Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2020 22:43:40 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 39: Drinkwater, Eat ****

Party thirty-nine: Drinkwater, Eat ****


A blustery winter day was in full swing outside, but the interior of Aston
Villa's training centre was all but deserted. After last night's League Cup
replay, the exhausted lads had been granted a reprieve, and were only in
for a short afternoon session with the gaffer and his coaching team. One
determined Villa boy, however, was already arriving in the well-equipped
gym block.

Stalking into the fitness suite and letting the motion-sensor lights above
flicker into existence, Captain Jack Grealish stomped his new Yeezy
trainers along the long room, rubbing life into his blinking eyes and
flexing his knuckles as he moved through the kit.

He'd woken really early this morning, perhaps still a bit hyped up by last
night's aggregate victory and the unbridled celebrating that had gone on in
the conference suite at Villa Park afterwards. Beating Leicester was
something of an East Midlands derby, really, and a bit of cup success was
much-needed contrast to their lowly position in the Premier League. Jack
shared the rest of the team's excitement, of course he did, but it was not
without some oddness at beating a couple of his good mates like Chilly and
Madders. He supposed that was the problem with international duty and such,
you got these great bonds with other players on big teams, and then it was
weird to defeat them – though it was definitely worse when they defeated
you.

Yes, perhaps it was THAT which was leaving an odd taste in Jack's mouth
– it was hard to explain why he had felt so agitated getting back to his
flat last night after toasting to their win with the lads, exalted as
always as a talented young leader to the Birmingham team.

He stretched and tested his wiry arm muscles, and picked up some free
weights to do a few simple bicep curls, vainly checking himself out once or
twice as he did, watching his long-sleeved Villa training shirt tighten
over his arms and chest with each pull, but trying not fixate too
critically on his boyish features or wispy goatee. It was easy to get
narcissistic in these gyms!

Of course, he thought, after a solid couple of rounds of these exercises,
there had been some odd dynamics around the squad of late too. McGinn, for
example, had been really fucking odd since... well, since their play-about
in the changing rooms the other week. The Scots lad had pulled Jack aside a
few days on, desperate to apologise for his surprisingly submissive antics
that afternoon. Grealish had done his best to defuse the awkward
conversation, but John had been absolutely frantic with shame and regret,
and it had ended uncomfortably. Things between them had been more or less
fine since, but he could see how bothered McGinn was... to be fair, things
had gone a bit far, maybe, but Jack didn't see why his Scottish mate needed
to be so fucking shifty about it.

And Mings had been similar, actually. Jack had caught him glaring severely
at him, and at John and Danny, at various moments in training and around
the grounds. Judgmental prick – he'd had his nob out too, and got
involved in the circle jerk, so... Jack wasn't sure how to play it with
either of them. He knew full well he had initiated the whole thing, so of
course they were going to be funny with him if they were regretting their
involvement, but he didn't quite see why it needed to be such a big
deal. It had been a right laugh, hadn't it? Nowt more.

Jack busied himself with his upper body routine, moving on to a series of
weights machines and trying to up his kg in the hope of building his muscle
mass a little. Working on these heavier weights, he did short reps and took
long rests, huffing and sighing as he worked.

And then last night, there had been that weird... Well, it was a funny
moment to describe. Surely it was too superficial and nothing-y to really
be what was bothering him, putting him on edge through the night, waking
him up so early today. I mean, it had just been a daft moment of
speculation, that was all, so...

