Part 394: Back to Work, Back to Business
Before beginning to pull on each item of the comfy training gear, the smiling young football player paused and pulled his thumbs in against the taut elastic waistband of his briefs - white, plain, Lonsdale, soft on his smooth skin, and most importantly not his - then twanged them momentarily against his hips, grinning at their comfy fit and glad that he'd slid into them this morning before leaving the house; with a slight private smirk, the 25-year-old returning midfielder proceeded to wriggle into close-fitting black Adidas tracksuit bottoms and stretch vest, before clambering into the racing green plush of his Man Utd long-sleeved training top and then adding a pair of club-branded gloves to his hands, readying for the chilly outdoors of their Carrington training ground this damp Tuesday morning.
Mason Mount pictured himself a little over an hour ago, taking clumsy steps around the dark bedroom rather than switching on a lamp - a kind gesture that was rendered foolish as he stumbled and giggled his way about the master bedroom of his Cheshire home, inevitably waking the other young man who was still sprawled in the bed. Babe,' moaned the sleepy voice of the other Premier League star and Mason, shedding the towel about his waist, scampered naked to the bedside and leaned over to plant a kiss on the clammy brow of his sleep-fuzzy boyfriend; You've got another half hour yet,' he whispered insistently, and he skipped cheerily away from the bed, giving up and switching on a floor lamp as he looked about the controlled chaos of his room, deciding what gear to pull on for the drive to his full first training session in about four months of rehab.
Dec, writhing slowly on the bed, spoke in a low sleepy voice to him, sounding still half-asleep - Come back to bed...' What time is it, mate...?' `Mase, do you have to be so NOISY...' - but then quietened and seemed to gather himself, rolling onto his side and smiling wearily this way, blinking his eyes and scratching at his messy dark hair. Mase grinned back, stood bollock naked next to the bed, posing slightly in the lamplight, and then both young lovers giggling gently under their breath.
`Thanks for last night,' Mason told him quietly, pausing as if to elaborate and then leaving it unsaid - it was mad, when Declan was playing in the Champions League in North London tonight, but Rice had insisted it was worth the drive, speeding up here to spend the night together, and then refusing steadfastly to make love to him, telling him he needed to save his energy for a first full day's training - Mason had known he was right and yet he'd grinded his lithe body against Declan's all night in bed, wanting the usual treats and delights, and his young cock was semi below his neatly trimmed pubes as it bounced between his lean muscular thighs.
`It's okay,' his Rice Rice Baby purred from the pillows, although a distant expression clouded his long handsome face - perhaps he was realising the long drive he had back down to the capital to ready himself for his crucial second leg fixture - and so Mase just grinned teasingly at him, and then hooked his toes playfully into the discarded undies on the carpet, rather than going for some clean trunks of his own from the wardrobe. He skilfully flicked the crumpled white briefs upwards and caught them and then, stood naked in Declan's full view, he brought them up to his face and gave them a good sniff. Declan laughed hesitantly and Mason smiled - then, quixotic and horny, he began pulling them on, one leg at a time, snuggling his chubby cock and unspent balls in their pouch.
Hey...' Declan had yawned, but he laughed and chattered over him, It'll make me feel like you're there with me all day, babe - and you can borrow some of mine like you always do, you big thief. Now, I gotta get moving, sexy, but call me tonight before the match, okay?'
And now, exiting the changing rooms with the rest of the Manchester United squad, Mason could feel the pre-worn briefs warm and comfy against his privates and his glutes, making him smug and excited, but also cosy and supported, imagining a cuddle from his loyal boyfriend who would already be on the motorway south. Long-distance had its challenges, but Mase thrilled at the way his boy had hurried up here to see him and wish him luck for his return to training, snuggling against him through the night and kissing him passionately over the pillows before he scampered off to drive here - the love between the two 25-year-olds just seemed to get stronger and stronger.
