Date: Thu, 12 Dec 2019 19:22:03 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 3: Memphis

Luke Shaw lay awake for a good hour or more. His heart and head were going
mad inside him as he lay there on his side in an awkward crouched position,
letting Harry Maguire's spunk dry on his shaky fingers. The big guy had his
back to Luke and it seemed to take a matter of minutes for him to sink into
contented sleep. Boy, was he a snorer. Luke found the Tv remote amongst the
bunched up sheets, switched off the groaning porn, and settled down to try
and get kip himself – but he was too wired.

He didn't sort out his own throbbing erection, he was too scared. Scared
of...? Well, the sleeping giant next to him. His own excitement. What else
he found himself wanting to do here in the warmed up darkness of the shared
bed. Fucking hell.



He must have slept eventually, because he woke up with a start to the sound
of a phone call between man and wife. In just his black briefs, the
muscular frame of Maguire was padding about the bedroom chatting away to
his fiancιe, giving her a blow-by-blow account of the match, and filling
her in on their flight details. Luke grimaced, wondered what time it was,
and looked at the sliver of dawn light beneath the curtains. Time to get up
and get ready.

He passed Harry, and there was an exchanged nod and half-smile, nothing
more – the phone call was blocking any vague possibility that last
night's mad night might be discussed. In the shower, Luke fell into a daze,
reliving it, the size and feel of his mate's big tool, the weird sensation
of doing that to a cock other than his own... fucking hell, man. He
finished showering, swapped with Harry, and got himself ready. At one
point, he looked at Harry's pants on the floor, remembered his silly move
in the changing rooms, and briefly considered a good sniff of these manly,
cum-stained pants... first, he laughed at himself, and then he felt queasy
with doubt and shame. What was he doing?



The journey back to England was quiet. Most of the guys fell straight back
to sleep once on the plane. And between the roommates, there was almost no
chat – they ended up sat together on the minibus, but Harry just closed
his eyes and dozed, or pretended to. Fair enough. Harry did not look angry
or worried, just distant. At some point on the flight, Luke thought in
terror what it would be like if Harry started mouthing off to the others
about what happened, ridiculing his behaviour, but... god, he wouldn't do
that, would he? Big Harry Maguire, manly Yorkshireman, no way would he be
telling people that he... well, what had happened.

This strain of paranoia was gone by the time they were landing at
Manchester Airport, and in fact, Luke and Harry shared an amicable but
muted hug goodbye along with everyone else as the squad parted ways. They
had training in the afternoon but a bit of time to themselves before then,
and Luke was desperate to get back to his flat.

He had let go of his brief terror at Harry `outing' his handjob antics, but
that didn't leave him feeling much calmer. He was totally bewildered by his
own desires and behaviour, really. His `fascination' with Maguire had been
growing for weeks, really, but had he been curious about guys more
generally? It was hard to say. He was a good-looking and fashion-conscious
lad himself, so of course he had always admired and compared and `checked
out' other guys, but... this was... new. He felt dizzy with the novelty and
confusion and a real urge to confide in somebody, but no way was that
happening!

It was as he sat in the flat playing Xbox and trying to dispel these tired
thoughts that his phone buzzed with a message that took him by surprise,
and reminded him of his evening plans: `hey m8, still free 2nyt for quick
drinky? be good to c u!!!! memph' Luke stared wearily at his phone for a
moment, then grinned affectionately in realisation. His ex-teammate Memphis
Depay was passing through Manchester tonight, something to do with a
fashion shoot rather than footballing duties, and they had pencilled in a
catch-up ages back. Fuck! Well, this should be a great distraction. Luke
punched in his reply with enthusiasm: `of course, m8, abt 8pm k? x'



The two mid-twenties football aces met at a tiny Northern Quarter bar where
they'd enjoyed a few cheeky drink nights back in the day.

When Depay had signed for United back in 2015, Luke the year before, they
had become firm friends for a season or so – the handsome mixed race
Dutchman was just a year older than Luke, and they had found loads of
common ground. Enough for them to be labelled a `bromance' in the team
banter of the time, anyway. And then, just as his friendship with Memphis
had really helped Luke to start settling into his northern life and
professional career, the cheeky chap had been signed away to French side
Olympique Lyonnais. Since then, they'd kept in touch, but rarely got to
actually meet.

