Date: Sun, 20 Jun 2021 07:55:17 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads Part 267 Part 267: Hazardous Material Bare feet slapped against the linoleum flooring and first one then several hands clapped to the stubby buttons of a dozen showerheads against three walls of the confined block; pipes hissed and sputtered and steamy water leapt into action as the rectangular room filled with athletic physiques. Voices rose and contended against the noise of hot plumbing, creating a generalised burble of cheerful sound around him as he stepped through this tangle of bodies and clutched his bar of soap tightly in one large paw. Kevin de Bruyne rubbed the bar across the smooth plateau of his chest, an uncontrollable grin slapped across his pale features, as chuffed as anyone else in these changing rooms that his country had scooped the win tonight -- and perhaps more chuffed than most, having been quite so instrumental in it. The 29-year-old ace smirked triumphantly as he swept a soapy froth across his broad white shoulders then slid the bar right down to rub against his crotch, spreading its foamy cleanliness against the loose swing of his cock and balls and inner thighs, hot water streaking down his whole body and rendering him glossy and statuesque. Before he had stepped on the pitch, Belgium had been losing 1-0 to Denmark, and for all of their taut respect for the Nordic squad and their near-tragedy, there had been a grim nervousness among the Belgians -- enter KDB, who had swiftly assisted an equaliser soon after being substituted, and then scored his own winner later in the second half. Humble as he always tried to be, Kevin could not stop smiling and enjoying the quick victory of his actions tonight, and he had taken the lavish praise of his countrymen and coaches very gladly at 90 minutes and on the way into here, stripping off and rushing into the showers like everyone else. Even here in the showers, the 5ft11 redhead was being attacked and grabbed with congratulatory enthusiasm by some of the others -- former and current Tottenham defenders Alderweireld and Vertonghen grabbed and shook at him on their way past, muscular arms rubbing at his back as they gripped and hassled him with booming laughs of happiness; showering to his left, Napoli's Dries Mertens reached over to ruffle messily at his soaked ginger hair, darker for being wet, then playfully tweaked one of his nipples before declaring him `King of Europe'; when De Bruyne was scrubbed clean and heading to grab his towel, he was grabbed in a violent hug by big Lukaku, the Antwerp giant shaking him side to side and enthusing about how he should be signing for Inter Milan ASAP. Pink-cheeked and shower fresh, Kevin sat with the rest of the men in the restaurant bar of their Copenhagen hotel, tucking into a plate of goodies from the rich food buffet that had been laid on as late dinner; the dregs of his third pint sat in a tankard in front of him, the beer and grub making him feel warm and stifled as he floated on a cloud of success in a corner seat, quietly soaking up the happy atmosphere of the touring Belgians, the Red Devils. To his left, the team's goalkeeper Thibaut Courtois was sliding through a collection of photos from the game, cackling away at some action shots and making bold predictions about how far they could go in the tournament. The dark-haired 29-year-old kept elbowing and gesturing at him, interrupting his own enthusiasm to point out that when they made it to the Final, it would be surely down to some goals and assists from their De Bruyne, the Premier League's Player of the Year. Again. He grinned wearily at this accolade and nodded some half-modest support for the idea, lifting his tankard and clinking it with Courtois' own drink. On the right, there was equal excitement and banter at the end of the evening's meal and drinks, the team's brotherly partnership sat with arms thrown about shoulders, bursting into occasional Flemish song and clearly just as high on the joy of family reunion as Belgium's 2-1 win in the group match. Nearest to Kevin, his fellow goal-scorer Thorgan Hazard was clamouring for a toast, the twentieth of the short night, but smiling much of his beer onto the tablecloth instead; hugging tightly at his younger sibling, the once-celebrated Eden was laughing messily and echoing his brother's hopes, angling his head and winking conspiratorially at De Bruyne over him. Kevin just grinned back at his long-time Belgium friend, lifting his tankard vaguely, and the lending a hand to calm down Thorgan before he got up and climbed onto the table. The Hazard brothers were the life and soul of the squad at the moment. Once the greediest of the footballers had ate their fill form the buffet, the night's short celebrations spilled through to more comfortable seating, their head coach setting no particular curfew when he