Date: Wed, 15 Jan 2020 20:48:56 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 27: Fun & Games at Anfield

Part twenty-seven: Fun & Games at Anfield


Andy Robertson finished towelling dry his short dark hair and blinked at
this reflection in the mirror on the changing room wall: he was confident
enough to see a ruggedly handsome young Scotsman there, but insecure enough
to worry that he wasn't as slick and insta-famous as some of his big name
Liverpool teammates. He sniffed at his ginger-stubbled face uncertainly and
pulled away from the mirror to quash the silly vanity, and finished
dressing: pulling a team sweater over his tshirt and tying the drawstring
of his Liverpool tracky bottoms then forcing his feet into some fresh
trainers, a few muscles aching from the tough afternoon of training but
otherwise feeling very refreshed. The energy at the club was so high at the
moment that training often left him feeling more energised than drained,
even when Klopp was working them so hard.

`You ready mate?' came his teammate's voice, and there was Alex
Oxlade-Chamberlain, exuding the same post-shower heat and freshness. His
expensive aftershave rolled over Andy's senses for an overwhelming
moment. This was exactly the kinda slick designer-touting fella that made
Andy feel like a right Scottish NED in this company, but it was only a
nagging worry at times. Largely he just laughed at his poseur teammates and
was proud of his Glaswegian roots.

`Aye, aye,' he said gruffly. `Fuck, could do without an interview right
now, you know what I mean?'

Alex, dressed in the same club-branded gear, just shrugged his bulky
shoulders and went to the mirror to fiddle with his tight curls and freshly
shaved fade. Andy rolled his eyes at the preening in denial of his own
moment, and he swung his kit bag playfully at the bigger lad's back.

`Come on, prick,' he said in his harshest West Coast tones.

`Yeah, yeah, let's go,' Ox agreed casually.

It was some short media thing, they'd both volunteered for it when nobody
else looked keen earlier. A short interview, they'd been promised, just
some tiny skit for a Sky Sports compilation this weekend. Both men
suspected it was unlikely to be a little less low-key than promised, these
things ALWAYS took longer than you were promised. And though Robertson was
far from shy, he did find media attention a bit uncomfortable and
invasive. He much preferred to be proving himself on the pitch than in
front of a microphone. But he was glad of Alex's company here, rather than
resentful: the southern lad was much more articulate and media-savvy, and
would make the interview experience an easier ride for Andy.

The thing that surprised Andy, as they followed a member of staff round the
rabbet warren of corridors and staircases at Anfield, was that there was a
proper Sky presenter waiting for them in the arranged room. Yeah, there he
was, Jamie Redknapp: the ex-player and one-time Liverpool star was in one
of his expensive-looking, well-fitting navy suits, flirting outrageously
with a young production assistant and waiting for them in the press room.

`Lads,' the slick presenter called warmly as they arrived, `thank you SO
much for agreeing...'

Alex was immediately approaching him and grabbing a handshake. `No bother,
chief – always happy to talk about being the best club in the league,
especially to a former Anfield lad.'

`A long time ago now!' the ageing heart-throb chuckled, and turned to grab
Andy's hand too. `But yeah, I had a fucking great decade up here. We just
didn't win quite so frequently as you fuckers are managing right
now... legends.' A lot of sycophantic laughter from the female producer and
the bloke behind the camera, and from Alex too. Andy was less easily amused
but he chuckled along. He was wary of a greasy media whore like Redknapp,
but he had some respect for him compared to the less experienced members of
the press teams.

`Where do you want us, then?' Robertson grunted a little impatiently. He
hoped he wasn't being too rude, but he wanted them to know this was a bit
of an imposition, that he and Ox had lives to get on with and had been at
work all day.

It was a quick interview, to be fair: the cameraman and producer seemed to
spend as much time faffing and prepping as Jamie actually did interviewing
them. There were only a couple of questions and Alex, wide grin and
sparkling eyes, did most of the talking. Andy laughed along and agreed
readily where possible. And just like that, it seemed to quickly come to an
end. Thank fuck. He might get home to his girlfriend and son at a
reasonable time after all, at this rate. The cameraman was rolling his kit
out of the small press room and the producer was taking old Jamie aside for
a debrief, leaving the two twentysomething footballers to chat idly.

`You could be a prick like that one day,' Andy said lightly. `Presenting,
and that. You're good with the chat, you know.' He smiled warmly at the
other lad, one year his senior, a good inch taller, and much broader. He
was always a good laugh, and a player Andy had a lot of time for: but it
was harder to look him in the eye these days, after that mad session at New
Year... why was it so tough to look at the handsome bloke without seeing
him crunching on a soiled Oreo?

