Date: Fri, 16 Feb 2024 21:34:04 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads, Part 388

Part 388: Even Stevens


Outside of the restaurant windows, stormy cloud banks built up and
promised a rainy February night in the northern town - any member of the
squad or training staff who looked out at this from their late dinner
made a grimace and said similar generic things to those around them,
predicting a muddy farce at their Burnley hosts tomorrow night according
to the local and national forecasts. He was just the latest guy there to
pause on his way to the generous buffet tables and look out at the
ominous weather, make a moody little frown in response, and then nudge an
elbow at the fella next to him - `Hey, look at those clouds - is it
gonna piss down for the whole trip?'

The weather was presumably one of the reasons their London club had
travelled up here on the Friday night, given their league game wasn't
until 8pm kick-off on Saturday - the bosses must have been worried about
delays to their journey and a chaotic build-up to the game. Burnley were
hardly worrying opposition for Arsenal this weekend, but the Gunners were
quivering in 3rd place and determined to canter past City and Liverpool
in the next few fixtures.

Next to him, the broad-shouldered goalkeeper lifted his head and cast a
thoughtful look out of the second-floor restaurant windows - but a big
white-toothed grin split the blonde-bearded face and the big shoulders
just shrugged. `So what, we love getting a bit dirty,' chuckled the
deep Stokey accent of Aaron Ramsdale, shouldering past him to go and top
up his plate with a third portion of the food options laid out by the
hotel - `Oi,' cursed Arsenal defender Ben White, overtaken by the
slightly taller lad, and hurrying after him, but pleased and admiring by
how unfazed and upbeat the other footballer could always be, a helpful
buoy against his own irritable temperament.

One after the other, the two Arsenal men loaded their plates, bickering
like schoolboys over who got to certain dishes first, and then they wove
their way back to one of the long shared tables. Already, some of the
guys were exiting the meal and going to make use of various hotel
facilities to wind down before curfew, leading Aaron to make jokes about
their piggish appetites, an idea that 26-year-old White was far too lean
and ripped to worry about. A little bit of dinnertime greed did, on the
other hand, make him yawn sleepily and feel some reluctance when Rambo
next to him went on to suggest they followed some of their pals through
to join a pool tournament or find the video games consoles that had been
set up in the team lounge; it was a mix of the stormy weather outside and
a belly-ful of carbs that made the centre-back just want to retreat to
their room.

`You go, though,' Ben suggested quietly, pushing a few last bites
around his plate, and supping on a bottle of kombucha tea.

`Without my Benjy?' Aaron said jokily, flicking a nub of sweetcorn from
plate to plate, and then grabbing and shaking his shoulder. `Nah, I'm
the same really, feel like I could crash out - but guess we shouldn't
aim to sleep too early, or we'll be out of sync tomorrow.' Smiling
peaceably to himself, the 6ft2 goalie munched on the last of his third
helpings and seemed quite contented to drop his various suggestions of
whiling away their relaxation time - and White found himself staring
gratefully along at the bulkier guy, very glad of his easygoing
friendship in their high-stakes sporting bubble. He had other mates on
the Arsenal squad, of course, and had made friends easily in his years at
Southampton and Brighton and varied loan spells - but his bond with the
Arsenal goalkeeper was definitely his closest inside the footy world, and
the two men had been prominent ushers at each other's summer weddings
last year.

Ben only realised how long and ponderously he'd been staring in his
pal's direction when Aaron shifted his head this way and caught his eye,
his lips curling into another big toothy grin: `I know, I know, I'm
looking fresh with this new trim, Benjamin, but you can take a pic
instead of staring me down like that.' And the grinning 25-year-old
pouted his thick pink lips in a jokey kiss and then punched him roughly
in the bicep before collecting their plates to tidy them away - he went
and made flirty banter with the waitress who protested against his
helpfulness, and Ben just chuckled to himself, a little embarrassed to
have been caught in his quiet moment of friendly contemplation.

`I don't mind playing pool,' the 6ft1 defender assured his friend once
they were back together and leaving the table.

`Nah, you're right, it's been a long day - I dunno if I can be
bothered pairing up with you and having you ruin my chances of winning
the tournament, you wobbly bastard.'

`Oh, sure, it'd be ME holding YOU back, right...'

