Party thirty-nine: Drinkwater, Eat ****
A blustery winter day was in full swing outside, but the interior of Aston Villa's training centre was all but deserted. After last night's League Cup replay, the exhausted lads had been granted a reprieve, and were only in for a short afternoon session with the gaffer and his coaching team. One determined Villa boy, however, was already arriving in the well-equipped gym block.
Stalking into the fitness suite and letting the motion-sensor lights above flicker into existence, Captain Jack Grealish stomped his new Yeezy trainers along the long room, rubbing life into his blinking eyes and flexing his knuckles as he moved through the kit.
He'd woken really early this morning, perhaps still a bit hyped up by last night's aggregate victory and the unbridled celebrating that had gone on in the conference suite at Villa Park afterwards. Beating Leicester was something of an East Midlands derby, really, and a bit of cup success was much-needed contrast to their lowly position in the Premier League. Jack shared the rest of the team's excitement, of course he did, but it was not without some oddness at beating a couple of his good mates like Chilly and Madders. He supposed that was the problem with international duty and such, you got these great bonds with other players on big teams, and then it was weird to defeat them – though it was definitely worse when they defeated you.
Yes, perhaps it was THAT which was leaving an odd taste in Jack's mouth – it was hard to explain why he had felt so agitated getting back to his flat last night after toasting to their win with the lads, exalted as always as a talented young leader to the Birmingham team.
He stretched and tested his wiry arm muscles, and picked up some free weights to do a few simple bicep curls, vainly checking himself out once or twice as he did, watching his long-sleeved Villa training shirt tighten over his arms and chest with each pull, but trying not fixate too critically on his boyish features or wispy goatee. It was easy to get narcissistic in these gyms!
Of course, he thought, after a solid couple of rounds of these exercises, there had been some odd dynamics around the squad of late too. McGinn, for example, had been really fucking odd since... well, since their play-about in the changing rooms the other week. The Scots lad had pulled Jack aside a few days on, desperate to apologise for his surprisingly submissive antics that afternoon. Grealish had done his best to defuse the awkward conversation, but John had been absolutely frantic with shame and regret, and it had ended uncomfortably. Things between them had been more or less fine since, but he could see how bothered McGinn was... to be fair, things had gone a bit far, maybe, but Jack didn't see why his Scottish mate needed to be so fucking shifty about it.
And Mings had been similar, actually. Jack had caught him glaring severely at him, and at John and Danny, at various moments in training and around the grounds. Judgmental prick – he'd had his nob out too, and got involved in the circle jerk, so... Jack wasn't sure how to play it with either of them. He knew full well he had initiated the whole thing, so of course they were going to be funny with him if they were regretting their involvement, but he didn't quite see why it needed to be such a big deal. It had been a right laugh, hadn't it? Nowt more.
Jack busied himself with his upper body routine, moving on to a series of weights machines and trying to up his kg in the hope of building his muscle mass a little. Working on these heavier weights, he did short reps and took long rests, huffing and sighing as he worked.
And then last night, there had been that weird... Well, it was a funny moment to describe. Surely it was too superficial and nothing-y to really be what was bothering him, putting him on edge through the night, waking him up so early today. I mean, it had just been a daft moment of speculation, that was all, so...
It had been well into the second half of the Leicester game last night. Of course, he'd had his little moments of banter with his mates: a whispered word of abuse in Ben Chilwell's ear as the two young players crossed paths during the game, a playful shove at James Maddison once or twice when their play clashed. Standard stuff. He'd sent both lads joking threat messages earlier in the day. It added a playful spice to the Premiership rivalry. But then, later in the game, after another substitution, he'd seen... What had he seen, exactly? It was Vardy. The prodigious striker had come on in the final third of the 90 minutes, still on his way back from a minor injury, and partly Jack had feared a flurry of goals from him to change the aggregate score. That hadn't surfaced, but there had been an odd moment: lurching past them on his way to follow a subtle shift in Villa's formation, he had swung by Vardy and Chilly nearby, seen the most subtle grabbing of backside from the wiry, beady-eyed 30-year-old to young Ben, and a sort of reciprocal grab with a backwards hand from floppy-haired pretty boy. It had been the work of a flashing second, a blink-and-you-miss it exchange between the two Leicester players, largely screened from the onlooking crowds by their fast-paced bodies, and yet...
