Date: Tue, 22 Mar 2022 22:48:57 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads Part 282 Part 282: Barca Boys El Classico - there were few moments in European football that could compare with this Spanish showdown, and tonight the result had sided strongly with the Bernabeu's visitors. The game was ending 4-0 to Barcelona, with the Real Madrid players stood quite dejected in scattered formation after the final whistle, whilst the opposition men crashed into tight group hugs and celebratory huddles in front of the away stand of the legendary stadium. The significance of the win was not lost anyone present on this warm Sunday night in March, but to young Pablo Martin Paez Gavira, it was truly mind-blowing - the Sevilla teen could never have expected to play (albeit briefly) in El Classico at only seventeen years of age, surrounded by iconic older players on both sides, and to be on the winning side of the big clash. The big grin that split Gavi's boyish good looks was irrepressible and infectious and the sprightly young man was tossed from one joyous hug as he ran alongside the celebrations in front of their travelling fans. The youth punched the air victoriously far too excited to bemoan that he'd only participated in the redundant final quarter of the game, by which point their victory over the hosts had been pretty secure; just being here was incredible for the 17-year-old. Even if he'd not got his arse off the bench, he'd be thrilled to be here as a member of the Barcelona first team under this spotlight, and so the short spell of helping to consolidate the win had been enough for him - Gavi was grounded enough to know that his youthful success was just the beginning of a long career. As a towering example of that principle, he was suddenly grabbed around the shoulders by one of the oldest and most established heroes of this resurgent Barca team - in the tactile manner of a hot-blooded Spaniard, the Barcelona local man was planting a brief kiss on his crown and squeezing his shoulders in one thick arm whilst bellowing `VAMOS!' in his ear. Gerard Pique shook him briefly, shaking a fist up at the fans, his height and strength making Gavi rattle a little on his footy boots and almost go skidding over as he lost his balance; and then the 35-year-old giant of their defensive line was shaking him loose and striding closer to the edge of the pitch to showboat more of the adoring crowd and their chants. To be putting in a full 90 minutes in important wins like this at his age, the teen thought wildly, a combination of the sport's inevitable ageism and his own boyish naivety. Pique was a legend, he reminded himself, always having to pinch himself a little at being able to call the 6ft4 monster of a centre-back his teammate and... well, if it wasn't too much to say so, his amigo. Though their footballing positions were very different and he could never quite be a local hero in the same sense as Barca-born Gerard, Gavi saw the Spanish icon as a great career goal in terms of club loyalty, longevity, and success on the national squad. Starry-eyed, the young central midfielder ogled admiringly at the confident stride of his hero parading for the fans, regaining his own balance and running clammy palms across his rosy cheeks in delight. High on it all, grinning ear to ear, Gavi made sure to seek out and clap happily at the goal-scoring kings of the Sunday night action - respectfully saluting the Arsenal primadonna who had joined them in January, Aubameyang, then cheerily applauding Araujo, before joining others who had crowded a wildly celebrating Ferran Torres. To Gavi's delight, the big 22-year-old grabbed him with muscular arms in a manly hug so passionate that the teen was briefly lifted off the grass, laughing foolishly, then stumbling again as he was released by the roaring striker. And then, as was so often the case, he was reunited with his fellow youngster of the squad, his shoulders briefly grabbed and shaken by the gloved hands of another slim 5ft8 central midfielder, his friend shouting `Fucking winners!' at him over the celebratory din around them, then nodding in the direction of the tunnel, where Barca squad members were finally beginning to meander indoors and not milk the El Classico celebrations TOO much. Gavi found himself snorting and giggling with uncertainty, clapping his palms together again and still unable to wipe the smile away. `Can't we stay out here and celebrate forever?' he demanded of the other teenage prodigy, staring from Pedri to the crowded stand, and then at the slow retreat of their teammates towards the changing rooms. The other young Spaniard laughed deeply and nudged him. `You'd think you scored all four goals,' the Tegueste boy chided him playfully, resting a hand on his shoulder again. `Fuck off,' Gavi told him simply, but through the cheesy grin, and he threw an arm about Pedri's back to hug his best mate here. `This just feels so amazing.' And Pedri nodded enthusiastically, only a little older and less green than himself in this exciting world of top-flight football - but dark-featured Pedri was a year or two