Part forty-five: Winter Sun 1
The comfortable heat of the training complex felt a million miles from the damp mists of South London. The sky was a blue stretch and the steady sunlight was only fragmented by the high-sprouting palm trees around the training pitch where Ross Barkley was doing some relaxed keep-ups, working the ball from knee to knee to foot to knee.
It was a long winter break for the Chelsea boys, the first year of this new idea by the League: in total the lads had an over two-week gap between their disappointing Leicester draw at the weekend, and their next match, facing Manchester United in the middle of the month. And so of course, Lampard had relaxed his regime and followed the initiative. Training would resume next week at some point, but for now, they were free.
Of course, for a lot of the blokes, that meant family time, but for a few of the restless youngsters, a working holiday had been settled on, and Dubai's warm-weather training centres had beckoned. Ross was glad of it, though he was quite looking forward to a more relaxed weekend once he got back to London and his bird. But for now, he was enjoying the intense training sessions, the sun-soaked afternoons off, the chilling on the beach with a small bunch of teammates.
He cricked his neck and rested the ball beneath one foot, checking the time on his sports watch before lobbing the ball aside to rest with some other spares along the edge of this smaller training court. It was pretty much time to rest up, thankfully. Dubai was hardly at its blazing peak in February, but the heat started to get to you after a four-hour session working in it. Barkley pulled a little on the chest of his Nike training shirt and lumbered across the training ground, looking over to the resident coach who was leading them. A whistle blew, time was called on the session; the last session, actually, of their stay.
One by one, the sweaty, slightly sun-dazed young Chelsea players turned to make their way indoors, to the air-conditioning and a hearty lunch. Ross lagged behind a little, spotting his young pal Mason Mount in the middle of finishing up some 1-to-1 time with another coach. Everybody had been impressed with Mount's energy and skill here, it had been the hot topic of the week, actually.
The slightly goofy 21-year-old turned cheerily Barkley's way as he passed, and waved a hand before jogging over to join him at his side. Hey,' Mason said, excitedly, you see the pics of you training that I popped on my Insta story? You were looking good.'
Ross turned to him with a slightly grim smile, and raised an eyebrow. `Mase, pal, I think we've had enough of your photographs of me getting shared, ain't we?' he asked in his heavy Scouse accent, giving the younger player a meaningful stare. Mason burst into embarrassed laughter, nodding quickly, and flexing his arms and shoulders as they walked.
Oh, shit, that,' Mason mumbled, I thought that was...'
It is,' Ross said, quickly. Forgotten, forgiven.'
`Right,' Mount said, sounding unsure.
But yeah,' Ross added, I did see the pic, I posted it on mine too, hah. Thanks.' He reached over and threw a bare arm about the slender shoulders of his fellow midfielder, pulling him into a slightly sweaty hug as they lingered behind the handful of other Chelsea players who had formed this little working holiday in Dubai. They were a good bunch of lads, overall, but Ross felt no close bond with any of them compared to his growing friendship with Mason.
Inside, they passed under the cool blast of the air-con and, like the others, skipped showers in favour of their appetites. The training complex had a refectory that felt more like a 3-star restaurant, and the two lads, still in their shorts and short-sleeved training tops, picked up trays and joined the queue. There were other athletes and sportsmen here, though none that Ross particularly recognised. He was vaguely aware that other Premiership blokes were out in Dubai too, at various similar centres or just on their holidays, but he hadn't given much attention to that surreal prospect. First Mason and then he were eventually served by the attractive, heavily made-up young women behind the counter, and left to find seats with trays of colourful and varied salads between them. The others had filled one of the bigger tables, and Ross felt like it would be a real pain trying to drag a chair up to join them, so he moved on across the refectory to a smaller table by the windows, looking out on the sports complex's lush gardens.
He sat down, and Mason joined him.
It's been a great few days here,' Mount said as he took his seat. I'm glad you came, too. I don't know what chat I would have had with some of them. Don't know if I get on so well with anybody here but you, you know?'
