Date: Tue, 22 Dec 2020 13:13:14 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads Part 216

Part 216: Wars of the Roses [Red]


It's funny, the difference a single goal can make...

Strange to think now, but at the start of the day, he had been really
questioning his place at Old Trafford. After being considered a bit of a
sensation at the start of last season, 2020 had allowed the Wales winger
to sink into relative obscurity -- there had been a lot of talk from his
agent lately about a loan or full transfer in January, a bit of an escape
from Manchester United and a chance to be more central elsewhere. The
23-year-old was deeply in love with the club and wanted to be here, but a
lack of minutes since the post-lockdown weeks and into this new season
had begun to wear at him... only a few hours ago, he had been giving
serious thought to such prospects, keen to turn his shapely young
backside on a frustrating period here, but now...

Now, Sunday night in the dull warmth of the Old Trafford home changing
rooms, Dan felt very differently, making his 66th minute contribution to
a 6-2 victory over their old rivals Leeds. The grin almost split his
handsome young face from ear to ear as he mad his way through the
changing rooms, muscles throbbing from a 90-minute battle but adrenaline
thundering through his petite frame and making him feel like he could run
straight back out there for a repeat performance.

James made his way through, grinning and cackling at a few yelps of
praise and encouragement from other men, finding his spot against the
wall and beginning to unlace and kick off his muddy wet boots, unable to
wipe the smug excitement from his face. Mad to think that as he'd been
lacing up in here about two hours ago, he'd been wondering how many more
United matches he might be involved in, if any -- the rare start for
United today had been only a mild boost after his months in the shadows,
but now he'd played a full match and put in a decisive goal... well, he
couldn't help but look adoringly about the room at his teammates and
feel comfortably at home here after all.

Just then, his big captain was passing by, another embodiment of this
conflict and now joy: there were times Dan shrank anxiously at the near
presence of the big fellow Yorkshireman, uncomfortably aware of what had
gone on between them about a year ago, and how much it both thrilled and
shamed him to this day. But now, in this jubilant mood, one sock off and
one sock on, he beamed proudly up at Harry Maguire's hewn features as he
grabbed and squeezed his shoulder. `Excellent, mate, just excellent,'
the United captain grunted proudly at him, 6ft4 of glistening shirtless
muscle in his shorts and long socks, towering over him for a moment with
that subtly affectionate half-smile, before moving on with a glisten of
his arm and chest and an ominous little swing of what lurked in the front
of his thin white shorts.

Fuck, Dan thought, he really is a sexy beast... he watched after him
distractedly, remembering how intimidated and excited he'd been by
Maguire's stormy interest last Christmas, how it had made him avoid him
for many months of this year. He sometimes wondered if that shyness had
contributed to him being left out of squad line-ups and malingering on
the bench. Perhaps he should never have allowed any distance from big
Maguire, who now seemed warm and welcoming towards him as one of Luke's
best friends. Hyped up by the epic game, Dan stared lustily after the
captain and his long powerful back, daring to crave another moment of his
strength and passion at some point.

The thoughts made the short winger slow to undress, conscious of the
chubby semi in the front of his white briefs, just keeping his kit on and
lurking there against the wall, grinning about him at the other men and
thinking that big Harry was far from the only studly teammate he
wouldn't mind rubbing up against tonight in celebration of their win
over Leeds. Yorkshire-born as he was, Dan felt no conflict on this `War
of the Roses', proud to represent Lancashire like Maguire and everyone
else, delighted to smash plucky underdogs Leeds in tonight's game. After
all, Dan's realest loyalties were to the Welsh national team anyway,
never mind all of this English rivalry...!

He spied a particular favourite of the Manchester hunks about him
disappear away down the far end of the changing rooms towards the
toilets, and he made a movement to follow, since he was too aroused to
slip off his shorts yet and join the rapidly undressing fray of muscle
and grass-stain that surrounded him. Instead, the goal-scorer scampered
away from the mass of blokes and down towards the rows of urinals and
little block of cubicles, catching up with Shaw and then catching his eye
in the mirror by the sinks.

The studly left-back turned and gave him a warm smile in the middle of
stepping up to a urinal. `Well played, Danny boy,' he said quietly.
`Fucking awesome, matey.'

Dan pulled into the urinal space beside him despite no need to piss,
making a point of glancing over the shiny porcelain divide as Luke
unfurled his chunky cock to relieve himself, flashing a playful wink at
the increasingly rugged defender who he felt closest to in this squad.
`Thanks, bud,' he chirped. `You were good too,' he added quickly.
`Ole was mad taking you off in the second half, erm...'

Pissing heavily into the neighbouring bowl, Luke just gave him a lopsided
smile and shrugged his shoulders, half-exposed by the tight dark
under-armour vest that covered his thick torso. `Nah, I was getting
sluggish,' he admitted. `Happy to step down when the result is so
fucking great. Thanks to you and the others! I'm made up for you, Dan,
really.'