ahead of Gavi on the path of stardom and seniority, already quite renowned at only 19 after his club and international exploits. `Totally amazing,' the other central midfielder agreed, and the pair leaned on each other a little as they broke into a swaying, victory-drunk walk towards the side of the pitch and the way indoors, joining the dispersed gaggle of older and bigger men. Pedro Gonzalez Lopez was glad when neither he or his fresh-faced young buddy were spared interview duty in the little media frenzy that followed the El Classico win - Pedri was a naturally shy youth, and he was also physically shattered by the intense performance of 86 minutes he'd delivered out there. Instead, he could amble into the Bernabeu's Away changing suites and peel the sweat-damp socks away from his calves and ankles, enjoying the chants and banter of the other players around them whilst he and Gavi rested their rumps on one of the long slatted benches that ran parallel about the room. Pedri was less effusive about it, but he was no less star-struck or elated than young Gavi - he was still disgesting his own status as a regular first-team starter for this iconic club, and this Real Madrid win tonight was one of many moments that regular felt absurd and unlikely to the hardworking teenager. Next to him, the 17-year-old was still starry-eyed and chattering, a bit over-keen to be involved in every chant or hug to bond over the win - 19-year-old Pedri could hardly criticise his friend's excitement or need to feel like he belonged, but his natural reservedness made him far more sanguine and composed when it came to win or loss. And he really was tired out, and sore. As the coaches and fitness team were telling him, he put too much pressure on himself physically, and he needed to control his steely work ethic if he was going to have longevity in his career. But Pedri continued to astound them with how committed he was, particularly in trying to strengthen his wiry young body and put on more muscle mass as he approached the end of his teens. Ambitious and physically disciplined as he was, the young Spaniard was starting to see the need for careful recovery routines more and more. Some of the other guys were already making for the ice-cold recovery pools in one of the adjoining rooms, but he had his mind on a slightly different tactic which one of the junior coaches had introduced him to, and he decided he needed to head for the opposite temperature. `Gavi,' he trilled, giving his friend a light punch in the arm as the both of them struggled out of their cling Barcelona shirts, `I am going to see if I can use the sauna briefly, okay?' He picked up a small towel to wipe some sweat from his face and chest. Gavi, interrupted in the process of trying to join in some loud banter between Memphis Depay and Sergio Busquets, turned his grinning face this way and gave him a pleasant smile. `Oh, good idea,' the younger midfielder chirped, `I'll join you.' `Yeah?' Pedri said, surprised that the tanned Sevillan wasn't more keen to follow the older guys to the ice pools and just be one of the gang. But Gavi nodded enthusiastically and Pedri just shrugged consent at the plan. He pushed his baggy football shorts away from his waist and down his dark-haired legs, then threw a crisp white towel quickly about his waist for modesty over the skimpy black sports briefs he wore. The sauna boots were in the opposite direction to the cold recovery pools, two fronts of frosted glass down a narrow passage away from the main changing rooms. Pedri paused on the way down this passage to check Gavi was actually following, grinning to see his friend shaking hands with Pique and several others on the way past, looking like a kid in a candy shop mixed with the world's happiest puppy. He was kinda touched that despite that, the other teen player would rather join him for a brief hot blast in the sauna than continuing to feel part of this legendary crew. He led them into the second of the two sauna pods, a boxy side-room with two small wooden benches on either side, a low throb of heat in the air and a muffled distance immediately separating them from the happy noise of their teammates. Towel still about his waist, Pedri sat himself on the bench to the right, bracing himself against the almost uncomfortable warmth that would help his body relax and sweat out all the toxins. In his hands he clutched a big water bottle and he began to sip it immediately - then raising his distinctive dark brows in surprise as Gavi ignored logical etiquette and joined him on the short bench, rather than taking a seat opposite him. Sometimes the kid had no idea, Pedri chuckled inwardly, unconcerned by the close proximity of their sweat-sheened shoulders. Sat side by the side, the two young athletes talked quietly and more relaxedly than the hype and bravado of being with the others, more on Pedri's natural level. They talked not just about the game, but about the particularly fancy hotel they were housed in on the other side of Madrid, and about the club's next couple of fixtures that lay ahead. They even talked about which players on