Part 363: England Camp, Day Two
Tuesday, and an unseasonal heat blazed over the outdoor training pitches of St George's Park, bringing an extra shine of sweat to the bare limbs of the England players who were getting stuck into their first full day's work. It was only just approaching midday, and already temperatures were in the upper 20s, and the athletic football blokes covered their dazed exhaustion with laughter and banter. Their home counties base felt like a hot-weather camp in the Med or the Gulf, and Ben Chilwell kept finding himself needing to pull back the short curtains of his chocolate-brown hair where it stuck to the lightly tanned skin of his brow and his cheeks.
Determined to project nothing but peak fitness, the acting Chelsea captain gritted himself against the oppressive heat. At 26, the left-back had missed a lot of key opportunities on his national team through injury or fitness concerns, and he was determined to make Southgate's starting line-up for the upcoming fixtures, especially in a slightly depleted squad where some of his defensive competition had been ruled out, especially United's Luke Shaw, whose burly presence Chilwell might struggle to replace.
Laughing along with the high spirits of the other players in his sub-group for this round of set-pieces, the determined young Englishman was entirely focused on his skills and his readiness for international football. Well, almost entirely focused. There was this morning to think about, of course, and it was difficult not to let his mind slip back to those precious images, even as the ball was deftly passed his way and he was supposed to chip it over a wall of his Three Lions teammates.
Breakfast had been scheduled early for Day Two, partly with a nod to the day's heat and the possibility of getting maximum work done before the temperatures really soared. Ben had been as excitable and enthusiastic as anyone else in the hotel refectory as they raided the healthy buffet and shared a few new in-jokes about who had stood out in the preliminary work of Monday afternoon. Sat with his younger Chelsea comrades Conor Gallagher and debutant Levi Colwill, Chilwell had done his best to big up the other lads' efforts and rouse some approval from the more seasoned England stars at their table - but he'd also found himself scouting around the room, eyeing not just his own table but the other two long ones positioned in parallel. The breakfast window was almost over, he'd noted, and there were definitely a couple of key faces missing.
In a lull in the chat, Ben leaned slightly to his right, nudging elbows with Jordan Henderson. Catching the older player's attention, he quietly asked, Where's Trent at?' and then paused almost cautiously before adding, And have you seen Jack...?'
The soft-bearded ex-Liverpool man fixed with a decidedly odd look in the middle of eating his muesli, catching faintly at Ben's curiosity, but he was alerted by an interrupting voice from the other side of their table. Both going home today, apparently,' Fikayo Tomoroi informed him bluntly, pausing to crunch into an apple in his hand. Saw them with their cases just now - their medical appointments yesterday didn't go so good, and they've been ruled out.' The AC Milan player shrugged thoughtfully. `Shame for them, but means more match-time for the rest of us, huh.'
Ben glanced briefly back at the troubled expression on Hendo's face and just nodded slowly, resting his elbows on the table and digesting this disappointing information. They both looked fine to me,' Colwill was saying, only to be dismissed by Gallagher: Club lawyers, ain't it, we're like expensive racehorses. Slightest knock and...'
`Yeah,' Ben murmured faintly in agreement when he was asked, too distracted now to note just how sick and awkward Henderson looked at his side once Trent Alexander-Arnold became a general topic of conversation to the rest of the table.
He left breakfast soon after that, chiding himself for the faint nausea of disappointment that had slapped him at this news. Trent's absence was hardly a problem, given how it might clear up some defensive midfield opportunity for him... but he'd been quite looking forward to a catch-up with Jack Grealish, having barely seen his, erm, friend for the whole of summer. They'd bumped into each other on the way into the campus on Monday morning and shared a long grateful hug, warming Ben to the idea of spending a bit more time with his ex on this international camp.
Ben was just on his way back to his room, shared with newcomer Levi, when he walked straight into the man who was on his mind. The two football players ricocheted awkwardly from each other in surprise on the landing, and then strong hands slid to Ben's forearms to steady himself and he found himself staring into the charismatic grin and playful eyes of Jack Grealish. He blinked dumbly for a moment, confused briefly as if his very thoughts had manifested into the familiar figure of the Brummie star.
`Hey buddy,' purred Jack's lilting accent, hovering in front of him and letting his hands drop to his sides again.
I just heard,' Ben breathed back. Are you really not gonna be able to play?'
