Part ninety-eight: The Guest
Day one.
John Stones was cooking them all dinner, nothing fancy but a nice Thai stir-fry he was quite proud of, lording it over the swish kitchen of his big new home in central Manchester. His partner, Olivia, had slipped away from the civilised glasses of wine they were enjoying, to check on the young kids upstairs: one hers from a previous relationship and one his, staying with him half of each week. This left the two men in the kitchen, alone together for the first time since Kyle Walker had arrived mid-afternoon, lugging his cases up the drive and issuing profuse thankyous to both John and Olivia.
Stones listened to the thrum of music from a speaker at the other side of the roomy kitchen and fussed over several hot pans, sweating a little beneath his short-sleeve shirt as he prepped the meal for the three of them, aware of being watched from the breakfast bar stools across the island unit from him. He glanced up, met Kyle's eyes over the heat haze of the stove.
`You sure you don't need a hand there, buddy?' Walker asked, sipping white wine and lounging on one of the high stools where he had been left by Olivia.
`All good,' John said brightly, giving the pan of frying meat a good shake then going to check on a sauce. He picked up his own wine, craving a bit more vino to take the edge off the tension he'd felt since his guest arrived, and didn't notice Kyle leave his stool. But then he was on this side of the kitchen, turning into the ample space between units and sidling up to John as he tried to multi-task over their dinner.
Stones glanced his way with a hesitant smile then turned back to the stoves to turn the heat down on one pan, then -- the caress was gentle and transient, could have been imaginary, just the softest stroke of a hand grazing the back of his tight chino shorts, finding the firm edge of his curved buttocks. In response, his tall body straightened up and, accidentally, just pushed his tensed backside further back, into the soft palm of Kyle's hand, which pressed and began to squeeze. It was no longer just the heat of the stove making John feel sweaty beneath the collar and pits of his shirt, and he gulped loudly.
`Kyle,' he hissed.
All good upstairs!' trilled Olivia's voice as she returned to the kitchen -- just like that, the suggestion of touch left his backside and Kyle was a couple of foot away, leaning casually back by the bridge as he sipped his wine and glanced admiringly around their designer kitchen and John's culinary handiwork. Oh,' exclaimed John's partner loudly, `you're giving him a hand? Special, bloody fella never lets me help when he cooks... you must be special!' The attractive beautician grinned and laughed as she slid back onto one of the stools and John, stood between her bright grin and the knowing leer of his older friend, just chuckled nervously and focused on the meal.
Yeah,' agreed Kyle in a complacent sigh, I'm pretty special.'
Day two. An early breakfast: Stones, who had slept poorly, had already been up for a sunrise 10k run. He joined them at the table still in the sweaty baggy gym top and lycra shorts he'd worn for his speed around the city parks. Olivia, draped in an attractive silk robe, leaned over to kiss his cheek then reeled in mock disgust. So sweaty,' she teased, gross. Pancakes, hun?'
On the table, a glamorous breakfast spread like something off an Instagram food blog took John by surprise, a clear effort from his partner to be the `hostess with the mostess' -- but he was exhausted and hungry and very pleased to see it all. He admired the central stack of pancakes and array of toppings laid out in little bowls, still panting a little, then let his eyes drift up from the breakfast delights to the figure sat opposite him.
Kyle was still in what he'd worn to bed: a grey Nike tshirt that hugged his pecs and shoulders below the rise of his thick neck and the gentle, sleepy grin on his curved lips. He met John's expression with a slow nod. Morning pal, you coulda let me know you were running!' he chimed. Here, what do you want on your pancake...? See anything tasty, mate...?' The hint of a smirk.
`You'll be starving after that run,' put in Olivia, who was half-turned away feeding John's daughter.
`Yeah,' Stones said faintly, looking around the dining table and wishing he'd gone for a shower before sitting down to eat. He felt very aware of his own sweaty odour and the prickly heat in his long tattooed legs and arms, his body chafing against the thin nylon of his sports gear. He bunched his shoulders and rested his elbows to the table and focused on the dazzling options for his breakfast, instead of the domestic scene or the gentle smile in the eyes of his visiting friend.
