Part 366: Day Five
Golden hour light struck him as he stepped out of the airplane door and onto the stairway - and making the most of the sunset glow was one of the official photographers who would travel with them, perched halfway down the steps, camera at the ready. Standard stuff, really, but the 24-year-old took his fist steps onto the metal rungs with a certain frowning hesitance. He couldn't help but hoist the black travel-bag forward a little as if to swing it across his front, self-consciously, as he began to disembark. But a downstairs glanced assuaged the tall football lad's worries somewhat and he let it hang more limply at the right instead, pushing the free hand into the pocket of his zipped-up training jacket. It was hot here too, he thought, especially after the air-conditioned sanctuary of their flight into the country.
Before descending further, the Arsenal midfielder couldn't help but shoot a single glance back over his shoulder, catching the mischievous expression of his teammate as the slightly older lad yanked a backwards baseball cap onto his head and picked up his own luggage in two hands. Their eyes met briefly and the 26-year-old just smirked knowingly, though Declan Rice himself suppressed the cheeky grin and opted instead for self-conscious seriousness - he thought it must look obvious, that he must glow with satisfaction and transgression, so he proceeded on down the runway stairs with a certain uncharacteristic awkwardness, bathed in the gold of the Polish sky.
The flight out of London had begun in high spirits, lots of excitable singing from the lads as they boarded the chartered jet across the continent, ready to face down Ukraine in their Polish host city. Dec was as buzzing as anyone else, finding his way down the aisle and thinking about the usual pleasure of donning an England shirt on a Saturday night - and he was enjoying the banter and company of his newer teammates, pleased to share this experience with young Bukayo and good down-to-earth fellas like Aaron Ramsdale and Eddie Nketiah - though these three were quick to take other seats on the way down the plane, Saka and Nketiah buddying up and Rambo called over by the two elder goalkeepers of the squad to join their row. Dec himself continued on down the aisle and ended up at the actual back row, sliding in on the right and taking the window seat with a cheery whistle of comfort.
Sat down, the former West Ham skipper joined in the throaty chorus of chanting that juddered down the cabin, a stupid old marching song that had taken on jokey significance in the past four and a half days' training. Unsure of some words, Rice let his vocals drop, but grinned pleasantly to himself. He loved the camaraderie and pride of his national team, perhaps now more than ever: things were going well at his new London club, for sure, but it didn't yet feel like `home' compared to his West Ham ascent or his Chelsea roots, and he was still trying to develop the tighter friendships that would do so. He got plenty of respect and admiration around his new club, but he still felt like he was proving himself and working out his place... here, even at just 24, he felt settled and confident, already established in Southgate's good books and increasingly thoughtful about a future captaincy.
Settled and confident in most ways... just a little bit dented by the loss of his stalwart roomie on these trips since an early age, and now the love of his life.
Getting comfortable in the spacious seat, unzipping his training jacket and adjusting his shorts, the Kingston-upon-Thames lad took out his phone and sent another affectionate message to Mason Mount, a variation on the wish you were here' theme that had ran through their contact all week. He knew he'd get no reply from Mase, who was busy with some charitable community event in Greater Manchester this afternoon, but it still felt important to bash the little love you' and kisses into the app before takeoff, and he wished deeply that the seat next to him could be occupied by his favourite person in the world. Thinking of Mount, Rice felt a twinge of unease - United weren't exactly kicking the season off as planned, and he had been a bit worried about the usually-perky lad's mood when they spoke on the phone lately, unconvinced that the Chelsea-raised fellow midfielder was settling in okay to Old Trafford life.
