Part 393: Gongs & Dongs
Thursday night in Camden, and both men were clad in tailored suits that accentuated their lasting physiques, two retired football players now shoulder to shoulder at the bar - they had spent almost the entire night together now, as well as a perfectly civilised afternoon meal beforehand, with their wives and several other friends and family members - but now they were alone, just the two of them, two handsome cousins who had risen through the football world and could strut around this awards ceremony as celebrated Londoners. And here at the bar, away from the polite chat of their illustrious table, the 50-year-old pundit could bump a suited elbow into the side of his slightly younger cousin and shoot him one of his trademark smug looks, seizing the moment's impatience as the pair awaited attention from the Camden Roundhouse's serving staff.
Eyebrows briefly folding, Frank Lampard looked curiously back at him, his face one of casual bemusement sliding in the direction of nervous tension - he almost looked as if he had been expecting the question all day, even before Jamie Redknapp leaned in and asked him, `So... do you still suck cock like a pro?'
Redknapp paused and smirked, chuckling at everything from his own crass directness to the absurdness of asking his cousin this at the centre of the London Football Awards and all its blokey sporting camaraderie. He chuckled even more at the panicked fluster that came over the other 6ft man's slightly lined face - Frank was 5 years his junior and yet ageing a little more rapidly than his own curated boyishness at 50. He threw an arm about the shoulders of the other man's suit jacket and leaned in to elaborate, `Just wondering, cuz...! Good memories, hey?'
Around them, the general after-party exuberance of the sporting award ceremony buzzed on, the gongs distributed but the majority of guests showing no hurry to exit the venue. Before Frank could answer his provocative question, Jamie caught the eye of a free waitress and he leaned charmingly forward to flirt heavily with her and order the lengthy list of drinks for their table. Once she was at work on their order, he laid his hands on the bartop and turned that same smug grin on the other ex-midfielder.
Lamps, he noted, had recovered some brash dignity, rolling his eyes at him. I don't know how much I remember,' the on-off club manager muttered with unconvincing dismissal, shrugging and adjusting the knot of his navy blue tie. But yeah, fun memories, I guess - why you ask cuz, your wife need some tips?' Jamie grinned at his cousin's confrontational manner, unfazed by the banter - it wasn't often that the two friendly cousins got to hang out alone these days, and he often suspected that was more deliberate on Lampard's part than his own, and not unconnected from the days in recent years where the Chelsea legend had got on his knees and serviced him like a proper slag. His smiling eyes must have communicated all that thought, because Lamps blushed and frowned and looked away, clearing his throat and fiddling more with his tie.
Relax,' Redknapp insisted quietly enough, do you think I'm dumb enough to ever tell a soul, Franco...?'
`Should fucking hope not,' was the 45-year-old's breathy muttered retort.
No, I haven't recommended your throat to anyone,' Jamie quipped pleasantly, not really bothering to keep his voice low or secretive, and enjoying the way it irked and panicked the other ex-player. Although - I thought you were John Terry's these days...'
A dark look on the other married man's face. `I ain't seen much of JT lately,' he answered ambiguously, and Jamie almost felt a bit sorry for him - he wasn't sure of the exact nature of the bond between the two Chelsea heroes, but he knew that it was more than just nostalgic friendship. As brash as he could be, he sensed it was best not to dig into that affair, aware that he could be as cagey and defensive about some of his own extra-marital efforts, although he'd been so much more careful since marrying his second wife in middle age.
`You hate me bringing this up, eh?' he asked curiously.
`Just watch it, mate, think where we are.'
`Hmm. I know.'
`You best drop this, we need to-'
Where we are,' the slick TV pundit mused, stroking his stubbled cheekbones and beginning to ready his wallet to pay for the round. That's what got me thinking, to be honest...'
You need to leave those days in the past,' Frank muttered irritably at his side, glaring at him, they were odd times and I was under a lot of pressure, so-'
Jamie looked at him and rolled his eyes. I'm not suggesting we go back there,' he said, a little more firmly, almost snappish. No - we're cousins, it's a bit icky really, ain't it? No...' He grabbed Frank by one shoulder and pulled closer to him, whispering since the barmaid was right in front of them lining up their bottles - `I was thinking of a contest.'
Jamie paused to pay, sensing the mixture of glowering annoyance and cock-struck curiosity in the other man, then turning to grin at him. The two ex-players leaned in close to divide the drinks onto two trays, and Jamie spoke firmly but quickly, sharing his idea. All these footballer fellas in one place, you know - we're both pretty well-connected here, don't you think? And we've been such good boys, playing along with the missus all day, so - why don't we so who can pull the best young lad in here, eh?' He smirked excitedly in at the other man's nervous face, resting a hand against his shoulder. Come on,' he growled, sensing Lamps' hesitance, `it'll be fucking fun - let's see what we can pull, and compare notes later on...'
`Our wives are-'
`That's the fun, you pussy...'
