Part ninety-one: A Helping Hand
John Stones turned off the engine and took a look out of the window at the rising Victorian block beside him. He chewed thoughtfully on some gum and drummed his long fingers against the wheel for a few moments; even now, he was reconsidering the detour and thinking that perhaps he ought to just get home to his girlfriend and kid. The 6ft2 Barnsley lad stretched his long legs in the driver's seat and sat back heavily for another moment's hesitation before reaching down, popping open the door, swinging himself out onto the crunching gravel driveway.
He opened up the boot of his Audi and extracted the small, empty-looking backpack, swinging it over one of his broad shoulders. He padded over towards the converted apartment block's porch; crunch crunch underfoot.
It had taken him a while to decide the visit was necessary and worth the risk; a good couple of weeks since the incident, at least, and a relatively safe bet that dick-for-brains upstairs had behaved and not put himself at further risk. But Kyle's messages had got short and evasive and John worried about his close friend, stuck out here alone in his expensive cage.
The 25-year-old City defender prodded the panel of buttons and waited in the stony shadows. He hadn't announced his plans to swing by via text message because he'd still been oscillating between it being an important friendly gesture and a stupid waste of time. There was food shopping in the back of the Audi and he'd need to be back in his home suburb before too long -- yet here he was.
Eventually, a slurred, sleepy voice. `No way -- that you, lad?'
John leaned forward a little bit to grin into what he supposed was the securite camera. He pulled some of his over-long brown locks out of his forehead and chuckled. `Not recognise me with my longer lockdown hair, big man? Come on, buzz me in before I fuck off.'
`Hah -- well -- this is a surprise...' The guy indoors sounded like he'd been woken by the bell, or was half-drunk. It was barely midday. There was a faint buzzing noise just beyond the thick wooden doorway of this grand property; the door slid inwards at John's uncertain push, in he went. He whistled apprehensively to himself on the way up the two flights of noisy wooden stairs and then wondered what the hell he had to be apprehensive about.
The door to the apartment was ajar when he got there, so Stones wandered on in, pushing it gently closed behind him and smelling the unmistakable fug of the bachelor that filled the upstairs apartment his mate was renting: a mix of persistent takeaway, dirty laundry and stale air. Under it, a perverse corner of his mind told him, the salty tang of lonely masturbation. Fucking leave that, he told himself bluntly, and adjusted the bag-strap on his shoulder, glancing aside at it with another tickle of regret; he shouldn't have bothered bringing this.
`I'm in the kitchen buddy!' came Kyle Walker's voice, unmistakably nasal and playful, never quite the gruff bass anyone expected from his physique. John followed his voice down the hallway, not too familiar with this new pad, and into the brighter lofty space of the almost industrial-looking kitchen. You recognise it though, an inner voice prodded him, from the leaked pics in that fuckin' news story...
`Drink?' offered Walker without turning.
He was by the counter in just a tight-fitting black compression vest, clearly meant for sports or exercise but seemingly worn as pyjamas about Kyle's thick torso; and on the lower half, a pair of dark grey Armani boxer briefs pulled tight about the chubby ovals of his glutes. He half-turned and John saw the mess on the counter; broken ice and chopped fruit and two half-made gin cocktails.
He realised he was taking too long to answer. `I'm drivin', mate,' he pointed out quietly.
Just the one?' pushed Walker. Nah? Suit yourself.' He lifted one cut-glass tumbler and poured its spirit measure into the other before mixing, adding twists of citrus fruit, picking it up and taking a deep glug; satisfied, sensual sigh.
How are you doing, mate?' John asked brightly. The place is as flash as I remember, definitely worse pads to be holed up in...!'
Kyle Walker stared him down over further slow sips of his midday cocktail. It's great,' he said levelly. Fuckin' hell -- I'm good for seein' you. It's class. What are you doin' here? Pretty sure you're breakin' some lockdown rules there, buddy boy...'
John shrugged his shoulders in the crisp black tshirt he wore and pulled his hands out of the pockets of his loose tracksuit bottoms. Well,' he said with a light laugh, maybe, but -- I thought you could use a quick visitor. And I'll keep my distance! Hah...'
