Date: Wed, 27 May 2020 19:59:08 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 111: Bachelor Birthday Bash

Part 111: Bachelor Birthday Bash


It was a small gathering, but it was still most definitely against the
current rules. The flouted lockdown cast an enjoyable Prohibition thrill
over the boozy soiree, even if it meant the music on the house's sound
system couldn't get too loud or bassy, or held back the number and mix
of guests, or put a reserved edge to some people's behaviour even after
the dozenth bottom of bubbly had been trickled out into glasses. The
players, their return to training bringing them physically closer, were
more relaxed tonight, though a few of them were already on soft drinks,
conscious of a brief training session tomorrow afternoon; others were
ignoring this, giving in to both the occasion and their own social
frustration, knocking back the pricy booze their hosts had invested in.

John Stones surveyed the `party' of his spacious lounge with a kind of
cautious delight, a half-empty champagne flute in one hand and the remote
control for the wireless speaker system in the other. It was going well,
he thought, a bit surprised. He'd been wary when Kyle Walker first
suggested anything at all, though not marking the day had seemed a weird
and gloomy possibility. Discovering they shared the same birthday had
been one of the many bonding moments when the two blokes were first
roomed together on an England tour, a few years before both wearing City
shirts. For John, this was only his 26th, not exactly a big deal -- he
could have quite contentedly sat it out and settled for a nice meal out
whenever that was allowed. But it was Walker's 30th, and he was really
glad they'd been able to rustle up this discreet little bash for him.

If it remained discreet, that is; that was Stones' fear, as he stood
tapping his toes to the music and feeling a little detached from the
slurred drunken enjoyment of everyone else. They'd taken precautions, of
course. John had been keen to invite young Phil, glad to be on good
speaking terms with Foden again after the earlier trouble -- but Walker
had insisted `Golden Boy' was too close to the boss, put his foot down.
Other guests had been borderline: they'd hesitated over straitlaced
Kevin De Bruyne, that responsible hero of the midfield, but right now the
strawberry blond Belgian was curled up against his wife on a sofa looking
very glad to be away from the kids for an evening, near-empty beer bottle
in one pale fist. Arrivals had been staggered and cautious, and use of
the garden strictly banned, to ward off nosy eyes; the last thing either
John or Kyle needed was a call to the police or the press.

The party even had a curfew, a thought which the pair of current bachelor
lads had cackled over when planning it all out a few nights ago. They
were almost looking to the pantomime of shushing the guests away in
staggered phases. Organised fun of the cringiest kind, really, but
still...

John looked fondly to where Kyle was stood, arms bulging in his crisp
white shirt, beer in one hand and champagne in the other; he was talking
animatedly to Benjamin Mendy and a local pal of John's, his face alive
with the secret rebellion of the night. It can hardly be the 30th
birthday he pictured, Stones reflected sympathetically, but it's better
than nowt. He couldn't help but grin at the fact he'd been able to make
this all happen for his house guest, his best mate, his... well, just
that, right. He beamed with half-drunk proud and decided some people
might need another drink before it all began to wind down. He crossed the
room, pausing as Kyle reached out to fondly slap his shoulder as he
passed, giving him a cheery grin and turning back to the other lads.

Across the hall and in the kitchen, the party had spread out; Otamendia
and Aguero were mixing some sort of noxious cocktail for themselves and
somebody's wife or girlfriend (he couldn't keep track) was having a
heart-to-heart with his mate's wife at the central island. He gave vague
greetings and acknowledgments to the four of them and passed over to the
fridge, fetching the final bottle of fizz from the massive overpriced
stash that was essentially his birthday gift to Kyle.

`I take it you two won't be needing any bubbles,' he laughed awkwardly
at the two players raiding his spirits cabinet and took a brief interest
in the South American special Aguero was concocting before topping up the
glasses of the two birds by the window, then moving back through to the
lounge, host with the most.

He allowed himself a bit of a swagger, topping up glasses and carefully
avoiding any sticky spillage on his bare forearms. Despite his growing
calm and confidence in the event, he was sweating beneath the short
sleeve funky printed shirt he wore; the house was hot and the reluctant
refusal to use the big garden or have any windows open was taking a toll
on the armpits and crotch of everyone's outfits! But still, better that
than a dangerous noise complaint and the inevitable media interest...

`Top us up then will you, mate!' exclaimed one of the guests, brushing
clumsily in front of him then like he'd perhaps already had too much. It
was Raheem Sterling, a huge grin on his face; here was a lad who'd been
missing the party scene a LOT during the anti-social months of the
pandemic!

`No bother,' Stones replied with a throaty laugh, tilting the emptying
bottle and letting its fizzy contents fill the narrow flute; tipsy
Sterling moved his hand away for second and a drop of champers rushed to
the rug on the floor. Instinctively, Stones felt a surge of dread at this
mess and potential stain, then remembered the bachelor reality of it all;
his missus had gone and was in no rush to come back, still suspicious
even though the police had backed off and his ex was pressing no charges
about the `spying' claim. He was, for all he knew, dumped and single.
No woman no cry. He stared at the droplets on the rug, then Raheem's
vaguely worried expression, and laughed. `Oops.'

`To the birthday bachelors,' Raheem said quickly, clinking his glass
against John's. `Better top yours up too, John boy, it's your party
too, not just big dumb Walker's, eh...!'

