Subject: Premiership Lads part 168: The Bunkhouse Part 168: The Bunkhouse `Yeah yeah babes, thank you, haha… I know, sucks, wish I could have that b’day kiss too, hah… aww, love you more, love you more… yeh, bye, buh-bye, love you, mwah…’ Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain lowered the phone from his ear and stood taking in the air for a minute longer, an affectionate grin crossing his broad freckled face as he lingered outside the communal chalet of the camp. Ahead of him, forests and mountains sprawled upwards into the pink ribbons of the sunset sky. Night crawled rapidly in and the mountain air was cooling against his bare arms and shins, still dressed in the loose thin new material of the 20/21 training kit at LFC. Inside, the other guys were audible in their enjoyment of the unfolding Quarter-Final on the crackling single television; Manchester City’s downfall was satisfying gladiatorial entertainment for even the most empathetic and fair-minded Liverpool player tonight, a final flourish to the long-gone season and their historic win. Seeing the smug big money Manchester club spiral out of the Champions League was a symbolic confirmation of Liverpool’s brilliant year, an icing on the Premiership cake they had won fair and square. Alex was not immune to that sadistic joy, but he was more occupied with turning 27 and the strange joy of being back with his teammates so early. They were here in the Austrian Alps on a summer boot camp, much earlier than any of their strong rivals, gathering for an August booster week rather than languishing in holiday mode. Okay, it was not without its frustrations: so many Premiership fellas were still on their holidays, flashing six-packs and beach bars all over social media, and guys at clubs like City and United would only just be beginning their vacation while the Liverpudlian squad sweated it out in the mountains. But not a single man in the Merseyside club had complained about the timing of the boot camp — who wanted to question or doubt Jurgen Klopp after the recent years of triumph? No-one. Even Oxlade-Chamberlain, returning to `work’ on his 27th birthday rather than extending his Mediterranean break with his girlfriend and pals, could not find it in him to resent the early return to footy mode, the first glances ahead to September’s new season. Besides, Alex thought, he had other more private reasons to be glad that he was out here in this Alpine scenery, reunited with his champion teammates well before the real work of the 20/21 season began. He grinned as he swirled his new phone in his hands and shuffled from foot to foot, watching the last of the sun dip between the peaks and the light in their valley sports camp begin to fade. After the City-Lyon game reached its ecstatic conclusion, there would be even more entertainment in the cabin he was sharing with his two closest pals. The cabin was small and twee like all of them — rustic and wooden and positioned not far from the sports pitches that dominated the site. The only difference between this cabin and most of them in the sports centre was that this was a three-man bunkhouse, rather then the paired accommodation most of the Liverpool players were occupying tonight. An amusingly boyish bunkbed dominated one side of the cabin, reinforced for the weight of adult sportsmen, and then a narrow separate single bed stood at a right angle to this tall structure. Other than that, the cabin was bare and spartan, their cases tucked on a rickety metal frame by the door, and gingham curtains covering the single square window. The thin door burst inwards and Andy Robertson spilled cheerily into the cabin, reaching to flick on the weak single light bulb, then taking a few steps forward whilst holding the door open for the others. Sunkissed and freckled from his family holiday and Scottish golfing antics, the 26-year-old Glaswegian grinned out into the mild dark of the night then ushered his two cabin-mates inside. `Before any fuckin’ bugs join us,’ he quipped, shoving the door into place then pulling the single bolt that locked it. Ox stomped by him and flopped onto the separate single bed, as if claiming it, still laughing at something Trent Alexander-Arnold had said on the way through the campsite to their accommodation. Outside, other men’s voices floated, muffled and shifting as the site curfew was politely accepted and the night’s entertainment (City’s defeat) was put aside. The men were tipsy but not drunk; Klopp had broken bootcamp tradition by allowing a two-drink limit tonight, jokily in honour of Ox’s birthday but more accurately to acknowledge the unofficial victory of seeing their closest Premiership rivals lose out on a piece of European silverware. The boys’ manager was obviously too warm and professional to make a speech in the bar chalet about how great it was seeing Pep Guardiola look gutted, but everybody knew he shared their naughty pleasure