Part forty-seven: Maguire + Maguire
On the pitch, Chesterfield were clashing with Wrexham. Off it, Harry Maguire was grabbing hold of his third pint of the afternoon, and relaxing into his seat in the club's paltry executive section, a far cry from Old Trafford. He had one big strong arm curled about the shoulders of his fiancée, who was snuggling against him, and on his other side was his older brother Joe. It was a real family affair here, a rare treat for Harry's Premiership schedule to let him come and see Chesterfield in action. Today was even more special, though: they were all gathered to watch the youngest Maguire lad, Laurence, play on his 23rd birthday, and would be celebrating after.
Maguire was feeling pretty recovered from his beating, had done surprisingly fast – there had been some comments and questions when he made a delayed return to United training, but the incident had managed to blow over pretty quickly. With Luke's help, of course.
His girlfriend and wife-to-be, Fern, had been all over him, largely, worried and protective. She was also a tiny bit suspicious, as if all the explanations didn't QUITE add up, which of course... they didn't. But the painful episode seemed concluded now, with Manchester on its mid-season winter break, and Harry free to spend so much time with family. He would be back in training next week, and away from them again, so he knew he needed to appreciate this whilst it lasted. And he was trying, he really was.
On the pitch, a near-miss goal from the Chesterfield players sent an ecstatic ripple of support through the home crowd, and Harry joined in, almost spilling his pint in his excitement. There was something so visceral and authentic in these lower-league games, even at a struggling club like Chesterfield. Harry loved being at United now, he did, but there was a tiny bit of him that envied the strange authenticity of his brother's – both his brothers' – careers away from the spotlight, with football the real focus, not money or media attention or... Harry's thoughts trailed off, and he considered just how complicated some of his relationships were on his team, before returning his mind to the game in front of him, and the upcoming party.
You pig,' whined his fiancée, do you know how much this cost?!' Harry looked over to find he had, in fact, spilled some of his lager in his rush of near-celebration, and stained his wife's dress. She was glaring at him in built-up resentment, and Harry tried his best at a hangdog expression of manly innocence.
It was hard to say where the row that evening began, but the silly drinks-spill was perhaps a trigger. Perhaps, though, it was a tension that had been building up ever since Harry was driven home to Cheshire by a stern-faced Luke Shaw, deposited at his family home with blackened eye and poorly tended cuts to his face. Shaw had been brilliant, soothing and full of charm has he wove helpful lies, but one scandal had been used to cover up a bigger one, and Fern had been less than impressed that Harry had put himself in such danger for cheap drugs.
The birthday party for Laurence Maguire was being held at the conference suite of Chesterfield's own ground, laid on for free by the club who were so proud of their young player, and so keen to keep a good relationship with the Maguire clan. By the time the Chesterfield players started turning up at the party, freshly showered and high on the thrill of victory, Harry was on his fifth drink, and that alone had pushed the first little spat with the fiancée. She had pointed out how much he always seemed to drink recently, and Harry was torn between worrying that she was correct, and thinking how she had never minded his binges when he was in with the party crowd at Leicester or Hull back in the day. But, as she angrily pointed out to him in a not-so-discreet whisper, he was a dad now, and things had to change.
But then his older brother Joe was a father too, and it wasn't long after this conversation that the eldest of the Maguire lads was muscling Harry aside to get in a couple of shots, lining one up ready for the arrival of the birthday boy. Harry studied his older brother thoughtfully, wondering if he could ask Joe's advice about how you managed to have a fucking life and still be a good husband and dad. He decided against it, not wanting to kill the party vibe.
When Laurence arrived, suited up in official Chesterfield FC formalwear like his teammates, there was a great cheer and a rousing rendition of the awkward birthday song. Harry joined in with full-throated enthusiasm, tipsy with his afternoon's drinking. He glanced over and spotted Fern glaring judgmentally at him through the crowd of family and friends, then disappearing to check on the baby, who they'd left with Harry's mum, the adoring grandma.
