Author's note: Hey there! I have to stop promising that I will be faster, because life seems to enjoy frustrating my plans lol. This chapter is kind of softer than the previous one, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway. Thanks for reading!
After four chapters of this saga I've grown my confidence and didn't use any AI to write this one. Still, since English is not my first language there may be a few grammatical slips, or some unusual phrasing. Feel free to point them out to me via email. I genuinely appreciate it.
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.
See you soon!
Injury Time
If someone told me that the VIP box of the Europa League would be very similar to one of my work conferences, I would have laughed out loud. But that was my first conclusion the moment that I set foot in the Spurs’ Stadium 4th floor. Dozens of middle-aged white men, dressed in white and powder-blue shirts, walk around in groups. Almost like those Serengeti scenes that you would see on Wildlife documentaries, but of Loro Piana client base, enthusiasts of New Zealand’s new and growing apocalypse-bunker market, and the main audience for any woman hoping to score a sugar daddy. Ironically, I was there for a work-related subject, and I swear the idea wasn’t mine. But that didn’t stop me from grinning happily by the side of my boss, Robert, who, on the other hand, was in desperate need of a xanax or an exorcism.
“I can’t see how this is gonna be fruitful. Sometimes I wonder if the rumours are true, your Lordship really has gone mad. First, this new Eco initiative, now these, scheduling meetings over football games. You are his godson, what do you think?” He asked me in a confessional tone, as we cut through the three-divorces crowds.
“Come on, it’s unorthodox? Sure, but knowing Harrison, this does make sense”.
“I still can’t comprehend how we have resorted to this. Begging a plumber for the opportunity to let us bury him, and his company, under millions of pounds.”
“Electrician, and he is not that bad. If I were him, I would definitely be suspicious that Lord John Crowell, above all else, wanted to put his money on my sustainable company”.
“The man was just lucky to figure out, before everyone else in the UK, what a heat pump is, and how to install it. He is not a genius”.
“Sure, but he also turned his backyard-shed firm into one of the country’s biggest bets to reduce natural gas dependency between the expanding lower middle class. He has the acumen for it”.
“Oh come on, don’t pretend to be such a kiss ass, you are just happy because in these last weeks you decided to assimilate the culture, and this,” he pointed around to the expensive lounge, filled with Tottenham imagery, “ is right on your lane”.
“Hell Yeah, it is!” I told him energetically, holding on to his right shoulder with enthusiasm.
“I only hope his teams win this match, I want him filled bustling with joy signing this deal today,” Robert said in a murmur before opening up the door for the suite that would make do as a meeting room for the night.
Harrison Green was the only one wearing a jersey. He was seated at a table surrounded by his board of directors like an absolutist king. John’s people were also there, scattered around the place, nervously typing or talking anxiously on their phones. When Robert and I entered, a few eyes looked in our direction. But as soon as it became clear that your Lordship wasn’t with us, they dismissed our presence and resumed whatever they were doing before. Except Harrison, the former electrician, now multimillionaire, rose up, and his court followed suit.
The exchange was amicable, as it had been for the weeks that preceded this meeting. “My problems are not with your lot. It’s with your client,” he had told us before, and his demeanor made that very clear. “Here, sit with me, let’s talk before his lordship arrives”. He said, pointing to 2 chairs that had been previously occupied by employees of his.
The tone was honest; he had no intent to seal the deal today. He wanted more guarantees that this wasn’t the first step to a hostile takeover, or part of a greenwashing scheme. We had listened to this before, and even I, who sympathized with the guy, was growing tired of these never-ending negotiations.
The temperature dropped 5 degrees when my recently self-proclaimed Godfather arrived not long after, wearing a navy suit and black leather shoes. His workers soon gathered around him like a swarm, pampering their queen. But he ignored them all and walked directly to where we were. Pleasantries were exchanged, followed by a dry “Let’s talk business, then”.
Frankly, I thought it would be easier. That’s why I had suggested the venue; it was a way to win Harrison over and be done with it. After all, he always makes sure to proudly wave his Northern London origins, and the Spurs’ memorabilia at his office left no doubt about where his loyalty resided. And besides that, it was a little bit of power play, forcing John out of his Belgravia townhouse, or estate in the north, to attend a football game. An ego trip to any member of the common folk.
The reality was that there were still 2 hours before the match began, the negotiations were going nowhere, and I was so fucking bored. The atmosphere was so tense that no one dared order a drink from the open bar or grab a bite of the fancy food the private chef had been prepping ever since before our arrival. I was already zoned out for a while, but as the door to our suite opened, I felt instantly all that was left of my attention abandon the corporate mumbo jumbo and focus only on him.
