#sunderland

You set it down, feeling the condensation from the cup wet your palm, and you gently rub it over your shirt to dry it- but the chill remains. Carefully padding over to the door, you click open the two locks you’ve had to put in- and he’s standing there, like he always does- eyes misty, pupils blown out. James. He’s been coming around like this for a while, always under the cover of night, always after he can’t take it anymore. You weren’t meant to be this for him, just a pretty little thing he met in a bar after the hospital got to be too much. But then he took you home, then he had you in the marital bed he wasn’t supposed to share. He didn’t take you to his house after that, always choosing your place instead- it made the guilt lessen up just a bit.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I know it’s late,” James looked down, his hair shiny from the shower the rain gave him, “I just got done at the hospital and I…”

You sigh and lean in, shiny lips twisting up as you guide him in with painted fingers, tugging his coat softly, “It’s okay, baby.”

You aren’t a good person, you know that by now. Sleeping around with a married man is one thing, but a married man whose wife is deathly ill? It’s impossibly sick of you. Yet, you never stop yourself, your hands brushing through his hair, nails raking over his scalp. You’d never even heard of her, let alone saw her. Although you heard of James before, the husband whose just ‘so strong’ for staying with his wife during all this. Would they say that if they knew the truth? Probably not.

“Do you want some leftovers, or something?” You purr, watching as he takes off his coat, hanging it by the door with the same politeness as any usual visitor, like you were still just acquaintances. You nod your head towards the fridge, although your eyes stay on the muscle of his biceps, hidden under a white button-up.

James shakes his head, a solemn look on his face like it was carved there, “No. Not right now.” He steps closer, his own hand coming up now, landing on your waist, squeezing- trying to just make sure you’re real, you’re something he truly can have, “I think… I just want you, right now.”

And he gets you. 

Falling into the bedding, your arms fall out at your sides like the wings of an angel, hands loosely grabbing at the air above. It swallows you, and James is looming above, the first few buttons of his shirt messily undone from your own need. Shadows fall over his eyes, his mouth in something between a scowl and a frown. He never knew why you were so alluring to him. You’re not his usual type, not by a long shot. He’s over forty, going after you, a twenty-something boy like a lion to a gazelle. You’re everything Mary isn’t, everything she can’t be- not right now.

“James…” You whine, looking up at him, the lightning from outside giving a sparkle to your eyes, you lay your head back, “Come ‘ere.”

He follows the ask, his eyes fluttering shut slightly as your hands grasp at his sleeves, rubbing over his biceps and up to his shoulders. His adams apple bobs, stubble overgrown just a bit, almost spikey as your hands come to his jaw, cradling him like he’s porcelain. Finally, you pull him forward, lips melding together. He groans into the kiss, pushing against it, your head hitting the bed again.

His own, rougher palms come up to your hips, fingers clawing into the fabric of your bottoms. Finally, just as the burning in his lungs becomes too much, and his throat aches, he pulls away. Saliva connects your lips, a thin string. He swallows thickly, snapping the strings, “God… you’re so…”

The words don’t come to him, his mind already falling back into that nice floaty place. Dissociation is bliss, at least a temporary one. Even though, in the back of his mind, he can still picture the hospital room, and his wife, her sickening breathing rasping behind his ears like a ghost. As if to hide from it, he presses his face into the crook of your neck, biting at the pure skin, far from the blistering and irritated skin he’s so used to staring at. His hips buck, as if instinctively reacting to the warmth of your body, your legs curling around his waist.

“Oh- please, baby,” A pathetic moan leaves your parted lips, his hands tightening as your breathy whimpers fall past his eardrums.

“Fuck…” James curses, pushing your shirt up, his warm hands tracing up to your chest, over the scars from your top surgery, nails digging into them and leaving small crescent indents.

Kissing over the top of his head, you squirm ever so slightly, attempting to further rub against the bulge in his jeans, your toes curling at the pressure, constantly pushing. It’s something you had to learn rather quickly: James can never be as soft as you’d want him to be. He makes it obvious, manhandling you, his hands falling back to your waistband. His fingers curl over your shorts and underwear, tugging at it until it also abides by his rules. Immediately, he tosses them to the floor, pushing your thighs apart, hooking his palms underneath your knees and folding you without much care for the breathless gasp that leaves you.

