Date: Wed, 10 Feb 2021 23:11:51 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads PArt 236

Part 236: Home Comforts


The cardboard box of random possessions buckled and strained between his
arms, forcing him to grip and hoist it tighter and hurry his pace a
little on the way into the increasingly cluttered downstairs bedroom; he
made a last few furtive steps towards the bed and crashed the heavy crate
of his things down to the edge of the mattress with a choked little laugh
of defeat. Straightening up, he dusted off his hands and wiped the back
of one across his chin, looking with bright eyes about the messy piling
of his things against one side of the plain square room in the corner of
the large modern villa.

Steps and grunts not far behind him signalled the arrival of more yet
things from the van, and the tall teenage footballer stepped aside with a
shy smile as the older man came lumbering past him, his arm muscles
bulging almost violently against the sleeves of his long-sleeved tshirt,
jaw locked and teeth gritted, face a little red. `What the hell is in
here?' the 30-year-old bloke demanded tensely before lowering the
offensively large plastic box down by the foot of the bed and heaving a
sigh of relief to shift its burden. His blunt question was followed by a
small, tight-lipped grin, and a little wink on that long masculine face,
one that sent a little shiver down Neco Williams' spine.

`It's mostly my records,' the Welsh teen answered bashfully, backing
almost teasingly away from the softly glowing active sweat of the other
Liverpool player, and running his dusty palms down the front of his long
dark tshirt, leaving streaked marks over its cotton surface. `You better
not have broken any,' he added weakly, his eyes full of flirtation and
longing even as he jibed at the almost paternal figure of his captain and
lover.

`Records,' sniffed Henderson with a touch of amusement. `Poser.'

Neco just grinned softly back at Jordan and let out a nervous chuckle,
tearing his eyes away from the straining chest and lightly shiny face of
his fellow removal man for the day, looking once more about the guest
room he was returning to -- it felt smaller now, but then he'd become
quite used to having the run of a shared flat, and had acquired so much
more miscellany in the time since he was last lodging here with the
Hendersons. Inevitably, his eyes drew back to the skipper, who was taking
a couple of dangerous steps towards him, dark little sweat patches
showing in the grey of his thin top, edging from beneath his armpits and
in the dead centre of his chest.

Neco felt his body and his desires curve longingly towards the man of the
house, but his eyes went to the open door of the downstairs bedroom, out
into the beige exposure of the hallway -- he thought he could hear the
captain's wife speaking quietly in another room, the giggle of one of
their children following that sound. His cheeks blushed hotly and he
glanced back at Jordan, who was now right beside him, smelling ripe with
the sweat of lifting and moving, and edging closer still; one of his
hands slid to Neco's hip, brushing his skin where his tshirt had rolled
up a little away from the waist of his scuffed old jeans. `Hendo,' the
Wrexham lad whispered with difficult caution.

`Shush,' murmured the 6ft midfield hero, lifting one finger of his
other hand up to his lips in a secretive gesture, his eyes wide and
hungry. His hand squeezed and groped a little at the side of the younger
guy's body, running under the fabric of his tshirt to brush the hard
muscle at the side of his abdomen... and the other hand left his own mouth
and came curling against Neco's jaw, holding his face in place before
the flushed sweaty features of the gorgeous older man were leaning in and
stealing a kiss. Neco shivered, lips parting willingly and rubbing dryly
against Jordan's, his tongue unfurling for Jordan's, the hot satisfying
wet touch of their mouths.

With shocking restraint, the young right-back pulled back with a
whimpering laugh, pushing at the hard thick-set muscle of Hendo's upper
body, smirking at him and shaking his head, letting his own sweaty dark
curls bounce with the motion. `Not now?' It was more excited question
than firm refusal, but he held himself away from those questing hands
that reached for his waist, turning away to fuss needlessly at the boxes
on the bed, then... mmm, one of Jordan's hands grasping and cupping his
bottom in the slack denim, finding the curve of his cheek and squeezing
it gently. He turned and stared intensely at the powerhouse man.
`Jordan,' he mumbled sheepishly.

