Date: Wed, 25 Jan 2023 19:18:29 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads, Part 345

Part 345: Warming Up In Mainz


He lugged his bag at his side and tossed it forward so that it landed
with a satisfying thud on the covers of the bed, the one at the further
side of the slightly cramped room, nearest to the large old-fashioned
radiator that seemed to service their suite on its own. Outside, the
Rhineland was blanketed under frost and sub-zero temperatures, and so far
the interior of the team's hotel was simply not as cosy or plush as any
of the men might have anticipated. There was nothing dodgy as such about
the Mainz accommodation that they had checked into tonight, but it
wasn't quite at the usual slick corporate standard of hotel that their
Bundesliga football club would ordinarily arrange across the major cities
of Germany - if anything, it took the tall teenager back to his early
playing days back home in Birmingham, life before he became a top-flight
player and an international sensation. But right now all he could think
about was the disappointingly lukewarm temperature, and journey past the
bed to stand over the radiator and its ominous groans, testing to see
just how much heat it might offer them through the chilly January night.

`Huh,' Jude Bellingham remarked grimly. `It'll do.'

He turned away from the heater but kept close to it, mirroring the
behaviour of the other lad in beginning to strip off the outer layers
that they'd retained in the draughty reception below whilst the bosses
got them checked in and organised. Off came the Nike snood and the thin
gloves, designer coats shucked and dumped on the backs of chairs, but
Jude was slow to unzip the fleece top over his other layers, and he
noticed that his Borussia Dortmund teammate wasn't rushing either. They
shared a grim look and then both laughed, Bellingham shaking his head.

`It isn't so bad,' he muttered, and then leant back, pressing the arse
of his skinny-fit trackies against the heated metal, and rubbing the
palms of his hands over the top of it, before pushing away and doing a
small lap of the room, inspecting its chintzy decor and wondering what
had gone wrong with logistics for them to drop a couple of stars in
accommodation on this midweek away trip.

`Have we stayed in worse?' the other player commented challengingly,
but he didn't seem too worried, smirking behind the red-tinged fur of
his beard, and opening up his small travel case to start removing a few
personal things at the side of his bed. Salih Ozcan was a generally
upbeat bloke and Jude supposed that was why he'd befriended the
Cologne-born Turk more closely than many of his Dortmund colleagues this
season; he enjoyed the 25-year-old's mindset and outlook, and the two
had become regular roommates in the last few months, after Jude had spent
a period feeling a bit lost when his former big bros Jadon Sancho and
then Erling Haaland made the move to Manchester. And now that Jude's own
Premiership return seemed so inevitable and obvious, he couldn't help
but feel that certain Dortmund players had actually began to snub and
ignore him, even though there seemed little chance that a transfer deal
would be struck before this month closed. Yes, he was almost certainly on
his way out in the summer, but Bellingham saw himself contributing a lot
more to Dortmund before that rolled around, and it pissed him off that
some of the native German players had begun to distance themselves from
him since the World Cup.

The 6ft1 teen went through into their bathroom, amused that it was almost
the same size as the main bedroom, and pissed noisily on the seat of
their shared toilet, a standard youth who'd spent too long away from the
rules and stewardship of his parents. He nervously tested that the sink
could spurt out some hot water before skipping back through into the main
suite, and yanking off his bright fresh trainers to throw his body onto
Ozcan's bed, where he lounged imperiously next to the slightly older man
sorting out his stuff.

`Oi,' Salih chuckled warmly, `you've got your own.'

Jude smiled but ignored the comment, too lazy to cross between them, and
reaching to the small wooden table between the beds to retrieve a TV
remote. Whilst Salih fished through his limited belongings for a phone
charger and other things, the British teenager switched on the
disappointingly small wall-mounted TV and flicked aimlessly through a
small selection of channels. His German was progressing, but still fairly
rudimentary, and he roved through the channels with the same faint
irritation that had shrouded his cultural experience of Dortmund life
since moving to the continent. But then he found a sports channel, where
he found that language barriers tended to melt, because the stats and
emotions spoke for themselves, and he settled comfortably against the
pillows of the wrong bed, almost defiant in his relaxed posture and
waiting for the other midfielder to complain.

