Date: Wed, 17 Mar 2021 23:00:17 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads Part 248 Part 248: The Softest Lips In a draughty subterranean-feeling locker-room in Nottinghamshire, the men filed quite sheepishly in and spread about their spaces in a carefully allotted, moving towards the spaced out lockers and changing spots in the Away rooms of the Championship football club's base. Many of them had snoozed on the short but slow northbound journey between English counties, now trying to pep themselves out of a mid-afternoon daze and get in the right headspace for the evening clash with Nottingham Forest. One by one, club sweatshirts and crisp white t-shirts were slid away to reveal athletic upper bodies, and the garish green-and-yellow canary colours of their travelling gear was swapped for Norwich FC's more muted blue away kit. The promotion-battling side's distinctive striker tussled roughly with his own glossy top, stretching it out across his wrists with his broad smooth chest bared in contrast to the short fuzzy grey-blond of his Viking's beard. The Finnish man held it away from himself, shivering gently in the low temperature of the changing facility, and then eyeing up the lads either side of him to establish whether it was very cold in here or he was just over-reacting -- the Scandinavian man normally laughed at the sensitivity of these British `chaps' and their hilariously mild weather conditions, but this place felt poorly heated and like a fucking wind tunnel, as if it was some deliberate tactic to put off visitors! `Your nipples are hard too,' Teemu Pukki declared bluntly to the lad on his left and then glared over at the other of his two young neighbours, before bursting into his distinctive barking laugh. `What is this ice chamber they give to us, eh?' Nervous laughter chimed from either side of him and he flashed one of his large toothy grins at both players before beginning to drag the footy shirt up his arms and then over his shaven head and bulky shoulders. The 30-year-old straightened it down his thick waist, flexing his upper body, and then began peeling down his close-fitting tracksuit so he was stood there in just prominently bulging white briefs, ready to don the matching shorts that would finish his playing kit. He made a clicking tut at the lack of banter or even conversation returning to him from the other two Norwich stars, glancing from one to the other and rolling his eyes a little. `I feel goal coming,' the Fin predicted with a simple shrug. `Oh yeah?' murmured the lad to his left, the blond-haired local boy. `Yes,' Pukki told him simply. `It is in my legs. A lot of energy. Time to score goals.' He laughed again and nudged the slender and almost feminine youth in the bare flank, then turned and scrubbed roughly with his hand at the curly hair of the other quiet young one. `You will see,' he told Max Aarons boldly, `I will score in first ten minutes. I feel it.' He grinned and slapped his bare fluffy thighs, sitting his briefs-clad arse down on the slatted bench and staring challengingly at both youngsters, as if daring them to contradict his aims -- but neither did, just giving him vague, respectful expressions, both of them quite wet and spiritless this evening. `A lot of, er, how you English say...? A lot of beans,' the Nordic bloke informed his younger fellow players, leaning his back against the wall and rubbing at his thighs more, puffing out his full chest and then lifting one hand to stroke his beard. `Full of beans, is that it? Too much energy. This is what comes from pregnant girlfriend, ha!' `How's that?' asked Aarons to one side of him in his Londoner twang and the cherubin innocence of his face. Even Cantwell laughed at that, joining Pukki in giving him a meaningful look. The Norwich striker took the large hand away from his beard and planted it simply and demonstratively against the full front of his whiteys. `Not enough of what I need,' he barked at the young Londoner, whose round cheeks coloured pink against the pale brown, making Teemu laugh coarsely to himself. `Not enough of her duty, as we call it, ha ha. It is too long since she even suck my kikkeli.' He gurned at the English boys as they visibly concluded what the Finnish slang meant. `Too long!' he repeated and then laughing to himself, stretching out his powerful forward's legs and flexing his bared feet for a minute before getting back up on them. Still, not much back from the two young lads, who continued to undress and unfurl their kits, heads cast down and something hunched and awkward in their body language beside him, these two young men who were so boisterous on the pitch -- who used to be more boisterous all of the time, he remembered! He scoffed and scratched his tummy and began stretching out his shorts to shove one then both chunky leg into them, tucking his shirt tightly into their elasticated waist. `A man can only go so long,' Pukki told them sagely. `Right,' agreed Aarons faintly. `Totally,' said Cantwell, but without relish. `Boys your age know what I mean, hey?' the Scandi footballer chuckled at them. `Worse for you if you wait. Balls explode. Ha ha ha.' `Summat like that,' the Norfolk lad was saying, but the Londoner just seemed to squirm and look away. `Aha, it gets like this, my balls, they are blue! Ha ha. And it gets to point where I just need dick sucked,' he told them in the tone of epic storytelling. `In fact, it get so bad I think I just need any mouth on it, you know? Ha ha -- hey -- any mouth, even a boy with softer lips than normal, ha ha ha...!' He guffawed and wheezed and punched Todd in the lean abs, making the midfielder grimace and back away to the side a little, forcing a laugh; he then turned to reach for and tangle at Max's hair again, but the 5ft10 defender writhed out of his way and gave him a slightly reproachful look. `Oi,' came the voice of their captain, gruff Scotsman Grant Hanley, stomping past them in just his playing shorts and no shirt. A wry grin crossed his craggy face and he wagged a thick joking finger Teemu's way. `What banter are you messing with these young eejits with, eh fella? Stop making them blush with your dirty Viking stories, Puk!' Hanley burst into cheery laughter, slapping him on the shoulder and then gently patting Aarons on the back as he proceded down the line, off to find and dress in his captain's shirt and armband. Pukki just sniggered and sighed and finished neatening the tuck