Jack shoved the creaking iron parts of the weight machine back into place, and sat up, feeling the burn in his shoulders and biceps, and pulling loose strands of highlighted hair back out of his eyes and sweeping it back along his head.
Nah, there couldn't be owt going on between lovely Ben and that sleazy rat Jamie, and... Well, Ben was straight, wasn't he? That stuff they'd got up to had just been a mutual experiment, so... Jack sat there on the leathery surface of the weights bench, rubbing at his thighs through his tracksuit bottoms, and thinking hard. It had crossed his mind two dozen times this year: was that Ben's first contact with a bloke? It seemed hard to believe, and yet... it was weird to think that he didn't know what his young chum was up to. Ben had explicitly claimed he'd tried that with a GIRL, so...
And if there WAS any shit between the two Foxes, then what the fuck did it matter? It's not like he, heartthrob football captain extraordinaire, was going to be fucking jealous!
Almost laughing aloud, Grealish got up from the bench and tugged momentarily on the front of training shirt to cool off from the exertions of the challenging weights he'd been trying to lift so far in the routine. And that was when it hit him that he was no longer alone in the training suite, and another figure in matching tracksuit pants and a plain white tshirt was half-lounged against the opposite side of the room, arms folded and watching him.
`What's so funny, Cap'n?' asked Danny Drinkwater with a light smile.
Jack raised his eyebrows but tried to hide his surprise. He must have been really lost in his routine (or his idle thoughts of male distraction) not to hear somebody else enter the gym. `Oh, nothing much,' he answered vaguely, strolling over beside his surprise companion to the water machine, trickling some icy refreshment out into a paper cup.
`How come you're in here so early, Jack?'
Restless,' Grealish said, then refilled his little cup. Too much energy.'
After last night?' Drinkwater exclaimed, joining him by the water cooler. I mean, I didn't even make it to the fucking bench, that's why I need a gym sesh – would have thought you'd still be recovering from a full 90 mins.' He gave a faintly suspicious grin as he leaned in closer. `The gaffer know you're in here doing extra work?'
Jack scoffed and shrugged. `I'm allowed to manage my own fitness routine, D,' he muttered a little defensively. He licked stray water from his facial hair and huffed a bit wearily. He knew Danny was right: his body was aching already, trying heavy new reps after a full-on night of winning football.
`Sure, sure,' was all Drinkwater responded before backing off and getting started on his own morning workout. Jack watched him with idle curiosity: he partly envied the Mancunian's thicker-set body and definition, though he knew it would be a barrier to his own speed and agility on the field. He pulled his gaze away as the muscular newcomer got to work on his own choice of weights, poured himself a third water, and made his way to the exercise bikes for a more gentle session, choosing one facing the windows and the training pitch beyond. It was gently drizzling out there: this afternoon would be a little bit grim.
He gave an idle glance back over the gym to where Danny was on his back doing some chest lifts of a heavy dumbbell, and tried to shrug off the almost unwelcome presence of a second player in here this morning, and got on with a steady bike routine, short bursts of intensity then longer patches of slow recovery. He was soon sweaty, lengthy blond-streaked hair falling over his brow and dripping perspiration down his high cheekbones.
`Mind if I join ya?'
Him again. `Yeah, free country,' Jack said with a weak laugh, though he would have preferred the older loan player not to come and use the bike right next to him when they had the suite to themselves, in all honesty. He really did feel irritable and restless today! He should be making way more effort to be friendly to this bloke.
`Why do you suppose I wasn't even a sub last night, pal?' Danny asked, after the two lads had been silently cycling for a while.
`Hmm? Oh. Well, there's a lot of factors and strategy at work, erm...'
`Yeah, yeah. I get that. But...'
You haven't been here long, you're still finding your place, mate,' Jack said with slow, unconvincing positivity, partly because he was distracted by his own recent observations. He slowed his pedalling and gave the northerner a kind look. Don't let it get to you, though.'
Danny nodded without returning his look. I try not to, but... You know, it's just been a funny few years. I mean, technically I'm a Chelsea player, but I've barely worn blue in... Well, a while. I got like two appearances at fucking Burnley, and here I am... another loan spell, and what's changed?' A long sigh. I just wondered if it had owt to do with that business the other day,' he pointed out in a lower voice.
Jack actually stared blankly at him for a few moments, slow to connect his older teammate's worries with their bit of backroom fun. Oh,' he said, when the dots joined in his head, nah, why would that be...? Mate, I don't think-`
`I just wondered,' Danny muttered quickly, picking up the pace on his exercise bike.