`Mate, this is-'
Come on,' Redknapp insisted in that same deep seductive growl, squeezing more at the thick shoulder of his stockier cousin, and grinning very enthusiastically across the drinks at him. We've got, what, an hour or two before they close the bars and chuck us out?' He leaned right in to whisper in Frank's ear. `I'm getting my dick wet in that hour, cousin Frank, and I'm telling you all about it - you better have a story to share in return, little cuz, or who knows what I might come out with when we all stop off at yours for a nightcap.' The 50-year-old lothario smiled and laughed and patted Lampard on the back as if they were just chuckling over some Premier League anecdote of their younger days, before hoisting his tray of drinks and leading the way back to the table - his cousin would not be able to resist the challenge, he knew, and it would add an extra spice to tonight's exploits.
Right enough, Lamps was snared: he only part-believed the joky threat of his handsome cousin's blackmail, not able to 100% dismiss the threat, but he was caught by Redknapp's seductive charm, the simmering remembrance of their taboo foolery, and the nature of the challenge itself. Jamie was right, there were so many active and retired footballers here from the London clubs, and so many connections for both of them, between their family ties, their club careers, their media links - this really was somewhere that the unemployed footballer manager could get a little special attention in a way that his life had been lacking since things fizzled out with his dominant lover John Terry.
Soon after the drinks were shared at the table, cousin Jamie made his excuses and slipped away, claiming he was needed at the photocall for winners, and so Frank left it a few minutes before claiming the same, and pecking Christine on the cheek. Away from the table, his confidence surged and he felt sure that he could find some fun here that would impress or shock Jamie in the right way, and make him the winner of this vague challenge, some kinda macho bragging rights over the smugly good-looking older Redknapp... it didn't really make any rational sense, but Lamps was tipsy on red wine and his ego had been stoked by the confronting nature of a man who he had once begged on his knees.
The target of Lampard's vague bravado and lust became quickly obvious, grinning into a camera not far off and still wielding his Premiership Player of the Year gong whilst a small crowd of event media jostled about him. Just as the 45-year-old Chelsea legend might have hoped, the media staff ambushing the young footballer caught sight of him and quickly beckoned him over - `Let's get one of you two together, yeh? Rice and Lamps, perfect...!' - and soon he was huddled close to the black-suited youth with a big celebratory grin on his face, hugging an arm about Declan's shoulders and posing with the award-winning Arsenal signing, a graduate of his own first senior club West Ham.
And then, brusque and assertive, Lampard made his play - Leave the kid alone, then,' he found himself barking quite authoritatively at one photographer and then another, and Let him enjoy his win, eh?' at the latest journalist who was about to throw a question at the 25-year-old England international - arm about his shoulders, Lamps steered young Rice away from this attention and along the outskirts of the event, rescuing' him from the piranhas' of the media and laughing off the prestige of the event. He was, he thought, full of experienced charm and gruff avuncular support, helping Declan to move away from the excessive attention and offering to buy him drinks, talking volubly about their shared experiences of the London football scene - sympathising with Dec's youthful disappointment when released by Chelsea and then seeking common ground in his experience of rising through the ranks in East London instead.
But... Frank was slightly taken aback. He'd met Declan before on a number of occasions, obviously, and between those past experiences and the general football perception of the 6ft1 defensive midfielder, he knew him to be a friendly and gregarious young man with one of the most humble down-to-earth attitudes in the Premiership... Instead, standing side by side at the edge of the round concert hall, Lampard found himself greeted with terse minimal remarks and a vague distracted frown on that long hook-nosed face.
Faced with this, the older man fell quiet, fiddling with his knot in the same way as when challenged by his cousin, and briefly scanning the room to see where Jamie had got to. He certainly didn't want to be seen failing in his seduction by someone as confident and successful as J could be in that department! Maybe he'd picked badly, going after the Arsenal star who'd picked up the night's main trophy...
Is that all, then?' the former West Ham captain said now in a bored voice close to a yawn, and Frank blinked awkwardly at him, really quite surprised by his aloof rudeness. He must have looked offended more than surprised, because the lanky young player just frowned quite harshly at him and adjusting the poserish waist-belt of his Prada suit jacket. I've got a lot of people to talk to,' the athletic youngster informed him quite coldly, stunning Lampard even more - he was very used to the aura of his own career success outshining his managerial exploits and bringing him much privilege and favour in all corners of their sporting world...
`What's wrong?' he couldn't help but demand, his voice a little shaken.
Rice just made a simply scoffing noise, toying with his tie, which was rather obnoxiously embossed with the Prada logo just below the knot, and looked irritating to wear. The slightly gangly football stud shifted from foot to foot and looked uncomfortable, as if not used to such rudeness even in himself, a far cry from the modest charm he'd shown to the media when Frank was pulled into his orbit. `I hope you didn't mind me saving you from the press,' Frank said quite resentfully, suddenly more annoyed than worried by the young lad's turn in mood, deciding that Rice Rice Baby wasn't such a loveable ordinary guy after all-
Saving me,' Declan muttered darkly, and now Frank was intrigued - he backed further from the fringes of the event and squared up to the 6ft1 youngster, back in the mode of an angry manager dressing down an arrogant player - I don't know what I think of your attitude,' the ex-midfielder announced quietly but sharply, hands on the hips of his suit trousers.