Harry and Laurence looked very alike, they could almost have been twins in spite of the almost four-year age gap. Sure, Harry was a good four inches taller than Loz, but then, he was a towering figure next to most blokes, to be fair. Facially and physically, the two brothers looked incredibly alike, and sometimes only the fairer dirty blond of his brother's hair allowed Harry to tell them apart in older or distant photographs.
There were a lot of hugs and cheers, but Joe was beckoning Loz over to join them. Harry, who had not seen Laurence properly since Christmas time, threw his arms about his young brother gladly, giving him an affectionate squeeze, then turned back to the shot glasses. `To 23, you cunt,' he laughed, joining them both in a vodka salute and knocking it back.
Maguire parties always got a bit messy, and this was no exception. They were a big, sociable family, all excited to be gathered together, which had become less and less common as the middle son's career took him further away. Plus, the family and friends were intermingled with Laurence's teammates, all boisterously celebrating their goals and league points of the day.
Maguire felt himself torn between spending time with his brothers and a few mates he hadn't seen in too long, and trying to be the family man he knew was demanded of him. When he tried to speak to or cuddle at his fiancée though, she would snap at him and pick faults. Even his own mum seemed to have turned on him, deciding he was up himself' and behaving differently' just because he was a big-time Premiership captain now... what?!
The result was that he didn't quite manage to do either, and spent a bit of his time milling about alone, isolated at an event where he knew and liked almost everyone. Pint in one hand, phone held awkwardly in the other to look busy and like he wasn't feeling weirdly out of place. As he had done a lot this week, he flipped through Instagram and found himself scowling at the pics from his various football buddies and associates: pics of flash gits like Grealish living it up in Dubai, in one or two pics sat in a bar with Harry's own good pal Chilwell. This winter break lark was a great idea, but it was a very different reality for the young free players compared to married family men. His mind turned to Luke, who he knew was in Dubai too, or had been, holed up in some expensive training centre with a couple of other United lads.
Things had been odd with Luke since the dramatic blow-up and their intimate shared shower. On the one hand, Shaw had been incredible to him, maintaining whatever lies were necessary, and finding ways to make it all less Maguire's fault. This was both to Fern and mutual friends, and to the gaffer and such at work. Without Luke's gift of the gab, Harry couldn't help but suspect his captaincy might have been swiftly revoked. So in this sense, there was a tightness between the two of them that had never been there before, and had Luke really said those rash words to him that night/morning? He pictured them for a minute, sat in the front of Luke's motor, he icy cold from almost passing out on the streets, blood streaming down his face... Of course I came,' Luke was ranting next to him, I fucking love you, Harry...'
And yet... nothing had happened since. Luke had pulled away at any subtle, private attempt to touch him, and he'd heard from other lads on the squad (not from Luke himself!) that the pretty 24-year-old was onto his third or fourth date with some really hot girl he'd met on a night out. Since hearing that, he'd cooled his awkward efforts to get the lad alone, and almost entirely stopped messaging him: hence being unsure if Shaw was out in the Emirates, or back in Manchester, or down south visiting family. The not knowing was a strangely empty sensation in Harry's gut.
Dan James had been sympathetic but distance. The youngster had taken Harry aside soon after the incident, clearly suspecting (or informed by Luke) that something bad had gone on. But amongst his empathy, young James had been unusually assertive: he was trying to make things work with his missus and didn't need to be pushed around and distracted by guys. Harry had apologised uncomfortably and left it at that. He also knew the complaint against him (racism! Fucking hell) had been withdrawn but he still wasn't sure who had made it, or how Luke had supposedly managed to cool things down.
Hey, misery guts!' It was his younger brother, the birthday boy, lunging cheerily into his path. His Chesterfield blazer was off and his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his broad chest, and he was holding some spirit mixer drink in one hand a couple of cigars in the other. Join me, will ya?'
Harry grinned, both in affection for his sibling and relief at the distraction. `Aye, fuckin' great idea, kid.' He slapped his brother on the back cheerily, put his phone away, and followed him out onto the smokers' balcony to indulge.
