Author's note: Hey! I’ve been planning this saga for a while and finally decided to start writing it. Since I’m not a native English speaker, I’ve used AI mainly to help calibrate character accents and double-check some football terminology.
Thanks for reading, and I’d love to hear what you think.
This is a fictional story, not based on real events or on the actual sexuality of any real people mentioned. It’s intended for adult readers only, whatever the legal age is where you live.
I know that “If you want to have good days, you must let bad days happen”, but some days are simply beating a dead horse. Like today, my alarm didn’t ring, so I arrived late for work. Then, around noon, my boss implemented a war room to alter a slide deck, which I had told him wasn’t accomplishing what the committee was expecting, but did he hear me? Of course not, so there I was, eating at my table while fast-paced through pages that I proposed to make in a different format from the beginning. Then, the crowded tube filled to the brim, with a smelly armpit right next to my face, and just when I’m walking home, a sudden storm appeared out of nowhere, leaving me creating puddles on the floor in front of my front door.
“Arteta’s team is now ahead against Guardiola’s men,” the TV informs me as soon as the door opens. Of course, there is a match playing, there is always a match playing in the background of my shared 2-bedroom apartment. I know, sharing a place is not the sexier thing to be doing in my late 20s, but with London prices, it’s this or living under a bridge. “You're just in time, mate, this is the first of the two. Watch this, Auba finishes it so calmly, man. FA Cup semi-final, pressure everywhere, didn’t even faze him,” Leo says while not even taking his eyes off the screen.
“Wait, first of 2, so it’s an old game?” I ask him while maneuvering to take off my wet shoes without sitting.
“Yeah! Mate, it’s the 2020 semi-final, Aubameyang was on fire that year.” I should’ve guessed, it was Friday for fuck’s sake, not even a game day. But my roommate was not an ordinary guy; he was a soccer aficionado. Oh my mistake, a football aficionado. At first, it was just a funny thing I’d share with my friends back on the other side of the pond ‘My roommate is a die-hard soccer fan LOL’. But I was naive. I had no idea just how deep the obsession ran. Basically, Leo is a tech genius and automated 85% of his job in the first 3 months of his job, and after that, his days became all about football. Watching old matches non-stop, playing with his mates, and hitting the gym while listening to podcasts about tactical formations and transfer rumours. Soon, peace and quiet, and frankly, time to watch a dumb reality show became a luxury. And after this absolute disaster of a day I’ve just had, it was something I desperately needed. But oh well, that’s something that Leo couldn’t provide. I mean, he is a good guy, he is clean. Made sure we split the bills fairly, even showing me the receipts every time, just to be transparent. Fun to have a pint with at the pub. But besides his football obsession, he was also kind of self-centered, forgetting, more often than not, that he shared this apartment with another human being.
“Blimey, what happened? Fell in the river?” He said laughing softly, finally tearing his eyes from the tv and noticing the drenched disaster that was me “Didn't even hear the rain, to be fair. Haven't opened the curtains all day. Been glued to the Cup. There's half a pizza on the counter for you, by the way. Finally used those coupons”. See, he isn’t a bad person. Saved me half of a pizza. That he ordered. With our coupons. Great.
Trying my best to give a smile, I replied, “Great, just need to wash myself first”.
"Washing part’s already sorted. Just dry off. Mother Nature gave you a proper bath."
Clean, dried, lying in my bed, munching on a microwaved pizza slice, reaching levels of comfort that were unseen throughout my day. I was so desperate to bed-rot until sleep that I didn’t even bother turning on my laptop to stream some dumb show. So while my left hand was busy putting the pizza slice in my mouth, my right one was busy scrolling through my phone. That’s when an email notification appeared at the top bar: ‘You have 3 wishes, claim them now!’ Please, who would fall for this kind of scam? My thumb was sliding left to send this to delete it when a violent “GOAL”, not as muffled by the closed door as I expected, scared me and made me click in it.
‘A yacht? A Villa in the French Riviera? A six-pack? You’ve been selected to try our new app, 3 wishes, where you can ask for that or more! Claim your wishes in your phone’s app store, but beware what you wish, someone else is gonna ruin them for you!
Wishing you the best, Genie&Co’
Ok, who would download this kind of game? I ignored the e-mail, but the cookies were already planted, and soon I was seeing 3 ads for 3wishes each minute in my Insta stories. Fine, it’s a dumb game, but I’ll give it a shot. After all, I already spent 5 minutes with worse things in my life.
