Part sixty-three: Injury Prone
In the high-end hospitality area of Arsenal's Emirates Stadium, suited men of different walks of life were toasting pints and champagne flutes and their invariably younger wives were posing for the cameras. The pre-match drinks reception was in honour of a retiring member of the grounds staff who was a bit of a legend amongst the Arsenal community, and had summoned up this gaudy celebration on a Saturday afternoon. A mixture of Arsenal staff, investors, past players and associates, and the retiring gentleman's own family and friends, milled about indulging a free bar, ready to mill away to their assorted private boxes to enjoy today's London derby against West Ham. All present were die-hard Arsenal supporters in their own ways of course, and one figure stood out as incongruous.
Stood stiffly by the bar was the one figure who was dressed smartly enough, but his position was rather undermined here by the West Ham crest on the lapel of his dark blazer, marking him out as on potentially enemy territory. This could hardly be true however: Jack Wilshere had spent about seven years earning a name as a loveable rascal in this stadium, and since arriving as an honoured guest at this stuffy retirement do, the 28-year-old English midfielder had been excitedly received and greeted by any number of old acquaintances or admiring fans. Yes, he knew his career had been patched by injury, still was, but he had always known his flair on the pitch and his god-given good looks made him a popular lad. The Jack the Lad stereotype had always worked well for him, even in the most frustrating dips of his footballing career.
Wilshere picked up his pint of ale (the single alcoholic drink of the day allowed to him by his strict recovery regime) and took a slug of the heavy brown drink. It had been an honour to be invited up here, even if it felt like some sliver of a betrayal to his own club, but he wasn't yet fit enough to actually play, so he may as well represent David Moyes' lads somehow whilst here at the Emirates! He had whiled away the last hour with a mixture of bland nostalgia and reassuring ego boost, remembering his time here and being pleased to be remembered.
But now he was getting bored.
No matter how often he went through it, the frustrations of injury leave hit Jack just as hard. His wife had just had their third child recently and so family life had been full-on, yet still there was an emptiness without the thrill of the 90 minutes in his weekly routine. The weeks since his latest operation on a hernia had been tough, to say the least.
A familiar figure appeared in front of him, blocking his view of the motley gathering of slick footballing elite and jovial working-class locals, as another suited young man looking out of place in this older crowd leant on the bar at their side and started gesturing to the server. Aha, here was a familiar face from the end of his own Arsenal days.
Calum,' he said gruffly, good to see ya.' He raised his pint towards the younger footballer with a respectful nod, and saw the surprise on Chambers' face to find him here.
`Jack! Pal... Wow, good to see ya...'
A manly hug, made more awkward by the men's tight-fitting suit blazers, always a little under-tailored to exaggerate their athletic physiques. Jack caught a whiff of over-used aftershave from his ex-teammate and clapped his back warmly. The two had only shared Arsenal kits for a couple of years' overlap but had been quite pally at the time, but had barely exchanged a word in the years since.
Yeh, good to see yourself,' Wilshere said. I think you're the only bloke under sixty I've had a chance to speak to today... ha ha... How are you keeping?'
`Oh... you know, so-so... Hey, have another pint, will you?'
Jack twisted his handsome features and waved a hand uncertainly; he knew he shouldn't, but... Go on,' he agreed with a little chuckle of transgression. A half? Ah nah, make it full. What's the harm. Cheers, Cal.'
As they took their freshly poured pints and propped up the bar in their opposite club-branded suits, the 6'1 south coast lad filled Jack in on a familiar story: the dull routine of injury recovery since doing his knee in at the end of last year, the frustrations of always missing out, and the shifting sands of predicted return dates and endless fitness re-assessments. Jack gave him a sympathetic look and raised his heavy glass to clink with Calum's. I feel your pain,' he told the 25-year-old with unusual softness in his voice. Tough days, but keep your head up, Chambers. Tough times don't last, tough guys do!'
Aye, aye,' the younger footballer agreed readily. How about you, any news on...?'
