Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 19:30:16 -0500
From: ACD x <playoffwriter@outlook.com>
Subject: NFL playoffs (Part 5)

NFL playoffs 2014 (part 5)

Disclaimer: This story is
fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the true sexuality of
the celebrities mentioned or any personal knowledge about their private
lives.

AFC Semifinal - Chargers vs. Broncos - Denver, CO

Eric Decker didn't even get all the way into the Broncos locker room before
he saw the first two.


He saw right away that it was two of his own guys, one
orange jersey tugging the tight white football pants down off another.
They were pressed against the wall of the tunnel leading down to the
lockers, facing away from where their teammates were streaming past. As
Eric got closer, he saw the Bronco in back reaching down to unlace his
own pants too, and by the time he could make out the name on the jersey,
 Wesley Woodyard was already sliding his thick cock deep into Matt
Prater's tight, round ass.


"Don't waste much time, do ya, boss?" Decker said. As he
walked by, he slapped Woodyard's own firm butt, the two curved cheeks
partially exposed where the powerfully built linebacker had pulled his
football pants down far enough to pull his hard cock free and plant it
deep in the Denver kicker's hole.


Woodyard turned back and grinned at his teammate, already making
Prater grunt needfully into the concrete wall. "Hey, this little
cocksucker asked me, ok?" Prater just moaned in response as Woodyard
leaned his upper body back and let his hips do all the work, fucking his
 hard prick deeper into the kicker, who bent and hugged the wall with
his fingertips and cheek, his own cock still painfully constrained since
 Woodyard had only pulled his uniform off just far enough to fuck him.


Decker chuckled but walked on. In the locker room itself,
 the scene was more subdued, at least on the surface. Media were milling
 about, doing informal interviews. But here and there, hidden beneath
the ordinary postgame buzz, the handsome Broncos receiver could tell
that many of his teammates were preparing to celebrate in the manner to
which they'd become accustomed. He got to his own locker, pulled off his
 jersey and pads, leaving Decker bulging into the gray under-armor shirt
 that tightly hugged his upper body. He looked around, starting to smile as he counted them off.

Champ Bailey was texting. The veteran receiver with an
ass like an apple was a tried and true dicksucker and all around lover
of thick NFL jock pole. It was rumored around the league that Bailey was
 most likely to be found taking a dick anytime, anyplace, and that had
certainly been Eric's experience since arriving in Denver. Decker had
fucked Bailey in the locker room, in the showers, at camp, in the hotel
room on the road...and even in chancier places -- his favorite was one
freezing cold game in New England when Bailey had backed up on him on
the sideline and Decker had wrapped the big sideline coat around himself
 and his fellow receiver, shoved down both their uniform pants, hearing
the crowd roar and getting off on how he was balls deep in another pro
in the middle of a goddamn game. Decker fucked a load into his
teammate's ass that Bailey felt swishing in his hole for the rest of the
 game.

Decker didn't know who Bailey was talking to right now but
the way the horny stud was massaging his hardening cock under his mesh
shorts and then reaching further to grope his hole, he'd guess it was
one of the hard-fucking Chargers they'd just beat -- maybe the big
safety Eric Weddle, or the well-muscled running back Ryan Matthews. Even
 as Eric watched, Champ finished up abruptly, shoving his phone in his
bag and walking out of the locker room without a word to the others,
turning and heading for the visitor locker room.

Montee Ball actually had his dick out already, before he
even turned the corner into the showers where the cameras weren't
allowed to go. Decker whistled at the size of his teammate's hard-on,
all 9 inches of the big running back's massive prick throbbing into the
air, bobbing against his abs as he disappeared behind the wall. A moment
 later, though, Decker saw a couple large-framed figures, each shrouded
in a Chargers hoodie, rounding that same corner. Eric couldn't see their
faces, but as they passed him he caught sight of the round muscle asses
bulging into each guy's shorts or sweats. Fuck, he'd recognize those
tight, firm butts anywhere, bare or covered, hard cheeks pumping back
and forth as they walked or -- as Eric was most familiar with seeing
them -- spread wide and shaking as a thick length of pro-jock dick
prodded deep between them.

