premiership-lads-189

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Subject: Part 189: Debutants Part 189: Debutants The two young lads strolled across the grounds of the Surrey hotel complex, drenched now in a luxurious blue night; old-fashioned light fittings along the hotel’s grand exterior dropped pools of light on the gravelly path between buildings, the two tracksuit-clad footballers dipping in and out of these orange puddles as they headed from the communal banter of a strictly non-alcoholic bar area where the extended Lions squad had whiled away the post-dinner hours. Dominic Calvert-Lewin fished into the tight pockets of his dark blue England-branded tracksuit to get the jangling room keys, tapping a fob to let the pair of them into the automated entrance of the grand converted stables where they and a few of the other players had been roomed. It seemed like Southgate’s men had taken up almost the entire grand hotel at Pennyhill Park, close to the rural training camp they’d set up ahead of tomorrow night’s Wales friendly and the two Nations League games that lay beyond. `I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight,’ proclaimed his youngie, fellow Three Lions debutant Harvey Barnes. The 22-year-old Lancashire lad trotted rapidly up the thin staircase just behind him, hands dug into the front pouch of his matching hoody, his young cheeks puffed pink-red beneath the pale strawberry blond of his brows and spiked hair. `Sure worked hard in training today, didn’t we? Just hope to god we both make the squad sheet tomorrow morning…!’ A little less impatient or demanding than his assigned partner for the camp, Dominic grinned at the other lad and opened the door to their rather plush and expansive suite, stepping aside to let the short muscular midfielder bustle by him then pushing it closed behind. `Well, good job you’re tired out and gonna sleep,’ the tall Leicester star pointed out fairly, stifling a yawn of his own, `otherwise you’d be up all night muttering about Southgate and his notepads, haha… uh, but you’re right, I think muscles I didn’t know about are aching tonight, to be fair…!’ `Pfft,’ dismissed Barnes, stomping over the room and lifting a leg at a time to toss off his chunky trendy trainers, `I think you know every one of your bloody muscles, Dom, and so does everyone else.’ The 22-year-old seemed to pause at the almost voyeuristic implications of his remark, his cheeks reddening more, then laughing to dismiss his embarrassment. `But yeah, we better getting our first caps tomorrow night, seriously…’ Dominic smiled at him, nodding tacit agreement, and struggling out of the cosy new hoody down to the white Nike tshirt below, inadvertently offering a self-conscious flash of his bulging six-pack to confirm Harvey’s remark, he moved over to wind down the blinds on the big windows that looked back at the turreted main block of this country hotel. He still couldn’t quite believe he was here, neither as a fresh-faced newbie to the senior national team, or at this rather fancy Surrey hideout where the manager had based them for the duration of the international break. Being here with the cream of English players felt like an extension of his dazzling start to the Premiership, really; all the plaudits and stats that were being thrown about by the commentators, pundits, his colleagues! Dom’s life since the new season kicked off had felt quite surreal, as if at 23 he was suddenly coming into his prime and fulfilling the potential that people had talked about since he was a poser kid on the local pitch in Sheffield. Whether it was booting in all the Everton goals up and down the country or entering into lurid group sex in the marital bed of the Pickfords, DCL felt like he’d entered a hyper reality of Premier League stardom. He realised he hadn’t really been listening to his roomie and tried to tune in, closing out the nocturnal view of the hotel’s majestic grounds, and glancing back over the room to where Harvey was flopped in a curved armchair, legs pulled up to him and hands about his knees. `I just thought they were really close pals,’ he was saying in his thick Burnley accent, making a thoughtful little whistle. Dom looked at him, scratching his chin. `Who, sorry…?’ The Leicester City midfielder paused, frowned at him with irritation, and repeated himself. `Jack and Ben,’ he muttered. `I mean, I thought they were like besties or whatever, cos like Ben would always go on about him before he quit Leicester, y’know.’ The boyish young sportsman shrugged his shoulders. `But have barely seen the two share a word all week, y’know? Like, dunno what that tension is, but…’ `Oh, right,’ he said slowly. `Erm, I guess so. I can’t say I’ve noticed. I thought everyone was getting on pretty well, to be honest…’ `Yeah, yeah,’ the other young athlete murmured, `it is a good atmosphere, agreed, but… I dunno, just thought those two seemed off with each other, even though they’re both playing fuckin’ amazing footy, y’know…’ He loosened his limbs, stretching out over the armchair with a big infectious yawn that started Dominic doing the same. Talking about the other called-up players had become the main feature of their shared evenings after two initial nights in this posh room. Maybe it was an inevitable part of their position as two of the newbies joining for the first time, though as a whole it was a relatively new and dynamic collection of blokes; they couldn’t help but compare themselves to the competition and gossip at each other with a mixture of starstruck admiration (`Seriously, how the hell does Kane take those penalties, mate?!’) and hesitant bitchy criticism (`How exactly is Maguire the most expensive defender…?’). Calvert had become a bit embarrassed last night when the latter had led to Barnes badmouthing their supposed No.1 keeper — given what had happened quite recently with Jordan and his missus, the tall striker felt a gentlemanly restraint in making obvious statements about the unfortunate goalkeeper’s waning status. `Well,’ grumbled Barnes,’ maybe I’m just imaginin’ it…’ `Nah,’ he said back, `I’m just too busy being overexcited to be here, hah.’ `Heh, yeh… sames, really. Sames.’ The Everton goal machine got on with winding down for the night: kicking off his own trainers and stripping his fresh white socks then padding into the roomy bathroom to wash his face and fuss with the skincare routine that had always earnt a lot of playful mockery from more caveman teammates. The curly-haired pretty boy brushed his teeth neatly and whistled at his own reflection before returning the main room and changing for bed. In turn, the ginger-haired Leicester player moved past him in his own bedtime rituals, an easy brotherhood already settling between the Premier League rivals on their third evening in the suite they would share for another week from now. They were close in age and experience, though the 23-year-old felt his own striker status had recently pushed him far more into the limelight than the up-and-coming midfielder. He liked Harvey and his hot-tempered commentary on their competitors, and his frank honesty about his ambitions to end up at a much `bigger’ team than the Foxes. In a way, it was good to be away from the subtle home politics of life at Everton, even if the most awkward ally of that life was here too in Pickford himself. DCL was largely loving the club’s flashy start to the season and his own central role there, but he had to admit to a certain anxiety about the intimacy he’d shared with both Mackem Jordan and young Jonjoe Kenny. He didn’t quite like the idea that two teammates had seen him, ahem, in action, kinda regretted the exposure of that, even though he could imagine the whole incident behind a hilarious anecdote later in his life when he was more settled down and mature. Of course, neither he or Kenny had addressed it with Pickford. After the pair of them sneaked out of that big seedy mansion in the early morning, they’d shared some muttered jokes about their small-pricked goalkeeper and his horny fiancée, some sneering jibes at his expense and muffled sniggers between the two of them, clearly virile and well-equipped by comparison! But neither had actually been able to look the goalie in the eye or dared to gossip about the threesome (foursome?!) to anyone beyond each other. He knew Jonjoe felt as conflicted over it as he did himself, though the local Scouser lad tried to be brusque and jovial about it. It unnerved Dominic to know he could give in to such dirty behaviour when he was drunk enough and horny enough. Barnes couldn’t help but bring up how other lads had performed in today’s different training sessions — apart from anything else, it felt like much safer territory to discuss with someone who was usually an opponent, much safer than trading gossip about their Everton and Leicester teammates, or making any confessions about their own real lives or careers. Being here with Dom and all the others