Dec's thoughts were interrupted - Newcastle pals Trippier and Wilson were settling themselves in the pair of seats in front, and the latter of the two was swinging a big muscular arm over the headrest to clasp his hand in brief respect, whooping at him as `Newcastle's next signing' before sinking back down and play-fighting stupidly with his neighbour - and across the aisle, a solitary sour-faced Hendo was finding a window seat of his own. Rice waved vaguely across at one of his midfield role models, but the ex-Liverpudlian must not have noticed, because he just slouched close to his window and turned a cold shoulder to the noisy cheer of the elite cabin. At this, Declan could just shrug and try to get comfortable, noting that he seemed to end up with this half of the back row to himself, not that it mattered - the seating on the FA jet was luxuriously spacious, veritable armchairs of squeaky leather with plenty of leg-room, casual perks that Dec had taken for granted since his late teens.
Inevitably, the 6ft1 footballer stretched his long muscular legs, and stretched them further than his existing generous leg-room, taking advantage of seeming to have the corner to himself, until- `Oi, shift over, shit-face!'
Recent Tottenham acquisition James Maddison flopped down into the next seat and laid a tattooed arm on the rest to nudge Dec's out of the way. `You gonna take up all this space, or can a fella join you here?!' the new Hotspur demanded playfully, giving him a soft kick in the calf and wriggling into a comfortable position in the next seat.
Dec laughed and played along. `I'm quite a big deal, you know, these days...'
`Pfft, second most iconic transfer of the summer at best, Ricicle...'
`Sorry, did you sign for a club with silverware, or-?'
`How many goals and assists have you racked up, Deco? Ah, that's right, less than moi. Oi, move your elbow. Here, you want a pastille to suck for lift-off, bell-end?'
Chatting and smiling, the two guys settled in for the plane's drawn-out taxiing and departure, sucking noisily on the sweets, whilst the Newcastle players in front quietened down and, Declan couldn't help but notice, Jordan Henderson seemed to be aiming for a nap on the other side of the aisle, hoody dragged up over his chest and face. Hendo's droop in energy just foreshadowed the shifting mood of the cabin - they were hardly settling in for a long-haul flight, but the days of unusual heat and intense training had left these strapping young men in a state of fatigue. The echo of chatter from ahead quickly faded and almost as soon as they were up in the air, Dec himself felt his eyelids drooping and his tall lean body settling into a groove of contented rest.
Madders, however, seemed to be less drained - Dec was only dimly aware of the monologue of chatter from the 5ft9 Midlander in the next seat, talking about his family and his new London home, and seemingly satisfied by the sleepy `Mmmm' response which was all Rice could muster from the twilight of his impending nap. Increasingly sleepy, Arsenal's new poster boy nodded and murmured his false attention, his head drooping and his shoulders sliding to one side... and James talked quietly on, sounding hundreds of miles away... and his voice transformed into another, Declan sliding and tumbling into a dreamscape of his own idle thoughts.
He was no longer aboard the chartered yet, no longer in his England gear, no longer surrounded by the other selections of Southgate's much-criticised preferences. He was on a beach and wearing just black shorts, his bare skin brushing pleasantly against warm sand, whilst an ocean breeze played against the fine hairs on his legs and arms. And turning his sleepy head to the left, he was smiling at Mason, who twinkled happily back, and locked hands with him, asking him if he'd expected Man Utd to have its own tropical island in the training ground. Sure,' Dec murmured dumbly at him, that makes sense', as a shark with five legs and a bright green tractor passed them on the dream beach. Mase came leaning in for a kiss, and Dec moaned happily to touch lips with him, thinking that Manchester was a lot more exotic than he remembered it from his last away trip... Mmm, Mase,' was all he could purr, feeling their bare skin brush, and confident that nobody would be able to see them because they were wearing magical invisibility sunscreen - he could fuck his love right here on the beach and it would be fine, right? Mmm, Mase,' he gasped again, feeling one of the United player's hands reach over his tummy and stroke the inside leg of his swim-shorts, and-
Here,' Madders told him in a sharp whisper, you might wanna be careful with your naps if you're gonna talk in your sleep, fella!' And Rice's eyes slid open in a gut-dropping moment of horror, the hazy beach scene dissipating and the hand on his leg turning out to be James' - panic tingled up and down his body, the erotic fantasy merging with the cool cabin interior, and the smirk on Maddison's face revealing that he'd been moaning his boyfriend's name a little too publicly. But the Spurs player just sniggered and squeezed his upper thigh and leaned in a little closer with that excited whisper. `Don't worry, don't think anyone heard but me.'