John readily did so, finishing the bottle off on himself, and clinking
glasses again with the short Londoner in front of him, who was clearly
way past tipsy but was a fun drunk to have around, bright-eyed and
storytelling. He instantly vanished away to speak to a couple of other
guests and John contemplated whether to interrupt the conversation and
sidle up to his fellow birthday boy; but the blokes looked deep into a
chat about the new grime artist playing on the speakers and it wasn't
really John's cup of tea so he held back.

He moved back towards the long windows, twitching the blinds and eyeing
the neighbouring mansions with a touch of lingering caution. All it took
was one nosy cunt to spot something was going on, and... But no. All quiet
out there. Drunken fun in here, as controlled as it needed to be. He
needed to relax and enjoy himself; Raheem was right, after all, it WAS
his own birthday, his own party too! Tonight wasn't just about Kyle
enjoying himself...

The detached thought rose a new panic that had been hovering in the back
of his mind, and he stiffened up his posture a little, pulling at the
collar of his tropical-print shirt and glancing back down the long lounge
of friends and teammates. His eyes found Kyle in the fray, now moving
over with Mendy to greet Aguero, who was coming to show off the
outrageous Argentinian cocktails he'd been mixing for them to try. John
checked the time on his Rolex before trying to push forward and join them
and finally let off some steam; good couple of hours before they needed
to start seeing off the first few guests, drip-feeding them into the
night to avoid alerting anyone to the size of the gathering... Yes, seeing
off the guests, that would be the next anxious hurdle, he thought, and he
could relax and just enjoy his own 26th birthday until then, surely...

And when the guests were gone, he remembered with a nervous little
shudder, that was what really worried him, if he was honest...



Almost two weeks had passed since the big new house became an extended
bachelor pad. The first couple of days had been grim, a series of ignored
calls and attempts to speak to his hopefully current girlfriend; and vice
versa, a series of calls and angry messages from his definite ex that he
was doing his best to ignore. He'd eventually managed a meet-up in a
park with Olivia, and managed to head off the most obvious and pressing
issue: the fact she'd walked in on him and Kyle, erm, enjoying each
other.

It had been a triumph and a disaster all at once. His attempts to explain
it away as first a bit of manly comforting and then as a silly playfight
had both failed. Somehow, though, he'd seemed to push her towards being
a little less shocked; he hadn't even really known what he was saying,
but he'd created some sort of impression that maybe it was the kind of
thing lads did a lot, when they were stressed out or upset, or... Oh fuck,
who knew what she'd bought and hadn't bought? The real disaster was not
that: his earnest efforts to explain away what she'd walked in on had
led him to be blunt and crass. `You can't tell anyone,' he'd said
gruffly, sat next to her on a bench in Sale Water Park, watching the
Mersey drift by. `I can explain this shit to you, babe, but not to a
reporter or some scum on the terraces, or...' She'd laughed off his
panic and assured him that she had about as much intention of leaking his
sex life to the press as she did of moving back anytime soon; it turned
out his earnest explanations and defence of what she'd walked in on were
what pushed her to `take some space' and put their relationship `on
hold'. `You're more bothered about what I might tell people about you
and your best fucking mate than you are about US,' she'd cried shortly
before they parted.

She was right, and for a couple of days it had left him low. He'd
struggled to engage in the City training schedule or pick up on Walker's
attempts to cheer and support him. It felt like his relationships were
just in tatters, he couldn't help but see himself and Kyle as two
arrogant fuck-ups who had pissed away their private lives. He'd hit rock
bottom and got pissed on his own in the games room one night, and then...
Well, miserable and drunk and lonely, he'd gone upstairs and chose the
guest bedroom over his own. Tiptoed in, fought back some lonely tears,
and crawled into bed with Kyle instead of facing his own, alone.

Kyle had half woken up, grumbling distantly; at the time, John hadn't
been 100% sure that his guest knew what was happening. The way Walker
grabbed at him and pulled him into a spooning cuddle, it seemed like he
was in the midst of a dream and thought he was reunited with one of his
own complicated ex-partners. But snuggling together under the warm
sheets, Walker had leaned over and whispered in his ear. `You still got
me, buddy, you still got me.' Stones was ashamed to think about the
silent tears of relief that he'd leaked into the pillow as he listened
to that groaning whisper at his side.

And for the week or so since then, they'd shared a bed. Kyle's bed, to
be specific. The following night, Walker had suggested they sleep in the
master bedroom instead, with it being bigger and comfier and... `But
it's hers,' John had mumbled awkwardly, and Kyle seemed to understand.
He was so much more emotionally sensitive and mature than people gave him
credit for. He didn't raise the question at all and just tidied up the
pigsty of a room a bit to accommodate his own host.

For the first two nights, it really was just sharing a bed. Okay, a
cuddle, but not more. Waking up in the morning after night two though,
John had felt an alien hand somewhere on his midriff. He'd resisted it
for a little while, pretending to be asleep or disinterested, but his
boner had given him away. And so the mutual handjobs -- and the kisses --
had begun. As the days ticked by, it leaked from the bed to other parts
of their temporarily shared life. Three days ago, they had got home from
a short but intense group training session with the City coaches, and
Kyle had been fondling him before they even got out of the car, grabbing
his leg and crotch in his tracksuit bottoms and making lewd jokes while
Stones parked the car. He'd had to slap away groping touches on the
driveway in case a neighbour saw, but then they 69d on the hall floor and
ended up lying beside each other on the wooden boards until midway
through the evening when Walker decided to call a takeaway.

And then, two nights ago, it had... developed.

