Date: Tue, 29 Nov 2022 20:56:32 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads, Part 330

Part 330: Spare Parts


As the Monday training window drew to an early evening close, the
24-year-old felt the familiar dull certainty: the gaffer would almost
certainly be playing it `safe', and sticking with his default Number 1
for tomorrow night's Wales clash to decide their qualification for the
next round, and Ramsdale and Pope would languish on the bench with any
number of other unused substitutes in the large national squad.

The 24-year-old Arsenal player wasn't naive or stupid, and plenty of
friends and colleagues had stepped in to temper his hopes for the
tournament, but still... to be out here, in Qatar, able to taste the
footballing glory on the air, and to not step foot on a pitch... It was a
slightly grim prospect, and he imagined how it might feel to fly back to
the UK even as World Cup winners, if he and the NUFC goalie hadn't
stopped a single shot-on-target, or more exciting and terrifying,
knockout penalty. Aaron supposed that there were plenty of support
keepers out there who had done just that, ghosts in the background, but
it was not a role that his current run at Arsenal was encouraging him to
accept.

People liked to knock Jordan Pickford, but the Everton Mackem had been on
fire all through today, and though neither Ramsdale or Pope had let
themselves down, nor had they done anything to attract the gaffer's
attention their way, or to inch ahead of Pickers in the squad selection
for Tuesday night; their progression out of the group stages was almost a
sure thing already, he thought in a sulky moment, and so surely Gareth
Southgate could take a pint on one of them...! But a heavy loss against
the Welsh sheep-shaggers could halt the whole campaign, perhaps, and he
had to grudgingly accept that the England coach knew what he was doing.

Ahead of him, Nick Pope was ending his shift in goal for the final
shooting practice of the evening, and the youngest of the squad's three
goalies could take his place, clapping his gloves against his thighs and
hollering into the queue of infield players who would be trying to get
one past him. Slipping into action mode, Aaron could easily let go of his
quiet resentment, because he was naturally a team player, and he just
focused on hyping up and bantering with the gaggle of players who would
be shooting at him - and if the gaffer happened to notice his enthusiasm
and team spirit, well that wouldn't hurt, would it...?

The big blond Stoke lad threw himself about in the box, managing to fend
off strikes from Raheem Sterling and Callum Wilson, only to miss out on
the powerful shot from Harry Kane, and then another from Jack Grealish.
He was hardly going to make the Tuesday squad if he couldn't fend off
more than 50% of the shots from his own teammates, annoyingly, but best
to just laugh along and enjoy it - don't be a sulk, don't be a drain.

Defensive players were lining up to take their shots too, after the
forwards and midfielders, and he punched the air and whooped victoriously
as he caught the misjudged ball from Luke Shaw, and then another from his
lofty United ally, Harry Maguire; but Conor Coady and Eric Dier proceeded
to put balls past him, and he ended up arse-over-tit trying to stop a
powerful blast from the boot of Kyle Walker. Once this was over, Aaron
was jogging across to them with the last ball under his arm, wanting to
shake hands with the City beast and cover his own embarrassment by
praising the power of the goal.

As he joined them, jostling shoulder-to-shoulder with the defensive
blokes of the Three Lions, he became more conscious that one of their
number were missing, and the 6ft2 Englishman blushed slightly with guilty
annoyance, then tried to tune back in to what Walker and Stones were
chatting at him. `You really gonna stick around at shitty Arsenal?' one
of the two rugged Yorkshiremen was demanding playfully. `Happy to finish
2nd, are ya...? Just sign for City and join us real blokes, will ya...?'

Ramsdale was laughing off this typical transfer banter that rippled
regularly through the squad in this unusual mid-season tournament, but
the topic made him even more conscious of the gap in their crowd - a
certain member of the defensive line-up, another spare part of
Southgate's fringe squad, should be here to back him up in some quick
comebacks about Arsenal's stellar season and their long-awaited chance
to reclaim the title. As it was, Ramsdale just paused in his laughter,
unable to come up with a line for the lads, and he found himself casting
his eyes across the gathering to see where Saka had ended up, the only
other Gunner in their ranks who might join him in laughing off the top
four rivalries with any panache.

But it was as if all of the sweaty kitted lads about him, now making slow
progress towards the edge of the training ground and the low fiery
sunset, could read his mind, because someone suddenly asked: `Is Whitey
alright, then? Do you think he'll be back in training tomorrow, or...?'

It took the goalkeeper a moment or two to twig that the question was
actually directed at him, and not just rhetorical. He shrugged the broad
bulk of his shoulders and squinted across at Kieran Trippier, the stocky
little Manc fella giving him an inquisitive frown as they fell into step
together. `What you reckon, Rambo?' the Newcastle player pushed
thoughtfully. `Is he actually pretty ill, or...?'

Ramsdale hesitated for a few too many seconds, and John Stones was
shooting cheekily across from his other side: `It's typical of these
Gunners, y'know, right bunch of skivers, the lof `em... hehe... Ain't
that right, Saka?!' And with that the big muscular centre-back was
loping off, and Aaron turned back to find Kieran still staring
expectantly his way, sucking on his water bottle.

`I don't know,' the 24-year-old said hollowly. `He defo weren't
right this morning, er, so I guess I'll just have to see how he is when
we get back...'

`I'm sure he'll be okay,' mused Dier, swinging his bare muscular arms
at his sides a little way behind them. `Sometimes you just got to rest
and stay out of it for a day or so, we've all been there.' He smiled
through his blond scruff of beard, catching Ramsdale's eye. `You're
not worried about him, are you...?'

Aaron supposed his guilty expression must have looked more like friendly
concern, and he immediately gurned back at the other tall blond player,
then burst into throaty laughter and shook his head. `No chance,' he
asserted. `He's just a bit peaky. I tried to shake him out of it this
morning but he were having none of it, fellas. Stonesy's right - bit of
a skiver, heh.'

`I dunno,' Trippier was thinking aloud. `He seems a hard worker and he
was fucking determined he'd get a shot on the pitch tomorrow night -
weird for him to miss all of today, so he must be feeling like crap...'

