Part forty-six: Winter Sun 2
Bulging Ben strutted along the edge of the hotel pool, his patterned swimming trunks rolled up a little to maximise sun on this thick thighs, a pair of expensive designer frames over his eyes and his hair slicked back out of his face.
The Dubai heat felt good on his bare torso muscles as he walked back from the pool bar with two alcoholic slushies, one for him and one for his good mate James Maddison. He paused to admire his friend, stretched out on a sun lounger at this end of the pool, where their luxury hotel's terrace overlooked the stretching Middle Eastern beach strip beside them.
Fearing FA cup commitments, Leicester's management had been hesitant to arrange a boot camp out here or anywhere else, like Chilwell knew a lot of their rivals had done. But no such replay had been needed, and so the Foxes had earned a pretty tidy full break this time. And getting away was fucking great. Their 2-2 draw with Chelsea had been hard-fought, though Ben had enjoyed his own little moments of glory in it.
He rested James' drink on the terrace surface and sat down on the parallel sun lounger, glad of the cover his sunglasses offered as he sucked on a straw and let his eyes wander up Maddison's toned hairy legs, his slim torso, the intricate tattoo sleeve covering much of one arm. His fellow 23-year-old player was a good mate of his in the Leicester City crew, an uncomplicated guy with an appetite for a party. This whole trip had been largely Madders' idea, really – left to his own devices, Chilly probably would have just crashed with family, or visited pals in London. But James and a few of his local midlands mates had sorted a great deal at this swish hotel, and so a 5-day lads' trip in Dubai had been borne into fruition.
It had been good so far. A welcome break, a welcome... escape.
At home, Ben felt like he was spending a lot of time dodging Jamie Vardy. Sure, Maguire had asserted some control over things, that night, but... Vardy was a pushy, dominant guy. With a hefty appetite. Ben had enjoyed taking a cock, he really had, but it had hurt like hell, and he'd walked funny for a day after. He wasn't sure if he was ready yet to let Jamie fuck him again, and he was finding him harder to put off. The rough striker had clearly gotten quickly used to semi-regular handjobs from him in the early days of their flirtation, after that first drunken night. But Ben was confused about his feelings and desires, and he really didn't need to be pushed around by that horny sleaze... who was currently holidaying with his wife and tiny kids, for fuck's sake!
`You still checkin' me out, bud?' quipped Maddison from where he lay, sitting up slightly to reach for his cooling, boozy drink.
`Oh, you know it,' Ben chuckled, slipping off his shades and smirking at his mate.
Good,' James said, and lay back down, sniggering. What's the plan this evening, you reckon?'
Few drinks on the strip, fifth night in aa row,' Ben said with a little laugh. Last big blow-out, right? Hey...' He glanced instinctively over their view, at the skyline of high-rise architecture glimmering against a backdrop of desert and sea. `You remember I mentioned my mate Jacko is in the area too, yeah?'
`What, Grealish? Oh yeh...'
`Well I thought we might meet up with him tonight for some end-of-trip drinks, you know?'
Madders nodded approval from his comfortable lounging position. `Sure. I'll suggest it to the other lads. Not a bad shout, Chilly Willy.'
Ben lifted a foot and kicked him gently in the leg, letting his toes brush the oily sun-cream on those hairy shins. You twat,' he replied. I'll leave you to bake, skinny. I'm gonna have a dip in the pool.' He got up, slurped his drink, and abandoned his friend's side, partly because he needed to stop checking the bugger out! Why were his eyes just so drawn to other lads' physiques these days? It was unstoppable.
Ben had not seen Jack properly since... well, since that time.
He was eager but a little apprehensive as he worked his way through the first couple of bars, with Maddison and their other mates. Grealish, after an awkward week or two of minimal contact, had seemed to get more... normal with him, again, but still... It was pretty heavy, what had gone on that day, even if they had gone from oral sex to FIFA in a very short space of time afterwards.
Ben stood at the terrace windows of another slick Dubai bar, sipping a rum and coke, and watching the lapping sea at the beach below, drowning slowly in darkness as the fiery sunset sank. He was feeling a good buzz, on-and-off drinking most of the hot winter day, but he was getting anxious now that he might overdo it and be totally mashed before he actually met up with his Aston Villa bestie. He could feel himself going quiet and withdrawn as a result, no longer the life of the party, letting Maddison and the others be all noisy and excitable. He just hoped he could see Jack and things be really fucking normal between them.