A strange pattern had settled that seemed to be psychologically necessary
for one or both of them: they never actually went to bed at the same
time. Since that first emotional night that Stones had gone through into
the guest room, it was always one or the other of them that went up
first, in some weird invisible pretence that nothing was going on. (Who
were they pretending for?) Either John or Kyle would wearily head up and
the other, finishing off an online game or a late snack or a beer or a
phone call, would head up a little later -- for John, this always
involved a few minutes' hesitation on the landing, unsure if tonight he
was ready to return to his master bed, to give a cold shoulder to this
friendship with benefits.

But two nights ago, they'd been sharing a homecooked curry at the
kitchen table, chatting away about their separate groups' training late
that afternoon, bitching about a few guys and praising others. It had
been a really comfortable atmosphere between them and John hadn't
realised how happy he'd slowly become; he hadn't given up on his
relationship but he was content to wait a while before bothering Olivia
and trying to push for anything between them. He knew she needed time and
space and he was content to let her have it, and see what happened. He
was enjoying his bachelor days and nights, content with the light
unspoken bursts of fun that came with it: Kyle's hands down his pants
while he did the dishes, an unexpected blow-job in the shower, the gentle
muscular cuddle when his heartbreak returned in the middle of the night.
Then, sat opposite him at the table, Kyle had looked up from his empty
bowl and smirked a little, and shattered the strange peace of it all.

`I reckon we should take it further,' he suggested. John knew what he
meant immediately but he played dumb for a little while, misreading it as
a comment on their cookery or on the football club's strategy, or the
whole country's lockdown, but... `I mean, our fun,' the burly defender
had muttered, grabbing the top of his hand across the table. `I reckon
we should... you know, fuck.' The word sounded both ugly and poetic in
his friend's lips. John had screwed up his face in uncertainty even as
his cock throbbed in his jeans.

But later that night, Kyle coming to bed half an hour after him, creeping
across the room smelling of the vodka he'd downed for false confidence...
they'd realised a bit of a misunderstanding. There had been kissing,
John both repulsed and aroused by the boozy taste of that muscular
tongue, and hands under pyjamas. They'd both been rock hard, their
excitement for further experimenting completely blatant despite the
nervous and stammering conversation they'd both stumbled through over a
beer on the patio. Here they were, in bed, willing to try new things,
but... It was only when Kyle slid his hand down the back of John's boxers
and gnawed at the side of his neck that he realised their different
expectations here.

`You want to fuck me,' he'd muttered suddenly, half-accusing.

`Well... yeah... That's what we...'

`I thought I was gonna fuck YOU.'

`Wha'?! What the fuck -- seriously? But...'

Stalemate. The two City players had lain quietly in bed for some time,
stroking each other a little then pulling apart again. The mood of casual
fun was killed, the comfortable tolerance of this new friendship back on
the rocks. Both of them had been talking at cross purposes earlier; they
both thought they were gonna be the one crossing one line, while the
other really submitted to a new experience. That night, they hadn't even
wanked or sucked, they'd just slid apart and thought themselves into
knots until sleep came. And no discussion of it for two days, until the
car journey to training today, both of them hotly anticipating tonight's
party.

`You'll get your birthday gift later,' Kyle had said quietly and
almost menacingly, pulling them into the City training ground car park.
He turned and winked, seeming as aware as Stones was that they were sat
in the same fucking sports car that they'd first intimately touched in,
seated in the same positions, just warm and dry. `Later, after the
party, I'll give you a better present than a grand's worth of
champagne,' Walker chuckled, and immediately turned away, letting
himself out of the car.



Watching De Bruyne and wife quickly depart down the driveway to the
discreet taxi that awaited them, John Stones turned the moment of
dialogue over in his head again and again. He forced a smile and waved an
anxious goodbye at them, then turned indoors. One by one, they were
seeing off their guests -- some by taxi, some on foot, a couple of
designated drivers. It was actually the most complicated bit of the
party, especially since neither Stones nor Walker were entirely sober.
Thank fuck he'd dissuaded the Sheffield party boy not to call his
dealer!

John made his way back through the house, partly focused on who was still
left to clear out, and partly turning over that birthday promise.
`You'll get your birthday gift later,' he heard that Yorkshire accent
leer in the back of his mind, echoing against his insecurities. `A
better present than a grand's worth of champagne,' it added, as he
picked an empty bottle off the hall floor and carried it through into the
empty kitchen. Behind him came the slurred noisy goodbyes of Aguero and
Mendy, and he heard Kyle stifling a laugh as he ushered them along,
instructing them to drop their voices and leave carefully, keep up the
illusion that there was no party going on...

It had to mean what he thought he did. He knew that mischievous look on
Walker's face, that curl of smirk and little fire in his eye. It was the
kind of leer he got from his mate just before he scored coke or decided
to order a hooker or when he was planning some ridiculous trip to shag an
ex on the sly. It was a look of trouble, one that had excited and invited
him so many times, but tonight filled him with worry.

Why did Kyle assume HE would be the one to give up his arse? Why did they
even have to go further anyway? Wasn't a bit of touching and sucking
pretty fucking novel and exciting? It had certainly felt it! And
couldn't they go slow? He felt a sickly confidence that he knew exactly
what the `gift' Kyle wanted to `give' him was, knew every thick veiny
inch of it. He stood alone in the kitchen, arse clenched in his tight
black skinny jeans, fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. It was
both their birthdays, but it was Walker's 30th; was that why he assumed
he should get to be, ugh, `top'? Or was it just cos he was older,
anyway? I mean, I'm bigger, John thought irritably, taller AND
downstairs, so... Well, maybe that was another argument on Kyle's side,
logistically speaking... He was getting flustered. The repeated glasses of
fizz were not helping.