of his footy jersey before winking at Todd's wary expression. `Remember, first ten minutes,' the striker informed him firmly. `I bet you anything.' `Hope you're right,' said Max, nodding fervently. `Bring it on,' added Todd thoughtfully. `Nottingham Who?' Teemu demanded in a loud voice that was meant for more than the two youngsters, turning to grin more generally across the room of laughing men, shaking a warlike fist in the air, then belting out a little Finnish chant that the lads on his national team broke into before any game, that the Norwich boys were now very used to hearing and participating in -- he meant every word he said, ready to get out there and smash a win out for his established Norfolk team, full of unsatisfied appetites and the tension of a coiled spring. The 23-year-old Dereham lad stood in the bathroom mirror of a Nottingham hotel suite, carefully dragging back the shiny locks of hair to tie back in a simple ponytail, the brighter streaks of bleached blond standing out against the streaks of honeyed and mousy brown, and his delicated handsome features highlighted in the reflective glass. Todd gave himself a long, critical look, then stooped to wash his face in cold water, flecks of it splashed shiveringly on his arms and bare chest, welcome sizzles on the warmth of his skin. The preened young footballer took his time in the bathroom, hearing the music show on the television and the tuneless humming of his roomie and pal. It had been a great match tonight, better than he or anyone else might have dared to expect on the way up here, but his mood was strange: distracted, reflective, restless. He felt physically tired, his eyes drooping and his lean 5ft10 body sore, but he felt mentally alert, but too alert, and on the wrong things, unable to concentrate on conversations down at dinner or in the R&R time they were allowed between that and curfew. He was glad to be rooming with his younger friend, since there was no real need to perform and be the energetic joker he could usually be around their other teammates. Leaving the bathroom, reaching for the vest draped on his bedding, simply baggy sweatpants covering his lower half, he found himself looking thoughtfully at the other player, squatting on the edge of his bed and staring at the TV with his phone held limply in both hands. Yep, he was a good lad, easily one of Todd's closest pals here in the last few years -- the fact that neither talented youngster had secured a high-profile transfer last summer had been balanced by the shared disappointment and the fact they would continue to play together at Carrow Road after all. He watched Max's side-profile for a moment, the sturdy young defender swathed in a baggy dark hoody and his legs bared by the bed-shorts below. God, how many times had he almost confided in Aaron, these past nine months or whatever it was...? But no: it had never felt quite right. In fact, Todd had not told a single soul about the strange events of last summer, and after the separate oddness they shared in the Norfolk sand dunes, he felt that if he couldn't share it with Max, none of his other mates would understand whatsoever! There was something so sweet and kind about the London-born Norwich graduate who had been his teammate since they were both on the youth team, and they had certainly confided other matters in each other over the years, but... How to tell anyone about the way he had been tricked and fooled by that sleaze Jamie Redknapp? Well, there was a part of him who wanted to tell everyone, wanted to expose the smug bastard in his dapper suits and Cockneyed TV pontifications. The way he'd slid into Todd's DMs like that, the old perv, and then had him embarrass himself on cam like some sorta... well...! But what the 23-year-old balked at was the day of Norwich's gutting relegation, when the former Liverpool star had been alone with him behind the scenes, talking a load of shite about helping him to get signed. It had seemed a fair negotiation in the moment, sinking to his knees and going down on the slimy bloke, a price worth paying for his networking and mentorship, but... Over the summer, he had found himself blocked on all platforms by Redknapp, with no response to any of his gently inquisitive messages. He'd even taken the risky step of asking his agent to try and make contact with the footballer-turned-TV-personality and his people, without any luck; it had been so embarrassing, being unable to explain to his agent why he thought Jamie might help in the first place, and then why he was so crushed and frightened when there was no response. Cantwell could see it all a bit more clearly now, and it was one of a few things making him more jaded and careful this season. He could see that Redknapp, for all his football royalty name and his celebrity connections, had no REAL influence in the Premier League -- he'd been out of it far longer than he'd been in it! Why had he really believed that the slippery fucker would be able to do anything for him, never mind willing...? He'd been taken for a ride, made a fool of, exploited and... It was much easier to feel angry about it than to stop and question why he'd done what he did on camera for the older man, or why he'd consented to the backstage action at Carrow Road that day. He'd let the desperation of relegation drive him wild and reckless and he'd leaped at the chance of securing Redknapp's... what was the word? Sponsorship? Then cut adrift, ignored, snubbed... Mugged off, basically. Max twitched his head this way, an uncertain smile on his lips. `You okay, bruv?' the 20-year-old mixed-race lad asked from his perch on the bed, putting his phone down and reaching for the remote control. Todd stood there, paused awkwardly in the middle of lifting and pulling open his vest; he slid into it, an oversized American basketball garment, and nodded his head very firmly. `Just thinking,' he told his roomie cryptically, flashing him a dimpled smile, then moving away. He fiddled pointlessly through his things on the floor beside his bed, fighting away the late-night thoughts that still sometimes surfaced all of these months later... the images of himself in his garish Canary kit, down on his knees and staring devotedly up at the tanned playboy and his sharp stubbled jawline... the richly-scented heaviness of his equipment looming from the flies of his suit trousers... He paused, kneeling beside the bed and unsure what he was even searching for in his unzipped weekend bag. He sighed quietly to himself, keeping the sound low enough not to interrupt Aarons from his viewing. Then he sat back on his haunches and tapped his fingertips against his stretched thighs, fidgety and uncomfortable. It was bad enough knowing he'd been taken for such an idiot by that toxic fucker... the hideous knowledge of how much he'd enjoyed it was the real punch to the gut. Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night, his blond locks plastered to his sweat brow and cheeks, a raging boner in his pyjamas, remembering how it had felt to kneel for that sleek famous fella and submit to his influence, his false promises. Standing in the changing rooms before the night's victorious game, he'd quailed at Pukki's banter. He liked the rough-around-the-edges Scandi fella, respected and admired him, perhaps slightly feared him; he'd never heard him be QUITE that crass and demanding before. The way he'd gone on about his sexual needs! The jokey suggestion about... soft lips! In the bathroom mirror, Cantwell had found himself pouting and examining the natural crimson of his own mouth. Had he been any good at it? He'd certainly got the job done for Jamie, but... ugh. How good it at it could any lad be?! It was a girl's job, sucking dick, surely...! Up he got, lounging on top of his bedcovers and looking across disinterestedly at what Max was watching. Or not watching, since he was on his phone again, shifted down the bed and now hunched back against the headboard, stifling a yawn and staring into the blueish glow of his smartphone screen. Todd looked away from him and scratched at his stomach muscles through the vest, huffing and sighing and turning over a decision that had sat abrasively with him since full-time. It would be crazy to message him. How would he word it? It could be so exposing. He'd have to judge the joke perfectly right, so that it could be... a joke, and not a joke. He could face such scorn and torment if he was wrong. Of course he was wrong! Teemu wasn't ACTUALLY dropping such idiotic hints in the pre-match banter of the changing rooms, he was just emphasising a point about his own performance chances... but by god, the arrogant fuck had been right, whopping a goal in on the 9-minute mark. So maybe he'd meant everything else he said? Blinking slowly, Todd turned and stared at the bedside table where his iPhone sat charging. He watched the pulsating percentage on the energy bar, then let out a begrudging little grunt and reached across, yanking it from the cable and unlocking it. He typed his message with slow caution, thumbs working in rapid bursts of lettering and deletion, and eventually composing it: `LOL u were so funny b4 the game. Pretty sure I got softest lips in Norfolk u know'. Laughing emoji x 5. Send. Beep. Sit and wait. Stare in horror. Regret. The 20-year-old Hammersmith lad tucked and crossed his legs, thumbing anxiously at the edges of his phone and watching as Todd slipped away into the bathroom, still shirtless -- always showing off his smooth supple body and sporadic freckles, the blond poser! The Championship Harry Styles, they called him, a nickname Max loved to invoke when bickering with his older buddy, who seemed to think he was the funniest lad on the squad. His exit into the en suite allowed the young right-back to relax ever so slightly, though his nerves escaped in a terrible falsetto along to the Weeknd song blaring from their telly. He stared at the screen of his mobile phone and the unfinished message sitting in his outbox to their older teammate. He scrapped it, deleting this third draft of a jokey little message that he'd been mentally composing for much of the evening, staring awkwardly down the dinner table at the striker while losing his appetite for the rich pasta dish the hotel was serving. God, it had been so mortifying standing next to him in the changing rooms earlier. The way he stroked his crotch as much as he stroked his beard! There was something so swaggering and exuberant about the Finnish man that had always excited and troubled Max, even if he'd only more recently began to understand why -- really, the penny had only just dropped as he cringed there in the Forest changing rooms, hearing the European man bemoan his paused sex life and make outlandish claims about how desperate he was for attention. Alone in the twin room, the London youth huffed, feeling the heat in his chest and cheeks. He wished he could just switch off and enjoy tonight. It had been a fucking good week: first, his call-up to the England Under-21s was confirmed yet again, this time for a PROPER tournament, and now his team had secured a solid 3 points on the road. Norwich City promotion was, for him, a gateway to his next step: a big deal with one of the major London clubs who had been courting him last year, then turning a cold shoulder in the weeks after his club sank out of the Premiership, as if he was spoiled goods. The 20-year-old was optimistic and faithful enough to think that the negotiations could soon reopen -- his fantasies of running out for Arsenal or Spurs or Chelsea, or now West Ham too, ran riot in the back of his mind, and every Norwich win was a step closer. It was gonna happen, it had to happen. Norfolk had been bloody good to him since he moved out there as a mawkish mid-teen, and he'd made lifelong friends, but it was all so fucking provincial. He craved the city of his youth, the closeness of family and, far more so, the fame and triumph he might find at a big London footy club. And yet, what was he sat here doing now, while Cantwell preened and posed in a mirror in the bathroom? He was on the verge of doing something so risky and dangerous that it could jeopardise his Championship present, never mind his Premiership future! Todd returned just then, drifting shirtless back into the bedroom and pausing halfway to him, making him tilt the phone in his hands nervously away, even though he'd actually deleted the drafted message to Teemu and had to start all over again. `You okay, bruv?' he asked sharply, a little unsettled by the penetrating stare of Cantwell's hazel eyes. He waited as the expression flickered and the vague, unhelpful answer came. `Just thinking'? Thinking about what? He bunched his shoulders and stared back at the phone as the other player turned away to fuss over his own things -- but Max felt exposed and wary now, and he shuffled his pert bottom back