Part fifty-five: The Guest Bedroom
Waking up groggy, it took Luke Shaw a few slow minutes to realise where he was. Even from the vague perfumed scent of the fresh linen and the soft springy texture beneath his warm body, without opening his eyes, he knew he wasn't in his own bed and apartment. Beyond that, it took him a good few minutes of treacle-brained recall and gradual wakefulness to piece together where the hell he actually was this headachey Monday morning...
He opened one eye and then the other, taking in the floral chintz of the bedding and curtains, a surprisingly bright morning burning through them and sending jolts of hungover pain through his temples as he rolled away from this light to face the other way, nestling his heated body into the mattress and letting out a slow groan of self-inflicted suffering. More out of instinct than expectation, he stretched an arm and leg out across the double bed, but there was no other body there, no one-night stand to relish or regret, he was alone. He knew this, but habit made him check, whilst last night slowly assembled itself in his short-term memory.
Spirits had been high after flogging Watford 3-0, and so celebratory beers had been shared amongst the United lads long before they even caught taxis out into Alderley Edge for their teammate's birthday soiree at his huge country home. It had been one of the older player's birthday, some big milestone actually, and quite a do: Luke could remember already seeing double by the time he arrived at the house, never mind when he was doing shots of tequila with Rashford and Lingard by the indoor pool sometime around midnight. What a night!
And of course it had been `plus one', almost all of the blokes there parading their beautiful model girlfriends and wives like it was a fucking catwalk. So much competitive testosterone in the air, not to mention the sea of hot cleavage and fake tan he'd let his restless eyes explore, although... tight footballers' thighs in jeans and chinos were catching his eyes now so much more than even the perkiest of tits bouncing about the homemade dancefloor. Oh well.
And here he was, in the guest bedroom... not of their hosts, no, but in the Maguire house. He sniggered weakly into his pillow at this thought, let out another groan of headache, and hugged into the bedding tighter, willing daylight and his hangover away. He could remember the slurred 3am conversations as he had insisted on paying for an Uber back into the city, but missing out on anyone else heading that way... and the insistence of both Harry Maguire and his gorgeous fiancée... `Oh you MUST,' he could picture that lovely, oblivious woman shouting at him out on the gravel driveway, and he had to push back a surge of guilt at what he'd let her fiancé do to him.
Luke rolled back over onto his back and stretched his bare shoulders out against the sheets, squeezing his eyes shut as he pandiculated. He'd feel better after another hour of kip or so, if he could force himself back into it. All he needed to do was let the birdsong outside his window lull him back into it, and find the pint of water on the beside table, and let sleep do its magic... Hydration, that's all it took. He leaned over and fished against the table with one clumsy hand, almost tipping the glass of lukewarm water, seizing it gladly and taking a gulp. As he did so, he realised there was another background noise that, like the birds, he'd been unknowingly listened to ever since he woke painfully up to this nest of hangover...
He paused and strained to adjust his ears and tune into the noise of... He held in a gasp of realisation. That was the sound of bedsprings and a low rhythmic panting, muffled by thick walls, but still unmistakable and about five foot from where he lay. He lay still, clutching the pint glass and staring to the ceiling.
Of course, Luke wasn't stupid or totally naïve. OF COURSE Harry was still having regular sex with his fiancée, that made total sense... what had he expected? He hadn't dared to think that their newfound intimacy meant that the big Yorkshire lad had to give up pussy, or let his marriage go stale, or become suddenly frigid with her just for Luke's sake, but still... He lay there for several long minutes more, paralysed by the distinct noises of lovemaking so near and yet so far. Another gulp of the stale-tasting water, a few throbs of head pain, a roll over onto his side, away from the direction of the master bedroom, as if to block out the noise that throbbed and pumped in his hearing as powerfully as if it was going on right by his side, not in the next room.
Since Marbella, things had certainly been different: obviously he and Harry saw each other plenty about Old Trafford and the training ground, but now they often had more discreet phone conversations almost daily, he in his flat and Harry taking a solitary walk or hiding in the garage so they could speak more openly; Harry was openly affectionate and physical with him at football again, in a way that was purely laddish and normalised, yet loaded with meaning by their bed-smashing antics in Marbella; they were working together in the United defence, a well-oiled team that had been integral to two wins and a draw. Harry had scored his first Premiership goal and Luke knew his own performances were being lauded; tipsy in a taxi on the way to the party yesterday, he had read pundits praise his work yesterday in the Watford game as perhaps his best performance of the season.