`Pfft, fuck that,' Walker said immediately, and he was crossing the kitchen. Before John could even jokily protest and insist on some adherence to the rules, he was being pulled into a hug by the shorter stockier footballer, four years his senior. If John had momentarily thought his visit today might be under-appreciated, the hug told him otherwise; he was tightly squeezed in those tattooed arms and the older man held him a few moments longer than seemed typical. John took in a deep breath of stale aftershave before stepping away.
`I was worried about you,' he admitted gently.
`Worried about me?!'
`Yeh, a bit. You'd gone quiet.'
`Hah, you're one to talk. Barely get a word out of ya in a month.'
`That's not fair...'
`It wasn't meant to be an accusation, mate.'
Yeh, I know, I just mean -- Look, I was just a bit concerned.' John fixed him with a friendly look. Don't like to see my buddy's name trashed in the press, do I? You were in fair trouble last month, mate, and... well... I saw the news about er, Lauryn having her kid this week, so...' The wide, cocky smile on his friend's face twitched and wilted at this comment, reminded of the extra-marital child that had ruined his long-term relationship and left him quarantining alone. I just thought you could do with seeing a friend,' Stones said more lightly, even just for a bit. Eh?'
Kyle nodded slowly, his grin looking forced and awkward. `That's real kind of ya, Johnboy. Real kind.' He sounded sincere, as much as he was trying to grin away the gloom of his predicament. He sipped his gin and scratched the front of his tight vest, then scratched at the bulging front of his boxer briefs, inadvertently drawing John's eyes down that way.
You were so daft with those hookers, buddy,' Stones sighed. He regretted the needless criticism as soon as he said it, but it was all he could think when he worried about his older mate this past few weeks; why the hell would someone of his celebrity profile take such daft risks alongside releasing hypocritical messages to the public? He saw the frown cross Kyle's face but added, Seriously, dunno who's more daft, you fucking two prozzers, or Jack Grealish fuckin' his motor. Daft twits. What were you thinkin', mate?'
Kyle's grin was forced and defensive now. `Well the others I invited to my party didn't exactly show.'
`I don't think ME being there would have stopped you getting in trouble,' Stones said patiently. He moved around the bright airy kitchen, going to pour himself a long glass of water; he was a bit tempted by the zingy scent of Kyle's gin drink but the car was outside and it really was a bit early on a Tuesday for booze, in his books. He couldn't help but shoot a sidelong glance at Kyle's burly physique: did he look a bit overweight? A little less defined? Just how slobbish was the sturdy defender letting lockdown life get, out here on his own...?
Walker had put his drink down on the side and was gesturing about the kitchen as if on trial. Ah, fuck it, I just needed the fun, you know,' he grumbled. I've made my apologies. Paid my ridiculous fines. I don't need to go through all this again, pal.'
`I know, I know -- I'm sorry. I just worry.'
`What, cos I banged a prozzer or two? Hah, we've shared enough...!'
`Well I ain't gonna deny THAT.'
It was a quality night,' Kyle insisted, and John couldn't help but smirk at his unabashed enjoyment of the memory; jesus, this guy was unstoppable. And that was why he'd been such a likeable teammate to look up to and learn from in their years playing side by side. And I got needs, right? I was just, er, keeping the economy moving. How was I to know the fucking bitches would turn me in to the press...? Fuck's sake...' He looked genuinely annoyed now, his sleazy indulgence in the memory replaced by the irritation of the consequences. `Dunno who I fuckin' hate more now, them bitches or our so-called manager. Fucking Pep.'
John lifted his eyebrows and lingered by the sink sipping refreshing water. Pep? What's it to him? Mate,' he said insistently, you can't blame our boss for putting fines on you, he's just doing his job, ain't he? You broke the rules, bud...'
Kyle had a little snarl on his face. `Aye, aye. I know. But I wasn't alone, was I?'
John watched him thoughtfully at that. He'd seen this detail in the tabloid coverage, of course. It had been so precise about the prostitutes and their details, the hefty payment, the drugs on offer, that startlingly revealing phone shot of Kyle in his pants fanning wads of cash for his female guests -- John imagined that pic of him in his pants with a guilty admiration, then looked at the real thing. But the news stories had been pretty vague on one detail: Kyle Walker and `a friend', it had said. Stones had denied the flush of envy at the time and laughed coldly at his own stupidity, having refused an invite to the night of poker and vice. Still... he'd momentarily wondered which mate exactly had been here breaking all the rules with his supposed best mate.
