Date: Tue, 23 Jun 2020 14:34:20 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads part 130: Night Drive Part 130: Night Drive John Stones watched the action unfold: Manchester City's stellar victory over Burnley, already 4-0 as the second half burst into play. The tall young player sat stiffly in his chair, a few rows back from the pitch itself, arms folded against the gilet covering his chest, feeling very mixed emotions. Stones was a team player, a loyal bloke with a lot of love for his teammates, sure enough; but here he was, for the second game in a row, not even on the subs bench. In fact, he hadn't even been invited to attend the away game officially, he'd just hitched a ride along with Kyle in the car so that he could watch on with a scattering of other non-squad men, admiring the goal-fest. Well, that's me out of here, he couldn't help but think sourly, watching the game unfold. He'd done his best to catch Pep's eye, to impress the stony Spaniard in training, to show his commitment to City; but clearly, it wasn't enough. To not even sit as substitute in these first two games back from the break... The writing was on the wall, surely? John had yet to hear much from his agent about the vague offers that had been hinted at in recent months, interest from clubs that he'd largely ignored, really just too caught up in his... well, his personal life, was the only way he could bring himself to put it. What had it mattered that representatives from Newcastle and West Ham and Brighton had been asking questions of his team at the agency, when he'd had so much on his plate with his girlfriend, his ex, his... best pal? Now, the 26-year-old found himself regretting that distraction; he'd done little to court or return these murmured offers, but now it felt like the City management would do anything to turf him out and drop him from the fringes of their talent-packed squad. Worse than a transfer, he thought, a minor loan spell at some low-league club in the middle of nowhere. Away from Kyle. Unable to stop himself, the 6ft2 centre-back looked ahead and to the right, down to the subs bench, where the man of his thoughts was hunched in next to the other spares, clearly being rested after a strong showing in the last game; Walker, and next to him Sterling, two regular fixtures dropped from today's squad, but only as an investment for tougher games ahead. Not like me, John thought irritably, sat up here like bully-fucking-no-mates. He was distracted from glaring down at the subs bench (feeling a pang of unnecessary jealousy that big broad-shouldered Kyle was tucked in next to chatty little Raheem, when they'd both shared that man's big butt so enthusiastically in recent memory) by a rush of noise -- not from the absent crowd, but from the subs and coaches and from Pep himself. 5-0. A second goal for Phil Foden, of all people. John felt a surge of pride for his young mate, sure he did, but also jealous resentment. He watched the sprightly 21-year-old dash to the side-lines and bump fists with their beaming, golden-tanned manager, who thought the sun shone out of that pale brat's arsehole -- fuck's sake! John sat back in his chair and huffed loudly to himself, earning a touchy glance from a club executive a few seats down the row, who just frowned vaguely his way. The big sulking footballer forced a grin, gave him a nod, and turned his distracted attention back to the pitch as play resumed, to whoops and cheers from the City camp down below. 5-0, great. City were on fire. Without him. John's mood tonight was not only because of football. He'd received a call from his maybe-current-maybe-ex-girlfriend last night, whilst stretched out on the couch playing Call of Duty online with a few mates from home in Barnsley. He'd gone outside to take it, feeling odd talking to her in the house when Kyle was sat fannying about on his phone in an armchair nearby, legs bulging from his underpants before bed. Outside, on the lawn, John had tiptoed quietly about and listened patiently, unsure what to say to her and the `fresh start' she was hesitantly offering. Out of nervous fear more than anything, he'd mumbled along with it, surprised that she was so ready to dismiss the misbehaviour she'd walked in that day she first stormed out. Stones had never really expected his explanations and excuses to work about THAT incident in particular, never mind his communications with his previous partner. But here she was, on the phone, professing how much she missed him, how ready she was for a trial back together, in this house they'd furnished together like a nest... He'd listened to her and stared back indoors, watching through the big French windows as Kyle stomped about in tshirt and skimpy boxer shorts, a slobbish beautiful mess in his tasteful lounge, getting ready to go up to bed and wait for him to join. `Yeah,' Stones had found himself quietly agreeing down the phone, `that sounds good...' What else could he say?! He'd gone up to bed, ready to discuss it with Walker, ready to ask what the hell was happening between them and if