saw how exhausted and satiated his players clearly were, slouching together on couches and bean bags in a communal lounge beside the bar. Large screen televisions were showing highlights of their own game, rousing fresh cheers, silly with repetition, for themselves and their goal-scorers in particular -- but then it was moving on to other coverage, previewing the matches for the following night of Euros action. De Bruyne leaned back at the end of the short sofa he occupied, stifling a yawn behind one hand, and watched as snippets of interviews with the Sweden and Slovakia managers played on the nearest TV, now largely ignored by the drunk-tired Belgians; from this, it moved to moments from a press conference with the Croatians, who would face the Czech Republic tomorrow night... and then, of course, the attention was switching to a UK clash of great hype: tired and tipsy, he looked with vague professional interest at the excitable figures from the Scotland squad who were being interviewed and then shown in training... a number of faces he came up against regularly in the Prem were involved, if not any of his own teammates. Not like England. A switch to footage of their training camp quickly showed him two of his good pals, Stones and Walker, battling it out and bursting into their usual matey laughter, all tactile and teasing; and the platinum bombshell of little Foden made him snigger with respect for the scally kid, being interviewed yet again with Gascoigne comparisons. Seeing him made Kevin smile, but it did also make him think of Foden's other young pal at Man City, and he felt the usual complicated guilt that surrounded his friendship with Tommy Doyle. The media then cut to someone else that churned this feeling more. Grinning and nodding on-screen was England's solitary goal-scorer from their opening game, being congratulated on an MBE as well as a winner. Kevin was staring at another fellow City man, Raheem Sterling, but all he could think about was the night of City's title win, and the way he had made use of Raheem in the loos, a hazy memory that made his whole body clench and his hand grip anxiously at the arm of the sofa. `Hey, shush,' barked an obnoxious voice close to him. `Kev is watching out for his teammates.' `Oh, no,' he mumbled instantly, `it's fine, I'm not really paying attention to it.' He knew how intently he must have been staring at the screen there, and he glanced awkwardly at the shouter, Eden, who was perched on a nearby stool and waving bossy orders at the other men around them. Kevin insisted that he stopped, laughing it off and shoving at the elder Hazard a little. `It is fine, I spend enough time with those idiots, haha...!' He blushed and smiled and shifted against the sliding leather of his seat, blinking weary eyes. The TV had pulled away now and was playing some Danish commercials instead; he rubbed at his temples and tried to dismiss the sense that he would never be able to look Sterling in the eyes properly next season. He'd heard sniffs that the little winger was set to transfer away from Manchester, and he dearly hoped it was true, then hated himself for that selfishness. He glanced down and found that Eden was still looking his way, leaning over this way and resting a hand by his on the arm of the sofa. `When will you leave the Premiership and come play real football in Spain with me?' joked the ex-Chelsea hero. `Hah -- more like, when will you swallow your pride and return to England!' he returned, patting Eden on the hand and then folding his arms across his chest. `It seems like leaving Real Madrid is the thing to do this week, huh?' At that, Hazard scoffed and rolled his dark eyes, leaning closer -- but their brief exchange was suddenly interrupted by the lad on the chair next to Eden, who nudged him and gave a secretive look between both of them. `Well, I've heard some stories about that,' confided Mertens with a lopsided smile. `They say that Ramos' wife walked in on him and several lovers in some kind of orgy in their gym, ha ha. Him and like four others, that is what I heard. He is leaving Madrid in some desperate bid to keep her and his family together, apparently.' Kevin stared in prudish shock at this gossip, but Dries was shoving playfully at Eden and demanding his take on it. `Well? What do you say? Is it true, is Sergio such a dirty boy? And who are these four babes he is getting to fuck him in his gym?!' Hazard had a look of pure mischief on his dark-stubbled features, but he just shrugged his shoulders and patted his chest. `Sergio and I are good friends,' was all he would say. `I could not possibly comment on that story.' And then he burst into a dirty cackle that was as good as confirmation, greatly entertaining Mertens and making Kevin just make a flustered chuckle and lean back in his seat, thinking about his own frigid marital problems and where