Ozcan, though, just shook his head and got on with his routines,
disappearing into the bathroom himself and swearing in German at his
teenage friend for soiling their toilet seat yet again. Bellingham
ignored him casually and watched the mixed sports coverage on the screen,
whilst tapping the tip of the remote repeatedly on his sharp chin.

`You savage,' his teammate grumbled amicably on his way back in, an
electric toothbrush buzzing in his mouth.

Jude didn't respond to this ambivalent accusation. Something on the
sports round-up had caught his attention and lifted him out of the chilly
German hotel room. A still image of the English striker dominated the
screen, celebrating a goal in the recent London derby, and the sight of
the Three Lions captain transported the teen immediately back to the
oppressive warmth of Qatar... to the sun-warmed relaxation of the hotel
camp, to the air-conditioned football stadiums and the banter with other
English lads, and... to fucking Harry Kane in the face by the pool and in
the sauna, claiming his own national captain as the first man to suck on
his meaty teenage cock.

`Come on,' muttered the Turkish national player, waving a hand at him
whilst still brushing his teeth and drooling a little toothpaste into his
beard. `Get off my bed, you pissy prick.'

Jude paused, his attention divided, and Ozcan had to shout a bit more
firmly at him before he would drag himself off the comfort and lunge
across onto his own, getting out of his roomie's way. And then he turned
his attention sharply back to the screen, where a couple of German
pundits were discussing fresh claims that Man Utd and others were
circling for the prominent striker, but that Kane was being inexplicably
loyal to perennial losers Tottenham Hotspurs in North London. Jude found
himself uninterested in the transfer talk, even though every big
Premiership move this January seemed to factor interestingly into his own
undecided future; he just found himself staring quite nostalgically at
the striker on the screen, and thinking back to the winter heat of the
World Cup, and all of its revelations.

Nostalgia. That's what he felt, mainly, even though it was less than two
months since the English team bowed out of the huge tournament and
watched Messi's Argentina rise to the top. It was obvious enough that a
rising player like Jude would find league football a bit dull and
domestic after that epic experience, but... he knew well that the sight of
Kane on-screen there was rousing more specific sensations and longings
than the glory and excitement of representing his country on that stage.
Huh. Lots of big memories made in Qatar `22, but who'd have thought the
main ones might be so... freaky?

The thoughts frustrated him and made him shift for a more comfortable
position on the bed and its cool soft sheets, starting to adjust to the
disappointingly low temperature of their suite. He unzipped his chunky
fleece and fiddled with the neckline of the muscle-fit training top
below, pushing himself up to seated rather than lounging, and then
staring distractedly over at Salih who was returning from the bathroom
again.

`What news?' the more experienced midfielder demanded.

Jude found the question a bit ridiculous, given that his German-speaking
friend knew well enough how little he could follow TV here, and yet he
supposed the headlines would be obvious if there were any. He just
shrugged and tossed the remote irritably over to the other bed, hugging
his long lean arms about his knees and resting back against the
old-fashioned wooden headboard. The TV show had moved away from
Premiership news and back to local German concerns, highlighting a couple
of key rumours including men in their own 6th-place team.

He let out a long huffy breath, suddenly restless where he had been
relaxed. It had been a good day's training back at their base, and the
late evening journey here had all been very smooth and chill. With the
game scheduled for early evening, they even had a pretty slow start ahead
of them tomorrow, and their hosts were a pretty unthreatening prospect.
All was good, and yet the 19-year-old now felt agitated and out of place,
and he didn't want to address how much he wanted to be back in the
Middle East and kitted out in the kit of his country, Three Lions on his
broad young chest.

`What?' demanded Salih, interrupting his thoughts. The 25-year-old was
down on his bed now, finally done fussing around with his belongings, and
he was thumbing back through the TV channels in search of some
entertainment, but he'd obviously noticed Jude's frown, or his big
grumpy sigh. He smiled vaguely, a look of mild concern in his eyes. `Are
you that bothered about the room?' the other lad demanded in his crisp
slow English.