Ross smiled vaguely at the 21-year-old's chat, and looked across at the sight of their teammates, feeling his rough agreement with the sentiment, but less keen to express it. He just nodded and made a vague noise, and stuffed his face with the centre's tasty lunch food. He picked up his napkin to dab the beading sweat from his temples, still feeling the effects of the sun out there, knowing his tan would be glowing by the time he touched down in London.
`You heard much from the gaffer?' Mason asked, innocently enough. Ross paused and looked at him. Given their shared experience last week, the innocence was very superficial.
A bit,' Barkley grunted. Well, how best to answer that? It could go a couple of days with nothing, and then he would get one of two types of messages. The first would go something like Ross, we need 2 speak' or Barkley, this needs 2 stop now, plz dnt mssg me', amusingly empty statements that made it sound like HE was the obsessive one here. Or, sporadically, there were the other messages, like cant stop thinking bout u 2day, send pic' or `need ur hole xx'. In all honesty, Ross wasn't sure which messages bothered or roused him more. But this was the strange dynamic he'd put himself in when he visited Frank's office all those weeks ago, and so he accepted the uncomfortable ebb and flow of it. Lampard seemed to need him, but was utterly ashamed of that need.
Mason was watching him think. `I keep thinking about that day, buddy,' he said quietly.
Barkley coughed, wiped his mouth, poked at his salad. `Yeh?' he murmured.
`It was intense.'
It was.' Ross chewed thoughtfully. You're okay, though, right?' For a couple of days after, he'd noticed Mason almost limping a bit, or sitting uncomfortably, and had worried for what he'd put his young pal through. But every time he had enquired, he'd been reassured that the lad was totally okay, just needed a little recovery.
I'm great,' Mason told him, yet again. You're sweet to worry, though.'
Ross just scowled a little at this twee comment, poking some fruit about his plate idly. Well, you need someone to look out for you,' he said, after a few moments, then gave his friend a teasing frown. Naïve little munchkin that you are.' They both tittered stupidly. `I brought you into a mad situation there, so... you know, I feel like I need to look out for you. I was probably a shit friend to you when you got mugged and the pics were stole, and... you know, I do like you, Mase. You're a great friend.' This was an almost epic speech of poetry by Ross's uncommunicative standards, he knew, and he could see Mount was pleased to hear it.
But I enjoyed myself,' Mason pointed out with a cheeky glint in his eyes. I really did.'
`Well, good,' Ross mumbled. He was kinda glad Loftus-Cheek wasn't out here with them, come to think of it. He liked Ruben, quite a lot, and had been glad to have him back around, but... the big man's confidence and intervention in their antics had been a shock, and since then, he felt a little on edge around him, unsure of himself. He didn't like what Ruben knew about his own behaviour, and he didn't like how little he suddenly knew about Ruben.
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes.
`Do you remember what you said to me, though?' Mason asked, a little abruptly.
Ross looked at him, slurping the last of his freshly pressed fruit juice, and casting his mind back to the sweaty session on the manager's desk. Yes, he remembered, and he'd known it would be held onto by this fresh-faced eager beaver. He nodded, slowly.
I do owe you one,' he agreed softly. Any favour you need, owt I can do to help, just...'
Yeah, yeah,' Mason said, beaming. I just thought I'd check you remembered the offer!'
`I keep my promises,' Ross grunted, a bit defensively. He looked back over in the direction of the other table, where some of their teammates were getting up from their lunch. The last formal training session was over, though Ross was thinking he might hit the gym this afternoon, work on his muscle definition, ready to impress his lady when he flew home tomorrow. He turned his head again and found Mason staring at him a bit. The youngster looked flustered and silly at being caught doing so, and immediately stared down at his leftover food. Ross just chuckled gently, and grabbed at the sides of his tray.