It had been well into the second half of the Leicester game last night. Of
course, he'd had his little moments of banter with his mates: a whispered
word of abuse in Ben Chilwell's ear as the two young players crossed paths
during the game, a playful shove at James Maddison once or twice when their
play clashed. Standard stuff. He'd sent both lads joking threat messages
earlier in the day. It added a playful spice to the Premiership
rivalry. But then, later in the game, after another substitution, he'd
seen... What had he seen, exactly? It was Vardy. The prodigious striker had
come on in the final third of the 90 minutes, still on his way back from a
minor injury, and partly Jack had feared a flurry of goals from him to
change the aggregate score. That hadn't surfaced, but there had been an odd
moment: lurching past them on his way to follow a subtle shift in Villa's
formation, he had swung by Vardy and Chilly nearby, seen the most subtle
grabbing of backside from the wiry, beady-eyed 30-year-old to young Ben,
and a sort of reciprocal grab with a backwards hand from floppy-haired
pretty boy. It had been the work of a flashing second, a blink-and-you-miss
it exchange between the two Leicester players, largely screened from the
onlooking crowds by their fast-paced bodies, and yet...

Jack shoved the creaking iron parts of the weight machine back into place,
and sat up, feeling the burn in his shoulders and biceps, and pulling loose
strands of highlighted hair back out of his eyes and sweeping it back along
his head.

Nah, there couldn't be owt going on between lovely Ben and that sleazy rat
Jamie, and... Well, Ben was straight, wasn't he? That stuff they'd got up
to had just been a mutual experiment, so... Jack sat there on the leathery
surface of the weights bench, rubbing at his thighs through his tracksuit
bottoms, and thinking hard. It had crossed his mind two dozen times this
year: was that Ben's first contact with a bloke? It seemed hard to believe,
and yet... it was weird to think that he didn't know what his young chum
was up to. Ben had explicitly claimed he'd tried that with a GIRL, so...

And if there WAS any shit between the two Foxes, then what the fuck did it
matter? It's not like he, heartthrob football captain extraordinaire, was
going to be fucking jealous!

Almost laughing aloud, Grealish got up from the bench and tugged
momentarily on the front of training shirt to cool off from the exertions
of the challenging weights he'd been trying to lift so far in the
routine. And that was when it hit him that he was no longer alone in the
training suite, and another figure in matching tracksuit pants and a plain
white tshirt was half-lounged against the opposite side of the room, arms
folded and watching him.

`What's so funny, Cap'n?' asked Danny Drinkwater with a light smile.

Jack raised his eyebrows but tried to hide his surprise. He must have been
really lost in his routine (or his idle thoughts of male distraction) not
to hear somebody else enter the gym. `Oh, nothing much,' he answered
vaguely, strolling over beside his surprise companion to the water machine,
trickling some icy refreshment out into a paper cup.

`How come you're in here so early, Jack?'

`Restless,' Grealish said, then refilled his little cup. `Too much energy.'

`After last night?' Drinkwater exclaimed, joining him by the water
cooler. `I mean, I didn't even make it to the fucking bench, that's why I
need a gym sesh – would have thought you'd still be recovering from a
full 90 mins.' He gave a faintly suspicious grin as he leaned in
closer. `The gaffer know you're in here doing extra work?'

Jack scoffed and shrugged. `I'm allowed to manage my own fitness routine,
D,' he muttered a little defensively. He licked stray water from his facial
hair and huffed a bit wearily. He knew Danny was right: his body was aching
already, trying heavy new reps after a full-on night of winning football.

`Sure, sure,' was all Drinkwater responded before backing off and getting
started on his own morning workout. Jack watched him with idle curiosity:
he partly envied the Mancunian's thicker-set body and definition, though he
knew it would be a barrier to his own speed and agility on the field. He
pulled his gaze away as the muscular newcomer got to work on his own choice
of weights, poured himself a third water, and made his way to the exercise
bikes for a more gentle session, choosing one facing the windows and the
training pitch beyond. It was gently drizzling out there: this afternoon
would be a little bit grim.

He gave an idle glance back over the gym to where Danny was on his back
doing some chest lifts of a heavy dumbbell, and tried to shrug off the
almost unwelcome presence of a second player in here this morning, and got
on with a steady bike routine, short bursts of intensity then longer
patches of slow recovery. He was soon sweaty, lengthy blond-streaked hair
falling over his brow and dripping perspiration down his high cheekbones.

`Mind if I join ya?'