Well,' Wilshere told him carefully, I should be returning to training this week as a fitness trial, see how my body responds. I can't fuckin' wait, let me tell you.'
Calum nodded. But you've been killing it in the gym by the look of it,' he said in his earnest, private schoolboy voice, always so much posher than he looked to working-class Wilshere. You look fit and ready to go.'
The older midfielder smirked and slurped some ale. You little flirt,' he grunted, you know I'm married with three kids, Cal, stop chirpsing...'
The posh Hampshire lad coloured a little and burst out in awkward laugh before downing some of his own drink. You fucking joker,' he mumbled, never change, do you! I was just saying...'
I know, I know,' Wilshere said warmly, flexing his pint arm a little so the bicep strained more at the expensive black of his West Ham suit, knowing the long gym hours had been worth it. The arms are one thing,' he quipped, `you should see my thighs at the minute. Hah.'
`They always were massive!' Chambers exclaimed quietly, and then blushed more.
`God, you have such a good memory for my anatomy, you little poof,' Wilshere sniggered, enjoying the brief awkwardness of the taller lad, a good 5 inches above him in height and of a similarly heavy-set physique, but still somehow boyish and youthful. Chambers had only been a wiry teen when he arrived at Arsenal in 2014 and they first played together, though injury and loan spells had interrupted the ensuing four final years of Jack's own Emirates career. It was hard not to see this strapping lad as the same nervous teenager he'd briefly mentored then, here and on the England squad even if he was a lightly bearded figure of mid-twenties machismo now.
That's okay,' Wilshere told him lightly, I know I got the best thighs in the Premiership. Can hardly blame a fella for remembering that.' He winked and drained two inches of ale.
Huh. You love the attention,' muttered Chambers with strained good humour. You always did.'
What, when I was a handsome young thing?' Jack said reminiscently. Huh... less attention now I'm going to seed and turning into a middle-aged dad,' he teased, flexing his arm and shoulder again as he brought the glass to his lips.
You aren't even thirty,' protested Calum primly. Hah, you do make me laugh, Jack.' A little nostalgic sigh. `Those were good days when you were here. And when we made the England call-up and all that. Good days.'
Jack nodded his agreement but avoided the sentimentality of the other lad's voice. He found that reflecting on his career was too frustrating given its peppering of gaps. About them, the crowd was thinning: it was nearing kick-off, and many of these old bods were off to get their seats, to reach their hospitality boxes, to order in drinks for half-time, and so on. Wilshere found himself watching with limited interest: was he actually meant to sit and watch West Ham inevitably lose from up here, amongst the supporters of the opposition? He was happy to be an `Arsenal legend' to the right company in the right context, but actually watching his own teammates from up here seemed... wrong.
I should go through,' Calum said, seeming to notice the same thing. I'm on publicity duty, you see. Token injured player. Bosses want me chatting up some potential investors and telling them all about my expensive physio programme.' He rolled his eyes beneath his bushy brows.
Jack nodded, knowing the drill. `I might just hang back here,' he admitted.
`What??'
Well, seems wrong to go watch the game in an Arsenal box,' Wilshere said a little bitterly; he couldn't hold down a slight longing that he was more at home here, that he'd never left the Gunners in the first place. It had hardly been his idea. I might just stay and finish my pint, maybe work up to a third,' he said with a little reckless music to his voice.
Oh really?' A little bit of surprise and judgment in the younger lad's voice. Will you be okay?'
I'm not actually some alcoholic has-been, pal,' Jack said a little testily. I'm just enjoying my free hospitality in the most neutral way I can. Might try and find my way down to the away dug-out once I'm... lubricated enough. Heh.' He held up his half-finished pint and drained the rest of it, then gestured demandingly to the barman a few metres from them.
Calum looked from him to the empty glass to his own near-finished pint, then at the tail end of the departing crowds, spying the group of big money guests he was due to go join in a moment. Jack smiled at his indecision. You're very welcome to hang back,' he offered. Look, nobody here is gonna tell our gaffers or our physios that we had one or two drinks more than allowed, eh...'
