Just here for coffee and footie fics

Kieran leans on the windowsill in the giant hotel room, watching the sun set over Dubai, and lets himself have the thought he hasn’t allowed himself for seven days.

What a weird fucking week.

He knows he’s not supposed to think that. How can you think it, when you’re the hero who ended the 70-year-wait? but Kieran thinks Dan has a point about feeling numb.

Maybe it’s just the extremes of it all; one minute, watching Bruno do that fucking stupid little pirouette in extra time, everyone staring at the screen, most of his brain was frantically running through their strategy for extra time, but a small part was preparing to call the Brazilian every name under the sun, and some that weren’t. Barely twenty minutes later, they were hugging like brothers, and that cup seemed to have been made for them, three handles, him, Bruno, Jamal, winners shirts on their backs, medals around their necks, lifting the cup whilst Wembley exploded, and then…

Kieran rubs his face. He knew it was the right time to give up the England shirt, hand over, focus on finally winning silverware with Newcastle, but it turns out that no amount of knowing something was the right decision, knowing it would hurt, stops it from actually hurting when it happens. He misses it, misses H, turns out winning a Cup final just before the international break is a surreal experience. Yeah, you could do worse than celebrate in Dubai, but it feels strange, with half the team away.

He’s not old, and maybe that’s the thing, maybe he should be thinking of retiring, a nice few years of easy living in the States or Saudi to end his career, but it’s not what he wants. Turns out, winning is addictive, but he doesn’t want to be the guy who hangs on long after it’s obvious to everyone he should have gone…

Fucking hell, Tripps, you sound like an old man. Whinge on some more, why don’t you? At least you got to fucking play, unlike Lew.

It’s strange, having Lewis in Dubai. Kieran had made it a point to call him from Wembley, let him know this was his victory too. It was remarkably shit luck, breaking his foot; there will be other times for Lewis, but Kieran knows it won’t be the same, and for a few minutes he does feel it, flashes back to Wembley, hugging the gaffer, hugging Bruno, finally, finally, lifting that cup, and he wishes for Lewis’ sake he could have been there.

He was surprised to see him on the flight out, but maybe he just wanted to do his rehab somewhere warm and sunny, for which Kieran can’t blame him. Maybe he’s just missing Tino.

A bang on the door makes Kieran jump, but it’s a welcome distraction. He squints through the keyhole, and sees a familiar face.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in and watch that sunset, then?”

For a strange few seconds Kieran wonders if he somehow summoned Lewis here by thinking about him, then his brain processes what he just heard. Yeah, the sunset thing… load of nonsense, really, just all of them talking shit around the pool after the drink had flowed. Kieran had mentioned something about the view from his room last night, leading to a round of mostly good-natured winding-up about who had the best room. JT had been convinced it was him, Kieran had joked that as the captain by default, with Bruno off with the Seleção, they’d given him the best room, and for some reason this had ended with everyone throwing each other in the pool like a bunch of teenagers let out of school, which maybe wasn’t so far from the truth.

He must have said something about anyone who wanted to see the view being welcome to come up there, that sounded vaguely familiar through the haze of boozy recollection.

“Nowt else happening downstairs, then?” he asks, stepping back so that Lewis can hop through the door. He’s getting about pretty fast, but no-one walks quickly with a boot on their foot.

Lewis shrugs and heads towards the fridge. “Nah… all quiet.”

Kieran stares out as the last rays of sunlight play over Dubai. It’s a weird place, shiny and new, like someone told ChatGPT to draw a desert city and dropped it in the middle of nowhere. Pretty, shiny, and vaguely unreal, but it looks great with the sun setting over it.

Lewis hops over quickly, and Kieran turns and frowns at the sound of him cracking open a San Miguel. Lewis catches his expression, and shrugs again, with an expression hilariously like a teenager caught drinking by his dad.

“Alcohol ban doesn’t start til tomorrow,” he says, half-apologetic, half-defiant.