he should even be talking to his missus at all -- but looking at the hunky Yorkshireman's hooked nose and lusty eyes, he'd been unable to confront it, and besides, Kyle's hand had been inside his pyjama bottoms and cupping his balls, distracting him entirely from the matter at hand. So here he was now, trotting around the periphery of another Man City victory, wondering what he was gonna say to both his girlfriend and his... lodger. Kyle being out of the house had been the first condition she'd mentioned, the first thing he'd nodded uncertainly along to on that awkward phone call. `You don't sound very keen,' she'd snapped at him midway through the conversation. John had covered his hesitation with claims of how tired out he was by training, not mentioning that he had yet to make the squad for a single match. He was in the back corridors of Burnley's ground, listening to some of the City entourage have loud furious discussions about the stupid `white lives matter' plane protest in the air above the ground, irritated by whatever Lancashire racists had decided to stage it. John just nodded along, not really listening, waiting for Pep and the players to file out from the changing rooms and into the car park. A coach waited, but only one, since the club had decided anyone who preferred could simply drive to the fixture themselves, being just outside of Manchester. He stared patiently at Kyle's Jeep, which he would be driving them back in, and resolved that this was it: he'd have to have the conversation now, on this road trip back into the city. He'd pushed it back too much. But what the hell was he going to say? What would he really dare ask? `What are we?' he accidentally thought aloud, the question appearing on his soft frowning lips, and earning another odd look from the guy he'd been sat near in the empty stands. John stared away, swung his arms, and moved out into the cool night air to wait in the car park, feeling such a loose part here; social distancing rules had meant he wasn't even allowed to join the lads in the dressing rooms after the game. Sure enough, the squad came spilling out very soon. The goal-scorers seemed to lead the way, buzzing in their pale blue tracksuits, little Foden clapped and grabbed by half a dozen older men as he swayed out, looking starstruck at his own success. Stones put aside his own conflicted bitterness and strolled to greet him, patting him on the slender arm and grinning down at the petite midfielder. `Fuckin' awesome, kid,' he told him warmly. `Well done.' `John! Hah, yeah, quality,' Phil said proudly, beaming up at him with wide eyes, but then glancing back over his shoulder as if on the lookout for someone in particular. `I... yeah, I mean, it was just fucking great being on the starting lineup for a change, hah, so two goals...' `Really great work,' John told him, hearing the slight emptiness of his bitter compliments, trying to be as glad for the young prodigy as he knew he should be, as happy for the team as duty demanded... `You're gonna be unstoppable soon, mate...' Still, Foden was looking about them, as the members of the squad streamed by, some drifting towards the hulking form of the club coach and others dissipating towards shared and separate cars, scattered through the tarmac grid ahead. Stones wondered if the kid just wanted out of this conversation, not wanting to waste his time with someone so clearly out of the loop of City's football priorities. A little way away, Guardiola himself was emerging from the building, a little satchel tucked under one arm and a very satisfied look on his face, finishing a conversation with his assistant manager as he passed by them; then swerving away from them in the direction of his own parked car, unusually travelling separate from the rest of the group. John and Phil both watched for a moment, John sensing a certain snub in the Spanish manager's failure to stop and wish them goodbye. When he looked down, he saw a certain crestfallen expression on Foden's face, staring after their talented boss with puppy dog eyes and a little twitching frown on his sharp features. `What, not had enough congratulations for one night?' Stones joked gently, punching him above the elbow. `Don't worry, I think you might find yourself starting more games in the next few weeks, kid...' Phil tore his intense dark eyes away from that view of Pep climbing into his sports car, looking confusedly at John as if not hearing his praise, then at the queue to get on the coach. `Hmm? Oh, yeh... huh... I guess...' His beaming pride seemed deflated, giving his jutting chin a little rub and looking again at the manager's car, sparking into life at the far end of the car park, headlights glowing before purring into movement and zipping away. `You on the coach?' John asked, glancing about for sign of Phil's motor. `Yeah,' the youngster replied vaguely, eyes on the gateway, then turning back to the coach. `Couldn't face the drive, knew I'd be... a bit, you know, knackered, so...' Another awkward glance away after the departing vehicles, enough to make