Then, just as he reached over to scoop two fluffy American-style pancakes from their platter onto his plate, he felt it: a pushy physical presence against one bare, sweaty shin; a toe. He ignored it, lathering syrup onto his pancakes and tilting his head to listen to Olivia and his daughter's nonsensical baby-talk. The toe crept up his inner leg and became a full foot, warm and hairy on the side of his meaty calf. He darted his gaze up from his breakfast to glare at Walker, sitting squarely opposite, and grinning like a fallen angel.
Wotcha,' Kyle said suddenly, how much of that stuff do you need on your plate, buddy?!' The older, shorter footballer burst into warm laughter and caught the attention of the others; John looked down and realised he'd totally lost focus on what he was doing, a heaped cascade of the sugary stuff gushing over his plate until it almost oozed off the rim. He blinked and tilted the little jug of it away, trying to smile and laugh and join in the mirth of his girlfriend and guest.
Bloody hell,' he grimaced, what am I like...?!'
Day three. Another hot one, barely a cloud in the blue sky. John's own daughter had been returned to her mum, his still furious ex, earlier that day, so it was just the three adults and baby left, though the little one was napping in the shade. John and Olivia were lounged back, side by side, on the expansive lawn at the centre of the garden, their tanning bodies stretched against rolled out towels. Stones basked in the heat from above and tried to let himself meet the relaxed mood of the day; they'd had a couple of cocktails with lunch and he'd already cancelled the online personal training session he was supposed to take in an hour or so.
He just lay there, his tshirt abandoned and his shorts rolled up a little to maximise bared skin beneath the sun. His skin gleamed with a smothering of protective lotion and the holiday smell of it filled his nostrils as he lay and baked, letting his breathing slow and calm. He needed to shift this awkward tension that Walker had brought into the house and just enjoy it. It WAS nice having a friend, a change of company, an extra body in the house, that was for sure, and they were all getting on, and...
He was interrupted by a subtle change or absence -- the dulling of the blazing light on his face, chest and arms, a slight relief of the sting against his closed eyelids. He flicked them open and looked up, seeing the silhouette looming over him, and inhaling sharply in a moment's surprise. Like his hosts, Kyle had stripped down to his shorts, baggy basketball-style ones, and his exposed brown skin shone a little with the rub of sunscreen.
John's eyes flicked from this figure standing silently at his feet to his girlfriend lying parallel to him, her bikini-clad body basting beneath the May sunshine. Beneath her huge bug-eyed sunglasses, her eyes appeared to be screwed shut as if slipping into a nap, totally oblivious to anything around her. John glanced back up and saw that Kyle too was looking at Olivia and her restful sunbathers' pose.
Kyle took a little step forward; John felt one of his flip-flop feet come land down just between his parted legs, near the bottom of his spread beach towel on the lawn. He remained exactly where he lay, parting his lips slightly and wondering what to say. Kyle was looking at him and grinning, hands resting on the hips of his shorts, shifting one leg forward. Again, like at yesterday's breakfast table, there was the touch of a toe and then the length of a foot, caressing the side of his leg and adventuring upwards. As he stood over the sunbathers, Kyle seemed to guide his toes up over the greased surface of John's long muscular leg. But there was no chuckling about maple syrup to stop his ascent this time.
Stones twisted his head and looked towards Olivia again, who let out a sleepy little sigh. Was she awake? Were her eyes definitely closed? He stared from her parallel figure to Walker's standing silhouette and felt the edge of the other man's foot move past his knee to his thigh. His whole body tensed against the flat ground and the sun-kissed sweat prickling his skin all over seemed to intensify. The toes of Kyle's right foot had moved past the rolled-up hem of his shorts now and were nudging up into the triangle of space between his legs, a sort of extreme slow-motion kick to the balls... except completely not a kick, more of a...
