Part 399: Without Jack
There was a piano in the reception room at the foot of the stairwell - he'd noticed it before, but on the midfielder's last placement at St George's park, he'd been making slow progress with his music lessons and felt too self-conscious making any approach on the instrument. Still, after a few years of learning, the 27-year-old glanced almost warily down the rectangular room to the dark piano in the corner, awkwardly placed as if the hotel owners didn't know where to place this aged relic, a fairly showy piece that perhaps wasn't as high-quality as it was trying to look, unlike the sleek simple kit that Ben himself had invested in once he began to properly enjoy his sessions. He was still rather tentative about his abilities and progress, and far too self-conscious to `perform', and yet he found himself pausing at the foot of the stairs with his hand lingering on the bannister and only one slider placed on the carpeted bottom step.
Ben Chilwell glanced up the stairs and over his shoulder, and back and forth across the central reception room that connected the various downstairs sections of the hotel, a chintzy-looking golf resort before it had been largely co-opted by the neighbouring high-spec football campus. The piano was very in keeping with this general decor, quaintly obnoxious, and it seemed to sit there waiting for someone to tinkle the ivories.
Alone at this quiet hour, the strong young football player retreated from the step and paced quietly down the side of the staircase, moving into the enclosed corner where the instrument sat between a few ostentatious bookshelves, and he slid down onto the simple cushioned stood in front of the keys.
It was not ridiculously late, but later than curfew had been for the last few nights - despite tomorrow night's Wembley fixture against giants Brazil, Southgate had appeared soft and liberal in his scheduling for much of today and tonight, and so the players were scattered variously across their hotel. Some were enjoying games of pool in a games room off the teetotal bar, there was a card game going on in the dining room, and others were watching the Scotland and Spain games on TVs in the lounge - and some of Ben's teammates had retired already to their rooms, including his moodily quiet roomie Conor Gallagher, who had been in a funny mood this past day or two. It was late enough for the hotel to feel quiet and sleepy, and Ben decided that it made sense to further delay his own quiet exit to his room - perhaps his Chelsea pal Gallagher just needed some space.
So he sat down, flexed his hands, and started playing. The keys chimed quietly to his touch and he just did a couple of scales before attempting a tune he had been trying to learn, tinkling its notes out with a look of deep concentration lining his handsome features, a frustrated little frown of effort to master something that did not come naturally to him - perhaps it came naturally to nobody, and it just took more hours of work than a professional footballer was able to give it. Ben wasn't sure he was any good, though his paid tutor argued otherwise, but he didn't particularly mind - it was something that gave Chilly a lot of peace and comfort, and he was very happy to indulge himself here unnoticed and out of hearing - so he played on, starting the tune over and trying to relax rather than overthink it, letting his fingers find their way as the music teacher always encouraged, until he seemed to find the rhythm and pace, and it all just got a little bit easier, and-
Wow,' interrupted the quiet husky voice, making him start and jangle his fingers against the keys - he looked sharply to his right, mortified, and found that he'd zoned out and failed to notice the other England player advance on him. Phil Foden stood there with a pint of water in one hand and his Nintendo Switch in the other, an almost childish grin of enjoyment splitting his face, as he nodded his approval. Wow,' the Manchester City prodigy cooed again, blinking, `I didn't know you were a some kinda musician.'
Flustered at this interruption, Ben calmed his hands against the keyboard and then closed the wooden lid rapidly over the keys. What? No, no - I'm nothing like that,' he muttered rapidly. Just...' He ran fingers through the chestnut sweep of his hair. Just something I picked up in the lockdowns. Erm.' He cleared his throat. Nobody was meant to hear that,' he said a little resentfully, but softening in the face of Phil's simple smile and admiring eyes - he was a tough lad to be moody with.
Despite the vague signals that Chilly was trying to give off, embarrassed to be caught out, Foden came closer - he leaned in against the piano and was about to carelessly place his glass of water on top of its aged cover before Ben urgently dissuaded him and pointed over to the shelving along the side of the stairs instead. I dunno,' he mumbled self-consciously, getting up from the stool. It might be worth a load of money, I dunno.' Again, he played with his hair, and pulled at the collar of his oversized white print tee. `You okay?' he asked a little stiffly, trying to pull attention away from his musical enterprise.