Dec made a dry-mouthed gurgling groan of embarrassment, then lifted a heavy hand to rub across his blotchy face, but then his eyes shifted down. `Er...'
Yeah,' agreed Madders quietly, you were having quite some dream, huh?'
In the lap of his open thighs and close-fitting shorts, the hard angular outline of his dream-coaxed stiffy was prominent and forceful, all the more obvious and awkward for the girth and length that he carried. The discretion of being sat in the rear window seat of the spacious cabin wasn't enough to stall the fresh panic and embarrassment that lurched through Declan and his shy sensibilities, even in front of a pretty close buddy like James; he let out another quiet groan of dismay and was irritated rather than comforted by the soft chuckle of enjoyment from his neighbour. But... `Here,' hissed Maddison, and he immediately unzipped his matching England training top, wriggling out of it and casting it aside as a sufficient blanket across Dec's lap, hiding the big hard-on that his Mason dreams had woken up.
`Horny fucker,' teased the 26-year-old.
`Jesus,' muttered Rice self-consciously.
`Missing him?' The gentle question was matched by a prod of elbow.
He shifted a little anxiously - he knew from mutual friends and not-so-distant experience that Maddison was pretty comfortably bi, and a brief flashback to the messy romp in Grealish's suite on their last England trip together did nothing to quell his erection. And yet still he felt nervous and protective about his magical connection with Mase, always scared to really talk about it to other players who might have loose lips or any reason to interfere. But he studied the friendly sympathy on James' face and tried to relax - he'd been one of five sweaty blokes in a room full of action with him, after all, Jack's guests for a little celebration. With a further rush of blood to the cock, Dec pictured how it had ended, his own strong tall body pressing the coveted Brummie down into the bed and parting his mighty cheeks. Fuck, his cock was practically leaking pre-cum, and he wasn't even thinking about Mount.
`Yeah,' he answered quite grumpily.
`It's a shame he's not with us,' his neighbour conceded.
Defo,' Dec mumbled, and he wa about to twist it more into a footballing point, suggesting that Mason had been overlooked by Southgate and that some of the newer additions were questionable replacements, fiercely loyal to his midfield love, but then James' hand came sliding over, resting on the discretionary jacket, and fondling the hard outline below - Dec was a little startled but undeniably it felt good, and he stared questioningly at the other England player, before staring worriedly past him to the sleeping mound of Henderson. Mate?' he hissed.
Oh come on,' mumbled James very quietly. It's what Mason would want. Heh.'
Here?' Dec breathed anxiously. They were literally sat in a plane with the entire fucking squad and coaching staff! Anyone could look back or walk up to them! But... his cock was ACHINGLY hard and James hand felt good even through three layers. He was still sleepy and fuzzy from the brief dream, and... Nobody will know,' Maddison promised him, and the hand slid under the temporary blanket, caressing his warm crotch through his shorts - the bunched up cover of the training jersey was creased and lumpy enough to hide the motion of James' exploratory hand, and Madders just gave him a wink.
Dec suppressed a moan of pleasure and stared at the headrests in front of them, trying his best to gauge if Trips and Wilson were dozing or lost in headphones, or if the Magpie lads might suddenly lurch back to communicate with them and see where James' hand was stuck. Fuck, the risk was scary but it made the rogue hand feel all the better.
Close your eyes,' came Madders' sultry whisper. Close your eyes and pretend it's him?' The excitement in the lad's voice was tempered with a kind of sympathetic kindness, and Declan could tell he really meant it - and so he complied. He relaxed back and stopped staring nervously about them, and instead he tried his best to conjure up the fuzzy pastel colours of the Old Trafford beach, but the fantasy eluded him... except for the main detail, Mason's flirty grin and bright intelligent eyes. When James said `That's it' under his breath, it was Mason's chirpy voice, and he couldn't even suppress the long sigh of contact as the hand went into his shorts, and slowly released his long cock to start wanking it, making the head brush against the inner of the jacket. Fuck.