Declan gave him a look that could only be described as withering. `And I don't know what I think of your fucking managing career.'
Frank could hardly believe it - the nerve was heavily hit, since everyone in the sport was queuing up to slag off his first few spells in the top job - and he was particularly annoyed to find out that Kingston-upon-Thames' little golden boy was actually such an entitled uptight wanker, so- he was about to speak when the slightly taller man leaned in and jabbed an accusing finger in the centre of his chest.
Mason's told me all about you, you dirty fucker,' snapped the Arsenal ace with all the gutsy confrontation he could show on the pitch, and Frank was frozen to the spot by the look of venom and disapproval on that long handsome face - I know everything,' Rice insisted coldly, `and I think you're a fucking shameful bastard, Lamps, that's what I think.' Frank gawped at him, no idea what to say.
If Lamps had immediately set his sights on the award show's Player of the Year, then his cousin hadn't chosen too far away; and at that moment, Jamie was propped up against one end of the bar, smiling quietly as part of a small group conversation that surrounded the London YOUNG Player of the Year instead - a bashful 21-year-old who, to Jamie's eye, was a far more credible target for his selfish needs.
There were several of them here, players and assorted other figures from a couple of London clubs, including Jamie's own noughties home of Tottenham Hotspur - but the focus of their chat was the tall lean youth who seemed to be wearing his dad's suit, ill-fitting and awkward about his gangly frame, while he held his prize in one hand and scratched anxiously at his long neck between answering the friendly bantering questions of the significantly older men who were applauding his win.
Redknapp chose his moment well - the old guy from Spurs was just about to ask young Cole Palmer another very dull and prosaic question about footballing life in London compared to Manchester when he leaned in closer to the youth winner and whispered in his ear, `Do you want to share some gear?' before pulling back and smiling blandly at their group with no hint of his saucy suggestion. He could see Cole's interest instantly on his thin acned face, slightly gormless but handsome in the right light - and, most importantly to Jamie, one of tonight's big winners and London's rising stars, so the perfect target. That gormless face would look very cute down at his crotch, he was sure.
Redknapp made his vague quiet excuses to slip away from the dull group conversation and then watched over his shoulder as Palmer began to do the same, having to protest against hugs and back-slaps in order to extricate himself from the fawning attention of the middle-aged former pros and top journalists - and then scampering through the busy awards floor like some kind of Bambi impersonator, surely too gangly and clumsy to be half as talented a footballer as Jamie knew him to be, Chelsea's great young hope since snapping him up from an unappreciative Man City.
Once the 21-year-old Mancunian had caught up with him, Jamie smirked at him, and then nodded in the direction of the toilets - he winked and patted the breast pocket of his suit jacket. `Fancy a sniff then, kid?' he asked calmly and not too quietly, broadcasting his self-confidence and roguish casualness about taking party drugs at a formal event despite his senior age. Truth be told, he rarely partook these days, but tonight had threatened to be a dull wholesome one, and he always kept a few little baggies of good stuff around for when he was travelling with his punditry, away from family life - and a little dusting of gear could be a great lubricant when trying to sow wild oats.
Cole nodded eagerly. Seriously?' asked the young Chelsea attacker in a breathy awkward voice, giving shifty looks to left and right, and making their deviant escape as fucking obvious as anything. Jamie laughed at him and patted his arm. Relax, you dork. Come on. Stop looking so shifty. And bring that trophy, haha.'
Cole nodded again and followed him, and on the way down the passage towards the gents loos, Jamie couldn't resist reaching calmly down and feeling himself through the front of his suit pants - yep, he could really do with a wide-eyed innocent like young Palmer helping him out tonight, and he looked forward to describing every detail to that faux prude of a cousin...!
At Lampard's insistence, more than the angry young man's, they had left the party behind, and were somewhere on the first floor, passing down another curving passage away from balconies that overlooked the floor of tables - downstairs, Declan had begun to say more explicit and damaging things, and Frank had cajoled and threatened the Arsenal player away from the footballer crowd and into this quiet corner, starting with muttered comments about libel and lawsuits, and now hissing apologies and excuses at the `Premiership Player of the Year' for London - clumsily insisting to him that he couldn't understand the pressures managers were under in this day and age, and he definitely couldn't understand the complexities of marriage in your 40s, and that whatever Mason Mount had told him, he had to remember how excitable and melodramatic that kid could be...
`So he exaggerates it, does he?' Dec ranted at him a little bit too loudly, really squaring up to him in an almost aggressive manner - this was the red-faced Dec that argued with refs and went to war for the men on his team, not the grinning youth who ducked compliments and charmed the footballing community.
Look,' Lampard hissed at the younger guy, reaching for each of his shoulders only to have his hands pushed away, it wasn't like that, Mason and I just had an understanding, and...'
Though just an inch taller, the dark-suited younger man seemed to tower over him villainously for a moment, pushing another accusing finger into his chest and properly pushing forward into him, looking ready to swing fists. You used him like a toy,' Rice snarled down at him, you played about with him like he was nothing - your little pet when you wanted him to be, and then nothing when you didn't need him, I've heard all about it. You're a fucking monster, Fat Frank, and I think everyone in that room down there ought to fucking know about it - wonder if they'd let me re-do my acceptance speech?'
