Part 367: England Camp, Day Six
Harry Maguire was feeling low.
He had been trying his best to relax into and enjoy the international break, always deeply proud to play for his country. Southgate's faith in his solid centre-back presence should, he knew, be a much-needed ego boost, and he should feel more himself in this English squad than he did in his awkward peripheral position at Old Trafford... stripped of captaincy and struggling to make the bench. But the gloom of his club career stuck to him like mud and this week had just felt awkward and artificial. Harry knew what he was going back to, and what he quietly suffered was an angry self-appointed blame - he knew his own stubbornness disguised as loyalty had kiboshed several potential moves away from United this summer, moves that might have allowed the big defender to get match time and find new self-respect in teams that wanted him. Fans that wanted him.
Too loyal, he'd kept telling his agent. Too committed, he assured his manager. Too expensive, the media sneered. Too fucking in love with Luke Shaw, he could admit to himself, picturing his handsome boyfriend as he tore up the contract in the boardroom and stopped himself from moving to London and West Ham. And here he was, just as miserable, stuck in an international camp with his precious Lukey nursing an injury back in Cheshire, still a valued asset for their mutual football club.
On a stool at the bar, the 6ft4 Yorkshireman nursed the dregs of a pint, and wallowed in these feelings of self-loathing and disappointment. Tonight's game against Ukraine had hardly done anything to restore his sporting status, though he'd been glad to make the starting 11; he'd made a few mistakes and missed a couple of opportunities for redemption, and he was slightly confused why the majority of the lads were celebrating tonight as a win when they'd barely scraped a draw on Polish soil.
Maguire had drifted away from the pack and he must be giving off pretty strong vibes of his need for solitude, because nobody had bothered to join him here at the bar, or made any real attempt to talk to him since they left the stadium. To some extent he was glad, knowing he was shit company, but he continued to curse himself, cursing his stupid angry face and his selfish mood, cursing the boos that might meet him when he next got some minutes for a team he'd tried to lead. More mixed feelings: half of him wished deeply that Shaw was here with him, but another half was glad to be without. After all, what if he was such shit company even for the gorgeous left-back, and what if his mood infectiously ruined an England experience for Luke, a far more deserving call-up? Nah, he grimly concluded, it was for the best that Luke was in England with his family, and not here trying to put up with him, trying to console him, trying to cope with him. Harry was increasingly sure that he didn't deserve his secret partner, and he wondered what would happen when the transfer window reopened in January. Would the offers even still be on the table...?
His attention, rising from the doldrums, was caught by the thud of elbows on the bartop, and the presence of another England player at this end of the bar. Hunched forward slightly, he flicked his head to the right and noted the arrival of another Manchester defender - if the England lads in the hotel bar were treating tonight's draw like a win, then this smug bastard was certainly the centre of that action. Holding court on the sofas by the open windows, the 33-year-old was delighted with himself, his debut England goal after a whopping 77 caps, and a number of players had flocked around him to toast the equaliser. Removing himself from the crowd, Harry had bitterly imagined a different scene if one of his powerful headers had sent them 2-1 up.
Slabbo!' whooped Kyle Walker, turning this way. Shot?'
The United defender stared down at his emptying pint and then shook his head, his voice a low growl of disinterest. `Not me for, fella, but you enjoy yourself.'
Kyle promptly ignored him, waving over the barmaid and ordering two shots of tequila alongside his own pint, then adding a second pint with a surprised look at Harry's empty glass. As she went to work, he leaned one elbow to the bar and punched Harry lightly in the upper arm. Come over and get a comfy seat, big fella,' the City player said forcefully. Why you sulking over here on your own, matey? This ain't the Sheffield way.'
Harry couldn't quite be as moody and rude to Kyle as he'd liked, relatively close friends with the other stalwart of Southgate's roster, but he shrugged absently and said nothing, staring unhappily at the shot glass that was placed in front of him. Does everyone know we should have won that game?' he muttered eventually, and Walker just laughed heavily, clearly less worried about their Euro qualification. I'm not drinking this,' Maguire added grumpily, though he took the fresh pint and sipped it slowly.
You fucking are,' the 33-year-old fellow Sheffield bloke insisted, and Harry relented with a stupid grunt, joining the right-back in picking it up and knocking it back. A sliver of lime was thrust at him and he waved it away dismissively, screwing his face up at the strong taste of the liquor. Ugh,' he said, shaking his large body where he sat.
Kyle laughed again, and clinked their pints together with a grin. Ah, don't be a twat about it,' he said warmly. Don't deny me my party. I waited a long time for that goal, Slabhead.'
Yeah,' Harry grunted ambivalently, then added more kindly, and I'm as chuffed as anyone for ya, Walks.'