`Let's just hit the room - there's a couple of movies I fancied just
gone on Prime, y'know, we could whack something on and settle in for the
night? Wanna be fresh tomorrow and do Mikel proud, eh?'

Ben nodded keenly at this idea, only vaguely uncertain because he felt
like he might have curtailed the other player's more sociable ideas
about their Friday night away trip; but he kept that reservation to
himself, quite glad to exit the hotel restaurant, pausing only to notify
a minor coach that they were signing off for curfew already, and then
winding their way through the luxury-ish suburban hotel overlooking
Burnley. By the time the two tall athletes were entering their shared
suite and knocking a couple of lamps on, the clouds outside had broken,
and rain was lashing the big windows.

`Fucking hell,' he remarked quietly, but there was nothing more
interesting to add, and he tugged on heavy curtains to close out the
darkness and the loud wind and rain. Behind him, he noticed, the big
burly goalie was skipping about the room setting up his firestick in the
TV, whilst also tugging off a baggy grey hoodie and the socks off his
large feet; with his usual careless ease, Aaron was dropping his combat
pants and stomping about the room in just a thin white vest and the
bulging black boxer briefs he'd been wearing underneath, much of his
golden-fluffed legs on show.

A little more reservedly, Ben began to look through the neatly folded
contents of his kit bag to find his PJs, glancing up as Aaron cruised
through a streaming menu and informed him of the two or three films he
had in mind - again, the married 26-year-old fell into a smiling little
reverie at the warmth and assurance of the other man's friendship, and
how supportive it was to him in their pressurised footballing life, and
through the various ups and downs they'd each experienced at Arsenal -
and for England too, he supposed, although actually it was only Rambo who
was still in Southgate's good books, and White fairly assumed that he'd
rather blotted his copybook during his brief time in Doha two winters
ago.

`What you fancy, then?' the 25-year-old demanded, lifting his vest to
scratch the dark blond trail on his tummy, and giving him a look of
earnest demand.

Ben realised he hadn't been listening to the options. `Whichever you
want, mate, I'm really easy-'

`Oh sure, Mr Easygoing, Because-Benjamin's-My-Name, rightyo,' his
friend mocked him lightly, chucking the remote over for him to catch, and
then disappearing away into their en suite; Ben laughed awkwardly and
stared at the screen, trying to regain focus. Doha was a dangerous
thought, he realised, and mulling over his friend's support in that
instance was a bit more than he wanted to dwell on during a wet Friday
night in the North. The prank that had rattled their closeness and
jeopardised his own engagement at the time, but then ultimately led to
Aaron being very considerate and helpful, discreetly aiding him in
getting out of England training and away back to the UK - even though
there was a significant episode in between these two facts that Benjamin
didn't QUITE want to articulate in his head.

He changed from his loose-fitting streetwear into the soft pyjama shorts
and matching tee of designer-printed fluffy cotton, and then sat at the
foot of his bed, flicking through the movie options and ignoring the
background combo of tinkling piss and cheerful humming, before Ramsdale
was back in the room and slapping a hand to his shoulder (`Hey, did you
even wash those?') and then looming over him from behind, mussing his
neat hear and demanding to know what he'd chosen. Ben's posture
stiffened and then relaxed, held firmly onto from behind by the big
strong goalie, then wobbled as he was pushed playfully aside and Rambo
could flop across onto his own bed.

`Oh I don't know,' Ben said a little snappily, his thoughts wobbling
over a very different hotel room, air conditioned against the Qatari
heat. He looked sharply across at Aaron and his big dopey grin and
thought of them in that room for a moment too long, making his cheeks
burn red and his appetite for this cosy buddy night diminishing. Quickly,
wanting to brush past his odd tone, he turned back to the TV and hit
select on one of the lined up films, consigning them to a recent action
blockbuster - `This'll do, won't it?'


Several times during the almost 3 hours of the film - `Didn't you look
at how many minutes it was, for fuck's sake?' - the pair of them had to
reach across and nudge or kick or, most recently, swipe heavily with a
pillow, jokily keeping the other awake and attentive because they were
supposed to stick to a fairly rigid bedtime for their boss's weekend
plan. But by the end credits, both were looking frowningly at each other
and silently communicating their dissatisfaction with the hyped Hollywood
trash that might normally please both lads. `It was just meh, wasn't
it?' Ramsdale concluded, resting back against a prop of pillows, and
hugging the weaponised one under one bare muscular arm - the other hand
reached idly down to tug and fiddle with the bulge in his undies in the
unconscious manner of any red-blooded guy in comfortable surroundings.