in it. Tonight, Liverpool felt like champions all over again. Andy stood by the door, grinning over at the prone form of the heavily muscular midfielder, then at his fellow Liverpool defender, who had folded his bare arms and was looking warily at the bunkbed structure. His eyes swivelled up to the single exposed bulb that shed its yellow glow on them all. They’d have to turn it off, he realised, since Klopp’s curfew was firm, and they absolutely could not risk any of their colleagues taking an interest in why they were staying up too late tonight. He hovered there, finger close to the switch, giving the others a minute or two to settle and relax from the high-spirited stroll, from their couple of strong local beers. `Hope you’re ready for your real birthday party,’ Andy quipped in a chuckling grunt, patting his chest as he spoke. `It’ll be better than whatever you got up to on your so-called holiday, Alex.’ `Oh, is that so?’ returned Oxlade with a little whooping laugh, drumming his hands against his six-pack through his dark Liverpool shirt, jutting his thick strong legs out over the side of the bed. Andy watched him rub his ankles until he’d slid off the loose trainers and bared his big brown feet. The Scotsman laughed almost nervously to himself and looked again at Trent, watching as their younger friend fidgeted with the stack of their luggage, looking for a charger for his phone. `It is seriously good to be back with you guys,’ Alex admitted then, training his large brown eyes on Andy, a grin that was less showy and public, just for him. `He admits it,’ Robertson teased, unable to return the quiet sincerity yet. `Knew that beauty of yours was just a decoy for your deep love for us two, Oxtail. Lads, I’ll have to turn the light off, aye, or we’ll have Klopp knocking on our door like a schoolteacher, huh.’ `Pfft, let him,’ Trent chuckled idly, slipping a charger from his case and smirking at them both, `he’ll be impressed to see us doing extra exercise, right…?’ Andy laughed softly at the bold comment from the reserved younger lad, and tweaked the curtains to look out across the campsite while the other two men fussed about. One by one, he could see the glowing squares of other cabin windows extinguish. The pale silhouette of mountains above their valley was dimming, the sky turning an inky blue above their remote site. When he turned around, he realised he was missing out: Alex had his bulging biceps about Trent, stood in a gentle hold, and one of the star defender’s hands was tucked down the front of his loose black shorts. `Oi!’ the Scotsman laughed immediately, pulling the curtain to and picking up a laminated welcome sheet from the windowsill to swat idly at the handsy pair, `What are you two at, we ain’t given him his gifts yet, dafties…’ `Mmm, what if this IS my gift?’ purred Alexander-Arnold, leaning gently into the strong pillar of the 27-year-old, turning to grin mischievously at Robertson while continuing to fondle the birthday boy in his shorts, much bolder than in their handful of pre-summer antics since Trent first crawled into their bed and joined their fun in the final days of the League. Andy swatted him again and tossed aside the sheet, throwing his sun-reddened arms about both men in a group hug. He planted an affectionate kiss on Trent’s temple and then twisted his head to meet Alex’s lips in a brief kiss, squeezing onto the muscular mass of the pair for a minute, then disentangling with a self-conscious laugh. He felt a slap on the arse of his own tight shorts and wasn’t even sure if it came from cheeky Trent or luxuriously grinning Alex. The Glaswegian left-back ignored them but smirked to himself, giddy from a long day of quite playful footy mersin escort training with the boys, a fun and energising return to the day job after so much time relaxing with his partner and kids and his Scottish family. He felt the jarring wrongness of what he wanted from tonight compared to that domestic bliss, but ignored it; tonight was not about his ego or morality, but all about his dear Alex’s enjoyment and satisfaction. A laddish giggle told him Trent’s hands were wandering again. `Gifts first,’ he barked at them, squatting to reach his own case and sliding a hand into the side compartment where he’d tucked the funny little token of his erotic love. He pulled the small package out and tossed it back at Alex, who had to let go of Trent’s shoulders to snatch it from the air. Trent pulled aside a little, calming himself down, fiddling with the drawstrings on the front of his trackies, winking expectantly at Andy. `This better be good,’ laughed Alex, mashing the clumsy wrap in his strong fingers and tugging open the little package with a puzzled frown on his broad handsome features. Andy grinned stupidly, suddenly wishing he’d bought a better and more meaningful birthday gift for his cherished pal, rather than this silly trinket. `It’s a… er… what is it?’ In front of him, Oxlade-Chamberlain dropped the paper and plastic covering away and held the rubbery blue and white band around a couple of sausage fingers. `A hairband? An ear-ring? Erm — the bigger the hoop, the bigger the h-` `It’s a cockring, dumb-ass,’ laughed Trent, punching him in one of his solid shoulders. `You never fuckin’ seen one, lad?’ the Scouse youth demanded. `Put it on. Come on.’ Oxlade-Chamberlain’s jovial face turned serious as he stared inexpertly at the plasticky moulded ring about his fingers, then over at Andy, who couldn’t help but laugh. `I know it’s a wee daft thing but I thought it was fun to try,’ he said apologetically. `An’ it’s in the Scottish flag colours, ya know, so you’re wearing my pride around your bawbag.’ He grinned wickedly at him and shrugged. `Apparently they’re so hot,’ murmured Trent in the tone of a gossiping teen. `Never worn one but hear they make your boner like so…’ He trailed off as if embarrassed, as if remembering his earlier nerves when he first played with them in that hotel bad, anxious about his first forays with other team members on the night of winning the League. He blushed and grinned and made eyes at Alex and then at Andy, clearly buzzing for their shared cabin and tonight’s fun. `Aye, go on,’ Robertson encouraged quietly. `It’ll go nice with ya birthday suit, huh?’ Alex flashed him his cheesiest white-tooth smile at that and shrugged his bulky shoulders. `God, I’m the birthday lad here and you two are wanting the strip show off me? Fuck’s sake — worse than my missus on our boat.’ In one move, he peeled his Liverpool shirt up and off, baring the sturdy brown bulk of his chest and abs to them beneath the glow of the single bulb. Andy stared at him, surprised that it had taken him so long to realise how oddly beautiful a man’s body could be; perhaps he’d always been a bit too insecure and jealous of his more overtly muscular teammates to appreciate the artwork of their bodies…? He saw Trent admiring too, staring a little as Alex loitered there with his muscles out and his fingers slipping inside the waist of his shorts. `Come on, give us a show, then I’ll knock out the light,’ Andy offered encouragingly. Chuckling with them, Oxlade-Chamberlaine strutted forward a bit and then turned sideways as he began to lower his shorts, playfully exposing the hip and thigh and beautiful side-view of his curved meaty backside before slut-dropping his shorts and briefs to the floor and slapping a teasing paw over his loaded crotch. Andy noticed how lustfully Trent bit his lip and watched, this `straight’ 21-year-old looking utterly besotted with his older pal. Then, with a throaty little whoop, Alex took his hand away and let his cock and balls swing free, stood in just socks and trainers and testing the flexible band in his other hand. Andy stepped in closer to watch as the football hunk stretched it on his fingers then slid it over his long (already semi) meat and about his chunky balls, giggling stupidly at the feel of it as the cockring encircled his jewels. `Is that it?’ he demanded. `Have I done it right?’ `How’s it feel?’ Trent asked in an eager whisper. `It looks good,’ Andy put in, nervous at the excitement in his own voice, reaching for the light switch and clicking it off, plunging them now into cool darkness while their eyes adjusted. Emboldened by the gloom, he sidled closer to the other two and reached forward, stroking the chubby flop of his best mate’s swelling prick, fondling under the tightened bulge of his balls, feeling where the cockring constricted and expanded them. `Feels good from here. Alex…?’ `Fuck it’s weird,’ laughed the birthday boy, `but… yeah… think my cock’s gonna be even bigger than normal, lads…?’ Trent waited for his eyes to clear and focus so he could enjoy the sight of the two sexy twentysomethings beside him, more relaxed and comfortable as the darkness covered them, even though he’d been looking forward tonight all through his lads’ holiday in Mykonos with his Scouser pals and a casual girlfriend he was probably gonna dump soon. The recently crowned Young Player of the Year for last season wriggled out of his Liverpool shirt and dropped it to the floorboards, reaching out covertly to stroke Alex’s six-pack with one hand and patting Andy’s clothed shoulder with the other, enjoying the firmness and heat of these two exciting blokes who had welcomed him into their secrets. He’d been so anxious about what happened with Harvey and Joe and then with Joe again — especially the latter — but in their bumbling cheerfulness and cosy laughter, these two already excellent friends had relaxed and encouraged them. Sometimes, like today in training, he would look over at the big bulky figure of manly Oxlade-Chamberlain and think `What the fuck? Did I actually put my dick in him?’ He’d had a lot of moments like that on holiday on the beach, playing around with his old school pals who saw him as this uber-manly hero of their set, suddenly getting nervous or embarrassed to think about how his victorious Liverpool season had really ended. But it was just so much fun, he would tell himself, unwilling to be ashamed or regretful any more. And tonight he was ready for more. `So what’s my second gift, eh?’ demanded Ox, while Andy began to wank at his thick hard cock — it wasn’t easily visible in this light but the dimness made it seem more intimidatingly huge. Trent helped Andy out of his shirt while he did this, stroking both lads chests and nipples idly and making them titter and grin in the dark. `What have you got me, Arnold?’ `Tell him,’ urged Andy warmly when Trent hesitated. `Well we went to the sex shop together,’ Trent sniggered. `Proper sleazy motorway one outside Liverpool, y’know! And er, I bought a butt plug while Andy was getting the cockring, haha…’ He grinned sheepishly at the star of tonight’s fun, enjoying the glint in his eye and the stretch of his smile, then even moreso the encouraging and warm feel of his muscular arm closing about his shoulders. `So yeah, that’s my gift for you…’ `Where is it then?’ asked Alex, shaking him a little, playing with his own dick with the other hand then pulling Andy in for a bit of a cuddle as they all stood there. Trent smiled nervously back then looked at Andy, whose face had that calm wise helpfulness to it, none of the jokey banter now, just a good solid friend; he patted Trent’s arm and bare back, the three of them stood so close. `You gonna put it in me, hero?’ Ox demanded teasingly. `Insertion time, where you want me…? Haha…’ `Nah, you’re not getting it,’ Trent laughed, slipping away from the warm arms of the other two, backing into the bunkbed ladders and fumbling at the waist of his tracksuit bottoms. He turned his back on them, holding one arm against the ladders and using the other to lower his bottoms and briefs over the smooth brown bulge of his fleshy bottom, exposing and presenting it. `The gift is inside me, chief…’ Alex stared wondrously at the figure of the slim muscular defender, glancing nervously over his shoulder while he presented his virgin bottom. His heart leapt in his sturdy chest and he glanced hotly at Andy for confirmation; Robbo nodded slowly and patted his arm. `We need to go easy on him,’ the Scotsman said in a quiet bark, `but he’s up for trying it if you are. escort mersin We thought you should get a night off, with it being your b’day and all, aye…’ Alex approached Trent immediately and kissed him on the back of the neck, patting one of his chubby cheeks gently. `Are you sure?’ he purred. `Are you sure you wanna…?’ He nuzzled at his neck and shoulders, kissing the impossibly soft skin of the youth player and squeezing at that fleshy buttock of the smaller, leaner lad. `God you’re beautiful, Trent, and full of surprises…’ He bit at his shoulder muscle gently then turned to smile happily at Andy while at the same time scooping a big hand round the front and into his pants, taking hold of his trembling erection. Andy was pulling close and re-taking hold of Alex’s cock, all three men moaning softly; Alex placed his right hand on Andy’s cock so that they were all being gently pulled at the same time, leaning somewhat into the frame of the bunkbeds. The bunkbeds that they had jokingly fought about when they managed to convince Klopp’s assistant manager that they were happy to share as a threesome tonight rather than be split off into pairs; the bunkbeds that had provoked Andy to jokingly ask `Well who’s being top bunk tonight and who’s bottom?’ Fits of laughter from all them, Oxlade-Chamberlain oblivious to the fact that these two were scheming about that very quandary. He had been more than happy to experiment with taking Andy’s dick when their intimacy progressed, found it far less invasive and painful than he’d feared — and he’d discovered his own surprising submissive side on his knees in those dogging woods, faced with Ross Barkley. But he’d been gagging to turn the tables and try topping, he just hadn’t wanted to panic or rush sweet shy Andy. Corrupting sweet shy Trent, on the other hand… Suddenly he was being sucked; Robbo was on his knees, the only one not yet getting naked, finding and sucking his rod. It did feel stiffer and firmer for the pressure of the cockring, something Ox had never considered trying, but now loved. Perhaps he loved it more for the lameness of its `Scottish colours’ and the prospect of a blushing Andy Robertson purchasing it with his privates in mind. He fed his well-endowed tool to the thin lips and scratchy stubble of the Glaswegian dirty bugger, still groping and cuddling at Trent with both hands, turning him back against the ladders and massaging down his firm chest and toned tummy, tugging on his thin pink-tipped prick and making him whimper and groan. `You beauty,’ he murmured at him, `you dirty bugger…’ He jerked on Trent’s nob with one tight