`Huh, maybe,' Ox told him, `but I hope I don't have to retire as early as
him... I am jinxed with the fucking injuries already, mate...'

Andy laughed but regretted the comparison, and patted his mate's muscular
arm a bit. `Oh yeh, but you're not in and out as much as HE was,' he said
reassuringly, though the parallel was unavoidable. `I just meant...'

`I know what you meant,' Alex said with a grateful smile. That smile. Those
gleaming white teeth. Why was it tough to see them without remembering what
the lad had done when losing their dirty little game...? Andy had been the
one to suggest it, it had seemed a funny idea, but now it seemed
to... haunt him. He admired that Alex had gone through it, and yet...

`Lads,' interrupted Jamie, adjusting his blazer as he returned to the
meeting table they were sat at. The suited Sky presenter dropped into one
of the curved chairs and pulled it around the corner a bit to be closer to
them. `You mind if we do a few more questions now? It's just for a piece
I'm working on for my newspaper column, that's all. No more camera or
nothing, they're heading off.'

Andy felt vaguely irritated but beside him, Ox was readily agreeing, and he
could hardly rock the boat. He nodded, shrugged, shifted about in his own
seat. There was something intimidatingly stylish about Jamie and his crisp
white shirt, no tie, his tight thigh-hugging suit trousers. What a smug
cunt. But what a handsome cunt, he added, resentfully. Would he look half
that good when he was approaching 50?

`Well, what do you wanna ask us?' he said, not quite as confrontationally
as he felt, but enough to earn a smirk and raised eyebrow from Redknapp.

`Ah, just this and that,' Jamie said. `A bit about team spirit, club
morale, the Liverpool mindset. That sorta thing.' He leaned in across the
oval table a bit, and tapped the surface a bit, sliding a notepad and pen
from the inside pocket of his blazer, but putting them down and making no
move to take actual notes. `What sorta shit do you lads get up to here, to
keep this close bond going?'

Andy faltered at this question, given what was on his mind, and to his
right, he saw a similar effect on Alex's face. For once, the Ox was a bit
lost for words, so Robertson pushed in. `Ah, usual banter,' he said
vaguely, `the same stuff that went on when you were here, I'm sure.'

Jamie made a suppressed chuckle, and scratched at his own faintly greying
stubble. `Oh I dunno about that,' he said thoughtfully, `I've heard lads
are a lot more sensible now than some of the weird shit from the 90s! A
different game in the 21st century.'

`Well, we're too young to know,' Andy pointed out a little sourly.

`It would be good to compare, I guess,' Alex said more pleasantly. `I mean,
I'm 26, he's 25, so we're of a certain generation, yeah... Would be funny
to know how different it was back in the 90s when we were just little footy
fans at home, hah. What sorta shit did YOU get up to here, Redknapp?'

`Please, call me Jamie...'

`I bet it wasn't that wild,' Andy said, cynically.

`Oh, I don't know,' Redknapp said, and gave another little snigger. `I
could shock you.'

Alex turned to look at Andy, and it was meaningful. His big hazel eyes said
very clearly `if only he knew', and Andy almost burst out laughing. It was
true. Surely an old relic like Redknapp would be aghast at the banter
they'd got up to that day lately at Andy's curious suggestion... right? He
looked back at the older bloke, and his knowing smirk.

`Well, we had our games,' Jamie said carefully.

`We all have our games,' Alex returned, a bit more cocky now. `We had some
mad fun just the other week, you wouldn't believe...'

Andy glared at him momentarily: it was one thing chuckling about it, but
surely he wasn't gonna fucking mouth off about what they'd done to this
creep, was he? `Just standard stuff though,' he cut in. `It's probably no
different to other Premiership teams, really. We just, er... Win more.'
Nervous chuckle.

`And who won this game the other day?' Jamie said a little too knowingly.

`Well,' Andy grumbled, `there wasn't so much a winner, as just...' He
looked almost apologetically to his Liverpool buddy before finishing. `Just
a distinct loser,' he admitted. Alex suddenly looked a bit less confident
and playful. He had looked distraught, for a few minutes, after that game
had ended, and they'd had to hit the showers...

`Oh, THAT game,' Jamie said suddenly, and the two young Liverpool stars
turned back to look sharply at him. Could he really know? The presenter
just chuckled, and then slowly stripped off his blazer to look more
relaxed, adjusting his crisp white shirt and open collar. `So who ate the
fucking biscuit, then?' the 46-year-old ask bluntly.