`You don't have to stare at me, you've taken plenty of fucking pictures this week,' he remarked half-jokingly, and got up to leave. Mason laughed a little anxiously, and Ross left him to it, off to hit the gym and work on his athletic body.
When he eventually hit his hotel room late in the afternoon, he took a long cool shower, and chatted on the phone to first his mum, then a good mate of his back in Liverpool, and then his girlfriend. He felt a bit frisky, talking to her, making rough plans of their chilled weekend together, and struggled to resist touching himself as they spoke and flirted. He let his fingers edge at the fresh white briefs he'd pulled on, but didn't let them stray past the Armani waistband, wanting to save his energies for her, as he had been all week.
When the call eventually ended, after a string of sickly loved up goodbyes between the two of them, Ross lay back on the cool white cotton of his bedding and watched the ceiling fan whirr its blades in rotation, feeling sluggish and content. His near-naked body ached a little from the week's training and from his bulking session in the gym just now, but he also felt good, revitalised by the heat and freshness of this place. He felt confident he would turn up to the formal Chelsea training next week ready to fight hard: ready to really EARN his prominence in the team, through strength and skill rather than... Frank's sporadic and slightly schizophrenic messages spun through his thoughts. He didn't want to have to rely on the obsessive needs of a married 41-year-old!
His phone, resting on the bedding beside his six-pack, pinged to life, and he reached lazily for it. He had dreaded a strange cryptic message from the gaffer, but instead it was the other bloke who seemed to be lovesick for him (Ross was becoming more comfortable with admitting to himself the impact he was having on these admirers): Mason. Drinks tonight, he was suggesting. Well, of course, Ross thought. It was their last night, after all.
He thumbed in his response, and a few messages later, a plan had been outlined. They weren't bothering with the others, who apparently had already made some arrangements, but would go for a quiet few together in some hip cocktail bar that Mount had read about online. Ross, a man of simple tastes, wasn't so excited, but he wanted to hang out with Mase, feeling an almost brotherly companionship with the cheeky lad.
He rested a little longer then went about his simple business, squirting on some aftershave against his thick neck and swollen chest, and then pulling on a thin blue linen shirt over his toned bulk, and some fairly loose-fitting dark chinos. Soon, he was meeting Mason in the reception area and hopping into the pre-ordered taxi.
In the car journey, Mount spoke about his own weekend plans, a visit back down to Portsmouth to hang out with his old school crowd, who were largely just starting their first graduate jobs. For Barkley, most of his old Liverpool mates were married with at least two kids, and he chuckled at the different worlds they hailed from.
The bar was as extravagant as he had anticipated. A fiery sunset was melting in the skies above, adding to the souk aesthetic of the bar, which was striving for Middle Eastern authenticity even though it was largely full of white European tourists. Half-admiring and half-repulsed by the showy Instagram world of it, he followed Mason through its tiled interiors and along a balcony above its big central courtyard. Ross leant his elbows on the stone balustrade and looked across the crowd of posers, whilst Mason chose them drinks from a menu.
This place is sick,' the younger player decided, joining him at his vantage point. He was wearing a showier short-sleeved shirt, baggy about his slim defined body and denim shorts. Ross just laughed at his vernacular. I've been thinking,' Mason added, after a long moment of watching the crowd below.
`Dangerous,' joked Barkley.
`Hah. I mean, I've been thinking about... that favour.'
`Oh?' Ross turned and looked at him, framed against the pinks and oranges of the Dubai sunset. He wondered idly what Mason had in mind, what minor drama needed resolving, or what help was going to be expected of him. The lad looked nervous now, and that put Ross on edge: what was his mate building up to asking him?
`You know what was a first time for me, that day,' Mason said ambiguously.
Ross didn't have to guess hard at what was meant. Of course,' he muttered quietly, I hardly thought it was a weekly business for ya, lad, but...'
