Part 383: The Birthday Boys
He watched the road from an upstairs window, rocking on his heels, unable to stop himself from monitoring the driveway even though he was sure he'd get a call as soon as the car was on the way into this villagey Cheshire suburb - practically a hamlet of footballer mansions, since he was renting the rather soulless new-build from one teammate and about four others were based within kicking distance, with a pretty convenient drive to the Manchester United training camp the main selling point. The interest of neighbours occurred to the 25-year-old at just that moment, but it was a momentary worry - the whole fucking League knew that he was best buddies with the imminent arrival, there was no secret there, and why should Mason Mount worry if they understood it any further? He was getting beyond caring how secret his relationship with Declan Rice was or wasn't, and increasingly sure why it was something known by a couple of his closest friends at Old Trafford.
And there it was - the windows of this unused study room on the upper floor of the house had an unrivalled vantage point on the road into the village, and he recognised the car instantly, though Declan Rice owned several. And at the same moment, the young footballer felt the dull throb of a vibrating phone in one baggy pocket of his jogger bottoms, and he answered the call at the same time as scampering eagerly through the quiet rooms of the house, ready to meet and greet.
Hey,' growled the heavy masculine drone of Dec's sexy voice over the phone, even as the egine of his car was audible outside, I'm pretty much here.'
I know,' Mason replied simply, see you in a sec.'
He was already at the door, pushing the phone back into his pocket, and watching the vague silhouette take shape through the warped lens of the blocky glass tiles in the door; he'd unlatched it before the doorbell even started ringing, and yanked it inwards. A playful smile lighting up his boyish features, Mason reached a single hand forward and grasped at the label of the un-trendy waterproof jacket his boyfriend was wearing, and dragged the taller stud heavily inwards so he could shove the door shut behind him with a gentle slam.
Dec tumbled forward with gruff laughter, arms closing forward about him, and Mason leaned upwards to kiss him instantly, silencing whatever the visitor was about to say - their lips grazed and pecked and tongues darted teasingly against each other, while Mason relaxed into the hold, sliding hands under the ugly coat and rubbing them against the fleecy thermal top underneath, feeling the cold of outdoors against his boyfriend's tall frame. Dec kissed him once more, more deeply and assertively, and Mase melted into his hold for a moment before yanking back, rosy-cheeked.
`I will have to go soon,' he warned regretfully.
I know, I know, I rushed so I could see you before you did,' puffed Rice a little breathlessly. I've probably got half a dozen speeding tickets, ha ha.'
Happy birthday,' Mason cut him off, remembering himself - although he'd obviously already wished him such by text and call earlier in the morning, shortly before Declan set off from outer London and whizzed up the motorway here - and they kissed again, before Declan returned the sentiment - And you, baby boy,' he murmured, since the two lads were turning 25 only a few days apart, and this was the only way they'd been able to make their schedules work together... and even now, Mason soon had to be at Carrington with his neighbours to assemble for today's home game against Tottenham, despite not being fit enough to be named in the squad. He'd repeatedly told Dec on the phone that he would pull a sickie and tell his coaches he wasn't well enough to come support the team at Old Trafford, but his honourable and supportive boyfriend had insisted that he needed to show face and keep up the commitment. And so here Dec was, having rushed up as early as he could to be here before he was due to register with his squad.
You shouldn't have hurried,' Mase scolded him quietly, unable to stop smiling. I mean, obviously I want you here, but I'm so sorry I'll be pissing off and spending most of the day with the team, and-'
It's fine,' Dec insisted, kissing him on the brow, and cuddling into his shoulders. I needed to see you, didn't want to wait until you were free later. I was being selfish, if anything.'
Whatever,' the Man Utd player chuckled very quietly, unable to associate that word with his partner, and stroking his muscles through the fleece. Birthday boy, driving up the country just for me... I love you, handsome.'
They kissed, and Mason felt a dirty idea become concrete in his mind - if he drove as fast as Dec had, then he needn't leave for Carrington QUITE yet, he had a bit more time to kill, and maybe long enough to... he relaxed his body, letting his hands slide down the rustling sleeves of Dec's jacket, the two of them still standing here in the entrance of his hallway. Dec's face twitched with question, angling to one side, a wordless question forming in his frown and half-smile - Mason bent at the knees, sinking and smirking. Down he went, down to his knees in the hallway, kneeling down in front of the fully-dressed driver who was huffing and shivering in front of him. Their eyes locked, Mason kneeling before his man - and he undid the button fly of the chino pants, while Declan finally mumbled out the words that had formed: `Mase, you need to...'