Him again. `Yeah, free country,' Jack said with a weak laugh, though he
would have preferred the older loan player not to come and use the bike
right next to him when they had the suite to themselves, in all honesty. He
really did feel irritable and restless today! He should be making way more
effort to be friendly to this bloke.

`Why do you suppose I wasn't even a sub last night, pal?' Danny asked,
after the two lads had been silently cycling for a while.

`Hmm? Oh. Well, there's a lot of factors and strategy at work, erm...'

`Yeah, yeah. I get that. But...'

`You haven't been here long, you're still finding your place, mate,' Jack
said with slow, unconvincing positivity, partly because he was distracted
by his own recent observations. He slowed his pedalling and gave the
northerner a kind look. `Don't let it get to you, though.'

Danny nodded without returning his look. `I try not to, but... You know,
it's just been a funny few years. I mean, technically I'm a Chelsea player,
but I've barely worn blue in... Well, a while. I got like two appearances
at fucking Burnley, and here I am... another loan spell, and what's
changed?' A long sigh. `I just wondered if it had owt to do with that
business the other day,' he pointed out in a lower voice.

Jack actually stared blankly at him for a few moments, slow to connect his
older teammate's worries with their bit of backroom fun. `Oh,' he said,
when the dots joined in his head, `nah, why would that be...? Mate, I don't
think-`

`I just wondered,' Danny muttered quickly, picking up the pace on his
exercise bike.

Jack focused on his own pedalling rhythm, staring from Danny to the view of
outside, and then back again. `You think someone said something about
you... mucking about, and that's stopped you getting on the team?' He gave
him a slightly incredulous look, various worries skimming through his mind:
who else knew what had happened?!

`No, well, I don't know,' Danny mumbled.

Jack realised he had let his pedals slow too much and the bike bleeped into
standby with irritating laziness. He let his muscular legs dangle idly at
the sides and massaged his hands against the rubbery handlebars, then sat
more upright.

`I just wondered,' Drinkwater told him, abandoning his own cycling too, and
letting out a nervy laugh at his own paranoia, then smiling weakly across
the space between the bikes. `I dunno. Been a tough few years for me,
football-wise. I'm getting a bit paranoid, I guess.' A long silence between
them, neither getting off their bike. `I just figured I might have... done
summat wrong, and offended someone, or...' He shrugged his broad
shoulders. `I'm just trying to fit in here.'

Jack was slow to answer, choosing his words carefully. `You did nowt
wrong,' he said with hesitant reassurance. `It was... It was fun, wasn't
it.'

`Oh yeah,' Danny said readily. `I did have a laugh, mate.'

`Yeah, yeah,' Jack mumbled back. Well, at least someone could see it like
that! Danny's paranoia was a bit less surprising or irritating than Mings
and McGinn desperately distancing themselves from their own playful
behaviour, that's for sure. Grealish could really see the vulnerability of
the Chelsea outcast's position, when he thought about it, and he could
sorta see how what went on might have played on Danny's mind as a reason
for his team exclusion. He hopped off his bike, and slapped the other lad
gently on the side. `Nobody else knows, I'm sure,' he said. `You needn't
fret. That bit of fun was nothing too dodgy, was it?'

Danny shrugged from his saddle, then got down too. `I dunno, wasn't it?' he
asked. `Depends what you lads normally get to around here, hah... You made
out it was a ritual, but... those two looked a bit freaked afterwards.' He
gave Jack a knowing look, and the Villa captain turned away awkwardly,
feeling exposed.

He made his way back to get more water, turning this thought over. `Oh, you
know,' he said vaguely. `Locker room banter varies as guys come and go,
right?' He looked back at Danny, who nodded, but still looked a bit
suspicious or cautious. `You enjoyed it though?' Jack asked, in a slightly
more challenging, provocative voice.

Danny shrugged again but also nodded. `I mean, yeah, I did,' he said
gruffly. `Like I said... it wasn't my first blowie off a lad.'