One or two?' Chambers questioned with a mixture of playfulness and nervousness. I dunno, Jacko, I'm meant to be...'
Then go do your good boy duty,' Wilshere said with a dismissive shrug. I'm good.'
Still, Calum lingered in front of him. Misunderstanding, or perceptively interpreting, the order, the barman placed two more fresh pints down between them, and his intervention seemed to make a choice for the Arsenal defender with his boyish eyes and manly beard. Jack smirked.
It is fucking good to catch up,' Chambers admitted. It's been too long, boss. I always respected you so much, and it's nice to see you.' He finished the beer in his hand and put the empty down, then looked thoughtfully at the fresh one. `One more won't hurt, right?'
Nah,' Wilshere told him confidently, one more pint never did no harm, guv'nor.'
When the hospitality bar started re-filling at half time, a row of empties had gathered alongside the two footballer lads, who were deep in conversation about another of Calum's loan spells, bitching about different manager expectations, comparing their time off allowances over Christmas, and reminiscing about a couple of shared England games they had really enjoyed when Calum was a fresh-faced newbie to the big leagues. They barely found space in their catch-up to learn from a mutual friend that the game was still a goalless draw. Now quite tipsy, the two young blokes clacked their latest pint glass and raised a toast to neutrality between their two squads, their frustrations at not being in the game now well-drowned in beer and friendship.
Chambers stared a little morbidly at the drink he was resting his hand against. God, I'm gonna have to face some questions later,' he admitted. Totally neglecting these old business blokes I'm meant to be promoting us to...'
Jack sneered, feeling the warm buzz of his drinking. Nah, fuck it,' he said a little aggressively. You can't let the club pimp you out like some fuckin' rentboy, Cal. You're no salesman. You're a shit-hot defender, that's all.'
Chambers huffed. `Try telling Arteta that.'
You'll get back out there soon, big man,' Wilshere said, giving him a firm slap to the arm and adjusting his own club-colours tie. We'll both be back in form soon, better than ever. Here,' he said, just feel how strong my legs are mate.' He grabbed Calum's hand from the pint glass and slapped it against his thigh, which was lifted up where they sat on two parallel barstools, and the dark suit fabric hugged tightly over the bulge of Wilshere's quads. Feel that?' he demanded. `Weeks of commitment. I'm gonna be a machine when I get back out there.'
Chambers gave it a testing squeeze and leaned back in his stool, feeling a nod and comment of agreement was needed of him here. `Yeh, powerful as fuck,' he said eagerly. He remembered Wilshere's earlier teasing and clammed up, not wanting to say anything more stupid about the older bloke's body.
Powerful as fuck,' Wilshere agreed in a firm voice, and powerful TO fuck. Mate, I had a sex ban for like three weeks after my op, and obvs the missus had just had the little un, but... we broke the ban a little while back and, seriously pal, best sex of my life.' He saw Calum's thick eyebrows raise in surprise at this confiding, but he didn't care; he enjoyed mildly shocking less coarse lads with such talk. `Absolutely destroyed her cunt, pal,' he said, keeping his voice low enough not to offend the nearby executives.
`Jeez,' Chambers murmured in what could have been admiration or disapproval.
Oh yeh,' Jack went on in his low gruff commentary, I'd been saving up all that energy for weeks, buddy, and so... shit, I thought I'd made her cry at one point but she was just hysterical with pleasure, ha ha...'
`Er, maybe an over-share, Jack!' Calum tittered uncertainly.
Is it?' Jack demanded. Can't I tell a mate how good my marriage is, eh?'
`Not a frustrated single one, maybe,' Chambers muttered then laughed.
`Single? Then you'll be having even more wild sex than me, surely – injured knee or not. Eh?'
Calum shrugged vaguely. I get what I get,' he said ambiguously. I never... I never quite had YOUR confidence, Wilshere, you know that...'