`Uh - no, no, it's cool. I'm just- Uh, never mind.' He pouted sulkily
and shrugged his shoulders and shivered slightly, pulling the fleece
closed again over his body. He stared accusingly at the radiator, annoyed
to feel cold in the German night but also a bit hot under the collar
because of his wondering imagination.

`Pftt, it's not so cold - and I have Turkish blood, you pussy!' At
that, Ozcan hopped up and proceeded to strip, tugging away his heavy
jumper and down to a simple t-shirt, then shedding the sweatpants so he
was just in his simple black boxers, before crawling under his bedding
and getting comfortable, then resuming his mindless scroll of their
limited channel options on the TV. `We will be fine,' the cheery
bearded man insisted, and Jude just grunted his response, unsure why his
own mood had turned quite so sour. He was annoyed at his own longings,
urges that he'd been carefully suppressing from the moment he parted
from the England crew.

He remained sitting moodily on his bedding, hugging his knees, and saying
nothing to answer the idle chatter of his friend, who slipped
unconsciously from English back to German as he commented on how boring
the TV options were. It was late enough, really, and the pair of them
should be bedding down for sleep, as per the gaffer's instructions, but
they both knew that the morning schedule was fairly relaxed, so it
wasn't urgent. Jude got up to strip away the fleece and dump it on top
of his bag at the foot of the bed, rubbing at his arms and sides in the
slinky long-sleeved runner top below.

`Oh, stop it,' chided the Turk in the other bed. `You aren't that
cold.'

Jude grimaced then grinned at the mocking tone, shrugged. `I am a bit -
aren't you? Fucking freezing in here,' the young Brummie moaned back.
He slid his hands inside the waist of his tracky pants, leaving them
there against his underpants and skin, and enjoying his own body heat for
the comfort it brought. `What is this shit-hole, seriously? This isn't
normal.'

Relaxing in bed, Ozcan shrugged. `It is not so bad.'

`It's shite,' Bellingham insisted simply. `It's not the usual.' He
hovered there, rocking on his heels, and staring thoughtfully at the
other player, and then glancing at the TV, which was now at least
occupied by a cheesy American movie where he could follow the dialogue
and ignore the German subtitles. Some rom-com. `Come on,' he muttered,
staring back at Salih. `Are you not freezing your bollocks off, man?'

A gentle snigger from the German player. `Such lovely phrases in
England.'

`Fuck,' Jude mumbled, and then he just put it out there. `Come on,
Sal, let me climb in with you for a bit, will ya?' He stared moodily at
the mid-20s football player, pouting a little, and unsure exactly what
was on his mind - the temperature of the room, or already something else?

Ozcan laughed but he didn't say no. He seemed to think about it and then
roll his eyes. `Are you serious?' the other Dortmund midfielder
demanded. `You've got your own, fucker. What are you playing at?'

`It's cold,' the Stourbridge-born ace complained simply. He was being
brattish and daft, he could hear it in the almost whining tone of his own
voice - and yet he was quite taken by the idea now. Whilst his friend
looked at him quite critically, Jude shoved down the tracksuit pants in
one go, shedding them down the firm brown muscle of his thighs, and
exposing the tight black briefs he wore beneath - `Aren't you
colder?!' the other player was protesting loudly - and then retrieving a
pair of bed-shorts from the recess of his bag, stepping clumsily into
them in two moves and closing the gap between and up the beds. `Come
on,' he insisted, gently, lifting the covers and sliding in next to
Salih, who just sighed and shuffled, making a bit more space and giving
him an indulgent look.

