Date: Sat, 26 Dec 2020 11:59:16 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads Part 218

Part 218:  The Christmas Gift


He took a moment to pause and appreciate the cheesy festive cheer of the
house's big lounge, his mind thick with a few celebratory drinks and the
cosy atmosphere of Christmas Eve here in this family home. Not his own
family, this year, but still the cosy feeling of being accepted into one
for the sake of tomorrow's celebrations and togetherness.

Neco Williams brought the glass back to his lips and swallowed down the
last of the spiced rum drink he'd been enjoying, rocking on his heels a
little and looking from the huge decorative tree to the festive ornaments
along the sprawling mantelpiece over the fire, his pleasure turning to
guilt as his eyes turned over several smiley informal family portraits
framed there. Here he was, not just a cosy guest in the Henderson family
Christmas, but an... intruder.

The Wrexham teenager shuddered a little unhappily at that thought and
tried to push it away, staring down into the gently clinking ice of his
glass, and scratching uncomfortably at the borrowed festive jumper draped
over his lean body, lingering alone in the lounge letting the slow throb
of fairy lights soothe his moral ennui. Soft Christmas music was still
chiming quietly from a discreet sound-system like the haunting echo of
the night here with his captain and his wife, his kids and close
relatives, all very politely and warmly acknowledging the need for Neco
to stop over and join them as quarantine rules had made it impossible for
him to travel over the Mersey and home to his family on the Welsh
border.

He heard the very gentle creak of a floorboard and looked over towards
the big archway out into the main hall, saw the sleepy-grinning face of
his host hovering there and then joining him here in the dulling cosiness
of the lounge. Jordan had a glass in hand too, and as he approached, he
brought it clicking quietly against Neco's; he let out a long deep
breath that felt like the most longing sigh in the world to the confused
teenager, and he choked down his own little gasp of pleasure at finally
being alone with Hendo after a long evening trying not to stare at him
across busy rooms.

`Merry Christmas,' the Mackem football captain said very softly. The
glint in his eyes and the droop of his grin suggested he was even more
sleepy and tipsy than Neco felt himself.

`Not quite,' the 19-year-old pointed out uncertainly, glancing over at
a clock.

The Liverpool skipper shrugged his broad shoulders loosely beneath the
brightly-coloured festive jumper that hugged his sturdy torso, pulling a
little at the neck where it itched his heat-reddened skin. `Near
enough,' he muttered. Neco smiled nervously at him, then past him,
looking out into the uncertain emptiness of that central hall that joined
up the parts of the big Liverpool home, then back at the dozy smirk of
his host's face.

`I'm sorry,' he said in a serious whisper. `I tried to say no. I
really did. I know what we agreed. I know this is mad. But she was so
insistent and making such a fuss of it, and I just couldn't-`

`It's okay, marra... I mean, I know what she's like, I'm married to
her, ha. Don't worry.'

`This is exactly what we said we'd avoid,' the young right-back
pointed out in the same nervous hiss. `We said we'd keep our distance
when we could, make nobody worry or suspect a thing. We promised, cap'n.
I'm sorry I'm here, under your feet, getting in the way of family time,
and-`

`Hey, shush,' Henderson murmured back now, and he brought his glass
clinking against Neco's one more time, but more than that: his warm
fingers brushing along the side of his hand and wrist in a tiny
reassuring gesture, the two tall men stood awkwardly in the centre of the
room, the dying embers of the fire crackling into submission behind them.
Then Jordan began to curve forward and Neco found himself stiffening and
leaning anxiously away, giving him an earnest stare.

`Jord,' he whispered warningly, wanting to wave and gesture at all the
trappings of family Christmas around them: the boxed and bagged gifts now
sprawled under the tree like a distant multicoloured city, the family
portraiture, the scattering of snack bowls and empty bottles on a long
low table by their legs.

