Stadium Of The Gods (3)

Even in my sleep, I heard Johnny making his usual racket out in the street below us. I woke, of course, though I held my eyes shut hoping he would wander off. However, his bellows just grew louder. I thought of getting up to close the window over, still the slight, comforting snores of Clive’s fitful sleep lulled me back to rest.
With a little snort, Clive stopped his heavy intake of breath and he snuggled into my back with a little murmur. This alone was worth the whole fiasco of a trip to Paris, that and the fact we’d won the prestigious Rugby College Competition trophy.

I wasn’t meant to be here, I told myself. From the pit of my heart I cried a simple thanks to God - if ever he would listen to a sinner like me. For here I was a last minute replacement in a team that hadn’t been fully organised, in a hotel that hadn’t been properly booked, on a trip that hadn’t been thought through. And yet, here I was.

Clive gave me another little cuddle, and then drifted back into his slow rhythmic breathing. Even Johnny had been hushed into silence; so, once more, the creaks of early morning helped me to drift back into a doze. That is until I heard the door open with a creak and some whispering voices following it.

I couldn’t make out the shadow-figures framed in the corridor’s light, but I knew who it was just from the bulk: Johnny. And with very little imagination I soon realised he had someone with him who was distinctly shy of coming in.
‘It’s OK,’ Johnny sighed to the other dark figure tucked away from him. ‘Listen,’ he said, then stopped for effect. The sound of Clive’s deep-breathed snores swayed through the room. ‘I told you they’re spark out.’
‘Spark out?’ A surprisingly masculine French voice queried the term.
‘Yes, snoring; flaked.’ Johnny pillowed his head on his hands, ‘You know, asleep.’ Still, what I took to be a shy little thing with the deep, smoke-stained voice held back.

I had started to drift into a forced snooze when my eyelids sprang open. The second voice was definitely a man’s. And although I wasn’t able to get a good view of them, my whole body suddenly woke up. Johnny and the other shadow were kissing

For a few moments I thought of just closing my eyes and pretending it was all a dream, but it was no use. The two dark shapes framed by the door were entwined in an unmistakable snog. A surprisingly intimate and free kiss, given that these two shadows now filled up the whole doorway with their impressive bulk.
Johnny leaned back against the frame and allowed the other shadow to bear down on him. There, silhouetted in the light, it was plain who the second shadow was; the satyr he had been messing around with since the post match party.

‘You have beautiful eyes, Johnny,’ the dark satyr cooed as he held Johnny’s face. ‘That blue is like the sea of the Mediterranean isles,’ the soft French tones almost made me believe it too. ‘You let me swim there, no?’

Johnny opened his mouth for another throat-searching and he drew one leg around the back of the satyr’s calves, pulling him into a tight hold. ‘We’d better move into the room, Emile,’ Johnny said trying to catch his breath. He took the satyr’s hand to lead him forward, gently, and with a soft move he closed the door while he lay against it.
The dimness of the room obscured them both for a while, but the sounds of their embraces were unmistakable.

As my eyes once more grew accustomed the neon-lit gloom, their bodies became almost fully visible. The satyr, Emile, had Johnny wrapped up in a tackle; one leg hoisted by his arm, Johnny’s head twisted in a rough hold, and Emile’s body pinning him tight up against the door.
There were soft moans coming from both of them as they entwined. I thought it might wake Clive; some of it grew quite loud. But Clive slumbered on in blissful sleep.

I guess I should have coughed or called out dreamily then, but there was something so utterly hypnotic about the whole show that transfixed me.
Not exactly fear, but a sort of heart-pounding anxiety that froze me, and refused to allow me the decency of looking away.
In a strange way I had stopped thinking, I was just caught up in a weird disconnected reality. Like watching two captive animals mate, not in the least like the solo thrill of gross pornography.

‘Strip for me, Johnny,’ Emile ordered the hulk of our College team. Standing back a little, he watched closely as Johnny obeyed him, an unexpected shyness making him fumble. Even in the flicker of yellow and green neon, I could swear Johnny had gone beetroot red from his forehead to his chest.
‘Yes,’ Emile almost growled, ‘that is nice. You do it good for me.’
This time I was certain the darkening colour rushing over Johnny’s chest was a full on embarrassment. Yet he didn’t stop. Johnny simply looked shyly at Emile as he hopped about trying to take his socks and trousers off without looking a total plank.
‘Nice,’ Emile ran his hands over Johnny’s pale flesh, teasing the large circles that defined his nipples, and rubbing hard against the brute muscles of his arms. ‘All of it,’ he said with a hint of menace in his voice. ‘I did not tell you to stop, did I?’
Johnny shook his head.
‘Well, then. Everything comes off. You hear?’

