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Subject: Premiership Lads part 22: Manchester to Marseilles Part twenty-two: From Manchester to Marseilles Harry Maguire huffed and puffed his way through a late afternoon training session, hoping his energetic performance would do something to spend the restless energy running up and down his tall, athletic frame. He slammed an overly hard pass across the training pitch and growled in annoyance at himself as it went way past target, and bunched his hands into fists. He was working his hardest, but none of his skills seemed on point. He was about to launch into a sweary rant, but the coach supervising the defensive training section just gave him a warning glare and he backed off. `Go cool down, Maguire,’ snapped the assistant manager curtly from behind an iPad and a big duffle coat, a picture of cool composure compared to the red-faced over-working defensive giant. Maguire nodded his reluctant agreement, but knew it was right: he couldn’t kick for shite this afternoon, he was just too tensed up, too restless. He backed off from the square of grass, scuffing his training shoes against the turf, and jogged onto the sidelines, away from it. But before heading in, he turned to survey the lads for a moment, and felt the one notable absence from the training squad here before him: Luke Shaw. Since the veritable orgy in Shaw’s flat, they had not spoken a word other than some grunted communication on the pitch in the days immediately after. And now, Lukey boy was AWOL. Well, not AWOL, as such: he had been granted some `rest’ for illness, apparently, but disappeared completely from Old Trafford, with such mysterious suddenness that Harry had heard a few other blokes bleating about the transfer window. For fuck’s sake. At first, Harry had been so riled, so threatened by Luke’s outburst, that he’d wanted a total frosty silence. But in the past couple of days he’d nudged a few innocuous messages Luke’s way, and attempted a couple of calls. All ignored. Well, if that was how the moody prick wanted to play it… And yet, fetching his jacket from the sidelines, Harry reached into a pocket and discreetly slid out his smartphone to… Nope, no fucking response from the grumpy bitch. What was the problem? Things had been getting so fun and intense, and… He shrugged it off, determined not to lose his cool at this pointless cold shoulder, this sudden cut-off from what had become such a major source of pleasure, such an outlet for all his energies. The other lads were trooping in and filing past him now. Training ending early? Clearly he wasn’t the only one off his game, then. Well, there was a LOT of pressure right now. The team were hardly failing, but United and its fans had high, HIGH standards, and talk of a managerial sacking was rife to say the least. As a relative newbie, Harry felt the pressure even more intensely, so it was no wonder he felt so agitated and aggressive this afternoon. Nothing to do with Luke Shaw! Here came the youngsters � tall gangly Mason Greenwood trailing by in the middle of some private joke with his mate and fellow teenager Brandon Williams, the two chuckling and punching at each other as they left the training pitch. Pulling his jacket on over his long-sleeved shirt, Harry veered their way, half a mind to get some action out of tall handsome Mason, but… The teen strolled on without even looking at him. Greenwood too had been blanking him for the past week, since `date night’. Which was ridiculous. Mason had come there of his own volition, excited by the invite, and his overreaction to his own behaviour was just… daft. But fuck him. Well, there was Dan James over there. Harry fell into step at his side and reached for his elbow a little indiscreetly. `Hey,’ he growled haltingly at the much shorter curly-haired youngster, but Dan just turned and gave him an edgy, fight-or-flight kinda look. `Slow down a sec, lad…’ `I need to move,’ was all Daniel muttered back to him, pulling his arm free, `I’ve got a date this evening… my girlfriend’s birthday, so…’ He stumbled a bit over the word girlfriend and Harry wanted to let out a mocking hoot of a laugh there and then. He was picturing himself ploughing the Welsh wonderkid on a sofa. Where was his fucking girlfriend then? The hypocrisy of the thought hovered on the edge of Maguire’s mindset, but he just snarled and let go and rolled his eyes. These fucking moody little lads, all scared off by his dominance. The 6’4 beast of a Yorkshireman dawdled his way inside towards the changing