Date: Wed, 11 Dec 2019 19:06:50 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads part 2: Big Harry It was an icy cold Thursday in the Netherlands, but Harry Maguire was in good spirits. It had been a solid week of training, he was still lapping up praise for his defensive performance at the derby on Saturday, and he'd even managed a great day off with his fiancée Fern and their little newborn. Being away from them for a European game like this was a pain, but still, he was in great spirits as he clambered off the plane with the other lads, togged up in Utd training gear and big puffer coat to keep warm. He half-listened to his teammates' generic chat about the freezing weather as they piled into a few minibuses to head through this nowhere town to the hotel. He'd barely heard of the Europea league team before and was feeling rightly confident about the guys' chances here tonight. At the hotel reception, he was taken aside by Solskjaer, their manager, for a quick word – it started out as one of the typical positive chats he was used to. It was nice to be lauded, but also weird: it always felt like everyone expected him to really regret ditching Leicester, and like he was being handled with kid gloves by the big time Manchester club all these months since the transfer. But the conversation took a slight turn. `We have switched your rooming a little,' the youngish manager informed him in his clipped Norwegian tones. `Apologies, Harry.' `Oh, no problem chief, er, thanks for letting me know,' the tall Yorkshireman said gruffly, hands still dug in the deep pockets of his puffer jacket. It was an odd bit of news. He'd been quite happy sharing with Argentinian Marcus Rojo on all the away trips like this so far, the big South American being quite quiet and disciplined, an ideal roommate for Harry when he was trying to get in the zone. `Yes, yes... it's just, well, two birds and one stone as they say,' continued Solskjaer, `and we have switched you to share with another guy – we need Marcus to help get some of the other Spanish-speakers a bit more integrated, so...' `Huh, good luck, he doesn't have much to say!' A nervous smile. `Yes, yes, and we've put you with young Luke.' `Oh... right, cool...' `Yes, he is a little out of sorts at the moment, and you know he has been really trying to get his head back in the game this season. We felt you would be a good influence on him. Yes?' `Er, yes. Yes.' Harry nodded down to the 40-something football manager, all serious and professional, with just a twinge of his own doubts. `No problem. He's a sound lad.' Another nod, more thoughtful, and then a big grin and pat on the arm from his grateful gaffer who then disappeared to sort out some other rooming issues. Moments like these made Harry feel they weren't a bunch of professional athletes but rowdy kids on a school trip who needed both looking after and telling off. He lugged his kit bag up and went to check in and fetch his keys. Luke Shaw, eh. Such an odd kid. Nice, Harry had always thought, but he could never quite get his head around him. A bit shifty. Like that weird shit on Saturday in the changing rooms. But still, if that's what the boss wanted. Luke was already in the room when Harry got there, and seemed a bit surprised to see him – that wide-eyed boyish look the blond southerner did so well. Harry just gave him a half-smile and tossed his kit bag heavily onto one of the double beds in the twin room. `Hey up. Got switched roomies. Heard you needed babysitting.' Uncertain laugh from Shaw, who was in the middle of sorting his clothes out on the other bed. Was there a bit of embarrassment or awkwardness on the lad's face cos of Saturday? Harry shrugged that thought off, not too bothered. It had been strange but irrelevant and, well, it had definitely pushed him to think about his pants a bit more. He was sure the fashion-conscious young pretty boy had been mocking him over his cheapo pants, and he'd sorted that issue out now. They both get themselves ready fairly quickly, with much the same vague chit-chat as Harry was used to on these occasions: everyone's mind was solidly on the game. Before long they were out on the cold pitch, breathing plumes of mist, working up a sweat, and winning with professional ease, and through to the next round of the Europa Cup. After the victory, it was a typical match night in a minor tournament round like this – a hearty meal with a few speeches from loudmouthed figures in the squad and support team, a few drinks that went down too easily, and an earlyish finish since they would be flying back into northwest England pretty much at sunrise to get themselves prepped for the weekend's game. Harry was a little later than others to leave the hotel restaurant: he'd had another chat with the manager, who really wanted to get some feedback in on the game, and a quick catch-up with his usual roomie Marcus, and also a bit of banter with one of the more attractive waitresses. Harmless