Date: Wed, 4 Mar 2020 22:51:26 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads part 61: Rivals Part sixty-one: Rivals There were a lot of downsides to infidelity, Harry Maguire mused as he pulled into the basement car park of the apartment block, but what nobody warned you was just how tiring trying to maintain a whole second relationship actually was. It had been a long and busy day, with a solid four hours of training from quite early this morning, two back-to-back interviews with barely any lunch break, a photo-call in the afternoon about some charity work, and then a round trip home and back into the city... and here he was, officially attending a meeting with his agent, but actually parking up beneath the building of his, erm, special friend, lying to his fiancée and the mother of his child. He was shattered and the quiet night in with the missus that he was currently shirking certainly had its lazy attractions right now, after so much flitting about and grafting in drifting ways. But as he let out a little yawn and checked the time on his Rolex, the lofty Yorkshireman pictured the cute boyish smile of his younger fellow defender, and the little secret kiss they had shared behind a pillar in the Old Trafford fire exit this morning... the twinkle in Luke's eye and the faint promise of more to come. Harry couldn't suppress the romantic grin that spread across his mouth at the thought of this moment, and he laughed inwardly at himself, pushing down the increasing worry that he was getting out of his depth here. Don't be soft, he told himself, you know where your heart is. Don't let this go too far. He got out of the car, took the shopping bag from the backseat, and locked up. In the bag, a bottle of expensive bubbles clinked against a few smaller beers, with the rest of the little haul he'd picked up at a pricy Cheshire greengrocers on the way into Manchester. Just a few little treats for their early evening rendezvous, before he would need to travel back out into the countryside and the posh new build housing estate where family life awaited him. `Of course I can squeeze you in,' he'd told Luke rashly in their little back-door clinch outside the training ground, meeting those sparkling blue eyes and leaning in close to the short stocky southerner. `Of course.' He should have said no, pushed back the little rendezvous, made plans for another night, but... There was something about Shaw that was so difficult to say no to without feeling like you'd just booted a puppy from the nine-yard mark. Harry knew how much he had hurt this particularly puppy in the past, and he was reluctant to do so again. You'll have to eventually, that same nagging voice at the back of his mind told him, but he shrugged it away, making his way to the lift entrance at the far end of the subterranean car park. He was in a simple suede jacket over his thick hoody and close-fitting chinos. He could hardly put much effort into dressing up to come and meet his agent, not without rousing suspicions at home. He wondered if Luke gave a shit what he wore. (Why do you care? That nagging voice again, sneering at the back of his thought process.) The lift took him up into the flashy complex of small apartments, and he made his way to Luke's corner flat on the third floor, the one he had spent quite a few discreet little visits to in the weeks since their Marbella reunion fuck. Sometimes when staying over he thought of his first couple of visits (the sordid four-way with Dan and Mason, and the bloodied night of his mugging) with pangs of guilt and self-loathing, but more and more, this small apartment was feeling more homely than home, somehow. He slipped the key out of its little fold in his thick leather wallet. The key. He'd freaked out a bit when Luke handed it to him one morning in the car park outside Old Trafford, and he knew Shaw had seen the nervous panic on his big face (Harry could never hide a single emotion, he wore every flashing feeling on his honest mug) – but they had tried to play it cool. `Just for emergencies or whatever,' Luke had mumbled awkwardly, `or if you need to get away anytime.' It had been such a touching yet alarming gesture, and part of Maguire had wanted to give it back, then and at several little occasions since. Tonight, though, it was handy. He was early, because of the light traffic, and he was stupidly excited by the idea of getting in there first and having the champers on ice before his Luke got back from his evening jog. They hadn't actually spent any time alone yet this week, for one reason or another, and so this evening's little meeting felt more important or intense. You're getting lost here, his nagging conscience told him as he turned the key; it's only been a matter of days since you were inside him, and you're treating this evening like it's been