And yet they actually hadn't had sex since Spain, not properly. Luke had given a brief, frantic blowjob to his beloved captain in a stadium toilet whilst they were away to Chelsea last Monday, and wanked him almost to completion in a broom cupboard at the training centre the day after drawing with Brugges; Luke had even tossed himself off discreetly during their phone call late on Friday night, though he had been too embarrassed to admit this to Harry at the time, pretending he was just out of breath from a jog. He just hadn't been able to listen to Harry's growling voice without touching himself that night, for some reason.
Right now, he was facing the same problem.
The mostly female squeals leaking into his earshot were painful to his ego, yep, but they were also strangely thrilling. Listening to that faint squeak of bedsprings and the poorly muffled groans of him and her, well, it was certainly doing something to Luke's crotch, added to the inevitable hangover horn. He was dizzy and dehydrated and exhausted, but he was also increasingly randy. How fucking frustrating!
He sat up a little bit, sipped more water, and reached for his phone to distract himself from his jealousy and perverse masochistic enjoyment of the nearby sounds. There were a few stroppy text messages waiting for him from his recent `girlfriend' – she had been due to join him at last night's birthday party until that afternoon when he'd invented a really stretched narrative about why she actually couldn't be there. He hadn't been able to face forcing another date with her, especially in front of several lads who knew where his recent pleasures really lay. How could he have marched about with her at the party, watched by jealous Maguire, or judged by a lad like Mason Greenwood who'd literally been inside him?! (It freaked Luke out when he remembered this, seeing the lean mixed-race striker on and off the pitch, so young and shy-looking.)
Speaking of which, the 3rd text waiting in his inbox was from Brandon Williams. There was quite a friendship developing between the two left-backs, supposed rivals: Luke liked the fiery teenager and his mood swings, his ambition, his humour. He had been quick to forgive Brandon for his troublemaking, understanding his stress and confusion. He squinted his sore eyes to read the message in full: hey L – can we spk 2day??? Just got few things need to ask u bout'. Mysterious. Luke dragged his body over, trying to block out the growing volume of the decidedly high-pitched female yelps sounding from next door, and punched in his response: sure buddy, l8r on when I dnt feel like been run ova lol x'. He hit send and hunched there, blocking out mental issues of that powerful 6'4 beast going for it in the master bedroom, flashbacks to their Marbella hotel room and that smashed up cheap bed. He'd never asked Harry about the damages fine from the hotel, but he couldn't help but smirk every time he remembered the mess they had made.
Brandon's text came quickly, a relief in this context: lol yeh... sick party. Jus need 2 chat m8' – and a few minutes later, a second message came in, its nervous energy obvious in every word: MG wants 2 fuk me lol, not sure wot to say 2 him x'. Luke stared at the phone, imagining the laddish panic his young mate would be going through. He wanted to compose a reassuring response but his head was swimming and the incremental squeals of pleasure from the future Mrs Maguire were doing nothing to help his building nausea. He pushed his phone away across the table without reading the rest of his messages and sank back into the bedding with a little groan.
After what felt like a century of nauseous jealousy and petty resentment, there was refreshing silence in the moderate new-build box of a house out here in the green reaches of Cheshire, and Luke sighed with relief before rolling back onto his side. He half-expected the noises to quickly resume, but there were vague footsteps and gentle sounds of doors that signalled some morning routine kicking into place: thank fucking god.
He pressed his face into the pillow and wrapped the duvet around himself indulgently, curling into an almost foetal position and trying to let the worst of the hangover wash over him. He was so focused on searching for a last scrap of sleep that he only half-heard the guest bedroom door creak slightly open. But even gentle, stealthy footsteps from a guy of Maguire's stature were firmly audible in this small extra bedroom, and Luke blinked confusedly to himself without turning to look. He felt rather than saw his confirmation: as the other side of the tangled duvet was lifted, a cool draught tickled under against his bare back and thighs, and then the hot physical presence of a bigger body was sliding under the bedding with him. Strong arms were curling about his and a firm smooth chest was pushing into his upper back. A heavy leg slid alongside his thigh, and a pair of lips brushed very hesitantly at the nape of his neck.
`Harry,' he murmured in the freshly laundered nest.
`Baby,' groaned the luxuriously sleepy voice at his ear.