The voice of Henderson's wife cut sharply into the tension, but must
have come around the corner quite loudly; the football captain's fingers
slid quickly and safely from his rear in seconds and Jordan suddenly
seemed to be a safe couple of feet from him, stretching his arms and
chest and making a weary expression, not leaning broodily towards him and
trying to grope him through his jeans. And nothing had been seen,
clearly, since the woman of the house was marching importantly through
the room making casual comments about what furniture could be moved or
swapped or upgraded if Neco needed it. And then she too was next to him,
popping a kiss -- sisterly, gentle, affectionate -- on his smooth cheek
and grabbing his tall shoulder as she spoke. `Oh, it is nice to have you
back -- I still can't get over it, your being evicted right now, during
this lockdown...! Oh, Neco, you lamb, we need to get some good meals in
you. Jordan,' she snapped impatiently, `what are you standing there so
gormless for? Go get the rest of his stuff, he can't do it all himself!
Honestly.'

Neco gave her a wincing smile and then turned to look at Jordan's ironic
smile and slow silent nod. He felt a squeeze of the woman's hand against
his arm as she turned to inspect the desk set-up at the other wall, and
then a soft pat of Jordan's hand on his lower back as the Liverpool star
made for the door, leaving him to shudder and suck in a breath, conscious
of the semi in his pants as he stood trapped between husband and wife.



Jordan stepped back out into the bracing cold and light snowfall of the
front garden, walking towards the hired van that held the rest of the
lad's things, grinning with transgressive joy at having him here, even
as the risks and inappropriateness of the move seemed to take tangible
form around him.

The idea had burned in his mind for days, spurred in part by the
defending champions' dip in form -- it had been the night of the home
loss to Brighton, the other Wednesday, coming back here alone, that idle
fantasy had begun to solidify in his mind.

Busying himself with moving more of the boy's things, Jordan found his
mind wandering back to that icy midweek game, and the short encounter
beforehand that had clearly pushed at his buttons and made him begin to
crave more from their secret... affair.

He had been doing his pre-match rounds, stiff and militaristic with
readiness for the game, having a few tete-a-tetes with players identified
by the gaffer as needing some encouragement, keeping up his important
captain's work, when he was accosted in the corridor by the
oh-so-familiar face of the guy he knew would be there tonight. Of course,
it had been awkward on a few different levels, but most prominent had
been resisting the urge to hug tightly -- the first time the two best
pals had seen each other in many months and yet footballing pandemic
protocol had meant they couldn't even touch or come within two metres,
even though they would potentially clash on the pitch before the night
was out.

Jordan had ignored the strain of sexual awkwardness and smiled
oh-so-fondly at Adam Lallana across the quiet room, thinking how strange
and unlikely this reunion between them was, given their closeness and
their most recent history together. The mixed strangeness had made him
clumsy in speech and unsure what to say to his best mate. They had spoken
plenty on the phone and on Zoom calls with their partners and mutual
friends, but here they were, face to face in a back-room of Anfield, and
Jordan found himself quite speechless and uncomfortable. The facts of
what they'd shared in goodbye at the end of that glorious protracted
season seemed to become more real and uncomfortable seeing Ads in the
flesh, rather than on a screen. The short handsome 32-year-old gave him
that impish smile and his dark eyes seemed to dance with shared secrets.

It hadn't taken Lallana long to reference it. `I might take a tour of
the place,' he said quietly, `and visit all my old favourite spots, you
know. That toilet cubicle where you-`

`Lala,' Hendo muttered sharply. A couple of others were within
potential earshot of them and he glared warningly at the departed
Liverpool player, now ready to sit on Brighton's bench and await a
chance to play against his league-winning ex-colleagues. `Careful.'

But then the other couple of players in the room had finished cleaning
their boots and fucked off and they were dangerously alone, though hardly
private. Jordan had found his face reddening and his posture becoming
more strained. `Let's not think about that,' he said gently.
`There's a lot of years of... simpler times, before what we... Well...'

`Don't tell me you regret it, mate. I'm not gonna be weird about it!
It was... cool. I like that we... said proper goodbyes, y'know?' A
furtive little wink from handsome bearded Adam. `Don't you?'

Henderson wasn't sure what he'd mumbled back, chuckling and rubbed his
face and flexing unnecessarily beneath his red tracksuit. `Need to go
speak to Alisson,' he'd coughed after a while, trying to evade further
chat of it. But then Lallana had begun moving closer, ruining their safe
distance, and he'd shifted away, the pair almost circling each other
like two sparring animals.

`Come on,' Adam began to murmur. `There's plenty of time before the
warm-ups.'

`Mate...'

`Oh, come on,' purred Lallana. `Just a little bit of play, for old
time's sake.'

`Buddy -- stay back. Please. This isn't cool.'

A long, frustrated sigh. `Someone else is sorting you out, then.'