was like entering a strange bubble, he felt, and it seemed to mersin escort hard to focus on or discuss anything beyond the splendid grounds of this nice southern hotel. Besides… he still felt a twinge of panic and paranoia when anyone asked him how he was getting on at Leicester, how he was feeling staying another season there, or worst of all… `How’s Vards getting on?’ more seasoned squad members would ask him, fixing him with grins that felt invasive and suggestive to the paranoid youth, but probably just acknowledged what a livewire the retired England assassin could be. Only Ben Chilwell could really look `knowingly’ at him, he supposed; Ben alone had been there to share that strange and alarming night in the summer where he had discovered just how kinky and deviant party boy Jamie Vardy really was. And to Harvey’s mild relief, the newly transferred Chelsea defender, his own ex-colleague, seemed in too much of a preoccupied sulk after his Covid-related party scandal to properly engage with anyone else in the training camp. Phew. Still, when others — like the big meathead and former Leicester player Harry Maguire, or nervous-grinning Raheem Sterling — would ask after Vardy, it made Barnes hot under the collar and he would evade any in-depth chat about the `ageing’ Leicester striker and what it was like to train and play with him so regularly back in the Midlands. Harvey was trying to make the most of a break from the oppressive company at Leicester, where odd shared glances with anyone present at that `goodbye party’ for King would make him blush and fumble and scroll through his attractive female Tinder matches to line up a reassuring hook-up with some wannabe WAG bimbo. So now, clambering into one of the two big comfy beds with a single pale lamp still on between them, he couldn’t help commentating to DCL about who had and hadn’t impressed him this afternoon. `Coady is really on fire this week,’ he yawned, pulling away his tshirt so that he was just in some tight-fitting black boxer shorts as he pulled the duvet over him. `I mean, was such a surprise when he made it into the squad and then the starting lineup last time, but yeh… lad deserves it, clearly. At first I was like… who did HE fuck to get that place, haha, but then… nah, he’s quality really, ain’t he?’ And then, shifting his monologue to another bloke who had stood out in the later drills and mini-games, `And Grealish is bloody incredible, when you watch him, swear that lad is 75% calf muscle…’ In the other bed, Calvert-Lewin laughed loudly at this comment, and Barnes felt a little awkward again, somehow hearing the queerness in anything he tried to say about another player’s fitness — but he was being daft, the Everton pretty boy didn’t know a fucking thing about what some of those kinky blokes at Leicester seemed to be up to, or how he’d allowed himself to be caught on the edges of it, his dick handled by Justin James… uh, little involuntary shudder of self-judgement as he remembered it. Fuck, did it make him gay or bi or whatever just cos he’d let another lad do that to him…?! `True, Jack is having quite the season already,’ Dom said sleepily, and Harvey could almost hear the hint of pride in his voice, since it was hard to decide who was being more widely praised between he and Grealish in this weird season of surprise results and major goal differences. `But we’ve all got a good chance of being picked for the friendly.’ `Yeh,’ he said slowly, stretching out his limbs and relaxing his head to the pillow now, staring up at the flat white of the ceiling. The little mental replays of training began to fade and switch off, his tired mind blocking out the tension and competition of trying to fully impress Southgate and get his name on the starting line-up for tomorrow night; just enjoy the moments, dickhead, he told himself. Just enjoy being here and tasting this elite atmosphere — you’re young and there’s plenty of years for you to make your name on the international stage…! He closed his eyes for a moment, annoyed when that just made him feel a bit more awake and alert for tomorrow. He’d struggled to sleep the last couple of nights too, even after long dozy chats with Calvert. He rolled onto his side and hugged the duvet more fully about his pale smooth body, staring over at the dull lamp on the coffee table and beyond it, the vague outline of his roommate trying to get comfortable in his bed, his overgrown curls held back by an effeminate alice band. Dom