`I need to wish you a happy birthday before anything else,' the grinning 25-year-old told his dream-boy, and he licked his lips, and set about freeing that gorgeous cock and sucking it to rapid hardness, eager to show just how happy he was to see his long-distance partner.
Declan stopped Mason short of emptying his balls, but only just - it was a brief but delicious bit of oral, swaying side to side on the inside of the doorway, feeling exposed and risque even though they were safely inside the house. It was just a couple of minutes but it sent the birthday lad into reveries of pleasure and satisfaction, leaning heavily back into the door, and stroking fingertips through the short spikes of tawny hair. It was only an effort of great willpower that allowed him to move his dick free and encourage Mase up onto his feet, pointing out the time to him and forcing him to go get organised - Besides,' the Arsenal midfielder panted unsteadily to his lad, I don't want to waste this seven-day load on your pretty face now, when I could put it in your arse later.' And they kissed wetly before Mason nodded and set about getting his shit together, rubbing a hard-on in his joggers as he did - Declan followed him in a happy daze, chatting to him about the drive up and the strangely busy week he'd had despite no Arsenal fixture this weekend.
And soon he was alone, `abandoned' in Mason's words, but effusively reassuring his host that it had been worth the entire journey just for a kiss, never mind the feel of his hot wet mouth on his aching prick. And once alone, Dec actually had to fight himself not to finish the job, he was so fucking aroused! He found himself napping in the master bedroom and staring around it at scattered possessions of the occupant, wanting to cuddle up to one of his boyfriend's jumpers or scarves and just wank himself silly. But he didn't, meaning what he'd said earlier - he wanted to enjoy a proper fuck later, and he had been saving up his juices for his hungry lover all week!
So it was a day of chaste waiting for the Arsenal star, who knew that there was something vaguely mad about this plan for his 25th, but he was glad that they'd worked out even this scanty compromise, given their schedules. He had enjoyed some days off himself this week, but they had been mismatched with Mason's schedule up here, and neither were sure what they'd be able to manage during the so-called `winter break' of lessened fixtures. It really was testing them both, this long-distance situation, but both young lads threw themselves uncomplainingly into the effort, never wanting to guilt or trouble the other with how much thought and effort was needed to arrange meets.
The inconvenient realities of living at opposite ends of England were exaggerated by the way things had been before - playing for opposite London clubs but sharing the same cute city apartment and seeing each other almost every day. For Declan, this contrast was perhaps even more obvious, since he still lived in Mason's Chelsea apartment, not quite able to bring himself to move further north to somewhere more convenient for his Arsenal work. Instead, the tall defensive midfielder was living out his season in the flat that should be shared, the steward of Mason's life and belongings left behind. Sometimes Rice felt like one of those belongings, something cast aside like an old stuffed animal or unwanted t-shirt, but he knew that was unfair, and he kept that thought to himself.
After a fitful nap, Rice occupied one of the three lounge spaces downstairs, battling the complicated controls of a huge TV, and drifting off into a second nap with a familiar sitcom jittering away on-screen. He felt disoriented and fuzzy when he was woken by the phone call of Mount exiting Carrington and heading home, and instructing him which Thai restaurant he was to start ordering their takeaway from - the call ended and Dec just lay there in a pleasant daze, letting Mason's sweet voice play over in his ear. He'd barely figured out the delivery app and identified the instructed eatery when he heard the car arrive and was swinging his long muscular legs off the couch to get up and greet his fellow birthday boy - for all of the effort and loneliness of the special day so far, he was drunk on love, just delighted to be here and to be spending the evening and night with his special boy.