Kieran means to say that he doesn’t much care; Lewis is old enough to know the rules, and he’s not the Alcohol Police. What comes out is “You could’ve got me one.”

Lewis grins suddenly, an oddly predatory smile, then retrieves another beer from the fridge, knocks the top off against the edge of the table, then hands it over. Kieran drinks, relishing the cold, clean taste, whilst he tries to think of what to do next.

“Why are you here?” is what he says.

Lewis frowns at that, looking pissed. “I can fuck off if you want to be on your own…”

Kieran sighs, like dealing with a bunch of kids sometimes, and replies “Don’t mean that. I mean… why come out here? You could have stayed home, spent time with your family..” yeah, like that would have been his priority when he was barely twenty.

Lewis half-smiles. “Thought about it, but…” his words trail off.

Kieran waits.

“Just…” Lewis takes a swig from the bottle… “ah, it’s just weird.” He looks guilty, but ploughs on. “I’m thrilled, I’m fuckin’ thrilled, but… half of us are here, half of us are away, Tino’s gone off to St. George’s…”

It’s an odd echo of Kieran’s own thoughts from earlier.

“Just wanted to be part of it,” Lewis finishes, and stares moodily out of the window. Before Kieran can say anything, his phone rings with the familiar WhatsApp ringtone, and both of them jump; who even calls anyone, these days?

Turns out it’s Tino, Kieran answers, feeling himself slipping into Captain Mode without thinking about it.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Tino’s familiar voice comes through; Lewis stares curiously as Kieran props up the phone on the windowsill. “Ah, nothing…”

Well, why did you fucking call, then?

“Just…”

Spit it out, kid…

“Just wondered… I was in the lift with H, and it was strange… I was just asking after Ant, and H was really weird with me.”

“Weird how?”

“He sort of told me to fuck off. I mean, not actually fuck off, just… he told me I wasn’t needed. But it sounded like ‘fuck off’.”

Kieran frowns at that, it’s not like H to be like that with the younger players, unless…

“Yeah, that lift… where were you going?”

“I wanted to see Dan, check in with him about…”

Kieran closes his eyes and sticks his hand over his mouth. Fucking hell, was he this clueless at his first camp? Probably.

“Don’t think you need to worry, Tino,” he gets out, managing to keep his voice level. Off to the side, Lewis is looking puzzled, whether at the conversation or at the way in which the beer seems to have mysteriously mostly vanished out of the bottle he’s holding, who knows, could be either.

“Really? You sure? I don’t…”

Kieran cuts him off. “It’s Dan’s first cap, remember?”

“Huh? Why are you laughing?” Tino’s expression couldn’t be more confused; Lewis, apparently faster on the uptake, is sniggering quietly.

“First cap,” Kieran repeats, wondering if he needs to draw a diagram. Lewis appears to have stuffed the side of his hand in his mouth up to the first knuckle to muffle his laughter.

The message suddenly gets through, and Tino frowns… “Wait… oh shit, yeah!” Kieran can’t totally blame him for being confused; Dan is old for a first cap, although given that Anthony claimed first rights to celebrating it, two days before the cup final, you’d think Tino might remember.  

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Kieran reassures him.

“Should’ve thought of that,” Tino murmurs, and Kieran would swear he’s actually blushing.

“You’ll be fine, go and enjoy yourself,” Kieran instructs him, figuring Tino can probably find someone to celebrate his second cap with; not really a thing, but eh, a win is a win. The call cuts off, Lewis makes eye contact, and suddenly they’re both laughing, it’s not even that funny, but it’s a release, tension dissipating. They nearly stop, then Lewis catches his eye again, and they’re both howling with laughter, Lewis leaning on him for support.

“Fuck me,” Lewis gets out, and Kieran is suddenly a little more aware of him; warm skin under a thin layer of cotton, pressed against his side for support. “He’s got no fucking clue sometimes…”

“Not that long since he had his,” Kieran agrees, and finds himself wondering, who was Lewis’s?