rolled over then too and for a moment the neighbours were blinking wearily at each other across the pale yellow lamplight, then both adjusting positions to escape this sudden intimacy across the space dividing their beds. Harvey lay on his back again and patted his palms lightly against his abdomen — his pretty toned, well-packed muscular abdomen, he’d always thought, until being harried by a number of close-up looks at how ripped Dominic actually was, lanky bugger! And as he lay there, he couldn’t help but slide one hand down a bit further to hold comfortingly at the bulge of his black trunks, enjoying the feel and presence of his own equipment there; then quickly regretting it as he felt his cock and balls twitch and react, neglected for over forty-eight hours since he was sharing a room and training hard all day bloody long. He hadn’t even been able to take long enough morning showers to enjoy a cheeky wank, the national team schedules proving more intense and regimented than he’d dared to expect! It was quite an odd interruption then when the Sheffield accent of the other lad drifted across the half-lit space between them and asked, `You ever had any shags with any of your Leicester pals?’ The clumsy question cut awkwardly at the youngster and he tensed up between duvet and mattress, unable to risk looking across at Dom. But then, in a softer and almost apologetic voice, the question was rephrased: `I mean — like — a three-way with a bird and another player, or — erm…’ Ohhh…! `Nah, not really,’ he said, forcing a chuckle. `Why?’ `No reason,’ the Everton star said, then instantly contradicted himself. `Ah, just some mad shit I got up to lately, still trying to figure it out a bit in my head, that’s all, hah…’ Now, intrigued, Harvey did roll onto his shoulder and look across at him. He saw Dominic sat up thoughtfully in bed, covers stopping shy of his pink nipples and that long poser necklace draped from his long neck as he chewed at the nails of one hand. `Wow,’ Barnes mumbled teasingly, `I thought you were way more straitlaced and goody-goody than that, starboy.’ An equally forced and awkward chuckle from the other England debutant. `Oh thanks,’ he said vaguely. He remained quiet but, Harvey’s eyes adjusting to the low light, looked a bit like he wanted to say or ask more. Harvey sat up himself, propping his chest and bicep over a pillow, and scratching at the fine reddish stubble of his angular chin. `What happened?’ `Dunno if I wanna say…!’ `Ah, go on. It’s only me.’ `What, a lad I’ve known for like two days…?’ `Haha, fuck off. We’re mates, ain’t we?’ `Yeh, sure we are, but… hah. Ugh, god knows. You’ll only take the piss.’ Harvey wasn’t 100% sure why he felt so intrigued in what Dom had to say, although some of it was the same gossipy curiosity that made him desperate to talk about the highs and lows of their fellow England teammates; but some of it was the insecurity of his earlier doubts, the thoughts that had plagued him through the summer break since he was touched up under Vardy’s beady eyes. He wanted to know more about what other Premiership studs got up to behind closed doors, he supposed, to get some handle on just how freaky the likes of Vardy and Maddison, Chilwell and Fuchs, and the others actually were. `Nah,’ he promised quietly. `I’m a good listener.’ `Oh fuck off,’ the tall striker chuckled back, `I’m not looking for a heart to heart.’ `Just stop pissin’ about and tell,’ Barnes insisted, embarrassed at how stroppy and impatient his voice became. He sat up more in bed and picked up the bottle of fizzy water from the coffee table to sip at, watching DCL keenly through the lamplight. `What dirty antics have you been up to with all those dirty Scousers, then…?’ Dom gave him a jokey glare and turned more fully to face him, the pair of them lying on their sides at the edge of their beds, chest and bare strong shoulders on display. `I’m not naming any names,’ Calvert-Lewin told him quite firmly, as if he was gonna sell the story to the Daily Mail before breakfast tomorrow. `But… well, mate, it’s a mad one, seriously. Me and another lad, I won’t say who, well we kinda got invited back to… ah, fuck — okay, okay, I’ll say — well we got invited to shag the missus of another player, basically, and like… see, I knew you’d laugh…!’ `Nah, go on, please… sorry mate, go on…’ The 6ft2 player frowned uneasily before continuing his narrative. `Turns escort mersin out this player, well, he’s got a pretty small dick?’ he said hesitantly, unsure himself how important that detail of the cuckolding experience really was. `And so he gets me and this other fella involved, doesn’t he, gets us back to their place and… and we’re both going at it, y’know, having our way with his bird, right in front of him, and he… well, he got involved a bit too I guess, but mainly it was me and my mate just slamming it to his bird, right there in their bed…!’ He let out a little whistling breath, trying to convey how out of the ordinary this group experience was to him. He hardly wanted to paint himself as an inexperienced virgin to his new pal but nor did he want to be labelled kinky or experimental, he was a monogamous lothario and pretty fucking `vanilla’, as they called it! He laughed uncomfortably and shrugged one shoulder, watching Harvey’s curious expression. `I mean, it was a laugh,’ he said, trying to sound dismissive of his own tale. `I just wondered if you’d ever done any shit like that, is all.’ A long pause, Harvey pouting oddly at him in that faint light. `Never had your wicked way with the wife of any of those older guys you play with? Vardy, Schmeichel, Fuchs…’ `No, no,’ Barnes returned rapidly, scoffing and fidgeting about on his bed. `Heh, right,’ Dom murmured back, sitting upright on the bed and wrapping his arms about the fold of his knees. He stared across the dim outlines of the bedroom furniture looming vaguely about their big beds, then back over at the fidgeting, frowning outline of his roomie. `Like I say, it was a pretty good bit of banter, really, just… sometimes I think back to it, right, and I’m like… I dunno, sometimes I wonder if it was always HER touching my nob.’ `What?’ He sensed Harvey’s surprise and uncertainty, and felt himself cringe a little where he sat. `I dunno, maybe I’m being daft,’ he muttered. `But I guess there were three of us blokes and one of her and I’m like… not TOTALLY sure that maybe Jordan or Jonjoe didn’t…’ He clamped up, unable to grab the names out of the air and shove them back in his mouth. He darted his bright eyes at Harvey, who was sitting up now and looking at him with a tight expression of disbelief. `You did NOT hear those names, buddy,’ the striker hissed. `No,’ Harvey agreed, `I did not. Fuck!’ `I shouldn’t have told you that,’ he muttered, mainly to himself. `Don’t worry,’ Harvey assured him, and actually got up from his bed to come sit on the edge of this one, just in his pants. `You can trust me mate, I’m hardly gonna go mouthing off about what goes on at Everton, am I? Relax…!’ Easier said than done, really. He was absolutely sure Kenny would not have let slip the details to anyone, and he was almost sure that the Pickfords didn’t show off their toy-boy conquests to anyone but each other…! He groaned quietly, regretting ever broaching this topic in the late night complacence of his new friendship. But the look on Barnes’ face was surprisingly sensitive and empathetic, and he smiled gratefully over at him. `Yeah, I know you’re safe,’ he said warmly to him, `I just feel bad sharing other people’s dirty laundry like that, y’know. Forget I said anything, please.’ `About those two, or about the idea they mighta grabbed your nob?’ the slightly younger player giggled very quietly at him, shoving his leg a little through the bedding. `Oh seriously, what am I even on about?’ Dom mumbled. `Please, forget it. I’m just being daft. I was fucking HER, not them, haha… forget it. It was just a paranoia. Like it was a blur. I was so pissed, obviously — wouldn’t go fucking that psycho’s bird sober, who would?! He’s mental. And when he gets booted out of the England goal by Southgate this week, well…’ Both young debutants sniggered confidentially and shuffled a little closer on his bed. `I dunno,’ the Leicester lad said to him after a pause. `These things happen.’ `What?’ `I mean — stuff between players, I guess.’ `Eh? What, really?’ He stared in puzzlement at the other lad, suddenly less self-conscious about his own storytelling tonight and more intrigued by what this innocent-looking youngster might have seen or heard in his own club experience. `I don’t think either Pickford or Kenny is gay, mate…’ Harvey shrugged his pale bare shoulders. `Not sayin’ they are, mate. Just… I dunno. I think more of that shit goes on than we suspect. Like… one in ten is a bit gay, they used to say, right? Or is it more than that? Fuck knows. Besides…’ Something almost defiant in his tone as he spoke, `Having a lad touch yer dick doesn’t actually make you queer, does it? Really?’ There was a pushy tone to the end of these questions that made Dominic stare more at him and wonder what made him ask. `Well I dunno,’ he admitted plainly. `Who touched yours, then?’ The youthful face flickered and those brown eyes moved evasively. Harvey went to leave the edge of the bed but Dominic reached for one of his lean arms, grabbing gently at it. The midfielder sighed, hovering between their beds, then slumping back so his arse and back nudged Dom’s leg. `I don’t wanna get into it,’ he grunted. `But I mean… ain’t too queer to let someone touch you, is it? I mean, if you don’t do owt back, or…?’ He huffed. `I mean maybe one of those two weirdos DID touch you, say, it don’t mean you’re bent or nowt, does it… eh?’ Dominic shrugged, patted him on the tricep. `I don’t think either of us are bent mate, do you? But like… I dunno. I guess everybody tries shit out once in a while.’ He let go of the warm soft skin of the other lad’s arm, shifting his own body against the bedding and letting out a long breath. `And to be honest, it’s not as if there seems to be a single young woman working in this hotel for any players to pull…! You reckon that’s part of Southgate’s masterplan, huh? Making sure none of us get caught with girls in our rooms like those two douchebags in Iceland…’ Nervous titters of companionship between the two of them. `True, true,’ Harvey muttered, sliding a little more fully onto the bed, still just in his undies, the toned definition of his lean muscle highlighted by the flickers of their shared lamp. `But it isn’t like we can just help each other out, is it? That would be fuckin’ weird and awkward. Bang out of order. That would be way too weird, wouldn’t it?’ A long quiet, their eyes meeting in the haze. `Wouldn’t it?’ He let his questions hang in the air, suddenly feeling like a bit of an intruder on the other lad’s bed, but almost as if scurrying back over the gap to his own would add more insecurity and shy curiosity to his silly suggestion. He waited for Dom to bark with laughter, waited for the tension to ease — but it didn’t. Calvert-Lewin just stared at him with an oddly fixed expression and a slight raise to his shapely eyebrows, hair scraped back behind that band. Harvey could still feel the vague weighty swell of his own privates that he’d accidentally stimulated into life, and he was glad that the posture of his sitting hid any unseemly bulging from the other guy’s intense stare now. `I dunno,’ the Everton player said now, and his voice trembled with an indecision that completely blindsided the confused and curious Lancashire lad. He coughed and gulped and watched his own awkwardness reflected in the other guy’s expression, then… he felt Dominic’s hand on his arm again, resting against the soft muscle. `It’s like you said though… it doesn’t mean we’re gay.’ `No,’ Harvey agreed slowly. He sensed the shifting angle of the other bloke’s talk. He hadn’t said `wouldn’t’. He’d said `doesn’t’. As if it had already happened. Or was inevitable. He felt a little shudder of nervous excitement at that conclusion, and felt the bed shift as Dom began to move back and aside a little bit. Flustered, the 22-year-old went for blunt honesty. `I am so fuckin’ horny, mate,’ he said, his voice a gruff whisper. `Have been all week.’ `Same,’ came Dom’s quick confession. `Come on, sit up here.’ The speed and certainty of his voice now was surprising but kinda reassuring. Harvey followed his quiet suggestion in dazed but horny autopilot, sliding across the ruffled duvet until he was sitting with his back to the cushioned headboard in the same awkward pose as the taller athlete, then sliding forward onto his back a little. Like him, Dominic was down to his undies, pale grey and longer-legged, but the same brand, H then he watched his own hand as if it belonged to someone else, reaching into the tight black of Barnes’ pants and removing his dick, thick to the touch and already quite alarmingly rigid. He pulled on it and was surprised how instantly that earned a chesty groan from the 5ft9 lad lying alongside him, both of them propped up somewhat by pillows and headboard, shoulders touching where their arms overlapped. `Mate,’ he heard the rival Premiership player gasp, mersin escort bayan `you’re so…’ `Don’t,’ he grunted back, not quite sure what he meant; he didn’t want or need to hear this nervous but experimental lad comment on the size of his prick, it somehow reminded him