Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2020 08:59:26 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads pt41: An Expensive Night Part forty-one: An Expensive Night Phil Foden gripped both straps of his backpack as he hurried his way through the Etihad complex, glancing hurriedly at his apple watch to see just how behind schedule he was. Fuck. But as he loped out of the back doors into the car park, he could still see a few of his fellow City players huddled around the coach entrance making their way on. Thank god, there must have been delays other than his slow start to the evening! The 19-year-old Stockport chav hurried his way over the car park of expensive footballers' motors, backpack bouncing a little behind him, and huffed and puffed his way onto the back of what little remained of the queue. Pep Guardiola, slick in his smart-casual mismatched suit blazer and trousers, turned and gave Foden a knowing look as he took his hand to shake. `Good evening, at last,' the 49-year-old Spaniard in a low growl, `nice of you to join us, eh?' The legendary managed pronounced each word in a clipped burst, and then a mocking grin lit his tanned features. `So sorry, gaffer,' huffed Phil anxiously. `It were the baby, and I had to get from my girl's house to my parents' to grab my shit, and...' Guardiola chuckled softly and shook his head. `Philip, relax,' he said even more quietly, privately. `Things are complicated for you. It is okay. You are here.' Phil blushed a little beneath the City manager's benevolent smile. He knew he was something if a favourite for Pep, who had lavished so public praise on the teenage father of late that the other lads were constantly giving him stick for it in the changing rooms. He grinned uncertainly back at the older man though, not wanting to test that affection or ruin his growing `golden boy' status in Guardiola's eyes. `I am sorry, sir,' he said, in a hurried voice. In front of him, the last malingerer got on the coach, and it was just the two of them left out here. `No, do not be sorry,' Pep told him seriously, `just be fucking excellent against Tottenham tomorrow.' He clapped a hand to one of Phil's narrow young shoulders, smiled more fully, and then in his tactile Spanish way, planted a momentary kiss on Foden's brow before gesturing more roughly into the coach and barking his instructions in his native language, which all of them had got used to by now, even if they hardly knew the vocab. Phil hurried on board, like a late schoolboy, to a vague cheer of mocking from some of the lads up near the front of the big coach. He grinned and took the abuse as he picked his way down the aisle, with City legends like Aguero and Mahrez shouting jokey comments about why he couldn't keep to schedule. He batted off the teammate humour and moved on down, shooting a last apologetic glance to Pep before the big boss started consulting his assistant on plans for the evening. The coach was pretty full, and normal practice was to sit with your roommate for the night, but Foden's responsible Belgian mentor De Bruyne was up ahead with one of the coaches for some reason, leaving the local teen a bit misplaced. He spotted a spare two-seater row midway in the coach, and slid into it amongst the distracted loud laughter and chatter of the other lads, just as Pep started barking through the noise for the first big team talk of the trip. Phil got comfortable as Guardiola talked them through the schedule: he swung off his backpack and slid it under his chair, unzipped his branded jersey and kicked off his trainers for maximum comfort, pulling his slim legs up under him on the seat like a scally on a public bus. As soon as the brief talk was over, he saw the two players ahead of him pull their headphones up over their ears, making him feel a tiny bit isolated, but then he was caught by the raspy sniggering and low voices of the two lads behind. It was, of course, Walker and Stones, one of the loudest and most prominent bromances of the laddish squad. Their rough Northern humour and constant physical banter made them stand out in a team of stern, professional Latinos. Foden looked up to them both, of course, as senior England players he aspired to join, but also he envied their easy charms and humour, never feeling quite so relaxed or confident himself as such a relative youngster in the squad. `Hey,' he said, poking his head in the gap between the headrests, `what are you two plonkers laughing about?' The two older lads looked suddenly self-conscious, Kyle Walker angling his phone away so the screen was more fully hidden, smirking mysteriously; John Stones staring Phil's way in slight alarm, a giggle dying in his throat. Foden's curiosity was piqued. `What?' he demanded laughingly. `Nowt for you,' Walker quipped, reaching up to clip him gently on the head and letting out a more booming laugh. `Latecomer.' `Yeah... grown up shit,' put in Stones in a heavy chuckle, seeming to relax a little. Phil scowled at