Pep can't just fine anyone,' Stones chuckled sympathetically. Not if they ain't a City player.'
`Who said he wasn't a City player?' Walker demanded.
John couldn't help staring across at him then, his mouth dropping open a little. Nah, surely it hadn't been another player? Why would the tabloid headlines just have focused on Kyle, was the other player some nobody, or...? His face must have shown his full surprise, because his troubled teammate laughed and hefted himself up into sitting position on the marble countertop opposite, swinging his lower legs and patting his thighs.
So no rumours getting' around even?' the Sheffield-born right-back remarked grimly. Thought not. When Guardiola wants his Golden Boy silenced, nowt gets in the way.'
John blinked, thought this through, laughed his disbelief. `You telling me it was little Foden-features you had up here splashing cash on prozzers, matey? No way...'
Why not?' Kyle demanded, reaching for the gin bottle and scratching his bulge again. We've both shared a bird with the cheeky little teenager. I mean, he was hardly the first bloke I expected to respond to my group invite that time, I tell ya, but he didn't let me down like the fuckin' rest of ya...!' The bitterness was obvious, but Kyle drowned it by topping up his glass with neat spirit and swigging it back with a little grimace. `Aye. Li'l Phil. Fuckin' goody two shoes. How did he get left out of that news story, you suppose?'
`You think Pep spared him?'
`Think! I'm fuckin' sure of it mate. I saw him out the window. What the hell was he doin' here? Pokin' his nose in my business? An' seriously, John boy, you shoulda heard the relish in his fuckin' voice when he rang to speak to me about the fines and my public apology. Loving every fuckin' moment of it, he was.' Walker swung off the bench, restless in his fury. He snatched up the gin bottle and his glass and left the kitchen.
John followed. `I'm sure Phil would have been in trouble too,' he murmured, but he did remember Pep's reaction to walking in on the three of them and their shared hooker. Well, he reasoned silently with himself, Phil was much younger, much more impressionable -- maybe it was fair to treat him differently, to shield him from the media madness a little, bit, and... This line of argument faded as he followed Kyle into the cluttered mess of the apartment's lounge space, and he really thought about the trouble his mate had been put through. Okay, Foden was young and vulnerable, but... did that mean Kyle Walker deserved to be chucked on the media scrapheap and trolled as a disgrace to the sport?
`Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if our glorious manager was fucking that skinny prick,' Kyle was grumbling stupidly as he shifted dirty dishes and takeaway packaging off the sofa to make space for his guest, his tight vest and pants pulling and stretching about his stocky frame.
John lowered the backpack from his shoulder and dumped it before folding into the seat, brushing crumbs and dubious scraps away from the arm before stretching his elbow over it. Kyle was still cackling to himself and muttering about their colleagues. Yeh, that's it,' he predicted, kinky Phil is Pep's little arse-toy, that's why he looks after him so much. Bet you anythin'.'
John raised one eyebrow, amused by the banter but also sensing the hypocrisy in this playful homophobia; the memory of what the pair of them had done to the Aston Villa lads still came to him in embarrassing lonely moments of regret. He'd worried a lot about the trouble Kyle got into for breaking lockdown, sure, but he'd also had pause for thought at Grealish stepping out of line: what if that kinky nonsense in the Wembley toilets had summat to do with it? What if they'd messed captain Jack up a bit playing with him in those skanky loos...?
Phil's a kid,' John grunted as an end to the speculation. I can't believe you had him up here. He barely spoke to us after the first time we introduced him to hired pussy...!'
Aye but there he was, back for more,' bragged Walker. You should have seen the lad. It was like his Christmases came at once.' Again, all annoyance seemed gone from Kyle's face but his sneer of self-satisfied enjoyment was a little forced, covering what John suspected was some really severe loneliness here.
Well, promise me,' John said, no more prostitutes calling at your door, PLEASE? Keep yourself safe, big man. Don't get in any more bother -- don't throw away your wages!' He could tell Walker was about to rant more about Guardiola or their prodigious young team-mate so he talked over him. `You just need to look out for yourself -- like you looked out for me when we first played together, man, like you always looked out for me when I was a younger lad. Come on. You know I'm right. Don't dick about. The country's in crisis.'