Maybe Lewis is wondering the same, since that hyena-grin is back in place. “Yeah… you don’t forget.” He makes eye contact, and it’s strange all of a sudden, the mood shifting. “Who was yours?”

Kieran raises an eyebrow at that, but Lewis isn’t deterred, tipping his chin up a little.

“Could ask you the same.”

“Mmm… maybe we should trade. Truth for a truth.”

“Truth for a truth?” Kieran repeats.

Lewis smirks. “You tell me something, I tell you something. Truth for a truth.”

“What if it’s a lie?”

“Then there’s a forfeit.”

“What’s the forfeit?”

“Whatever you like.” Lewis is definitely looking more predatory now, but Kieran hasn’t missed the fast breathing, the white knuckles around the neck of the beer bottle. He feels his own instincts stir suddenly. Yes, he knows when someone’s bluffing, hoping you won’t spot the nerves… Maybe Lewis did have something else he fancied other than the skyline when he came up here.

He drinks again from the bottle, and Kieran sees the tension in his neck, the slight flush to his cheeks… and the way he deliberately runs his tongue around the top of the bottle, licking off the last few drops.

“Sounds like Truth or Dare,” he says, it sounds ridiculous, but fuck it, it’s a weird night and it might as well get weirder. Maybe it will get more fun.

“Maybe a bit. Go on then.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me a question.”

Kieran shrugs, fake-nonchalant. “Alright; where the fuck did you and Tino go just before we played the Mancs?” He actually would like to know this, partly because he nearly caught hell from JT when he couldn’t find them, until they sloped in barely on time, looking stupidly pleased with themselves, partly because… a few images are dancing in his head, he knows if he’s right he should tell Lewis that he and Tino shouldn’t be doing that shit just before a match, but he also knows he won’t.

Lewis grins. “To a hotel room. My turn.”

“That’s not a fucking answer!”

“It’s true,” Lewis gives him a shit-eating grin, and flicks his tongue over the top of the bottle again, this time sucking for a few seconds, cheeks hollowed. It’s cheesy, but it’s having a effect, and Kieran can already feel his loose cotton shorts aren’t hiding it.

“So… you ask me something?”

“Yeah…” Lewis suddenly looks nervous, and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing; Kieran doesn’t think he’s doing it for effect. “Who was yours?”

“My what?”

“Your first cap,” Lewis’ voice is low, almost a little shy. “Who was it?”

Kieran smirks, glad to have the upper hand. “What, you want a few pictures for the bank?”

Lewis just looks at him, and Kieran wonders if he’s been taking puppy-dog-eyes lessons from Anthony. The memory comes back, and he finds himself smiling.

“Yeah, it was H…”

Good times, he thinks, it doesn’t hurt as much this time, mostly, it’s just a good memory, the two of them not even bothering to get into one of their bedrooms, in the changing rooms, H on his knees with the hot shower water splashing over both of them whilst Stonesy kept an eye out for anyone who might bother them, mouth as hot and wet as the shower, Kieran tugging on Harry’s hair, coming hard, looking down to see H’s smirk as he wiped his mouth, deliberately letting a few drops fall onto Kieran’s trembling thighs. Hadn’t been too long before he’d returned the favour, a rest day, both of them careful to do nothing that would interfere with the match coming up, but that left a lot of options.

“What was he like?”

Kieran points the neck of his own beer bottle as a reprimand. “That’s two questions. My turn; what the fuck were you doing in the hotel room?”

Lewis grins again. “What Antony told us to.” He’s smiling now, and Kieran wonders how long he’ll drag this out. “What was he like?”

Kieran doesn’t answer directly. “You should know; he didn’t offer for you?”

“That’s not an answer,” Lewis mutters, and Kieran would swear he’s blushing. He wonders if he’s hit a sore spot.

“Alright; it was amazing. Now answer the question.”