Soon, his group were moving on: to the swanky new place, a fancy bazaar-styled place right by the quiet end of the beach, with an insane cocktail menu and some cool DJs playing. He strolled along the busy road to it a few paces behind the others, scrolling through messages on his phone and resisting sending another `can't wait 2 c u' message to Jacko. Ben was wearing a loos pale tshirt and quite gaudy dress pants, two pendant necklaces hanging about his softly tanned neck. He hoped he looked casual and relaxed enough, not trying too hard to impress anyone. He was single again, since his last girlfriend had got bored of his indifference, so maybe he would even get some pussy tonight.
For a second, his memory wandered, and he was picturing Jack's tanned behind in front of his face.
Inside the bar was busy and atmospheric, and above them, the sky was turning quickly to night. One of Maddison's pals sorted them a table right in the centre of its gaudy courtyard, and Ben quickly spotted a conspicuous bunch of good-looking, expensively dressed lads loitering by one bar. Jack seemed to spot him at the same moment, and they strode towards one another.
Any fear Ben had been harbouring about where he stood with the handsome Villa captain was quickly dispelled: Grealish, dressed in a similarly relaxed white tshirt and showy chains, threw his arms about him a quick hug and planted a jokey kiss to his cheek.
`Chilly boy, my man,' he gasped drunkenly. His cheeks were flushed and he looked pretty pissed already. In fact, Ben quickly noted, he looked like he'd probably been on more than just the booze, from his hazy eyes. He hugged him back and laughed gladly.
`Captain Jack, my hero... good to see you... too long, brother, too long!'
Grealish smirked, gave him a meaningful look, and let out a snigger. `Too long since we met each other, or too long song you were in my apartment?' he wheezed, and Ben felt a burst of excitement at the loaded question, but their hug was immediately broken as wider greetings rolled on. He was quickly passed over as Grealish went to greet Maddison and the others, and Ben in turn grabbed handshakes and half-hugs with the couple of Villa blokes Jack was here with on his little vacation. There was something off about the others, though. Like Jack, they seemed to have drank (or sniffed) a fair bit already tonight, but there was a slightly sour atmosphere amongst them, particularly from that absolute giant Ty Mings.
Soon, the lot of them were taking seats about the grand fountain at the centre of the bar, and it was a while before he got any moment to chat alone with Jacko. When Grealish was getting a round of cocktails in, he offered to help him, and joined him walking across to one of the long bars, patting his pal on the back and enjoying being close to him after quite an absence.
`Oh, buddy, it's been a funny old trip,' Grealish confided, before Ben could even slip out a polite question about the odd atmosphere amongst the others.
What's up?' Chilwell asked, and Jack gave him a guilty, playful look. What?!'
Oh, I just got carried away,' the laddish young captain admitted with a slightly shameful snigger. Daft lads' stuff, you know. What are we drinking then?'
What are you chatting about?' Ben demanded with a curious grin, following him towards the quieter end of the bar. What have you been up to you, you naughty bugger? Whose girlfriend have you been ploughing...?'
`Oh, nothing THAT bad,' Jack said, leaning both forearms on the marble bar surface and giving his friend a playful look, so that Ben felt his curiosity rise further, enjoying the drunken glow of his mate's tanned face and the wired look in his eyes, that unpredictable spirit.
`Well, tell me,' Ben insisted.
Pfft. Just...' Jack leaned in closer, dropped his voice. I was just having a laugh. We did this bit of a circle jerk once, you know, in our locker-room – just shits and giggles – and...'
Whoa,' Ben couldn't helped but exclaim, eyes widening. You did what?'
Oh, it was nothing,' Jack continued hurriedly, but I just tried to suggest it at the hotel after we were all pissed, and Mings got...' Jack blew a silly drunken raspberry and draped his arm about Ben's shoulders. `Fucking stick in the mud. I only grabbed his big bulge for a joke, cos everyone knows his prick hangs about his knees, for fuck's sake, haha.'