James wallowed for a moment in the handsome glory of Shaw's expression
and relaxed posture next to him, enjoying the cool twinkle of those blue
eyes and the close fluffy crop of his bear and hair -- he looked less
like a boyband stunner and more like a hipster bear cub these days, but
it drove Daniel absolutely wild, and made him think of those intense
summer sessions training in pairs and being rogered by the handsome
southerner.

`Are you?' the winger prodded with a smirk.

`Course I am,' Luke continued, finishing off his piss, `nobody knows
better than me how shit this season has been for you so far, matey... I
was buzzing when I saw you get that goal, even though I was knackered on
the sideline...' He shook his chubby prick and Dan watched this sight
hungrily, then took a cautionary glance back down the passage towards the
melee of the main changing room, and took his chance: he reached over and
stroked his warm fingers against Luke's soft member, giggling as he did.
`Dan!' Shaw hissed back with his own chuckling, but he pushed his dick
into the twang of his sports briefs below his shorts and took a step
aside.

`Buzzing enough to give me a treat?' Dan suggested quietly to him,
chewing on the corner of his lip and giving his most winsomely puppy-like
expression to the left-back.

`Daniel,' Luke said in a tone of authoritative warning that was less
friendly but, to Dan, still exciting.

`Come on,' he sniggered under his breath, and nodded past them to the
cubicle doors. `I'll suck you off now, you know I don't take long,
with these lips...' He felt a little bite of shame in the blushing of his
cheeks, hearing himself be so open and sluttish, but there was no point
being shy about what he wanted tonight, and the sight and smell of Luke
here beside him was driving him even wilder. `Fetch Harry,' he added,
seeing the conflict on that handsomely bearded face, `and I'll nosh you
both, hehe...'

`Dan, mate,' Luke sighed, moving away to the sinks and turning his back
on him as he washed his paws, `I don't think that would be a good idea
at the moment.'

Dan's body language immediately slumped at the tone of gentle rejection,
following him to the sinks and doing his best to appear unfazed and
casual as he needlessly scrubbed at his own fists side by side with the
left-back hunk. `Fair enough,' he said in a brittle voice.

`We're just going through some stuff,' Luke confided gently. `He's
in the doghouse a bit for HIS behaviour, and... well, he's still
convinced you-know-who is coming to steal me away, so...' He turned and
gave him a heartbreakingly kind look. `You know you're cute as
anything, but let's keep our friendship safe, shall we...? No more... you
know. Benefits.'

Dan, who hadn't succeeded in laying hand or tongue on the thick-bodied
Londoner in months now, did his best to hide the little jolt of horror
and disappointment, just nodding blandly at his friend and trying to
accept the well-meant idea. `Of course,' he said, `that's what really
matters, innit. Best mates.' He could hear the hollowness in his own
answer, and he looked away at his own reflection rather than risk
appearing too disappointed in Shaw's apparent monogamy with Maguire.
When one of Luke's firm hands reached over to pat and fondle his
shoulder, he instinctively shrugged it away then forced out a cheeky
laugh.

`I was just messing,' he said more loudly. `Not really gonna blow you
here and now, am I?! God, imagine someone catching us...!' Fuck, he
thought madly, that risk was what made the prospect so briefs-tearingly
exciting for his undersexed young cock, but what the hell... He forced his
most amiable smirk back for the taller bloke, patting him dismissively on
the sweaty elbow. `You're totes right, mate, let's just keep things
cool, Lukey.'

Shaw twinkled those baby blues uncertainly at him, straightening up and
fidgeting with the tight compression vest in a way that gave Dan
thrilling peeks of his auburn armpit hair and the hairy little trail that
existed gloriously between his tummy and crotch, then began to move away.
`Thanks Dan,' he murmured, `I knew you'd get it.' Then, on his way
past, he defied his own logic and patted him very softly on the bottom.
`Plus, I'm sure this thing ain't short of admirers, so I know you
won't be too lost without me...' And grinning complacently, Shaw
disappeared away down the passage, leaving Dan James stood alone beneath
a falsely winning smile.



Another of the night's goal-scorers entered the Home changing rooms late
now, clutching his Premiership Man of the Match prize in one hand and
shivering below the baggy overcoat he'd been given while his interview
dragged on in the chilly rain. A gentle roar of approval sounded from the
other players as he joined them, fully clothed against their various
levels of nudity, hailed as a young king as he moved among them to his
corner and placed the little prize proudly next to his belongings.

Scott McTominay began shrugging off the jacket, accepting a series of
tight handshakes and back-slaps from variously naked, sweat-streaked or
shower-blasted bodies around him, soaking up the adulation for his early
brace: two goals in the first three minutes, kick-starting the Manchester
team's dominance over the Yorkshire pretenders, who they had not faced
in the Premiership for years. It was a powerful rivalry to Scott, despite
his Scottish national claim -- he was born in Lancaster and so conscious
of the ancient rivalry between the two big northern counties.