In the hallway, he came face to face with his guest and friend and, well,
lover. Walker had just shut the door behind those two, having
successfully quietened their loudmouthed conversation, and he looked very
relieved to have done so. He stood with his back to the door, a faint
grin on his face, the slightly distant expression of too much to drink in
his eyes. The newly 30-year-old bloke grinned more at spotting him; the
joy of their being alone together gleamed in his white teeth and wide
eyes, and it thrilled and terrified John all at once. It was strange how
normal it had become: the two of them, alone. An endless overnight in a
hotel before a match, it felt like. The match was a long time coming.

`That's everyone?' Stones asked in a low, cautious voice, crossing the
big entrance hall of the house and trying not to notice the empty coat
pegs and other tiny signs of his absent girlfriend, the life they'd been
building until recently. Worse than the absences were the left-behinds:
the lingering kids' crap from her little one, the feminine touches in
the bathroom. Kyle must have noticed his note of drunken sadness because
he reached out and squeezed his shoulder very tenderly.

`I think so,' Walker said, not addressing the topic, `must be, mate.'
He spoke with a definitely drunk slur; he'd had a lot more than John
had, of course.

John returned his smile, nervously. They'd have to talk. He couldn't go
through with this. He knew his mate was curious and horny, but there had
to be limits. And his virgin arsehole was surely one of them! He was just
about to open his mouth and make some half-joking start at this difficult
conversation when there came loud steps on the stairs and they both
turned.

`Mate,' whooped Raheem, taking two steps at a time in his quick
descent, `this place is a palace, the size of that balcony off the
master bedroom, what the actual fuck!' Wide-eyed and buoyant, the
25-year-old Jamaican bounded at them, clapping his hands together and
flashing his playful smile. `Where'd the tunes go, brothers? What's
up?' Clapping a single hand each to their arms, the City winger strode
by them and back towards the emptied lounge, beginning to sing a Weeknd
song to himself that had been on repeat half an hour ago.

John turned with a suppressed groan and met Kyle's eyes for a moment.
They shared a look of frustration and impatience, though for John there
was a hint of relief too. But `curfew' was here, the party could not go
on all night. This had been meticulously planned. Controlled fun. He
turned with a light-headed rush of how much he'd consumed, and followed
Sterling through into the lounge, Walker trailing after him.

`Mate, we thought you'd gone,' John barked warmly, picking up a couple
of side-plates and empty glasses on his way down the room. Raheem was in
front of Kyle's iPhone at the speaker hub, about to play DJ to an empty
dancefloor. `The party's kind... over...' He paused, noticing just how
drunk this last guest actually was as he swayed round to face him.

`Yeh, you heard the boss,' chuckled Kyle, swaggering down the lounge
with his hands in the pockets of his tight chino shorts, his new white
shirt half unbuttoned against the stuffy heat of the empty house.

Raheem grinned at each of them and shrugged. `Party ain't over til the
fat lady sings, and neither of your mums are here so...' He sniggered. He
was a different guy this wasted, not the grinning nice-guy of the
training centre or the determined professional of match-day. John smiled
a little, thinking that often it was the other way round; he'd be the
lary drunk northerner and Raheem the gentlemanly London lad.

`Rules is rules,' Walker said, dropping his mocking tone and clapping
his hands together with an air of bouncer-like finality. `Lockdown mate,
you knew the plan.' He strolled over to Raheem, while John backed away
and piled the things he'd collected onto a tray, noting the mess of the
room and resolving that most of it could wait for tomorrow. The stains,
the broken glass, the empties, the displaced furniture... it hadn't been
THAT wild, how was the place such a mess?! Well, Kyle Walker could make a
fucking mess of anywhere...

`Look at you, like an old married couple already,' tittered Sterling.

`Huh yeah, that's us,' Kyle was joking along.

`Mr and Mrs Walker-Stones -- or Stones-Walker.' He burst out laughing
at his own inebriated wit. `I suppose it depends which one of you is Mr
and which is Mrs, right?'

John paused just as he was about to hoist up the heavy tray of junk,
leaving it on the coffee table. He found himself instinctively glaring at
Kyle with a defensive tension coming over him. Mr or Mrs, he thought
grimly, tonight might be the night to find out... Walker was just laughing
roughly at this and punching Raheem playfully in the arm, enjoying the
banter way more than John was. The joke felt far too close to home and
now he just wanted Raheem out, the night over. He was gonna need to be
quite severe and firm with the drunken lout of a housemate, especially if
he thought he was gonna `give' him a `gift'...

`Proper cute though,' Raheem continued, twirling away from the phone
without bashing on the music he had planned. The young father-of-two was
notably smaller than them, though his flashy tshirt and skinny chinos
clung to the compact muscle of his 5ft7 build, especially the rounded
shape of his low backside. `Cute as hell -- pair of you living together
like this, you're a teenager at 30 Walker, haha...'

This time Kyle sounded less amused. `So how are we getting you home,
Sterlo?'

`Cooking together, eating together, cleaning up after parties together...
won't be long before you're sleeping together.' Grinning like the
Cheshire cat, Sterling looked sharply from one to the other; Stones
panicked automatically but there was no knowing insight in that
expression, just giddy mockery. `Not that I'd be judging you if you
were, boys!' A loud cackle.