Jack paused and sighed, then rolled his eyes. It's nothing, but... y'know. It is what it is.' He shrugged, smiling so broadly that dimples creased in his scruffily bearded features. Just means a few days off before rejoining Pep's bootcamp.' Ben just paused quietly and enjoyed that familiar smile and the irrepressible cheekiness of the other lad's eyes, questioning his own simple gladness to bump into and say some kinda goodbye to his longtime England companion, since they were brattish wannabes in the youth camp.
Gotta go,' Jack said quietly. Me stuff's downstairs already.'
`Right, yeah.'
`But wanted to catch you first.'
Oh,' Ben said, unable to silence his surprise - it hadn't occurred to him that he was bumping into Grealish here because of any deliberate effort. He shifted from bashful surprise to a casual laugh and patted Jack on the arm. Good of you,' he said blandly. `I'm sorry we won't get to hang out like we thought, mate.'
A slow nod from Jack, something a little more intense in the lines around those eyes, and in the curl of that playboy grin. `Not so much, but - well, there's always here and now.'
The Chelsea defender laughed weakly at this, then stopped himself, seeing the leer in Jack's expression. An electric tingle ran through him and he tilted his head quizzically. He was due outdoors for the first fitness drills in fifteen minutes, and it sounded like Grealish was on his way out of here. But...
`Is your roomie downstairs?' the 27-year-old Brummie demanded quietly.
Ben made a jokey scoffing noise, and glanced over his shoulder. `Well, yeh - Levi is chatting away, but-'
Great,' Jack barked. Your room's on this floor?'
Ben grinned awkwardly at him. `Mate...'
Grealish leaned in, hands on his shoulders, faces brushing, and whispered hot breath in his ear: `I've been thinking about sucking your cock since the second I left Manchester, for fuck's sake. Come on.' He pulled back, chewing his lip in a coquettish manner, a few long strands of his trademark hair crossing his face... and Ben felt his cock stiffen in the mesh of his training shorts, and his heart skipped a beat.
The 5ft11 defender had led Jack across the landing and down a separate corridor before he could question the risk, but as he unlocked the door and received a sharp spank on the rump of his England shorts, he still muttered, This is daft!' Jack tumbled after him, pushing the door shut and grabbing him from behind. Daft, or fuckin' horny?' the Villa-turned-City hero murmured, before proceeding to kiss the back and sides of his neck in a way that made him shudder and twist with unexpected delight.
Both?' Ben quipped breathlessly, twisting into a turn and facing the hunky winger, who just smirked back at him and came in for a kiss. Ben received it pliantly, sensory joy wiping out questions such as What if Colwill comes in?' and Have I got time for this?', but also Aren't we supposed to be over?' and `Is there anyone in the world I'd rather kiss than this bastard?' This was for the best, because such complicated thoughts might have killed the stiffening presence in his clingy shorts, and prevented Jack's sinking hand from taking a good strong grip of the shaft whilst they snogged.
`Levi?' Chilwell managed to murmur when the kiss ended and he was being pushed back against the wall, but Grealish was dropping to his knees, minor injury or not - and it was all Ben could do to hold himself still and quiet as he looked down his front and watched his own bulky cock swing free when his shorts were tugged down. Jack paused, their eyes locking, and licked his lips before gently kissing the tip and rolling back the foreskin.
`Fuckkkk,' the Stamford Bridge skipper moaned, and Grealish went to work. Slowly, that perfect mouth slid up his shaft and took half of his lengthy member, then a little more, then really gobbled and slurped at it. God he was good at this, probably a lot better than when they'd actually dated, and he'd been full of hang-ups and insecurity, always questioning their man-on-man love... Manchester City Jack was a different creature, fully liberated and utterly self-confident, and fucking hell he could suck dick. Ben found himself staring at the bedroom door with superficial worry, far too satisfied by the oral attention to REALLY care if his 20-year-old Chelsea colleague might interrupt them.
The thought that Jack was literally still here just to suck him off hit him like a sledgehammer. Again, he was in too much physical pleasure to entertain questions about their rekindled relationship and complicated history, but the questions were still floating there on the edge of his fuzzy lavender haze - and they would bother him deeply later in the hot day when he was supposed to be focused on his training, fighting for his place in the Qualifiers.
Fuck, man,' gurgled Jack as he kissed the underside of the shaft and then brought his hot mouth to Ben's big balls, you taste GOOD, Chilly.'
`Jeeeesus...'
`Nah, just Jacko!'
`Oh god...'
`Mmmmph.'