`As if you're in fucking Manchester – this is so cool.'

`Yes, yes, really fucking cool. As soon as my agent told me about it, I
messaged you, hah.'

`So just some shoot?'

`Yes, literally I will be here about 12 hours in total,' Memphis laughed,
leaning against the bar in the small hipster joint. He was in a thick
fur-lined denim jacket over a tight-fitting designer tshirt and some
embroidered jeans, looking his usual continental fashionista self as he
relaxed his way through a second pint.

Luke did his best to keep the conversation light and fresh, but he was
exhausted – so little sleep last night, a lot of travelling, an intense
afternoon's training, and a total headache from over-thinking his
interactions with Harry. He had sent messages to Maguire late in the
morning, and after training – not too direct or anything, but attempts
to normalise the situation and check things were ok between them. Harry had
been unresponsive, and that was just making him stress out more.

`You are listening?' Memphis interrupted his thoughts in his clipped Dutch
accent, sensing Luke's distance.

Luke did a bad job of pretending to know what his good friend was talking
about, and tried to stop drifting off. It was always great to see Memphis,
and the beer was tasting good. He just needed to relax.

For a while, the friends chatted on about the Dutch link, Depay excited
that his friend had been near his hometown just the night before. That kept
them going for a bit, a bit of joking about the culture and footballing
reputation, and then more general catch up about the lads' lives, but it
was becoming clearer and clearer that Luke was lost in his thoughts.

`What is it then, Lukey?' Memphis asked bluntly, as they ordered in a third
round. `Some pretty girl got you all messed up like this, huh?'

Luke flushed a bit at the irony of the question, but avoided the other
guy's eyes, and returned to his pint. He tugged at the collar of his thick
jumper and twisted about on the barstool. `Nah, nah, nothing like that...'

`You always were a terrible liar, Mr Shaw! Who is she?'

`No, seriously, there's no girl. Well, there's plenty of girls, but that's
not it.'

`So there IS something wrong, though,' Memphis declared, detective
extraordinarie. `Spill the beans.'

Luke paused. He looked over the pints at the big wide smile of his Dutch
pal, whose honest handsome face always invited confidence. Luke had always
felt so easy in his company since those 2015-16 days playing together every
week before his big injury and absence from the pitch. For a moment, he was
tempted: if he was going to spill his tormented thoughts out to anyone, it
would be Memphis, and yet...

`Nah, nah, forget it,' he muttered quickly, sitting back a bit,
nervous. `It's nothing. Mate, tell me more about your French high life, and
this thing tomorrow. You're such a catwalk bigshot these days, ha. I need
some style tips.'

`You sure do NOT,' Depay laughed, taking a long swig of beer, and slapping
Luke's thigh. `These skinny jeans still look good on you. And that is one
nice jumper.'

The conversation wandered on, and both lads knew a fourth beer was probably
out of the question, with early starts ahead. But their meet-ups were so
rare. Luke offered to walk Memphis back through the city centre to his
hotel, to prolong their `bromance' date, and even more so, to keep his mind
occupied by hearing about life on the Riviera. Memphis was such an exciting
playboy these days, his life sounded so much more interesting than hard
work up here in damp Manchester!

Memphis was staying in one of the big posh hotels right in the centre, and
the two footballers trailed to a halt in front of its foyer, beneath the
bright lights of the city, both shivering in the chilly night. Luke looked
up admiringly at the hotel, and thought again how luxury seemed to drip off
his old teammate. Here he was at one of the world's biggest clubs, and he'd
spent last night shivering his arse off in that second-rate Dutch hotel
until... well, things got warmer...

Suddenly, Memphis put a hand to the shoulder of his thick padded
jacket. `Luke, come up for one more drink. I am worried about you, eh?'
Luke hesitated, but that smile was irresistibly comforting, and he was in
no rush to get back to his solo panic in his flat. He nodded his agreement,
and in they went. The hotel was more standard on the inside, but still, it
was more plush than the places Luke had seen recently – not that United
weren't made of money, but convenience usually won out in the places they
ended up staying while playing away.