Johnny nodded and wriggled his boxers down his legs, then bent to free them from his feet. When he stood before Emile totally bollock naked, he placed his hands before his groin.
‘What is this?’ Emile leaned in toward him. ‘You try to hide these from me.’ Emile pulled Johnny’s hands away. ‘This is nice, too, I think. I love the way some dick can nest like the bird in some bush. This one is so beautiful, it is lovely.’ Emile toyed with Johnny’s low hanging balls and waggled the rapidly stiffening pick above them.
I think Johnny was taken by surprise, but Emile dropped to his knees and buried his face in Johnny’s groin. The way Johnny threw back his head and let out little ecstatic groans told me what was happening. However, it was the shadowed contortions on Johnny’s face that really showed the depth of his pleasure.

‘You like, eh?’ Emile glanced up toward Johnny’s face for a moment before he went back to work. ‘I love this, le petit homme,’ he sighed. ‘But so beautiful, Johnny.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ Johnny managed to squeeze out. Emile must have swallowed his massive ballsack because Johnny bent and almost cried aloud, ‘Ooh! Man, my nuts.’
‘Turn,’ Emile whispered. ‘I want your ass, for me.’

Meek as lamb Johnny turned. They seemed to have drifted from the fall of light, so all I saw were black forms outlined by the glow coming outside our windows. It was enough. Or too much. I decided to close my eyes and try to ignore the whole thing.
‘Your girlfriend she gives your bottom fun, no?’ I heard Emile’s raspy voice.
‘Eh, yeah!’ Johnny answered as though caught out in a dirty secret.
‘Bon cul!’ Was a low sexy growl from Emile’s throat then he must have made a meal of Johnny’s hole, at least judging by the whimpers from dark. ‘You want to fuck now, my beautiful Johnny?’
Johnny was silent for a while, but with a cough he said, ‘Eh, well yeah!’

‘You must take my clothing off for me, Johnny. Then we fuck.’ Shuffling and scuffling ended with one of them tripping over a suitcase. My guess was Johnny, the big lummox. ‘Down on your knees, my Johnny,’ the satyr broke the rustling movements. ‘You are good at this, I think. Yes, kiss my feet while I finger that sweet hole.’
I heard a muffled cry from Johnny, it sounded like not so many at once. And once more it sounded like they were on the move. I sighed, and placed one arm over my eyes.
Although covered by my arm my eyes sprang open as I heard the creaking of Johnny‘s bed beside me. ‘You do me first, beautiful Johnny,’ were the first words I heard amid the next onslaught of repositioning.

Not quite close enough to touch, but way to close to ignore, the naked satyr lay sprawled over the bed and behind him Johnny fumbled with his snug-fit. ‘Enter me, Johnny.’ Emile sighed as Johnny crouched over him, his pale skin making Emile dark chocolate seem almost blue. Another sigh filled the room. ‘Oh! Johnny, yes. That feels so nice. Go in, do me fast.’
Under my arm I could see Emile stretch back to kiss Johnny, and amazingly Johnny’s eyes fluttered closed as he lay forward to give an awkward but passionate kiss.

‘I won’t last much longer,’ Johnny whispered to Emile after they had altered their connection a number of times. Emile was on his side facing me, and vigorously wanking his great length of meat. Johnny towered over him, one of Emile’s legs tucked over his shoulder, and the bed grumbling as he humped the satyr’s willing hole. ‘Fuck man,’ Johnny crouched forward, ‘I am really going to spew my load.’
‘No!’ Emile snarled.
Johnny stopped and stepped back as Emile pushed him upright. I saw that he was trembling and sweat glistened over his body.
‘You, my Johnny with the beautiful blue eyes, you cum when I say.’ The satyr teased at Johnny’s cock before he left the bed and forced him back down on his knees.
With hands at Johnny’s shoulders Emile forced Johnny to hunker down, and judging by the retching jag at the back of his throat he was doing a good job of giving the satyr some satisfying head.
‘You rest up against the bed for me,’ Emile said as he grappled with a condom wrapper. ‘Here, put this rubber on me. Gentle, yes, giving love to me.’
Before any complaints could be made, that satyr had Johnny over, lubed and groaning at the strain of his arse.

‘But your girlfriend, she gives you this pleasure, no?’
‘Yes,’ Johnny gasped then bit down on his bedclothes. ‘Nothing that fucking big, though.’ A shiver ran over his body, and for one panicky second I thought he looked round at me. ‘Take me, man,’ Johnny said and stared out into space as the press of the satyr opened him up.
‘You are so tight, my Johnny. You make my cock want to cum.’ Emile eased out of Johnny and directed him to turn, lie on the floor, and tilt his hips in the air. He straddled Johnny’s hip’s, allowing him to pin his claves around his waist. The clenching of Johnny’s toes told me when Emile struck home between wanking, smacking his cock over Johnny’s balls, and pressing down on him. ‘Get up on your knees, now!’ Emile commanded, and with an effort Johnny complied.