A slow, tingling push, the edge of a foot nudging up between his thighs and prodding at where his package rested in the tropical print fabric, an insanely tender and gentle stroke given that it was coming from the right foot of a vicious Premiership defender. John's abs and biceps tensed and he left his shoulders off the ground, twisting his head to shoot a warning look up at his house guest. But Kyle Walker just smirked, lips curling into a grin, eyes half-closed, tongue creeping out for a second between his perfect teeth.
Then, like a bucket of cold water over the hot garden moment, the wailing of Olivia's baby, their baby. From the panicked wriggle of her body, disturbed by this cry, it was obvious that his girlfriend had been snoozing after all. Kyle's foot receded swiftly and John shot up into a sitting position, feeling the swell of semi-arousal in his tight-fitting shorts. `I'll see to her, babe,' he said in a hot rush, watching Walker back off and turn away from them. He clambered up, conscious of the greater weight in the front of his shorts, willing it to shrink and vanish. Sweat and sunscreen trickled down his limbs as he swayed into motion and left the lawn, heading towards the cool shade and the portable crib where his theoretical stepchild slept.
He paused on his way form the hot sun to the cool shade and looked sharply to his left; Kyle had pulled himself into one of the comfortable garden chairs and kicked his feet up onto another as a footrest, arms up behind his head exposing his hairy pits beneath the sculpted muscles and frieze of tattoo. He grinned warmly over at his host. `Such a great garden here, mate, really sweet.'
John glared at him and stomped away into the shade.
Day four. Stones eased himself into the hot snug of the water and relaxed one muscle after another, wiped out by the home fitness session with his Man City coach that he'd just battled through for the last 90 minutes. A whole football match in duration, an intense series of high-intensity activities in his newly set up home gym, converted from one of the house's three possible garages. It had been challenging and satisfying but now the hot water against his bare body felt like a sensual cuddle.
He'd timed the workout carefully to clash with his teammate and guest having a group video call with some of his Sheffield pals, taking up their dining room with his loud laughter, enjoying a few cans with his home friends whilst Olivia took the pram out for a long city stroll on her own. John had seen the confused and annoyed look on Kyle's face, on his way from the kitchen with a can of IPA in each fist, realising he couldn't join John and do their training at the same time. He'd fluffed the details when discussing it yesterday evening, knowing it would clash; it didn't matter, he needn't feel guilty, Kyle could do the same online session tomorrow or the day after! What did it matter?
He was glad they could host Walker at a tough time and he did like his presence in the house, but he felt it was better to keep some distance for a little while, at least until the other day in the other lad's flat felt a little less... recent. Less memorable? He just needed some space, needed to let Walker recover from his troubles, let himself adjust to sharing the house with more than just his beloved girlfriend and their children.
So, workout in peace, tick, now bath-time in peace too. Fuck yes. John wasn't QUITE a full-time parent, but he was involved enough to relish any window of time where you weren't being harassed and demanded quite so urgently. He submerged more of his sore body into the water and stretched his 6ft2 length until his toes brushed the hot metal of the taps. He dipped his head beneath the surface for a few moments then lifted it clear, sighing satisfaction into the cooler air.
He emptied his head and breathed in the mixed herbal scents of the expensive bath stuff he'd fished from Olivia's multitudinous toiletries. He'd climb out of this tub smelling like a right classy bitch, haha. He lifted his elbows onto the rim of the standalone tube and sloshed his torso gently against the bubbly surface of the bath, letting his toes toy against the warm metalwork of the taps again and letting out another long sigh, enjoying the heat and smell and privacy.
`Look at you,' called the inevitable interruption, and he jerked his head to the right, towards the wide open door through into the house's master bedroom. Kyle stood in the broad doorframe, leaning his shoulder and head to the side, clutching another can of ale in one hand, grinning into the dim comfort of this en suite bathroom.