up the bed and sat firmly against the headboard so that he felt some scrap of privacy to type in his message. The sound of his roommate shuffling through his belongings made him glance up and across though, seeing the blond ponytail bob up and down as Todd seemed to go through his bag of crap. It was annoying, to be so paranoid and uncomfortable about a lad who had been nothing but kind and supportive to him in their years playing together -- if there was anyone he might share his uncertain truth with, then surely him? I mean, there'd been that time on the sand dunes, hadn't there, which they'd never actually discussed... and he'd told Todd all about losing his virginity to an older female physio, a story which other lads would be able to spin into a great conquest, but to the shy London youth felt like a great shame and weakness. He'd been so slow to develop enough confidence to do anything with a woman, and now... well, now, he wondered if his reluctance had been much more than that. He was no longer sure he was interested in women at all. Relegation day: that small boxy room, alone with the enemy. Except not the enemy. He'd seemed like a great new friend, for moments at least. Jack Wilshere! At a formative age for Max, the ex-Arsenal ace had seemed like the exciting future of English football, though that career journey had gone pretty awry at one of the many injury breaks over the years. Now Jack the Lad wasn't even a West Hammer, he was on some temp deal on the south coast, and in the same second-best league as Norwich; but that day, in the turmoil of demotion, he'd seemed like a way out, someone who might help and support him. For a good few months after, Max had been able to convince himself it was just that -- opportunism, ambition, desperation. But then there'd been a brief visit home to his mum's place in West London, staying in his old bedroom, the ancient Arsenal poster of young Wilshere up there on the wall, somehow so dynamic and evocative even in two dimensions... He'd almost cried when he finished jerking off, realising how strong his attraction was to the discredited Premiership hunk. He'd ripped the poster down with cum-sticky hands, then salvaged it from the bin the following morning and stashed it beneath his mattress; it must still be there, tucked away against the bedsprings, since he'd not been allowed back there to see family in all the months since, trapped in his football bubble by pandemic lockdown rules. So now, about nine months on, the right-back could look with some self-awareness at the oral sex he'd performed on the older footballer, and realise that it was something he was keen to try again. And there was the bold Finnish forward, swaggering about the changing rooms in his tighty whiteys, making lairy comments about needing to be serviced...! And he'd been pretty tactile, hadn't he? Grasping at his shoulder, tugging at the prim curls of his highlighted hair. Max grimaced queasily with suspicion and self-doubt, and returned to the empty message box. Todd was playing with his phone too, in the other bed, probably swiping through girls on Tinder or editing a new selfie for his flashy social media. Max knew he could never really confide in that Norwich poster boy -- as kind and progressive as he was, Todd would not be discreet or understanding enough. This was just not something that Max could see himself risking with any friend, not until he understood more what was going on... what he wanted, didn't want, what he could face up to. `hey puk! So funny wot u was sayin b4 game hahahah. Lol, defo kno the feelin sumtimes!!!1! as if u was jokin bout a lad doin it tho m8 -- u wer kiddin ryt???!1' Todd tried not to pace. It was easier said than done. The TV was still on, but quietly. Max, for some reason, was still not in bed; he was perched in the chair by the desk, playing on his phone, his feet jutting up onto the wooden surface and exposing much of his smooth brown legs, shorts dragging back down his thighs. He kept yawning, so why didn't he just go to fucking bed? With this thought, he got back up from his own bed and went for another nervous piss. In the bathroom, he could check his phone less self-consciously, looking for the latest response from Pukki and feeling a surge of anxious disappointment when there was none. It was hardly even a dialogue, the string of emojis and broken English that had crossed between them in the last half hour, beginning with his coy gambit and reaching the awkward impasse of Todd's own last message: `lol if u serious then I'll meet u somewhere between our rooms' followed by half a dozen laughing-crying faces to mitigate the blunt exposure of what he was indirectly offering. But, problem 1: there was no answer from Teemu. His messages were so unclear, his English so inconsistent, his emojis so brash. Was the whole `conversation' just manic banter between the two of them? Or, as he'd suspected, was there an edge of flirtation and seriousness behind the way the Nordic striker repeated his earlier needs and solutions? The eight minutes without a clear response had been agonising and was only getting worse every time he unlocked the screen and checked! And problem 2: how to slip out of their hotel room without prompting questions from Max now? He'd assumed that his yawning buddy would clamber into bed and vanish into his boyish snores. Then he would have been able to tug on a hoody and sneak out through the quiet hotel. Where he actually meant to meet Pukki was a mystery, but there must be bathrooms somewhere on the floor that were separate from the occupied hotel rooms, right? He put his cock away and washed his hands and then stood at the bathroom door, staring resentfully across at the other young Norwich player. `It's getting late,' he said experimentally, watching Max's seemingly relaxed body language as he swung around in the seat. `Yup,' the younger footballer agreed. `Don't let me keep you up, bruv.' Cantwell nodded his head once. `I was about to say the same.' `Oh, right. Hah. Well. Don't mind me. I'm just texting my mum.' `At this time?' `She ain't a pensioner, mate.' A touch defensive. `Fair,' Todd muttered, uninterested. He folded his bare pale arms and stared at the hotel room door in annoyance. He was trying to generate a sensible lie that would allow him to quit their room for a while and return once Max was asleep, free from awkward questions. When he failed to settle on the right lie, he