`Okay,' the 6ft footballer said firmly. `Now stop whinging and let me
watch this movie.' He muttered something to himself in German that
sounded like, `What is he like?' But really, the Cologne man seemed
relatively unfazed, amused but unbothered by Jude's odd insistence to
share a bed for a bit - and to his relief, it WAS warmer in here, sharing
the weight of the duvet over the pair of them, closely neighbouring his
friend and colleague. Warmer, and maybe kinda comforting, to be so close
to someone else - life back here in the German winter had been tinged
with an unexpected loneliness after the high camaraderie of his time
spent in Doha and then visiting home in the Midlands.

Under the covers, relaxing, Jude couldn't help but slid his hands down
the front of his top and inside the waist of the shorts, resting them
under the extra layer, and staring thoughtfully down the bed at the
screen, trying to place the familiar American comedy and its B-list
stars, but then also unconsciously, his hands pushed more firmly inside
the comfort of the shorts, in against the bulge of his briefs, where he
couldn't help but give his package a little squeeze and adjustment. He
pulled at the elastic and the pouch the fabric formed around the weight
of his privates, only idle touching, or not as conscious or deliberate as
it might be.

`Hey,' exclaimed Ozcan abruptly, lying close to the side of him in the
bed. `What do you think you're doing now?' This time the handsomely
bearded man did look a bit cross, leaning this way and gesturing across
the bedding at the mound formed by the teen's gently roaming hands.
`Stop playing with yourself,' his teammate told him simply, his voice
blunt but tinged with amusement, as if he wasn't quite sure what was
going on.

`Tsk, relax,' Jude quipped quickly back at him after just a moment's
embarrassment; he nestled his tall body in against the sheets more firmly
and knocked elbows with the lad at his side, keeping his hands firmly at
his crotch. `Just checking it's all there, big man.'

Salih shook his head with a little noise of frustration, picking up the
remote and turning up the volume on the TV, frowning away at the screen
whilst Jude gave him a sidelong smirk - an idea was forming in his head,
or at least forming clarity and shape, perhaps it had been there the
moment he sidled over and lumped in with the other man. Or the moment his
eyes had bulged at the screen and he'd allowed himself to speculate over
Harry Kane's club future and his own - would their paths cross again
soon?

Bellingham let out his own little sigh, shoulders and neck relaxing
further into the spare pillow that he'd occupied. But he turned his head
gently towards his neighbour, rather than paying any attention to the
film; he brushed his elbow against Ozcan's again, nudging him in a way
so gentle that at first the 25-year-old player ignored it, shifting his
arm gently but seeming to ignore or simply not notice. So he did it
again, knocking his arm into the other man's, and then pushing his hands
back down to grab his bulge in both - a confused expression on his face,
the other Dortmund footballer looked silently at him, a question in his
eyes.

`One of way keeping warm, isn't it?' Jude chuckled.

`What?' He sounded confused and concerned, making Bellingham hesitate,
but he brushed him this time with a foot, rubbing bare calves together
under the covers and laughing when the German Turk blushed and frowned
and wriggled further away, shaking his head. `You're mad,' was the
other midfielder's stern appraisal.

The 19-year-old grinned curiously to himself, comfortable in the other
man's company - comfortable enough, anyway, to press and hold at the
front of his briefs inside the shorts, easing fingers over the outline of
his cock, and pretending to turn his attention back to the telly, whilst
still watched Sal out of the corner of his eye. The older bloke looked
sharply this way and then away, and then let out another heavy sigh.

`I'm just so horny,' Bellingham exclaimed simply, cupping his package
properly in one hand and then running the other under his top to trace
the bumps of his resting six-pack. He bit his lip a little as he turned
to stare pointedly at the bed's other occupant. `Don't you get that
way on nights like this, mate?'

A simple huff of protest from Ozcan, but he didn't actually argue. He
shrugged one shoulder and shuffled where he lay, carefully keeping their
tall athletic bodies apart. He waved an annoyed hand again. `Why don't
you get into your own bed, Jude?' He sounded cross and uncomfortable,
and yet Jude saw one fidgety hand slide under the confines of the duvet.
They were both ignoring the TV now, the American dialogue a bland soft
background noise, whilst Bellingham gave himself a good feel, and Ozcan
cleared his throat uncomfortably.