their dismissive answer. `Pricks,' he joked. `I'm more grown up than you two oafs.' He laughed, though he knew in a way it was true. He was strangely mature for his years, and he wasn't sure if becoming a father barely after his 18th birthday had made him mature, or was a step he'd fallen into because of his old head on young shoulders. He knew other guys in football didn't take him quite so seriously, but... Pep did. `Aye, baby-daddy, that might be true,' teased Kyle, leaning in a bit to talk more confidentially at the back of Phil's seat, `but still... we don't want golden boy getting mixed up in our hijinks, do we?' He sneered at him and Phil wasn't sure how much was teasing and how much might be genuine resentment. `Leave him,' muttered John, and the lanky Burnley lad leaned forward to aggressively tousle Phil's short hair and then pull an arm about him in an awkward hug between the seats. `He's a good kid, this one, ain't he?' `He is, he is.' `Kid,' muttered Phil in half-joking irritation. `We're all fathers here,' he said, and realised he sounded a touch petulantly. `We are,' Kyle agreed, `but us two, we're trying to keep our lives exciting in spite of that boring fact, not posting schmaltzy instagrams about how our babies changed our worlds...' Again, another quite sneering laugh from the Sheffield bloke, and Phil hung on the back of his seat awkwardly, annoyed by the two jokers' attitude to him. It was hard to be one of the lads when most of the lads were about ten years older than you, as Kyle was, and John not far behind. Irked by this, he leaned between the headrests, and playfully snatched Walker's iPhone out of his hands, taking the older footballer by surprise, and pulling the screen up to view, though he only did so for a matter of seconds before Walker was snatching it roughly back with a scowl. `Whoa,' Foden hissed, `who the fuck is SHE...?' Walker looked furious, and Stones was blushing but laughing. `Nobody, mate, nobody,' John chuckled embarrassedly. `She, lad, is our supper,' Kyle said in a secretive voice, his frown melting a bit into a more excited expression, leaning in close again. Foden imagined the odd screen he'd seen, it had looked almost like a Tinder profile or something, and the young bird on it had been absolutely red-hot in her bikini and Dubai tan. The lass had simultaneously looked like some wholesome, glamorous social media influencer of his age, and the hottest, dirtiest older bird he'd caught sight of on Pornhub. He could see how uncomfortable Stones looked, but he turned to Kyle as the older guy leaned in once more. `Costing us a couple of grand,' Walker grunted. `Expensive tastes, innit.' Foden stared at him, perplexed. `But ain't you more or less married, Walker?' he asked dumbly. The Sheffield brute burst into laughter at this and John joined in a little bit, both bigger guys leaning in to sigh and look at him patronisingly. `Away games is away games,' Stones mumbled sheepishly. `Oh.' Foden thought about the logic of this, and his own childhood sweetheart, who would definitely NOT see that point of view whatsoever. `So you just... What, is she like... a prozzie?' `Keep ya voice down,' wheezed Walker in a dirty laugh. Stones nodded, a speck of blush in each high cheekbone. `Sorta. But high class. You wouldn't get it.' `I would,' Phil said, immediately regretting his surly teen tone. It earned another filthy chuckle from Walker and a kindly but belittling smile from Stones. He sighed irritably at them. Then the older of the three leaned in and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder for a moment. `Well, if you say so,' Kyle grunted. `Why don't you prove it?' He winked at Stones. `Join us in our room at like... quarter to midnight.' Foden was about to point out that this would be well after curfew, then heard how ridiculous it might sound. He looked suspiciously at Walker and then Stones, who had a slightly excited grin to his lips. `Up to you,' Walker said bluntly. Phil turned away and slid back into his seat, suddenly hot under the collar of his polo shirt and wondering if anybody else nearby had caught snatches of that awkward little chat, though it seemed unlikely. He felt his cheeks blaze with a prudish blush, again thinking of his young girlfriend and their shared son, though the teenage pair had yet to move in together, still lodging with their respective parents. He heard rough sniggers from behind: either those two lads were still lusting over pictures of their desired hooker, or they were laughing at him. He squirmed in the leather seat, annoyed, then felt fingers on his shoulder again, and half-turned. Stones and Walker's faces were squashed side by side in the gap between the headrests. `Seriously,' John hissed, `you can join if you like...' `Aye... we won't even ask you for a third of the cost... hah...' `We know they only pay you in like... pocket money,' giggled John. Phil eyed them suspiciously. `I'll think about it,' he muttered in his thick Stockport