marvelled at his own pushy pragmatism -- it wasn't as if Pukki hadn't even got back to him! The whole thing was madness and misunderstanding. There was probably nothing to sneak out for, so Max wasn't even an obstacle! He let out a frustrated snarl with accidental loudness and found the defender gawping at him. `Sorry,' he told Max instinctively. `Just...' What the hell could he say? He shrugged his shoulders and kicked pointlessly at the corner of his bed. Then he went and switched off the main light, flicking a lamp by his bed into life instead, and standing there about to climb into it, wondering if he was just going to have to lie there awake and hope for problem 1 and problem 2 to resolve themselves -- probably staring at the hotel room ceiling for the next eight hours and feeling like a moron by morning! Max watched tensely as the midfielder pulled back his duvet and made a strangely huffy rigmarole of climbing into bed: turning heavily onto his side with his back to him, as if he was in a mood over something. Max remained poised in his seat, lowering his heels from the desk and resting them on the side of his own bed instead, spinning the chair quietly. His eyes lifted from the two double beds to the hotel room door, and he tried to calculate how quickly Todd might drift off. He turned his eyes back to the stagnant message screen and the lack of response from Teemu, thinking that once he got out of the shared room that he would actually just try buzzing the 30-year-old with a call -- even if the striker didn't pick up, it would kinda show that he wasn't just joking with the playful offer that he'd made bit by bit in their string of back-and-forth messages. Maybe, he thought, the Finnish guy would ignore the call but then come and meet him outside the rooms, and... what then, Maximillian? The youngster shifted about in the seat, making it creak, and he stuffed his silent phone into the front pocket of his hoody, becoming irritated now. The soft lighting of the room just made the whole situation seem more ridiculous and thwarted, as did the heavy I'm-not-asleep-yet-but-don't-bother-me breathing of his close friend. After a few more minutes of this, Aarons got up, hands to his hips as he stretched out his legs and then his shoulders. He chewed his lip and moved around the edges of his bed, finally switching off the music channel that chimed faintly from the TV, and let his eyes dart back and forward to the lumpy outline of Todd in bed -- it was too soon, no way had his older mate slipped into REM yet. But he found himself positioned away from his own bed, halfway between the corner of Todd's, and the locked door out into the quiet hotel corridor. Perhaps, he dared to think, he could let himself out now, and Cantwell wouldn't even ask -- if he was being moody and silent, he might not want to start a conversation by being nosy? Max couldn't bring himself to take that risk. He sagged and grimaced, stuffed his hands into the same front pouch as his phone, touching it and feeling for the gentle vibration of an incoming text, an answer to his wistful last question. Just as he was about to pad silently around and undress to climb under the sheets, he was jolted awake by a string of short sharp knocks on the door behind him, snapping the twin frustrations of the shared room and making Todd sit up in bed. `Who'll that be?' Cantwell snapped quietly, awkwardly half-risen on his side in bed, looking to Max's bright-eyed expression and then the ominous door behind him. `No idea,' Aarons said in a horror-movie whisper. The dumb kid looked pretty scared. He didn't move, staying where he was with his hands tucked into the front of his hoody, glancing back and forth between him and the door. His night's frustrations peaking, Todd slid from bed, padding bare feet to the carpet, and marched straight past his roommate to the door. Without peering through the peephole, he unlatched it and dragged it in a few inches, then more fully. He stared cautiously at the familiar figure in the doorway, waiting in the brighter lights of the corridor with his muscular arms hanging loosely at the sides of his grey t-shirt, and a pair of long baggy shorts ending just above his scabbed knees. The expectant grin on his mature face was framed by the scruffy outline of his beard. `I come in?' asked Teemu Pukki, his fractured English making the polite question sound more forceful. Todd could only stand awkwardly aside and then shut the door, allowing the slightly taller and much broader man to burst into their room in a short series of bouncy steps, a low breathy chuckling sounding from his mouth. He occupied the space between the lads, turning his leering grin to Max, and then back at Todd himself, who could feel his heartbeat tripling and his cheeks beginning to burn pink -- well, this is it, isn't it? I've gone too far and I've brought this on myself -- Teemu wants to have a crack at me for taking the joke in the wrong direction and now Max is gonna know what I was up to and totally judge me and- `What will we do with you two, hey?' the foreign player asked in a frustrated voice. He followed it with a chiming laugh and he cracked his knuckles. He moved away from them both, wandering into the centre of the room, looking critically around as if comparing it to his own. For his part, Todd found himself looking unthinkingly at the dazed and gormless expression on his young roomie's face, suddenly guilty for bringing this late-night disruption into Max's night and wishing he could just unsend every daft message with which he'd flirted at Pukki! Max's eyes met his, wide with questions, and Todd could only stare blankly back at him, starting to feel sick with worry. `I think there is expression for this in English,' the striker said, drawing both lads' attention his way. `For what?' Max asked in a rather wavering voice. `Look, Puk,' Todd began, `we were both just going to bed actually, so...' `Something about the buses?' posed Teemu. `Buses?' asked Aarons dumbly. `He's talking nonsense. Max, mate, just you get to bed and I'll see Teemu out, so...' `Buses,' Teemu repeated, ignoring him. `About you wait for one, yes, and then-` `Erm, Puk mate,' Aarons was mumbling, taking a cautious step in his direction, `I think maybe there's been a bit of a mix-up, so erm...' `You wait for one,' announced Pukki, `and then two comes along! Yes? Yes? That is expression?!' `What are you on about?' Cantwell demanded through the