Phil was still staring at him as if he'd just discovered he could speak eight languages and was studying for a PhD. Hands freed of drink and console, he slapped them eagerly together, and nodded back to the piano. `Will you teach me a tune?'
God,' Ben protested, I don't think so, buddy. I can barely do it myself, never mind teach anyone. Erm.' He laughed awkwardly, flustered at being discovered but maybe more-so at the keen appreciation on his younger friend's face. `Another time,' he offered vaguely, seeing Phil's brimming enthusiasm - he really wouldn't know where to start trying to teach the Stockport lad a thing!
Ah, no worries,' Phil said, suppressing a yawn. You were good though. It sounded nice.'
`Er, thanks, yeah.'
`Man of hidden depths,' the young midfielder remarked.
Ben just smiled evasively at this, smoothing down the front of his t-shirt and finding that his loose grey shorts had no pockets to stuff his distracted hands into. Instead, he fiddled with the drawstrings at the front and stood facing the slight midfielder, a few inches shorter than him, and still grinning keenly at him in admiration. Ben paused in sudden unnamed discomfort, finding that he wasn't sure what to say to the City guy - he'd been in a funny mood himself today, he supposed, after accusing Conor of the same. A few different memories of England camps past were playing on his mind.
I tell you,' Phil said abruptly and ironically, I do wish our Jack was here.'
Ben hardly had time to dwell on the odd phrase our Jack', he was too alarmed at the apparent psychic capabilities of the 23-year-old - he'd just been thinking the same thing before he sat down at the piano, and at various odd intervals since checking in here at the start of the week. Well, yeah,' he said, after a moment's awkward pause, `it's a shame for the guy to miss out on a camp, dunno anyone who gets a bigger buzz from the shirt than Jacko...'
Did you see his post on Insta?' Phil asked sharply. Putting a brave face on another month of injury recovery. Fucking annoying for him,' the midfielder said, with feeling. I think everybody wishes he was here,' he added thoughtfully, I heard Madders saying just that at dinner earlier.'
Erm, yeah,' Ben agreed distantly. He looked thoughtfully at the City star, and tried to dismiss the matter with brusque resolve - Still, he's got a fair chance at summer, and there's a lot of different players for Southgate to pick from right now.' He didn't want to sound too sentimental or fixated on Jack Grealish's absence this week - and he certainly didn't want to be drawn into discussing the little slideshow of solitary photos their mutual friend had posted on social media to narrate his fight for full fitness. One or two in particular had made Ben's eyes boggle as he was shown it on Conor's phone at the breakfast table. Sometimes it was more difficult than others to be reminded of what he'd... let go.
Yeah, but like you said,' sighed Phil, don't think many lads get quite so psyched for it as Jack the lad.' He sniggered, a little cheeky glint in his dark eyes. `You know what I mean if I say he can get... a bit OVER excited by the England crest on his kit, haha.' Phil looked naughty and embarrassed and rueful all at once, and Ben thought he DID know exactly what the midfield player was getting at - so, it was like that at Guardiola's Man City, was it?
Ben didn't quite respond, tapping his fingers against the wooden edges of the grand piano, and looking past Phil towards the bottom of the stairs - upstairs was best after all, and the quiet comfort of his suite, their last night here before they checked into North London accommodation tomorrow before their two Wembley hosting fixtures. He was about to brush past the 5ft7 Manc lad and leave this ambiguous chat, when Phil's hand laid almost shakily on top of his, on the top cover of the piano. Ben fixed his friend with a curious look, eyes trailing up the slim pale arm and up to the sharp bright features of Phil's impish face, which was staring very thoughtfully back at him.
I mean, it's a big shame Jack isn't here,' murmured the midfielder, but... you and me are, hey, matey?' The young man's voice was a little gruffer and more assertive again, in that way that Foden could sometimes transform once he was on the pitch - a soft deference in his usual manner swapped for the fierceness of a real competitor who had enjoyed great success at a young age. And Ben stared thoughtfully back at him before nodding his head in two slow jerks - Yeh,' Chilly agreed quietly, feeling Foden's hand grip more firmly on top of his, we are.'