Ben failed to reply, even with a non-commital grunt, and he turned and
fixed the other player with a curious look, before extending one furry
leg across the space between their beds and prodding a toe into his hip.
`Oi, you listening to me?' he demanded with a gruff laugh, and for the
fifth or sixth time he noted a faraway worry on Ben's lean tanned face,
momentary enough but to concern him. He ignored White's mumbled review
of the trash film and slid his arse across the beddings to sit facing him
across the gap between beds. `You alright, buddy?' the 25-year-old
Stokey lad demanded in a quietly serious tone.

His friend looked immediately alarmed by the question. `What? Me? Sure,
yeh- what?'

Aaron fixed him with a look of studious concern and made an unconvinced
`Hmm', sitting there knee to knee with him between their two double
beds. Film more or less forgotten, he steepled his thick fingers under
his fuzzy chin and leaned his elbows into his thighs, facing Ben down
until the other player laughed nervously. `What's on your mind,
Whitey?' he asked a little less severely.

`Tomorrow night,' came the evasive answer, and he `Hmmed'-ed his
scepticism again.

`We should get some kip now-'

`Benjamin,' he insisted. `What's bothering you?' He shrugged his
broad shoulders expansively. `This is me, not some other dickhead on the
squad.'

`Are you calling our teammates a bunch of dickheads, haha...'

`Don't avoid the question mate, this is us! We've shared a lot.'

`We really have,' the marginally older footballer said in a slightly
dark tone, and Aaron raised his blond brows. Even at that, it took him a
moment to guess at what Ben meant, but he saw the regretful flush on that
tanned face, and he gave him a puzzled smile. `No way,' the goalkeepr
said quietly.

`No way what?'

`No way that you're still hung up on THAT.'

`What?' White asked, but the look on his face was obvious - both blokes
knew what Ramsdale meant by `THAT'. They stared at each other, Benjamin
a bit awkward, but he just bemused and only faintly uneasy with the
memory - he shrugged his shoulders again and put the word out there, a
quiet friendly question - `Doha, right?'

The defender made a little snorty noise of annoyance and got up to his
feet - so Aaron did the same, squaring up to him in the space between the
beds, and bringing his large goal-keeping hands up to Ben's lean biceps.
`Dude, that was... I dunno, years ago-'

`Eighteen months at most,' Ben muttered, not meeting his eyes.

`We've talked about it,' Aaron insisted quietly. `We laughed it off.
Daft shite abroad. A prank that went too far.' He smiled encouragingly
and gave the 6ft1 lad's shoulders a squeeze. `Mate, you married her,'
he laughed, `so it's not like she took the joke so badly after all, it
was a spat of a few days for the pair of ya...! I was at the wedding, she
hardly looked like she was resenting a stupid practical joke at the World
fucking Cup, so...' He trailed off, seeing the hints of the February
storm in his friend's moody expression; he supposed he knew full well
that Ben wasn't actually alluding to the brief trouble that Aaron's
sense of humour at an illicit sex shop had sparked between fiances that
hot winter. It wasn't the embarrassment of Ramsdale hiding the big
yellow dildo in White's bed during a conjugal visit that was still
playing on the lanky southerner's mind over a year later, was it?

`It was just a bit of a daft laugh,' Aaron said, his voice quiet, but a
little more low and gravelly, less light and jovial. He patted the
shoulders and pulled his hands back, letting his long arms hang idly at
his sides. He forced a laugh and scratched at his chin. `I mean, you
recovered pretty quickly from the pinkeye, so...'

Ben's face was a mixture of worried frown and sarcastic laugh, and he
did pull away now, slipping away from the closeness of their standing
figures, out from between the beds - and Aaron suppressed the lingering
marvel and shock that he'd held onto at his own actions that night,
joking around with his friend and trying to mend their closeness after
taking his daft prank too far. But - and this was important, he thought -
it was daft for Ben to be the one holding onto any stress or regret
there, given the way things had gone, he just didn't know how to point
this out to the moody-spirited defender without offending.

