Date: Wed, 16 Nov 2022 21:50:19 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads, Part 323

Part 323: J & K


The lights of the Doha hotel were a relief through the partly steamed
windows of the coach; though it was only day 2 of the international
break, and the men crammed onto the vehicle were still outwardly buzzing
with the renewed camaraderie and crackling expectant energy of the World
Cup ahead, they were nonetheless tired out. An excitable first day at St
George's Park and sleepless night had turned to yet more press work and
then the journey here into the Middle East. The coach's air-con seemed
to be out of action, and their journey from the airport had been
accompanied by the same muggy night warmth that had hit every man on his
way out of the sliding doors of the terminal. Now the two coaches of
England players and staff were an adult version of over tired toddlers,
bristling with noise and energy but well past their sensible bedtime.

Kyle Walker embodied this frazzled spirit, both stifling a wide yawn and
pumping a fist into the air as he ambled off the coach amid the others,
grinning eagerly and eyeing up the hotel complex ahead of them, basecamp
for now.

Around him, a couple of others were being especially loud and
over-enthusiastic, Grealish and Foden both earning scolding looks from
the gaffer for their schoolboy giggles, and a sensible Rice trying to
subdue the hoots of chatty laughter between Mount and Gallagher; Walker
read the boss's mood and realised that Southgate was paranoid about them
making a bad first impression on their Doha hosts, boorish Englishmen
abroad. With a sleepy smile and lugging his case along, Kyle reached
across and thumped Jack Grealish on the arm: `Oi, chill out and get into
sleepy mode, nob-head.' He turned and winked at the blinking face of his
own travel buddy, fondly amused by the sleepy stagger and jerkiness of
John Stones as he disembarked the coach.

Inside, the greeting was a bit much, bouquets and boxed gifts and too
many attractive smiling women. Cups of sweet tea were being served but
Kyle swerved this, if the general mood was to wind down for the night,
and muscled his way to the front of the huddle at the counter where one
of Southgate's assistants was dishing out envelopes of room keys and
murmuring instructions about their early start for breakfast and yoga.

Walker leant one muscular arm of his England hoody against the marble
counter and waited his turn, rubbing his other hand against increasingly
itchy eyes and wishing for the inevitable luxury of the beds here. Next
to him, Arsenal's Ben White and Bukayo Saka seemed to be bickering over
a lucky number on an assigned room key, and James Maddison was grilling
the assistant manager about wifi details already; with another yawn, Kyle
nudged and elbowed at the younger lads and nodded impatiently at the
coach. `Me and Stonesy, aye?' the 32-year-old Sheffield bloke asked
with a tone of strained politeness.

A look of mild sympathy passed between the squad's senior defender and
the travel-weary assistant manager, all of them a bit irritable after
being squashed into so many subsequent modes of transport - an envelope
with `J & K' on the front was passed into Kyle's waiting hand and he
pushed away from the others, patting White and Maddison patronisingly on
the heads as if he was an older relative, before sliding through the mass
of tracksuits to link up with his usual Man City and England roomie.

Southgate was in the middle of trying to impart some motivational words
and practical details to the dispersing mob of footy lads, whilst also
fending off more attention and pomp from a guy who was presumably the
hotel manager, desperate to welcome them to Doha; Walker nudged at Stones
and then guided him by the elbow, moving swiftly towards the open door of
a lift. Before the gaffer could even dismiss his crew and demand a
curfew, the two City defenders were already in the elevator with their
cases and travel-bags and shooting a few floor upwards through the
low-rise conversion that formed their attractive hotel base.

Kyle, grinning wearily, slung one bag about his shoulder and dragged the
main case heavily with one hand, freeing up his other to reach down and
give a good slap and feel to the meaty rump of his man, mindless of the
public corridor before they reached their actual suite; John made a jokey
little yelp as one of his strong glutes was given a firm grab through the
warm cotton of his sweatpants, but then turned a warning glance this way.
`Need to be a bit more careful around these parts, don't ya think?'
the 28-year-old centre-back muttered, though his cautious voice held the
crackle of excitement at Kyle's hand still rubbing at his arse.