`Everyone is either in bed or busy,' his captain grunted at him with a
bit more firmness and depth, and suddenly his hand was on his forearm,
feeling him through the fuzzy fabric, pulling them closer where they
stood. `And, besides...' With a clumsiness linked to too much rum,
Henderson was pushing into the pockets of tight jeans in such a way that
it almost looked for an (exciting, terrifying) moment like he was going
to undo his flies right here and flop out his gorgeous cock -- but no,
from his pocket he tugged a fragment of mistletoe, or at least some
scruffy garden plant that might pass for it to two blokes who didn't
know better. And he was lifting it and holding it dramatically between
them with all of its loaded Christmastime meaning.

`Here?' Williams whispered at him, cautious but loyal in the one shaky
syllable.

`Here,' Hendo insisted, and without even a careful look back, he leaned
in and what could the footballing teenager do but melt into the brief
glorious kiss? The plump softness of their rolling lips, the scratchy
little tickle of facial hair, the butt of their strong chins, the little
awkward side-rub of their noses briefly clashing. The immense tension of
hands that wanted to go wandering beneath Christmas jumpers and crotches
that wanted to be released from tight-fitting denim.

Neco wasn't sure if he could have resisted the urges if Jordan didn't
first, breaking the kiss and pulling squarely apart, just patting him
assertively on the outside of his arm and smiling blearily at him through
the fug of rum, social awkwardness and festive cheer, then taking a
disciplined step backwards almost at the same instance as his voice's
wife sounded quietly a couple of rooms away, looking for him. Neco stared
longingly at him, tracing his tongue over his bottom lip and trying to
relive the brief snog.

`Well, bedtime for us oldies,' the 30-year-old joked, as the lady of
the house drifted in through the arched entrance, looking exhausted but
happy, `but don't mind us if you wanna stay up and have another drink,
matey... you know where everythin' is by now, eh...?' And just like that,
Henderson was comfortably married heterosexual, arm in arm with his
partner, cuddling and kissing at her and drifting away in a series of
chuckles and anticipation of tomorrow. But on the way out of the room he
still turned to look over his shoulder with that expression of stern
affection and Neco just ogled happily back at him, strangely satisfied
rather than resentful.

He did have one more drink, almost needing it to steady his nerves after
the risky mistletoe kiss, but he took it over to the downstairs guest
room (`his room', they all teasingly called it, as if he had stayed
here for much longer than the month or so of early summer) and enjoyed it
half-undressed in bed, scrolling through social media and Christmas
well-wishes. He thought about how awkward tomorrow could feel if he
allowed it to be, and resolved to prevent that and just enjoy himself and
make sure Jordan Henderson did too.

The two men had been very serious and worried when, a week or two ago,
they'd made a pact about limiting their contact and trying to downplay
their captain-youth bromance for anyone who might read too much into.
(I.e. the truth.) Henderson's cum had been drying faintly on his cheek
and chest at the time, lying side by side in his own bedroom, and he'd
meant every word as he promised to keep his distance and never whisper a
word of their late-night meetings to even his best mates. And then he'd
been caught by Jordan's wife just this morning, told quite firmly that
he couldn't languish on his own and spend Christmas Day in an empty
apartment just because he couldn't rejoin his family for the day -- Neco
had ended up powerless to resist this invitation here, and what made him
feel guilty was just how much he needed it.

Inevitably, the handsome young defender toyed with himself, pushing and
writhing at the bulge in his boxer shorts, but he was sleepy and
inebriated and his teenage cock was strangely unresponsive that night --
instead, he just slipped into a cosy sleep, obviously wishing he could be
in the master bedroom above, but somehow quite contented and reassured
just to be here in the captain's house, rather than alone in his own
space.



Jordan didn't leave the bathroom door open deliberately, but he
certainly didn't rush to close it. He stood squarely in front of the
sink and mirror, shirtless and just a new pair of wintry patterned pyjama
buttons hanging from his tightly muscular waist -- a first excitable
flurry of gift-giving had already taken place downstairs and now he was
stealing some brief privacy to wash and ready himself for the long day of
being jolly host to family. Privacy, though, did not exclude the two wide
eyes now vividly watching him through the slightly ajar bathroom door,
where his special guest Neco Williams had paused on his way past the
bathroom and peered in.