John could hardly fathom that he was even surprised. Everywhere he fucking turned for the past 72 hours, there his mate had been, his squat leering shadow at every opportunity! Fuck's sake. He tried not to let his annoyance or surprise show on his previously relaxed face, resting his shoulders and arms to the edge of the tub and just raising one eyebrow in Kyle's direction.
`Thought you were busy online,' he remarked quietly.
`They all had to go, the boring fuckers,' Walker said, and he lifted the can to his lips. Long noisy guzzle, satisfied sigh. A sigh that reminded John of other satisfactions, other noises, other moments when this brutish man's appetites were met. He blinked the thought of way, twitching his neck muscles, looked down at the sprawl of himself in the bath, suddenly self-conscious.
Can I not have a bath in peace?' he asked, keeping his voice jovial but meaningful, exaggerating his Barnsley accent to take the edge off his annoyance. We'll catch up in a bit, eh, buddy...?'
Oh yeah,' he heard Kyle say, don't wanna spoil your pamper moment, Mr Stones, hah...' His body contradicted his words and he took a couple of strides into the bathroom, which was large by bathroom standards, but what bathroom doesn't suddenly feel claustrophobic when one tall athletic man is stretched in the bath and another musclebound fella crosses to the side of the bath? John's self-conscious irritation heightened and he shifted one arm through the water to help the soap suds cover his modesty.
A throaty laugh from Walker. `We've both seen all there is to see before, big lad.'
Mate,' groaned John irritably, I'm just havin' a soak...'
It'll take more than one hand anyway,' grunted Kyle casually, with a big fat fucker like yours.'
Stones just huffed in response to this, out of ways to politely say `fuck off', lying exposed in the bath trying to sculpt scented foam into an appropriate shield over his crotch area and scowling territorially at his bath-time intruder. As always, Walker met his frown and sneer with a grin and a wink and took another long guzzle from his can of IPA. John's can of IPA, he thought with a moment's needless resentment.
`How come you fucked me off with today's training sesh?' Kyle asked. It was a question that came from annoyance and resentment, but it was asked lightly, more curious than accusing.
`I just got mixed up.'
`Did you?'
`Aye. Like I said. Mix-up. Why? Mate, can you just pop out for a bit and let me...'
`Sure. Will do. Just enjoying the view a minute.'
`Kyle.'
`Haha -- god, where's your sense of humour these days, Stoner...? Okay...'
From downstairs, the slam of a voice, the muffled sound of a baby's never-ending crying; the frustrated and impatient voice of a tired mother, calling `John? Kyle? Anyone?' and moving around in the corridor below. In the en suite bathroom, the two men eyed each other with mixed expressions, and one of the taps dripped with a noise that felt deafening in the moment. John pulled himself into more of a sitting position in the bathwater and pushed both hands down to mingle with the bubbles protecting his dignity.
`I'll go see what's up,' Walker offered gruffly.
You do that,' Stones told him firmly. I'll be down in a minute.'
Day five. A long day: restless baby, irritable sleepless girlfriend, nagging parental phone calls, confusing work-related discussions with the City board. And more. As it finally grew dark outside, Stones busied himself in the kitchen once again, loading the dishwasher and letting the thoughts churn in his head for a while. It seemed to have been a fractious day for no specific reason, and he was glad it was winding to an end. He'd finish up in here, send a few overdue text replies, then head upstairs and hope Mrs Grumpy-tits was already asleep and not conscious enough to have another pointless go at him over nothing. They were normally not an argumentative couple, but these were strange times where everyone had a shitty day at least once in seven.
Stones wiped damp hands on the front of his plain black tshirt and left the kitchen, knocking off the lights and walking slowly through the hallway, eyes on the staircase, then distracted by the dim light and hint of noise from the lounge. He paused at the foot of the stairs, amused that for about fifteen minutes there he'd actually forgotten about the cuckoo in their nest.