Walker just shrugged. `I don't see why,' he said, although he did, and
he gave his boyfriend's bottom another pat before muscling competitively
ahead and turning the corridor walk into a clumsy race, cases bashing
into each other and laughing voices following them down the ornately
decorated passage as other pairs of players exited the lift or emerged
from a stairwell. But J & K quickly left that noise behind, because
they'd reached the door to their suite and Kyle had let them in, holding
the door open with the toes of a trainer so that John could scuttle in
past them and coo appreciatively at the spacious and cool interior of
their shared room.

`Nice,' Stonesy declared ineloquently from the middle of the room,
whilst Walker took hold of both of their heavy cases and hoisted them
onto the tops of some drawers along one wall, then tossed his smaller bag
onto the foot of one bed and immediately began peeling off his hoody and
t-shirt to feel the cool air-con against the clammy muscles of his torso
and arms. He nodded assertively. `Nice,' he agreed simply, and then
made a beeline for John himself, disinterested in interior design or the
swish gadgets of the Arab hotel.

He hooked his arms about John's waist and cuddled in against the taller
lad, feeling his dull body heat and hard muscle, and sighing contentedly
into the material of his new England t-shirt, which already smelt
deliciously of his sweat and aftershave. Stones leaned comfortably back
into this to allow him the cuddle, relaxing against his bulky strength,
and saying nothing but just sighing too, relieved to be here - both in
the immediate sense of a journey ended, and in the wider sense of World
Cup selection. Both of them had experienced their lows and scares since
the last one, and were grateful to be part of Southgate's vision for
Qatar.

`Right then, let me settle in,' chuckled the younger City player with
jovial annoyance, pulling away from him and beginning to kick off his
trainers. Kyle chuckled too, but experiencing one of those regular
moments of realisation at just how sentimental and lovesick he really
was, accepting that he was viewing this tournament as an exotic holiday
with his beau as much as a late milestone in his professional career.

Shirtless, the 32-year-old moved lightly about their room, paying limited
attention to its features, and the bright view of the city's bigger
skyscrapers glittering above the Gulf; he set about vanishing this view,
rolling down shutters that would screen their room from the balcony
outside, one which looked communal. He turned around and smiled lovingly
at the sight of John flopping down into a chair and attacking the
wall-mounted TV via its remote, face full of boyish joy as he skimmed
through channels of meaningless Arabic until he was on some international
dump channel of ancient British sitcoms.

`Nah,' Walker chuckled, `none of that shit. I'm yer entertainment
tonight, Barnsley.'

He approached the chair between the beds, pushing one hand down the front
of his own sweatpants and grabbing his cock in his boxer briefs,
swaggering close to the seated posture of the bigger guy; John shot him a
sheepish grin and rolled his eyes, but spread his legs open and began
rolling his t-shirt up his six-pack and chest, exposing his strong pale
muscles as Kyle drew even closer. `Yes, boss,' the other defender
sniggered, and Kyle leaned in low whilst grabbing and pushing up at his
face, until they were sharing a long wet kiss that he'd been thinking
about all through the slow warm coach journey.


John Stones had longed for that kiss all the way through their flight
from Heathrow to Doha, seated in one of the luxury booths with his Kyle,
and flinching frustratedly whenever the other player reached over to give
his shoulder a playful squeeze, or tickled at the short curly hairs on
his neck, or winked at him and started pulling at the waist of his pants
beneath the airline blanket - frustrated only because of the fact he
wanted to play properly, but had to behave himself on the plane journey
that was taking them to the World Cup, and a sphere of infamous
homophobia that was already making the 6ft2 Barnsley lad sweat nervously.

Luckily, a little bit of cheeky fun earlier in Day 2 had enabled Stones
to show some reserve and shrug away Walker's jokes on the flight, and
settle into a classic film instead, one he managed to sleep through the
second half of.

He'd meant to be a lot more cautious and well-behaved on this England
camp, had thought long and hard about the need to be sensible and
focused, and yet had found himself getting naughty as soon as the first
opportunity leaned his way. But he was a strapping Yorkshire lad,
bursting with testosterone, and he was as excited as anyone else here to
be representing their country for the next month and a half.

