‘See what I mean? Baby ’eads!’ Wayne was grinning. ‘I mean, where’d she even come up with something like that?’ ‘Women,’ Andy said daringly. ‘I never know what’s going on in their heads.’
‘You and me both, mate,’ Wayne agreed, tying up the neck of one bag and pulling the next one open. ‘God, this paper’s ’eavy, innit? You could, like, print a book on it or something. When I think of the cheap Woolies stuff my mum used to use... ’
‘I know, seems a waste, really,’ Andy said. He debated something in his mind, wondering how best to approach the subject.
‘Um, Grigor just asked me if I wanted to pop downstairs,’ he started, keeping his voice low. ‘D’you know about that? Did he ask you too?’
Wayne rolled his eyes.
‘Course,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s all part of the deal, innit? Why d’you think all the lads are so keen to come to this do? Patrice and Dave’ve been down there already, and that’s just the starter, y’know? They’ll be at it big-time when the girls’ve gone. Threesomes, foursomes, spit-roasting, train-pulling. All sorts.’
‘What about you?’ Andy asked casually. ‘It’s not really my kind of thing.’
‘Not mine neither,’ Wayne said just as casually, and Andy’s brown eyes and Wayne’s hazel ones met for a brief moment. They went on filling the bin bags.
‘Mr K’s going to be putting on It’s A Wonderful Life soon in the screening room,’ Andy said.
‘Oh, I love that film,’ Wayne said.
‘Me too.’
The wrapping paper and ribbon were almost all bagged up by now. They filled the last bin liner and tied it up. Andy stood up, picking up a handful of bags, and Wayne followed suit with the rest.
‘Oh, you don’t have to—’ Andy demurred, but Wayne shrugged nonchalantly.
‘Might as well give you an ’and with the rest of it,’ he said. ‘Well, if you’re sure – we can dump these in the kitchen waste compactor,’ Andy said. ‘And then I could give you a bit of a tour round the apartment, if you’d like? Mr K likes me to do that for VIP guests, show off all his gadgets and gizmos.’ ‘Okay,’ Wayne said just as nonchalantly. ‘That sounds like it’d be fun.’
‘And this is the fur closet,’ Andy said excitedly, heaving open the heavy, cedar-backed door. It had a keypad on it, which secured the furs inside when Grigor was not in residence; when he was here, though, the lock wasn’t used.
Wayne put a hand on the door as he followed Andy inside. ‘God, it weighs a ton!’ he exclaimed.
‘Yeah, it has to be, cos it’s all climate-controlled,’ Andy explained. ‘It’s got an air-purification system, it’s all cedar-lined – the coats have to be separated a bit so the air can circulate around them – isn’t it amazing?’
The heavy door swung shut behind Wayne, who was standing, gawping, at the sight before him. On either side, open rails gleamed dully against the rich dark cedarwood panelling of the fur closet, illuminated by deep-set lights that were deliberately kept low to avoid damaging the precious contents of the long walk-in cupboard. It was more like a Knightsbridge furrier’s boutique than a private home: jackets, coats, capes and wraps made of Russian sable, mink, Siberian fox, chinchilla, astrakhan, and blue and golden sables. Shaved smooth, trimmed into burn-out designs, dyed all the shades of the rainbow: Dasha still kept many of her coats and hats here, and her tastes ran to bright colours – viridian greens, lemon yellows, glowing fuchsias, jewel tints of ruby, emerald and sapphire. Built-in drawers held fur-trimmed gloves, and along high shelves that ran above the rails was stacked an equally dramatic range of fur hats and ermine tippets with dyed, dangling tips.
Wayne walked along the carpeted floor slowly, looking from side to side, reaching up to touch one of the tippets, which was trimmed with a whole fringe of little tails.
‘Bloody ’ell,’ he said at last. ‘There’s a lot of dead animals in ’ere.’
‘I know,’ Andy said. ‘Look.’
He was right at the end of the closet, lifting down a leopard toque from the shelf.
‘It’s real,’ he said. ‘Real leopard. Can you believe it?’
‘Bloody ’ell.’ Wayne reached out a hand and stroked the fur, marvelling. ‘It’s unbelievable, really. I didn’t know that was even legal. Aren’t they protected or something?’
‘Oh, this is vintage,’ Andy assured him, and then caught his breath as Wayne’s fingers touched his, brushing against them.
‘Vintage! That’s just a way to charge more for second-’and gear, ain’t it?’ Wayne said, grinning. ‘Cracks me up.’
