23 Ağustos 2022 0 Yazar: sexhikayeleri


Subject: Premiership Lads Part 214: Double Date Part 214: Double Date `Your face in that picture though, mate…!’ The four young lads burst into shared laughter and Jack Grealish gurned playfully around the small outdoor table they shared, dimpling his cheeks with a big embarrassed grin as he eyed up the guy who’d teased him and then flashed a more vulnerable look to the left at his own partner, who just made a tutting chuckle and patted vaguely at the arm of his hooded top, leaning between their wooden seats to close the gap and fixing him with those warm trusting eyes. `If that pic doesn’t become such a meme,’ continued Declan Rice on the other side of the table with a laddish guffaw, picking up his pint glass and draping his other hand between the wide open legs of his tight black jeans, nestled comfortably in one of these sturdy outdoor chairs beneath the comforting blast of a heating tower. The beer garden was busy but, obviously, spaced out carefully, a sprawling rooftop venue in the heart of Chelsea, and the four young footballers were largely unnoticed and undisturbed on their midweek night together, their `double date’ as it had been cheerily dubbed when they organised it. A number of empty glasses littered the low wooden table between them, the aftermath of their `substantial meal’ of bar snacks in the expensive terrace bar. The night was chilly but the heater was fairly effective and the lads nestled into their separate seats quite comfortably, resisting the urge to reach for the body heat of their other halves in this public setting. `Can we stop talking about it,’ the Brummie football captain suggested in a low voice, `I’m just bloody lucky no trouble is coming up at Villa, y’know. God knows how that pic got leaked, anyway…!’ `Well, I think we can assume it wasn’t the photographer himself,’ muttered his boyfriend — no, fiancé, folded comfortably in the next seat and lifting his small martini glass to his pursed lips. Ben Chilwell shot Jack a cheeky wink and patted his elbow again. `Ross Barkley isn’t exactly the exhibitionist type, is he…’ More laughter among the four of them, and Grealish felt comfortable with the teasing. The lads were joking with him about a stupid image that had circulated on Twitter this week after his Saturday night exploits, though thankfully nothing more specific seemed to have reached the media: he’d been at a loose end when he got the call from the birthday lad, Barkley, suggesting they met up in London and went for dinner and a drink, but very glad to accompany and celebrate his recent wingman. He’d found it odd that Ross was randomly in London on his own, having assumed the recovering midfielder was on some booty call with his mysterious new missus, but happy to jump in the car and join him. He’d found Ross already quite pissed when they met, and quite excitedly bundled along with his plans of a hotel room and hooker — it was just a bit unfortunate for Jack that a pic of him leering smugly in his hotel bathrobe had found its way onto the internet, seeing as he’d had enough lockdown scandal from his own bad choices…! With a cosy little sensation in his chest, the Villa leader looked again at Chilly, who was now leaned over and bantering with Mase about some incident in training today; Jack had been far more worried about Ben’s reaction to him bed-hopping with a random prostitute than the public amusement of his image, but the confident Chelsea player had just laughed it off and asked for details on how dirty big Ross was with his girl in the next bed. The hot-blooded couple had enjoyed an intense phone-wank discussing it, which had made Jack feel queasily self-conscious around moody Barkley the next day. Still, how had that fucking photograph got out of the hotel…? If Jack didn’t know better, he’d have hazarded that Ross posted it himself as a bid for attention, but that was so far from his private character…! `And so I says,’ climaxed Chilwell in the next seat, `you might as well go to Primark for those, lad! Haha!’ He burst out with his infectious laugh and across the table, the two 21-year-olds hooted and slapped at their thighs and then, instinctively, almost folded into a cuddle across the gap in their seats, then corrected their body language and stiffened with self-conscious little grins and jerks of their heads. Declan straightened up and cleared his throat and Mason slid languidly the other way, a hint of frustration at the need to hide anything. Jack laughed along with them, having heard the anecdote already, and thumbed lazily at the drawstrings on the neck of his designer hoody, running his other hand over the slick pull of his long hair on top, enjoying not just the beer and warmth but the safe company of this other couple. He was doing his best to suppress little bursts of envy that Ben’s friendship with Mason brought his way, and remembering just how lovable and good-hearted the young Chelsea ace was definitely helped with that; as did the