he'd sought comfort when things in his own bed were a little frosty and lifeless. He tried to tell himself that his own little dabbles and efforts were far less sleazy and corrupt than whatever orgy had been going on for Ramos, who just looked like pure filth somehow; what a crazy guy! `Four girls,' he murmured in an ambiguous voice that could have sounded disapproving or admiring and, if he was honest, was a little bit of both. `Four girls,' repeated Eden vaguely, a glint in his dark eyes. `Well, he should be retiring anyway,' their other teammate muttered dismissively, and then suddenly he had lost interest in them, turning away to shout his way into another conversation, while Kevin pawed thoughtfully at the collar of his t-shirt and then looked questioningly at Eden's faraway smirk of speculation. `You know more than you're saying,' the City midfielder murmured. `About Sergio? Huh. Not that I'd care to repeat here.' He grinned secretively and shrugged again. `Do you really care, my friend...?' `No, I suppose not,' Kevin sighed sleepily. He felt bloated from too much dinner and beer in a short space of time, and much of his body ached from his busy half-match of intense action. If he was honest, he was wondering how much longer he had to be sociable before he could climb upstairs and crawl into bed. Perhaps his blotchy pink face said as much, because Hazard leaned over and punched him lightly in the arm. `Stop by my room for a nightcap before you pass out, Bruyne?' his friend and brief Chelsea teammate asked in a low murmur meant just for them. The two of them went back far to those early days, a point where Eden had been starting to set the Premier League on fire with his talents, whilst Kevin was considered a flop purchase by the West London club and his career was almost written off; strange to think how things had changed, with Hazard largely out of form since exiting England and his own star just continuing to rise. But the friendship between the two Belgians was strong and stable despite any rise and fall of their separate football lives. `We can catch up properly,' Eden offered, seeing Kevin's lazy indecision. `Sure,' he agreed quietly, `sounds a good idea. But just the one.' The last time the pair had properly caught up had been when their sides were facing off in last year's Champions League, and the topic of conversation in that last discussion returned to haunt De Bruyne; no sooner was he stepping into Hazard's suite and accepting a heavy tumbler of ice and brandy, than the out-of-form Madrid star was quizzing him on his wife and how things were at home, almost making Kevin regret ever confiding his sex drought in the other bloke. `It is better,' he said ambivalently, one hand shoved in the pocket of his loose black trackies, the other holding the cool glass to his chest. `It is fine. Do not worry about me. Hah. I was overthinking things last year, that is all.' Standing by the counter and still pouring his own beverage from the minibar, Eden shot him a sceptical look, but said nothing. The 30-year-old just whistled quite cheerily as he mixed in some ice and then sipped from the second opened miniature. Kevin took a long slug from his own and crossed the room idly, supposing that he really shouldn't stop here too long -- if he even sat down for too long, he was liable to end up falling asleep here and not making it to his own room on the next floor up, shared with Courtois. Well, easy... he would finish this drink out of politeness and gladness to be out here in Denmark with his old pal, and then he would -- his train of thought was interrupted by a leonine yawn, and he tried to shake himself a bit more awake. `I hope it is fine,' Eden said at last, standing opposite him and giving him one of those odd knowing looks he was so good at. `Hmm?' `You and your wife,' the other footballer pushed. `I hope things ARE fine.' `Of course they are,' Kevin muttered back, becoming a little defensive. `Why do you say that?' `Well, a man like you!' laughed Hazard. `You need to be treated well.' `Huh. I'm not... Sergio Ramos!' He felt heated with a mixture of nervous fear and prudish disapproval, felt his face becoming a darker pink. `There is nothing to worry about, believe me. Forget what I said last summer. I have been... aha, treated well!' He thought awkwardly of the stiffly dutiful goodbye sex that he and his wife had shared the night before he flew out here to join the Devils, and how much he'd wanted to creep out in the car and drive to Doyle's, even if the City youth continued to ignore his calls and messages. In a quick bid to change the subject, he looked searchingly about the room and then began to talk about a piece of art in the wall, commenting inexpertly on how much he liked it and had been looking for something similar for his home. Faced with Eden's patient silence, he faltered, pausing in front