I was expecting the app to be an MVP created by a sophomore college kid to get the grade needed to be approved, not a slight step above it. But the app was actually kind of sleek, black with light gradients on its features, rounded edges, and an ominous hum that sounded every time you touched one of the buttons. The interface was objective; there were 3 fields to write in and one grey button with a genie lamp. I guess someone who owns this company is really into Aladdin.
“Oh, come off it, Ref! That’s a foul every day of the week!” There it was, my first wish in this nonsense app.
‘Type your 1st wish: no more soccer matches playing at this apartment.’ I know, it’s a dumb wish, but this was a dumb app, and football is a dumb game. There, I’ve said, Football, I mean, Soccer, it’s a dumb game.
For my second wish, I thought a little bit harder. I remember how angry I was today when I had to redo my work just because my boss didn’t listen to me earlier this week. And all the other times I’ve said something just to be completely ignored. That’s what you get for being a ‘Yankee’ at the London office, I guess. But not anymore, in this fantasy imaginary world of this app, everyone would listen to what I’ve to say.
‘Type your 2nd wish: extremely persuasive voice.’ Let’s see if I would get ignored with a voice like that.
For my third and last wish, I decided to be vain about it. I know I’m not ugly, I have a slim physique cultivated by going to the gym 3 times a week, but nothing that makes me proud in the summer. I’ve been wearing my sand blond hair in a buzz cut since coming here, mainly because every barber that I go to in London I get ripped off, and end up hating my hair for the next month, right now it was a little overgrown to be honest, but I thought I still have a couple weeks before bringing back the machine. And a couple of acne scars on my face weren’t a great addition, I will admit that. In conclusion, I would rank myself as average looking, depending more on my sense of humour than looks to get the girls. It would be nice to be conventionally attractive, not supermodel good looks, but a few free drinks here and there, not having to depend on punchlines to convince them to go to bed with me would be nice.
‘Type your 3rd wish: be conventionally attractive.’ There, click on the lamp, and there goes my wishes.
‘Thanks for wishing, your trio will be ruined by another user. We will inform you when they are ruined.’ Oh yeah, I had forgotten that someone would ruin them for me. It’s dumb of me to admit that I was kind of anxious about how they would turn out.
I resumed my evening with the 3 wishes still lingering in the back of my head. But it was only a few hours later, when I was brushing my teeth, that the push lightened up my screen, ‘Your wishes have been ruined, check them out’. Curiosity got the better of me, and with the toothbrush still hanging on my mouth, like a semi-toothless walrus, I opened the app. The interface was now white, and my previous wishes had been complemented with small sentences written in a red font, mimicking written calligraphy. It reads:
‘Wishes ruined by JohnSSmith_nod05:
No more soccer matches playing at this apartment, but now you are a soccer fan
extremely persuasive voice, which only works when you touch the other person
be conventionally attractive, but now you are gay LOL’
I stare. Blink. Snort. Seriously, gay as a joke? Who wrote that, a 13-year-old Reddit user? I block my phone and resume my bed routine. This was so dumb. The first was funny, I admit. Can you imagine me, desperately wanting to rewatch old championships and being unable to? The second was clever, which would, for sure, limit the power. In the third one, the lack of creativity just caught up with John S. Smith. And without giving a further thought, I went to bed, and not even the narrators, I bet, long retired, commenting on another old game on the TV, or Leo’s soft snores, interfered with my sleep.
The sun crept through the linen curtains, shining bright in my room. I could hear birds chirping, traffic, and city noises reminding me that I was not in the country, but the flat was silent, at least more silent than usual, since I heard the coffee maker and a pan hitting the stove. Wait, Leo was awake, and there wasn’t any game playing? Something wasn’t right.
Opening my door, I had a clear sight of the back of my roommate standing in front of the kitchen counter, a faded Oasis t-shirt a little bit too tight in his big shoulders, white socks at his shins making his muscled legs even more impressive, checkered boxers that only complemented his bubble but. My dick throbbed at the sight. Wait, what? I mean, I always knew that Leo was attractive, but I never felt attracted to him, never felt attracted by any guy overall. I guess I just needed to go out on a date. It’s been 3 weeks since the last one. Yes, that was it. I was just suffering from a severe case of blue balls.
“Morning, mate, do you want some tea?” He said, turning to me and granting me that sunshine smile that only made him more adorable. The lump in his boxers left nothing for imagination; my roomie was definitely packing, and I was definitely distracted. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, no,” I pulled my eyes from the front of his boxers, and saw a small worry tarnishing his face. “I mean, yes! I’m not fully awake yet, but I’m getting there. No match today?” I question him, nodding at the TV.