`Let's leave it,' White was saying, switching off the telly and moving
to twitch the curtains and check if the rain was still as heavy - but
Ramsdale found he didn't quite feel like leaving it, after this stupid
episode had been revived in their banter. `I don't know why you're
thinking about any of that,' he said, trying to sound more kindly than
accusing, `I mean, the things you and I have heard and seen since
then...!' He didn't need to spell out the details, vaguely following his
teammate across the room - unspoken between them was his own gossip about
Declan Rice's private life, never mind a couple of shocking intimacies
Ben had accidentally spied in the Arsenal training campus. And sitting
more heavily apart from these matey confidences, the goalie thought with
some tension, was the sweaty moment he'd shared in a room with his
fellow England keepers last year - fucking that stupid sex toy of
Johnstone's in Pickford's grip!

Ben turned to face him, giving him a strange wary look, averting his
eyes. `Please can we leave it? I'm just being daft...'

`Nah,' Aaron insisted warmly, approaching him, `you know you can talk
to me, you shouldn't have to feel daft...! What's bothering you, really?
I mean - it was a stupid little joke, it's just between us, you haven't
gone telling your missus or anything have you...?'

`No, no, god no...!'

`Thank fuck,' he whistled. `I mean, you and me can laugh our heads off
about what happened, but I'd defo rather it didn't leave this room,
bud...! Haha... Not that it meant anything dodgy, it was just...' He
laughed and rubbed at his face, finding it a little warm and clammy. `It
was just proving a point, wasn't it?  I pissed you off and I wanted to
make amends!' He felt himself reddening with the forcefulness of his
point, and then his thought was tumbling out: `I mean, it were me who
shoved the bastard thing up his jacksie, wasn't it?!'

At this blunt truth, Benjamin stared back at him with wide horrified eyes
and pursed lips, and Aaron regretted being so explicit about something
that they had both coped with by brushing it aside in gruff jokes and
banter - and he bristled uncomfortably at hearing himself say it out
loud, this thing that he'd just insisted shouldn't leave the room. He
wondered if he'd raised his voice too much there, with probable silent
suites on either side of their shared space - and he wondered if he'd
really pissed off his pal with his bluntness, the intensity with which
the Poole-born poser was now staring him down.

`Yeah, you did,' muttered Ben, without much humour or relief.

`So what's the fuckin' problem?' Aaron demanded, unable to hide some
aggro and frustration, having put words to the deed.

`It just seems- I mean- Ergh. It-' Ben was really struggling to get his
words out and Aaron stared at him almost accusingly, finding himself a
bit annoyed and riled to have it all brought up, no longer able to laugh
it off, the two of them standing alone with this elephant in the room -
`Spit it out, mate,' he grunted, and instantly regretted the unkindness
in his own tone - while Ben, looking a bit wild in the eyes, blurted at
him, `I just feel bad that you were the one who tried that, when it was
my stupid dilemma in the first place - feels like you really took one for
the team there, and I feel really awkward about it...!'


Benjamin didn't quite know what he was saying until he'd said it, and
he found himself staring quite intensely at Aaron's broad open face, his
blinking confusion, his puzzled open mouth - so his verbal rush spilled
on, and he was shocked to hear himself say it: `I feel bad that you took
that- that- that thing up ya,' he said, his voice dropping to an ashamed
whisper, `and all cos I was all confused and worried by a little pinkie
finger from my missus...!' He groaned miserably. `I mean, it was me
getting us trouble when we tried that nonsense in the sauna back home -
caught by the fucking gaffer, no less! I got us fined, I got pissed at
you over a bloody prank, and then...' He waved his hands expressively at
the bulky blond lad and then pushed past him, rubbing his sweaty red face
and feeling mortified that he'd even started this dialogue. `I just
wish it was even stevens or something,' he barked back at his roomie,
moving across the suite and feeling like he needed a cold shower, then
shooting a nervously apologetic look back at the other lad. `I started
this nonsense and it was you who... you know... did that, and-'

`Hey, hey...' Ramsdale's voice was low and soothing, his slow steady
steps following White across the room, one of his large hands now
catching him at the elbow. `This was ages ago,' Aaron said to him in a
murmur, but his eyes looked as worried and frustrated as they had before
- Ben felt bad, he'd seen how ashamed his mate looked as he voiced what
had actually happened in Doha. They were both red in the face and Ben was
furious with himself for doing this, after such a chilled night when his
mate had been so ready to accommodate his antisocial mood and take it
easy up here...