brooding, subtly mature presence of his West Ham boyfriend. It was funny to think that their teams had been clashing but two nights ago across town, but he looked at Rice tonight as a great friend instead of a Premiership rival. Jack picked up and finished his pint, edging into the conversation as it turned away from day-to-day Chelsea life to some shared excitement for England matches next year, the foursome’s first real opportunity to make their marks as proper national heroes under Gareth Southgate. It had been those upbeat training sessions in Surrey that initiated this double date, really, a sense of kinship between the two secretive couples established in Three Lions kits. Tonight was fun, but he knew he needed to slow down on the drinks, the sole visitor here to the capital; he’d need to be up bright and early to drive up for Villa training in the morning, though Ben had been chiding him all evening with the stupid idea of calling in sick to work and staying in London another day, not something either of their footballing passion would genuinely allow for. He reached into the tight pocket of his dark green chinos to get out his phone, tucked in close against the table and still chuckling at Mount’s excitable predictions for Euro and World Cup victory — in doing so, he accidentally dislodged his car keys from the same pocket and sent the metallic fistful clashing noisily against the glasses and dishes on the table. `Klutz!’ chirped Ben playfully in an instant, pushing at him by the shoulder then reaching a discreet hand to stroke the back of his neck in against the folds of his hood. Mason was staring at the fallen car keys in a bowl of crumbs and sniggering loudly. `Chucking yer keys in a bowl, isn’t that some old-time wife-swapping thing?’ the Pompey lad asked in an undertone, sparkling dark eyes meeting Jack’s then across to the other two. He sniggered again, boyishly naughty in his tone. `Okay, if you guys insist… heh…’ `What old-school porno you been watching, Mountain Dew?’ demanded Ben laughingly, letting his fingertips linger sensually on Jack’s neck a moment before pulling away and helping him out by fishing the keys off the table. `Naughty fucker.’ `Not porn,’ said Mase with light-hearted defensiveness. `I dunno, I’m sure it’s a thing.’ `I think you’re right,’ Declan said supportively, though the tall West Ham stud looked a tiny bit embarrassed by the joke between them, `but sadly none of us has a wife to swap, so…’ `Was just a joke,’ Mount promised quickly, nudging and smiling at his best friend and more, the affection between them make Jack smile sentimentally and glance at Chilly; but on the defender’s face he found a little smirk of trouble that showed the `wife swap’ joke was getting slightly more consideration on this side of the table. Their eyes met and he sensed the tension of interest in his partner, making him stifle a chuckle and then look back thoughtfully at the two attractive younger blokes they’d so closely befriended. `Swingers,’ Rice was muttering in his manly yet gentle voice, fidgeting his broad shoulders in his denim jacket and flattening the corduroy of his trousers. `Like something out of the 60s or whatever. Be prawn cocktail for dessert next.’ `Which way would we swap?’ Ben asked in a level voice, experimentation in his eyes. `Who’d have to be the wife, I mean?’ He flashed his handsome grin across at his own teammate, while drooping a possessive hand across Jack’s wrist and making him shiver at physical stimulation, then glance about to check none of the waiting staff were too close to their corner table overlooking the Chelsea streets. `We’re all lads,’ Declan was grumbling, but his boyfriend’s answer was more ambiguous: `Well, we’re teammates, Benji, so I think we’d have to go the other way, mersin escort y’know? I have a go on your Captain Jack and you enjoy a taste of my Rice Cakes…’ (`Mase!’ hissed Declan at the sharing of this pet name, which made Jack snigger uncontrollably and begin to picture the possibilities that were being tossed jokily between them as a result of his clumsiness.) `What d’you say, G?’ Ben asked in a slow, sleazy voice, winking his way. `Happy to be wife-swapped, are you…? I mean, we could hardly put you up against Dec, could we, not after your team have had one West Ham shafting this week already…’ He laughed at the sporting joke and punched affectionately at him in case of offense, but Jack was now fixing too excitedly on the prospect of novelty to take any hostility from the banter. He found himself looking across at the weaselly cheekiness of young Mason, who was giving him a very interested looking up and down. He smirked back and shifted his look to Rice, who was puffing out his chest and leaning back and momentarily avoid catching eyes with Chilwell, but then failing — he brought his humble expression up to meet that conquistador leer and then burst into a blushing grin of his own. `Hey Mase,’ the 23-year-old left-back said now, `it really isn’t far to your place, is it…?’ Chilwell watched Rice’s hands shake a little as he did the pouring in the kitchen, mixing up the gin-and-tonics that had been demanded in the elevator up here. It crossed the footballer’s mind that until recently he might have dismissed Declan as not such a good-looking lad, but he seemed to have grown into his body and looks since hitting 21; he seemed so manly and imposing now, mature beyond his years both physically and mentally. There was something very attractive in that to Ben, who was drawn to the same mix of boyishness and experience in Jack. The West Ham centre-mid moved past him, carrying two tumblers of iced drink to the other pair, and the ice clattered inside with the shakiness of his hands; when he turned back this way, Ben could see he had qualms about the idea, was a little on edge with the way Mount and Grealish were now slumped at opposite ends of the sofa, giggling flirtatiously as they spoke. Okay, so Rice was a bit less chilled out than the rest of the foursome, but it was now Chilwell’s job to fix that… He accepted his own drink gladly and clinked his glass against Declan’s, loitering here in the entrance of the open-plan kitchen, and smirking thoughtfully at the taller defensive player, the two of them stripped of their heavy outer clothes and in flimsy t-shirts that hugged their taut upper bodies. `I’m thinking about the airport,’ Ben said in a low growl. `Mykonos,’ he added unnecessarily; saw the little flash of panic and thrill on the big lad’s honest face. `Could have had a lot of fun that afternoon, hungover and sweaty as we were…’ `Things seemed complicated then,’ muttered Dec. `But now?’ Ben demanded a little more pushily. He watched the hesitation on that face then casually reached for him: taking slow sips from his glass, he let his other hand close about the front of those black skinny jeans and grab experimentally at the front contents. He rubbed his thumb over the line of the bloke’s penis and grinned at the mixed emotions in his eyes, then paused. `It’s chill, buddy — just like last time. You just have to say. But… our fellas are clearly okay with it, huh?’ They both looked over the spread of Mount’s apartment, and saw that the other two young footballers had edged closer on the sofa — Jack had his arms spread out across the back of the couch, beginning to enclose Mason against one, the Chelsea twink leaning in a little and resting one hand on the leg of the thigh-hugging chinos. Declan let out a huffy breath and then blinked repeatedly. `Your cock,’ he murmured then. `It’s… I mean, you’ve got a… monster, ain’t you?’ Ben nodded with bland vanity and just smirked, pushing a bit more firmly at the warm crotch of the jeans, rubbing the hard boundary of the zip fly, reaching idly for the button above it. `Yours didn’t look too bad,’ he said, remembering how he’d been denied a taste of sweaty London meat that day when an attack of conscious had made Rice pull away after beginning to suck on his own beast. `Can I give it a go now, matey…?’ There was no verbal answer from the tall West Ham man, just a half-nod of movement and a hint of relaxation in his body as he leaned back against the kitchen counter — it was enough invitation for Chilwell, who reached over to lose his drink, then spread and descended his knees towards the hard tiled floor, and began to unzip the jeans. Mason felt Jack’s arm pull in against his shoulders and gladly allowed himself to be shifted into embrace with the charismatic Villa captain, intoxicated by his good looks and the dopey innocence of his eyes and mumbling voice. `Do you think it’s okay if we kiss?’ the Brummie lad was asking him thickly, their faces drawing close where they sat on the couch. Mason, rubbing the thick hard muscle of one Grealish thigh, tittered at this polite indecision and then looked past his temporary partner, nodding to the view in the mouth of the kitchen: Declan, his face a paroxysm of guilty pleasure, was leaned back against one counter with his tight black jeans rolled down to just above the knees, and his cocky and balls emerging proudly from his trunks, being lavishly licked and serviced by a crouching Benjamin, looking mischievously up at him as he did so. The sordid moment was exciting to view in profile, and Mason saw his own admiration echoed in Jack’s face, so he leaned in closer and when the other lad turned back this way, planted his lips briefly against his — they kissed, but cautiously, a little lacking in the passion both lads would save for their beloved partners. He moved his hand into the tightening crotch of the other guy’s trousers, finding the form of his semi and rubbing it, glad when Grealish quickly reciprocated, interlocking their arms to reach down and squeeze his hard-on through his tight pale jeans. Their strong young bodies pulled closer on the couch, more pecking kisses shared, hands stroking gently at the unwanted layers of clothing, then Jack beginning to slid off the sofa and onto the rug. Mason watched him with