Luke was aware of his own lingering envy and resentment, but his heart was skipping in his chest right now at this sudden and most welcome intrusion. He pressed back into the spooning position and let his gasp of pleasure escape his parched lips. This is mad,' he muttered in a tiny whisper, the risks of giving in to this opportunity lining up in his tired brain. What are you...'
Ssh,' hissed Maguire's voice. Another rough kiss to his neck, a tightening of the heavy arm and thigh stretched over him. The press of his package against the curve of Luke's buttocks. She's in the shower. She takes ages.'
Luke fought back another gasp, feeling wary and nervous as well as incredibly aroused. He felt Harry's right hand pull its way over the gently defined form of his chest muscles and over the smooth skin of his tummy, down towards the front of his sweaty white CK boxer briefs, where his dick was already more than semi-hard. Harry pulled it out under the duvet and pulled very teasingly on its length until Shaw couldn't hold in his sigh of stimulation. Oh Harry,' he muttered, don't...'
Why not?' Maguire breathed into his ear, and kissed his jawline softly. Why not, baby?'
`Mmm...'
`I've been thinking of this all night,' Maguire's voice continued, his breath hot and stale at the side of Luke's face, his presence more hot and intense by the second as the cuddle tightened from behind.
In spite of his obvious pleasure, Luke felt a sting of bitter jealousy at this claim. He half-turned his head so he could eye Harry sceptically in their tight cuddle. Oh really,' he murmured, it sure sounded like it just now... you missed me so much while you were inside HER...' But rather than rising to his, Harry sniggered and pressed his big head forehead until their lips met in a slow, sticky kiss that Luke almost cried out when it broke.
The noises you heard were mostly my lips and tongue,' Harry said with a smirk. Went down on her for as long as I could...'
`And you didn't...'
Faked it,' Harry said softly, squeezing a bit more authoritatively on Luke's boner, wanted to save my load for you, Luke...' And he pulled back and forth on the stocky defender's prick with teasing motion, forcing more gasps of pleasure out of the blond southerner in his arms, chuckling triumphantly with each little trembling whimper of excitement.
Luke felt totally overcome with the secret passion of it all. The sense of urgency was electrifying: sure, Harry's missus took forever in the shower, but define forever, exactly. They could only have a matter of minutes in here before this become very very risky. He pulled a hand away from Harry's tight hug and reached down between their bodies until he was closing his hand about that mighty package and finding the outline of the erection. He licked his lips, knowing he'd tasted her cunt on Harry's dirty mouth. God, was this just a wet dream in his parched hangover, or was this really happening...?
As if to confirm the physicality of the experience, Harry kissed his neck again, or rather, practically bit him, so passionate and clumsy was he. They ground their bodies together, hands on each sweaty cock, pulling and stroking, free hands roaming against bare skin and taut muscle. Luke wanted to cry out more loudly as Harry began to pull more energetically on his dick, but he knew they had to be careful, discreet. He loved the filthy little wheezes and laughs from Harry's mouth, loved the hungover heat of their bodies pressed together, the slightly clammy feel of each other's hands beneath the bedding.
`I've been lying awake half the night, wanting this.'
This time, Luke believed what he heard. `Oh god, Harry...'
`I watched you most of last night at the party...'
`You did?'
Fuck yes,' growled Harry. Those jeans on your fat arse...'
`Ohhh...'
`I had to resist dragging you into a bathroom to fuck,' Maguire hissed, emphasising the last word violently and rubbing his lips to the lobe of Luke's ear.
Mm, baby,' Luke whimpered. I was thinking it too. I couldn't stand it. I just kept drinking to stop myself from thinking about you. It didn't work.'
`Good. Good. Never stop thinking about me.' Another almost biting kiss that might bruise his tender neck. He just shuddered and writhed more against that bulky muscular frame at his back. He squeezed and pulled on Harry's massive cock, letting it brush and flap against his own hip as he did; it felt slick and sticky, it had obviously been inside his bird, despite his claims of mostly oral stimulation. But Luke felt no envy, just pure thrill. There was something especially dirty and empowering about this, finishing the man off when his wife's cunt hadn't been quite enough. Thinking of that was enough to bring Shaw to the edge, though the frantic pulls of Harry's hand on his member certainly helped too: soon he was spilling his load into the bedding and biting back furied moans of delight.
`Mmm, yes, make a mess,' grunted Maguire.
`Yes Harry...'
`Spill it all, you sexy slut.'
`YES...'