Yeh? Tell yer face.' Kyle chuckled, slurping his pint and leaning back against the bar, staring back across the large open plan restaurant bar, seeming to hesitate before heading back to his cronies and the happier mood. Harry wanted him to go, wanted to be left alone to his moodiness. He glanced over his big shoulder to follow Kyle's gaze, then at the thoughtful leer on Kyle's ruggedly handsome features. Their eyes met, and Walker winked. I definitely need to get my dick wet tonight, after that goal,' he huffed, not even bothering to lower his voice with much sense of discretion.
Harry grimaced at this in his bad mood, and just ignored the comment, taking more drink. But his fellow Yorkshireman went on. Got that goal-scoring horn, y'know?' Kyle sniggered, quieter this time. And there's defo a few sluts on this squad.'
`Aye,' Harry grumbled distantly.
Dunno what's got up Philly though,' Kyle complained to him. Been dropping weeks to the Stockport Iniesta all fucking week and he's as frigid as yer mum. Honestly, Guardiola must have the kid on a tight leash, or something, haha.' Harry met his leer with a stony expression, just not in the mood for the other guy's lusty comments. Mind, I've still had one good blowie,' Walker boasted now. Guess who, eh?'
`I'm not up for a guessing game,' Maguire muttered, although he did find himself half-turning on the stool and following Walker's gaze across the room. Some of the lads had already called it a night, but a fair number of guys in relaxed sports gear were stood or seated in the corner by the windows. His eyes began to scan but he stopped himself, refusing to play Kyle's game.
`One of the Chelsea brats,' Kyle hissed.
`Good for you.'
`Not Chilly, sadly - Conor G, actually. Lips like a dream, haha. Nervous thing, don't think he'd sucked a cock before - or maybe just not a big fat Yorkshire one...?'
Somewhat provoked, Harry hissed back, Aren't you really just missing your lanky boyfriend?' He tried to laugh, but he could hear the meanness of his tone, though Kyle was unflappable, and just scoffed and nudged him. Toilet cubicle, jizzed all over his face,' he was going on, ignoring Harry's question. `Might fuck his throat again tonight, if he's recovered - or I've been thinking about our Kal Phillips for a while, back home, cos that stupid grinning mouth might be good for a go. Do you think he'd be corruptible?'
Maguire ignored him, drinking in silence and turning away form the view, back to hunch over the bar; Walker followed, gripping his shoulder and leaning in close for his dirty whispers. Just something about dominating these younger lads, ain't there?' the tipsy and excited right-back confided. I mean, you know what I'm talking about, Slab - I've seen you in action, ha. You know how to take charge, even if you aren't captain any more. So help me pick, will ya? Which of them Twink Lions is gonna get my load and thank me for saving the match tonight, eh?'
It was the captain' reference that snapped him. Harry brought one long arm up around the back of the stooping other lad and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him in closer. What are you gibbering on about, Walks?' he snapped fiercely. Pretending to be big daddy just cos you're like the oldest here, or whatever - everyone can tell you're just eager for a bit of cock, and I bet you'd love a real man like me to dominate you instead.' He glared aggressively into the close face of the City lad. You can piss about with twinks like Conor if you want, but you know I could make you squeal like a bitch and show you who really rules Manchester, you fucking massive-arsed tart.' He stopped, his breath ragged, and gripped Kyle's shoulder a bit more tightly. `I bet John Stones makes you beg on your knees like the dirty fucking slag you are, Walks.' And with that, he pushed the burly shorter guy away from him and picked up his pint instead, pleased by the startled look in the other man's eyes, and the long moments it took him to force out a chuckle and clear his throat, clearly at a loss for what to say. As he glugged on his beer, Harry stared him down, maintaining a threatening edge to his own glare and posture, and seeing the obvious intimidation that stalled the goal-scorer bravado of the cocksure stud.
You save that dirty talk for phone sex with Lukey Boy,' came Kyle's stuttering quip after the awkward moment went on too long, and he picked up his own pint, clearing his throat again. And I'll get my dick wet in some greedy gob while you just cry wank yourself to sleep, big man. Jesus, cheer up.' A little whistle of disapproval and then a forced laugh, and the City player was marching away, shouting for attention as he approached the others; Harry didn't bother to watch him go, but just poured the rest of his beer down his throat, and slid off his stool, quietly exiting the hotel bar.
Later, when the knock sounded at the door to his room, he did wonder what else Kyle had gotten up to: had Walker been any more successful in making use of sparky little Foden? Had he made a move on grinning spare Phillips, after all? Had he returned for more from Gallagher, or had that little tale just been arrogant bluster and fiction? Or, perhaps, had he got some throat action out of their dear captain, Harry submissive Kane? Perhaps all of these or none, but it didn't matter, because shortly before 1 am he was at the door to Harry Maguire's room, standing there looking sheepish in a tight-fitting white t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jogger shorts, scratching his stubbled chin and shifting from slider-clad foot to slider-clad foot. Harry loomed over him, sweaty from a couple of sleepless hours in bed, and a tough grin spread across his crooked mouth. Well, well, well.
