Chapter Text
Growing up everyone told Kyle Garrick he had great potential. He was bright, sharp, fast. He could think with his feet faster than most people used their brains. Prodigy someone said. Rising star said another. His brothers were jealous. His mother was proud. Then came the injury. Then came the fall.
And Kyle was no longer a rising star. So burnt out he wondered if he was a star at all.
Stupid, the shit he thought about while standing on the sidelines of the football pitch, watching stroppy almost-teenagers making illegal passes.
‘Kick it Tyrone!’ he bawled, striding up the side, trainers crunching against the burnt brown summer grass. ‘Come on, Oliver is right there!’
The park was nicer than the one next to his house. The crowd watching were nicer too, yummy mummies in Mint Velvet with subtle makeup that nonetheless left orange stains smeared on his white t-shirts. He was more cautious now. He wore black.
There were a few dads there as well, earnest in fleeces and cycling gear, cheering and trying to get in the spirit of things. And off to one side, there he was. Again.
The man in the ridiculous hat.
Kyle had assumed the first week was an anomaly. But this was week three and here he was again, a dark figure in a camo jacket and worn jeans, lighting up a cigarette with easy movements. A wisp of blue smoke curled out from under his moustache. Some of the parents frowned, and moved away. One of the mothers made a great show of spritzing perfume in the air. He could smell it even downwind.
He turned back to the match, and the struggling twelve year olds, just in time for Oliver Cross to send a ball soaring with a hefty boot. It smashed straight into his face. He yelled. All the players came to a careening halt. Kyle held up a hand, voice slightly muffled beneath his palm.
‘M fine. Carry on. Five minutes of play left!’
He cautiously felt his nose and hissed. He sensed movement behind him and turned. The man with the ridiculous hat was standing over him, cigarette clamped between his lips.
‘You alright, mate?’
His voice was gruff, a little aged, like the good whiskey Kyle couldn’t afford. Kyle began to nod and then looked down and saw scarlet.
‘Your nose is bleeding,’ said the man. With a swift movement that belayed his size he pulled Kyle’s hand away from his bloody nose. ‘I think it might be broken.’
‘It’s fine, really,’ insisted Kyle but already mentally preparing for 11 hours sat in A&E. Shit. And on his one afternoon off.
‘Come here,’ said the man. He placed a hand on Kyle’s shoulder and firmly but insistently steered him away from the football pitch.
‘The match,’ Kyle protested weakly.
‘Oh they can cope for a minute I’m sure,’ replied the man. ‘I’m John by the way. Look up for me.’
Kyle tilted his head back, feeling blood from his nose slowly trickling over his mouth. He could taste copper. ‘Kyle,’ he replied. ‘Are you a doctor?’
John chuckled. ‘Do I look like a doctor?’ He suddenly had one hand on his nose and the other on his chin. ‘Deep breath in for me.’
‘Wait-‘ began Kyle and there came a sharp click. A burning sensation spread across his face. ‘Ow. Fu-dge.’
John chuckled. ‘Fudge? You feeling hungry?’
Kyle could feel himself blushing. He had to lower his eyes. ‘Just…something I started because of the kids, kinda became automatic.’
‘Alright.’ John patted his shoulder. ‘Oh hang on.’ He dug in a pocket and produced a cloth bandana. ‘Here, for the blood. It’s clean.’
Kyle took it from him. He had barely held it to his trickling nose when a scream made him startle. He swung around. One of the boys was on the floor, the other hopping on one leg. He sighed.
‘What happened?’ he called, jogging over, jostling his sore nose.
‘He tackled me,’ spat Jake. ‘Red card him!’
Kyle barely suppressed his eye roll. ‘Bro. No one is getting a red card.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway it’s full time.’ He felt for the whistle around his neck and blew it, blood smearing on the plastic.
There was a disappointed sigh from the players. Some of them began to trudge off, to waiting parents, others lingered to chat. Kyle walked over to the goal to roll it back to the store cupboard.
‘Can I give you a hand?’ John had followed him, although he’d removed his hat. Maybe he needed his bandana back.
Kyle could finally see him properly for the first time, younger than he expected, maybe 40, with ruffled brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
‘Nah it’s okay.’ He looked around at the assembled players. ‘I’m sure you need to get on. Which one is yours?’