`I know, I know,' the south coast heart-throb murmured shamefully.
`It's just so... I dunno. It was all so stupid, wasn't it? But I feel
bad. I mean, when I tried bringing that crap up with her after Doha, she
wasn't...' He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the side of his neck. `She
didn't want to stick a pinkie up me any more, she looked disgusted when
she thought I was asking for it - I mean, I wasn't, was I! I was just
saying it cos I thought SHE wanted to try it, like two years ago...!'

Aaron smiled at him, his tension seeming to soften, and Ben just felt
worse - he shouldn't be winding up and annoying his best footy mate like
this. He covered his face with both hands and groaned. `I just think it
should have been me taking that fucking whopper instead of you,' he
grumbled. `Or- I dunno. I dunno what I think. Sorry, big man.'

`Hey, hey...' He felt all the more flustered and confused as Aaron's
arms enfolded him in a big manly hug, and he responded in kind, holding
tightly onto the big warm body of the 6ft2 keeper. But he pulled away,
cringing at himself, and tried to dismiss what he'd said - `I mean, if
you hadn't bought the daft bloody thing, then-'

`If you want things to be even stevens, then it's easily solved,'
Ramsdale's voice cut across his, a gruff Midlands laugh - and it made
him pause and look nervously at the goalie, his face and tone hard to
read. Ben mouthed a `What?' and Aaron shoved him gently in the chest of
his t-shirt. `It was just a laugh, wasn't it?' purred the big Stokey
lad. `If we have to repeat it for you to feel equal, then...'

Ben of course realised that this was literally what he'd been
suggesting, in his awkward roundabout and kinda unconscious way, but he
snorted and scoffed and shook his head. `Fuck off,' he mumbled, then
added stupidly, `It's not like either of us carries around a big stupid
sex toy like you bought-'

`Nah,' Aaron agreed quietly, `but...' He was holding a hand up and
moving closer where they stood, and Ben blinked, flustered and
overheated, taking too many moments to understand the gesture - Aaron
holding up first one, then two, then three of his thick callused fingers,
and leering past them - `Oh...'

`What do you think?' mused the contested Arsenal goalkeeper. `Three
fingers about the same as...?'

`Err - oh - errrm-'

He must have looked wild with terror, because Aaron dropped the digits
and grabbed him by both shoulders, shaking with laughter as he began to
apologise `Just messing-' but Ben cleared his throat and spoke over
him, locking eyes with his best mate: `Yeah,' he said, his throat dry,
`I think three would be about the same. Erm.'


Aaron stared at the other football lad in sudden high tension, his
chuckling apologies dying in his mouth. He blinked twice, wiped a hairy
forearm across his lips, and then took a step back; he looked away and
then back at Benjamin, seeing the crestfallen anxiety of his handsome
face. `Right,' the goalie said, quietly but firmly. `Well, we can do
that.' They stared at each other for a long moment, and neither of them
said anything.

With a sense of Ben's suggested injustice, the 25-year-old found himself
mentally returning for a moment to that air-conditioned suite in the
Three Lions basecamp - him hoisting the big rubbery toy and sliding onto
the bed, laughing his head off and willing to do any stupid stunt to show
his level of apology to his bestie. And now... he cleared his throat and
rubbed his knuckles together and then just let his hands hover at his
hips. He was also, for another long moment, thinking about being in that
room with Jordan and Sam, his two fellow goalies of the national team,
and... that other toy.

`Right then,' he said, surprised at the directness and bluntness of his
own voice as if it was coming from further away - Benjamin was still
stood tall and gormless in front of him, looking like he might be
regretting his bold agreement to the ridiculous idea - `You get on the
bed then, I think, and we'll see what you think?' He could hear himself
saying it as if it was rational and sensible - the perfect solution to
his friend's anxiety of two years ago, having had his fiancee
investigate between his cheek in the middle of a shag... yeah, sure, this
was just a friendly experiment to follow that up, wasn't it?

`On the bed?' White echoed faintly, still staring at him.

`Sure,' Ramsdale grunted back, full of feigned casual confidence. `You
wanna be comfortable.' He nodded instructively to the bed and then
followed his friend towards it. Suddenly nervous, he grabbed his mate by
the wrist. `This is stupid,' he whispered, their faces suddenly close.
`We don't have to do this, just cos I... I... y'know, tried that thing,
and... I mean, you don't OWE me anything, it was MY prank, and...'

