Shoelaces
Alan greets you by touching your hair. It feels condescending as if Smudger is mocking your hey-coloured hair next to his perfection of blond strands, but you let it slide since it gives you the freedom to run your fingers through his hair in return.
That’s how it started. Just that; the brief connection with his soft hair has you thinking of unmentionable things about him. You never said you weren’t easy.
You think he notices since he keeps smirking at you throughout the time you spend in the dressing room, putting on your tracksuit for training.
It must have been deliberate; the odd greeting, the touching. Alan must know you’re weak right now, know that Ronnie’s not been feeling good, know that you’re craving for the company of a man like crazy.
You’re putting on your shoes, lacing them, your head bowed down when you sense him close to you and see him kneel down in front of you. You glance up from your shoes, your fingers still holding the laces, and meet his oceanic eyes.
The expression on his face is unreadable except for the playful glint in his eyes. Alan raises his hands close to yours and takes over the shoelaces, his warm fingers brushing against your skin.
“Let me”, he says softly and you can’t bring yourself to disagree when he bows his head slightly and you can see the curve of his back right down to his buttocks. You can’t help but to think that this would be the sight you would see if Alan were to blow you.
The blond knots the laces swiftly and sits back on his feet, looking up at you. His hands are covering your ankles and the warmth is seeping through the material of your socks to the core of your being.
This isn’t really happening, you try to tell yourself when Alan lowers his gaze down your body and rests his eyes on your crotch. His hands have now wrapped themselves around your ankles as much as they can reach and he’s moving them up the backs of your calves.
You sit there, your fists resting behind you on the bench, trying to keep your hands away from Alan’s hair because you know if your hands got a hold of those blond locks, they wouldn’t let go until you had your cock buried deep inside his throat, your balls pressed up against his chin and you’d had your release.
He’s watching you with a smile quirking on his lips, his deft fingers now tickling the skin behind your knees, making you shiver and your skin turn into goose bumps.
There are footsteps echoing around the corridor outside the dressing room and you freeze, your gaze locked on Alan’s face. He’s looking at you, his eyes dark but that smile tugging on his lips. He moves to stand up and he pats you on the knee as he heads over to the doorway just when Carlos appears at the door, frowning.
“Why aren’t you on the pitch already?”
You feel oddly drained as if Alan had sucked you off; your legs are heavy and your cock is tingling, not in an overly demanding way but in desperate pulses wishing you’d give it some attention. With difficulty, you drag yourself up from the bench and walk over to where Carlos is standing, one hand propped against the doorway. “Sorry”, you mutter as you pass him and you can hear him ‘hmm’ behind you, not quite managing to make sense of his tone and not really caring, when you see Alan walking ahead of you on the corridor, his walk altered by the studs in his shoes, his feet wider apart. You get the sense that you’ve done the dirty back there; that you’ve fucked him without realizing it and that’s why he’s walking like that and that’s why you feel so sated, but that’s just crazy. Right?
Trying to be nonchalant, you run your hand over your shorts and breathe a sigh of relief when your palm brushes against your semi-hard cock. The relief soon vanishes and turns into slight anxiety when you realise that you need to train for the next hour and a half with Alan around.
That’s how it started. Just that; the brief connection with his soft hair has you thinking of unmentionable things about him. You never said you weren’t easy.
You think he notices since he keeps smirking at you throughout the time you spend in the dressing room, putting on your tracksuit for training.
It must have been deliberate; the odd greeting, the touching. Alan must know you’re weak right now, know that Ronnie’s not been feeling good, know that you’re craving for the company of a man like crazy.
You’re putting on your shoes, lacing them, your head bowed down when you sense him close to you and see him kneel down in front of you. You glance up from your shoes, your fingers still holding the laces, and meet his oceanic eyes.
The expression on his face is unreadable except for the playful glint in his eyes. Alan raises his hands close to yours and takes over the shoelaces, his warm fingers brushing against your skin.
“Let me”, he says softly and you can’t bring yourself to disagree when he bows his head slightly and you can see the curve of his back right down to his buttocks. You can’t help but to think that this would be the sight you would see if Alan were to blow you.
The blond knots the laces swiftly and sits back on his feet, looking up at you. His hands are covering your ankles and the warmth is seeping through the material of your socks to the core of your being.
This isn’t really happening, you try to tell yourself when Alan lowers his gaze down your body and rests his eyes on your crotch. His hands have now wrapped themselves around your ankles as much as they can reach and he’s moving them up the backs of your calves.
You sit there, your fists resting behind you on the bench, trying to keep your hands away from Alan’s hair because you know if your hands got a hold of those blond locks, they wouldn’t let go until you had your cock buried deep inside his throat, your balls pressed up against his chin and you’d had your release.
He’s watching you with a smile quirking on his lips, his deft fingers now tickling the skin behind your knees, making you shiver and your skin turn into goose bumps.
There are footsteps echoing around the corridor outside the dressing room and you freeze, your gaze locked on Alan’s face. He’s looking at you, his eyes dark but that smile tugging on his lips. He moves to stand up and he pats you on the knee as he heads over to the doorway just when Carlos appears at the door, frowning.
“Why aren’t you on the pitch already?”
You feel oddly drained as if Alan had sucked you off; your legs are heavy and your cock is tingling, not in an overly demanding way but in desperate pulses wishing you’d give it some attention. With difficulty, you drag yourself up from the bench and walk over to where Carlos is standing, one hand propped against the doorway. “Sorry”, you mutter as you pass him and you can hear him ‘hmm’ behind you, not quite managing to make sense of his tone and not really caring, when you see Alan walking ahead of you on the corridor, his walk altered by the studs in his shoes, his feet wider apart. You get the sense that you’ve done the dirty back there; that you’ve fucked him without realizing it and that’s why he’s walking like that and that’s why you feel so sated, but that’s just crazy. Right?
Trying to be nonchalant, you run your hand over your shorts and breathe a sigh of relief when your palm brushes against your semi-hard cock. The relief soon vanishes and turns into slight anxiety when you realise that you need to train for the next hour and a half with Alan around.