“Yeah, the sports channel doesn't wanna work, and every time I try to screen mirror from my phone, it won’t work either. I had to give up”. He lifted his arm to scratch his back, making his shirt rise just enough for me to have a peek at his barely visible 6-pack and blond treasure trail. FUCK, was he teasing me? Why was it working all of a sudden? At least there wasn’t any soccer playing in the background for the first time in months, and I could get used to it.
“What a shame,” not really. “Probably some new software update fucking everything, as usual”. Leo agreed as I walked near him to make myself a cup of coffee. “Can you pass me a mug, please?”. He grabbed one of the mugs on the cupboard and offered it to me, “Here. I can look into it after I go back from the gym”. “Yeah, maybe that will work” my hand grabbed the ceramic piece, but my fingertips touched his hand giving me a tingle sensation “Or we could wait, they will probably debug it and in the next update it will be fixed” and in a single moment his eyes assumed a vacant stare for a couple of mili-seconds, before returning to normal. “Yeah, good idea, I will wait for the next software update. It makes sense, thanks”. That was weird. Leo was always a little bit stubborn when it came to technology, and letting things go like this was never acceptable in his philosophy.
“I was gonna ask if you want to go to the gym with me and Mark, but you sure don’t need any workout today, look at you, mate. Never thought you were so jacked under those oversized clothes.” Me jacked? I grab the toaster from the countertop and face myself on the mirrored metal surface, a different version of myself. Still me, but improved, hotter. Face more harmonic, sharper jawline, clearer skin, straighter and whiter teeth, my overgrown buzz cut hair that before gave off a recruit in the military vibe now had a high fashion appeal. I take a step back and pull up my top to see reflected in the appliance, a washboard abs that I never had before. Overall, my whole body was more muscular, not completely muscle-head, but big enough to be considered a lean jock. “You are weird”, Leo said, smiling behind his teacup.
Something really wrong had happened.
I spent more time than I’m proud of looking at myself in the mirror after breakfast. Like a Betta Fish, I faced this handsome version of myself from every possible angle. Even my feet were good-looking by foot standards. Was I hallucinating? Deciding to take my mind off it, I sat on the couch and turned the TV on. Leo's previous attempt to watch a match was visible on the streaming platform homepage, with the history filled with matches. I felt bad for the guy; he loved this so much, and I had to admit it seemed interesting, and not just the Manchester City hunk with a stern and sweaty face on the banner. I clicked on the match, not knowing if I was more drawn by the game or the player, but who cares? The loading screen faded into a warning ‘We are having problems reproducing this content right now. Try again in a few minutes’. Fuck, I switched to my dumb reality show that started playing right away, but disappointment filled my body. I want to know so many things about this match. Who won? Who scored? Which team had the better strategy? What was the name of the hot guy? Does he have any shirtless pictures online? Wait what?
Why was I so interested in soccer out of the blue?
Why was I having these gay thoughts?
Then it came to me. The app, the wishes, ‘but now you are gay LOL’. It couldn’t be. It was just a dumb app. Opening the app on my phone, my 3 ruined wishes stared back at me, each word ringing more and more true this morning. The TV not reproducing soccer games, my interest in soccer, how I convinced Leo to just let it be and not try to fix it right away, my sudden attractiveness and attraction to guys. What were the odds?
This sent me into a rabbit hole, searching the web was pointless, and not a single result showed up. So I examined each and every piece of text available on the app just to find practically nothing except ‘Wishes can not be undone till after 24 months. Where you can choose to reset your life or make new wishes', and ‘No more wishes can be granted while you have an active wish’ is hidden in the footnotes of the help page.
The answers, although few, were kind of helpful to put my mind at ease. I took deep breaths and tried to assess the situation. Ok, for 2 years I was gonna be gay, but handsome, there weren’t gonna be any soccer matches on the TV, but I would be a ‘football lad’, and I could basically control anyone that I touched. I could do that. I was just gonna be celibate, take a lot of selfies to pump it up my hinge profile, when I pivot back to being straight, watch a match every now and then, and make my life stupendously easier with literally my bare hands. It wasn’t the end of the world.
Leo came back from the gym an hour later, his muscles swollen, making every piece of clothing stretch tighter than usual. It did not staring a real challenge. He’d showered—judging by the faint scent of soap still clinging to his skin when he dropped onto the couch beside me, protein shaker in hand.
“Bro, you know anyone who wants a ticket for the match tomorrow?” he asked between loud slurps of chocolate whey. “Mark’s got a shift at the hospital, last-minute change, so he’s out. Sucks, man. These seats are like… the best we’ve had this season.”
The words left my mouth before I could think. “I can take it. I’m not doing anything tomorrow anyway.”