`You know the feeling, right?' the Stourbridge teen continued, lowering
his voice. `That frustration, night before the game, yeah?' He sighed
lazily. `I just gotta deal with it. Must be all the hormones still,
hey?'

`Some of us are grown-ups,' he was informed tartly by his neighbour in
the bed, but there was a curious light to Salih's eyes, and his hands
had disappeared under the covers. Was he touching himself too? Perhaps.
Jude turned his gaze back to the TV, where the lead actress of the film
was strutting through a pool party in a bikini. `Look at that,' he
murmured. `The things we'd do to her, haha.'

A vague, ambivalent noise from Ozcan, but Bellingham ignored him and
really squeezed and tugged at the outline of his semi, letting his ankle
and calf rub against the other man again, then nudging elbows with him.
`Tell me you aren't getting horny too, haha - it's not just me, is it?
Pre-match tension...!'

A little grunt from Sal sounded like confirmation. `Something like
that.'

`Seriously,' Jude said, his confidence swelling like his prick, `just
feel how hard I'm getting.' And before his teammate could react, he'd
taken hold of Salih's hand under the covers and pulled it over, pressing
it atop the stiff stretching bulge of his shorts, and laughing quietly as
he lay there, angling his prone body slightly towards the other lad.
Perhaps Ozcan was just so stunned, but he left his hand there, pressed
down against it, and Jude liked the feel of it, a strange hand on his
privates again, and he grinned wickedly at the teammate who was six years
his senior.

`Jesus,' Salih muttered, `you weren't joking.'

`See,' he chuckled, excitement heightening in his voice and his eyes,
`just feel that - totally horned up!' He rubbed his hand atop Ozcan's,
pressing and pulling the knuckles over his bulge, and licking his lower
lip slowly as he enjoyed this unexpected touch - studying the angst in
the older lad's eyes, the twitch of his lips between his red-brown
beard. But then Salih seemed to remember himself and pull back, tutting
and shaking his head, though there'd been enough of a flash of curiosity
there to excite and motivate Jude.

`Ridiculous,' the 25-year-old was muttering.

`Can't help it,' Bellingham told him, and then he pushed his own
boundaries - he reached across the warming space beneath the covers to
grab at the front of the man's taut boxer briefs, finding the outline of
his erection and laughing as he briefly gripped it, the most contact
he'd ever taken with another lad's equipment - but the older player was
pushing him away and spluttering his disapproval, commanding him in
German to back off and stop it immediately; switching to English, Ozcan
bluntly told him `Out!' and shoved at him from the side, a redness
entering his face and making the sides of his neck scarlet. `Out!'

Jude accepted defeat and slid back, rolling away and out from under, but
turning round before collapsing back into his own bed, so that the mound
in the front of his bed-shorts was super obvious, and peeling off his
training top to expose his tightly toned upper body. Sitting up a little,
Sal was frowning deeply at him and his mouth hanging open without the
words of approbation. `Just messing,' Jude told the other player
reproachfully, before falling into a cooler bed and dragging less
body-heated covers over his scantily clad body. He'd pushed it, he'd
tried it, but... nah, Ozcan was a traditional kinda lad, good Turkish
family, he wouldn't be into this shit like some of those pervy lads in
England, the Kanes and Fodens who'd got down on their knees to service
him.

For the best, a thin uncertain voice at the back of his mind told him,
though his body raged with contrasting sentiments. He'd been craving
that taboo for weeks, and he tossed and turned for a comfortable position
in bed, listening to the heavy breathing concern of the footballer in the
other bed, and the dulled volume of the television. Finally he settled on
his side facing the other way, wondering if he ought to mouth a proper
apology, but deciding against it - Jude's ego had yet to deflate from
the thrills of becoming a World Cup sensation, even in the context of a
disinterested Germany.