The big centre midfielder let the attention wane before peeling out of
his red shirt, exposing the ripped white muscles of his chest and tummy,
and sneakily admiring the other bodies exposed all around him: nearby,
the tight brown muscles of Marcus Rashford's body as the heroic forward
hurried to dry down from his shower, departing Old Trafford for a spot at
the Sportsperson of the Year Awards very shortly -- and on the other
side, Uruguyan newcomer Edinson Cavani swinging his loaded privates
casually as he dried his balls and spoke loudly to the excitingly sleazy
figure of Bruno Fernandes, who like Scott was basking in the attention
and praise of his two goals.

McTominay did his best not to stare, though he knew from experience that
Bruno could perhaps be lured into accepting more than visual appreciation
-- the Portuguese wizard had been among those exciting blokes who had
painted Scotty's face in a Spanish shower block at the very start of
2020, when he lost that bit and gained a lot of self-discovery.

Still, who knew quite where the leering Portuguese midfielder's
appetites and desires really lay, so discretion and caution always served
best for Scotty, who shoved down his shorts and unrolled one sock at a
time, baring his gigantic pale body and preparing to be one of the last
into the showers. Discretion aside, he stole a last glance at Cavani's
rather impressively hung piece beneath his dark bush of pubes, and took a
second to watch Fernandes stroke lazily at his own flaccid cock before
stuffing it inside the fresh black boxer shorts he was changing into; and
a glance back to the left was too late, as red Nike undies twanged into
place about Rashford's waste and the shyer Manc lad put away his
gorgeous brown bollocks to begin reaching for the slick designer suit
that he was wearing to the SPOTY Awards.

McTominay left them behind, waiting until he was stepping over the
doorway into the communal shower block before dropping his own tight
compression shorts and letting his sizeable pale nob swing loose,
grabbing a clean towel from the rack and making his way through into the
steamy cuboid -- emptied now, since he was so late to shower and most
guys were beginning to get dressed up for their journeys home. In fact,
there was only one body still left in here, and the big midfielder could
not help but ogle his bare-arsed captain for a horny moment that risked
his prick coming alive.

Discretion and caution were important, of course, but if there was one
guy whose openness McTominay most felt confident in, well... had it not
been big Harry himself who seemed to lead the charge in that stupid
behind-the-scenes bet, stoked by Lingard's mischief...? Had it not been
Maguire who let him go down on him in the summer long after he'd
dismissed the January incident as a dizzying one-off...? Big Captain Harry
who'd pinned him against alley walls and the back seat of his car and
fed him his absolute monster cock...?

Scotty hung up his towel and stepped invasively into the space right
beside the lingering United captain, who was scraping shampoo suds from
his spiked brown hair and letting them arc excitingly down his arm and
chest muscles into the towering physique below. The only man here who
matched Scott in height, something that counted for a special connection
in the centre-mid's feverish lust, reason enough for them to be sexually
compatible....

`Hey captain,' he said quietly, before pushing the button and soaking
himself in rapidly heating water, noticing the little jolt of surprise in
the dazed centre-back's expression, his sleepy stare of alarm and then
almost instant dismissal.

`Scotty,' Maguire grunted, having already heaped praise and admiration
on his footballing performance before anyone left the pitch, his
captain's duty done as always. But McTominay, letting the steaming hot
water course across his broad freckled shoulders and down his hard body,
had other `duties' on his mind, slinking knowingly closer to the
Sheffield beast in this terrifyingly public corner, the voices of all
their teammates echoing in here over the noise of the shower.

Harry Maguire twisted a metallic knob hard and narrowed his eyes at him,
the shower blast overhead ceasing and leaving him stood naked with steam
rolling off his neck and pecs as the two impossibly tall footballers
stood eye-to-eye. `No,' the captain said firmly, catching and gripping
Scotty's stray hand as it began to creep over to graze at his naked hip.
`No, mate.'

Scott was glad he was already bright red from the heat and steam, hiding
his coy blush of rejection, recoiling his hand and slapping it idly
against the lower rungs of his six-pack. `Not here, obviously,' he said
in a very quiet, teasing voice, letting Maguire almost read his lips with
the plumbing roar drowning out their voices. `Not here, but...' Scott
licked his lips and tried to offer a coquettish expression on his
handsomely gaunt features, cheeks burning red beneath the freckles. He
thought hard about the times he'd been able to go down on this
magnificent alpha, and how much he'd like to taste it again tonight...

Maguire just snorted, flaring his nostrils and shaking his head gently.
`Nah, not tonight, kid,' he muttered dismissively, and slapped his wet
shoulder. `I'm trying to behave these days. And -- if you know what's
good for ya -- take your time in this shower, don't go out there with...
THAT...' He nodded critically down and Scott flushed deeper scarlet to
see the way his own ample cock lifted between his bare thighs -- oh,
bugger.