His face lit up like a kid at Christmas. “No way! You serious? Mate, that’d be sick! A proper footie baptism for my American roomie!” He wrapped me in a hug. Warm, solid, way too firm for my confused body. His strong hands clapped my shoulders like we’d just scored a goal.
Was I getting hard?
“Don’t get too excited...” I said, though I was clearly the one with a problem. “I was just wondering.” Leo didn’t even hear me; he was already buzzing. “Bro, you’re coming. Don’t even worry about paying, this is like a milestone, yeah? It’ll be my honor. Since when are you into football anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Guess I’m curious what all the fuss is about.”
“Oh, you’re gonna love it. Arsenal’s gonna destroy Chelsea at home!” he beamed, then leapt off the couch. “Hold up, I gotta kit you out.”
He ran off and came back in under a minute, arms full of Arsenal shirts. “Try these on. Gotta look the part, man.” His energy was infectious. Maybe dangerously so.
The roar hit me like a wave the second we stepped into the stadium. It wasn’t just loud, it was alive. Red and white everywhere, people singing, shouting, vibrating with something I didn’t understand but instantly felt.
Leo was in his element. “This is it, mate. This is Arsenal,” he grinned, eyes lit up like a fox in a hen house. I couldn’t stop looking. The sheer scale of it. The unity. The weird beauty of thousands of people moving in sync, living for the same thing. I’d expected to be bored or confused, just along for the ride, but instead, something in my chest stirred. Like I was waking up to a language I didn’t know I spoke.
Then Arsenal scored. The place erupted. Leo grabbed me in a crushing hug, yelling straight into my ear. “You feel that?! That’s football!” I laughed, breathless. I did feel it. Not just the noise or the goal, but the joy. The connection. The why of it all.
By the final whistle, I wasn’t thinking about mind control or plans or even the players. I was just… here. Present. Full. Leo slung an arm around me on the way out. “Told you I’d make you a Gooner.” I didn’t answer. I just smiled to myself with the double meaning.
Although overwhelmed, my bladder gave a reality check, forcing me to leave Leo with friends he encountered and search desperately for a bathroom. The multitude of people that enchanted me during the match had transformed into a catastrophic scenario for someone trying to find an empty urinal. Each bathroom door that I opened greeted me with such a nasty smell, and so many drunk men that my first instinct was to get out. I needed to find somewhere cleaner, or at least less dirty.
My mind had almost conformed itself that I should just return to the bathroom with the shortest queue and try not to think too hard about the filth when a door with an ‘authorized personnel only’ sign and a security guard in front showed up when I turned a corner. If life were a cartoon, a lightbulb would magically appear on top of my head.
I hadn't used my suggestions on anyone besides Leo’s. Nothing major, just a couple of tweaks to make our living arrangement easier. He would be more considerate of me and my needs, and wouldn’t try to fix the TV. I didn’t want him to waste his time and money on something that I knew couldn't be fixed. Both of the instructions worked. He asked me in the afternoon if I was planning to run a cycle in the washing machine, cause he wanted to use it, but didn’t want to be a nuisance for me, and contented himself to watch the best moments of the day’s matches on the sports channel. It was time to put my new abilities to good use.
“Hi, good afternoon, sir,” I greeted the middle-aged guard, trying to engage in a handshake. He looked at me with big eyes and a surprised demeanor that someone was actually paying attention to him. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?” he replied, slowly reaching for my hand. The moment I felt the warmth of his skin on mine, I gripped his hand.
“You can help me by letting me in the restricted area and pointing me to an empty and clean bathroom, please.”
My voice struck him as a lightning bolt, and for a few seconds, his eyes assumed the same empty nature of Leo’s, going back to normal right after “Sure, get in,” he said, opening the door. His instructions were clear, the bathroom wasn’t so close, but he guaranteed me that it is usually empty and clean. Worth it.
The relief I felt was out of this world, and my good spirits rose once again with the flush. The security guard had been true to his words, not a single soul, and spotless clean. It wasn’t properly a bathroom, more of a small locker room, equipped with benches, showers, some cabins, and urinals. Just what I needed, nonetheless. After washing my hands, I was humming my way out of the bathroom when the door burst open, almost hitting me in the face, and through the opening, a shirtless Declan Rice walked in, wrapped in a white towel like a gift just for my eyes. Face to face, at a grasp distance, I was impressed with his stature, almost 1,90 m of tight skin and lean muscles. His sharp-angled face with ferocious blue eyes faced me with vast incredibility and surprise.“Oi, mate, who…” he started asking, but my mind made me act first. Not wasting any time and avoiding getting myself in trouble, I extended my hand, feeling his warm and strong left shoulder under my still moist hand.