John momentarily curious about what was bugging the Man of the Match. But only momentarily: another part of him was thinking how annoying it was for this talented little fuckwit to look so distressed and wearied by his blatant status as Pep's golden boy, the future of the team... to Stones, it seemed like five minutes ago he'd been a strapping young hopeful with big predictions being made about his career! He backed off, hands in the pockets of his light gilet, letting Phil drift off, bag over shoulder, towards the coach doors, disinterested in whatever minor slight from the gaffer was bothering the young lad, too consumed with his own troubles. Walker was separating from some other lads by the door and swaggering his way, bouncing from foot to foot in the energetic manner of a boisterous athlete who'd spent his 90 minutes on the bench, disappointingly unused. Immediately, Kyle was slapping at his arse in his jeans, making John flinch and blush and dread anyone looking their way -- but then, Kyle was right, this was exactly the boisterous horseplay that had gone on between them long before they shared anything more. Guys would be suspicious as fuck if they didn't touch each other all the fucking time...! `What's the matter with your face?' Walker demanded, as they neared the Jeep, grinning widely and smelling strongly of some woody-scented soap or aftershave, punching lightly at Stones' midriff before disappearing around the other side of the vehicle. John stared quietly at him for a minute then was about to make some vague evasive comment, but Kyle burst back into speech, rhapsodising about the 5-0 victory and how City still had a shot at toppling Liverpool from the league title, if they played their cards right. He got into the car silently, bracing himself for the honest discussion he knew was needed. The June night was only just falling to full darkness as they zipped down the road, gradually separating out from their teammates' vehicles on the way back into Manchester. Kyle had switched some rap music on the car's stereo and was thrusting about in the passenger seat, slapping his fingertips on the dashboard and rolling his muscular shoulders, mouthing along to rapid lyrics in between bouts of one-way conversation. Weary and irritable, Stones concentrated just on the road and sporadic traffic, looking at Kyle's rugged reflection in the rear-view but never turning properly to look at or address him. Apt for them to be sat in Walker's car, he thought, given where this had begun. It wasn't the same car, the bugger owned several obviously, but still; there was something about sitting side to side in any vehicle that always took Stones back to Storm Ciara, climbing soaking went into a vehicle together and feeling that humid tension- though he was wrong, wasn't he? It hadn't started there. He pictured himself, curled in a hotel bed, eyes squinting in the gloom, watching as his hunky roommate dragged some one-night-stand into bed and pounding her forcefully, his big arse on show, until- `Mate!' repeated Kyle forcefully. `Slow down!' With a jolt, the tall muscular Barnsley lad realised just how fast he was speeding, his eyes a little glazed over, barely looking at anything other than the middle-distance; the summer night spun fiercely by them through the windows, and Kyle leaned over, snatching one hand to the centre of the steering wheel assertively, his eyes narrowed. `Pull over,' he was insisting in a voice that shook with a veneer of calm and control, `pull over mate, calm down...' John was shaken, clinging to the wheel but no longer feeling in control, ashamed by the way he'd zoned out in the middle of this drive, endangering them both. As per Kyle's muttered, shaky instructions, he cooled the speed and veered off onto a quieter side road and, eventually, brought the car to a stop in the layby, just away from the occasional rushing noises of the major highway. He gripped the wheel tightly and closed his eyes and let his breathing and his heart rate slowly relax, just like the burn of the engine. Beside him, Kyle's breathing was heavy and rough, revealing the panic John had caused. He felt one large hand rest on his upper arm, the other man's body pulling closer to him. `John,' breathed the other footballer eventually, `what was that...? You were somewhere else...' `I'm sorry,' Stones muttered rapidly, `I'm really fuckin' sorry, I just...' `Coulda been a bit dangerous,' Walker pointed out, but gently. His hand massaged a little at John's shoulder, his breathing slowing and quietening. `But... no harm down, eh...? Mate... you're shaking...' John opened his eyes, slowly, and sucked in a deep breath, then glanced to the left, Kyle's looming figure leaning over the gearstick towards him, awash with that fresh manly smell. His mouth was fixed in a nervous grin, framed by his trimmed goatee, his eyes wide beneath arched brows, his chest and shoulders swelling through the fabric of that pale blue Man City polo shirt. His hand slid up off John's shoulder, past his neck and onto his cheek, resting soothingly