It was at that point, backing frustratedly away from the hot-tempered 25-year-old, that a thought crystallised and clarified for Lampard, something that had been at the back of his mind for the last ten minutes; at first, he'd thought Dec was disgusted and prejudiced, sickened to learn of a manager-player affair of the steamy office-floor nature of what Lamps had once shared with his golden protegee. But slowly things had become clearer, and he understood the nature of Rice's passion, the intensity of his outrage, the very personal angle to his accusations and jabbing threats. He could see what he had in front of him: a jealous and possessive boyfriend.
It was a realisation that didn't change the awkward rage of the moment, the disappointment or inconvenience of these accusations about his sexual manipulation of a young player, the aspersions against his professionalism... but it DID add an exciting undertone to Rice's puffed out chest and reddened face, the little beads of sweat on his brow and the flecks of spittle that hit Frank on the nose as he backed away from the Arsenal hothead. He found himself staring more with curiosity than apology now, deflecting another rough shove of Dec's hands, and grasping at his jacket sleeves to calm him down.
Seriously,' Lampard snapped, as authoritatively as he could, you're getting me wrong, kid - it just was not like that - and I think if you asked your boyfriend, I think you'd get the same answer, Rice.'
He's just still awed by you,' the award-winner spat, but he then paused and looked a bit uncomfortable, as if understanding what he'd just implicitly acknowledged - and Frank didn't grin smugly at him, but he did let the silence hang, and tug at the young man's sleeves, drawing a little closer to him, letting their heavy breathing be the only sound between them, the rising noise of the sports crowd below falling away. Dec looked like he was computing whether it was too late to dismiss the word boyfriend', but Frank's hand was already reaching down and cupping the outline in the front of those black Prada trousers, feeling to his pleasant surprise that shouting angrily and defending his boy's honour had given Declan Rice a rather weighty semi as it was. He felt it slowly and tenderly, and stared fiercely into Dec's red face and awkward frown.
An award winner like you,' Lampard purred more smoothly, deserves to end the night well.' He jerked his head to the door next to them, which seemed to be some kind of changing room for the performers who usually occupied the Roundhouse. `We've got time.' He backed off and reached his groping hand for the door handle instead, found it helpfully unlocked - and retreated into a small rectangular dressing room, watching intently as the Arsenal midfielder hovered in the doorway and glared at him with conflicted outrage.
Frank got slowly down to one knee at a time in the centre of the narrow room, moistening his lips, and nodding encouragingly. Dec moved forward and closed the door behind him, really towering now as he approached - his face still looked conflicted, the flash of anger replaced by some guilty embarrassment, and yet his body language spoke of greater certainty. He was undoing the waistbelt of his jacket and letting the black blazer fall open, then grasping confidently at the heavy Prada buckle of his leather belt. And on his knees, Lamps just nodded, flicked his tongue across his sweaty upper lip, and opened his mouth wide - glad when the zip fly went down and the long slender prick was pushed against his hungry tongue, glad to gobble down on the night's sexy winner.
And somewhere below them, Jamie Redknapp had locked the door of the small toilet suite behind them, rendering the small ugly room private; he was glad that they didn't have to shuffle clumsily into a single cubicle together like rave teens, since there was a helpful lock on the main door, and in the past minute, he'd already ignored a couple of impatient knocks on it from others trying to use these facilities. There were other loos all over the venue, fellas could fuck off. He had business to attend to.
`Good lad,' Redknapp cooed, as Palmer inhaled both lines he'd set up for him on the cool marble surface around the washbasin, and he enjoyed watching the twitchy excitement of the lad's young face as he straightened up and leant against the wall to steady himself during the headrush of the drug. With the practised ease of a wilder youth, the middle-aged TV star began to dab out a little of the white snow, a notably smaller portion than he'd offered the youth, and then chopped it into a couple of lines with his AmEx. He snorted it quickly and casually through a rolled £50 and then smirked at Cole, who was still twitchy and grimacing and fiddling with his nostrils, whilst Jamie briefly shook off the electric fizz in his body and began to arrange more lines for them on the counter.
`Not used to it?' he asked lightly.
Done plenty,' the 21-year-old insisted. Especially back up in Manc.'
`Right,' Jamie said sceptically, watching his jerky body language and nervous eyes.
They did more lines, and chatted, the conversation no less prosaic than outside with the other older guys near the bar - Jamie kept his voice low and cool, asking aimless dull questions and feeding the Chelsea attacker bland praise, taking it slower than he wanted to, making sure that both of them had dirtied their noses with plenty of the top-quality coke from his usual supplier. And then, cutting across the young star's giggly self-deprecation, he announced, Trouble with gear, mate, is how fucking horny it gets you, right?' He said it with such experience and confidence that it was hard for Cole, despite his spluttering, to say anything but Sure' - Jamie suspected this might be the up-and-coming baller's first experiment with it, or he was just shit at it, and that Cole Palmer was properly thrilled to be indulging in the kind of stupid excess that he'd expected from senior footballer life. Jamie was only too happy to oblige.
