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premiership-lads-96

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Subject: Premiership Lads part 96: Young Love? Part ninety-six: Young Love? The hills rolled ahead of them down to meet the Thames and the fringes of the capital were visible on a darkening horizon to the north and east. In nearby trees, birds felt thunderously loud. Was there song so much more strident since human activity chilled, or was it all in the imagination? Was Mason Mount just paying more attention to these noises because there was so much less to listen to or focus on in this suspended world? Or, and he berated himself for even holding the thought for a moment, was he hearing the twittering song because he was a young man in love? The 21-year-old Chelsea player felt a little blush rise in his cheeks even at the moment’s private reflection, lowering his eyes as he picked his trainered feet down the sloping path after his friend and host. Mason dug his hands into the pockets of his thin overshirt to stop them fidgeting and concentrated on the gentle walk ahead. A few paces down the path, bounding along with the confidence of someone who’d rambled out here a lot in his youth, Declan Rice led the way, and looked over his shoulder with a big friendly grin. `You okay back there?’ the taller 21-year-old Londoner asked in a bright voice. `All good,’ Mason assured him quickly, returning the smile and picking his steps carefully as the path steepened back into the river valley in the Surrey hills. He leant a hand to the rocky rise to his left and then hopped along after his old pal, glad when the path began to level out again and their evening stroll wound towards flatter ground. Declan flashed him another enthusiastic grin and marched on, ever the leader. The 6ft1 strapping defender strode along in the thin fleece he’d pulled on over his tshirt, close-fitting chino shorts hugging his thighs and behind as he walked. Mason wandered after him, his own loose footy shorts rustling between his legs and the old retro Chelsea top beneath his light jacket making him feel like they were a pair of teenagers on their way home for some curfew from one or other set of parents. Because he’d been close to Declan for so long in their youth careers, he actually felt even younger around him, whereas at Chelsea he was mixing with men in their late 20s and 30s and trying to look all serious and professional. This, even this evening, was playful and light, melting away form the stresses of the Premiership. Yes, staying with the Rices was working out well; he certainly couldn’t have stuck it out in his South London flat, not on his own, and whilst he frequently missed his close family down in Portsmouth, he supposed that might have been too much of a good thing. Staying with Dec’s family here on the edge of London, just beyond their native Kingston and the boundaries of the capital, was actually ideal. He loved the big old house they owned and the rambling garden, the tiny village it clung to and the country walks it offered the lads. And the family, who always treated him as one of their own, were great company — they swung casually between cosy closeness and family games nights with homecooked food, to a comfortable distance where he and Dec could hang out and have their own space. Their own space, he thought wistfully. What had he expected from lockdown with his best mate…? Well, he’d definitely had some expectations, and he didn’t feel a total idiot for that. After all, they’d been up in Dec’s East London attic when the question was asked, the air smelling faintly of laddish sweat and fresh cum. He didn’t think it was totally ignorant of him to take the invite as a little more than friendship. And it wasn’t that there hadn’t been a BIT of… well, that stuff. On his first night at the Rice house, he’d been in the bathroom brushing his teeth before bed, tipsy from a long evening meal with Declan’s immediate family, when the taller lad had crept in and stood there behind him at the mirror. Declan had reached a scooping hand into the front of Mason’s baggy pyjama bottoms, took him in hand and stroked him until he shot his load, there and then. It had been an almost magical moment for Mount, faintly terrified they might be interrupted but also delighted by the touch and closeness and staining his PJs with his sticky seed. He’d just been about to grab at his friend’s crotch when Declan pulled away with a breathy `goodnight’ and they went to their separate bedrooms. `God, look at that view,’ called Rice. `Fucking beauty.’ Mason agreed quietly and caught up with him in a few steps, joining him at the ridge. There had been other nights when Mason had felt bold; it had taken him nearly a week to dare it but he’d waited until the house was silent then crept out of his bed and padded down the corridor in just undies and dressing gown, and knocked ever-so-gently on the door of Rice’s childhood bedroom, which still had a childishly illustrated poster on it advertising `DEC’S ROOM, KEEP OUT!’ Dec had opened the door to him with a wry grin in the dark and in he’d gone, and sucked the tall rugged lad off on the bed, noshing until he was swallowing drops of salty goodness. Afterwards, stroking and cuddling for a few minutes, he’d tremulously said that he supposed he should return to `his’ room, because they had to be careful; Rice had passively agreed, not the pleading `Stay until…’ or whatever that Mason had secretly hoped for. `Takes the edge off being shut down in quarantine,’ Declan said, half to himself. `I know things are terrible but… I’m so happy we can get out walking and that it’s such a beautiful fucking spring, right?’ Mason enjoyed the mix of his poetic nature and his gruff, macho voice and the deeply masculine figure he cut against the romantic sunset. `Totally,’ he said. `And… I’m really fucking glad I can be here, you know, with you…’ He added, `and your family’ after a few moments’ pause, when the hoped-for response failed to materialise in the twilight air between them. In other moments, physical contact had slipped into their age-old habits in a way that felt silly but also special: lounged on couches in the games room at the back of the Rice house, thrashing each other alternatingly at FIFA, banter of teenage years surfacing in their playful competition. But then, new to the scene, one of them stuffing a hand in the front of the other’s Adidas trackies and groping at the winner’s prick in some quiet acknowledgement of victory and lust. Mutual handjobs late in the afternoon while the rest of the house were out walking, neither taking their dick out but just pulling the other football lad off until their undies were messy and they giggled their way to their separate rooms to get changed. `We should head back,’ Declan said, almost sadly. `It won’t stay light for long now.’ `Don’t wanna get lost out here,’ Mason chuckled. `Well, not in shorts.’ `Yeh, still be cold at night.’ `I’m sure you’d look after me though, huh?’ `Hah, yeh… I’d try. You daft mug.’ Big foolish grin on his craggy features. `Shall we take a selfie while we’re here, though?’ Then there were the times where it felt like Declan was actively avoiding him. Just two days ago, the house had become `theirs’ for most of the afternoon; between a supermarket run and a literal 10k run, the others had been knowingly away for some time, and it was just the two 21-year-old Premiership stars bouncing about the house on their own. `Dunno what we’ll do with ourselves,’ Mason had joked in the porch, scuffing his heels on stone floor and watching Dec’s parents drive off onto the country road. And what had Rice done? He’d pulled out a thick thriller novel he was in the middle of and gone to the bottom of the garden in a decidedly private manner, leaving Mason to skulk the cool quiet house on his own, more sexually frustrated than he remembered ever being once in his adult life. Declan was bashful and begrudging about the selfie; he hated being photographed, Mason knew, but he couldn’t help but feel mersin escort it was the close, pally nature of the selfie that really made him cringe and colour once it was over, turning to lead their way back over the hills and towards the village they currently called home. Mason lingered at the photo-spot, looking form the view to the image on his phone. He sighed with a kind of petty longing, decided against a social media post, attached it to a friendly little message instead. `just out for nice evening walk 2nyt m8, hope ur ok up there!’ He missed Barkley, the comforting brooding silence of his presence, the easy humour that had developed between him and the more experienced midfielder in their shared time at Chelsea. Ross, for one thing, would know what to do about these persistent messages and oddly-timed missed calls from Frank Lampard, that was for sure! The Chelsea manager had been notably AWOL from Mount’s life for a while after their telephone run-in and the minor disciplinary letter for initially breaking social isolation rules. But in the past week or so, he’d had a string of thirsty messages from his manager that excited and unnerved him all at once. He was too embarrassed to ask Declan what to do about them, because really acknowledging the moments of homoerotic fun that littered their days together seemed a silently agreed taboo. They could touch each other’s pricks and make each other cum, but not have a fucking conversation about what any of that meant…? `Are you coming, or staying up there all evening, mate?’ called Rice, further down the path. `Just taking it in!’ Mason shouted, and sped after him. The path wound back up steeply again, crested the hill, then curved down through patchy woodland and between two bigger sloping tors, then into the lower land where the villages and suburbs began. The fading daylight became more apparent as soon as the two casually dressed walkers were dipping beneath patches of tree cover and dragging their feet through the rustling undergrowth. Mason found himself instinctively pulling closer to Declan out of some long-held distrust of the countryside dark, glad of his tall sturdy best mate as dusk really settled. No answer from Ross the Boss, he noted silently, checking his phone. `You’re never off that thing,’ Declan remarked suddenly. There was a touch of annoyance in his voice, Mason thought, and it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it this week. Odd little comments, mundane but needlessly harsh, kept springing up from Dec to Mase, and he really wasn’t sure what had brought them on. It had certainly put him off sneaking across bedrooms any night this week, that was for sure. `Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,’ Mason said gently, pushing the phone into a pocket and buttoning up his overshirt as they walked. After a few resentful moments, he thought aloud in a provoking tone: `You know, I’ve been thinking I might move on down to Portsmouth after all, actually. All things considered.’ Declan was walking just a stride ahead and to his left and so he couldn’t see his facial reaction, but his voice sounded monotone and distant when he answered. `If you need to,’ Rice said. `It would be good for you to see your fam.’ Again, not the answer he’d hoped for. `Yeah, I think they miss me a lot,’ Mount told him. `Well, in that case, do what you got to do,’ Declan said casually. Mason couldn’t hold in his thoughts, having not really meant to make the petty manipulative gambit of this suggestion in the first place. `For fuck’s sake then,’ he burst out, stopping in his tracks, `I’ll just go tonight then, will I?’ He saw Declan turn immediately, eyebrows raised, staring at him in confusion. Mason felt immediately churlish and daft but he also felt fucked off and sick of his best mate’s hot-and-cold signals. `That would be a bit odd,’ Rice eventually replied, his voice kinda strained. `Odd, yeh, but you wouldn’t be bothered,’ Mount said, unable to stop the accusing whine in his voice. `You wouldn’t really mind, yeh? If I just went away again?’ He saw the gawping bewilderment on his tall friend’s face and knew he was behaving like a total dickhead. He felt like his face had gone beetroot. He made to move forward but as he did so, Rice snatched his wrist. `What’s going on here, pal?’ the West Ham centre-back demanded quietly. Mason tried to pull his arm back but the grip was tight and they tussled aimlessly. Then, with a surprising force, Rice grabbed his other arm, just below the shoulder, and pushed him sharply back into the nearest tree, a thin birch which rattled and shed a few fresh green leaves at the sudden blow. Mount gawped, taken aback by the sudden force, and seeing an irritation to match his own on Declan’s frowning face. `Jesus, that hurt,’ Mason snapped, throwing Declan’s hands off him but remaining between the taller player and the tree trunk. `I’m sorry I fucking spoke-` `Why would you leave? Aren’t you happy staying here?’ Rice demanded. `It’s been lovely-` `Then what’s got you acting like a right bitch tonight?’ `Oh fuck off, Dec. You know it’s been weird, it ain’t just me.’ Rice opened his mouth but failed to speak. `Yeh,’ he agreed at last, `but…’ They stood there, painfully close but not actually touching, the fiery bands of sunset light rippling down on them between the canopy above. Declan leaned in closer as if a kiss or a hug might be a remote possibility, then pulled his body back, ungainly and awkward all of a sudden. Mason relaxed his posture against the tree and willed his blushing cheeks to cool down. `I don’t get it,’ he admitted with ferocious honesty. `I thought there was… I dunno. I thought we might… do stuff.’ `We’ve done… stuff.’ `Yeh, a bit, but…’ `What kinda stuff were you thinking?!’ `You KNOW what kinda stuff.’ Tense silence. Mason was shocked at his own blunt demands, not quite explicit, but meaningful. He was confused by how hurt and angry Rice looked, when a sort of cool disinterest had seemed the dominant feeling from the other footballer whenever they were alone together. They looked away from each other and hung their arms awkwardly at their sides, pacing forward on the path then slowing and stopping again, neither able to form the words they wanted to say. Eventually, touch did the work for them; Declan grabbed at his arm, less aggressively, and pulled him into a silent cuddle. Mason shivered at the tenderness of it and folded into those lean strong arms. He rested against the warmth of Declan’s chest, aware of the inches between their heights. `I guess I just thought this would be summat else,’ he said shyly. `I was daft.’ Declan held onto him loosely and met his eyes. `I don’t get you. I don’t get this.’ Mason was worried he might embarrass himself by crying so he just pouted and frowned. `I was daft, that’s all, I got into my head that we might…’ `I’ve tried my best,’ Declan said hotly. `That first night — you’d been so quiet all the way down on the drive, barely spoke through dinner, barely LOOKED at me, so I…’ He waved a free hand and squeezed Mason’s upper arm gently. `I thought if I wanked you off in the bathroom I might get something out of you, but you just looked frightened so I left you… I left my door open, and nothing.’ Mason stared at him and blinked. `You… I mean, I never noticed that, but I just…’ He thought back to that first night here. `I barely spoke because I felt like an intruder, mate, things felt so mad in the whole of the UK and I was in trouble with Lamps, and… Mate, I wasn’t frightened, well maybe a bit, but only cos I thought someone might walk in and…’ `And couldn’t you tell how much I loved those nighttime blowies?’ Rice hissed embarrassedly. `Didn’t you notice how quickly I… you know, finished? But you just… Well, you couldn’t get out of the room quick enough each time, like you were ashamed you’d even touched me, and…’ Mason just stared at him, opened his mouth to protest, re-thought the escort mersin memory and gave up. His whole perception of the weeks leading up to tonight was melting and obscuring by the moment. He scratched at his patchy stubble and blinked confusedly. `I just thought you… I don’t know, mate, I just thought… Dec, I’m so lost right now.’ `I only kept suggesting FIFA games cos it seemed to be the time when you could touch me without getting awkward,’ Rice burst out finally, hands almost fists as he paced on and off the path and then pulled closer again, rubbing his palms at Mason’s shoulders intensely. `Wasn’t it nice, just sitting and playing, and then… playing with each other?’ `It was,’ Mount agreed softly. `It really was. But…’ He clung to fragments of what made sense. `This week, Dec, you’ve been… I mean, the other day, we coulda had the house to ourselves for a good couple of hours, and you… You fucked off down the garden with a book. You NEVER read.’ Rice eyed him almost guiltily now, rubbed his shoulders tenderly and looming over him. `I’ve seen you on your phone,’ he muttered. He carried on before Mason could ask anything. `If you aren’t looking at posts by Barkley on Instagram, it’s those messages from Frank, isn’t it… I mean, I can’t believe he’s texting you shit like that right now, Mase. Seriously!’ Ross… Frank… the novel concept of Declan Rice’s possessive jealousy knocked Mount for six. He reached both hands beneath the fuzzy warmth of Declan’s fleece and pulled at his lean abdomen, leaning in closer. `Buddy,’ he whispered, `you’ve got it all wrong, I swear. Barkley isn’t… I mean, he’s a really good friend and we’ve, you know, yeah we’ve done STUFF… And those messages from my boss, well…’ He didn’t even know what to say about that. `I’ve told you, he’s pretty pushy.’ `I thought maybe you regretted coming down here to stay.’ `And I thought you were thinking the same…!’ `Fuck. This is a bit daft, innit?’ `Just a bit, matey. Just a bit.’ He felt Declan’s lips kiss him softly on the forehead. The last time Rice had done that to him, they’d been sharing his attic bed in London, and his mouth was still tangy with the big lad’s juices. He felt almost instantly hard in his white footy shorts and underpants. He thought about that day, the gentle fun of it, the way Rice had casually invited him to stay — there, at the time, to lockdown in London together, not this country retreat. But this was better, wasn’t it? Much more space, even if they weren’t quite… alone. He tiled his head gently. He’d been scared to hope for this from Dec, but now felt right. He angled his face up and parted his soft lips, saw Rice hesitate then lean in. Their first proper kiss felt just as he’d fantasised — it started soft and cautious but became more needy and pushy. Rice held his body in place and their stubbles chins and cheeks rubbed and scratched, tongue on tongue, teeth clashing momentarily. When they broke the kiss, they both panted and laughed. `Are you going to suck me off in the woods?’ Rice asked teasingly. `I would,’ Mason promised. `I’d suck you off anywhere.’ `It’s probably not worth the risk…’ `I could make it worth it,’ prodded Mason eagerly, though inwardly he agreed, felt relieved; as quiet and remote as it was, they’d passed a dozen ramblers at each stage of their evening walk, and stuffy middle-aged walkers emerged from behind any given tree. Part of him wanted to sink down into the long grass and tug off Dec’s shorts, but that could easily lead to trouble; even the tenting erection in his own bottoms felt a terrible social risk out here! But then the house… `Come to my room again, like you did in the first few weeks?’ Declan was asking gently, kissing him on the cheek. `Once everyone’s to bed, just… quietly come along and…’ Mason nodded, how could he not? `And we can maybe… do each other, like we did that time at your place, maybe…’ He realised how delicate and needy his voice sounded, and he reminded himself he didn’t care; he didn’t need Dec to nosh him off too, not so long as he got to touch and play with his pal’s prick, that was enough, and… `We can do more than that,’ Rice murmured. `Erm, if you like.’ `We can?’ Before coming down here, that had been his fervent hope; since the muted pleasure they’d allowed each other in the country house, he’d given up on that notion altogether. `You’ll fuck me?’ he asked, putting his deep desire out there in the woodland air. Rice nodded slowly then let out a bashful laugh. `I’ve been too scared to suggest it,’ he admitted, looking coyly away. `I just didn’t think you’d… let me. Not after… those two.’ `It’s all I thought about on the drive down here from London,’ Mason said insistently. `And most nights since then, Dec. Seriously.’ Declan kept his eyes averted, both hands playing with the lapels and collar of the slighter lad’s overshirt, letting his knuckles graze at the bottom of his sensitive throat. `Just… what if I don’t… erm — what if I don’t match up to those blokes…?’ Mason stared in wide-eyed amazement at this insecurity, realising how badly he’d misread his beloved pal in the last couple of months. But he tried not to look too shocked or exasperated, realising this quiet vulnerability in the tall West Ham lad. He pulled himself close and planted a soft warm kiss just below Declan’s jawline. Then he took one of Dec’s hands in his and dragged it round, pressing it to his rounded backside through the glossy nylon. `I want this to be yours,’ he breathed, and broke away to hurry on down the path, towards home, dinner, and bedtime. Rice sat on the side of his bed, concerned by the way the old thing creaked a little beneath him. They’d have to be really quiet, if they were going to do anything in here! He’d pulled off his tshirt and was sitting there in just a baggy pair of checked boxer shorts, probably the least sexy underpants in the world, but the idea of dressing up for Mason felt more ridiculous than he reckoned he looked. He’d left a single lamp on, up on the dresser in the corner, casting long shadows about the large room. Posters of his old footballing heroes covered most of two walls and boxes of childish and teenage belongings were stacked oppressively between the real furniture of the room. The house was silent, really, he was just waiting for the gentle footsteps or tap on the door. Dinner had seen them both silent and thoughtful, commented on by his mum and sister. But the conversation and kisses in the woods had totally thrown Declan, who had spent week after week feeling increasingly foolish for even inviting Mason down here; he’d begun to suppose that Mount had only agreed out of embarrassment and kindness. But… to think he had… well… The realisation of their mutual misunderstanding had been like a slap on the face. Rice knew he was struggling to express this new desire and affection, but he also thought he’d made himself pretty clear at the start of lockdown, initiating things