The two men's eyes connected silently in the mirror, other voices
drifting back and forward below and around them in the festively busy
household. Jordan, a little bleary with hangover and limited sleep after
a good pre-dawn fuck with his wife, smiled vaguely at the voyeur's face
just visible through the crack of door, almost pretending not to know he
was there, but silently acknowledging him even so as he squirted the
moisturising cream into both palms and then rubbed it thoroughly over his
sharp stubbled cheeks.

He would never have taken the risk of inviting Williams over for
Christmas himself -- he had fully meant his earnest rules and boundaries
when he'd laid them out with the teen that night, still gripped with
terror and indecision every time he discreetly parked his car three
streets away and spent another painfully short visit in the apartment
whenever the Liverpool right-back had it to himself. He had been panicked
and annoyed when he realised that his wife had insisted and the youth had
accepted, and yet now... he had enjoyed staring secretively at the
handsome curly-headed young stud through last night's drinks, even
enjoyed the taboo tension of having him so close, most especially enjoyed
stealing a risky kiss at the mistletoe before bedtime.

Jordan sucked in a breath through his teeth, tempted to say something and
draw attention to the little moment of stolen intimacy even though they
weren't even in the same room. But instead, all he did was stroke one
slick moisturised hand down over the lightly haired swell of his chest
and onto the hard ladder of abs that led down to the fuzzy growth of his
pubes and the waistline of the PJs; in the mirror, he could see Neco's
bright eyes following that movement, and he paused with his fingers so
close to the privacy of his pants. Somewhere nearby, Jordan could hear
the voice of an in-law, a reminder of how public his home was right now,
how dangerous any contact or affection was between the captain and the
youngster.

Still, gripped by the giddy mood of Christmas morning, Jordan pushed his
fingers under the waistband of his PJs, almost hearing the little gasping
breath of desire from Williams out in the darker corridor, still tensed
by the half-open door -- he could see him reaching for the handle for
something to grip, see him biting his pink-red lip. Jordan pushed his
hand further down, under the material but also dragging it with his
knuckles, peeling the front of his PJs down a little -- he knew it was an
insanely teasing view, since the reflection of it in the mirror ended
just below that fuzz at the faintest suggestion of thick penis, but he
felt a surge of pleasure in his own physicality and what it seemed to
mean to the beautiful boy in the corridor. He pushed down on his PJ
bottoms further, so they began to creep over the bulbous muscle of his
glutes, which was more plainly on view to Williams, and then --
footsteps, voices, disturbance. The bathroom door being shoved discreetly
shut by the teen, whose chirpy near-Welsh accent he could now hear making
chitchat with his father-in-law beyond the closed bathroom door.

The Liverpool midfielder and beloved captain stared seriously at his own
muscular reflection with a mixture of smug satisfaction and self-critical
despair. So exciting and risky to tease and arouse the lad like that here
in his own home on Christmas Day, so taboo; and so stupid, so needlessly
reckless, to bring this danger into his family and to court disaster like
that...!

His cock twitched lazily against the side of his hand, and his chest rose
and fell with a series of thoughtful breaths. But then, sighing
frustratedly, the sturdy North Eastern man pulled away from the mirror
and went to take a very necessary cold shower that would cool and calm
him and allow him to make it sensibly through the day.



A natural desire to be helpful, laced with sexual guilt, had Neco
feverishly offering himself up with every form of assistance he could
find over the course of a busy and happy Christmas Day in this welcoming
home: right now that meant searching through the Henderson's
well-stocked larder in a small cool room inside the garage, trying
desperately to locate an extra jar of mustard that his hostess was
adamantly sure she'd bought for her fussy older brother.

Neco rifled through the shelves of the small thin room, secretly a little
glad to be tasked with this and away from the fray of excited children
and prematurely drunk relatives he couldn't keep track of names for; he
was fighting a strong sense of being in the way here, paranoidly picking
up on the occasional glance that screamed `What is he doing here?'
Already, he was self-consciously plotting what time would be acceptable
to slip away and book a taxi back into the city to play PS5 online in the
flat instead -- an hour after lunch, maybe two...?