Dimly, he was aware of the TV turning off and a lamp clicking off too,
and he lay there on his side, smirking into the pillow. He didn't feel
sorry that he'd teased and challenged Ozcan. There'd been something
there, hadn't there? Immediately fatigued and comfortable, he rubbed his
tummy and then his bulge, finding the heavy semi where he'd left it, and
tempted to just whack it out and play with it properly - but he'd
probably get all sorts of disapproval and dismay from the other lad for
those antics, so he just lay quite calmly there, softly rubbing himself
and wondering how long it would take him to fall asleep. In the dark, he
relaxed onto his back, hand still on his bulge, and bare chest rising and
falling slowly against the covers - it had been a long day of training
and travel and his 6ft1 physique ached for sleep, even if he'd been
inappropriately frisky only minutes ago. Left alone, Bellingham could
easily have drifted straight into a pretty deep sleep, young and cocky
enough to be untroubled by how much he'd just alarmed his roomie.

Except, of course, for the gentle creaking noises of somebody trying not
to make any noise at all: the rustle of bedding and the relaxation of a
bedspring, the shuffle of socks on carpet, and the audibly controlled
little pants of breath moving closer to him across the room. Jude
half-opened his sleepy eyes and he smiled up at the vague silhouette in
the dark, his vision not quite adjusting enough to make out any detail -
but as his brain retreated from the sleepy shutdown it had been
considering, he gained enough awareness to nod his long face once, and
let out a low breathy chuckle. Then, with one hand, he lifted the edges
of his duvet, and in he came: the gently trembling figure of the other
man, joining him here in his bed instead, saying nothing as he settled
down into a lying position next to him, and placed a trembling hand at
his hip.

So, Jude thought, what have I started...?

He could feel the nervous shaking of the other man's body next to him,
and he knew it was more than the cold. But he just lay calmly still,
refusing to show any tension or excitement of his own, just smirking in
the dark, and waiting for the inevitable, which swiftly came... the
wandering hand brushing more firmly against his hip, and then roving over
the front of the shorts, feeling what they hid. In the dark, he heard
Salih's tremorous voice: `I don't do this kinda thing.' Quiet and
shaky, that tenderness which made him such a likeable lad and a valued
friend to Jude. In turn, Jude let out a breathy sigh and just said, `All
good - give it a good feel, matey.'

They lay there in the second bed in a row, not saying any more, and under
the covers, the Turk stroked and prodded at his bulge in the shorts, his
clumsy hand exploring the edges, and making Bellingham sigh with happy
anticipation. He held back the murmured encouragement, as if saying too
much might break a delicate moment, and send the bearded fucker back to
his own bed, as prudish and disapproving as he'd clearly pretended to be
before. But he did help him out, reaching down and pushing on the waist
of the shorts, letting Salih's hand get a proper feel of his hard
package, and encouraging him to grip and stroke it more fully. He could
hear the deepening rattle of Ozcan's breath at just that, and he smirked
more, utterly assured of his own irresistible powers - after all, why
should the alpha teen doubt his power, when this latest man seemed to be
falling at his feet so easily...? He pictured the Three Lions captain on
his knees, those bright glossy eyes and the cum glistening in his beard.
And Ozcan's bear was all the fuller.

Next to him, Salih continued to tremble and fail to control his
breathing, and the man's hand really explored his waistline and the
insides of his thighs and the weighty stiffness within his briefs, before
AT LAST, pulling them back, being bolder... and letting it loose, fingers
closing about its fat shaft, taking hold of it. `Mmmm,' was all
Bellingham let out, but he did bring one slow hand up to stroke across
the back and shoulders of the other lad, feeling his body heat through
his t-shirt, then tickling a bit at his neck. `Mmmm,' he moaned again,
feeling Salih grip him a little more, and began to pull up and down, too
gently.

`I've never done this before,' Salih uttered again, his voice small
and distant, even this intimately close; Jude wasn't sure if he did or
didn't believe him, but he just moaned in response, and pushed up with
his hips a little, encouraging the hand to take fuller control of his
full mast black cock, a real handful for the nervous friend.