Jack gave a slow nod, pulling back some hair again, wiping his sweaty face
on the back of a sleeve. `Yeah... I still can't quite believe that
bit. Loftus-Cheek, you said? I never would have thought he was...' He
paused, awkwardly. Did sucking a guy off make you queer? Well, if so, then
his good mate Ben was certainly a bit... Danny seemed to be watching his
conflicted thoughts, and he bristled a little uncomfortably. `That was
definitely a first in these changing rooms,' he admitted quietly. `As I'm
sure you could tell from McGinn freaking out and hunting for mouthwash
twenty minutes later...'

`God, he did act a bit weird, didn't he?' Danny laughed, some tension
easing between them then. `Is he being funny with you now, or...?'

Jack winced and shrugged, and laughed a little. `Maybe? Hard to tell, with
a Scotsman,' he chuckled uneasily.

Danny gave him a broad grin. `Well, you can rely on me not being a funny
cunt over a daft bit of playtime,' he said, and not for the first time,
Jack had the feeling the older bloke was trying hard to win his favour in
the hope of settling his position here more firmly. Well, hard to blame him
for trying that, really. And his casualness was refreshing, really. `What
about you?' Danny asked, interrupting his thoughts.

`Hmm?'

`Well... had you ever had a nosh off a guy before, or...?' The Manc lad was
keeping his voice down, but his grin was a bit dirty, his eyes sparkling
with curiosity, and the gym suddenly felt so awkwardly public and exposed
for this kind of chat.

`A bit,' Jack admitted. Danny's grin grew a bit and he raised his eyebrows
quizzically. Jack was torn between enjoying this playful openness, and his
nagging doubts about it... He turned over Ty and John's funny treatment,
his questions about Chilly and Vardy, and... Oh, what the fuck. `I did get
a bit of a suck-job once before, but not as er, enthusiastically as cheeky
wee McGinn...' He let off a filthy chuckle and Danny joined in.

`He really went for it, huh?!'

`Yeh, fucking hell... No wonder he's embarrassed.'

Danny grinned, and Jack couldn't help but mirror it. He looked about the
empty gym as if deciding what machine to go for next, or whether he really
had the energy for anything more this morning. As he turned about, Danny
caught his inner arm gently with a few fingers and gave him a curious
nod. `You fancy taking a dip in the pool instead?' he asked. Jack felt the
slightest tingle of physical excitement at the man's fingers on his aching
bicep, and nodded.

`That actually sounds a good idea.'



It was a small pool, square and about armpit-deep, a few rooms from the
gym, the air stinking of chlorine. Other, smaller pools lay beyond it in
the corners, an icy recovery plunge pool and a tempting jacuzzi, both
disappointingly inactive at this time of the morning, so that the two
muscular tanned lads were left with the room temperature grid in the centre
of the chemical-scented room.

Jack entered it from the changing rooms passage in a pair of tight-fitting
shorts, as arse-hugging as he liked his footy shorts on the pitch, dark
blue. He tightened the red cord of elastic at the front of them and hopped
energetically into the waters, glad of its faint cooling effect on his
throbbing muscles. He kicked and swam himself across the limited space for
a moment, then looked up as the 28-year-old joined him in here, starting
briefly at Drinkwater's choice of swimming costume. Jack had never really
seen many blokes wear speedos in this country before, outside of the
Olympics, but he could see how well they hugged Danny's bared physique,
bulging proudly in the front as he stepped up to the pool and slid in to
join him.

`Sorry about the budgie smugglers.'

`Oh, hah, don't be, erm...'

`All I could find in my locker,' Danny chuckled apologetically, dipping
into the water up to his bullet-like little nipples. He ducked his head
under and toyed with his tufty short brown hair and pulled his hands down
his face. Jack realised he was staring a bit, and forced a laugh and kicked
his feet up a bit in the water in embarrassment at the quiet moment. He
leaned back against the pool rim and kicked his sore legs about idly,
letting the muscles flex and relax. Danny turned away from him and did a
couple of the limited lengths in silence, then veered his way, and joined
him in leaning his damp arms to the pool edge.