rooms, and diverted his path, too agitated now to face the manly company of the changing room. He veered instead for the gym, thinking that putting a bit more work in there could be a good distraction and make up for his dogshit performance back there on the field. He swept his way into the sparkling clean gym suite on the first floor, expecting to have it to himself, sweat streaming down his bare lower legs and cloying at his top and shorts. He threw his jacket onto a peg and decided to go shirtless in the heat of the room, and was just turning to idly check out his own physique in the wall of mirrors when he realised he was not the only person with this idea. A young lad was working on the weight machines at the far end, shaggy blond hair bouncing and messing as they tugged inexpertly on some lifts… Aha, it was Mason’s fucking pal, Brandon Williams, who had been strolling in chuckling away with that dodgy young prick not five minutes ago. So skinny lad Williams was after some muscle, was he? Harry turned back to where he’d hung his jacket, and slapped his sweaty training top atop it too, thinking it might be good to have an audience while he gave some attention to his chest and muscle shoulders today. But as he did so, his eyes fell through the windows out onto the training field, and that nagging absence hit him once more. Where the fuck was Luke Shaw? The taxi from the airport to the hotel buzzed with French pop music, and Luke was glad of the language barrier preventing much forced chat with his driver. He stared out of the window at the streets of Marseilles, the special bleak beauty of a coastal city in the middle of winter. The journey felt long, though he’d been at his family home only this morning, and at the airport leaving London only a couple of hours ago. His overthinking was dragging everything out, as it had done for days now. Reaching the hotel, he stepped out of the taxi, dressed simply in grey joggers and a big thick hoody, pulling the hood up a bit and adjusting his unnecessary sunglasses as he let the driver help him with his small case. He wasn’t sure how recognisable he was on the streets of the French coast, but he could do without any fan or media attention at the moment, and this was a pretty expensive retreat he was turning up at. This escape would be worth every pound the overpriced room had cost him, and the last-minute flight. He slid a big tip to the driver and lugged his small case over the cobbled square in front of the grand old hotel, and into its plush ground floor reception. Luke’s sketchy GCSE French served him well enough as he checked in and navigated some half-understood small talk with the kind middle-aged lady at reception, and soon he had keys in his hand. But a buzz of his phone and a hasty text message told him to visit the hotel bar first of all. He gladly complied, leaving his things with a bellboy and wandering through into the rear of the ground floor, where a spacious bar and restaurant area overlooked the sea through huge floor-to-ceiling windows. And at one of the small two-seater tables at these windows, his companion was waiting for him. Memphis Depay waved a hand of greeting. The handsome, skinheaded Dutchman was reclining in a green leather seat, his crutches propped by the window, wearing a summery looking Hawaiian shirt and pair of jogger shorts, one knee all bandaged up from his recent operation. The invalid footballer grinned as Luke slowly, nervously approached, mersin escort and leaned down to give him a hug of greeting. `How you doing, you cripple…’ `All the better for seeing you, my good man… sit down, sit down… How was the flight? Now let’s order a drink � and you can tell me all about Harry fucking Maguire.’ A big, comforting smile spread on those soft lips, lighting up dark eyes. Luke melted before them, and nodded his head with a sad, wistful frown. `Don’t worry,’ Harry told the 19-year-old, poised behind him to support the weedier arms quivering beneath the free weights, `this will get easier if you work at it… and you’ll definitely broaden out in the next few years, aye… That’s it…’ The 5’7 defender stood proudly in front of him, doing his best to lift weights that Maguire could have treated with ease, but were challenging to the petite, wiry lad. Harry watched his reflected frame in the mirror, noting smugly how he towered over Brandon, enjoying the size dynamic, and the musty sweat lifting off both their bared torsos. It hadn’t taken Williams long to copy off him and remove his own shirt, so they were both stood in only the thigh-hugging training shorts and slightly longer under-armour lycra. `That’s enough for ya,’ Harry grunted, releasing the weight from Brandon’s slightly tembling grips, and lugging them aside to the rack. `For now.’ He turned his attention back to his afternoon protegee, who was shaking sore limbs but beaming gratefully at his reflection. `Cheers for the help, Harry,’ Brandon said with his usual eagerness. `That was such a good sesh.’ No, it was short and pathetically easy, Harry corrected internally, but he just flashed a benevolent smile and slapped a hand onto one of Brandon’s bare, sweaty shoulders and squeezed it. `Aye, it was,’ he agreed softly, `it’s good to hang out with you, actually. We haven’t spoken much, considering we’re both on the defence…’ The young lad carried on, chatting away in a rambling stream, but Harry ignored him, largely, turning him about by the shoulder, and taking in his slim, boyish build, his mop of hair, his big smile. That dirty blond hair, the trusting eyes, something about it reminded him of- `So we should go get changed, join the others,’ Brandon interrupted, seeming to have reached the end of his enthusiastic monologue now. `Hmm? Oh, yeh… maybe.’ Brandon smiled at him with a hint of bewilderment in his open young face. Harry looked at him with more cynical measure, and stroked his bare shoulder again, letting his own well-built chest muscles rise and fall for a moment. He let his hand slide along the shoulder-blade to cup Brandon’s neck a little bit, and the younger player frowned. `Harry?’ `Hmm? Oh. Nothing.’ `Right.’ Brandon pulled away a little bit from the stroking touch, his little nipples like bullets at the unexpected intimacy. Harry watched them idly and licked his dry lips. `Unless…’ `Unless?’ The young right-back was giving him a curious, trusting look, and a wicked grin spread over his own features. `Is it just me,’ Harry grunted quietly, `or does working out get you really fuckin’ horny…?’ `I just don’t know where I am with him,’ Luke admitted. They weren’t in the hotel bar any more � two cocktails there, and they had made their slow way up to his room for him to get properly settled in and dump his bag. It had been strange having to prop up injured, recovering Depay on the way to the lift, and the Dutchman was now sprawled out on the double bed propped up on pillows, drinking a room service cocktail like some sort of movie star, following the two rounds of martinis they’d already enjoyed down by the sea views. Luke glanced over at Memphis in the middle of shoving his few changes of clothes onto a shelf and stashing the bulky little case by this unit, then turned back towards the bed properly. `I just think he’s fucking with my head.’ It was difficult, confiding in his good friend Memphis, now he was here. For a start, he didn’t feel he could bring Greenwood or James into this: their privacy was their own issue, he felt, and outing their experimenting to someone they’d never met felt so wrong. But he had strongly implied there were other players involved, and as usual, he was impressed by Memphis and his casual attitude, not asking any awkward questions about what Luke chose to withhold. He was such a good listener, this bloke, so calm and patient. And yet telling the story, trying to get his emotions out there, was still so very difficult: because some of these things were hard for him to tell even himself at the moment. Memphis nodded slowly, and patted the spacious bed beside him. It had been Depay to suggest this trip, Luke reflected, as he clambered over and onto the bedding. He’d text Memph during a real low evening, soon after the foursome in his flat, and the invite had been immediate. Depay was recovering from knee surgery, totally out of action for months ahead, and had come down to the coast for a little post-festive break whilst getting used to his slower pace: Luke had almost immediately booked into this same spa hotel, and faked whatever illness he could to get signed off by the team medics. And now here he was, seeking comfort in another country. `You can’t let these things get to you,’ Memphis told him softly, spreading one muscular arm as if for a hug, and Luke climbed up to rest against it. `You’ve been enjoying yourself, I suppose � but do not get too worked up. Do not… rely on this man.’ `I don’t,’ Luke protested weakly. `It’s just…’ `Your feelings for him are strong,’ Memphis said quietly but firmly. `You’re letting them take over. You need to be careful. He sounds… dangerous.’ `He isn’t dangerous, he’s just…’ `Very much in control?’ Depay said, cynically. `Watch out for yourself, Luke. But you enjoy… playing with him.’ Luke nodded quietly, reclining into the warm hold of the relaxed invalid, still in his thick hoody and jogging bottoms. `You enjoy it so much you’re letting him own you. Not good.’ `But he’s just so…’ Luke didn’t know how to finish that, how to explain the emotions or just desires that had so totally entranced him in these recent weeks. He looked self-pityingly at his mate and then away, and sighed. `I can’t explain it, mate. I really can’t.’ `You’re not falling in love with him,’ Memphis put it bluntly. `You’re just in love with his cock.’ Luke stared at him and let out a laugh of surprise at the frankness of the accusation, and perhaps its accuracy. He blushed and giggled and leant more into his friend’s warm arm and chest muscles, and shook his head. `It isn’t that simple,’ he muttered. `Well, you know what is simple?’ Memphis said, in more of a whisper now. `Er… what?’ `His need for you,’ Memphis said, in a matter-of-fact little voice. Both lads turned their heads a bit to face each other properly in the lounging, intimate hold on Luke’s hotel bed. Luke met his eyes with a quizzical impression, losing track of the dialogue a bit. `Well, of course he needs you. You give better head than 99% of girls out there, that’s for sure.’ Luke blushed crimson and laughed more openly and didn’t hold back as his eyes scanned automatically over the half-open Hawaiian shirt, the glimpse of Depay’s chest, the swollen front of his shorts below, the hint of underpants peeking out. He looked uncertainly back to the placid, thoughtful look on Memphis’ face. On the flight here, he had dared to hope that… `You say that to all the boys,’ Shaw quipped with an anxious smirk. `There’s only you, buddy,’ Memphis promised quietly. `I’m not trying to… pressure you, or take advantage, or anything… I invited you here to make sure you’re okay, that’s all. Don’t get the wrong message, my friend.’ Luke’s heart sank a bit at this comment: was he misinterpreting the intimacy? `I’m not Harry,’ Memphis said quite clearly. `I’m not going to make you my… toy.’ `No,’ Luke agreed, comparing the pair of escort mersin beautiful men in his head, `you’re really not like him… But…’ He sighed and stretched his arm a bit, and rested his hand at that glimpse of waistband between the shirt and shorts. `I flew out here just to see you. So if it was that good, then…’ He licked his lips, more out of nervousness than seduction, and watched the smile broaden on Depay’s features. `It really was.’ Memphis mirrored his behaviour and slowly, seductively, licked his lips. Luke let out a shaky sigh, and let his excitement well up properly. `Then let’s get those shorts off, Mr D. It’s been a long journey for this.’ The two excited United defenders, little and large, were sat side by side on the free weight benches, propped up at a 45 degree angle, positioned in front of the mirrors, working their biceps, but not using any weights other than the dicks clutched in their hands. It was madly fucking risky, but Maguire had given his false assurances to the impressionable teen, about how unlikely anyone would come here, how they’d hear them in advance, how everything would be okay… it was probably true, but who could say? Harry lay comfortably on his back, shorts and designer briefs about his ankles, resting against his socks and trainers, legs spread just enough to let him enjoy a lazy, comfortable wank, his arms tensed as she tugged up and down on his majestic prick. He’d seen the shock and envy in Brandon’s eyes when he got it out and got it hard, and he was loving seeing it twice, in his hand and in the mirror opposite of them. To his left, Brandon was laid a little less comfortably, still propping himself up a bit on one elbow and repeatedly darting his attention down the room to the closed doors, whilst he pulled energetically on his younger, slighter cock, rising up between his quivering thighs and tensed, very visible six pack. His hair was a tangled mess and sweat streaked his flushed, excited, nervous face. `This is mad,’ he hissed across the narrow space between them. `You do this a lot??’ `What, wank?’ `No… I mean… like, in here, or…’ `First time. But yeh… it’s fuckin’ dirty, innit?’ `Yeh… god, I’m so horny…’ Maguire smiled patiently at the novelty in Williams’ voice and face, and flexed his left arm a bit to reach over and pat the lad’s own slender bicep for a moment. `You just enjoy yourself, lad,’ he grumbled at him with a little groan of self-pleasure. He slowed his own wanking to watch Brandon’s furious, over-excited jerking, his feet twitching, his tightly muscle legs pushing into the ground to steady his body on the bench as he went for it. Then, sensing the moment was right, Harry pulled a bit more on the lad’s bicep, until his right hand slipped away from his quivering 6-incher. Brandon shot him a questioning look. `Here,’ Harry grunted, `have a go at mine…’ Brandon’s thick dark eyebrows rose in alarm as his hand was pulled over, and he jerked away weakly for a moment. `Hah… mate… you kidding, or…?’ `Go on,’ Maguire grunted more forcefully, but relaxing his pulling grip on that weaker arm, letting his dark eyes do the more intense work, staring at Williams and then at their reflections, and then at his own throbbing erection. `Just give us a hand for a moment, it’s no big deal…’ `Is it not?’ Brandon asked uncertainly. Harry laughed gently, pushed his arm a bit, and felt the 19-year-old’s uncertain hand fall against his shaft, and the fingers ever so gently close about his length. He closed his own strong hand over Brandon’s to control his grip and guide it in a long, slow stroke of the shaft. `It’s cool, right?’ he murmured into the sweaty air. `Totally chill… just give it a go…’ Luke was so much more confident now with his lips on Memphis’ thick mocha monster, none of the nervous gestures of that first blowjob in a very different hotel room. Stripped to the waist, he crouched on the bed on all fours, bobbing his head up and down and working the man’s throbbing rigid shaft with lips and tongue, those big strong thighs, one strapped up with bandages, looming either side of him. Depay’s groans were slow, soft, appreciative, not the grunts of a dominant beast, just the appreciation of a loving friend. Luke felt his fingers slowly massaging at his scalp and down the back of his head, and onto his bare shoulders. Licking his tongue across the top of the dick like it was a lollipop, Luke allowed his eyes to take in the exposed canvas of Depay’s tattooed six pack and pecs, and the affectionately smiling face beyond them. He panted, licked his lips properly, and went back to it, licking back down and nuzzling the heavy loaded balls. `Mm, buddy… you enjoying that?’ `Yes,’ Luke said hoarsely through a mouthful of ball, `yes I am…’ He lapped at the bollocks with his tongue then lifted his head again to take the cock in, and felt Memphis’ massaging fingers return to his aching shoulders in a soft, caring stroke. He was practically drooling his hunger. His own cock was aching in his joggers now, he was so turned on. This was… different. Then, to his surprise, Depay pulled his cock away from him, as if banning him from that special delight, and Luke worried he’d overstepped it with the ball-tonguing � he thought it was all over, but Memphis was smiling fondly at him, an almost… curious?… look in his wide eyes. `I want to see if I’m anywhere near as skilled as you are, friend.’ Luke stared at him, taking a dumb moment or two to really calculate what this meant. And then his cock, strapped down by boxers and joggers, ached him into epiphany. No way… He sat up a little, leaning on the other guy’s shins, and murmured out his eagerness. `What…? Well… if you really want to… erm…’ `I’m just not so agile right now,’ Depay chuckled in a slow, thoughtful voice. ’69?’ Again, it took dazed Luke a few moments to really take the slang on board, and then he nodded his head in silent astonishment. `Oh god… yes…’ Stroke by stroke, Brandon Williams got that bit more certain of what he was doing. Harry could see the doubts linger in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but it was clear the skinny lad was enjoying the challenge, the newness of it, and his smooth hand felt great on the cock. Harry reached over and slid his fingers into the sweaty tangle of Brandon’s hair as he panted his approval, looking down the glossy length of his big body at the increasing rhythm of hand and cock. `Yes, lad,’ he groaned, `that’s good… Go on Brandon… fuck…’ He reached his own long powerful arm down Brandon’s trembling front to find his cock, and gave it a gentle squeeze, enjoying the shaky yelp of pleasure from his latest submissive pal. He gave a few lazy tugs of the tight pink prick, then gave up, enjoying himself too much, and dragged his heavy fingers back up that lean, toned body. `Yes… buddy… now your lips…’ He cradled his hand encouragingly around the back of Brandon’s head and pushed softly forward. `What? No!’ Williams said bluntly, hand still jerking rapidly on his mighty cock. `That’s… gay…’ Harry felt a flare of anger, and pushed a bit more, but the wiry teenager resisted him, and frankly, hand on dick, he had the control � Harry was in too much pleasure now to force his hand, to take control as part of him darkly wanted, as he’d begun to do with Luke or with Dan, or… He looked at the fierce determination on Brandon’s face, that restless anger coming back to him. He wanted lips, not fingers, on his dick as it climbed towards climax. He pushed again a bit, but Brandon glared at him. `Stop it,’ he snapped at him more forcefully, `I ain’t doing that, mate…’ Harry grunted defeat, and remembered with clarity who this was, not the OTHER lad… He felt himself growing close, and tightened his big body in anticipation, feeling Brandon’s hand sliding up and down, feeling his balls tighten and tingle. Oh god. `Yes baby,’ he breathed out mersin escort bayan suddenly. `Yes… Mm, that is good… Oh god, LUKE…’ And then he was cumming, spurting two days’ load out of his cock in a jet of white heat, down the slick sweaty fur of his thighs. He gasped, opened his eyes, still shaking with orgasm, and saw the confusion on Brandon’s face as the lad leant towards him, hand limply on the base of his throbbing shaft. What had he done? He’d said… Oh shit. `Brandon,’ he moaned quickly in pathetic self-correction, but he saw the dawning realisation on Williams’ young face. `Shaw?’ mumbled the teen. `What? Fuck off…’ Harry stared at the furrowed brows on the blank young face, and felt a sudden anger at it all: at his own unstoppable desires and what they’d made him do, and that it was this random young twat at his side, not… HIM. He lashed out with his left arm, elbowing Brandon in the face momentarily, and thrusting the leaning figure away from him on the benches so Williams rolled aside and onto the rough carpeted floor of the gym. `Get yer hand off my dick,’ Harry snapped in his most aggressive tone, sitting sharply up. Brandon struggled up, shorts about his knees, his own hard-on still bouncing, and gave Maguire a look of total bewilderment. `What? Mate, you �` `Back the fuck off,’ Harry yelled at him. For a moment, he looked at the hurt face, the scruffy hair, the innocent expectation, and it really could have been Luke Shaw staring up at him from the woodland floor. But no, it was a totally different bloke, another teammate he’d led astray in his insatiable thirst for control. Luke was on his hands and knees facing down the bed, and if his mouth wasn’t so full, he’d be screaming with pleasure. Whilst he hunkered down on his elbows, sucking off Memphis upside down, mouthing that fat cock-head hungrily, his bare body hung inches over the other man’s more defined musculature. His arse was poking up in the air to the headboard, and beneath his hips, Memphis was tonguing inexpertly but incredibly at his own aching boner, occasionally sliding his lips about it more properly, then pulling back down its length, and kissing at the swollen pink head. Every now and then, one or other of the two friends turned lovers had to stop, pulling away from the throbbing erection at their mouth, just to gasp and groan and yelp some eager encouragement to the other. `Oh Memph… that feels so good… oh…’ `Lukey… even better than I remembered…’ `Oh shit, baby…’ `Mmm, you hungry fucker, suck me… suck me like you suck that big twat Harry…’ And then Memphis started slipping into Dutch again, too excited and intense to remember his English, and Luke knew his friend was close. He sped up, tightening his mouth on the shaft and ducking up and down, up and down, mechanical in his speed and rhythm. He felt less confident Memphis give up on his first blowjob and just wank him from below, and another hand slapping gently at his exposed backside. Oh god, he was close… so close… The men came in almost perfect unison: Memphis firing his hot Dutch load onto Luke’s hungry tongue, and Luke’s seed spattering the other guy’s firm, inked pecs. They both groaned and cried and writhed in 69 position, and then Luke flopped to the side and onto his back. Lying at opposite angles, the panting, groaning footballers reached out and their hands met in a gentle squeeze, and they stared up into the ceiling. Brandon scampered out of the training gym like some scared animal, still yanking his shorts back up over his plump young behind as he made it the doors, and adjusting the training shirt he’d accidentally dragged on back to front. The short bloke turned, head over shoulder, and looked angrily across the well-lit room, Harry’s way. `You’re fuckin’ mental, pal,’ he dared to call in a loud whisper. `Dunno what the fuck that was!’ And Williams was off, hurrying across the landing, leaving Harry stood alone at the far end of the gym, briefs pulled up but shorts around his knees. He reached down and yanked them up too, his wet aching cock pushed safely into these confines, sweat trickling down the rest of him, chest heaving a bit with climax and with restless fury. Who did that stupid kid think he was? Still, he wasn’t gonna fucking tell anyone, was he? He’d just sat there and wanked a bloke off with the slightest encouragement, the stupid bitch. Harry tensed his arms and bunched his hands into fists again, and turned to find where he’d hung his shirt and jacket, and � He paused, catching sight of his hulk-like barely suppressed anger in the gym mirror wall, seeing the conflict in his eyes and all over his face. For a second, he thought he saw a second figure in the reflection beside him. Dirty blond, bearded face, sparkling eyes, nervous smile, Luke fucking Sh- Harry tightened one fist and swung it at the mirror panel. His punch shattered the pane in one blow, and he felt the sting of its shards stab and slice his knuckles. He pulled back with a grunt of pain as the mirror shards glittered noisily to the floor and cradled his suddenly throbbing hand regretfully. He stared at his jagged reflection in what remained of the mirror: What the fuck was he becoming? The freestanding bathtub of the luxury hotel room was big, but not as big as it looked. Or not quite big enough for two adult men to sit in, without becoming a tangle of hairy limbs and occasionally brushing crotches, lying facing each other in a haze of bubbles. Luke was a bit hunched, self conscious about his body compared to Memphis’ physique, and still a bit overwhelmed at how they had whiled away the late afternoon, sucking each other off twice, he swallowing two of Depay’s loads, and his own seed staining most of the hunk’s torso at some point in the session. `This is just fun,’ Memphis had assured him quietly, as they ran the bath. `We are just very good friends, you know? I don’t want you to think it is…’ But Luke had cut him off with reassurances. And they were true. He didn’t feel the same possessive lust here, as beautiful and exciting as Memphis was. He knew how deep the connection between them was, and he could accept it. Perhaps fun like this would never happen between them again, and that was okay. He smiled across the bubble bath at his injured, tattooed friend (lover?), feeling that surge of affection for the open-minded Dutchman. `I’m talking to my agent,’ Luke said, after a few minutes’ silence. `About a transfer. You know? Anywhere but Manchester, perhaps. Anywhere away from… him.’ Depay looked at him for a long moment in a measured way. `Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ The hunk swirled his fingers in the bubbles for a while. `You LOVE that team. You love that city! I don’t think running away just because of some big giant with a stupidly big dick is…’ `But it’s getting so tense,’ Luke said, aware he sounded a little bit pathetic. `You need to assert yourself,’ Memphis advised him quietly. `This isn’t the Luke I know and love. You are a tough defender, a warrior on the field. Since when do you run scared from a… tackle?’ Luke smiled at this perspective, though it felt so untrue to his submissive behaviour in the past month. `He is a bully, by the sound of it,’ Memphis went on. `I don’t think that’s fair…’ `He just wants to control everyone around him. And so what do you do to bullies, Shaw?’ Depay grinned over the water. `You stand up to them.’ Luke met his gaze then stared moodily into the bubbles, letting this soak in. `But…’ `No buts, my good friend,’ Memphis told him in a voice of confidence. `You, my friend, are too good for this. Too good to run away, too good to be… used. You need to show him who you are. And if he wants any more from you, then he will treat you well. And if not, he can fuck off.’ Memphis reached a hand over and stroked his knee softly. `Does that make sense?’ Luke nodded, and relaxed further into the bubbles, letting the words play over in his mind. `Yes,’ he said, half to himself, `yes it does.’ He needed to show Harry that he would not just be his bitch, his toy. He wasn’t like that, he had more to him. And if Maguire really wanted anything from him, something would have to change.
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