Date: Tue, 28 Apr 2020 12:19:46 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 89: Dinner After Midnight

  Part eighty-nine: Dinner After Midnight


 `Check your bank account.'

 `Huh...? What are you...?'

 `Just check it. Mate.'

 `But...'

 `Go on.'

 `Okay, okay. I will. Just give me a minute... I was asleep, you dick.
Erm. Oh, fuck. Wow.'

 `Yeah. I know.'

 `What the fuck, Harry?' he asked. `How did you...?'

 Luke Shaw brought his free hand up to rub his sleepy eyes and shifted in
the nestled corner of the sofa where he'd drifted off. He stared at the
screen of his phone, the restored bank balance, blinking in weariness and
surprised. Harry Maguire's voice sounded again from the handset, tinny and
metallic; he returned it to his ear but didn't know what to say.

 `I've been going insane,' he whispered. `I thought...'

 `I've sorted it. I told you I would.'

 `But how?' Luke demanded in a daze.

 He got up from the sofa where he had drifted into another fitful nap. Last
night had been completely sleepless, how could it have been anything but?
He'd got the brief, furtive phone call from Harry yesterday lunchtime
passing on Vardy's insane message: the threat, the ultimatum, the
inevitable. He'd tried a dozen times to get through to Lingard in the
afternoon and evening by phone, by email, by social media -- nothing. By
nightfall he'd been a maniac with paranoia and dread, sure that in
twenty-four hours it would all be over: his reputation, his relationship,
his family.

 And now... the blackmail money back in his account, in full?

 `You don't need to worry about that,' came Harry's voice, gentle but
powerful. `I told you I'd look after you. Look... can you get away,
tonight?'

 `What?' Luke paced the lounge and glanced nervously out of the door as he
spoke, keeping his voice low; he wasn't actually sure where the girlfriend
was right now, though he suspected he wasn't the only one stealing a nap.
Sleep was hard to come by in their house, given the tiny tyrant in his cot
upstairs.

 `Tonight,' Maguire grunted again, `I need to see you.'

 Luke smiled in spite of his confusion and stress. `Harry, you know I need
that too. But...'

 `Come to my Cheshire place. I'm there now. One night only. We need to
celebrate.'

 `What...? How are you...?' He sighed, sleepy and confused, and rubbed his
tired eyes again. He sat on the edge of the sofa and yawned. `I feel like
I've lost my mind in the last twenty four hours, man. I'm not thinking
clear. I don't even know what you're telling me. Are we NOT being outed by
that fucking idiot...?'

 Somewhere else in the house, the baby began to cry. He heard footsteps
above on their way to attend to it. He smiled guiltily into the phone
conversation, knowing he should go. The last of the dying sunshine
glimmered into the lounge in gaps through the venetian blinds. He leaned
back on the sofa and listened to the heavy silence of his lover's pause.

 `Just find a way to come,' Harry said. `I need you so bad.'

 `You know that's always true for me,' Luke told him sweetly. `I'll try. I
can't promise.'



 It was just short of midnight. Harry's nervous eyes flitted up to the
clock on the dining room wall, and then at the Rolex on his wrist, just in
case. Well, he should be here any minute. Better late than never. The big
tall defender wiped sweaty palms on the front of his sweater and paced back
across the room. He adjusted things on the table, fussed at details, made
his way back into the hall and then stood there for a minute, staring at
the doorway and thinking back to the very beginning of the evening, the
arrival of their `guest'.

 Laurence was gone now, driven back into Yorkshire and home. It hadn't been
too hard getting away, in the end; Harry had conjured up this and that item
from home that had been forgotten in a hurry. He'd been shocked when Loz
volunteered to join him, and somehow that had made the lies easier, perhaps
more believable. But was this bit, now? He wasn't sure, and he was less
sure he cared. The official line was that he'd been unable to find X and Y
items and had stayed on at the Cheshire home whilst his brother drove back
to the family; at around 10pm he'd made the call and said he was too tired
to drive. `Oh, you must stay there,' came the inevitable response, and his
get-out was secured. Should I feel guilty? he wondered.

 Ten past midnight. He heard the faint growl of a soft engine and paced to
the door. Like a nervous nosy neighbour, he used the peephole, spied Shaw's
small motor at the far end of the house's sweeping driveway. Thank fuck, at
last.