Kyle shrugged his bare shoulders and pulled up his vest a little to scratch at his tummy; yep, he'd definitely been putting on weight living his slobbish bachelor life up here. Okay, he was far from fat, this was no Endgame Thor situation, but his shredded six pack was thicker and softer. John thought for a moment that it was probably odd to know his buddy's body so intimately, but he'd often found himself studying the network of tattoos and envying his muscle gains. John realised he was staring a bit; he flicked his eyes up and found Kyle's own beady gaze on him as he met it. The two guys sat in silence at either end of the long scruffy couch.
I know you think I'm a cunt,' Kyle sighed, and you're probably right. But I really do appreciate you showin' up like this, man. It means a lot.'
John smiled weakly and nodded, then reached for the backpack. Look buddy, I had an idea about all this anyway, and -- well -- you might think I'm bein' daft, or whatever, but like -- He unzipped the top of the saggy, under-filled sports bag and reached a hand in. He looked over at Kyle's lazily curious expression, felt the lingering hesitation, knew it was too late for that. He pulled out the simple contents of the bag and held it in one hand, awaiting reaction.
What the fuck's that?' Walker demanded bluntly. A reusable coffee cup?'
John held the tapered black silicon tube in his hand and looked over, wondering for a second if Kyle was just having a laugh with this comment, or was really gonna need this explained to him. He grabbed the thicker end of the tapered length with his other hand and gave it a little twist and spin until this rubbery lid was off and on the carpet in front of them, then he angled it Kyle's way so he could see what it was more properly. He spotted the recognition of in Kyle's eyes and arching brows.
Aha,' the other defender remarked, now I see. What do you call them again?'
A fleshlight,' Stones mumbled. It wasn't a word he'd ever said out loud, come to think of it. They were hardly a toy guys tended to admit to, and he'd obviously bought his online, like any self-respecting singleton who's gone too long without a real hole. God, don't laugh at me, I just -- I had to buy this for myself a year or two back when I'd been dumped and was, you know, getting used to being on my own, so I -- I just thought you could --`
Kyle did laugh, but it wasn't mocking or outraged, it was one of his dirty little sniggers. He snatched the thick toy from John's grip and inspected the fleshy rubber of the entrance on top. John was relieved by this game reaction and he sat back a little more easily at his end of the sofa, cracking his knuckles and glancing around again at the laddish mess of the room, the embarrassing reality of an overpaid male footballer without a wife or professional housekeeper.
`You think this thing is gonna stop me blowing money on whores?' Walker laughed.
I think it's worth a bloody try!' Stones chided back. I dunno. I just thought... Ah, whatever. I dunno.'
`Haha, nah, it's cool -- it's second-hand, is it?'
John paused. How do you mean? It's-
`I mean, you didn't go out and buy me this -- so, like, your dick's been in it?'
John couldn't help but blush. `It's been CLEANED, mate.'
`I'm sure it has, ha ha, don't get touchy!'
Kyle got up to his feet, juggling the fleshlight from hand to hand and grinning from ear to ear with mischief. John willed away his blushing cheeks, stroking at the thin beard he'd been fostering in recent weeks and pulling back at his overlong brown hair. He couldn't help but grin though as Kyle thrust the conical tube against the package in his boxers and mimicked a lazy few thrusts.
`What's her name?' the smirking Yorkshireman demanded.
`She don't have no name!'
`What?! Seriously? I'm gonna call her...'
Sally the slag,' John quipped with a roll of his eyes, shifting his legs and hips a bit as Kyle crashed back onto the couch close beside him, the toy still held between his legs. Kyle was spreading his thick thighs on the couch, rubbing one against John's so he could feel its heat even through the nylon of his trackies. Kyle was flashing dirty eyes at him as he bounced the thing playfully off his own bulge and then lifted it up into the air to poke unceremoniously at its fleshy' entrance.
`Sally? Nah, something more exotic. I'm calling it... Joan. You know, Joan Stones. After you.'
`Hilarious. You gonna pretend it's my hole?'
`Bet your hole ain't THIS loose,' Kyle grunted, two fingers inside the toy's faux cunt, grinning wickedly at him and elbowing him meaningfully to exaggerate his own risqué jokes. John laughed along, blushing still, shaking his head and trying to move gently away but feeling rather hemmed in at this end of the sofa.