As they lit up and enjoyed the cigars, though not without a bit of coughing since neither were regular users, they chatted and caught up. Obviously Harry could only share a heavily edited version of his recent scrapes, and so he asked as many questions as he could, finding out about Laurence's work here at Chesterfield, his hopes of maybe signing to a bigger club in summer, his 7-year anniversary with his pretty sweetheart, gossip on the rest of the family... They stood amongst the older smoking men, enjoying the thick sickly smoke of their cigars, and Harry felt his United life drift further away. It was like rolling back the years. He could have been 21, at Loz's 18th birthday party, their whole careers stretching ahead of them as they drank and laughed and snorted lines.
`And you've never been a... bad boy?' Harry asked thoughtfully, as the excitable 23-year-old tailed off another adoring story about a cute trip away with his bird.
Laurence screwed up his face, laughed, shrugged a bit. You know,' he mumbled, back in the day, I guess, I wasn't so... I mean, we've been dating since we were in our teens, Hazza...'
Yeah, yeah,' Harry grunted back, taking another puff from the cigar. I mean, I remember how you behaved on some of those lads' trips when you were finally old enough to join us haha... I meant, like, more recently, mate, no...?'
`Nah, loyal,' Loz said quietly, tapping some ashes from the cigar into the gutter beyond the railings, leaning onto it so his shirt front opened a little more.
Harry looked at him with idle speculation, wondering if he should feel guiltier than he did that he couldn't quite say the same. `Fair enough,' he commented, flexing his shoulder muscles in the tight slim-fit shirt his fiancée had dressed him in, uncomfortable across the gained muscles of his physique, which he had been pushing in the gym in this last week or two.
Laurence narrowed his eyes and sniggered. `What, are you saying you AREN'T?' he asked. No judgement, just playful curiosity. Harry smirked at the knowing look and shrugged his big shoulders, refusing to say any more.
That was when the REAL row happened. Harry's fiancée had emerged onto the balcony and given him an icy stare. `Smoking? On your fitness break? For fuck's sake, Harry!' If it hadn't been for the invented drugs scandal of the mugging, she might not have gone so ballistic at him, but she really went off on one, and when she stormed off, his efforts to soothe situation fell on deaf ears. Before he knew it, she was storming out of the party with their child AND Harry's mum, while his dad held him gently back and said to let it blow over. To make matters worse, the angry debacle had spread. He turned around to find Laurence and his pretty girlfriend engaged in a similar row about stupid smoking whilst at work in near sight of his captain and gaffer... They were arguing in hissed accusations to avoid exposing Laurence's transgression to any teammates, but she looked as furious as Fern.
Well I'm gonna go home,' she announced loudly enough, and you LADS can have your fucking big night, okay... You clearly don't need me around telling you what to do...!' And off she went, and left the birthday boy standing awkwardly, a few nearby people staring his way.
Harry stepped up to him, laid a hand on his shoulder through the thin white shirt fabric, and forced a laugh. A couple of cigars, and we get this bullshit?' he asked ironically. Hey, birthday lad, it'll be fine in the morning. Eh?'
And so they drank on. Soon enough, Joe was rounding them up for more shots, and this time they were joined by a couple of cousins and of their big bro's best mates. Within a few hours, both Harry and Laurence were pretty inebriated, and in their testosterone-fuelled hedonism, the spats with their other halves were more or less forgotten, and the other nagging worries at the edge of Harry's mind. But there was a limit to the mad fun: this party was at the football ground, after all, and the Chesterfield management were cautious and protective. The curfew came earlier than expected, at about 11pm, and talk of moving on somewhere else to carry on drinking was muted by the fact the footballers were largely under strict orders to curtail their partying and not go into town where fights and scandals were near inevitable.
Even Joe Maguire turned apologetically to Harry as they shuffled out of the closing free bar. Got to get home with the missus,' he slurred, will be fucking sore in the morning, that's for sure...'