`What? Fuck's sake, Ads. What do you even mean? Where are you getting
that from?'

Just a smug knowing grin behind that soft brown beard. `I never saw you
look guilty when we touched, bestie,' he sniggered under his breath,
coming to a stop opposite him, their postures squaring up despite the
marked difference in their height. `But now...' A wicked glint in his
eyes. `I am right, aren't I? Who are you worrying about, Hendo,
buddy...? Oh, relax, it's me...'

`Mate,' muttered Jordan derisively, shaking his head, folding his arms
across his chest. `This is daft. Come on. Let's just leave this --
it's cool to see you, but... can't wait til we can meet up properly and
hang out, see the families and that, marra...'

`Yeah,' purred Lallana seductively, `hang out properly... hehe... But
maybe not, if you've found another close friend to, erm, get closer
to...' He was grinning, and the jealousy on his expression was
performative and teasing, almost gloating; he just looked mischievous and
entertained rather than seriously cross or frustrated. Jordan could
barely meet his cynical eyes, twitching and backing off, his mind racing
to the image of Neco in the next room, quietly changing from tracksuit to
footy kit. He resisted the urge to stare back through the doorways into
that space in case he was there close by, and just stared hard back at
the first man he'd touched like that.

`That stuff is in the past,' he said firmly.

`Fair enough. You've moved on.'

`We should both move on.'

Adam winked once more. `I hope he's worth it, chief. I'll see you on
the pitch, skip. Brighton versus Liverpool. And you know what, I'm just
in the mood for a giant-killing...'

Hendo scoffed. `We'll see about that, Lala, go join your new pals and
get ready for a spanking.' The sexualised language slipped out before he
could stop it and they both just paused, edgy and intense, before
bursting into forceful laughter and breaking away from one another,
Jordan backing into the security of the home changing rooms, and Lallana
and his alien Brighton tracksuit disappearing away through another
doorway to re-join the visitors.



Williams finished unpacking and organising as much as he could face this
afternoon, which actually wasn't very much, and left the unnerving
confines of his new bedroom behind, wandering through the ground floor of
the big house as if on eggshells. The snow outside was becoming thicker,
making the heat of the Henderson household all the more cuddling and
welcome, different somehow to the austere loft apartment and its empty
rooms where he'd rattled about alone after one-by-one his flatmates
ended up isolating with partners or families and he became sole
occupant.

It had become lonely, but it had also had its advantages, he knew, when
one needed somewhere private and discreet to host a married man with a
throbbing erection in his boxer shorts.

Neco moved through the centre of the house and found himself in the
doorway to the kitchen, looking dimly out through the huge rear windows
into the sprawling back garden of the property; past the thickly covered
terrace and outdoor seating and onto the lawn, all patches of stark white
and vivid green, where Jordan was out constructing an audacious snowman
for the entertainment of the little ones, photographed and encouraged by
his wife, whose long hair whipped about in the icy winds of this twee
family scene.

Neco gulped nervously, the outsider in the nest, and scratched
thoughtfully at his neck, experiencing the dissonance between how
welcoming and comforting this place was, but also daunting and totally
crazy to be here. He had just spent the best part of the day moving all
of his things across Merseyside and unloading it in that same room he had
once occupied temporarily, now an indefinite home as long as lockdown and
pandemic rules made footballing life so complicated and bubbled. Or for
as long as the two of them could maintain it without... incident. For as
long as Jordan wasn't bored of him, a wary thin voice somewhere at the
back of his mind prompted.

But another corner of his mind swatted away that insecurity, and revelled
instead in the moment the plan had raced into life, last Sunday night
after the Manchester City game: the whole squad sullen and dismal at the
4-1 shocker they'd just endured against their biggest competitor. Neco,
who hadn't actually made it onto the pitch, had kept away from the aggro
and self-deprecation of the main players, skulking instead in the tunnel
and out in the cold with the other unused substitutes and site staff,
wrapped in a massive coat and with a beanie hat pulled over his mop of
hair. That was until he'd heard his name hissed echoing down the tunnel,
and glanced over his shoulder to see the captain, still in sweat-drenched
full kit except for his bare feet, eyeing him up from nine yards away.
`Williams,' Henderson had barked commandingly, `I need a word.'