accent, then turned away again, as with a snigger, his two rear neighbours pulled away from the gap. `He'll never take us up on it,' Kyle Walker announced firmly, on his way out of the en suite shower room still a little moist, holding the tie of his towel at the front. The broad 5'10 right back strutted across the North London hotel room, and John watched him thoughtfully from the seat by the windows, playing idly with his phone. `I dunno,' Stones admitted. `He looked kinda... intrigued.' `He'll probably rat us out to Kev,' grunted Walker irritably. `Nah... kid ain't like that.' `He is Pep's fucking chosen one, ain't he,' muttered Walker mutinously. `We should never have trusted the wee rat. Hah. Never mind.' Back to Stones, he dropped his towel to get changed, and John let his eyes linger for a moment before pulling instinctively away: for a second, greeted with the sight of that muscular back and big rounded arse, he thought back to his voyeuristic peeking a fortnight ago on another away trip. That had led to this, really, in a roundabout way. Or at least, it had opened up fresh discussion between the two seasoned footy pals, on the topic of Walker's relentless shagging, and Stones' own shaky fidelity. He was hardly having the best of time with his bird, though he'd still taken some convincing by his older best mate that a little bit of extra-curricular fun wouldn't do any further harm to their fractious relationship. And the shared prostitute idea had been fully Kyle's, that was true, though John's eyes had practically lit up when it was suggested to him after training this week. He wasn't sure why the notion of sharing was so exciting, but it was. It was late already, past the squad curfew, and Kyle was dressing to go downstairs and discreetly greet their expensive guest. It had felt quite a long evening, the coach trip from Manchester to London seeming to go on forever, and the process of checking in and eating a late supper together dragging out similarly. If he was honest with himself, Stones was pretty tired out, and beginning to have doubts about tonight's naughty scheme. He got up from his seat and put his phone on to charge by the wall, then began to do the opposite of his roommate, undressing to take his own quick shower. It seemed only fair to try and be fresh and clean for this young lass they were hiring, since she looked absolutely stunning... Mind, she was costing a bob or two! He yanked off his white tshirt just as Kyle pulled a clean one on, and then the shorter player muscled past him for the door. `I won't be long,' Kyle said vaguely, and disappeared quietly out of their door, in tshirt and grey joggers, feet in sliders. John watched the door fall shut after him, and hoped he really was discreet about it. They could hardly afford to get caught sneaking a whore in the night before a big game, could they? Kyle had said a simple bribe would shut up the night receptionist, but John felt a mild quibble about this. He pulled off his socks and his tracky bottoms and paced the room in just the loose black boxer briefs beneath. He checked his phone, yet again. Probably the simplest of affectionate messages from his girlfriend would have swung his indecision right then: a sweet good luck text and a few kisses, and he would have been ditching the hotel room to let Kyle enjoy this alone, and the expensive cash price be damned. But nope, no word from her. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was already cheating on him. A knock at the door came, so gentle and hesitant that it might have been imagined. John paused, straightened up, and looked that way. Too quick to be Kyle coming back, unless he'd forgotten something, and besides, he would have his key, wouldn't he? Unless... he was a forgetful fucker. Stones strolled over the room, 6'2 in just his pants, his long toned body and heavy tattoos on show, pulling the door handle and edging it open, ready to berate Kyle for carelessness – then halting at the sight of young Phil Foden in the corridor, eyes darting side to side. `Come in,' John breathed in surprising, pulling on the door and stepping aside to make space. He watched as the 5'7 youngster hurried in after him, and slid the door shut. Foden's beady young eyes were flitting about the otherwise empty room. He didn't immediately say anything, just scratch his head with one hand then adjust the front of his jogger shorts with the other, a wiry scally figure next to Stones' height and physique. `You okay, kid? I knew you looked tempted.' `She ain't here yet, then?' Phil muttered simply. `Nah. Kyle is downstairs fetchin' her, hopefully.' Phil seemed to notice John's near nudity for the first time, and a little adorable blush lit up his cheeks. John chuckled to himself, and rolled his shoulders idly. `You sure you're up for this, Phil?' he asked in a gentle tone, which he immediately decided was misjudged, as the teen sensation looked riled and defensive. `Aye, totally,' Foden snapped at him. `I'm not