Jack focused on his own pedalling rhythm, staring from Danny to the view of outside, and then back again. `You think someone said something about you... mucking about, and that's stopped you getting on the team?' He gave him a slightly incredulous look, various worries skimming through his mind: who else knew what had happened?!
`No, well, I don't know,' Danny mumbled.
Jack realised he had let his pedals slow too much and the bike bleeped into standby with irritating laziness. He let his muscular legs dangle idly at the sides and massaged his hands against the rubbery handlebars, then sat more upright.
I just wondered,' Drinkwater told him, abandoning his own cycling too, and letting out a nervy laugh at his own paranoia, then smiling weakly across the space between the bikes. I dunno. Been a tough few years for me, football-wise. I'm getting a bit paranoid, I guess.' A long silence between them, neither getting off their bike. I just figured I might have... done summat wrong, and offended someone, or...' He shrugged his broad shoulders. I'm just trying to fit in here.'
Jack was slow to answer, choosing his words carefully. You did nowt wrong,' he said with hesitant reassurance. It was... It was fun, wasn't it.'
Oh yeah,' Danny said readily. I did have a laugh, mate.'
Yeah, yeah,' Jack mumbled back. Well, at least someone could see it like that! Danny's paranoia was a bit less surprising or irritating than Mings and McGinn desperately distancing themselves from their own playful behaviour, that's for sure. Grealish could really see the vulnerability of the Chelsea outcast's position, when he thought about it, and he could sorta see how what went on might have played on Danny's mind as a reason for his team exclusion. He hopped off his bike, and slapped the other lad gently on the side. Nobody else knows, I'm sure,' he said. `You needn't fret. That bit of fun was nothing too dodgy, was it?'
Danny shrugged from his saddle, then got down too. I dunno, wasn't it?' he asked. Depends what you lads normally get to around here, hah... You made out it was a ritual, but... those two looked a bit freaked afterwards.' He gave Jack a knowing look, and the Villa captain turned away awkwardly, feeling exposed.
He made his way back to get more water, turning this thought over. Oh, you know,' he said vaguely. Locker room banter varies as guys come and go, right?' He looked back at Danny, who nodded, but still looked a bit suspicious or cautious. `You enjoyed it though?' Jack asked, in a slightly more challenging, provocative voice.
Danny shrugged again but also nodded. I mean, yeah, I did,' he said gruffly. Like I said... it wasn't my first blowie off a lad.'
Jack gave a slow nod, pulling back some hair again, wiping his sweaty face on the back of a sleeve. Yeah... I still can't quite believe that bit. Loftus-Cheek, you said? I never would have thought he was...' He paused, awkwardly. Did sucking a guy off make you queer? Well, if so, then his good mate Ben was certainly a bit... Danny seemed to be watching his conflicted thoughts, and he bristled a little uncomfortably. That was definitely a first in these changing rooms,' he admitted quietly. `As I'm sure you could tell from McGinn freaking out and hunting for mouthwash twenty minutes later...'
God, he did act a bit weird, didn't he?' Danny laughed, some tension easing between them then. Is he being funny with you now, or...?'
Jack winced and shrugged, and laughed a little. `Maybe? Hard to tell, with a Scotsman,' he chuckled uneasily.
Danny gave him a broad grin. Well, you can rely on me not being a funny cunt over a daft bit of playtime,' he said, and not for the first time, Jack had the feeling the older bloke was trying hard to win his favour in the hope of settling his position here more firmly. Well, hard to blame him for trying that, really. And his casualness was refreshing, really. What about you?' Danny asked, interrupting his thoughts.
`Hmm?'
`Well... had you ever had a nosh off a guy before, or...?' The Manc lad was keeping his voice down, but his grin was a bit dirty, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, and the gym suddenly felt so awkwardly public and exposed for this kind of chat.
A bit,' Jack admitted. Danny's grin grew a bit and he raised his eyebrows quizzically. Jack was torn between enjoying this playful openness, and his nagging doubts about it... He turned over Ty and John's funny treatment, his questions about Chilly and Vardy, and... Oh, what the fuck. I did get a bit of a suck-job once before, but not as er, enthusiastically as cheeky wee McGinn...' He let off a filthy chuckle and Danny joined in.
`He really went for it, huh?!'
`Yeh, fucking hell... No wonder he's embarrassed.'