I had seen him before; there were days when his handsome face was all over social media, the blonde prince of Tottenham. Still too young to be known for his football, but already famous to whatever thirsty devil on the internet for his good looks. He walked in on crutches, the veins on his forearms popping as he walked. His right foot was in an orthopedic boot, the blond side parted, blue eyes looking around, lost. For me, he looked just what I imagined when I thought of a fallen angel.
A staff member helped him sit in an armchair and talked to him briefly before stepping out and disappearing into the suite’s lounge. No one batted an eye at the young player who appeared out of the blue, sitting alone, ethereal beauty lost in boredom. Except me, who couldn’t take my eyes off him.
While both sides talked about clauses, terms, and conditions for a possible investment, I kept myself busy, looking over at the aloof young hunk, tapping his fingers over his jean-clad thighs in the rhythm of the ambient song that was humming through the room. At the same time, I was also brainstorming, trying to figure out a command that would set me free and pass on unassumingly through the worker bees around us. Satisfied with what I had created, I leaned on each of my hands, touching the shoulder of John and Harrison, while my knee was in direct contact with Robert’s knee. “Gentleman, you will excuse me, I will talk with our star visitor. Keep on with the meeting, and soon you will find common grounds for us to go out of here today with this whole ordeal done”. The eyes of three men fogged quickly as they looked at me, and then at each other.
“I’m confident we will, Andrew, my boy. Now go on, extend our greetings to our guest”. John said, his status erasing any objections that anyone could have.
As I walked to him, the relief in his expression was clear as day, a smile blooming on his pink lips, a sparkle adding to his already shining blue eyes. “Hey, it’s Lucas, right? Lucas Bergvall?”
“Guilty as charged!” He sounded sincerely happy to speak with another human being, “I would stand to greet you, but I’m afraid it’s not so simple for me right now”.
“Oh, don’t worry, what happened? I thought you would be playing tonight”. I asked him, still standing, arms crossed in front of me.
“Yeah, I was,” the disappointment in his voice was unmistakable, “but I tweaked my ankle, so the season is over for me”.
“Man, that sucks! At least with summer break so close, you will get a lot of time to heal for the next season”.
He shook his head, like he was pondering whether hearing that from the mouth of a complete stranger would change anything in his life. But politely replied, “Yeah, they keep telling me that, but it's still a bummer”.
“I bet it is. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?” I asked, trying to put a friendly spin on the phrase.
My question seemed to remind him of a script. “Oh, yeah, right, I will stay here before and after the match. I’m the special guest of this suite. Usually, they will send retired legend players, but today we are fully booked, so they recruited me to help with that. It’s my first time, and I didn’t want to interrupt you guys; it seems important. I’m sorry that it isn’t a more famous player.” He looked down, as if he was ashamed for not being in ‘legend ’ status yet.
“No, no, you don’t need to apologise. I think it’s way better to have a young player. Look at this room,” I pointed to the table where the meeting was still happening at full speed. “I would have bored myself to death if they sent another man with a receding hairline in here”. He laughed sincerely. “By the way, I’m Andrew, or just Drew”. I extended my hand to him, which he shook with enthusiasm.
Seated by his side, we spent a long time talking. He told me his perceptions of his first year at the Premiership. I told him what the meeting (that seemed to finally be going somewhere productive) was about. We compared notes on what it was like to move to London, coming from a different country. Made fun of the Brits. We truly hit it on. Of course, throughout our chat, I couldn’t stop myself from admiring him. How his lean, muscled body filled the long-sleeve blue polo that he wore with the sleeves pulled up. How his blond hair always seemed to land on the right spot. Or how cute he was when his lips pressed into a fine line whenever he tried to find the word he was looking for. Fuck me, I think I had a crush.
We were discussing our favorite ice-cream flavors when the same staff member who brought him in appeared, telling him it was time. Both of us seemed caught off guard by the news. “Oh gosh, I had forgotten. I won’t watch the match with you guys; I have to watch from the bench. They want me to do a public appearance”, he said, hitting his head with his right hand. I felt like all the butterflies that had freed themselves from their cocoons and had been flying onto my stomach for the past hour had just received a bucket of cold water. And, I bet my face wasn’t hiding my disappointment cause soon he added: “But I will come back, after the match, so we can keep on talking”.
“Deal, then. I will be waiting for you,” I said, as we shook hands. His cheeks tinted with hints of pink as we parted ways, and he crutched out of the room.
“Hopefully, we will celebrate a win!” he told me, turning around at the last minute.
“I bet we will,” I reassured him, my butterflies resurrected back to life as I watched him crutching away. Glancing back once with a shy smile. Yeah, I definitely had a crush.
Without the young Swede to monopolize my attention, I walked back to the negotiation table just to see that my command lacked a clear goal. Yes, they had found common ground, but neither of them wanted to let go of anything. Robert looked like he should be put under surveillance due to an active suicide risk. The mood was so dreadful that I didn’t even think about the oddness of it when I approached them, and asked if my Boss could excuse a major investor and a CEO to a sidebar with me, an analyst, real quickly. Another indication that things were going south was that my Boss promptly rose, and with quick apologies, excused himself to go talk with me.