some dumb virgin, ya know. Literally fathered a fucking son, mate.' The teen skipped from one socked foot to the other, legs skinny beneath his shorts, and he dragged the back of a hand over his dry, twitching mouth. Stones grinned, nodded, and headed to pour him a drink of water from their minibar. There were a couple of minutes of strained silence, John passing a glass of water to the visibly nervous arrival, then pouring himself one. Their glugs and swallows sounded loud in the expectant quiet of the hotel room, and they both tensed up at whispered voices and footfall in the corridor outside, the scrape of a key, the gentle inward turning of the door handle, and then the night's fun was beginning: in she walked, looking a tiny bit different to her heavily filtered pictures, but still a stunner by any definition. She was wearing a very formal looking long black coat, but she unbuttoned and dropped this immediately to expose her intricate lingerie, and that perfect supermodel body. Behind her, Walker leered and shut the door firmly. John and Phil looked at each other with a rush of shared nervous energy. `Er, hi,' Stones said, and instinctive body language made him step forward as if to go and shake her hand – he stopped himself, put his hands on his boxer-clad hips, and smiled greedily at the beautiful sight. It was Kyle who made the first move, unsurprisingly. He reached his thick arms about her from behind and began kissing her neck. Her moan revealed her slight Eastern European accent, and a performative volume that made John begin to worry about whose rooms were nearest theirs. But he lunged forward excitedly, kissed her on her pouting lips, and pressed a hand to each of her tits. He turned his head to the Bambi-like 19-year-old. `Get involved,' he laughed gruffly. John slid his right hand down her toned midriff and began to nudge his fingers at the lacy front of her knickers, whist Phil stepped in next to him, just staring at her. Kyle's hand reached around, took his neck, and pushed it down into her cleavage. The two older guys couldn't help but laugh, and she just moaned her enjoyment. The four of them stood like that for a while, the three randy footballers pawing at her objectified body; Kyle kissing her neck, cheek, shoulder, grinding his broad body into hers from behind... Phil kissing and biting at the warm flesh of her tits, fingers edging about her hips and flat tummy... Stones snogging her deeply and finding the folds of her entrance beneath the expensive fabric. Her hands roamed his body too, as the least dressed of the men, and she traced the muscles of his arm and chest, whilst his dick began to respond in the loose hang of his boxer briefs. `This is lovely,' she moaned in her accented English, `but...' A deep, breathy sigh. `I came here to suck big footballer cock.' John felt his nob twitch more, and sensed the immediate competitive tension between them, at who would enjoy this experience first. Beside him, young Phil was reaching a hand into her bra, and his slim face was pale and alert with desire. The teen looked so eager that he might cum in his shorts any second. Just as John traced his big fingers up from her panties, he heard Kyle's gruff laughter and the woman's beautiful body tugged gently away from him. `Age before beauty, lads,' Walker announced, asserting his claim, and neither lad challenged it. Kyle whipped off his tee and dropped his joggers freely as he crossed to his bed, naked in an instant, all exposed mocha muscle and intricate ink markings. She followed with a coquettish giggle, and the other two blokes trailed after them. Walker flopped onto the bed, his big decorated thighs parted, and his flopping semi exposed. John thought, not for the first time, just how fat it was, though he was not insecure enough to feel threatened by that. `Hey Foden,' Kyle groaned, as if really registering the teen's decision to join them for the first time, `get up here, let her feel you too while she sucks me...' And Phil obeyed with desperate speed, clambering his bare knees up onto the bedding beside the masterful Sheffield lad. As the prostitute bent down to lick Kyle's dick into full life, she also slid a hand up Foden's loose jogger shorts to grope at him. John stood at the foot of the bed and watched, chewing his lip and feeling his dick throb in his underwear. He climbed the bed too, behind her, and reached between her perfect legs, pushing the panties out of the way to get two long fingers inside her, prodding and stroking and entering. With his other hand, he fondled the outline of his growing hard-on, and longed to fuck her hard. He leaned his tall body down to kiss her back while he fingered her, shifting his lips up until he was skilfully undoing her bra with his teeth. And so it went, four writhing bodies on one creaking bed, a collection of moans and purrs and grunts. John noted with blurred concentration as off came Foden's vest to reveal his slender but surprisingly defined torso, and the