`Jesus, mate,' sniggered Ben, undeniably aroused. He stared in curious admiration at his mate, really shocked. It had not occurred to him that Jack might have done any... experimenting of his own, not since Ben pushed his boundaries that time. He'd been so caught up in his own fluid sexuality of late that he'd totally dismissed Jack's rampant appetite as very one-way... He could hardly contain the excitement bubbling in him now, thinking that SOMETHING might actually happen tonight.
`What about your lot?' Grealish demanded, a slightly urgent, needy look in his eyes.
`Hmm?'
Well,' Jack slurred, any of those pricks with you up for a bit of stupid fun, you think?'
Ben turned the words stupid fun' over in his head, and tried not to look as randy as he instantly felt. He laughed, coughed, drummed his hands on the marble worktop. Oh, I dunno,' he said, as if it hadn't been on his mind since their plane landed. But really, he was with a pretty close-minded bunch, openly homophonic, half of them. Maddison was... well, there were always cheeky jokes between he and Madders, just like by the pool this afternoon, but he'd never dared take them seriously. There was always that hint of cheeky flirtation with their compliments and roasting of each other, but surely...
`I bet Madders would suck a dick,' Jack interrupted bluntly, callously.
You think?!' Ben yelped, then tried to lower his voice and urge Jack to do the same. I don't know, mate. Fuck...' He realised that with Jack's comment, the fact that he had briefly licked and mouthed at Jack's piece that day... it was out in the open between them, silently acknowledged. Of course, he'd done wilder than that, but still. He felt hot and flustered and he giggled again, delirious. Could he suggest something now, tear Grealish away from the others, fuck off to one of their hotels and-?
Oh my fucking god,' laughed Jack, suddenly looking past them, is that who I think it is?'
There was quite a bit of jokey abuse and rivalry, of course: the last time any of the Leicester or Chelsea lads had actually seen each other was during a tense 2-2 draw at the Walkers Stadium, and so there were a few inevitable jokes and playful arguments about how that game might or should have ended, before chat settled down to less football-obsessed topics: namely, cars, bars, and birds.
Ben, his mind still racing, found himself seated in one of the wicker chairs with a heavy long island iced tea held between both hands, with Ross Barkley sprawled to his left, and James Maddison beyond him. He kept glancing across big brutish Ross at his own teammate, dwelling on Jack's words, and trying to figure out how open-minded or playful Madders might actually be.
`How's that drink?' James asked him, catching his eye, and Ben felt as if he'd been caught out staring, yet again.
It's good,' he confirmed, fucking strong, though.'
`Mine too, I am gonna be wasted if we stay here, haha...'
Same, same,' Ben chuckled. He realised they were talking over Ross a bit, but the strong silent Chelsea player was staring out across the bar, so not to worry. He leaned over a little bit to hear Maddison better. Is that a bad thing, hah?'
`Nah, it'll mean I won't mind when I pull some minger,' joked his teammate.
Minger?' Ben said. That's not like you... Who you got your eye on?'
`Oh, only you, only you,' teased Madders with a big wink and a thumbs up. He really did make more homoerotic little jokes than anyone else Ben knew, and it was hard not to consider Jack's blunt comment, his odd assumption: did Grealish have a good sense for these things, somehow? Was he picking up on vibes that Ben was weirdly oblivious too? After all, he had stumbled into his encounters with Maguire and Vardy, powerful men who made shit happen... he had been awkward and passive in coming across such mad antics...
I'm getting another in, anyway,' James continued, you want the same again?'
Ben nodded, and watched his pal go. He noted the way the lad's pale blue tshirt clung to his long, toned physique, the pert behind being hugged by his linen trousers. Chilwell's eyes drifted to his immediate neighbour, distracted looking Barkley. Oi,' he said, nudging him, Barks. Earth to Ross.' The bulky Chelsea midfielder looked a bit alarmed at the interruption, and when he turned his way, Ben realised how drunk he already was, just like everyone else.
I was just saying,' Ben continued, Mase has really come out his fucking shell, hasn't he?' He gestured across their scattered group to where Mount was really animatedly regaling Jack and someone else with a story that was clearly hilarious. Chilwell surprised a stupid burst of envy to see his pal looking so interested in what Mason had to say.
Huh?' grunted Ross a little rudely. Oh, yeh.'