Well, anyway, I just thought it might help keep you out of trouble,' Stones announced in a slightly firmer voice, if that's even remotely possible, big man!'
But then, as if childishly rising to the scolding, Kyle took the plastic tube off his own crotch and brought his right hand down to press it between John's legs; he squirmed and laughed as the ring of plastic was cupped against his crotch and he felt the long-forgotten synthetic flesh' of the device cuddling his bulge. He swatted half-heartedly at Kyle's thick arm and rolled his eyes at the playful banter, bashing his ankle to Kyle's. Geroff mate,' he grumbled through strained laughter as Kyle pushed down harder and twisted the toy a bit against his privates.
Aww look, she misses you!' jibed Walker. She can't believe you're giving her to a beast like me -- she's terrified of how rough I'm gonna treat her, she must have been reading the tabloids...'
`Stop that!' John muttered through huffs of laughter, pushing at Kyle's wrist and forearm and twisting his arse a bit in the leather of the sofa; but the more he resisted and scowled at the joke, the more forcefully the toy was rubbed against him and the more Kyle leaned his way, leering and sniggering and pressing him into the side of the sofa with his bodyweight. Then with a little yelp of rough delight, Kyle pulled his arm back and tore the toy away into his left hand -- before John could spit out a barbed comment, his friend's hand was back where the toy had been, squeezing the bulge in the front of his black Adidas trackies.
`God look, she's got you getting' hard there, lad,' Walker burst out, his hand draped over John's crotch, and he laughed more heartily. Stones pushed down and brushed his pal's fingers away, red-cheeked and shaking his head furiously.
You always take things too far,' he muttered, but when he turned and looked at the camp leer of enjoyment on his friend's face, he had to laugh. Of course she gets me excited, that sexy plastic bitch got me through a lonely few months once upon a time...! But she's yours now, bad boy, haha.' He grabbed the toy out of Kyle's mitt and, returning the banter, pushed it in between his thick thighs and pressed it playfully to the bulging crotch of his grey boxer briefs.
Oh yeh baby,' laughed Kyle, lifting his hips a bit to press forward. You trained her well.'
They both laughed, leaning into each other's warm bodies on the sofa. Again, John could smell his friend's unwashed aroma, sickly-sweet and strikingly reminiscent of the much-missed footy changing rooms of their normal lives. He pushed the silly toy more firmly down with his right hand then rested his left on Kyle's bicep to get leverage, accidentally feeling its rounded firmness against his palm and really cupping its strength beneath his grip. Rather than laughing or struggling, Walker was making a playful groan and pulling his left arm up behind his head, exposing one curly-haired pit and a fresh waft of his manly, sweaty scent. `Oh yehhh,' he groaned, his lover's cry turning into another wheezy chuckle.
Leave off, mate,' he drawled eventually, pushing the silicon tube away and lifting his big body off the couch with an almost reluctant yawn and stretch, let me dig out some lube, I ain't tryin' that thing without some KY on my bits...'
John hovered with it in his hand, half-turned on the leather; his distracted mind pieced the comment and situation together and he stared up at his friend. You wanna try it out now?' he demanded, a little more loudly and violently than he meant to sound. I mean -- I best get goin' mate, I was just passing after the big supermarket shop, y'know, and the missus...'
Oh hold on a minute, won't ya?' Walker asked in a groan, idly pulling at his swelling, drooping bulge as he backed off across the lounge, almost tripping over a few stacked cardboard pizza boxes. It's just a laugh, I may as well try it out, nah?' He flashed another of his sinner's grins and lingered in the doorway, pawing at the front of his vest. John sat squarely on the couch, fleshlight in one hand, staring over at him and feeling a hot burn of self-consciousness in his face.
`I shouldn't,' he said, and he knew his voice sounded kinda grim; not just the sensible caution of needing to be away home, but the tempted curiosity of all that had gone on between these two close mates in the last few months. As they looked at each other across the room, John was sure he wasn't the only one thinking back to that stormy day in the car park.
