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Subject: Premiership Lads part 176: Scotland the Brave Part 176: Scotland the Brave Robertson’s first attempt to speak to and look out for the young Premier League Scotsman, shortly before that night’s international fixture with Israel, didn’t go well. Andy had been vaguely worried about the Arsenal lad all week since seeing him at the Community Shield match, where young Kieran Tierney had seemed uncomfortable and out of sorts even as his new London team smashed their way into a second crucial win of the summer. Watching Tierney stomp away with his jubilant teammates, Andy had felt a brotherly concern for Kieran, his fellow star left-back and big league face of Scottish football — so he’d quickly determined that he would try to speak to his pal properly when they were up here in Glasgow together for the match. `Just don’t go poking your nose in where it isn’t wanted,’ Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain had advised him as he nestled his head in against one of his pecs during a rare stolen night away from their female partners. `It’s probably nowt,’ Trent Alexander-Arnold had agreed, tangled up in Andy’s hairy legs and playing idly with the fluffy ginger hair below his navel. But he’d ignored both gorgeous men, knowing they couldn’t understand his strong bond with the scattering of other talented Scots inhabiting the English league. He’d hoped to address the issue during their four day training camp outside of Glasgow, but the moment had never seemed right. Instead, he focused on rebuilding his relationships with Kieran and other lads on the Scotland squad, who he knew both admired his Premiership successes and resented his `foreignness’ now he was so committed to Merseyside. Robertson took his captain duties up here seriously and had spent much of those days convincing the lads that Scotland meant more to him than any shitty English league title, for sure, and he was absolutely determined to lead the team into some big wins in this Nations League! Pulling aside Kieran for a one-to-one had never seemed quite right with all of that hard work to do. The 26-year-old spotted his moment this evening, Friday night and time for the first of two big games to make it through the fledgling competition’s group stages. The guys were settled in at Hampden Park getting some R as the others departed to see what a bunch of the others were playing on a series of gaming consoles in the next room, Andy eyed Kieran sitting alone on one of the big comfy couches nearby, cradling a cup of tea and looking a bit distant. He shuffled his way over, flexing a little in the tight navy blue polo shirt and close-fitting Scotland trackies, giving a greeting nod to the young star. `Oi,’ he grunted, `how you doin’, Kier?’ `Sound,’ Tierney said distantly, not looking up. Robertson approached quietly and flopped down beside him on the couch, glancing over to check his pool mates had drifted away properly and they were more or less alone. Then he planted a soothing hand against one of Kieran’s firm young shoulders and leaned over a little. `Hey, you sure?’ he asked quietly. `You know can tell me if not. As a captain and a friend.’ More used to cheeky grins and light-hearted banter, Robertson gave his fellow defender what he hoped seemed like a reassuring and wise look, all sincere and dutiful. He was a bit irked when the response was a sulky roll of the eyes and Kieran shrugging his hand off of him in a rough gesture. `Gee, thanks,’ muttered Arsenal’s prized new left-back. `I think I preferred you better when you were full of dick jokes and Jagerbombs, not trying to be everyone’s favourite fucking uncle.’ Tierney glowered away without properly acknowledging, putting aside his cuppa and shuffling about where he sat. Robertson stared at him in mildly affronted surprise, but forced a laugh. `Just trynna look out for a pal,’ he said, aware he sounded as defensive and annoyed as he felt. `You don’t seem yourself, mate, just wanted to check London was workin’ out for you and that, you know… pretty far from home and you didn’t have an easy season, so-` Kieran finally looked at him, but with a harsh glare. `Easy season? Seriously, are you actually just here to gloat about how well Liverpool are doin’…? Fuck’s sake, bro, we can’t all just sing up easily for an overrated side and ride on the back of stars like Salah and Virgil…’ Andy started at the vicious comments and stared thoughtfully back at the sneering 23-year-old sat beside him. `Erm…’ He had sensed Kieran’s tension and unease all through the preparations for tonight but he hadn’t expected such personal comments and antipathy towards himself. They’d always got on so well as up-and-coming defenders in the Scottish national side, even before Kieran had joined him south of the border in the Premiership rat race. He gawped worriedly at his teammate and, for the first time, wondered if shortly before a proper international game was the right time to try and have a heart-to-heart with a troubled teammate. `What?’ Tierney snapped at him now. `Mate, I’m fine, I just don’t need nosy fuckers like you trying to get involved in my life, aye?’ With that, he got up off the sofa in a bit of a rush, his cheeks flushing a bit pink around his sharp features. He disappeared in a hurry, stomping down the line of the room, rushing off to join a couple of his former Celtic teammates who were gathered around a TV looking at sports news on the transfer market and other international fixtures this weekend. Andy stared after him, wondering if that little conversation could actually have gone worse. So Robertson’s first attempt to speak to and look out for Tierney was a disaster — his second opportunity came later that night in very different circumstances, and went far better. The game itself was a poor showing for the home side, a lacklustre 1-1 draw in which neither Robertson, or Tierney showed off their Premier League class at all. Andy ended the game in a dour mood, suppressing the feeling that his and Kieran’s earlier tiff had damaged the squad’s defensive line and contributed to the disappointing tie with Israel. The Scottish men filed off the pitch away from the balmy Scottish night and into Hempden Park’s home dressing rooms, many of them mouthing off loudly about missed chances and personal grievances — there was a good team spirit among Robertson’s lads and there was no rush to blame one another or point fingers, everyone was convinced their own little errors had created the draw or cost them a more impressive win. `Eh, we still need to party hard tonight,’ Celtic winger James Forrest announced at some point during the sweaty undressing and post-match self-criticism. The short stocky man was standing in just his clingy white briefs, flicking a couple of others immaturely with his shirt like a jock in an American high school movie, all flushed and pink with his chunky bare legs and torso. `I mean, next game is away in the Czech Republic and we’re bound to end up holed up in some tiny shite hotel not allowed to enjoy ourselves… but here we all are in Galsgow for the night…!’ He grabbed at the bare broad shoulders of Kieran, who was in the middle of pulling a towel about himself as he dropped his shorts and keks. `I got my boy KT back for one night only, I wanna party…!’ Andy, sat exhausted on a bench opposite them, felt he ought to chip in his captain’s say. `Last time I checked though, nightclubs still ain’t opening up,’ he pointed out with a smile to his voice, glad at least that the lads’ thoughts were turning to the next game and to morale over being morbid. `I’m not sure we can all have the wild kinda night you’re thinking, Jamesy…’ He grinned, leaning back against the wall and using his Scotland shirt as a rag to rub sweat from his neck and his chest muscles. `Fuck, if only,’ muttered Liam Cooper to his right. The tall captain of newly promoted Leeds United fiddled idly with the front of his bulging grey trunks, fumbling for a towel on a nearby shelf and ready to hit the showers himself. `A proper Scottish night out is just what I need after this fucked up year, hah… we couldn’t even celebrate our Championship title properly on the town like we deserved, y’know… mind, you shoulda seen the wild party we had inside our own stadium after we secured the promotion, heh…’ For a moment, Andy thought Cooper had an almost guilty faraway look on his rugged features, but then he was laughing and throwing a towel over his shoulder and pushing down on his underpants. `Well, you all heard boring Andy,’ came the mutinous and sour voice of Kieran, still in his shorts and socks and playing idly with his phone beside Forrest and Christie. `He says no to partying.’ There was much laughter at this, the other guys not seeming to pick up on the bitterness of the jibe or the general odd mood of their talented left-back. Robertson frowned his way but was ignored, so he just sat there awkwardly. `I ain’t saying no to partying,’ he said to the crowded room in general, `just… think our options might be limited, y’know, boys…’ `But we gotta do something,’ chimed in the lad to his left — local lad John McGinn, still brimming with giddy glee to be back up in his hometown after his tough seasons battling at Aston Villa. `I know it wasn’t the result we wanted but we’re Scotland the Brave, y’know, we go down fighting — and drinking, haha…’ A chorus of nods and yells and patriotic snatches of traditional song that made Andy firmly agree with the sentiment but feel awkward about his responsible position; the bosses would definitely want the guys safely in their riverside hotel within the next hour, ready for a gentle curfew and a return to their countryside training camp first thing in the morning. Hovering next to near-naked Forrest, young Ryan Christie, the lads’ hero of the night for his solitary goal, sniggered and looked about with wild eyes, tapping the side of his nose. `Lads, I might know the place,’ the Celtic attacking midfielder announced, nudging James and Kieran and giving Andy a big naughty grin on his youthful features. `There are places which get around the rules, if you know what I mean, and offer quite a big party for those who want it… hehe…’ Christie, a lad who as often turned up to matches with black eyes and bruised lips from his extra-curricular behaviour as his aggressive playing style, grinned about at the intrigued male gathering, and Robertson scratched his stubbled chin thoughtfully, wondering just what his old pal had in mind. The place in question occupied the basement of a converted tenement block a short taxi ride away from the Scottish national stadium, and the nature of the establishment became quite rapidly apparent from the half-naked all-female staff and the cliched red lamps that lit the main bar area in the centre. Clearly the neighbourhood was quiet and desolate enough to allow the blatantly illegal business to flourish even right now: the dozen or so Scotland players were warmly