John gave a tight smile. ‘Ah. It’s the ruffian that was rolling around on the floor. But his mum is here for him.’ He shrugged. ‘I just swung by to watch.’
‘Ah right. Well in that case help away,’ said Kyle. ‘These are fucking heavy.’
‘Not fudging heavy?’ said John with a chuckle.
He helped him wheel the goals into the large storeroom at the back of the clubhouse. Then he stood, hands on hips, watching as Kyle shoved them back into place, dislodging a bag of cones and having to stuff them back onto the shelf.
‘They play rugby here too?’ he said, peering at the equipment.
‘Yeah, that’s on Saturdays though. I don’t coach that.’
John turned to look at him, pale eyes sweeping over him. ‘Oh yeah. What do you do on Saturdays then?’
There was something about his stare, the intensity of it, that made his cheeks heat. Prat, he told himself. He was just making conversation.
‘Oh I work most Saturdays,’ he finally said, digging in his pocket for the cupboard key.
John moved back. He pulled out a crumpled packet of Marlboro Lights and a lighter and lit another. When he spoke again he was obscured behind a curl of drifting smoke.
‘What about next Saturday? You working then? I’ve got a spare ticket for the Arsenal game.’
It shouldn’t sting the way it still did. He didn’t play there anymore. But Kyle was all at once raw again, like a broken blister. He struggled to keep his expression neutral.
‘Oh yeah, they’re playing Man City right?’ He slammed the door shut under the pretence of making sure it was done up tightly.
If John noticed anything was amiss he didn’t say. Just kept that steady gaze on him, the clear blue of fair summer skies. Kyle gave his head a little shake. It was the fucking football to the face, he decided, that was making him think such ridiculous thoughts about a middle aged man in a bad hat.
‘Yeah I got the tickets through work. My son doesn’t want to go, off to Thailand would you believe spoilt little bugger. When I was his age it was five days at Butlins.’
Kyle smiled at this. ‘Oh yeah, you go to the one in Bognor or Skegness?’
He walked from the clubhouse, John following him. The sky was a bright arch of ozone overhead, it looked endless. On the other side of the pitch someone was walking a bounding Labrador beneath the swaying poplar trees. Despite Kyle’s aching nose suddenly the world seemed brighter, the opportunities without bounds. He could do anything. Be anything.
‘Skeggy all the way,’ replied John. He suddenly glanced at his watch, some battered Casio. ‘Listen I’ve got to run but give me your number and we’ll meet up before the match, eh?’
Suddenly Kyle was handing over his phone without a second thought. He was just being friendly he was just being friendly. But the smile John gave him as he handed it back didn’t seen friendly at all. He licked his lips, teeth showing like a wolf. Then he tapped his shoulder.
‘See you around Kyle. Watch out for loose balls.’
He jogged smartly over the dried grass, clanging through the gate, and disappeared into the warren of suburban streets. Kyle found he was clutching his arm where he’d patted him. It burned.
Kyle felt lifted after their meeting. He stared down at his phone. John Price. He’d even given his surname. He was so happy, his heart a big bright star in his chest, that he stopped at the park gates and bought an ice cream.
Walking home he realised he probably shouldn’t have. He only had £1.41 left in his bank account. But so what. He’d made a friend.
His housemate, Raj, was sitting in the living room when he got back to the poky two bed flat, face timing what sounded like his entire family. He sprang off the sofa as soon as he caught sight of Kyle.
‘Oh hey mate. Need to talk to you.’
One hand on his bedroom door, Kyle froze. Raj muted the phone.
‘Yeah I’m going back to Leeds next month and I’m gonna be selling this place.’ Raj was smiling, although nothing he said was particularly amusing.
Thinking of his aching nose, of John’s bright blue eyes, it took Kyle a second to focus, frowning as he did so. His gaze dragged over the flat, the open plan living area, with the dusty fake plants. The heap of washing up in the sink. It wasn’t anything special. But it was cheap.
‘Oh. Alright. So guess I can’t stay here then?’ His tone was clipped.
Raj shrugged. ‘I mean I can sell it to you if you want,’ he said as though that was even remotely in Kyle’s reach.