`Up to you,' responded Kyle in a voice that was teasing and conspiratorial rather than disinterested. The barely-dressed footballer disappeared from the lounge and thumped his feet down the hallway. John watched after him with a nervous tension all over his body, unable to deny the twitches of excitement he felt in his pants. He got up, heaving a frustrated sigh, and rubbed for a moment at his brow and one high cheekbone. The young footballer strode out of the messy lounge and its bachelor debris, hovered indecisively in the broad passageway beyond. To his right, a few steps led down into the entranceway of the apartment, the door to the stairs and out onto the gravel and his waiting Audi; to his left, a cluster of doorways, one of them ajar where Walker had disappeared into the master bedroom.
John took slow quiet steps to the half-open door and looked in. A floorboard creaked beneath his Nike trainers. Walker, who was half bent over at a set of drawers beside the broad sweep of his silky bedding, glanced over a shoulder and grinned. He grabbed a tube from the drawer and spun round on his heels. `Found it,' he breathed quietly. There was a sorta knowing, triumphant look on his rugged features, framed by stubble and the overgrown thatch of his curled hair, so different without his regular fresh fade cuts. John took a couple of steps into the room, passing the fleshlight from hand to hand, the cringey impulse buy of a lonely night after being dumped.
Walker pushed one hand inside his boxer briefs, fumbling beneath the Armani waistband, then shoved them down gracelessly, his chubby semi tumbling into view beneath an unclipped bush of pubes. A squelch of lube into one palm and he was eagerly rubbing at the fat brown meat of his cock; for a second, John found himself picturing it slapping the cheek of some hot fake-tanned hooker in a hotel room, or... the elfin features of the Aston Villa captain, on his knees in a toilet cubicle. They'd gone too far, then. Way too far.
`Chuck it here,' barked Walker. He did. Kyle caught the toy, another squirt of lube, fingered into its silicon folds, then he was pulling it to his stiffening member. John took another couple of steps, pausing at the foot of the bed, watching as his best mate pressed into the toy he'd fucked for a string of lonely nights. In his trackies, his own dick twitched and throbbed in... what, sympathy?
Fuck, it does feel good,' the other guy confirmed. I mean, it ain't no real cunt, but... phwoar...'
Two hands now, pressing on the plastic casing, the big tattooed defender pressing himself into the tight synthetic vagina and openly groaning at the sensation it kissed down his cock. He took his hands away and left the device bobbing on the suspension of his boner, hands freed to peel his compression vest up and off, bollock naked now other than the toy that covered him. John realised he'd been holding his breath since he entered the room, and he let out a gentle sigh. That okay?' he asked in a choked voice, then cleared his throat. How is it?'
`Good,' Kyle said vaguely, returning one hand to grip and slide the fleshlight.
`I'm glad.'
`Yeah, real good.'
`Looks it. I mean, er, looks like you're enjoying it, bud.'
`I am. Such a cool gift, bro.'
Their eyes didn't break contact with each line of slow speech, Kyle's strong arm pumping with slow rhythm. John tugged at the front of his tshirt, feeling the sudden heat of the room; it smelt strongly here too, but none of the meaty takeaway stink or vague unwashed beeriness of the other rooms. Just a strong woody odour of old aftershave and fresh sweat. He let out another frustrated sighing breath then pulled his fingers through his hair.
Hey,' Kyle said then, I don't think this is right though.'
`Huh?'
`I mean -- reckon she misses you, lad.'
`Oh -- does she? Hah...'
`Aye, defo. She really does, the slut.'
`Loyal slut.'
`Hah, yeh, I guess she is.' With that, Walker pulled it away -- it slid from his dick with a little gloop of lubed noise, his exposed cock shiny with the KY jelly, thick and veiny and bobbing at 90 degrees from his weighty body. He was moving forward, and John realised what was expected; he took hold of the tented front of his baggy tracksuit bottoms and questioned if fucking that toy was what he really wanted right now.
Get them off then, she's well up for it, lad,' cackled Walker, overriding his caution. Toy in hand, the shorter and older bloke hopped onto the bouncing mattress of the bed, grinning and chuckling and stroking his prick with his free hand. John pulled his plain black tshirt off in one sweep and then felt clumsy struggling out of his trackies; he almost fell onto the bed in the white CKs beneath, laughing at himself and feeling his high cheekbones burn red as he did. Get yer nob out,' Kyle said, and it was more instructive this time, less patient. John pushed at the waistband of his tight boxers and wrested them off so that his mighty length pinged out immediately. He looked from it to Kyle, who was edging closer on the sheets, then reaching out with the toy, and --
Oh god. On it went.