The other players nearby hadn't batted an eyelash at this summons, Neco
slipping quietly away from them and marching after Jordan, past the
Anfield home changing rooms and towards the men's toilets instead, his
heart skipping a beat and his dick lifting in his tight sports briefs.
His lust for Hendo had surmounted his shared dismay at the evening's
performance and the crushing result; all he could look at and think about
were the thick back muscles and prominent rear pushing at the red
material of the captain's shirt and shorts, the slick wet fur of his
thick strong legs, the red glow in his cheeks and the angry warrior's
passion in his eyes.

In the toilet, Hendo turned around and pushed him back against the door,
trapping it shut with the weight of their bodies. He'd taken Neco's
shaking hand and pushed it into the sweaty confines of his shorts and
briefs, allowing him to fondle and stroke at the damp chubby contents
within, shuddering with lust and trying and failing to obtain a kiss from
Jordan's pouting lips.

`I need you,' Hendo had growled for him.

`I'm always here,' Williams responded urgently.

`No, not like this,' the Sunderland bloke snapped impatiently.

Neco just eyed him confusedly. `What do you mean, skip...?' Toying with
his semi, cupping his sweaty balls, loving the weight and warmth of them
in his hand, stuffed tightly into those pants. `What are you saying,
sir...?'

`I need you at mine,' Jordan told him heavily. `Like before. I need
you around all the time.'

Jordan had barely got the `But...' out of his mouth before the Mackem
was grunting instructions out of him. `You're being evicted, that's
it. Tenancy expiring early. No option. Lockdown rules, ain't it. She
won't know. She won't care. You have to move in. I'll say it's my
duty. I'll say there's no other plan. I'll say you've got nowhere
else to go. It's happening.' He looked manic with certainty and Neco
had done nothing but nod and gasp, in love with the mad idea from its
inception, simultaneously jerking in hurried motions at the growing,
stiffening outline of the captain's cock, pulling it out of those
sweat-soaked shorts to wank it until it was firing cum on the floor
between their feet, splashing down there with the dirt and broken grass.

The 19-year-old snapped back from this mental image as a snowball crashed
noisily into the window and broke the fourth wall between him and the
snowscape; both the heavily layered figures of man and wife were waving
and gesturing for him to join, one of the family for now. He gave a
slack-jawed smile towards their dim figures in the snow, hesitating
before dashing off to pull on gloves and coat, forcing himself to relax
into the pleasure of being safely here.



The goodnight was difficult. He'd known it would be. Wanting to get up
from the sofa, exhausted but happy, and cross the wooden boards of the
firelit lounge, to cuddle and kiss the tall teen in his baggy jumper and
clingy pyjama pants, to grab and snog him right there in front of the
fireplace with all of the strength he had... but instead, just jerking his
strong jawline in a simple nod of acknowledgement and half-lifting one
hand to wave him off as Neco yawned exaggeratedly and announced his
exit.

It had been a long and relaxing evening, all of them wrapping up in fresh
warm clothes after the snow-fights in the garden, an animated movie
lulling the kids into naps before dinnertime and the adults only just
avoiding the same contented doze. While his wife cooked, he had played an
intense game of pool with Neco in the games room, the two men undressing
each other with their eyes and brushing close at each opportunity, never
QUITE touching one another `deliberately' but always contriving to pass
on counter-circles of the table. At dinner, he hadn't even needed to
intiate the footsie like on Christmas day, just felt Neco's socks push
and rest toe-to-toe with his beneath the table.

And now all he could do was look at him, feigning almost disinterest,
watching as the Liverpool defender exited the room, his pyjama pants
clinging to and half-eaten by his buttocks, visible where the drooping
hem of his patchy jumper stopped short. Out he disappeared, letting the
door swing to, and Jordan felt his cock stir lazy in his own jogging
bottoms where they hung off the edge of the couch, his whole 6ft body
slouched easily with his partner almost across him, their bodies neatly
interlocking in the body language of couples-in-front-of-movies
everywhere.

She had said something, but he didn't hear it, distracted by the boy.
`Hmm?'

`He's okay, right?' she repeated or reworded. `He seems on edge. I
hope he doesn't regret coming over. I mean, I'm sure the club can sort
something else out if he isn't keen on being gooseberry here with our
little pack...'

Jordan fought to keep the edge of panic from his question. `You don't
mind him here, do you?'

`No! That's not what I'm saying.' She broke into a red wine-flavoured
giggle. `It's lovely. I just think he seems a bit -- well, naughty kid
at the grandparents, or something, we're not THAT old and uncool. He
looked funny all evening.' Sigh. `I'm sure he'll relax. He did last
time, after a week or two.'