the Real Madrid team they were most in awe of, then sniggered at the prospect of being part of a squad who had bested them after all. Pedri got up briefly, holding the towel tightly to his waist, and upped the heat setting slightly, as well as remembering to hit the timer button so that they didn't remain in here much longer. Sitting back down, he saw that Gavi, far less shy than himself, had yanked his rolled-up towel about his neck and shoulders and gripped it in each hand against his chest, happy to sit there stripped down to the same black sports briefs as his own - confident fucker! Pedri shook off that thought quite disinterestedly and stared calmly at the front of the sauna box - three walls were coated in slats of the same pale wood they sat on, but the side that met the passage and held the door in was a solid plate of sepia-coloured glass, frosted and obscure from outside, but much more transparent once you were in here in this amber glow and choking hotness. He was staring at nothing in particular for the next few minutes, just lifting his arm to wipe sweat off his brows with his wrist, and fixating pointlessly on the beads of condensation that were visible on that smoky glass... when he became quite aware of a body on the other side, and thought for a second that they would be joined in here. The sauna compartment could reasonably hold five or six men, he guessed, but only at a tight squeeze! He readied himself to finish early and exit if the boxy space became crowded, but the figure outside had just stopped in front of the door, and it took him a moment to fully realise that the guy there was pretty oblivious to their presence - he thought about how dark and unclear the glass had appeared from outside of this space, as opposed to the translucent view he now had of not one but two male figures standing in front of it. The view was fairly clear, but even if it had been a vaguer silhouette, he would have recognised the arresting height and figure of Gerard Pique there, shirtless with a towel about his waist - there was something kingly about the ageing centre-back, and Pedri looked with faint admiration at the Barca icon on the other side of the sepia barrier before noting who was with him: Frenkie de Jong, their 24-year-old Dutch colleague. `Huh, they can't even see us,' Gavi said next to him in a low voice, as if he'd been in a daze and only just realised that two other players were there. Pedri didn't really answer, but he did find himself oddly wondering for a moment if the sound of the other boy's voice would disturb and alert the pair, who were really just a few foot in front of them, to their presence - but the mechanisms of this heated box made a low grinding noise of their own that had swallowed Gavi's quiet comment, and it seemed not. What happened next seemed to flash by in a few surreal instants, and yet also play out in unsettling slow-motion, all at once: Pedri was only partly conscious at how much he was staring at the two towel-clad men on the other side of the browned glass, because after all his eyes had to settle somewhere in the bare scandi space, and because he was idly bemused by the other men's proximity without seeming at all aware of it. And so when his eyes clocked the flashing white movement of Pique's towel and the sinking posture of De Jong's body, it was... too late? Pedri blinked, his loose arms stiffening at his bare sides, and his ankles drawing nervously together where they hung in front of him. His eyes didn't shift from staring directly in front of him through the smoked glass, because where else was there to look? There he was, all 6ft4 of the big bearded defender, a towering form close to the glass, and there was his, ahem... well, of his manliness exposed, erm - and Frenkie on his knees, for some reason, in front of him, staring up at him, and... `What... the... fuck...?' Next to him, Gavi spoke in the same low murmur, and Pedri was a little surprised by the awkward but urgent response that came from his own mouth: `Shush,' he hissed without daring to look sideways at the other teen. He made to open his mouth to speak again but no words came out - what was happening in front of them now was too shocking and embarrassing to put to words, and whilst moments ago he had been amused at the idea that they could not be seen or heard where they sat and sweated, now it seemed fraught with private terror. On the other side of the glass wall, Frenkie had leaned in closer to the towering Catalan hero, putting his face between his mighty legs, and... well, the light and colour of this glass wall was not quite transparent enough to fully end that sentence, and Pedri's imagination was unwilling to finish the job for it. `Pedri...' began Gavi very quietly, sounding a little uncomfortable. `Shush,' he told him with difficulty. God, what if they heard or saw them NOW? The two of them, gawky teenagers staring fixedly through the glass at this sordid moment, eyes wide with shock - how embarrassing and awful it would be for all of them! He gulped, conscious of his own dehydration and the loud sound in his throat, then nudged