Ramsdale felt suddenly desperate to be out of this speculative
conversation, distracting himself with unstrapping his thick goalie
gloves and dropping the football from under-arm so he could dribble it
along to the edge of the pitch and the waiting line-up of players and
coaching staff who were all eager to relax back at the hotel. Southgate
was shouting out a few plaudits for people who had shone in the day's
sessions, and confirming that he wouldn't confirm the Wales line-up
until breakfast tomorrow; the formalities gave a good cover to silence
the discussion of 25-year-old Ben White's striking absence. It had gone
largely unmentioned for the majority of Monday, but now suddenly seemed
to be on the mind of all these other teammates, to Ramsdale's mild
annoyance.

He shoved his gloves into the kitbag with his initials on before hoisting
it over one broad shoulder, watching thoughtfully as the guys began to
file indoors and through the few air-conditioned corridors to the car
park where coaches would ferry them back to the hotel to refresh and
prepare for dinner. He paused midway to the bus, his body clenching, less
than keen to be back at base and have to climb guiltily back up to their
room, to face Ben's ominous mood, and the consequences of his own prank
- fuck, he'd gone a bit far hadn't he? And if he'd thought everything
would revert to rosy in the heat of another Qatar morning, he'd been
very wrong. Fuck's sake.


Other players had gone elsewhere for their Sunday evening downtime, the
sanctioned meet-ups with visiting family from their docked cruiser; but
White and his Arsenal roommate had been pretty clear and honest about
their priorities, and come up with their own arrangements closer to
`home'.

Right now, Benjamin and his recent fiancee were reclining by the outdoor
pool, enjoying mocktails and saying very little; their bodies were
electric with expectation, his own richly-tanned torso and limbs sizzling
under the Doha sun, and his partner looking poronographically hot in her
stringy bikini, enough to get her arrested on the streets of this frigid
city.

Lounging back and trying to just enjoy the relaxation, the Poole-born
football player couldn't held but lift up his wrist and check the time
on his weighty premium watch - according to the ticking hands on the
face, his roomie had another ten minutes, and then it would be time to
swap over. White huffed an overheated breath out and lay back, lowering
his arms to his side, and resting his head back against the upper ends of
the gently curving lounge chair. At his left side, his hand brushed
against hers, and the engaged young couple of English hotties played
their fingers gently at each other, locking pinkies, until even this
low-key physical contact began to make him strain at his dark red
swimming shorts and sweat profusely, and he had to break contact with
her, rubbing the rocks of the engagement ring gently before doing so.

She said nothing, and presumably understood: it had been too long since
the pair had enjoyed one another, and this light weekend was the only
real opportunity any of the England squad to spend `meaningful' time
with partners or family beyond the brief exciting reunions in each
Al-Whatever stadium. Benjamin could hardly believe that so many of the
fellas had gone to shitty water parks or fancy cocktail bars on the
beach, and weren't just doing the same thing as he and Rambo upstairs:
conjugal visits.

The 25-year-old looked at his watch a dozen more times before the turn of
the hour, and then he immediately patted Milly's arm and then lowered
his CK sunglasses to give her a lewd wink. `Off we go,' he said coolly,
rolling the other way and hopping up onto his feet. The sun-burned tiles
scorched his soles until he shoved his feet into striped Adidas sliders
and stood there adjusting his red shorts, his varnish-coloured body all
on show until his thin shirt was thrust at him by the fiancee. She had
pulled the light maxi-dress over her bikini look and was giving him a
stare that could only be described as both hungry and thirsty.

They passed each other in the foyer at the bottom of the stairwell,
Ramsdale and partner coming down in an almost dazed swagger, the goalie
tilting towards his shorter partner in a romantic cuddle as they walked,
kissing at her mussed hair. The girls greeted each other with quite
saccharine affection whilst the two unused England players shared a
knowing look and couldn't suppress the dirty little grins that lip their
faces - Rambo in deep satisfaction, by the look of it, and White with the
delicious air of anticipation.

`All good?' Ben called to his pal, keeping his voice low and casual.

`Sound,' came Aaron's almost slurred response, his tone and eyes very
sleepy.

`Glad to hear it,' he murmured back through a big schoolboy smirk,
lowering one hand and fist-bumping the other player as they passed each
other on the bottom step. He was prodded roughly from the other side and
Milly hissed `Don't be such dorks', but he and Aaron were just
laughing gently.

`Everything's ready for you up there!' Rambo called to him from
behind, as he and Milly mounted the stairs, and White glanced briefly
over his shoulder, watching with faint friendly admiration as big hefty
Aaron steered petite Georgina out through an archway towards the same
poolside oasis that he and his bird had occupied for the past hour. He
wanted to do a little fist-pump and shout something more cross at his
Arsenal buddy, some crude innuendo or footballing pun, but he knew he'd
just earn a slap from his princess, and arouse unwanted attention from
the observant hotel staff.

Instead, he just hooked his arm about the girl's waist, and led her
through the cool hotel interior to the room he and the goalie shared on
the second floor. He thought about Aaron's words, `Everything's
ready', and hoped the room was as chill and tidy as he imagined, that
those two love-birds hadn't somehow made a mess of the place in their
hour of privacy. But how much chaos could that big softie really cause,
haha?

He let them into the room and felt some relief. They'd fastidiously
tidied up the laddish clutter of a week's occupancy, and the place was
still fresh, the big balcony windows re-opened to air... well, the sex
smells that Whitey didn't want to think about, feeling no need to
imagine the private performance of his Arsenal bestie! They were close,
but... Actually, it smelled like Rambo or Georgina had sprayed a fragrance
on their way out, a special sweetness in the air of the suite. A slight
yelp of disapproval from the adjoining bathroom alarmed him, but when he
looked that way, Milly was just fussing over a dropped towel and a slight
mess about the bathroom sink, referring to them as `A pair of total
pigs' - Benjamin chuckled and shook his head, pleased that the room was
spotless and welcoming enough for that to be the only thing getting her
annoyed. Both he and Ramsdale were prone to the stereotypical
slobbishness of their profession, lads who went straight from
molecoddling mums to prissy WAGs.

She was emerging from the bathroom, and unhooking the strappy shoulders
of her dress. He grinned at her and began to unbutton his light loose
shirt, parting it from the firm lean muscle of his chest and tummy, and
sliding it gradually away from his tattooed body, backing towards his bed
as she followed him, biting her lip. Her dress dropped to the floor and
she was exposed in the bikin again, as beautiful and tantalising as
she'd been by the pool, where he'd wanted to drag her into the water
and finger her there and then, struggling to wait for the turn of the
hour and his allocated time in the suite.