In the lift up to the 9th floor, he checked his phone: a response from
Harry, but two words only. Dull, disinterested. Cold? Fuck. The paranoia
was coming back.

`It IS a girl.' Memphis was smirking at him across the lift. Luke was about
to make up some bullshit to cover up this accusation but before he knew it
he was being wrestled roughly and Depay was grabbing hold of the iPhone.

`Hey!'

`Nope, let me... oh, what? Harry fucking Maguire? Tch. I thought it was
gonna be some fucking supermodel. Boring. Here, have it back...'

They were at Memphis' floor now, and he led the way down the hallway to one
of the suites, keying his way in and immediately tossing his furred jacket
onto a rack as they entered the beautifully warm space, a world away from
that unlucky room in North Holland. Luke was jabbering some bollocks about
banter with Harry as he followed, slipping off his own jacket. Things felt
awkward again now. Luke wanted nothing more than to confide in Depay, and
yet, how could he?

Memphis was like a mind-reader. `You know you can trust me,' he said,
flexing his tattooed arms in that tight fitting tshirt, and strutting about
the room turning on lamps and removing two small beer bottles from the
mini-bar fridge against the far wall. He gestured Luke to a low two-seater
sofa near him, by the room's big windows overlooking the heart of
Manchester.

Luke took a beer and took a seat.

`Memph, mate, I really really appreciate that,' he said in a serious,
friendly voice. `But it's honestly nothing...'

`How can it be nothing?' The other guy flopped into the sofa next to him,
joke-punched him in the tummy and then shook his shoulder. `You've not been
yourself all night. Where is the smiley little prick I used to have
following me round back in my United days?'

`Following you around! Pfft. They told me to look out for you cos your
English was so crap,' Luke sparred, and they both burst out laughing. It
was a running joke between them how Luke was the typical ignorant
Englishman with no language skills, whilst Memphis was casually fluent in
about four. The tension eased, and Memphis beamed again with that trusting,
open smile. He was a handsome guy, Luke thought, he really was – not in
that big, rugged way like Harry Maguire had going for him, but in a more
sleek, polished way, and his muscles bulged like... Fucking hell! Luke
grimaced and rubbed his face: what was he doing, comparing his two mates
like that?

Sensing the distress, Memphis leaned in, and rubbed his leg again. `Hey,
hey... what is it?'

`Aw, my head is a mess, mate. You wouldn't understand.'

`Try me. And whatever you tell me, my lips will be sealed. I wouldn't tell
anybody.'

`I know, I know. But...'

`But nothing. Go for it. Spit it out ,as you say here.'

Luke took a deep breath. He turned away a bit, unable to meet him in the
eye, but needing to unload. He took a few sips of beer. `Memph, mate, have
you ever... Well.' How to put this? `You ever been like... curious, about
guys?'

For a moment, there was a language barrier, and Depay looked totally
puzzled. `Curious about who? What guy? What do you need to know about him?'
And then – `Ohhh. Curious, as in... Ah.'

Luke risked looking at him and meeting his eyes. And there was no judgement
there. Curled up on the little couch beside him, Memphis just looked
patient, interested, worried: not shocked, not overreacting, nothing that
he might have feared. Maybe this would be ok.

`I don't know if curious is the word! I'm not trying to say I'm... you
know... erm...'

Memphis shrugged those big melon-sized shoulders. `Just go on, friend.'

`Well. I mean, you've never... you've never thought about... stuff like
that, or...?'

Another big shrug. Memphis shifted himself on the couch and patted Luke's
shoulder supportively, but he looked casual, unsurprised, thoughtful. `I do
not think so. I mean, I have always been busy with the pussy,
so... haha. You've been... getting curious, though?'

`I guess. I guess. I mean – just sorta fascinated by other guys, and
–`

`Other guys?' Another joking jab to the side from his mate. `And not ME?
Pfft.'

Luke blushed and laughed – of all reactions, this had not been anywhere
on his expectations. That Memphis was being so patient was great, but to
even joke about it, well... Luke shook his head and pushed him away a bit,
sighing at the mock vanity. `You plonker. Can we focus on something other
than your good looks for a minute?'