that day after their illegal kickabout. Stop overthinking it, he reminded himself, patting his sweaty hands at his lower thighs and bony knees. Stop it, or you’ll ruin things some more when he shows up, just go with the flow. Just see what happens, see how it feels. He couldn’t fully dismiss the imagined scenes though, the scraps of what he knew from Mason’s coy storytelling. Ross Barkley, Frank Lampard, even Ruben Loftus-Cheek, supposedly… Rice hardly considered himself a weed, but he felt terribly young and naïve next to the brutish image of Barkley, the suave managerial presence of Lamps, the burly Lewisham force of Lofty… Fucking hell. Was he really gonna try this out, then? Yeah, he realised, he was. He didn’t hear Mason’s footsteps, his sneaking abilities were too good, but he did hear the gentle knock-knock-knock. He got up, pulled open the door, grinned nervously, hugged his friend as soon as they were inside the room together. mersin escort bayan He held back from kissing, feeling so tense that he might bite a lip, just grabbing and pulling beneath Mason’s robe instead. He pushed it off, rustling to the wooden floorboards, then guided the Chelsea star over to the bed. `It creaks,’ he blurted. `We have to be careful.’ Mason didn’t answer him, he just pushed wet kisses at the sides of his neck, and ran his tender hands up and down Declan’s six-pack, then over the flat slab of his pectorals, finding and tweaking his nipples and making him giggle happily. Then both of them were reaching at the other’s undies; Mason’s hand disappearing inside his baggy boxer shorts whilst he grabbed the bulge in the tight black CKs of his pal. Both of their cocks were hard very quickly, straining at the garments. More gentle giggles from both lads, and they undressed each other in silence. Two pairs of lads’ undies dropping to ankles and kicked over the floorboards before smooth pale bodies descended into the bed. It creaked, but quietly. Mason began a familiar descent, pawing at Rice’s torso and thighs and licking his lips; Declan knew the accidental unfairness of their interactions, and stopped this with gentle but controlling grabs. He rolled the smaller lad onto his back and pinned him down then sank his body onto him. He kissed the centre of his chest and tickled his tongue southward. Mason groaned, picking up volume, and Dec had to shove one hand up to cover his mouth as a reminder of the old house’s thin walls. As a solution, Mason rolled on his side and bit into a pillow, and Declan crouched down at his waist and took his cock in his mouth. Rice had to move his body carefully, keeping his limbs stretched and his movements gentle, avoiding any noisier creaks as he bobbed his head up and down, sliding his lips and tongue around the compact but beautiful form of his bestie’s boner. After a while of this, his nervous eyes flicked up and met Mason’s, staring down at him over a pillow; he knew then that they both felt it, the special intimacy of this. He spat on the tip of Mason’s cock and then ran his tongue clockwise around it until he felt that ripped young body writhe against him. Then he crawled up to him, side by side, and pushed his mouth on his, swallowing his cries of pleasure. Declan spooned him, reaching round to wank his slicked meat, his other hand tickling and massaging its way around his side and his arm and down his back, then grasping and squeezing at one pert buttock. He’d been so thrilled to take a single finger of Mason’s up his own arsehole that time, but he was even more thrilled now to spit on his own digit and work it in there. It felt so hot and tight and he just loved the way it made Mason squirm and sigh. The bed creaked dangerously at these wriggling motions and he felt some fresh panic, imagining how this might sound in other rooms of the house. It took a few moments for Mason too notice it too, so distracted by the two fingers now knuckle-deep in his ring. `Do you want to stop?’ the Chelsea lad asked in a fearful murmur. `God no…’ `But the bed is a bit…’ `I need this, baby, I need it…’ But Rice knew he couldn’t go gentle. He couldn’t work his or Mason’s body like that, not without upsetting the springs of this old double bed. He grunted his frustration and then pushed forcefully at Mason’s body, guiding it off the side of the bed and dragging them both, naked and aroused, onto their feet. He cuddled his lover from behind and kiss his neck and behind his ear and rubbed his stiff cock between his bubbly buttocks, then edged them over the boards towards the wall, away from the creakier