...?

Nothing,' Jordan claimed, although in fact his cock was immediately on its way up, pulsing in the front of his tracksuit and making him shift his legs on the chair, and clear his throat again. He held on tightly to the locked phone, thinking over Trent's odd words. What the hell was the fella on about? Packaged him up'? `Enjoy'?

Jude was still staring at him with an odd expression, but the serious-faced young man turned away and strutted across to the big weekend bag which Jordan himself had delivered to the foot of one bed, the main bulk of the younger guy's luggage. In one move, Bellingham unzipped it and reached in, snatching something off the top of the neat contents, a slip of white which he unfolded and stretched and instantly revealed as a pair of CK briefs. And then Jude was back to him, allowing his eyes to study a different angle on those developing muscles; with a wiggle and a hop, the lad was stepping into those pants and letting the towel fall away, dragging it over his damp chest whilst relaxing in just the tight white-

Oh.

The pants were so familiar. So very familiar. Oddly distinctive, despite being white and classic. They were exactly the design that...

`Did Trent give you those?' the Liverpool captain found himself asking.

Jude half-turned, the towel about his broad shoulders and gripped in both hands; his long leaned torso stretched down to the sharp contrast of the brand-new white undies that hugged him so well, that `packaged' him so blindingly between those strong brown thighs. Oh my. Trent certainly had giftwrapped this beautiful boy for him.

What?' Bellingham mumbled first, then quickly, Oh, right - yeah, actually, he did, erm - how did you know, ha? They're- I mean, apparently they're not out yet, they're a newer cut that... um. He explained what was different about them, but... I dunno, I think a pair of tighty whities is just a pair of tighty whities...'

Jordan Henderson was a cautious man, especially about his blossomed bisexuality. But he was reading the signs from Trent, and he felt he knew what was possible. He stood up form the seat, phone slid into his pocket, and bulge perhaps already visible in the front of his trackies. No, not just any pair, they look great on you,' he remarked boldly. Just like they do on Trent, don't you think?' The youth wrinkled his face slightly at this query, standing there still and exposed - and Jordan took a few steps towards him, crossing the room.

`Did he tell you to wear them?' he asked, his voice lower and more sensual.

Er - yes. He just said that... well...' The youth blushed slightly and let go of the towel, which fell from his strong shoulders, and one self-conscious hand moved down towards the big white bulge of the undies, Jordan drawing close enough to smell the soapy freshness of his body. He smiled at Bellingham's awkward expression and asked, He told you they'd make your bulge look good?' he asked. It was exactly what Alexander-Arnold had insisted to him when he gifted him several pairs of them last week.

`Something like that,' Jude whispered.

And it does.' Jordan reached down and took it in hand, giving it a good firm squeeze. He also told me to look after you, to sort you out. What do you think to that, kid?'

Jude stood in front of him, powerful and exciting, and letting out a purring murmur of interest. Oh - is that right, boss...?' His smile was suddenly confident and approving, but his eyes were wide and betrayed surprise and a little apprehension. Trent did tell me to ask you for anything I needed once I got here...'

He was right,' Hendo confirmed quietly, squeezing the gift-wrapped package, and bending his knees to start sinking down. He licked his lips as he did, and whispered one more assurance before kneeling in front of his young roommate. He knows how comforting and supportive I can be, that lad. Now let's get these down...'

Jude lay there, sweating and shuddering, feeling still sickened by the hangover, but also overwhelmed by the warm softness that enclosed his dick. Trent was on the bed with him, making it creak beneath their athletic bodies. There had been only a few gentle strokes of the other player's hand before he came in with his full lips and did the job properly - and oh god it felt good, perhaps better than any attention the 19-year-old's huge cock had ever received before.

It felt so right, the two of them in here, strong and bare and stinking of sweat and booze, but his legs open and Trent's face burying in across his crotch each time he took the length into his throat. His lips and tongue were magical, and he made such an easy job of it, so much more talented than frantic nervous Salih in German hotel rooms these past two months.

Fuck,' the teen growled. You're good at this, fella.'

No answer from Trent; after all, his mouth was full.

`Oh god, that feels goooood. Fuckkkk. Mmmm, buddy...'

Just gargling and gurgling and lapping sounds from the Scouser.

Jude pushed back with his tall muscular build, digging his elbows and heels into the mattress, spreading his limbs, stretching out his body and really allowing himself to enjoy it - so much better than his own fumbling wank, so much more tender and comforting, EXACTLY what he needed.

Jesus,' he panted, you know how to use that mouth, lad...!'