I mean, he used to be right quiet,' Ben continued, not so interested but forcing conversation. What's he been up to lately?!' He sniggered to himself, doubting the slightly gawky 21-year-old opposite them had been up to anything so wild as his own hotel room threesome with two of the most dominant blokes in the Premiership.
Ross looked oddly embarrassed by this suggestive question. `Oh, I dunno, he's just growing up, or summat.'
`True, true. Happens to us all.'
`Aye.'
Ben found himself looking at the rugged profile of Ross Barkley, and comparing him to the stronger, taller presence of his dear Harry Maguire. There was a similar energy about them, one of calm control, men who knew that nobody in the room was a threat to them.
And you're looking good,' he decided to throw out there, half-expecting the distracted Scouser to ignore him. But Ross glanced his way, just as Ben found himself staring at the way that dark blue shirt clung to each gently pronounced arm muscle. Ben was too tipsy and relaxed to feel much worry at being caught looking this time. Ross didn't seem so fazed, just thanked him and mumbled something about his workout routine. Well, whatever you're doing,' Ben told him with what he playfully imagined to be a flirtatious tone, `keep doing it.' Ben chided himself on risky behaviour, telling himself not to get carried away here, but was rescued by the return of Maddison and his next drink.
From there, the night seemed quickly to dissolve. Barkley went off to get drinks too, looking sulky, and Chilwell found himself and Maddison drawn over to a bunch of English girls who had asked their less famous friend to introduce them. Ben found himself giving glassy smiles at a procession of attractive young ladies, too drunk to really turn on the charm now. They abandoned their seats and soon seemed to lose each other in the mix. Was it just the drink, or was it pretty tough to find a lot of interest in these heavily made-up girls making eyes at him around the bar? There was a time when he'd have gone mad for this level of attention in a nightspot.
He fiddled with the chains about his neck and pulled back some of his loose chestnut hair out of his eyes. As he focused, he found Jack approaching him across the vague blurry space of the lamplit corner of the courtyard, with a fresh drink for him. He grinned loosely at his friend.
`Got you to myself at last,' he joked weakly.
Jack leaned in, looking really out of it now, and rubbed at his nose a bit as if he'd just been doing lines, which wasn't hard to believe. He nodded and sniggered into Ben's ear. `So you have, pal,' he whispered in his manic laugh.
`You really wanked off with some of your lads at footy?' Ben asked him in an equally quiet, giggly voice, taking his drink and wondering if it was going to need to be his last one.
Jack nodded his head sharply, looking almost defensive amongst his high. It was just a laugh,' he said, in case Ben was judging him, misreading his mate's excited curiosity. It wasn't anything serious. Just...'
Yeh, cool,' Ben said, beaming at him. You dirty bugger.'
Speaking of which,' Jack muttered, where's Madders? Let's find out how dirty HE is.'
Ben blinked sheepishly at him, a little unsteady on his feet as he downed half of his latest potent cocktail. He scanned the crowd about them and then looked back intensely at Jack. You sure, mate? What are we... gonna do?' Jack shrugged. I dunno what he's into, to be honest, Jacko... I mean, he makes a lot of jokes about that sorta shit, but...'
`So you've never done to him what you did to me?' Jack demanded, and Ben suddenly felt a very different vibe from the playful footballer. Jack looked intense, still wild, but more serious. There was something possessive in his manner that thrilled Ben, who shook his head.
Nah, course not,' he assured him. That was... just for you. Heh.' Ben self-consciously wiped a hand across his lips and chins, as if at the memory. He would have blushed if he wasn't already flushed and a little sunburned. Over Jack's shoulder, he spotted James weaving his way towards them with a few jokey dance movies. `Here he comes.'
Grealish turned as Maddison joined them, and shot him a crazed grin. Ben and I were just having a great idea,' he told the other Leicester player in a loud whisper. We're gonna go fucking skinny dipping. You up for it?' Ben raised his eyebrows at this ideas, some sober corner of his brain remembering the strict laws around here, but a very different part of him (i.e. the throbbing semi in his CKs) was enthused.
Madders looked hesitantly between them but grinned. `Sure, but... Er, shall I go get a couple of those birds to join us, and...'
`Nah,' Jack said dismissively.
They'll only draw too much attention,' Ben put in, conspiratorially. Let's just go, lads only, hah... Come on.' He grinned meaningfully at Jack then tugged loosely on James' tshirt sleeve, and led the way.