months! Maguire twisted the key and unlocked the entrance, and let himself into the familiar surrounds of the apartment: the narrow passage bulging with shoe-rack and hanging coats, opening up into the cluttered square of Luke's lounge, different doors branching off it, and a simple breakfast bar bordering off the open plan kitchenette beyond, in which... Harry stood awkwardly still in the lounge doorway, and stared at the human outline in the kitchen area now. All he could see was exposed back muscle, and he was confused until the intricate ink markings on these bare muscles began to form a familiar picture to him, an expansive tattoo he had seen a lot on football social media over recent years: a snarling lion drawn in detail over pale brown skin, transitioning into more varied and complex tattooing on the bulging arms on either side of it. Memphis Depay. `You are back,' came the precise Dutch accent of the European footballer now, turning around to cross the short rectangle of the kitchen, and stopping with a jolt as he laid eyes on the arrival. The two men stood still for a moment and stared at each other across the interior of the apartment. Depay had a saucepan in his hands and was in the middle of stirring something. The expression on his face was of surprise but only mild, a calm confidence in his manner as he stood there in only a pair of shiny gym shorts, as if he owned the place. `Ah,' he said, `hello there...' `Depay,' Maguire grunted. `What are you doin' here?' He lowered the shopping bag of treats from his hand onto the armchair beside him and stood squarely in the doorway, glowering across at the intruding Dutchman before taking a few long strides across the lounge until only the faux marble surface of the breakfast separated the two of them. Memphis gave him a bemused smile, and turned away to put down the saucepan and free up his hands. `I'm staying here as a guest,' remarked Memphis pleasantly. `Now what are YOU doing here, and letting yourself in with a key, no less...?' He turned, folding his muscular arms and grinning curiously over the benchtop. `How interesting.' Harry creased his heavy brows and rested his hands uncomfortably on the worktop, squaring his big shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height. `Is it any business of yours?' he remarked, aware of how daft and aggressive he might sound. He was aware of Luke's close friendship with the former United player, of course, but he wasn't very sure what, if anything, Memphis knew about HIM... `Luke gave me a key,' he said plainly. `Yes. Interesting.' `We have... plans.' `Ah.' Memphis grinned more widely, and nodded. `I see. I am sorry. You see, I was supposed to fly out this afternoon, but... well, flights are all funny because of... you know, the end of the world disease, and all that...' He shrugged his big bare shoulders. `I make dinner of apology for Luke, you see, to say sorry for still being here, but...' He waved at the general mess of preparation around him. `Perhaps there is enough for three...?' Harry stared at him, blinked a few times, not sure what to say. `You've been staying here... all week?' he asked, his voice a little lower. He tried to stand there, calm and impassive, but a storm was brewing inside: so this was why Luke hadn't been free the other night, or why he'd been so slow to answer his messages...? There had been NO mention of a house-guest at ANY point. `Just a few nights,' Depay said vaguely. And then, in a strangely ironic tone, loaded with meaning, `Don't worry, Maguire. I have been sleeping on the sofa.' Harry tensed up at what could well have been an innocent joke, and backed away from the kitchen, turning his face away so that Memphis couldn't see the hot blush rising in his chiselled cheeks. A double paranoia was coming over him. What did Depay know? What had Luke been saying? And what the fuck was going on here, the handsome Dutch prick staying over and it being kept a secret for several days...? He slid off his suede jacket and pulled off his hoody so he was just in the simple black tshirt, and dumped both on the chair beside his shopping, which he supposed he needed to unpack. He pulled out the bottle of fizz, chill against his fingers, and thought with scorn of his silly romanticism in the shop earlier: oh, Luke will love this, he'd thought, this will be really cute, and... You fucking idiot, he told himself. When he turned around, the bottle of overpriced bubbly in his two big hands, Memphis had come over from the kitchen, and was stood right next to him, ostentatiously shirtless and his bulging leg muscles on show too beneath the shorts. All rippling muscle and exposed body art, a strangely false smile set on his handsome features. `I've heard a few things about you, Harry Maguire.' He grunted at this. `Huh. Well. I've heard fuck all about