Well, yeah, it was pretty new and crazy.' Mason went quiet, fiddling with the top button of his colourful shirt, looking from Ross to the view of the gently lamplit courtyard. But I mean... it was cool, and... well, I wanna try it more, I think, so...' He leaned in, suddenly, and Ross tensed up, almost knowing word for word the question that came next. `Will you do it to me, Barks?' They stared eye to eye then, and the air was thick with their tension. This intensity was brief, though, as their waitress was soon interrupting them with two matching daiquiris on a tray. Mason, flustered but charming, turned to thank her and take them, whilst Ross rubbed a hand over his mouth and leaned away a little, not sure what to say.
He took his drink from Mount's hand, sipped it, and lowered his voice as much as he could whilst still being heard over the vaguely Persian music and the hubbub below. Mate,' he hissed, you know I'm not really into that...' He saw how crestfallen Mount was, but went on. It's just... I have this kinda, deal thing, I guess, with the gaffer, so...' He struggled around for the right words. An arrangement, that's all. I'm straight, buddy, I don't want to...'
But,' grumbled Mason quietly, that time, in the showers, we...'
I was letting off steam,' Ross groaned awkwardly, and apologetically. He clinked his glass to Mason's and eyed him seriously. You're a fucking great friend, Mase. Please don't let's ruin it.' Mason stared at him, his disappointment palpable, but he sighed and nodded.
Right,' he said with forced cheer, I hear you. Forget I said anything. Let's drink to Dubai.'
The cocktails turned out to be pretty fucking tasty, Ross concluded, on his fourth, all selected by Mount, since he didn't really know his way around a wanky cocktail menu with stupid names and lists of ingredients he wasn't sure of. There was an enjoyable freedom in letting the younger lad pick, anyway, a bit like being out for dinner with his missus and watching her survey the wine menu. As the rippled sunset gave way to inky night, Barkley felt more and more of an alcoholic buzz, relaxing into the atmosphere of the place.
It was somewhere between cocktails number two and three that they'd bumped into the others. Muscling their way along a bar downstairs at the edge of the courtyard, Barkley had been waving one muscular arm about to catch attention, when he'd caught eyes with first one and then another two of his infrequent England teammates.
Now here they were, seated in a loose huddle of basket chairs by the fountains at the centre of the courtyard, drinks in hand, some of them sucking on a shisha pipe, chatting the night away. Ross was sat between Leicester lads James Maddison and Ben Chilwell, both sound lads: bright, funny, cheery. Ross had often liked the idea of a transfer to Leicester, where the team banter seemed so strong, much more so than the rather serious mood he found dominated at Chelsea. Shame about the fashion though, he thought drunkenly, looking from the lads outlandish t-shirts and blinging chains to Maddison's literal rose-tinted glasses. Fucking young southerners, wannabe gangsters and fashionistas, the lot of them.
There were a couple of other Leicester kids and, a bit oddly, a couple of the Aston Villa bunch. Chilwell's close mate Jack Grealish, a bit of a legend in Ross's eyes, a heroic captain of his boyhood team, was sat opposite on the edge of the fountains, cracking up laughing at some story Mason Mount was telling him. Ross eyed the two together, only half-listening to Chilly and Madders' banter either side of him. These cocktails really were quite strong.
Oi, Barks, earth to Ross,' chuckled Ben to his right. He realised Madders had got up to go to the bar for them, and twisted in his seat to give a relaxed grin to the 23-year-old Milton Keynes lad, who was a little glossy with sweat in the flickering lamplight of the bar, his hair hanging in styled curtains like some boyband heart-throb of another decade. I was just saying,' Ben continued, `Mase has really come out his fucking shell, hasn't he?'
`Huh? Oh, yeh.'
I mean, he used to be right quiet,' Chilly continued. What's he been up to lately?!'
Ross could hardly contain a smirk at this question, but he just shrugged his muscular shoulders at the lad other lad and laughed, and drained the dregs of his fourth (fifth) cocktail before putting the glass down on the low table in front of them. `Oh, I dunno, he's just growing up, or summat,' he told Ben.