“Don’t be surprised that I’m here, actually, you will be totally comfortable with my presence, not minding me at all”. His walls came tumbling down after these small sentences. The ferocity of a bird of prey became the friendly stare of a dog. He stepped aside, letting me close the door behind us. Leo could wait. I was not gonna have the opportunity to soak in this beautiful view twice in a lifetime. On his way to the urinal, he dropped his towel on a bench, only in his Adidas sliders and black briefs. The tight ass that I’ve drooled on every time he bent down to arrange the ball on the grass in the previous matches that Leo showed me beforehand looked even better out of the shorts. And when I thought the moment couldn’t get any better, he stood in front of the urinal, pushed the briefs down to his mid-thigh, putting that masterpiece of art of an ass out. Pure snow white globes, soft and strong, with a few dark hairs growing near the crack. I simply had to get a closer look, or cup a feel.
Summoning all my courage, I put one foot in front of the other. But the moment I got near the sinks, the heavy stream stopped. Even with his back turned, I could tell by the way he shifted his hips that he was getting the last few drops off. “I proper needed that,” he muttered, maybe to himself, or maybe for effect. Then he pulled his briefs up, turned around, and gave me one of those trademark smiles. “Fuckin’ hell, that was a relief,” he said. “There’s honestly nothing better than finally getting to piss when you’re bursting. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I stuttered as he stepped toward me, his shredded upper body glistening under the bright lights. I didn’t know how to react. My brain didn’t, at least. My dick had a very clear idea. I felt like a priest in a titty-bar, but I got a grip on myself quickly. “Yeah. Definitely one of the best feelings in the world,” I managed.
He chuckled, turning to wash his hands. “Thought my bladder was gonna explode during recovery. I just ran straight to the first place I could find.” He flicked his hands dry, droplets landing on my forearm.
“Ah, sorry. How rude of me. I’m Declan.” He offered his still-damp hand.
“As if I didn’t know,” I said, taking it.
He laughed. “Doesn’t kill to be polite.”
“Course. I’m Andrew. Great game, by the way.”
“Oh, don’t flatter me,” he said, tilting his head in that slightly self-deprecating way. “Didn’t do much today.”
“How humble of you. Today was actually my first match live, and in this newbie’s opinion, you were great.”
The tone was friendly enough, standard fan-meets-footballer stuff, but in my mind, it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Not with this body standing right here, smelling of soap, deodorant, and something that stirred me like nothing else. “...You should be rewarded, even.”
His eyes widened slightly, amused. “Oh yeah? Reward how?”
My hand met his forearm, and with every intention in my voice, I said, “I will give you one of the best massages of your life, sit on the bench, and remember, you are extremely comfortable with everything I do, nothing can weird you out. You trust me”. Goosebumps appeared in the pinkish marble skin, but he obeyed nonetheless, in the time it took for me to walk to the door, locking it to prevent further intrusions, he was already seated on the bench, eager like a puppy.
His legs were parted, one foot at each side of the bench, so I joined him, sitting facing his back. At first, I wasn’t so confident of my influence on him, so I touched lightly, traced gently across his shoulder blades, unsure. But after the first seconds, I was hooked, the heat, the surprisingly smooth skin, how the white grew red with just a few touches. As I gained confidence, I put more intensity and intent into my movements. Slowly, my body became closer to his, close enough for me to reach his chest. His first moan happened when my fingers pressed his nipples, which only motivated me to go further. Leaving small kisses on his nape, my hands explored further, feeling each of the muscles that formed his six-pack.
After reaching the elastic of his briefs, I felt forced to go south and imagine my surprise when I realized that what had been a soft bulge earlier was now rock-hard and struggled trying to get itself free from the cotton prison. “Should I massage this muscle right here, also?” I asked, groping the flesh tube, and harvesting a long moan.
“Fuck yeah… I’ve never had a bloke do that, but seriously, I can’t leave here like this.”
“Well, neither have I, but there is a first time for everything, bro.” I kissed his shoulder one last time and got up. He sensed what I had in mind and changed his legs, putting them on the side of the bench and slightly spreading, as in an invitation that I gladly accepted. Slowly, I kneeled, looking into his eyes and a blushing face. My hands met his thighs and started going up, reaching for his last piece of cloth, the heat radiating from that package making me even eager to finally see that dick.
With deliberate tugs in the waistband of his black briefs, I started unclothing the Londoner who understood the assignment and raised his hips, allowing me, with a final pull, to bring his underwear to his knees and quickly to the floor. The sight in front of me was better than I imagined, the powerhouse body of his, moist with sweat and desire, turning red from the intensity of the moment, and the crown jewel, the 7 inches (18 cm) erection, regular girth, but appearing even more substantial against his lean, athletic frame. Without double-thinking about it, I reached for it, feeling the heat fill my hand, similar to my own, but still completely different. Automatically, I began to go up and down in the universal movement of jacking off. His eyes closing, and soft “ohs” slipping from his lips.