It had been more of a morning kickabout than an official training
session, a chance for the Three Lions men to start bonding over a ball
and a goal rather than just fist-bumps, selfies, and being made to pose
with Royalty. Still, it had got him sweaty enough to want a shower before
the next round of photo-shoot press attention, and he'd been one of only
a few guys to lope into the shower blocks of the now-familiar training
complex, peeling out-of-date England garms away from his skin and
stripping down to just his stripy underpants and bunched Puma sports
socks.

The 6ft2 England stud found himself right next to another of Manchester
City's call-ups, and he turned and grinned goofily at the other
well-built lad, slapping at his bare back unselfconsciously and then
making a joking pantomime of glancing down and reacting in shock at the
bulge in his grey briefs. The other guy burst into slightly embarrassed
laughter at this and shoved him away with the roughness of familiar
horseplay before shaking his head and questioning, `What's wrong with
you, big Stonesy, eh?'

He and Kalvin Phillips had grown closer pals this past month or so,
especially if Walker injured and away from much of the training and
League games; Phillips was another Yorkshire son in the City ranks and
someone who Stones had quickly taken to, but only properly befriended in
the weeks running up to their mutual World Cup summons. By the time
Premiership training had closed for the break, John was cheekily
wrestling with the 26-year-old in the City gym and spanking him in his
shorts when he wasn't running fast enough in cardio drills - that and a
few meals out with their respective women, gradually welcoming the Leeds
traitor into the City circle and trying to overcome his slow start to
life at a bigger club.

But now here they were, pumped up with eagerness for the tournament, and
side by side in their undies with apparently nobody else about, and
John's platonic limits were breached. He couldn't help but grin
meaningfully at the 5ft10 lad and entertain a naughty thought, and
broad-built Kal seemed to catch his expression and frown quizzically back
at him, hesitating in the act of sliding down said briefs and reaching
for a towel. `What?' Phillips demanded, after a pause. Stones just
laughed and shrugged big bare shoulders. `Nowt, lad,' he tittered,
shoving his own striped pants down about his decorated thigh and then
hopping out of them, letting his long low cock and balls swing free from
his stubbly pubes as he did.

This time it was Kalvin's eyes that swerved in the wrong direction, but
it was hardly his fault: John really was very well-endowed, and he'd
moved with such bouncy vigour that his equipment was swinging from side
to side. He gave a low dirty laugh and prodded Kal in one of his sturdy
tan pecs. `Caught you lookin', pervert,' he chided, and the Leeds lad
immediately began blurting out protest and denial, probably quite
sincere, to which John could only laugh more and cup his privates in one
large hand. `I don't mind who looks at it, for fuck's sake,' he
concluded in a quietly friendly voice, `I've nothing to hide, have I?'

`But I wasn't,' Kalvin grunted, sounding unsure whether to be annoyed
or amused. With that, he let loose his own grey pants, and now John quite
openly stared down at the Phillips equipment, as if he hadn't clocked it
before in the communal showers of the City training ground many a time
this season.

John wasn't quite sure how it went from looking to touching, but it
somehow did, before either of them had even moved from lockers to
showers; one moment they were making playful jibes at each other about
the size of Yorkshire and its sons, and the next he was idly cupping a
hand below the fat hairy balls and gently curved sausage. It was bold and
silly and could certainly have backfired. But the 26-year-old was
glowering uncertainly at him and holding his breath, rather than punching
him in the throat and yelling for the gaffer. Stones grinned and left his
hand there, and stared expectantly at the other lad.

`Nice one there, pal,' he said, his big goofy smile turning to a more
serious and seductive look, one usually only seen by his fiance and his
boyfriend.

Kalvin let out a long hissing breath, pushing one hand against the
lockers to support his thick body, and staring down between their bare
bodies, and then over his shoulder, and then around John's side, clearly
checking how they were alone. John smiled. If witnesses were the Leeds
fella's most immediate concern, then he was open to this. He gave the
limp cock a gentle stroke and the slightest jiggle of those weighty
balls, then he rubbed his palm against the bottom rungs of his six-pack
instead. `Shower?' he muttered, managing to make the simple and obvious
suggestion sound far more loaded.