of the ugly bland painting, and falling quiet himself. `You seemed on edge when you got here to train with us,' his friend commented neutrally. De Bruyne cleared his throat. `The Champions League final was a tough loss,' he answered with quiet gruffness. `It left us all a bit sad at City, you see. And so little break before I was flying to Belgium and getting on with the next job. That is all.' Hazard nodded his head. `That makes sense. It is a tough summer, then.' After a pause, the cynical edge returned to his voice, `But it is not as if City didn't win plenty else, hmm?' `It was a good season,' Kevin admitted uncertainly. He felt as if he was being tricked and lured into saying more than he wanted to. He drank more from the glass, deciding to rush the nightcap and end this little tete-a-tete. He needed to get back to his own room and away from this sudden inquisition. `You were very worried when we spoke last year,' Eden reminded him. `And I tried to tell you... you just need to do what is needed to keep yourself well and focused, eh? In a job like ours! We cannot be frustrated and neglected in that way and still perform like we must.' It sounded like an argument that the Real Madrid forward had made before, a well-practised rationale or excuse; perhaps every player at Madrid was as promiscuous and immoral as Ramos, he thought, remembering the naughty glint in those dark eyes when the rumour had been discussed earlier on. To his relief, Eden then changed the subject. The shorter man spoke idly about their plans over the coming days, in the build-up to their last qualifying game before the knockout rounds, and Kevin listened distractedly while taking slower sips of his brandy and staring regretfully at the picture he had pretended to be struck by. The alcohol seeped through his tired system, and he hunched a little, hand still shoved in pocket, body squared and awkward. Hazard came and stood next to him, put a single hand against his back, falling quiet again. `Why not have a seat?' `Hmm.' Kevin shrugged one shoulder and glanced at his friend. He ought to be moving on. The last of his single drink swirled luxuriously among the ice in his glass. But he relented, moving to the side and going to sit on the nearest of the two beds, vaguely aware that Eden was following him, that hand lingering on his back muscles. Once he sat down, so did Eden, side by side with him on the side of the bed, two buddies. Kevin glanced uncertainly at him. `Now, why don't you have a lie down?' Hazard suggested, a creeping intimacy in his voice. De Bruyne looked ahead of him, across the hazy warm of the room, his cool glass still clutched in both hands over his lap. He nodded his head slowly, relaxing into the idea, the soft comfort of the bed beneath him. He looked down in front of him as the glass was gently taken from his hands and moved away from him, and then he began lowering his strong back, until now he was staring up at the plain white ceiling of the hotel room, breathing out heavily. `It's like I said,' murmured Eden's voice, silky in their native language, `You need to be treated well, KDB.' `Hmm,' Kevin sighed neutrally, feeling every weary muscle relax into the bedding, his head swimming a little. Eden's company was a comforting presence, always had been -- the more immediately prolific forward had been the one to comfort and reassure him when he was failing and leaving Chelsea, his UK move seeming to come to nothing after so many false starts already in his youth career. Other than his agent and parents, he wasn't sure anyone else had ever predicted his stellar success like this guy! And there was his hand, resting somewhere on Kevin's upper leg, just over the crackling black material of his Belgium trackies, the fingertips feeling so pronounced against his own sensitive skin. He did not react very much, just gave another vague sigh, his thick arms limp at his side. But Eden Hazard was not a man of subtlety and hinting. `Have you ever had a man play with your cock, Kevin?' he demanded in a quiet but forceful voice, his fingertips pressing just a little more into the thigh muscle. Kevin's only response was a non-committal `hmm', and that made his friend titter lightly and pat him on the leg. `I thought so. A beast like you. Who was it?' Out of the corner of his eye, De Bruyne could see the lusty smirk on his friend's darker features, but he did not twitch his head that way to make eye contact and be lured into any such confessions; as far as he concerned, his `hmm' had confirmed nothing, and he had no appetite to confide the full truth to his close mate now. How could he ever explain the strange not-relationship that had spun along between him and young Tommy? All of those discreet night-time visits, all of the times he had convinced himself he was just `helping' the confused teenager. And then, of course, Raheem... `Nothing