It was hardly just the worn undies beneath his compression shorts and tracky pants that kept Mount with a near-permanent semi as he bounced eagerly about the training pitch that damp chilly morning and afternoon - there was also the obvious excitement of being back out here with the guys after an inconveniently long absence. Four months of sidelined rehab hadn't really been in the plan when the former Chelsea favourite made his headline-grabbing escape for Old Trafford, and it was very frustrating for Mason to be little more than a promo figure at his new club in the latter stages of his first season in red.
And then, of course there were the views...
The towering centre-back Harry Maguire, who pulled him in for a damp hug in a lull between the warm-up drills, insistently wearing shorts unlike almost everyone else, allowing Mason an exciting look at his hairy tree trunks as he stalked the pitch - and of course, that big beast's quiet boyfriend and Mason's close pal, handsome Luke Shaw, whose tracksuit pants seemed to be a size too small, the way they clasped his thighs and arse over there working with the other defenders. Views that could add to Mason's excitement and stolen undies to get his cock throbbing demandingly in the briefs!
His wandering horny eyes took in other attractions of the busy training field, though he knew he ought to be focused and attentive to nothing but the work - he needed to prove himself here to his colleagues before he could begin to truly prove himself to the Man Utd fans next, and finally start to make his mark at his second big club. But even as he reminded himself of that fact, he found himself distracted by the sizeable bounce of another arse in front of him, 32-year-old Brazilian Casemiro bounding gamely past him with the ball - and minutes later, his eyes settling on the squad's other Brazilian talent, because the way Antony squatted down to sit on a spare football made his pants really hug his powerful legs and accentuate the weighty bulge in between them, whilst the lean striking face settled sulkily in a cup of his gloved palms.
Mason was distracted from the 24-year-old Rio winger by the speedy antics of the squad's young firebrand - the stadium-filling ego of the 19-year-old had intrigued and excited Mount as soon as he met him in his first training drill here, but he still couldn't quite figure out the Madrid-born youngster who was dribbling past him and swerving the tackles of a hefty Scott McTomnay - the bg Scotsman puffed and panted as he traced Alejandro Garnacho's every move and tried repeatedly to snatch the ball from between his gifted feet. Mase was vaguely charmed to realise that the 19-year-old winger was performing for the attention of Casemiro and Antony, clearly seeking the approval of the older Latino man as he seemingly had once done from the great Cristiano Ronaldo, and sometimes the steady captain Bruno Fernandes, who also caught Mason's horny attention from time to time as the day progressed. He knew that the 29-year-old midfielder's constant interest in him today and throughout his recovery was dutiful and professional, but some vain part of him couldn't help but take it as flirty interest and more meaningful attention - all those stroking touches on the shoulder and grunted encouraging comments.
So many studs, Mase reflected during their indoor lunch break, ogling idly at all the tracksuit bodies queuing ahead of him for healthy trays of salad - he thought dreamily of waking up next to Declan, not necessarily guilty at his wandering eyes, but conscious that what he REALLY wanted was to be back in the sleep-warm covers delaying the day, and peeling these borrowed briefs from their owner's body... thinking about this during hs lunch gave the Pompey midfielder a stonking erection in his pants that made him linger with his jelly pot dessert, slow to file outdoors until his hard-on had faded and wilted enough inside Rice's Lonsdale skimpies.
What DID make Mason feel a bit guilty about his boyfriend, who would be meeting up right now with his Arsenal mates ahead of their Porto game, was when his horny gaze or friendly chatter wound its way to the big Dane forward, United's new not-so-secret weapon - after all, he never had quite shared that dalliance with Declan in the same playful reporting manner he would mention his other escapades, and he wasn't even sure why. Perhaps it was because sexy Rasmus Hojland had seemed so alarmed about it himself, evasively moving away from Mount every time their paths crossed since - and no different today, other than a few respectful acknowledgements of his return to fitness, a conspicuous lack of eye contact. The well-built 21-year-old should be working closely with him as members of the attacking force, but those pink acne cheeks grew red whenever they were too close, and big Hojland seemed to swagger off to find a different spot. Oh, well.