elbows with Gavi and dared to glance at the other young player. `Just look at the ground,' he advised in a hoarse whisper, `and we'll forget this as soon as it's over.' Quietly and self-consciously, Pedri leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, pushing his sweaty face into both palms. He felt more than heard the gentle movement of the other player, and knew that Gavi had loyally followed his instructions. The teen pair sat hunched on the same wooden bench, staring down at their feet and blocking most of their view with their palms. Then a dull thud broke this momentary rescue from immediate awkwardness; Pedri looked up and slightly parted his fingers, and saw the huge splayed hand pressed into the smoky brown of the glass, one of Pique's palms as the big man leaned in against the sauna door. The view was less clear than it had been only a minute ago, he realised, as the mounting heat of the sauna made it more foggy and condensed... thank god! Still, Pedri averted his eyes and stared down at his feet, taking sudden interest at where his dark leg hair thinned out, and at every contour and sinew of his footballer's feet. The only problem with this was having to repeatedly shift his position, his hands, and flick his eyes up a little to see if he could still see the fuddled silhouettes of the two men on the other side of the glass, which repeatedly remained the case. It felt as though, if he really concentrated and strained his ears, he would be able to hear the voices just a few feet in front of him over the rattle and groan of the sauna heating; and so he tried very hard not to, concentrating instead on other noises: his own racing heartbeat, the drip-drip of hot moisture somewhere, and the low purring breaths of the youth at his side. And then a moment came when Pedri flicked his eyes up and found there was one rather than two figures on the other side of that divide, which was now so fogged up with heat that Pique's massive form really was vague and ambiguous, rather than the translucent nudity that they had briefly stared at together. De Jong was gone from view and it was just the Spanish defender there for a moment longer, side-on and silhouetted, and... Pedri tried his very best not to notice the dark outline of the man's appendage on this obscure outline of his figure, but it bounced a bit as the man moved and disappeared from view, and then the sight of it seemed to be etched impossibly on the inside of his eyelids. A slow minute of silence proceeded between them. `Fuck,' was all Gavi gasped to break it. `This is too hot,' Pedri announced back immediately, his voice weak. `We've stayed in too long.' On cue, the timer beeped alarmingly at them, and his nervous disposition shook at the thought of that noises going off moments earlier whilst something was going on outside of the sauna! He got shakily to his feet and punched a button to dismiss the noise, then glanced warily at Gavi, who looked quite shaken, towel still draped about his shoulders and legs spread openly as he sat there in just his undies. `We saw nothing,' the 19-year-old muttered at him, gripping the knot of his towel tightly in one hand, and using the other to thrust open the sauna door and let them out into the immediate cool of the passage. He held the door open for Gavi and stared gratefully down the empty corridor towards the main changing rooms, glad that neither of the two older guys were anywhere in sight; he couldn't bring himself to look back at his friend and make eye contact, too mortified by what they'd half-witnessed, and too desperate to get cleaned up and cooled off. He needed a shower. A cold shower. Gavi didn't think too much about what they'd observed as he took his shower, nor as he got dressed in soft loose-fitting sweatpants and gear for the coach ride back to the hotel. At dinner and during a short series of speeches from the coaches, he daren't look at where neither Pique nor De Jong sat on the other of the two long dining tables, just in case he did start thinking about it. And brushing his teeth in the en suite bathroom before bed, the 17-year-old football star was still very pointedly NOT thinking about any of it. The bright-eyed youth stared at himself in the mirror for a moment as he gargled, then he spat in the sink and tried to eject with it the lingering heat and shame of sitting in that sauna next to his pal and not knowing quite where to put his eyes. He washed his face, dried his hands on the front of his white t-shirt, and returned to the main room he and Pedri were sharing here before the trip home in the morning. Pedri was already in bed, a hardback sci-fi book propped up on his bare chest and in both hands, his face screwed up in concentration as he read. The only sound was the shallow rise and fall of the 19-year-old's calm breathing as he did his strictly timed 20 minutes private reading before lights-out. As he often did, Gavi took a moment to wish he was as self-disciplined as his friend, knowing he would climb into bed and just idly scroll through his school friends' social media until his eyelids told him to sleep. He slid