The moment we were far enough to speak privately, I started talking. My hand rested on his shoulder. “I was talking with the player when I got an idea on how to solve this problem, but I can’t tell you. It’s something private between Lord Crowell and me. I mean, my godfather. You will be satisfied with the deal being signed, and you won’t be curious about how I did it, right?” His eyes lost their focus for a few seconds. I always thought it was fun to see how susceptible my boss was to my commands; it was almost like he didn’t have any resistance whatsoever.
When his thoughts returned, a smile appeared on his face. “Please, be my guest. I really just want this to be over, so I can go home and push this out of our lives tomorrow morning”.
“Great, so this is what we will do …”
“You won’t react till I’m done talking,” I told John and Harrison, with both of my hands on their shoulders. Looking like a father having a tough talk with his 2 incredibly older sons. “We three know that this is taking longer than necessary due to your stubbornness. So I will give the instructions about how this deal is gonna go”. They both had a blank stare in their eyes. If I squirmed enough, I could see the stadium and the pitch reflected there. “Harrison, you will accept Lord Crowell's investment, as if it were any other Investor. His persona and past will not be an obstacle to this deal from now on. You will listen to him as you would to any other member of your board, without prejudice”. I felt his body moving under my touch, like he had just taken a deep breath. Great, now to the older man. “John, you won’t try to seize power, or manipulate this company in any way. You surely are free to give your opinion and advice, but you won’t try to steer things in your direction. This won’t be enough to ease your conscience on the impact of your other activities in the world, so you will keep trying to find ways to promote change for the better”. That same feeling zapped through his bonier body. “Ok, when I remove my hand you will think that I just gave you the most convincing speech, and if anyone asks you what it was you will answer in a very elusive way. Now, seal this deal so we can finally start enjoying ourselves”.
The 2 men blinked quickly for a few seconds. At the same time, my boss appeared carrying the 4 whiskeys I had commanded him to bring earlier, “I heard it’s time for a proper celebration”. He said with enthusiasm, more from finally getting to move on from this deal than from the closing of it.
The former tradesman and the aristocrat faced each other for a while, till finally softening and shaking hands with energy. “I guess it is!” Harrison said, picking up one of the crystal tumbler glasses. Lord Crowell also picked up one, and together the 4 of us toasted to this great new partnership.
The mood turned 180 after. The associates, directors, and analysts started to enjoy the open bar and the private chef of the suite. Harvesting the pros of their bosses' good mood. When the match began, all of us sat at the skybox and watched mesmerized as the Spurs scored a goal even before the 1st minute mark. The second one was celebrated with zeal by Harrison and the rest of the Tottenham crowd. Even I, who leaned more to Arsenal, celebrated with them. I guess that is the advantage of getting into the sport later in life: you don’t get any of the revelry. Halftime came, and went, and the third goal sealed the victory even with half an hour to go. Not even Bodø/Glimt’s first and only goal against Tottenham hurt the vibe that exploded in pure ecstasy when the referee whistled the match’s end.
Champagne flutes were being hurled around the room, toasting the victory on the negotiation table and on the pitch. Even John seemed more alive than average after 3 18 years Macallan’s glasses. I kept nursing the same flute, the bubbles almost gone by now, as I looked to the glass door in expectation of seeing the towheaded player appear. But as the time went on, the thought that this isn’t gonna happen became clearer and clearer in my mind.
I distracted myself by having financial small talk with the others, the same kind of conversation I had constantly in the office. Bonds, impact of new regulations, markets that were heating, and other understimulating subjects. I was halfway through explaining to one of Harrison’s employees my theory on how dumb-money was actually the one fueling the growth of gold this past month when a commotion caught my attention. Making me turn back and face the room. Seeing that it was none other than Lucas Bergvall being received by the already tipsy collective of Tottenham fans in the suite. He politely posed for a few selfies, signed jerseys, napkins, and whatever they had in hand for him to sign, before crutching his way in my direction. I promptly abandoned my theorization and walked to him, making sure that we met near a couch.
“Hey man, congratulations on the win!” I told him while our hands did the straight-guy slap-and-bump. “Here, have a seat”.
“Thanks, you had to see how everyone was celebrating down there,” Bergvall said, as he lowered himself with care on the seat, handing me the crutches. “Shame that they kept me out of the locker room, they were afraid I was gonna slip, and worsen the injury”.
“Shit, but it kind of makes sense, doesn't?” My question made him roll his eyes a little, reminding me that he was probably still in his early twenties.