For a minute, he was going to just move on up the stairs and head to the comfort of the master bedroom; strip off his tshirt and jeans and climb into bed with the missus and fall asleep next to her, hoping for a cheerier dynamic in the morning. Kyle was quite settled in now, his fifth day in residence chez Stones, and he didn't need to be quite treated like a guest, did he? It wouldn't be rude to fuck off to bed without a `goodnight'. I'm tired, John told himself, not just avoiding another one-to-one chat with the fella.
How many days could he go without ever really spending any time alone with his teammate? Five was already pushing it...
Strength of affection or well-mannered hosting skills, John took his hand off the bannister and turned left instead, passing through the half-open doors into the mansion's main lounge room, a long lamplit space centring around an obnoxiously large television and fireplace. But he stopped in the doorway with a flicker of surprise when he realised the sound he was hearing. He stopped in his tracks at the exact moment his heavy footsteps seemed to stop Walker in his actions, leading the two men to freeze up and stare at one another...
Kyle was on the bit cream coloured sofa along the wall, hunched over with his hands locked beneath his chin, and he was...
`You're crying,' John said, unable to hold in his surprise.
Sat there in front of him, the burly City defender had glossy eyes and little wet trails over his cheeks, his muscular shoulders hunched and a bunched up tissue clutched between his hands. What's more, he looked too upset to be embarrassed at the interruption, and was just giving a gloomy, apologetic stare John's way, not moving from where he sat. The Barnsley lad, unused to male tears, stood stock still in the doorway and stammered apologetically at his own blunt comment. Then he walked on into the lounge and its dull lamplight and long shadows, towards the couch, looking at the way the lamps caught and flickered in the moisture of his mate's eyes and cheeks.
Buddy,' he breathed, what's up?' He sank down onto the pale fabric and pressed against his friend from the side, draping an arm about his shoulders. `Hey... mate, are you okay...?'
Kyle made a bit of a growling whimper and brought his hands up to cover his damp face, clearly embarrassed at being caught like this, but unable to really stop. John squeezed his broad shoulders gently and stayed close, lost for more comforting words. A few moments of this emotional awkwardness passed between them, then Kyle lifted his head and blew his nose noisily and leaned back into the sofa next to him.
`Fuck, sorry,' he grumbled.
`Mate, don't be sorry...'
You should see your face.' Hollow laugh. You never seen a bloke shed a tear?'
`I'm from Barnsley.'
`Fair point. Huh. Fuck. Sorry...'
`Mate, I told you...'
Yeah, yeah... But I am sorry. Sorry to land on you guys. Sorry to bring my shit here. It's just been so tough, man. The things they're writing in the papers. Calling me everything. Fuck's sake. Ugh.' A teary grumble and sniff and an attempt to shrug John's arm away. I'm fine, I'm fine. It just all kinda caught up with me this evening, talking to my ex. Mate, I've got kids in two households I can't see, neither mother talking to me... my own family are angry at me for obvious reasons, my mum's ashamed of me for fuck's sake... And the press watching my every move, and...'
John made a vaguely soothing noise and patted the back of his neck. But you're safe here,' he said, knowing his words were a bit empty. Ain't nobody gonna be hounding or photographing here, buddy. You're our guest. We'll look after ya.'
Kyle gave a slight bitter sniff. `I can't stay here, can I? Not really. I'm already winding you two up.'
You're not-
`You've down nowt but argue all day. Don't tell me that's a coincidence!'
Oh mate, none of it was cos of you...' He grimaced at the lie, knowing the extra pressure a sudden guest had put on the previously chilled household. He rubbed the flat of his hand against Kyle's upper back, feeling the warm bulge of muscle beneath the blue polo shirt he wore. Hey, mate, if you need a good cry, don't hold back. It's all good. I'm here for ya.'
Kyle turned his head to look at him with a grateful half-smile on his mouth, his eyes still looking miserable. John had seen the headlines online this morning, the latest scathing criticism of Kyle's brief visits to family members in Sheffield before packing up and moving in here this week. Yeah, this big lump was a daft twat, but he wasn't a bad guy, not really... He tried to smile supportively at him, conscious though of how close their bodies now were, for the first time since that secretive afternoon at Walker's apartment, when... He gulped and felt his mouth go very dry.