 Harry opened the front door and stood there, feeling a slight chill hit
him in his thin sweatshirt and tight dark chinos. He watched Luke emerge
from the car, half-hidden beneath a beanie hat and drooping jumper, skinny
jeans emphasising his muscular legs. Maguire lingered on the doorstep,
weirdly nervous; he'd never wanted to rush to and hug someone so much
before, but he feared prying eyes on the estate. Instead, the 6ft4 football
captain hung at the door in a weirdly youthful anxiety, like a kid on a
first date. Then Luke was close, flashing his little smile, his eyes
catching the porch lamp with a glint.

 `You're mad,' Shaw told him firmly. `This is madness.'

 `Shut the fuck up and get in,' Harry teased. Once his man was close
enough, he reached out, grabbed his arm and yanked him indoors, pushing the
door shut with a gentle slam. Luke giggled his surprise, grinned at him,
then reached for a kiss. Harry restrained himself from the violent passion
he felt and brushed lips softly.

 `Huh. Tender.'

 `Yeh, you know me. Gentle giant.'

 `Some of the time,' Luke joked and pulled away. `You need to explain
things to me. I don't get any of it. I've been shitting myself all day,
Harry. I didn't sleep a wink. I thought...'

 `I told you I wouldn't let a thing happen to you,' Maguire told him
smoothly, reaching up and gently stroking his beard a moment. `Now come
on. I've been preparing. I know it's late at night but...'

 He enjoyed the confused little frown on Shaw's face, wanted to kiss and
grab him more, but held back, excited by his own industriousness. He slid
his big fingers in with Luke's and dragged him down the hall and to the
dining room. He pulled the door open to display his handiwork, and then
nodded into the room. Luke gave him a puzzled grin then went ahead.

 `Oh,' he exclaimed.

 Harry pulled into the room after him and slid his long muscled arms about
his waist, pulling their bodies together and resting his chin on a
shoulder. `You like...?'

 Luke was grinning widely at the romantic dinner table, taking in the
candles, neatly laid dishes and cutlery. He laughed, a surprised and
confused sounding laugh, and twisted in Harry's arms, looking almost
embarrassed by the romance of it. `You big oaf,' he chuckled, `what's all
this...?'

 `I wanted to cook for you,' Harry said, and he cringed at his own words as
they fell out of his clumsy mouth; he felt silly and schmaltzy, he saw the
laugh in his man's eyes and curling mouth. `I just... wanted to show you
that I...' The slow sentiment tailed off and he joined Luke's nervous
titter of a laugh. `You're ruining it,' he accused softly.

 Luke hugged him close but juxtaposed the soft romance with the
ever-present greed. His hand found the bulging front of Harry's chinos, and
the tall captain let out a long sigh. `Ruining it, am I?' Luke demanded in
a hot whisper. `This is brilliant, baby. You know there's only one thing I
want for dinner, though.'

 Maguire laughed at this and moaned a little at the familiar touch, a guy
who knew his piece well and how to stroke and titillate it with very little
effort. He draped his arm about Luke's broad young shoulders and kissed
softly at his tufty fringe. He could feel his cock, spent heavily upstairs
in the early evening, waking and twitching at this comforting grope. `No,'
he protested through sniggers, and pulled his crotch from the other
player's touch. `No... I've cooked for you. Dinner first, cock later. I
wanna... treat you right.'

 Luke gave him another smile of confusion, looking tired and needy. `Are
you ever gonna stop surprising me, big man...?'

 Harry smirked his way and stepped back. `Never.'



 It was a surreal but enjoyable meal for them both. There had been shared
food between them in secretive stolen hours at Luke's old flat, but never
like this. Never fucking candlelight and fresh pasta from some fancy
YouTube expert's recipe; never gentle conversation and Harry Maguire
resisting his dick being touched. As they ate, and sipped red wine, Harry
did his best to explain; he offered a carefully censored version of
reality.

 `I sorted him out,' he claimed ambiguously.

 `Sorted him out,' echoed Luke. `What does that even mean? Is he still
walking?!'

 `I'm not a thug.'

 `You can be when you want to, man.'

 `Thugs cook Bolognese sauce this good, do they?'

 `Just tell me what happened -- you're being evasive. I can tell!'

 Harry grinned awkwardly and pushed the remains of his dinner back and
forward across the plate. `I just made sure he wasn't going to spread shit
about us,' he said in a forceful voice that he hoped inspired trust and
confidence. `It's all good. I watched him delete the shit he had on
us. Watched him transfer the money. You got the money, didn't you?'