Somehow, the 25-year-old managed to balance his excitement and his professionalism, and making it through the day's training without raising too many eyebrows at his distracted sluggishness or his lack of general focus - in fact, he found himself showered with compliments from lads and coaches, everyone emphatic in their gladness to have him back at full fitness and in the mix for upcoming fixtures. Mase grinned modestly at every comment, trying not to become too over-excited or over-ambitious about what he might achieve in the latter stages of the 23-24 season - he knew he really just had to focus on maintaining this fitness and see the 24-25 season as his real chance to shine in red, and to put troubled Chelsea far behind him.
Inside the Carrington locker-rooms, Mason's eyes were once again alight at the physical specimens that surrounded him, from the glistening dark muscle of Marcus Rashford's torso to the thickset strength of stripping Casemiro, positioned either side of him at the lockers, and making him want to drop to his knees right there in front of the sweaty noisy crowd, everyone talking about their evening plans.
Mason was plucked away from this crowd of distractions and told he needed a proper recovery massage after his first session back, and the young midfield star had never felt more reluctant to peel his gear off and get an oily rubdown - he was barely suppressing the bobbing reverence of his hard-on, and he spent the entire physio session tensed in case his briefs began to tent around another stiffness. The oily physical contact from a rugged 50-something man was one thing, and the shining bodies of several teammates on parallel beds was another - when Antony groaned half-consciously on the next bed whilst his shoulders were oiled and rubbed, Mason thought his semi was going to start leaking pre-cum in Declan's pants.
Mason's massage went on for longer than that of the others, so he was on his own as he pulled a bathrobe about his near-naked physique and swayed groggily back into the main changing rooms - he daren't follow the steam into the showers because he thought he might spontaneously ejaculate just looking at the buffet of masculine bodies that he'd spent all day bounding around with in the drizzle and mist. Instead, he clutched the robe about him and went into a sauna space instead, hiding himself away in a hot dark corner and trying to keep his itching hands away from the bulge of his briefs. It was unlike Mason to even really attempt self-restraint, but he felt out of control today, and it all felt like Dec's fault, for frustrating him adoringly through the night, and kissing him off at their early-morning goodbye - his boyfriend had driven all this way and then failed to fuck him, and Mason wanted to speed down the motorway to North London to claim what he was owed!
The sauna was a good and bad idea - it kept the overexcited 25-year-old away from ogling every man on the squad, but it also just got him more hot and bothered. He stayed in there until his 5ft11 body was dripping sweat, and then he staggered back through towards his locker in just sweat-drenched briefs, hanging up the robe. His timing had been good: the locker-rooms were emptying and voices echoed down every passage, so that the sweat-shiny young stud felt almost alone as he stood at his locker and steadied his horny breathing, thinking that he could either give in and steal a wank in the quiet showers, or go for a cold one to dowse his fiery loins.
`All good?' growled a familiar voice, and the fiery loins burned hotter.
The only apparent occupant at this end of the changing rooms, it turned out, was the towering figure of the club's former captain and Mason's own sometime England teammate - Harry Maguire's locker was the last on this row and now the 6ft4 Yorkshireman was leaned against it with one arm, leaning his long powerful physique that way, whilst he thumbed at the phone in one huge paw. He was smiling vaguely as he looked up at his messages to address Mason, who barely hid his savouring expression as he looked the mighty man up and down, drinking in every detail of his huge muscular frame; big Slabhead had a fresh white towel tied about his waist, but he seemed to be pre-shower, his body streaked with the odd scuff of mud or gleam of sweat.
All good,' Mount echoed back at him, stood shiny and wet and perhaps visibly overwhelmed by his needs. He grinned awkwardly at the bigger man, sure that his wild lust be evident on his shiny face, and he laughed at himself. Good first day back,' he said in a singsong voice. `Back to work, back to business.'
Big Maguire gave a simple nod at that. He stretched his body and placed the phone back inside his open locker, then drifted this way; one large hand reached down to clutch the knot of his towel, and the other scratched idly at the thin dark hair that spread between his defined pecs. `It's good to have you back,' the Sheffield-born centre-back droned, stopping a couple of metres from him, and leaning his weight against closed lockers.