fist and stroked the short auburn curl of Andy’s hair with the other, overwhelmed with the comfort and excitement of these two teammate buddies who he could trust so intimately. Pushing his dick deeper into Robbo’s clumsy but satisfying mouth, really tugging on his curling hair, he brought his left hand off the cock and onto Trent’s back, stroking down the smooth toned muscle there, finding his arse cheeks again where they squashed into the metal rungs. He slid fingers between them and found the hard plastic tip of the toy that had been apparently inside him all day, easing him in, stretching his virginal ring while he hit the training pitch like a trooper. Alex fingered at it, pushing in on it a little and making him groan, then twisting it, starting to pull it out then reinserting it. Trent whined in pleasure at these moves and Alex kissed him just below the neck; they had yet to induct the younger bloke in their increasingly relaxed snogs, an unspoken agreement that Ox wasn’t sure between two explanations: were they preserving Trent’s nervous reluctance or worried about making each other jealous? Out the toy came, a small bullet of soft plastic that must have felt huge and uncomfortable to inexperienced young Trent. Alex dropped it onto the sheets of the lower bunk, appropriately, and slid one thick finger in deep in its place. `Ohhhh Oxxx,’ whined the Scouse lad, twisting a little; Andy moved his lips from cock to cock just then, enveloping him in an affectionate blowjob even as his hole was roughly toyed with. He took control and pulled on Trent’s arm, breaking position. He turned him round and muttered in his ear. `Bend over a little and grab the rungs, okay? Don’t worry, I’m not gonna put it in you yet, buddy…’ Trent did as he was told, shuffling his pants further down his legs before grabbing the second or third rung from the top and bending forward against the bed. Staying low, Andy pressed his bottom down against the boards and leaned over to continue sucking their prized young friend, while Alex lowered himself behind him. He planted kisses three inches apart all the way down his spine then held onto his pale brown cheeks and placed a kiss between them, triggering a little gasp of surprise from tonight’s bottom bunker. Just as he’d learnt from Barkley and finally seduced Andy with, the sturdy muscular midfielder crouched forward and rimmed Alexander-Arnold, sliding his thick powerful tongue in against his loosened, experimental hole, making him twist and snigger and gasp. Sexy young Trent was being lavished at both ends now, and both Andy and Alex reached around to stroke and pat at one another’s torsos and arms as they pleasured the third member of their little `thruple’. But in the dark excitement, no one task ever seemed enough for long. `Andy, you do him,’ Alex urged, having felt Robbo’s nervous and uncertain attempts to lick him out once or twice before. He pulled encouragingly on one of his arms, feeling the sunburn in his lean muscle, and wriggling aside to swap places. He snogged Robbo firmly on the lips as he guided him into position behind Trent, who bent further forward now and really jutted his arse back, face buried in his long arms as he clung to the bed. Robertson looked uncertain but excited; Alex kissed him again and pushed his head from behind, guiding him down to taste the lad’s unused arse — then descending down his wiry tough body to drag his cock out and suck on it. Ox gave the most slobbering and noisy blowjob he could, curling about below the other two, wrapping his lips around the short chunky Scottish tool and around his loose chunky balls, enjoying the tickle of his red-tinged pubes on his own stubble. He stroked Trent’s calves and ankles as he lay there between them, hearing the wet rustle of Andy lick an arse and the deep worried gasps of a lad really embracing something new. And then, after several beautiful minutes of this, he pulled Robbo away slightly and whispered in his ear. `You need to fuck him first, bud, he won’t take me yet…’ So it was Robertson who got up first, kicking away his pants, and clambered into position behind Trent. Alex stood and stroked them both like the choreographer or director of this little cabin porno, rubbing his hand down Andy’s back and finding the familiar little hairy patch at the bottom of his spine, then stroking and slapping his firm muscled cheeks — one day, he’d fuck that peachy Scottish bottom, he told himself, but only when his baby was ready. On the other side, he massaged at Trent’s neck and shoulders and clasped his chest, kissing his shoulder and bicep and murmuring things to him. `It’ll be okay,’ he told him, `it won’t hurt too much now, not after all that prep… just relax, okay, more you relax, more it goes in easy…’ The voice of experience, he supposed with a smirk, realising how comfortable he’d become in his handful of anal experiences beneath Andy (and Trent). Andy, even after