Danny grinned, and Jack couldn't help but mirror it. He looked about the empty gym as if deciding what machine to go for next, or whether he really had the energy for anything more this morning. As he turned about, Danny caught his inner arm gently with a few fingers and gave him a curious nod. `You fancy taking a dip in the pool instead?' he asked. Jack felt the slightest tingle of physical excitement at the man's fingers on his aching bicep, and nodded.
`That actually sounds a good idea.'
It was a small pool, square and about armpit-deep, a few rooms from the gym, the air stinking of chlorine. Other, smaller pools lay beyond it in the corners, an icy recovery plunge pool and a tempting jacuzzi, both disappointingly inactive at this time of the morning, so that the two muscular tanned lads were left with the room temperature grid in the centre of the chemical-scented room.
Jack entered it from the changing rooms passage in a pair of tight-fitting shorts, as arse-hugging as he liked his footy shorts on the pitch, dark blue. He tightened the red cord of elastic at the front of them and hopped energetically into the waters, glad of its faint cooling effect on his throbbing muscles. He kicked and swam himself across the limited space for a moment, then looked up as the 28-year-old joined him in here, starting briefly at Drinkwater's choice of swimming costume. Jack had never really seen many blokes wear speedos in this country before, outside of the Olympics, but he could see how well they hugged Danny's bared physique, bulging proudly in the front as he stepped up to the pool and slid in to join him.
`Sorry about the budgie smugglers.'
`Oh, hah, don't be, erm...'
`All I could find in my locker,' Danny chuckled apologetically, dipping into the water up to his bullet-like little nipples. He ducked his head under and toyed with his tufty short brown hair and pulled his hands down his face. Jack realised he was staring a bit, and forced a laugh and kicked his feet up a bit in the water in embarrassment at the quiet moment. He leaned back against the pool rim and kicked his sore legs about idly, letting the muscles flex and relax. Danny turned away from him and did a couple of the limited lengths in silence, then veered his way, and joined him in leaning his damp arms to the pool edge.
`You ever think about what those lads did for us?' he asked in a low voice, resting his head against the pool room floor, eyeing Jack along this boundary.
Jack was a little slow to follow again, then realised where there conversation had tailed off. You mean... the blowjobs?' He watched Danny smirk and nod. What you mean, though... think about it?'
Danny shrugged his glistening wet shoulders and pulled away from the pool edge a little, giving a thoughtful little sigh. `I mean... you reckon you could ever do that?'
Jack hesitated but screwed his face up after a moment. I really doubt it,' he grunted. I think I'd probably throw up, hah... I mean, I'm glad John was game for a laugh with it, and...' He shrugged and splashed stupidly at the water between them. `Why, do you think you could?'
Danny's expression and stance was idle, casual, curious. I don't know,' he admitted. It definitely freaks me out, a bit. But...' Another vague, muscular shrug. `I guess I'd give it a go.'
`Right.' Jack felt a hint of excitement jolt at his tight blue swimming shorts in the clear water beneath them, but he tried to look casual, half-interested, captainly.
`I mean, I doubt I'd be any good.'
Jack found himself looking at the older lad's lips, which were actually quite full and pouty, compared to John McGinn's little grinning face. He hadn't noticed Danny slip one arm off the pool edge and into the water, but now he felt fingertips brushing the bottom of his tummy just above the waistband of his swimming shorts. Danny laughed gently, and he cleared his own throat indecisively.
Then, with catlike grace, Drinkwater slid from the pool's edge and disappeared underwater with a gentle bubbling noise. Jack froze where he was, one arm hooked over the pool rim, the other dangling at his side in the water, and he felt the submerged form pressing down against him, two underwater hands padding down his toned midriff, and his shorts yanked down at the front, then his floppy cock briefly kissed, then Danny was upright in front of him, splashing as he surfaced, laughing and rubbing pool-water out of his eyes. Jack couldn't help but laugh, pulling his shoulder blades back against the pool edge. `You nutter,' he giggled.
Underwater, Danny took his dick in hand. `Yup.' He pulled and rubbed with fingers and thumbs.
Mate,' the Villa captain said with ambiguous warning. His eyes darted past Danny and about the room, its two entrances, but lack of windows... how discreet was this? How empty really was the training centre at this time? And in spite of these cautious lines of thinking, he could feel his nob responding against Danny's testing grab. Mmm.'
`Captains deserve special treatment, right?' Drinkwater murmured teasingly.
`They sure do,' Jack sighed.