True, true,' Chilwell said. Happens to us all.'
`Aye,' Ross agreed, relaxing into his buzz.
And you're looking good,' Ben commented idly. Ross glanced at him, seeing the lad's eyes rove up the definition of his arms, where the light linen clung to his physique. Oh for fuck's sake, another footballer bloke developing a thing for him? But then he just laughed to himself, realising his own silly ego here: not EVERY footballer was secretly bi and secretly craving him, he reminded himself, chiding his swollen self-esteem as a result of his arrangement' with the gaffer.
Er, thanks,' was all he said to Ben. Been working on it.'
Well, whatever you're doing,' Ben said, with an odd laugh, keep doing it.' Ross could almost see a flirty edge to the Leicester defender's smile, but again, he dismissed it, and laughed openly at his own imagination.
When Maddison returned, with drinks for himself and Chilly, Ross realised he hadn't actually been included in their round, and got up to go and buy some more cocktails for himself and Mount instead. He picked his way through the relaxed crowd, enjoying a few more admiring looks from the ladies, and a couple of guys (although it was hard to tell if their admiration was competitive or lusting), and found his way to the bar. He picked up and scanned a cocktail menu: what a load of tosh. Surely Mase was picking these ridiculously named drinks at random and pretending to know what the fuck he was on about?
He found himself next to the towering figure of Tyrone Mings, the Villa giant who had been drinking with them a little earlier before seeming to head off with a hot girl: Ross had been unable to tell if it was his girlfriend, out here with them, or some bird he'd just met. The two lads registered each other and Ross grunted a renewed greeting.
`You having a good night?' he asked whilst trying to make eye contact with the barman.
Yeah, I guess,' big Mings said in an almost yawning voice. That lass fucked off though. Probably head back to my hotel soon, or something.'
Oh right,' Ross said distractedly, then gave his tall neighbour a funny look. You not gonna head back for another bevvy with your Villa pals, Jack and them?'
Ty scoffed, rolled his eyes, and waved a rolled up banknote at the passing barman, trying and failing to get any attention. Nah, I've had enough of them the past couple of days,' he said, Jack more than any of them. Bloody melt.'
Ross creased his brows and stared at the tall black lad, a bit bewildered. What you saying, mate?' he asked, having never heard a bad word said about cheeky chappy Jack the Lad before. Something going wrong up at Aston Villa, is it?' He was more curious about Grealish's usual golden boy reputation than any professional rivalry with the Birmingham team. Ty scoffed again and Ross watched his little snarling expression come and go.
Oh nothing,' Mings said, and put his money away. Forget this. I'm gonna get a cab. Enjoy your night, Barks – but watch out for grabby Grealish, eh.' And with that he was gone, Ross blinking after him in mild intrigue, then turning back to the bar just in time to catch the guy's attention. He was not, however, ready to choose a drink, and almost lost the moment, but he just loudly demanded two of the most overpriced and ridiculously strong cocktail going. The barman laughed and obliged, and Barkley leant at the bar, flexing his arms in a moment of vanity to watch his shirt tighten about his biceps.
By the time he was returning to the fountain, he'd largely forgotten Tyrone's funny behaviour and comments about Jack, especially when he found their seats empty and the group of off-duty footballers dissipated into the social mixer of the courtyard. He sighed and took greedy sips from the cocktail in each hand, screwed up his face a little at its sour strength, then aimlessly circled the fancy bar in search of a familiar face.
This seemed to go on for a while. Eventually, feeling a little uncomfortable on his own, Ross settled back by the bar, alternating between the paper straws of his own and Mason's unclaimed drink, resting his weight against the marble surface, and eyeing the passing crowd for one of his fellow Premiership players. He almost jumped in shock when eventually he felt a warm hand against his clammy shoulderblade.
Ross,' chirped Mason excitably, there you are!'