there, cupping his jaw and ear, then moving up again, tangling at the overgrown curls of his hair. `You muppet,' teased Kyle in a quiet purr, `what's got you stressin' out, is it just missing the game...? Pep don't know what's good for him, mate, tongue so far up Phil's arse he can't see the talent he's leaving out of the line-up, haha...' Kyle smirked at his dirty humour, his aggressive dismissal of other players, both of them oblivious to the ironic truth. `Mate...?' Stones stared at him, this hulking footballer who he'd become fast friends with years ago on an England away weekend, and then even more so when they joined forces at City. Years of close friendship, banter, loyalty... and now, something else. He stared at him and realised the truth: he didn't give a shit what his girlfriend wanted them to try. She was beautiful and interesting, and he did love her, probably, but this was... this was something else. Passion like he'd never felt, intimacy he'd only ever fantasised, a kind of weird thrill and comfort that just made everything else feel faded and cliché by contrast, including the woman he was supposed to be getting back together with. He looked into the eyes of the 30-year-old defender and thought that all he really wanted was to cuddle up with this big yob, night after night. `Mate?' Kyle repeated, a little more firmly. `Nothing,' John murmured, `just... nothing.' A raised eyebrow, a suspicious grin. `Nothing? Right...' `I just really fucking want you,' John admitted, leaning over a little and letting his tall body pull against the grip of the seatbelt on his pec. He said it almost sadly, full of conflicted desperation and inability to understand what he'd fallen into. `What, here?' was Kyle's instant response, still stroking his hair and holding their faces a few inches apart, able to feel each other's breath but not pull far enough against their belts to kiss. He smirked and nodded. `Okay.' `Okay, what?' `Okay, you can have me. Hehe.' Click. Walker was undoing his belt, pulling away, yanking on a door handle; Stones paused, briefly lost, then looking out of the windows at the dark trees and shrubs edging this deserted layby, only a single lorry resting in its shadows in front of the Jeep. HERE? But now Kyle was out of the car and moving about the vehicle and pulling open the door by the driver's seat, leaning down and grinning at him, tongue jutting out just a little. `Come on, big boy.' A cheeky wink and he was backing off. John almost tripped over in his rush to slide out of the vehicle and onto the roadside, grabbing hold of Kyle's soft palm as he did. Without another word, the two men left the faint glow of a roadside lamp, ditching the big expensive 4x4 and disappearing into the bushy verge, Kyle leading the way. He stopped midway up a short slope and dragged John after him, pulling him into a cuddle and locking their lips together. The kiss tasted of his musty breath mixed with minty chewing gum. Kyle's hands were strong and forceful on his chest, on the zip of his gilet, pushing it away from his shoulders, then dragging up on his thin tshirt. In return, John clasped fingers to the other man's polo shirt, feeling the rise and fall of muscle beneath it, finding the bump of his nipples, rubbing them deeply. `You horny fucker -- you lost control on the road cos you want me so bad...?' `Mmm, Kyle... mate, I dunno, just...' `Fuckkk, you're rock hard already-` `Oh, er, yeah, haha... erm... mmm...' John was pushed back, his shoulders hitting a tree trunk beneath Kyle's grip, then the man disappearing from immediate view, down on his knees in front of him in the grass. Hands on his belt buckle, the button fly of his jeans, the fabric of his soft briefs. Stones hadn't even realised how rigid his prick had become in the last two minutes. He felt it dragged from the enclosure of his briefs and teased between Walker's fingers. He gasped and whined in the cool nocturnal dark. `Oh mate...' He tensed his shoulder-blades into the rough bark and reached down, stroking the curly top of Kyle's hair, just gently guiding his head as he began to kiss and suck at John's lengthy erection, noshing him slowly, slowly, gently, gently, ohhhh... This was madness! They'd pulled over for this? It was insane -- ten minutes ago he'd been preparing to confront this and demand to know what they were playing at... fight for flight, truth or nothing... his girlfriend's words on the phone hanging on the edge of his thoughts... again, his career crisis flashback swung back into view, but no longer in any connection to ego or ambition or jealousy of some young gun like Foden, no -- it just struck him like a bolt that a transfer or a loan could take him far away from Kyle Walker, from THIS... At his crotch, Walker was bobbing back and forth, lips closed firmly about his shaft, his tongue running under it. Kyle was getting more and more confident with his oral sex, comfortably taking much of John's quite long rod into his mouth, throat. He still occasionally gurgled with panic and pulled back, chuckling as he kissed the slicked