`Is this okay?' came another shaky breath from the 25-year-old, but
Jude didn't honour him with words, with reassurances - he felt a selfish
pleasure in this, and a truly ego-boosting satisfaction in how easily he
had lured Ozcan into helping him out. It hadn't taken much, had it? How
long had this handsome prick been eyeing up and thinking about doing
this? The prospect of his own attractiveness and sexual dominance flooded
and excited Jude just as much as it had in autumn and winter, when he
first propositioned Kane and then again when he finally overpowered that
generous older man. He thought of the other lads in the sauna after the
knockout defeat, when Dier had recruited him to `help' their
disappointed skipper - Jude's mind had spun and buzzed with that sweaty
memory ever since, the knowledge of those other powerful alpha males, all
of them delivering their spunk to the greedy slut who led their squad.
Amongst his many new fantasies, the 19-year-old saw himself one day
wearing that captain's armband - and when he pictured himself leading
England to victory, he did not see himself as the one down on his knees
in the sauna.

Back in the present, Salih's hand got firmer and more confident, and now
lubed with a bit spit, pulling up and down Jude's big cock, jerking it
hard and letting the tip rub sensitively against the underside of the
duvet. Jude just lay there and moaned, eyes half-closed, and one hand
rubbing gently at the other man's tense shoulder muscles, just enough
pat and stroke to encourage him and hold him there, but not thanking him
or assuring him it was good, just the low drone of `Mmmm' and the
occasionally higher sound of pleasure as the pace or angle was perfected.

This, part of him thought, should be enough - this surprising
transgression in a lukewarm hotel room, his close Dortmund friend
crossing lines for him. Perhaps it really was Ozcan's first time doing
something so kinky, he really was shaking like a baby deer. Or perhaps
he'd given in before and touched other men like this, other players, it
was hard to say. Jude found that he didn't particularly care, and he
wasn't ready to settle for this awkward handjob, tingling and exciting
but a little hesitant uncomfortable. He needed more. His left hand,
resting on the back of Ozcan's neck, began to push and guide, becoming
firmer as it met tension and resistance. `Come on,' the teenager purred
in the dark. `It's what plenty of lads have done for me.' Plenty was
an exaggeration, but he believed himself as he said it, imagining that
all of those burly fuckers in the sauna had bent and noshed him off like
their captain: Trippier, Wilson, Grealish, the lot of them!

He pushed down and lifted the covers a bit more and Salih resisted some
more, but then gave in, disappearing under the duvet. His mouth was felt
first on Bellingham's six pack, kissing down the ridged centre, and then
- oh yes - it was on his cock, lips touching his shaft nervously, and
those shaky hands roving about his thigh and tummy. Under the covers, he
pressed that same imperious hand on the back of his head and pushed his
face down into his crotch, making the Turk man inhale his crotch smell,
and then open up for the cock, oh yessss. Jude sniggered at the tickle of
the man's pretty full beard crossing his skin, but he also shuddered in
pleasure, so happy to push his cock into a wet hot mouth again, and to
press so firmly down on the back of Sal's head.

Then he threw the covers further back, needing to see it for himself,
even in the dim traces of light that remained in their suite. The sounds
were enough: the gagging and gobbling, the way he was forcing that
inexpert face down against his cock and balls, really filling his mouth
and throat, choking him on his manhood. He pushed and pushed and then
gave short breaks, letting Ozcan pull back spluttering and catching his
breath, and then back down, shoving his cock between those lips and
burying it in a mouth that didn't know how to handle it. And Jude
groaned more loudly and fully now, the sounds of a man, really taking
advantage of Salih's awkward wet gob.

`That's it,' he groaned at him, `suck it good for me.'

`I've never-'

`Don't care, you're enjoying it now-'

`Mmmph...'

`Fucking choke on it, mate, mmmm, that feels so good!'

At no point did Ozcan quite relax into the task, trembling and tense
beside and against him, but Jude was concerned only with his own
enjoyment. He thrust up with his hips even as he pressed roughly down on
the back of the man's head, fucking his mouth in the darkness, and using
his face like a wank-sock. Into his gob he oozed pre-cum and his hard
fingers kneaded at the back of his neck, whilst he felt Ozcan's touch
rove over his six-pack and up and down his sturdy thighs. Fuck, yes.