welcomed with buckets of top-shelf vodka and mersin escort odd little laminated menus of the `dishes’ on offer. Kieran Tierney thumbed through the plasticky pamphlet in his hands, sticky with spilled drinks, and stared about the seedy underground brothel with a mix of hesitant repulsion and aroused amazement. He was quite impressed at Ryan Christie’s ability to turn up a party in the most limited of circumstances, though some sensible corner of his brain already knew that a headline-grabbing Prem player like himself or Robbo would get in way bigger trouble if caught here than some of the more locally based lads in their party. They’d already sunk a few cans at the stadium and in the cars getting here, so the 23-year-old Arsenal star had a good buzz running through his body, and his growing excitement at the dodgy basement Christie had brought them into had a half-conscious undercurrent of determination to it: all summer he’d done his best to throw his meat around and pull as many lassies as he could. On holiday in the Med, he’d fucked some really dubious birds, some twice his age, really determined to prove to himself that he was as much a hot-blooded hetero Scots bloke as anyone else in this room. Still a half-formed memory of the FA Cup Final night hovered on the edge of consciousness, joined by mental snapshots of Lacazette’s leer and Xhaka smirking at him across crowded changing rooms. Kieran felt so fucking dumb to have been drawn into that nonsense — how had he let Alexandre do those things to him and convince him it was just a `helping hand’? How could he have spent his load in Granit’s mouth in such a risky shower cubicle so close to all his teammates? He couldn’t even let himself ask the questions he needed to about how far he’d gone with his own manager. Mikel Arteta tiptoed oddly about him at training now and gave him strange lingering looks in his burning dark eyes. Tierney felt queasy when he remembered waking up, head burning and eyes itching, and watched the Spaniard slip out of his stinking bedroom and leave him to fester alone, his cock a little bit sore from over-use. So now he was sipping an overly strong mix of expensive vodka and cheap lemonade, glancing furtively about the saggy low sofas of the bar area and at various arched exits with beaded curtains draped over them, and then back down at the profile pictures of the establishment’s various whores, all proudly advertised in its menu format. Russian names, poorly translated welcome messages, tailored individual pricing. Fucking hell: the McDonalds of prostitution. `Oi, KT!’ boomed the voice of one of his best mates, big grinned James, elbowing him in the arm and fiddling with the starchy colour of his own smart white shirt. `You like anything on the menu, ha ha? What a place! Our boy Ryan has done us good, hey…!’ `Lads,’ cooed Christie on the other side of him, lifting a plasticky glass to crash against theirs, `this place is so sweet… and they are gonna be GAGGIN’ for our cash after this year, they’ll do ANYTHING…’ He bit his lip, so brimming with filthy glee despite his very youthful and innocent looks beneath his spikes of dark hair. `And as the only fucker who could put a ball in a net tonight, I reckons I get first chance… eh, what do you say to that, Captain Andy?! Haha… bet they don’t get up to shit like this in Liverpool…!’ Robertson looked left and right and tried to bite back his nervousness. There was sure a time when this place would be his wildest dream — he was pretty sure he’d heard rumour of it in his youth when he would be busy tearing up the great city and causing trouble, but he’d never actually ended up in this seedy basement enjoying its fruits. (In all honesty, he’d never actually paid for sex, though he knew so many that had — for Robertson, his humour had got him into enough knickers for free even when he was less secure about his looks.) He was torn between two sides as he knocked back a heady drink of too much vodka: the 26-year-old father and football captain who would like to steer his squad of feisty blokes to a calmer bar a few streets away where they could splash their money on stupid cocktails and posing with fans, and the horny Glaswegian sex pest who couldn’t stop ogling the women on show… and let the corner of his eye settle occasionally on the men he had been communally showering with 90 minutes ago, washing mud, grass and disappointment off their muscular bodies. `Hey skipper,’ slurred the guy in the next armchair to him, hands folded about a glass more full of ice than booze, `you ever been anywhere like this? It’s fucking mad!’ Robertson grinned affectionately at the lofty midfielder who for 95% of the year was one of his most loathed rivals in theory, playing for Manchester United as he did; but young Scott McTominay was a good kid and a very welcome addition to the Scotland side, even if he was born down in Lancaster and played at Old fucking Trafford. Could be worse, could be City! Now the big freckled lad was blushing drunkenly and looking around like a kid in a sweetshop. Andy shrugged vaguely and sipped his drink, recoiling at the quantity of vodka. `Places like it, I guess, but… not QUITE my scene, y’know… heh… everyone seems happy to be here, though…’ They both paused and looked over to where Cooper and Armstrong were both being led up from their seats by scantily clad ladies of the night. Andy and Scott laughed with teasing admiration, noting the gaggle of other women gathered around the opposite sofa, where the