wet tip. His hands were rough at the waist of the opened jeans, knuckling at John's skin, slipping under his tshirt to find his abs then rolling back down, pulling the jeans more to squeeze at his tattooed thigh. `God,' groaned Kyle hungrily, `you beautiful big bastard...' Up he came, to his feet, lips to lips in a much-needed kiss. The two men snogged loudly, John's hard-on brushing damp dabs against the front of Kyle's top. Hands dragged down biceps, t-shirts crumpled and stretched. There was a frenzy to the touching, because both of them knew what was coming, as it had been every time they touched for weeks: neither was satisfied with kisses or wanking or sucking, not any more. `Come on,' Walker growled, `I'm ready...' He broke the kiss, eyes meeting intensely. `I'm ready, mate, I can take it. Come on.' He pecked him on the lips, squeezed his biceps tightly. `Shift over, soft lad...' John took a step to the left, swaying a little on the unsteady ground, feeling his hard-on swing impatiently side to side; Kyle was clambering in against the tree trunk, grabbing it with one hand, the other busy down at his waist. And then down his jogger bottoms were coming, loosened and pushed; soft grey fabric peeling back and taking the black CK briefs with it, exposing the pale brown curve of his arse cheeks. John stared down at them, grabbing the muscular side of Kyle's torso, hardly able to breathe for his own excitement. `But what about...' `Spit on yer fingers or summat, come on...' Stones did so, covering two digits in his slipper saliva, then pushing it between the big muscular glutes, finding the clammy warmth of crack between them, running one fingertip down it and feeling Kyle's heavy body clamp up against the tree, nervous and unready for all his gruff incitement. He made a low groan and then a giddy laugh, his face pressed into the bark. John tried to do it more gently, working his finger back down it, finding the knotted muscle of his ring in this furry damp, prodding it inexpertly. He leaned in as he did it, kissing his neck a little, tasting his sweat; his aching hard-on slapped and brushed at one bear butt cheek, making Kyle laugh some more, blatantly terrified of what was to come. `Don't you worry,' Walker grumbled though, `I'm ready, I want you to have this, babe...' `No,' Stones found himself suddenly mumbling, resting his mouth against his neck again, breathing in his spicy perfume. `No, I just...' He thought about his stupidity, the way he'd almost ruined things by bringing up his girlfriend, the stupid way he'd listened to her on the phone and almost let himself reject all of this; the danger he'd placed them in out there on the road! No... it should be HIM who... `No,' he growled, `you're not ready.' He kissed him fiercely on the side of the neck and pulled him back by the hips. `You're gonna fuck me, Kyle.' And he replaced him at the tree instantly, leaning his elbows into it and jutting his rear back, bending his knees a little and falling into a firm crouch. `What?' Kyle was gasping, clutching at the long muscular stretch of his body, almost falling over and away from him, but cuddling him from the side and then from behind, reenacting the tender kisses to the top of the spine, dragging hotly at the fabric of his tshirt. `But mate, but...' He mumbled and jabbered on, but even as he spoke, John felt the wet tip of his dick spring free and brush at the waistband of his own undies, then his jeans being dragged down a little more to let his plump white cheeks out into the night air. `Babe...' `Fuck me,' John panted commandingly, `fuck me now, mate, just do it...' `Yes,' Kyle growled in his ear, `oh YES...' It was what the big rough man had been waiting for, clearly, all the invitation he needed. His hands came around the front, sliding under his tshirt and feeling their way up his six pack to just below his nipples, while the thick end of his cock nuged experimentally between John's cheeks. He moaned loudly at all the stimulation and to cover the chattering nervousness of his teeth and lips, the shaking of his shoulders. He WAS frightened and unsure, but being held in Kyle's thick arms was incredibly reassuring. John thought about where it had REALLY begun, watching Walker plough some nameless woman in the next bed: wasn't this always what he'd wanted, deep down, to be her...? While one of Kyle's hands tweaked his left nipple and gripped his pec, the other was prodding his hole with his thumb, running it clumsily but excitingly down his crack and then shoving his cock in and out of the cheeks, ramming it gracelessly at his arse until his hole began to relax and meet it. He leaned more of his weight into the tree and bent his knees more, too tall for Kyle and trying to make his arse meet these thrusting movements. Then he could feel it, the full thickness of Walker's manhood, really pushing at his ring. Shit, it burned, it stung. He couldn't hold in a whimper of pain and Kyle's hands came to comfort him, one on his neck and the other in his curling hair, stroking his crown, then the gruff man's