“Yeah, it does, but even still, they didn’t let me even have a beer with the guys. Damn, it’s only a tweaked ankle”. He pointed to his injured foot encased in the orthopedic boot.
“Because of the meds?” I asked.
But he denied it. “No, they think I will get drunk, and fall, and you guessed, worsen my injury. Me, 6 feet 2, drunk with a couple of beers. I already miss when they didn’t babysit me”.
I looked at him with a suspicious grin. “Are you sure they didn’t babysit you before? Why do I think you are lying?”
His white skin became pink, and he looked down, embarrassed. “I mean, they kind of always were very attentive to me, but not like this. I’m 19, I’m a grown man. I just happened to tweak an ankle”.
“You are 19? Yeah, you need to be taken care of, you are just a tall baby,” I playfully pushed his lean, yet muscular shoulder.
“Come on, how old are you? You can’t be that much older than me,” He asked me, a cheerful smile stamped on his face.
“26”. I flashed him a cunning grin.
“That’s it, you can’t call me a baby if there’s a big chance we would share the kids’ table for most of our childhood”.
“Even so, I bet there wouldn’t be any beer there, so it would be safe for you, lil’ guy”.
“I’m still taller than you.” This time, he pushed me, his hand making contact with my ribcage, sending sparks through my body.
“Ok, because you are a big boy, I will try to sneak up a glass of champagne for you, but if anyone asks me, I didn’t know you weren’t allowed”.
“I would love that, but I can’t drink in here. The staff team is always checking on me from time to time, and they would totally rat me out”.
“Well, do you know somewhere more private?” I asked, making him think for a while, and nodding. “Great, then I will go grab a bottle for us, and we will go there so you can have your medicine, deal?”
“You make me sound like an alcoholic, but yeah, deal!” He put himself to his feet using his good leg and the crutches. I quickly ran to the bar and, with a soft touch, convinced the guy on the other side to give me an unopened bottle. Catching up with the much slower Lucas in no time.
While we walked through a low-traffic corridor, the French bottle discreetly tucked inside a complimentary bag, he told me about where we were going. Apparently, the Spurs had at first created a few private massage rooms on an intermediary floor, thinking to give the players privacy after the matches, but as time went on, they rolled this idea out, and went back to the collective room, together with the physio team. So nowadays these private rooms are only used when too many players have hurt themselves, which is rare. Or when someone from the team’s admin was in need of a relaxation moment, which was more frequent but rare nonetheless.
This section of the stadium was emptied out, with only a few distant echoes and the crowd buzzing, anchoring the fact that there were more people here. The hall we entered had clinical, sterile vibes to it, with 2 plain white doors facing us from each of the 3 walls. The first one opened to a room that had long since transitioned from a massage room to a deposit, cardboxes filled with utilities brimmed the space, leaving a distinct smell of stockroom in the air. The second one, on the other hand, was exactly what we needed.
Dimming lights and soft, coloured wood paneling made the room feel unexpectedly cozy, even with a giant rooster painted in blue on one of the walls. Ironically, besides the massage table in the center, there was only a loveseat as a seating option in the room. So it didn’t take long before the two were seated on it, with me spinning the metal cage to get access to the cork.
The loud pop echoed through the empty space, making both of us chuckle like kids doing something wrong. “To victory”, I said before passing him the bottle for the first sip.
I watched almost in slow motion the green tip of the bottle make contact with his pink lips. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he drank in the French wine. When he had had enough, he pulled the bottle out of his lips, and a small pour of translucent liquid trickled down his chin, which he promptly dried out using his hand. He offered me the bottle that I automatically accepted. The hard glass cylinder of the bottle’s neck in my hand soon made its way to my lips. I searched for his taste on green rim, just the sight of it making me stir in my pants.
With eyes closed, I gulped down the liquid, the bubbles exploding in my mouth like small fireworks. Opening them up, I caught Lucas facing me. He quickly looked elsewhere, but this small interaction was already enough to fuel my fantasy that maybe the crush I’ve had in the past hours was reciprocal.
I passed the bottle to him again, our fingers touching at the neck, sending small vibrations through my nerves. The bulge in my pants is definitely becoming more prominent.
We had passed the green recipient back and forth a few times, and the alcohol made everything easier. We weren’t drunk, but looser, and together with being alone made us more carefree than ever. The AC wasn’t working in the room, and the feeling of warmth of the drink was spreading through my body like a fever. I popped open a few buttons of my shirt, feeling slightly better. Lucas probably was feeling the same, because soon his long-sleeve polo was gone, and he remained in his sleeveless white shirt. We were comfortable and free. But this freedom reached new heights when I saw him massaging the thigh of his healthy leg. He gave a small sigh, like a tired puppy.
“All good?” I asked him.
“Yeah, just my good leg that is kind of sore. Probably from the crutches. But it’s nothing awful”. The swede said, his hand groping the jean-clad muscle with persistence.
