Date: Thu, 13 Feb 2020 06:50:12 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 50: Valentine's Day

Part fifty: Valentine's Day


Luke Shaw woke to the ugly buzz of a vibrating phone alarm against the
bedside unit, and immediately felt the extra couple of glasses of red wine
he had accepted before bed. He scrunched his eyes together, groaned, and
reached out to dismiss the alarm as fast as his sleepy fingers could manage
before disappearing again into the nest of his warm covers. From the
neighbouring bed in their shared room, he heard James Garner's general
grunt of disgust at the prospect of getting out of bed, and the pair let
out lazy, hungover laughs into their pillows.

Luke thought back on last night. It had been a strange dinner, the gaffer
relaxing drinking rules to reward them for their exertions over the week,
the 20-man squad indulging in a little too much sangria and wine before the
evening was out. At the same time, good old Ole had announced a few cuts to
the morning regime, an easier final session at the Marbella fitness camp
before their time here was up. Thank god. But still... time to get up.

He decided to be kind to Garner, his roommate for the week, and got up
first, traipsing into their en suite to shower and freshen up. Dressed only
in a pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts, the 24-year-old stared himself
down in the mirror, a little puffy-eyed and washed out looking with tinges
of reddish sunburn on his cheeks and nose. First Dubai, and then Marbella;
he'd been really pushing himself to up his fitness this winter break. You
could see it in his muscle tone, he noted a little vainly, guiltily proud
of his efforts. If only you were really doing it for United, he told his
reflection bitterly, and not wasting your time trying to impress Harry.

Harry Maguire. That man.

Luke sighed to himself, knocked on the shower, and took a piss. Every time
he thought he knew where things might be going with that bloke, it
got... Stranger. In the shower, Luke washed his hair and body slowly,
enjoying the soothing heat, and thinking about how things had gone
yesterday afternoon. It had been... heavy. He couldn't get his head around
it: the number of them involved, the intensity of it, the submission of
Scott McTominay, the mixed feelings of each dirty bloke involved. He wasn't
sure he would be able to make eye contact with some of them at breakfast
again, not without picturing their rapturous cum-faces, anyway.

Out of the shower, a towel about his waist, Luke crossed the room to his
bed, and picked up his phone, and... aha. A simple text from the girl he'd
been dating lately, with an attached bed-head selfie at her dressing
table. `Happy valentine's, baby boi xxx'. He stared glumly at what should
be a really attractive pic and struggled to care. Sure, she was hot, and
interested, and fucking her had felt good, but... He wavered over the reply
button, and then dismissed the notification. She could wait. He wasn't in
the mood for loved up baby talk at this time in the morning.



A little while later, Shaw picked his way disinterestedly through the
hotel's breakfast buffet. For the fifth or sixth time that morning, he
found himself blushing awkwardly at memories of yesterday when he reached
for the silvery tongs and clashed with Mason Greenwood reaching for the
last sausage in the salver. The 24-year-old defender looked at his younger
teammate with an awkward expression, thinking about the experiences they
had previously shared even before yesterday's innocent. The teenager's
cheeks coloured, and he immediately abandoned the buffet with his half-full
plate. Luke silently watched him drift over to the corner of one table
where he joined little Brandon for a quiet breakfast apart from the main
group.

Not for the first time, Luke wondered what if anything was happening with
those two. Brandon had confided in him about their fumbles in Williams'
bedroom, but he didn't know if that had been a one-off or not. At least
Greenwood seemed to have forgiven the local lad for his cruel racism scheme
against their Captain. Harry was an untrustworthy prick of an alpha male,
Luke mused, but he didn't deserve THAT.

Speaking of which...

`Mornin',' grunted Maguire, filing up behind him along the buffet
table. The big man looked worse for wear, his dark hair a tufty mess and
bags under his eyes. How much had he swilled away last night over dinner?

Luke gave him a polite but slightly distant smile. `Hey.' He looked back at
the lone sausage, jabbed it with the tongs, and put it on the bigger guy's
plate for him. `You should have that, right? Since, you know, every sausage
here is yours to play with as you please, right?' Luke gave him a
thin-lipped smile, and moved on down the table.