‘Nah mate I, ah, I’ve been looking at moving out a bit. Maybe Stratford or something.’
‘Cool,’ said Raj, attention already waning, and turned away, unmuting his phone as he did so.
Kyle slammed into his room, and sunk down on the bed. Shit. Shit. For the time being he forgot all about John Price.
He worried constantly all week, scrolling endlessly on Right Move every spare second. Years of renting had slowly but surely whittled his savings down to nothing. Chucking parcels over people’s fences barely paid the bills.
He added job hunting to his flat searching but there wasn’t much he was qualified for. He’d only ever learnt how to play football.
By Friday he was a nervous wreck. Crashing down onto his bed, he stared up at the ceiling. How was he going to scrape together cash for a deposit in three weeks? He dropped his phone onto his chest and rubbed his eyes. He thought for a second he was having some sort of heart attack and then realised his phone was vibrating. He picked it up and stared at the screen. John Price.
Kyle immediately pressed answer. He heard his breath crackle down the line.
‘Uh, hi,’ he said.
‘Caught you at a bad time?’ said John, voice just as rough and deep as he remembered.
Kyle hastily sat up. ‘No. No. Was just, you know, hanging out.’
His gaze swept around his room, white and bare, there was his bed and a wardrobe and little else. God knows why he was so desperate to stay.
‘I wanted to know your address,’ continued John.
‘Oh?’
‘So I can pick you up.’
Kyle heard him inhale. It sounded like he was smoking again. Filthy habit he told himself. Not sexy at all.
‘Kyle?’
Kyle realised he was meant to answer. Everything came back in a hot flash. The meeting. The match.
‘Sorry,’ he quickly said. ‘Sure. It’s 34 Stafford close, flat b.’
‘Oh I know the area,’ replied John. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at 13.00.’
Then, without waiting for a reply, the call ended.
‘Well that was efficient,’ said Kyle out loud.
‘What?’ called Raj from the other room.
‘Nothing,’ called Kyle back, and then flung himself belly down on the duvet, and shouted obscenities into his pillow.
Kyle worried about what to wear and then worried about worrying. Price hadn’t said it was a date. It was just two blokes being friendly. This is what guys did together, went to matches. Maybe they could get a beer together afterwards.
Even so Kyle wore his good jeans, and a white t-shirt that was just a little too snug on the biceps. Jeans and a t-shirt was casual, right? Casual and friendly.
John appeared at 1 on the dot, pulling up outside the house in a battered Defender. Kyle, watching from the window, was already out the door, striding down the concrete steps of the low rise.
John, outside, one hand raised about to press the buzzer didn’t look remotely startled. He smiled.
‘How’s the nose?’ was his greeting.
He wasn’t wearing his ridiculous hat today, but a plain black beanie. He was dressed all in black; black jeans, black t-shirt. Without his jacket Kyle could see heavy slabs of muscle beneath the cotton. He was broader than he had first realised. Kyle squashed down the thought like he squashed down most thoughts he had about other men and finally raised a hand self-consciously to his nose, which had developed a slight bump.
‘I think my modelling days might be over.’
Price chuckled. Swinging his car keys he walked with him over to the car.
‘Is that what you do when you’re not coaching?’ he asked before he swung open the door. The passenger door.
He was opening the door for him. Was this normally the sort of thing mates did for each other? Kyle hadn’t had friends since school, too consumed with training. Before he could think too much about it he clambered in.
‘Oh nah. I’m a delivery driver,’ he replied. ‘You know, the ones everyone complains about?’
Price laughed again. ‘What, hiding parcels in bins that are due to get picked up?’
He started the engine.
‘Yeah that’s my favourite trick,’ replied Kyle. He stared out the window as the car pulled away, at the tree lined suburban street. ‘I thought we’d take the tube. There’s not much parking at the stadium.’
John fishing in his pocket, produced, not a cigarette, but a cigar. The heavy scent of tobacco started to make Kyle feel light headed. He wound down the window.
‘I know a spot,’ said John, puffing smoke.
‘So, uh, what do you do?’ Kyle asked after they had sat in silence for several minutes.
‘Oh this and that,’ said John. ‘You a big gunners fan, then?’