those bursts of activity, was clumsy and forceful as he mounted Trent, his Caledonian roughness making Alex snigger affectionately and snog him even as he pressed his tool into their lad. The two enjoyed a slow lingering kiss then, momentarily forgetting the third part of the trio, but a pained yelp broke the moment. Alex pulled forward and kissed Trent on the cheek, reaching down to squeeze his dick. `Relax,’ he growled, `try to relax… how does it feel…? Mmm… come on, mate, you can take it…’ And he could. The butt plug and the double rimming had done their job. Andy was inside him now and humping him like a randy dog, thrusting into him and making him yelp and buckle and grip more tightly at the bunk bed frame. Ox moved his attention between them, playing with Trent’s cock and body and planting surreptitious kisses everywhere but his face; and then cuddling and slapping at Andy and his backside or just staring down to watch the jiggle of Trent’s cheeks and the way Andy’s red dick pushed in and out, in and out, in and out. This just made mersin escort bayan him desperate for his own turn, and he didn’t let Trent’s first fucking go on for long. He signalled readiness with a lusty stare at Robbo, who immediately understood and retreated. Alex yanked Trent’s body away from the supporting frame and held him in his thick muscled arms instead in the centre of the cabin, while Robbo dropped to his knees on the other side and immediately began to suck him once more. Trent yowled delight a little too loud so that Ox had to throw a hand around his mouth to quieten him, because the cabins on this site were not placed very far apart. Holding him like this, he edged his tool between his fleshy cheeks and into the raw opening that had endured its first invasion. Alex was much thicker and longer than Andy, but the ring was slick and well-prepared and he moved into him more easily than he expected — yet still so much tighter and stronger than any pussy he’d been in — and in moments he was really fucking him, holding him tight and banging him upright, holding his squeals into his palm and loving that down below Andy was bobbing back and forward on his cock. Trent came quickly, and Alex felt the tightening of his arse as he did, loving it, while Alexander-Arnold spilled his load either in Robbo’s mouth or on his rugged face or chest, he couldn’t see. He just fucked on, holding the now limp frame of the gorgeous young right-back and shafting him deep with his Little Mix-fucking bone. Andy was on his feet now, standing beside them and wanking furiously, bright red in the face; Alex heard rather than saw him finish, then felt the hot splash of cum hitting his own hip and thigh and maybe Trent’s too. The cabin interior stunk of their sex. To finish, Alex didn’t want to waste his load inside his virgin bottom. He pulled out, grinning triumphantly, and muttering at them. `On your knees lads, come on…’ He remained where he stood, his muscular body heaving, as Andy happily kneeled and helped a shaky, pale-faced Trent down too; the lad looked exhausted and broken but deeply satisfied, his head lolling as he settled down with Andy’s arm around his shoulders. Ox looked down on them both as he wanked himself to finish, happy that there were no two faces he’d rather look down on in his moment of peak enjoyment. He unloaded his balls, the shot of his spunk seeming super-charged by the pressure of the cockring. His goo spilled over Trent and Andy’s earnest faces and their bare slightly sweaty chests, trickling on their muscular lean shoulders and down their throats. In the pale light that shone in through the single window and its thin curtains, the birthday boy’s potent seed sparkled on two handsome footballers who had done everything to make his night perfect. Elsewhere, under the cover of the thick pine trees that bordered the valley, another man blew his load, holding his footy shirt up around his nipples so that the boy on his knees could stroke the intensely rigid washboard of his abs. The tight-packed Egyptian hunk gasped into the wilderness and felt his seed ooze in the willing mouth of the teenager in front of him, closing his eyes tightly to hide from the world as he exploded in pleasure. Mouth full of Salah’s cum, Harvey just gurgled and giggled and slid away, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. In another cabin, lodged with a snoring Curtis Jones, yet another Liverpool player pulled hard on his meat under the thin bedding, trying and struggling to do so without making little creaks of springs and joists. But by dint of a slow and frustrating wank, the young Welshman spurted his cum against the sheets and bit down on his satisfied sigh, wishing angrily that he’d been lodged with a different teenager tonight, and could have revisited those weed-soaked nights of early summer. And standing a little way from his shared cabin, the captain of them all lowered his phone