`Right,' the 6ft4 brute grunted acceptingly.
He glanced back over his shoulder. In the suite's other double bed, Jordan Pickford was snoring like a chainsaw, deep asleep, and yet not deep enough. He looked back at Kyle, looking uncomfortably humbled on his doorstep. `Not here,' he muttered simply, scratching a big hand across the scattered dark hair of his broad chest, just in the relaxed black boxer trunks he'd worn to bed, the weighty bulge of his cock already expanding into a semi as he realised what was about to happen.
Mine neither,' Kyle said at him almost through gritted teeth, seeming like he didn't want to speak a word, and make his submission any realer. I'm bunked with Tomori, I don't think he's the most open-minded fella,' he muttered begrudgingly.
Harry stared him down silently, and then retreated into the room, leaving the door ajar. He enjoyed leaving Kyle waiting unanswered at the door, as he made the perfunctory steps of pulling a grey t-shirt over his head and shoulders, and a baggy pair of tracksuit bottoms up his long legs, then pushing his room key into a pocket. He swept quietly out of the room, careful not to wake Pickers on the way out, and then he just patted his mate patronisingly on the shoulder and nodded down the corridor, his breath quickening and his cock twitching indulgently.
The lounge room was at the corner of the floor, just a vague communal space on the other side of the elevators, with a couple of couches and artworks and big picture windows that overlooked the city. It didn't even have a proper door to seal it, just an open archway. When Kyle hesitated in this arch, he pushed him in the small of the back, and followed him in, leaning in close and stooping to whisper in the ear of the 5ft10 bloke's ear. `Come on, City slut, you know what you came for.'
In the unlit room, Kyle's eyes sparkled with honest excitement, and Harry knew how much his rant at the bar had aroused the other macho alpha - he himself had dismissed the encounter and gone away to sulk, but he now supposed that Walker had been thinking about his dominant boasts all night, distracted from his celebrating and his options. If Harry had paused to reflect on it, he would have known why he himself was so excited: he hadn't felt this dominant and powerful since he'd lost that captain's armband, and taking control of a burly man's man like Kyle was just what he needed to restore some ego.
But in this dark quiet corner of the hotel, there was no thinking or analysis: just pure animal lust in the hot Polish night. He planted both hands on Kyle's bulky shoulders and pushed downwards, guiding the thickset defender into a seated position on one couch, and standing over him. Kyle knew what to do. Harry felt his tracksuit rustle down his thighs and then felt Kyle's wet mouth on the bulge of his boxer trunks. `That's it,' he growled very quietly. He reached down and flicked a light slap against the side of Kyle's face, then held the back of his head and pushed it right in against the musty undies, rubbing his increasing bulge onto his sweaty face, making the other man gasp and growl. And then the undies were coming down and Kyle was kissing greedily at his cock, seeming to gasp afresh at its size, even though they'd played about before, sharing their handsome partners.
Feeding his mighty cock to Kyle's manly mouth, Harry felt big and powerful, something restored. He moaned, keeping it fairly quiet, and brought both hands up behind his head, letting Kyle's lips and tongue explore his huge hard member, a slobbering slut after all. Mmm.
That's it,' he growled down at him. City slut.' Kyle choked on his cock, eyes rolling up to meet his. They glistened. Suck it deep, you fucking bitch.' Kyle tried his best, but gagged badly as Harry pushed further, and he took it out and slapped it against his cheek instead, then lifted it and pushed his heavy hairy balls against the gaping mouth. Suck on them, you dirty slut, fuck's sake.' And he did, with gusto. Harry was loving it. He could have wanked off and jizzed then and there if he wanted to, so turned on by the greedy compliance of the arrogant right-back, so aroused by his own return to dominance - but he wanted this to go much further.
Peeling off his t-shirt to expose the long stern muscle of his torso in the half-light, Harry towered over the seated man, and he pushed him down further into the fold of the couch. He brought one bare foot up onto the leather in a lunge and stood right over him - Kyle went to lick and kiss his sack again but he gripped the lingering crop of Kyle's thin hair and pushed the head further over, guiding him so that his tongue rubbed his gooch instead, then further - he edged forward, leaning awkwardly onto the sofa, and pushed down so that Kyle couldn't ignore the hint. Harry felt that wet tongue questing into his hairy crack and he growled with pleasure. `That's it, good bitch,' he muttered hotly.
He groaned and talked dirty, towering over the sofa and keeping Kyle's bristling face under him, between his thighs, bending his knees slightly to let his big glutes part - but the thing that ended this pleasure was his own impatience, his own excitement for rimming, and the thought of Kyle's massive arse always so perfectly framed in whatever training gear or footy shorts he wore, a fucking Sheffield landmark. He stepped aside, let Kyle suck on his cock a little, and then barked orders at him. `Up on yer knees, bent over. Quickly.'