Mason was glad when the meal was over and they were settling down on the sofa together - he hadn't meant to ruin the loved-up atmosphere of the takeaway feast in the conservatory dining room, but he always spoke at a mile per minute, and he was especially hyper today. He did think Declan had overreacted somewhat, although he understood that the rules and dynamics were a little different now, with the distance to contend with, they weren't in the safe bubble of the London flat any more, living in each other's pockets and able to joke about anything and everything. But there was something about the spat that left a nasty taste in his mouth and reminded him of the more fraught early period of their relationship, when Dec's insecure jealousy had often rocked the boat and put them in doubt - a tension that he'd considered long in the past until just now.
Tell me who you've fucked on the team, then,' Mase had half-joked, even as they were just serving the curry and rice dishes at the counter together, tickling and cuddling at the taller footballer lad, and then soon after, Has Arteta made a move on you yet, the old perv?' All in good humour, he thought, just giggles and stupidity, and not the kind of thing that was beyond their usual banter - their own intense sexual chemistry had never fully precluded extra-curricular fun, and cheekily updating each other on any random exploits had at one point become relished dirty talk.
Argument resolved and cuddles moving to the couch and movie time, Mason regretted that he had pushed it any further, quietly accepting that he'd overstepped a line and goaded Dec into the little row that had broken out across the table. `Has Ramsdale tried to suck your dick since he caught you cam-wanking with me, hehe?' he'd asked more specifically, when the Arsenal goalkeeper came up in conversation - he knew that Rice found the cam-wank incident far less hilarious than Mount did, even if the seeming drama had worked out perfectly fine, and accidentally earned Declan a solid ally and confidante in the Emirates domain.
For fuck's sake,' the other 25-year-old player burst out at him over the table, thumping a fist on it and making the cutlery and crockery shake. Can you stop chatting shit about all my teammates and pushing me into having sex with everyone in the fucking world who isn't my boyfriend, for god's sake?' Cue awkward silence, lack of eye contact, noisy eating as if they were at two separate meals - and then muttered apologies, Mason first and Declan rapidly afterwards, and then stilted uncomfortable conversation as they tried to get a birthday date night back on track. And then another awkward silence as this failed, before Declan pushed his food away and spoke out emotively, `I am sorry, baby, I just wish we were out doing something fancier, something more public - I'm sorry that our birthday celebration together is a stupid takeaway in Cheshire, and-'
Mason was up off his seat in seconds, moving around the table, and cuddling Declan from above, kissing him on the crown. Every second with you is perfect,' he told him earnestly, then kissed him on the temple and stole a chilli prawn off his plate to pop in his mouth. I couldn't give a fuck about all the places we could be - this shitty dull house is everywhere I want to be whilst you're in it, okay? It's me who should be sorry - I was being giddy and stupid, sorry.'
On the sofa, the half-joked topics did still play on his mind: he knew that Dec wasn't 100% celebate in a Mason-less London, and had practically insisted on that fact when he signed his United contract and they agreed they could make this work. He'd been firm and pushy with his boyfriend that he needed to satisfy his urges and live well, at Arsenal and on England duty, even in his absence... perhaps he'd been TOO firm and pushy on that, and tonight's little spat was long-held resentment at that? But no... they'd agreed it, and he'd listened to Dec wank furiously over the phone whilst he talked him through an early threesome with Shaw and Maguire in his first month of Manchester life. They were deeply committed to each other, but comfortably open, within reason - but he knew he'd been too specific and too persistent with his jokey comments about Arsenal fun. If Declan didn't feel able to be as playful and flippant about fun beyond their relationship, then he should probably just respect that and stop winding him up.
The movie was okay, he presumed, but he couldn't concentrate on it - he really was still too giddy, too excitable, to turned on. He shifted and flexed in the spooning position against Declan's taller frame, pushing back into him with his back muscles and lower, gently grinding his bottom back into the crotch of those chinos. He felt the hold of Dec's arm and the grip of his hand tense a little across his side and front, and then slow warm breaths on the back of his neck advanced into a gentle grazing kiss at the nape. He moaned quietly, and then felt that breath move to his ear. Upstairs?' Dec asked him, and Mase whispered, Yes.'
Still, strolling through the carpeted house hand in hand, travelling through into the house's master bedroom, Mount did look at Rice and wonder just how established his sexy boyfriend was in the Arsenal hierarchy, and in a more generally curious manner, whether the North London club was as rife with simmering sexual politics as the two big Premiership clubs that Mase himself had played for - it was a mixture of nosey curiosity and his own genuine sexual devotion to the 6t1 man leading him to bed and closing the curtains. Across the bed from him, the strapping defensive player ripped the fleece top off and the vest below, baring his slim ripped torso, and staring intensely this way with eyes full of lust.