wrong with a little fun between friends like us, eh?' Eden said softly. His hand was creeping. It moved in slow-motion, fingertips kneading across his inner leg, making the material shift and tighten across the chubby mound of his privates, making them stroke and stir even before the hand was gently laying on them, gently feeling and shaping them, gently pushing and pulling on their outline in the glossy black. `You just relax there, our Belgian hero, ha. Let Eden do his thing.' How had it come to this?! It seemed as if one minute he had been drunk and happy in the restaurant, watching Eden control and laugh with his brother, and basking in the glow of his own goal success -- and then suddenly he was here, relaxed and even drunker on a bed, with a hand wandering over his crotch and his fat white prick responding accordingly. He let out ragged growling breaths and wondered if he should be fighting or reacting to this, pushing his mate away and storming off to his own room and the much-needed sleep. But... it felt good, it felt really good. He felt the pressure adjust around him as Eden got up from the bed, moved somewhere in front of him. Then there was a hand on the outside of each leg, sliding up and down the thighs, moving a tiny bit further up with each reach... until they were grasping the waist of his trackies and guiding them down, rolling them beneath his heavy rump. The skin of his legs tingled at the cool of being exposed, and red-blond hairs stood on end in anticipation. The hand was soon back on his crotch, feeling him up through the off-white briefs that remained. That felt good, but it was the gentle kiss of Eden's full lips just above his right knee that made him really tingle and let out the loud sigh of approval. Very slowly and teasingly, the ex-Chelsea ace kissed his way up one and then the other thigh, the dark stubble of his chin catching and tickling at the erect hairs of Kevin's legs. His own arms remained heavily at his side, and he closed his eyes to shut out the lamplight of the room, swallowing back his lingering uncertainty and the swirl of guilty memories that had led him here; he thought about that drink they had met up for last year in Manchester, when he had first confided in Eden that his sex life was comatose. Had his naughty friend wanted to help him out then? His undies were coming off now, knuckled and adjusted and then pulled away by the bottom, stretched and pulled down between his legs. He had to tense his core and lift his glutes off the bed to release them, and then with a little ping of elastic they were off and on their way past his knees. His cock and balls, sweaty and soft but swelling, flopped to one side and rolled loosely against the trimmed fur of his crotch. He held his breath and anticipated Eden's touch of them -- when it did not swiftly come, he was forced to open his eyes and lift his head and shoulders a little. Eden was crouched between his slightly parted legs, kneeling beside the bed, and just staring with smirking appreciation at his big Belgian privates -- those dark eyes flicked up to meet his and the eye contact seemed to make everything terrifyingly real. `Looks delicious,' Eden purred at him, still not touching them. Kevin felt his cock stretch and push, becoming slowly hard and full for his friend, and the need to be touched and felt was a sharp ache. At last, he lifted his passive hands from the bed, reaching them to stroke the sides of Eden's short dark crap of hair, pulling his face downwards. At this encouragement, Hazard just smirked even more and let out a greedy chuckle, then complied... pushed down there by Kevin's own hands, his mouth went to the meaty cock and took it in, his tongue and lips like velvet -- ohhhh, yes... Like a breaking dam, the noises spilled out of Kevin's pursed lips: long gasps of enjoyment and deep manly groans of desire, all of the built-up sexual tension that came from his unsatisfying marriage bed. So little action this year, so little attention to his big veiny cock that now filled his friend's mouth. But not just the cock, Eden slid his tongue down it to kiss and suck at each of his fat balls too, really lavishing his attention all over the crotch; every now and then, lifting and pushing back the rod and sack and pushing his strong tongue in against the gooch, which made Kevin shiver and wince in surprise to be licked there, down on his undercarriage -- why did it feel so sensitive and good there?! Eden would move from this to spitting on his dick and sliding a hand up and down the shaft, giving him a luxurious slow handjob, then swallowing it inside his mouth again. Kevin's groans were loud and unself-conscious now. But then it went a little far for him -- he felt Eden pushing at his girthy upper legs and scooping his hands under them, and sinking lower, running his tongue that bit further down his