Kyle Walker had jeered it at him in the changing rooms after he wimped out of giving the big sexy bastard a discreet blowie, but Foden had been thinking the same all week: he did miss rooming with Grealish on trips like this, having particularly enjoyed the playfulness and charisma of his iconic teammate when they were away from the club pressure and Pep scrutiny of their City life. On a footy level, it struck Phil during every training session, missing Jack's enthusiasm and cheeky humour in the squad - and in more private moments, the missing Grealish factor burned at him as he toyed with his stiffy in the early morning, waiting for his alarm to chime, and looking bitterly across at the more aloof and prudish company of his current roommate. Phil and Cole went back years, fellow graduates of the City academy with a couple of years between them, but he knew Palmer to be a very reserved and unadventurous type. (Or so he thought.)
For Phil, Ben seemed the closest thing to Jack on this squad, though in some ways their characters were so far apart - everyone here associated the two long-time besties with one another, and they were similar in their warmth, their generosity, their team spirit. And in being ridiculously fucking handsome blokes with huge obvious bulges in their footy shorts.
Now, Foden let his fingers interlock gently with Chilly's, and he led him onto the stairs. Neither of the men said anything on the way up the steps or across the landing, not until Phil was nodding urgently down one corridor and adjusting the front of his rustling nylon shorts. He could understand the older player's concern before it found words, and he just whispered confidently across at him.
Palmer is down there,' he said. He's playing doubles and they've just started a new game. He'll be ages. Promise.' And he retreated backwards down the corridor, fingers slipping loose from those of the 27-year-old left-back and Chelsea's acting captain. Phil watched him intensely as he retreated, licking his lower lip and hoping there was something seductive in his open and eager demeanour - and perhaps there was, because Chilly drifted cautiously after him, scratching at his recently-shaven face, pulling at his majestic hair, and then finally pulling up close to him in front of his hotel room door.
`You're sure he's playing?' the Chelsea man whispered, sounding slightly nervous.
`Totally,' Phil insisted. He unlocked the door and slid inside the room, glad when Ben instantly followed, and he pushed it shut after them, excited to have lured the (probably) most handsome lad in the squad up here into the quiet warmth of his lamplit room - god he'd been horny for days, and he'd much regretted not finishing off the little escapade with big Walker in the toilet cubicle. He was already rock-hard in his shorts and he grabbed it to emphasise this fact for his guest, who quickly responded by reaching down to grab it too, and then - oh, lovely - stooping forward and giving him a quick peck of a kiss. It was brief but delicious, and so Phil was delighted when it was followed by a second more passionate snog, wet and full, with Ben's strong hands grasping at his upper body and pulling him close. Oh, Benjamin Chilwell really was the swoon-worthy prince of the Three Lions! Phil kissed him back and relaxed into his hold, pleased with how sturdy and almost commanding the 27-year-old man was, in contrast to his reserve and shyness at the piano - this was the resilient left-back who held strong the Chelsea defence and captained them in James' neverending absence.
Now that he was up here, Chilwell found himself throwing away all caution and grasping the moment - he was a hot-blooded lad with needs, and it had been several weeks since his last flustered encounter with married DILf Joe Cole. He took a firm hold of Foden's body and steered the lighter lad back to the nearest bed, gripping his waist and kissing him with greedy urgency until their bodies were falling back onto the sheets and he was pinning the City boy beneath his own muscular form. As they kissed, Ben grappled with Phil's sweater, and let their crotches rub firmly together, letting the 23-year-old feel how equally rigid and excited he was, but not wanting to rush things too much.
With an attentiveness that came naturally to him, the Chelsea player began to peel Phil's top up and away, guiding it over his face and then tossing it quite powerfully away, almost toppling a bedside lamp; he kissed the lad on the lips but then snogged at his neck and his shoulder and down onto his chest, pushing his lean strong arms back onto the bedding so that he could plant tickling kisses on each bullet nip and then snog his way down onto that lean ripped abdomen.
Ben thrust Phil's body further up the bed and hunched over him, draggin down on the shorts and then the trunks below, freeing the pleasingly solid rod of the midfield lad's erection - Ben moved more slowly, wishing to tease, and he nuzzled but didn't kiss it, lowering himself instead to kiss inner thighs and tickle across trimmed pubes and to roll his tongue across one bollock and then the other. Phil shivered and whimpered and exclaimed, `Fuck!', and then Ben lifted his face, spat once, and then closed his soft warm mouth about the scally lad's rock-hard cock, taking it in against his tongue.