“Hm..” He hums, looking down over you, eyes falling to your cunt. It’s a dripping maw, clenching over nothing- as if greeting him home once more. He nearly cums then and there, a curious thumb landing on your clit, pressing down just to see how your wriggle underneath him.

“James! Ah, you.. not there-” Your eyelids flutter, lashes falling over your cheekbones, yet you lean into the touch- and he practically growls seeing how you respond.

He pulls away, not before dragging his thumb down, through your pink folds. A layer of slick coats his skin, a rare warmth- one he hadn’t felt in a while. His tongue, a similar pinkish tone, flicks out over his thumb, tasting you with a strange greediness. In the back of his throat, there’s a sort of growl forming, itching at his vocal cords and clawing its way through up to his lips, just vibrating there for a moment before disappearing. You just watch, eyes blown out in a similar manner, shining with a faux innocence.

“Stay like this.” He nudges you softly, moving to stretch and reach the nightstand. No need to ask anymore, he knows where you keep the lube, and the condoms- though he had been the one to push for them.

You abide, your hand reaching down to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants, “Hurry up, James.. I wanna feel you.”

“Patient.” He snaps softly, a commanding tone following it, his free hand coming to your wrist, tightly snatching it and shoving it back to you.

A mischievous smirk crosses your lips. Something in you twisted in the best way, just hearing his tone shift to that- a demand rather than the usual quiet asks. Although, you don’t act up, preferring to lean back and enjoy the show as he undoes his pants, getting them down just enough to fish his cock out, the mushroom-shaped tip spilling precum like a leaky faucet. A vein travels down, one that makes saliva build up at the base of your tongue. Maybe later, you could taste it, but it was clear James preferred something else right now.

“...You’re so…” James starts, rolling a condom over his cock with a soft whine, a spurt of lube in his palm as he jerks his cock in a stuttery pace, hips chasing the pleasure as the slick coating helps him smoothen his movements. He moans weakly, biting his bottom lip, “Dammit.”

An unintentional noise leaves you, something like a mewl and a whine, making his head flick upwards. Your face feels hot, a blush kissing at your cheeks as you pull your eyes from his crotch to his eyes, “Please, James. Need you inside me now-”

Your voice cracks, and that does it for him, his hand moving from his dick to your thighs, leaving prints of lube on your skin. He spreads you just enough, his other hand aligning himself with your sloppy hole. With a delicate movement, he pushes against your cunt, his cockhead finally popping inside. His grip on your thigh tightens, nails clawing into the plush flesh as he slowly sinks inside of you. Even after multiple meetings, fucking you in every way and position, it still feels like the first time to him. The guilt still chases the pleasure, but the way your gummy walls clench around him like a fucking vice make it all the better. 

Halfway in, and you’re already moaning like a pornstar. No, you’re better than any pornstar, any of the plastic-y women that James used to get off with, always doing too much for the camera. A crack makes your voice go up a few octaves, feeling as James finally bottoms out inside of you, his balls pressing warmly over your ass. Both of James’ hands hold your thighs, looking down to see the connection with his own eyes. Skin against skin, his pubes sticky with sweat and lube, brushing against you. His hip presses against your swollen clit, leading to your head falling back and exposing your soft throat like willing prey.

“Oh my god, James!” You cry, vision blurring with unshed tears as you catch your breath, unable to fully adjust before he starts thrusting in and out, “Feels so good, fuck- fuck!”

James groans, falling over you as he lets his head land at your neck, teeth aching to bite into your skin, “You’re so good, so perfect. Just what I need.”

His thrusts are uneven, sloppy and rough as he batters your pussy. James groans, catching your throat in his mouth, scraping his teeth over you like he intends to bite down, to bite through you. Squelching surrounds you both, echoing out in tandem with the slapping noise of your bodies meeting, the head of his cock punching against your cervix uncaringly.

Memories of the hospital room and its distinct stink fall into the cloudy fog in the back of his mind, James’ focus is back to you, his dirty little secret. The only thing keeping him sane right now, even if all you were was a good fuck. It let him float back to that wonderful little emotion of mindlessness, feeling your greedy cunt clench like a fist around his cock. His jaw tightens over your throat, feeling it bob underneath as his tongue licks at you, sucking marks in his own personal masterpiece.

“James- James!” Hands end up on James’ back again, your own doing as you grab at his shirt, which still isn’t on the floor like you want it to be. Your painted nails claw the skin underneath, leaving thin red lines in his skin. You turn your head, lips fluttering over the lobe of his ear as you whisper ever so softly, “Harder, please.”