`It hasn't been THAT long since I were dumped,' John grunted, covering
his panic with offence and giving up on the tray of shite, hugging his
toned arms to his chest. `Mate, I think-`

`I mean, these things happen, right?' exclaimed Raheem playfully,
jester-like as he darted between them in the centre of the room. `I'm a
man of the world, I know that.' John was trying to ignore him, sizing up
the mess of the room and thinking that actually, getting it done before
bed might be a good distraction for Kyle, maybe he could head off THAT
conversation for now and- `I mean, I used to share a room with Jamie
fucking Vardy on England trips,' Sterling was spilling in a drunken
rush, `I KNOW what can go on between a couple of guys with no women in
the picture, haha, you know what I mean?'

John stopped and for a second time in ten minutes, he and Kyle met gazes
in awkward shared reaction; this time, though, there was a different
curious excitement crackling between them and neither of them could quite
believe what they'd just heard. In front of them, Raheem had changed
topic, picking up a half-finished beer from the floor and looking about
for a snack. He was muttering on about the fucking lovely mini burgers
that had been going around two hours ago...

`What was that, bud?' Kyle said loudly. `What did you say about you
and Vards?'

John, less abrupt and confident, just stared nervously between the two of
them, bringing a hand up to stroke his chin. He saw Raheem's exaggerated
expression of cheeky guilt; he knew he'd said the wrong thing but he was
too drunk to care. He slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was
play-acting; it turned quickly to a jokey finger over his lips and a loud
`Sshh! Don't tell the missus, ya know... haha, was only a joke between
mates, couple of years back, nowt more! Now... those sliders, buddies, you
got any more burgers or...'

`Joke between mates,' Walker grunted. `What kinda joke...?' He looked
John's way and his face was set in a lewd smirk of interest, taking a
couple of steps closer to Raheem. John paused, blinking at the shock of
this ambiguous revelation. But he followed Kyle's lead and took a step
closer, watching as his mate threw a bulging arm about Raheem's low
shoulders and hugged him close before speaking. `We're men of the world
too, you see, Sterlo -- we love a good joke, we do.' His coarse laughter
mixed with Sterling's cheeky giggle.

John felt sober compared to the pair of them, though he knew how much
he'd had. It came through in his cheeks, a burning sensation, and the
clamminess of his big palms. The 26-year-old defender took another step
closer to the other two, wiping his palms on the thighs of his skinny
jeans. `Raheem, what shite are you talking?' he chuckled hesitantly.
`Jamie Vardy, we all know him well, I don't really reckon he would be
erm... well... What is it you're saying?'

`Yeah -- you can tell us, Raheem, we're all mates here.'

`Haha -- oh fuckin' hell, cat's out the bag now, eh...! Haha... What,
Jamie Vardy? Jamie Vardy's havin' a party... bring your condom and your
hard-on! Hahaha...' Raheem grinned widely at them both with his panto
actions of secrecy. `It was just a bit of fun between mates, nothing
more! Nobody ever need know, NOBODY...' He seemed to realise that telling
the two of them was the opposite of his sentiment and burst into more
giggles. John watched Kyle gently squeeze his shoulders more, leaning
over him slightly, a recognisable lust in his eyes.

`You and Jamie...?' Stone asked in a very low voice, feeling the tingle
in the front of his jeans. Vardy, he thought, what a dark horse...! Mind,
that fella was dirty as anything, he was almost as bad as Walker here for
fucking any piece of skirt that came near a football team, and...

`Hey Sterling,' Walker grunted slowly, `maybe the party ain't QUITE
over... you fancy a sleepover?'



John led the way into the guest room, pulling at a couple of buttons on
his slim-fit shirt, gulping back some hesitations about this. Apart from
anything, the other two were so pissed. But Raheem came bounding past
him, whooping at some joke of his own, and then suddenly he felt one of
Walker's hands resting on his back then slipping to cup his backside,
pulling in close. `This is gonna be fucking wild,' came the leering
whisper in his ear, and he trembled in agreement. Yes, it was.

Sterling had sat himself on the unmade bed, leant back a little, grinning
around the messy nest of the gest room, maybe noticing how much stuff was
in here and how occupied it really felt. Or maybe just fucked off too
much fizz and wondering how wild exactly this was gonna be. If John for a
second doubted that this visitor knew what was going on, he got his
answer: Raheem grabbed the front of his pants and squeezed an already
sizeable bulge, chuckling. `I am SO horny, lads,' he announced with
relish, `and you two, fuckin' hell, pair of beasts...'

`Aye, we are,' Kyle agreed, and with an arm to John's waist he led
them both two steps forward up to the bed, so that stood over around the
corner where Raheem sat. Instantly, he knew what to do, and one hand each
reached for their packages whilst he grinned excitedly up at them. John
gasped, feeling the bloke's hand size him up through tight denim -- and
Walker's hand creeping down to pat and stroke his buttocks. With his
other hand, Kyle was undoing the belt and flies of his tight chino shorts
and shoving them open, letting Raheem's hand reach into feel the bulge
in his black CK briefs instead. The Jamaican Londoner cooed his
appreciation.

`Oh yes mate,' he said.

`Have a good grab, lad,' growled Walker. He tugged at the remaining
buttons of his shirt and off it came, tattoos and muscles out. John
pulled at his own buttons in slow catch-up, feeling his dick twitch and
stiffen. These jeans were tight, he needed them off. His shirt hung open
off his long muscular torso, the tallest here by several inches. He
backed off a moment to pull at his belt and the zip, but his focus was
blurred as he watched Raheem's nimble fingers tug those chino shorts
right down over decorated thighs -- and in he went, immediately rubbing
his face to the well-stuffed front of those black briefs, nose and lips
to the outline of Kyle's semi. Kyle groaned and muttered and Raheem made
little gasps of appetite. John wrenched his jeans down and his shirt off,
stripping to grey boxer shorts and squeezing his hardening dick in the
front of them, almost drooling.