Walks didn't need telling twice. Soon Harry was unwrapping the biggest backside in the England camp like a Christmas present. He dragged down the thick waistband of Walker's sweat-shorts and the silky black briefs underneath to expose the caramel brown globes of Walker's big arse, downy with soft hair. Parting them with a tight grip on each, Harry spat into his crack, teasing him, and he enjoyed the gasp of delight. You want my tongue in there?' he growled, loving it as Kyle begged Yes, Slabhead, fuck yes', and he was too excited to interrupt and demand a Sir'. He spat again and then pushed his face in, loving the feel of Kyle's beach-ball cheeks, and rubbing his tongue against the sweaty crack, finding his way to the hot pink hole. He loved the way the other football star's body trembled and juddered, and the breathless Yes, mate!'
Maguire spent ages rimming him, pausing to give the cheeks good slaps that rang out dangerously, fleshy noises that could give away their furtive fun in this public space. And each time, Harry dove back in, running his tongue against the puckered arse-hole, preparing his City rival for what would come next. His own cock was hard and aching for it, and he reached down to give it a few strokes to maintain its firm readiness, whilst still lapping between Kyle's big cheeks, really thanking him for his goal via good eating out. When he came up for air and knew it was time, he rubbed a hairy forearm against the saliva greasiness of his own mouth and big chin, and then spat heavily down on the shaft of his cock for lube.
Take deep breaths,' he warned Kyle, but he was sure that big John Stones had been in there, and he wasn't going to go easy on his slut for the night. He pressed the huge head of his 12-incher in against Kyle's ring and teased it. He loved the whine of expectation from the City slut', and the only reason he went slow before inserting himself was to build that tension, to make Kyle really beg for him, to exercise his regained power - he felt almost as imperial as when he'd bent Cristiano Ronaldo over and fucked him in front of several fraught teammates, defeating the Portuguese icon and eventually sending him scampering to the Saudi Pro League.
And now he fucked Kyle Walker with that same power, burying his big Yorkshire cock in the mixed-race hunk's mighty behind, one he'd looked at hungrily on many training days since his sexual awakening - his sexual awakening... he thought briefly of Luke, betrayed here as he pushed his cock into another man, but he so rarely got to fuck his burly boyfriend, there was so little time and opportunity, and he had NEEDS... the guilty thoughts were sidelined, and he hammered into Kyle's behind, making the small sofa creak beneath their muscular weights.
Kyle's moans were a bit much, though - as bestial as he felt right now, Harry had some sense of caution. Although it was more than just discretion that made him unhook his musty pants from one ankle and reach around to push them into Kyle's mouth, gagging him with a faceful of worn keks. He held it there to stifle the man's cries as he pushed deeper and harder, really powering at him with every muscle, sweating buckets and slowing only when he thought he might cum too soon. Kyle's thick muscular body was his toy, just how he liked it, thicc and burly like his precious Luke. He toyed with the important decision: to keep going, or to pull out and paint his load across Kyle's ridiculous chest tattoos and gurning face? But sheer physical rapture denied him that decision in the end, and eventually he was unloading deep inside the older man's body, unloading into England's 33-year-old goal hero of the night, the point-winner of the lacklustre draw.
For many long moments, Harry continued to pull back and thrust, really draining his balls, and keeping the scrunched-up undies held to Kyle's face, making him taste and breathe his sleepless heat, until his body felt drained and sensitive and he had to pull away, taking in long gulps of stuffy air. In the dark, he took a few clumsy steps and just loomed there, dirty cock swinging, and staring down at the hunched bulk of Kyle's body - then, recovering himself, he gave one last good spank to those meaty glutes, and then pinched one cheek more playfully.
No cunt at City can do you like that,' he muttered belligerently; no reply from Walker, who just gasped and moaned. But he did roll over, flopping sideways in limp exhaustion, an beginning to wank furiously on his own well-endowed equipment. Harry stood over him with a dismissive sneer on his face. Cum for a real alpha,' he snarled, still enjoying his power, as the right-back dumped gooey semen up his abs, staring up at him with an embarrassed frown on his sweat-shined face. Harry smirked wickedly. If only your twink sluts could see you now,' he purred. See you in the morning, mate,' he added, his tone shifting to one more warm and mundane, and a weary laugh escaping his lips - he stopped short of the polite `Thank you' that he wanted to give, because Kyle's submission had rescued and restored something in him, even temporarily.
Aglow with a flicker of new confidence, Maguire didn't bother to dress - the hotel was empty and silent. He snatched up his gear in one sweaty hand and swaggered on town the corridor in his birthday suit, dick swinging, and the sound of Walker's panting whimpers echoing down the hallway after his stroll.
'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