voice `Relax baby, relax it's only me, you big sexy fuck...! Mmm... yes...' In he went, an inch taking forever, John gritting his teeth and holding in a bit of a scream. Surely this was going to ruin his backside, it just felt SO THICK. Stones pushed forward more, lowering his body against the trunk, bending more at the waist, forcing Kyle backwards a little on their grassy verge, spreading his cheeks more and feeling the difference it made: in he pushed, very slowly, forcing his way into John's virgin entrance. He whimpered into his own bicep and tried not to clamp up or tighten, desperate to give this up for Kyle, but finding it impossible to believe anyone really enjoyed this. He pictured squealing, exciting Raheem Sterling in their shared bed, but then also his limping denial as he exited the house in the morning. No wonder! `How's it feel?' breathed Kyle heavily. `How's it feel...? Ohhhh...' He couldn't answer with words because he didn't want to admit how much it hurt, but he DID know how good it felt to hear that ragged satisfaction in Kyle's voice, in his eager growl. John only then realised just how much even THIS was pleasing and satisfying his bullish lover, because Kyle, who'd only forced his fat prick a little way inside him, was pulling back and wanking it tenderly against his cheek, making the familiar pitchy whines that marked his orgasm. `Baby,' he moaned, loosing his cum over one of John's cheeks, `oh baby...' John heaved a sigh, relaxing his weight into the tree, glad that he'd given up enough of himself, this first awkward time, and that the excitement of even trying it had brought his man to climax. He almost laughed with joy at the fact of it, but held it in, pulling his body back and upright, feeling Kyle's cum trickle onto his thigh and become sticky against his bunched up underpants. Already, Walker was kissing the side of his neck and reaching round to take his dick in both hands, accentuating its mighty length with the gesture. He gnawed at his skin and kissed him so deeply it might bruise, while wanking his cock and fondling his tight balls, smearing his own sticky erection up and down his backside as he did. John purred his pleasure, trying not to make too much noise, lingering on the edge of orgasm for several minutes of deep enjoyment, feeling like he could blow his load or just hold it in forever, make Kyle please him like this until dawn! But his lover was turning him round now, pushing him into the tree so that his cum-streaked arse cheeks pushed and pillowed against it. Kyle stood in close, chest to chest, and kissed him greedily on the mouth while jerking his dick furiously between their bodies at just the right angle, so that in less than a minute, John was jetting his spunk up his inner arm, staining his decorated brown skin. But Kyle kept wanking him, pulling and pulling, snogging and snogging, their chests heaving and rubbing through their sweat-damp tshirts. When eventually Kyle let go of his aching dick and just gripped his wrists, they snogged on for another minute, tasting each other. Then they were just holding their heads together and panting at half-open lips. `Jesus fucking Christ.' It took a minute for the voice to even register. Kyle didn't seem to react, just hovering there, broad and weight in John's arms, while he looked over his shoulder and let his eyes adjust to the shades of darkness, the silhouettes coming into view. Oh, bugger. He pulled Kyle to the side a little and darted his hands down for his crotch, dragging at his jeans fly and trying to force his swollen privates inside. The silhouettes were becoming a little clearer, closer. `What?' mumbled Walker, bewildered. `Fuck, fuck, Kyle,' John babbled back at him, getting his dick into his briefs now, struggling to close his jeans, just feeling his fingertips get damp and sticky with his own juices. In front of them, one figure was very much a man, middle-aged and bearded and blinking in the half-light; behind him, a woman, who seemed to be 90% cleavage. John couldn't stand still long enough to make them out more, to understand who they were or why they were here. He staggered forward a little, almost slipping on the slope, feeling Kyle come after him, grabbing at his shoulder and leaning into him. Then, their voices... `Oi, it's two bum boys...' `Haha, oh my god... oops...!' `Is that...?' `Who, who, is he famous?' `It's him, innit, it's thingy, from...' John clutched Kyle by the wrist and burst into a run, launching forward to the left and avoiding these dark figures, clearing the trees and grass and out onto the tarmac, sprinting headlong for the Jeep. His jeans still flopped open about his bulge, belt whipping his side. Kyle was dragging up on his briefs as they staggered stupidly into the side of the car. `Get in, get in,' John urged, slapping him on the back, `get in and let's get the fuck out of here... fuck, fuck fuck!' He wrenched open the door to slide back into the driver's seat, shaking all over, and suddenly consumed with one thought. `Why the fuck do you need a personalised number