three Celtic buddies were chatting animatedly to them. Elsewhere, Andy realised one of the big sofas they had been occupying was already empty, and several more of his players had disappeared away with sex workers. Well, they were here to stay then…! `I never thought I’d fuck a prostitute,’ McTominay murmured next to him against the low throb of the sound system, `but… it’s been a funny year, y’know, tried so many things I’d never thought I’d do, so…’ Andy took a moment to hear this properly, letting his eyes briefly settle on Kieran and seeing that at last the lad seemed a bit more relaxed and himself, a few drinks in him and a couple of his best mates on either side; but then the Liverpool star and Scotland captain turned back to the younger guy on his right, playing the words back in his head and seeing the nervous shifty expression on his face. `Like what?’ he demanded quickly, grinning suspiciously at the big gangly United bloke. Scott blushed more deeply, laughed, and knocked back some of his drink, not quite ready to answer. Twenty-five minutes and three measures of vodka later, Kieran was in a much smaller room, a low-ceilinged square space several insubstantial doorways away from the main bar room. The basement brothel was labyrinthine, or he was just pissed and confused; his fiery determination to prove his heterosexual virility was somewhat tempered by the suddenness of the booze really hitting him, and the weirdness that his pals were so intent on, erm, sharing the experience. Tierney was lying on one of two double beds in the room, and a slender blond girl was curled up against his side, tracing her long fake nails over the crotch of his black suit trousers. She had looked far hotter in the catalogue, something aged and cynical in her features despite the youthful bounce of her physique. Still, he kissed idly at her cheeks and brow and tried to enjoy the scratchy feel of her fingers exploring the front of his trousers. James was working more quickly, his shirt already off and his face buried down between the tits of the curvier dark-haired lassie he’d chosen, motor-boating her noisily and making her giggle fawningly as he kissed and licked between her bosoms; between the two beds, Ryan was faking a romance of sorts by snogging and cuddling at the third prostitute in their expensive triple package, holding her about her narrow waist and simulating a slow-dance of desire before dragging her onto the same bed as Kieran and letting her undo the buttons of his pale blue shirt. The other two lads’ presence was distracting and weird for Kieran now, though he understood the seedy thrill of them all going at it in the same room with these three birds. (`You got any triplets?’ Christie had cackled at an older barmaid before making his choice from the menu pamphlet.) Helpfully, his blond girl scooped down her lacey top and pushed out her small well-formed tits just as he found himself uncomfortably distracted by the striptease of two more bodies rolling into place beside them, and the noisy motion of James sinking from tits to crotch. Kieran pushed his face down to kiss and lick at her coarse hard nipples and laid his hand over hers, holding it more tightly to his ample bulge, trying to relax more fully into the excitement that had seemed so delicious on the way into this subterranean Sodom and Gomorra. For a few minutes, he steadied his drunken mind and became more active, finding and slipping inside her knickers with one hand to stroke her entrance, still biting and kissing at one tit and letting her loosen his shirt and flies. But when she slid off the bed and onto her knees to pull his trousers more open and down his thick strong thighs a little, clearly about to suck him off, it exposed his view of the other bodies: Ryan stooped over his girl on his hand and knees, frigging her noisily and panting dirty talk down on her through his thick grin. Kieran’s head whirred the other way to see Forrest stooped down between the lifted chubby legs of his whore, going down on her with his body stuck upwards and back, his big meaty arse in the air with his trousers halfway down it, more tighty whities exposed around the big muscular swell of his rear. Right, back to the matter in hand, this girl was feeling his cock through his black boxer shorts, great, now peeling them aside and kissing his soft warm sausage, oh cool, right, yeah, nice, erm…. The room span for Tierney as his flaccid dick was taken between slicked lips and sucked. It should feel good but it felt kinda numb, to be honest. He’d never been totally sold on oral sex from lasses, always felt the intermittent risk of teeth against his sensitive skin, and he’d never particularly insisted on it as a treat, not until… until… well, y’know, erm… He looked at Ryan again. The Scotland goal-scorer had pulled out of his shirt, his lean pale body exposed and his trousers making their way down his legs as he readied to mount his chosen hooker. His grin was huge with white teeth and his strong chin covered in dark stubble as he lunged down to snog at his girl — there was a brief glimpse of his thick dark bush and a trace of his hard-on before it disappeared between her legs. And James too was going for it on the other bed, not just licking her out now, but ploughing her with squeaks of the bed and performative squeals of the lassie herself; all Kieran could really see was the bouncing white orbs of his backside rocking escort mersin up and down like a bouncy castle or airbed, soft and