With a casual swing of his long soft appendage, Maguire left him, taking
long wet strides across the streamy space and exiting it, leaving
McTominay alone and semi-hard, unable to turn properly across from the
wall in case it was exposed and made obvious to the silhouetted teammates
flitting past the large square opening. Bugger. He laughed aloud, trying
to shrug away the little sting of rejection that the skipper was either
giving up on such extra fun, or just not as horny as he usually was, or
just totally disinterested in someone as goofily available as Scotty
clearly was tonight...

Just then, the much smaller figure of another player replaced Maguire in
the steamy mouth of the showers, a folded towel still held over his naked
crotch as he entered the soft amber glow of the shower block and joined
Scotty in this secluded moment, while a chant of `We all hate Leeds
scum' started up loudly in the changing rooms behind. McTominay grinned
to himself and, hearing how busy and distracted the bulk of the squad was
out there, risked turning his back to the wall and the hot spray of
water, exposing his chest and six-pack and gently hoisted semi to the
arrival who was strolling close by him to the adjacent wall, grinning
hungrily this way at what was on show.

`Hey, Dan,' mouthed McTominay with a hopefully wink, reaching over and
spunking some shower gel from a dispenser into his palms, then slapping
them against his broad flat pectorals.

Taking his place at the showerhead just around the corner from him, Dan
James turned his back on him, but in tease rather than snub: glancing and
smirking over one low shoulder with those darkly handsome looks, his
short toned back descending into the plump dough of his young arse and
the gently haired thickness of his thighs. `Oh, hey,' his fellow
goal-scorer murmured, punching the shower into life and letting its water
course entrancingly down that rear-view. Dan winked at him and Scott
smirked excitedly back, just as the hollering voices of other players
broke into their moment: `Oi, come on, get showered... Christmas beers
are waiting...!'



Dan thought about it in comparison to the team's official Christmas
party last year: a glitzy affair in a hired-out club, where he'd been
slipped his first nostril-full of cocaine and subsequently allowed
himself to be used and experimented by Shaw and Maguire. He knew, looking
back, that he'd just been a toy and a pawn in that power couple's early
forays, but still -- it had been a night of discovery for him too, even
if it had taken him many months to begin to accept his bisexuality.

A wild night in 2019! And now here was Christmas 2020, a single bottled
beer in the foyer of Old Trafford while one by one the players, coaches
and other staff disappeared from the carefully distanced gathering and
found their cars to drive home. It was a pathetic affair by previous
standards, but still a nice gesture from the club management, and at
least it marked the occasion.

Dan, in his hyped-up mood of uncontrollable lust, barely took his eyes
off his target, and right now, he was using the near-empty green beer
bottle in his hand as a fairly convincing prop: wrapping his moist lips
around the neck and sliding them down an inch or two with his dark eyes
fixed provocatively on the tall lad at the far side of the room, living
for each flickering glance that confirmed Scott's mutual interest in him
tonight.

It wasn't as if the two of them hadn't played together before, though
always with a certain nervous hesitation, neither of them perhaps letting
on what they really wanted or needed. But tonight... Dan kept thinking
about how maddening it would be to just head quietly home to his
girlfriend and have to pretend that she was enough, after the string of
brief fantasies he'd indulged since the whistle blew on their exciting
6-2 victory. Okay, so he'd been brushed carefully aside by his best
friend (without benefits), but he needed some special satisfaction,
and...

So now, lingering alone at the unmanned reception desk, a polo shirt
buttoned up tightly to his neck over his lean torso, the 23-year-old eyed
his target flirtatiously across the quiet and rapidly emptying party, and
wondered how far Scotty McTotty would really go. Was Dan's arse in for a
treat tonight, or just his mouth...?

He stopped licking provocatively at the bottle, becoming a little
conscious of how obvious his lusty mood might be to anyone who glanced
this way, and placed it carefully down on the surface next to him, then
straightened up his posture. He very deliberately refused to look over
that way again, not wanting to be too obvious or, let's face it,
desperate, and just pulled his fingers loosely through the shaggy fringe
of his slightly curled dark hair. Then he reached for his puffer jacket
where it was folded on the side and slid his arms into the sleeves,
making some bland and friendly goodbyes to those nearest him -- a couple
of senior coaches and an old physio -- then began weaving his way through
the distanced pairs towards the automatic doors and outside. He hadn't
even stepped out onto the damp tarmac outside when he heard the rapid
footsteps and suppressed breaths behind him, and glanced over his
shoulder to find McTominay joining him here.

`Hey,' Dan said, the chirpy tension of his voice belying his
performance of seduction.