world's most strained laddish laugh, shifting towards them, clearing his throat, thinking rapidly on how to extricate himself from this mess and protect his dignity. And then just as he came level with his roomie and stared urgently at their intruder, he saw Teemu finish stroking his beard and drop a hand back to the crotch of his shorts, which he squeezed at -- squeezing, Todd saw, at something quite long and pronounced there. `Oh,' murmured Max, beside him. `Two pairs of soft lips,' Pukki cackled, grinning at them both. `So -- who go first?' Max was slower than his roommate to understand. He trembled where he stood, his elbows tensed at his sides, and his eyes fixed quite pleadingly on the 30-year-old Viking. This was terrifying. How could he have underestimated the older man's impatience and indiscretion so much, after that banter in the locker-room? Now here they all were, and Todd was bound to put it together; fuck, fuck, fuck! In front of him, the third wheel was still stroking the crotch of his baggy shorts, then backing away and sitting down into that same office seat that Max had occupied only a couple of minutes ago. Teemu sat himself comfortably in it, bringing his hands up to clasp behind the buzzcut of his head. His biceps flexed a little from the grey sleeves, angled on either side of his bearded face. His chest swelled and his thighs spread, and the outline of his hard cock showed prominently through the dusky fabric of his shorts. Ready to be humiliated, the 20-year-old Londoner turned left, to his roomie, lost for words but unable to resist throwing himself at the Norwich boy's mercy. Todd, though, wasn't looking at him, just staring fixedly ahead at where Teemu sat. The expression on his face was intense and moody, and he was kneading his fists at either side of him. His lean bare legs showed below the boxer trunks, his sweatpants having been discarded when he got into bed. And in the front of those black trunks, Max saw, was a protruding shape that only seemed to loom bigger by the moment. Oh. Todd moved then, crossing over to the seated man in just two paces, and standing awkwardly in front of him; Max moved on small step closer, then paused and watched as his roomie began to kneel, sinking down to the carpet in front of those spread legs. Teemu chuckled and looked over Todd's sinking head, catching Max's eye and leering. `Well, that answer my question, ha,' he announced, and he let out a luxurious sigh. In between his legs kneeled Cantwell, now reaching one hand to stroke his knee and up the leg of the shorts -- Max's mouth dropped open and his cock twitched in his tight shorts. Another step forward, shaking beneath the cover of his hoody. He stood close to them and watched Todd's hand disappear up that leg, seeing his fingers and knuckles become vague shapes beneath the cotton as he fondled at the stiff outline there. Pukki made a couple of grunting moans, then laughed again, clearly delighted and amused by it all. Still Todd groped at him, hand lost in the folds of material, his breathing shallow and whispery. Max watched it and felt his own dick become semi-hard, pushing at the front of his bed-shorts. `Holy shit,' he whispered stupidly, and this prompted another dismissive laugh from their shared visitor. `Todd,' grunted Teemu. `Give your friend a go first.' Cantwell rocked back on his hips and glanced at Aarons: the other young player was kneeling next to him, seeming shaky. In spite of his own anxieties, the more assured player reached a protective hand against his friend's back, resting it there and then looking back into the Eden between the bigger older man's legs, where his hard-on tented awkwardly against his shorts. In a left-side parody of his own behaviour, Max's hand dipped up the leg of the shorts and went for a feel, the both of them crouched here in front of him, and Teemu just sighing indulgently. `Good boys,' was the Fin's grunted appraisal. `But I was promised soft lips, jah?' The midfielder reacted instinctively. He lowered his face very gently and kissed the hairy muscle just above the knee of the man's right leg. Keeping one hand on Max's back, he used his other to stroke up the outer thigh and into the shorts, beginning to finger and clutch at the material and pull on it. Then, lifting upright a bit more, he reached past Max to grab the other leg too. Teemu lifted up just enough and he began to pull on them; the striker removed his own grey t-shirt too in one simple move and now he was sitting completely naked for them, a savagely sexy figure in the office chair and his cock a raging thickness form the grey-brown bush of his pubes. Todd stroked at the left thigh and watched, transfixed: Max leaning in and parting those plump rosy lips, going for it. He gagged almost instantly. Recovered. Tried some more. Right in front of him, the cute London boy went down on the older man, leaving the shine of his saliva on the angry-red shaft of the Scandinavian rod. Watching, he shuddered and marvelled and sweated, and continued to stroke gently at his pal's back through the thick hoody, trying to be encouraging and helpful. He was feeling a strange mix of pride and jealousy. `Go on mate,' he purred. `Mmm,' moaned Pukki. Max could only make a wet choky noise. He did as much as he could face then pulled awkwardly back, panting a little and having to clear his throat. He stared up for approval but found Teemu's eyes hooded in a pleasant mask of lazy pleasure, his tongue rolling out slowly across his pursed lips as he relaxed in the chair. For lack of affirmation there, he turned to his left instead and stared nervously at Todd, who half-smiled and then shifted past him, opening his mouth and going to turn over, applying his parted lips to the thick meat that still glistened with his own spittle. Fresh moans from the striker. Max wavered and panted and tried to return Todd's comforting touch, pawing anxiously at his back through the vest, continuing to stroke Pukki's leg with the other hand. He licked his lips, thinking about the musty man-taste on his tongue, feeling the tickle of a stray pube on his cheek. `Fuck yes,' came Pukki's deep growl. `Woah,' murmured Aarons weakly, dazed. But then the bigger guy was pushing his friend away. Max thrilled with nervous energy as the invited brute rose up to standing, seeming to tower over them both because of the postures, though he was only a broad 5ft11, a stocky warrior-looking man 10 years