Ben kicked his newish trainers off as soon as they were on the sands, and carried them in one hand, the other stroking idly at Jack's shoulders as the trio strutted their way into the darkness of the beach. Ben let his fingers trace the firm muscles under Jack's tshirt and find their way up to the chain about his tanned neck. Grealish turned and gave him a giddy grin in return.
Are we actually skinny dipping?' Maddison chuckled to the other side. Jesus, why did I have to come out and do this with two of the most well-hung lads I know, for fuck's sake?'
`Aww, you got a baby-dick down there, or something?' Jack remarked.
`He's got a decent sized piece,' Ben said openly, and James punched him playfully.
`Didn't realise you'd been taking notes, Bulge! I just meant – well, you two, it's hard NOT to notice when you're in your shorts... haha.' James looked a little bit embarrassed by his comment but Jack and Ben closed in on him as they walked, both excited and laughing. Ben looked down and saw Jack's hand grab at James' and pull it to the front of his loose-fitting cargo pants. James seemed amused and shocked but not resistant. Ben giggled, took his mate's other hand, and did the same. He felt Jame's hand go from limp to gently squeezing as they tumbled on over the sand, their bare feet kicking up bursts of it, then starting to sink and make impressions as they entered the damper shoreline.
`It's so fucking dark,' Grealish remarked, sliding out his phone and flipping on its torch.
James did the same, but with his other hand, he continued to fondle at Ben's crotch a bit, and turned to give him a sly, cautious look. Chilwell just grinned back, incredulous, and slid his own spare hand up the guy's lower back a little, feeling beneath his blue tshirt and then finding the waistband of his undies poking above his linen trousers.
Hey,' Grealish interrupted them, hurrying a few paces ahead into the darkness, did you lads hear that...?'
Ben ignored this at first, excited by the prospect of experimenting with another teammate, feeling James tighten his grip on his package, and pushing his hand further up the guy's back, riding up his tshirt, and leaning in closer...
`There's some people there,' Jack barked in front of them, and hurried more ahead with his usual puppy-like enthusiasm and energy. James laughed and followed him and Ben tailed behind. Because he was behind the other two, he was the last to see it, and he heard Jack's gasp and James' cackle before he made out the figures in the shadowy gloom in front of them, all silhouetted against the light pollution of seafront city, but brought into stark definition by the glow of two phone-torches.
Ross Barkley stumbled towards them, his shirt front hanging open, and his trousers halfway down his thighs: the glow of the phone-torch highlighted the lines of his pecs and six-pack and the bulging outline of his briefs. The Chelsea lad stared dumbly at them and stopped in his tracks. Behind him clambered another figure – Mason Mount! – who grabbed at Ross's arm for support and shielded his eyes against the glare of Jack's light.
`Knock them off,' young Mason snapped a bit impatiently.
`You two skinny-dipping too?!' Grealish asked loudly.
Mount, like Ross, was in a sate of undress, his tropical-print shirt hanging open and his shorts open at the front, tugged down a little around his pert backside. Ben stared at both guys in slow dawning understanding, and felt the semi in his pants throb and twitch more. Holy fucking fuck.
Knock the lights off,' Mason said again, a touch of desperation, or we'll be rounded up by the fucking coast guard, and...'
And what would they be catching us at?' Jack asked in the same loud, confrontational voice, then he let out a maniacal giggle of excitement. Lads! What HAVE you been getting up to... My oh my.'
Like you said,' grunted Barkley's voice, speaking for the first time, reaching for the stretched open waist of his own chinos, bulge looming forward as he imbalanced, we fancied a night swim, so...'
How come there's sand all over your knees, then, boys?' asked James in wide-eyed mock innocence. Like Jack, he giggled excitedly, and Ben joined them, laughing because he had no idea what he was meant to say. He just felt so fucking excited right now. God,' James continued, `and I was worried about the size comparison with you two fuckers...' He pointed openly at Barkley's exposed crotch.
`Shit, that is big,' Jack said.
`Are you a bit hard down there, Barks?' Ben asked, loosing inhibitions by the second.