fun, he reminded himself, making his way upstairs with a half finished beer still in one hand. No way did he need another woman, he would never cheat on his beautiful fiancée. He let himself into the room, where Luke was slouched on one bed flicking through Dutch TV. `Not found the porn yet, Shaw?' Harry joked, a touch tipsy. `Sadly not,' chuckled Luke, flicking between late news broadcasts, an American sitcom, and settling on a subtitled movie of some kind. The younger player was in his tight-fitting jogger bottoms and a loose grey hoodie, barefoot and relaxed. Harry smiled to himself, locked the door, and shivered. `It's chilly in here though, eh?' `Yeah. A bit. I've tried turning that heater up but it's shit. Should we complain?' `Don't be so southern. We'll cope. What's the film?' `Fucked if I know.' Harry sat on the edge of his bed, half watching, half checking his phone for messages. He spent some time replying to his Fern and to some family and mates, then put it on to charge, and went over to fiddle with the heater himself – no luck. It was weirdly cool, much cooler than downstairs, and he was mulling over how frosty a night it was gonna feel in this low-rate room. He thought sourly how unlucky they had got, everywhere else in this hotel seemed fine! The evening passed on – a bit of chat about the game, even though it had been talked to death downstairs, some more flicking through the useless channels, and then – oh aye – there it was, the joked about porno: a lesbian three-way flickered into view for 10 seconds, the loud cliché groans of the genre, and then a pay-per-view message taking up much of the screen. The two young footballers shared a look and burst out laughing. `Right,' Luke said, `good stuff! Haha.' `Classy,' Harry agreed, swinging off the side of his bed, `can't believe the team hasn't paid it in for us!' He got up to use the toilet, still laughing to himself about the flash of hardcore, and was surprised to see it still up on the suspended screen when he got back in there. Luke was glancing between it and his phone, and then up at Maguire as he returned, in the middle of doing up the cord at the waist of his own navy jogging bottoms. `You ain't gonna pay for it, are ya?' Harry asked in a moment of confusion. `Fuck no, ha, I don't need to pay for that shit! Got plenty waiting for me back in Manchester, buddy!' `I'm sure, I'm sure. Knock that shit off then.' Harry waved at the TV screen, tugging off his jumper, just in a small white tshirt beneath it, but shivering at the exposure to the cool as he crossed the room. `Hey, look at this, hah...' Standing between the beds, he pulled the waist of his joggers down a bit to expose the designer waistband circling his pelvis, the CK motif running along the exposed view. Luke frowned and laughed and met his eyes. `What you on about?' `I took the fucking hint and upgraded my pants!' Harry said, letting his tshirt fall back down and pulling his joggers up a bit more fully. `What? Oh – I wasn't... Did you think I was taking the piss?' Luke's cheeks were rosy at this and he squirmed on the bed where he sprawled – it was obvious to Harry he was right, of course the smug pretty boy had been taking the piss! Harry just laughed it off as Luke began to deny it, and sat down on the bed facing him. Almost on cue, both lads shivered, and looked wistfully at the dysfunctional heater. Harry wanted to suggest calling reception to whinge, but he'd mocked that idea now, so said nothing. Instead he looked back at the pay per view message on the screen and sighed. `Could do with three lesbian birds to keep us warm in this shithole eh.' `Something like that.' Harry got up to get ready for bed, and yanked down the joggers. Luke looked his way, seemingly instinctively, and Harry suddenly felt a bit self conscious as he bared his thick strong legs and the tight black briefs he'd purchased the other day at Fern's advice. `Nice pants,' Luke offered a little uncomfortably, and Harry laughed equally awkwardly at the compliment. `Aye. Cheers. You smug fashion prick.' `Hey mate, I was just being nice. Seriously, they... suit ya.' `Huh, you think? Daft lad.' Harry was blushing now, despite his usually relaxed attitude to being undressed around his mates, and he looked down himself. He'd never been a briefs guy before but they certainly held your package in the right way, giving it a good dimension. He glanced back up and realised Luke was still looking, the weird kid. `Yeh,' Shaw continued, sitting up a bit. `Er, well... thanks.' `Wasn't mocking the others though mate,' Luke said, as Harry took off his tshirt and stood shivering, `I just liked the colour, wondered where you got them, so...' `Aye, cool, so you said, no worries.' Harry tossed the tshirt to the floor with his joggers, and stood a moment longer, not posing, but very aware of Luke's glinting dark eyes on him. `I needed to refresh my er, downstairs wardrobe anyway, so just... hah. You know. Thought I'd treat