The engaged couple kissed and grabbed at each other, and fell onto his
bed in just their swimming costumes, two gorgeous Love Island bodies
grinding and writhing on the fresh sheets, until- He felt it first, his
elbow knocking into something oddly unyielding amongst the softness of
the bedding, but he didn't think much of it - it was her, reaching a
hand to claw across his tanned shoulder, and then cradling at his firm
neck, then feeling it for herself, and tugging some duvet aside to remove
it from the crease beneath the pillows.

The sexy giggle died in her throat, her body still straddling his, her
curved bottom rubbing delightfully against the tent in his swimmers, but-
`What the hell?' she said, her voice becoming a sardonic laugh.

Benjamin blinked and looked from her bosom to her face to the thing in
her hands, flinching slightly at the weapon-like silhouette of the thing
that she was wielding over him. He looked from it to her stunned
ambiguous features, and then swore loudly. `Fucking prick!' he barked,
holding her by her slim hips and wanting to tear the bikini scraps off
her body. `That'll be Rambo thinking he's fucking funny... Where the
hell did he get THAT? Jesus, what a joker, just...' He reached to bat the
thing away from her grip, a little distressed by the huge synthetic cock
that she was holding over him like a spear.

`Wait,' she exclaimed suddenly, yanking her hand back, inexplicably
defending the absurd item from his swiping paw, `-wait!' He frowned and
tensed and for a moment thought that she was going to make those mad
suggestions again, even after the long boundary discussions in early
summer, but... No, she looked more angry than horny, and... `Wait,' she
growled again, sounding serious. `What the fuck does he know? What have
you been telling him, Benji? For fuck's sake...' She railed over his
protests, his voice coming out mumbled and unsure. `You telling him all
about our fucking sex life, are you? Oh how funny, silly Milly and her
mad ideas - jesus christ, Benjamin!' He began barking out more
half-formed sentences at her but she took one furious look at him and
wielded his weapon, and the next moment the Arsenal centre-back was being
slapped heavily across the face by a 9-inch silicone phallus. Thwack.


The plan had been for the two friendly couples to go for an early dinner
somewhere, but after the spat between one pair, both young women ended up
sharing a taxi back across the city to the harbour, and now Aaron
Ramsdale was trying to console and placate the other footballer up in the
suite, listening to his friend rant on about how he'd probably receive
the engagement ring in an envelope before breakfast tomorrow - and
spiralling so much in his boyish panic that he was conflating the sudden
relationship drama with his failure to catch Southgate's eye. `Stuck
out here,' Whitey fumed from the balcony, not even looking at him, `and
just fucking everything up, shoulda just stayed in Blighty. England
career: dead, relationship status: DEAD. For fuck's sake, mate.' This
last exclamation was more of a sigh, and Ramsdale could hear the defeated
self-pity in the other lad's voice that was probably the first precursor
to forgiveness and then normality.

The goalie got up from the seat between the beds and stomped out to join
the other lad on their sheltered little balcony, thick arms folded across
his chest. `Here,' he muttered, `your career ain't dead, and I'm
pretty sure yer relationship ain't either, pal.' He risked patting one
large hand against the shoulder of Ben's shirt, but it was shrugged away
and the tall slim fella turned and glared fiercely at him, not ready for
forgiving and forgetting.

`You've fucked it, mate,' Whitey snapped simply at him.

Rambo could do nothing but frown apologetically at the slightly older
lad, arms still foded, big head hanging slightly and face all puppy-dog
apology. `I'm so sorry,' he said with heavy over-earnestness. `Look,
it were just a prank, mate, just a little joke - she'll understand that,
when she thinks about it, and-'

`Did you not see her face?' his friend muttered. Ben's voice was small
and dark and he sounded really fucking worried. Aaron kinda wanted to hug
the lad, but he felt that might earn him a push over the edge of their
balcony and he didn't think the swimming pool was deep enough to save
him. He just frowned repentantly at him and hesitated over his next
words. `She flies off the handle like that,' he tried, and just earned
a scathing look for this treacherous comment - okay, so putting some of
the blame on Milly was NOT going to work here, right...

`It's not the prank,' Ben pointed out coldly. `It's... She's fuming
that I told you any of that shit. Properly angry, Rambo. She...' He
gestured at the slight swelling on one side of his face, the puffy
redness about one socket that foreshadowed tomorrow's black eye. `I've
never seen her so pissed off. I don't know how this is gonna go, mate,
and it's not like I can easily just spend the night with her and wear it
down, is it? I'm not gonna see her now til late Tuesday night and she's
gonna be raging with me all that time, isn't she? Fuck!'

Aaron gritted his teeth and paused. Yep, this sounded a bit shit, but
still... `She'll soften,' he mumbled. `She's not that mad, she loves
ya and-' He sucked in his breath and huffed it out heavily. `Y'know
what you two are like with these little spats, matey, it'll all be right
and rosy by Tuesday when you make your World Cup debut, so...'

Whitey scoffed at that, abandoning him on the sliver of balcony and
returning to the room, so he had to follow. `Sure,' the defender
muttered cynically. `You reckon someone's gonna clock Southgate round
the head with a dildo too, and he'll wake up from his coma deciding to
give the likes of you and me a World Cup start, yeh?' Ben glowered at
him, a little red-faced with his irritation. `Spare parts, that's all
we are, as long as he's got his fucking bum-boy favourites in the camp,
the same lazy fuckers who start every game - the prick harldy wants to
play FODEN, and you think he's gonna chance you or I instead of-?'

Aaron couldn't help but laugh, as much as he was now in trouble - it was
Ben's hot red face and the angry-old-man tenor of his sprawling rants.
The good-looking poser looked ridiculously getting all moody and riled,
like he did with stupid sports interviewers, and the pair of them were
just too close for him to take it quite seriously. He put a fist to his
mouth to stifle the chuckle but couldn't help it - and for a moment the
25-year-old lad stared furiously at him, jaw hanging open, but then Ben
was laughing too, cackling briefly and dragging both hands down his face
miserably.