The Scouser squirmed and Mason stepped protectively in front of him, but there was no need for embarrassment or defensive here. Jack stepped forward, still chuckling, and his threw his arms about the young Chelsea player in a laddish cuddle. James slid against them, clutching Jack by the shoulder and reaching to ruffle Mason's hair. Ben drifted to their side and looked at Ross and his confused expression.
`I think we are all out here for the same reason,' Chilwell murmured ambiguously, looking Barkley up and down. He grabbed his own swelling crotch and chewed his lip, and then to get things going, pulled sharply up on his white tshirt to bare his smooth toned body under the half-light. He tossed it aside onto the sand and reached forward to take hold of the bulge in Ross's white briefs.
It was very dark, and eyes couldn't quite adjust to it when you had the flashing glare of the skyscrapers so close, and its eerie reflections dappled in the sea – and so Ben found it quite hard to keep up the action as it unfolded, but it was really a tactile experience, not visual. Sure, he enjoyed the sight of Ross's exposed torso in front of him, but much more exciting was the touch of that warm, sand-gritty skin under his hand, and the heavy contents of the briefs beneath his other mitt. And there were the noises: Ross groaning low and deep, and Mason's nervous giggles.
But it became a drunken blur in the dark: one minute, Ben was touching up Ross, and then he was stroking at James again, sliding up his friend's tshirt for him, and then the next second he was feeling up Jack's arse through his cargo pants, reaching round those globed cheeks. Ben found himself sinking to his knees in the sand, going down mostly to steady and balance himself, head spinning. He felt hands all over him and he was no longer even sure whose they were, until... James leaned in close to him, eyes narrowed, and he licked his lips.
`Never would have thought you'd be up for this, Chill,' Madders murmured in the dark, and then Ben felt his teammate reach a hand down the front of his pants and take his erection in hand. Ben groaned, cuddled at Maddison, and rested on his knees as his friend began to jerk him off with slow, precise pulls. He stroked at Maddison's hair and neck and with his other hand, reached out to squeeze Jack's bum again, then reach around search for his bulge.
Down went James, to the sand, so that now he was... oh! ...sucking Ben off, hunched alongside him. Chilwell gasped and moaned and swayed on his knees, and saw Mason's outline kneeling down just in front of him, whilst on either side were Ross and Jack... getting their big dicks out...! And there, in front of him, he saw Mason's profile as the handsome youngster leaned in to begin licking Barkley's boner.
`Come on, you can do that too, eh,' slurred Jack's voice. Ben turned his head gently as the wet tip of Jack's nob drifted close to his cheek. He stuck out his tongue and slid it across the head in a long stroke, then wrapped his fingers around the base of it. He closed his lips about it and matched Maddison's motion on his own big, thick prick. He felt dizzy but he just concentrated on staying upright and working the length of Jack's big tool, much more confidently and loosely than his first tentative taste...
A few more greedy sucks and then he swayed back, too wasted to support himself on his knees. Laughing to himself, he fell back against the damp sand, its rough wetness against his bare back muscles and biceps. He looked down at Maddison's lapping tongue between his legs, and saw Mason and Ross come tumbling to the sand beside them, and Jack too... again, Jack was kneeling at him and pushing his cock against Ben's lips. Jack's tshirt was off too and he looked up that lithe torso to his mate throwing his head back in wild pleasure.
Ben felt his face brushed aside though: James was coming in to suck Jack off too, having given up Ben's erection. Chilwell just hung back in a thrilled daze, and ran a hand up and down Jack's bared hairy thigh as his pants slid down to his knees. He turned his head away and crawled forward to suck another dick: Mason was sprawled in an awkward position to suck at Ross's impressive length, and Ben tugged the tight denim shorts right down and off so he could get to Mount's smaller but beautiful nob. The slightly thinner shorter prick was a delight to Ben, who had mostly tried to suck on dicks too big for him: Jack Grealish, Harry Maguire. Mason was closer in size to Jamie, who he had begun to get used to.
Ben licked and pulled at it and writhed against the sand, kicking his pants fully down to his ankles and off so he was naked but for tiny ankle socks and his jewellery. He scrambled at the sand and tried to sit up and take stock. Ross was down on his knees wanking his slick wet nob, while Mason leaned over and nuzzled Ben's own boner... James was going down on Mason now, and Jack was tossing himself and James off with each hand, that manic look still in his eyes. All five men were brushed with streaks of dark sands on their bared skin.