It was a sad comparison to the legendary nights out the brothers had shared in the past, here and in Sheffield and abroad on various holidays to the Med. Harry strolled through the dispersing crowd, down the steps out of the football ground, pulling his long formal coat on over his shirt, and realising just how drunk he actually felt. He was just starting to gloomily picture the scene at the expensive out-of-town hotel (imagining her angry face at being woken to let him in, the icy silence in bed, the lecture over tomorrow's fry-up) when the birthday boy himself caught up with him and linked arms playfully, a shorter blond-tipped version of himself.
Oi, lad,' Loz groaned at him, you crashin' at mine, yeh?'
Harry felt another surge of relief, glad to be back amongst people he trusted so entirely. Is that okay?' he asked. That'd be fuckin' class, bro. I just don't fancy facing the wrath of my almost-wife just now...'
Yeah, yeah,' Laurence confirmed happily, leaning into him and nudging him with an elbow. Can't let you go get another beating this year already, can I?! Come on... TAXI!'
The youngest Maguire boy owned a flashy but small apartment in a new-build development on the other side of the little Derbyshire town. Despite their rambling fantasies of a wilder night partying until sunrise, both lads were exhausted and yawning as they fell out of a taxi in its car park: Laurence because he'd played his heart out on the pitch today, and Maguire because he hadn't managed a good sleep all week. Arms about shoulders, the two tall footballing brothers made their way over to the entrance and Harry watched in a daze as his younger bro fannied about with the entry codes to get them in.
Now,' Laurence explained, as they slowly mounted the stairs, our Connor and his bird are in the guest room, so it's either the sofa...' He paused on the way down the beige corridor, and gave Harry a calculating look. `Nah you're WAY too tall for it... You okay top-and-tailing like old times?'
Harry shrugged his shoulders expressively as he followed his brother to the door. Can do,' he grunted, if you promise not to snore or fart.'
Laurence smirked at him whilst pushing the key into the lock. And you can make that promise too, can ya, big lad?' he laughed. Now, shush in here, them two are already back and to bed... Cousin Connor had WAY too much haha...'
As they traipsed into the flat, the guest bedroom door was ajar, and their older cousin's rattling snores sounded through it, where he had drunkenly collapsed with his wife. The two Maguire brothers sniggered at each other as they passed it, crossing the communal space of the first-floor apartment. Harry found himself sizing up the leather couch, and agreeing: he'd never find a comfortable sleeping position on that shitty thing. It occurred to him, for a moment, that Loz might actually fit on it, and they wouldn't need to share, but it hardly seemed a fair idea, the birthday boy taking the couch and he getting a double bed to himself.
Her ladyship will be staying with mates, to "punish" me,' wheezed Laurence, sliding into the flat's kitchenette to pour them both some water. Here, get this down ya.'
Harry faced him across the kitchen worktop, took the half-pint of water, and downed it quickly, relishing its cool hydration. `Thanks for having me here,' he said earnestly, but Loz laughed off his seriousness, topped up their glasses, and nodded across to the other bedroom door.
`I'd suggest popping the Xbox on in here, but it would just wake snorey-pants through there and we'd have a third girlfriend fucking screaming at us in one night. So, er, to bed, bro? Hah.' Glass of water in hand, Laurence traipsed ahead, pushing open his bedroom door and guiding Harry into it.
Harry pushed the door shut behind them to close out the detached rumbling snores of their cousin, and leant back against it for a moment to steady himself, cloudy-headed. His brother flicked on a lamp and by its dim light, begun to undress. Harry put down his glass and shrugged out of his coat, letting it drop messily to the laminate floor, then started to gladly unbutton his tight-fitting shirt, freeing his taut pecs from it and feeling the cool air on his nipples. Shirt off, he started clumsily kicking off his smart shoes, clattering them noisily against the flooring.
He caught sight, for a moment, of his brother pulling his shirt off and pushing down at his dark suit pants, and thought again how similar they were in physique, despite the extra inches of height Harry had somehow acquired over his brethren. 6ft Laurence was still a well-built lad with a similar long torso of muscle to Harry's own, just a little less thick and pronounced, and a little more tanned. `You been on the sunbed, you vain prick?' he asked in a harsh whisper, partly to stop himself from staring.
