Date: Sun, 19 Apr 2020 10:40:10 +0000 From: writer guy Subject: Premiership Lads part 83: Zoom Part eighty-three: Zoom The screen was twelve ways, the grinning face of another Manchester United play in each box; Luke Shaw found it hard to tear his eyes away from the central panel and not just spend the entire video chat looking at his man. Right now, Aaron Wan-Bissaka was cracking up with laughter at a story from Anthony Martial, and several of the others were chipping in with more playful abuse. On the desk beside Luke's PC were a row of empty beer bottles, the detritus of a well-spent Saturday night locked in the house. He pulled the last of his beers to his lips and took a good glug, smiling into the webcame atop his computer screen and allowing his eyes to flicker over the webcam gallery to the grinning, concentrating `listening face' that he recognised so well on Harry Maguire. The rest of the house was quiet. This was lads' night, or as close to lads' night as was possible in the circumstances: girlfriend and baby fast asleep at the other side of the house, a whole box of Belgian beers demolished, and a good couple of hours of banter with these guys. Now it was Jesse Lingard talking; the squares took on a little neon frame as the conversation moved between its online members. Luke smiled but with faint disinterest. He couldn't quash a distrust of the 27-year-old that had peaked on the Spanish training trip earlier this year. Luke knew it was petty, but the `cheeky chappy' persona of his midfield teammate couldn't wipe out his memory of that sleazy prank. The memory of their group session with Scott McTominay hung like a shadow on the close friendships of a lot of the Manchester United blokes, but for Luke it was obviously more personal. It was Jesse's fault he'd had to watch his big precious lump of a guy shove his big dick in Scotty's mouth – and in front of a whole bunch of guys! `What's up with your face, Lukey boy?' demanded Mason Greenwood's voice cheerily across the fragmented chitchat of the screens. Shaw straightened up and forced on his beaming white tooth grin, shrugging his shoulders in the spinning desk chair and laughing into the invisible mic of his computer. `All good,' he reassured the gathering in a pause, `just probably had more beers tonight than in the last three weeks...! Guess I'm feeling it...' He grinned again and raised his bottle to the cam, greeted by a general cacophony of cheers-ing and clinking from the assembled online lads. But the group chat was already rattling on: Dan James and Scott McTominay were already competitively describing their garden training set ups, and Brandon Williams was enthusiastically cutting in with his own latest workout ideas and the fitness challenges he'd been tagged in by some of his young mates. Luke listened idly; he hadn't been lying when he admitted to feeling tipsy, he'd really rattled through the bottles tonight and some of these beers were like 8%. He glanced thoughtfully at Dan's cute face; the youngster seemed a lot perkier than lately, lockdown life with his girlfriend seemed to be suiting him. It had been a while since James had been his usual bundle of energy, and it always made Luke feel guilty to notice it. He hoped they could become good friends again soon, if Daniel really was disinterested in guy-on-guy fun and had got over his risqué experimenting with them. Right now, the Welsh national player was enthusing to the group about the training videos he was going to be posting tomorrow and an interview he had lined up with a Welsh sports podcast. Luke's eyes drifted to the two panels along the top right, and he thought about another `playmate' of his and Harry's earlier adventures: Mason too seemed bright and cheery, coping well with quarantine, and fully over some of his resentment towards them. Luke couldn't suppress a fond grin looking at the newly skinhead teen and, on the next panel, a drunkenly grinning Williams. He supposed he was the only one who knew about their budding relationship, Brandon still sporadically confiding in him despite their little blow-up in that hotel a few weeks back. Luke had forgiven but not forgotten the harsh way the younger defender spoke to him, but he was pleased and excited for the two teenagers, seeing a lot more hope for their little romance than his own. Speaking of which... Again, he looked to the middle of the grid, and looked right into the big hewn face of the United captain. He imagined that, for a fleeting moment, their eyes met, though it was fucking impossible to tell on these pixelated panels across a hundred miles of internet. Still, it