too much of Pickford’s leering interest and that provocative fiancée of his. He just focused on what he was doing, closing his hand properly around the average length hard-on and its satisfying thickness against his hand, thinking that it felt surprisingly natural — after all, each jerky pull on the other dude’s cock was met with the tingling pleasure of his own long shaft being stroked up and down its height. On they went in this way, their arms brushing a bit as they continued. Fuck, he thought, what am I playing at? The weird notion that, accidentally even, his cock might have brushed awkwardly against his partner-in-crime or their seedy host, well… it had troubled him at the back of his mind in the week or two of success since the day of his hat-trick and the drunken foursome. So what was he doing here? Conquering that paranoid fear by letting it happen so explicitly?! His cock was being pulled and jerked by a male hand and his own sweaty palm was pulling against another. But Harvey was right, it didn’t mean either of them were even faintly fucking bi, did it? Not REALLY. Nah, this was chill, this was… oh, erm… wow… It was hard to think in any way rational when he was THIS horny. He really had been edged with arousal since the week started, intermingled with his pride and excitement to travel down here from Merseyside. And as uncomfortable as that pervert Pickford made him, sometimes when he watched him on the training ground and thought about how he’d impaled his woman and stolen his place with his big mixed-race tool, well… he’d almost found himself getting stiff in his shorts and trackies, if he was honest…! So there was a lot of pent-up frustration in his well-endowed length, currently jerking frantically at Harvey’s left-handed grab and pull, his balls tight against the low band of his undies. And the more his cock pulsed and neared its peak, the more he grabbed at Harvey in return, and let his arm brush his toned tummy in his long strong right-handed grasps, shoulders rubbing tightly, bodies drawing closer… And then he felt himself grow very close, a little ashamed at how quickly it could happen, both at the touch of a male friend, and in front of that audience… but his cock throbbed and tingled and he actually needed to push Harvey’s hand away from it, grab it himself with his left and then his right hand two, a double-fisted grasp at the long snaking meat, rising up onto his side somewhat, lifting his pelvis up on the strength of one hairy calf, and- Barnes watched as if in slow-motion, seeing the pulsing tremble of the pink tip and then the arcing gloop of the other lad’s spunk before it scattered his own firm six-pack and the milky skin of his body; dribbling into the trimmed red-brown of his pubes, lashing his hands as he grabbed his own dick in his right paw. Beside him, Calvert-Lewin hovered on his side, angling his massive prick this way as he spurted his seed all over Harvey’s tummy, crotch, upper thighs, a white shower of glistening male product, while he grasped tightly at his thick red member and jerked it furiously, desperately, urgently. `What are you doing?’ he asked through gritted teeth. `What the fuck, mate?’ he demanded hotly, furious at Dominic’s behaviour, even as he pulled his own cock to its inevitable conclusion, oozing his own creamy white spunk against his knuckles and letting it gush down the back of his hand onto his chubby sagging balls. `What the FUCK?’ he asked again, bursting the question out in between his ragged orgasmic breaths. Beside him, Dominic’s face was a mask of puzzled horror and guilt, still on his side, staring across and down, clearly without any clear answer to the question `why?’ Still, his hand was on his long curving prick and another glob of its seed dripped onto Harvey’s arm, making him jerk aside and pull away from him, feeling the sticky substance cool on his skin — both Dominic’s invasive load and his own dribbling semen, spattered where both had fallen. Pants tangled at the top of his thighs, the pale ginger lad scrambled out of the bed, holding his body tensely and trying to establish just where the sploshes of spunk had settled and cooled, walking jerkily from the bed to the bathroom and ignoring a few panting apologies from the other player. The sight of it took him back — he was in that large lower-class hotel again at the little Leicester shindig where Vardy had promised him hot local prostitutes and an unforgettable blowie. The blowie had been unforgettable