It felt like a long time since Chilwell had been serviced anything like this. Just stood with his back to the wall, Jack's hands clasping his wrists against the wallpaper. His cock rock hard and slobbered over by the crouching stud. His balls wet and tingling as tongue and lips worked them then returned to the head of his dick. He couldn't stop moaning and gasping, eyes closing and unable to nervously watch the door for intrusion. He wasn't normally a fast cummer, but it had been days and this just felt SO good - he could feel his climax approaching rapidly. He might have protested, not wanting to finish so soon, and already wanting to turn things around and get hold of the monster he knew to be lurking in Jack's own under-sized footy shorts, but... Well, Jack's hold was insistent, and they both had places to be. He realised how one-sided and generous this was, and he let it happen, amazed to find himself still so prized by the £100-million man.
He tried his best to keep the noise down, subduing what might have been absolute squeals of delight, and inevitably bursting with cum against Jack's tongue and lips, his body heaving and shaking against the wall. His hands broke free of Jack's grip and he let his fingers run luxuriously through Jack's hair and over his scalp, all the while pushing his cock in deeper and emptying his messy load down the star's throat. Oh man,' he moaned powerlessly, oh Jack...'
Panting and laughing, Grealish was up on his feet, wiping a hairy forearm across his lips and chin, and blinking furiously. You enjoy that?' he demanded needlessly and insistently. That feel good?'
Ben wasn't able to form a sensible reply. `Fuck's sake,' was all he could moan softly, still collapsed heavily to the wall, and very slowly and clumsily reaching for the massive edifice of his prick, trying to shove it back down inside his shorts - his eyes scanned down and caught the angular hardness in Jack's matching England shorts, all the more prominent for his under-size penchant. He reached as if to grab it but his hand was stayed by Jack's.
`Levi,' the Brummie hunk murmured, as if suddenly safety-conscious.
`But...'
`We both got places to be,' Grealish reminded him very quietly, giving a single glance to the hotel suite door before leaning in for a kiss that Chilly gladly met, tasting his own saltiness on the lips of the sexy winger. He rubbed his hands up his outer arms and against his shoulders through the long-sleeve training top he'd donned for travel, feeling the tight wiry muscles underneath... and just wanting to slide his hands down inside those shorts and find the big tackle that everyone liked to see bounce around in Jack's kit.
That was great,' Chilwell told him, hearing the emptiness and understatement of the description, and laughing awkwardly at himself - he could picture how red his face must be now, and how breathless he'd be as he hurried downstairs to get outside. But Grealish just leered at him and pinched his cheek in a laddish gesture that had followed their friendship since their teens. I needed it,' the City player muttered, `but now I have a car waiting for me, and you gotta go get that left-back spot, Chilly baby. Yeh?'
The door opened then, quite slowly but with enough force to alarm Ben and make him sidle self-consciously further from his visitor - in came Levi Colwill, still shouting back at someone in the corridor, and then starting in surprise as Grealish whirled around and bustled past him, giving him a slap on the shoulder and whistling a jaunty tune on his way out of the room. Levi seemed to stare after him in some vague puzzlement, allowing Ben a moment to grab a hoody off the side and dangle it over the obvious wilting hard-on in his shorts, a few moments' grace until his excitement was fully subsided.
`Is he staying to train?' the 20-year-old defender asked with an eager grin - Ben supposed that Jack was a major role model for Levi's generation of up-and-coming Premiership starlets, in terms of media attention even more than footballing achievement.
Ben, conscious of the glow in his cheeks and the slight cum-stain that would no doubt be appearing in his briefs under the shorts, cleared his throat and shook his head. `Nah, he was just grabbing something off me before he had to go. It's nothing major though - sadly, I guess, for Prem rivals like us, hah...' He smiled weakly and rubbed his face, readjusting the tightness of his briefs and shorts, glad as Colwill disappeared cheerfully into the en suite bathroom and giving him a moment to recover.
But it wasn't his own red-faced recovery that the 26-year-old Milton Keynes lad found himself mulling over under the midday sun, as the Three Lions men sweated their way into a much-needed lunch break in the shade - it was mostly the image of Jack on his knees, grinning up at him with those devilish eyes and smirking lips, ready to suck him off in a risky moment of opportunity - and also the feel of those same lips softly kissing the back of his neck as they tumbled into the room at first, soft little touches of affection that took him back to a very different era in their intimacy. Took him back, and also made him think - the questions that had been brushed aside by pleasure before had queued up and returned, and plagued him distractedly as he sweated his way off the training pitch with the rest of Southgate's depleted squad.
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