`Phwoar,' was Sterling's verdict, as he pulled close, and the lad
could get his hands back on a second package. John knew he was rightly
impressed; he was even better-hung than his best friend, and Kyle's was
a decent size. He boldly threw a bare arm about the warm muscle of
Walker's shoulders and sighed happily as Raheem reached into his pants.
The short 25-year-old licked his red lips with obvious hunger, squeezing
and pulling and playing with two big enclosed cocks; in seconds, they
were out and in his hands, harder by the second.

`Bigger than Vardy's, I bet,' cackled Walker meanly.

`Much,' Sterling confirmed lustily.

`I don't believe it,' John mumbled, still struggling with the idea of
seedy, erratic Jamie Vardy indulging in a bit of guy-on-guy fun, even
with his wild party antics and questionable attitudes to fidelity...
`Fuckin' hell, guys... Oh...' The `oh' came as Raheem's lips found
his cock, choosing his over Kyle's for the first blow-job. And oh god it
felt good. Better, maybe than Kyle's? The lips were so full and so tight
and the tongue so darting and clever. Shit. He was pulled into a
breathless kiss by the man on his left, their dicks sucked and pulled
down in front. Neither of them seemed to care if Raheem noticed their
long full snog, the wet smacking of their lips. Oh hell, John thought,
this is too much, this is too good.

`Hey, ain't it my turn, lads...? Shift over, Raheem, get your lips round
this...'

`Fuck yes, birthday boy, oh yes... Mmmm...'

`Shit,' Stones muttered, pulling a hand to his slick wet boner, `he
loves a bit of cock...'

`He fuckin' does, the little slut,' grinned Walker, `and -- oh yeh --
he knows what to do with it...'

Raheem alternated between them with heady enthusiasm. He spent about a
minute at a time taking the thick cocks into his mouth as fully as he
could manage, flicking his tongue against their cock heads and spitting
lube onto the shaft. Whoever he sucked, he wanked the other with long
lazy pulls, so that Walker and Stones drifted from intense to subtle
pleasure, sharing sporadic kisses and squeezing each other's thick
muscular backs with one arm each.

`We gonna try out his other hole, then?' Walker asked suddenly,
eye-to-eye with John. His determination and excitement were palpable. He
reached down, cupping his hand over the short afro hair so he could pull
Sterling more firmly on his thick member, then pushed him away, sliding
onto the bed. `Sterlo, lad, you up for a good fuckin', are ya?' And to
John's shock, Raheem was moaning his consent, a series of `hell yeah',
`god yes' and `oh boys'. He felt Kyle grab his wrist and drag him
onto the bed, and then they began to hastily strip their plaything. John
pulled on his socks one by one then realised he was still wearing his
own. Kyle had pulled up and thrown away Raheem's noisy print tshirt,
baring his smooth brown torso and toned arms. John leaned him and helped
him undo the front of his chinos then yanked them, and the undies
beneath, down over his big full bottom and his sturdy thighs.

Soon, the winger was naked, and so were they. Three of them on the double
bed, Raheem held between their bodies. He was kissing John's chest,
licking his nipples, and tossing Kyle off with one hand. John's own cock
tingled as it brushed and slapped the firm brown muscle of Raheem's
thigh. Kyle was taking control, of course; pulling and pushing
Sterling's body up and almost tossing him onto hands and knees between
them. `The lube,' Kyle barked impatiently, `and the johnnies...' John
pulled away with heavy breaths, lounging across the bedding and down off
the side to fumble through the ubiquitous `sex drawer' of important
things. He felt hands, both of the other two, paw at his strong back and
hairy thighs and slap his bare buttocks. He found the tube of lubricant
and a couple of condoms, tossing them over his shoulder before rolling
back into the mix.

Kyle was fast and impatient. He'd clearly decided who was getting first
go on their new pal. He squirted lube onto his index finger and pushed it
gamely between the round chunky buttocks of Sterling' arse, grinning
over at John as he did. Stones knelt beside the doggy-style third partner
and felt Raheem's head reach over to tongue and kiss his cock. He
shuffled forward to feed it to him properly, still unable to believe how
excited and needy their fuck buddy was. He'd known Raheem for years and
never had any hint of this side of him. He groaned sluttishly as his hole
was fingered. It looked like Kyle had two digits up there already.
Fuckkkk.

`I'm gonna fuck him first, you next,' Walker panted.

`Of course,' said John almost sarcastically, his earlier worries
leaking into his voice.

`Mate,' cackled Kyle, `he needs me to ease him in before your fucking
whopper, okay!'

John blushed at this logical explanation and watched as his big sexy
friend got into position, reaching down to angle his thick bone and
shoving it between those greased up cheeks. John could see every distinct
muscle of Kyle's big body tensed beneath the lattice of tattoos as he
pushed up and began to mount the lad. Raheem squealed and kissed the
bottom of John's six-pack. `Oh fuck,' he whispered against the flesh
of John's tummy, `that is MASSIVE... Oh god yes, ohhhh...' Wow. Stones
marvelled at this bottom slut between them, dick tingling. He couldn't
wait to follow.