Where the fuck have you been?' Barkly asked him, irritated but also incredibly relieved. He pushed Mason's half-finished tumbler of the sour mix towards him, pretending he hadn't touched it, then sipped from his own. I've been on my own like a right lemon, for fuck's sake.'
Sorry,' Mount pleaded, squeezing his shoulder a bit more, and gladly taking the half-empty drink to sip on. Was doing some shisha then, er, chatting up some girls, and... Ah, glad to find you again.' He grabbed Ross suddenly in a tight hug and Ross grabbed back, loosened up by drink and genuinely relieved to be back in the easy company of his young teammate. He'd enjoyed bumping into the others, but he had found them flashy and showy, all posed photos and empty talk. Barkley often reflected that other footballers just weren't his scene.
Yeh yeh,' Ross said, pulling away from the hug. Good to have you back.' He clapped a hand to Mason's arm, gave it a squeeze, then pulled his finger up over his shoulder idly, to adjust the lad's messed up collar. Mason smiled back at him with twinkling eyes, butter-wouldn't-melt. But Ross knew what that mouth could do, no innocent expression was fooling him. And what that mouth could do, he remembered with sudden urgency, well... couldn't be described. He broke the lingering look between them and stared at his cocktail, a little bewildered to find he'd finished it. `Another?' he suggested, hearing his voice slur a bit.
Mason shrugged. `Whatever. Or we could call it a night.'
Hmm,' Ross thought aloud. Maybe that was for the best. He was getting that funny numbness in his limbs, and remembering that he had to travel back to the UK tomorrow. A hangover felt inevitable now, but its extent was probably within control! Aye,' he said eventually, `let's get out of here, shall we?'
He let Mason lead the way, honestly a little unsure of which way they needed to go. The place was so crowded and confusing that he felt Mount take him by the wrist halfway out, and he enjoyed the reassuring pull of the eager young guy's hand against his as they exited the busy Dubai bar and out onto the confusing neon jungle of the street.
`This way, I think,' Mount said, turning the corner.
Ross threw his arm about Mason's shoulders again, like earlier, but pulled him a little tighter. `Good night, huh?' he grunted.
Great, really,' Mason agreed, was so cool meeting up with the others, right? Fucking cool lads, sick outfits, right? Grealish was telling me about...'
Gropey Grealish, Ross remembered in a slight blur. `He didn't do anything funny to ya, did he?' he asked sharply, as the pair ambled down the pavement away from the noise of the bar, pulled close together. Mason pulled away a little and stared at him, baffled.
What you on about, Barks?' he cackled. Do anything...?'
`Oh, just erm, something I heard, or...'
`God, you're so protective, big bro,' quipped Mount.
Ross laughed and smiled, glad to hear Mason thought of him in a similar way. He slowed their walk and threw his strong arms back around the younger guy in a cuddle, and rested his head down against the fluffy spikes of Mason's hair. `Well, someone has to look after ya,' he teased, swaying them a little in this hold. Beyond Mason, through the buildings opposite, he could see a lane that led down to the beach. You could just make out the blackness of the sea against the inky blue sky. A walk on the sands was suddenly tempting.
Mason was rubbing both hands gently against his sides, feeling the ridges of his abs through the linen. Ross chuckled at these strokes and nuzzled Mason's forehead with his nose. `What are you playing at, silly bugger?' he demanded quietly.
Nothing,' giggled Mason just... enjoying this hug.'
Yeah yeah,' Barkley groaned, like you'll settle for a... hug.'
Mason hissed out a breath and pulled closer, resting his head on the firm platform of Barkley's pecs for a moment. Ross swayed a little more, held his arms about Mount, and then let go. Come on,' he said sharply, shall we walk down to the beach...?' There was a firm nod of agreement from the other lad, and they crossed the quiet road, moving away from the bassy music of the bar, which actually sounded like it was just kicking off for the night, rather than winding down. Ahead of them, a sloping lane between some more shut business led down towards the broad sandy expanse of the deserted beach. Twinkling city lights were visible along the sweep of this coast, the skyscrapers of Dubai rising up along the strip, reflected in the sea. It was a fucking romantic sight, really, Ross decided.