It didn’t take too long for a small drop of clear fluid to escape the pink head, and soon what was only dripping started to flow. It was so covered in precum that it felt almost as if I had lubed his cock. When the novelty wore off, I began to contemplate my next step and slowly approached the man meat with an extended tongue. In my life, I never thought that I was gonna be in this position, but the reality is that it wasn’t at all bad. The sponge texture was surprisingly familiar, while the bleachy taste of his precum didn’t bother me. Gaining courage, I opened up my mouth and felt the head filling up my cavity. It was hot, literally and figuratively, the feel of blood pumping in the soft skin was addicting, and his enthusiastic groans only pushed me further.
I couldn’t take all of him, but I gave it everything I had. I tried to mimic what every girl who’d given me a great blowjob had done, lips covering my teeth, drool dripping down my chin, mixing pressure and movement as best I could.. Declan seemed to enjoy it. His groan became louder and more frequent, so lost in the moment I was that I only realized he had opened up his eyes when I felt his hand on my hair and heard his lustful voice say, “Yeah… fuckin’ hfor his disappointment.
Declan ran his hand ovell, that’s it. Keep going. Don’t stop.” I did what I was told as the pressure on my head started to dictate the movement against my will. I still left a couple of inches of the flesh pole untouched by my mouth, but I had definitely progressed from the beginning. Weirdly, I felt proud of my first blowjob, and it was good enough to make a star athlete forget he was supposed to be straight. It isn’t an easy deed.
The rhythm increased, and his groans became more feral, and sirens echoed in my mind. He was near orgasm, and with it, the sudden realization of what had just happened. I wasn’t ready to end it, and worse, I didn’t even get the chance to touch that ass that was my fixation. That couldn’t happen, so I backed off, releasing his now shiny dick from my mouth er his dark hair, pulling it out of his forehead. “Oi, that was crazy”.
“Good crazy, or bad crazy?” I asked, still on my knees between his legs.
“I don’t even know what to think right now.” his hard cock, wet with my saliva, bobbed up and down at his command, with a drop of pre cum streaming down to the floor. Cheeky hot bastard.
I placed my hands again at the top of his thighs and leaned closer. “Good thing it’s not over yet,” and in a flash, I grabbed his legs and put myself under them, with his underknees resting on my shoulders. This new position forced his ass out of the bench, and put it closer to my hungry mouth; it was showtime.
The whole time I was sucking him off, I hadn’t even glanced at his balls, and I have no idea how, because they were massive. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but come on. I have eyes.. His blue eyes faced me with expectation, not knowing my next step, so I answered with a playful smirk before leaning down and engulfing one of those golf balls. This time, the moan was accompanied by a violent shudder that rippled through his body and made his legs clamp around me, pulling me closer. The smell between his thighs was intoxicating, a mix of soap, his natural musk, and a faint note of aloe. Motivated by my growing desires, I released his ball and engulfed the other, before trying, with greedy determination, to swallow both at the same time, failing miserably, but this was just an appetizer; the main meal was below.
Using my hands, I pulled his glutes open and started trailing down, feeling the dark hairs on my tongue, going further and further into the depravity of my own instincts. The pink opening was waiting for me, warm, soft, and inviting. I started with eager licks, teasing just the outside without forcing anything. “This is mad, what are you doing to me?” his voice echoed through the room, but I didn’t even bother to answer; I had better things to do with my mouth.
After a few moments, I started gaining confidence and began to probe into the puckered hole. The first few tries were frustrated by how tight he was, but on the fourth, his cherry hole opened up enough for my tongue to enter his interior, making the Arsenal player jolt like he’d touched a live wire. “OH FUCKING HELL,” he screamed to my ultimate satisfaction, and as if I needed more motivation, I tried harder to go even deeper.
I was drooling all over him, making a fucking mess between his white mounds. His groans and sultry moans were all the fuel I needed. The more my tongue worked the midfielder’s hole, the more his words dissolved into breathy nonsense. My right hand, which had been holding his left cheek open, slid closer, fingers trailing over his wet skin, until one gently started to push in. “CHRIST, WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” he moaned again, giving me the confidence to continue my exploration. A moment later, I felt something firm inside him, a small, walnut-shaped swell. When I touched it, the Londoner screamed, “THERE, RIGHT THERE. YES”. Who am I to disappoint him? So I flicked that spot as hard as I could, but apparently his desires surpassed my abilities because he kept screaming “HARDER, PLEASE, HARDER”. Unfortunately, to his great disappointment, I backed off again and stood up, my dick aching and swollen inside my jeans.