John lay there, propped on his elbows, his long torso tensed with ripped muscle (it had been a busy few weeks of home workout!) and his dick now being slowly mounted by the grasping fake flesh of the device, slick with lube. His eyes fixated on the rough gripping fingers around the canister, forcing it down, and then slid up the inked muscles of the arm towards Kyle's face; there was a look of intense concentration on the man's face, tongue poking out between grimacing lips, eyes weirdly intent, jaw contracted in focus. Oh, fuck.
`How's that?' his fellow City player wheezed beside him.
Oh man,' Stones murmured, ohh...'
`She feel good, does she?'
She does,' he whimpered, she really does...'
`Phwoar, look at her go for it, the slut...'
`Yeh, haha, she really is...'
Kyle was moving a bit closer, allowing himself a better angle; his body was beside and then behind John's propping him up. He felt his own smooth shoulders rest against the mounded muscle of another man's chest, Kyle's right arm curling over his own to reach into his crotch and pull back and forth on the pussy toy with a frantic and forceful stride. John just lay there, gasping wordlessly and rolling his neck back so his head really leant on the shoulder muscle bunched up beside him.
God it felt good -- he'd forgotten just how tight and intense the daft thing felt on yer nob, it really was uncanny, but also... well, he'd never had anyone else use it on him. This stupid thing had been an overpriced investment in self-pleasure; a few sad weeks of pumping his own dick in and out of it in bed wishing he was still inside his ex. Someone as powerful as Walker at the helm, though, well that was... jesus... He moaned even louder and spread, stretched his long footballer's legs. The strokes got faster and firmer; he could feel more than hear Kyle's rasping breaths of excitement, warm air brushing his neck and shoulder.
John's arm hung limply at his side, conscious of how it brushed Kyle's busy bicep, trying not to rest too tenderly on his hip or chunky abdomen; but then, starting to lose control of himself, John slid his hand down, underneath his mate's wrist, round the side of his own bony hip, and -- Kyle's cock still felt slick with lube as his fingers closed around its girth. He held them there, waiting for some reaction from Walker, but nothing happened. Walker was still pulling the plastic `slut' up and down and panting into the crick of his neck. In return, he carefully wrapped his hand around Kyle's meat and jerked it, brushing its length and tip against his own smooth hip. He found himself falling into sync with the bouncing fleshlight, their arms brushing over and over as they kept pace.
Stones could feel his balls throb, could feel the excitement taking over. Seconds before he knew he would cum, he felt his head nudged aside by a shift in the shoulder beneath it, Kyle's left arm scooping his shoulder-blades a little. John's head fell to the right and grazed cheek to cheek with his best pal's; their lips brushed and parted, breath mingling. The kiss tasted of gin and transgression. John felt his tongue crash into another just as he squirted his seed inside the toy, just like old times, filling her up. The kiss was over, the lips pulled sharply from his, he was sinking back against the bed as he let out his orgasmic moan.
`Your sloppy seconds,' he heard Kyle grunt next to him, and he let his hand slide weakly off his mate's nob. The toy was pulled with a squelch from his and the mattress shook gently beneath their touching bodies as Walker fucked the fleshlight. John twisted his head dizzily to see, leaned over a little and rested the side of his face on one clammy pec. He stared down the decorated pale brown of Kyle's torso as the same forceful action tugged the toy up and down on another prick. The man's left arm had curled about his shoulders again and John could feel fingertips on his stubble; he was back in hotel rooms, sniffing cunts on those fingers, or in that steamed up car, and he licked the fingertips greedily, swirled his tongue over knuckles, kissed at his friend's palm.
FUCK,' bellowed Walker as he exploded inside it. Fuck she is good!'
Stones lay still, crumpled against his mate's figure, hearing his heart hammering away inches from his eardrum. He kissed the fingertips as they moved away from his mouth, then blinked as he saw the synthetic pussy dragged from its second dick and brought up towards them. Kyle held it still in the air somewhere just below his pecs, and John stared groggily at it for several long moments, a bit unsure what to say or do now -- then it dribbled out, a thin trickle of their mixed juices. He stared at where it landed in the centre of Walker's torso, but Kyle wasn't waiting for him to get curious; up came his right hand, two fingers smearing through it, then on towards his face. John parted his lips a moment and the cum, his cum, Kyle's cum, THEIR cum, was pushed in against his tongue, just a taster, nothing more.