“Eh…” Lewis seems to realise he’s boxed himself in. “Can I do something else instead?” He tugs at the waist of his t-shirt, pulling it up an inch, revealing pale skin; Kieran’s skin loves the sun, but Lewis has been slapping on the factor-50 since they got here. Kieran wonders if his skin is still warm from the sun, if he’ll smell and taste like suncream.

“You can if you like,” Kieran waves a hand magnanimously, and Lewis sits carefully down on the bed, then puts the beer down and tugs up his shirt, slowly, not too slowly, just enough to make Kieran watch eagerly as his chest, not big but taut, honed through training, is revealed. Kieran grins. “Cold?”

Lewis grins back and shakes his head. “Nah.”

“Good, now answer the question.”

Lewis looks hilariously betrayed. “That’s not…”

“I said, you could if you liked,” Kieran reminds him, and steps forward, noting that Lewis’s mouth is at a very convenient height.

“How about if I just answer another question?” Lewis mutters sullenly. Kieran paces forward, not quite standing in between his legs, but nearly.

“Depends, I’ll see if I like the answer.”

“That hotel room… yeah, it was the four of us.”

“Four?” He already knows, he counted who on the team went missing before Tino, Lewis, Dan and Antony slunk into the dressing room barely on time, but he might as well enjoy himself.

“Me, Tino, Dan and Ant.”

Kieran leans down, putting his bottle next to Lewis’ and placing his hands on either side of the younger man’s hips. “Keep talking.”

Lewis turns his head away a little. “Ant’s idea, he thought Dan deserved a reward for being player of the season."

Or, to put it another way, he fancied a go on Dan’s dick, Kieran thinks, but then Lewis adds, “we flipped for it, Tino won, so…”

“So what?”

The grin is back. “So, I’ve just answered that question, now…”

Kieran doesn’t let him finish that, suddenly leaning in and shoving Lewis back against the bed, hard enough that he breathes out suddenly with an oof, and his eyes go wide as Kieran holds his wrists against the bedsheets, then half-close as Kieran wriggles up, pushing against him, trapping their dicks in between their bodies. Lewis is half-hard already, Kieran’s nearly there, and he pins him down with his thighs either side of Lewis’s, holding him in place so that their dicks are against each other now, he can feel the wetness against his lower stomach and fuck, that feels good.

“So, you need to keep talking… or do something else,” Kieran rasps into Lewis’ ear. Lewis frantically tries to buck his hips up to get a little friction, Kieran lifts himself up easily, press-up style, enjoying the frustrated whimpers from beneath him. This is nearly as much fun as being with Ant, he thinks, smirking, teeth flashing white in the low light; the sun has gone down now, and he didn’t bother to turn on the main lights in the room.

“Like what?” Lewis asks breathily, a little catch in his voice. “Uhh…”

And Kieran, with years of experience, doesn’t miss something, some little tension in the body underneath him, that causes him to relax his grip a little and grunt encouragingly.

“Uhh… there’s some things… I don’t like, at least… not so much at first.” It’s a half-hearted mumble, but Kieran can make out most of it. He lets his voice drop down, soften, reassure.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, kissing softly up Lewis’ neck to relax him, “lots of ways to have fun. Don't have to do anything you don’t want,” and he draws Lewis’ earlobe into his mouth and sucks it gently, drawing a soft hiss of pleasure. This time he lets their bodies make contact, dick to dick, rutting against each other, controlling the pace so that it’s not too much, little pulses of pleasure that ripple through his belly and cause Lewis to whimper deliciously. He wants more, much more. 

“What do you want?” he asks, but Lewis is frustratingly silent. Kieran lifts himself up to see that Lewis is blushing and looking away. “I’ve heard it all before, fucking believe me…”

Lewis runs his tongue over his lips nervously, Kieran nudges him with his hips as encouragement.