Eric Decker felt his own dick start to rise in his jock
under his unlaced football pants. He reached down and squeezed it
gently. One of those muscle butts he knew better than almost any other
-- he'd fucked Eddie Royal every few days for just about the whole year
they played together in Denver. God damn, but Eric loved that tight,
firm wideout ass. He used to sidle up to Eddie in the locker room, not
far from where he was standing right now. Decker would already be hard,
his cock straining his Broncos shorts, making an obscene tent in the
mesh fabric. He'd let it rub against Eddie's shoulder pads, daring the
receiver to look. He always would, of course -- how could anybody not
turn and drink in the sight of Eric Decker's long, hard prick curving
its full 10 inches into his shorts, the wide crown obvious under the
thin layer of mesh, each individual pulse of blood into Decker's swollen
 prick visible as his cock throbbed with hunger. "Hey, bro," Decker
would say. Eddie Royal would try to answer, but his voice would catch,
he'd clear his throat.

Eddie would be hard by then too, his own decently long, beautifully
curving dick tugging against his sweatpants. Without a word, he'd rise
and follow Eric into the rear of the locker room. The guys knew not to
go back there unless they were looking for a particular brand of
post-game relief, and Decker and Royal were there every week. "Fuck..."
Eddie would whisper as Eric pulled his shorts down, let his cock rise
free into the air, red and firm and swollen with need. Decker breathed
out slowly as he felt Royal's lips slip around him, then Royal's tongue
snaking out and licking up the full, hard length of Decker's cock. "God
 damn..." Eric would moan softly as he felt Eddie get to work. "You're
so fuckin' good at that." Decker's hands on Royal's shoulders, Royal's fingers
tracing the definition of Decker's absurdly ripped stomach. It was never
 more than a few minutes of that kind of foreplay, though, before Eric
couldn't last any longer and pressed Eddie Royal's muscular body against
 the wall, tugging off Eddie's sweatpants. Eddie would feel Eric's bulk
pushing him into the hard wall, his nipples stiffening as they hit the cool
 tile, his abs flattened, his cock trapped between his
hips and the wall, and Eddie had to turn his head, his cheek pressed to
the wall as Eric Decker leaned in. Eric kissed Eddie's neck, bit at his
ear. Decker's voice was barely audible: "I really love fucking you,
dude." Then Decker's cock was sliding into him, perfect angle, perfect
pace, smooth as silk. It was like Eric Decker had been made to fuck NFL
athletes. And five or ten or thirty minutes later, Eddie Royal would
gasp and come all over the wall of the shower,
Decker following close behind, releasing low, animal grunts as he
emptied his load deep inside his teammate. Decker bit his lip now,
imagining Montee Ball enjoying that same soft, sweet hole.


Or maybe the other one...Eric didn't know that one as
well. Which wasn't to say that he'd never fucked Manti Te'o -- shit, who
 hadn't? Just that it had only been three or four times this season. The
 Chargers' rookie linebacker was a joke, of course, a punch line at
every frat house and office water cooler across America. But the truth
was that Te'o was 240 pounds of muscle, a hell of a football player, and
 an awesome fuck. For a guy who got plowed as often as Te'o did, he was
still tight as hell, and he knew just how to work that sweet, round ass,
 massaging Eric's cock, taking Decker's fuck just as hard as Decker was
throwing it. He turned Eric on like crazy, and after the second time
Eric rewarded him with a deep, long kiss after they were finished.


Actually it was Te'o going first, Eric realized as he heard the
soft, deep groan from behind the wall. He pictured Ball driving hard
into Manti's tight ass, muscle on muscle, the San Diego linebacker's own
 dick dripping-hard and leaking freely till Eddie Royal slipped it
between his lips.


Fuck, the young Bronco thought. He looked down. He was
already hard in his jock, the fat length of Eric Decker's dick tightly
encased in cotton like a thick sausage wrapped in its package. He was
gonna have a hell of a time staving off his own needs, his own hunger.
How was Decker gonna will this throbbing erection down, change into his
suit, and head home to his wife?


Especially when he wasn't even sure he wanted to?

Things
 were deteriorating fast now. Almost all the media had disappeared.
Other guys were gathering their things and getting outta Dodge -- the
ones who had no interest in extracurricular activities, the ones who
were true-believer Bible-thumpers, not the Tebows of the world who knelt
 to pray for the cameras then came back in the locker room and let the
likes of Eric Decker rail them in the weight room for an hour and a half.
 And for those who remained, things were getting a little more...overt.