Ben turned dizzily to go down on Jack, just so glad to have his bro here with him, and to be intimate with him once more. In a way, the other three didn't fucking matter (although the sight of Barkley's body and big dick was scorched on the inside of his eyelids now) and he just wanted to lick at Grealish's meat. He clawed his fingers at his mate's abs up to his chest and finding his nipples to tweak, enjoying the pitchy giggle of pleasure. But then both lads tumbled and slipped again in the sand. Was the tide coming in, or were they rolling and sprawling further out into the darkness in their silly, drunken excitement?
Ben lay, naked and dirty with sand, and found Jack's dick again, laying his head in the tight lap of those hairy thighs, and running his tongue up the shaft. At the same time, he felt lips on his own cock, Maddison... Ben groaned and gasped and twisted his head to see what the other two were up to, whilst Jack wanked his frothing cock-head against Ben's cheek. Chilwell squinted his eyes to make out the shapes properly in the gloom, just in time to see Mason being thrown down on hands and knees on the sand, fully naked too, his perky white arse like a fully moon in the darkness of this isolated spot.
Ben turned his head to get a better view, reaching a clumsy hand behind him to feel for Jack's dick, and resting his other hand on Maddison's head to push down further onto his own girthy hard-on, but his eyes fixed on the shocking sight of Ross Barkley kneeling behind Mason.
Barkley had pulled his chinos down, and Ben saw that arse bared for the first time: those big beefy cheeks protruding above muscular thighs, curving from the muscles of a long firm back. The cheeks tensed as Ross bent forward, slapping both hands to Mason's hips and hoisting him into place with a masterful grab that shot a jolt of envy right through Ben. And then Barkley was bearing forward, pressing the tip of his cock between Mason's pale cheeks. Ben gasped on his behalf at the sight, letting his eyes rove up Barkley's back and thick neck to the expression of determined lust on his square-jawed face, the little vein throbbing in his temple as he exerted himself and mounted Mason on the wet sand. Wow.
Jack must have noticed what was going on too. `Holy shit,' he heard Grealish moan.
Madders lifted his head from Ben's cock and, drooling, turned to look too. `Fuck!!!'
Ben couldn't tear his eyes off it, watching the clench of Ross's buttocks as he thrust into Mason, whose body arched and twisted between Ross's hands, pressing elbows and face forward into the damp brown sludge of sand. It was a slow, cautious thrust from Ross, who let out a growling noise of enjoyment that mingled with Mason's cry of agonised thrill.
Ben disentangled himself from the other lads, needing to touch the twitching muscles of Barkley's behind. He reached for one and squeezed it, but then Ross reached back and slapped it firmly away, no interest in anyone but the doggy-positioned lad in front of him. Ignoring them, all Ross began to push forward and back with his hips and strong glutes. Mason cried out repeatedly as he was pressed again and again into the sand. Behind him, Ross fucked with slow but powerful strokes, a silhouetted Terminator of toned muscle glinting in the half-light.
`Go on, Ross lad!' wooped Grealish, and Ben laughed at that. Jack was getting up with clumsy staggering steps, pants still about his ankles as he made his dash, but then he was around the other side, and squatting a bit as he positioned himself in front of trembling Mason to push his cock into his waiting mouth. Ben's jaw dropped a the sight of Mount being spit-roasted.
`Jesus,' breathed Madders from somewhere around his crotch.
Ben reached and stroked the side of James' small face, and smirked down at the skinny lad between his thighs. It's okay, you don't have to let me fuck you,' he whispered hoarsely, not yet anyway...' And he pushed his back between Maddison's pouting lips. The 23-year-old midfielder moaned as he savoured Ben's flesh.
God,' Madders muttered, you taste so much better than Vardy, that's for sure...'
Ben shot him a look of surprise, but then let it pass: why the fuck was he at all shocked that dirty Jamie had been trying it on with his fellow teammate of the same impressionable age and randy disposition...? It made so much sense! But that was a story for another day, he decided, and looked back in the direction of the grunting men beside them, watching Ross pummel Mason from behind and Jack stretch upright in front of him, holding his shoulders tightly. Mason's head bobbed up and down and his back stretched and arched in alternating flexes.