`So you agree I'm good looking? Heh.' Something seemed to click for Depay,
who leaned back in with a questioning expression. `Oh my, is it Harry
Maguire? It is! That's the "girl" stressing you out, isn't it? Hey?'

Luke's blush went from pink to crimson and he got up sharply from the sofa,
feeling exposed and uncomfortable. But Memphis shot up to his feet too with
him, grabbing his shoulders before he could turn away in embarrassment.

`Er, yes,' Luke forced out uncomfortably, `sort of... I mean, it's just
like a... I dunno... a stray thought, or something, and...'

Memphis gripped his shoulders and spoke in a soothing way. `Relax, relax,
stop babbling. So you got a crush on a guy! No big deal. It's okay to be
curious.'

`It is?' Luke asked quietly. He could have screamed with relief. It was
like a crushing weight that had been building up for days had been thrust
aside by his mate's big strong arms, fucking hell. He grabbed Memphis in a
hug for a moment then felt unsure if this was a bad idea given the
confession, but those muscular arms squeezed him fondly for a good couple
of moments before the boys pulled apart, and Depay still had a pleasant,
patient smile on his face.

`Just curious then,' he asked a little more forcefully, `or has something
happened?'

Luke thought twice and then thrice about answering this, but he knew his
face was giving him away – Memphis had been right earlier, he was a shit
liar, always had been. And with Memphis, with that closeness they had, it
was even worse. He sat down on the foot of the big double bed that
dominated the room, shaky with all this truth, and his friend remained
standing over him, calm and un-judgemental.

`Yeah. Yeah, something... happened. I don't know what came over me. I erm,
I sort of... well. I wanked him off, just last night...'

`Last night! Fuck, no wonder you are so stressed, buddy.' Memphis was being
so amazing about this, just standing there, looking worried for him but not
by the topic. Luke looked up gratefully.

`We were sharing a room at the game out there, and stuff just... I mean, it
was me, I totally let it happen, I just had to – does that make sense?
Like it just came over me, and I was so curious to...'

`What did you do?'

`I tossed him off. Me, mate, Luke Shaw, just tossed off another guy in a
hotel room, like what the hell? I don't know how it got to that, I don't
know whether-`

`But did you enjoy it?' Memphis asked, folding his arms and looking down
thoughtfully. `I mean, is that not what matters, Luke? You are
stressed. But – did you enjoy it?' The boys' eyes met uncertainly, and
there was a quiet moment.

`I don't know.'

`You don't know?'

`Well – it just all happened so fast. I mean, he definitely enjoyed it!
But I've no idea what he thinks. I'm terrified, Memph. I'm so worried what
he thinks of me, or what he's going to say, and...'

`He will not say anything,' Memphis said firmly. `Why would he? He's almost
a married man, I think? He is panicking as much about this right now as you
are, Luke. I am sure. So relax, hey?'

Luke just looked up with a rush of affection and gratitude and – not for
the first time tonight – such appreciation for how fucking beautiful his
Dutch friend really was, something that had never really crossed his mind
when they were 21-year old fresh faced players here a few years
back. Memphis reached out and just stroked his hair a bit, and then patted
him on the bearded cheek.

`Relax,' he repeated kindly. `You just need to decide if you enjoyed it or
not, and if you want to do anything more.'

Luke frowned his uncertainty and confusion. `Anything more?' he asked
naively.

`Well. Yes. It was only a handjob, for fuck's sake. Would you want to –
I don't know – say, suck a cock?' The man's bluntness was as amusing as
it had been comforting, and Luke laughed with the relief of someone whose
secret is out in the room.

`God, I don't know! Fucking hell, that escalated,' he said, blinking back
his emotions at this whole conversation, and trying for a moment to imagine
it. `That would be so much more than just lending a hand, wouldn't it? How
the fuck does anyone know if they want to do... THAT...'

Memphis laughed too, and he ran his thick fingers again through Luke's hair
in a way that was unmistakeably sensual, before speaking. `You have a lot
to figure out, hey?' he said, and then sighed. `I think you will only know
what you like when you try it. No?'