Harry followed him slowly, jabbing at a few other greasy items to add to
his plate as they went. They'd been banned from the fry-up end of the
buffet all week, but again, rules were relaxed as an end-of-week
treat. Luke watched the 6'4 brute pile up his breakfast plate and
suppressed a little grin of affection at the giant appetite.

`Luke, don't be funny with me,' Maguire mumbled sheepishly. `Yesterday
was...'

`Let's not,' Luke told him gently. He really couldn't be fucked with it. He
just didn't have the energy, not today, to talk about their erratic sexual
encounters, their complicated dynamic, Harry's fucking need to be the
dominant bloke of anyone in a ten-mile vicinity. Fuck it. He gave a
dismissive smile to the skipper, turned away from him and went in search of
an isolated seat where Maguire couldn't follow and join him. He settled
down with his breakfast between a bashful, wary looking Nathan Bishop and a
cheerily chatting David De Gea, sheltering between the two goalkeepers to
avoid having to see and interact with anyone more... complicated. Sure,
Bishop was involved in yesterday's `little' incident, but he had looked
totally freaked out and was now looking everywhere but at Shaw.

The guys around this table were discussing Valentine's Day and their
various Friday night plans to spoil their other halves. Luke listened in,
poking at his breakfast, and decided to bite the bullet. He slid out his
phone, send his cliché response, and checked if she was still free for
the champagne dinner he'd booked them in a fancy rooftop restaurant in
Manchester. Of course she would be. This girl was well into him, he was
sure, though he wasn't naïve enough to miss why: she had WAG ambition
all over her HD brows and lip fillers. Not that Luke had minded any of this
on their first few dates.

When David De Gea got up to go and get changed into kit for the training
session, so did a couple of others at the table, and suddenly Luke was left
in a more solitary position next to the young newbie. He gave Nathan a
looking over, appreciating his fresh-faced good looks, and surprisingly
full muscles bulging beneath his tshirt. He seemed a nice kid.

`You okay, Nathan?' he asked quietly. Bishop gave him a nervous
look. `Don't panic. Just checking.'

Bishop chewed on a mouthful of toast for a few moments. `Er,' he said
slowly, `is shit like that quite, er, common around here...?'

Luke made a wry smile, shrugged one shoulder, and downed his orange
juice. `More common than you might have thought,' he said dryly, then
leaned in and gave the lad's thick shoulder a slight rub. `But don't
fret. You can keep away from that sorta nonsense if you want, leave it to
the dickheads. If anyone gives you trouble about it, let me know.'

Nathan nodded hesitantly. Luke wasn't sure if the conflicted look on the
lad's big open face was because he was deciding whether or not to trust
him, or if because the 20-year-old wasn't actually regretting his involved
in showering McTominay in their juices. Regardless, Luke left him to his
thoughts, wanting to make a call to his family before things got going this
morning. As he strode through the hotel's dining hall, he spotted Maguire
again, getting second helpings: as he brushed close to him, he realised he
wasn't alone, but hunched slightly, talking in a strangely
confidential-looking manner with Jesse Lingard. Luke couldn't help but eye
them suspiciously as he passed. He had been a little alarmed by jokey
Jesse's banter and encouragement this week, though he suspected that
Lingard had never expected his playful punishment to take place. Luke could
clearly picture the manic surprise on the 27-year-old's face when Scott
actually got to his knees in front of Harry's might package...

The two men immediately silent as Shaw passed, and he frowned in
half-hidden curiosity at their guilty faces, then walked on. Once out of
their sight, he let his torn emotions show on his face, and fought back an
outburst of frustration. He avoided chat with the next few tables he passed
and made his way out into the gardens by the hotel foyer, letting out a few
rushed breaths of hurt once out of earshot of his teammates. For fuck's
sake: if he so much as ignored Harry for ten minutes, the big fucker was
working his way on another random lad, the first bit of muscle he bumped
into... What was wrong with him?!

Luke had to lean against the wall for several minutes to control himself
and not to give in to his wavering emotions of late. He could NOT get upset
by this. Harry Maguire was an engaged man, and it didn't matter what had
gone on between them before, it had to end sooner or later. Once calm
enough, he rang his mum, and distracted himself in a fifteen-minute
catch-up, listening to family gossip and only saying the vaguest of things
about how training had been out here. It seemed hard to comment on it
without confiding in her how fucked up his life at United now felt. Yet
again, he found himself idly considering his career future as he eventually
walked back into the hotel and took the lift upstairs to go put his phone
on charge. Should he be considering a transfer in the summer to get away
from this lot?