you,' he retorted coldly. `You have caused a lot more upset than I think you know,' Memphis said, matching his frost. `Is that so?' Maguire grunted. `Then why do I have a key?' he demanded, competitiveness and resentment rising his hackles. He loomed over the shorter Dutchman now, beginning to grip the bottle in his hands as if it was a ready weapon. `Look, I dunno what you think you're doing sniffing around here, mate, but-` `He's told me enough,' cut in Memphis. `Enough to know your sort, Maguire.' `I don't know what you think you know...' `I know a bully when I see one,' Depay snarled. He was only 5'9, half a foot shorter than the bristling Yorkshireman, but he was broad and well-built, and Harry could feel the challenge building up. `I don't know if I like you having that key, and showing up here,' Memphis continued in a quiet but icy voice. `Luke is a precious boy,' the other 26-year-old whispered. `I ain't sure if it's your business,' Harry growled back, tightening his grip on the bottle and beginning to lift it, `so I dunno if maybe you shouldn't just... just... fuck off back to France and make more shit rap videos on Instagram... you smug prick...' He was just about to lunge forward when the door clattered open again and the two of them both froze awkwardly, bodies tensed for action and faces set with mounting aggression. Their heads jerked to look to the entrance and in sloped Luke Shaw, rosy-cheeked and messy-fringed from a chilly evening run. The 24-year-old Kingston lad stopped, surprise and confusion on his face, frozen there in his jogging bottoms and long-sleeve thermal top, still panting from his jog, his eyes flitting from one guy to another, and his mouth half-forming several questions; then he seemed to register the aggressive body language between the two of them, the bottle wielded as club, and he lunged awkwardly forward to press between them, seizing the fizz out of Harrys' tight hands before saying a word. `Alright lads,' he groaned uncomfortably, still looking from one to the other. `Well, er, this is a bit... awkward, but...' He fixed his look on Memphis, and Harry followed his gaze with a fiery glare, as if sensing victory for himself. `Memph, what are you...? Your flight was...?' `Oh,' Depay said in an irritatingly calm drawl, `I am delayed until the middle of tonight, actually...' `Oh...' `Yes, very inconvenient, Corona wins... Aha, your good friend Maguire here, was just making me feel very welcome in your flat, though...' Luke spun round, and Harry could see the evident guilt or turmoil on his mate's face. He tried to look less hostile, or pissed off, but he could feel the resentment pouring from every corner of his face as he took a step back, relieved off his weaponised bottle. `Yeh,' he muttered, `we were just catching up, that's all. Don't think we'd ever been... properly acquainted.' He looked from his guilty-faced lover to the insufferably smug Dutchman in his tiny shorts. `Seems like Memphis here is cooking us both dinner,' he said, his voice dripping with bitter irony. `Yes,' Depay said levelly. `It is nothing too much but – I will get on with it, eh?' He flashed his big toothy grin and backed off, and Luke took a step closer to Harry in his running gear. `Harry,' he hissed, `I need to exp...' `Do you?' mumbled Maguire pettily. `Only if you can be arsed. No bother to me.' `Harry,' Luke said plaintively. He dropped his voice. `I'll tell you properly later, baby, but-` Harry found himself scowling pathetically at the affectionate nickname, and he hated himself for his pettiness, seeing the sting of regret in Luke's eyes – `he and I go way back,' Shaw continued in a murmur, `and he needed to crash here while he was doing some photoshoots for a brand, so...' Luke reached a hand for Harry's arm as he spoke. `I didn't know how to tell you without it sounding weird, so...' Harry pulled his arm away semi-consciously and shrugged his big shoulders. `Nothing to me,' he commented, and moved away from Luke, grabbing the bag of other treats and taking them to dump on the worktop. `Here,' he barked at Memphis, `you can put these beers in the fridge for me. I don't like fizz much anyway. You two can share that, I suppose.' He turned and scowled at a very confused and embarrassed looking Shaw. Whilst Luke showered, Harry sat and drank beer from the can, watching but not seeing the different TV channels he flicked through. He felt his sulk deepen, unable to look at or respond to any of the brittle, false conversation-starters from needlessly shirtless Depay as he strolled about the flat in his overly familiar manner, as if he'd lived here for longer than Luke himself. When Luke returned, freshened up and in that baggy thin jumper that made him look so cute and fluffy, and some saggy old shorts, Harry only gave him faint acknowledgments. By the time