No thoughts of the cold now, at least: Jude felt red hot with lust, the
insides of his bed ultra-heated by two masculine forms, and fresh sweat
beading on his chest and the insides of his legs, and on Salih's neck
where he held it in place, thrusting so deep into the back of his mouth
that the man really did splutter and choke as he pulled briefly away,
gulping down air and almost whimpering until his lips were parted again
by that thick veiny monster, Jude's black cock forced into his
inexperienced gob. There was only so long this could last: the horny teen
had been delaying his climax as best he could, but he lacked such mature
willpower, and soon he was convulsing and twitching against his bedding,
spilling his load on first the man's tongue, and then over the reddish
fur of his beard, and then drops and slicks on his own tummy and the
duvet that was falling back into place.

Almost instantly, the heat and presence of Ozcan's body was pulled away
from him, and he could just lie there on his sweaty back, limbs spread
and lungs sucking in deep bursts of air, his pecs rising and falling even
more. A long minute of dizzy gratitude, a spiralling high of orgasm, his
cock wet and sensitive and the air rich with his own salty musk; and then
he was rolling to the left a little and blinking into the dark to see
more. Ozcan was stood between the beds, seemingly with his back to him,
and his gulping breaths sounded almost like sobs in the night.

`Fuck's sake,' Jude whispered to himself.

Still dizzy with climax, he got out of the bed, his cock and balls still
erect over the lowered waistband of his briefs and shorts, brushing
cum-stains against the bum of Salih's boxers as he closed in against him
and hugged him from behind. `Thanks for that,' he moaned gently,
embracing and squeezing the 6ft lad. `I needed it.' He squeezed his
neck more gently than he had before, giving him a slightly tighter hug.
`It was good,' he reviewed, sounding dismissive, and then told him,
`Get into bed, get some sleep. It's all good.' And then, selfish and
lazy, the England teenager slid back into his own bed and turned away,
riding the wave of his own pleasure into the depths of slumber.


When Salih was quiet and withdrawn the next morning during their slow
routines, Bellingham sighed disappointedly to himself and wished all sub
men could be as chill and self-accepting as married striker Harry Kane.
He himself remained calmly quiet and indifferent, quite happy to pretend
that nothing had happened if that was what Salih Ozcan preferred... but it
quickly became obvious, passing each other for their showers and
ablutions, that the German footballer couldn't even look him in the
eyes, and the tall handsome lad kept his head lowered and still had that
sami shakiness about him as when he first climbed between their beds and
went against his own spoken disapproval.

Bellingham, cocksure and self-satisfied, was having none of this.

Whilst Ozcan was brushing his teeth and staring mournfully into the
mirror, clearly full of regret, the youngest Borussia Dortmund hero came
in behind him, only half-dressed, and stepped in close. As he had last
night in the shadows, he hugged his teammate from behind, slipping a
single strong arm about his waist and pressing his big soft package in
against his bottom as he hugged him briefly but tightly.

`Thanks,' he told him quietly. `You're a good friend doing that for
me. It was good.'

A stony silence from the other player, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

`You don't need to worry,' Jude told him quietly. `I won't tell a
soul.'

Ozcan spat into the sink, and as he bent down, his strong bottom rubbed a
little more against Bellingham's bulge, making him smirk thoughtfully.
But as the 6ft man straightened up, he hugged him more tightly from
behind, holding him almost like a girl, and nuzzling the tip of his nose
in against his neck for a moment. `Good boy,' he purred, even though
the other midfielder was significantly older than his own teen status,
and then he smirked into their reflections. `You were good at that,
matey. Might let you do it again sometime.' And with that he ruffled his
hair from behind and left him silently to it, slipping comfortably back
into the room, and telling himself that this was all obvious and
inevitable - of course Salih couldn't resist him, couldn't keep his
hands off him once invited. He was Jude fucking Bellingham, wasn't he?
The future of English football.




'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on
Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/

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