Ok, this was an opportunity on a silver platter, and I was not gonna let it pass by.
“If you want, I can give you a massage. I’m not an expert, or anything of the kind. But I got a very athletic friend, and there was a day when he was complaining a lot about being sore, so I gave him a quick massage, and since then he always said that I had good hands". I wasn’t lying. I really gave Declan a massage, actually a few massages, and he really thanked me. What I purposely left out was the fact that he said that I had good hands while I gave him a handjob on the CT’s broom closet, not after a massage. Oh well.
“Oh man, it’s nothing major, I don’t want to be a nuisance to you”. The blond talked without conviction, his hands still trying to release the tension above his knee.
“Relax, I don’t mind at all. I’m already considering us as friends, and I would do that to a friend anytime”. I winked at him to make a point, making his cheeks blush as a consequence.
“What the hell! Ok, I accept your offer. But just because my leg is really bothering me,” the Spurs player said while rising with the help of the nearby crutch. When he got up and gave the first step towards the table, he added with a playful smirk, “Besides, I’m curious about these ‘good hands’ of yours”.
I was almost certain that this fairy tale prince was coming on to me. And I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t loving it.
He slowly sat at the massage table, giving me his crutches, which I promptly leaned against one of the walls. A muted ‘thump’ caught my attention, and turning back, I saw that his white sneaker was lying on the ground, like rubbish at the side of the road. His hands were resting on the waistline of his jeans, peeling them down, revealing white Calvin Klein boxer briefs and smooth skin.
“You are really determined to take full advantage of this massage, I see,” I teased him as he removed his good feet from the pants.
“Damn, I’m sorry, I’m just used to undressing for the physiotherapists. But I can pull back if this makes you uncomfortable, or anything”.
“Nah, don’t worry, I just like to give you a hard time. But relax, get comfortable”. Instantly, he resumed rolling down the pants on the other leg, almost as if he knew I wouldn't be against him wearing the least possible. The procedure went on till the jeans wouldn’t go past his orthopedic boot, so he left the pants wrapped around his shin like a poorly made bandage. He was trying to remove his boot, but I discouraged him. “Leave it. I don’t want you to fuck with anything that is already hurt”. Harvesting an agreement, he let go, switching to removing his shirt. His body was what I would expect if a porcelain factory decided to make Greek statues. His skin had so few birthmarks, no sun damage, or freckles. Also, almost no hair in sight. The few that I could see were blond, pale enough to almost disappear under the light. The thought of licking his sweaty torso after a game polluted my mind. Unaware, he lay down, only on his white CK’s filled with a discrete bulge.
He looked perfect, masculinity softened by pure beauty. Golden hair, blue eyes, unscathed skin, muscular body. My mind went straight to those kings of before with their epithets. For Lucas, the only option was ‘The Handsome’.
Taking another gulp of the champagne, as a courage enhancer, I rested my hands on his thigh. I felt his muscles tightening underneath the skin due to the contrast between his bodyheat and the coldness of the bottle still present in my hand. “Sorry, I should have probably warmed up my hand before, my bad,” I apologized after I heard a soft hiss come out of his lips.
“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting that, that’s all. It’s ok,” the words escaped from his mouth as his eyes remained closed.
My hand resumed its movement, his muscle no longer tightening like before. Slowly, my hand warmed up, till he was no longer tightening his muscles. And as my hand gained traction, I told him, “Great, now you relax, and get comfortable. Also, be honest with me. I don’t want to hurt you, or make things worse”. His body shivered a little, but soon after, he was more relaxed than ever. Maybe I really had great hands.
I put in the effort to bring some sort of relief to his leg. I have to admit that being able to put my hands on his muscular quadriceps was the stuff of dreams, and my pants felt tighter by the second. The tension was palpable on his flesh; stress points had created knots that I gave my best to untangle. Occasionally, my hand would reach the insides of his thigh, brushing off the blond hairs that covered his body, almost like peach fuzz. The pressure I put on his body tarnished his skin in a pink hue for a few seconds before returning to the pale tone. I got really focused on the task at hand, so when the youngster's voice broke the silence, it was almost the end of a trance.
“I’m self-conscious.. I’m getting hard with this,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. His eyes were still closed, his mouth in a tranquil smile, cheeks slightly flushed. My sight dropped down, and below his white shirt, the volume on his underwear was definitely bigger than before, filling the pouch, and snaking down to his right side. I don’t know what moved him to make this statement, but I didn’t want to discourage his honesty.
“Don’t worry, man, it's only natural. I’m touching your body in the end, that’s a natural response for any healthy young person”.