Pfft. Good looking lad like you? Premiership defender? Occasional England player? You should be literally drowning in pussy, Cal.' Jack downed the dregs of his pint – fifth? Sixth? – and put it down a little too firmly on the surface of the bar, making a noise that made Chambers and the nearby barman flinch a little. Drowning, kid. Drowning.'
`Well, I wouldn't go that far, certainly,' the ex-private school lad said in a slow, tipsy drawl.
`Dry spell?'
Calum laughed awkwardly and twisted on his stool. I'm just not as forward as you,' he admitted. I... I dunno. You were always so, erm, open about it all. Just like now.' He gave a frustrated, envious sigh and finished his drink. `I mean, the way you were on that first international duty we shared, Jack, I'd never actually...' He tailed off and there was a worried, conflicted expression on the tall defender's face now, a different kind of nostalgia to their rambling conversation so far.
Jack looked at him in slow, casual recognition. Oh, that?' he exclaimed. You still remember THAT? Jesus, get over it, lad.' He pawed at his empty pint glass. `One more will be okay, huh?'
I dunno... That barman keeps giving us a look.' Calum glanced about shiftily. Again, the bar was starting to empty out, the second half of the match soon to begin. I can't sit here getting too pissed,' Calum whispered, `I still play here, remember?! If word gets to the gaffer, then...'
Then let's get pissed somewhere else,' chuckled Wilshere cheekily, reaching over and slapping him on the thigh. I know just the place.'
Click, click, twist. The door to the little meeting room beside the manager's offices swung open ahead of them, and Calum Chambers stared in tipsy amazement. Jack turned to smirk at his taller, younger accomplice, and then gestured dramatically through into the little conference room, gripping the lapels of his blazer. Knew it would still work,' he boasted. Too many late nights sneaking in here to steal Wenger's stash, mate.'
In they sneaked. In the small meeting room, the little conference suite where some of Arsenal's biggest transfer negotiations had taken place, there was an expensive looking drinks cabinet, and from it Wilshere seized a small bottle of liquid gold, and a couple of tiny tumblers. Calum looked terrified by the trespassing they were up to, though Jack had insisted on the way along here that it was hardly trespassing for a couple of certified Emirates legends like them.
Come on,' Wilshere hissed, stolen Scotch tastes way better than when you pay for it.' He sloshed the amber stuff out into the two glasses and pressed one into Calum's hands. Relax,' he told him insistently, the second half is just beginning. This room is ours for forty-five minutes MINIMUM.'
The 28-year-old West Ham player strutted about the confines of the room, remembering his own first visit to this meeting table, signing his Arsenal contract as a much younger lad. He shrugged off his blazer, symbolically rejecting the crest of his current club to fully reminisce about making it at the Arsenal instead. He loosened his tie fully and undid the top button of his crisp white shirt and paced the wall of old signing photographs, sipping his whiskey, until he found the one of his own fresh-faced signing day, the big handshake with Arsene, the eager grin on that smug teenage face. He stared himself down and avoided the big truth: a wasted career.
`This just feels so... naughty,' said Calum somewhere behind him. Jack turned to smile at the well-behaved Arsenal player who was sitting on the corner of the heavy conference table, cradling the scotch as if too scared to actually consume any.
`You like naughty though, right?' Wilshere asked with a sneer. Calum caught his eyes, blushed, and looked away, finally sipped the contraband drink, the overpriced whiskey hidden away here for top transfer meetings. Wilshere sniggered, took a glug of his own, then finished the tumbler in one go. He went for a top-up, knowing that the missing liquid would never be missed or noticed. He'd stolen from here too many times with other Gunner lads back in the day, back when he'd been much more wild and free in his living.
`Jack,' Calum grunted testily, getting up from his seat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
`Oh come on, you brought it up first,' Jack teased.
`I know, but... Fuck's sake, Jack.'
You were a good protegee.' Wilshere took a few steps towards him with his refilled tumbled, vaguely backing him into the corner of the meeting room, the door still ajar. You always did as you were asked. Never complained. Ideal roommate, really.'