At the end of the second-floor corridor where he and James Garner had been
roomed, he stopped in alarm as a familiar but unexpected figure emerged
from their shared room. `You again,' he mumbled, totally bewildered to find
Lingard stepping out of his own bedroom with a shifty look on his
face. `Can I help you, mate?'

Jesse turned and gave him an oddly bright smile. `Hey! What? No, no...'

`Er...' Luke nodded to the hotel room door. `Mate...?'

`Oh!' The other lad burst out laughing, shrugged his shoulders and tapped
his head as if to indicate his silly confusion. `Was just looking for
Garner, buddy – gaffer wanted to speak to him before training, is all. A
few notes from yesterday.'

Shaw stared suspiciously at him, totally unconvinced but unsure what to
say. `Er, right,' he responded very slowly and carefully, trying to relax
his hostile attitude since he had no idea what he was even suspecting the
shifty bloke of doing. He cleared his throat, tried to read Jesse's fixed,
distracted expression, and gave up.

`Some mad shit going down yesterday, huh?' Lingard asked bluntly.

`Yup,' Luke agreed a bit dismissively.

`Kinda fun, though, right?' A sly little wink from Lingard.

Luke ignored this question, gave him a slightly impatient expression, and
muscled his way past him to get to his door. Lingard chirped his goodbyes
and moved on down the corridor, and Luke watched him go curiously, partly
at the oddness of finding him here, and partly in fascination that the
bloke had been left so sexually curious by yesterday's goings on. He found
himself wondering if Scott had been so... awakened, although Luke was
finding it hard to think of either Lingard, the instigator, or McTominay,
the slut, without a huge pinch of resentment. But that was silly: why
couldn't he admit to himself that the real problem in this dynamic was
Maguire himself?

He let himself into the room, and looked quietly about it: it looked
totally the same, undisturbed. What the fuck had Lingard been doing in
here, since Garner was clearly nowhere to be seen? He rested his back
against the door, stared about the room until he felt he was going mad
looking for some sign of disturbance, and shook off the wary paranoia that
had been settling on him all morning long. Time to relax and enjoy the
morning's football.



The morning passed uneventfully. The training session was light and
relaxed, as much time spent goofing around and posing for media photos as
kicking a ball. Luke found himself relaxing into it. As long as he avoided
much contact with Maguire or any of the guys from yesterday, he could ease
himself back into the focused mood he'd found earlier in the break, in
Dubai and here. At the lazy lunch that followed, he ended up sat in a quiet
corner next to young Brandon, who felt protective of since their secretive
fumble that time. He resisted the urge to quietly quiz him on his
friendship with Mason, and instead let him talk on about his actual
girlfriend, suppressing a few smirks at the unmentioned competition she
clearly faced.

And then was the long, dozy coach ride to the airport in Marbella
itself. No banter on that journey, just a stale, warm atmosphere of
exhaustion and lingering hangover. Energy being conserved for the various
romantic or family plans lined up for that night or the weekend. They would
all be back in training by Saturday afternoon, with the Chelsea game coming
Monday, and the battle to near the Top 4.

At the airport, Luke idled along quietly, heavy bag strap on one shoulder,
headphones on, not really paying much heed to anything, since they were
herded through these travel situations like children rather than skilled
professionals. It came as a shock to him when he started fumbling through
the side pocket of his kit bag that his passport was nowhere to be
found. He stared down into the empty compartment, pushed his hand around it
again, and then gawped. He found he was being stared at by the Spanish
border guard behind the counter, and by Juan Mata, ahead of him in the
queue. The lady in uniform barked a few quick questions in Spanish, which
went over Luke's head, but Mata translated.

`Your passport, Luke?'