Yet again, he didn't really hear Hendo enter the room until they were
close, glancing frustratedly to the left in a last survey of the
condiments and tinned goods, and finding the man of the house half-inside
the larder, leaning through the open door and giving him a critical
smile. He was dressed in yet another seasonal jumper, more muscle-hugging
and cheesy than last night's, and he wore the ruddy complexion and broad
smile of someone who was curing himself with the hair of the dog. `Need
a hand?' he asked in a gruff, manly voice, slipping inside the room and
joining him in the narrow space. The larder door fell loosely shut after
him, blocking out the echoey voices drifting down from the busy kitchen.

`Jord,' he mumbled sheepishly, feeling the man's hand reach the centre
of his upper back and making him shiver beneath the oversized cord shirt
that hung over his lean muscles. He rested his hands forward into the
scratchy wooden shelves, forgetting all about mustard. He tried to say
something else, some warning of risk, but it just came out as a strangle
little moan of pleasure as Henderson's fingers found their way past his
stiff collar to rub delicately at the back of his neck just below the
hairline of his fade cut.

`Good to get you alone for a moment,' the skipper muttered, and his
voice trembled with a slight reflection of Neco's secretive fear; he
felt returned to that delicious minute at the bathroom door, perving on
the married man in his toilette, wanting to race in there and lock the
door behind them.

`I need to find the-`

Hendo shushed him again and stopped playing with his neck, lifted his
hand below the tail of the shirt instead to stroke the downy translucent
hair of his lower back, just above where the Armani waistband of his
undies crept above his black jeans. Neco shivered and felt a single
finger creep in below that tight waistband -- various instincts made the
sensation invasive and weird and part of him wanted to elbow Jordan away
or at least point out the stupendous risk of this contact, the thin
rattly door not quite shut that separated them from the passage back to
the kitchen, muffled voices still creeping through it. There was also the
terrifying newness of having the skipper interested in his arse, which he
had taken to stroking and squeezing a little when they kissed or cuddled,
filling him with trepidation and doubt. But there was always something
commanding in the way Jordan touched at him, that captain's authority
and maturity, and all he could do was grip at the shelf in front of him,
disturbing a few jars and bottles for a dangerous moment, and let the
finger slide down between his pert cheeks and edge into the moist warmth
of his crack.

`Chief,' he whispered.

`Just a moment,' Hendo said, and his gruff Mackem voice was almost
pleading.

Neco nodded nervously, both enjoying and rejecting the newness of a
finger creeping between his cheeks, which clenched tightly within the
confines of his jeans, making it harder for the digit to edge between
them and brush at the curly hairs around his secluded hole. `Oh,' he
moaned in surprise, leaning forward very slightly and feeling Jordan's
other hand rub comfortingly up his arm and then the side of his chest. He
moaned again, mouthing his captain's name, `Oh Hendo...', and felt the
finger jab a bit more forcefully in there, searching for the way inside
him, dragging up and down his hairy crack, stretching his undies and
jeans to gain access -- that other hand, no longer stroking reassuringly,
was thumbing open the top buttons of his flies to make the task easier,
giving Hendo more leverage so he could push that long firm finger in
deeper and begin to really tease his sweaty untouched entrance, making
him twist forward and gasp into the shelves. Again, he came dangerously
close to dislodging the stacked contents of the larder and causing a
noisy avalanche of their restrained passion.

When the sound of a child bawling somewhere else in the house cut over
the distant muffled kitchen voices, it seemed to jolt Henderson into
wakefulness, and it came to Williams as a mix of saviour and destruction.
His arse cheeks clenched even more tightly and protectively as the finger
retreated, but he found himself turning and snatching greedily at the
sleeve of the skipper's Christmas jumper as he pulled away across the
room. Their eyes caught briefly and Neco found that Jordan was grinning
less and had gone slightly pale, as if the reality of this cat-and-mouse
sexual teasing had sunk in more for him -- perhaps he was regretting
starting anything with his bathroom exhibitionism and this stolen
cupboard moment.