They stopped at a zebra crossing, Defender rumbling. Kyle watched a couple walk across the road.
He chewed at his lower lip as he wondered what to say. He didn’t want to sound like a dick head. The car pulled away, and he looked down, picking at a threadbare bit of seat.
‘Kyle?’
Kyle felt eyes on him and looked up to see John glancing at him. He tossed his cigar butt out the window.
‘I played there for a little bit,’ he eventually said. ‘Under 21s. I was about to transfer to the premier league when I got injured.’ His nails scraped over the seat. He shrugged as though it was no big deal, although just saying out loud still felt like he was being repeatedly stabbed in the chest. He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway. It was a few years ago now.’
The jeep slowly pulled to a stop in a side street. Kyle looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the stadium. He looked at John to find he had turned in his seat. He switched the engine off.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Kyle blankly.
John shifted his weight and Kyle’s attention was momentarily drawn to the splay of one muscular thigh.
‘Tell me about it,’ said John.
‘I-‘ Kyle frowned. ‘You really wanna hear about all that bullshit?’
‘Yeah,’ said John, nodding.
‘I-‘ Kyle felt that horrible thickening of emotion rising up in his chest. The emotions he pushed back down. The ones he didn’t think about. No one had ever asked him to talk about it before. Everyone had told him to move on. To get over it. He had to take a deep breath before he continued. ‘I mean there’s not much to tell. I dropped out of school at 15 and enrolled at the academy. They said I was a prodigy.’ Here he grinned but Price didn’t grin back, he just nodded. ‘Football was my life. It was all I thought about. I was a shoe in for the premier league. We went all over the world playing other junior teams. Then a month after my eighteenth birthday, a week before I was about to be signed, I tore my ACL.’
He looked away from John, and out the window, staring blankly at someone putting their bins out.
‘It took over a year to recover and they dropped me like a hot potato. Too much of a fucking risk or something. Even though I can run fine now.’ He gave a sudden, mirthless laugh. ‘So that’s my illustrious career, over before it started. Washed up at 22.’
He looked down as a large, warm hand rested on his knee. He looked back at John who was staring intently at him, eyes bright even in the dim light of the car.
‘That’s a really tough break. I’m not gonna sit here and tell you it wasn’t. But you seem a smart lad, I bet you’ll find something you’re just as passionate about. I’ve got a good feeling about you.’
He winked, and Kyle had to drop his gaze, blushing. The hand resting on his knee tightened, just for a second, before John let it drop. He switched on the engine.
‘Let’s hope those fuckers lose, eh?’ he said.
Kyle found himself nodding.
John’s spot turned out to be a parking spot in the VIP carpark, the ancient Defender looking out of place amongst a sea of Jaguars and Ferraris. Despite how he felt Kyle picked up on the undercurrent of electric atmosphere as they joined the swelling crowd heading into the stadium, like a fish caught up in a current. John produced his tickets for a steward to scan.
‘It’s just up those stairs sir,’ said the steward, pointing.
‘You have a box?’ said Kyle in surprise.
‘Someone owed me a favour,’ said John, as though it was no big deal as they climbed up the concrete steps to the VIP area. ‘I thought we could grab some lunch while we were here.’
Kyle stared at his broad back as he climbed. Was the man some sort of secret millionaire? He didn’t look it. He could see the label of his t-shirt sticking out. It was from Tesco.
The VIP lounge was a large, white carpeted room with white clothed tables and chairs. Kyle looked over at the glittering bar, staffed with bartenders in waistcoats.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
‘Sure. I’ll take a whiskey, neat.’ John looked past him, scanning the room.
Kyle did too, seeing a cluster of women in tight dresses and men in linen and chinos. He was glad he’d worn his good jeans.
Holding their drinks they wandered over to one of the windows, staring out at the pitch. John handed him his glass.
‘I’m just gonna take a slash,’ he said, and disappeared like a shadow into the blue and cream crowd.
He was gone for quite a while. Kyle started to feel out of place, catching glances from the genteel crowd. He ordered another whiskey. The match started, and he stared out over the pitch. Greggs was playing, and Bell of course. The rest he didn’t recognise.
He sensed movement at his elbow and turned to see John standing next to him. He was holding two beers. His hat was missing.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I ran into an old friend and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Here.’ He handed Kyle the glass. ‘Who’s winning?’