`It was in here,' Shaw murmured. `It was definitely in here...' He heard
Mata translate or mediate something to the guard, then look back doubtfully
at him. He just stared at his bag, lost. He dumped it on the counter and
started searching through its other pockets, while the female guard glared
impatiently at him. Mata said a few more things in Spanish, presumably
apologising or explaining, then hurried on down the process. In his place
game the gaffer, followed and loomed over by Harry Maguire now. Luke stared
at them, baffled. `My passport,' he said apologetically, `I can't see it
fucking anywhere in here... I swear it was...'

A hasty conference took place. More impatient Spanish and a few
half-hearted English phrases from the guard, who was joined now by two more
members of airport security. A few annoyed comments from Solskjaer about
the flight time and the need to get everyone checked in ASAP. Maguire,
brusque and a bit hostile, `helped' Luke by shoving him aside a bit and
rifling through his bag as if not trusting him to search his own
possessions. Luke hung back sulkily, losing patience with the situation,
and knowing with wilting confidence that he had DEFINITELY left his
passport in THAT compartment, all through the trip...

`Right,' Harry barked officiously, `this isn't happening, is it...' He gave
Luke a weird, stern look, then ignored him and turned back to the
gaffer. `Here's a plan,' Luke heard him announce in that authoritative way
he had, `we'll just have to get Shaw here back to the hotel. He must have
left his fuckin' passport somewhere there. I'll stay with him. You guys
just get on with checking in. Yeah, yeah... I know. We won't make this
flight, not at this rate. But Shaw and I can just get a later time
out... No, I don't mind, I really don't. I'm captain, I should stay with
him. Okay.' And as this largely one-sided conversation drew to a close, Ole
gave an annoyed look at Luke, agreed to the scheme, and shook Maguire's
hand gratefully, then disappeared down the set of counters to follow the
others. Shaw stared after him, fuming and confused. He didn't know what the
fuck was going on, and he hated how much Harry had just overruled and
ignored him in this exchange, like he was some idiot tagging along with
them, untrusted and unreliable. To stir things more, the Spanish guards
gave them a frosty look and asked them in suddenly competent English to
please back away from the passport check if they were not able to travel.

The pair of them drifted away, bags over shoulders, and Luke muttered to
himself, thinking through his every action this week and trying to place
the missing passport. Once they were halfway across the big, glossy
terminal, Harry slowed down beside him, silent. Luke slowed his steps and
turned to look back at him crossly and watched as the United captain
reached into one baggy pocket of his jogger bottoms and removed the little
maroon rectangle of identification. Not one passport in his hand, but two.

Luke stared at him, jaw dropping a little. `Harry...?'

`Lingard robbed it for me earlier,' the tall Yorkshireman said in a low,
almost bashful voice, like a child in trouble, not quite meeting Luke's
accusing eyes.

`I knew he was up to something!' Shaw snapped, leaning forward and quickly
snatching his passport out of Harry's big fingers. It was crossing his mind
that if they hurried now they could get past those smug guards, check in
and make it onto the organised flight after all, and be back in Manchester
in a couple of hours, and... Another line of thinking shoved this one out
of the way, and he stood there in front of his taller, older teammate, his
beloved and sometimes-loathed captain. `You kept me grounded here
deliberately,' he said slowly, a penny dropping.

Harry nodded his big head, a stern and awkward smile spreading on his
features. `Yes,' he confirmed in a simple grunt, `yes... I did.' Their eyes
met properly, and Luke matched his half-smile.



The airport hotel at the other side of the car park was a flimsy warren of
ugly wallpaper and faded local photography in rickety frames, a world away
from the slick luxury of the resort the United team had been checked in for
the duration of the week. Luke barely gave any of this décor a second
look as he hurried up the staircase and down the passage, his bag bouncing
at his back on its taut strap. In front of him, Harry stared at the door
number on the key in his hand, and counted them down the hallway: 10,
11... 12.

Maguire turned and gave him an oddly jolly look, then shoved key in lock,
and barged open the thin door to this last room with one shoulder. He
shrugged off his bag and tossed it through the doorway, then reached out
his other arm, grabbed the collar of Luke's thin tshirt, and pulled him
forward and through the threshold in one lunge. Luke gasped as he was
pulled in then shoved with as thud to the thin wall, Harry pressing close
to him and pushing lips to lips. Luke swallowed his gasp and responded with
his own soft lips, shivering to the rough touch and feeling strong fingers
cross his shoulders and neck. He realised the door was still swinging open
on its rusty hinges and shoved it closed behind them with a nervous yelp of
laughter.