Even better to be back,' Mason murmured back. He could smell Harry's sweat, or maybe it was just his own, but he felt drunk on pheromones. But lots of hard work to come,' he continued in a false reedy voice, straining for bland professionalism in front of someone he couldn't help but view as skipper, even though it was really Bruno. I need to keep my head down and work hard and...' He trailed off, studying Harry's impassive face, and then asking in a thin whine, You've not showered yet, Slab?'
Maguire shook his head slightly. Waiting for Luke,' he said, pausing heavily, then adding by way of explanation, he's just getting checked out for that knock earlier - they think he might be injured slightly.' A frustrated grunt. `One in, one out, huh?'
Hope he's okay,' Mase told him genuinely, though he couldn't take his eyes off a particular sweat droplet that was migrating from Harry's faint chest hair down the landscape of his abdomen. Erm.'
Harry stroked the hand from the knot across his lower six-pack, catching and rubbing at the sweat droplets as they tickled past his belly button. Hmm.' The big sexy bastard just stood there, toweringly impressive and emanating his raw macho authority - Mason could feel his cock beginning to stiffen again in his briefs, and he wasn't sure he would be bothering to suppress it this time. He licked his parched lips and let out a thin giggle. Just us left to shower, then?' he asked, his throat suddenly dry.
He heard the rattle and thud of a door somewhere behind him, and felt a third presence entering the row of lockers behind him; he saw Harry's face light subtly up, a curl of smile on his lips and in his beady eyes. Just the three of us,' Maguire agreed, nodding, and Mase glanced the other way - Luke Shaw was in just training jersey and tight compression shorts as he muscled up to them, a slightly grumpy look on his handsome face. They wanna do more tests,' he muttered darkly, looking straight past to Harry, then bringing his attention this way with a weary smile - he punched Mase in the arm and said, `Great to have you back on the squad, Money Mase, hehe, we've missed you.'
As Luke ambled up to him on his left, his 6ft1 bulk rather deflated with injury worry, Harry closed the gap on the other, and the 25-year-old suddenly found himself stood between the two taller broader players, one muscular defensive beast on either side of him - for a moment they were just looking at each other, Luke's face a worried frown and Harry's a concerned pout, and Mason felt like a surreal gooseberry, the third wheel to their established romance. But then Harry grinned sidelong at him, and Luke patted him on the arm again, and Mason felt deeply connected to this secret couple who had become such good pals of his over recent years...
`Shall we take that shower?' Maguire growled.
Just what I need,' Shaw purred. You gonna join us, Mase...?'
As if he could even contemplate saying no, for fuck's sake.
Mason only realised he was still in the briefs once he was in the echoey steam of the communal shower, instantly drenched under the hot spray; but the stolen underpants didn't stay on him for long. The two powerful bodies enclosed him, and he felt one hand - Luke's - slide into the front to take hold of his cock, whilst another - Harry's - tugged and twanged on them at the rear, and soon the sodden tighty whities were dropping about his ankles on the tiled floor of the big square wetroom.
Naked like the other two, Mase let out a deep sigh of ecstasy, and felt their strong hands run across his shoulders, his chest, his backside, across his crotch - and he reached for one at a time to take the hot wet kisses that they were happy to share - snogging first at Luke, whose mouth was so knowing and responsive, and then with Harry, having to crane upwards and reach on his tiptoes, and feeling that strong tongue invade and dominate his whole mouth. He shuddered between them, relaxing into Luke and Harry's grips, and stroking back, feeling for their thick heavy muscles, their bodies bare and wet against his below the warm blast of the shower.
Chuckling happily, Mason reached for the shower gel and lathered it between his hands, before slapping one each across their broad chests, rubbing a wet soapy froth against pecs and hard nipples, and sliding from one body to the other - Luke did the same, and all three of their bodies became slick and foamy, making them slide in their attempts to grab and grope, and all three of them laughed in different throaty manners, cocks brushing sensitively together or against firm muscle.