They weren't quite the only ones in here or the showers, a few other
voices echoing faintly, but the showers of this building were split into
a series of smaller alcoves, and once their two athletic bodies were wet
and soapy in the end one of these, John touched him again. The men stood
side by side and John played with both of their cocks at once, his touch
as light and slow as he could let it be, not normally a man for subtlety.
`Shit,' hissed Kalvin, `we shouldn't be doing this, pal.' John just
made a goofy laugh at this, disarming, and kept pulling on the thickening
piece of his new friend.

Stones didn't push it too far, and since Phillips was lost in taboo, he
took over the job of furtive glances over his shoulder to check nobody
was watching... though he got a lot less worried about this as his pace
sped up and he began to wank them both properly, soap suds lubing both
hands and the muscles in his arm and chest flexing repeatedly as he went
for it. One of Kalvin's strong arms was pushed into the plasticky
texture of the wall, leaning forward slightly, his eyes closed and water
gushing against the careful up-do of his locs. His chest heaved and his
thick cock throbbed in John's grip.

Stones shot his load without hardly realising it, enthralled by watching
the other lad's red-faced orgasm when it happened, brought about
entirely by his speedy hand jerking back and forth on his fat Leeds
prick. First Kalvin and then himself spurted thick Yorkshire cream into
the swirling water at their feet, all of it disappearing through drain
grates, wiping away the man-on-man sin of a little playtime.

After, Kalvin pressed both hands to the wall and just stood there,
dripping and breathless, and muttering `Shit mate' a few times. John
slapped and rubbed him on the back and told him to relax, sniggering
confidentially and demanding, `Didn't they ever have any fun at Elland
Road, for fuck's sake?' When Kal glanced his way, he winked and
squeezed at his shoulder. `Relax, just a little treat before the Cup,
matey, nothing to worry about, yeah?' He scrubbed his hands beneath the
shower and swayed beneath the spray, enjoying the lingering buzz in his
balls as his cock lounged against the inside of one thigh. Kalvin nodded
uncertainly, a worried look in his wide eyes, and then he snatched his
towel and went away to dry and dress, and John sighed contentedly to
himself.


For Kyle, it had been at the airport itself; he was a man with heavy and
urgent needs.

There was only a slight delay at the Heathrow end of the journey, but
enough to cause mild chaos in the usually well-oiled machine of the
England camp, and the lads were kicking about in a private departure
lounge, annoying each other with bursts of singsong or by bragging
competitively about their recent form in the Prem.

He genuinely went to the toilet for a piss, but he lingered there out of
slight boredom, just wanting to be in the midst of the tournament now,
rather than the prep and waiting that would greet them in the Middle
Eastern heat. He was fussing vaguely at his reflection in a mirror when
the younger player joined him, shuffling in with his eyes glued to his
phone-screen as usual, and hardly noticing Walker until they were right
next to each other and the younger footballer was heading for the
urinals. He glanced up and his surprise was evident on his owlish face,
but Kyle just smirked across at the youth.

`Alright there, Dirty Sanchez,' he murmured warmly.

The 22-year-old Londoner flashed him a tight grin and nodded. `Hey
bro,' Jadon Sancho told him before slipping past and continuing to the
urinals, where he took up the leftmost bowl and pushed down on his
already sagging sweats, which showed most of the arse of his brightly
coloured CKs. Kyle paused thoughtfully before giving in to temptation,
returning to the middle urinal as if he still needed to piss, but just
flopping his cock out limply and looking over the thin barrier at
Jadon's noisy yellow stream.

Kyle said nothing whilst the rival Manchester player emptied his bladder,
though he could feel the tension of Jadon's awareness as they stood side
by side, dicks out in their hands, and significant memories floating up
for both of them. With a lazy hand, the 32-year-old began to play with
his own chubby cock, which was very rapidly rising to the moment, and he
looked up and down from Jadon's stubby brown prick to his nervous
goateed face, then let out a low dirty laugh. `Don't be shy, take a
look,' Kyle muttered, and the young Londoner immediately did so, leaning
slightly this way and taking a long stare at it before jerking away and
letting out a huffy breath. `It won't bite,' the City right-back
chuckled.