dinner was ready, he wasn't sure why he hadn't already made his excuses and left. And so the three of them ended up sat in the most awkward silence ever, on the three stools about the breakfast bar. Bowls of whatever local Dutch stew Depay had knocked up steamed in front of them, and Luke was uncomfortably pouring champagne into three inappropriate wine glasses. Whilst Memphis smirked and Harry glowered, Luke scrambled to make conversation: describing how cold it had been for his run, complaining about slow walking people getting in your way in the Northern Quarter, bitching at how sore his legs were from training earlier. He asked about Depay's modelling shoot from this morning, and about Harry's kid, a topic he never tended to mention in their time alone together, perhaps from guilt or delusion. This went on for as long as they could bear. Harry ate a little, but his appetite was crushed. He knocked back the fizz though, having already crushed three cans of the IPA he'd bought on the way here. The drink was doing nothing to douse the fires of his jealousy and hurt pride. `So what time IS your flight, exactly?' he asked, interrupting some vague, distracted conversation between the other two. `Oh, sometime after midnight.' `I'll drive you to the airport,' Shaw offered quietly. `I'm sure he can afford a taxi,' Maguire muttered. Memphis began to reply, stopped himself. He stared at Harry and put down his fork. Luke grimaced and looked at them searchingly, as if trying to pick the next superficial topic of conversation that could ease his dilemma. But suddenly the Olympic Lyonnais player was blunt and dropping the shallow mask of manners that had sat on top of the simmering tension. `He doesn't need you messing him around, Harry,' he snapped. `Memph...' `Oh right,' Harry snarled, stiffening. `I'm a problem, am I?' `Yeah, you are,' Depay said firmly. `Using and abusing. I know your type.' He reached a protective hand to rest on Luke's shoulder now. `Luke deserves better than your head games, Maguire.' `And you are what he needs, are you?' Harry said back fiercely, losing his temper. `Some smug vain Netherlands twat swanning in and out of his flat like he owns the place? Who do you think you are? Luke don't need you fucking about like this, that's for sure, ain't it mate, yeh?' `I am pretty sure I have given him a dozen times as much pleasure as you have,' Memphis hissed back, talking over Luke's attempt to cut into the conversation. Something about the tone or the intensity of the other man's face told Harry what he had been wondering all evening, since discovering the tattooed hunk in the kitchen. He shot his eyes from that smug expression to Luke's guilty winces, and he knew enough. `And how much pleasure is that, exactly?' he demanded, through gritted teeth. `Harry...' murmured Shaw. `Oh, I know how to keep a friend happy,' Memphis claimed boldly, stretching his bulging arm muscles about Luke's shoulder, leaning closer across the table, and sneering at his rival. `And I know how to... ahem, appreciate this man for his... skills.' He hugged Luke tighter to him, ignoring just how uncomfortable and appalled their host actually looked at these revelations. Harry was fuming but ready to fight for what was his. `I doubt you can pleasure him half as much as me,' he almost shouted. `You have no idea, Memphis. No fuckin' idea.' `Guys!' Shaw exclaimed desperately. `Let me show you,' snapped Memphis confrontationally, and he leant over and planted a soft kiss on Luke's temple, making the younger lad blush. `Let me show you, you arrogant cunt of a man. Luke, let me pleasure you now.' `What?!' `Let me show this bastard what it means to appreciate a friend!' `God, no... guys, stop this...' But Memphis was almost dragging him off his stool, and Luke was forced to comply to avoid falling off and making a tit of himself. Guided by one strong arm, he tottered around the corner and into the more open space of the lounge. Harry slid directly off his stool as if he might need to intervene, looking ready for violence. He looked wildly from one to the other of them, fists clenched. He could see Luke's embarrassment on his face as he stood still and Memphis began pulling that jumper up and off, stretching at the fine knitwear. Harry was about to lunge aggressively in but Luke held up a warning hand and he held off awkwardly. He watched angrily as Memphis lowered onto his knees on the rug, and grabbed eagerly at those loose-fitting shorts until Luke was basically naked; the jumper was thrown aside and the shorts pooled about his ankles and the stocky blond lad stood embarrassed in the centre of the room, looking down in wonder. Harry stared intensely at the scene unfold: the way Memphis gently rubbed his hands up and down the fluffy leg hair of Luke's thighs, then leant in to kiss tenderly at