`Nothing makes me want to get my cock sucked more,' he said.
`Oh, right,' Cole laughed stupidly.
`Just summat about that cokey buzz, y'know...?'
`I guess - it does make you feel fuckin' mental.'
`Oh, totally, but mainly... horned up. Ha ha.'
`I guess, I guess... huh... erm-'
I mean, in my day,' Jamie purred, chopping the next line, you'd just get coked up after a big win and find some no-hoper young substitute player and get him to nosh you off in the showers before you were due on the team bus, that sort of thing.'
Cole was quiet for a moment, but too instantly high to question this, letting out an uncomfortable snigger, and another `I guess... sure... hehe... err...'
Still,' Jamie mused, handing him the rolled note, I bet things are tamer now.'
Palmer seemed to consider this before stooping to snort the substance. No,' he declared dizzily. There's still a bit of that shit going on, I think.'
At City?' Redknapp asked with the wistful curiosity of someone who had watched Jack Grealish from afar, but he was intrigued by Palmer's shake of the head and nervous knuckling at his electrified nostrils. Nah,' the Manc youth slurred, since I got down to Stamford Bridge, y'know...' He looked wary, but Jamie grinned disarmingly, and he went on - I've had a couple of blowies off another player,' the award-winner announced, seeming torn between boastful and ashamed.
Good lad,' Jamie told him warmly, making him chuckle, and he bit his lip before sitting back against the edge of the counter and giving the taut package of his suit pants a good squeeze. Nothing gets you more fucking horned up and wild than winning a big game, right? You just need serviced after that, and it don't fucking matter if it's your missus or your mate sometimes, am I right?' He leered at the Chelsea player and saw the certainty growing in Cole's eyes and in his dizzy nodding. `Who was it?' Redknapp demanded, before leaning over and inhaling the last line of their Class A treat.
Cole laughed awkwardly, seeming unsure of confiding that, but Jamie knew how to coax it out of him - he pulled the gangly youth next to him and squeezed about his shoulders intimately, two suited men of different generations, thigh to thigh - and then he dropped a hand invasively against the baggy crotch of the young man's borrowed suit trousers, through which he could feel a certain hardness. Jamie didn't particularly like the idea of touching other cocks, not half as much as he liked his to be touched, but he could instantly feel Cole's confidence in him grow. `Who?' he barked in his ear.
Gallagher,' he slurred. Conor Gallagher.' A pause, then a filthy laugh. `Sucks like a fucking Amsterdom hooker, hehe. Especially after a bit of gear. Erm.'
Jamie thrilled at this gossip, but he wasn't sure if Conor was here tonight, and he'd already set his sights on a less handsome but more celebrated member of the Chelsea first team. He shook Cole by the shoulders and took him by the wrist, dragging his hand into returning the favour and gripping his own bulge - bigger, fuller, pants tighter. Cole's eyes bulged and he looked a bit scared, but Jamie laughed and brushed the back of his neck with his free hand. Feel that?' he purred. That's how fucking horny that sniff has got me.'
`Yeah,' murmured the dopey midfielder.
`You feel it, mate?'
`Er, yeah.'
`Feel how hard I'm getting?'
`Yeah, yeah...'
Fuuuck, it's just so horny,' he sighed. Thought of Conor fucking Gallagher getting on his knees for a star like you! Haha. But...' He tightly gripped Cole's hand over his bulge and pinched at the nape of his neck. Daddy don't suck cock,' he growled, so it's going to have to be you on your knees, mate.' He grinned arrogantly into the trembling features of the young Manc lad, staring him down, and keeping his hand in place, where his eager hard-on throbbed and pulsed, and he waited - was Palmer high enough to cross this line, awe-struck enough not to question it? A wobbly moment of uncertainty passed in which Jamie could see the young player pushing him away and fleeing the bathroom. There was always a risk of scandal and conflict, a risk of exposure and embarrassment, but wasn't that what made it all so fun...?
`Fuck,' slurred Cole nervously.
Nah,' Jamie whispered dangerously. I don't fuck lads. But I do want your gob on my dick, kid. Now, get on yer knees. Good boy.'
Frank was shocked and excited by the sudden ferocity with which it happened: Dec's firm veiny cock pushed down his throat, quickly going deep, and grasping fingers brushing through his own short dark hair. He gagged and recovered and tried to do better, excited to be made a slut by the young stud in the same way as his mouth had been used by John in the past. He spluttered and choked and then gasped noisily for breath every time Dec pulled back, when he would wank his cock close to his face and spit down at him. `Yeah, suck on that,' Rice practically shouted at him from above, still bristling with the indignant fury that had led them here from the edges of the awards party below.
There on his knees, still suited and booted, the former Chelsea and Everton manager slobbered over the young stud's cock, hungry for him, nodding submissively and mumbling his apologies in between deep mouthfuls of cock. He grasped greedily at the legs of the dark suit, reaching up to try and unbutton Dec's shirt, wanting to feel his six-pack, but his hands brushed away and his cheeks slapped - Rice was a rough lover in a way that nobody would have imagined from the polite young man who smiled for the cameras! Lucky Mason.