“Let’s switch things up, but I need to get more comfortable first,” I told him, jeans falling to the floor, followed by my white boxer briefs, then the Arsenal jersey. “Get up,” I ordered, and to my amazement, he obeyed, making an erotic pulse run straight to my rod. I lay on the bench, on my back, legs and hands dropped by my sides. The tall player looked at me coyly, hands at his hips, hard erection angry, and red. “Go on,” I said, “Sit on my face. Ride my tongue, hot stuff”.
He climbed over me with a kind of quiet urgency, hands on my chest for balance, the muscles in his arms flexed and trembling. His legs framed my face, thighs tense, glutes still flushed pink from everything I’d done to them. When his weight settled onto me, the soft skin of his inner thighs brushed against my jaw, and I let out a low groan before licking a bold stripe straight up the crack.
Declan jolted like he’d been shocked. “Fuckin’ Jesus,” he muttered, voice hoarse, hips twitching forward before he adjusted. His hands gripped the bench on either side of my shoulders, fingers digging into the wood like he needed to anchor himself to reality while I devoured him.
I buried my tongue deeper, flicking, pressing, drawing slow circles over his entrance, every movement deliberate. With each moan that slipped from his lips, I pushed further, coaxing more of his weight onto my face, until he was fully sitting on me, riding my mouth like he was made for it.
Above me, his breathing grew ragged, mouth slack. “Don’t stop… fuck, don’t stop,” he mumbled, head falling back as his abs flexed and trembled above me. I gripped his ass firmly now, fingers digging into the flesh I’d obsessed over the last few days. He rocked against my face on instinct, slow and controlled at first, but quickly growing needy, greedy. My tongue thrust upward as he moved down, meeting him rhythmically, drawing out stuttered gasps with every roll of his hips.
He was leaking again, thick drops of precum hitting my sternum, warm and wet. And still, he didn’t stop. “God, fuck, your tongue’s in my fuckin’ soul, mate,” he grunted. “Don’t… don’t stop.” He was close. I could tell from the tremble in his legs, from the desperate way he was grinding into me, from the broken way my name slipped out of his mouth, like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.
I pressed one final kiss to the base of his spine before pulling back, breathless and sticky.
“You’re gonna cum just from this?” I teased, dragging a finger slowly up the length of his cock.
His response was almost a whimper. “If you don’t stop me, I will…”
I looked up at him, his thighs trembling on either side of my face, his body ready to break apart. “I want you to cum in my mouth,” I said, low and clear. “I want to taste it. All of it.” Declan let out a shattered breath, his grip on the bench tightening. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. But his whole body twitched like it had just received the order it didn’t know it craved.
I guided him forward gently, sliding my hands up his torso and pulling him along until he pivoted, me following suit. Laying on our sides, almost in a 69 position, his cock, flushed and leaking, right in front of my lips. For the first time, his eyes locked on mine and then drifted forward, toward my own aching erection now standing proud between us. He hesitated for just a second, then, with a dazed look, like he didn’t fully understand what he was doing, he reached out. His fingers brushed my shaft, cautious, then gripped it. Slowly, he started to stroke, the action awkward at first but soon fueled by something rawer, hungrier.
The second his hand wrapped around me, something switched inside me. I opened wide and swallowed him down, almost to the base. “Oh fuck,” he gasped, one of his hands flying to my thighs now, bracing himself as my tongue worked him over with renewed fury. I bobbed my head with intention now, lips sliding wet and tight along his shaft, every moan from his lips making me suck harder. His grip on my cock grew firmer, stroking me with the same desperate rhythm.
And then it happened. His cock jerked once, violently, and I knew. The first thick spurt hit the back of my throat, warm and salty and fucking glorious. Declan shouted something unintelligible, his body spasming as he emptied himself into me. But as his orgasm surged through him, something primal cracked loose in me too.
Without a single warning, I came. Hard.
My cock jerked against his fist, and before he even realized what was happening, hot ropes of cum were striping across his abs, his pecs, and his stunned face. A few drops even landed in his messy fringe. He blinked, frozen, as the last pulses wracked through both of us. We stayed like that for a few moments, panting, dripping, wrecked. Then I sat up, gently, he rose slowly, like someone waking from a dream, his body still twitching from aftershocks.