`Hey mate,' hissed Scott, fumbling at the zip of his jacket and then
giving him a big goofy smile.

`Where we doing this?' the winger asked quietly.

`My girlfriend will be waiting up for me,' he was told gloomily, and he
nodded, accepting that he was in the exact same circumstances. The two
United players lingered there for a few awkward moments at the edge of
the VIP car park, other hooded figures emerging from the `party' and
passing them by in the drizzle, headed for their vehicles. Scott and Dan
shared a look and both immediately burst out laughing loudly: Dan wasn't
sure what he was laughing more at, their dilemma or the
testosterone-fuelled hunger that created it, or the clumsy secrecy of
their joint getaway.

`Here, I've got the perfect idea,' the Wales player muttered, nudging
an elbow to Scott's and giggling more at the gulf in their manly
heights, then leading the way to their cars. `Sneak back in there, leave
it two minutes so we don't look like we're together... right?' He
sniggered and backed off, digging his hands into the pockets of his snug
puffer jacket and edging back through the quiet reception area; he kept
his head low, avoiding eye contact with anyone, and just strode casually
on around a corner as if he was just heading for the loos or to grab
something forgotten in the changing rooms...



And McTominay followed, aware that his height and build made him a less
discreet sneaking figure than Dan James, bit trying to swagger past and
inside the building without drawing anyone's attention in the same way.
The ease of it startled him and made him snigger nervously as he rounded
another corner and found his 5ft7 pal waiting for him at the foot of some
stairs, chewing his lip and looking as excited as a kid on Christmas
Eve.

It was a look and an excitement accentuated by the silly elf hat on
Dan's head now, stolen from the festive display beside them at the doors
of several administrative offices. The pointed green hat didn't quite
fit, giving a pixie charm to Dan's good looks as he loitered on the
bottom step, a sexy elf ready for some festive mischief.

`Come on, Scotty,' he sniggered, jerking his head and letting the bell
on the peak of the hat fall stupidly forward in front of his face,
`there's a Santa's hat for you there, daddy...' He achieved the
impossible of looking demonic and cherubin at once, then darted up the
stairs, while Scott let a booming laugh and snatched the red Santa's hat
from the daft tableau of decorations, and shot after him up the
stairwell.

He wasn't quite sure where Dan was headed, but followed him down another
corridor of locked offices, tugging the red Santa hat uncomfortably onto
his head, then spotting Dan disappear through the door into one of the
corporate meeting rooms. He burst in after him with heavy breaths of
anticipation, then understood the reason for this specific room: it was
just another of the business suites, really, but there was a wall of
black and white photos up there in an assortment of fairly antique
looking frames, and their contents were immediate and obvious to Scott.
It was a whole wall display dedicated to United v United, Manchester v
Leeds: dozens of bygone Old Trafford heroes were pictured in varying
quality, celebrating goals against the White Rose of Yorkshire. McTominay
smirked proudly and let the door fall shut behind him.

`Oh, you cheeky elf,' he sniggered, grinning down at the short compact
footballer, and taking a couple of awkward steps toward him. `Are we
keeping these hats on, or...?'

`As long as everything else can come off,' his teammate quipped,
rubbing instantly at the front of his dark jeans and leaning in close to
him; Scott closed his long arms about him and rubbed his back and then up
at the tight dark curls on the back of his neck, hesitantly holding their
faces close and wondering if he dared chance a snog -- he still wasn't
sure what was and wasn't okay with another fella, and really it had
mainly been mutual wanks and a cheeky bit of oral that had gone on
between the pair since their first hotel room fumble in the summer...

`Sounds good to me,' the Scotland midfielder murmured back, snatching
at the sleeves and collar of Dan's tight polo shirt and pushing away his
loosened jacket. Their hands burst into action on each other, tall and
short looming beside each other against the meeting table and the wall of
framed photos, which Scott took a vain moment to look over proudly while
Dan reached up on his toes to begin kissing sensually at his neck. Off
went the jackets, rustling to the floor, and up came their matching club
branded tops, yanked away from fresh clean torsos, first his and then
Dan's... his nipples were instantly erect as Dan planted soft quick
kisses at his chest and tummy and he ran his fingers over the dense olive
muscles of the younger lad's torso. `Mmmm, mate...'

Quickly, the winger was on his knees, kneeling down there but straining
upwards because of their height difference, pulling Scott's rager free
from his clean boxers and close-fitting jeans. The double-scoring
centre-mid groaned happily, looking from the elfin figure at his crotch
to the framed iconic images of Manchester beating Leeds, allowing himself
to feel heroic and captainly for a moment, not just the confused
submissive beanpole who had serviced his dominant captain.

He groaned happily as his cock disappeared into the other player's
skilled mouth and he rubbed at his ears and warm cheeks, pressing the
curve of his own muscular glutes back against the edge of the table,
melting into the festive blowjob and just enjoying a bit of close
attention at last. Dan's lips and tongue felt unbelievably good and soft
-- every time he was sucked off by the short lad, he was surprised at
just how good it was, as if in between their sporadic contact, he had
refused to believe that it was actually better than his fiancée.