`Right.' Jordan stared fixedly at the closed doorway through which his
beautiful right-back had disappeared. Mrs H was repositioning herself,
snuggling her face against his chest, the hand that lay on his tummy
moving slowly lower and then, venturing across the border of his waist,
finding... `Oh, hun,' her voice murmured, sultry against his body heat,
`it's like you read my mind...' Her hand, soft as anything, had found
the gentle curving start of his erection, mounding through the thick blue
fabric... found it and stroked it, claiming it as hers, his horny response
to her warmth and intimacy, and not to... anyone else.

`Mmm,' was his quiet, non-committal response, eyes still locked on the
door, mind wandering; but then, red-blooded man and devoted husband as he
was, he was tilting his face towards hers and sharing a slow wet kiss.
`I'm always reading your mind, you know that. Mmm...' She was gripping
him quite possessively though the pants as he grew harder, making him
sigh and pushing back against the couch, rolling a muscular arm about her
thin body and almost biting her bottom lip. `Mmm.'

`Come on,' she breathed, mouth to mouth. `Upstairs, stud.'



The sound of a married couple trying not to have sex too loudly rang to
him through the ceiling of his room. The Welshman lay very still, his
eyes wide open and his face fixated upwards, hearing a half-imaginary
squeak that followed the dully audible little yelps; her, not him,
high-pitched and feminine and a little performative. The noises were
indistinct and only there on the edge of his consciousness, but the
jealous erotic imagery they summoned was... deafening.

Neco lay somewhere in a limbo between horrified envy and dull acceptance.
He was glumly aware of the situation he was in, the third wheel down
here, honoured guest, but now impossibly trapped beneath the lovemaking
of the couple he had spent the night discreetly watching out of the
corner of his eye when they shifted position or pecked at each other with
a casual kiss. They were married, they could do what they wanted; HE was
the extraneous member here, the imposter and cuckoo. How could he
complain or challenge what was clearly going on up there?

Still, it denied him the much-needed sleep that his body craved after the
long day of physical work, and with a full training session awaiting
tomorrow for Liverpool. When the sounds had disappeared, or become too
quiet for his pricked ears to register, he tried half a dozen different
positions in the good-quality bed, better in fact than the one he was
used to in his expensive abandoned apartment. Toss and turn, blink and
sigh, check phone then discard it across the bedding. The seconds dragged
into minutes, hours for all he knew, in the sleepless limbo of the night;
he stared at nothing and began to return to the gnawing doubts he'd felt
in the van, arriving here and seeing Jordan's wife on the doorstep. It
was as if he'd kidded himself with a different fantasy, that night in
the Anfield loos; wanking Hendo off and nodding along to his plan,
longing for the scene described. Here, on hand, always available and
there for the captain -- and in his head, just the two of them, not THIS,
not this strange arrangement... The horrifying truth that he'd made a
huge mistake seemed to hover in the shadows of the bedroom like a
childish monster.

He fluttered his long-lashed eyes and shifted position again, hugging at
the mounded pillows and sliding his bare legs back and forth beneath the
covers. He pushed and buried the thought, unable to do anything about it
tonight, but beginning to envisage the careful conversation tomorrow: how
could he apologise and suggest a change of plan now? How could he excuse
himself from this hellish fate, listening nightly to Jordan plough a
beautiful woman six foot above him...?

He started at the sound of steps somewhere, perhaps on the stairs,
tensing his body and lifting his head to stare at the dim outline of the
doorway -- a lamp was on out in the passage, forming glowing cracks
around the shape of the door. More gentle creaking steps. Then the little
metallic sigh of a shifting door handle, and more light leaking in; brief
snatch of silhouette before the light outside disappeared on a timer,
returning the darkness with force so that he could barely make out the
manly figure now standing just inside the room.

The young footballer sucked in his nervous breath and he lifted his head
from the pillow, hardly daring to hope. He reached a trembling hand
across for the switch of the little beside lamp, and then stared at the
presence it revealed, moving slowly to his bedside: Henderson's silky
robe hung open at the front, and the sheen of sweat on his chest and legs
caught the lamplight above and below the outline of his tight dark boxer
trunks. Neco bit his lip and sat up, shifting over, blinking as his eyes
adjusted to the on-off lighting... and drinking in the post-sex smell of
the older man's body. The robe was shed with a rustle and then Jordan
was sitting on the bed beside him, a naughty grin on his manly mouth.