was vaguely arousing to think so, and it was only a matter of days before their next car park rendezvous when they could enjoy each other's presence, even if they didn't physically touch! The group chat was winding down. The guys were either running out of booze or energy, some had partners and families complaining at them in the background, others were stressing about their plans for the following morning. Excitable Dan was laughing this all off and pushing for the chat to continue, but Martial and Juan Mata were adamant that `short and sweet' was the perfect adage here. Soon there was scrabbled discussion of when this should happen again and playful badmouthing of the other squad members who hadn't been so keen on the virtual meet-up; dates were suggested, compared, dismissed. Nothing was organised, unsurprisingly. The goodbyes began. `See you on FIFA!' Brandon was calling in a challenging Manc accent to Mason. `Yeh, logging on straight off, gonna smash your arse on it, buddy!' Greenwood chortled. Luke smirked to himself and wondered if this was euphemistic and coded, were the two lovebirds missing each other and fantasising about the intimacy they had discovered just before social distancing began? On second thoughts, he laughed to himself, it was fucking believable that the pair were actually just planning a few online FIFA matches before bed, they were never off their PS4s at the minute and if it didn't piss his girlfriend off quite so much, Luke would merrily join them. One by one, the goodbyes were said, playful waves or stuck-up middle fingers signalled exits, and the screens greyed over or disappeared from the grid. Luke hesitated with his fingers on the computer mouse, knowing it was time to call it a night; something held him back, a drunken warmth that washed over him, and he swerved the cursor away form the `end call' tab, and supped from his warming final beer bottle. Pop, pop, pop; the other screens closed and ended as the lads left the group chat and then... the screen was just a 50/50 side-by-side split. Luke smiled, clicked to hide his own feed, and was greeted by a fullscreen shot of Maguire. `Hey fella,' Shaw said smoothly, `you come here often?' On the other end of the video call, a friendly grin settled on Maguire's slightly weary face, and he gave a lazy wink. `I thought the rest of them would never fuck off,' the United captain grunted, and let out a teasing chuckle that Luke instantly joined. This was the new normal of human communication. For Luke, it was simultaneously exciting and frustrating. He could see the head and shoulders of the big handsome Yorkshireman, slumped somewhat in a high-backed chair in some spare room of the big Maguire household he was holed up at, a pale blue oxford shirt open a few buttons across the chest. He could see every little twitch and gesture of that big face (in much better detail now it was a two-way call) and hear the warm inflections of the voice that sent shivers through him. But, crushingly, he couldn't reach out and hold him, couldn't kiss those smirking red lips. `What you thinking, handsome?' Harry asked quietly, sensing his frustration. `Not much,' Luke murmured back. `Typical,' the other man teased. `Blondes, eh.' `Fuck off, hehe. Thanks for organising tonight. It was great.' `Got to do summat – need to keep morale high, right? Fuck knows how long this is lasting.' `I miss the real world,' Luke said, and he wasn't sure if he needed to translate this into what he really meant; he was pretty sure his wide eyes conveyed it, and he heard it returned in Harry's wistful sigh. `How are things with your brother? You said it was a bit... odd.' `Oh, erm – yeh, it's cool now, I think.' `What did you even fall out over?' `Oh it's... a long story. I'll explain sometime... not like this.' `Oh, right. Yeh.' `I can't wait for you to meet him, actually. I reckon you'd really get on.' There was something more behind those words, Luke could tell, but he didn't push it; he'd learnt quickly that Harry found talking about his family with him too much, some invasion of the separate lives he was now trying to lead. Luke just smiled and let it pass. `I ought to go,' he said sadly. `It IS kinda late.' Harry nodded, but, `I wish I was there, Luke.' `Don't say that – don't get me started. Just two days and...' `Two days and we get to stare at each other in a car park. Fuckin' great.' `It's better than nothing...' `I know, I know. I didn't mean that. I just...' Harry growled a sigh. `I really want to be there right now. Like... REALLY want to.' The almost aggressive edge to his lowered voice thrilled Luke's