`Fuck,' muttered Jadon. `Stop being a bell-end.'

`I'm just playin',' Kyle sighed. `Unless you really want it.'

`Mate,' huffed the Man Utd youngster and former Bundesliga prodigy.

`How's that tight little hole of yours?' Walker asked boldly,
semi-consciously licking his lips.

`Mate,' Jadon said again, not looking this way, but not leaving the
urinal even though he'd clearly finished his business. Kyle looked his
way and brought one hand up to stroke his strong stubbled chin, then
licked provocatively at a single finger, and nodded towards the row of
roomy cubicles on the other side of the airport bathroom. Jadon hesitated
but as soon as he started moving, cock still out and resting over the
elastic of his waistband, the younger lad followed him in.

In the cubicle, Kyle had him up against the cistern, clutching at the top
of it with his t-shirt rolled halfway up his back, and his bright red CKs
down at his ankles with his Three Lions sweatpants; Kyle had one finger
inserted into his twitching ring, frigging him in rapid little pokes,
sniggering as he did it and enjoying Jadon's frantic breaths and moaned
`We should stop' and `Shit, that feels...' Kyle was pleasantly
surprised when he put a second finger and the younger player coped with
it, spreading his legs a little and bending more. Still, when he began
muttering `You want daddy's cock?' and `You ready for more, you
little United slut?', he was quite shocked when his Manchester rival
nodded fervently and began to beg for it. `Please,' Sancho whispered to
him. `Please fuck me... sir.'

The submissive tone and respectful term made Kyle's cock leak pre-cum
and he wasted no time. He'd really only meant to tease the London
rudeboy, hardly expecting to get as far as fingering his arsehole in the
public bathroom; now he was spitting heavily on the veiny shaft of his
own tool and rubbing the head between Jadon's pert smooth cheeks.
Someone else must have de-flowered the nervy fucker, he concluded,
remembering just how anxious and conflicted the otherwise cocky forward
had been when Kyle toyed with him a couple of times before, experimenting
with a finger and a tongue on his ringpiece.

Now he fucked him hard but quiet in the toilet cubicle, finding it hard
to push his thick dick into the tight young arse, and holding a hand over
Jadon's mouth when he squealed out in pleasure. He struggled to hold in
his own yowls of delight, feeling those tight muscles around him. It
didn't last long, it couldn't really, but it was intense and brilliant.
A quick quiet fuck over the toilet, wondering if Jadon maybe was still a
virgin after all; the Camberwell kid came in mere minutes, his load
splattering into the bowl of the toilet, and Kyle felt unfair trying to
fuck him after that. He withdrew his cock and wanked it over that arse
instead, slapping it against both cheeks and eventually spunking over
them and the base of the lad's spine, icing his rump with a fine salty
drizzle. Kyle's gasps of breath became hypocritically loud at that point
and any fella entering the bathroom would have heard it.

In a moment of top tenderness, Walker yanked a handful of toilet roll and
used it to clean the cum off the young bloke's arse and back, sniggering
as he did and then giving one cheek a good smack before pushing his
privates away and unlocking the cubicle. `Beautiful hole,' was all he
slurred smugly at his brief playmate before they parted, washing their
hands in silence and leaving the bathroom a careful minute apart.


And now the two of them sniggered and chortled over their separate
adventures: there were no real secrets between J & K, not at this stage,
and neither of the City defenders had felt any need for discretion or
deception over their horny antics in the first stage of their World Cup
journey. Kyle spent minutes now giving John a good description of just
how tight and quivering the younger player's bottom had felt in front of
him, whilst John speculated lazily at whether their new teammate at City
would be open to anything more devious than a helping hand under the
showers, as they groped at each other in bed and built up to some more
serious action of their own.