myself.' `And your missus!' Luke grinned, that toothy, boyish smile. Harry nodded and looked down again. `Shame this fucking cold is making my bits shrivel away to nothing! Ha.' `Oh, I dunno,' Luke said thoughtfully, `plenty in there still!' `Huh.' Harry grinned then grimaced and grinned again. `Stop fucking looking at it you daft lad, you'll have me blushing.' He turned away to go look at the heater again, squatting down with his back to Luke, who continued to quietly watch. But there was nothing happening. The lump of junk made watery gurgles when he fiddled with the knob but barely any heat came off it. `Fucking Dutch rubbish,' the Yorkshireman muttered darkly and stood back up. He turned, and become more acutely aware of being examined. Luke caught his eyes and turned away a bit. Nothing was said. `It's only like 10 euros or something,' Luke said, after a few quiet minutes, as Harry tidied his clothes and readied himself for bed. He looked over. Shaw was in the middle of pulling out of his hoodie, so just in joggers and a loose fitting vest. Harry looked back up at the screen, and then at the nervous, wistful expression on his young roomie's face. `Well,' he said, after some thought. `Go for it if you really want. I don't fucking care.' `You won't mind?' Luke said. As Harry heard this question it sort of dawned on him what he was being asked: young Luke wasn't just asking to fucking watch the porn, was he? He felt a twinge of panic but also he shared Shaw's appetite. The pre-match sex bans and all the adrenaline did the same thing to them all and he wasn't exactly invincible to the clip they'd both seen. As these thoughts flashed through his weary, tipsy head, Shaw was already pulling a credit card from a pocket and punching numbers into a remote. Fucking hell. `The view is shit from my bed,' Harry thought aloud, after a cautious pause. `Oh, fuck, well, come sit on mine,' Luke said distractedly, fiddling with the on-screen instructions. `Um, if you want, mate?' Harry looked at the angle of his own bed, the corner telly, then at Luke sprawled out, and down at his own bulging briefs. Fuck, it was chilly. He sighed his consent and interest, and then instinctively went to check the door was actually locked. A sense of taboo mixed with memories of plenty of less-than-private wank moments in his younger years on youth teams and tours, sharing bunk beds. `Shift over,' Harry barked, and he slid onto Luke's double. Luke made room, turning over a bit and wriggling aside, and finally mastering the instructions. A blast of 90s cheese and the porno scene churned into life above them. Luke hopped up off the bed to knock off the lights and also check the door with the same paranoia that had pushed Harry, who remained on the bed, trying to get himself comfortable. This was... weird. He fixed his eyes on the screen and wondered if this could even turn him on right now, in a shared room, with a twinge of guilt for his fiancée back home. But hey, it looked hot. `How fucking old is this tape?' Luke laughed, and Harry realised he'd stripped his vest and joggers off whilst knocking out the other lights – a toned smooth figure of light tan as he clambered back onto the bed and over Harry's bare legs in the process. Once they were both there, sprawled on the bed side by side, the intimacy of it all really hit Maguire. He looked back to his own empty bed. `To be honest mate,' Luke said next to him, `it might be warmer if we share a bed.' `What?' `Well. It's just a thought.' Harry went quiet. `This is weird, mate,' he announced, a bit frostily. But he was cold. Maybe he should get his clothes back on and sleep like that. But Luke was right, about body heat. Fuck. And above them, the action was kicking off. Bared plastic tits, bad bleached hair, pouting lip jobs. How had the night spiralled bizarrely to this? How many beers had he sank with dinner? Luke's voice was quiet. `You want me to turn it off? I didn't mean to make shit weird.' Harry tore his eyes briefly from all the female nudity on the screen, meeting Luke's eyes, and feeling hesitant. He looked down his toned front to the rising bulge in the black CK briefs. Then back up to the screen – the first glimpse of cunt – and then back at Luke. Why was Luke staring at Harry's bulge like that? `It's just so big,' Shaw said softly. `I mean – is it the briefs? My boxers just don't, er, emphasise me quite like those do to you...' Harry didn't know what to say to that, but he did force a comparative glance at the pale grey boxer briefs on the other lad, and back to his swelling mound. An ego boost for sure. And on screen, more action developing... `Fuck, I don't know,' he said irritably, confused by the comment, the attention, the whole situation. He was suddenly homesick, absolutely desperate to be fucking his girl. The room was getting colder. `I'm getting under these fucking sheets,' Luke said then, after shivering just as much as Harry. With a rustling scramble of the cheap duvet, both