The 24-year-old keeper just needed to capitalise on this moment of
levity. `Come here, bud,' he growled, and he walked over and grabbed
the slightly shorter and slimmer fella in his arms for a brief macho
embrace, then gave him a shake. `Pull it together ,buddy,' he said more
gently. `She'll get over it and it'll be good. I'm so sorry, mate, I
never thought it'd trigger any bullshit like this, I just thought it'd
be a good laugh, that's all...'

Ben was groaning unhappily as he pulled away, still rubbing at his face
and scratching at his tufty goatee of darker hair. `Oh yeah, ha ha ha,'
he grumbled, kicking his way across the room and then pausing at a spot
between the beds and the bathroom door - Aaron looked his way and found
that the offending item lay at his bare feet, dropped there in the
argument between the engaged couple. Ben, adding to the ridiculousness of
it all, poked at the fallen monster with bare toes, and then let out
another mad laugh. `Where the fuck did you even get this, you
weirdo...?!'

Aaron chuckled and grimaced, sitting himself down on the foot of the
nearest bed, and still giving the big wide apology face to the scowling
defender. `What, do you reckon I packed it in my bags back in the UK...?
Nah, I passed this hilarious sex shop in the mall bit when I went out for
a Starbucks with Popey the other morning... been hiding it in the bottom
of my case all weekend, thinking it'd be the funniest joke ever, but...'
He spread his hands and looked appealingly at the other young England
hopeful.

`You're a twat,' Whitey informed him bluntly.

`For sure,' Ramsdale agreed, `but you love me for it, right?' He
twisted his face into a big goofy grin, and was disappointed when the
other player didn't match that and laugh any more - Whitey just glared
at him and kicked the stupid thing across the smooth floor towards him,
and Aaron stooped down and grabbed it up, wielding it in the aggressive
way he imagined Milly did before thumping it over his mate's face. He
shook it in the air and put on a pompous look of seriousness, saluting
with it against his brow. `Come on bud,' he appealed, `you can see the
funny side, right? You know I wasn't starting nothing, just having a
little joke, nowt more...'

`Oh, shove it up your arse,' muttered the other Arsenal star with a
mixture of burning resentment and what sounded like faint, softening
amusement - and then he was chuckling roughly, turning away and kicking
at a wobbly floor lamp by the door to the bathroom, almost knocking it
over. Aaron joined him, laughing and giving the stupid thing a wobble,
then throwing it roughly at his roommate, who turned and scrabbled
awkwardly to first catch it and then toss it aside. `Oi, watch it!'
Whitey yelped, shaking his head. `You're pushing it...'

`Ah, come on,' jibed Aaron quite frustratedly, getting up off the bed
and reaching down to grab the thing off the floor again - stupid fucking
toy had cost him near £100 quid from the dodgy store where he'd grabbed
it, presumably not totally halal on the commercial streets of Doha, and
imported from wherever. He'd briefly panicked at the service counter and
imagined himself getting arrested in the act, Nick Pope sweating
awkwardly at the exit door. And a waste of cash, now, since the joke had
backfired so disastrously...

`Maybe I will, if that'll cheer your arsey face up,' he thought aloud,
tossing the rubbery thing from hand to hand, and staring
confrontationally across at his roomie.

`What?' Ben asked sharply, in the middle of going to find and pick up
his phone from where it was charging on the bedside table. `What are you
on about now, dick-head?'

Aaron was thinking about the throwaway comment, the bitter muttering from
his pal even as Ben blatantly calmed down and realised that the conflict
was between him and his mardy missus, and not their close friendship.
`Before,' the goalie grunted, `you said I should... shove it up my
arse, haha. Will that make you smile, you moody prick...?'

Apparently, just the mention of it would: Ben, once he'd finished
frowning at his phone and presumably a lack of contact from his fiancee,
was chuckling at this and shaking his head, and giving him an amused
look. `I'd like to see you try,' he muttered provokingly, tutting.
`All talk, you. Is that why you really bought it, big lad, nowt to do
with pranking me or my missus...?'

Ramsdale wanted to roll his eyes at that generic comeback but he was glad
to see a smirk of enjoyment on the other lad's face and he held back
from projecting the phallic missile back towards his centre-back teammate
- instead, he slapped it against one large palm and then tossed it back
over the bed, spinning his position a bit to sit facing this way, and
stare charmingly at his roomie. `Oh, it was all about giving you and
that lass a giggle,' he assured him, `but now...' He laughed heartily
and leaned back casually, resting on his elbows. `What, you don't think
I could give it a go, haha? You calling me soft?'

`Nah,' retracted Whitey in a frustrated voice. `Just... straight? Ha
ha. Come on mate, leave it out. I'm sick of us having to talk about that
shit. You were a good mate when I was stressed about it, but...' He was
fussing distractedly with his personal possessions on the bedside table,
but he paused and looked this way. `I really shouldn't have told you
any of that,' he said in a fairly hollow voice, regretful eyes. `She's
right, isn't she? Shouldn't have gone sharing our business like
that...'

As supportive and conciliatory as he wanted to be, the 6ft2 goalkeeper
challenged this. `Nah, buddy - you don't think she reports your every
little move to her girlfriends? Hell, my missus probably knows more about
your shags than you do, fella...! Don't be hard on yerself. This is...
this is all my fault, I know that, I was a right massive dick about it.'

`Yep,' Ben agreed, but not without a smile, `as massive a dick as
THAT.' He waved his hand at where the moulded cock lay on the bedsheets,
and he heaved a frustrated-sounding sigh. He went to close the sliding
windows that barred them from the balcony, and Ramsdale leaned up the bed
a bit to snatch back the toy and weigh it one hand.

`Ain't that massive,' he remarked distractedly.

Whitey had turned back this way, framed against the big French windows
and the balcony view of the city horizon. He lifted one eyebrow and
folded his arms. `No?' he asked. `Alright then, if it's so tiny, you
saying you're bigger? Smug prick...'

`Not bigger,' he told the 25-year-old in a thoughtful tone, giving it
another weighty grip and then dropping it back to the covers, `just...
well, as big? I dunno...'

`Fuck off,' Whitey was muttering, then, `As if you're getting that up
your arse, man...! I mean, what we did in the sauna that time, well that
was one thing, matey, but...' There was a look of genuine disbelief on
the lean handsome features of the sulking centre-back, and Ramsdale
couldn't help but leer cheekily at him and relax back on the bedding
with a long `Hmm...' Ben laughed loudly at him and approached the bed.
`You're not seriously thinking about it, are you, Rambo?' he asked,
and there was less mocking and banter in his voice - a touch of genuine
earnest curiosity.