‘No one yet,’ said Kyle, relieved he hadn’t abandoned him.
A roar went up from the stands. John grinned.
‘Looks like Man City scored.’
‘Good,’ said Kyle, his tone more vicious than he’d intended and John laughed.
He clapped him on the back, and then left his hand there, touch lingering. Kyle wasn’t sure what to do. Lean back? Shrug him off? He stood and drank his beer instead.
They ordered food but Kyle couldn’t eat, picking at a burger and chips. He found himself stealing little glances at the man while he watched the match, looking at the dark fan of his eyelashes, his adam’s apple as he swallowed. John caught one of the looks and Kyle quickly looked back at the pitch. Arsenal lost 2-1 and he took a perverse sort of joy in it.
John suggested one last drink and they sat at the bar, knees almost touching. Kyle stared at his pint. He shouldn’t drink anymore. His head was swimming. He watched as John drained his glass.
‘So,’ he began. ‘Your place or mine?’
Kyle, about to take a sip of beer, spluttered foam. He set the glass down.
‘What?’
John leaned in and Kyle could smell him; cigars and beer and cheap aftershave with too much sandalwood. His voice was so low he almost didn’t catch what he was saying.
‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight, sunshine, so d’ya wanna be in my bed or yours?’
Kyle felt his cheeks bloom with heat. He felt caught, trapped beneath John’s blue gaze like a hare in a headlamp. He didn’t know how to flirt with men. Was it all the same rules or something different? He felt like he was being called upon to perform a dance he didn’t know the steps of. Alcohol finally loosened his tongue for him.
‘You haven’t even kissed me,’ he said.
With a glance to the bartender, who had his back turned, disinterested, Price grabbed the front of his t-shirt, almost pulling Kyle from the stool. His mouth was on him in the next second, hot and hard, grinding against him. Kyle dissolved. Yes. Yes he wanted this. He kissed him back, just as hard. John bullied his lips apart and shoved his tongue into his mouth, almost choking him on it. His lips were rough, his beard soft, the hand firmly twisting his t-shirt was now cupping a handful of his chest.
It was like no kiss Kyle had experienced before, pushy and demanding, taking something from him that Kyle wasn’t sure he could give. John finally pulled back, smirking.
‘I’ll ask again, your place or mine?’
‘Yours,’ Kyle blurted out, chest heaving. ‘We can go to yours.’
John didn’t say anything as they climbed back into the Defender but he rested his hand on Kyle’s thigh. He kept it there for the whole drive. It was all Kyle could think about. He racked his brains for a topic of conversation but came up empty. He could still feel the ghost of John’s mouth on his. He realised he was running a hand over his mouth as they idled at a traffic light, and quickly stopped.
John’s house was an unremarkable semi-detached in a nondescript part of town. He unlocked the door without comment and Kyle stepped inside. It was bare; the carpets peeled back to show dusty floorboards, the light fitting a bundle of naked wires. Kyle opened his mouth to ask if he was getting work done and then John shoved him into the wall.
He kissed him, even harder than he’d kissed him in the bar, grinding him into the wall, nipping at his lower lip. One large, rough hand drifted inside his t-shirt, gliding up Kyle’s stomach and pinching a nipple. He yelped, the sound muffled by John’s mouth and he pulled back, grinning.
He should tell him.
John grabbed hold of his hand and silently dragged him up the stairs and into a bedroom. The blind was down, casting the room in shadow. The floorboards were bare here too but to Kyle’s relief there was a bed, neatly made, and a nightstand, stacked with books. He wasn’t a squatter then.
‘Sit down,’ said John.
He pulled his t-shirt over his head and Kyle goggled at the thick mat of chest hair, the breadth of his chest and arms, and the scars he was mapped with. A long puckered scar ran across his soft stomach, a cross was scored above his heart, something ragged had been dragged along his ribs. They weren’t surgical scars.
‘You’re not sitting,’ said John, reaching down to unlace his boots.
Kyle cleared his throat. It wasn’t a big deal, he told himself.
‘I’ve not done this before,’ he said, voice dropping to a mumble. He felt his skin crawling with embarrassment.