Luke nodded, a little lost, suddenly very conscious of how close they were,
and what height he was at in relation to his stocky, muscular pal. He
gulped. Was his sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on him, or...?

Memphis grinned, winked, and looked down. `Well?' he said softly.

Luke was still unsure what to do. No way could Memphis be suggesting... But
here he was, right in front of him, stroking his hair, and... God, that
bulge in those designer jeans was really quite something, right there a
foot from his face, so close within reach! And then, a stronger hint of
what to do: in one smooth pull, Memphis whipped off his tshirt and chucked
it over Luke's head onto the bedspread. His body was incredibly defined,
the mocha skin adorned with swirling illustration of tattoo up each hefty
arm and on those wonderful pecs. The six pack led down at jagged angles to
the thick leather belt keeping those jeans in place.

`Mate,' Luke breathed in agonising lust.

`Relax,' Memphis said yet again, and he began undoing the metal buckle of
his belt. `It's the least a friend can do, hey, let you... try
things. Besides, I haven't cum in days, buddy... hah, I wonder if you will
fix that?'

And that was enough to get Luke going. His breathing going crazy, he leaned
forward a bit off the edge of the bed, and batted Depay's hands aside to
finish unbuckling the belt and attack the lumpy button fly, getting the
jeans open to expose the pale blue sheer underwear beneath, bulging into
his nervous fingers just like Harry had twenty four hours earlier.

`Easy, boy,' scolded Memphis with good humour, stepping forward to make it
easier, and giving Luke's scalp a tickle.

Luke laughed nervously at this but softened his hand gestures, getting the
jeans round Depay's hips and down onto the thick muscles of his thighs,
then pulling on the silky boxer briefs to get them down too, and then
taking his mate's cock in hand. It felt less weird, with such a close
friend, and after yesterday's experience, and yet it was still
exhilaratingly terrifying. He expected Memphis to laugh and call a prank on
this any second, but that did not happen. Instead, Depay just grinned and
groaned and stroked his hair.

Luke stroked the thick semi, and then curiously fondled Depay's truly heavy
bollocks. This was so much more relaxed and exploring than his furtive
tossing off of big Harry. And yet it was equally exciting. He pulled on the
circumcised dong and stroked the length and ran his thumb over the
head. Memphis made quiet little sounds of appreciation, and let him carry
on for some minutes.

`But Luke,' murmured Depay softly, `you're not trying anything new here,
hey?'

Luke looked up at him, gulped again, and for a split second wanted to back
down and flee the scene – but his pal was so right. This WAS what he
wanted. Of course it had flashed through his head last night while he
wanked furiously on that Yorkshire beast – how would it taste in his
mouth? He'd pushed the thought away then. He wasn't going to now.

Luke leaned in and, unsure how else to start, kissed it. He planted his
lips softly on the expanding shaft, and Memphis giggled in pleasure. Luke
brushed his lips down it and kissed again, on the mushroom-like head of the
Dutch cock. Above him, Memphis shrugged, and giggled again.

`Your dick is so beautiful,' Luke said in a whisper.

`Just like every bit of me!'

`You vain prick.'

`You cocksucker.' Memphis winked, and pushed his hips forward, rubbing his
stiffened dick again Luke's hairy chin and back over his lips. It was
thick, though it seemed less monstrously big than Maguire's – though
Luke had never actually seen it, all the action had been under the duvets
that time! Not now. No, the dick was here right in face, beautiful and
veined and ready to... Oh god. Time to go for it.

`Oh, mate,' gasped Memphis, as Luke tried it out, taking the rock-hard meat
into his curious mouth. He opened wide and got a good amount of it in,
rubbing his tongue against the shaft and head and thrilling at the noises
this provoked from the Dutchman. Encouragement worked wonders for the
eager, curious young Brit.

He pulled his lips off, drooling a bit on Memphis' boner. `H-how does it
f-feel?' he stammered, catching his breath, pushing his fingers against the
swollen balls to try and please the muscular little hunk more.

`Oh, you know, I have had worse!' quipped Depay, and he reached down to
take a few slow tugs on his dick, wiping the glossy tip to Luke's face and
grinning with a big cheery smile. `Come on bro...'