the dangling length of Luke's ample tool. Harry would never have expected such homoerotic tenderness from this macho European footballer, or such willingness to do what he himself could only bring himself to in the most intense moments of desire... He hovered by his stool, muscles tensed, his angry jealousy burning up. `Oh Memphis,' came Luke's voice, a stab to Harry's ego, `oh man... please, there's no need for this, just... ohhhh...' Harry couldn't stand it. He stood fully upright and let out a few hot pants of breath. He could lean over and end Memphis' behaviour with a kick. Where was the cunt's latest injury, anyway? He knew he'd been off for surgery and recovery, so he was definitely vulnerable. Harry could sort this foreign prick out in seconds, show him who was boss, and- But what then? What would Luke say or do as he watched Maguire kick the shit out of his old pal? Fuck's sake, Harry told himself, calm down! There was a safer and more sensible option: run now, get the fuck out of here, drive back to your fucking beautiful fiancée and easy life, leave these two queers to their games, and... `Ohh,' gasped Luke uncomfortably, seeming to half push Memphis away and half roll his neck in pleasure at the same time, stood there while Depay began to take more of his dick into his full pink lips, a far more confident cocksucker than anyone might have guessed. Harry didn't get violent, or flee. No. He tugged his black tshirt off rapidly instead, almost tearing its fabric in his rush to do so, baring his long toned torso in some vague contest to Memphis' ridiculous body. And then he lunged over the room but bypassed the kneeling Dutchman, and went around behind Luke instead. Harry, shirtless and muscular, dropped to his own knees behind Luke, and planted his hands against the chubby white flesh of his dear friend's backside, knowing how to prove himself here. He'd never planned or expected to try this dirty deed, as exciting as it had been having Jamie Vardy try it on him: but in the Spanish hotel room, it had been the thing that had really claimed Luke as his after all, and facilitated their first really successful fuck. He knelt in, pulled those bubble cheeks apart, and pushed his tongue into Luke's freshly showered arse-crack. He heard the gasp, felt the body twitch and tense, and knew he'd done the right thing. Harry closed his eyes, pushed his face further in, and really grabbed and squeezed at Luke's big cheeks, until he was diving his tongue into the soft downy hair of that canyon and finding the little pink hole that belonged to him. He knew Memphis would be shocked, knew this would change the dynamic. As he rimmed Shaw's hole, he stretched his hands up away from the buttocks to grip the lad's hips and then pulled him back a little, into his own face, and away from Memphis and his laconic sucking. `Fuck,' he heard Depay exclaim, `it's like that, is it?' `Ohh... Harry, baby... ohhhh god...' Yes, Harry thought, yes! Fuck you both. This is MY property. He licked and prodded and spat. As he tongued the crack, he reached around and slid one hand about Luke's thick member, wet from Depay's mouth, so he could begin a reach-around handjob. With his other hand, he clawed up the softly defined front of Shaw's torso, raking his short nails to make pink lines of possession down the stocky defender's body. Every yelp and twitch of Luke's booty was evidence of Harry's dominion here, and he only ended his dirty licking to pull his head around and see the smug look wiped off the Dutchman's face. As expected, Memphis was kneeling alone, stunned. `Oh Harry,' Luke moaned again, reaching a hand down to stroke his hair. `You're so good at that...' `Is he now?' asked Depay breathlessly. `Fuck.' `Yeah,' Harry grunted. `Luke knows who's his daddy. You get that now, Dutch?' He smirked triumphantly, and went back to work, kissing his way around Luke's hip and back over his chubby arse cheek. Then, as he pushed his face between the buttocks, he slid his other hand up the lower back and began pushing Luke forward into a better position, guiding him onto all fours on the expensive rug. This allowed Harry to see down the length of his lover's back as he tickled the tip of Luke's crack; he watched Memphis remove his shorts, a little impressed by the size of the exposed erection, but knowing Depay was no match for his own tool. And then came the firm proof that Maguire had won, as he always did in these matters: `Can... can Luke suck me off...?' asked the previously arrogant intruder. Harry lifted his mouth from Luke's hole, panting. `Shaw,' he grunted, `do you want to suck off this twat?' He slapped one cheek and then kissed the red mark his hand left, gently. `I don't mind if you do, as long as he knows his place.' In answer, Luke lifted his head, and went down on Memphis. Harry stared over