gooch towards- `No,' the City midfielder growled warily, pushing back on the man's brow a little and clenching his cheeks nervously, `no.' The reply was just a filthy chuckle of defeat, and then Eden's lips back about his cock after all, whatever dirty plan abandoned in favour of the big tool. Hot and clammy, the Premiership hero grabbed uncomfortably at his t-shirt and began pulling it up and away, baring his smooth torso -- which Hazard promptly lifted up to kiss and nuzzle at whilst still jerking his saliva-slick hard-on all the time. Kevin propped himself on both elbows and now stared through hazy drunk eyes at the scene he was in: the short stocky winger crouched over him on the very edge of the bed, his hands roving about his legs and sides, his mouth moving in hot wet kisses from his navel to his thighs to his balls to the angry red head of his hard cock. Fuck. The sight of it was alarming still, but the sensations were ecstatic. Kevin did not even want to shoot his load, he just wanted to lie here all night and be served in this way, delighted with the willing submissiveness of the cheeky 30-year-old, all smirks and lusty glances in front of him. Somehow, Eden's behaviour was not as surprising as it should be -- there had always been something mercurial and edgy about the other star player, a sense that he was experienced in ways prudish Kevin could only guess at. What was happening here just seemed to confirm something for him, some suspicion that Eden lived a far wilder version of the footballer's life. De Bruyne lay there, resting on his elbows and spreading his legs more comfortably now that Eden wasn't making cheeky detours below his ball-bag, and became really enraptured by the blowjob; so lost and happy in it, in fact, that he heard none of the scuffling noise of keys or doorhandles, had no sense that Eden, like him, had a roommate at all, not until the corner of his eye caught sight of the other figure -- and then he was jerking his head to the left over his bare shoulder and staring at the man standing at the foot of the bed, pausing there in matching Belgium trackies and a tight-fitting grey vest. Thorgan was a leaner physique than Eden, something that made him appear a little taller, though both men were 5ft9; the 28-year-old had paler hair and features, but the eyes and smirk between the close brothers were uncannily similar. The Borussia Dortmund player just stood there with a frozen smile on his lips and his distinctive blue eyes, much brighter and sharper than the ocean grey of Eden's. The younger Hazard stood there, the hotel room door falling fully shut nearby with a heavy click, and Kevin felt sick with horror -- caught naked on bed with his teammate licking his glans, caught red-faced and groaning like a beast. He heard Eden lick his lips noisily, and glanced down his body at his friend, who was stroking his thighs and lifting his head to face the intruder. `Hey, brother,' the Madrid player sighed. `Thorgan,' Kevin found himself grunting in a pleading tone, `this is not what it...' `Brother!' exclaimed the younger Hazard in a little gasp that initially sounded horrified or judgmental or disbelieving, but then shifted -- `Where was my invite? You selfish cunt.' Kevin's brain ticked slowly, registering the twist in events with a greedy surprise that dwarfed his cautious relief; Thorgan was immediately yanking the vest up and off, exposing the lean muscle of his tanned upper body, and hurrying to the bed towards them. `Give me a go,' he was hissing at his big brother, lunging on to the bed and planting one hand against Kevin's six-pack -- then pushing his face in to replace Eden's and popping his mouth about the thick meat. Oh! The brothers' mouths felt so distinctly different around him, Thorgan a little less soft and tender somehow, maybe less confident and patient. De Bruyne could only lie there, stunned -- he watched Thorgan's head bob up and down, then glanced over at Eden's delighted smirk, rubbing at his brother's bare shoulders and then grinning wickedly this way, as if to boast smugly at his brother's skills. `Move up the bed,' the older Hazard muttered instructively, and so he did -- pulling himself backwards and lifting his legs fully onto the bed. His briefs fell away from his ankles where they had stopped, and his black ankle socks looked silly and jarring as the only clothes left on him. Thorgan followed his movement, not really reacting as his own brother grabbed and pulled on his trackies, stripping him from the waist down so that he too was naked on the bed as he followed Kevin's cock into a new position. Kevin lay at an angle, staring appreciatively at this, then registered with vague new alarm that Eden was stripping off by the bed before climbing on with them, and... fuck, reaching down to grab and play with Thorgan's equipment. His brother's cock. Kevin sprawled