The Man Utd lovers, one of the most established gay couples in the Prem, passed him between them with no jealousy or possession: whilst he cuddled in against Luke and snogged some more, he could feel Harry's huge hands massaging tenderly over his shoulders, and the monstrous weight of his cock rubbing across the small of his back as it was wanked and then slid gently across the curve of his buttocks; whilst he curled around and stooped to play his tongue against one of Harry's hard nipples, he could feel Luke kiss the top of his spine and rove both hands down his abs to find and pull on his stiff young cock, wanking it side by side with Harry's monster.
And then Mason was gladly on his knees between them, a cock in each hand, delighted with just how well-hung both defenders really were, thinking about the partner-swapping fun they and Declan had once had in Doha; he wanked them both and sucked them in alternating bursts of oral attention, looking upwards to see the two kings of Old Trafford snogging deeply, but never forgetting him... they stroked his hair and his face with wandering hands whilst they tongued each other, and they groaned appreciatively as he slobbered over one or both cocks, trying and failing to get their joint girth into his hungry gob at once.
And then, in a steamy blur, he was up on his feet again, and kissing Shaw, really appreciating the tickling beard of the sexy 28-year-old Londoner - but he was being lifted off his feet, so that he lurched forward into Luke's powerful arms, whilst his upper legs were being hoisted and parted, his whole strong form grasped between the two bigger players. He only understood what he was in for when he felt Harry spit against his cheeks and then bury his face between them - Mason lurched forward into Luke's hold and tensed his strong form whilst Harry hoisted him from behind and stooped forward to eat his whole, his long powerful tongue questing between bubble cheeks and teasing his ring. But Maguire really wanted to show off his strength and was soon hoisting him further aloft - now Mount was pressing his face and palms in against the upper walls, hoisted there by Harry's strength, whilst his cheeks were parted and the centre-back beast ate his hole.
`We don't want any more injuries,' cooed Luke's sensitive voice at some point, and this mad positioning was swapped for greater comfort on terra firma; Mason was bent forward to suck on Harry's huge whopper whilst Luke stood behind him and gently fingered his wet hole. With a mouthful of Slabhead and his hole teased by the sexy left-back, Mount was in hs own wet paradise, breathless with manic lust - he just wished this threesome could be completed by Declan too!
At one point he was choking on big Harry's member, and then he was sucking Luke again, and Harry was crouched down behind to rim him some more - the huge sexy man was so good at it, so ravenous and questing, and it was just what Mase loved to feel - Dec, he had to admit, was a nervous and reluctant rimmer, whilst Maguire slobbered between his cheeks and made a wet cunt of his man-hole. When the Yorkshire brute began to push two and then three fingers inside him, he was more than ready for it - but he knew he might still struggle to take the Maguire 12 incher, so he was glad when Luke went first to mount and pound him, pressing him up against the tiled wall and entering him tenderly before finding and maintaining a powerful grunting rhythm.
Shaw fucked him and Maguire was close beside them, kissing and stroking them both, and Mount reached down with his right hand to wank him off whilst he shuddered and trembled at the sensation of a passionate tender lover deep inside him; Luke was pretty big and thick on his own, though a necessary warm-up before Mason was passed by damp hands to the dominant ex-captain, and felt himself slowly entered by that absolute weapon. Whilst he tried his best to relax and sit back on Maguire's huge tool, Luke kissed and cuddled him, so that yet again his lithe body was pinned between their mass, held and protected between these two dominant hunks of the United defence.
Being fucked by Maguire was just as tough and amazing as he remembered from the World Cup, but he did his best, trying to get past the initial pain of stretching, and just appreciate the girthy monster inching into him, and the sheer power of Harry's body holding and controlling him - he was surprised actually at how tender and sensitive the 6ft4 brute could be, albeit orchestrated and guided by the more instinctively affectionate Luke Shaw. Both of them, he thought, were truly sexy and powerful men, amazing lovers, and he'd never felt so safe and wanted as he did shared between them.