After a few more rough fucks to the mouth and throat, he had to pull away, practically whimpering, to loosen his tie and his collar - he looked up at Declan's red face and angry eyes, and nodded greedily - Feed it to me,' he begged, and the more he wanted it, the more Rice seemed to hold back, keeping his face at bay and wanking over him, spitting down at him some more, and cursing at him, You took advantage of that boy for too long, now it's your fucking turn, you old cunt.'
And Frank, rather than arguing back and trying to assert his aged authority, just nodded and panted, and submitted entirely to the exciting chivalry of the Arsenal hero. He kissed the wet pink tip of his cock and licked up and down the shaft, pulling it up and wrestling with the flies of the suit pants until he could tongue and caress the heavy big low-hanging bollocks below. Dec moaned at that, teabagging him and clutching his head quite roughly, then taking back control and pushing his long tool back into Frank's willing throat once more.
God, this was exciting - Lamps had no thought for `the challenge' now, no interest in the gongs of tonight's award, or the bold confrontation of his handsome cousin! He was just thrilled to be here gobbling down on one of London football's most powerful young figures, a true star who everyone admired, and he, Frank Lampard, was kneeling obediently before, lapping at his cock and balls and tasting his salty precum all over his lips.
Yes,' Lamps panted, your cock is so good.'
`Shut up and suck it, you dirty old bastard!'
`Fuck, yes, slap me again-'
`Not if you like it, for fuck's sake. Lick my balls.'
`God, yes.'
`Shut up and get on with it!'
He could hear Declan sound stressed by it, for all the defensive midfielder was all bluster and dominance, he seemed conflicted - did his precious boyfriend know he was getting up to this dirty business in Camden on a Thursday night? Frank thought nostalgically about the days he'd had Mount in his private office, humping the perfect twink on his managerial desk whenever he wanted, his perfect protegee - the accusations were hardly deniable, he knew, he really had just taken what he wanted back then, exhausting Mason with his dirty demands, and showing little interest in him at other times. He had been so new to these transgressions at the time, though, and he'd always considered Mase to be as desperate for it as he was! Looking back, he was less sure, and he'd been so experimental and different in the past four years, eventually John Terry's loyal sub.
But here was a man who seemed, despite his youth, to be as powerful and commanding as the great JT - Dec was lightly slapping him on the face and jerking his cock against his lips, spitting on his face, calling him all the names under the sun, and the fact that he was driven out of some passionate defence of his boyfriend made it all even more gorgeous and irresistible!
I want it in me,' he begged eventually, unable to contain himself, and almost expecting Declan to silence him with a cock down his throat - but the 6ft1 Kingston lad looked broodingly down at him for a moment before nodding and commanding him to Get the fuck up then'.
Up on his feet and pushed in against the dressing table to one side of the room, Frank fought with the buttons of his pale blue shirt, shucking away his blazer, but not being given time to properly undress from the pristine designer suit - Dec was yanking down his trousers at the back and his dark grey underpants with them. He heard Rice spitting and then felt wet fingers between his pale chubby cheeks, feeling Rice's hand gripping at his hip under his shirt - he wondered what the ripped young athlete thought about his chunkier body, a little softer around the edges than it had been in his prime, thickset with relaxing muscle - did he like it, did it turn him on like his perfect lean twink lover?
Dec was wasting no time, but Frank was out of practice - he winced and whined as he felt Dec trying to enter him, and he heard him repeatedly spitting into his hand to lube his prick up more. Frank was about to suggest to him a different position, or to offer some advice, but Declan was really assertive and dominant, grasping at the back of his shirt collar and pushing him forward, lifting his big arse up more, and angling his long hard weapon between those full buttocks. Frank did his best to relax and sure enough, Declan knew exactly what he was doing. He groaned very loudly, yelling into the wall, as he felt himself open up for Rice's prick, felt the same fucking force begin to rampage against his backside as it had his mouth and throat - oh god, all of this strong young hero's passion and vengeance, all of his devotion to beautiful Mount, fucking into Frank's fat arse!
At first Cole licked it like a badly-flavoured lollipop - his nervous tongue flicking awkwardly against the tip and sides, and his lips mumbling uncomfortably against the veiny hardness of Jamie's prick - but gradually, the high of the drugs fizzing through him, he seemed to lose inhibition or gain confidence, and really open up his young gob, really lick and suck on the treat in front of him, smirked down upon by Redknapp. There were more knocks at the door, more yells of Oi, who's locked this?' and Others need to piss, are you just doing blow, for fuck's sake?' But he ignored them, and he wasn't sure that fizzy young Palmer had a fucking clue they were happening - the shaky youth on his knees was just totally focused on the task he'd been given, was taking at as seriously as a Cup final penalty.
That's it,' Redknapp cooed, calling him Good boy' again as he opened wider and let more of the shaft into his soft warm gob. That's it,' he encouraged, do it good and slow like that, let me in... I bet Conor opened real wide, that slag, and I bet he licked you real good - yeah, do it like that boy, like Conor did I bet, yes... mmm...'