Andy gawped at him, then glanced at Alex, who looked petrified with the
clarity of the guess. The Scotsman rallied defensively. `None of your
business,' he said firmly. `Team banter is team banter. You better not be
recording this shit.'

Jamie just gestured lightly at his closed notebook, laughed gently, and
settled back in his seat. Alex finally seemed to recover enough to
speak. `How did you know we meant that?' he asked, sounding a little
impressed as well as uncomfortable.

`Oldest laugh in the book, that,' Redknapp said dismissively. `Played it
plenty on the teams I was at, lads. Never fucking lost though.' His pride
was evident. `God, the poor fuckers that would end up...' He paused, and
there was that knowing smirk on his face. Andy looked over and Alex's face
was giving everything away. He looked so ashamed.

`Ox did what he had to do,' Andy said quietly and defensively. `Don't give
him that look, mate.'

Jamie smiled and turned back towards him. `Hey, I'm not judging... You
gotta respect the game.'

`I just had to,' Alex blurted out uncomfortably, and Andy supposed this was
the first time the other lad had vocalised or confronted what had gone
on. He looked at him sympathetically as he rushed to explain himself. `I
agreed to play, so... I lost fair and square, I just had to...'

`Yeh yeh,' Jamie agreed patiently. `It is what it is. I'm just saying... I
never ended up in that position. But... respect to ya, Alex.' His eyes
turned back to Andy. `So this big lump of muscle has eaten your spunk,
Andy, lad? Hah, that is too funny...'

Andy felt riled. He hated Jamie's smug dismissal of their antics, and he
felt his good pal's discomfort at the line of questioning, and the truths
that had spilled so easily in front of this outsider. But he also
felt... excitement. The game had played on his mind over the past two
weeks, the fuzzy memory of the laddish banter and the developing
rivalry... And here was a pillar of masculinity, an old-school figure like
Redknapp, casually normalising what they'd done, making HIS own silly idea
seem so much less risqué...

`His and three others,' Alex groaned honestly.

`Now I need to know who,' Jamie said, and there was a surprisingly eager
glint to his eyes.

`Nah,' Andy butted in. `We ain't telling you that. So drop it. I'm sure
you're not rushing to tell us which 90s wankers have had your dirty sauce
on their rich tea biscuits. Fuckin' hell.' In spite of his irritation, he
found himself giving a bit of a tug and a rearrange to his crotch.

`Fair,' Redknapp agreed.

`It was just one of those things,' mumbled Ox, next to him.

Andy reached over supportively and put an arm around the big guy's broad
shoulder muscles, and nodded at Jamie. `Aye,' he agreed, `just one of those
things. You're a funny one, coming in here and asking us shit like
this. What's it to you, anyway? We've got shit to get on with, pal.'

Jamie just sat there with one of those lingering smirks that infuriated
Andy, then laid one hand casually on the inside of a thick thigh, and
reached up to take his bulge in hand. Alex looked shocked, but Andy just
scoffed, and pulled his hand away from where it had been unconsciously
fondling the front of his trackies. The atmosphere in the small press room
was suddenly incredibly tense.

`Don't stop fiddling with yourself on my account, Andrew,' Redknapp said
smoothly. `What about you, Alex? Are you feeling horny too...?'

Andy looked at his mate, and saw Ox looking pretty baffled. `I wasn't
fiddling with myself,' Robertson protested weakly. `Oh, fuck this...' He
got up to his feet, pushing his chair back, looking between Alex's
perplexed expression and Jamie's smug sprawl, and then down... at the shape
of his semi flopping into position in the front of his red Liverpool
trackies. Shit.

`Come here,' Jamie said softly, and Andy obeyed in spite of himself. He
steppd about the side of the table, looking suspiciously down at the
smartly dressed senior, and watched as a tanned hand reached out and gently
stroked the front of his tracksuit bottoms. He heard Alex shoot up to his
feet in shock, and lean forward as if about to jump in and protect him from
the groping of this older bloke. But Andy stood his ground, and looked
between his swelling bulge and Jamie's curious expression, as the stroking
carried on.

`What the fuck, guys?' Alex asked sharply, and then he intervened. He
shoved Andy back a bit roughly, and stood between him and Jamie,
protectively, his muscles bulging as he squared up for a fight that nobody
else wanted. Because then Jamie was touching him, reaching between his legs
to the framed droop of his privates. Andy watched intently, and bit his
lip. Fuck, this was getting intense...