He was fucked a little more by Luke, going down on the floor on his back with his legs in the air, whilst Harry stood and wanked over his face, letting him lick and kiss at his inner thighs and his heavy balls; but then Harry was taking over again, trying in this new position to enter him more fully and fuck his surprisingly nervous hole, whilst Luke leaned over to kiss and suck his shining cock so well that it felt like it would explode into cum at a couple more cautious thrusts of Harry's invasive power.
It was Harry though who came first, taking his cock out and fingering him instead, but jerking off furiously, resting on one knee. No sooner was the big centre-back ejaculating messily from the fat head of his footlong than both Mase and Luke were leaning desperately in to lick and eat his load, kissing messily together and tasting that salty deposit all over their lips; Harrys' two fingers were still jabbing in and out of Mason's quivering hole and he felt close himself. When Luke's dirty mouth closed back over his cock again he couldn't help it and he too was pumping out thick white goo, feeding the sexy bugger and writhing on his back, red-faced and shaky. So Luke came last, lounging down beside him, and guiding Harry's huge shaggy head down his torso - Mason lay on his side and watched as big alpha Maguire sucked off Shaw quite lovingly. Whilst Luke whined and grunted in climax, Mason cuddled and kissed him from the side, and reached further down to stroke Harry's dark hair and the back of his thick neck. He felt a surge of appreciation for these two older lads that went well beyond their sexual magnetism.
Soon all three, giggling softly and still sharing little kisses, were up on their feet and soaping each other's bodies again - Harry was almost bashful after the deeds were done, almost shy of the huge wet anaconda between his legs, whilst Luke was more generous with his kisses and cuddles, and stupidly attentive as he offered to wash Mason's hair. The ex-Chelsea twink smiled and simpered between them, hosed down and sparkling clean, far more relieved and therapised by their touch than his official physio massage. By the time he was emerging from the showers and looking about for a towel, he had a big warm grin splitting his face and he could not get rid of it. And then Harry, again with that surprising big tenderness, was wrapping a fresh towel about him from the side, and chuckling affectionately as he used his big arms to rub him dry, whilst Luke sloped lazily past them and played with his soft cock on the way to his locker.
`Thanks guys,' Mase said dreamily, and he half-expected to wake up still in the sauna.
The Portsmouth-born football twink was still in that dreamy state when he got home to his place, a little wistful and sad to be arriving at the big empty mansion rather than following those two lovers home - but he had to remind himself that both Shaw and Maguire had partners and families, second (or first?) lives that kept them apart for much of the time. Those two had never shared the domestic bliss that had been Mason's in London when Declan moved in with him, that blissful period before his career had come first and he'd said goodbye to the capital - a decision that always threatened to yield regret, but felt safe and correct after the experiences of today. Parking the car and dragging his kit-bag up the driveway, Mason felt warm and fuzzy as he floated on the steamy memory of shower sex with the two big defenders.
On the doorstep to his Cheshire home was a huge extravagant bouquet of flowers, and he stopped to stare at it for a few moments, putting his kit-bag down first before taking up the delivery in both hands and searching it for a label. It was from him, of course. `Hope today went okay, MM - love from you-know-who xx' - it could hardly irk him that Dec was too nervous to put his name to the tag, given the risk, and he just drifted dreamily inside with the bouquet in both hands. It was only as he stood in his big empty kitchen, sorting the flowers inexpertly into a vase and then glancing at the clock to see if it was nearly time for the Arsenal game on telly, that a fresh lurch of guilt began to trouble him - he'd really just wanted a fucking from Rice Cakes, hadn't he? Being shared by those two had been a great substitute, but it wasn't better than sex with his boyfriend - he instantly knew this to be true, and yet he still felt a bit awkward and guilty. He was so grateful to the big guys for their support and their attention, but it was hard to bask in the pleasure of that scene without also wishing he could superimpose Declan into their midst.
As he sat there that night and watched Rice's team like a good loyal boyfriend, lounging across the couch and stroking himself in his pyjamas, Mount asked himself for the millionth time: why did I leave that man behind in London???
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