Decker hadn't noticed Danny Woodhead come in, but the ripped little running back, shaggy-haired and built like a fireplug, was already on his knees in front of Von Miller, silently unbuckling the Bronco linebacker's football pants, letting Miller's thickening cock push out a little harder with each passing moment. Right next to them, another Charger had snuck behind enemy lines, and now the stud Denver wideout
Demaryius Thomas was licking and biting at Derek Cox's neck, the
handsome San Diego corner leaning his head back into Thomas's shoulder,
feeling the ripped Bronco receiver unlace his pants and slip his hand
inside, wrapping around Cox's stiff prick and pulling it into the open.
As Demaryius brought his hand back and started pulling Cox's uniform
down, revealing his toned, hard ass, Von Miller reached over and curled
his fingers around Cox's hard prick, stroking him steadily, and Danny
Woodhead took Miller's huge Bronco dick deeper and deeper down his throat.

Decker's
 cock was out now, his jock shoved urgently down. He stroked himself
gently as he took in the scene, Decker's fingers lingering on the
sensitive underside of his wide cockhead. He pushed up his shirt,
running his fingers over his hard stomach, up to flick and twist one of
the nipples standing out proudly from his pec. Decker's lip curled up.
He grunted softly. This was going south in a hurry, and Decker was right
 on the edge of just letting himself go.

The door of
the locker room slammed shut. Eric opened his eyes a little wider -- the
 last reporters were gone. The cameras were off. He heard a loud groan
to his right and looked over. Peyton's backup, Brock Osweiler, was on
his back on one of the couches, the handsome, muscle-studded Charger
safety Eric Weddle looming over him. Weddle had been holding back purely
 out of respect for the guys who were entitled to use their locker room
in the way it was intended, but he was pretty goddamn pissed about
losing this game, and he meant to get his release. And by the way Brock
was already shuddering, the cute second-stringer holding on to the couch
 for dear life as Weddle quickly began pounding the kid's hole, he'd probably get it and then some before the night was out.

Decker
 got to his feet. He kicked off his cleats, shucked his uniform pants
and jock the rest of the way. The tight under-armor shirt was next -- no
 sense delaying the inevitable now. Eric Decker now stood bare, all 6
feet 3 inches and 215 pounds tanned and smooth and swollen with muscle.
The guys couldn't fail to notice, even those who were already
engaged.

"Fuck, Decker..." Demaryius Thomas whistled.
 He was pumping steadily into Derek Cox now, the Chargers corner biting
his lip and holding onto Thomas's leg for support as he got fucked. "Lookin' good, boy." Decker smiled, and Thomas fucked Cox a little harder.

"No
 shit, dude," came another voice from behind him. Eric turned to see the
 young Denver running back Ronnie Hillman, arms swollen, hips thrusting,
 driving deep in a sandy-haired white dude who was a lot bigger than
Hillman but was taking it like a champ. Hillman was grinning. "Man, I
might even take you, lookin' like that." The brash 22-year-old was
grinning at him, but Eric was focused on the guy he was fucking. His
head was down so Eric couldn't see his face, but damn, he looked
familiar...

Ronnie noticed and spoke up. "Oh, you want a go, Deck?" He slapped the dude on his cheek. "C'mon Phil, say hey to my man Eric."

Philip Rivers raised his head and Eric Decker nearly came right then. The look of abject
need, of total subservience, of unquenchable hunger for a long, deep
fuck was etched on the Charger QB's face. "Hey," Rivers grunted, his Alabama lilt coming through even in that single, sex-choked word.
 Fuck, but it was pathetic seeing this pro who stood proud and tall on
the field getting his tight ass deep-dicked by a fourth-string kid
with more dick than sense. And fuck, but it was hot, too. Decker grasped
 his hard-on a little tighter as he smiled.

"I'm gonna pass this time, bro. But save some of this for me." Decker walked up and let his
 throbbing cockhead reach almost to Phil Rivers' lips, waiting until the
 defeated quarterback started to open his mouth to take Decker's fat
cock between his lips, then pulling back and slapping Rivers' cheek with
 his dick, smearing Decker's pre-come on Rivers' stubbled face. "If this fuckin' slut can wait that long," he added with a grin as he turned away.

Decker passed Manning in the hall down to the weight room. The veteran QB was showered and changed into a Broncos t-shirt and orange shorts and was carrying a bag that looked stuffed with God knows what. Trailing behind him were
two guys, no more than 20, built well, their muscular torsos packed into
 a pair of t-shirts that read "Colorado State Football". One was blond,
one was dark-haired, but both were good looking as fuck and both had
their eyes planted firmly on Peyton. Decker caught his QB's eye as they
passed. "They just stay the same age..." Peyton drawled with a cocked
eyebrow. Decker grinned; he didn't notice the blond turn and watch him
go for just a moment before turning back to follow the Hall of Fame QB
out to his car.