prostitute moved her mouth from one cock to another, the shorts going down too. John lay down and slid his head and shoulders beneath her, kissing at her midriff and her bikini line and shuffling his head down to her cunt. As he licked and kissed at her minge, he heard Phil's uncontrolled yowls of enjoyment – well, that teenage girlfriend of his clearly didn't go down on him – and Kyle's rough, sleazy laughter to the other side. He felt one of Walker's big knees rest by his arm as the dirty bugger reached over her doggy position, probably pawing at her backside. John, who prided himself a cunning linguist, just focused on eating her out, his dick throbbing so hard in his boxer briefs that he thought it might explode. He felt a rough hand, not hers, land on his thigh – must be just Kyle re-positioning himself, but his hand was an inch from the edge of John's aching boner, shit! `Oops, that was close,' came the 29-year-old's cackling response. John shifted his body around carefully, holding the beautiful lass by the waist as he buried his face between her thighs for a minute more, then pulled away to catch his breath. He felt the other bodies slip and shift around him as they whirled around, flipping her and pressing her into the sheets instead as he returned his tongue to her wet opening. He felt one of Phil's shaky hands rest on his back muscles, and a playful slap hit his own taut backside – Kyle again, the twat! – and more laughter. `That's it,' he heard Walker groan, `get your tongue in her, make it wet for me to fuck...' The dirty talk was actually pretty motivating for John, though he resented the spanking. He drove his tongue deep then returned to the clit, and felt Phil grabbing his shoulder more firmly as her blowjob must have intensified. But then some weird sensation struck John, something wet and firm against his ear and then stubbled cheek. He pulled his lips away from the tasty fanny and they brushed against firmer hot flesh. He realised in wide-eyed horror that the thing beside his face was a thick, veiny dick, and he pulled back sharply as Kyle's hip and buttock grazed his face on their way in. John sat back in alarm, listening to Kyle's groaned cackle, as he sunk his dick into the wet cunt. `You nobhead,' he groaned, annoyed but lost in the melee. As he struggled out of Walker's way, he delivered a stinging spank to the bloke's meaty buttock in revenge, satisfied by the loud slapping noise it caused. `Oh YEH,' Walker groaned in response, `punish me, Stoney, punish me... haha!' There was no shaming that cunt. The big muscular frame pounded down on their hired fuck, arse cheeks clenching and unclenching as he drilled her. John hovered at their side on his haunches, seeing her writhe between Kyle's powerful thrusts, whilst still running her tongue and lips around Phil's erection (surprisingly big, too, for his physique). It left him a bit unattended, so he just pulled his boner out and began to wank off, and visually confirmed with great satisfaction that the biggest prick in the room belonged actually to him. He pulled on it in long tight strokes with his left hand, and let Phil lean and pull on his left arm and shoulder, then used his free right hand to smack Kyle on the arse again, harder, wanting to irritate him and take over the shagging. `Mm, yeh,' Stones found himself vocalising, his voice lost in the rough pants of Kyle and the wild moans of young Foden. `Oh yes lads, yes...' Kyle was pulling himself off her now, dick springing free and glistening with her cunt juices (and maybe, John thought, my spit, haha). He shoved his fingers into her instead and nodded across her body at rapturous Phil Foden. The two best mates laughed at their young accomplice, and John felt no resentment that it should be his turn next, after all. Compliant and giggling, the paid lass whirled round onto hands and knees as Phil scrabbled over the bed to get behind her, doggy style. John kneeled at her face and moaned his gratitude as she began to suck him. He felt her take his long thick tool expertly, and watched his mate Kyle roughly handling Phil into position, the youngster seeming too overwhelmed to really take control. But soon, he was humping her from behind with something of a horny toy dog about his scally features, Kyle laughing at his side, shaking him by the shoulders and slapping his own thick meat on her arse cheeks. Walker was then shoving his way round to join John instead. Stones pushed his dick deeper into her willing mouth and lifted an arm in sweaty embrace as Kyle pulled up next to him. They hugged and grabbed each other freely on the pitch, in celebration and playful wrestling, and even in the locker-room, but this... Well, this was new intimacy, even for them. Stones hugged his arm along the bulging muscle of Kyle's shoulders, enjoying his slick heat against his skin, and looking down at the wide, heavily shadowed eyes of the prostitute now, sliding down his pole and licking the tip. She looked ready to move