`Just come here, Andy,' Jamie said, and Robertson did as he was told. Now
both of the Anfield players were stood over seated Redknapp, and both of
them were being gently, exploratively fondled, Jamie cupping their packages
through the red nylon, and grinning up at their anxious expressions like
this was the most natural development for a quick interview to have
taken. `Well lads, are you gonna get them out, or am I?'

Andy and Alex looked at each other. Ox looked anxious and younger than his
26 years. Rough and ready Andy felt less intimidated. He was horned up now
and he needed to do something about it, after all. He gave Alex what he
hoped was an assertive, encouraging nod, and began getting his meat
out. Jamie stood slowly to face them, and started to join in, undoing the
front of his suit trousers. Andy tugged his trackies down over his hips a
bit, then pulled his dick out of his fresh white briefs, and took it in
hands. Sure, it wasn't the longest nob, he'd compared it to the other four
that day during the biscuit game, but it was thick and shapely and he knew
how to use it. He glanced over as Alex joined him, and once more felt a
pang of admiration at just how well-equipped Oxlade-Chamberlain really was
down there.

`Nice,' Jamie remarked openly. His trousers were open and the bottom
buttons of his shirt undone, and he was stroking a long, slim prick with a
distinctly red tip. He was fully hard already. Shit, what were they playing
at here? Did the door to this room even lock? All three men looked
furtively from one to the other, eyes meeting for precious awkward seconds,
as they silently stroked their tools and contemplated their sex drives.

`You seemed to enjoy touching us up,' Andy grunted assertively. `You sure
you never deliberately lost a game of soggy biscuit, you old queen...?'

Jamie scoffed. `Someone had to get this started, right?' he said
evasively. `We're all in the mood. Right... Alex, you cum-gobbler... come
and give us a nosh, will you?'

Andy started at this, and grabbed for his mate's sleeve, about to tell him
to ignore this smug prick, but suddenly Ox was darting forward, and sliding
down onto his knees. Andy tugged on his dick even as he gasped his
surprise, his bulky mate settling down in kneeling position between the two
of them, pulling close to the throbbing red-tipped member between Jamie's
legs. Jamie looked at him, over Alex's head, and smirked victoriously. This
old cunt was on a right power trip here...

`That's it, Oxlade...'

Andy watched in fascinated horror as Alex's head dipped forward against the
older man's hard-on, then looked up at Jamie's slow groan of
appreciation. He felt a mix of surprise at his friend, annoyance at the
outsider, and undeniable excitement in his own twitching prick. All three
sensations blurred as one thing: jealousy. He wanted Ox on HIS
nob... Jesus, where had THAT come from?

He stepped forward, pushing the chair aside, and sidled up to Jamie as if
they were good mates, slapping a hand to the back of his shirt, feeling the
older guy's impressively firm physique through it, and looked down to
crotch height, where Alex's thick lips were trailing up and down the first
few inches of Jamie's schlong... shit. Why did Ox look so sexy on his knees
and with his lips trembling and his eyes big and approval-seeking? Andy
took his own cock in his right hand, elbowed Jamie aside a bit with his
left arm, and thrust himself into Alex's face. One cock was swapped for
another, Alex's eyes looked conflicted, and now his lips were on some prime
Scottish meat instead.

Andy gave Jamie a territorial glare, then looked down, enjoying the sight
of Alex's lips on his own smaller but rigid prick, wow they felt so
good... his own missus hardly ever went down on him any more, so any
blowjob was amazing right now... but god Alex's mouth just felt so tender
and warm on his quivering stiffy, so...

And then Jamie was taking hold of his back, and he thought he was gonna be
pushed aside in the same petty squabble, the two guys fighting for Alex's
hungry inexperienced mouth... But no. Jamie was hugging an arm about his
own shaky shoulders and laughing cheerily, staring down at the slowly
progressing blowjob, reaching a hand to ruffle Alex's tight curls... And
then his other hand, creeping excitingly down Andy's own back, until it
rested at the hem of his sweater, above the exposed top of his crack. Andy
was having trouble thinking about much else but the amazing soft motion of
lips and tongue on his cock, so he just stood there overwhelmed while he
felt Jamie's creeping fingers rub the tops of his buttocks and tickle at
the topmost entrance to his arse-crack.