He felt glued to the bed, unable to move any inch of his powerful body, totally floored by both the weight of the hangover and the sheer overwhelming pleasure of Trent Alexander-Arnold's gifted mouth. This felt unreal and out-of-body. Oh, god. It was only in the deepest throes of his enjoyment that he felt any consciousness of time, and it somewhere dawned on him, in some stuffy corner of the brain that wasn't paying attention to the life-changing experience of his huge cock: didn't he have somewhere to be today? Didn't he need to get out of London and on his way to...?

But then Trent gripped him about the base of the shaft and stooped to tongue at his balls instead, sending him into a giddy reverie that had zero interest in transport practicalities and professional commitments; the England training camp was a million miles away, and all that mattered was the hot wet mouth that was hell-bent on making him cum.

Jordan peeled away the crisp white Calvins as if they really were gift-wrapping, exposing the trimmed fuzz of black pubes, and the heavy thick snake that now dangled between those gorgeous thigh muscles. It was certainly pretty big, even soft, and the flattering fit of these CKs had been an unnecessary advantage; Jude had no need for cosmetic help in that department. Wow.

Bellingham stood in front of him, his posture calm and aloof, but he felt a little shaky and nervous when Hendo's hands rested below his hips. He breathed softly on the hanging snake, and looked up with serious eyes, staring up the ladder of the youth's six-pack, past his developing pecs, and up into his curious face. `I'm gonna suck you,' Henderson announced needlessly, and Bellingham just nodded.

Without any more to say, Jordan angled his face and opened his mouth and took that soft cock in between his lips, more comfortable than ever with this once-taboo act; he could still remember nervously and almost fearfully putting his lips to Neco's quivering pipe in a silent hotel, claiming the Welsh prince as his own in what now felt like another lifetime.

Holding the stud by the hips, Jordan coaxed the cock into life, resting it between his lips and lolling his tongue against the swelling meat; he nuzzled into the lad's crotch and let the sharp tufts of his own beard tickle and scratch, making the 6ft1 teen shudder and gasp. And then he guided him to one side and encouraged him back until the Dortmund player was seated on the side of the bed and Jordan was hunkered assertively between his open legs, holding his thighs open and leaning down to caress his tongue over the pink head of the long brown monster that rose to meet his kiss.

As he began to suck on it, enjoying the thickness that bloomed in his mouth, he ran his hands up and down the legs, caressing every inch of powerful muscle in thigh and calf, and helping to remove those gifted white briefs from about the ankles. He bunched them inside a fist, knowing they were part of the gift; they weren't as new as they looked, and he suspected that if he sniffed them, he would pick up a hint of Trent's aroma. He gripped and squeezed them, connected to his Scouse hunk as he sucked on this handsome replacement, this hot new pal - and it was like sharing a distant kiss with his man, knowing that they had both `looked after' this huge veiny rod, this hunky 19-going-on-30 football prodigy. This... future Liverpool player?

Prone on his hotel bed, Jude gushed with cum, wanking his wet shaft himself whilst Trent kissed and nipped at his fat balls and rubbed vigorously at the sides of his thighs. He moaned and growled as he emptied his load, sure that much of it must be painting the sides of Trent's face, but not caring. He just closed his eyes and howled out his dizzy enjoyment, muscles shaking against the bed as he experienced the throes of his perfect climax and then lay there in a sweaty state, still feeling Trent's tongue and lips all over his shaking privates, soothing and slow.

The thought came back to him - I need to be somewhere else - almost as soon as Trent's kisses diminished down one thigh and left them, and he rolled to one side and hopped off the bed, cock swinging and dripping a little leftover spunk from its fat tip. He stood there with a stricken look on his face and saw Trent stood at the foot of his bed, one hand inside his Calvins, grinning mischievously.

Oh come on,' teased the Scouser, it wasn't that bad, was it?'

Jude stared at him for a moment. `Huh? Oh - no - it was... fuck. It was perfect.' He paused uncomfortably at the strength of his praise, not used to communicating so openly with a playmate after the deed was done. He felt hot and awkward and he wanted to shower, but he was looking at the face of the expensive watch he'd picked up from his bedside table. Fuck, fuck, fuck - he'd slept through alarms, or his phone was dead. A car would be waiting for him downstairs in a matter of minutes, ready to deliver him to the open arms of Southgate's England encampment.

Perfect?' he heard Trent muse smugly. Wow. Okay.'

And then Jude was hopping about the room, searching his scattered belongings and grabbing wildly at untouched cases which were all packed and ready, assisted by his mom, for the duration of his week as an England midfielder. But then Trent was next to him, still fondling himself in his trunks, and pressing a small white bundle into his hand. Here,' grunted the Liverpudlian. You don't have time for a shower, but you have time for fresh pants. And these will look fucking hot on you, big lad. Wear them for me and get the fuck out of here - you told me your schedule. You're short on time, lad.'