This is still from Malaga,' Loz claimed bluntly, you milky-white fuckin' polar bear. Shut up and let me get my beauty sleep... hah, me vain, really...'
Harry chuckled to himself and pulled down on the tight fit of his dark blue jeans until he was just in off-white socks and sagging grey boxer briefs, self-conscious of just how much his meat and veg protruded in them; though his brothers were fully aware of his endowments, it had been a running joke between them in their teens. Harry glanced over and saw a flash of the tight black briefs his brother had opted for, a little surprised at his choice, before the other Maguire lad clambered beneath duvet. Harry squatted for a moment to tug his phone out of his discarded jeans, deciding it worth sending a feeble luv you xx' to Fern in anticipation of tomorrow's stalemate. It took longer than hoped to thumb in, another reminder he'd drunk too much, and after hitting send, he realised in horror... he'd opened the wrong message thread. Or rather, the wrong message thread had already been open on his phone. Luke Man Utd' read across the top of the screen and a little close-up facial pic of the handsome defender. FUCK.
`You coming to bed, you big oaf?' demanded Laurence's sleepy voice from the bed.
`Aye, darling, any second,' Harry replied, staring at his phone for a few horrified moments before realising that he needed to get the proper message sent. He thumbed about with his messaging app and got it done, then locked it and tossed it irritably to the floor, trying to forget his daft drunken mistake. He rose up on his long hairy legs and then moved over to the bed, lifting the duvet to climb in, surprised how little space two big well-built footballers really left inside a double-bed.
Oi,' yawned Laurence. You not remember how top-and-tailing works, bro? I should have your big fucking feet next to my face, not your ugly mug.'
`Ugh, does it fucking matter?'
`Nah, guess not.'
`Then shut the fuck up, cunt.'
`Lovely pillow talk, big lad.'
`Well don't get too turned on, dickhead.'
They both laughed into their pillows and lay there until Laurence remembered to lean across and flick off the lamp again, darkening the bedroom and the limited space between them in his bed. Harry lay on his side, staring unseeingly at his brother, his mind turning over that message, and the row with his wife, the memory of that intimate shower, the thought of himself putting his dick in Dan James' tight little hole, and... God, he was getting horny. Lying here, looking at his brother Loz, was a surreal moment: they were so physically similar, and in a way, he was seeing what a lad like Dan, or Ben, or Luke, might see looking at him, wanting him, needing him...
What?' Laurence's voice laughed uncertainly in the darkness. Why are you staring at me?'
Harry blinked, eyes adjusting, and let out another gruff laugh. No reason,' he muttered, just thinking what a hideous lump of shit you're looking at the minute.'
`Well, that's harsh on you, considering we get mistaken for twins,' came Laurence's familiar joking response, the banter of years for the two of them. He reached forward, crossing the narrow space between them, jabbing Harry playfully in the ribs beneath the duvet.
Twins,' Harry groaned to his younger brother, pushing the playful hand away, except for about four inches, eh.'
`You're only so tall cos you're head is made of bricks, mate,' Laurence grumbled faintly, turning a little more towards him onto his side, mirroring his brother's position.
Mate,' Harry barked quietly, I wasn't talking about the extra inches of my height... haha...' he grabbed Laurence's hand that had tried to jab at him, and started pulling it down towards his crotch, making the other lad squeal and yelp at the silly trick, dragging his hand back away and laughing at his horseplay.
`You arrogant bell-end... your dick isn't THAT much bigger than mine... not four inches!'
`No? You sure?'
`I'm pretty sure, for fuck's sake...'
Prove it.' Harry wasn't sure where he was going with this, but he was grabbing an opportunity of a kind. Prove it, lad.'
`Fucking prove it?' demanded his brother, bemused.