Emile then said, ‘Take my seed.’ It looked like he was forcing Johnny’s head back to look up at him, though all I could see in my mesmerised state was Emile’s back, Johnny’s hands at the satyr’s hips, and a vigorous whacking jerk. Emile doubled up and oozed out a soft groan as he wanking became spasmodic and then stopped.

Emile sat on the bed, then he slumped down to Johnny’s face and kissed it. Even then, he wasn’t finished. ‘No! You leave your cock to me, my Johnny.’ Hoisting Johnny from his knees, he pulled his hips close; he turned his head and went at Johnny’s dick like a wild thing.

‘Fuck, man, I’ll have to spew it.’ Johnny gasped, hopping on his toes in muscle-stiffened bliss. With his hands behind Emile’s head, he trembled into release.

I must have drifted into a deep sleep after Johnny and Emile collapsed in heap on the bed, for I heard bird song and awoke to daylight and the piercing sound of my own breathless snore.
Looking around I saw Johnny’s bed was an empty mess and beside me Clive lay in a tangled heap, his faced stained with wrinkled sweat and a bushing dream.
I lay a light kiss on Clive’s cheek. In response, I received a mumbling grunt and his shoulder as he turned from me. A sweep of impish ideas made me lean over him, and I came close to giving him a deep throat kiss. But he looked so peaceful, I couldn’t do it.

With a curse, I stumbled over some underwear on the floor as I headed to the shower. They were too sexy to be Johnny’s bags, so I kicked them into his open suitcase as a souvenir of his conquest in gay Paris.
I’d just about got the shower on to warm up, emptied my bladder, and leaned over the sink to view the damage of a poorly slept night when the cubicle door opened.
‘Hello,’ Clive yawned with a scratch.

Not giving him a big hug was almost more than flesh could stand; nevertheless, I just give him a grin. He wandered over to me and dropped his head on my arm. Looking at me in the mirror with a sleepy peek through half-shut eyes, he grinned back then turned to use the toilet, but first he ran his lips over my back and left it with a kiss.
The shower of hot water felt like heaven, yet better still was Clive’s skin next to mine and the feel of his breath on my neck. I turned my head just to acknowledge his presence, and could not turn away from him. Clive had brought his hands to my face. There they traced over me as though he were a blind man reading the soul through my contours. Yet more followed, for he came as close to me as two bodies will allow and he laid a tender kiss on my lips.

We both move so that we could face each other. There was no sense of rush about it. No great impulse to dive in. Still the electric tension of sexual contact pulsed through me, and clearly it electrified Clive too - judging by his rock hard cock, pressing up against my belly.
‘I want you,’ I heard Clive say. But his voice was choked by the kisses he forced on my mouth. His hands tugging at my hair, caressing my body, and finding a home squeezed into my flesh.

Locked into our embrace we fondled, then settled on a long slow session of mutual wanking. Words alone would fail to describe the sheer intensity that this simple contact allowed. If I said mind-blowing, it might not cover the depth of animal passion. If I said beast-like, it could not reach the height of spiritual satisfaction. If I said love - it would only be greeted with a shrug.
‘And I want you,’ is all I said to Clive.

The inevitable happened, of course. A volcanic explosion of sperm disgorged between us, first in wrenching draughts from my body-tight bollocks. Then, almost in sympathy, a vast spew of seed blasted up and across my torso even reaching my chin, as Clive too juddered out his load.
‘Fuck me!’ Clive gasped breathless, ‘Now that’s what you call sex.’

The sticky mess glued us together in a bear hug. However, for once - or perhaps only for the first time - it was not the act of completion. Wonderful though the orgasm was, it paled to insignificance against the tenderness that ended in our kiss.
‘We’d best get down for breakfast,’ I told Clive, though nothing could compel me to let him go. Not even the ache in my empty belly. I held on to him, squeezing him tight, and bending him over in a cradle to make him know that it was for him I craved.

‘Soap might clean us up quicker,’ Clive squirmed beneath me, as I licked our mingled spunk from his chest.
‘It would, but it won’t be as much fun,’ I chuckled.

Breakfast was soon done and the coach had pulled up outside, yet there was still no sign of Johnny. Clive and I piled his stuff into his case and his bags as best we could - without looking pervy. Then we waited inside the coach with the rest of the gang.

Just as the organisers were insisting that we’d have to go without him, and our captain Martin Owen insisted otherwise, up ambled Johnny. A bull of boy, his shirt half-tucked in half out, his tie skewed, and his hair plastered at all angles with a hasty joy.
‘Sorry!’ Johnny roared with genuine laughter. And he middle-fingered the roars of complaint that came back. ‘You got my stuff,’ he said to Clive and me. Then he added, ‘Thanks!’

I almost said that’s all right ‘my beautiful blue eyes’. Until, that is, I caught his gaze and saw that his eyes were indeed a stunning blue. And I noticed too that a deep-set flush had crept over his face and neck.
Rather than embarrass the lad, I took hold of his neck in a tight grip and gave him a bloody good shake. ‘We’re just glad you managed get it.’