Guardiola's Golden Boy writhed on the bed, reaching down to grasp and squeeze at Ben's strong hands which rubbed up his sides and across his chest - he stared down his pale chest and tummy and looked at the shaggy looseness of Ben's reddish-brown hair where it fell and swept, as the man's head bobbed up and down, sending waves of intense private pleasure across the young football star's entire body.
Oh man,' Phil groaned, that feels... sooo... good...' He would have been more than happy to come up here and service Chilwell in literally any way he so desired, so it felt great to be thrown on the bed and then sucked off so generously like this - wow, the polite friendly defender was a much more commanding presence in the bedroom than Foden might have imagined, and such a generous lover!
The blowjob went on, and Phil's body buckled and twisted on the bed, pushing up to try and fuck that gorgeous mouth, but finding himself pinned and held by Ben's strength, and his own strength sapped and shattered by the sheer pleasure of those lips moving around his cock, that tongue massaging his tip, the breathy gasps of the sexy stud between his open legs. Every now and then Ben would angle his face up and Phil would catch is sexy eyes and he would think, wow, there's something special here...
Oh fuck,' Foden whined, this is amazing... but... mmm... oh, god... Ben, let me suck you?'
And eventually, wiping his mouth, Ben pulled away from his dick and stood up in front of him, his face hard and determined - he swept his baggy t-shirt away from his ripped upper body in one smooth movement, exposing the defined muscles of his chest and six-pack, and making the pronounced tent in his soft grey shorts all the more emphatic. Phil lay there and enjoyed the view, licking his lips, and glancing down at the shiny wet length of his heavy scally cock, amazed at how sensitive it had felt in Ben's mouth.
Eagerly, he crunched up into a sitting position and then shuffled himself onto the edge of the bed, breathing in Chilly's scent, and grabbing the sides of those shorts; Ben stroked his hair and across his bare shoulders whilst he fought to pull down first those sweat-shorts and then the boxer briefs below, and... yep, there it was. Yep, Ben was huge. He had none of his new lover's patience and control, and he hoisted it in one hand and kissed the fat tip, before rolling his lips over it and taking as much of it as he could into his gob. He closed his eyes and opened wide and let it hit the back of his throat until he gagged and had to pull away to recover. He tried again, went deeper, and loved the deep throaty moan of Ben's appreciation, and the feel of his hands on his shoulders.
Chilly stood there and enjoyed it, appreciating the thoroughness with which the City youngster consumed his cock, greedy for every thick inch of it; he felt both sensitive and numbed at once, loving the sensations but also feeling like he could stand here and sustain this attention for hours without really nearing climax. A restless frustration crawled all over his 5ft11 body, and the Milton Keynes stud couldn't bring himself to confront the source of that deep physical dissatisfaction: he didn't want to admit who he wished was on the bed in front of him, that different member of Guardiola's elite army.
He tried instead to be present in the moment, to appreciate the attentiveness and excitement of his younger teammate, to appreciate the nervous eagerness and praise with which he'd been approached at the piano - to just appreciate the beautiful feeling of someone trying to deep-throat his surprise monster cock right now, repeatedly choking on it but panting to recovery and coming back down for more. To show his forced appreciation, he stroked his fingers through Phil's short trim, down his thin neck, and across his solid shoulders; and he also stroked a hand across his own six-pack and up his chest, playing with his nipples and inviting Phil to do the same... mmm, it did all feel so good, so why didn't he feel more... satisfied?
Well, he thought, maybe a blowjob isn't enough.
He let the sucking go on, and the stroking and rubbing, and the tweaking of his fat nipples - but then he needed to push it on, to move it forward, to reach for more, and he guided Phil's slobbering mouth away from the thick weight of his equipment, guided him backwards by the shoulders, and crawled after him onto the bed, naked now but for his fresh white Nike socks. He lay over the slighter younger lad again and snogged him, letting their bare bodies rub and grind, and then hooking his hands under each of Phil's pleasingly dense thigh muscles, hoisting them up, and kneeling between them to stare determinedly down at the rising star of Man City.