Aye, go on.' Harry pulled closer, reached for the front of those briefs, and gave him a bit of a squeeze, so the surprised 23-year-old tensed up along the mattress and glared at him in the darkness. Get it out, shortie,' Harry teased encouragingly, `if you think you measure up well, haha...'
I know you're bigger,' Laurence said sourly, pulling his crotch a little away from Harry's groping hand, but I ain't like... four whole inches smaller, for fuck's sake. You smug twat.'
`Get it out then!'
`But it ain't hard,' Laurence pointed out.
Harry snorted. Make it hard then!' Under the covers, he felt himself up, enjoying the weighty shape of his own big meat in his underpants. Go on, I'll do the same, and we can compare.' He let out a wheezy, drunken laugh, and reached the hand inside his boxer briefs to fondle himself properly. He could see Laurence thinking it over, but he knew his influence here. `Come on,' he said in the voice of impatient big brothers everywhere when they want their way.
`You're a cunt,' Loz announced firmly, but he reached both hands under the covers. In the warm, musty space down there, he was clearly sliding down his briefs and taking his meat in his hand. Harry watched the rise and fall of vague outlines in the bedding as he did the same, stretching his undies over his thick thighs to release his nob, which fell heavily against the mattress, and he gave it a good pull. He smirked competitively at his brother in enjoyment of a contest he knew he could not lose.
`What if I'm too drunk to get a hard-on?' Laurence asked him.
Oh shut up, when has that ever stopped you,' muttered Harry back, feeling his own cock stretch and rise in his fingers. Go on, give it a good play, you fuckin' wuss. Get it up for your bro.'
`This is messed up.'
`No it ain't. We're just brothers, for fuck's sake.'
Laurence grunted and sighed, busy under the duvet. Okay,' he said, it's getting... hard.' He glanced frowningly back at the older Maguire and looked very reluctant. `I don't really know how I feel about showing you my fucking stiffy, though,' he said honestly.
You don't have to,' Harry said contemplatively. Just... I know. Give yours a good feel. You know, how thick it is, how long, and that. Yeah?' Laurence nodded and did so, and again Harry's eyes flicked from the moving shapes beneath the duvet to the conflicted frown on his brother's face. `Right, now... you feel mine for comparison.'
`What?'
Well it's either that or we get them out and fucking expose ourselves. Like you said... dunno how cool it would be having to SEE each other's pricks. Aye?' Harry leaned a little closer, pulling his thigh close to Laurence's thigh on the warm bedding. Look, it won't take long, will it? Three, two, one...'
And with a determined grin, he reached over, letting his forearm brush the tight six pack of his brother's tummy, and reaching eagerly to take hold of the youngest Maguire cock. He wrapped stronger fingers about it, seizing it in his grip, and watched the shift of his brother's shoulder and arm as he did the same. He felt Laurence's hand brush his own abs, slide across his pubes, and reach for his big veiny member: then he watched in great satisfaction the expression of alarmed surprise as Laurence physically and mentally grasped the sheer size of that tool.
How do they compare?' Harry breathed. Go on, feel the full length.' He sighed as Laurence's fingers rose up his shaft, and did the same to his. The youngster was not unlucky by any definition, but Harry could feel quite clearly the different proportions of the quivering meat in his right hand versus his own throbbing erection beneath the covers.
Shit,' Loz murmured. Bro...'
`I told you,' he sniggered.
`It's massive... I mean... your missus, owch. No wonder she always has a face like shit.'
Harry sniggered in the dark. She loves it.' He squeezed his grip on Laurence's cock and pulled the foreskin back. I'm sure you know how to use this thing well though, kid?' He ran his thumb teasingly along the glans and enjoyed the little shudder of response. `Eh, bro?'
`Harry,' the younger lad breathed hesitantly.
What?' he asked impatiently. You're horny, ain't you...?'
`Aye, bro, but...'
Just relax and do it,' Harry moaned, pretend my massive one is yours, hah... haven't you always wished you were as big as me, lad?' He tugged firmly, authoritatively on the smaller nob, and thrust his bigger one against Laurence's slightly limp grip, as if fucking his hand. Go on, mate. Get into it. It's fun.' He felt the lad's fingers close more firmly against his girth, and sighed. That's it, buddy. That's it.'