Danny let go of his slowly growing cock, put his hands to his thighs instead, and began to hoist upwards. `Come on.' Jack planted his hands firmly on the edge of the pool and pulled himself up, half-lifted by Danny's bulging arm muscles, until his arse was sat on the tiled rim, thick thighs spread to let his hairy legs dangle in the pool, and his dick propped awkwardly out of the front of his shorts like a little sea monster.
Remember this is my first time,' Danny said modestly, a hand resting on each of Jack's thick muscles, smiling up from between them above the water-framed curve of his well-developed chest muscles, so sorry if I'm a bit shit, but... let's try, eh?' Jack stared at him, a little tempted to put a stop to this, fearing discovery or exposure, or perhaps worse, fearing he would enjoy it too much and...
Danny pulled the shorts down a bit more to hook their elastic under the weight of Jack's unspent balls, then lowered his head and breathed very gently against the floppy length. Jack felt his mate's breath tease his fat semi, and held back an immediate sigh; when, a moment later, Danny rang his thick tongue right down its length, there was no holding it in. `Ohh...' Like a panting dog, the Manc lad rolled his fat tongue against the head of Jack's gently stretching member until it was rising up into its thick veiny glory.
`You aren't as shit as you thought,' Jack mumbled.
`I'm only getting started!'
Jack leaned back a little, pressing his hands back and further apart to support his frame, feeling Danny's strong hands slide up and down his damp thigh fur, tingling just above the knees, and that big wet tongue circle his bellend and foreskin before running back up the length of his wood – `Ohhh' – and then lapping along one side and then the other of his aching dick. Ben's furtive suck had been rushed and hesitant; John had been hungry but a bit toothy. Danny was slow, sensual, deliberate... dear god, it was the best head he'd had since he was an eager teenaged virgin.
Drinkwater was pulling those plump soft lips over his dick now, and he stared down as his shaft disappeared halfway into the other man's mouth – `Aahhh buddy...' – and slid back out again, and again, and again. Jack leaned further back, and pulled his wet legs from the pool, carefully avoiding kicking his delicate attendant, but lifting both legs over those thick shoulders to get comfier; as he did so, Danny grabbed and pulled on his shorts, which came slipping down his wet legs with twangs and slaps, until they were over Danny's head and stretched between Jack's ankles, his sturdy calves resting against each of Danny's shoulder muscles.
Jack shifted his weight into one hand and wrist so he could pull his right hand forward and stroke at Drinkwater's damp tufty hair, guiding his head around as the man licked and sucked at the first few inches of his thick tool. He pushed down a bit, encouraging the big burly bloke to lick and kiss down his shaft. Danny pulled away a little, laughing throatily. `Is this even any good?' he panted almost naively, and Jack's answer was physical: he pushed on his head, returning his lips to the base of his shaft, then trying to encourage his bonce downwards, tongue towards Jack's balls. He moaned deeply and closed his strong thighs about the bloke's head and pressed firmly down, forcing Danny to lap at his heavy ballsack rather than his throbbing dick.
`You're... doing... okay,' Grealish heaved, rubbing fingers through Danny's scalp encouragingly.
The filthy Chelsea loan player sniggered into his bollocks, taking one then the other in his lips and sucking gently on them. He tried to return his tongue and mouth up to Jack's nob, but the captain pushed more firmly on his head. He wasn't sure Danny would understand what he wanted, and he saw a touch of alarm or indecision in the rugged man's shadowy blue eyes, but his guiding hand was firm and he parted his powerful thighs somewhat.
Go on,' Jack grunted, get your tongue in there...' He saw a steely determination in Drinkwater's expression, and felt that thrusting tongue move from balls to gooch, ohhhh yesss... He relaxed his body back further, spine curving and abs tensing, so he could pull both hands forward and press his fingers into Danny's head in massaging strokes, urging him down and letting his thighs open more... feeling the bold newcomer's mouth slide down his gooch into his crack. Well, the lad had wanted to experiment, and captains DID deserve special treatment, so... OH... He felt the thick tongue run the length of his crack and back again, OH...