“Yeah, it doesn’t take much to make me hard these days. My agent makes me have a pretend girlfriend; he says that protects me from crazy fangirls. But it also prevents me from meeting girls …” he paused for a few seconds, breathing in, and leaving out a small groan as my thumb concentrated on a specific knot. His voice continued, “... or guys”. Fuck-me, could it be that I was truly lucky this time, and this hot newcomer was bi? My eyes searched for answers on his face, but found none, as he kept on the same facade of relaxation. “Well, except when I meet them at private suites, stressing out over work”. Blue eyes opening up, just to wink at me. At the same time, his hand readjusted his package, which had grown even more, making the abnormal volume visible under the white cloth.
He was truly flirting with me; that was a first. This whole time, I thought I was steering him in my direction, not realizing how forthcoming or eager he really was. Forget the presumed innocence, I had my hands on a willing player.
“Well, I believe we have to seize the opportunities that appear on our way,” I told him, as my hands went higher than before, feeling the inner side of his thigh with a more devious intent. Feeling the warmth of his skin, a little moist from perspiration.
He moaned louder than before, our eyes locked together, “I think I ought to live by those words too”. And just like that, I felt his hand reaching behind me and touching my ass over the trousers. Rubbing circles over the wool surface. What a devil.
I tried my best to remain indifferent to his advances, focusing on exploring his legs, moving closer to the treasure under his Calvin’s. Each inch getting hotter, and hotter, likeI was approaching a furnace. “So, have you ever done anything before?”
“Yeah, I had a girlfriend, a real one, in Sweden. Nothing much to do during winters, so we kept busy.” He replied nonchalantly, like a young Lothario.
“What about guys? Any experience on that front?”
“Nothing major, I kissed a friend one time in a dare, and the classic show me yours, I’ll show you mine. A few quick glances at the locker rooms, but that’s that.”
I moved my hands, so I worked now on both of his quadriceps, slowly pushing the underwear upwards, revealing more of his peach-fuzz-covered milk skin. “So, have you always been curious, or is a new development, let’s say, caused by a stranger in a private suite?”
He laughed with tenderness, “I've always been curious, but this sport is not so forgiving with such experiments”. My hands finally pushed in under his boxer briefs, grasping the side of his hips.
“So what made me worthy of such honesty? It’s my pretty face, isn't it?”
“That definitely helped,” he blushed, showing that although not being so innocent as I first thought, he also wasn’t a jerk. His hand had traveled north and massaged my lower back over my shirt. “I thought you were a really cool guy, and I felt there was something more from the beginning. But when the massage started, you told me that I should be sincere with you, and then it clicked with me that I could really trust you. That I could talk to you about anything. That with you I didn’t have to pretend, cause you wouldn’t hurt me in any way”. Shit, now everything makes sense. Right after my first touch, my cold hand on his leg. I told him to be honest with me. I may not have forced him, like I was used to with the others; I just ended up involuntarily extracting a confession of his most private desires.
Right now, I probably could get everything I wanted from him. I could poke and pry the most private corners of his mind. From which players did he steal glances in the locker room? What does he think about doing to the man he was attracted to? So many possibilities. But at the same time, it seemed wasteful. For the first time, I had someone who was naturally into me, so why waste the chance to make it natural? With my hands still under his briefs, I ordered him, “Forget my command, and don’t remember that I’m giving you this one. But also don’t be embarrassed about anything that you told me. I really appreciate your honesty”.
This time, he had open eyes, so I could see that my voice blurred them for a few seconds, proving that the command had worked. Besides that, nothing had really changed; his hand was still exploring my body, and mine was coming closer and closer to his, now fully erect, cock. Breaking the tension, he told me, “Drew, I’m worried,” with a soft voice.
Shit, did removing my command somehow make him regret confessing something to me? Fearing his response, a shaken “About what, man?” escaped from my mouth.
“My physio told me that any form of tension in my body could make my ankle worse. So this …” His other hand grabbed the big bulge of his briefs again, “... isn’t helping at all”. To make his point, his face transformed into a cocky grin, which would be cheesy if it wasn’t plastered on such a beautiful face.
Relief pulsed through my veins, and I succumbed to his play. “Well, if these are medical orders, who am I to disobey them?” My voice said in fake compliance, while I removed my hand from inside his trunks and placed them on the waistband. Not wasting the opportunity to, for the first time, cup a feel of his equipment. Understanding what I had in mind, the swede raised his hips, and I was able to pull the cloth down, freeing his erection from its confinement.
The white cock moved like a catapult, hitting his abs with a wet slap. While in motion, I couldn’t assess much of its dimensions. But when it lay over his body, hard and angry, I was shocked. It was the biggest dick I had ever seen. “Holy fuck, what size is this thing?” I blabbered in automatic response. My eager hand grabbed it by the root, making it rise, shocking me even further at a perpendicular stance.
“A little bit over 22cm, in inches, I guess it would be a little bit under 9,” He answered, full of himself.