Jamie was not unused to training a submissive virgin cock-sucker, he'd had his share of the Premier League's wide-eyed twinks before him over the years, and though Cole Palmer wasn't quite the boyband pretty type that he usually sought out, the fame and success of the young player was something that did thrill and excite him - there was something about staking his claim on Chelsea's new favourite, especially knowing how Frank would react when he told him. He imagined gossiping with his slutty cousin about fucking Palmer's gob and finding out about Gallagher, and pissing the twat off by making it clear that the young whores of Chelsea were already HIS.
Still fully dressed, Jamie sweated into his shirt, leaning heavily back against the basin, closing his eyes and letting the twin pleasures of the coke and the blowie sizzle through his 6ft well-maintained physique, his muscles still firm and lean despite the pleasures and complacency of middle age. He loved that even as he got older, he could still lean on the impressionable lust of such young studs as this 21-year-old Manc.
`That's it, mmm, give it a good suck... deeper, deeper, go on - no, don't choke, just relax - mmm, that's more like it, good lad...'
He didn't even hear the next few flurries of knocking and shouting. He was out of it, really lost in the pleasure, enjoying both the present moment and the imminent prospect of boasting it to Lamps. Cole was clumsy and shaky but his mouth felt excellent, and Jamie really was at his horniest, he had to stop and slow the sloppy mouth down several times because he didn't want to embarrass himself by finishing too soon. In one such pause, he ruffled Cole's scruffy hair and smirked down at him. `You like that, kid?' he moaned, slapping his cock lightly against his chin.
`Er, yeah,' mumbled Palmer uncertainly, but eyeing the fat pink head as he spoke, as if he wanted to get back to work on it.
`How's it taste?' Redknapp insisted.
`Er, weird.'
`But you love it.'
`Kinda.'
`Good boy...'
`Have you got any more blow, I could do with-'
`Nah, just suck me some more. That's it, good boy.'
`Mmmm...'
And eventually Jamie was willing to finish. He kept trying to push deeper and really get a deep sucking, but he accepted the clumsy limitations of the kneeling geek, and to finish he pulled free and hunkered forward. He wanked his cock in one tight fist, keeping himself just over Cole's wide-eyed innocence, until with a series of barking grunts he reached his climax - releasing strings of pearlescent jizz across that gormless face, dripping off his chin, staining the lapels of his too-large suite jacket. Oh, yes. Jamie moaned wordlessly and gasped lungfuls of air, emptying his balls messily, and watching the slow dull blinks of Cole's awkward face, feeling an older man's seed dribble down his cheeks.
`Did I do good?' Palmer mumbled after a long silence.
You were okay,' Redknapp told him simply. For your first time.'
`Oh.'
He squeezed the last drop of cum onto Cole's brow and then helped him up - with a certain fussy reluctance, he found tissues and pressed them into shaky hands, helping the awkward-faced lanky youth to wipe and then wash his face. Cole was jittery and kept giggling nervously, and then feeling for his own hard-on in his pants. Jamie patted him on the back and patronisingly said, `It's okay - go in the cubicle and jerk it off.' Cole stared at him quite yearningly, as if expecting him to go against his earlier claim, and to go in there and return the favour - but Jamie just stared him down with brazen selfishness and then washed his hands whilst London's Young Player of the Year slunk ashamedly into the nearest of the two cubicles and shut it loudly behind him. Jamie chuckled to the background sound of jangling belt, and finished washing up - he checked his hair, his collar, the sheen of sweat on his neck, and declared himself presentable.
Palmer was still loudly moaning and jerking off in the cubicle when he unlocked the main door and abandoned him, a couple of angry older guys in suits rushing past him to use the facilities, and presumably hearing the orgasmic moans of a horny youngster on his own, releasing against the cistern, with some of Jamie's cum still drying on his chin.
Declan, meanwhile, came explosively, buried to the hilt in Frank's backside; he was grasped tightly at the hips as the younger man ploughed int him, spluttering with ecstasy in his throes of climax. Frank was bashed against the desk and the wall, and loved every bump and bruise of it, simultaneously wanking his own prick furiously as it happened, so that he brought himself to a messy climax only a minute later, dumping a pool of cum down on the surface of the dressing table. Dec, powerful as he was, continued to slide in and out of him even once spent, moaning with such gruff force, and still giving his neck a grab and his head a shake, pushing at him and muttering, `You fucking perv.'
And then Rice was withdrawing from him, panting and muttering inaudibly, and crossing the room, and Frank was just hunched on his own, arse in the air, recovering from the bruised feeling of being taken with such passionate force. He pulled himself upright and looked down at the greasy mess of his release, then over his shoulder at Dec, who was burying his face in his hands and looking unsteady on his feet.
Frank dragged up his grey undies and his trousers, and he turned around to face him. Tell him I'm sorry,' he said quietly, breathless. Tell him he always will mean a lot to me. Tell him-'
I ain't telling him a fucking thing from you,' huffed Dec seriously, fixing him with another scathing look, and continuing to button up his own shirt over the glossy sheen of his pectorals. Just fuck off,' he insisted. `I shouldn't have put my cock in you.'
`It felt good.'
