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Subject: Premiership Lads part 25: Best Friends (With Best Benefits) Part twenty-five: Best Friends (With Best Benefits) They had been best mates since meeting in their early teens in Chelsea’s youth academy, and so there was no way Declan Rice was going to let the weekend pass without visiting his old pal. It was just a shame he hadn’t been able to pop across London yesterday on the actual day to wish Mason Mount a happy 21st, but West Ham had been playing, and he’d been stuck over the East End being involved in a dismal 1-0 loss. Nothing like the resounding victory here in Chelsea today, he thought with a short-lived hint of envy. He could never resent any success to a lad as deserving as his Mason. The 6’1 midfielder was sat in his car outside the West London restaurant where he knew a few of the Chelsea lot were having an early evening celebration for Mount’s birthday, ready to surprise him. He knew the celebrations inside would be tame, given the harsh Lampard regime and everything; he’d texted Mason a string of stupid misleading lies to kid him he was busy elsewhere, guaranteeing this would be a surprise. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and whistled idly to himself, warmly tucked inside a thick sheepskin jacket over his jumper and jeans, expecting Mount to be out and about soon enough so he could surprise him without disturbing the teammate bonding. They were almost brothers, really: twins, in fact, since Declan’s own 21st birthday was only days away. It had been an instant connection when they met as youth players, and his own transfer over to West Ham had done nothing to dent their bond, fortunately. They had shared many highs and lows, and roomed together on so many trips away back on the Chelsea youth team. For a moment, Declan’s fond excitement clouded over with one jarring memory amongst the nostalgia, one night in their teens that he refused to give thought to. Just then, he was disturbed by a text from his mum, and whilst he thumbed in a vague reply about what time he’d get in to the family home in Southwest London that night, a bunch of smart casual designer 20somethings spilled out of the trendy restaurant on the roadside, and Declan glanced up from his phone as one lanky figure broke away from the rest and made their way down the pavement. Declan grinned eagerly, shoved his phone between his legs, and hit a button to scroll down the passenger window. `Oi, bignose,’ he hollered. The tall slim figure passing by hesitated awkwardly, and Declan caught a flash of offended frown before the look of amazed recognition, and then Mason’s clean-shaven boyish face leaning in the window. `What the fuck?’ Mount exclaimed. `What are you doing here?!’ `Get in, loser,’ chuckled Rice. Mason yanked open the passenger door and slid into the Mercedes with a laugh of surprise. He was dressed in skinny black jeans and a loose oversized sweatshirt, his face lit with genuine surprise. They reached for each other in a quick, manly hug over the dashboard, and the Chelsea player shook his head in appreciation. `Happy birthday, old man,’ Rice cooed. `You already wishes me that yesterday! Haha… seriously, wow… It’s great to see ya, pal!’ `How was dinner?’ `Oh, you know,’ Mason said, still beaming with a delighted smile at the surprise arrival of his bestie. `It was good, chilled. Sober. Hah. But everyone is buzzing, obviously…’ `Yeah, yeah, 3-fucking-nil,’ Declan said, then whistled, and punched him the arm. `Jammy buggers.’ `Jammy? We earned it,’ Mason said casually. `Cheers. Aw mate, thanks for coming all this way. Don’t you have training tomorrow?’ `Nah, day off,’ Declan said with a relaxed shrug. The taller midfielder reached over to pat his friend’s shoulder affectionately. `I’m all yours for the night if you’ll have me!’ His mate gave him a funny grin at that joke and blushed a bit, which was faintly odd, but Declan was just pleased to see him, to be here and to be able to celebrate his birthday a little bit before heading down for a day off with his family in Kingston-upon-Thames. `That’s if you didn’t have more fun with your “Chelsea fwends”…’ `Mate,’ giggled Mason, `fuck that lot. It’s amazin’ to see you. Aw man.’ `Good, good,’ Declan said with playful smugness. `Brothers,’ he said, more sincerely, and he fist-bumped his fellow youngster without irony. He flipped open the glovebox, and tugged out the bottle of very expensive vodka. `Here, your gift. Although you better be sharing it.’ Mason tutted and made a joking frown. `Naughty Dec…’ `Ah, come on, neither of us is on a pitch tomorrow, and we’ve got both our 21st birthdays to drink to,’ Rice said firmly. `Yeah?’ `Agreed.’ It was a short drive from their to the small but expensively furnished flat Mount had only recently let, and only a few more minutes until tall, broad shouldered Declan Rice was measuring out a couple of shot glasses of the expensive flavoured vodka in the kitchenette whilst the birthday boy set about getting some tunes on the go at the other side of the open-plan space. And it was only an hour or so before both footballers were sprawled on the furniture somewhere between tipsy and drunk, laughing their heads off at shared memories of earlier birthdays and illicit drinking the night before big youth games. `Oh god, remember me throwing up on the coach?’ Declan groaned reminiscently, sipping on a vodka and coke and laying full length on the couch, socked feet in the air and one arm folded up behind his head, his jumper riding up a little to show some of his pale abdomen. `How could I forget, it STUNK,’ spat Mason merrily from where he was sat on the floor between the couch and a big easy lounger, legs folded beneath him as he poured himself a fresh drink on the carpet, nodding his head gently to the hip-hop in the background. `Hey, what about our 18ths though, THAT was way too much… What was it we were drinking?’ Declan took a good glug from his tumbler of drink and strained his memory. `Whiskey, wasn’t it?’ `Nah, nah, you’re thinking about our 16th birthdays there, mate…’ `Am I?’ Declan mumbled vaguely, the funny drinking experiences rolling into a blur, punctuating the years of hard work and battling it out to make it onto the big Premiership teams they now played for. `Oh, yeh, you’re right…’ `Yeah yeah,’ Mason chirped from his comfy position on the carpet. `It was our 16th birthday when we got that whiskey, it was your Dad’s remember?’ `Yeh,’ Declan responded vaguely. `We nicked it right out of his cabinet,’ Mason carried on, `cos we were staying over at your family place, and…’ `Yeh,’ Declan said quietly, losing interest in this story, tiny alarm bells flashing somewhere at the back of his mind through his pleasant vodka buzz � he pushed himself a bit upright on the sofa and finished his drink, eyeing the already half-empty liquor bottle on the floor between them as Mason carried on. `Yeah we got totally ruined on it,’ Mount giggled, `and that was when we had to share your bed because we spilled all that food on the airbed, and…’ Declan’s eyes darted up from the drinks to Mason’s suddenly flushing clean-shaven face, and their eyes met for a fraction of a second before Rice swung himself about to lean down and start mersin escort topping up his tumbler. He heard Mason just make an awkward sound of recognition, and he searched mentally for a topic change to pull them away from this particular memory. `A memorable birthday,’ Mason said though, as he poured a good slosh of the overpriced Russian spirit into his glass, and Declan glanced up again to meet Mason’s eyes, seeing the blush still burning on the lad’s neck and cheeks. `Kinda,’ Rice said ambiguously, dropping some coke in as mixer, and sitting upright again with wary, tense body language. He was just about to ask a totally inane question about the chair behind Mason, which definitely hadn’t been here last time he visited this pad, but then Mason was leaning over his way a bit, drink in hand, a reflective look on his face. `You ever think about that night, mate?’ the Pompey lad asked suddenly in a quiet but kinda intense voice. Declan stiffened up, eyed him cautiously, shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, and took a long gulp from his drink. He’d made it far too strong, and it stung his throat. Mason was looking at him with his big open, trusting eyes beneath his cute spiky quiff of hair, and scratching his chin shyly. `I don’t remember it so well,’ Rice lied, after too long a pause. `Why? Do you?’ Mason shrugged now, then got up as if to join him on the couch, and Declan shifted a bit to make space. Fucking hell, why was Mount bringing that shit up now? They had never talked about what happened between their 16th birthdays, never in these five years, and… `Well, sometimes,’ Mason was admitting, sliding into the sofa next to him. Declan looked intently into the glass in his hand, the sickly mix of too much vodka and not enough cola. He took a reluctant sip of it, then glanced furtively at the birthday boy. `Really?’ he said, a little surprised. `Mate, we were fucking idiots then, weren’t we… We’d had WAY too much to drink, and…’ `Yeh, yeh… lightweights!’ `Totally!’ `But still,’ Mason said, in a thoughtful voice that made Rice wince a bit. `Look,’ he said, turning to give him an intense look, `I dunno if we should be digging that up, Mase. We were so young. And pissed. So…’ `We were,’ Mason agreed, and then an uneasy quiet settled between them, just the pulsing beat from the speakers in a break between lyrics. They both stared at their drinks for a few moments, then their eyes met silently, and Declan let out a long sigh. Well, the fucking elephant in the room was crushing them both now, wasn’t it? `Hormones, innit,’ he said bluntly, feeling himself tense up defensively at the topic, even with this close mate who he never hid a thing from. He watched Mason’s expression carefully, trying to judge what he was thinking. `That’s all it was.’ Mount just made an uncertain hum of a noise, and Declan froze up even more. He took a big gulp of his quadruple measure, and put it down on the arm of the sofa, and flexed his fingers together distractedly. `It was a laugh though, wasn’t it?’ the 21-year-old at his side asked gently. `Was it?’ Declan questioned immediately. `I’m glad you even remember. We were wasted. I could barely walk the day after. My dad almost lost his shit totally when he realised what we’d been drinking in the garden shed.’ Yeah, there was a lot more to this funny memory than THAT, they could remember their sweet 16th without it having to include… the shared bed. It was just another funny memory, another shared experience, another bonding embarrassment on their journey to where they now were… `So…’ He looked over as Mason spoke, hoping the digging wasn’t going deeper, but not liking the reflective expression on his pal’s face. `So… you’ve never done owt like that since, mate?’ asked Mason in a very hesitant, measured voice. Declan eyed him in shock. `Huh? Of course not, pal. I mean, I’m not sure I’ve ever been THAT drunk since, so…’ He stopped spluttering out his nervous answer, and noticed the look in the other lad’s eyes. `What…? Have YOU…? Mate?’ Mason looked away, and Declan felt a jolt of surprise, a subtle lurch of the stomach that came with suddenly realising you might not know someone as well as you think. `Well,’ Mount said very slowly and carefully, `not until… lately.’ Declan just stared at him now, and the little alarms at the back of his mind gave up as his consciousness confronted what it had skirted around all night. He pictured that drunken silly night in his room, the airbed ruined, the single bed by the window shared by two wiry teens, their wild high at leaving adolescence behind. `It was just hormones, that,’ he mumbled repetitively, breaking the gaze between them and rubbing at his knees. `We were both wanking all the time, surely. Of course we were gonna… you know… need to…’ `Nobody else had ever touched my cock, then,’ Mason said with upsetting candour. `Nor mine!’ Declan spluttered. `We were both… virgins.’ Fuck, now it was out in the open. Neither of them had ever said any of this aloud. He shot up from the sofa like a bolt, almost kicking over the vodka bottle, and clutched both hands at his burning face. `It was only a bit of wanking,’ Mason said, and the slightly shorter bloke was up on his feet at his side, clutching at a shoulder. The physical contact felt odd, with that long-hidden truth out in the air between them. But Declan opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at him, glad of Mason’s open-minded, thoughtful expression, it was better than the shame and judgement in his own head! Rice reached a hand up and squeezed Mason’s on his, then a penny dropped. `Not until… lately?’ he echoed quietly, a frown on his thick eyebrows. He gave the birthday boy a quizzical glare. `Well,’ Mason muttered evasively. `What the fuck you been up to?’ Declan chuckled anxiously. He was surprised and bewildered and… well, of course couldn’t actually be JEALOUS, but… `Are you joking, or summat…?’ Mount looked uncertain what to admit, but there really weren’t secrets in this friendship. Declan gave him a burning look over, reading the nervous excitement in his eyes, and just waiting for the truth to come out. `I might have touched another guy’s dick a little while back,’ Mount blurted after a good minute of being stared down, and Declan winced a bit at the blunt confession, but let him carry on. `It just… I dunno. It just fucking happened.’ `How drunk were you?’ Rice asked presumptuously, and he saw from Mason’s honest face that he was on the wrong tracks. `Bloody hell. Mate…’ `Don’t look at me like that,’ Mount said, sounding a bit uncomfortable. Declan smiled apologetically, realising his shock must have looked judgemental. `Hey,’ he said, grabbing him by the arm, `I just wanna know what’s going on, Mase. Don’t looks so frightened. Fuckin’ hell.’ He looked about for his drank and snatched it up off the arm of the sofa. `It went further than we did though… mate, I… I sucked off Ross Barkley.’ Declan was just in the middle of sipping his noxious vodka mix when these words spilled out into the air, and he snorted and spluttered on his drink and blew a mouthful of it practically in Mason’s face in his snorting disbelief. `What the actual fuck?!’ escort mersin Mason was blushing deeply and Declan wiped drink off his own lips and chin, and pulled himself together. He gaped and opened his mouth thrice to try and speak, but words failed him. He put down the near-empty glass and grabbed Mason’s arm again. `Are you for real?’ he demanded, and he couldn’t hold in a sudden strange burst of laughter at this unlikely revelation. `You cannot tell anyone!’ `You’re really serious?’ Rice asked shakily, seeing the panic there. `Oh wow…’ `It just happened!’ Mount said in a terrified rush. `I won’t tell a soul,’ Declan promised earnestly. `But… Mate! Wow…’ `I shouldn’t have said anything.’ `No, no,’ Declan said uncertainly. `I mean… We can always tell each other stuff, I want that. But this is…’ He laughed again, rubbed his face, and shrugged. `Sorry. Struggling to get my head around this.’ So many years of suppressing that silly memory, and now his brain was deciding to stream a fuzzy drunken episode on a loop in the HD cinema screen of his imagination. He blinked it away with limited success, and realised just how drunk he now felt. He picked up the vodka bottle and went through into the kitchenette to mix a better new drink, and Mount trailed after him. `It was a one-off,’ Mason was saying, `I think…’ `How the hell did that even happen?’ Declan asked, pulling out two fresh glasses for them and scrabbling through the contents of the fridge and cupboard, anything to keep his hands and mind busy, and his eyes off Mount’s vulnerable blushes. `Do you want a beer? What are these ones in here? Ah, nice…’ He fussed over the craft lagers in the bottom of the fridge, got the bottles opened, poured two glasses, and realised he wasn’t actually listening to Mason’s fragmented, sketchy storytelling. Something about taking photos, something about a shower cubicle… It all sounded like some hilariously bad porno. He stood at the kitchen bench, guzzling his beer, while Mason gibbered on. It didn’t sound like it made much sense, or his brain wasn’t processing it well. After a while, Mount fell silent, and picked up the other schooner of beer, and started to drink. Declan put his near-empty glass down, let out a slobbish belch, and sighed. This was all a bit much really. In a desperate bid to undo the growing stress in him, he abruptly changed the subject, and brought up a bit of gossip about who might be signing to West Ham this month. He saw Mase’s boyish face fall in disappointment at his presumed disapproval and desperation to steer the conversation away from the alleged blowjob, but Rice ploughed on: he was too drunk to cope with any of this excessive honesty and remembered intimacy. And with a deflated air about him, Mason joined in, and engaged in the football squad gossip as if minutes ago he hadn’t been admitting what went on between them once as teens, fuelled by stolen whiskey and… hormones. But a couple of hours later, it was still on Declan Rice’s brain. He was lying in fitful near-sleep on the same couch, an open sleeping bag pulled loosely over his drink-warmed frame, naked but for some tight grey boxer briefs, feeling hot and restless and irritable on the fabric of the sofa. In his head, he was turning over snapshots of memory: drinking in the shed, making a shite job of quietly sneaking indoors, some stupid prank he couldn’t quite remember, the fridge raiding midnight snacks, the mess they’d made, the shared bed, too small for their lanky teenage frames, and then… He tossed over on his makeshift bed with a twinge of headache, and found a hand straying down his half-defined abs to caress the front of his undies for a moment, then he pulled it frustratedly away. No, he was no randy 16-year-old now, was he, he was almost 21, a real man, who needed to… Fuckin’ hell. He rolled about and fidgeted and tugged on the rustling material of the sleeping bag. Its open zip scratched irritatingly at his calf for a moment as he fought for a comfier position on the short two-seater, which didn’t really hold his 6’1 figure. He threw the cover off him with a huff of irritation, letting it slide onto the carpet where the rest of his clothes were discarded. He stretched his limbs, growled his weary, sleepless frustration, and tasted the alcohol in his dry mouth. He slapped his hands to his upper tummy and ran them down his abdomen slowly, and then lay them across his boxers again, and felt the chubby semi filling them up, the plump curve of his balls. Hormones! He twisted his head in the soft dark of the flat. Over the way, the door through into the single bedroom was ajar, still, and he could almost make out the soft sounds of his mate’s drunken breathing. That bed would be way comfier than this couch, part of his brain told him sharply, and it was possible that another part of his brain was telling him something else, but he went with this official story, as he swung his long muscular legs off the couch and got up unsteadily to his feet. How much booze had they got through in this little two-man party, for old time’s sake? Rice picked his way across the small flat, kicking over an empty beer bottle as he did, then standing clumsily on an Xbox remote, then finding himself at the half-open door to the bedroom. He paused and leaned on the frame, and with his other hand, scratched at his tummy, then at his arse. The breathing he could half-hear before had quietened, but a voice drifted out of the shadows. `You okay, Dec?’ He hung there for a few moments more, and answered with a question. `Can I come in?’ The request was ambiguous enough, it could have just meant the room, but hearing his own tipsy voice aloud, he knew he meant more. `Course you can…’ came the gentle, muffled answer. As Rice approached the bed, he saw the twitch of a hand and the duvet opening up a bit for him. He pulled himself onto the double bed, eyes adjusting to the dark, sliding his legs and torso under the covers, seeing Mase’s bare shoulders near him, then his head turning, eyes glinting a bit in the dark. Declan felt one of his own hairy legs brush with Mason’s somewhere down towards the bottom of the bed, warm flesh tickling warm flesh. Declan laid his head on the jumbled heap of pillow, and let his face lean a few inches from his friend’s. Another twinge of headache, a real sense of confusion at whether this was happening or just in his head. Had he really come through here, or was he just remembering another night 5 years ago? Mason just seemed to be silently watching him through sleepy eyes, not really reacting much to his presence. But why should he? The poor lad had revealed something deeply personal to him tonight, and he’d moved the conversation on in such a fucking hurry… `I’m sorry, mate,’ he blurted out without explanation. `Don’t be sorry, we’re cool,’ Mason replied gently. Beneath the covers, he reached over and stroked Declan’s bicep a bit. Declan sighed against the pillow, and let his calf rub up Mason’s a but, then lifted his leg more, draping it over both of the other lad’s limbs, so his thigh was spreading over Mason’s knees, and his crotch was opened up beneath the covers. He felt Mason’s hand slide off his arm mersin escort bayan and reach down. `Was it this big when we were 16?’ he heard Mount gently ask, but all Declan could do was let out a sleepy moan of appreciation: his friend’s hand felt good, gentle and comforting, on his bulge, down in the dark between them. He let out a slow, chuckling sigh, and pressed a tiny bit closer, pushing his bulge further into the other lad’s grasp. He reached his arm about, so he could pull their bare torsos together, and laid his head right next to Mason’s, nuzzling side by side, letting his own slow beery breaths blow onto the Chelsea player’s cheek and neck and shoulderblade. `That feels good,’ he murmured. Of course it did: who knew him like Mase did? Who understood him this well? Of course it felt good to feel him so literally close, so intimately groping at his growing erection… Mmmm. And then it was more, he could feel the hand inside his pants, really grabbing at his meet, oh lovely… He just purred his pleasure at this and squeezed his arm about Mason’s chest more, and pushed his lips against the other lad’s forehead in a soft wet kiss. `Nice, mate,’ he cooed. And just as he had 5 years ago, Declan slowly, gracelessly reciprocated. He groped down Mason’s tensed arm and onto his side, feeling the harder definition of his six pack, and thrust his fingers down into the fabric of his undies, groping for his dick. It was rock hard down there. He snatched it roughly in his hand, and the memory was clearer. He let out a nervous dirty laugh in the dark, and they stroked comfortingly at each other’s mutual excitement. `Hormones,’ he sniggered into the shadow. `Brothers,’ Mason returned playfully, tickling at his balls so that Declan couldn’t help but moan more passionately and twist his body about at the stimulation. Rice let go of his unskilled tugs of the other dick, and threw his arm more tightly about his mate’s body again, squeezing onto him in an intimate cuddle while parting his legs again to let the handjob continue down under the duvet. He felt his shivering bellend brush the covers, his length squeezed lovingly in a palm, and his balls tickled once more. God, he loved this lad! And to think, recently, Mason had belonged to another bloke, and… `Suck me like you did Ross,’ he blurted out, a bit more harshly and demandingly than he intended. He felt Mason’s fingers hesitate on his prick, and he twisted his head to look him in the eyes. `Go on,’ he urged. `You sure you’re ok with that?’ Mase murmured back. `I’m not having some Scouse thug get more form you than your best mate,’ Rice mumbled sulkily at him, and he saw the wicked grin light his friend’s face. Then Mason was disappearing, wriggling down. Declan lay his head back and stretched his legs, and felt the brush of lips and chin and nose on his tummy, and then kissing sensations just below his waist and at the tops of his thighs, and then… Oh! He pushed his head back further into the pillows and reached his hands under the duvet, looking down across his chest at the vague form of crouching Mason under the covers, knelt between his legs, planting his mouth to Declan’s swollen, desperate erection. Dear god… He arched his spine and grabbed his hands to the spiky hair then tensed neck and shoulders, knitting his own caveman brows in ecstasy as the blowjob got going. `Fuuuck…’ Wet slurps and snorting breaths sounded from beneath the covers, and he threw it open to see properly, needing to know he was getting this treatment, to quash that stupid strain of jealousy that had lit up in him earlier. Still, the sight shocked him: Mason’s cute boyish face between his hard muscular thighs, his own sturdy cock thrust hallway into those pouting lips. He struggled for a moment with the scene, but recovered. `Go on, enjoy your birthday meal,’ he grunted, and grabbed the back of his mate’s head to push it down more deeply on his rod. `Ohh… Mase… ohh…’ He only realised he was going a bit hard when he heard Mount start to choke a bit, and he pulled on his hair to get him off his cock so the lad could catch his breath, but seeing this was vaguely distracting, more than Rice wanted, so he snatched at the duvet and threw it back over his friend and sex-toy, so he could stretch back properly and just relax into the beer-numbed pleasure as it built up. He massaged the back of Mase’s head and neck and yelped out his enjoyment and appreciation. Why had he been so desperate to forget the handjob all those years ago? This felt AMAZING… Realisation of his selfish lust hit him slowly through the haze of drink. He wriggled his hips and pulled his nob out of Mason’s hungry mouth, which really felt so desperate and eager on him. `Nah, get up here,’ he barked lazily. `Come on…’ He tugged on one of his mate’s arms until Mason, red-cheeked and dizzy, was pulled up beside him and flopping onto his back, their heads pushing into the headboard and their body sliding side by side. `Now let me finish this,’ Rice grunted powerfully, and he reached down with both hands. He took a cock in each, and began to pull on them in sync, wrapping his legs in with Mase’s as he did so. `Oh god… Dec, mate…’ Mason’s face was wild with excitement, his lips and chin slick with his own saliva, or maybe Rice’s own precum, it was hard to say at this stage. Declan was seized by a manic drunken lust now, a need to repay the long minutes of beautiful sucking with his own frantic, rough strokes. He wanked them in unison and grunted out each powerful breath from the barrel of his torso. `Oh yes… Oh Rice, matey, oh man…’ The sound of Mason’s eager whimpering excitement drove him close to the edge, but he was distracted as he realised the other lad was cumming first. He could feel it spilling out onto his own clenched fingers as he pumped on the 21-year-old’s throbbing member. Jesus, had he made him cum last time when they were teenagers…? It was impossible to remember now. Probably they’d just fallen asleep in a whiskey-sweating heap, but… `Oh god,’ Mason breathed deliriously, `oh god…’ `Ross,’ Declan grunted suddenly, jealously, `did you… take his load?’ `Er… yeh… yeh…’ `Right!’ Rice was not going to have Barkley get more than him. He reached round with his left hand, tugged roughly on his mate’s neck, and dragged Mason’s face down in an arc. Mount happily complied, and his lips hit the top of Declan’s long veiny erection just as his climax arrived. `OH YES,’ Rice groaned out, `oh fuck yes…’ Gripping the back of Mount’s head and pushing it down atop his shaft, spurting his seed at the back of the lad’s throat. Fuckkkkk… Just as Rice thought his pleasure had peaked, he felt Mason’s tongue rolling about his bell end then up and down the shaft, getting every drop of his seed. `Yes, mate,’ he gasped, `eat it up, you slut… Mmmm…’ Mason was sitting up, and Declan could see the brief glint of wetness around his mouth, what must be his own spunk. He laughed in a daze, grabbed the other footballer to him in a sweaty cuddle, and pretty much threw him down at the bed like some playful wrestling move. He pulled his body to him and spooned against him with a growl of contentment. `You can tell that Barkley to fuck right off,’ he murmured sleepily. `Your mine, Mase. All mine.’ And the two best mates drifted into contented sleep, their long muscular bodies curved together in the disturbed tangle of bedding, their orgasmic breaths becoming lazy snores.

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