`Please,' came White's hoarse quiet response - Ramsdale could feel him
shaking - `I wanna try it, mate.' There was a tiny pleading sense to
his fluttering eyes and shaking lip and suddenly Aaron felt new
determination. He nodded, slowly, and squeezed the hand on Ben's warm
tanned skin. `Get on the bed,' he said, gently but commanding, `and
we'll see how this feels for you, okay...?'

And so they moved on, both slow and deliberate in every little action;
Ben looking very confused and indecisive as he got on the bed and sat
there leaning back, and Aaron moving around him in a way that he hoped
seemed sure, decisive, in control. `Nah,' he told him, `bend over,
facing away, I think it'll be easier.' He wasn't sure he could look
his friend in the eye and do this.


So Benjamin did as he was told, shifting onto his knees and leaning
forward. He could feel his tall strong body, decorated as it was by
sun-tan and tattoo, trembling with indecision and expectation. What had
he suggested? What were they doing? Were they both mad? He pressed his
face down into his palms on the bedding and stayed there, elbows and
knees, arse jutting back to one side of the bed - he could feel Aaron's
heavy presence close by, hear him rifling in a toilet bag, hear his heavy
faltering breaths, hear the indecision in every muscular movement... as
slowly, no words spoken, one of those goal-saving hands rested on his
lower back, his hip, his buttock... and clenching slowly at the soft
fluffy cotton, pulled the loose designer PJ shorts away... so that Ben was
leaning heavily forward, bent over on the bed, with his bare smooth arse
jutting out into the cool air. Fuck.


Aaron stared at it: two big oval muscles, the tan lines obvious where
Ben's beach colour gave way to the natural pale pink of whatever speedos
or briefs he'd been wearing on holiday in the winter break. It was all
very smooth, almost feminine if you looked at it the right way and
didn't think about the tall muscular form attached to it, or focus on
the little fuzz of dark hair that was visible in the cleavage at the top.
Aaron stared at it, and then down at his hand, and then at the little
tube of vaseline he'd been using for his chapped lips.


Ben tensed even more as he felt the cool touch, the single thick
fingertip pressing between his clenched cheeks. He heard the bed springs
jitter as his knees and elbows dug in more. This was mad, he told
himself, this was a stupid idea; he could feel a slick greasy fingertip
moving between his cheeks and pushing in, and he had to try hard not to
lunge forward away from the invasive feeling - in fact, he might have
failed to do so, had a solid hand not rested on the small of his back,
pressing gently down, and that gruff friendly voice sounded gently from
behind him, `Try to relax...'


Aaron held his left hand firm atop the base of Ben's spine, and he
pushed the index finger of the other hand slowly up and down, digging it
between the tight firm canyon of Ben's cheeks, feeling the gentle fuzz
of hair and the strangely intense body heat of it; he realised he'd been
holding his breath for too long and let it out in an awkward sigh that
turned into a stilted cough. Remembering himself, he repeated the mantra,
keeping his voice low and warm: Just relax mate, try to relax...'


Ben felt it, really felt it, the tip of one slick finger on his rosebud,
and he let out his little concerned `Oh!' - he bit the yelp back down,
too late, trying to be strong and manly about it, and suddenly fixated on
an image of Aaron's gurning amusement as he tried his own hole, Ben
helping a little, helping him to... ohhh... he could feel his friend's
finger sliding very slowly into him, was it really just ONE finger, it
felt so huge and impossible... `Ohhh!' And his friend's voice drifting
over his shoulder, telling him repeatedly, `Relax buddy...'


Aaron tried hard to stay slow, careful, hesitant; he was gripped by a
curious excitement now that he didn't know what to do with. He was
holding down on Ben's back even more firmly, no longer just a calm hand
resting at his waistline - but gripping and pulling on the fabric of his
pyjama top there, holding it like a harness, whilst with his other hand
he squeezed that one solid finger further, deeper, entering the lad more
fully, feeling his hot tightness about the entirety of his digit, right
to the knuckle - `Ohhh,' whimpered White, and Ramsdale growled back,
`Relax!'