there, watching one Hazard mouth at his cock, and the other tease and pull on his younger brother's prick with a wicked expression on his face. Slowly, unbidden, his attention shifted from this incestuous shock to a more specific detail of the sordid scene. They were lying in an almost triangle formation of their muscular bodies covering the bed, and so Eden's dark-haired legs were jutting past his right elbow, the lines of them drawing his eyes to his pal's crotch -- Eden's cock, shorter and slimmer than his own, was fully erect, and it occurred to him that it must have become rock-hard just from snuffling about his own privates, and this gave him a weird sense of satisfaction. The pink-tipped thing jerked and shook a little with the motion of Eden's own body -- he was stooping now to put those soft lips about Thorgan's cock, which was bigger and more like Kevin's own, and this act seemed to create a dizzying possibility in the air of their human triangle. Kevin stared from Thorgan's bobbing head to Eden's sucking, down his body to the dark curls that framed his privates, his cock seeming so close and present. As slowly as if his right arm was now made of concrete, De Bruyne reached for it -- he wrapped one pale fist cautiously about it, then looked from this absurd sight to Hazard's face. Those dark grey eyes flicked this way, surprised and... impressed? Hesitantly, confusedly, Kevin began to pull on and more tightly grip his friend's cock, completing the triangle of their bodies, and letting out deep new groans of pleasure as Thorgan really sucked quite fiercely on his cock. So wet and eager. Kevin stared back at Eden's dick in his hand. Could he? Would that be okay? He had wondered before, though briefly and shamefully -- when Tommy had been beneath the covers making him cum, he had wondered if he had it in him to return that favour, and be the one to... Well, how wrong and dirty could it be, now that he was seeing these two brothers go at it on each other? If Eden and Thorgan had played about like this, two fun-loving brothers who he respected as ace footballers, then... He looked aside and met Eden's eyes again. There was no pressure or insistence from his friend, just an encouraging excitement that emboldened him to make his attempt. Squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth wide, KDB dropped his head down and strained further over, and REALLY completed the triangle: feeling the warm hardness of cock against his bottom lip then sliding into his mouth, making his tongue recoil at the new sensation. He let his lips rub about it a bit. It felt much bigger and thicker than it looked, really, which made him wonder about what his own must feel like for these lads who had tried it. (And his wife, those rare times she had given him head in the honeymoon days of marriage.) He moved very awkwardly, almost as if Eden's cock was a fragile object or a dangerous unexploded bomb, or as if he was a terrified married straight dad who was having his electrifying first taste of cock at 29. He held it at the base and slid his lips about it awkwardly, scared to really let his tongue do anything, but enjoying the idea of this three-way, loving the feel of Thorgan on his cock and hoping he could swap back to being sucked by Eden soon too. Then, quite suddenly, Hazard pushed upwards with his hips -- either out of excitement or by accident -- and it was a bit much for Kevin, who gagged and snorted and pulled his face awkwardly away, spit trailing from his pouty bottom lip. He sucked in his breath and coughed uncomfortably, and his snorting reaction earned little sniggers of enjoyment from the Hazard brothers. `Here, let me,' he heard Eden growl. Tag, the brothers were swapping work, and he, the amateur, was excused duty. He was pushed and encouraged by Eden until he was lying in a different way, his head and thick shoulder pushing back into the plumped pillows, his legs spread, and Eden lying between them, dropping his mouth to his cock; Thorgan's mouth had felt good, but it was a minor experience compared to going back to the soft fullness of Eden's attention. And Thorgan himself now was crouched by his brother, going down on him and finishing what Kevin had started. With Hazard back on him, spitting heavily over his cock so he could handle it whilst mouthing at his sack, Kevin didn't have long to go before he knew he would cum. The depth of his groans must have announced this too, because Eden lifted his head and murmured encouragingly. `Come on, big man -- shoot for us. Let it go.' So he did -- lounging fully back and throwing his head back with guttural noise, relaxing fully into this taboo pleasure. With commanding grip, he reached for Eden's head and pushed it on top of his cock, needing to cum inside that perfect mouth, wanting to feed every salty drop to his friend -- the muffled choking gasp just added to