down his sweatpants and padded about the room in just t-shirt and boxer briefs, marginally less skimpy than the black ones he wore under his football kit. He lifted the light spring duvet and slid under it, feeling the cool soft fabric on his bare smooth young legs, and resting his head back on fluffy pillows. He switched off the lamp nearest his own bed, just Pedri's remaining to glow over the spacious suite. As it happened, Gavi didn't reach for his phone but just lay there, staring idly at an unimportant spot of ceiling, NOT thinking. Shortly, he heard the little papery thud of a book closing and being put down, and a sleepy little sigh from Lopez; a slight rustle of fabric and creak of mattress as the other footballer reached over to switch off his matching lamp. In the moment's silence before this decisive little gesture happened, Gavi found himself tensing against his bedding, looking over that way, and then finally saying what he had been so definitely not thinking all night. `Can you believe Pique would let a guy do that?' he blurted in the same secretive voice with which he had tried to engage with his friend back in the sauna. Eyes wide, Gavi stared across the short gulf between their beds, catching Pedri's dark eyes in the lamplight. After a thoughtful pause, Pedri murmured, `I dunno, but can you believe that Frenkie would WANT to do that to him?' There was a similar tone of marvel and disbelief to Pedri's voice, he noted, but also a kind of cynical detachment, as if they were talking about some Netflix show they'd watched recently, rather than a shock scene of two teammates right before their blinking eyes. Gavi nodded slowly, realising that Pedri's question was better than his own, but not really knowing what to say. He watched Pedri toy with the short string cord of the lamp, glad that he hadn't switched it off yet and drowned them in thoughtful darkness and silence. Gavi sighed with a frustration he couldn't name, and lay on his side, staring uncertainly over at his friend. `It was weird,' he said dumbly. Pedri made a little snort of nervous laughter that sounded like agreement, and finally seemed to look over properly at him. `Don't let it bother you,' the older teen told him quietly and sincerely. `We have to forget it.' Gavi nodded with pursed lips. `Just shocked me, that's all.' `Mmm. But... none of our business, okay?' `Right. Sure. Good point.' `I'm gonna turn this lamp off, buddy. Okay?' Gavi didn't immediately answer, staring at the pale green carpet between their beds, letting his eyes rover over its lamplit texture. `Do you think you'd ever let a guy do that?' he blurted with the same pent-up awkwardness as before, not actually lifting his eyes to look properly at his pal. He answered his own question before the silence could become awkward: `I doubt I could, y'know. Too weird for me. Really weird.' Pedri sounded awkward and confused as he answered, and Gavi leaned up a bit to stare at him, eager for the quiet confidence and slightly more experienced perspective of his best mate. `I don't think it's a problem for us,' Pedri said distantly, `it's just a... well, it's just something for them, isn't it, and it's not our fault we saw what we saw, or - erm, what we kinda saw, or whatever...' He trailed off, and the calm dismissal in his voice sounded laboured. `Look, let's not talk about it any more, yup?' Gavi nodded, but silently, and when the lamp clicked off and darkness filled the room, he stayed lying on his side staring across at the other bed. `Pedri?' he asked in a small voice. There was a slight sigh of reluctance to the other youth's voice. `You okay, Gavi?' `I was just thinking,' he murmured, `it does kinda make sense.' `...What does?' The older teen sounded both weary and wary. `Well,' Gavi thought aloud, `we do have to spend a lot of time around just guys. Like... away from wives. Girlfriends. And that. I mean-' Nervous chuckle, `-we're not all married to SHAKIRA or anything...' Dry and patient, Pedri murmured, `I didn't know you were married to anyone at all, pal.' Gavi sniggered in the dark. `You know what I mean. Erm.' A pause before Pedri's answer. `Dunno if I do. I mean. Yeah. Kinda. Erm. I'm tired...' `I was just trying to figure it out, that's all,' Gavi said quietly and uncomfortably. After a delicate pause and a couple of thumps of his heart in his smooth muscular chest, `I guess I'm quite new to this, but I could maybe see why I would need to do something like that at some point, just to... you know. Let off steam. I dunno.' He fell quiet and regretted saying too much, letting his thoughts spill out into the dark hotel room. And yet, in for a cent, in for a Euro: `It's not like we don't all get horny as fuck on these Away trips, right?' A muffled snigger failed to undermine the remark that he'd let out into the warm night. `I guess.' Pedri's mumble was barely audible. Gavi always talked too much once he was anxious, and right now his nerves were shredded. `I mean, I wake up as hard as a rock every morning,' he announced to the nocturnal world in a lilting snigger of a whisper. `And sometimes even just being in