heart and his crotch, and he spun a little in his chair as he thought of what to say back. `Damn it, things I'd do if I was there,' Maguire muttered at him, running fingers through his hair and groaning into the mic. `Oh... like what?' `Now who's getting who started...!' They both laughed, gently but meaningfully, and Luke toyed with the `end call' button in the corner of his screen, but couldn't. It was late but what the fuck was time in this perpetual home-stay? He'd be tired in the morning, but what did it matter? He leaned to the side in his chair, scratched his beard, and they watched each other in silent longing. `I'm getting hard,' he admitted after a couple of minutes. `I think it's just your fucking voice.' `I've been hard for half an hour,' Harry said back, and Luke didn't care if it was exaggerated. `I was hard to just fucking watching you while I had to listen to the others talk shit.' There was something so intense now in Harry's eyes and his hunched shoulders, and the online communication felt more real than ever. It was almost as if they were really in the same room! Luke reached down and touched himself through the front of the grey jogger shorts he was wearing, and his other hand teased near a stiff nipple in the white Nike tshirt on his top half. He knew Harry picked up the body language immediately, saw the little roll of a tongue across his bottom lip, the flash of lust in his dark eyes. Again, both men laughed, almost nervously this time. `You touchin' yerself for me, lad?' `I am, captain... how about you?' `I am now. Fuck.' `Give it a good squeeze for me, big man.' `Am doing. Feels good but... not the same without you.' Luke felt his temperature rise. He grabbed the hem of his tshirt and rolled it up and off, in one move but slowly, a long-distance striptease that earned a little purr of appreciation from Harry. Luke's slow sexy movement was disturbed by the difficulty of tugging it over his big head, and by the time he was tossing it across the games room he sat in, he and Maguire were both giggling stupidly into their mics, though the other man was also staring hungrily at Luke's exposed chest and the bullet-hard nipples on each pec. `Fuck... wanna lick them so bad, mate.' `They're all yours,' Luke murmured, pinching one for himself then licking a finger and circling it about the other one. He sniggered again, at his own silly attempts at seductive behaviour that seemed to belong to another world, another couple. This wasn't them: their sex was rough and tactile and sudden. He stroked the erection in his shorts and watched a couple more buttons come undone on the shirt Harry wore. `Get your pecs out for the lads,' he quipped, and off went the shirt. `We'll have to do strip poker with the boys next time,' Harry joked, a hint of nervousness in his voice; the little moments of vulnerability from this powerful alpha male were what always sent a jolt of burning desire through Shaw's whole being. All the same, he couldn't resist the dig: `So you can be distracted by all the others, eh? Checkin' out Greenwood instead of me, and...' `Don't be that jealous bitch,' murmured Harry, and it was a joke and not a joke. `I can't help it,' Luke said softly. `You know what you do to me.' `I do. But I think you should show me.' `On cam? Heh...' `Go on...' `Harry, is it even safe where you're sitting? How many people are in that house?!' `Everyone's busy,' Maguire insisted. `Come on. It's just a laugh. You've got me going now.' Luke was protesting but feebly, he wanted to take this further, he was suddenly hornier than he had felt in forever, even when they were jerking off at two metres' distance in that sleazy car park toilet. He pushed his wheeled chair away from the desk a bit, then reached to angle the webcam on his monitor slightly, and sat up. He rubbed the front of his shorts to exaggerate the tented form in it, putting on a show for his lover. `Fuck yes,' groaned Harry's voice, `that hard-on all for me is it, you sexy prick...?' `All for you,' Shaw promised. `Get it out then.' `What about YOURS...?' `Mmm... okay...' Some clumsy noisy shuffling on the sound feed, and the angle of view on the screen shifted. Harry's shirt was fully off and he was pulling back, twisting his seat a little, and Luke could see the open front of his jeans, the hand scooping into his designer underpants to fondle the big equipment he knew hid in there. Fuck. Luke stuffed a hand into his undies and shorts and felt his clammy dick, and chewed his lip. This was weirdly exciting in its novelty and daring. He felt safe here, but he worried for Harry, whose brothers or