plate you absolute dick?' he railed furiously at the man he'd just let fuck him, starting the engine and daring to look back through the window at the edge of the trees where they'd been discovered. On the leather seat below, his buttock stuck to his underpants with a smear of Kyle's precious seed. The drive back into Manchester and to the suburb where Stones lived was done in tense silence. His own angry, irrational accusation (as if the number plate was the problem!) had just triggered an icy ignorance between the two trembling men, smelling of sweat and cum and frowning in separate directions. Now they were sat in the Jeep on the driveway of the Stones residence, neither anywhere near recovered, from the sex or what happened after. John played it back in his head: his own surly mood, his stupid lack of focus on the road, the danger he'd almost invoked. The heady rush into the trees, the desperate need of it all. His arse throbbed and stung from the push of Kyle's big dick, though the excitement and unity of that action seemed forgotten to him as they sat here, arms and shoulders tensed, refusing to look at each other. John thought about that big quiet lorry by them, and the couple that had entered the woods: some old bloke and his mistress? Some dogging couple hoping for group fun? Fuck knew. He thought about the snatches of speech from them. `Kyle,' he said eventually, his voice shaking, `I think they recognised us.' Silence from the other guy, so after a few moments, he tried again. `Mate, I think that they...' `I know,' Walker snapped back, terse and fierce. `What are we gonna do?' Stones asked him, letting all his honest fear into his voice. He looked desperately at the other bloke, longing for the comfort he'd felt for a minute in his muscular arms. He stared at the angry twitches of the other guy's frown and his curled fists on his lap. One minute, he was giving up his hole in pain and desperation, now they felt miles apart... After an agonising minute, Kyle said, `I'm gonna propose to her.' John blinked, stared at him. He felt winded and totally baffled. `Erm, huh...?' A long deep sigh from the other City defender, then finally their eyes met, turning to face each other in the front of the car, still stinking of their lust. `John, buddy...' His voice was less aggressive, much quieter. `I didn't know how to tell ya, bud, but... my ex, you know, she's been in touch a lot this last week, and... well, she's kinda saying maybe she...' John stared at him in blank disbelief. `She's willing to give things another go, apparently, if I'm ready to really commit.' Then, a shift in tone, more careful, more intimate. `Think about it: if those fuckers saw us, if they go to the press, or anything, then... Well, Kyle Walker is getting engaged to his hot model girlfriend. Eh? Eh?' John blinked again and stared weakly at him. `What are you saying?' he sighed. `We go back to them,' Kyle urged, a little anxiously. `Back to our birds.' His big clammy hand found John's, between the seats. `Just for now. We go back to... erm, normal. If we're both with women, won't matter what bullshit leaks to the press, what idiot stories some old bloke tells. Mate, think about it. I'm gonna propose to her, as soon as possible, make it happen. I'll do anything. I'll get her back. And then I'll be safe. I mean, we'll be safe, er...' John nodded his head slowly. When he spoke, he couldn't help how robotic and detached it sounded, because it was either that or sound totally and helplessly broken. `Aye,' he heaved with a thick turn of his Barnsley accent, `you're right, lad...' He pulled his hand away form Kyle's, somehow sickened now by his touch, his gentleness, the cooling sweat of his skin. `Good plan, man, good plan...' He looked away, up at the big empty house, unable to look any more at Kyle's tight frown, his shifty eyes. `John?' he heard Walker almost whisper. `Good plan,' he repeated, not looking at him. `I'll ring my missus now. Tell her how much I miss her.' Holding in another sigh, he opened the door, threw himself out onto the driveway in one long stride, slammed it shut behind him. Kyle was speaking, saying something vague and self-comforting, but John ignored him, marching up to the door and unlocking it, his teammate shuffling after it and making some mumbling comments about how extravagant his proposal would need to be. Stones didn't listen to him, didn't look at him as he let them indoors and pushed the front door shut and locked behind them. `It'll be fine,' Kyle said pathetically, `we'll make it through this one, buddy, and...' `I'm tired,' John said bluntly. `It's been a mad night.' He backed away, to the stairs, and headed off. Kyle followed, at a distance. The two well-built defensive athletes stomped onto the landing and walked to bed, in different directions; for the first time in weeks, Stones ambled into the master bedroom and shoved the door shut behind him, and listened with his forehead against the wood, as the door of the guest bedroom opposite slammed shut too, dividing the frightened hunks completely.