`That's it, lads,' Redknapp groaned into his ear, encouraging and
sleazy. Andy felt like he could cum there and then, but he tried to
suppress it and enjoy the moments. Oh boy. Alex was lapping his big tongue
over the head of his cock and then taking inches of it back into his hot
wet mouth. His eyes were still puppy-dog adorable, desperate for Andy's
enjoyment.

Andy suddenly tensed in surprise, feeling the rear of his trackies tugged
down more fully, and... whoa! A saliva-wet finger slid right between his
full, downy cheeks. Jamie was trying to finger him. Shit! He stood
awkwardly, feeling kinda trapped between the unreal pleasure of big Alex on
his knees, and the sinister invasion of this slimy fella groping his
backside, but... well, it felt pretty new and exciting. He stood in
turmoil, torn between wanting to lose control and fuck Alex in the mouth,
and spin round and smack Jamie Redknapp in the jaw. In fact, he did
neither: he stood there, tensed up, and groaning loud ecstasy at the
contrasting sensations of a blowjob and a questing finger finding his tight
hairy hole.

`Come on,' grunted Redknapp. `Alex here wants your load, Scotty.'

Ox lapped at his cock and pulled away for a moment, lips quivering. `I do,
buddy,' he muttered shamefacedly.

Andy, full of affection for the gentle hunk, reached down and stroked his
cheek. `It's okay, pal,' he grunted quietly, `you're... you're good at
this...'

The encouragement was enough and Alex closed his eyes and attacked, lips
pulled tightly over Andy's Glasgow sausage. At the same moment, he felt
Jamie's fingertip pressing into his hole, and he yelped out in surprised
pleasure... This was too much. Andy blew his load. He tried to keep his
moans stifled, thrusting the back of a hand against his mouth and biting
down on his own flesh, staring down at Alex's beautiful caramel freckles,
spewing his cum into the guy's mouth. Moments later, Alex was pulling back,
tongue lolling, and white liquid dribbled off it and his lips... holy shit,
to think this wasn't even the first time he'd had Andy's load in his
mouth. But THIS time, it was only his. Not mingled with Hendo's or
Lallana's or big Alisson's, just HIS...

The finger on his hole was pulled away. Instead, he felt Jamie's hand
calmly stroke the back of his hot, flushed neck, and then press down ever
so softly on one of his shoulders. Before he knew it, Andy was sinking
forwards, relaxing his legs, sliding onto his knees right beside Alex,
staring into his pal's wide eyes, watching a glob of his own seed drip from
his full bottom lip.

`Now you get a real treat, lads,' came Jamie's voice. Redknapp was tossing
his cock off at face height, right between their heads. Andy met Alex's
gaze, swallowed dryly, and submitted to the moment. Fair was fair, he
guessed. He was high on his own orgasm as turned about a bit, so he and Ox
were side by side, on their knees, staring up at the ruffled fabric of
Jamie's shirt, and the man's reddening handsome face, his disturbed slick
of hair, his speckled greying stubble... and much closer to their faces,
his shaking member, pulled on rapidly, and now cumming powerfully. Andy
shut his eyes to stop getting too messy, but felt spunk hit his nose and
cheek and lips, and... with a curious that he realised had been building
ever since he watched Alex eat the biscuit, he lapped his tongue across his
chapped lips, and tasted Jamie's salty load.

When he opened his eyes, Alex was leaning past him and licking at the
sticky tip of that long thin cock. Andy gasped his shock, though how
shocking anything could be after he'd just cum in his friend's mouth with a
man's finger in his hole... Well, this had escalated quickly.

But he was loyal and fair. There was one guy here not getting much
attention. He squatted there on his knees, feeling Jamie's cum cooling on
his own gingery stubble, his own cock still lying bare between his legs,
staining his trackies with spunk. Then he hunkered down further, sprawling
to the floor, and braving what he'd seen Alex do. He pulled up on Ox's
sweater a bit, baring the bottom rung of thos ridiculous abs, and then
started pushing down on the red nylon to get into his mate's
trackies... Above, he heard Jamie groaning and laughing, and Alex just
slurping greedily.

Andy's mouth found the rock hard thick shaft of Ox's cock. His throat felt
dry and he was gripped with nervous energy. He rubbed his dry lips against
it, feeling it twitch, and hearing Alex's surprised groan overhead. Then he
pushed his tongue out and ran it uncertainly down the veiny length, and
then back up. Then he parted his lips and squeezed his eyes shut again, and
tried it, taking what he could into his inexperienced gob.

`Go for it, Scotty, you twat...'

`Oh, Andy, buddy...'