Mason wished privately that Declan could be a bit more open and expressive about his desires, because he thought it was easier and healthier - keeping Dec informed of his own naughty little episodes felt like a way of keeping them loyal and close, he hated the idea of doing stuff and NOT reporting it to his boyfriend, and he LOVED the idea of those stories sometimes getting Dec especially horny and aggressive in bed. And yet... well, he hadn't shared his latest little adventure with this sexy bugger, had he? Was that because he'd subconsciously picked up on this resentment before tonight's outburst, or because he didn't quite know how to narrate it...? Or had there been something different in what happened last month with the 20-year-old Dane...?
Mason hadn't even trained with the main squad that day in December, he'd been doing one-on-one stuff with his specialist physio, but somehow their paths had crossed, and he'd ended up in the changing rooms with just Rasmus Hojland - it seemed like the young Danish forward had been putting extra hours in on his weights training or something, because he was the only first team player still loitering about. Or, Mason had dared to greedily suspect, the 6ft3 youngster had been in there waiting for him specifically, because there was something almost posed and attention-seeking in the way he turned that corner and found him, resting on the bench with his long muscular legs spread and just a tiny hand-towel draped over his naked crotch, stripped off and ready for his shower, but steam practically rising from his smooth hard muscles.
Not a word had been spoken, as far as he could remember, from the second he entered that changing area and the moment he left in a clean tracksuit with a smirk on his lips - in the thirty minutes of pure physical delight that transpired, they communicated only with their eyes, and Rasmus' eyes could communicate quite a lot.
Silently, Mason began to walk past the seated man-spread of the naked lad, then stopped right in front of him, giving an appreciate sidelong stare; Rasmus stared back at him with that Viking intensity he had, looking like some pornographic vision that had risen out of the clammy mists of the nearby showers, or the depths of Mason's overactive imagination. And then, as if reading his dirtiest thoughts, the youth had simply nodded once, and got up, letting the hand towel fall as he did. Towering and naked, the attacking player had just stood there, every muscle shining, and then moving away towards the showers.
Mason stripped as he followed, disappearing into the hot fug of the showers, clearly recently occupied by many hot showering men, but now simply by them - Mason practically tripped over in removing his boxers, scampering butt naked into the tiled space and following the taller younger player into the corner. When Rasmus turned around, he was already stroking himself, and his cock was proportionate to his lofty height - the Manchester club's self-assured new Scandinavian was stroking his big Danish meat into life, and Mase was on his knees in seconds, tongue out and eyes staring obediently upwards. Rasmus grunted once, closed his eyes, and thrust his hips forward, and Mount did the rest. He gobbled noisily on it, not even realising how much he'd been admiring the goal-scorer's bulge in recent weeks, and sucked quite furiously on that shaft until he was eating thick creamy cum and being patted on the head like a well-behaved dog as the 20-year-old swaggered complacently away.
And now Mase sucked energetically on Dec's cock, which was so beautifully familiar, and felt an unusual pang of guilt for the way he'd noshed off Rasmus Hojland - since when did he feel like his mouth belonged to any one cock? Did he really feel guilty about Rasmus, or just about how he hadn't mentioned him yet...? Well, he assured himself, tonight is definitely not the time...!
Declan flipped the lithe body of the slighter 25-year-old, pinning him down from behind and kissing him passionately on the shoulders, the spine, the back of his head. He rolled his hips so that his hard wet cock slid between those perfect peachy cheeks, building slowly up to the moment of entry, making Mason whine and beg in anticipation, then eventually giving him exactly what he wanted, hard and firm and urgent. He fucked hard, slamming the other lad noisily into the mattress, and he surprised himself a little with the frenzied energy of his action - but he really hadn't cum in a week, and he hadn't shagged Mason in almost a month, not properly.