Ben felt it slide in and out of him, just like his own sweaty finger when
they'd lain side by side in the sauna and briefly experimented with it -
nothing like the brief electric touch of his wife, who had chanced it
after some stupid advice article in a magazine, and never returned to the
scene of the crime. His bent body was still tense and anxious, but he was
surprised by how commandingly easy Aaron made it seem, gently fingering
him like his arse was a wet pussy - and his awkward `Ohs' of surprise
turned into a groan that he couldn't suppress, a long thoughtful
`Ohhhh' of surprised enjoyment, and he felt his cock and balls twitch.


In and out Aaron pushed now, less careful, less slow and uncertain - just
plunging his finger deep into the tight hole of Ben's cunt, and pulling
it back, loving the slick wet noise it made. He experimented with
pressure and angle, trying to stretch the entrance, eager now to try a
second finger. He pulled his hand back first, and rather than going for
the vaseline, he just spat noisily on the two fingers, and... he leaned
forward, one heavy knee squeaking against the edge of the mattress, and
spat down between the tanned cheeks, his bubbly spit settling around
Ben's near-smooth hole, against which he now pressed two rough
fingertips.


Ben whimpered, feeling his body resist, feeling the little struggle of
opposing strength; but then they were inside him, the impossible
thickness of two fingers, and he was arching his back, giving int other
guiding control of Aaron's other hand. His strong lean arse pushed back
and high and his face squishing down into the bedding, arms firm at his
sides. His cock throbbed and lifted, and he wondered if Aaron could tell;
but then Rambo had got all excited when he explored himself deeper and
deeper, right? That was how... well, that was how the mess got made, and
he left his first and only World Cup with pinkeye...


`Relax,' Aaron growled, `you can take them...' This was more
challenging, and he couldn't slide in and out as easily with two as with
one, but he was sure it could become smoother, easier, if the tattooed
poser on the bed would just... give in? He leaned forward, kneeling more
heavily on the bed, and spat some more against his fingers and the fuzzy
crack. He slid his hand further up Ben's back, until he was holding the
nape of his neck; then he pushed his two fingers quite roughly into him,
refusing to yield against strong muscle, and really stretched and
explored him; his own cock throbbing in the front of his boxer briefs, as
it had watched Johnstone and Pickford go to work on that tight
fleshlight.


Ben thought in a hot rush that two must be the maximum, even if that
wasn't quite the same girth as the rubbery toy Aaron had tried; no way
could his backside take more than this! No way! And why was Aaron
grabbing his neck like that. More to the point, why did it feel kinda
nice? He kept having to shift his face side to side, snuffling for air,
and yet Rambo held him down, gripping the back of his head quite roughly,
and he didn't necessarily want him to stop - he DEFINITELY didn't want
him to stop pushing two fingers knuckle-deep in his aching, burning ring,
penetrating and discovering him, making him moan and tremble, his cock
throb and leak, his balls tingle where they drooped between his shaking
thighs.


Aaron pulled his hand back, formed three sturdy fingers, and stared at
them. He spat on them then thought better of this feeble lubrication; he
spurted as much vaseline from the tube onto them as possible, and then
spat instead on Ben's glistening arse-hole. He leaned over him as he
growled, `I'm gonna try it, buddy', then ignored the whimpering
uncertainty of Ben's `Are you sure?' He pressed three fingers in and
felt the tinyness of the hole, the impossibility of the penetration, this
was nothing like fingering a bird; it frustrated him, and he took this
out briefly by spanking hard against one of Ben's tight glutes. But he
tried again, whispering `Relax mate' as he forced in one, then two,
then... yes, yes, a third...!


Ben's hole was on fire, but he braced himself and wondered if it would
feel better in a moment, like one had, like two had; and he trusted big
Aaron, whose huge muscular presence over him was so powerful and
reassuring, so... so... so fucking sexy. His cock was leaking pre-cum in a
little froth down his thigh and he couldn't believe how much he loved
having his friend's fingers in him; he wanted to tell him this but he
was scared to. This was a game, an experiment, a payback, just even
stevens!


Aaron pushed the three digits slowly that bit further in, edging his
invasion that little bit further with each thrust, but really rubbing in
a massaging manner at Ben's neck and up and down his back, and then over
each of his firm pink cheeks; his own breathing was heavy and needy, and
he was leaning back to stare down at it, the beauty of Ben's tight
strong bottom, the pink stretched hole, the dark fuzz of hair above and
below it; he reached down and, unable to stop himself, turned his left
hand to the tented outline of his erection. He rubbed and pulled it
through black fabric as he relented and settled for sliding just two
fingers in and out, three having proved kinda too much - but he was
starting to wonder what else might fit perfectly in there.