fiancée or even parents could interrupt that little spare room at any moment, surely... Yet there it was. His man had his massive cock out, held in one hand, the other cupped below his balls, and he was playing with himself on cam. God... Harry was a beautiful specimen, like a man carved out of a cliff by some angry Norse god. The flash of nervous vulnerability in his eyes was the icing on a cake largely comprised of rock-hard muscle and throbbing erection. `You're drooling,' Maguire joked at him. `My cock is drooling,' Shaw promised playfully. He pushed down his own shorts, and then the boxers beneath, and stood a little to give Harry a better view, taking his dick in hand and tugging ever-so-slowly on its length. His own touch was tingling and good because he was just so excited at what he saw. His computer screen was full of Harry's bared body and jerking monster cock, and he knew that vice versa, all Harry could see was his smooth flat tummy and chugging cock. Wow. Was this what long-distance couples always did to survive...? `Yeh... play with that big beasty thing, Hazza...' `Your big bieasty thing, baby... can't wait til you can have it again... Mmm, wank yourself Luke, come on, be my bitch again...' `Yes please... oh god yes please...' He had to keep his voice down to an erotic murmur, too scared to lift it more, but needing Harry to hear just how desperate and hungry he was. He wanted so much physical force from this but he would settle for just seeing the big man blow his load. `I wanna see you cum,' he begged in his soft moan, `please captain, please...' `Keep going then,' growled Maguire. `Keep playing. Play with yer arse.' `Yes sir...' Luke contorted himself in the chair, pushing his back and almost upending it in his clumsy struggle. But he got his legs up and apart, shorts about his ankles, and a view of his gooch on screen for his captain. He sucked a finger and pushed it down between the view of his beautiful tanned cheeks, saw the fire on the other guy's face as he did. `Yeh finger yourself you little bitch...' `Yes captain, yes...' `Ohhh fuck...' `Come on Harry, come on, shoot...' `I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm close... keep going, spread yer legs...' `I'm trying baby, I'm trying, ohh...' `Mmm show me that HOLE...' `Yes sir... yes SIR...' Harry came. Luke saw it vividly; saw the jolt of excitement across the weighty bulk of his muscular torso, the tension in his arms, the last tugs of his tool, the quick blur of white as his load fired off; but at the same time, he saw something else, and the two simultaneous events took several long moments to register. There was a beep and a little interference noise for a moment and, at the very second he saw Harry Maguire orgasm, the screen shifted and shrunk and there were three panels. Top left, Harry's quivering big body; top right, a sordid view of his own body and exposed bottom, one hand shoved there below his bollocks; bottom right, blank; bottom left, the staring, wide-eyed face of Jesse Lingard. `Lads!' exclaimed the Manchester United midfielder. `FUCK,' Shaw exclaimed, but he struggled to react. He had two fingers slid inside his dry hole, his cock was throbbing in the other hand, and he almost fell off the office chair as he scrambled to unhand his privates. Worse, he could still see Harry's body shaking and hear his gasps; had Maguire even realised they were now being watched? No... `Oh fuck,' the captain said in a strained voice that clearly whispered when it wanted to scream. `Oh fuck Luke that was good... oh fuckkk...' And then, slowly, he turned his head back towards the screen, and Luke saw his moment of horror. `Lads,' repeated Lingard, `what the actual fuck?' A long moment of silence, Harry not moving, Luke adjusting his position on his seat, trying to drag his shots up with one hand and cover his dick with the other, staring into the screen. `I knew it,' Jesse hooted suddenly, `I fucking KNEW it... you two...! Fucking HELL...' `Jesse,' growled Harry, pushing one hand unsuccessfully over his cock, failing to hide it. `Fuck's sake!' `Well, well, WELL,' Jesse was saying, but his speech turned to more laughter. Luke could feel his cheeks burning bright red and he reached for the mouse; he clutched it and swerved the cursor towards `end call' but – what then? How the fuck would that help anything? They'd been caught. He stammered excuses that made no sense, gripped the desk for support, and let his eyes flash between views of his horrified lover and the cackling football player who had re-entered the group chat. Harry fucking Maguire was so shit at technology: he'd