John looked up in surprise. Before he could say anything Kyle spoke again, words falling over each other in the rush to get them out.
‘I’ve been with women. Had a couple girlfriends. But-but not men. I-I tried a couple times with Grindr but I couldn’t go through with it and-‘
A soft smile was now playing on John’s mouth. He took a single step, closing the space between them. His hands came up to cup Kyle’s face. Kyle was reminded once again that he had several inches and a good 20 pounds on him. He felt small. He never felt small.
‘Sweetheart,’ John said. ‘You’re not leaving here without getting fucked.’
He shoved him, hard, and Kyle fell back on the bed, bouncing. John leaned down and yanked off his trainers. He climbed up the length of his body, capturing his mouth with his and swallowing down his protests with lips and tongue. One hand was deftly undoing his belt and jeans. He pulled back and planted a soft kiss on Kyle’s forehead.
‘Don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing, love. I’m gonna take good care of you.’
No one had called Kyle pretty before. He found he quite liked it. He watched as Price pulled up his t-shirt and lowered his head. He jumped as he started to kiss down his stomach.
‘Just relax,’ said John in a low voice, speaking into his skin. ‘I’ve got you.’
Kyle raised his hips so John could slide his jeans and boxers off. Anxiety twisted low down in his belly. He realised he was winding his fingers in the sheets. He gulped as John leaned in and gently kissed his cock.
‘Fuck me you’re gorgeous,’ murmured John. He kissed him again, tongue darting out and tracing a long hot line down his length.
Despite his nerves Kyle could feel himself hardening. He gasped as John ducked his head and drew his stiffening flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. Kyle heard himself make a ragged gasping sort of sound as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked.
His hips rose of their own accord as John started to move up and down, lips stretching around his heavy cock, now fully hard and hitting the back of his throat. His tongue continued to stroke up, all the while his mouth kept up the same bruising pressure.
Kyle raised his head, looking down, and found John starting straight back. He winked. Kyle felt a fresh throb of arousal through every inch of him and then he was coming, caught completely off guard, his cock pulsing in the other man’s mouth. He let out a wet sob, nerves spilling over with pleasure.
John let his twitching cock drop from his mouth and crawled up the length of his body. He grabbed his chin, pulling his mouth open. Leaning in he spat his own cum back into his mouth, a warm puddle of salt oozing over Kyle’s tongue. He stared up at John in shock, who patted his cheek.
‘Good lad,’ he said. ‘Turn around.’
When he didn’t immediately move John sat back, hands stroking over his hips. He was naked, Kyle realised, when had he taken his jeans off? His thighs were darkly furred with hair. He stared at his flushed cock.
‘Do you want me to-?’ he tried.
‘No, love. Just turn around.’
Slowly, feeling horribly exposed, Kyle did. He could hear his ragged breathing. He felt the bed move as John got up, opening and shutting drawers behind him. As he attempted to look around, a firm hand pushed his head back.
‘Eyes front,’ said John firmly. He sounded like someone used to giving orders.
Kyle stared at the Ikea headboard. He gave a heavy swallow. Was he going to fuck him? Was it going to hurt? The bed creaked as John settled behind him. Kyle made a god awful noise, a strangled sort of shriek, as a hot, wet tongue squirmed between his arse cheeks.
‘Fuck. I-‘
A hand came up and sharply slapped his behind, making him shut his mouth with a snap.
‘Easy,’ said John, and then that mouth was back on him, tongue sliding against the very core of him, lapping over the tight ring of muscle.
Kyle whimpered as his tongue pried him open and slid inside. He was hard again, cock pulsing insistently between his thighs. He felt a rough hand wrap around his length and give him a teasing pull before dropping.
John pulled his cheeks apart and licked over him, making him shiver, pleasure skittering up his spine. Kyle groaned, his head flopping forward, forehead resting against the pillows. He’d never felt anything like it.
The mouth disappeared, and he gave a little groan of disappointment, making John chuckle.
He felt something much harder pushing against his hole, a finger he realised after a second. Price pushed firmly inside without hesitation. He pulled back and added a second, and Kyle felt a slight burn. He shifted his weight and John stroked down his flank, like he was soothing a horse.
‘You’re being such a good boy for me,’ he said.