And then Luke was squirming about and pulling himself down under the bedding, pressing his mouth to the expanse of Harry's chest and navigating downwards. He scrabbled their clammy bodies rapidly and let his lips kiss their way down the shifting muscles of that long six-pack until he was grazing trimmed pubes and kissing the sticky shaft, pulling his lips about it. It felt so comforting and familiar to him now, as well as still utterly massive and terrifying. He licked at the tip and tugged on the base, heard Harry yelp into a pillow as he gave his sloppy, eager blowjob. Luke could only breath in his lover's manly scent, buried beneath the covers as he serviced that aching dick that had been fucking for ages already this morning. It didn't take long to bring it to a climax, and feel the salty load explode on his dry, hungry tongue. Harry's cum tasted stronger than ever.
Once it was over, he remained under the sheets for a few moments more, enjoying being overwhelmed by the scent and physical presence of this man he was now so obsessed with. It was only when Harry reached down and grabbed his shoulders that he allowed himself to be pulled up and out of this stale nest, wrapped in a fresh hug for a few tight moments of intimacy.
Luke rested his head on one broad pec, savouring the strong flavour in his mouth, and melting into the bed at the gentle brush of Harry kissing his brow. Jesus, what would he give to wake up like this every fucking day?
`I need to go,' came Harry's quiet, sensitive growl, crushing despite his attempts to soften the blow.
Luke couldn't look him in the eye, because he thought if he did, his face would betray every scrap of jealousy burning up inside his hungover body. He just nodded his head, kissed his salty lips to Harry's shoulder-blade, and pulled away to release him. Harry slid away, his massive presence exiting the bedding and rising up out onto his feet, his boxers halfway down his hairy arse. He pulled them up to hide his exposed crack and when he turned around, Luke could still see his fat huge dick outlined in them, a little wet patch there from the cum he hadn't swallowed. Maguire stood there, lingering and staring down at him. Luke gave him a weak smile of goodbye. Neither man said another thing. Harry left the room quietly and Luke lay there, frozen still by ecstasy and a sudden sense of loss.
Soon after this, he must have slipped back into dazed sleep, because he found himself waking up once again, his head far less sore. He sat upright and downed what was left of the water, desperate to edge himself towards feeling fresher and healthier. He picked up his phone, its battery close to dying, and re-read Brandon's nervous text messages, and the stroppy longer ones from his recent fling. He couldn't bring himself to use the word girlfriend. And there was another message, he noticed, also unread, sent at some point in the night as well...
Ah, Memphis.
`Hey Lukas – got an event in Manchester soon -ok to crash at yours for 1 night? Xx'
Luke was replying instinctively before he could really think it through. Of course, he always available for Depay, one of his closest and most trusted pals, someone who had been there for him in some dark moments. He punched in his `yep, be gr8 to c u' before his brain could quite register the implications of the request or the arrangement. It was only as he locked the screen and slumped the phone to the tangled sheets that this reality dawned on him: he pictured his last two encounters with handsome Dutchman, what they had gotten up to in two different hotel rooms. Fuck. That was then, but now... He thought about Harry, his possessive hold on him, the slow development of their... well, their whatever-it-was. Could he really have Memphis stay over without...?
I am too hungover for this shit, he decided, and put it out of his head.
Once he could face it, he used their shower and ate a scrap of toast in their kitchen, forced to watch as the couple kissed and stroked each other smugly between household chores and attending to their young child's morning routine. Among these snapshots of domesticity, Luke indulgently replayed the brief morning scene in his mind, and sighed with a strange contradictory mix of satisfaction and yearning. He turned down two separate offers of lifts into the city from both Maguire and his fiancée, needing some space to himself now more than anything.
When it was polite to go, he booked his Uber and left. There was no intimate goodbye with Harry; she was there, right beside them. Luke didn't even look back at them as he crossed the street to climb into his Manchester-bound cab. He waited until he was safely nestled in the passenger seat, listening to the fame-struck driver exclaim a few fan-boy comments about United and the two star players he was getting to see this morning on his shift. Luke smiled patronisingly at him, unsure what to say to that, but always pleased to be recognised or complimented. Oh well, there were worse things to listen to on a hungover drive into the city!
He slid his phone out again and sent his text to Harry:
`Thx for having me over... that was amazing. Xxxx'
He deleted two of the kisses, then re-added the third, then laughed at himself, and added three more, and hit send. He put it away and turned sleepily to his driver, who was launching into a monologue about yesterday's Watford game. He smiled at him and at himself, and relaxed into the conversation, ready to relive the 3-0 game detail by detail.