the ecstasy as he unloaded, his body buckling and shaking and his chest as rusty pink as his gawping face. His face now clammy with sweat, De Bruyne lay there in the throes of pleasure, arms falling limply at his sides. He felt Eden's mouth slide away from him and he smelt his own spunk in the air, but he did not open his eyes to look, just slumped and gasped. For many long moments, he just wallowed selfishly in the aftershock of his orgasm, half-aware of the shifting of the other two bodies and the wet sounds of their enjoyment: when he opened his eyes at last, dazed and almost asleep, he saw them in 69 position, Eden on his back with Thorgan on hands and knees over him, both brothers sucking furiously on the other man's dick. With his lids drooping, Kevin watched them work at each other and shift about each other's naked muscles... but then they pulled apart, all giggles and playful kicks and jabs at each other. Had they finished? No, their cocks still stood to attention, Thorgan's that bit longer and thicker than his older brother's. They were shuffling this way on their knees towards him. Eden's face, he could see, was shiny about the lips and chin, and he supposed it was the mess of his own juices still there, fucking hell. The Hazard brothers knelt at either side of him, and for a moment he thought there was expectation he would try again to help them, reach for their cocks or bring his clumsy uncertain mouth into action. Nope. He was just a target. When they came, they came on him, loosing bursts of silvery white goo across his chest and tummy and seeming to find great satisfaction in that -- the hot wetness felt odd against his bare skin, and the manly smell filled the air, musty but not unpleasant. And when they were done they were laughing, grinning, high-fiving. Kevin laughed too, but weakly and tired, and alarmed by the sensation of other men's drying cum somewhere adjacent to this left nipple. `Oh Kevin,' chuckled Eden, `you are our hero.' `You beast,' teased Thorgan at the same time, slapping him on the leg, `that beautiful big cock!' And off the bed they went, laughing and bantering -- finding towels or discarded clothes to wipe on their cocks and mouths, disappearing into the bathroom one at a time and making loud mouthwash gargles as they cleansed away the taste of dick. Kevin watched in a daze, his eyes a little hypnotised by the bounce of their buttocks, particularly the notorious fat round rear of Eden, booties that were almost feminine in their appeal. Treacle-slow, De Bruyne climbed off the bed himself and found his skimpy white briefs, which he dragged up his sweaty legs and pushed his fading hard-on into their pouch. He looked awkwardly down at the cum on his body and suddenly Thorgan was there with a hand towel, laughing as he dabbed it away. When they looked at each other, the 28-year-old Dortmund attacker just winked playfully and backed off. Kevin stood about, bulging in his briefs and lost for words; the brothers were chatting almost as if he was not here, and certainly not talking about the fact they had been 69ing on the bed a couple of minutes ago. `Which bed are you having?' Thorgan was asking. `I don't fucking care. Oh, actually, you have the one with the spunk on, you dickhead.' `Fuck you, you cunt!' Brotherly arguing. Kevin drifted between it, wrestling into his tshirt and dragging on his trackies. He pushed his feet roughly into his trainers. Stole a bottle of water from their minibar and guzzled on it. Stood near the door, staring shyly about and waiting for some acknowledgement or goodbye from the Hazards. He could hear the shower going now, Thorgan vanished into the bathroom to clean off; Eden was back in the room with him, still casually naked. He looked this way and he too winked. `Well, how was that, big Kev?' he asked lightly. `Hmm,' was all De Bruyne could muster as a reply. `Just let us know,' Eden said warmly, `if you need to visit us again after the next game. Any time, big man. Now fuck off. I'm tired.' `Hmm. Right.' The 29-year-old Belgian left them to it, wandering zombie-like through the corridor and taking the stairs up to his own floor. On the way to his room, he bumped into a couple of other Belgium players who had lingered longer at the bar, and he felt sure that his transgression must be written in the blotchy blush of his cheeks, or the sheen of sweat on his arms. Even the innocent `Where've you been?' from Courtois in their shared room made him stammer slowly and talk nonsense, when a dozen easy lies might have covered his whereabouts. But luckily, the Belgian goalie was not all that interested, and he was able to peel his clothes off and climb into his own bed, slipping almost instantly into satisfied sleep -- his frustrated needs entirely met by a session with the Hazard brothers in their room. '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