Shit, shit... He reached desperately to pull on his straining dick, electrified. He had been thinking about this dirty wet pleasure ever since squatting in his bedroom with Ben Chilwell, and it felt as good as he remembered, if not better... both times, he felt gripped by the filthy experiments of it, knowing these horny buggers had tongued many a fanny, and now were... OH... He groaned out his enjoyment and flexed his body back across the wet tiles, pushing his feet down on Danny's shoulders as he bent and tensed his strong legs, keeping them parted enough to allow Danny access, feeling the wet laps against his twitchy hole... he wanked himself aggressively. Only then, feeling himself shift close, did he stop pushing down Danny's head with the other hand, and let the panting, grunting mouth lift back up towards his shaft. He pulled his hands away and freed Danny enough to take his cock between his lips, and let him take over, a strong hand pulling at the base of his nob whilst Danny's mouth slurped at the tip... OH! Oh mate,' he panted, oh mate...'
Danny took his mouth away after the second spurt of cum, which pooled about his bottom lip, and the third little fount of juice streaked his chin and the tip of his nose, and both men laughed. Jack lay back fully against the tiles, legs dangling over his pal's shoulders, his front rising and falling with each drawn out breath... he flinched in shock when he felt those tender lips sink back, kissing his balls, then his gooch, then... oh god, Danny was back down there for MORE, oh... Grealish lay there in post-orgasmic bliss, feeling the strong tongue in his crack. It took him a while to really recognise the furtive splashes were Danny reaching underwater to attend to himself, and the prospect thrilled him, though he was too languid with pleasure to really want to help the older man out. He just lay there, legs and cheeks open, feeling Danny lick him, listening to the wet thrusts and tugs of the other man's masturbation, until he heard Danny's grunting climax panted into his gooch.
He reached a hand out to stroke lovingly over the crown of Danny's head, then pushed himself up into sitting position, and let Drinkwater drift out of the hold of his thighs and into the water properly. Jack slid forward and into the pool himself, still gasping a little as he reached down to pull up his shorts about his calves, over his knees, across his thighs. Danny had disappeared underwater a moment, but was back, rubbing at his mouth and laughing vaguely. The men stared at reach other for a long moment, neither quite able to believe how far that had gone.
Ten minutes later, under the hot shower, Jack stared warily across the shower block to his pool companion, wondering if any of their teammates were already arriving to start prepping for this afternoon's training session. He looked thoughtfully at the curves and definition of the slightly taller bloke's body, and sighed contentedly, but not without a tang of worry. He caught Danny's eye as he left the shower, and giggled a little shyly before snatching a towel from the peg and drifting out of the steam, into the dressing room. He heard the wet pads of Danny's footsteps following him a moment later. Towel-clad, he turned to give the other bloke a more serious look.
`You know I can't just get you put in the squad, right?' Jack ventured softly.
Danny, in the middle of tying the towel about his waist, gave him a knowing look, and smirked a little. `I'd be lying if the thought hadn't crossed my mind,' Drinkwater muttered.
Jack felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment at his cynical judgment there. `Well, yeah...'
I'm not saying I wouldn't be happy if you put in a few good words for me,' the hapless footballer offered in a slow chuckle, but...' Tightening the towel about his waist, he stepped forward, seeming momentarily much bigger and sturdier than wiry Grealish in this towelled intimacy. He leaned in, licked his lips, and stared Jack down at close quarters.
`I could try...' Grealish murmured vaguely.
If you think I just stuck my tongue in yer arse because I missed out on a couple of games,' Danny said in a leering purr, then you really don't get it, buddy.' He hovered inches in front of Jack's face, this dirty grin playing on his thick lips, then pulled away.
Jack let out a long, whistling breath, a bit overwhelmed by his own position here. He thought about the way that Drinkwater had carried on rimming him even after his own explosive orgasm. He wanted to ask him how it tasted, or how his cum had been on his lips, but... He needed to straighten his head out, get ready for the lads arriving, go back into firm captain mode, helping the lads get to work even in the lethargy of a bit of celebration drinking. He watched Danny back away and begin to dry himself.
I'll speak to the gaffer today,' he said, in a less shaky voice, more his usual cocky tone. I'll give him a chat, mate. See what I can do.' Danny looked up in the middle of drying his cock and balls, and just smiled faintly, as if not overly arsed about his place on the team after all, then turned away again. Jack found himself looking for a moment at the bloke's meaty behind, then turned sharply away, and grabbed at his own towel to start drying off. Wow, this shit could really spiral out of control if he wasn't careful!
CAN YOU BELIEVE THE NEXT STORY WILL BE PART 40 OF THE SERIES??? THE DOCUMENT I WRITE THEM IN RECENTLY PASSED 300 PAGES - MAD!