furniture of this nostalgic bedroom. Mason pushed both hands into the wall to support himself and Declan held him tightly, grinding at him from behind in slow curious thrusts until his cock slid back and forth in the gap between those round cheeks. Lube. He found it where he’d stashed it in a drawer full of old polaroids and pencil cases. He slapped it onto his cock and rubbed two fingers of it into the delightfully smooth warm crack of his mate’s backside. `This okay?’ he asked repeatedly, kissing gently at Mason’s shoulders and spine. `Tell me if anything feels bad,’ he begged. `I want this to feel so good for you, Mase. God, your arse is beautiful, so fucking beautiful…’ He realised he was speaking in the same rapturous way as he had out on the hillside, and he grinned foolishly; well, how could the beauties of the great outdoors compare with the sculpted cheeks of Mount’s rump?! After much fussing with the lube, he pressed his dick between the cheeks and tried to start. It took a while, pushing his hard cock against the seemingly unbreakable vault of a lad’s hole, but Mason groaned very quietly and moved his body in rhythm, pressing his arse back as Dec made his cautious thrusts, so scared of hurting or damaging this beautiful lad. And then, eventually in it went. Now it was him having to clamp a hand over his own mouth in case he roared out his satisfaction. Jesus fucking Christ it felt TIGHT and GOOD. `Ohhh, Dec,’ whimpered Mason, and that ecstatic moan was EVERYTHING to him. He pushed gently in, feeling the hole expand around his member, and then slid his hips back, then pushed in a little more, then the same, over and over until he could really begin to go for it. No creaking bed beneath them now, and even these floorboards were sturdier. He launched into a frantic fucking of this tight, toned young body, slapping against the fleshy arse cheeks and pinning Mason into the wallpaper, both men panting and sighing and stifling louder cries of manly passion. Again, he reached round to wank the other lad’s dick, pleasuring him at both ends and almost biting the nape of his neck as he mounted him. `Can I cum inside you?’ he asked. `Please?’ `You didn’t need to ask,’ Mason gasped back at him. `I’m yours.’ `Oh god, yes.’ Rice found himself pumping harder, really shagging the tight backside way more powerfully than any lass he’d ever been on top of in bed. He wrapped his arm about the front of Mason’s body to grip him fully and stuffed his backside as aggressively as he could, all insecurity over those other male lovers totally abandoned. Their bodies felt like one. When he came, it felt amazing, and it was a battle not to yelp out a dozen curse words. He ground his dick in and out for many moments more until it ached and throbbed and he had to stop. He backed off, chest heaving, and watched Mason turn around; he loved the giddy smile on the other player’s face. Mason’s six-pack was taut and his goofy grin delirious. He was reaching down to take care of himself, clearly used to the fun ending with the other guy’s orgasm; fuck that, Dec thought, and drooped to his knees. He resumed the short blow-job from the bed, giving it more gusto without the fear of creaky springs. He sucked Mason to a rapid completion, but took his mouth away at the last minute so he could jerk that throbbing meat and watch the glistening juices fire against his shoulder and chest. He pictured his own cum still inside this beautiful bloke and gasped to himself with filthy delight. He rose to his feet and they kissed again, hands running against each other’s sensitive crotches and then back up their bodies into a cuddle. Just like that first night in here, the Portsmouth-born midfielder asked his question that wasn’t quite a question: `I suppose I should go back to…’ `Stay,’ Rice hissed needily. `Stay in here. We can set an alarm, be up first. It won’t matter.’ He kissed him forcefully on the lips in case the answer was `no.’ `Please stay,’ he asked earnestly. Mason nodded, and kissed him back. `Set that alarm even earlier, then fuck me again at sunrise.’ `Oh god…’ Snogging, they piled back towards the bed, then climbed carefully back into it, beneath the fluffy weight of the duvet, and curled into each other’s slim toned bodies with only the gentlest squeaks of mattress and frame. Declan held onto his boy tightly and thanked the fucked-up world outside for trapping them here together, creating this moment. He’d never felt so satisfied or so content; he’d never felt so in love.

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