`Harry, so reckless,' he murmured weakly, pulling away and quickly
surveying the basic room, its cheap-looking double bed taking up more of it
than was comfortable to navigate, the thin doorless archway into the
cupboard-sized `bathroom' off it. It was an ugly little box, nothing like
the spacious white chambers they'd been occupying up at the complex...

Harry grabbed at him again, throwing long muscled arms about his torso and
pulling him into a gentler cuddle away from the doorway, reaching down to
kiss him on the brow. `Harry,' was all he could get out aloud, totally
overwhelmed, as he had been since they left the airport behind thirty
minutes ago. Hardly daring to open his eyes, he rested his face into the
curve of Harry's neck and chest and clung to the fabric of his red polo
shirt.

Tenderness quickly gave way to lust as he felt those firm muscles beneath
the fabric. Luke tugged roughly at it upwards and Harry parted his arms
obligingly: up and off went the polo shirt, and Luke leaned in to kiss at
the pale muscle, freckly from sunbathing this week, and found tight little
nipples with his lips, making Maguire giggle and squirm and kiss him more
on the brow and scalp. One of Harry's hands was grabbing at his hair and
the other was pulling up his tshirt from behind. Luke parted from the man's
body, reluctantly, to allow his own top up off, so they were both shirtless
as they kissed again and rubbed muscular flesh.

`You've really been working out,' Maguire grunted in a voice so dazed and
detached that it sounded more casual observation than lusty compliment; but
the big roaming hands were compliment enough as they traced Luke's swelling
biceps and ran down the smooth toned skin of his back. Harry's lips and
tongue hit his neck and Shaw threw his head back with a long groan. And
then the strong hands were holding him more firmly and, fuck, throwing him
roughly aside... the bed squeaked dangerously as Luke's body hit it, and he
couldn't hold in his laughter of excitement. It creaked and strained more
as Harry leapt on atop him, bearing down on him like a sexy predator with
more hot kisses and groping touches.

'Oh god,' Luke groaned to the ceiling, which when he opened his eyes, he
saw was ugly and peeling and stained with damp. This hotel and this room
were manky as fuck, but... what did any of THAT matter? Right now he was in
the lap of heaven. `Oh god, Harry,' he whined, as one big hand pushed down
the front of his joggers and the other cradled the side of his neck. He
reached up and down Harry's muscled flanks and cried out his name over and
over.

`Be as loud as you want,' Maguire grunted provocatively. `Who fucking
cares?!'

`Oh shit,' moaned Shaw at this, feeling unleashed. He tingled as his cock
was pulled from his boxers, and began reaching desperately down to try and
reciprocate, pushing and fingering at the tight waistband of the other
man's jogger bottoms and underpants below. The bed creaked and groaned
beneath their shifting wait as two different shades of grey jogging pants
were pushed and pulled down their furry legs and kicked away from socked
ankles. Harry rose up on his knees more, pulled at Luke's young body like a
toy and dragged him further up the bedding towards the mass of pillows for
his comfort before bearing down again with fresh kissing.

Luke stared at the ceiling again, and then twisted round to look his lover
in the face, trying to focus his eyes and mind. `You... you had this
planned?' he stammered between hot breaths, feeling his cock squeezed and
pulled inside his black boxer briefs with agonising
intensity. `You... booked this place...?'

Harry looked suddenly less aggressive, more bashful, but he gave a scoffing
lass and planted a rough kiss against Luke's lips before muttering his
answer. `Yeh... for fuck's sake... of course I did... Happy Valentine's
Day, lad...' And then he was kissing at Luke's throat, running his thick
tongue over his Adam's apple and almost biting him on the sharp jawline,
tickling against his beard.

`But,' Luke murmured, trying to get his head around it all, `I thought...'

`Stop fucking thinking,' begged Maguire roughly. `Stop
TALKING... just... enjoy.' And with that, Harry moved down, his agility
surprising for his height and weight, as he disappeared downwards, kissing
and licking at Luke's mostly smooth chest, navigating the little patch of
thin hair and winding down past his naval. Luke looked down, as surprised
as he had been last time that this beast of a man brought his mouth
anywhere near a cock: Luke's thick erection sprung free from his pants and
went straight into Harry's mouth. Oh dear god...