glee, grabbing at and yanking up his thin jumper in a few moves, exposing his upper body and then helping the other player to undo his belt and flies. The pale denim was dragged unceremoniously down his legs, then his well-packed black briefs too, until his slim shapely hard-on was erect and pronounced between them, more than ready for action. Mason tried not to deny Jack his attention, but as the handsome winger began to push his legs apart and duck down to lick and kiss his dick, the 21-year-old could not help but turn to watch the parallel blow-job, deeply happy to see Dec being so looked after, and relaxing into the freedom of the exchange. He’d worried this bit of craziness might be too much for him, but their three-way with surprising Foden had done Rice’s ego a lot of good — the 6ft1 Kingston hunk was finally beginning to see his own attractiveness and let go of his insecurity, with Mount’s help. A bit of tongue trickery from Grealish tore his attention back to the here and now, reaching down to stroke at the greasy mane of the lad’s head, watching him deliberately rub his tickling beard hair against Mount’s prick and then take the whole thing briefly in his mouth, rising off it with a pop of his lips and spitting messily against the tip. Their eyes met, equally full of naughtiness and joy, and Mason thought about the near contact they’d shared in the past — they had shared a beach that night in Dubai, hadn’t they, though they had barely touched one another. Mason had been rather foolishly besotted with Ross Barkley at the time, but over the moon to discover similar appetites in Jack and Ben and their good chum James Maddison. All pre-Declan, of course, though he had since realised that he fell in love with his childhood bestie long before he even began to notice lads in a sexual way at Chelsea, beginning with that bulgey photoshoot for Barkley. He’d come a long way since, secure in his relationship with Dec, secure enough to let go now and really enjoy this cheeky blowie from one of the sexiest lads in the league. It was surprising and fun the way Jack was going down on him like this — he would have assumed the sexy fucker was more lazy and one-sided, he felt some admiration for how Ben must have trained him into such an attentive lover. But then the same was true of Chilly himself, to be fair, whose skills Mason had now sampled on a couple of occasions — stereotypes would suggest that guys as incredibly escort mersin handsome as Jack and Ben would not make as much effort as they did, but both guys were tender and attentive, in addition to being a dream to look at. In truth though, Mason knew himself to be quite the cock-hungry slut, and he was keen to swap positions here. He made this clear now, pushing Jack’s face gently away and licking his lips encouragingly, helping the 25-year-old stud up to his feet in front of him so he could snatch at the buttoned front of those chinos while Grealish’s tshirt came up and off. Once the trousers were opened, Mase just took a moment to appreciate the olive sculpture of Jack’s lean torso and trimmed pubic hair showing above the Armani waistband. `Fuck, that prostitute was a lucky gal,’ he muttered excitedly, and then leaned in so he could excitedly mouth at Jack’s cock through his black undies without removing them or the trousers, just running his tongue and lips damply against the cotton and tasting how hard his one-night companion already was. Declan felt himself groan loudly, tried to choke it in because it seemed somehow disrespectful to Mase, then remembered how open-minded his lover boy really was — a glance across the apartment confirmed that Mount was more than happy chowing down on a mouthful of Brummie cock, and the young Londoner let go and moaned at the top of his voice, fully enjoying the sloppy attention of the lad on his knees. He stroked at the loosely waxed tangle of Ben’s hair and let out more vocal encouragement as his cock hit the back of his throat. `OH FUCK,’ he growled, stroking his own tightening abs and marvelling at just how talented Chilly actually was. The compact left-back hunk gagged a little and pulled away with a smear of drool, catching his breath and just wanking Declan off instead, slowly coming up to his feet and beginning to undo his own pants as they came face to face. He reached for a kiss, his mouth slick with saliva, but Dec resisted that, feeling that there was a line somewhere that his gentlemanly code wouldn’t quite allow — he’d caught sight of Mase and Jack kissing and, surprisingly, found it more arousing than upsetting, but still he felt some deep certainty that he did not want to lock lips with any man in the world who wasn’t Mason Tony Mount. A clatter of footsteps and giggles signalled movement from those other two: Jack was dragging Mase by the hand into the bedroom in search of greater comfort, and Dec found himself sharing Ben’s hearty laugh at the randy urgency of their two boyfriends, then gladly feeling their cocks clash as Ben wanked