pale and pumping mechanically to make her scream. Slowly, his eyes slid back to himself, his shirt half open and his bottoms around his knees. She’d stopped trying to suck him now and was just fingering at his prick instead, an oddly impatient look on her heavily made up face. Kieran followed her eyes and stared accusingly at his own inactive nob, realising just how unaroused he actually was now he was in here with her. He looked at her and struggled to find anything attractive in the lank strands of bleached hair and the kohled eyes that now stared almost angrily at his failure to get hard. Around him, the two Celtic lads panted and grunted and swore in thick Scottish accents, and the girls wailed out faintly Eastern European praise of their performance. `What is it?’ his own chosen girl demanded in an accent that was possibly Northern Irish, but could just be some far corner of the Scottish islands. `What do I need to do?’ Tierney just made a frustrated grunt and pushed her hands away form his dick and balls. `It’s okay,’ he muttered, and he scrambled off the bed and across the room, his soft dick flopping around and his low loose balls joining it. He wrenched his boxers up partway and his trousers too and watched the blond prostitute sigh, shrug, and roll into play next to Ryan and her colleague… he stood there a moment more, watching the long muscular form of Christie’s body piling down on one woman then lifting his arm to embrace a second, and on the other bed, Forrest still bouncing enthusiastically up and down over his selected concubine. Tierney scattered away then, rattling through a bead curtain and into the narrow passage beyond, suddenly unsure which way led back into the relative safety of the bar. He paused, thumped the wall, and cursed his sleepy nob. Too drunk, he supposed, or just not drunk enough? There was certainly something off-putting in the sheer oozing confidence of James and Ryan and their womanising ways, the older lads had also teased him for being a bit shy and ungainly on nights out when he was with them at Celtic — no wonder he’d been so fucking single since coming to London, even without the lockdown…! No wonder, he thought angrily, he’d been so vulnerable to creepy Arsenal weirdos trying to make use of him and… The 23-year-old staggered left down the corridor, his clothes hanging off him, hot and frustrated. Awkwardly, he burst through another curtained doorway into a longer bedroom arrangement, and spotted more of his colleagues `in action’. On the nearest bed, a chunky big-breasted redhead was in doggy position with Southampton’s Stuart Armstrong behind her, thrusting quite violently at her rear and running one hand through his lustrous red-gold hair, seeming unaware he was being watched. There on the middle bed, big lanky Liam Cooper was lying back and holding a tattooed arm down to hold a lassie’s head in place as she noshed him hungrily, the big centre-back pushing upwards with his hips and thighs to fuck her in the face. And on the third bed at the other end of the room, Scott McKenna was between TWO of the place’s workers, fingering each of them simultaneously while they pulled at his raging red prick…! Tierney passed through the room in a blur, glad none of his three fellow Scotland players paused to acknowledge his presence or invite him to `join in’…! He was in another awkward corridor now, the smells and sounds of the brothel overwhelming to him. The air felt as musty and sweaty as a half-time changing room. He pulled his hands over his clammy face and fumbled unsuccessfully at some tatty buttons of his own shirt, trying to hoist his trousers more fully up but finding his thighs and arse cheeks a bit too thick and tense to get them back on. Onwards through another archway, and a more alarmingly intimate scene hit his beady eyes. There were two more of the lads, again on narrow uncomfortable looking single beds with worrying grey sheets on them. On the nearest was big sturdy Callum Paterson, the 25-year-old right-back, lying on his back with his thick hairy legs in the air, holding onto his big bare feet; a short-haired wiry prostitute who could have been 19 or 39 was crouched down at the foot of the bed, licking beneath his huge heavy balls, making him laugh and giggle. He caught Kieran’s eyes and boomed out, `Fuck, Kieran, get yourself a rimjob of this one, feels like heaven… ha ha!’ The thickset moustached Scotsman howled and laughed and took hold of his short thick tool as the girl lapped at his fat hairy cheeks. Tierney looked wildly to the further bed before he dashed on through a door on the other side of the bedroom, where the shorter slimmer form of McGinn was in missionary position on top of a tall black girl who seemed to tolerating rather than enjoying his efforts. `Fuck this place!’ Keiran snapped, looking at big hunky Callum and his deviant enjoyment and picturing himself in an Arsenal hotel room looked after by Lacazette and Xhaka. `Fuck…’ He stormed on, pushing through a more solid door that he hoped would take him at least to the bar but more ideally an exit, only partly registering the squeak and shuffle of John McGinn disentangling himself and hopping off his bed to check on him. The door led onto some steep steps upwards which he followed even though that probably only led him deeper in to the murky recesses of Christie’s chosen sex pit. His head throbbed and his stomach churned and he just wanted to disappear back to the hotel by the stadium and throw himself into a cold shower. At the top of the stairs, he realised McGinn was following him — the Aston Villa player was hurrying up the flight after him, a bundle of clothing held over his naked crotch and a flushed worried expression on his chirpy little face. `Oi,’ the 25-year-old midfielder called, `what’s up, Kier, where are you…?’ Confused and uninterested in yet another teammate wanting to pry, Tierney loped on around a corner and onto a silent corridor that felt much further from the bassy music of downstairs, then shoved his way through a rickety thin door at the far end of it, and into… into… He stopped, holding the thin plyboard of the door and staring into the small square bedroom space, even shabbier than the rooms below, just a dirty looking mattress in its centre and a couple of mismatched lamps surrounding it. But on it, lying naked, was his captain and fellow left-back, triumphant Andy Robertson, in the middle of being fellated by… by… it was so weird to see someone as tall and physically powerful as Scott McTominay, hunched over with his head held by the crotch of another guy, naked too but for a pair of tight blue boxer shorts hugging his small muscular bottom. He turned his head from the sloppy task and stared this way, his hand still wrapped around the veiny stiff member of his captain. Shuffled crashing footsteps brought McGinn charging into Tierney from behind, spilling both himself and the Villa lad into the tiny dirty bedroom with the exposed pair on the mattress. Kieran was struck dumb. Scott hung guiltily where he was, holding on to Robbo’s dick, licking his bottom lip, his face all flushed behind the gingery freckles. Beyond him, Andy had propped himself onto his elbows so he could stare sternly this way, a frown lining his rugged red-bearded face and the tufty curls of his hair. Dead silence. Still naked but for the bundle over his crotch, McGinn hopped from foot to foot beside Kieran, and pushed the door urgently shut behind them, bringing some scrap of privacy to the moment. `It isn’t what it looks like,’ huffed United’s 6ft4 midfielder, lips glistening with the enjoyment of his national captain’s dick. `Fuckin’ hell,’ sighed McGinn in a voice of bizarre wonder. `Lads,’ said Robertson more slowly and carefully, `er…’ Kieran just huffed out his breath, feeling like his head might explode. He stared hotly at Andy, aware of how deep his respect went for the Glaswegian lad who had shot through the leagues and achieved so much — his role model, really, why had been such a cunt to him earlier on when he was just trying to be a nice bloke and a good captain…? The dollop of regret was tangential to the bizarre scene he found himself in, but it struck him all the same. `It’s okay,’ John said gruffly, `guys can do what they want to have fun — don’t worry, skipper, nobody’s judging nobody here, good to see you two having fun, huh, eh…’ The Villa guy tittered to himself, hovering nude at Keiran’s side, his speech cracking the high tension of the moment. `Don’t look so worried Scotty, I mean, I’ve kinda tried it myself, so…’ Kieran looked sharply at him, tearing his eyes off the two men on the mattress, shocked. `Well don’t hold back if you like,’ McTominay mumbled from where he knelt, `join in if ya want, huh…’ `Aye,’ agreed Robertson carefully where he lay. `It’s all just safe fun, so…’ `Aye,’ John said. `It’s okay.’ And then, to Kieran’s further shock, he reached his right hand over and laid it on his crotch where they stood, grabbing him idly through the exposed bulge of his boxers, his ill-fitting trousers stalled just below that point with their open flies. He stood there very still, being fondled by a naked guy on his left, and watched by two more blokes on the floor. `It’s all good,’ John was murmuring, finding the outline of his meaty monster. `Yeah, join in,’ encouraged Scotty on the floor, stroking and pulling at Andy. `Come on, hah…’ Robertson spread his legs a little as he welcomed McGinn onto the dubious mattress; McTominay pulled aside to make space and then the Villa bloke crawled in and dipped his cute face forward to lick at the tip of the captain’s dick. He was naked now, had dropped his bundle of smart clothes on the floor as he descended to the mattress to take over oral duty on the most successful man among them. Andy let out a faint gasp of appreciation as a fresh mouth closed around his average-sized erection, pressing his arms and shoulders back into the springing bed. His dick slowly caressed and tongued by John, he looked over as Scott lifted up on his knees and Kieran shuffled closer to them. Very carefully, the United player reached for the same sizeable bulge that John had been fondling, and Kieran allowed him, though his facial expression was still stormy and uncertain. But he stood there quite still as his trousers were lowered and then his figure-hugging black boxers, and Andy admired the girth and length of the thing that fell out into Scott’s stooping face. As McTominay took his softness into his mouth, Tierney let out a conflicted sigh and closed his eyes, and did nothing to resist as long arms reached up and undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, yanking it open to reveal the lean strength of his long torso. Both Premiership hunks relaxed into the oral service of their fellow Scotland players. Andy enjoyed the mersin escort bayan gentleness with which John sucked on him, seeming more sure and experienced than goofy Scott, though his mouth was relatively little. He reached down