Calum gave him a pleading look of remembrance. You said all younger players did it,' he said quietly, you said it was standard stuff. You prick.'
Oh come on,' Jack murmured, stepping right up to the bigger lad, and letting out a wistful sigh. You really complaining, kid? You were so fuckin' good at it. Besides... I assumed you were an experienced player, coming from a posh private school in Hampshire, and all. How was I to know you were a newbie...?' He reached his free hand for Calum's where it dangled and turned it over, rubbing a thumb over that smooth palm. `Such soft young hands you had, at 19. Still do.'
`Jack...'
What? Don't you remember the time you told me you loved me by accident?' Wilshere asked in a tiny but threatening voice. No? You were drunk, true, but...'
Jack, that was a long time ago,' Chambers muttered irritably, and you took advantage...'
Jack lifted the hand up from Calum's wrist, stroking his sleeve, and lifted it to his jawline instead, stroking the gingery brown fluff of the 25-year-old's beard. Such a soft mouth too,' he said gently, but wonder how it'd feel now you're an IPA-swilling hipster with a little beardy on the go, Cal...' He leaned in closer, clinking their tumbler glasses together. We got 45 mins to find out though, huh?' He felt the younger guy tense up and lower his eyes, but say nothing, and do nothing to move aside. Once more, for old time's sake?' Wilshere murmured softly and licked his lips.
`In here?' the strapping bearded defender mumbled after several moments' silence.
`Why not?'
`What if...?'
`That's half the fun, big boy. Go shut the door.' Jack felt Calum slide nervously away from him, and he grinned wickedly to himself. It had been a long time since he had a lad anywhere near his cock but, well, today was a special day: he was halfway to wasted, frustrated not to be playing, and excited to be nearing a return to the playing field. He reached down and undid the button fly of his suit trousers, and began unbuttoning his shirt. The door clicked shut and Calum returned hesitantly to his side, his face downcast but his compliance evident in his submissive body language, just like all those years ago.
Hey,' murmured Wilshere, what's that look for?'
I'm not queer,' Chambers insisted, as he had in European hotel rooms on that England international duty, curled up in Jack's bed. I like... pussy, not...'
You're in a dry spell though, right?' Wilshere said. So... let's get you fed.' He reached a firm hand up and stroked the taller lad's neck, and then grabbed his hand and pushed it down the front of his trousers, in against the heavy front of his undies. He'd slammed his wife over the kitchen sink this morning already, but Jack was pretty much always horny. Cal,' he whispered more seductively, don't you still love me?' The nervous hand began to squeeze and grab him in the tight space of his suit trousers, and Jack grinned victoriously. `Good lad, Cal...'
Oh Jack,' mumbled Chambers embarrassedly. I never thought I'd do this again.'
`Get on your knees, then. We don't have long.'
And down went the big strong footballer. His height had always entertained Jack, who delighted in asserting his power and charisma over potentially stronger lads, and now he was older and more rugged, it was even better. The defender was soon on his knees and pulling down on Jack's trousers; Wilshere finished undoing his shirt and shrugged it fully open to bare his neatly defined pecs and six pack, which he saw Calum look eagerly up at before turning to his crotch. Go on,' Jack said, kiss my thighs first. You know you want to.'
Oh, Jack...' The bristles of Chambers' beard tickled satisfyingly as he planted two kisses each upon the bulging thigh muscles of the Wilshere leg. Oh...' Then down went the tight grey CKs, out came the fat semi and low hanging balls, the neat trimmed pubes just beneath Jack's latest surgery scar along his waistline. Calum glanced at it sympathetically and then put his lips nervously to a cock he hadn't tasted in about five years.