The Maguire brothers lay there side by side, Harry confidently tugging on his brother's cock, and Laurence experimentally shifting his hold and rhythm on the big monster at his side. They slid even closer to get better grips, shoulder to shoulder now. Every little moan of surprise and enjoyment from the youngster spurred Harry on until he was desperate to shoot.
`It's just so thick,' Laurence murmured quietly.
I know,' Maguire told him smugly, but you're doing great, Loz... that feels so good...'
`Does it?!'
Yeah, totally... doesn't this...?' He pulled back really firmly on his brother's dick and let two fingers paw down to press at his tight balls, and heard the little yelp from his bedfellow. Yeah, I knew it, you love that...'
`Mmm, bro...'
`Go on, pull a bit harder on mine...'
`Like this?'
`Yeah, yeah, just like that...'
`But what if I make you...'
`Just do it, go on... Mmm, lad... oh yeah...'
`Oh Hazza...'
`Good lad, good lad... oh...'
Each time Harry tugged harder on the other dick, he felt Laurence try to match him, and their hands rustled noisily against bedsheets as they went for it. Once he felt really close, Harry brought up his left hand, gripped the top of the covers, and threw them aside to get a proper view, hearing Laurence gasp in surprise at the exposure, but not stop wanking. Both lads stared down over their almost symmetrical bodies, to the swollen oozing cocks in their hands, arms brushing in sync. AS his pleasure mounted, Harry let go of his brother's quivering dick, and instead threw his arm about his clammy shoulders, pulling him in close as young Laurence continued to jerk eagerly until Harry groaned and twisted and pushed his head back into the pillows...
Ahhh, YES... oh fuck yes...' When he looked down again, he could see the cum oozing from the tip of his big monster, and globs of it speckling the ridges of his six pack, up to his pecs, and more of it, spattered up Laurence's arm and shoulder, and the dazed look on the lad's face. Go on,' Harry breathed, go on... cum on me, bro... cum on...' And laying there huddled next to him, Laurence put his shaking hand to his own prick now, and wanked hard and fast until he was spurting his load out, mingling it on Harry's abdomen, trickles of Maguire seed all over his tensed washboard. Oh yes,' Harry breathed, `good lad...'
He reached his left hand up, smeared a finger across the messy puddle, scooping up a slick of it, then pushing it toward his brother's panting mouth. Laurence clearly didn't know what to do but let his lips stay open as Harry guided a sample of their mixed juices in against his tongue. Yeah, taste it,' he groaned dominantly, eat it up, bro...' He felt Loz lick tentatively then suck briefly but firmly on the single finger before sinking back against the pillows with a weak sigh.
They must have rolled apart soon after that as they fell into satisfied, drunken sleep, because when Harry awoke, head pounding, he was almost hanging off his side of the double bed, barely covered by the duvet his little brother was evidently hogging. He lay still for a while, feeling the chainsaw in his forehead grind loudly into his brain. Ugh.
He got up from the bed in a series of pained, regretted motions, finding his boxer shorts still somewhere about his knees, his long cock and low-hanging balls flopping until he tugged them back up, snug about his privates and meaty cheeks.
Harry rubbed his aching temples and took a look back to the bed, at Laurence curled peacefully away from him, wrapped selfishly in duvet, his low growling snores sounding in a peaceful rhythm. Harry stared at him in silent thought, and questioned how far he would actually go for these dominant moments of pleasure. His own brother... fucking hell.
He stooped, found his phone where it had settled among the nest of his discarded jeans, and picked it up to check his messages. 3 missed calls from the missus, of course. Shit, how was it already 11am? He thought he'd woken at the crack of dawn, but clearly his boozy sleep had ran on well into the morning...