And... he was certainly a little more tense than he'd realised before the argument, though he'd instantly forgiven Mase for anything annoying that came out of his mouth. But he WAS tense, he couldn't deny it to himself, and it was hard to explain or clarify exactly why - he knew he was less relaxed and free-spirited than his giggly twink, but he thought he'd got a lot better over the years of their beautiful closeness.
There was some dissonance, Dec supposed, between the jokey fun of the days when they played for Chelsea and West Ham respectively. Dec's Arsenal life was one with a Mason-shaped hole in it, and so he found it strange when his boyfriend made dirty jokes about Dec shagging his way around his new club, or nonsense suggestions to that effect - it was stupid, and just not funny or charming in the way it could have been. It made Rice feel nervous and insecure, and he knew this was mainly because he was finding it so hard to have his precious boy up here in Manchester and surrounded by so many distractions - he simply could not believe that Mason would settle into Old Trafford life and NOT move on without him, he just couldn't.
Rice cursed his own insecurity, even as he ploughed the plump gorgeous arse of the Nike underwear model who had been showing off his latest photoshoot whilst they waited for the takeaway to arrive - `I'll ask Nike for some huge high-quality prints for you, haha' - and he thought awkwardly, distractedly, about how Mount wasn't entirely wrong.
Just the other day, he reflected, he'd slipped in his usual self-restraint, and enjoyed a surprising little encounter with one of his teammates - and he really couldn't figure out why he hadn't brought it up when Mase rang him that same night, the night before the (marginally) younger guy's birthday. Declan knew that Mason would absolutely love hearing about his tryst with the Brazilian, and yet... talking about it just felt... wrong.
It was just a hand-job, just that - it was a sing of how experienced and adventurous Declan now was that he could think so dismissively of the fact he'd held that big Latino cock in his right hand and tugged it off, whilst his own prick was roughly jerked in tandem.
They'd been lying on massage treatment beds, both just wiped out and vegetative after intense physio sessions on parallel beds, just the other day - he and Jorge Luiz Frello, former hero of the Chelsea defensive line. They were chatting, but in an idle sporadic fashion, rather than any real continuous conversation. Declan couldn't remember what had made him turn his head and look across at the sight of Jorginho lying there in the same black Umbro briefs as himself, body exposed and shiny with massage oil too; he couldn't figure out what had summoned his attention to the right, but once he looked, the tentpole of the Brazilian's erection was all too obvious in the confining fabric.
And then the Portuguese inflection of the other defensive midfielder's languid sigh. I know,' purred the older man, the 32-year-old defector from Stamford Bridge to the Emirates. Terrible, but massages do this to a man.' And Dec had laughed his agreement and mumbled something like know the feeling' or you're telling me', and begun to get hard in his briefs the second he said it. Soon they were both laying there on their backs, treatment beds awkwardly close, with cocks stretching in their briefs and a heavy syrupy silence settling the air over their oiled physiques.
Who touched who first? He genuinely felt unsure, although it had only just happened on Tuesday afternoon. He found it hard to imagine himself reaching out and taking that risk, touching the hot toned form of the 5ft11 South American on the next bed - surely Jorginho had done something to initiate it first, had made the opening gambit? He had been in such a heady horny daze that he really didn't know - one minute they were lying there awkwardly, both rock hard in their confining briefs, and the next they had their hands on each other's exposed cocks, saying nothing as they jerked mutually, arms bashing rhythmically as they did so.
Throughout the whole sordid excitement, Rice didn't look again to the right, he just stared up at the ceiling, and so he heard rather than saw the violent throws of Frello's orgasm, brought to noisy gasping completion by Dec's own hand; he felt some of the sticky evidence on his knuckles and he left his hand there limp at the man's hip, whilst an oiled hand continued to slide rapidly up and down his own trembling shaft until it became a fountainhead. And then they were lying there in silence again, and Dec was almost nodding off, post-coital and bewildered - and when next he looked to the right, Jorginho had gone, upped and left, or... had he imagined the whole thing? Had it been a post-massage fever dream? Had the Brazilian ever been there on the next bed?!
Dec propped himself up on one elbow and stared at his right hand for a dizzy moment: the drying crackle of cum that streaked his knuckles told him that he hadn't dreamt a thing.