I know you are,' Kyle said in a soft murmur, and I appreciate it so much, John-boy.'
You're welcome here as long as you need,' John told him, leaning in closer and squeezing about his shoulders more tightly, and stop worrying about what any cunts who don't know you think, yeh...?' He leaned in a little closer, their heads tilting towards each other. He paused and saw the slow parting of the man's lips; then they were pulling close and he knew he should stop it and pull away, but he didn't. When Kyle kissed him, he could taste the salt of his tears on his plump lips. Just lips, to begin with, brushing up and down over each other, but then tongues. Sat close together on the couch, the two old friends and teammates fell into a slow breathy kiss. John felt that thick tongue invade his dry mouth and a hand circling his lower back, riding up the fabric of his black tshirt.
Stop it, he thought, push him away. Stop this. Your missus is upstairs. This is...
Kyle's other hand came round to grip him by the bicep and squeeze them together, and the kiss got more intense, wet and hungry. Not a kiss, a full-on snog. John held still and let his lips and tongue respond to each forceful movement of the other guy's mouth until eventually he had to break away just to catch a proper breath. He closed his eyes and hung his head, unable to look at the man he was embracing. Upstairs, he thought again, she's up-fucking-stairs.
Bewildered, he stared down into his lap, where his left arm hung limply, released by Walker; but he saw the other defender's hand coming back to his skin, stroking down his forearm with a tenderness he could never have imagined. He looked at the thick blunt fingers of Kyle's hand and thought about how this had all begun, licking the taste of a woman from them in their hotel room and daring to enjoy the rawness of his roomie's sexual presence. Fuck. The hand was on his, closing over it, he trembled. Kyle's other hand was still on his lower back, stroking his spine in a band of exposed tanned skin. But here, on their laps, Kyle was gently pulling his hand over, off the lap of his jogger bottoms and over one curved thigh into the other bloke's crotch, the swelling front of his navy shorts, where the thickening outline was obvious and tempting. John's mind was wandering again: he was thinking about the way he'd been allowed (by Kyle and by himself) to take hold of that meat, just as he had in that steamed-up car. Fuck, fuck fuck.
No,' he said firmly, as his hand was pulled close and his fingers brushed the package. No...' He tugged his hand back sharply, unable to fully break the hug, but sure he wouldn't do that again, not now. It wasn't fair on her, and it just wasn't HIM, he wasn't like that... He bunched the hand into a non-violent fist to stop Kyle reaching for his fingers, lifted his head to look seriously at him and say more, but -- but more kisses came, and that he couldn't resist. Kyle's lips on his, warm and always surprisingly soft. He gasped into his friend's mouth and felt his own crotch stir. Kyle was pulling in with a tender violence, squeezing at his back and stroking one of his knees now instead of pulling on his hand; was this just more messing around? He thought of all the provoking little incidents over the past few days, the touch of a toe on his leg or bulge, the pat of his buttocks in passing, the interruption of his private bathing, and...
Ohhh. Kyle's hand was on his crotch now instead, feeling his semi through the material of his joggers. Now this he could not bat away. Why did that strong pawing hand feel so exciting against his privates? At the same time, Kyle's lips moved from his and were kissing his neck instead, making him twist his head back against the back of the couch and whimper in surprised pleasure. Kissing roughly at his throat, Kyle made little grunts and wet pants, while one hand slid up the back of John's tshirt and the other held his prick through his pants. Ohhh...
John let his eyelids flutter and his heart rate go mad. He turned his head a little, not to break away from the flurry of kisses, but to look across the lamplit lounge at the open doors into the hallway, the corner of the stairs just visible; the stairs up towards his master bedroom and the presence of his girlfriend, maybe not even asleep, just waiting for him... But he couldn't stop this precious intimacy long enough to even go up and shut a door. He just couldn't. He felt trapped by his sudden desire for this. Shitting hell.