`I wanna fuck you,' he announced fiercely.
Yes,' gasped Foden keenly. Fuck me, Chilly!'
Phil stared at him between his legs, reaching under his thigh muscles to hold them up and parted for the sexy man, his own cock throbbing between these muscles; and he watched as Ben, kneeling there with his cock swinging up and down, stroking up his shins and over his kneecaps and down the outer sides of his thighs, before looking downwards and spitting with impressive accuracy upon the shaft of his cock. But then he spat some more, into one hand, and was reaching two fingers down out of view - Ohhh' - Phil felt his hole briefly tense and then relax for the skilled prod of two digits, and he rolled his head back in gratified pleasure as the Chelsea prince began to enter and open him, purring encouragement as he did, That feel good, Philly, does it?'
`God, yes...'
`Deeper, like that?'
`Oh fuckkkk, yeh...'
`You like that, baby?'
`Yes mate, oh godddd...'
`You want them right in you?'
`Oh, fuck fuck fuck, yes Chilly...'
`You want a third finger? Can you take it?'
`GOD YES...'
`You want my big cock in you, buddy?'
`More than fucking anything.'
`You want me to fuck you hard?'
`YES!'
`Like Jack does?' asked Chilwell, and it was almost a snarl.
Foden was mildly taken aback by this and reopened his eyes - seeing a fresh fierceness and hardness in Ben's face that was surprising and yet very exciting. He hoisted his legs up higher and wider and felt three fingers really pushing into his hungry hole, and he nodded his head. Yes,' he gasped, with only a flicker of hesitation at this change in tone, fuck me like Jack does,' he begged, `Fuck me like Grealish, you're huge like him...'
`Tell me how he fucks you,' growled Chilly.
Oh, so hard,' Foden panted, he goes so rough and hard in me...'
`Does he feel good like this?'
He feels amazing... I mean, he feels- er, this feels so good, erm-' His dirty talk faltered and stumbled, but only because he didn't know what big Ben wanted to hear. Phil was loving it, was so turned on, wanted to be caught on his back like this forever, having his hole stretched and anticipating real penetration - but he wanted to please and satisfy this gorgeous man in front of him, and he was a little confused at what Ben wanted to hear from him, so he just moaned and muttered ambiguous fragments, from I want your huge cock in me' to if only Jack was here too...' and it all seemed to excite and infuriate the stud between his legs in equal measure. Regardless, he could feel the big thick head of Chilly's weapon pushign between his cheeks, and he felt the hard strength of the bigger stronger player pressing down upon him, holding him as he forced inside, and Phil's hole was briefly on fire before relaxing and accommodating, and allowing this big brilliant presence to bury inside him... oh, god... OH GOD,' he groaned enthusiastically, and he felt Ben weigh down on him and grip him with both arms, and then their mouths were connecting again in a deep kiss, delicious and satisfying, but also ending the need for dirty talk, ending the haunting the presence of Jack's name in their fuck.
Ben pushed himself hard inside the arse of the younger player, holding him tightly in missionary as he did, thrusting his ungainly weapon of stupid proportions, and glad that Foden seemed so equipped to take it - used, he supposed, to being pounded by someone as well-hung and boisterous as his precious Grealish - and he fucked harder and harder to try and blank that thought out, trying to just remember that it was him, Ben Chilwell, who was hear on top of the lad, pressing inside him and making him tremble and whine and beg for more, making him squeal and gasp and snog at his neck and cheek and lips, the bed creaking beneath each hard shove of Ben's strength.
Like when he'd stood there getting his cock slurped, he felt that curious mixture of numbness and sensitivity, that feeling that he could fuck for hours and hours and not finish, and a strange detachment from the other lad's pleasure that was unlike him. He just fucked and fucked, grunting almost bitterly as he did, really making Phil scream his name and tell him how amazing he was, but the City twink sounded too forced, too performative, he didn't like it - he just kept thrusting into him, pushing harder and deeper, and trying to make himself cum, wanting to empty his heavy balls and breed this slut, but feeling shaky and weak all of a sudden, so that his thrusting humps slowed and stalled, and he found himself asking again, `Did Jack fuck you like this?'