lads slid under it into the cover, while the orgy got going above them and both guys glanced from it to the other, pulling the covers up over their bared chests and then reaching under to stroke themselves. Harry felt weird, but also really fucking horny. He felt himself in the tight pouch of the briefs, and bit his lip as the hottest girl on screen slid off her knickers and got going. This retro crap was actually really hot, or maybe he just hadn't watched any porn in a while, and – fuck, it was definitely warmer under this duvet, both their body heat filling the space. For a moment, their muscled young arms brushed and they looked at one another in mutual discomfort – or, discomfort for Harry, Luke just looked sort of... intense. And then there it was: the other lad's fingers on his crotch. `Mate,' Harry hissed. `Don't worry – just a moment...' `Mate!' `Wow, it really is as big as it looks!' Harry tensed up, feeling soft warm digits brush his own as Luke copped a feel under the duvet – holy shit. On screen, distractingly, big dildos had come into play and the crap quality Dutch porno was getting explicit, and... `Mate!' Harry said, confused, shooting Luke a furious glare, but... Shaw's eyes were on the screen, even though he was now lying a bit closer, and the lad's left arm reached over this way. Harry gritted his teeth and let out a frustrated moan. `What are you doing?' he whispered in the dark, lit only by the garish flashes of colour from the porno. Luke didn't really answer at first, he just continued to squeeze and stroke at the big package. Harry gingerly moved his own fingers out of the way but rested this hand in warning on Luke's warm, softly hairy arm between them, and he suppressed another shivering moan. What the fuck was going on? `Mate,' Luke said, sliding ever so slightly closer, `just watch the screen, hey?' Harry locked his eyes on the glorious graphic sight, and there was a rustle as Luke reached over more – a tug of elastic and out was Harry's dick, brushing the cheap cotton and making contact with the other lad's questing grip. Shit. It felt good – soft warm grip on his throbbing member, just like the dripping cunts all over the screen, and he let out a long eager moan. But the porno could only distract him so much from the reality: Luke was on his side, curling up against him, and swapping hands, reaching over more fully so he could wrap his right hand around the big stiff rod tenting the bedding. Luke lay his head over Harry's bare pec and shoulder – the brush of soft blond hair and gingery beard against Maguire's pale skin. Harry shot his eyes back up to the screen long enough to imagine that it was some Dutch slut, not a pretty boy Premiership footballer, going to work on his dick. Harry was paralysed by the pleasure of it now, though. There was no denying how good the handjob felt, or how in need of the attention he was right now, or how heated he felt by it all. The icy Netherlands chill was forgotten, and the awkwardness of the scenario too. `Oh fuck,' he groaned, and wrapped his right arm tightly about Luke's bare shoulders to grip the young wanker. `Oh fuck, mate...' `Should I stop?' The lad's voice was shaky and anxious, but Harry could barely look at him or offer any kind of answer. He just squeezed a bit tighter on those muscled shoulders and then reached up to tousle Luke's hair just as he had in the changing rooms that day. `Fuckkkkk...' He closed his eyes, shutting out the blur of a dark bedroom and the lurid porn on the screen, throwing his head back against the pillows and feeling Luke's eager fingers slide up and down his shaft with force. `God,' muttered Shaw, a breathy moan of excitement, `you're just so... big... it feels...' `Shut up,' grunted Harry, `shut up and... oh god... yes...' Pants of eagerness from Luke, though Harry couldn't bear to look at him, his whole body tensing and writhing in pleasure – squeezing the lad's shoulders a bit more, pressing his face into his pec, letting out open moans of sensual delight. Now Luke was working his meat with BOTH hands, and it felt... so... good... `Oh shit!' And with that, Maguire blew his load: sticky cum splattering the inside of the bedding, not to mention his mate's trembling hand. Harry stretched and writhed and gasped, his breathing ragged, and lay like that for a couple of minutes, still gripping the smaller muscular footballer to him at the side, before eventually letting out a long gasping yawn. `Jeez,' he heard Luke murmur in a daze, `what did we just...?' `I need to sleep,' Harry barked instantly in response, and he released his arm from around those smooth, toned shoulders, rolling away and grasping the bedding to him – he could feel his own slick cum rub his thigh on the sheets and his throbbing erection slap the sheets below as he curled away from his teammate and handjob partner. Harry buried his face into the pillow, still panting, and scrunched his eyes shut. Fucking hell, what did they just do?