`Dunno - do you think I should give it a go?' the goalkeeper mused in
his deep Stokey accent, realising as he said it that he wasn't quite
sure how far he was willing to push this envelope - he liked that he was
amusing and distracted the other lad, but he'd indulged that before, and
it had got the pair of them into hot water with Mikel Arteta, fines paid
and training suspensions tolerated. Now he was getting the other bloke in
trouble with his bird, and yet here he was, joking that... well, was he
joking? Was he?

Ben was staring at him and seemed to read his indecision. He smirked.
`Course you aren't doing it,' chided the South Coast lad. `You're
just winding me up again, you nob. Chuck the crappy thing in the bin and
forget about it-'

`Just you see,' Ramsdale barked boldly at him. `I'm not scared. I'm
trying it out.'


Ben paused and stared at the other lad, the football best mate who he was
trying to stay mad at, but whose easy jovial way was successfully drawing
him out of his girlfriend doldrums. He watched that big open face and
waited for Aaron to crack up and roll over in laughter, but instead the
slightly younger footballer was just giving him a lopsided grin and
thoughtful eyes, and drumming his fingers on the moulded shaft. Benjamin
laughed and shook his head at him, and went back to check his phone for
the fiftieth time. `Hilarious,' he said critically, deciding to ignore
Rambo and just focus on his real problems - he should give her another
ring now, maybe she'd pick up this time, and...

`You got anything I can use as lube?' the other England sub was asking.

Still not buying it, White chuckled and shrugged, not looking back at
him. `Erm, I think I have some Vaseline that I use on my lips, you could
use that,' he mumbled ironically, flaring with excitement as he saw new
messages waiting for him on the device - but nope, it was just a lads
group chat from his hometown, with some of his old schoolmates bantering
that he needed to nosh Southgate off to get himself a spot in the Wales
match. Cunts. He locked the phone and put it back to charge and turned
around - and found that Aaron was right by him, riffling through his
toilet bag on the bed and retrieving the little round tine of Vaseline.

The two men paused in close quarters and Benjamin blinked slowly at his
friend, who was just giving him an earnest look and lifting up the tin of
moisturising jelly. `Okay if I nab it for a bit then, Whitey?'

He didn't know quite what to say. Ramsdale was really pushing the
boundaries of the joke now, dropping the toilet bag of expensive gear
back to the bed, and shuffling back over to his own bed; gracelessly, the
6ft2 lad was undoing the front of his cargo shorts and then dropping them
away down his legs, baring more of the thick blond fluff on his thighs,
an the tight fit of his black boxer briefs below.

`Right...' the 25-year-old defender said very slowly. `I'll go ring
Milly then, and leave you to it, Rambo...'

`Oh. You not gonna stay and be referee? I'm only fuckin' doing this to
prove you wrong...'

`Fucking hell,' he said in a nervous laugh, `why would I want to
see...?'

`Suit yourself,' grunted the other player, lounging sideways on the bed
in his print t-shirt and the clingy black boxers, gym socks still
covering his feet and ankles. He was twisting the lid off the little tin
and sniffing the aloe vera-scented contents, much thumbed by Ben and used
to keep his pouty lips soft and kissable for Milly.

Benjamin stood there and watched him, knowing that going out on the
balcony or out into the corridor was the sensible move to call Aaron out
on his shite joke - but also that wasting his time leaving more missed
calls and voice messages for his fiancee was prolonging the aggro, she
probably just needed to stew and then be wooed afresh in the morning. She
was difficult but predictable. He found he'd been staring a little too
closely at his mate's bare legs and thoughtful face, and he glanced
away, scratching at his chin and the back of his neck.

In his strangely casual way, Rambo asked, `You reckon this stuff will
work?'

`Well,' coughed White awkwardly, `people use it for that, don't
they?'

`Dunno, really.'

`Me neither! Fuck. I'm no expert...'

`Nope, even when your missus gave it a go, haha.'

`Oh, come on. Let's not bring that up.'

It had been oddly bonding though, in a way - not just the stupidity of
their experimenting in the sauna and the trouble from the Arsenal gaffer,
but the several calls and chats between them after Ben got home one
evening and found a bunch of kinky toys lined up. It had been his fault,
really... He'd made a couple of unsubtle suggestions about trying the
finger again, after the time in the sauna had reassured his masculine
ego, and she'd misread his wobbly curiosity, and invested heavily. A few
fiery little rows later and a bin bag of naughty items rapidly disposed
of, the couple had awkwardly put it behind them and returned to the safe
vanilla wholesomeness of before. Aaron had been great, he thought, a
really supportive listener, someone he could confide in over the
ridiculous little episode - he'd never quite found a way of thanking him
without sounding entirely cringey.

Well, now was hardly the moment, but...

`I reckon it'll work fine,' he coughed hesitantly. `It's defo
lubricant. Erm.'

`Yeah,' sighed Aaron from the bed, `and I don't think we've got
anything better.'

`No...' He moved about, finding himself hovering uncomfortably, not sure
where to place himself, or whether he now ought to actually leave the
room - lots of the other guys would be floating about downstairs, perhaps
done with their rare family time, or just hosting their partners or
relatives here for a bit, so... He pulled uncomfortably at the colour of
his shirt, then Rambo barked at him: `Oh sit down, mate, you're making
the place look untidy!'

And so he did, where he was: at the foot of Aaron's bed. But even as he
sat there and rested one hand against the sheets, it occurred to him that
Rambo and his bird had fucked here not so long ago, making much better
use of the suite for an hour than he'd managed with his Milly, where the
only action had been a thump to his face from a sex toy, and a brief
screaming match before she slammed the door on him.

`I'm just gonna get this t-shirt off,' Aaron was announcing. `Don't
wanna get any of your lube on my nice t-shirt, y'know?' Rambo was
grinning at him in between the act of wrestling out of it then tossing
the garment away, reduced to undies and socks, and leering this way - Ben
blinked at him a few times then forced a laugh and retorted, `It ain't
lube, it's my lip balm, you kinky twat. Don't make this sound like my
fault, you bought the massive dildo...'