The hand-jobs had been easy enough to initiate, Jack remembered. He'd been lying in his frustrations in some big bedroom with shit air con, and he'd noticed how restless his teen roommate was. It hadn't taken a lot of suggestion to get the mood right, to get Calum lying next to him, his hands wandering and experimental. To Jack, a hand-job was a hand-job; he hadn't really cared whose fist was pumping as long as he got where he needed to go, and made that sticky hotel room mess...
`Oh Cal,' he breathed roughly, reaching down to stroke his fingertips through the short cut brunette hair of his ex-teammate, as his dick rose and stiffened against those soft lips and tickling beard hairs.
The blowjobs had been another matter, though. It had taken some convincing to reassure Chambers that it didn't mean anything, that it didn't make him gay just to try it. Jack had been so horny that night, and so desperate for a mouth rather than a hand about his big stiff cock. He would have said any old shit to persuade Chambers, though eventually his charms had been enough. Cal had needed some coaching to avoid teeth and too much gagging, but after his third attempt, he'd seemed a natural, and when Wilshere was getting deep-throated by his glamorous wife in bed some mornings, he would still make a mental comparison to how gifted this young brute was in that department.
Oh buddy,' he grunted, easing his prick further into Chambers' hungry gob, you are such a good lad... yes mate...'
It had come as a shock to Jack when Calum rolled over in his bed, cum still on his chin, and mumbled those dangerous three words. At no point had he feared their fun would escalate, and he hadn't noticed the youngster's crush developing at all. But as soon as the dizzy, half-asleep proclamation had been made, Wilshere firmly ended things. He'd avoided ever sharing a room with Calum again and told him to never mention what they'd done to anybody. It had never been mentioned again until today's beers.
Jack began to roll and shift his muscular hips now, stroking the lad's hair still but slipping his meat in and out of those drooling lips, looking down into Calum's wide, needy eyes. He smirked and nodded his approval and let out low, gentle moans, but slowly built up his rhythm. Back in the day, he'd always been incredibly gentle with the nervous youth tossing and noshing him in hotel rooms, always a little worried about hurting or frightening the posh boy. Now though, looking down into that ruggedly bearded face, all these years later, he felt differently. This was a mouth that needed fucking.
That's it,' he grunted, take it deep...' In he thrust, forcing his short thick cock into Calum's gob and then pulling back, then thrusting again... `Hold my hips, you cunt... mmm, good lad...' He held more firmly to the sides of Chambers' head and began to fuck his mouth, thrusting his dick in and out with pace. Oh god... how could one tongue feel so much more soft and delicious on your prick than your own wife's...? Jack had completely forgotten how good this boy really was. He threw his head back and groaned more loudly, and picked up speed and power, feeling his dick absolutely ravage the greedy, out-of-practise mouth in between his mighty thighs.
He could hear the slight panic of the lad on his nob but he didn't slow or relax. He shoved his cock in and out until he felt himself tense up, every tight muscle in his compact body clenching. Calum's hands gripped tightly to the broad muscle of his thighs. `OH SHIT,' he cried out, and he shot his load into the defender's throat, spilling his fertile seed into a hungry slut. He carried on dry-fucking that wide open pair of lips, pushing his dick in and out even once the last glob of cum had been licked away from his bell-end, fucking Calum in the mouth until his own cock was softening and shrinking in there. He pulled back, dribbling his cock over Calum's trembling lip, and looked down into that soft, adoring younger face. There were tears in Calum's eyes and he was bright pink in both cheeks, but his eyes sparkled with an idolising respect.
`Good lad,' grunted Jack. He thought about that dim morning in the hotel, if not regretfully, then wistfully. What if he hadn't silenced Calum's young affections?
Thank you,' Chambers breathed hoarsely. Thank you, sir.'
The mood downstairs in the bar was one of muted celebration. Arsenal had won, but only just, and fairly late in the game. Jack strolled into the retirement party and post-game celebrations, an arm reached up about Calum's back as the two suited lads wandered in amongst the older crowd. Calum was dazed and awkward but Jack was grinning and full of banter. He threw off some half-hearted condolences from a few older acquaintances who remarked on West Ham's unfortunate loss; he knew he was in amongst the enemy here so he wouldn't bother complaining about his own club's fortunes right now.