 Luke chewed on the last of his pasta, and picked up the wine bottle to top
up their glasses. `I did. I was fucking shocked, but I did. It's insane. I
can't believe the nightmare is over -- I really thought...'

 `Me too,' Harry said earnestly. `But I promised you I'd sort it, and I
did. He's out of our way now.'

 `We play on a team with him,' Shaw pointed out fairly.

 `Trust me,' Harry said, almost defensively now, `he will NOT be a
problem. It's really over, we're safe. That's why I needed you here, to see
you. It's gonna be okay, it really is.' He watched the almost sad, wistful
smile on Luke's face there, and it almost broke his heart; he knew that
their `okay' might never be an ideal `okay', but that was what they'd
fallen into. Double lives for them both now, not just Harry. He didn't
point that out, he didn't want this to be point-scoring.

 `As if you sent Vardy to him anyway,' Luke commented thoughtfully. `That
was madness. What was that gonna achieve...? I mean, I'm not complaining,
if it's all cool now, just... Vardy doesn't seem like a peacekeeper, you
know?'

 `He did his best,' Harry defended. `He's a strange guy, but you don't know
him like I do.'

 `I still can't believe he's... into that stuff. This stuff. Whatever. I
can't believe you never told me about him and Ben any sooner,
it's... bonkers. Chilwell!' Luke laughed and shook his head. `I'm not gonna
lie, the thought of it turns me on. Not as much as sitting across a table
from you though, don't worry.'

 `That's good to know.'

 They sat in an increasingly comfortable silence, the late hour forgotten
in spite of both men's tiredness. They chatted in bursts: Harry explained
the scheming that had allowed him to be here overnight, carefully skipping
any mention of his companion for the journey. Luke responded with his own
guilty admissions of sneaking out, his fears about the mystery of his
absence when his girlfriend inevitably woke up to crying baby; the awkward
explanations he would have to make up when he got home, or in the morning.

 `I really can't sleep overnight here,' he added by way of apology. `You
know that.'

 Harry nodded. `Stay as long as you can, though.'

 Inevitably, the conversation fell back to Jesse Lingard, the thorn in
their side that had appeared so suddenly in this surreal lockdown life, and
now seemed to have been removed with the same abruptness. Harry deflected a
string of further question from Luke about HOW he'd changed Jesse's mind,
HOW he'd undone the blackmail, reversed the money, guaranteed a safe
silence. Luke furrowed his brows in curious frustration but an awkward game
of don't-ask-don't-tell had become a running theme in their dialogue, with
Harry's marriage and family life always just out of shot in their meetings.

 `Lings claimed he tried to make a move on me, you know,' Harry told him to
distract him from these questions.

 `Oh?'

 `Back in the last World Cup, supposedly,' the captain laughed. `Ain't that
funny? I had no fuckin' clue. We shared a room a few times and he reckoned
he was always hinting stuff, always sniffing after me. Just makes me laugh
to think of it.'

 `Why?' Luke asked, still looking a little uneasy at the growing list of
unanswered questions.

 `Well...' Harry realised how cheesy his explanation was going to sound,
hesitated, went for it all the same. He swirled the last of the red wine in
his chalice glass then took a sip. `It just seems funny cos, that could be
me an' you, couldn't it...? I mean... if he fancied me and tried all these
hints, and I just... well, didn't notice or get it or...'

 Luke raised an eyebrow. `You're comparing me to that prick...?'

 Harry grunted in annoyance at his speech going wrong. `That ain't what I
mean. What I meant was... He had this thing for me, was desperate to mess
about, but... Well. So did you, right? But with you... I felt it too. Even
when I didn't know I felt it.' He saw Luke's frustration and confusion melt
a little. `With us, it all just... clicked, didn't it? I mean, apart from a
few obstacles and that...'

 `You are a secret romantic, Harry Maguire. I don't know what I'm gonna do
with you.' Harry saw his brighter smile and mirrored it, enjoying the
moment of pure peace it brought between them; for a few seconds, it didn't
matter how fucked up the outside world was right now, or how complicated
their lives were becoming, they had each other and that was enough.