`How's that?' gasped Dan between mouthfuls, kissing at his waist and
nuzzling the side of his prick.

`So good,' he confirmed breathily, `oh mate...'

`I love your cock,' Dan declared hungrily, slobbering against the
foreskin and bulbous pink head as if to prove his point, then, `I love
it so much, I want to feel it in me...'

Not quite grasping the more-than-hint, McTominay pushed lazily forward
with his hips, pushing his cock against Dan's smooth lips and cheek and
slapping his stubby chin a little. `Mmm, me too,' he groaned, `I just
love your mouth...'

Now his lover left him with little room for doubt. `If you like my
mouth, wait til you feel my hole, big lad... yeah...?' Scott paused, eyes
widening, and he stared down his bare chest at the wicked smirking elf
kneeling in front of him, stroking his hard-on and drooling for it. He
let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, then swallowed a
nervous laugh.

`Fuck you?' he asked quietly, then `Here?!'

Dan spat on his cock and stroked it some more and then got up to his
feet, flexing his tight little body of muscle and leaning in to cuddle
against him, letting his crotch rub at Scott's bigger hard one through
his own jeans, their thighs and knees brushing thickly. `Come on,' he
urged him. `I need a good fucking, mate. My arse is crying for it. You
like my arse, don't ya...?'

Scott's hands were taken in his and guided down that tight tanned back
and then against the bold curve of his rear, feeling it through tight
denim, the two spongy cheeks that he'd found himself admiring so much in
the showers after a snub from Maguire. He squeezed them gladly but found
himself looking hesitantly into Dan's cute face, their daft Christmas
hots wilting into the space between them and obscuring the view. Then Dan
reached up to peck him on the lips.

`I've never fucked a lad,' he admitted gruffly.

`I think you'll like it,' insisted DJ.

He tingled with reassured excitement, and squeezed those plump cheeks
more properly, then thumbed at the tight belted waist. `You're sure?'
he panted, straining and stooping to steal another quick peck of a kiss.
`You'll really let me...?'

`I think it's the least you deserve, baby,' whispered Dan, tweaking on
his nipples then reaching back down to grip the base of his long
twitching cock. `After those fucking goals... mm... Scotty, you big stud...
and me, don't I deserve a treat for mine...?' He'd never known Dan like
this, so assertive and demanding, it was honestly the sexiest he'd ever
found him, not like the nervous fumbles they'd shared before. It was as
if they were both drunk on a single beer. Scott nodded his head with
furious certainty, pushing his fingers inside the arse of those jeans,
pulling possessively on each fat cheek. Yes, it was time to take things
further -- here and now!



Dan knew that this wasn't QUITE what either of them MOST wanted -- he'd
always been realistic about his convenient attraction to big McTominay,
suspecting that perhaps neither of them was the other guy's `type' as
such. But he needed to accept the limits of his friendship with Luke Shaw
and find fun where he could, and accept that his legendary Wales teammate
Gareth Bale barely answered his messages with more than a `k' since
they fucked in a hotel changing room that night. With Scott he seemed to
have found a more playful friendship where boundaries and seriousness
could be avoided, and everything was just approached with a sense of
playful opportunity. Hopefully that would remain true of this next more
hardcore step.

Dragging his body up onto the hard polished wood of the table and jutting
his plump pink backside into the air, he allowed himself to fantasise on
those other memories, recalling the way he'd been thrown against walls
by more assertive lads like Shaw and Bale and, once upon a time, Maguire
and Greenwood too: but he had no doubt that being topped by lanky Scott
would feel just as good. Scott's dong could look kinda `average'
sized, but that was only because he was so huge in build, his cock was
really quite a long shapely weapon.

`That's it,' he purred at him, `finger me, mate, push it in...' He
gasped encouragingly as long stiff fingers toyed with his crack, making
him shiver and flex, naked but for tight-stretched pants between his
ankles and the daft elf hat still at a funny angle on his tight dark
curls. He heard Scott spit again, as instructed, and push his fingers
questingly down his fuzzy crack, making Dan's neglected hole twitch and
relax for him.

Dan didn't just think about big studs like Luke or Gareth lining up
behind him, but about some of the Leeds studs he'd ogled on the pitch
during the hot contest of the night. Their captain was sexy in a
similarly macho way to Maguire, even, and he'd caught many good glances
at big Liam Cooper on the pitch before he was taken off: it even excited
him to think that Scott must have showered and drunk beers with that
tatted hunk on the Scotland national team, he wanted to ask what he
looked like in the buff at some point. Dan had also got a good look at
their other goal-scoring defender, Dallas, and the excitingly physical
Alioski -- and then there was their private schoolboy champion at the
front, Patrick Bamford! All of them bulging in white as they sweated
about the Old Trafford pitch... so exciting and rugged, Dan thought, he
would be equally happy bending over for the opposition right now as he
was for his own teammate! Oops, so much for club loyalty...