Beside them, the TV played on, having been shifted to a music channel,
but the low-volume dance beats were ignored by the men in the bed, as
sweatpants and sweaty underpants were kicked aside, and socks tossed
against the wall. Spotless white sheets folded and rumpled beneath the
grinding of two strong bodies, Kyle and John locking lips and grasping
greedily at the thick limbs and torsos of each other's body, a playful
contest for some dominance. Cocks got harder and harder, rubbed together
as they flipped positions, climbing atop the other only to be pushed back
and pinned down.

John was happy to lazily take his time, in no rush to climax, just
enjoying the taste and smell of his burly man against him, and even
pretty whimsical and unbothered about whether they took it any further
than this frotting. Well, mainly unbothered: when one of his hands found
Kyle's big round arse and gave it a good rub and pinch, he knew that he
really wanted to bury himself in that furry crack between them.

Kissing and biting at Kyle's neck and shoulder, he pushed the other man
face-down into the bed and slid atop him, making his intentions clear,
and for once Walker didn't resist or make a fuss, as he often did when
sober, but instead just relaxed beneath him and sighed `Fuck yes,
mate', whilst John massaged at his shoulders for a bit and began to
knead those strong fingers down either side of his spine. Stones took a
big buttock in each hand and rubbed them in circles, spreading them and
spitting into the hairy furrow between, enjoying Walker's deep sigh,
then lying down atop of him, still taking it slow - holding and cuddling
him from above and letting his hard-on just rub aimlessly up and down the
crack for a while, working up to anything more serious.

`Fuckkkk,' Kyle began to moan impatiently, `just put it in me,
man...!'

John sniggered at this and teased him deliberately in spite of his own
lust, pressing him down by the upper arms and lifting his own hips so
that his hard cock draped between those cheeks and hung against his
crack, the head rolling over the hole but never anything more. Their
strong bodies both shook against the bed with laughter and they twisted
their faces to an angle where they could kiss, and then mid-snog, John
did push his long stiff member down and find the knotty entrance to Kyle,
still always grateful to push inside this brash muscular alpha, who
usually preferred to be the giver. Nobody else would ever be able to fuck
this hole, John thought eagerly, and he relished that ideas as he thrust
downwards, fucking Kyle into the bed with wet slaps and letting their
rugged manly breathing mingle rhythmically.

Stones got quicker and then slowed again, partly to prolong the pleasure,
and partly because he really was just tired, they both were; he slid to
one side and it became a real lazy humping, hugging sideways at Kyle's
thickly muscled body and pressing his cock into him in long slow strokes,
loving the feel of those huge cheeks as he did. `Love you,' he panted
in his ear. `Love you, you big bastard.'

`Ugh, don't ruin it,' joked Kyle stupidly to him, `just talk dirty
and make me your bitch, haha!'

`Fucking cunt,' rallied John, fucking him a bit harder, and nipping at
his ear. `I love you, you daft bitch, I fucking LOVE YOU, okay... mmm...'
As if to prove his point, he thrust a bit harder and found himself
getting really close, and before he knew it he was emptying his balls
inside that amazing arse, clamping his arms about Kyle's body and
pressing him into the bedding as he did it, sweat pooling about his neck
and between his pecs. `I love you,' he insisted in a breathy moan, and
Kyle muttered vulnerably back, `I love you too, you big dope, mmm...'

Their bodies parted and Kyle fell on his back. John fought the urge to
collapse against him and use his tattooed pecs as a pillow. Instead, he
kissed down his abs and took his cock in his mouth to suck him off,
loving the taste of it and giving it a slow wet service for the few
minutes it took for Walker to jizz on his lips and chin, and then just
settling down where he lay, with his head dozing at the other man's
waistline, and one of Kyle's sweaty hands stroking and tickling at his
hair and his neck, sighing contentedly and repeating his quiet
declaration of love. `You're amazing,' the older defender sighed
happily, and John smiled to himself, cum drying on his lips and jawline,
cuddling down against the other body, and grinning even more when he felt
his boyfriend begin to pull the covers over him protectively, and wriggle
about until they were properly side by side, settling down for the night
- and settling down for the tournament as a whole.




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