Harry's big head bobbed hungrily and he hunched there halfway down the bed,
his back muscles tensed and visible as he leant in to nosh slowly on Luke's
prick. Shaw reached down for his neck and shoulders and stroked the back of
his head, grinding his own head back into the pillows and whining his
pleasure as that big clumsy mouth worked about his dick. He could feel
clumsy teeth brush his shaft every other moment, so unused to sucking was
Maguire, but it didn't matter... that rough tongue on his bell-end, and the
slurping sound of Harry's hungry gob going down his meat... wow. Fuck. This
was... unreal...

`Oh god, Harry,' he panted loudly, `that is... Oh, man...'

And Maguire went down further, the strain obvious on his inexperienced
face. His big hands stretched their way up Luke's front as his face buried
in his crotch. `My turn,' Shaw cried out, `my turn... let me suck
you... Harry, your big big dick...'

Harry rose up with a gasp of breath. `No,' he snapped, `this IS your turn,
baby...' And back down he went, and Luke just stared in shock as the
previously selfish brute took his lips and tongue to his throbbing cock. Oh
god, this was so new and... special. Yesterday was forgotten. That dark and
dangerous night of Harry's beating and mugging, forgotten. None of it
mattered. Dan, Mason, Brandon... NONE of it mattered. Luke held the big
head between his parted thighs and just groaned out noises rather than
words.

Eventually, Maguire rose up, drooling from his bottom lip and gasping for
air. He smirked across the space at the younger player, and reached down to
pull slowly on Luke's saliva-slicked member whilst licking his big tongue
out across his upper lip and letting out a dirty chuckle. `Now,' Harry
instructed confidently, `now you can have your taste...' And with that he
rolled onto his side and began to push down at his white trunks until his
mighty erection swung out against the bedding. Luke scrambled over the
duvet for it, pulling his body alongside the bigger guy's, and pushing his
face upside down into that well-endowed crotch. He parted his lips greedily
and took in as much as he could, too much, almost choking on its girth as
he plunged onto it and heard Maguire's instant growls of approval.

Luke lost himself in this for minute after minute, holding on to the big
hairy thighs above and below his face and pulling his lips back and forth
in quick circling motions, enjoying the length and girth of that monster
cock, still the biggest he had seen, never mind tasted. As he did so, he
felt Harry, lying oppositely parallel, rubbing at his front and down to his
thighs and pawing at his cock and balls, and then reaching around to prise
at his arse cheeks. Luke willingly lifted and parted his legs more to allow
this as he blew him.

But then he really jolted in surprise: Harry's mouth had gone down not back
to his cock or even his loaded balls, but to his gooch, pressing right
between his thighs and making him squeal in shock at the wet sensation down
there on his taint. He could barely maintain his sucking motion for the
surprise of it and he pulled away from Maguire's quivering meat, holding
tightly to his thighs, and feeling his buttocks pulled open and that tongue
going... Whoa! Where the fuck had Harry seen THIS done? Bloody fucking
hell... As the tongue ran into his crack, Luke contorted his sturdy frame
in newfound ecstasy, a totally new sensation and pleasure gripping him. It
was only after several minutes more of this furtive tonguing that he could
control himself enough to lean in and carry on sucking Harry off. And so it
went for sweaty minute after sweaty minute: curled together in this 69,
Shaw sucking cock as much as he could, and Harry seeming to really bury his
face in between plump downy cheeks.

When it stopped, Luke just gasped and whimpered, weak with pleasure and
unable to suck any more, so breathless with it. Again he felt hands roughly
all over him and he was tugged back around and shoved across the creaking,
buckling surface of this cheap hotel bed, onto his back once more, and his
thick thighs pushed up and apart so that Harry's face could dart down
between them and... `OH FUCK,' he screamed, feeling the tongue against his
crack again, but against his HOLE now, prodding and pushing at it... `Oh
fuck, fuck,' he moaned and panted. `Fuck me Harry, FUCK ME... Please... I'm
begging...' He clawed at the bedsheets and felt his untouched cock
ache. Harry's fingers pushed further at his spread cheeks and the tongue
flicked in and out. OH MY GOD... Was he screaming this out loud or just in
his head now? Impossible to say...