Neco went to speak and stopped himself, unsure what he was about to
whisper desperately. Before he could try again, Jordan was speaking,
grasping something from the corner of the shelving and holding it up like
a little trophy. `Mustard,' he pronounced, and then reached for the
door and bolted safely away, while Neco redid the buttons of his jeans
and shuddered with uncertain longing.



Obviously, they were sat opposite each other at the dining table
thirty-five minutes later, Jordan trying to remain the calmly
good-spirited host of the party while unable to stop staring at the
startlingly handsome young man across from him -- even when he was
leading the table in a short prayer to appease one more traditional
family member who demanded grace.

There was something about the baggy way the dark green shirt fell about
Neco's tall body, a couple of buttons open to expose the pale smooth
skin of his chest below his long neck -- something about the artfully
careless tumble of his dark curls over his near elfin features, all
nervous grins and grateful laughter as he tucked into his food and made
little contribution to the knowing family chatter of the table. A
beautiful boy, even to a man who knew he wasn't supposed to care.

The 30-year-old kept a fixed smile on his face and tried to at least
delay the thoughts of lust and possession, but it became difficult when
he kept having to look at him every time he reached over to serve gravy
or veg to someone else, or when the ritualistic pulling of crackers took
him over the table to connect with Neco's white fist via the gaudy
little paper mechanism.

When their socked feet first clashed under the table, it was definitely
an accident: just a brushing of toes in the narrow space between them,
and for a moment Hendo thought it was own wife to his left, reaching over
for some secretive footsie while they performed their wholesome roles
here. But it was just an accidental brushing kick against Neco's feet,
making the lad sit upright and blink furiously this way in a manner so
indiscreet Jordan wanted to kick more sharply at him and knock some sense
in -- but his captainly, almost brotherly, love made him behave
differently, rubbing his foot more softly over the bridge of Neco's,
intending just reassurance and calm, but finding his own cock and balls
stir in the crotch of his smart chinos.

Hendo cleared his throat and got on with spearing more gammon for his
plate, but then he felt Necos' warm toes muscling at his and coming back
for more footsie, their feet connecting loosely beneath the laden table,
unseen by all of his other guests. In those moments, the footballer knew
he couldn't risk looking up and over at the teen, because then the
stirring in his crotch would have become a full-on rager and he might
have had to throw the plates and bowls aside and lunge for him in a manic
embrace of desire.

`Wonderful stuffing!' he heard his brother-in-law boom loudly, and his
treacherous eyes fell for a moment on Neco's prim face, hesitating as
someone else topped up his wine glass with syrupy red Merlot. Yes, Jordan
thought, looking down at one twitching finger on the cutlery, and
thinking about where it had been not long ago -- a wonderful stuffing. He
took a deep breath and looked desperately at the gorgeous 19-year-old in
front of him, knowing just one thing: he needed to be alone with him
again, and soon.



The same awkward helpfulness that had taken him mustard-hunting in the
larder had Neco slaving over dishes in the early darkness of late
afternoon, while most of the diners were in varying states of food coma
in the conservatory -- he had deliberately eschewed the help offered and
tried his best to just wade through the work alone, sleeves rolled up and
shirt splashed with soggy soapy patches. `Need to earn my keep!' he had
repeatedly joked through a strained smile, really just wanting to be
alone in the kitchen with the suds and grease, because every five minutes
his teenaged cock was springing into a tight boner in the front of his
jeans, mocking its drunken laziness when he tries for a midnight wank on
Christmas Eve.

But the captain joining him in here was as inevitable and unsurprising as
it was deeply thrilling.

The older man came silently alongside him at the sink, reaching into the
hot soapy water, and grasped at his hand interruptingly as he scrubbed at
a serving dish just below the surface. Under the cover of soapy froth,
the strong skipper's hand took his own in its grip and massaged his
fingers, the men standing side by side at the big deep sinks of the
well-furnished kitchen, sidelong glances confirming what they both
desperately wanted. Each other.

`Home Alone 2 is just starting,' Hendo grunted.

`Classic,' Neco chimed.

`You wanna go watch it...? I can finish this.'