`It was wrong - you're a miserable old bastard and you fucked with that lad for too long, you really left him confused and low.'
`I just...'
You just cared about yourself,' Rice declared sternly. But it seems like you turned out to be a total sub, after all - dunno who you thought you were bossing my boy around all that time and acting like the king of West London. Dirty old prick. How many other players did you force yourself on?'
`What? It was never like that. Mase wanted it-'
Don't call him that. You don't get to. He's... mine.' Dec was trembling with ferocity, wriggling back into his blazer, face shiny with sweat. He stopped himself from whatever he was going to say next. I won't pass on any fucking messages from you,' he reiterated. `This was all you're getting from either of us. Good luck with the job hunt, Lamps, and don't come sniffing around me or my boyfriend ever again. Bye.' And he stormed off, dripping sweat from his nose and fringe as he lurched out of the door.
Lampard took his time in tidying his outfit in the mirror and wiping up his spunk from the table; he was breathless and overheated and he knew he would have to face his confused and irritated wife when he found his way back to their table, probably just in time to be cleared out to their taxis. Back out on the curved balcony, he watched her from above and planned his excuses, and then set off on a slow descent back through the venue, finding his way through the dispersing crowds as they were all gradually ushered onto Camden high road and in the direction of various waiting vehicles.
As predicted, there was some berating and lecturing from the missus - vague plans for further drinks at their place were abandoned now that the mood was a little soured, and goodbyes between the members of their party took place on the pavement. But then somebody said the wrong thing, and his wife was shutting him out of their taxi, abandoning him because he was too drunk' and smelt like some whore' - and before he knew it, he was left swaying on his shoe heels on the pavement, being led into a taxi with his cousin instead, whose wife had rushed to join Christine.
This left the two clammy overheated ex-footballers in the back of a car together, bemoaning the moods of their partners, and being driven through North London towards the apartment where the Redknapps were staying. In the car, the two tipsy men spoke just about the awards show, but then Jamie was piling out to be deposited at his accommodation, and Frank was clambering out to follow him and soo goodbyes - and so they were standing in the shadows outside of the Islington apartment block, out of sight of the impatient taxi driver, and both of them were laughing uncontrollably.
`You look so sweaty,' Lamps told him.
`And you - we must have seemed a mess to the ladies.'
`Fuck, do I really stink?'
`We both do - I'm dripping through this whole suit!'
`Jesus, were we that obvious...'
`Okay, okay - who did you pull then, Mr Chelsea? Cos you'll wanna hear who I corrupted...'
`Er - well - I-' Frank found himself struggling at that, unsure how much he wanted to admit to his cousin now, given how he had been handled and dominated by young Dec - but part of him was still desperate to boast that he'd got his hands on the man of the hour, the man of the night, the man of the season. He rocked on his feet in a moment of breathy quiet, wiping sweat off his brow, and reached for the words-
Jamie cut him off, unable to contain his smug glee. I fucked the gob of that lanky streak of piss at your old club,' he exalted. Got a right sloppy blowjob off Cole Palmer, for fuck's sake - Young Player of the Year and Cum-Guzzler of the Fucking Night, haha - he wasn't half bad for a virgin, I'd say.' Jamie smirked deeply, excited by himself, and grabbed at Frank in a celebratory hug, pulling their sweaty suited bodies together - and Frank began to mumble something about Arsenal or Rice, trying to sound it out and reframe his dirty deeds in a way that might make it more impressive to his less sexually fluid role model - but their bodies had tumbled close in the hug and their faces were VERY close in the shadows, breath on breath, and Frank found himself looking into Jamie's eyes, mouth hanging slightly open, lips parted hungrily, and face craning in with aching slowness, reaching for a kiss that he'd never realised he truly wanted...
A stiffness jerked through Jamie's physique and the other 6ft ex-player yanked back from him, steadying both of them on the steps. Redknapp blinked, huffed, wiped his face, and either was oblivious to the almost-kiss or wanted to throw it aside. Anyway,' he grunted, what the hell did you get up to, cuz?'
Lamps, for a moment, was too stunned by the near-touch of their open mouths, and he pawed stupidly at his face. Somewhere behind him, the taxi driver beeped his horn. Oh,' he mumbled. Some nobody. Fucked him in a room upstairs. Hardly worth mentioning.' And he took a couple of dazed steps back, fingers reaching to stroke uncertainly at his chin, near his lips, craving the touch fo another's mouth on them, and then looking hopefully, yearningly, wistfully, up at his older cousin, the lad whose sexual confidence had inspired him since they were sharing bunk-beds on family holidays in their youth.
But Jamie's expression had hardened. He looked disinterested, aloof. He was fumbling with keys, not looking this way. What a fun night,' he said, but distractedly. We're a right pair of sorts, ain't we? Right, get in the car, fuck off - go make peace with that bitch. I'll see you when I see you, right. Bye, Frank. See you.'
`Yeah...' And the 45-year-old staggered dizzily back into the back of the taxi, his suit sticking to every soft muscle of his body, and his head spinning - not just now at the fresh memory of being plundered by Declan Rice, but by the shock of realising how much he wanted to kiss his dearest cousin.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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