“Geez, man. This is a pornstar cock” the words escaping from my lips, as my hand rolled up and down over the behemoth. The skin fully retracted, and its pink head fully out, with a tiny droplet of precum pooling at the tip. “I never saw something this big in person, literally only saw it in porn!”
“It’s just a dick, like any other. It’s just a little bit bigger”. Almost as if it knew we were talking about him, the veins that covered his surface pulsed, making my mouth water at the sight.
“A little bit? C’mon, don’t give me this humble shit. You are fully aware you have a fucking big dick. Shit, that’s why you are so chill, you have big dick energy!”
“Ok, ok, I admit it. I have a big dick,” The young Swede said, his demeanor in extremely good humor. “Now what I want to know is why don’t you put your money where your mouth is? Or better, your mouth where your hand is?”
I pushed my hand up and down again. Spreading the clear liquid over its head. “Oi, fancy a blowie, bro?” I asked in my fake British accent. He nodded eagerly. “Did your girlfriend ever give you one?” He nodded again proudly. “Was she any good?”
“I don’t have what to compare to, so I’m hoping you’ll do the honors”. After he replied, I removed my hands from his body, but just to unbutton my slacks and push them down. The navy piece dropped to the floor, and I quickly stepped out of it, also removing my shoes, leaving me only in my black socks, blue briefs, and white button shirt, which I completely unbuttoned. The Spurs’ player watched me with fixed interest, each movement making his big cock pulse anxiously. When my hands went back to his groin, he exhaled with pleasure. “Ok, I will give you a class A blowjob, but first I need to do something that I’ve wanted ever since you crutched your way into the suite”, and walking upwards, to wear his golden hairs laid, I leaned my head. The first touch of our lips ignited something in both of us. Different from kissing Declan or Ruben, his kiss wasn’t aggressive or hungry; it was tender and carrying. Like the kisses I had with my first reciprocal crush. The sharp taste of the champagne that we had made me drunk with desire. Propelled by this feeling, my hand found his flesh tube and started milking it, extracting grunts and gasps that I could only hear for being locked together by our tongues.
I could spend hours kissing him, but his hand pushed my shoulder outwards, forcing us to disconnect. Bergvall had a starstruck look, his blonde side part disheveled, and a reddish hue tainting his lips.” I would have cummed if we didn’t stop". He confessed while trying to stabilize his breath.
“Good call, I can’t have you jumping the gun,” I jerked him one last time before removing my hand from his long appendage. I lowered my head again, but this time I focused on his right pec, facing each other till the first touch of my tongue on his nipple. His grunts echoed through the room, music to my ears, as I sucked and nibbled on his areola. When I feared his skin might get sore, I went for the other one, repeating the same treatment I gave his brother.
I licked my way down, tasting his heat through his 6 pack, kissing his navel softly, his soft powdered musk getting stronger as I approached the one-eyed monster lying over his groin. I picked it up again, and the size still baffled me. “C’mon,” he pleaded, making me stare at his handsome face with a devious smirk. Eyes locked together, I leaned down, mouth open, letting him fill me completely.
I pushed my tongue against the sides of his tube, evoking gasps of pleasure from the Nordic hunk. I put pressure on my lips, making sure that my spit drenched his tool. Fitting this whole piece in my mouth would be a foolish attempt, so I focused on giving him the pleasure he deserved. I pulled up, letting only his head inside my mouth, like a lollipop, and dove down again, the hand resting at its base jerking it off constantly.
Lost with the task at hand, or better, at mouth, I was surprised when his hand rested over my short blonde hair. Not pushing me down or forcing my movements, just resting over my head, caressing it with affection. His other hand went back to my, now more exposed, body. Feeling up my glutes, fingers probing my crack over the navy blue fabric. My moans sent vibrations to his cock, extracting moans from its owner, in a continuous cycle of pleasure.
The up and down movement came to me naturally, as if it were a natural progression. The same probably happened when he put his hands over my throbbing, leaking hardon. Not at all in the same league as his, but respectable on its own terms. I rose up from his erection just so I could ask him if it was the first dick, other than his, that he touched. His reply was preceded by a firm grope over my bulge. “Yeah, it is. Let me just …” His hand pushed the elastic band down, exposing me completely to his curious eyes. “It’s curved, that’s different”. I agreed, standing straight, and making it bob up and down, a drop of precum hanging from the tip. He grabbed it again; this time, nothing was in between my dick and his hands. The motion was still a bit robotic, but just the thought of this handsome guy having his first time handling a dick with me was enough to fuel my lust. “It’s shaped like a banana,” a laugh flowed between us. I waited for him to familiarize himself with my equipment, so I could go back to his. Pulling back between my lips, and swallowing as much as I could.