For several minutes, Dec could actually forget where they were, up in the sky and on international duty, and just enjoy the talented hand that was working his young cock - it didn't matter who it was, it just felt so good, and he felt no guilt. He could imagine Mason's laugh and excitement at the tale (`You did WHAT on a plane?'), but then he had to shake this imagined dialogue because he was trying not to focus on their risky circumstances!
`You're huge,' James complimented him in a small voice, but Dec just nodded complacently, biting his lip to silence the moan, feeling his cock pulled back and forth in slow perfect motions. But louder voices from further down the cabin sounded off and broke the brief relaxation, making it impossible for him not to worry that this would go wrong. He opened his eyes and flashed a wary look at James, who ignored him and continued to pull on his cock in gentle arcs, licking his bottom lip a little. Dec resisted the urge to groan as a thumb rolled over the wet pre-cum of his head. He could hear a loud conversation a few rows down the aisle, it sounded like his own teammate Ramsdale, a distinctive hearty laugh, playfully arguing something with the Mackem accent of No.1 Pickford. Other voices joined in though, and it seemed like the cabin was waking from its heat slumber, and the secretive handjob felt riskier by the stroke.
He fixed Maddison with a warning look, unsure if he could take physical control and push the hand away without making more noise and attracting attention. James was doing such a good job of wanking him silently and secretly, but if someone peered into their row, or if Hendo woke up on the other side of the aisle...
Someone, Kyle Walker he thought, started up the chant again, and noise ruptured through the cabin, taking away the false sense of privacy; but Declan's skin was on fire, he felt so horny and excited, and the anxious fear only electrified that. James hand was so soft and capable, better than some mouths, and Dec knew he would soon empty his big balls - he tried to communicate this in the widening of his eyes and the raising of his dark brows, his thin lips pursed and cheeks reddening... but Madders just smirked back and winked again, and told him `Think of Mason doing it', then chuckled mischievously. Dec closed his eyes again in spite of the risk, and he was back there on the beach, rolling on top of his gorgeous boyfriend, the new distance that they were trying to cope with removed and forgotten, their bodies close together on the hot sand, which was suddenly a big white bed instead, back in the London flat which he now rattled around on his own, looking at every item of furniture and remembering fucking Mason against it.
`Oh Mase,' he couldn't help but moan, miraculously unheard by anyone but James, as he squirted his seed, a messy five-day load from a chaste week of room-sharing and intense physical exercise, all over his shorts and the insides of James' sports jacket, pump after pump of creamy white liquid. Fucking hell.
By the time Declan Rice was disembarking the plane in Poland, his quiet gratitude to Maddison was largely replaced by wary nervousness, even with the cum-stains on his shorts dubiously washed out in the tiny cabin toilet, and now more-or-less dried. Still, as the photographer's camera swung towards him and capped Madders behind, Dec looked serious and nervous, as if the whole airport would be able to look at him and say That man's just jizzed in the sky' - at the foot of the runway stairs, James just prodded him in the back and pulled close enough to whisper in his ear. Relax, nobody can see! It's my jacket you ruined with your big load, Arsenal boy. Haha.'
Dec chafed self-consciously but turned gladly to the slightly older player, and threw an arm about his shoulders in a gesture of gratitude. Cheers for that, matey,' he said quietly, to which James just grinned and hugged him back, nodding in the direction of the other players boarding a coach. I enjoyed every stroke, big lad,' he said brightly, pulling happily away from him and swaggering on after the others, leaving Dec to just laugh foolishly at his own nervousness - for fuck's sake, as if they'd got away with that...! He couldn't wait to ring up and tell Mason.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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