He stared at him and the bland domesticity of the offer, a little taken
aback by the difference between the burning lust in those dark brown eyes
and the calm indifference of his offer.

`Everyone else is,' Jordan pointed out now with a little twist of
direction.

`Right...'

`Half of them will be asleep already.'

`Er, yeh...'

`So... I can give you your gift...'

Henderson's hand clamped more firmly about his, on the surface of the
water, removing it from the job of reaching for the next dish. Fingers
interlocked damply. The older man breathed heavily and Neco felt his
whole body tense up. Before he could stop himself, he was voicing his
private fear in a desperate whispered rush.

`I don't think I'm ready for that,' the Wrexham teen admitted hotly,
thinking about how huge and obstructive it had felt having Jordan's
finger reach between his muscular buttocks. `I'm sorry, skip, I just
dunno if I could... I mean, it's...' He was blushing and panicking and he
cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching distractedly for a tea towel.
Suddenly Jordan's finger was looping into a belt-hook on the waist of
his jeans and pulling their hips closer together.

`Huh...?'

Neco blinked his full dark lashes at the older bloke. `I'm not ready
for you to do that to me,' he said, feeling how pathetic and weak his
voice sounded in this defiant refusal, expecting the stern disappointment
and rejection that such evasion would surely trigger. He had felt the
growing suspicion that Hendo wanted that from him for a while now, and it
was only too much red wine that was allowing him to confront and admit
that it wasn't something he could take yet. `I don't know if I want to
be fucked,' he added more bluntly and explicitly, fluttering his lashes
more in a rush of nervous scrutiny, Jordan just leering happily at him.

Hendo laughed once, leaned in closer, and let their elbows rub for a
moment. `That isn't what I wanted to give you, mate,' he said in a
voice that crackled with sexual authority. `Now, come through to the
gym, eh... it locks. Come on.'

Neco shivered, breathed in, nodded, and followed. He turned off a tap and
left the mammoth task of the dishes half-completed, following Jordan in a
hasty stagger around the corner, past the doors to the garage and larder,
and into the long low home gym that they had shared on so many sweaty
summer sessions at the end of lockdown. He staggered on into it, still
wiping soapy water from his hands on his shirt and t he thighs of his
jeans. His captain fussed with a lock behind him then muscled past and
went to each window, lowering blinds and creating a cool dark space that
was suddenly the only place in the world he wanted to be.

Jordan was then coming back to him and kissing him, holding by the
shoulders, the two 6ft men touching almost delicately and hesitantly at
each other's bodies through clothing, as if this wasn't what they'd
both been thinking about since the early hours of the morning. Neco found
himself eager to see Jordan's bare muscles again, and he helped him out
of that figure-hugging jumper and the crisp white tee below, exposing the
rugged muscle of the midfielder body, loving its thickness and firmness
under his hands. He kissed at his shoulders and the side of his neck and
made him gasp encouragingly, while fumbling at each button of the cord
shirt until it fell limply away, and they were cuddling shirtless.

Then he was being manhandled -- guided roughly away onto the weights
bench, pushed down back against it in a vulnerable position that
restarted his fearful certainty of what Henderson truly wanted from him.
`Relax,' gasped Jordan into his ear, `I want to give you your
gift...!' And now he was wrestling at his flies again from the front, and
dragging the tight denim and underpants over his hips and onto the fluff
of his thighs.

The 19-year-old tried to follow the instruction to relax, stretching back
over the thinly cushioned narrow bench, lifting his bottom to help his
jeans and underpants being dragged away to his knees. He reached for the
strong hot muscle of Jordan's triceps and shoulders, watching him kneel
down there against the hard floor between his legs, and now taking his
cock in hand. Oh...!

He could read the reluctance and uncertainty on that manly face down
between his legs -- Jordan's unwillingness to cross a line and go
further than he had. So far, he'd only ever wanked Neco off with his
hands, and that had been glorious and satisfying enough. But now he was
parting his lips and nuzzling in close to the rock-hard prick, about to
impart a very different gift to the dreaded deflowering. As those bearded
lips opened and closed over his juddering member, Neco could just groan
gratefully and accept the gift, staring adoringly at the intensely
concentrated face now sinking over his privates and taking him inside his
mouth, pushing down in his hips and tummy to assert power and control
even as he fellated him.