the backseat of a bloody car - y'know, like the vibrations of the engine or whatever? Hehe - that sounds so stupid. Sorry.' He chuckled awkwardly and then scratched at the fine gentle stubble on his sharp jawline. `Just thinking aloud.' His eyes were adjusting a bit more to the darkness now, and when he looked across, he could see that Pedri was lying on his side too, and facing in this general direction. One of his arms was reached out and resting on the bedside table by the cord of the lamp, either having fell there after switching it off, or hesitating on its way to re-lighting it - or perhaps to reach for that hardback book and throw it here to shut him up? `Just thinking about how a guy like Pique might, y'know, end up doing that,' Gavi mumbled quietly on, half to himself. `With a wife like her back home, and everything. That's all. Erm.' `But,' came Pedri's almost yawning voice across the dark gap, `you said you didn't think you could ever do that.' Another sighing pause, and then, `Too weird, you said.' Gavi made a little scoffing noise, and sat upright in his bed, arms resting in his lap. `Well yeah,' he protested in a low nervous voice, `are you saying you could?!' He scratched at his neck and shoulder and shuffled awkwardly against the bedding, his eyes becoming more and more used to the dark view of the room. He stared over in Pedri's direction now, because an answer to that last semi-rhetorical question was not coming his way. `I'd rather let someone do what Frenkie did,' Pedri muttered at last, and a shift in the shadows suggested he was sitting up now too, `than the other way round, if you know what I mean. That's all I know. But I really don't wanna think about it. Like I said, Gavi, it's THEIR business, not ours, so...' `You're right,' Gavi mumbled to himself, writhing at the close fit of his white t-shirt and wondering if he would need to take it off to get comfortably to sleep. `I mean... I feel sick thinking about it,' he grumbled. `I mean, maybe just lending someone a hand, not a mouth, maybe that would be okay, but-' He stumbled to a halt, hearing the earnest honesty of what he'd just said, and kinda hoping that Lopez was already drifting off to sleep and not paying much attention to his gabbling. He sat there quietly and clung to this idea, then started a little bit when Pedri's voice drifted sleepily over. `Good to know,' the up-and-coming starlet murmured with a smirk in his tone. Gavi grinned and stifled a giggle but also felt his face blush hotly in the darkness, and he felt he had to laugh some more to ridicule and dismiss the clumsy point of his own words. He tugged and scratched more at the tshirt and then wriggled out of it irritably, feeling that the hotel room was too hot and stuffy and he'd never be able to get to sleep in here after all - maybe he could switch on the air-conditioning set, but the noise of it would probably keep them both awake all night! Lightly, the 5ft8 midfielder slid out of his bed and rested his feet on that green carpet, deciding to creep across the room and investigate the AC control panel that he'd noticed by the hotel room door. As soon as the teen was up on his feet, though, he felt silly and impatient, and he could feel the cooler night air play against his bare thick legs and his toned young torso. He paused and stood there in the gap between their beds, reaching down and scratching at the smooth skin just above the waistband of his boxer briefs. `What are you doing?' demanded Pedri's voice, sleepy but curious from where he had turned to lie on his back. Gavi's vision was still a little dim, but it seemed as if his friend was staring right at him where he lay. He stared awkwardly back. `Nothing,' he sighed uncomfortably. He was wishing he'd never blurted his stupid thoughts out into the stale air of their room; Pedri was probably scowling at him right now and worrying about what his daft half-brained comments there had even meant! `Was just thinking about air con,' Gavi added after an uncomfortable pause. `Oh. Good. Thought for a second you were...' `What?' `Hah. Erm. Coming to give me a hand, or something! Was that the phrase you used?' Scoffing teenage laughter. `Jesus!' `Well, you said it!' `Yeah, but-' `I was just kidding, buddy...' `Are you even horny?' he demanded irrationally, and he knew that was the wrong response as soon as he'd sleepily barked it out. He groaned and rubbed fists at his tired eyes. `Well,' Pedri said slowly. `Erm... I'm not NOT horny. Haha.' Gavi couldn't help but laugh at this, feeling some relief to hear his friend so amused and relaxed, rather than aloof or weird about it, as he'd seemed when rushing them out of the sauna and refusing to acknowledge what they'd just witnessed. Or almost witnessed. Gavi had perhaps witnessed more than Pedri had, he thought, knowing how weirdly difficult it had been to avert his eyes once hypnotised by the repulsive shock of what Pique was up to. He remained standing uncomfortably between their beds, kneading his hands aimlessly together and then letting out another weird tired laugh. `Not horny enough to need a hand from