Now Scotty was pushing his slicked wet cock between his cheeks, clumsy
and struggling to find the right angle because he was so tall and the
table relatively low. Dan moaned loudly for him, knowing how much
reassurance and encouragement the big lanky stud needed, but how randy he
was for this next step. He'd wanted to be fucked by him before, but
never been quite so sure by his own attractiveness or the big
midfielder's experimental side... why was he so much more confident in it
all tonight? Just because he'd scored that goal himself...? Assisted by
Scotty of course!

`That's it,' he whined for him, `go on, push it in, don't be
gentle... mmm....'

Dan stretched forward against the table but pushed back with his arse
cheeks, reaching under his body to stroke his own thick short cock, while
feeling the tip of Scott's meat slip up and down past his hole without
gaining proper entry. `Mmm, big Scotty,' he groaned for him, `you feel
so huge, you fucking champion... mmm, fuck me like the Leeds goal, go on,
put it in me...' The reference to the match seemed to be just what was
needed. `oh YES,' he growled, as he felt the jab of strength from his
new top, and the puncturing of his tight arse muscles, `oh YESSSSS...'



McTominay made a long wordless gasp of pleasure as he felt his cock find
it way inside the pillowy arse, thrusting uncomfortably forward and
tensing up at the tight heat of James' hole. He pushed down on his back
with both hands, pinning him to the expensive table, and guiding his cock
into him with a mild fear of hurting or injuring the petite lad -- but
Dan's squeals were ones of utter enjoyment and appreciation and, in
fact, he was pushing back, doing half the work, allowing Scotty into him,
pressing back on his cock so tightly that he already felt close to
shooting his load inside him, raw.

Like Dan's, Scott's fantasist horny mind did wander a little -- not
just to his moments of desire showering beside his captain, wondering
what it would be like to top a guy as big and mighty as him rather than
this sexy elf, but to all those teammate cocks that had spunked on him in
the showers back in Marbella. And like Dan, he also thought about how hot
some of their opposition had looked in the match tonight, and wondered
how empowering and exciting it might be to fuck an opponent like this, in
the same way he was now taking control of Dan's body -- he thought about
some of the younger sexy lads on the Leeds side, nifty little figures
like Leif Davis and Jamie Shackleton, or that muscular England player
Kalvin Phillips and his stupid hairstyle.

But mainly Scott's mind was returning to the here and now, and the
excitement that he was balls-deep in his own teammate, holding and
dominating his sexy smaller body here in the risky meeting room. He
shifted his weight experimentally, finding a rhythm and a stroke, trying
to work out what really made Dan squeal and whine for him, barely able to
utter any dirty talk or even the other lad's name, just panting
bestially and beginning to drip nervous sweat on him from his own chest
and neck.

It excited the tall 24-year-old that that they were here in the stadium,
and even the novelty of the pictures on the wall -- Dan had chosen well.
But he wanted to look at those images while he fucked his first guy and
felt this powerful and heroic. So he scooped his long muscular arms about
Dan's front and hoisted him backwards, earning a little yelp of surprise
from his lover -- cock still in him, he hoisted Dan in his arms and
turned towards the wall of images, then staggered into it. He held Dan a
lot but let all four of their hands pressed in against the framed photos
like some multi-armed mythical beast, Scott's hips and crotch hammering
with new rhythm as he fucked Dan into the wall of iconic photography,
fucking him and fucking Leeds at once.

`Yes,' whined the Wales player gladly, `fuck me baby, fuck me, YES,
harder...'

Scott slammed into him now, forgetting the fear that held him back, just
gripping and squeezing the short lad's body and ramming his dick inside
that doughy bottom, thrusting him into the wall until first one then
several of the pictures were dislodged from their hooks and sliding from
the wall, hitting the ground at their socked feet with a series of thuds
and cracks. Only when Scott's strokes had slowed with the anticipation
of orgasm did he realise how much damage they'd done and how many images
had been messily dislodged from the wall, crashing about the floor at
their feet... and by then it was too late, he was in the throes of orgasm,
spilling his load inside Dan's hole, cumming in him like his fiancee's
cunt, and pulling his dick out with a fleshy pop even as cum still oozed
from both his head and from between Dan's bouncy cheeks.

The 23-year-old footballer spun around and rested his back against the
emptied wall space, jerking furiously at his own rock-hard cock. He was
giving Scott an almost pleading look, mouth hanging open and words a bit
beyond him -- and Scott was aware of a little inner conflict now he'd
cum, a sense that his own pleasure was sated and it was all over. But
Dan, even in that ridiculous elf hat, was so cute and adorable, he
couldn't just leave him to finish... so down he went, pushing his bare
knees against the cracked frames and unfurling photography, and stooped
to take Dan's dribbling precum between his quivering lips, and suck him
off.