Something in him snaps, pulling his cock nearly all the way out, just leaving the tip in- drooling precum into the condom before he snaps his hips back against you. It’s a crashing noise, one that makes you think he might’ve actually broken something, but any pain that lingers is mixing with the pleasure in a downright intoxicating manner. It doesn’t help that he’s all quiet, focused on imprinting the shape of his teeth into you like you’re clay, pliant and changing.

James’ nails dig deeper, your moans dancing past his eardrums. It’s almost enough to draw blood, a few particularly deeper scrapes causing small pearls of blood to form, dotting your skin until they get too fat, and turn into droplets rolling down your thighs. The sensations all gather in your tummy, a heavy, tightly wound knot that keeps pressing harder and harder against your skin, pulsing just underneath. It’s obvious James is going through something similar, his bottom lip trembling against you, the wetness from his eyes painting your collarbones.

“Close- I’m close-” You stutter, clinging to him like a koala, dangling limply as he takes control, his pace quickening.

Nodding, he pants softly, “I know. I know. Go ahead.” 

The affirmation isn’t needed, but he gives it anyway. You take it like a command, clenching around him one last time, thighs trembling as the sensations finally burst from your skin in shivers. Like every orgasm he gives you, it’s too much, nearly suffocating as he continues pounding for his own pleasure, chasing his high before caring that you’re babbling and drooling underneath him. You only get your reprieve when James’ hips stutter, finally forcing himself as deep as possible before he cums.

You aren’t supposed to feel it, not past the plastic barrier of the condom. But tonight, as the rain pitters against the window, the storm having died down to a shower, you feel it shoot inside of you. Thick spurts, sticky as it paints your insides. Clearly, James feels it too, cause he’s pulling out quicker than normal, his breath spiking as he looks down to see a particularly thick glob drool out of your puffy cunt.

“Fuck. Fuck, I didn’t- Shit!” He curses underneath his breath, cock twitching as it hangs half-hard in between his legs. The condom was a tattered mess of plastic and cum, only staying put around the base of his cock.

Your cheeks prickle. In the multiple late meetings you two had, he never came inside, not until now. Suddenly, you’re wondering why he never let himself do this before- cause it feels even better than the sensations you’d fantasized about. Swallowing back saliva, your voice finally comes to you, “It- It’s okay. Baby, I have birth control anyways-”

“That- that isn’t why I-” James cuts himself off, gnawing on his inner cheek. His eyes haven’t left how your hole drips with him. It shouldn’t make him feel like this. He promised himself, before this all started and he got in too deep, that he would at least wear a condom. He wouldn’t let himself feel you properly. That makes it real, and now? Now, it’s real. The guilt isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

It’s silent, just shaky breathing as James ponders something you can’t read, not that you ever could read him. Although, you don’t expect him to tear off the remains of the condom, tossing them in a direction he assumes your trash is in. His cock bobs, shining in the moonlight from your shared fluids. He says something you can’t quite hear, though it sounds like an apology from the tone of it and how his eyes get all misty again, like he always gets after sex. Then, he’s lining up his cock, pushing back inside of you with a whorish moan, slamming as deep as he can into you, his hands landing on your shoulders and keeping you pinned down.

“Agh- James!” You curse softly, wincing as his cock drags along your abused walls, his thumb coming down to press on your clit again, harshly rubbing it, “N-ugh, it hurts-”

He nods, but doesn’t slow down, “I just- I need this, okay? Just stay still.” He breathes out, James’ chest tightening as he grabs your hips, keeping you as close as possible. His eyes shut softly, his head lifting ever so carefully so you can see how his throat bobs.

You listen, and let him. Only ever breaking the comfortable silence with moans shared between you two. You don’t question him, just holding on tight as he uses you like a toy, over, and over, and over again.

Jobe had never been the nervous type for a game. Since he was little, he always knew that soccer was his place, that being on the field was natural for him. But on that specific summer night, when he was in the Sunderland locker room getting ready to enter the field, he felt something different. A chill in the stomach that had nothing to do with the pressure of the game and everything to do with the possibility of seeing a specific person in the stands.

You.

He had invited, of course, but without high expectations. Until then, what you had was something undefined. He liked you. A lot. But at the same time, you always seemed to keep a certain distance, a barrier between you that Jobe was still not sure how to overcome. Inviting you to one of your games was a way to try to see how far you would go. But he never expected you to really accept.