It got more intense: Kyle's hand was reaching into the front of his joggers now, squeezing his hard-on through his boxer shorts, really squeezing and pulling it, touching him with purpose. For a minute, they weren't here on his expensive couch in a risky position, they were in the steamed-up interior of a flashy sports car with a storm raging overhead, stripping damp clothes from their muscular bodies... how many times had his thoughts crept back to that heated leather seat in the middle of the night? He looked over at the doors again, half expecting to see her come down the stairs, ready to catch them at it. At what? What was he gonna let happen?
He resisted the urge to reach for the front of Kyle's shorts, defiant in spite of the waves of pleasure in his body. His tshirt was being tugged slowly up from front and back, those strong rough hands on his abs and now his pecs, brushing by his nipples -- up and off came the tshirt, ignoring all risk, and Kyle's head was dipping down to kiss his chest. Oh man,' he groaned, pressed back into the soft furnishing and feel his dick ache and long for more touch. Oh mate... I can't do this, I won't...'
`You don't need to do anything,' was all Walker grunted. He looked up, and John could still see the vulnerable upset in his eyes and on his lips, but his hands were expressing his love and gratitude: specifically, be reaching to untie the drawstring at the front of his joggers. And now he was sliding off the couch, knees to the rug, and John gulped loudly in nervous anticipation. Seriously? Was he gonna...?
The 5ft10 broad right-back was on his knees and pulling his own polo shirt up and off, baring tattooed muscle and the thin crucifix chain about his neck. And now he was pulling slowly but firmly on the grey joggers, tugging them along John's decorated thigh and over the corner of his knees, and they were both looking at the rock-hard tent of white CKs that it exposed. Next they came, pulled with an elastic twang, down and over the thigh and knee, and now Kyle was taking hold of his rigid prick, a big sturdy rod that John knew to be well above average. He shivered just as he had at that first touch in the car; just as he had when they'd shared a woman for the first time and let their cocks get dangerously close.
Kyle,' he muttered, but he didn't know if it was in warning or appreciation. Mate...'
`Quiet,' Kyle muttered, and John watched as if in slow-motion; seeing the dip of his head, his overgrown dark curls and his hunched strong shoulders. Then lips were on his bell-end and his eyes automatically closed in ecstasy. He couldn't even bring himself to look cautiously back at the open doors, he just rolled his head back and gripped the cushions on either side of him, feeling his thick cock slide into the hot wet of a man's mouth. Not for the first time he, supposed, thinking of Grealish, but... oh wow... oh Kyle... He held in the cries of pleasure and the muttering of his best mate's name, still conscious of the terrible risk, albeit doing little about it. When he opened his eyes again it was to see Kyle drag his thick tongue down the whole length, kissing the side of the base, and staring intently up at him.
`Oh buddy...'
You taste so good,' Kyle mumbled awkwardly. His tongue rolled over one ball then the other, then back to the cock. He wrapped one hand about the shaft and wanked it very slowly then licked and kissed the tip so that John's whole toned body writhed and twitched in enjoyment. You're so -- fucking -- big...'
The dirty talk, the ego feeding, it was enough to make John push past his hesitations and fear. He ran his fingers through the curly mass of Kyle's hair and pulled his head back over his dick with a bit more control, then thrust his rod back between those lump lips that he'd kissed so eagerly. He lay back on the couch and ragged his mate's face up and down over his prick until the pleasure was almost unbearable. With his other hand, he grabbed and massaged at one of the man's thick shoulders, enjoying his strong presence and glad to feel his hands run up his thighs and along his toned bare torso, oh fuck fuck fuck...