Ben no longer knew if it was three fingers, two fingers, one; he just
pushed his arse back and up and gasped for air, whimpering with each
digging thrust of Aaron's knuckles. `Yes,' he whispered hoarsely, `oh
yes...' And he heard Aaron spitting again, loudly, and was bewildered at
how that phlegmy noise could be sexy; then Aaron was leaning over him,
body to body, and he could feel his breath on his neck, the tickle of his
blond beard on his cheek. He tensed, uncertain what his friend was going
to tell him, and he shuddered with release when the inevitable words
sounded close to his ear: `I've fucked you with my fingers,' growled
the Arsenal keeper, `but now you're going to get the real thing,
okay?' And shaky with anticipation, Ben couldn't stop himsel: `Yes
Aaron, yes please sir, yesss...'


It was the `sir', unbidden and unexpected, that really sent the shiver
down Ramsdale's spine, making his every muscle seem electrified; edging
himself into position behind the bent-over physique of the other player,
his t-shirt tugged halfway up his tanned back, his arse open and slick,
and Aaron's wet cock-head angled close to it. He pushed it forward,
holding it at the base, and rubbed its thick tip up and down the wet
crack, rolling it against the blinking entrance - just like he had to
that tight synthetic pussy in the cup of plastic, goaded by Sam Johnstone
and Jordan Pickford, one of the fellas in the England goalkeeping trio.
What was the difference, he asked himself, between a toy like that, and...
any willing hole.


Now Ben groaned loudly and freely, unable to hide his pleasure, and
gasping repeatedly `Aaron, Aaron, Aaron', feeling his friend entering
him in a more powerful and filling way - he was glad that the big
25-year-old took it slow, inching into him, but somehow the veiny girth
of the beautiful man's cock was easier than three fingers, but surely
thicker and fuller than the two that had slid so easily in and out of his
wet ring. He felt Aaron over him, holding him, breathing on him, but also
in him, deep in him, pushing inside, stretching and filling him... and
then pulling back and forward, fucking his aching burning ring, fucking
him like he had with his strong fingers, plunging deep and tugging back,
over and over and over- oh fuckkkk, oh fuckkkkk...


`Yes,' Aaron groaned into his best mate's ear, `yes mate, your pussy
feels good... oh yes, Benjamin, feel me in you yeah, feel how big I am,
fuck yeah, mmm... your pussy, lad... ohhh, fuck, fuck, yess... how's that
feel... better than my fingers, better than your wife's fucking pinkie
finger, yeah.... Mmmm... you slut, you beautiful slut, you dirty little
pussy slut... ohhh mmmm yeh....'


`Yes sir,' Ben whimpered with a submissive desperation that he'd never
felt before, `yes, all of it, oh yes, deeper, harder, fucking hell
you're amazing... fuckkk... fuckk.... Yes sir, your slut, totally your
slut, fuck my pussy sir, mmm... oh god, Aaron, Rambo, mmmm...!'


And Aaron cumming hard, a few slow but hard final thrusts, emptying his
balls inside the quivering strength of his teammate, sweat dripping from
every muscle of his body, pooling against the vest on his torso, and
dripping down his tree trunk legs to the bunched briefs at his ankles. He
pushed deep inside and bred the man-cunt, filling this slut up with his
seed, and holding him tightly with all of his exhausted strength,
grunting and groaning in his ear: `Yes mate, yes mate... mmmm, yes...'


And Ben, moaning wordlessly into the lamplit night, as he reached down
and fumbled desperately with his cock; pulled onto his side, spooned and
held by the big heavy form of the goalkeeper, his cock still buried to
the hilt in his arse, while Benjamin jerked frantically on himself and
spurted a messy load down his legs, up his tummy, over the bedding. He
shook and gasped and whimpered and relaxed into the cuddle, feeling
Aaron's lips brush the side of his neck, the lobe of his ear: `Yes
mate,' the big stud was moaning for him again, and Ben whispered back
through his own heavy breaths: `Thank you, thank you, thank you....'


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

Amazon Wishlist here if you wanna say thanks LOL
https://www.amazon.co.uk/hz/wishlist/ls/26BW3WSABBHNM?ref_=wl_share