His voice went right to Kyle’s cock. It bucked of its own accord, oozing pre cum. He ground his teeth, reaching a hand down to squeeze his aching length, already painfully close to coming again from words alone.
John slowly stretched him open on his fingers, pressing down and twisting. Kyle jolted, gasping, as he pressed a spot that made his cock jerk again. He felt a full body shudder and a burst of pleasure so bright he swore he saw stars.
‘X marks the spot,’ said John, sounding pleased.
‘You a pirate or something?’ said Kyle, weakly.
He craned his head, staring back at him. A pirate would at least explain the scars. Price snickered, shaking his head. He leaned in and kissed his skin before pulling back. Kyle watched as he opened a bottle of lube, dripping it down his arsecrack. He worked it into his hole, massaging his rim with his fingers and making Kyle wriggle.
‘Could we-‘ he began.
John looked up. ‘Hm?’
‘Could we maybe do it from the front?’ he asked.
In the next breath John took hold of a thigh and flipped him. All the breath whooshed out his lungs. Panting, he watched John slicking his cock, thick and flushed ruddy pink in his hand. John grabbed hold of his hips, pulling him down the bed. He eased Kyle’s thighs apart.
He was doing it. He was actually doing this. He gulped as John pressed the fat head of his cock up against his hole. He felt a searing pain as he slowly breached him, and squirmed.
‘You’re alright,’ murmured John, eyes trained on his expression, hand tightening on his hip.
Kyle couldn’t look at him, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling instead.
One hand on his thigh, and one holding him in place John continued to push, slowly, firmly, and Kyle felt himself filled. The pain faded away to a dull ache. He gasped as he felt the hot, hard length of the other man’s cock twitching deep inside him.
John pulled one thigh up until it was pressed against his chest and softly kissed his knee. The one with the scar. He started to thrust, slowly at first, but soon becoming more forceful. Kyle could hear himself moaning, sounds spilling over his lips unbidden. He’d never made sounds like this. He could feel every inch of John’s cock inside him, throbbing inside his guts. The other man changed angle and every stroke dragged against that sweet spot inside him, his nerves searing molten with pure, undiluted pleasure.
John leaned in, trapping Kyle’s leaking cock between them, his belly sopping with precum. He sucked a mouthful of flesh into his mouth, leaving behind a dark stain. He did the same to his neck, making Kyle squirm. Kyle finally dared to wrap his arms around him, blunt nails digging into a broad expanse of back. He looked down, seeing the glistening length of him shoving in and out.
‘Fucking hell,’ he groaned, head tilting back.
John started to fuck him harder, hammering into him, the slick length of him shoving in and out. He grabbed hold of his dripping cock and tugged him in time to his strokes. It was too much, the hard length filling him, the rough palm on his cock, the slap of his balls. Kyle came, crying out, feeling his hole quivering. His orgasm crashed into him like a violent wave, pulse after pulse of dancing pleasure throbbing through his cock. His thighs trembled.
He came back to himself as John pulled out. Kyle could feel a wet heat blooming in his belly. He reached down and felt cum dribbling out of his gaping hole.
Fuck. That had been- It had felt nothing like fucking a woman. He felt at the wet bruises on his chest, and his thrashing heart beneath. He felt flayed open, exposed, like a raw nerve. He could still hear the echo of his cries reverberating in the still air.
Price flopped down next to him, making the bed shake. Kyle glanced at him, at the sweat caught in his curling chest hair and his slick cock. Should he leave? Would he see him again? Then Price turned and kissed his shoulder.
‘I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Kyle, without hesitation.
‘Oh yeah?’ said John, and he sounded for the first time, a little uncertain.
Was he as anxious as Kyle had been? Surely not?
‘It was amazing,’ Kyle found himself saying. ‘Five stars. Would fuck here again.’
John nodded, although he still looked unsure. They stared at each other. He’d just had him inside him, Kyle suddenly thought. He wanted to do it again. It was John that broke eye contact first. He got up with a grunt and Kyle stared at his arse as he padded across the room. There was a faded tattoo on his shoulder; a winged dagger.
John paused in the doorway, scratching at his stomach.
‘I’m gonna make some eggs,’ he said. ‘How do you want yours?’