It didn’t take long for us to sync, his hand and my mouth moving like a well-oiled machine. With my free hand and the constant flow of spit dripping from his cock, I started massaging his balls. Rolling them in my hand, like precious jewels. I also started massaging his taint, making it slippery and treacherous so that probing a finger in his still unexplored hole could feel inevitable.
The atmosphere in the room was sultry, with the sounds of our pleasure, the heat of our bodies, and the smell of our lust filling the massage room. I kept choking on the young athlete's hardon, saliva cascading through his balls, and lubing my exploration of his most private parts. His hand kept jerking me off, my excitement making his hand slippery. All these stimuli were pushing him closer and closer. Automatically, almost instinctively, his hips started to buckle, making me voluntarily gag. “Andrew …” he moaned, “... Jesus. It 's too much”. I felt the same tension he was probably feeling; his warm, callused hand turned moist by my precum, pushing me through an orgasm soon.
Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I collected what I could of spit in my index finger, and between his thighs I started searching till I found it, the virgin wrinkled button. I caressed it with care, making it slippery, waiting for the moment he started winking, “Gud! What are you doing to me?” he pleaded with closed eyes. While my throat worked his almost 9 inches, my finger started breaching him open. “Fan! Fan, vad skönt!” The Swedish escaped his mouth like a primal scream. Even more when I found his love button, and started really drilling it. It didn’t take long before his voice exclaimed, “I’m coming!”
The veins of his cock sizzled, pulsing with the strength of a river till it erupted like a volcano in my mouth. Filling me completely to a point that it was impossible to keep it all inside, making it drip from the corners of my mouth. He tasted salty and natural, and I gulped all that I could, while maintaining my finger still inside his ass, his loins burning like a furnace. He breathed in and out, trying to regain his composure after what seemed like a mind-blowing orgasm; his hand had left my erection, making it seem like a sad ending on my end. “Mate, that was crazy,” Lucas said, his blue eyes shining, "Definitely the best blowjob ever!”
Cleaning some of the cum from my lips with the back of my hand, I said, “My pleasure”. I had accepted that I would suffer from blue balls; he had his release, and that was it, but I guess I was wrong.
The swede hand went back to fondle my piece, jerking it off, although in a slower rhythm than before.
“Can’t leave you hanging, but this position is not great,” escaped from his lips.
“I have an idea,” I told him, taking off my underwear, and in a quick act, straddling his abs. His sleeping giant is resting near my ass, but still recovering from his previous explosion. With my hardon floating over his chest, his hands had a full range of movements to jerk it off, and they sure seized the opportunity. Using both of them, forming some kind of tunnel, he moved up and down, changing not only the pressure but also the pace. “Fuck me, that is good!” I told him.
“That’s how I like to do mine. And I’ve got a lot of practice this past year,” his face exhibiting a cute smirk. I ended up lifting my hips a little, so I could thrust easier in and out of his hands, making that with my curve, his face became right in the line of fire. The thought of drenching his handsome face with my cum was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Picturing his pink lips, angular jaw, and high cheekbones, all covered in white, turned me on even more. But I couldn’t do that with the guy on his first time, not when he had been copying naturally with my dirty fantasies.
“Buddy, if you keep this on, I won’t take long. You'd better aim somewhere else,” I advised him.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m aiming”. His movements increased in speed, as if he were eager for the grand finale.
I couldn’t tell what it was that pushed me over the edge. The touch of my legs around his torso, his hands that flew around my dick making slurping noises, the subtle poke of his reviving big cock, or even his apparent wish for getting a facial. Anyway, whatever it was, it did the trick, and with a puffy “I’m coming” followed by “Oh god,” I came. The first shot landed right on his left cheek, the other blasted through his mouth, neck, and pecs. I wished to have a camera in hand just so I could register this moment forever, his delight on receiving cum all over his face, the way this made him look even more handsome, how I bet I saw his tongue stealing a little taste of my seed that landed on his lips. I knew I would revive this moment in bed for many of the nights to come.
I climbed off of him, and, grabbing my discarded underwear, I cleaned my face the best that I could, removing the residue of his cum from it. When I was done, Lucas hand requested it for the same purpose. “That was crazy,” I said, while pulling my pants on.
“Crazy awesome. We have to do this again,” the youngster told me excitedly, rising up and confining his behemoth again. “By the way, I’m keeping this,” he said, my underwear in hand.
“What? You want my cum-stained underwear? Why?”
“It’s a hostage situation. You will have to see me again so you can retrieve it,” I laughed at his sleazily way of suggesting another date. “And then I will kidnap another one, and so it goes”.
Tossing him his shirt, I went back to button mine. “You don’t need to hide clothes to meet me. I will gladly see you again”, and I leaned over, kissing him again on his full lips. “But keep them anyway, more reasons to see you again, the merrier.”
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