Eric nearly ran into Wes Welker as he
passed by the showers. Welker's own taut body was bare except for the
towel wrapped around his neck; he was rubbing it through his hair to dry
 it off. Decker grabbed Welker's shoulder to hold off the collision,
then caught his teammate's eye. "Hey, man," Wes said, unable to stop
himself from flicking his eyes over Eric's body. "You stickin' around?"

Decker
 didn't need to guess his buddy's meaning, especially as Welker tossed
the towel to the ground and leaned into his teammate, wrapping a hand
around Eric's steel-hard cock and ducking his head to lick at Eric's
chest. "Mmh," Decker grunted. His dick throbbed into Welker's grip.
"Fuck, dude, I..."

Welker's own cock, its thick 8
inches impressive for a dude his size, was already sliding over Decker's
 stomach, the crown bumping over the ridges of Decker's abs. Welker
kissed Decker's thickly-muscled neck, loving the smell of his teammate
just after a hard-fought game. "C'mon, Deck," he murmured into Eric's
skin. "You know I'm the best."

Eric reached down,
grabbed Wes Welker's gorgeous round ass, feeling its firm bulges in his
palm, barely giving an inch as he squeezed the muscle hard. He'd fucked his fellow wideout more times than he could count, and he wasn't sure Welker was wrong. But on this night Eric Decker was hungry for something else...

"Not tonight, Wes." Welker pulled back, looking hurt. "I'll hit you up tomorrow, bro."

Welker
 was about to speak when a pair of powerful, chocolate-brown arms
wrapped around his midsection from behind and a pair of lips appeared at
 his ear. "Besides, we got plenty to do back over here." Welker's breath
 caught as he felt a thick slab of dick rake over his butt, then slide
between the cheeks. He knew the voice, and he definitely knew the cock.
And as Wesley Woodyard drove his hard prick into his second Bronco of
the night, Welker gave in, bending slightly forward, feeling the
linebacker fill him, and letting his eyes flick closed, catching a last
glimpse of Decker as his teammate opened the door to the weight room.

"My man!"

Paris Lenon smiled as he saw who was walking in.
He didn't seem bothered by the fact that Eric Decker's muscular body was
 bare. The Denver linebacker himself was wearing only a pair of blue
mesh Broncos shorts and some Nikes as he sat on a weight bench. Lenon's upper body looked pumped -- he'd actually been lifting, working out the tension of sitting on the sideline for just about the whole game. He looked good -- 36 years old and still ripped with muscle,
strong jaw and fierce eyes. The veteran linebacker was a man's man and a
 player's player, fought hard and did his job even if it wasn't
glamorous, even if he wasn't featured in GQ. Decker liked him. Decker was happy to see him.

And right now, Eric Decker wanted him.

"Hey, man," Eric said with a smile, locking hands with his teammate. They stood in silence for a second before Decker spoke again. "Some crazy shit goin' on out there."

Lenon grinned, shaking his head. "Look like you don't half hate it."
 He didn't have to nod down to where Eric Decker's cock still strained
proudly into the air, hard and thick and dripping-wet. In fact Eric had
gotten even harder since the moment he stepped in and saw this
muscle-packed pro football player pumping iron, and Eric couldn't deny
he was fucking hard, not with his dick waving in Lenon's face. Decker decided to spin the attack to his advantage, catch the guy who extended too far like he had so many times on the field.

"You're tellin' me you don't see anything you like?" Eric said.

And
 unlike Lenon, Decker did glance downward. And when his teammate did
too, his eyes widened. "Shit..." Lenon murmured, seeing his thick,
handsome cock straining into his shorts for the first time, tenting the
powerful pro jock's pants like he was a 21-year-old rookie. He looked
back up, his eyes meeting Decker's. His teammate had moved a foot
closer, hovering over the bench, Decker's cock bobbing a foot away,
Decker's bare, tightly-muscled body easily within reach. The linebacker
swallowed hard. "What are you doin', man?"

Decker
smiled again. He was trying to figure if he could take his teammate.
Lenon had maybe 30 pounds on him, but Decker was so fucking horny...
"Nothin' you don't want me to."

"Well, I don't want you to fuck me." It rang false, and Lenon knew it.

"Nobody
 talkin' about that but you," Decker said, driving the dagger in.
Lenon's eyes were fixed on Eric Decker's cock. How many times had he
imagined that cock...doing things to that gorgeous cock...letting it do
things to him. His voice was almost a whisper. "I never done this
before."

"Never?"

Lenon shook his head. "Never."