I stood too, pressed against him, and without hesitation, I cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in. Our mouths met in a soft and warm afterglow. I let some of his own cum slip into the kiss, sharing it with him as his lips parted. He didn't pull away. He moaned into it, low, unsure, but compiling. When I finally pulled back, his blue eyes were glazed, lips wet, and his face streaked in white. He looked like sin.
His chest was still heaving when I reached up, cupping his face gently in my palm. His skin was warm, flushed, and slightly damp. His eyes were unfocused. The post-orgasm haze softened everything about him. The sharpness of his cheekbones, the intensity of his gaze, even the tension in his jaw. All gone, he looked at peace, and I couldn’t let this be a one-time thing. I couldn’t let him walk out of this room, back into his world, and forget the way he sounded when he came. The way he tasted. The way he obeyed me was like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Still holding his face, I let my thumb brush along his cheekbone, smearing what was probably my cum. “You’re going to remember my phone number,” I said softly, my voice somewhere between a whisper and a promise. “You’ll text me as soon as you have your phone in hand. It’ll feel a bit strange, like something you don’t fully understand, but you’ll trust it. You’ll trust me.” His pupils dilated slightly. That familiar glaze passed over his expression while I recited each number calmly, the one that always came when my words rewrote something deep inside him. He gave a small nod, not even fully aware he’d done it. Good. I’d planted the seed, and he’d water it himself.
I pulled away slowly, letting the warmth between us settle into something quieter and calmer. If we kept touching, it would start again, and I didn’t trust myself to stop next time. “We should rinse off,” I said. “Separately.” Declan blinked back to himself, still dazed, but clearly aware of how wrecked we both looked and smelled.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice raw and a little hoarse. “Yeah, alright.” He stepped toward the showers in the far corner, grabbing his towel off the bench on the way. I lingered for a moment, just watching him move. Still tall. Still athletic. Still beautiful. But now marked. Changed. Mine, in a way, he didn’t even fully understand yet.
I gathered my clothes and headed for the other side of the locker room, letting the sound of running water fill the silence between us. Not goodbye. Not even close. Only the beginning.
Back home, everything felt like a fever dream. The memories clung to my thoughts like sweat, hot and heavy. I could still taste him on my tongue, feel the heat of his thighs around my face, the way he trembled under my mouth. I wasn’t even sure how much time I’d spent away from Leo, but if he noticed, he didn’t let on. He was deep in the embrace of post-match ecstasy, celebrating Arsenal’s victory with a gang of equally wild fans who looked like they’d known him since the womb.
That was the magic of football, not soccer, football, just as the rest of the world calls it, bringing people together. Leo and his new best mates. Me and my Arsenal friend. And as proof of that strange, unbelievable bond, a single message waited on my phone:
“Oi, save my number so we can keep in touch. x, Decs”
Needless to say, my night of sleep was a mess. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him, naked, flushed, panting, sitting on my face, whispering fuck into the air like a prayer. I jerked off four times, and by the end of it, I was sweaty, sore, and nursing a slightly bruised dick. Still, I wouldn’t have traded that memory for anything.
In the morning, I woke up with an odd sense of purpose. Maybe it was the way Dec had obeyed my voice. Or the fact that he’d texted me without hesitation. Or maybe it was just the rush of finally feeling like I had some power over my life. Either way, I made coffee, took the quickest shower of my life, and stepped into the living room with the smug satisfaction of a man who had secrets.
Leo was already up, sitting on the couch in an oversized hoodie, sipping tea, and scrolling through his phone. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, without looking up. I grunted back, already headed to the kitchen, when he said, “Did you see the highlights?”
“Yeah?” I asked, faking interest as I poured my coffee. He turned the screen toward me. ‘Merino header gives Arsenal 1-0 derby win over Chelsea. I nodded, my eyes grazing the article until they snagged on a photo just below the headline. There he was. Declan. Hair a little damp, holding a young boy on his shoulders. On his left stood a woman. Pretty, curvy, holding the boy’s hand and leaning ever so slightly into Dec’s side. My heart stuttered. “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing too quickly, too sharply.
Leo raised an eyebrow, amused. “That’s his missus, mate. And their kid, pretty sure.”
I froze. “Wife?”
Leo chuckled. “Yeah. She’s a little bit different from what we expect from a player birdie, right? They've been together for ages”
My mouth dried out. Something inside me curled and collapsed. My stomach churned.
Wife.
Kid.
And I’d had him cumming in my mouth less than twenty-four hours ago.
Leo had already gone back to his phone, unfazed, but I stood there, coffee cooling in my hand, spiraling silently. The day before hadn’t been just reckless. It had been something else. Something worse. I was on the path to becoming a home wrecker.
And the worst part?
I wanted him again.
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