scheduled and hosted the meeting but he hadn't LOCKED the chat...? Oh god... `Oh boys,' groaned Lingard in apparent delight, `this is just TOO good...' `Lingard,' Harry was barking, whilst he pulled his shirt on, dick waving about with cum dribbling off the tip, `it ain't what it...' `Ohhhh, my bad,' Jesse fired, `were you just having a quick heart-to-heart about Ole's new defensive strategies...? My mistake... You dirty fucking buggers, you cheating bastards, haha...' Both Luke and Harry rushed with incomprehensible nonsense as they tried to figure out what to say, but the smirking United player just grinned, shook his head, and then – ended the call. Luke leaned on the desk, panting, his dick still throbbing between his legs, the shorts about his knees, tshirt nowhere to be found. He held the wood of the desk tight in each hand, tried to let his heart stop going berserk, and met Harry's eyes in the computer screen. Maguire had shirt on but unbuttoned and was still trying to push his oversized member into his pants. `Harry,' he groaned weakly, `what the fuck are we gonna do?' The text message came the following morning. Luke was staring into his breakfast, pushing the super-healthy bran cereal and chopped fruit around the bowl of almond milk, contemplating just how shite his life might soon become. Stupidly, the risk of his `relationship' with Harry coming out had never been a pressing concern for him, perhaps because trying to understand and define what the hell was going on in secret had always seemed more urgent and problematic than what the rest of the world might do with that information. His mobile phone was on the counter, silent but vibrating; he jumped immediately at the buzz, snatched it up. He and Harry had been texting on and off through the night, neither really able to comfort or reassure the other. But it wasn't from Harry, it was from Jesse. He put his spoon down, abandoned the cereal, made some excuses to his girlfriend across the kitchen, went out into the garden. Only when he was halfway over the patio did he unlock his phone and load up the message from Lingard, which was created in a separate little Whatsapp group chat with just the three of them in there: `Hey loverboys – so here's how it's gonna be. You 2 are gonna transfer me 25% of your pay every month, and do whatever I say. Or am gonna send the screenshots I took to Daily Mail, and shit will hit fan. Get it? Awesome laddddddddddds. Peace x' To make it worse, some of it was written in emojis. At the top of the group chat window, he saw a tiny message flash up: `Harry Maguire is typing... Harry Maguire is typing... Harry Maguire is typing...' But then it stopped. Of course it stopped. What the fuck was there to say? Luke stared at the message, sick with dread. Blackmail? Actual fucking blackmail? And what did `whatever I say' even mean? Fucking hell, was this just a joke? He thought back to that moment in the Spanish sun, at the end of an intense week's training, the climax of their little penalty tournament between the blokes. He pictured Jesse Lingard's troublemaking sneer of a smile, the impish mischief in his eyes. No, this was not a joke, it was a disaster. He looked at the message again, lost for words, closed the app. He clutched the phone to his chest, brought the other hand up to hold over his mouth, shut his eyes. One wank, he thought. One wank could have ruined everything. Twenty-four hours later, the car park. Luke's hands were jittery as he turned off the engine and waited in the driver's seat, waiting for the other car to arrive at this remote spot. Yesterday had been difficult, but he'd lost himself in some intense workouts and made excuses to avoid spending much time with his girlfriend. Two nights in a row with not a lot of sleep, though, he could feel the effects of that. Anxious, irritable, aggressive. He'd narrowly avoided a couple of accidents on the drive here, even though the roads were almost empty in places. Harry's big motor soon arrived, and Luke began getting out of the car before it was even parked, a few spaces away from his. He got out and dragged up the hood of his top, feeling more than ever the need to hide from the world, even here. He approached the Land Rover as Maguire swung out of the driver's door, and they shared a grim look of understanding. `I thought you weren't coming,' Shaw admitted in a whisper. `I thought you'd...' `Thought I'd what?' Maguire demanded, not crossly. `I dunno,' Luke mumbled. `I just... I'm a bit on edge.' `No shit. Come on. We shouldn't talk out here.' `But nobody's...' `Into the loos,' Harry insisted. Luke felt a