me, surely,' he joked in a reedy voice. The pause before Pedri's reply was about one second too long. `Nah, never that horny,' chuckled the 19-year-old. `Never,' Gavi giggled stupidly. `But... I guess quite horny. Erm.' He heard more cottony rustling and saw that Pedri was pulling away the clean white bed-covers. Even in this darkness with his adjusting eyes, he could see what his friend was pointing out: with the duvet pulled aside, Pedri's lean body was on show, and the pale grey of his boxer shorts was a little distorted by the outline of his... excitement. Gavi couldn't help but snigger and shake his head, wondering if his eyes were lying to him about how obvious that shape actually was. Pedri was laughing too, a dry tinkling sound that made him feel less silly. His throat dry and his whole body itching with discomfort as he raised his voice, he asked the question before he could have possibly thought it through - `Are you sure you don't need a hand there, Lopez?' Pedri shifted his body a little as the other young man rested against the bed, but only very slightly. He rested his weight in his elbows and angled his sturdy lean legs to make a bit of space, and stared dimly through the darkness at Gavi's wide-eyed and anxious face. He hadn't actually answered that last question, but his silence had felt like one. And now here they were, him lying back with an erection in his tight grey underpants, and Gavi sat sideways on the bed beside him like a reluctant hospital visitor, hands jammed between his thighs and bottom lip bitten tensely. Pedri lay still and outwardly calm, and again his silence felt like communication. Gavi was staring at him, their glassy eyes meeting in the darkness. Neither young Spaniard said a word, though their individual breathing felt unnecessarily loud. Pedri glanced to the side, at the thing string that hung from the lampshade. If he pulled on that, he thought, he could break some kind of spell - he could banish the idle silly curiosities of the night, the daft teenaged questions and speculation. A bit of light, he told himself, would fix everything, and reveal their foolish grins and embarrassed realities. All you have to do, Pedri thought, is reach over there and give it a pull - turn the lamp on, and finish this awkward scene. And he might have reached for it, if not for the sudden soft warm touch of fingertips on one of his thighs, a few inches above the knee. He jerked his head back, whilst keeping his body perfectly still, and let his eyes meet Gavi's again. The younger midfielder had a pretty blank expression to his face, and was lowering his eyes now, avoiding Pedri's intense dark stare. Both of them stared instead at the hand and where it lay. Pedri sensed that some further communication was required of him, but perhaps not in words. All he gave was another slight shifting of his body, pulling his hips back a little and ever so slightly spreading his hairy legs, allowing the right one (upon which Gavi's hand rested) to move outward a little in a way that almost guided Gavi's soft warm fingertips down its side... and now Gavira did a little more of the work, cruising his fingers down that firm muscle and stopping just shy of the grey fabric. Pedri, realising he'd held a breath too long, let out a shaky sigh. Gulping, he relaxed his arms and slid back from his elbows, back to the pillow. Closed his eyes. As if triggered by this gesture, felt Gavi's hand creep further, until those fingertips were prodding at the bulging shapes in Pedri's underpants. He held another breath for too long, and only released the sigh once he could feel Gavi's whole hand cupping against the shape of his hard-on. When he opened his eyes, he saw just how shocked the other youth looked, staring wide-eyed down at the way he was touching it. But then their eyes met in this gloom, and Pedri very gently nodded his head: silent permission. Then he rested back, but kept his eyes open and fixed on the action... watching as Gavi very gently stroked and sized up the hidden beast in that tight grey cotton. Pedri let out his breath in long low murmurs, and slowly brought his arms up until he could cradle his hands behind his head, elbows jutting out, and he parted his legs a touch more. For several more nocturnal moments, Gavi's hand shifted uncomfortably against the outline, and then Pedri felt the late-night teenage hormones that had brought him here intensify. He unclasped one firm hand from behind his nape, and slid it down his own defined tummy until it hung close to Gavi's - then he pushed his own fingers beneath the waistband of the underpants and dragged them away... until his cock, so much more sure than the rest of him, was springing free and lounging against Gavi's waiting fingers. Pedri stared at his own member, somehow obnoxiously large in this context, and then up at Gavi's ambiguous facial expression. One by one, fingers closed about the veiny shaft of what Pedri knew to be his sizeable young meat, and he stroked the other boy's hand a little to encourage him into slow action; again, he nodded his head in approval, keeping his dark eyes fixed on