Only when Luke's twitching hole was wet and loose did Harry pull away from
it and take his own rod in hand, and press forward. Soon, Harry's big
muscular bulk was hanging right over him and thrusting forward, his thick
bell-end being pressed between Luke's reddened butt cheeks. Shaw braced
himself, knowing he'd just about taken this once, remembering the pain and
the struggle, but... this felt different already... he was so relaxed, so
lubed up... And Harry was being more careful, gentle. The big man pushed
his cock very slowly and surely forward and, as he did, he leaned in to
kiss Luke's chest just below the nipples. Their hands found each other and
fingers interlocked, and Maguire's lips made their way up over soft pecs
and to the neck and then to the lips and... Just as their mouths connected,
a twist of Harry's hips pushed that thick veiny dick inside Luke's arsehole
to begin fucking him.

`Oh fuckkk...'

`Take it, baby... take it...'

`OH HARRY...'

`LUKE...'

Inch after inch pushed inside. Luke could feel himself open to it. This was
insane. Until now he had been vaguely and surprisingly aware that he had
experienced fucking, but... that rough attempt in the Christmas frost, that
had been awful and abortive... and the slippery sweaty fun on `date night',
well... he had just felt so hot and sore and confused... but THIS... `Oh
sweet baby jesus,' was all he could cry out, the full muscular bulk of the
other man bearing down on him, and more of that meat sliding into his
hole. He threw his arms about Harry's broad back now, clinging to him and
surrendering his body. And with that, Maguire between to fuck him, really
FUCK him, thrusting forward over and over. Each shoving movement was firmer
and heavier than the last. Luke could barely hold in his screams of it,
even as Harry bit at his lip and snarled mouth to mouth.

As Harry pressed his full length into Luke's tight passage, the bed finally
gave up its fight with gravity. The splitting of cheap plywood, the
snapping of metal springs, the muffled crushing noise of mattress... They
ignored it all as the bed snapped beneath them and Harry Maguire pounded
the beautiful defender into the floor beneath with a steady rhythm of
dominant power. Both men's grunts got louder and rougher and more garbled,
until Harry roared out his impending orgasm: `Fuck, fuck... I'm gonna... Oh
Luke... I wanna shoot in you...'

`DO IT,' begged Shaw, `please do it...'

`OH Luke...'

`Yes, Harry, yess...'

`Luke, I... I LOVE YOU... Ohhhh...'

And Luke felt the hot squirt inside him and the sustained force of Harry's
final thrust, pressing him into the messy squash of mattress and bedframe
beneath. He let out a long shaky breath, pulled Harry's sweaty back to him
with both arms, and enjoyed the wet heat inside him. The big man's words
echoed inside his head and his eyes rolled in ecstasy. Harry was slowly
pulling out of him, but even as he did, he was reaching for and wanking his
own still-hard dick. Luke could hardly believe how much physical pleasure
was being allowed him: his ring tingled with the slow retreat of Maguire's
erection even as his dick was beat furiously at the front.

He opened his eyes, looked down into Maguire's face, saw the wild need to
please. And so he took control, and slid his fingers into Harry's rough
dark hair, and pushed that big face downwards. `Come on,' he urged in a
slurring pant, `you can... taste it...' Harry's lips closed about his nob
once more, and it only took a few more strokes. Harry was wanking him at
the base and swirling his tongue about the tip all at once, and in seconds,
Luke came. He stared intensely down his own body as he shot inside that
hungry gob, seeing how new and scary this was for Maguire, but how he went
for it anyway, swallowing each drop and only slurping upwards once he was
sure it was over.

They hugged their bodies together and rolled over a little. Around the
shattered bedframe groaned and snapped some more, and the mattress fully
slumped to the floor of the poky, run-down bedroom. Luke let his eyes
flutter open once more to look at the hideous ceiling, the peeling
wallpaper, the half-open curtains, the cracked mirror over the tiny
dressing table... And he burst out laughing at it all, a happy, triumphant
laugh.

`Harry,' he giggled hysterically, `what the fuck...?'