to stroke his short hair and made a bit of space so that, guided by Scott, Kieran could fold down onto the mattress beside him – now they lay side by side, not quite touching, the other two ducking down between their chunky defenders’ legs, enjoying the taste and feel of their privates. Kieran opened his eyes and flashed a guilty look over, but Andy just grinned back, trying for the same warm brotherly confidence as earlier tonight. No attempts at talking now, just moans and sighs. Again, Andy shifted and moved on the mattress, so that he could confirm for Kieran how okay all of this experimentation was: he gently pushed Scott away so that he could give him a go himself. Scott grinned and laughed and stooped over the other way to go down on John instead, forming a little chain of their bodies, a tight square of bare athletic flesh and hungry mouths on veiny pricks. Andy took Kieran’s long strong rod in hand, impressed by how quickly McTominay had brought it to life, and spat on its big bulbous head then eased back the foreskin more, then wrapped his lips on it and gently noshed him, sidelong glances to his amazed expression, his innocent disbelief. Wow, Tierney was a well-hung bugger, his dick stretched and lengthened at Robertson’s cautious licks and kisses. He still didn’t feel confident sucking dick, not really, he knew he couldn’t deliver the same soft luxury as Ox did, or even anxious excitable Trent, but he could see Kieran relaxing into the mattress as he tenderly held and mouthed his prick. And his own cock burned with excitement in the tight mouth of John, while he could still hear the sloppy drooling of Scott begin to go down on him. Slowly, the Liverpool man pulled away, stroking his thumb and one finger down Kieran’s shaft as he left it with his lips, sitting more upright. He looked at the tight uncertain expression that lingered on his boyish face. `You should try it,’ he suggested. `It’s really okay, laddie…’ With the same gentleness, he took and pushed McGinn’s head away from his own tool, and lifted up onto his knees. Keeping reassuring eye contact with the Arsenal man, he lifted onto his knees properly and slowly moved over, settling in at the top of the mattress, kneeling right beside where Kieran’s upper body rested into the wall behind them. With terrified hesitation, one of the other defender’s hands reached out, and made first contact with Andy’s rigid prick. `Go on,’ he murmured gruffly, `I think you might like it…’ Kieran held it in his right hand like it was going to explode at any second, staring up the lean muscular torso to the rugged stubbled red features of his role model’s face. Behind him, he could see that Scott and John were tangled up in each other now, kissing (kissing!) and wanking each other, rolling slightly further away to the bottom of the mattress, lost in each other for a minute and leaving him entirely in Robbo’s care. `Go on,’ he heard his captain murmur for a third time, and he stared at the man’s dick, notably smaller than his own, so not so intimidating really, but all fleshy and an angry red and damp with pre-cum or saliva. He thought about the abortive efforts of the whore downstairs who had barely stirred any fraction of life into his equipment, but how quickly the fumbling grabs and efforts of McGinn and McTominay up here had got him hard, and now… Trust in Robertson’s captaincy and a slow-burning curiosity at what he’d become caught up in brought him leaning gently forward, the dick still in hand, and he lowered his face towards it, breathing in Robbo’s rich old-fashioned scent of soap and aftershave and sweat. He parted his lips cautiously and brought his mouth towards it, feeling its warm hardness meet his tongue and then his lips and opening his mouth that bit wider as he edged forward… one of the captain’s hands came down stroking against his dark brown hair and finding the outline of his ear. The 26-year-old made an appreciative purr that encouraged him forwards, taking a little more of the prick in against his tongue, registering its musty taste, not unlike going down on a girl really… `Ohhhh,’ sighed the Premiership-winning Glaswegian, stroking his neck very tenderly now, `good lad… mmm, Kier… oh…. Yes…’ He pulled teasingly back, letting his lips drag along the hard rod of flesh, his whole body shaking a bit with the tension of the experiment. Then he pulled a hand over to stroke his own rock hard piece, and slid back down his captain a bit more, sucking a bit more firmly on it, trying out the sensation, rolling his tongue a bit and pursing his lips on it like a musical instrument. More affectionate strokes of Robbo’s hand in his hair and on his neck and rolling down over his shoulder. He gulped nervously, parted from it, held it and stared at it, then kissed it again on the tip. `Good man,’ sighed Robbo, `that feels fuckin’ great, Kier, what a man…’ Then, stooping down, Kieran felt a soft kiss from the other Scotsman at the top of his forehead, and a vague half-hug pulling him to the side… `Come on, mate… like they’re doing, let’s… mmm…’ He twisted his head a little to see: Scott was lying on his back parallel to them, with John’s body over him, so that they could… aha, a 69! Gently, he was pushed to the mattress in the same posture as Scott, and Andy twisted above him. Suddenly, head meeting the soft springy bedding, he was looking up into a reversed view of Andy’s short curling red-brown pubes and his tight balls, and the red bolt of his prick, thighs either side. He