“I like to watch,” comes the answer, very soft and almost inaudible. Kieran has a sudden thought of him and Tino together, maybe with Ant or Dan in the middle of them, Lewis encouraging them on, maybe with his hand on his cock…

“Like to watch, yeah? Like this?” And Kieran shoves his shorts and boxers down, pulling them impatiently off his legs, then rears back, pulling his shirt off so that he’s naked except for the Rolex on his wrist and the ink decorating his arms and chest, and he swears he can see Lewis’ pupils dilate. They go even wider as Kieran reaches down and grabs his own cock, stroking it slowly, letting Lewis see it get bigger, darker, the tip leaking a little, a few drops falling onto Lewis’ bare skin.

“Oh fuck me,” he whimpers.

“We’ll get to that,” although Kieran thinks they maybe won’t, at least not straightaway, he guesses that they might spend a while just playing, and he doesn’t much care if it doesn’t go that far, something tells him that Lewis doesn’t like to do that too soon. “What were you four fucking doing?” He lets go of himself, and Lewis pouts at being deprived of the sight, then tries to reach down to grab his own cock, but Kieran pins his wrists again, almost affectionately.

Lewis pouts at him again, and it’s almost enough to make Kieran relent and let go, but not quite. Then he grins, a lop-sided grin. “Ah… Tino sucked him off on the floor whilst Ant and I watched.”

“On the floor?”

“Yeah… tried it on a chair, but it wasn’t big enough.”

That, Kieran can believe. He wants more. “So, Tino was sucking him off…”

Lewis actually looks embarrassed, Kieran helpfully nudges him with his hips to encourage him. “You were watching…”

Lewis snorts and looks a bit embarrassed. “I was kind of rubbing off on his back."

Kieran has a sudden image of Dan in the middle between Tino and Lewis, Tinos’ dark hair brushing the muscles of Dan’s stomach as his mouth works away, Lewis naked behind him, nipping at his shoulder, hips shoving hard against the broad solid expanse of Dan’s back, Dan’s tattoos moving as those powerful thigh muscles flex and tense, maybe Anthony getting involved, teasing here and there, dominating the three of them… He likes that image a lot.

“Like doing that? Want to do that on me?”

Lewis surprises him. “No…” Kieran raises an eyebrow… “I want your mouth.”

That surprises him in a good way. He slides a hand down Lewis’s flank, slipping a couple of fingers under the waistband of his shorts, running it along the elastic, smirking as he finds Lewis’ cock and wraps his fingers around it, liking the feel in his hand, heavy and warm, and throbbing softly. “Don’t know if you deserve it…”

“Maybe I don’t,” Lewis flashes the hyena-grin, “but you can have mine after.”

“How about at the same time?” Lewis barely has time to take in what Kieran is saying before Kieran roughly shoves his shorts down, takes a swig of what’s left of his beer, then turns and straddles Lewis’ face, but he gets the idea immediately, moaning as Kieran closes his mouth over Lewis’ dick, cold bubbles bursting against the head. He pulls off, beer spilling from his mouth, and licks from base to tip, getting it wet, then letting his jaw relax as he takes it in.

Lewis tries to do the same, they have to shuffle around on the bed to make it work, but suddenly they’re aligned and Lewis’s mouth is hot and wet and his tongue seems to be everywhere as Kieran thrusts, difficult from this angle, it’s sloppy and messy, and perfect and he comes almost embarrassingly fast, but Lewis is right behind him, his moans muffled by Kieran’s dick in his mouth.

For a few seconds, the thrill is all he can think of, but soon he comes back to reality, and they disengage, Kieran turning round and settling himself on his side so he can admire the view, Lewis flushed and sweaty, his eyes half-closed and practically rolled back. Yeah, that’s one for the bank, he smirks to himself, wiping his mouth, then running a thumb over Lewis’ lips to wipe away a few drops.

“Fucking hell,” Lewis groans through puffy lips, “that was…”

“That was fucking good,” Kieran praises, running a finger lightly down Lewis’s heaving side. He can’t resist asking, “am I as good as H?”