He slid back away from his friend onto the smooth cool silk of the bedding, tasting it for a second then swallowing. He felt like his whole long body was shivering in a room that had felt humid and roasting minutes ago. He turned his body and found Kyle pulling momentarily close; he was eye-to-eye with the other City defender once more, faces close, and...
One more kiss. Their lips pushed together for only seconds, and Kyle's tongue flitted in and out of his mouth like it was nothing. But it wasn't nothing. It was two men who knew each other inside out tasting each other, mixing on a level they'd never have imagined not so long ago. And then it was over, and Kyle was off the bed, panting and laughing, and John was just staring at the ceiling.
Jesus, do I need a shower!' cackled Walker. I must STINK, mate. Phwoar!' He was sniffing his own pits and picking up his discarded under-clothes as he padded the room, naked and muscular and unbothered by the lines they had smashed through. Then he was gone.
John lay still for a while, listening to the muffled sounds of a hot shower. But then he got up, pulling himself away from the bed and tugging his white undies up from his ankles until he didn't feel so vulnerable and exposed. He picked up and yanked on his tshirt, stretching it in his hurry. He sat on the edge of the bed and cradled his face in big hands for a moment before getting up, finding his trackies, forcing feet into trainers.
He left the bedroom before Kyle could return from his shower. Instead, he paced the dirty kitchen and the messed up lounge, half-listening as Walker song cheerily to himself in his skincare rituals and drying off. After a while, he returned to the bedroom, saw Kyle in the middle of tugging a pair of CK briefs up his rugby-like legs and tucking his loaded privates into their front; it was, for a second, like looking at that Sun newspaper photograph leaked by the prostitute. Bulging, sturdy Kyle, so physical and dominant and covered in body art.
`Wotcha,' Walker said, looking up.
`Hey.' John stood feeling strange and guilty. He looked at the toy where they had left it on the bed.
`That was fun, but she can't compare with a proper bitch, can she?'
Nah,' he agreed quietly. Not really.' And you fucking kissed me, he wanted to burst out. You kissed me and you're acting like it's not insane?! The angry shouts were just inside his head though. He was also thinking about the state of his flat, the looseness of his mate's normally ripped physique. He took a while to spit it out. `I don't think you should stay here,' he said.
Walker looked at him in the middle of selecting a fresh tshirt from his closet. `Oh? And which of my baby-mommas am I moving in with, then?'
Stones looked at him nervously. We have a few spare rooms, mate. Come crash at our place for a bit. At least until training starts up.' A long quiet pause. Why the hell not, eh?'
`You, er, really mean that, bro?' He'd never seen Kyle look quite so vulnerable.
John nodded. `You know you're always welcome at mine. I hate to think of you knockin' about here, bored and lonely, mate.' And fucking prostitutes with that spotty brat Phil Foden, not letting me watch and sniff yer fingers. Shut up, he told himself. Stop it.
Yes mate,' crowed Kyle triumphantly. That is a fucking excellent shout. We can basically play PS4 ALL THE TIME while your missus feeds and bathes us. QUALITY.' He was cackling to himself and pulling his way into a tshirt and a long pair of grey joggers. Then he was coming John's way, as if going in for a laddish, manly hug. John braced himself, this normal intimacy freshly awkward after what had gone on, and then --
They kissed for thirty seconds, stubbles brushing with a rough sound, Kyle's mouth minty fresh now and his lips as plump and wet as any girl's. When it ended, both men's breath sounded ragged and surprised. Kyle rested a hand on John's chest and pulled away, bright-eyed and casually grinning like nowt had happened.
`I'll just pack a bag, then, eh?'
`Yeah. Yeah, you do that, mate. No worries. Erm.'
Kyle turned away, and John backed off, blinking slowly and letting his tongue run around his upper then lower lips in a lap of bewilderment. He ran his hairy forearm over his mouth, turned away from his half-dressed pal, and left the bedroom. In the hallway, he just stared out of the window at the driveway below, and thought about the madness he'd just invited into his family home. What the fuck had he done?