`I had to,' was all he whispered. `To get her to sleep. It's the
quickest way.' It was an apology that seemed both unnecessary and
utterly vital at once. Neco nodded instantly, meeting his eyes, reaching
a hand for his over the covers. Jordan's fist squeezed at his and
suddenly the big sturdy form of his captain pushed onto him over the bed,
locking lips and pressing him down into the pillows and mattress. They
kissed, Jordan's mouth tasting of some feminine perfume, his body
feeling red-hot and clammy as if post-match, rather than just post-coital
-- Neco writhed under it, holding onto him, glad of the heavy presence on
his own pale cool torso.

They kissed and grabbed, rolling a little onto their sides, which allowed
Jordan to grab roughly at his hair then the back of his neck and then
down his spine -- hands moving to the waist of his pale blue CKs,
twitching at the elastic there before reaching down to cup and hold both
of his cheeks commandingly. It was something Jordan did more and more,
squeezing and patting his rump in a proprietary way that both excited and
terrified him. He buried his face in the crook of the other man's neck,
really snorting in his manly odour, rubbing the hard bulge of muscles...
making little sleepy moans. But the hands gripped his bottom more tightly
and he felt himself tense up at the undertone of command and desire, what
he increasingly feared his skipper must inevitably want.

`I want you to try something,' growled Hendo in his ear, sure enough.

The Welsh lad felt himself released from the tighter embrace, pushed onto
his back as Jordan climbed over him, torsos and crotches rubbing closely.
Neco lay on his back and stared at the ceiling again, suddenly replaying
the indistinct sounds of marital sex in a new light -- was he now to be
railed as powerfully as Mrs H, getting exactly what he'd jealously
envisioned in the cinema of his mind, whether he was ready or not? Panic
fluttered in his narrow chest muscles and he propped himself on both
elbows, looking on in the lamp glow as Jordan lunged off the edge of the
bed with both arms, seeming to grab and toy with the fallen silk of his
dressing gown -- then recoiling onto the bed and rising up on his knees
beside him, his grin almost maniacal in the soft light.

`Capt-`

`This,' murmured Jordan breathily, undercutting his nervous little
whisper. Jordan sunk back close to him, and Neco's eyes were drawn down
from his lusty smirk by a flash of hot pink -- the thing clutched in the
captain's hand was about five inches long and relatively flimsy, a bumpy
little rod of fuchsia. Something in its shape or material was instantly
recognisable and needed no explanation. `It's hers,' Hendo admitted to
him in a more hesitant, intimate voice, `I hope you don't mind that.'
Neco let his eyes rest on the diminutive sex toy and then flicker back to
Jordan's patient smile. `You'll give it a go?'

`Yes,' Williams whispered. `Yes, captain.'



Of course the lad wasn't ready for the real thing, Jordan knew that, but
they had to start something. Or develop somewhere, more accurately. He
hadn't slipped a finger between those porcelain white cheeks since
Christmas Day in the larder, though the thought crossed his mind every
time they were alone. So now he held his breath and really relished the
sensation -- his finger that had had so recently eased and pleasured
between his wife's legs now tickling into the tight crevice of Neco's
bottom.

They lay on their sides, Jordan's other arm hooked around to hold his
side, and his face resting just behind his left shoulder, kissing the
smooth skin there reassuringly while he pressed his finger in against his
resistant hole. `Relax,' he said, unable to stop a little ragged
frustration in his voice. `Lift your leg a bit, eh...' The covers
shifted as Williams did so, his lean glutes parting ever so slightly and
allowing Henderson's finger a better angle of entry.

He held him firmly in place as he tested his ring against his finger,
entering very slowly, pushing his way right in to the first knuckle, then
deeper... the throaty little moan that sounded was so tantalising to him
and made him push his finger a bit further, right to the hilt, wiggling
around a little in the suffocating tightness of this virgin entrance.
`Does it feel okay?' he growled against his shoulder.

`I think so,' was the tentative reply. `I'm so hard,' Neco added,
more excitedly.

Jordan slid his finger back, leaving only an inch or two in, and pulled a
little at the tightness before popping it out and squeezing one buttock.
Then he reached into the narrow space between their bodies and found the
pink toy, pilfered from a draw on the wrong side of the bed upstairs,
silently retrieved next to her sleeping form, battery tested on the dark
landing. He pressed that button again now, vibing it into life, and
rubbing his spit-wet fingers along its bumpy rod. It thrummed and hummed
in his grip, but then he turned it back off, feeling the tension in the
lad's body. The question of whether Neco was really up for this hung
awkwardly with him, staring in the dark at the side of his beautiful
face.