Dan quickly spilled his load in Scott's mouth, which he'd not actually
done before despite coaxing the giant into briefly noshing him three or
four times before -- he'd always cautiously withdrawn in case the
cumshot was too much and freaked out the big Lancastrian. But now... he
just spilled his salty young seed on Scott's tongue, his back and
shoulders sinking back into the wooden panelling of the wall, chest
heaving with effort and the lingering pleasure-pain of being topped by
this magnificent gangly hunk.

He tried to suppress his own deep moans, knowing they'd been a little
noisy and risky in here, but then he felt a little more of Scott's cum
leak between his buttocks and the thought of it made him shudder and
cackle happily, stroking Scott's fringe below the fluffy rim of the
Santa hat and giggling some more at the fact they'd kept these on. He
was so busy giggling and stroking at Scott's jutting ears that he
didn't hear the footsteps out in the corridor or notice the downward
twist of the door handle -- by the time the door was lunging inwards, and
they were being intruded on, he was just staring adoringly down into
McTominay's freckled features and cum-slicked lips, thinking that maybe
he had found the perfect convenient sexy top for him after all.

But then the door was opening, and the horrifying risk of discovery
became very real to them both. Dan jerked his head quickly that way, the
elf hat spinning and its bell-end tickling him noisily across his
sweat-sheened face as he gawped at the opening door and felt Scott
retreat nervously from him, gripping his waist in each hand and panting
for breath with cum dribbling down his chin.

`Well,' exclaimed the bearded face in the inches of open door, lifting
their bushy eyebrows and just smirking softly, `wouldn't this make a
good Christmas card photo...?' A stifled laugh, a second mumbling voice,
but the door pushing no further inwards. `Seriously,' Luke Shaw said
through a supportive grin, `lock doors behind you, mate...!' And through
the inches, the older lad gave him a solid wink, taking him back to his
gentle putdown and assertion that surely loads of lads were after Dan's
big behind -- and then the door was shutting, blocking out the second
familiar voice that demanded `Who was it? What the-? Where are we
gonna-?'

The door was shut and the footsteps retreated and Dan burst out laughing,
reaching down to shake Scott by one of his massive shoulders. `Relax,'
he told him dismissively, `it was just Luke and the skipper. We're
good.' And he moved away from the wall, stepping carefully through the
debris they'd created, then reluctantly reached down for his tighty
whities to drag them up his thick little legs and about his sticky
privates. `Now pull yer clothes on and help me get this tidied will you,
big man...?'



On the way out, Scott thought maybe they could hear the other secretive
couple in a nearby cupboard, but Dan insisted that they just hurry
discreetly on and ignore it, and get the hell out of here. The two young
players, little and large, sniggered and blushed and kept giving each
other meaningful glances on the way down the stairs, where Dan tossed his
elf hat back into the cheesy tableau and the 24-year-old made to the
same.

`Nah,' Dan warned him, holding his arm.

`What?!' Scott demanded, confused.

`Look at it!'

He did so. A funny pale stain marked the red felt just above the furry
white rim, and he blushed deeply again, realising what it must be and how
it probably got there. It was almost certainly Dan's juice, though it
could even have been his, the way they scampered messily about each other
trying to tidy away the fallen photoframes and dislodged pictures. He
stared at the stained Christmas hat and then held in his little burst of
nervous seedy laughter.

`Just put it back on,' Dan told him with a smirk. `Nobody will notice.
Come on.'

And Scott did so, tugging the hat over his hair and following the
confident little fucker down the corridor, out into the almost deserted
reception area where a couple of older staff members and one or two
lingering players wished them Merry Christmas and congratulated on them
on their amazing goals against Leeds. Scott found himself matching Dan's
ear-to-ear smirk of victory and they went out into the dark of night,
approaching their closely parked vehicles and still sniggering a little
bit at their risqué action upstairs, their near-discovery, the mess
they'd made.

`Well,' he sighed, patting his car on the roof. `It's not every day
you beat Leeds scum. Wars of the roses, innit.'

Dan, stood opposite him on the near side of his vehicle, slipping a key
from a pocket, just grinned back and nodded. `Yeah, not every day. Not
every day you get railed by a sexy Scottish giant, either.' He winked.
`But it could be, if we both get to training early enough in the
mornings, and find a quiet spot... you know... Just summat to think about
it, big boy.' He clicked open his car door and disappeared inside,
leaving McTominay to blush and fantasise and wonder if Dan's arse would
feel just as tight and amazing next time he ploughed it. Stood by his own
vehicle, he caught Dan's smirking eyes through the windscreen of his
car, and smiled confidently back.




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