But in his messaging inbox, no response to that foolish, misplaced message to Luke Shaw. Of course not. He cursed himself. A drunken mistake, but Luke couldn't know that. What would he have thought, reading that in the middle of the night? Harry felt a surge of different emotions, starting deep in regret, ending in crushed hope. No reply at all... He idly loaded up Instagram, and the first thing that pixelated into view at the top of his newsfeed was none other than the lad himself. Luke was cuddled up against an attractive woman about his own age, Big Ben in the background. Great weekend in the smoke with this one, read the hideous caption. A little heart emoji after it.
Maguire pulled his jeans on, slowly and dizzily, and found a spare tshirt of his brothers, pulling it on over his shoulders, surprised to find it actually fit. In the main room, the daylight stung his eyes, and he rested with both hands pressed to the kitchen counter. What were the chances that Laurence had any food in for fucking breakfast? Slim to none. He lifted both big hands and rubbed his face slowly, wishing away the alco-headache that stung each time he moved his eyes.
Taking his time, he boiled the kettle, put on some scraps of toast, and went to check on the spare room, where his cousin and his wife were still fast asleep, though thankfully the loud snores had ceased in a better position. Harry paced the open-plan living space in moody, pained silence, then made two cups of tea, and stepped cautiously into the musty manly smell of his brother's bedroom, where Laurence had rolled over a little, and was blinking slowly in his direction as he approached.
`Made you a cuppa,' Harry grunted.
`Oh... cheers, bro...'
`Aye. Here.'
Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, and passed it to him. Their eyes met for a second then averted. Laurence sat back in his nest and sipped the hot sweet tea, just how he liked it. Harry just sat there cradling his own mug, enjoying the slight burn of it against his palms. That was a laugh, wasn't it, last night,' he said, picking each word slowly, his voice a little sore and faint. Aye?' He looked at Loz, who just gave a gentle, evasive nod. Harry laid a hand on a mound that must be his brother's thigh, and saw the slight tension in the other footballer's posture as he did so.
`A laugh, yeah,' Laurence murmured sleepily. He slurped his tea.
`I feel like shite today.'
`Huh. Same.'
They sat there in a fairly comfortable silence, enough said about what had gone on. Harry felt some relief, knew they were close enough to weather this incident. He took a first sip of his tea, and then felt a buzzing vibration in his pocket. Fuck,' he thought aloud. The arguments begin, then.' He turned and made a pained expression at his brother, who echoed it, and let out a faint laugh. `I better take this.'
Harry got up again, left the bedroom, headed into the fresher air and relative privacy of the lounge and kitchen area. He walked up to the big French windows of his brother's barely used balcony, with its dubious view of a retail estate on the edge of Chesterfield. He let himself out onto it with tea in hand before slowly taking the phone out of his pocket and thumbing open the call. He didn't bother to check the name before taking it, assuming he was about to get an earful from Fern.
`Hullo,' he grumbled into his phone, taking a deep breath of fresh morning air.
It wasn't a woman's voice on the call. `Feeling a bit rough this morning, are we?' asked Luke in a low, muffled voice, as if keeping the call from somebody else.
Harry took a few seconds to recover. `Oh... hi...'
`You were out for your brother's birthday, right?'
Er, yeah,' Harry said, thrown. Fuck, why hadn't he at least checked who was calling? He pulled the sliding glass door shut behind him for more privacy, rested his elbows on the rail and sipped some comforting tea. Luke, buddy...'
`I just thought I'd call,' he answered.
`I'm glad you did,' Harry admitted.
Luke went quiet for a moment, then, `I've been thinking about you a lot.'
Harry felt his stomach lurch and his heart stop. `You have?' he asked.
`I think you're meant to say something nice back,' Shaw teased gently.
Harry laughed weakly into the phone. `I'm too hungover for that,' he protested. And he relaxed his posture, took another long sip of the hot tea, and listened to his lover's voice, quiet but excitable, soothing the pains of his hangover. He thought of the other phone call to come, and the inevitable arguments and making-up that would be required of him. Fine, fine. He would deal with that when he came to it. But for now, there was Luke Shaw.