`Go on,' the soft Welsh accent called quietly, `try it.'

`If you hate it, we stop,' Henderson reminded him, hearing his own
desperate enthusiasm make this promise sound insincere and dismissive.
`Relax,' he commanded impotently, and he reached back under the covers
-- now, instead of his own one digit, he began pushing the tip of the
thing in between the cheeks, into the dark furry canyon. The tip of it
was probably the same thickness and texture as a finger, and it found
entry more easily than he expected, but it tapered then and became
thicker, so he pushed VERY carefully. A pained little noise from Neco
made him stop, but then, `Yeah, try it,' grunted the 19-year-old quite
firmly.

Now Jordan did flick the little button on the base, letting it hum with
its lowest vibrating setting, tightening his hold about the right-back's
chest, kissing him on the side of the neck while easing the gyrating
equipment forward and in where his finger had been, its thickening length
doing a little more than his own stout finger to open up the virginal
ring... he matched Neco's groans, his sounds of deep excitement echoing
the way the teenager made alternating little bursts of pleasure or
discomfort. Soon the toy, his wife's treasured little weapon of
self-pleasure whenever he was away with the club, was almost fully in
there, going deeper than his finger with relative ease, and thrumming in
between the tight cheeks; Jordan nibbled at the lobe of the lad's ear
and then pushed on the button again, taking it into the second of three
speed settings. `Ah!' gasped the younger sportsman instantly.

`Yes,' drawled Henderson, `you like that?'

`Ah, I... I dunno...'

`You want me to... stop?'

`No...!'

Patience was not a virtue Henderson had mastered alongside his fighting
spirit, his leadership, his resilience or his work ethic. He slipped the
toy into its third gear, the buzzing noise between the covers mounting
noticeably, and he slipped his right arm free to take over, so that his
left could reach around and find the wet tip of Neco's hard prick where
it stood at a right angle from his body -- his underpants discarded
somewhere about their brushing feet. This allowed Jordan to angle and
hold the toy and also begin to jerk him, pulling at his virile young bone
while forcing the trembling vibrator deeper into his rear, mouth pressing
to the back of his neck. `Oh, captain, oh yes...' The Welsh boy's words
combined with the buzz of the toy and made Jordan's cock leak in his
boxer briefs. He moaned into the back of his neck as he kissed and
pleasured him.

`Lift your leg, let me go deeper...'

`Yes, captain.'

`How's that...?'

`Oh yes, yes captain, ohhhh...'

Jordan crouched over him now, rather than alongside him, lifting his hips
a bit, still reaching under to wank his prick, but pushing the short slim
toy into him more forcefully, gripping its chubbier base while getting
its whole five inches of rattling core into his unexplored arse. Neco, up
on his knees and burying his face in a pillow to contain the screams that
he must want to bellow, shook and trembled with what seemed to be a long,
bravely resisted climax -- then Jordan heard rather than felt his load
spatter the fresh sheets below. A muffled yelp could be heard through the
pillow against which Neco's face still pressed. Jordan pulled once more
on his cock, milking its load onto the bedsheets. With slow prods, he
lowered the speed settings from 3 to 2 to 1, then off once it was halfway
out of his anus.

Then, unable to resist, he slid a finger in to replace it, feeling the
slightly more relaxed grip, and dropping the dirty toy under the covers,
using that hand instead to grab and pull himself through his pants. His
cock had never quite settled to flaccid after cumming inside his wife, a
lazy semi in his underpants as he swaggered down here in his robe -- now
it was hard again, about an hour after shooting his load, and yanked out
into his hand. He stayed on his knees but reached for Neco's hand and
helped him roll onto his back, still quivering, his face a silent mask of
otherworldly enjoyment.

In the thin light, Henderson fixated on his face, so beautiful and
classical. And he edged forward, shuffling his knees over the bedding,
really straddling the youngster's lean body, until basically sat an inch
over his flat chest, hairy thighs spread sideways across his shoulders.
His left hand he reached out to balance on the wall over the headboard,
splayed fingers, and his right he returned to his thick heavy dick, the
one that had already fucked one lover to completion in the room above.
Williams stared back, meeting his eyes, and lifting his face -- lips
parting and tongue poking obediently out, almost supplicant.