`Come on,' Chilwell moaned to James, and he began scrabbling up to his feet, dragging his slender pall up with him, propping their bodies together and staggering closer to the other three. Ben gripped his cock in his right hand and pulled James closer to him with his other arm, standing behind and over Ross's shaking, thrusting form. Both Leicester aces wanked furiously at their dicks, staring down at the bulging muscles of Ross and Mason's writhing bodies.
Jack was cumming already. Both of them looked up, and Ross too, as Grealish reached his noisy climax and started to collapse backwards onto the sand. That in turn seemed to set Madders off. Ben let his eyes dart to the side and downwards, catching sight of James' orgasm, and seeing his spunk fly at Ross's sweaty bare back... he could feel his own ejaculation nearing by the second. Before him, Ross sped up, a thumping piston ramming Mason forward into the sand and Jack's limp body.
Ben felt faint and almost fell over as he hit his pinnacle. He felt his cock throb in his hand and spurted his load forwards. Visiblity was still poor, but he saw his seed fleck Ross's backside and spine, glinting in the city lights. Ben fell forward onto his knees immediately, closer to Barkley's grinding backside and hips, close enough to touch again... and then in front of him, those thick shoulders tightened and Ross threw his head back and made a leonine roar of relief. He pushed forward slowly a couple more times before collapsing forwards on top of Mount.
Ben rolled back himself, chest heaving, staring up into the black-blue sky, which would probably be star-studded if Dubai wasn't already its own glowing jewel in the desert. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, his limbs brushing nakedly against skin (James'? Ross's? Mason's?) – for all he knew, he drifted off and woke again, or perhaps it was just a few moments. But he was disturbed from his reverie by the bursts of sand from hurried feet and scrabbling knees and hands, and he rolled his head just enough to see Ross stood by him, cock swinging, pulling up white briefs over sand-dirtied shins and knees.
`Mase, we need to fucking go,' Barkley was saying.
Ben wanted to giggle out some plea to stay, but speech was apparently more energy than he had left right now. He felt like if he tried to say anything he might just throw up or pass out. So he just giggled and rolled over a bit more, in time to see Mason yanking up shorts and pulling shut his exotic shirt, a totally dazed look on his young face. Ben pushed hands into the sand and propped himself up a bit. Both Mason and Ross were buttoning their shirts, panting for breath.
Lads,' he heard Jack's gentle groan. what's the... rush?'
`We're in DUBAI,' hissed Barkley's voice.
`Guys, it isn't really safe here,' Mason said in more urgent, pleading tones.
But then those two were fucking off, kicking up more sand in their hurry. Ben watched their shapes disappear into the dark, then sank back against the cool damp sand. He felt his ankles brushed by the incoming fringe of water lapping towards them. Then, the other two's words slowly sinking in, he tensed his limbs and pushed himself up properly, his spent cock dangling between his bare thighs, long and thick even flaccid.
They're right,' he groaned dizzily. We need to go.'
The other two didn't say anything against or for this, but they all stumbled into life, snatching up dropped t-shirts, pulling on underpants, shaking sand from them or other items, having to grab at and lean on one another as they did so, all unsteady and wasted, bursting into more yelps of laughter at the slightest provocation.
Ben dragged his tshirt over his head then pulled and shook at his hair, which felt gritty with sand. He laughed stupidly at himself, then leant over to search for where he'd dropped his trainers. As he bent, he felt Jack lightly spank him, then give his bottom a firmer squeeze. He found his shoes and straightened up, and smirked at Grealish, who he thought he saw wink, but it was so dark.
Soon the trio were stumbling up the beach as one, towards the road and the alleys back onto the strip of bars, where a taxi might be hailed. A subdued quiet fell between them, the night of excess reaching its queasy end. Jack in particular looked ready to throw up on himself when the other two got him into one taxi, forced him into dictating his hotel name to the driver, then clambered together into a second car, bound for their own luxury place.
In the back of the cab, Ben wound down his window, and let his head loll, a night breeze playing against his face, his eyelids fluttering sleepily. `What a fucking night,' he said, to nobody in particular, since James Maddison was snoring against his shoulder, and the driver didn't seem to speak English. Ben looked out of the window, off the side of the road, onto the dark beach where the sea met the sky, and he sniggered to himself. What a fucking night!