at this, past his lover's arching back and dark blond tufts of hair, to the rising six pack and decorated pecs of Depay's broad body. He recognised the delight on the other man's face; after all, who knew Luke's oral talents better than he now did?! Harry got up onto his knees and began to undo the front of his chinos. He undid the buttons with such ferocity that one popped off and skittered over the floor. They were pulled down past his hips and then so too were his black trunks. Out came his cock, and he saw the flash of shock in Memphis' eyes as it did so: Harry never tired of the mixed envy and terror he saw in men's eyes when his masterful erection was fully revealed, that foot-long brute of veiny tan flesh. He slid a couple of fingers into Luke's wet hole to prepare it, and watched with possessive pleasure as this bitch, his bitch, tongued and sucked at the black cock on the other end of the spit-roast. But such voyeurism could only satisfy Maguire for a couple of minutes, and he began to push the head of his dick between the chubby cheeks. `Luke... can you really take that?' Depay asked in disbelief, though he knew Shaw was too busy mouthing his own fat rod to actually give an answer. `Of course he can,' Maguire laughed powerfully, `he's a good lad for me.' He pressed the tip of his meat into the twitching hole. Even on this, perhaps the fourth or fifth fuck they had shared, it wasn't easy. His own girth, and Luke's tight muscular backside, made it tough. But the rimming helped. And Luke was becoming more confident with it. He barely interrupted his blowjob to Memphis, though Harry saw him pause a couple of times for deep breaths, but he didn't take it easy on him this time; he needed to show this outsider, this fucking rival, that he owned Luke Shaw, that no other guy had a right to him. Yes Luke was sucking another cock, but HE'D allowed it, and he could stop it whenever he wanted. In fact, there was a joy in watching it happen, watching Depay be pleasured, sharing what he owned, but knowing that Depay could never fuck this gorgeous bubble butt. With those fierce thoughts, he pressed himself into Shaw, and slid his hands up and down the toned flesh of the lad's strong back. He thrust in and saw Luke have to give up sucking Memphis off, panting and whining and just licking the tip of the Dutch cock instead. Memphis had bulging eyes as he watched, shocked and intimidated. So clearly that prick had never invaded this arse, nobody had, it was all Harry's. Good. He grinned to himself and began to slide the first half of his long meat in and out, stretching and easing the tight hole. Then he was fucking with some force. He loved that each time he topped this man, he could do so with more energy and power, though there was still a tiny sensitive edge to his action, a slight fear of hurting Luke. He could still remember that first time in the woods, their failed effort. He hoped one day he would be able to really let loose on Luke's backside, but for now, he had to cut his animal instincts short. FOR NOW. (The bed-smashing power of that Marbella fuck was nowhere near the peak of Harry's appetite.) As Maguire pushed in and out of the back, Memphis began to push his cock in and out of the front, and Luke was pinned between their thrusting hips. Sweat beaded the pale skin of his arse and back and shoulders, and it slid down Harry and Memphis' chests in a gentle cascade. The rug shuffled and twisted beneath three sets of knees. Groans got louder, fleshy slaps got more intense. But Harry had no intention of finishing inside Luke this time, nope: he needed to finish this rivalry properly. With some reluctance, he withdrew his hard-on from the tight hole. He felt and heard Luke's whimper of disappointment as the intense fucking ended. Harry got up on his powerful legs, taking deep breaths, and stepped forward, alongside Luke's form, and glowered down. `Come on,' he purred, `both of you... get at it...' He saw the doubt and hesitation on Depay's face, but Luke was rising up hurriedly on his haunches, licking pre-cum from his lips. `Both of you,' Harry repeatedly fiercely; and they did. As one, Luke and Memphis leaned in to attend to his master cock. Luke was skilled and familiar, but Memphis was tenderly clumsy. Two tongues tickled the shaft and two sets of lips kissed at different sections of the girthy length. Harry stroked both Luke's fluffy blond hair and Depay's short crop, and groaned his dominant pleasure. Below, he could see Luke wanking himself off and simultaneously jerking off the visitor. For a cruel second, Harry thought about stopping this, denying Memphis that pleasure, but... pfft, why not. Soon he would be finished, and so could they. The motion that finally finished him involved Memphis wrapping his pouty lips about the first few inches of Harry's footlong