`Ah, relax, your bird isn't here to attack you with it...' chuckled the
other lad, shaking the thing in the air in one hand as he got into a more
comfortable position - building a little nest of pillows behind his back
muscles and relaxing there with his thick legs apart, right up the bed
from where Benjamin now awkwardly sat, holding one knee to his chest.

`It bloody hurt,' the 25-year-old murmured, mainly to himself, watching
with nervous eyes as his friend shuffled about and made a pig's ear of
stripping off his boxers; shifting legs and posture hid the awkward view
for a moment, as the black garment was pulled down his legs, but Rambo
made no effort to cover his dignity or lean to shyness - soon Ben caught
a glimpse of his floppy soft cock and the pale grey-blond of his pubes, a
little overgrown. And then the black pants were being chucked this way,
almost hitting him in the face until he ducked one way, laughing
hysterically.

`I guess I better just do a finger first,' Ramsdale philosophised.

`Guess so,' White murmured, staring that way but averting his eyes from
his friend's crotch - staring instead at the broad strength of his
chest, the little fluffy patch between them, the dark roundness of his
large nipples... okay, that was just as weird, he looked properly away,
staring to the wall instead.

`Feels alright,' Rambo told him, and he didn't look to confirm his
understanding that his friend was now daubing a finger in the lip balm
and poking it down where the sun don't shine. No, he shouldn't look -
he shouldn't even be sat on the bed! He pushed his hands down against
the covers and stared fixedly at the wall, except... oh. A mirror. He was
actually staring at the mirrored doors of the wardrobe and he could see a
side-view of Aaron's big legs and lounging torso, and one of his arms
shoved down between those legs... he could see the frown of concentration
on his mate's face, tongue jutting out a little between his lips like he
was doing a tough spelling test.

`You ever done that since?' he asked, and heard the croaky nervousness
of his dry voice.

`What, since the sauna?' Rambo retorted through a couple of
uncomfortable grunts. `Nah, never thought to - was hardly gonna suggest
it to my missus, Whitey, she's not as wild as yours...! Haha. But... I
dunno, it didn't feel bad, I mean, it doesn't feel bad now. Erm...' A
real strained tone of concentration, then another little grunt. `But
yeah... I guess a finger feels this weird on the ringpiece, then maybe
that thing IS kinda massive... hah!'

Cheeks flushing and heart racing, Benjamin sniggered and turned awkwardly
that way to face him as he spoke - `Aw mate, this is mad, you don't
need to prove anything...' - but he stumbled to a pause, looking between
the spread legs, and seeing Rambo's hand shoved firmly beneath the
weight of his cock and balls, buried out of sight and doing the business.
He stared from the hand and the weighty privates atop it, up Aaron's
torso and to his flushed, frowning face - fuck, fuck, he's really trying
this...!


Aaron's large muscular cheeks clenched against the invasion, despite him
now muttering `Relax' to himself; he remembered the vice-like clamping
of it against his fingertip, remembered feeling that alien pressure on
himself in a surprising place... but he also remembered the tickling
thrill of it, the thrill of the newness or the transgression, perhaps,
more than of the physical act itself?

Looking up, he saw the wide-eyed wonder on Whitey's face, and he liked
that - well, apart from anything else, he wasn't whinging on about his
girlfriend or trying to accuse him of ending his marriage prospects! But
aside from that... he quite liked the level of intense attention from his
friend, who had been accusing him of bullshit and being too conventional,
and was now just agog with... what, shock and horror, or curious interest,
or...?

`You'll have to try a second finger,' Whitey said to him abruptly, his
voice low and a bit shaky, and then shifting to a silly yelping laugh.

`Oh right, aye,' Ramsdale agreed, nodding. He pulled the finger away
from the greased furry ring between his cheeks, and he reached for the
tin again, smearing two fingertips through its warming contents instead.
He caught Benj staring and laughed. `I'll buy you a fucking tub of it
for your lips, pretty boy.' He jabbed the two lubed fingers against his
hole now and found that this was a very different thing. One finger found
its way in with just a bit of will-power, but now... well, two of his
fingers just pushed stupidly between his cheeks, as if there wasn't even
a hole there...!

`That's it,' mumbled Whitey though, his voice oddly encouraging.
`Just rub a bit, take it slow.'

`Er, thanks,' he laughed hoarsely, but was glad of the comments, and
even a little bit glad that his friend was shuffling up the bed a bit and
rising on his knees, hands laid atop of his shorts and thighs. He smiled
awkwardly at his mate and then shifted his weight, making it easier to
prod himself down there, and run the greasy fingers around his crack and
then back at the tight hole, opening himself up a little more... a little
more... would they go in? Could they go in...? Uh... `Go on, mate,' Ben
urged in a fierce little yelp that sounded like a snatch of mid-game
encouragement at the defensive end of the Emirates.

`Yeh,' Rambo muttered, and he could almost feel the fingertips going
in, but it hurt, a kinda tight fiery sensation, not the ticklish thrill
of a single teasing digit...

`Is it okay?'

`It's a bit much, mate.'

`You can get `em in.' Whitey sounded fucking thrilled. That was odd,
but then... he felt the excitement of the experiment himself. It had been
like this in the sauna, hadn't it? Laughing along and pushing each other
to try it, a joke made into real action, and the pair of them poking
their tight straight holes in the sweaty heat, right until they...

As if on cue, his cock twitched and lifted, and if he wasn't starting to
get nervous and more tense, it'd probably become rock hard properly.
With his free hand, he pulled it out of the way, back against his pubes
and waist, and inadvertantly gave his mate more of a view - he could see
him staring down between his legs, wide-eyed, and he wasn't sure if that
should make him more uncomfortable. Actually, it was kinda encouraging.

`Use a bit more lube?' The centre-back's voice was a tremulous
whisper.

`Nah,' he grunted, `I can... ergh.... Yep...' In they went, his hole
parting but clamping about them, the tips of two fingers in his backside,
haha. He grimaced and grunted and left them there for a few moments, then
tugged them back, letting out a long sigh and a little peal of laughter.
Ben was staring at him, looking alarmed, but he reached left and picked
up the toy, just as his friend began to ask `Was it too much...?'