`You ever think about what those lads did for us?' he asked in a low voice,
resting his head against the pool room floor, eyeing Jack along this
boundary.

Jack was a little slow to follow again, then realised where there
conversation had tailed off. `You mean... the blowjobs?' He watched Danny
smirk and nod. `What you mean, though... think about it?'

Danny shrugged his glistening wet shoulders and pulled away from the pool
edge a little, giving a thoughtful little sigh. `I mean... you reckon you
could ever do that?'

Jack hesitated but screwed his face up after a moment. `I really doubt it,'
he grunted. `I think I'd probably throw up, hah... I mean, I'm glad John
was game for a laugh with it, and...' He shrugged and splashed stupidly at
the water between them. `Why, do you think you could?'

Danny's expression and stance was idle, casual, curious. `I don't know,' he
admitted. `It definitely freaks me out, a bit. But...' Another vague,
muscular shrug. `I guess I'd give it a go.'

`Right.' Jack felt a hint of excitement jolt at his tight blue swimming
shorts in the clear water beneath them, but he tried to look casual,
half-interested, captainly.

`I mean, I doubt I'd be any good.'

Jack found himself looking at the older lad's lips, which were actually
quite full and pouty, compared to John McGinn's little grinning face. He
hadn't noticed Danny slip one arm off the pool edge and into the water, but
now he felt fingertips brushing the bottom of his tummy just above the
waistband of his swimming shorts. Danny laughed gently, and he cleared his
own throat indecisively.

Then, with catlike grace, Drinkwater slid from the pool's edge and
disappeared underwater with a gentle bubbling noise. Jack froze where he
was, one arm hooked over the pool rim, the other dangling at his side in
the water, and he felt the submerged form pressing down against him, two
underwater hands padding down his toned midriff, and his shorts yanked down
at the front, then his floppy cock briefly kissed, then Danny was upright
in front of him, splashing as he surfaced, laughing and rubbing pool-water
out of his eyes. Jack couldn't help but laugh, pulling his shoulder blades
back against the pool edge. `You nutter,' he giggled.

Underwater, Danny took his dick in hand. `Yup.' He pulled and rubbed with
fingers and thumbs.

`Mate,' the Villa captain said with ambiguous warning. His eyes darted past
Danny and about the room, its two entrances, but lack of windows... how
discreet was this? How empty really was the training centre at this time?
And in spite of these cautious lines of thinking, he could feel his nob
responding against Danny's testing grab. `Mmm.'

`Captains deserve special treatment, right?' Drinkwater murmured teasingly.

`They sure do,' Jack sighed.

Danny let go of his slowly growing cock, put his hands to his thighs
instead, and began to hoist upwards. `Come on.' Jack planted his hands
firmly on the edge of the pool and pulled himself up, half-lifted by
Danny's bulging arm muscles, until his arse was sat on the tiled rim, thick
thighs spread to let his hairy legs dangle in the pool, and his dick
propped awkwardly out of the front of his shorts like a little sea monster.

`Remember this is my first time,' Danny said modestly, a hand resting on
each of Jack's thick muscles, smiling up from between them above the
water-framed curve of his well-developed chest muscles, `so sorry if I'm a
bit shit, but... let's try, eh?' Jack stared at him, a little tempted to
put a stop to this, fearing discovery or exposure, or perhaps worse,
fearing he would enjoy it too much and...

Danny pulled the shorts down a bit more to hook their elastic under the
weight of Jack's unspent balls, then lowered his head and breathed very
gently against the floppy length. Jack felt his mate's breath tease his fat
semi, and held back an immediate sigh; when, a moment later, Danny rang his
thick tongue right down its length, there was no holding it in. `Ohh...'
Like a panting dog, the Manc lad rolled his fat tongue against the head of
Jack's gently stretching member until it was rising up into its thick veiny
glory.