Suddenly, Lewis actually laughs, a soft chuckle, and blushes. “Ahh… I don’t actually know.”

Kieran’s curious. “He didn’t offer?” He knows the two of them share the same approach; partly, it’s ‘captain gets right of first refusal’, but it’s also about making sure that whoever offers first cap privileges can hear ‘no’ without taking the huff.

“He did, but…” Lewis actually turns his head and ducks his chin, like a kid, “it was just a bit fucking weird? I mean, he’s…”

He’s Harry Kane, Kieran thinks, and feels the age difference a little, when he first went to camp, they were just starting out; not as young as Lewis, but it was the start of a new England era, people still thought of Rooney as England’s striker.

“I just…”

“Ah, doesn’t matter,” Kieran decides to spare him having to say any more.

Lewis meets his eye, the smirk is back, and Kieran briefly envies the resilience of youth, before reminding himself that the experience and cunning of age is more than a match. “Did I miss out?”

“Yeah, you did,” Kieran grins, “believe me.”

“You and him, then?”

“Yeah, a lot…” Kieran laughs. “He’ll have been enjoying himself.”

Lewis makes a sort of hmm? noise.

“Has a bit of a thing for size. Likes them big.”

“What, really?” Lewis laughs, then laughs harder. “Fuck me, so when he heard about Dan…”

“Yeah!” Kieran laughs, and finds himself slinging an arm over Lewis’ waist, slim but strong, pale skin under Kieran’s strong hand. “Like Christmas came early.” He’s aware that Lewis is eyeing him thoughtfully, but the kid has the sense not to say out loud so, size kink, you and him, how did that work? Maybe he’ll share with Lewis sometime that with H, these things go both ways, maybe he and H will reconnect, and maybe not, but the regrets feel less strong now.

Kieran looks over Lewis’s chest, out the window at the night sky, and for a few hallucinatory minutes, the Dubai skyline melts away, replaced in his mind’s eye with the outline of that strange, fierce and friendly city on the banks of the Tyne, staring out at the cold North Sea. He flashes back to their victory photos, not just the squad, but everyone, all their staff, celebrating their moment of glory, and it’s like he can see that again, but this time it’s the entire city; the landlord of the Strawberry ordering in as much beer as the cellar will hold, the stalls on Northumberland Street loaded with hats and scarves, hastily run up in some dodgy factory somewhere, the suits at the Civic Centre trying to figure out how to block off the roads to get the bus through, Wor Flags planning how the hell they can top their last display, a sudden vision of the streets insanely crowded, an entire city with one focus…

…and it’s all for him.

Kieran feels a deep sense of satisfaction welling up, rising through him, and he nods to himself, barely aware he’s doing it, you took the risk, you gambled, and you fucking won. You started out losing to fucking Cambridge United, and now…

Now, an entire city wants to deck itself out in black and white in his honour.

He knows, it’s not just him. They’ll all be stood there, and he and Bruno and Jamal will recreate the cup lift, and Lewis will be there too, and he hopes Lewis realises, this is the start for him, it won’t be the last time.

It might be the last time for him, but Kieran doesn’t think so, somehow.

He’s aware of Lewis beside him, quietly watching, but it doesn’t feel predatory, and he seems to sense it’s not a time to ask questions, as the sweat dries on their skin.

“Sounds like I missed out then,” Lewis murmurs, looking a bit regretful.

“Won’t be your last chance,” Kieran murmurs, generously.

“Won’t be my first cap,” Lewis says with a smirk, “can’t claim privileges.”

“Nah, but you can probably persuade him.”

And suddenly Lewis smirks again, and, carefully but with surprising strength, throws his good leg over Kieran’s hips, pushing himself up so that he’s half over Kieran, who laughs in surprise and wraps an arm around Lewis’ muscled back.

“If I’m gonna do that…” he murmurs into Kieran’s ear, “I should practise some more.”

Finis.