Walker was pushing a hand into the front of his shorts to wank himself; the one-sidedness of this was an odd thrill to John in those moments. He'd been so intimidated even in his excitement when close to this man's sexual energy; accidentally perving on him as he fucked hotel room slags, up close and sweaty with a prostitute, even fumbling close to each other in private or when dominating that handsome Villa captain in the loos. Something about Kyle's energy and strength had frightened as much as aroused him, but here, now... his submission was beautiful and tender. No expectation, just all of his focus on John's satisfaction. He'd never felt more strongly for this sexy idiot.
On that thought, he shot his load, not thinking to warn poor Walker; he saw the shock in his eyes, the alarm as spunk hit the back of his throat. There was an awkward gasp and splutter as he pulled his mouth back and got the second burst of spunk on his lips and chin, but then he rallied, and ran his tongue over and around the end of John's cock, taking as much of it as he could into his mouth. It was a sight of such sluttish hunger that Stones felt like he could stay hard and blow loads forever. He stroked his face and curls and let out a long-held gasp of climax.
Kyle remained on his knees, wanking inside his shorts, looking intensely up at him with watery eyes, his mouth looking as if he'd just gone down on a freshly iced cake. He had a look of weird determination in his face as he brought himself off, and John just grabbed his shoulders by way of help, rubbing his fingers over those dark muscles and kneading them down to his biceps. Then, emboldened, he leant his whole body forward off the couch, tilted his mate's face upwards, kissed him on his dirty lips, tasting himself on them. And he snogged into Walker's orgasmic groan, tongue to tongue, felt his body shake as he exploded inside his shorts, keeping his cum-shot off the rug like the polite house guest he was. The kiss didn't end then, it went on for several more moments. Kyle pulled a cum-stained hand from his shorts and smeared it along John's arm as they cuddled. Then, slowly returning from paradise, both men tilted their heads to look at the open door and the empty hall beyond, safe and undiscovered. But so fucking risky.
`I dunno what to say,' grumbled John Stones when he stood up from the sofa and pulled his undies and joggers up over his body. He felt like he might hyperventilate and slip into some sort of panic attack as the situation clarified for him; he'd just let another man suck him off, his best mate, in his own home, with his girlfriend sleeping or waiting directly above them. And now they were stuck together in lockdown, for god knows how long.
`Don't say owt,' Kyle said.
John looked at him gratefully, glad of the quiet. They both stood there, panting and shirtless. Kyle reached out an arm and they let their clammy hands rub and interlock. All John could think about was stealing yet another kiss, but he didn't. The other bloke moved to him and he expected a grabbing cuddle or a kiss to his pec or shoulder but nope, Kyle was just reaching to scoop his top off the sofa, and tug it on over his body. He adjusted its collar silently. John picked up his own tshirt and then looked worriedly at the rug and couch in case there were any greasy little stains. Nope. All clean. As if nothing had happened.
Walker leaned in close, stroked his wrist. `Up you go then. Hope she isn't expecting a fucking.'
I'm spent,' John chuckled weakly back. You got it all.'
I know I did,' Kyle said with a grin, and he wiped his arm over his mouth, though it was all gone, licked up in the kiss. Night night, pal. See you in the morning.'
`Aye.' Their bodies parted from the gentle contact at their hand and John walked ahead, taking long slow steps into the hall and onto the stairs. On the landing above, he paused, watched as Kyle strutted by and turned the other way down to one of their generous guest rooms. The men stopped at their bedroom doors and took a long look at each other. John had no idea whatsoever what was behind those beady eyes, going through his pal's head. He just smiled wearily and went on into his bedroom, greeted by the shallow snoring breaths of his partner's sleep. He undressed and crawled in beside her, but didn't touch her, guilty with secret intimacy. He slipped into dreams that consisted of wet storms and steamy cars and that look on Kyle Walker's face as he'd licked his stiff member.
THAT DEVELOPMENT WAS A LONG TIME COMING FOR THOSE 2 HORNY BASTARDS.. HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED IT AS MUCH AS I DID! NOW TO GET ON WITH THE SPECIAL 99TH AND 100TH EPISODES - WHAT ARE YOU HOPING TO SEE???