`You aren't as shit as you thought,' Jack mumbled.

`I'm only getting started!'

Jack leaned back a little, pressing his hands back and further apart to
support his frame, feeling Danny's strong hands slide up and down his damp
thigh fur, tingling just above the knees, and that big wet tongue circle
his bellend and foreskin before running back up the length of his wood –
`Ohhh' – and then lapping along one side and then the other of his
aching dick. Ben's furtive suck had been rushed and hesitant; John had been
hungry but a bit toothy. Danny was slow, sensual, deliberate... dear god,
it was the best head he'd had since he was an eager teenaged virgin.

Drinkwater was pulling those plump soft lips over his dick now, and he
stared down as his shaft disappeared halfway into the other man's mouth
– `Aahhh buddy...' – and slid back out again, and again, and
again. Jack leaned further back, and pulled his wet legs from the pool,
carefully avoiding kicking his delicate attendant, but lifting both legs
over those thick shoulders to get comfier; as he did so, Danny grabbed and
pulled on his shorts, which came slipping down his wet legs with twangs and
slaps, until they were over Danny's head and stretched between Jack's
ankles, his sturdy calves resting against each of Danny's shoulder muscles.

Jack shifted his weight into one hand and wrist so he could pull his right
hand forward and stroke at Drinkwater's damp tufty hair, guiding his head
around as the man licked and sucked at the first few inches of his thick
tool. He pushed down a bit, encouraging the big burly bloke to lick and
kiss down his shaft. Danny pulled away a little, laughing throatily. `Is
this even any good?' he panted almost naively, and Jack's answer was
physical: he pushed on his head, returning his lips to the base of his
shaft, then trying to encourage his bonce downwards, tongue towards Jack's
balls. He moaned deeply and closed his strong thighs about the bloke's head
and pressed firmly down, forcing Danny to lap at his heavy ballsack rather
than his throbbing dick.

`You're... doing... okay,' Grealish heaved, rubbing fingers through Danny's
scalp encouragingly.

The filthy Chelsea loan player sniggered into his bollocks, taking one then
the other in his lips and sucking gently on them. He tried to return his
tongue and mouth up to Jack's nob, but the captain pushed more firmly on
his head. He wasn't sure Danny would understand what he wanted, and he saw
a touch of alarm or indecision in the rugged man's shadowy blue eyes, but
his guiding hand was firm and he parted his powerful thighs somewhat.

`Go on,' Jack grunted, `get your tongue in there...' He saw a steely
determination in Drinkwater's expression, and felt that thrusting tongue
move from balls to gooch, ohhhh yesss... He relaxed his body back further,
spine curving and abs tensing, so he could pull both hands forward and
press his fingers into Danny's head in massaging strokes, urging him down
and letting his thighs open more... feeling the bold newcomer's mouth slide
down his gooch into his crack. Well, the lad had wanted to experiment, and
captains DID deserve special treatment, so... OH... He felt the thick
tongue run the length of his crack and back again, OH...

Shit, shit... He reached desperately to pull on his straining dick,
electrified. He had been thinking about this dirty wet pleasure ever since
squatting in his bedroom with Ben Chilwell, and it felt as good as he
remembered, if not better... both times, he felt gripped by the filthy
experiments of it, knowing these horny buggers had tongued many a fanny,
and now were... OH... He groaned out his enjoyment and flexed his body back
across the wet tiles, pushing his feet down on Danny's shoulders as he bent
and tensed his strong legs, keeping them parted enough to allow Danny
access, feeling the wet laps against his twitchy hole... he wanked himself
aggressively. Only then, feeling himself shift close, did he stop pushing
down Danny's head with the other hand, and let the panting, grunting mouth
lift back up towards his shaft. He pulled his hands away and freed Danny
enough to take his cock between his lips, and let him take over, a strong
hand pulling at the base of his nob whilst Danny's mouth slurped at the
tip... OH! `Oh mate,' he panted, `oh mate...'