his senior. He grinned down at them, eyes still half-closed. Max saw the spit froth and gleam on Todd's lips, and a little of it dangle from the foreskin of the stiff cock. `On the bed,' was Pukki's simple order, and they quickly obliged. Max didn't think to remove his hoody -- it was Todd's hand on his sleeve that suggested and began it, but he wriggled in agreement, shedding the item and climbing onto his own hotel bed in just the clingy bed-shorts that were rendered tight by his stiffy. He saw Todd slip out of his vest, down to just the dark blue boxer briefs, his body so lean and pale, his hair still neatly tied back. And in front of them, sprawling on his back, Teemu seemed so radically naked, his upper body oddly hairless between the frame of his bearded face and the forest of his crotch and legs. He lounged back and the pair of curious young players fell quickly to their task. Max moved in to kiss the inside of one thigh while Todd licked the erection, then it swapped a little, with Max nervously moving his lips back to the short fat piece while his buddy moved over and stooped down to plant wet kisses around the tummy, pecking a circle about his naval and nuzzling at the short trail of hair that stretched halfway up his abdomen. Teemu's hands were not stuck restively behind his head now but roaming -- one stroking at the back of Todd's neck and fumbling at his ponytail to loosen it, and one coming up to rub Max by the shoulder. It felt warm and heavy. He liked it. He shifted his focus to the fat hairy balls, nuzzling and prodding them with nose and mouth. He liked their heat, their softness, the way they made Teemu's moans lift and change. But the pubes tickled at his soft face and he sniggered anxiously, twisting about between the older man's thick leg and the close presence of Todd's body. Then Pukki barked out another instruction, and there seemed to be no spirit of defiance or compromise, just ready obedience. `I fuck your face now,' he said, to one or both of them, and he came lifting up on his knees. It was Cantwell he seemed to favour or demand, curling and gripping his fingers into those precious locks of hair; Max just crouched on all fours and watched as Todd's face was hoisted into position and his mouth properly opened. Then Pukki was thrusting his veiny beast into those bright lips, groaning really heavily, tugging on his fistful of Cantwell's hair. Through his groans, he growled at Max himself: `And you suck him, hey!' Todd remained on hands and knees and felt the tickling attention below, able to see out of the corner of his eye that his best buddy was positioning himself awkwardly beneath him and beginning to lick at his cock through his undies, then tug and tangle at them until it was free. He would have gasped his relief, but he had a thick choking mouthful of Finnish meat. He was caught between them, teased and touched from below while his mouth struggled to cope with the girthy pushes of Pukki. When Teemu told them to swap around, their bodies felt clumsy and stupid. Todd felt like he was all knees and elbows, rearranging himself on the bed. But Teemu was going onto his back again, groaning heavily and parting his legs, and Max was on his side between them, ducking his pretty face into the hairy crotch. This left Todd to reach for and drag those tight shorts away, peeling down the thick brown thighs and glimpsing the handsome curved cock that rose from his trimmed dark curls. He'd seen it before that evening on the beach, and marvelled then. He could remember being shocked by its length and form; he could remember mentally comparing it to what he'd seen of Redknapp's, only over webcam at that point, and later more... in his face. Yes, he thought, Max is actually a bigger boy than that smug bastard! So he sucked him, finding a little more relish in it with the fuller length to play with, even though it was actually less thick and engorged than the thing between Teemu's thighs. It was so smooth and shapely and Max smelt delicious down there. He really took its length into his mouth, resisting the gag, and stroked his fingers up and down the soft thigh skin, so happy to attend to his cute pal, who was gobbling noisily and clumsily at the dominant force on the bed. `Now,' growled Pukki after lengthy minutes of this position, `you both do it, yes!' It occurred to Cantwell that this was not strictly possible: one dick could not be in two mouths. But he found himself ready to try. At first, they knocked heads, and he and Max leered stupidly at one another with their faces in the other man's crotch; but then they found the right angles and positions. Max seemed to flick his tongue against the base and the balls and Todd lifted higher, taking the heavy tip between his lips and his tongue. All the while, he reached out for Max, stroking his neck and his back, touching him gently and supportively, cuddling him side-on a little while their dirty mouths serviced the man, they had both invited in. Just before he came, Pukki's groans became really wild and animal. It was so loud that Todd felt a little new fear, aware of the paired footballers on either side of the suite. This did not seem to bother the Finnish bastard. He kept his mouth close to the tip of it, Teemu's fingers pushing past to squeeze and tug... they both held their mouths close, the crotch area an insanely crowded spot between them, so hot and salty and then wet... Todd felt it against his lips and chin. He flicked his tongue out experimentally and caught some. Sour. He could remember Jamie's tasting better, or had he augmented it over the many confused months since?! Above and against the pillows and headboard, Pukki still groaned and growled, his legs beginning to stretch and relax. In front of Todd, the fat short cock juddered and oozed, and next to it he caught sight of Max. Such a pretty face, so impossibly innocent, but now smeared with greasy white, a long curve of spunk moving from his upper lip and across one cheek. Their eyes locked, and he thought young Aarons looked quite shocked at himself -- but Cantwell didn't think he'd ever seen him look quite so angelic. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning across and pressing their dirty mouths together -- kissing him through the taste of a third man's seed. Pukki's groaning breaths were a background music to this first man-to-man kiss and its overwhelming seedy taste. Max melted backwards, trusting in the guiding firmness of Todd's hands on him. He was rolled onto his back, further away from the salty heat of Teemu's crotch. He couldn't believe how good the kiss felt, even though the taste of the cum was overpowering and a bit sickly. But through it he could feel the rub and brush of Todd's tongue and lips, feel the pressure of the lithe midfielder on top of him, so that the Fin was almost forgotten as they stretched further down the bed. He let out whimpering breaths into the other lad's mouth, and he felt his own whopping cock brush and rub against the older boy's. When Cantwell finally broke the salty snog, he leaned very close and whispered in his ear. `You know that Ariana song?' came the barely audible question. '34 + 35? Yeah? Buddy?' Max was lying flat on his back, his feet and lower legs somewhere connecting with the heavy warm muscle of Teemu's still, but with Todd full on top of him. But there was movement and adjustment and a whirl and then it was different: he wasn't looking up into Todd's boyband good looks, but at his smooth-shaven crotch, at his stiff pink rod where it erupted from the front of his boxer briefs. Unseen, he felt his friend's mouth close once more about his cock, and he let out a long feeble groan, then lifted his face to return the favour, completing the 69. He curved his hands about the tense lean muscle of Todd's thighs and bobbed his head up and down as best he could, sucking him from below again, the angle difficult but pleasurable, and the wet attention on his own huge dick making him shake and sweat. He battled against the urge of release and was surprised when he was not the first to cum: instead, his mouth was being filled with more creamy liquid, sweeter somehow than Pukki's product. Still, it gagged and choked him, and he had to pull his face to the side, spluttering and with sticky lips. Then he felt his body tighten, pushing his strong hips automatically upwards to get more of his thick rod into Todd's unpractised gob. And he could feel his balls unload, a jet of his hot seed hitting the back of the other lad's throat. Cantwell remained in the 69 position for longer than was needed, his mouth still enveloping as much of Aarons' dick as was practical. He loved the feel of it, still stiff after the explosion, and the distinctive taste of his semen filled his senses. He pulled his lips back very slowly, dragging them sensitively off the wilting giant, and feeling a tentative hand stroke and coddle his own shrinking dick and balls. When he lifted his head, his longer hair falling over his eyes a bit, he was greeted with a sight that brought stupid laughter to his cum-stained lips. Ahead of him, taking up much of the bed, was the quite slumped figure of their older playmate. Teemu Pukki was asleep, lolling back against the headboard, snoring like a chainsaw in a forest. Beneath and against Todd, Max wriggled up and around to see what he was laughing at: and when they were both staring at the dozing heap of their striker friend, they burst into fresh shared giggles, a release of tension and distrust that made their bodies soften and Todd's arm close affectionately about his friend's shoulders. He turned and smiled at him and wondered whether to kiss him again, but was interrupted by vague snorting and shifting from Pukki, who returned to briefly lost consciousness and then burst into his own brutish laugh. Almost instantly, he was pushing off the bed, and his business-like gestures dissipated some glimmer of bromance that the 69 had woven between the two younger players. Todd was climbing off the bed -- Max's bed, he thought -- and onto his feet, his cock still drooping slowly from stiffness, and he fiddled with the tangle of his hair, dragging it off his face. Teemu moved past him so forcefully he almost toppled aside, catching himself and stifling an awkward laugh. `You dirty lads,' chuckled Pukki, shaking his head. The bearded warrior was snatching his shorts from the floor and wrestling into them, then casting his eyes about for his tshirt -- Max had collected it from the desk and was holding it nervously to him from where he stood, naked and adorable. Todd began to stare at him then stopped himself, watching instead as the visitor dressed and stretched and fumbled at the shape of his fat spent hard-on in the shorts; his oozing cum made a little stain in the material even though much of it was on the younger players' faces and bodies. `Well, let me see,' Teemu mused now. `Who was it?' `Who was what?' Aarons asked in a very anxious voice. The Finnish bloke stroked his beard. `The softest lips. Hmm. You were both good.' `Er, thanks?' Todd laughed uncomfortably, the tension returning. `I cannot choose,' concluded the other man. `My wife definitely have better mouth than you boys. Ha ha. She not be happy if she knew this!' He grabbed his crotch possessively. `But... you do good. Sleep well.' His goodbyes and exit now felt surreal and misplaced, and the close of the hotel room door left the two young athletes just dumbstruck and shaky. When Todd had recovered enough focus to look to Max, he found that the youth was clambering back into the hoody and pulling his shorts up over his rear, those pale brown globes disappearing into fabric that fit more loosely without the obstacle of his boner. And then he was heading already to his bed, switching off a lamp as he went. This left Cantwell standing still near-naked, his cock dangling over the waistband of his boxer briefs. He silently tucked it away and cleared his throat, wanting to say something or even move closer to give his friend a cuddle, but feeling a strong need to respect his privacy and his recovery. Instead, he went through to the bathroom to wash his hands and his face -- and as it turned out, his neck and shoulder, where cum had dried and crusted. As he had at the start of the night, he stared at his handsome elfin reflection, but now with a new wonderment, because all he could think about when he looked at his soft pouting lips... was how good it had felt to kiss his best friend, and he knew that Teemu Pukki was just being diplomatic in his judgment. There was only one winner, and he was now curled up in the other bed, avoiding all discussion of what they'd done. Max Aarons had the softest lips by far. 'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/ Amazon Wishlist here if you wanna say thanks LOL https://www.amazon.co.uk/hz/wishlist/ls/26BW3WSABBHNM?ref_=wl_share