"So why'd you stay this time?"

Paris
 Lenon looked up, staring into Decker's eyes. "You want the truth, man?"
 He didn't wait for an answer. "I known guys who liked guys on every
team I been on...every damn one. But I never thought I was one'a those
guys till I saw..." The linebacker paused, reaching a hand, tentative
but steady, up to rest on Decker's hard stomach, just the fingers, then
the palm flattening against Decker's flat abdominals. "This..."

A
 grin spread over Eric Decker's handsome face. He dropped down to sit on
 the bench, facing his teammate. His bare feet came forward, knocking
against the 70-pound dumbbells Lenon had set down when Eric walked in.
He took Lenon's hand, lifted it gently up, let the big linebacker's
rough fingers spread over Decker's pec. Then down, all the way down,
curling Lenon's fingers around Decker's iron-hard cock, his breath
catching at first, then breathing in and out slowly as his hand traveled
 up its full, firm length, feeling just how fucking big and thick
Decker's cock really was, till finally it reached the soft, slick crown.
 Now it was Decker's turn to suck in a breath as Lenon's fingers slipped
 over the underside. He lifted his eyes.

"This...is
yours." He groped Lenon's own cockhead through the tightly strained mesh
 fabric; Lenon groaned deeply. "All this." Decker leaned in, his lips
inches from the other Bronco's lips. "All you gotta do...is take it."
And Eric Decker kissed Paris Lenon, slow at first, letting the
rough-hewn pro feel the stubble of Decker's cheek, the power behind that kiss, then harder, deeper.

Before
 Lenon even realized he was bending, he'd already broke. He was on his back
now, Decker on top of him -- fuck! he was heavy...and hard...and fucking
 hot. Lenon's cock ached into his shorts until those were suddenly gone
too, shucked in a smooth motion of Decker's hands. Eric's hand was on
his dick, then between his legs, and fuck -- fuck! what am I doing??
Then Decker's fucking mouth was between his legs and he felt himself
relaxing, heard himself moaning, felt himself spreading and opening. God
 damn, he'd felt a lot of things as a pro football player but never
anything like this... yet it went on for minute after minute till
suddenly Decker was above him again, all 215 pounds of him, looming, and
 somehow he knew what was about to happen.

"You ready?" came Decker's voice. Lenon's eyes flicked up. Fuck, Decker was hot.

He gave the tiniest nod.

And just like that Decker was inside him, that thick Bronco prick driving deeper and deeper.
 Fuck if a guy like Paris Lenon knew what it would feel like to get
fucked by one of his teammates, but he didn't think it'd feel so smooth,
 so easy, so...

"Fuck!" A shot of something -- sharp, unusual,
and deeply fucking good -- fired through the veteran linebacker's
tough-built body.

"Yeah..." Decker was saying, his lips spreading into a smile again, his hand around Lenon's fattening cock. "Fuck yeah, you feel that?"

Fuck,
 did he ever feel it, and suddenly Paris Lenon knew he was gonna want to
 get fucked -- and especially get fucked by Eric Decker -- a hell of a
lot more. He didn't say anything -- his tongue and lips seemed broken --
 and he just let his body relax, fall back, take the smooth, sweet fuck
that his teammate was so ably delivering. It seemed like just a few minutes though he knew it was longer, but it felt so goddamn good he barely noticed the time pass. Then Decker's other hand was on his
 stomach, then running over his chest, and when Decker squeezed the nub
at the edge of his pec Lenon came, and came hard, pumping what seemed
like 20 shots of cream all over his stomach, his chest, Decker's hand,
letting Decker fuck him and squeeze him till it felt like his balls were
 drained to the bottom.

At that same moment, Eric
Decker clenched his eyes and came with a deep growl, his cock exploding
with come, soaking this stud linebacker's hole for the first time in his
 life. Lenon was so goddamn tight, even after Decker had fucked him for
almost half an hour, and that ass seemed to clench around Decker's dick
and milk that beautiful cock, making the young receiver empty himself as
 completely as Lenon had, till finally Decker breathed out slowly and
sank down onto his teammate's body, Decker's pecs and abs sliding
cum-slick over Lenon's pecs and abs, the two Broncos just lying there
for a moment, feeling their heartbeats slacken and their bodies cool.

Eric
 was thinking of what to say, how to stave off the inevitable panic of a
 guy who's lived 36 years and just realized he fucking loves dick, but
it was actually Paris Lenon who spoke first.

"Hey yo, Deck." Lenon's voice was soft, but confident. "Can we...do that
again?"