Luke returned to work, closing his eyes and breathing in the manly scent of
those trimmed afro pubes whilst sinking onto his first throbbing cock. He
grabbed at the bulging muscles of the man's thighs and tried to use his
tongue more, inexpert but eager. Memphis stroked and pulled at his hair and
beard, but gently, not rushing or pushing his curious pal too much, just
enjoying the intimacy and experiment.

`God, buddy,' Memphis groaned, pulling away a bit and taking his dick in
hand, `I think I am going to shoot, haha...'

Luke licked his lips, gasping for air, and pulled forward, grabbing the
tree trunk legs more. `Yes,' he moaned, `let me... taste it...' He grabbed
at the cock again with his aching lips.

Memphis seemed surprised but pleased, lifting his arms up to rest his hands
on his thick neck, and just letting out a long, low moan as Shaw took as
much dick as he could in his mouth, frustrated by his own uncertain
skills. Then Luke drooled off it again, and flicked his tongue nervously at
one bollock at a time while tugging on the dick with the same urgent pace
he had brought Harry off last night.

`Oh, yes, fucking hell,' Depay whined, and slipped into Dutch, making Luke
giggle and gasp in amused pleasure whilst rolling his tongue over those big
full balls and back up the dick, just as – `OH,' Depay climaxed, `OH
YES' – and Luke snorted in surprise at the sensation of thick salty
juice hitting his lips and face. For a moment, panicked and unfamiliar, he
began to drew back, but then he shot his tongue over the head of that thick
brown dick and tasted it properly – it was an exciting taste, and for a
dizzy moment, he thought how much more pleasant it felt to him than the
cunts he had licked out over the years.

Memphis grabbed his slick wet cock and pulled on it a few more times,
spurting the last wads of his cum onto Luke's beard and tongue and then
taking a step back, panting.

Luke licked his lips and hung tensely from the edge of the bed, catching
his breath once more and feeling the sweat prickling his skin all over. He
felt the cum cool on his skin, his mouth full of its strange taste, and
watched as boxers and jeans were pulled firmly up by the other guy. Was all
of this really happening? Whoa...

`Mate,' said Memphis calmly but firmly, `go wash yourself.'

Luke got up in a daze. The bathroom lighting was jarringly harsh on his
confused state. It was weird looking at his face in the mirror, seeing
droplets of cum in his ginger-blond beard hair. He washed his face in a
mixture of confused disgust and excited relief. After a few minutes, he
wandered back into the room. Memphis was doing up his belt, a sort of
bemused smile on his face.

`Well,' he said slowly, `that was... different.'

Luke was lost for words. He wanted to thank Depay, but it felt cringey and
weird. He wanted to say `fucking hell let's do that again'. He wanted to
pull his stiff dick out of his skinny jeans and sort himself out, but it
hardly seemed believable Memphis was about to return the favour! Fuck, two
big footballers he'd made cum in about twenty-four hours and no action for
the Shaw dick, hah.

The two close friends gave each other a long, measured look. And then
Memphis came and hugged him again, tight and lingering.

`You okay, pal?'

Luke nodded. `I... I am. That was... cool.'

`Well. Good. We know you enjoyed it. That, my friend, is what matters. Now
if you don't mind, I need to catch some sleep. I have to look beautiful in
the morning. Thank you for that, Luke. Thank you.'

Luke pulled away, smiled hesitantly, nodded. He said his goodbyes, fetched
his jacket from where he'd put it, zipped up again. Outside was going to
feel freezing next to both the cosy warmth of this posh hotel, and the heat
of Depay's strong arms. Part of him really didn't want to leave. He made to
go, and Memphis followed him to the door.

`That was a one-off experiment to help you,' he said, quite firmly, and
Luke nodded falsely assertive agreement, thinking how much he'd rather the
opposite. And then, with a hint of humour or contradiction, as he held the
door open to leave, Memphis swung one strong palm and landed a single slap
on Luke's bubble butt through his tight skinny jeans. `See ya later, my
English friend.'

The hotel room door closed firmly behind Luke Shaw, and his arse stung
briefly and satisfyingly from the slap.