Danny took his mouth away after the second spurt of cum, which pooled about
his bottom lip, and the third little fount of juice streaked his chin and
the tip of his nose, and both men laughed. Jack lay back fully against the
tiles, legs dangling over his pal's shoulders, his front rising and falling
with each drawn out breath... he flinched in shock when he felt those
tender lips sink back, kissing his balls, then his gooch, then... oh god,
Danny was back down there for MORE, oh... Grealish lay there in
post-orgasmic bliss, feeling the strong tongue in his crack. It took him a
while to really recognise the furtive splashes were Danny reaching
underwater to attend to himself, and the prospect thrilled him, though he
was too languid with pleasure to really want to help the older man out. He
just lay there, legs and cheeks open, feeling Danny lick him, listening to
the wet thrusts and tugs of the other man's masturbation, until he heard
Danny's grunting climax panted into his gooch.

He reached a hand out to stroke lovingly over the crown of Danny's head,
then pushed himself up into sitting position, and let Drinkwater drift out
of the hold of his thighs and into the water properly. Jack slid forward
and into the pool himself, still gasping a little as he reached down to
pull up his shorts about his calves, over his knees, across his
thighs. Danny had disappeared underwater a moment, but was back, rubbing at
his mouth and laughing vaguely. The men stared at reach other for a long
moment, neither quite able to believe how far that had gone.



Ten minutes later, under the hot shower, Jack stared warily across the
shower block to his pool companion, wondering if any of their teammates
were already arriving to start prepping for this afternoon's training
session. He looked thoughtfully at the curves and definition of the
slightly taller bloke's body, and sighed contentedly, but not without a
tang of worry. He caught Danny's eye as he left the shower, and giggled a
little shyly before snatching a towel from the peg and drifting out of the
steam, into the dressing room. He heard the wet pads of Danny's footsteps
following him a moment later. Towel-clad, he turned to give the other bloke
a more serious look.

`You know I can't just get you put in the squad, right?' Jack ventured
softly.

Danny, in the middle of tying the towel about his waist, gave him a knowing
look, and smirked a little. `I'd be lying if the thought hadn't crossed my
mind,' Drinkwater muttered.

Jack felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment at his cynical
judgment there. `Well, yeah...'

`I'm not saying I wouldn't be happy if you put in a few good words for me,'
the hapless footballer offered in a slow chuckle, `but...' Tightening the
towel about his waist, he stepped forward, seeming momentarily much bigger
and sturdier than wiry Grealish in this towelled intimacy. He leaned in,
licked his lips, and stared Jack down at close quarters.

`I could try...' Grealish murmured vaguely.

`If you think I just stuck my tongue in yer arse because I missed out on a
couple of games,' Danny said in a leering purr, `then you really don't get
it, buddy.' He hovered inches in front of Jack's face, this dirty grin
playing on his thick lips, then pulled away.

Jack let out a long, whistling breath, a bit overwhelmed by his own
position here. He thought about the way that Drinkwater had carried on
rimming him even after his own explosive orgasm. He wanted to ask him how
it tasted, or how his cum had been on his lips, but... He needed to
straighten his head out, get ready for the lads arriving, go back into firm
captain mode, helping the lads get to work even in the lethargy of a bit of
celebration drinking. He watched Danny back away and begin to dry himself.

`I'll speak to the gaffer today,' he said, in a less shaky voice, more his
usual cocky tone. `I'll give him a chat, mate. See what I can do.' Danny
looked up in the middle of drying his cock and balls, and just smiled
faintly, as if not overly arsed about his place on the team after all, then
turned away again. Jack found himself looking for a moment at the bloke's
meaty behind, then turned sharply away, and grabbed at his own towel to
start drying off. Wow, this shit could really spiral out of control if he
wasn't careful!


**CAN YOU BELIEVE THE NEXT STORY WILL BE PART 40 OF THE SERIES??? THE
DOCUMENT I WRITE THEM IN RECENTLY PASSED 300 PAGES - MAD!**