He reached an arm down Mason's back, arm to flesh, and let his hand rest at the upper end of that curving young bottom, held in his denim shorts. He gave it a slight squeeze, and felt Mason lean into him as they strolled onto the sands. He laughed to himself, and thought of their short, tense conversation earlier tonight.
`You really do owe me, bro,' Mase told him in a quiet, slightly shaky voice.
Ross groaned evasively, squeezed that pert backside, and kicked his white trainers through the fine sands. `You're persistent,' he muttered.
`YOUR hand is on my... arse...'
Ross spanked him gently, laughed, and pulled away, swaggering ahead. He turned his back on the view, his back on the sea, and looked affectionately at the smirking, boyish face of the young midfielder in front of him.
`You did take one for me,' Ross said in a low, purring voice. He thumbed at the top button of his shirt and took a step closer to Mason. The beach felt truly deserted around them, lost in its darkness, though the rising buildings were actually so close. He grabbed Mason by the arm and pulled him back with him a little, closer to the water's edge, the sand getting softer beneath their trainers.
I did,' Mount said in a giggling voice, drunk and excited. In fact... I took... two.'
Fucking hell,' Ross drawled, remembering that detail, picturing overexcited Frank and masterful Ruben. Fucking hell... you brave thing...' He pulled Mason into him in another cuddle, and reached round with both hands, pawing at that firm behind in the denim.
Come on,' Mount whispered. Please, Barks. Please.' Mason was reaching down and fondling Ross's package through the thin chinos, touching up the big bulge. Days of abstinence had rendered Barkley's cock uber-sensitive. He'd been saving it for HER, but... His mind spun. Around them danced the lights of Dubai, and behind them was the empty erotic blackness of the sea. Fucking hell. He cuddled Mason to him and nuzzled his brow again, and moaned out as Mason's hand slid inside his trousers. Oh, fuck...
And then they were tumbling down onto the sand. Mason was yanking open buttons on Ross's linen shirt, and Barkley was leaning in and stroking a strong hand against the lad's neck, and under his shirt, feeling at the firmness of his six-pack. Fuck, fuck. Ross was wasted and horny, and high on the thought of how much this lad had been wanting him for so many weeks. He took over the buttons and practically ripped open his shirt, letting Mase paw up at his tight abs and up to his firm bullet nipples. Ross reached down to tug at his chinos, pulling them over to expose the white of his bulging briefs. He pressed down with his body, pushing Mason into the sand. He could feel his own prick getting rock hard down there, Mason's fingers finding and squeezing it through the fabric. Ross felt dizzy but the desires were burning him up.
I want you so bad,' Mason moaned. I really need it, buddy, I really do...'
I'm not gay,' Ross grunted needlessly, I just...'
I don't care,' Mason told him quickly, just give it to me, please...' The youngster really grabbed at his hard-on through the briefs and reached up. Ross felt his tender lips kiss his adam's apple and then along the side of his neck, so gentle and teasing. He groaned and arched his back, planting his hands into the slightly damp side on either side of the boy beneath him...
And then, suddenly, voices, carrying on the still warm air. Ross jerked his neck and looked up. Oh holy shit. Figures against the hazy dark, and a flash of moving light, coming towards them – was that a torch? He pulled himself up as quickly as he could, but he already knew it was too late. Three figures coming their way, each of them with a light in their hand. Ross was pissed and horny and out of control, but a dreadful thought hit him through all that blur: here he was, stripping off with a boner in his pants and a lad between his strong legs, in a country where people went to prison for accidentally touching a guy's leg in a bar. Beneath him, he heard Mason make a cry of dismay and reach desperately for the comfort of his hands, wriggling upright against him in fear.
They'd been caught.
TO BE CONTINUED...