He rested on his haunches and watched it like his own private porno.
He'd watched Kyle fuck before, of course, both secretly that one time,
and more openly, as they shared a paid lass in a hotel room. This was
even hotter, seeing the 5ft10 brick of a man mounting stocky little
Raheem. He held the lad by the hips and pushed into him, making
animalistic groans. Raheem's squeals were muffled as he took John's
massive cock into his gob, spit-roasting him between the two powerful
defenders. John watched with excitement and pleasure and still a note of
dread: he couldn't help but imagine himself as the one taking that rod
and think that he never wanted to be in that position, it must be AGONY...

Not that Raheem seemed agonised. He gasped and yelped and kissed at
John's cock, pushing his big brown arse back into the crotch of Kyle
Walker. Walker was thrusting and shoving -- not as roughly or
energetically as Stones had seen him pound fannies in the past, so he
must be a bit nervous or unsure of himself. But still, he gripped
Raheem's smaller body tightly and pressed his dick in and out with a
slow but forceful rhythm that shook the double bed beneath their combined
weight.

A reluctant shift came in Kyle's face. `You ready to fill him up,
Stones?' he asked in a slow growl.

`Oh yes,' Sterling exclaimed below, looking up from a sloppy lap of
hard-on, `go on, John, FUCK ME, buddy, FUCK ME HARD...'

The dirty talk was all he needed. He crawled over, seeing Kyle pull his
greasy rubber-clad dick out. He picked up the other condom packet but
found his hands sweaty and it slid from between his fingers as he
clambered over into position. Walker was laughing; he leaned over, kissed
him briefly but tenderly on the lips, then snatched the dropped condom
from the bedding. His own fingers were greasy but he put it to his lips
and bit through the foil, then stretched the rubber johnny about his
fingers. John loomed up on his knees as his live-in lover helpfully
tugged the tight prophylactic onto his long thick meat, then slapped him
encouragingly on the arm.

John grabbed and rubbed at Raheem's big buttocks, pushing the tip of his
thick one at the lubed crack and feel the tightness he would soon enter.
Walker was taking a now position, flopping onto his back with his head
and shoulders to the pillows, pulling Raheem down to his crotch to suck
him off, leaning his short back and sticking his beautiful arse up in the
air. The angle was perfect. Stones pressed his cock in and felt that hot
tightness, but also its readiness. He ran his hands up Sterling's lower
back and made cautious prods with his tool until he felt it begin to open
just a little. Oh wow. It was sort of difficult, and almost
uncomfortable, but hell... The feel of this sexy little bitch opening up
for his big tool, knowing Kyle had just rammed it happily.

`Yes lad,' Walker boomed, `get in there.'

`Mmm, lads,' whined Sterling, `fuck yes...'

John found his cock sliding in a little and he bore forward with a gasp,
squeezing and pressing at the knotted muscles of the short winger's
back. His cheeks spread and his hole opened and in went Stones' big
manhood. He paused, pulled back, then pushed in more, finding his
confidence and rhythm. His eyes met Kyle's intensely over the bed, so
that it felt like in some weird, metaphysical way, he was really fucking
his best friend, not just this toned muscular substitute. Every time he
thrust his cock an inch deeper inside Raheem, the blowjob on Kyle's dick
got more intense, and Walker rolled his eyes and groaned out his
enjoyment. The bed squeaked and trembled and their bodies were sticky
with lube and sweat.

John began to fuck hard, much more aggressively and quickly than he'd
seen Kyle do. He knew how hung he was and how difficult it must be to
take. Raheem actually sounded like he was in pain now, but his screams
were positive. `YES MATE, OH FUCK YES, RAM IT UP ME, OH LADS...' Stones
was so invested in his fast, hard fuck that he didn't immediately
realise Walker was already coming. He had his hands on Sterling's head
and he seemed to be fucking it, pressing his hips up and spilling his
juices in an eager mouth. John could only tell from the pulsating of his
chest and biceps and the look on his face, the familiar ragged whimper.

He realised he was close himself and he thought, fuck, I should stop, I
should pull out, but... He couldn't stop himself. He was holding
Raheem's hips intensely and slamming his cock in and out so hard it
almost hurt him. Raheem was pulling back from Kyle and so he tugged his
smaller frame up against himself, holding his black body against his own
reddish tan. Both of them on their knees, John fucking wildly. Kyle leant
forward, still gasping, and grabbed Raheem's own oversized hard-on (oh,
wow) in one hand. He leant in and around Raheem's gasping face to kiss
John, snogging over a shoulder as they pleasured their bitch from either
side. Sterling made a gurgling cry that signalled his own climax and
then, a hot minute later, John came in him, or in the condom at least,
squeezing his and Kyle's bodies tightly in his arms as he made his final
weak thrust.

`Oh shit,' he cried, `oh fucking hell...'

`Yes,' whispered Raheem, his voice faint now, `yes boys...'

When their sticky sweaty bodies disentangled, Raheem fell aside with a
sleepy giggle. John climbed back off the bed, peeling the dirty condom
from his prick and tossing it dismissively to the scruffy carpet, trying
to catch his breath, feeling sweat pool and trickle against his muscles.
Suddenly Kyle was off the bed and reaching hands about his waist, kissing
the side of his neck. `Oh buddy,' the dirty Yorkshireman chuckled
admiringly, `you really went for it...'

Stones wanted to ask if Raheem was okay, thinking about just how intense
that had got, but the same big drunken grin was on his face as he rolled
over, tangling the matted duvet over him and kicking out his short
powerful legs. His eyes were closed already and his breathing shallow.
Kyle tugged at John's softening cock and kissed him again, on the cheek.
`He'll be reet.'