them together, flesh to flesh — it was a surreal sight for Rice to look down at, so generally confident in his own endowment and how it made his lover squeal, but seeing it almost dwarfed by the lucky Milton Keynes lad’s appendage. He sorely hoped that Ben would be willing to bottom, and reached around for his gorgeous buttocks to test that water, amazed by the firm globes of muscle he felt there through the trousers. He inched the fabric down to feel them properly, gripping at the peachy glutes and wondering whose were more tight and exciting, his or Mason’s, then felt guilty for daring to question it as the sexy bastard licked and kissed his neck and collarbone. In the bedroom, Jack was enjoying just how perfectly ripped Mason’s body was, surprised by how densely packed his abs were beneath his clothes, even if the speedy midfielder’s legs were quite lean in comparison to his own thunderous calves. Both lads were naked now, peeling their socks off last and leaping in to the bed that Mase and Dec must regularly occupy — even with such obvious shared consent, there was some taboo there, climbing onto the sexy Chelsea twink in this private space and taking Rice’s place over him. The Villa lad snogged guiltlessly at the younger guy, manhandling his arms and chest and reaching to play with his perky cock, pinning him between his hairy thighs and anticipating the excitement of topping him. Mason just murmured happily and writhed greedily against him, tilting his head to kiss and lick his chest, finding and suckling each of his large brown nipples. This made Jack giggle sensitively and cradle the younger guy’s head in one arm, then reach down to trace the musculature of his six-pack until he was back in his crotch tickling his balls. `You sexy little slut,’ he sniggered at the boy. `Oh, totally,’ gushed Mount, nipping him on the teat with a laugh then flopping back against the bed and posing below him, stretching his arms and baring his hairy pits, the dark tufts emphasised by the supple smoothness of everywhere else. He grinned goofily in his comfortable position and Jack hovered over him, toying with his sizeable meat, thinking how good it would be to just unload on that falsely innocent face — how difficult it must be for Declan to keep his hands off him in public when the loved up pair hung out! Mason looked like a demon in angel’s clothing, the little bugger. `I want to fuck you,’ he said honestly and politely. `Will he mind…?’ `It’s cool,’ Mase promised, stroking his thighs adoringly. `Pretty sure you Benji is gonna get a bumming.’ `He can take it,’ the Villa captain returned leeringly. `I bet your Dec fucks hard, mate.’ `Like a machine,’ cooed the Chelsea player. `He’s amazing. You think you can compete…?’ `Huh,’ grunted Grealish excitedly, seizing on the challenge, `we’ll have to see, man…’ `Give it to me, then,’ Mount goaded, dragging his blunt nails up and down the thigh muscles and twirling close to his quivering crotch. `Bend me over and fuck me like that paid whore, Grealish, you sexy fucking bastard…’ The dirty talk was too much for Jack, who shuffled urgently backwards and scooped his arms beneath Mason’s smooth muscular legs, hoisting them up and then darting his face down below his cock and tight balls, eager to `prep’ him as Ben had taught. Mason let out a little yelp of surprise as his arse was lifted off the bed and Jack pushed his face in between those bubble cheeks, sticking out his long tongue and tasting the clammy sweat. It sounded almost as if Mase had never been rimmed before, the way he squealed and jolted, but Jack found that hard to believe, so addicted to being licked out by his own dirty lover. `Fuck,’ he heard Declan groan behind him, prodding the tip of his cock in between the pneumatic strength of Ben’s arse cheeks, `you’re so TIGHT…’ Chilwell took the compliment, planting his hands neatly forward against the worktop and pressing backwards with his pert backside, sniggering and gasping at Rice’s clumsiness there, the forceful speed of the taller young lad. `Finger it more,’ he suggested bluntly, leaning forward more and planting his elbows to the marble surface, lifting and spreading his arse more for his excited new lover, who quickly took the instruction — he felt one digit sliding back into his wet hole, jabbing at him like it was a pussy. Dec was charmingly artless at this for someone who must have pounded Mase a hundred times. Ben was not upset with this, enjoying the confirmation of everything his young teammate had lovingly related to him as their friendship grew stronger: explaining just how excitingly laddish and raw Rice really was, telling Ben all about their first silent fuck in his parents’ household and all the other times. Ben relaxed his body and groaned encouragingly at a second finger inside him, hearing the desperation in Declan’s pants. The wet tip of his cock kept brushing at one of Ben’s big glutes and he longed to feel it inside him, keen to experience a fucking from someone new after