 Luke stood up and shook his head as Harry made to move too. `I'll clear
up. Let me.' Luke stacked their plates in one hand and momentarily rested
the other on one broad shoulder. `Then it'll be time for dessert,
right...?' Harry grinned silently at this and planted a hand possessively
at the front of Luke's jeans, feeling the plump contents that belonged to
no other man, and looking his beautiful lad up and down. He nodded his
agreement and pulled his hand away reluctantly.



 Luke took the dirty dishes of their little midnight meal into the
kitchen. His warm happiness at the odd romance of the night was laced with
guilt as he walked through the heart of this obvious family home, littered
with symbols of the marriage and parenting he was pissing on with his very
presence. He tried to put aside the layers of shame and guilt as he dumped
the dishes in the sink and pulled off his baggy jumper to begin clearing up
in just the pale blue tshirt beneath.

 It was still warm in here from Harry's chef endeavours; he couldn't help
but smile affectionately at the mess left by Chef Maguire in his
enthusiasm. His cooking was as messy and aggressive as his lovemaking then;
and the results tasted just as good, he thought with a private smirk at his
silly humour. On the counter was a defrosting cheesecake, his favourite,
and he stood staring at it for a minute -- where had this new man come
from? Where was the confused bully of Christmas and New Year...?

 He decided to stop questioning and overthinking everything and got on with
the job, quietly filling the sink and sloshing Fairy liquid over the plates
and pans, enjoying the dull domesticity whilst anticipating the action to
come. He was in the middle of rinsing the cutlery when he noticed it, and
he paused and shuffled down the side of the kitchen to take a look -- that
was a bit odd. A laundry basket full of dampened bedding, in a house nobody
had occupied for week after week...? Bit weird. He stopped and stared down
at it, soap suds dripping from his hands. Did it smell a bit pissy, or was
that just him...?

 He shook himself and backed away, deciding not to be interested. He still
felt a bit confused and overwhelmed by the night -- he'd gone from
expecting another long sleepless set of lonely hours watching his
girlfriend sleep in blissful ignorance to sudden feverish relief and this
urgent rendezvous, and it was all quite a lot to process. The fear and
dread had been too strong to fuck off immediately, the real relief and
gladness would only arrive tomorrow when he believed Lingard's blackmailing
was truly over. He resolved to ring up Jesse himself if he could, get to
the bottom of this; they'd been good friends once, he reflected
sadly. Could they be again...?

 Luke was just searching in a drawer for a tea towel when he felt rather
than saw Harry's presence in the kitchen doorway. He turned his head and
smiled vaguely his way, feeling his kitchen duties here were a weird kind
of foreplay, a needless delay in the inevitable enjoyment that he'd come
here for. But if Harry wanted to play happy families, then he'd play happy
families. He smiled but ignored the brooding silence of Maguire and turned
back to the counter to begin drying the dishes. He heard the gentle creak
of big feet crossing the laminate floor and arriving behind him.

 Harry didn't say a word; he was hardly the most talkative guy in the world
but still, the silence was eerie and exciting. Luke put down the things in
his hands, rested against the counter, felt his lover's strong hands
somewhere around his waist. Behind him, he felt the presence lower as Harry
sunk to his knees on the kitchen floor. Well, well, well.

 Shaw leant on the kitchen counter and relaxed into the silent
interaction. He felt rough fingers brush under the tight cotton of his
tshirt, tickling his hips and the curving beginning of his backside; then
they were round the front, tugging at buttons and zips. A slight grunt of
effort as the skinny jeans were pulled halfway down his thick fluffy
thighs. Oh Harry, he thought, in the kitchen!

 The first kiss was on his left buttock, the second on the right. He helped
out by wrenching his tshirt up and over his arms and shoulders, baring all
of his back to the man on his knees. Harry was kissing the chubby cheeks
more and squeezing their curve from below with his strong possessive hands,
then parting them. Luke shivered with anticipated pleasure then gasped when
he felt that tongue in there; he'd been so shocked when Harry tried this on
him in Spain, he'd never dared to even fantasise about such intimacy. He'd
initially thought it a practical measure to ease fucking, but he was
realising how much the big bloke got off on it. He relaxed forward on the
counter and let Maguire do his thing, low groans of appreciation leaving
his lips.