but it had first come from fellow 22-year-old James Justin, a lad he’d shared rooms with on England Under 21s trips! And not just from him, but from experienced old Christian Fuchs, the Austrian! And he could still feel the firm muscle of Chilwell behind him, supporting and reassuring him, then leading him hurriedly back to their own room after they’d spilled their seed against Fuchs’ gurning face. Being splashed with DCL’s load had brought him right back to that room and all the kinky madness he’d witnessed from dirty Vardy and their pals. In the bathroom, he soaked a small towel and rubbed it over his body, wiping away the mix of his and his roommate’s spunk. Then he washed his face and stared at his pink-cheeked ginger-haired reflection in the mirror. Finally, he stuffed his limp dick and heavy balls into his undies and rested his hands on the sink edge, leaning forward there and taking deep deep breaths. When he looked up, he met Dom’s eyes in the mirror, the Everton player hovering in the doorway, tall and handsome and awkward as fuck. `I dunno what I was thinking,’ Calvert-Lewin breathed uncomfortably, `I just…’ `Don’t,’ Barnes told him warningly, lowering his eyes and making a dismissive grunt, `just don’t.’ Just shy of twenty-four hours later, the whistle blew on England’s 3-0 friendly against Wales. Dominic was standing on the edge of the Wembley pitch, dried sweat cooling all over his kitted body, a vacant smile still plastered on his lips as he watched the match finally close, and the 11 men begin their triumphant swagger over here to meet the manager and substitutes and celebrate the vaguely meaningless victory. Meaningless for the nation and for the tournament they were in, but hugely significant for the 23-year-old striker: his full national debut and his opening goal for his country! Incredible. It could not have gone better, he didn’t even mind that he’d been taken out of play in the 56th minute exchange for a perky energetic Mason Mount, who was now dashing past him to grab at one of the unused subs in a friendly embrace. He thought he heard Declan Rice bark out some faint congratulation to the midfielder but ignored them, watching instead as the freshest of the finished players returned to the dugout to share in the moment of home nation pride. The tall forward met eyes with Harvey Barnes across the gathering, eyeing each other quietly between the other men; Harvey had made his debut too, though the 22-year-old had only been rushed onto the field a few minutes from the end, a perfunctory run out for a hopeful England player, quite removed from the headlines tomorrow that would focus on Calvert-Lewin’s opening strike for the Three Lions. Somebody was congratulating him to the side and someone else was shaking at his shoulders. Southampton striker Danny Ings on one side, booming loudly about how the pair of them were unstoppable in front of the Wales box; Liverpool beast Joe Gomez on the other side, shaking a fist in the air and praising him as the future of English scoresheets. Still he watched gently panting Harvey, the 22-year-old shaking hands with the gaffer then taking a congratulatory hug from the night’s captain, Trippier. He wondered if Barnes had slept as fitfully and nervously as he had after their bedtime escapade; the Leicester player had gone to breakfast without him in the morning and they’d come back to the room at different times during the rest of the day, not even uniting for a handshake or hug when the teamsheet was revealed and they both saw their chances at debuting tonight in this friendly. Striding indoors to the Wembley Home changing rooms, Calvert-Lewin questioned whether he would have the balls to talk to Barnes at all about last night when they were eventually dropped off by coach to the hotel with everyone else, and back in their room. Standing shirtless in the changing room, staring over at the other young footy lad at the far end of the row, half a dozen big built players dividing them, he realised the answer was a decisive no. When they got back to the room tonight, both tired but hyped, all they would talk about would be how everyone else had played, and who did and didn’t deserve to make the starting squad for the next game, a proper League tie with Belgium on Sunday evening, and Denmark beyond next Wednesday. No, Dominic told himself almost wistfully, some shit should stay in the dark, and never be mentioned again…!

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