burst of annoyance: had he just been called here for a sleazy wank, even in the current circumstances? His annoyance wasn't just at a perception of his lover as a mindless animal: he was annoyed at how readily he would accept that and reject the much-needed conversation of what was going on. The toilets were as pristine and empty as always and, thankfully, still unlocked. Harry, fumbling with the zip of a waterproof coat, strode across to the far end and they carefully maintained the safe distance they had on each of these few precious morning meetings. Luke wondered again how the hell Harry got away with it, as the return trip must constitute a lengthy disappearance from family life, he knew how difficult his own lies were to slip out, though there were less ears to convince. `I've rang him,' Harry said gravely. `It ain't a joke. He means it.' `Fuck,' Luke sighed. `Fuck.' `He says, you'll laugh at this, he says its "nothing personal". He just thinks we ought to pay him for keeping his stupid mouth shut. Says it's fair enough. Knowledge is power.' The snarl on the captain's face was pronounced and impassioned. `He hung up on me like three times when I got angry. Said I just needed to calm down and think it through.' A grunt. `Well, I guess I've thought it through. We need to do what he says.' `Nothing personal,' Luke echoed bitterly. `What's wrong with him?' Harry looked about to shout something similarly angry, or punch the wall or the mirror, or grab one of the cubicle doors nearby in a rage. But he just curled and uncurled his fists and stood glowering at the far end of the mens' loos. Luke watched his rise and fall of anger and felt his own panic spiral. `We can't trust him,' he said worriedly. `He's shifty. What's he playing at? Why does he even need money? He gets paid more than I do, for fuck's sake.' He took a dangerous step closer to Harry and stopped himself, remembering the rules. `Why didn't you lock the fucking video chat?' he snapped suddenly, the streak of resentment or blame escaping. Harry looked hurt by this, but didn't give it a response. `We need to stop meeting,' Harry said slowly. `I don't think we can risk anything. Okay?' Luke had expected this. Feared it. He nodded slowly; he knew it was true. They were taking risks right now and had been for a couple of weeks now. `So no more car park rendezvous,' he agreed in a quiet, pained voice, `and... what, no more phone calls either...? No more...?' `I think it's for the best,' Maguire said. He sounded like he'd had just as little sleep as Shaw. Luke hung his head, feeling like the rug had been pulled from beneath his feet. He could feel the threat of tears in his eyes, as he had at several lonely moments in the past day or so, though each time he had resisted the urge and held it together. Here and now, that seemed harder. Two metres' distance had never seemed such a gulf of isolation. He felt the moisture tickle his eyes and lifted the sleeve of his hoody to wipe them, saw Harry notice. `It's what we need to do,' the big bloke said, `we have families, mate, they have to come first. You know that's right. We can figure out payments to Lings, sort something out. Maybe he'll drop it after we bung him some cash. He'll forget it, get distracted by some other project, or...' `Is this the end then?' Luke demanded softly. `For us?' Harry looked fiercely at him, shook his head. `How can you even ask that, Luke?' And then in two strides, the safe distance between them was gone. Luke began to speak, to point out the broken rule, but Harry's hands were on his arms and, in a second, their lips were touching. It was a ferocious kiss that nearly knocked him off his trainers. He clung to Harry's taller frame and responded with his own fierce passion. Tongues met, teeth clashed. When they broke the kiss, both men were panting. `Don't ask me that again,' hissed Harry urgently. `Jesse Lingard is a jumped-up prick. We'll jump his hoops. We'll see what we wants. We'll be fucking careful avoid fucking risks. But...' A kiss to the cheek and the neck. `We'll do it together, Luke. You and me. Okay?' He squeezed him tight and their eyes met, and Luke had to let go of a couple of tears – not of fear or distress, but joyous relief. Here, in this unlikely spot in the middle of a double crisis, he had never felt so sure of the connection between them, that he actually meant something to this big forceful man. Harry kissed him on the lips more gently and with his thumb brushed a tear off his cheek. `We'll be okay,' he said. `We'll be okay,' Luke repeated, and rested his head on one of Maguire's shoulders. We'll be okay.