John nodded, cuddling an arm to Kyle's sweaty side. He looked at the
bed, cute little Sterling spreading out in it, groaning and stretching
his limbs... He looked so fucking comfortable. `Let's leave him to
sleep,' he whispered, sliding his fingers in to lock with Kyle's now,
and moving toward the door. `Come on...' He saw the `but' forming in
Walker's mouth as he dragged him out onto the landing, their dicks
swinging and streaking cum to their thighs -- `But...' But he pulled him
across and shoved open the door to the master bedroom, turning to snog
his man. `Fuck her, she left,' Stones muttered contentedly. He grasped
Kyle's big heavy body and backed into the room and together they fell
into the floral sheets of the master bed, untouched for almost two weeks.



They both woke at the same time in the crystallised morning light, the
curtains annoyingly open in this reclaimed bedroom. John was lying on his
back with Kyle curled heavily into him, limbs locked and heads resting
side by side. They were woken by heavy steps and a croaky shouting voice.
`Lads? Lads?' exclaimed Raheem Sterling somewhere on the landing. `Oh
fuck I'm gonna vom -- Lads? Where are ya?'

John Stones groaned begrudgingly, listening to the very quiet chuckle of
the man whose muscular weight pinned him to the mattress. He dragged
himself from beneath Walker and climbed out of the bed, up onto his feet,
bollock naked and stinking of sex. He found a robe hanging on a wardrobe
door, laughed when he realised it was a cherry pink silk thing belonging
to his bird, and dashed out onto the landing in it. He was confronted
with a dizzy, red-eyed Raheem, pausing at the top of the stairs. He had
on his pants and his chinos, open at the front, and a tshirt piled under
one arm; trainers dangled from the fingers of his other hand.

`Oh there you are,' he grimaced.

`You okay mate?' laughed John, slowly waking up himself.

`I feel so sick,' Sterling announced.

`Well -- you were pretty wasted, so...'

`I don't remember anything,' Raheem said. He said it quickly and
forcefully -- and not convincingly. He was staring with bloodshot eyes.
`I feel so gross. I was SO drunk. I am sorry mate -- dunno what I let
come over me! God, I'm gonna be in trouble with the girlfriend, so...
ugh. I feel so ill.' He rubbed his face, almost dropping the trainers.
`I need to go. Go now. I'm ugh... so... hung... over... ugh...'

`Yeah,' Stones said slowly. `Erm, take a minute mate, let me get you a
cuppa, and...'

`Nah, nah, I should go,' Raheem said, stepping onto the stairs, turning
away. `I feel so rank, mate... ugh... I seriously can't remember a
thing... erm... where did everyone go, eh...? Mmm...' And he tottered down
the broad staircase talking to himself, watched by John Stones. He
watched worriedly, thinking his hungover friend might fall. Somehow the
messy lad made it to the bottom, where he finished dressing and then
rushed out of the front door, slamming it after him. He disappeared into
the sunny early morning.

John turned back into the bedroom, letting the pink silk fall off his
broad shoulders, tugging back the duvet and crawling into the musty heat
of his friend and lover's body. He dragged the covers over them and
pressed himself in against that comforting warmth, that rich sweet-sour
smell of sweat and aftershave and cum. He reached a hand out and gently
stroked Kyle's rugged face until his eyes re-opened irritably and he
chuckled again.

`Raheem okay...?'

`Fuck knows. I'll ring him in a bit.'

`Huh. Good man. Dear god... last night...'

`I know...!'

`What a... fuckin' hell... what a birthday...! This is 30...'

`Yeah... wow... and, heh, you didn't even, erm, need to give me your
present...' They both laughed, stroking at each other's arms a little.
`I couldn't have took it, mate,' John admitted in a furtive whisper.
`I couldn't, sorry... I know you were so horny to do it, but...'

`Huh? Hmm... Er...' Kyle peered at him through one red-rimmed eye. `What
do you mean?'

`Your gift,' Stones told him blearily, `I couldn't have taken it
and...'

`Mate,' laughed Walker sleepily, closing his eyes again and patting
John on the cheek. `The gift wasn't my fat Yorkshire cock, you daft
prick. The gift was gonna be my arse.' John paused, suddenly opening his
eyes more fully in their sweaty nest. `The gift was gonna be fuckin'
taking one for the team,' laughed his muscular lover, `but... no need
now, is there?! We got a new hole to share haha, perfection... so no
worries... no gift needed!' He laughed himself back into half-sleep and
rested his heavy hand on the side of John's neck. He let out his breath
in a frustrated sigh, confused by his own sense of shock, relief and --
disappointment? He'd totally misunderstood the birthday present that
might have ended last night...

Kyle was right though. It didn't matter. They'd lucked out. They'd
found Raheem. A one-off, perhaps, but an insanely exciting one. They'd
both tried it, fucking, being top, and they'd had a fucking fantastic
time, and... It didn't matter that the `gift' had never been offered
up, did it? Nah, course not. Not at all.

John lay thoughtfully in the waft of this older man's snores and dared
to imagine what might have been without Raheem Sterling there to share.



**HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TWO OF OUR FAVE PREMIERSHIP HUNKS... YEP, REALLY ON
THE SAME DAY, WEIRDLY! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU MAKE OF THIS AND THE OTHER
RECENT STORIES, AND ANY IDEAS FOR FUTURE ADVENTURES...**