Gavi's face. `Go on,' he whispered heavily. `Help me out, buddy.' Gavi found he had to close his eyes and shut out the half-formed image of it all, although not seeing the thing in his hand made it feel even more monstrously big. Excitingly big. He squeezed it a little and moved his hand in slow jerking motions, feeling how hat and hard it was against his palm and his fingers. After a few of these pulling motions, he found that a drawn-out sigh from Pedri made his skin tingle and his every muscle tighten. He tried to grip a bit more firmly and, somehow, to repeat the exact delicate motion that had provoked that sultry noise from his teammate and friend - after a little awkward fumbling and repetition, he must have stumbled across the right pressure or angle, because... yep, again, that long rasping sigh. It made him let out a thin groaning breath of his own for some reason. `That's it,' Pedri encouraged him in a voice loaded with sleep. `Okay,' his own voice trembled back. He moved his hand a bit more quickly, but still tentative. It felt so thick and bullying in his hand, so obscene and dangerous. He felt hot and cold at the same time, excited and appalled, shocked and also... well, that somehow this close contact between them was kinda inevitable. He was increasingly aware that his own prick was hard in his underpants, but it remained ignored, his touch and his attention entirely on the thick thing sprouting out of Pedri's grey underpants. He was shocked by a deeper, louder moan from his friend, and it made him work a bit a quicker, a bit harder. He risked opening his eyes and was glad that Pedri now had his closed, lying back fully against the pillow, mouth open in a little `o', and arms spread out to either side, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. On Gavi worked, jerking up and down on the meaty length, the rest of his body seeming weak and shaky, all of his energy and strength fixated on the action of his right hand down there. His own cock ached against the tightness of his underwear, but he daren't touch it. He tried to ignore it, his free hand just supporting his weight where he sat and leaned forward, angling himself to take more firm control of his pal's prick. He stared at it, and saw how glossy the fat shapely head of it was, how shiny with liquid that he began to feel slide against one of his fingers. For a second, faced with this shiny dampness, he wondered if Pedri had already cum - he was moaning repeatedly and rather heavily now, eyes screwed shut - and if he should stop what he was doing because maybe it was painful or wrong. But then he found out how wrong he was, because for a moment Pedri's gasps got more distinct and purposeful, making him glance over at his face, and then the witness hit him in the chin and chest, and yet more of it dribbled and specked against his hand and arm. Shaking, Gavi stared down the tanned front of his own body, where the faint traces of light in the room caught the droplets that now coursed little trails down his developing pecs and abs, and against the soft fine hair of his forearm. He left his fist tightly curled about the throbbing rod of the other Barcelona youth. `Oh yes,' whispered Pedri's voice hoarsely. `Thank you...' He sounded as if he was already on his way into sleep. Gavi felt simultaneously jolted awake and like if he closed his eyes again it would be instant unconsciousness. He drew his hand away from the throbbing prick very slowly, letting his fingers play briefly against hairy inner thigh, and then wiping some of the jizz on them against the bedsheets before unfolding his legs and clambering up to his feet. In the front of his boxer briefs, his own piece was rock-hard, but he fought to ignore its insistence presence, to shaken to want to touch himself. Instead, he backed away from Pedri's bed and turned to face his own. `Thank you,' came Pedri's voice again from behind him, this time a yawn from the other side of a dreamy valley. For some reason it unnerved him, and made him hurry a little more into his own bed, where he felt a few damp patches on his arm and chest rub coolly against the duvet that he dragged protectively over him. He shut his eyes and let his breathing slow down, and in his last few waking breaths before sleep claimed him, he thought about the salty man-smell that filled the cocoon of his bedcovers: the smell of not his own teenage jizz, but of the wet release of his friend, the orgasm HE'D jerked into life. As his mind spiralled into fretful sleep, Gavi thought about what he'd seen for an awfully clear moment in the sauna, when Pedri thought they were both averting their eyes: Pique's big hands reaching down and taking the head of the blond Dutchman as he pushed that massive snake inside his mouth. Gavi trembled to think about the way it had made his briefs bulge and strain in the moment, the way it had heightened the prickling of hot sweat across his body, and the way it had made him finally copy Pedri and drop his eyes desperately to the floor, eager not to see what was going on beyond the glass. '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