The exit happened in a blur. Jude remembered staring at his slightly older friend in fascination, absolutely mind-blown to have discovered this talent and openness in the other pro footballer, far more-so than when he'd confronted that slutty captain by the pool, or when he'd urged Ozcan into servicing him in secret - or when Jadon had turned out to be so kinky. And he accepted the tight bundle of underwear, his own sweaty boxers already discarded on the bed and stained with streaks of his spilled jizz. Into the tight white briefs he went, pulling up his long legs, and feeling them hug his softening monster. Moments later and Trent was thrusting the items of an England tracksuit at him from an open case, and helping him out of the door once he had wriggled into each garment - the Liverpool player still just in his own undies, and not shy about how hard he was in the front of them.

Look out for Hendo,' his friend called after him as he dashed out into the corridor. He'll look after ya, kiddo. He's good like that. Just you wait til he's your captain too, ha.'

And Jude scampered towards the lift and down to his hired ride, feeling all of the nausea and dehydration rush back to him as he slumped against one wall of the boxy space, hot under the collar of his t-shirt, and sure that his cock was still leaking cum inside the tight white pants that had been thrust at him. Jesus christ he was hungover, and not sure how he was going to cope with his arrival at St George's Park.

At St George's Park, a couple of hours later, he more than arrived: his load hit the back of Jordan's mouth and tasted delicious as it came. He was holding the lad's trembling thighs tightly in each hand as he kept his mouth glued to the shaft, receiving this second creamy load of the day, and refusing to pull his lips away until he'd swallowed every salty trace of it, always shocked at how much enjoyment he could find in his lover's juices.

Eventually he pulled back, resting heavily on those solid thighs, and licking some stickiness from his lips, panting a little bit as he caught his breath. In front of him, Jude was sprawled back, naked and shaking, where his body had fallen back over the bed. He too was gasping for air, his strong bare chest rising and falling, and his arms lifting to expose his pits as he planted his big hands to his shiny face. He groaned to himself behind those fingers ,and Jordan stroked more gently up and down his thighs.

`Better now?' he asked quietly, and then pulled away. He wiped the back of a hand over his bearded mouth, and let out a chiming laugh at the frenzy and greed of his own behaviour, but a chuckle that gave away to appreciative silence as he stood there and took in the majestic bare body of the 6ft1 teen on the bed, cock still bobbing and glistening.

Jordan silently fetched the dropped towel and brought it to him, laying it over his waist and crotch, and then grabbing a clean one that was folded on the other bed, blanketing Jude's upper body in it as he lay there and recovered. Then he went to their small fridge and retrieved an icy bottle of still water. It was gladly received by Bellingham, now sitting up and breathing a bit more normally; glugging instantly on the open glass bottle, as if he hadn't seen water in weeks or months.

Jordan sighed happily and stroked the shape of his erection through his trackies, feeling the bulge of the bunched-up underpants that he'd stuffed in one pocket. And then, quite calmly and mundanely, he asked, `Cup of tea, mate...?' and shot a wholesome smile across the room, watching Jude's bewildered face and limp body language as the sexually satisfied young hunk swathed himself in towels and dragged his feet up onto the bed to relax properly on his side. His expression was grateful and soothed as he nodded and smiled and curled up into an almost foetal position, wrapped in white towel. Jordan smirked and took control of the room's kettle, happy to look after his England (and perhaps next season, club) teammate.

And he was even happier later that day when he'd sneaked back to the room, excusing himself from the last stage of informal training, to call up Trent and thank him for sharing the gift. Jordan's erection woke back up immediately, especially when he wrapped the white briefs about it like a wank-sock, and chatted away to his Scouse hunk over the call. Alone in the room, he wanked himself silly, listening to the hungover gruffness in Tent's voice, and telling him how he'd pictured him as he gobbled on Jude's 19-year-old prick. The two LFC lovers came in near unison, gasping down the phone lines in different hotels, and then broke into happy giggles at the desperate pleasure they'd just shared. Thank you,' Jordan gushed earnestly. Just look after him,' sniggered Trent, still quite playful, `and convince him to sign for us. Agents in red, us two, haha - he's all ours.'

'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/

Amazon Wishlist here if you wanna say thanks LOL

https://www.amazon.co.uk/hz/wishlist/ls/26BW3WSABBHNM?ref_=wl_share

Next: Chapter 353


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