The Liverpool captain hunkered over his chest, pushing more of his weight
into his wall so that his folded legs were not crushing the slighter
athlete, and wanking his prick furiously just inches over his pretty
face. Neco stared and opened his mouth wider, pushed his tongue out more.
He didn't say a thing, seemed to barely breath; Jordan's own breaths
were quick quiet pants, more rasping and maddened for the effort of
keeping the noise down.

When he came, he had to twist his face to the side and bite down on his
left upper arm to shut himself up, silencing the powerful yell. Then he
turned his face and looked at the mess he was making, blasting his watery
second shot of the night over Neco's face, leaving gossamer lines about
his pink-red lips and perfect nose, trickling over the bony lines of his
chin. They remained in silent, orgasmic tableau, captain and protegee.

When Hendo lowered himself from this position, he knew he should make a
swift exit from the bedroom, return upstairs before he was missed. He
knew he SHOULD do that, but he lay down practically on top of the young
right-back's body, and held him. He picked up a corner of duvet and used
it like a napkin, wiping cum delicately from where it had fallen on the
lad's face. Neco just stared at him silently and let out gasping
breaths. `Close your eyes,' Henderson commanded him in a whisper, and
he did so. He kissed him on the mouth and held him, making shushing
noises and whispered affirmations... `You beautiful lad... you took that
so well... I haven't cum so much since Christmas... sleep tight, sexy...'
then very gently extracting himself as every muscle of the teen's body
seemed to relax and give up. He barely reacted as Jordan withdrew and
retrieved the toy from beside his knee, and when the midfielder stood at
the side of the bed, it was clear his guest had fallen fully asleep. He
arranged his cock in his pants, lifted his robe, slipped the toy into the
pocket, then smiled at the recumbent stud before stealing back through
the midnight house.



It took a few minutes for Neco to understand why his bum hurt when he
woke up, and a few more minutes to master the urge to reach for his cock
under the covers and begin wanking it into life, picturing Jordan on top
of him in the middle of the night.

It was the smell of bacon that lured him out of the bed, finding and
untangling his pants from his ankles and yanking them up his long strong
limbs. He found his baggy jumper on the floor and the dropped pyjama
bottoms, dressing against the chill and the etiquette of being a guest in
a proper family home once more.

The teenager left his room and drifted through the downstairs of the big
home like a very satisfied zombie, trailing after the tangy smells until
he was in the big kitchen space across the back of the house, greeted
with a smile by Mrs H from over her newspaper, which she seemed to
casually read whilst feeding a child in a high-chair without even
looking, a calm domestic goddess. And then there was the domestic god: a
strappy white vest clinging to his upper body as he faced them over the
island kitchen, busied with frying pans and coffee machine.

`Last fry up of the shift,' joked Henderson from the centre of his
kitchen, and Williams wandered past the messy table and into the cooking
area, meeting the spreading heat of it all, and facing up to Jordan's
vest-clad body and stubble-grizzled face. The man of the house looked up
form the hot pans and smiled welcomingly at him.

`He cooks a mean one, you'll remember,' called the captain's wife
from the table. `And you two will need it, I bet -- get yourselves built
up for hard work today...!'

Jordan grinned fiercely at him over the island. Neco stood there dumbly,
resting his hands on the counter, watching as his breakfast was plated up
by the skipper. Scrambled eggs were served carefully alongside some plump
grilled tomatoes, and slivers of lean bacon were draped over the
posh-looking bread. `You wanting a sausage, or no?' asked Jordan
Henderson with all pretence of innocence, meeting his eyes. Neco blinked
and looked from him to the plate and back again.

`Er... yes,' he said slowly. `Soon. Let me... eat this all first.'

`Right,' Jordan responded in the same measured tone. `Well, when
you're ready.'

`I'll be ready soon,' Neco murmured. `And then...'

`You can have it in a bun,' offered the skipper in true Carry On
style.

`Er, yeah. Yeah. When I'm ready.'

Jordan stared intensely at him over the heat of the oven, pushing the
plate towards him over the counter, and then lifting and shaking the
ketchup bottle with a flex of bicep. He flipped open its lid and spurted
its scarlet contents meaningfully against the open butty. Neco's lip
quivered. `Thanks.'

`Enjoy it,' Jordan said, biting his lip.

`I did. I mean, I will. And the sausage...'

`Yeah?'

`Soon. Real soon, skip.'

Jordan nodded, turning off the gas. `Good. Bon appetite.'