boner, whilst Luke reached under to lap his tongue against the bollocks. `OH yes,' Maguire panted, `OH yes LADS...' He pulled his dick out from Memphis' gob, but only so he could share the fruit of his passion: two faces pressed close and he emptied his sack, streaking thick cum over two pretty boys. `Ohhh...' He threw his head back with a howl of orgasm, then looked at the mess he'd made, spunk all over both lads' faces. `Oh god, guys... yes...' He pulled a few last times on the aching skin of his erection, and then took a step back. He played idly with his balls and watched Luke and Memphis cum almost in unison, spilling their juices onto the rug. `Yes, lads,' panted Harry, `yes... two good lads... hah... Yess...' They ate reheated dinner half-naked, and quietly. The lengthy silences were different now: comfortable and contented. As he ate, Harry let his spare hand stroke up and down Luke's back and massage his neck. When Luke spilled some food on his own chest, Harry leant in and licked the sauce from near his nipple. Memphis watched, agog. After dinner, the visitor went to take a shower, and Harry and Luke curled up on the couch for a little while. Harry was naked from the waist down still, but had his tshirt back on. Luke's shorts were pulled most of the way up, but his jumper was still hanging off a nearby shelf. The two men leant into each other and listened to the brief shower. `I'm sorry I didn't tell you,' Luke whispered. `I... I think I get it,' Harry mumbled. `It's... It's okay, though.' `Is it?' Harry twitched his head so their eyes met. `As long as you know who you belong to,' he said softly. `I do,' Luke promised. `I really do.' He giggled. `And I think now so does he, don't you?' Harry grinned, and let out a little laugh of his own. They got dressed then. Memphis was returning, wrapped in a towel, and the easy atmosphere became slowly more reserved. The reality of the men's lives were coming back to them, and Memphis was perhaps regretting his own submission to the Manchester United dom. It had been agreed that Maguire could drop him off at the airport as he drove home to Cheshire, leaving Luke alone after all. None of them were sure how comfortable this car ride would be. Luke and Memphis hugged goodbye but in a slightly uncomfortable way, Harry watching possessively; Harry said goodbye with a long snog, more passionate and public than the pair had ever shared. Luke looked sad and wistful as he was left at the door, sighing to himself before being abandoned for the night. In the car, Memphis said very little until they were nearing the airport. `You will treat him well?' he asked heavily. He looked almost frightened to ask it, chastened from his smug superiority, but still kind and protective. Harry didn't look at him, concentrating on the traffic. `We have a connection,' was all he said. After a few long minutes, Memphis spoke again, more quietly. `And you would take the same pains for him, would you?' he asked. His question was ambiguous, but Harry thought about what the man had witnessed. His own huge dick had clearly made an impression on this outsider. `Luke wants to be fucked,' he said gruffly. `He doesn't want to top me.' `But what if he did?' Memphis asked thoughtfully. `Do you feel that much for the boy?' Harry scoffed, and beeped the horn at another driver to release his renewed frustrations. Turning the car into the short-stay car park of Manchester Airport, he turned and glared at his passenger, who had took so long to politely build up to these pushy, invasive questions. How dare he? A beastly part of Maguire had a mind to pull him out of the car and fuck him in those nearby bushes for even asking! `It doesn't matter,' he told him firmly. `It isn't like that. Luke's my lad. He doesn't want to...' Memphis shrugged his shoulders and yawned. `Okay, then. Just a thought. So long as you're sure.' He got out of the car, going round to the back to fetch his luggage. Harry sat still in the driver's seat, mind racing. He thought about the rugged masculinity of his submissive lover, the aggression Luke could muster in a football match. He really wasn't no soft bloke. Why should he always settle for being treated like the `girl' in this pairing? The alarming questions almost spiralled but he pushed them away and scowled resentfully at Depay's interference. Stupid prick was just playing mind games here, now he'd seen how special their connection actually was! He got out of the car, but didn't lift a finger to help Depay with his luggage, just watched him moodily and nodded his goodbyes. `Safe flight, then,' he grunted. `Don't rush back.' The muscular shorter bloke gave a hollow laugh at this, a cheeky wink, and off he went, rolling his case along behind him. Harry watched him go, and cursed him: what if Luke DID want to try it the other way around...?!