Soon after this, they must have napped, simultaneously sliding into
satisfied mid-afternoon sleep, and waking more or less at the same
time. Not quite the same time: Luke woke to find Harry, whose chest he was
resting heavily against, their bodies intertwined in the smashed up bed,
staring thoughtfully down at him from the propped pillows.

`Hey,' he gurgled sleepily. `I think we might have been a bit rough there,
big man.'

`I dunno what you mean,' smirked Maguire. He shifted his body a little to
hold Luke more tenderly in the tangled duvet and creased droop of
mattress. `I'm as gentle as a spring breeze, me.' Another dirty little
laugh, from both of them. `How do you feel, Luke...?'

Shaw suppressed another laugh, keeping his voice low and intimate. `I'd be
lying if I said I wasn't sore,' he said, and saw the note of concern in
Harry's eyes, `but... I feel fucking great, Harry. I do. This was...'

`Insane?'

`Beautiful.'

They lay there quietly awhile longer. Through the single-glazed windows of
the Spanish hotel room, the noises of the airport brought a disappointing
stain of reality to the scene: the dull roar of a plane taking off, the
honks and growls of traffic in the car park, the shouting of a family
somewhere beneath this first-floor window. Luke thought it through: he was
supposed to be landing in Manchester soon and in a matter of hours, meeting
his date for dinner. What the fuck was HARRY meant to be doing at that
time, with his fiancée...?

`Are we staying the night?' he dared to ask in a voice that betrayed his
nervousness. There was no immediate answer and he rolled onto his side so
they could look at each other while they spoke. He ran his fingers back and
forth over one of Harry's pecs.

`I can't, Luke,' Maguire muttered. `I'm sorry. I just can't...'

`Your fiancée...'

`My daughter,' the other man pointed out. `I need to be home to them,
Luke. I'm so sorry.'

Of course it wasn't the answer the 24-year-old wanted to hear right now,
lying here, but the tone of it... he could hear the hurt and conflict in
the man's voice, could hear what he wanted. And that, for now, was
enough. He stopped his stray stroking fingers and nodded understandingly.

`Of course,' he said. `So... do you have our flights booked too...?'

`Oh, yeh. Sorted it all out before we'd even left Manchester Airport,
buddy. It was... Well. It was all gonna be a surprise. Which, er, I guess
it still was, so...' A bashful laugh and expression that was just far too
fucking cute on this brash giant next to Luke. `I hope it was worth it,'
Maguire said in a voice of dangerous hope.

Luke squeezed his leg that lay over Harry's and leaned in a little
closer. `Are you kidding?' he murmured to him. `It's... It's everything
I've wanted, for months. I was so angry at you, yesterday,' he added,
regretfully. `I was a prick.'

`No, you weren't...'

`I do think I get it,' Luke thought aloud. `You just have to... I mean, you
need to... dominate. And you had to do your captain thing, there. I get
it. I just... I couldn't see it, couldn't bear it.' He let out the
emotional truth as sincerely as he could bear. `I wish I could have you all
to myself,' he said hotly.

`You think I've fucked another guy?' Harry whispered. `You think I've
sucked another guy?' He leaned his head over and kissed Luke's cheek very
softly. `You DO have me, Luke. You really do. And
you... You're... mine. Right?' Luke nodded a little. `That... that girl
from your Instagram...'

`She means nothing.'

`Good.'

Luke met his eyes and they lay there in more silence, bodies clammy and
stale. None of this quite made sense, he knew. So, he wasn't allowed to
date this girl, and have anything to do with her, because he
was... Harry's? And yet Harry needed to go back to his beautiful fiancée
and his baby daughter, and that was okay, but... None of it made sense, but
did he really care? He could still feel yesterday's bitter sting of envy,
and he knew he would lie in bed tonight raging at the thought of this
beautiful beast sleeping next to another, and yet, still... This was a love
more passionate than he'd ever imagined, and it didn't need to make
sense. Not yet.

`So what time is our flight?' he asked, not wanting any more serious talk
now.

`Er... not for another couple of hours... baby.'

`Right. Hmm. Well... do you think we can go another round... baby?'

Harry smirked at him, and Luke smiled with pure pleasure, and they both
giggled. Luke reached up and plucked a single kiss before whispering his
next question. `What will we break this time...?'



*HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!*