He heard Phil's struggling awkwardness at finding an answer, and he became still, his cock still buried to the hilt in Phil's perfect arse, holding onto him, but shaking and sweating; and he began to withdraw, uncomfortable, and his face feeling clammy. Phil's hands roved across his arm muscles and upper back, and he found himself looking into that sweet needy face. Do you need to rest?' panted the scally lad. It's okay - take a moment, but fuck me hard like that, god it's good...'
`No,' Ben murmured, but he didn't know what to say, how to explain himself - he just wanted to finish here and run away and take a cold shower. But he couldn't just leave Phil without the explanation that he couldn't give. He was too giving for that. Instead, he pushed the slim muscular lad down on the bedding and began to kiss his torso again, pecking at his chest and tummy, kissing all over him, and then bringing his mouth back to his cock. His own cock throbbing and aching, he hunched beside the prone midfielder and noshed him off, pinning him down with all of his strength whilst also dragging his mouth up and down his shaft - Phil was groaning out loudly and wordlessly at this and Ben kept going, fixed on the goal of satisfying this sweet sexy superstar.
Phil couldn't hold it in: he shot his load inside Ben's mouth, whining out his pleasure and writhing against the bed with an aching arse. `Oh god, oh god,' he panted, feeling out-of-body euphoria as he came heavily, Ben's mouth slurping and kissing messily across the head of his prick - he reached for him immediately, wanting to kiss that dirty mouth, but still the 27-year-old pushed and held him down, kissing his tummy with stick lips, and Foden could just lie there on his back and convulse with pleasure. He stilled and rested, gasping for air, and telling Ben how incredible he was, until the pressure of those commanding hands left his midriff and he felt his guest pull gently away, sliding across and off the bed.
Phil rolled onto his side, chest still heaving and arse-hole still throbbing, and he reached down to stroke his wet cock - he looked over from the bed and saw the perfect rear-view of Ben Chilwell standing up, arms raised to hold his head, making the vista of his back muscles and large peachy arse all the more gorgeous. Phil enjoyed this image for a moment before noting the posture of the masterpiece as one of vague distress - `Ben, mate?' - and he tried to pick himself up from the bed, but felt exhausted with pleasure and pounding, and he practically tumbled over getting up onto his socked feet.
He lunged clumsily for a hug but Ben evaded him, moving away; his cock still looked huge and veiny in its excitement, but Chilly didn't want help with it, dodging aside as Phil grabbed for it and giggled submissively. Awkward, he halted at the edge of his bed and grabbed for his shorts, a little embarrassed and confused. Ben,' he breathed, are you okay?' But the visitor didn't seem to want to look at him, fetching his clothes from different corners of the room and pulling them over his perfect body.
That was incredible,' Foden told the other Lion. It felt so good.'
Yeah,' Ben agreed, but his voice wooden and distant. He was back in his t-shirt and pulling his dark hair back from his sweaty face repeatedly. Finally the two men looked at each other and Phil was confused by his pained expression. But not entirely confused. It's Jack,' he murmured, again moving closer as if to hug or cuddle the taller lad, and adding, `you wanna talk about it, buddy...?'
No,' said Chilwell coolly, retreating from him and pulling up his shorts. That was fun,' he said, in a fairly decent impression of fuck-boy indifference. Phil stared sceptically at him, still trembling with every ounce of pleasure this sexy guy had given him, but worried by the haunted look on his face, and the unfinished business bulging in his shorts. Phil followed him to the door, weary and clumsy with ecstasy, but reaching for one of Ben's hands and squeezing it tightly in his. Stay?' he said, quietly. We can talk about it...'
`That was fun,' his guest repeatedly in this wooden manner, giving him a flashy false media day smile, and then a full tonguing snog too, before backing off and unlocking the door; out he went, into the brightness of the corridor, shaky on his feet, and Phil feeling conspicuously half-naked in the doorway behind him, sex-sweat seeming to emanate from his tight young body... so he closed the door and rested against it for a long moment before throwing himself back into the wrinkled sheets of his bed, lying there in the sweat patches of their lovemaking, and just thinking about how good it had all felt, every kiss, every inch. But what was going on with that handsome lad, and what exactly was the situation between him and Jack Grealish...?
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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