`Here,' Rambo barked. `Lube this up for us, will ya? The tip?' He
tossed it directly at Whitey, who was quite close to him now, and saw the
almost scampering speed of the other lad's hands, snatching the toy and
the tin, and then spreading a thick glob of the vaseline over the
sculpted head of the artificial prick, very obedient to the request. He
passed it this way like a baton and Ramsdale took it, laughing as he did.
`I just need to try it,' he grunted. `The fingers thing ain't quite
working, but... I dunno. Let's try this.' He stared at it and laughed in
disbelief, then shared a stunned look with his pal, then pushed the
9-inch thing down below his balls and across his furry gooch.

`How's it feel?' breathed Whitey.

`Alright, hang on, I've not tried it yet,' he laughed back, his voice
a nervous rattle.

`Sorry, sorry-'

`Nah, nah, it's cool - just... haha, fuck, I dunno, it feels HUGE...'

`I told you...!'

`Yeah but not huger than ME, haha...' And with that, he lifted and shook
his hardening cock, making his point - it wasn't at full mast, but it
was a long and thick piece and not dissimilar from the thing he'd
purchased, apart from the foreskin starting to pull back. Over the tip of
his cock, he could see Ben's eyes widen more, and he joined him in heavy
nervous laughter - it's not like they hadn't seen each other hard,
though he guessed he'd tried his best not to look too directly at his
mate's junk that afternoon.

`True, true,' Ben was chuckling at him in a giddy fashion, kneeling a
bit too close to him, so close that one of Aaron's twitching thick legs
brushed against the side of his, feeling his body heat on his calf. He
grimaced and smirked and rubbed the tip of the thing a bit more firmly
down his crack, against the magic spot, and shuddering at the girthy feel
of its tip there, where his one finger had slid in kinda easy, but two
had been... a challenge. He hunched forward, working it and twisting it,
and laughing some more. `Fuck,' he snapped irritably, `this is harder
than you'd imagine.'

`And so are you,' Ben muttered, and he just grinned proudly at this,
wrapping his fist about his big hard-on - it had been buried deep in his
missus, trying hard not to spunk and get her up the duff, only two hours
ago. He was surprised he still had the spunk in his balls to get this
rock-hard now, but then this was all so new and weird...!

`Don't mind, do ya?' he muttered at his staring pal, giving his own
dick a stroke.

`What? No - er, you do what you want, haha - do you want me to go,
or...'

`I weren't asking your permission to wank,' he laughed heartily,
pushing one arm forward and pointing the greasy-tipped weapon towards his
mate. ` I mean - do you mind? Like... I can't get the angle, you know,
just to get the tip in? Will you...?' He stared down his arm, down the
rubbery length of it, and met Ben's wide eyes, his awkward face, the
slight hunched lean of his body this way, kneeling there in the centre of
the bed, up against one of his furry legs...

`Will I...?'

`Fuck's sake, if you're creeped out, let's l-'

`No, I'll do it,' gasped Whitey, nodding, and taking the baton from
him. `I'll go real easy.'

`Oh fuck off, I'm not made of glass, haha, just push it in me, yeh?'
He said this, grinning broadly and slapping one of his thighs with the
greasy-fingered hand, but his heart hammered and his buttocks clenched,
and he felt like he'd started something he couldn't really finish here
- but he'd suggested it now, sure that this would distract and amuse the
moody prick, and make things alright, somehow... What the hell were they
both playing at here, haha?


Benjamin White pushed the tip of the toy between the firm globes of the
bum cheeks, his mate leaning further back and shifting his posture back a
bit - thighs lifted and parted more, big hard cock flapping back onto his
lower six-pack. This was madness, but he had it in his hand now, this
stupid weapon that had thwacked his face and left his eye throbbing.
Throbbing like his cock, he thought, getting stiff and awkward in the
front of his swim shorts, which pinned it down and prevented it from
being too obvious to the other lad.

`That's it,' growled Rambo's voice, `just shove it in mate, I'll be
grand?'

He stared, mouth hanging open, at the big bare lad, bare but for the
socks on his feet, which were now up in the air either side of him, legs
held high and spread wider. Shivering, Ben looked down his tattooed arm
to the tool he held, pushed into the firm cheeks, pushing further in,
pushing there, tip rolling up and down a fraction, then... yeh, he could
feel it, feel the soft give of it, and he could see from Aaron's wide
round face that he'd got it right, that he was breaking in. He watched
as Aaron's mouth opened too, a wide `O' like his own, and he pressed
forward with his arm muscles. In went the tip. In went some more.

`FUCK,' growled Ramsdale.

`Is that okay?' he panted. `Is that feeling okay?'

He paused, but he didn't pull it back, his bicep tensed and his other
hand reaching instinctively to hold one of Rambo's thick calves. He
gulped, staring eye to eye with his mate, whose face looked pained and
now glossy with sweat. Their eyes met and they both panted out breath but
neither said anything. `It's okay,' heaved Rambo after a long moment,
`I can take it.' Fuck, was he just trying to prove he was tough and
unafraid?! Ben already thought his mate was one of the toughest fuckers
he knew, so...

`Just push it in, mate,' came Ramsdale's throaty voice, and he did,
gripping the base of the thing and angling it forward, edging it in but
then pushing a bit too hard, and seeing the convulsive jolt it shot
through the spread legs, and into the gurning uncertainty of the
goalkeepers' broad face.

`Wank yer cock,' Ben hissed nervously, `it might make it easier?' Why
did he think that was true? It just seemed the right thing to say, and
kinda something he wanted to do to himself, but he daren't reach down
and touch himself through his shorts, not yet - his cock was hard in
there, hard against the mesh constraint and the dark red waterproof outer
layer. As hard as Aaron's cock, held tightly in one fist, and pumped up
and down, even as White began to push the tool in further, deeper,
stretching open the man's hole for him - he'd struggled to put two
fingers up himself, but now...!

`FUUUUCK,' came Rambo's groan again - it was ambiguous, pleasure and
pain, and Ben just stared wildly at him, unsure if he should pull back or
go deeper... he did both. He pulled back an then forward, matching the
rhythm of the othe rman's hand pumping up and down on his meat. The
balls below bounced, and Ben found them a whisker's breadth form his own
fingers where they clutched the rubbery shaft.