stared at it as, further down his body, he felt Andy lean in and lap at his monster cock. Andy’s crotch drooped closer and he lifted his shoulders and neck to meet it, and like the other two, they carefully reciprocated the blowing, two 69s side by side. The physicality of the position was difficult and jarring, like so many porno positions, but he did his best, reaching up to run his long thin tongue against it and up to the base and even nuzzling those hairy balls a little bit, holding on to the thick hairy muscle of his teammate’s thighs as he did so. But it was all a bit much for him and when he lay gently back to the mattress, Andy just laughed softly and moved away a bit to keep his dick out of his face, still sucking hard on him. Now the other two were crawling back to them, perhaps finished with each other… Kieran lay there, lifting onto his elbows, watching now as Robertson just kneeled beside him and wanked himself, while both McGinn and McTominay dragged their faces into his lap, kissing up his chunky thighs and then, one each, kissing his cock and balls. Tierney couldn’t hold back, had to reach down and take his thick weapon in hand. Now he was wanking too, with the same quick fury as Robbo, who loomed over him with a safe grin on his face. John was licking his balls with flicking little motions and Scott was holding his mouth about the tip of his dick, letting him wank furiously into it like his lips were a pussy. When he came, his spunk exploded messily against that mouth for a moment and then drizzled down his shaft onto John’s tongue too, spilling his salty Scottish nectar on both hungry sluts as they hunched around his legs. Next to him on his knees, Robbo gasped and whined and unloaded too, shooting a stream of his jizz that streaked both men’s faces but also one of Kieran’s big thigh muscles, a shower of their manliness in the dirty den. So when Robertson made his second attempt at a heart-to-heart with Tierney, it was in very different circumstances. They were standing out in the shady back alley outside the brothel, hanging back as one by one their teammates piled into discreet taxis. Andy watched thoughtfully as Kieran refused to join his best mates James and Ryan in their car, and Callum took the spot instead, all of them looking flushed with self-satisfaction and still buttoning up shirts or buckling belts. Soon it was just the two of them, the last of the squad party waiting for a ride, everyone else safely on their way back to the hotel, hours after the manager’s curfew. Andy looked across at his younger pal, his shirt buttoned up a bit wrongly and only half tucked into his suit trousers so that he looked a scruffy mess, as he often did. He reached over and patted him softly in the square of the back, two 5ft10 left-backs together in the Glaswegian street. `Mate,’ sighed the Arsenal defender, `I feel like such a prick about before the game, erm…’ Andy made a vague scoffing noise. `Forget it,’ he told him. `But you gotta tell me what’s going on. I ain’t thick, Kier. I know you’ve been strugglin’. Is it just London, or Arsenal, or what…? Is it a girl…?’ The 23-year-old gave him a pained look, shrugged a bit, sighed. Andy rubbed his back again, pulled a tiny bit closer in the shadows. `Look, after what went in there, do you think you can’t trust me?’ he demanded in a gently grunt. `What happens in a seedy shitey Glasgow brothel stays in a seedy shitey Glasgow brothel, eh… that’s a saying, right…? Heh… Come on, Tierney. It’s me. How many years have we known each other know? I think you were still sitting exams the first time we shared a pitch…!’ He pulled a little closer, holding him in a friendly half hug, squeezing his sides. `Whatever shit has been going on and stressing you out, Kieran, you can tell me about it and I’ll have your back, okay?’ Kieran nodded, looking away. `It’s just got so complicated there,’ he sighed regretfully. `I feel so dumb. I never knew guys did shit like this. Not guys like us, anyway! I mean, we’re like proper normal blokes, aren’t we…?’ He looked even more puzzled for a moment. `Your missus,’ he said, not accusingly but sounding scandalised all the same, `and you’re a dad, but…’ He winced. `I mean… I don’t get how everyone can be… erm… Fuck.’ Andy nodded slowly. `Okay, you know what, this taxi ain’t coming, is it? So… let’s take a fuckin’ midnight stroll back to the hotel, and that way you can tell me everything. What’s been going on, who’s been bothering you, what’s worrying you… you never know, I might understand more than you think. Let’s get you safely to the hotel, Kier, and sort the world out.’ He put his arm about his shoulders and the pair of them tottered off down the silent road, leaving the brothel much richer for their team visit. With his other hand, Andy reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone to punch in a quick discreet message before dragging the full story out of his young pal. `Sorry babe,’ he typed in to Oxlade-Chamberlain. `Busy night! Long story. Call u 2moro, tell u all. Love you.’ And then, nervous at the tone of the message, he added a mitigating `LOL’ and cheeky wink emoji, then hit send, and focused instead on his Scottish teammate and the long walk back to the hotel, and making sure he was okay. **I’VE BEEN WAITING SO LONG FOR INTERNATIONAL FIXTURES FOR THESE CROSSOVER STORIES…! HOPE THE VISITS TO WLESH AND SCOTTISH SIDES HAVE BEEN FUN, BUT OBVIOUSLY IT’S TIME FOR ENGLAND NOW…!**

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