When he stepped on the lawn for the heating, he disguised as much as he could, but his eyes were restless, automatically looking for the stands, trying to find any sign of you. The stadium was gigantic, full of excited fans, and he was already convincing himself that you hadn't come when, suddenly, something familiar caught his attention.

Near the lawn, not so far from the reserve bank, there you were.

Wearing a jacket that he was almost sure wasn't yours, probably from a friend or borrowed by someone from the club, with your hair down and a serene expression, as if it were just another normal event. But Jobe knew it wasn't. For you to be there, something had changed.

For a moment, he was stuck. He felt something hot rise to his chest, a mixture of surprise and happiness. You really came.

A push on the shoulder brought him back to reality.

-What's up, bro?

One of the teammates asked, realising his gaze fixed.

Shirt 7 blinked, disguising the smile that threatened to appear.

-Nothing, nothing...

But that was all.

The warm-up continued, and he forced himself to focus on the game. However, before returning to the locker room for the last conversation with the coach, he looked one last time in his direction.

And you were looking back.

It was fast, but enough for him to see the little smile you sketched before looking away.

The game had been intense, but Jobe almost didn't feel the time pass. His body was exhausted, his muscles burning from the effort, his shirt glued to his skin by sweat, but none of it mattered. Not when, in the back of your mind, a single thing throbbed strongly: you were there.

Throughout the game, he tried not to think too much about you, but whenever he could, between one move and another, his eyes instinctively ran to the side of the field, as if his body knew exactly where to look for it. You were still there, watching, present, and that made you feel different, almost invincible.

When the final whistle sounded, it still took him a few seconds to process everything. Sunderland had won, the fans vibrated, and the players hugged each other in celebration. But he couldn't hold on much to the team's euphoria. His eyes ran to the side of the lawn, and that's where he saw her once again.

You were still in the same place, now more visible, because some people had already begun to leave the stands. His gaze met his before he could even think about how to react. And then, you smiled.

It was a small, discreet, but real smile.

Jobe felt his chest heat up and looked away, swallowing drily. He didn't know exactly why it affected him so much, but he knew he needed to see her up close.

The locker room was a chaos of celebration, the teammates talking loudly, the music playing, but the boy hurried into the shower, changed his clothes anyway, and left before everyone else. His heart beat fast as he crossed the tunnel that gave access to the outside of the field, his eyes attentive to every face that passed. And then, he finally saw her up close that night.

You were leaning against one of the tunnel walls, with your arms crossed, as if you had all the time in the world. When he saw him approaching, he uncrossed his arms and fixed the jacket he was wearing, an unconscious habit that he had already noticed in you.

Jobe slowed down his steps when he got close, stopping a few centimetres from you. His hair was still wet from the hurried bath, a few drops running down the back of his neck, and his breathing was still a little accelerated.

-You came.

His voice came out lower than I expected.

You smiled from the corner.

-Of course I came. I wasn't going to miss it.

Jobe let out a low laugh and shook his head, trying to process that. He wanted to ask so many things, he wanted to know what had made you accept the invitation, he wanted to understand if it meant something. But, at the same time, I just wanted to enjoy that moment.

-Did you like the game?

He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

-It was amazing. -You answered, sincere. -You played very well.

He felt his chest inflate with pride, and, without thinking too much, took another step towards you.

-Good to know that I impressed you.

You let out a chuckle, tilting your head back to take a better look at him.

-Don't get excited, Bellingham.

He laughed, and then, before he could control himself, he raised his hand and gently touched your face, his thumb brushing against the hot skin of your cheek. You were slightly tense for a second, surprised, but you didn't back down. In fact, his eyes shone a little more under the dim lighting of the tunnel.

-I'm very happy you came., Y/n.

He admitted, his voice is lower and hoarse now.

-I know, Jobe. But I'm happier for being here with you.

You murmured, and then, without warning, leaned in his direction.

The kiss happened without haste, without the euphoria of a first desperate touch, but with the certainty that that moment was happening at the right time. Jobe's lips were still a little warm from the intensity of the game, and yours were soft, curious, moulding to hin in a way that made his heart speed up more than any race on the field.

For a moment, the world disappeared. The tunnel, the distant noise of the players still celebrating, the fans who began to empty the stadium. Nothing mattered except that kiss and the certainty that something between you had changed forever.

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