`Oh yes, SIR,' whined the teen, knowing how to excite and thrill him,
`oh yesss, my captain...'



It wasn't as weird or awful as Hendo might have expected, but it
definitely felt weird, and he couldn't help but assume he was doing a
rubbish job of it, wrapping his mouth clumsily over it and moving
awkwardly back, not wanting to graze this precious cock with his teeth.
The taste was less alarming than he might have feared, but what really
surprised him was how strong he could still feel, how much he could feel
his captainly authority over the groaning youth on the bench, even though
he was going down on him -- it was just like when he buried his tongue in
his wife's cunt and made her squeal, utterly satisfying her with
something that came more naturally to him. There was a special
empowerment in giving yourself over to another's pleasure so
completely!

So in a series of awkward and uncertain movements, the Champion
Premiership skipper sucked off his gorgeous lad, rubbing against his
tight six-pack and hairy inner thighs, spitting messily onto his junk and
lapping hesitantly at it, wanting to wrap it in his lips but not quite
dirty his tongue on the bubbling stream of salty pre-cum already leaking.
But as he tried more and more, he became less prudish and conscious of
that, feeling the flavour of this sexy Welsh boy in his mouth, his ears
ringing with his appreciative groans, the gym almost soundproofed safely
from the rest of the house.

In his own particularly businesslike and formal fashion, Hendo wrapped
his fist around the base of the long sturdy cock and slid his mouth up
and down the top few inches, resisting the urge to stop and ask if it was
okay or working. After all, Williams just squealed quietly and writhed
where he lay, which seemed an emphatic yes. Very quickly, his pants and
gasps got quicker and louder, and his warning sounded: `Sir, I'm going
to...'

`Cum on my chest,' Jordan growled at him, shuffling his knees in closer
and placing himself between those strong right-back legs; he straightened
up his muscular torso there and jerked furiously at the cock, marvelling
at how wet it was with HIS saliva. When the lad came, it shot up across
his own pecs excitingly, gooey and hot on his flushed skin. The latter
spurts of it oozed on his hand and wrist and he held that up
commandingly; Neco saw what was expected of him and he crunched his abs
until he was sitting up and leaning into him, and he lapped his own
juices with shocking enthusiasm, kissing it from Jordan's hand like a
pet, then leaning in to lick and kiss his chest.

Hendo couldn't hold onto it any more. The clean-up was as incomplete as
the dishes in the kitchen when he lifted off his knees and yanked open
the front of his chinos to get his raging prick out. Neco's plump lips
were on it in seconds, his eyes wide and staring up lovingly. Jordan
stroked gently at his curls and stared back, trying to resist the screams
of pleasure that preceded his own rapid explosive orgasm. Unlike him,
Williams stayed at the job, gobbling on him even as he unloaded his seed,
splashing it on his tongue and the back of his throat and all over his
shivering lips. `Oh yes,' he sighed gloriously, `oh yesss, lad....
Mmmm....'

And then he pushed down at the teen again, driving him back onto the
bench and crashing down with him, pinning him to the thin cushions with
his own tall lean body, chest to chest. He had been afraid to taste cum,
but he wanted the kiss, so he went in there and snogged Neco's sticky
lips regardless, feeling the salty hit of it and barely able to believe
what he'd done for this beautiful boy. He ground messily on top of him,
a tangle of muscular limb, and a long sticky kiss made of both their
manly juices, the taste of their festive lust.

Minutes later they would be ambling sheepishly back through the house to
finish the dishes, wholesome celebratory outfits back on and sweat wiped
from their good-looking faces, ready to just smile and snooze through the
rest of the evening like any other happy Christmas household; but for
now, in the cool privacy of the gym, body heaving against body, they
could admit their growing secret love and just hold onto each other,
captain and boy, Liverpool's finest.



*MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY WANKING xx*