such faithfulness to Jack’s dick — his days of being initiated by greedy dominant Vardy felt so much longer ago than early this year! A bit of him wanted to turn it around and fuck Dec, having finally caught sight of the lad’s big backside and remembered Mase’s excited admission that he’d only been inside it once — but if that was something the young Londoner barely allowed his boyfriend, it didn’t seem worth pushing for a guest. Instead, Chilwell just hunkered down and moaned excitedly as Rice tried again, feeling the thick pointed tip slide up and down his crack then push frustratedly against his ring. `That’s it,’ he purred, `go for it, mate… yes, lad…’ He could tell this matey approach worked for the top, and he went on: `Go for it, you fuckin’ baller, yes mate, mmm…. Fuckkkkk, feels goooood, captain…. Mmm…’ And it did. Dec’s roughness was not dissimilar from Jack’s boyish excitement and it felt amazing to Ben, who was always surprised by how comfortable he was submitting to another lad — his own confidence was so supreme that he felt no defeat or subjugation in bending over for a mersin escort bayan hot fella, whether it was his secret husband-to-be or this West Ham beefcake. Mason gasped and squealed, flat against the headboard and wall on his knees, Jack ploughing into him from behind, lubed by his own lavish rim-job; that had felt insane for Mount’s surprised arse, having not had that treatment in ages. He’d enjoyed being licked by his sex-crazed manager before things became more safely platonic there, but he’d never dared ask it of nervous Rice, and was again shocked by the open-mindedness of Grealish going down there to stimulate and ease him in. Nothing easy now, though, the way the powerful England player was slamming into his bottom and gripping his whole body of lean muscle, biting into his shoulder as he fucked him forcefully. `Yes,’ the midfielder gasped weakly, `YES…’ He slid his palms across the wall, down to grip the edge of the headboard, needing something to hold tightly to as his arse was thudded over and over with piston-like regularity and energy, Jack more than rising to the challenges of his own dirty talk. Yes, yes, yes. He no longer knew what was out loud and in his head, just filled with pure enjoyment, his cock leaking precum as it rubbed against the cushions below, happy tears biting the edges of his eyes. Little flashes of worry occurred to him for Declan, but then between his own gasping yelps and Jack’s heavy grunts, he could hear moans escape through the door into the rest of the apartment, fleshy slaps and exclaimed words that told him the double date was going well. Declan didn’t cum inside him — like the kissing, it felt like a betrayal of some of his more special private moments with Mase. Plus, it was really fucking beautiful seeing his seed splash across those arch cheeks and the little hollow of downy hair above them on the base of Ben’s back. He roared powerfully as a little more of his juices burst from the pink tip of his cock, then he staggered backwards from the lad’s body, his chest rising and falling and his body prickling with sweat. `Jesus!’ whined Chilwell, gradually unfolding from his position at the kitchen counter, his arse red and trembling, his face flushed and glossy, his grin big and triumphant. `Go hard or go home, eh?’ The handsome bastard smirked at him, stood naked but for socks in the centre of his kitchen, amusingly unfazed by the pounding he’d taken, and just gently stroking his own monster. Dec, high on the quick brutal fuck he’d delivered, and hearing Mase’s screams close by, dropped to his knees and resumed the blow-job he had begin in a bathroom stall of Mykonos Airport, wrapping his lips around the insane girth of Chilly’s dick. He sucked greedily at it and tickled his low hanging balls, enjoying the gentle laugh of pleasure from the 23-year-old and going deeper. His own dick twinged and ached against his thigh, tired out by the speed and force of the way he’d topped his England teammate — there had been a certain liberation in fucking someone else, actually, since he was always a tiny bit scared of hurting Mason until he was drunk or really hyped-up. He knew Mount liked it rough and he was always pushing himself to fulfil that more. Now he lingered on his knees, gobbling Ben’s big cock with difficulty, until he was treated to a sticky load to — all over his chest, sitting back a little and jerking Chilly off, making his cum splash out over his own pale smooth pecs and dribble down from them. A few little splashes hit his neck and glistened there, and he could see how much Ben enjoyed the view, staring down at him. `Phew,’ panted the ex-Leicester hero. `Shall we check on our wives…?’ Giggling at this, Dec slowly lifted off the ground, the two of them spent and satisfied, and drifted into Mason’s — into THEIR bedroom, both insanely delighted and impossibly jealous of the scene that greeted him: Mason looking this way, doggy style on the bed, being absolutely slammed by a kneeling Grealish behind him, his long poser hair flopping everywhere and stuck in awkward strands down his face. Mase, deep in pleasure, still grinned and raised his eyebrows and locked eyes with him, glad to see him even has he was fucked senseless by a new lover. Instinctively, the two boyfriends moved in. Ben crawled onto the bed and with lazy loving motions, cuddled in against Jack as he fucked, kissing his neck and stroking his chest and purring audibly into his ear: `That’s it babe, cum in him, blow your load for us, yes baby…’ while Declan lifted one heavy knee up onto the bed and angled his crotch towards Mason’s cute face, allowing the twink to lap at his sticky cock and begin licking it clean of cum and spit. He let out a sighing groan, not quite able to get hard again yet, but enjoying the soft attention of Mason’s mouth, then finally replacing his dick with his own mouth — stooping down to kiss him passionately and reaching a long arm under his chest and six-pack to jerk and milk his dick. Behind him, Jack was loudly orgasming, encouraged and soothed by Chilwell, but Dec just focused on the long sticky kiss and the sensation of his boyfriend’s cock spasming and exploding in his grip, leaking spunk over the sheets below. The room rang with their collective gasps. Jack stepped wearily from the taxi in front of Ben’s London home, his body filled with the same satisfying exhaustion you got after a big win, whistling tunelessly to himself while his lover paid up the driver and then came around to join him, grabbing at him in a chummy hug with no thought for what the taxi driver might see or think — thank god for the public bromances that could cover up these secret intensities. Inside, he flopped into an armchair while Ben found them a nightcap of Disaronno and came to join him, sitting heavily across him and stroking at the sweaty tendrils of his displaced hair. Neither lad had said much since leaving the apartment foursome, where a couple more gin-and-tonics had accompanied the playful post-coital chatter between four half-naked footballers in the lounge, watching European football on the telly. `That was awesome,’ Jack murmured sleepily, accepting his drink and moving his body to cuddle and spoon Ben’s heavy muscularity more comfortably. `Wasn’t it? You enjoyed it, yeah?’ `Course I did,’ Ben confirmed, running his fingers about his face to pull away the sweaty strands of hair. `Declan Rice, eh… it’s always the quiet ones. What a man.’ Then, giggling and leaning in to plant a kiss on his brow, the ego-affirming addition: `Nothing next to you, Jacko, obviously, but still…’ `Mason’s not too bad,’ the Brummie lad sniggered back, glad they could be so open and positive. He thought about his exploits for Barkley’s birthday, the way the lads had fucked their two hookers and watched each other, but not touched bodies once; perhaps Ross really was straight, he mused, remembering the way they’d both once watched the big Scouser shag Mason Mount on the beach. Well, now Jack had been inside that bubble but too, and he found it hard to believe that Ross could try that and NOT want more. He hoped that his moody teammate was okay, still a bit concerned about how drunk and aggressive he’d been on his birthday night, his lack of explanation for what he’d been up to the day and night before, the mystery identity of his new bird. `Still with me?’ Ben demanded, staring into his sleepy worried eyes. `Yup,’ he agreed, putting aside that friendship and wanting to just enjoy what remained of his stopover with Chilwell; in the taxi, he’d adjusted his alarm slightly, but he’d still be up and travelling before 6am tomorrow if he was to be on time for Aston Villa training under the manager’s watchful eyes. But all of that — training, early starts, stressful drives, his deep loyalty to his friends and teammates — could fuck off and vanish for now, curled up in an armchair with his favourite guy. Declan snuggled gladly in next to Mason in the bed, drowned in darkness now the lamp was off, kissing quietly at the back of his neck then reaching to properly spoon him, pulling their tight athletic bodies together beneath the covers. `Love you,’ Rice murmured sleepily but sincerely, hugging him tightly until they were both too warm and had to waft the duvet away from their shoulders. `Love you more,’ Mason teased. `Not possible.’ `Fuck off.’ `You fuck off.’ Sleepy sniggers and then, from Mase, the gentle purring snores that meant he was slipping into satisfied sleep, and Declan joined him, burying his face in against his shoulder and feeling pride in their sleazy night together, shared with trusted friends; not so long ago, he might have lain awake now, worrying if he was enough for Mason, worrying about whether Grealish had been a better fuck than his own efforts, but he found to his own surprise that… well, he just didn’t give a fuck. This here between them was pure bliss, and nothing else mattered. *A SECOND ANNIVERSARY GIFT OF CUTENESS FOR YOU ALL… ENJOY!*