 Still no words, just touch. The teasing licks ceased and he was turned
around by the hips. Luke placed his hands behind him against the edge of
the counter and rested his thick behind there on the tops of the cupboard
doors. He looked down his bare chest and tummy at the intense expression on
Harry's face as he rolled his tongue along the quivering length of Luke's
semi, then kissed the tip lovingly. Oh hell yes. Luke let his neck roll
back, sighed, but then leaned forward again; he couldn't close his eyes and
miss the beautiful sight of it.

 His dick twitched and stiffened and rose up at the teasing touches and
licks. Maguire didn't yet suck it, just ran his tongue along or against it,
or let it gently slap his cheek. Somehow fully in control even on his
knees. His presence alone was powerful enough. Luke chewed his lip because
if he didn't, he thought he might scream with delight, wake the
neighbours. He could still never quite believe it when, on rare moments
like this, the cocksucking went the other way; the moment Harry had first
dared take his cock in mouth in a Watford hotel room had been a major
turning point for Luke. The first time he'd dared to admit he felt more
than lust for his teammate.

 `Oh Harry,' he began to sigh, `this is amazing...'

 But Harry half-rose from his crouch, lifted one long muscular arm up,
brought a silencing single finger to Luke's lips. Okay, no chat. Silent was
how he wanted it. Back down Harry went. Back to teasing and edging the
swollen boner at Shaw's crotch. Aching for release, he pulled one of his
hands down towards it, but Maguire batted it away. Ah yes, he WAS in
control.

 Finally, FINALLY, lips touched the shaft of Shaw's dick. His knuckles
whitened as he gripped the counter. Maguire's head slipped forward, sucking
inch by inch. Oh fuck. He wanted to yelp or squeal or beg for more but he
held it in, pursed his lips as per captain's instructions.

 Now he closed his eyes and leant his head back, just enjoying the slow
tender attention. Harry's palms and fingers ran up his lightly defined
abdomen and found his nipples with a cheeky pinch that turned into a
harsher twist -- ow, but also fuck yes. The hands ran back down his torso,
reached round and massaged lovingly at his arse cheeks. His whole cock was
in his mouth, he could feel Harry's nose tickle his skin, lips around the
thick base of his own tool... oh god, he just wanted to cum now, feed that
mouth dessert. He had to fight to hold on his squeal of pleasure that all
this was really happening, and hadn't been fucked up by some jealous
outsider.

 Then it was over. Harry was pulling back, licking his lips, taking a deep
breath, on his feet. Luke opened his eyes and silently signalled his
frustrated confusion.

 `Not yet,' Maguire said simply. `I don't want you cumming yet. Dessert
first.'

 `Harry!' he exclaimed, teased to the edge. `Fuck that!'

 A naughty smirk on the taller man's face. `You'll be glad you held onto
it. Come on.'

 Luke groaned in cock-teased dismay and gently pulled up on his jeans,
forcing his prick back into his white underpants with some difficulty,
thinking the skinny jeans might be a push too far. He let out a frustrated
little laugh and rubbed his flushed cheeks. `You dick,' he chuckled, `I was
just about to...'

 `I know.' Harry grinned darkly at him, nodded at the
cheesecake. `Upstairs, shall we?'



 They ate the cheesecake in bed off small plates, quiet indie music playing
on a little speaker somewhere in the corner of the guest room. `Not in
there,' Harry had told him in a hushed voice as they passed the master
bedroom and came in here, `it ain't fair on her...' Luke hardly minded;
this guest bed held a special memory for him of that awkward hungover
morning when his lover had crept in to join him fresh from his fiancee's
pussy.

 They were both in just their undies on top of the duvet, and Luke's cock
now felt permanently semi-hard, no recovery from the tantalising closeness
in the kitchen. He forked the mediocre cheesecake into his mouth and
grinned quietly over as Harry demolished his slice in a stupidly short
time.

 `Did you consider it?' he asked softly, between mouthfuls.

 `Huh?' Maguire looked at him distractedly, then eyed up the last chunks of
cheesecake on his plate.

 `Oi,' Luke giggled as a quarter of his dessert was stolen. `I mean --
Lings' threat, his ultimatum. Did you consider it?'

 Harry paused, looked really confused, leaned his big body closer. `How do
you mean? It's sorted, Luke, don't you believe me? He's not our problem any
more.'

 `No, I know,' Luke insisted, shuffling his body up against the pillows
behind his shoulders. `I mean -- did you consider letting him fuck you, to
shut him up and keep him happy?'