When Mason came, he was bouncing up and down on his boyfriend's cock, rapturous as he pulled himself to completion and shot silvery droplets of jizz all up Declan's sweaty torso, even hitting his chin. He slowed but didn't stop, continuing to squat his cheeks up and down on that delicious shaft, opting for a teasing grind of his perfect peach whilst he squeezed the final oozing traces of cum from his own equipment - and he studied the orgasmic anticipation on Declan's clammy face, knowing exactly to prolong his golden moment, and then speeding up suddenly until he knew he'd tripped the switch. He climbed off Dec's cock and hunched over him, kissing his climactic sighs, and letting their strong muscular fronts rub and chafe, whilst Dec played with his quivering cock and rubbed its sticky tip across each of his cheeks. They lay in that position for many long moments of kissing before rolling apart and breaking into exhausted laughter.
Whilst Dec did the sensible thing and got up to fetch towels or wipes, Mase just luxuriated on his back, the irrepressible smile of the morning blowjob returning to his features. A darker cloud had crossed the birthday date at dinnertime, and he knew it was his fault, but it felt like the loved-up pair had fucked that darkness away, and all was good.
Long distance was effort, the Man Utd twink reflected, but it was worth it.
He thought of Rasmus and decided that he wasn't worried after all - there was no difference really between what had happened with the new `Great Dane' of Old Trafford and any of his past indiscretions, at United or at Chelsea. It had been a hot and exciting little episode, and he'd just delicately withheld it from his boyfriend because the timing didn't feel right; it was an erotic tale to entertain the London stud with over a cam-wank on some future occasion, he decided, and he hoped it would drive Rice Cakes wild.
His boyfriend was back, and wiping him down tenderly, kissing his face, whispering sweet nothings - Mason just folded into his embrace and became the proverbial little spoon, sleepy and contented and oblivious to anything but the feel of Declan's body around him. He didn't care how complicated or interrupted their love life was now because of their careers; he didn't care who they did or didn't get to play around with in each other's absences; he didn't care how much or little Dec wanted to discuss it or admit to; he just cared about THIS, being cuddled and held by the tall gorgeous geek.
And Declan too was thinking about the preciousness of the moment, yanking the duvet over their sweaty bodies and kicking the dirty towel away. He held and cradled Mason's body, naked and close, and kissed the side of his neck soothingly, thinking that they would both be asleep in moments, their fuck had been so athletic and exhausting!
But still, a part of his brain was a little feverish - not just at the memory of what had happened with Jorginho, but flashing across other small tensions of his Arsenal life... whether it was the strange curious glint in Aaron Ramsdale's eye when the blokey goalkeeper asked about his secret relationship, or changing room glimpses of Ben White's Love Island muscle tan - whether it was the odd frisson of competitiveness he sensed when training alongside that moody youngster Emile Smith-Rowe, or the lingering looks he sometimes noticed from his young Spanish manager on the training field - whether it was Kai Havertz showering a bit too close to him sometimes, all tall and sinewy, or William Saliba's apparent inability to wear underpants during gym sessions - and all of that without mentioning the occasional chummy conversation with fellow ex-Hammer Jack Wilshere as he and the Arsenal youth coach crossed paths, exchanging gossip about former colleagues and dancing around the fact they'd barely spoken since Dec sucked his big dick.
There was a lot bubbling under the surface at Arsenal, and what truly terrified Declan was the idea that he might share all of this with his precious Mason, and have it met with... what? Disinterest or approval? What if he told his boyfriend of the little shockwave of sexual magnetism he'd caused at his new club, and... Mason just took it as a sign to move on, to find a sexy new boyfriend in Manchester, and...!
Rice lay there, sleepless in Cheshire, feeling Mount unconscious and peaceful against him, and tried to stop the anxiety spiral: the more he kept this all to himself, the worse it made him feel, what an idiot. He resolved, as he had before, that he would bring it up at breakfast and be more honest with Mase about how hard he was finding long-distance... and yet he knew he wouldn't be able to, faced with fresh-faced energy from the other lad, and under pressure to get driving south again. No, he thought bitterly, you'll just go on worrying and overthinking, and inevitably do something to ruin this! The final minutes of his 25th birthday ticked away and he drifted slowly into confusing bad dreams, comforted only by the warm muscular form in his arms, which he hugged all the tighter, unready to let go.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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