sadly from his ear and played anxiously with the collar of his shirt. The Mackem bloke stared wistfully at his phone screen as the dial cut off unanswered, no response from Adam Lallana’s phone tonight. All he’d wanted was a little chit, maybe some dirty talk remembering his Anfield goodbye, nowt more. The Liverpool skipper sighed again and locked his phone and made his way back into the cabin, needing to leave the semi in his shorts unattended as he climbed into the creaking bed and tried not to wake up Virgil. Andy was woken with a little shake to the arm. For all their intense sexual intimacy, the three of them had genuinely taken a different bed each — the beds here were light and rickety and looked like two adult men hugging could cause them to buckle and break. Ironically, Robertson was curled up in the bottom bunk (the only one here who couldn’t take that title, he’d laughed) with Trent still snoring in the `top bunk’ (hah! Wow, he’d been tight…) and Alex now hunched beside him shaking his arm, having slid out of the spare bed at the side. `Come on,’ yesterday’s birthday boy was hissing at him through the fog of his sleep, `come on, wanna show you summat…’ The Scottish footballer moved in sleepy autopilot, still lost in a vague dream as he was quietly encouraged out of bed, Alex seeming to whisper to avoid waking Trent, whose limbs draped loosely over the edge of the top bunk. Andy groaned and blinked and allowed a hoody and shorts to be thrust at him, dressing clumsily and almost tripping noisily back into the beds as he did so. But then he was being guided outside and the cool morning air helped to push away the confusion and sluggishness, but didn’t answer any questions. Grinning like an excited kid, Alex was leading him around the corner of their cabin — hut, really, let’s be honest — and beneath the cover of the trees. Andy’s bare feet tickled against the cool condensation of the grass and he paused to look around at the misty mountain scene of their Austrian setting before hurrying to catch up with his pal. `Mate,’ he hissed, `what the fuck…? What time is it…?’ But there came no answer from Ox, was still casually shirtless and only wearing his tight Liverpool shorts, hurrying between the trees down a sloping non-existent path. Andy rushed after him, slowly collecting his thoughts and becoming more aware. The trees thickened first and then became more sparse, and the slope intensified. The ground dropped away into a narrow but fast-flowing river or stream, made frothy and white by a small waterfull just to their right. Beyond it, he could see a bridge break through the greenery and cross the rushing Alpine water. He blinked dozily at this view and Alex grabbed his arm to shake him. `Mate, we saw it from the coach,’ he hissed, `on the way in. You said it reminded you of the Highlands or summat.’ `Aye,’ Robbo said vaguely, rubbing his face and shivering a little. The day had yet to heat up. `Well, I thought we might have a dip,’ laughed Alex, wrinkling his face in joy. Then he scooped down at his shorts and leapt away, diving straight into the little watery ravine and the bubbling pool formed by the waterfall. His heavy muscular body crashed through the water, submerged for a moment, then pulled back up, smiling up the steep bank at him. Andy paused, still only half-awake, but overcome by the misty romance of it all. It had been a passing comment as he sat in the team coach, excited to reach their destination, enjoying the scenery but half-longing for his mother country. All he’d said to Alex was a passing fancy that this could be Scotland as much as central Europe. Below him, his best mate and lover bounced and splashed in the water, grinning up at him with those puppy dog eyes and the world’s biggest grin, cheeks dimpled and freckled. Robbo pulled his hoody off and dropped his shorts and leapt naked in too, laughing loudly at the cold water shock to his sleep-warmed body, finding Alex’s limbs and cuddling up to him in the rush of the little mountain river. He pulled him in and kissed him madly on the lips, slipping in his tongue, squeezing their bodies together against the current. When he broke away from this, he reached underwater to find and play with Alex’s cock. Somewhere, sunlight must have hit the right angle to break past a local peak and its warmth seemed to dance on their shoulders in contrast to the gushing water. `What was that for?’ Ox chuckled at him, seeming taken aback by the forceful kiss. `For just being you,’ Andy murmured, and then kissed him again. And then he dragged him ashore, guiding him onto a large flat rock, and kissed all over his mighty chest and his hard ridged abs, and sucked him off, bringing him quickly to stiffness and completion in his mouth, a salty personal breakfast out in the cool morning air. And when he’d done, he sprawled on the rock beside him and cuddled their damp bodies together, utterly happy to be with him.