her ministrations to Kyle instead, which he would have gladly accepted, but his teammate seemed to have other ideas. `You can take two, yeh?' he grunted, and pressed his dick sidelong against John's and slipped his fingers into her long auburn hair as she tried it out, stretching her mouth around two swollen bellends... John gasped at the odd sensation, shocked but thrilled. It didn't last. Perhaps this experienced lass COULD suck two nobs, but not two as thick and sturdy as his and Kyle's, which was an ego-boosting notion even in the heat of the moment... She pulled her face away, started licking Kyle's, and just wrapped fingers about John's to wank him. Behind her, Phil was going for it, his face pink, his lean body tensed, his hips shoving back and forth with speed and more power than anyone might have expected, looking at his frame. But then, John had seen what a fighter Foden was on the pitch, so... Oh yeh, he was getting close, that was obvious... `Come on, Big Philly, do her good...' `Aye, come on, you little beast...' `Fuck her, mate, fuck her...' `Go for it, just...' In the moment, both of them lost their carefulness about volume and noise, and in fact, totally failed to hear the scrape of key in the hotel room door, or the initial brush of it pushing opening, and John's first realisation of their recklessness was when Pep Guardiola was stood in the centre of the room, still smart-casual, brows furrowed, eyes dark with rage. John pulled back from the whore and his friend so sharply that he almost fell off the bed, scrabbling backwards into the headboard and wall. But one person was oblivious at least: Phil thrust into her three more times and squealed out his orgasm with no clear words before slapping the top of her arse in triumph and letting out a long, whistling breath of climax. Behind him, the City manager swore loudly in Spanish, and the magic was broken. Phil whirled round and was climbing off, cum dripping from his nob; Kyle was speeding off the bed, dick bouncing, waving his hands in an illogical gesture of explanation. The hooker herself was the only one who remained relax, twisting around to look at this late arrival as if thinking a bit of older dick might spice things up nicely. `Gaffer,' muttered John desperately, hopping off the bed too and pulling on the boxer briefs stretched between his meaty thighs. Walker was saying something too, some garbled explanation or apology, but Pep marched forward and ignored them, addressing his spite only at their expensive shared treat for now. `You,' he snapped. `Dress. Out.' And then, fishing a thick leather wallet from his jacket pocket as she delicately snatched her bra and panties from the tangled sheets, `How much did these fuckwits pay you? Eh? How much?' He yanked a wad of notes out, indiscriminate in value to John, and shoved them into her hands. `Take this money to shut up and leave quickly. Do NOT be seen.' She moved fast, and for a few moments, the click of her bra and the rustle of her fetched overcoat were the only noises other than Phil's wheezy post-orgasmic breathing. Guardiola turned his glare on him, and the teen visibly wilted, and looked around for where his shorts had fallen. But the manager's ire was soon turned to first John and then Kyle. `He is only nineTEEN,' the legendary manager spat. `Sorry guv, it's just-` `Shut up, Walker,' Guardiola said, keeping his voice down for propriety, but his eyes bulging with rage. `Two weeks' salary fine for you, and for you' – pointing sharply towards Stones – `and if you try and say another fucking word, the fine goes up.' `Pep... chief... sir,' mumbled Foden, snatching his vest up off the floor and tugging it over his head. `I dunno what I was thinking, I just...' `It is a good job your roommate asked me where you were,' snarled Pep dismissively. `Get out, go to your room. No more from you. SLEEP.' He gave him a rough shove, clearly disappointed, then whirled back around on the other two. John stood awkwardly by the side of the bed, holding his boxer briefs up and unceremoniously shoving his hard-on into their cover, surprised his boner wasn't already receding when faced with Pep's icy wrath. The door opened and closed gently as the hooker slipped out, and then again as young Phil followed, and then Pep walked backwards with slow deliberate steps, wagging a warning finger their way. `We will discuss tomorrow,' Guardiola said in slow, careful English, not taking his furious eyes off them until he was storming out of the room. John stood trembling and near-naked, and flinched in alarm when, seconds later, Kyle let out a wheezy laugh, stood bollock-naked on the other side of the bed. `Of course the old cunt gets a key to all rooms,' was all he could say, shaking his head, unashamed. Stones stared at him in surprise, seeing the easy expression and the casual shrug, unable to believe he wasn't more thrown by their exposure. But Walker was throwing his weight back onto the bed as if this had just been an