 A grunt or scoff. `That wouldn't have worked, would it?' he muttered. `He
would have just had more over me if that happened, wouldn't he? Greedy
little bastard, as if he even thinks he could do that.'

 `He has a cock,' Luke pointed out reasonably. `I just meant... Well. I
dunno. I just wondered if you'd ever... you know, try that.' He saw Harry's
head tilt in surprise. `I mean, I assumed not, sure, but --`

 `What does it matter?' Maguire demanded in a grumpy murmur. `It's
over. Nobody has to let that cunt have his way now, so...'

 `Yeah but-`

 `But nowt, I sorted it!'

 Luke paused, sensing the defensive aggression in that last response. But
he couldn't help thinking aloud. `So you'd never be the one to take it,' he
said, rather than asked, and listened to his own strangely wistful
tone. `That's fair,' he added quickly. `This is good cheesecake, baby.' He
finished his slice, deliberately smearing creamy chocolate along his upper
lip then smiling childishly at the beefcake curled up beside him. Harry
tutted and smirked and leaned in to kiss his mouth clean. Then he clacked
their plates together and hopped out of bed to clear them away. His bulge
swang in his grey boxer briefs; was he hallway aroused already too, Luke
wondered to himself, it was hard to tell when the bulge was always so
fucking massive.

 Harry disappeared to tidy these away, leaving him alone. Dick throbbing
vaguely in black boxers and his body cooling without the warm presence at
his side. `Never ever,' he murmured again to himself, then shrugged
dismissively at the passing frustration.

 Driven by a curiosity on the edge of thought, Luke left the bed. He
stepped out of the bedroom onto the landing. He could hear Harry whistling
to himself downstairs and the splash of a tap. The freezer being opened,
the pop of a cork; oh god, did the big romantic actually have a bottle of
fizz in there for them? It was almost two in the morning now. Luke smiled
with near total contentment then glanced at the closed door beside him, the
master bedroom. He rested his hand idly on the handle and opened it, and
looked in.

 The king-size bed was stripped and he thought again about the damp bedding
he'd seen waiting in the laundry corner of the kitchen. He took a step
through into the room, his package swinging in his pants, his buttocks
craving more touch and attention after what had begun and stalled in the
kitchen; every inch of his flesh was thirsting for the second act. He stood
just inside the master bedroom, arms by his sides, and looked at the
stripped clean bed. Was that odd? Not really. But...

 He looked down at something brushing his bare toes. Bent down, picked it
up. A balaclava? He laughed to himself. Did anyone wear these things any
more...? They belonged in 80s kids' movies and footage of the IRA. He
dropped it, a bemused frown on his handsome features. He closed the door
after him and returned to the guest room to wait for Harry.

 On the coffee table by the bed was Harry's open phone, waiting where it
was left. A message had pinged in and was waiting for his attention. Luke
couldn't stop himself; he was on a spool of curiosity that unwound without
thinking. He picked it up and looked at the message preview on the screen,
clear enough without even opening it. Jesse Lingard: `plz, u gotta delete
the video now, m8 x' A bit odd, he thought. Kinda the opposite of the
situation, surely? What video? Before he could even question his own
suspicion, his thumb was moving ahead of his mind, opening up camera roll,
selecting videos, resting on the thumbnail of the latest capture.

 Harry's heavy footsteps on the stairs. `Fancy a few bubbles, babe?'

 Luke had already hit play. He watched the two big bodies of the anonymised
men; one was so recognisable that the mask was meaningless, the other was
oddly similar but seemingly unknown to him. The wriggling figure on the bed
was unmistakable. Just as Harry's footsteps hit the threshold of the guest
room, he'd impatiently thumbed at the tracker along the bottom of the
screen, skipping forward, and... The two big muscular bodies were posed at
either end of the darker-skinned captive, spit-roasting Jesse Lingard...

 `Luke mate,' breathed Harry with little concern, `what are you doin' with
my phone...?'

 Luke held it tightly and half-turned to stare at him. `Harry,' he gasped.

 `What? What?' demanded Maguire, waving a frosted-looking bottle of
Freixenet in one hand and two narrow flute glasses clinking together in the
other. The bulge in his grey pants was prominent enough to suggest he was
as prematurely excited as Luke was.

 Luke turned the phone round and shared the rough footage he was startled
by. `Harry... what the fuck did you do to get this problem sorted? Harry!
What the fuck did you do?'