He kept close to Chambers, running a possessive hand up and down the back of his blazer and tapping his shoulder or elbow every now as they drifted from one conversation to another. It was one of the highest pleasures Jack knew, really: looking at this big strapping Premiership footballer, such a commanding presence in a room full of league insiders, and knowing that none of them could guess how much he owned and possessed the lad. Who here could imagine that twenty minutes ago, Chambers had been on his knees, taking Wilshere's seed? It almost made him burst out laughing like a maniac at several points over the next half hour of casual drinks.
And eventually, the man of the moment joined the celebrations: Mikel Arteta, the club's young Spanish manager, entered the reception and came to wish the retiring groundsman all the best. He did his rounds, and Calum Chambers seemed to watch him nervously. The tall defender was visibly tipsy, and stunk of the ales they had been downing. Jack leaned in, squeezed his shoulder, and murmured reassurances.
`He won't say anything, he's just happy to have won,' Wilshere told him firmly.
`But I've had so much,' mumbled Chambers pathetically.
Hmm.' Jack squeezed him closer. Okay, go to the loos. I'll get rid of him. Good lad.' Unseen by anyone else, he let his hand slide down and he patted the defender's perk backside for a moment before Chambers hurried surreptitiously away, exactly at the moment Arteta veered towards their corner spot near the bar. Jack stood there confidently, watching his young cocksucker hurry away, and the Arsenal manager gradually approach.
`Jack,' said Arteta formally.
`Gaffer,' quipped Wilshere with a little nod of recognition.
Why did I just see my near-recovered defensive star practically falling over on his way to the gents'?' asked the 37-year-old head coach in quiet and frosty tone, pausing just in front of the visiting West Ham player. I hope all is okay.'
Oh, more than okay,' sighed Jack with a nod. Calum is just feeling a little...'
He better not be drunk,' the Premiership's young new manager said cuttingly. He seemed to be weighing up Jack's leering grin, sniffing the beery air between them. The swarthy San Sebastian man looked rattled in spite of his victorious afternoon. You always were a bad influence, young Wilshere,' he added in an even lower, more threatening murmur.
Congratulations on your win,' Jack said, ignoring this claim. 1-0, eh. What a win,' he added with a note of mockery. Arsenal shafted West Ham down there, eh, but... I think it was the other way round up here.' He let his grin broaden, and watched Mikel's eyes slowly register his vague meaning. He took one step closer, pint in hand, and grinned provocatively at his once teammate and now league rival. Calum really is a good lad, you know?'
Arteta raised one eyebrow but seemed to be tried hard not to react further. `You are a guest in here, Wilshere,' he said very slowly and carefully.
And a grateful one,' Jack said. I've had great fun. Great fun. Especially with your young defender.' He took a slow sip of beer then licked its light frothy head from his lip. He really is good at... heading the ball. If you catch my meaning... sir.' Arteta just stared icily at him. One might even say,' Jack continued in a low, playful singsong of a voice, he's more talented... than you.' He fixed the older man with an intense stare, and smirked at another memory. Eh, amigo?'
Arteta stiffened, his face blanching a little, and he cleared his throat. I think you have had enough. You should leave. This is no longer your team, Wilshere. Thank god. We have enough injury prone primadonnas to worry about.' He reached forward and wrested the pint glass from Jack's thick fingers, and resumed his icy glare. Go.'
Jack nodded. Of course, chief,' he sighed tauntingly. But keep an eye on Calum Chambers for me, will you? He's a gentle giant. I think he has quite a crush, you see. Adios... cocksucker.' He smirked probingly at the young manager, thinking back to a different hotel room, a different game. He saw the irritable, regretful flinch in the Spaniard's tight facial expression, and beamed happily and drunkenly before swaggering away.
Jack the Lad, still bossing Arsenal years after being sold away as an injured disappointment. He'd always have the last laugh, he knew it.