amusing interlude in their bedtime routine, stretching his naked form over the disturbed sheets and putting his hand to his nob. `Well, I dunno about you, but I need to finish,' Kyle grunted. John stood there, embarrassed, head spinning. As if he hadn't been worried enough about his position on the team, even after surviving yesterday's transfer deadline. Shit. What a good job this hadn't happened a day earlier! He watched incredulously as Kyle tugged lazily on his prick, and remembered that he too was still bursting with unspent cum down there. Kyle laughed again and patted the bed beside him. `Over here, lad.' The broad-chested yob shifted over a little as if making space, and patted the duvet again. John slowly climbed back onto the bed, boxers on, and lay down beside his older teammate, still shaken by the interruption. `Aren't you freaking out?' he demanded, settling into the cushioned space beside his mate, and reaching his right hand in to grab testingly at his boner, wondering if it would vanish now as the embarrassed shock sank in, the furious look on the gaffer's face. `Nah, shit happens,' muttered Kyle. `Chief won't want his golden boy's rep soiled, so this will have never fucking happened by breakfast time.' He sniggered. `I'm only pissed off we spent a couple of grand and only Foden got his nob truly wet. THAT is freaking me out, buddy, only that.' John lay awkwardly next to him, feeling himself tentatively, while by his side, Kyle pulled openly on his boner, which frothed a bit with precum. He tried not to stare but found his eyes drawn jealously to it, realising that of the three, only he had failed to get a fuck in to their beautiful visitor, unlike randy Phil or dominant Kyle. Fuck's sake. `Hey, lad,' Kyle grunted suddenly, `you reet liked this last time, so...' Still tugging his nob with his right hand, Walker brought his other arm over, and lifted two fingers to John's nose once again, holding his cunt-smeared fingers against his upper lip. `Go on, sniff it. Haha.' John chuckled in spite of his worries, and breathed in the smell, the odour of her privates mixed with the manly scent of his bed-partner. He grinned and reciprocated: whilst wanking his dick through the black fabric with his right hand, he swung his left up, and poked two dirty fingers at Kyle's own nostrils, so they were wanking side by side now, inhaling each other's filthy antics. `Go on,' Kyle breathed earnestly, `you enjoyed it last time...' He was pushing his sticky fingers to John's lips, and he couldn't resist parting them, though his eyes bulged in fascinated horror. He'd almost forgotten this, repressed this sensation, the taste of his pal's rough fingertips in his mouth as he wanked off, sliding his nob out more openly as he did so. And sure enough, at the same time, Kyle grazed his fingers with his lips, and this approval made him hungrier, really taking the two digits in against tongue. Kyle did not quite match that, just nuzzling his own fingers with his damp lips, but the guys both tossed off furiously and reached their peak. John came first, shooting a string of spunk down his long thighs, staining the detail of his tattoo, and still running his lips and tongue against the edge of Kyle's fingers, which tensed up and gripped his bottom teeth as, on the bed next to John, the bulkier guy climaxed second. John felt a drop of it hit his shin. They lay there, gasping, and it was a few long moments before Kyle slid his fingers away from John's quivering lips, and delicately removed the hand from his own smeared chin. Kyle Walker sighed. `Fuck. That look on Phil's face. Hah. Worth every penny.' And together they laughed. Phil stood at the door to his room, beyond which Kevin de Bruyne may or may not now be fast asleep. To his left was the brooding presence of the manager, arms folded in the tight constraints of his smart jacket. Foden could almost feel those Spanish eyes burning into him as he fished in the pockets of his loose-fitting shorts for the room key. `I am disgusted with you,' was all Pep said. Phil gave him yet another awkward look, turning the key over in his clammy fingers. `But I...' `You know there is curfew,' grunted Guardiola. `You know there is sex ban. You know tomorrow matters. Yet you...' A harsh intake of breath, the clarity of disappointment rather than anger on the older man's softening features. `You defy me.' Stony silence. Phil nodded, ashamed, and decided not try another apology. His others in the bedroom and the corridor had seemed to fall on deaf ears. He hung his head, and inserted the key in the lock. He heard the tutting cluck of his manager's disapproval, then Pep Guardiola was storming back down the corridor, clearly fed up and exhausted himself. Phil groaned as he let himself into the hotel room, and once on the inside, he just rested his head wearily against the door. What a mess. He'd cheated on his girlfriend, made a prick of himself, ruined his reputation with the manager... all in one fucking night.