`That's it,' he purred, leaning in closer, feeling his mate's socked
ankles brush at his outer arms, his shoulders. He pressed it in a bit
more then pulled back, then forward, then back, then... He gritted his
teeth, sweat pricking at his hot red face, and his eyes locked on
Aaron's, seeing the strange enjoyment that twisted his features.
`FUCK,' growled his friend again, such excitement and energy in his
voice, making Ben White's whole 6ft1 body prickle with tension and
taboo, and then... `FUCK,' barked the Arsenal goalie one more time, and
White misunderstood, or underestimated it - the noise, the growling
pleasure, the agonised mask of his face - he pushed the toy in deeper,
getting inches of its thick synthetic body inside those parted cheeks,
stretching the pink muscle of the whole, and then- Aaagh!


Immediately Whitey was reeling back from him, squealing out like that,
but a hazy mist had occluded the real world for Ramsdale for a moment -
his body shook with surprising pleasure and he gripped the shaft of his
cock very tightly, angling it unintentionally forward as he did, his
balls quivering and the veins in his shaft throbbing against his hand. He
let out another few gurgling cries of `Fuck, fuck, fuck' and stretched
out his full body against the bedding, amazed that he'd climaxed again
so soon after bedding the fiancee.

But then the world was coming int focus, and he could see Whitey on his
knees on the bed in front of him, hunched over between his legs, a hand
clutched to his face, squealing still - `You prick!' Ben was saying,
oddly, and Aaron blinked sleepy eyes at him, trembling still with the
high and comedown of orgasm, feeling dribbles of cum on his own fingers.

His focus grew and his mind cleared - and now Ben was scrambling off the
bed and calling him a `Total wanker' and dashing for the bathroom. And
now it was making sense. He hadn't just spunked, he'd spunked at his
mate, hadn't he? Shot his load right at him. Swaying a bit, the 6ft2
Stoke lad clambered off the bed and almost tripped over the folds of
duvet. He steadied himself and followed Whitey to the bathroom door.
`Mate!' he yelped.

`It stings,' shouted the centre-back.

`It'll be alright, just wash it out, just wash it out-'

`You came in my fucking eye...!'

`Mate, relax, just let me...'

`Get off me, get the fuck off me.'

`Here, you need some soapy water, mate-'

`You spunked in my fucking eye, you dick-head! A dildo smashing one and
your cum in the other, you... fuck... fuck... FUCK...!'

And that was pretty much how it had ended, really, because Aaron had been
forced out of the bathroom with the door locked in his face, leaving him
to slouch on his own, naked but for his socks, his arse-hole stinging
terribly and his cock limp between his thighs. He'd listened to strings
of curses in Ben's voice through the bathroom door, and stood staring at
the greasy marks on his bedcovers, the dildo itself lying at the centre,
a threateningly large and glistening imitation of his own big prick. As
if it's been in me, he thought dully, staring it it for a while, then
getting a handful of tissues and tossing it in a bin. Owch, his arse
really did hurt, that had all been a bit too much...

And it hurt all through the evening, sat in his sweatpants at their al
fresco dinner, unable to join in much with the banter of the others, and
making only quiet excuses for the fact that White was staying in the room
all evening. Ramsdale went to bed early, eschewing the late hang-out in
the hotel games room, and creeping nervously back to their suite, only to
find his roommate curled up in bed and barely making a sound with his
breathing. He wasn't a lot more responsive in the morning, and Rambo
left him like that, silent and resentful, catching only a brief glimpse
of his distressed face before exiting the room: one shiner of a black
eye, and the other bloodshot with pinkeye.


Ben was sat on the balcony reading the same page of his Dean Koontz novel
over and over when he heard the room door go. Night was falling over Doha
and a few bugs were buzzing about the bright lamp next to his lounge
chair. He felt himself tense, listening to the footsteps and breathing
from within - the little thud of a dropped kitbag, the squeak of springs
as someone sat on a bed, the big sigh of a guy who wanted to start a
conversation but was too scared. For a while, Benjamin sat there, holding
the novel open in the lap of his tracksuit pants, and staring awkwardly
over the edge of the balcony, at the view of the Qatari city. He heard
Aaron clear his throat awkwardly inside the room, and he let out a long
uncomfortable sigh of his own.

`Whitey?' came the goalie's shaky voice.

He got up, holding the book, and went inside, pulling the door shut after
him. Ramsdale was staring this way with a guilty look on his charming
face, and White just sagged on his feet, feeling pathetic and distressed.
It had been a long day of sick-rest in the room, unwilling to show his
face to any member of the coaching or medical team who had knocked on the
door a dozen times since breakfast. He supposed he ought to thank Rambo
for covering for him, but that was a bit tough, after the prank and the...
other thing.

`You okay?' mumbled the bigger lad.

`Look at my face,' White grumbled. `What d'you think?'

`It doesn't look as red as this morning,' his friend informed him
quietly.

`Oh, great. Great. Really great. Fucking hell, pal.'

`Mate... I'm so sorry...!'

`Ah, buddy, can we not do this? I feel like shit. I don't need to hear
your apologies. We both... lost control a bit, yeah? Just... leave it,
mate.' He didn't have the heart to rant at his buddy, couldn't bring
himself to shout at him or point out how horrible his day had been, the
pain in both of his eyes. He was mortified and ashamed and he felt
trapped in this suite, unable to face even their FA handlers. He was on
his first World Cup but all he wanted was to request a flight back to
London Heathrow. Fuck it all.

Aaron broke into his thoughts in a small, nervous voice, one that was
strangely irresistible in his affable charm. `You want me to get our
dinners form the restaurant early, and see if we can eat them up here?'
He blinked his big eyes and stared apologetically this way. `I mean, if
you want the company, mate. But if you just wanna be alone, then...'

Benjamin sighed heavily and rubbed gingerly at the less physically sore
of his two eyes, the one that only stung a little now but was still an
ugly red when he looked at his pretty boy features in the mirror.
`Yeah,' he muttered. `Er... that would be good. Thanks.' There was no
point in spiting Aaron's offer and prolonging his lonely misery; all of
this, he thought, was Rambo's fault, but he needed a friend, and he knew
he'd lost control of himself yesterday, knew that he'd put himself in
this position in his own stupid ways. He looked pitifully at the other
guy, and Ramsdale got up immediately, walking over and throwing his big
goalie's arms about him in that matey hug of his. And Ben shivered into
his friend's hold, glad of the warm comforting strength after a day of
bathing his sore eyes and hiding from the world, too `ill' to join
training or be up for selection in tomorrow's game - and Rambo patted
him gently on the back, and apologised over and over.




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