Robertson ignored both voices, reaching to grip on Alex's big thighs, and
sliding his knees against the laminate floor, burying his face into the
fresh manly smell of that dark crotch, taking inch after inch of Ox's thick
prick into his mouth... letting his tongue massage the underside of that
girthy shaft. He tightened his lips on the cock and pulled back, then
bobbed forward, then back, then...

`Oh Andy, I'm going to cum...'

`Yeah, eat his spunk, you fuckin' scally lad...'

And then Andy felt it. Hot and wet on his tongue and the roof his
mouth. Was it just psychological, or did his mate's spunk taste much much
sweeter than Jamie's droplets of semen? Did all guys have their own
flavour? Andy savoured it and very slowly dragged his lips up and off the
throbbing nob, catching his breath and tasting his teammate against his
palate.

`Yes, you fucking bitches,' grunted Jamie. He was still playing with his
shrinking prick, huffing and puffing in recovery from his climax, propped
against the end of the table. He let out a really surreal laugh, and patted
them both on the head as they began clambering up from their knees. `You
fucking Liverpool bitches,' breathed the older man. `I knew I could have
you both. Fuckin' hell. That was easy.'

With a smug grin, he was pushing his cock into his underwear and
re-buttoning his shirt, as Andy and Alex both backed off, wiping their
mouths and staring from each other to him. Andy felt for a second like
fleeing the room, but what would he look like, dick and buttocks out, face
greasy with cum, running through the corridors of Anfield? He reached for a
chair to steady himself, and watched Ox hurriedly pulling his trackies up
and wiping his damp chin.

`Well, that's all I needed here,' Jamie was saying in a weirdly casual
manner. `Good to know what really goes on in Liverpool these
days... Nothing has changed after all. Good lads.' The Sky Sports presenter
was tugging on his blazer, adjusting his collar, tidying his hair, and then
backing away from them towards the door. Hurriedly, Andy tugged his pants
up over his cock and arse, still panting a bit. Jamie flashed them both a
slick, Sky TV smile, and departed, letting the door slam behind him. Andy
and Alex stared immediately at each other.

Oxlade-Chamberlain looked borderline traumatised. His eyes were wide as if
he'd been on drugs, and he was waving his hands about as if he didn't know
where to put them. He looked like he might cry. Andy had seen that panic in
him before, the moment he lost the biscuit game, and in the minutes after
he had finished chewing up their product. Poor guy. But he had been a slut
for them, in this intense bout. Andy had enough questions and doubts about
his own behaviour, but he lunged forward and took Alex in his arms.

`Hey, mate,' he hissed at him, `it's okay... It's okay, buddy.' He planted
his lips against Alex's forehead in a simple kiss, then looked him in the
eyes. `We're good, aren't we?'

`What the hell did we do?' Alex asked him intensely.

`We... got a bit wild,' Andy grunted. `But... Fuck it. We can do what we
want. That smug prick thinks he got one over us, but...' Andy forced out a
ragged laugh. `You give great head, mate.'

`Er... do I...?'

`The best, buddy...' Andy fought back his own panic, and squeezed his arm
about Alex's big muscular shoulders in a tight hug. `Thank you.'

`I... I... can't believe we both...'

`We're good,' Andy repeated. He squeezed again, and let go. `It was
fun. Let's get the fuck out of here before that twat wants
another... interview.' He patted both of Alex's biceps, shook himself, and
thought of his girlfriend. This was just a ridiculous episode, no threat to
her or their relationship, nothing serious... Just another game. That's
all. `Come on,' he told Alex in the calmest voice he could muster. `I'll
give you a lift home, pal.'

Alex nodded weakly. `Thanks, Andy...' He rubbed at his face with his strong
hands, and licked his lips a bit. `Andy, mate,' he murmured.

`What?' Andy asked sharply, feeling like this conversation really needed to
end now.

`Just...' Alex looked briefly conflicted. `You tasted so much better than
he did, you know.'

Andy let out a weird giggle, shook himself, and nodded. `I thought the same
about you, buddy. Much better.' Their eyes met, intensely, and they hovered
intimately. Andy looked at those plump pouting lips that had felt so good
on his dick. There were inches of space between their flushed faces. The
force pulling his face forward into Ox's felt like gravity. He didn't
bother resisting it. He let his lips graze Alex's, gently, at first, and
then in a short, wet kiss, then pulling away. They stared each other out,
breathed slowly, and parted.

Game over.


**LET ME KNOW IF YOU'RE STILL ENJOYING THE STORIES - SORRY THERE ARE LESS
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