‘I know, right?’
Heart racing, Andy put the hat back on the shelf, taking his time, arching his back so that Wayne could get a good look at the round, tight buttocks of which he was justifiably proud. He was hoping that Wayne might be tempted enough to reach out and stroke them, but no such luck. Swallowing hard, Andy swivelled round again, looking Wayne up and down, taking in the round pink dots of blush on his cheeks, the unmistakable swell in his suit trousers.
Now or never, Andy told himself. There is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune—
It was Shakespeare. He’d always liked that quote, the phrase ‘affairs of men’, but now it took on an even more significant meaning: make your move or lose it for ever. But you’d better be bloody sure he’s not going to freak—
Andy realised with horror that he was still wearing his elf ears. Reaching up, he dragged them off and chucked them away, taking a step up to Wayne: greatly daring, he slid one hand behind Wayne’s neck, pulling him towards him for a kiss. Wayne’s mouth was narrow, and Andy’s full, plump lips engulfed it, like a delicious soft cushion, delicately moist at first, and then deep and wet, his tongue sliding past Wayne’s lips, filling his mouth. Wayne moaned deep in his throat, his hands eagerly clutching Andy’s buttocks, pulling him as close as possible, his big, sturdy thighs parting to draw Andy between them, shoving him right into his crotch so that Andy could feel Wayne’s cock thrusting through his trousers and rubbing against his own.
‘Fuck, that feels good,’ Andy groaned, reaching down, unzipping Wayne’s trousers and pulling out his cock. It was thick and stubby, like its owner, which was a big relief to Andy: he was so turned on by Wayne, it would have been a huge disappointment if his cock hadn’t been up to scratch. And I always go for girth over length, Andy thought happily as his fist closed over Wayne’s dick and started to work the foreskin up and down the shaft. Well, who doesn’t?
Wayne was kissing Andy like a madman now, his hands rising up to wrap around Andy’s smooth skull, tilting his head up to kiss the slightly taller man, as enthusiastic as a puppy. They staggered back, against the rack of coats behind them, kicking aside the fur boots neatly arranged below.
‘Let’s get in the coats more,’ Wayne muttered, still kissing Andy frantically. ‘It’s freezing in here...’
The fur closet’s climate controls kept the interior at twelve degrees centigrade, to ensure the coats were at optimum temperature and did not overheat the natural oils in the fur overheating. It had been chilly from the moment the two men had entered, but their rising excitement at being alone together had heated their skin, made them temporarily oblivious to the cold. Now, however, that flesh was being bared, Wayne’s trousers falling to the ground, Andy’s following suit, they were feeling the chill. Andy reared back, gasping as Wayne pulled down his briefs and grabbed his cock with gusto, if not a great deal of skill, and looked frantically around him.
‘Put this on!’ he commanded, dragging a huge man’s Russian sable overcoat from a heavy padded hanger.
‘But I won’t—’ Wayne began, confused.
‘Just do it!’ Andy threw the coat at Wayne, prised Wayne’s clutching hand reluctantly off his throbbing cock, and dropped to his knees. A second later, he was deep-throating Wayne, who practically wailed with pleasure as Andy’s hot, full, wet lips wrapped around his dick. Obeying instructions dutifully, Wayne shrugged on the overcoat, its weighty
folds tumbling around him and Andy, who knelt between his splayed legs. Understanding now, Wayne wrapped the coat around his lover, keeping him warm as Andy sucked Wayne’s cock harder and harder in his heated mouth. Complete darkness engulfed Andy, darkness that smelt richly of fur and male sweat. It was incredibly erotic. He closed his eyes and sucked even harder, wanting to drive Wayne insane, to give him the best blowjob he had ever had, to make Wayne’s head explode with pleasure when his cock finally shot its load.
Wayne’s back was to the cupboard wall, the huge footballer’s muscles in his thighs and calves keeping him upright; Andy ran his hands with absolute relish over the hard, swollen, pumped legs, the thighs only lightly hairy, much of it rubbed away by the constant chafing of his exercise shorts. His calves were much more thickly covered in hair. Wayne’s cock was pushed right to the back of Andy’s throat now, battering against it, the wide stubby dick desperate for release; Andy licked a middle finger, ran it between Wayne’s legs, up to his hairy buttocks, and, with a deft twisting motion, eased it into his bottom, feeling expertly for the little trigger he knew would drive Wayne over the edge.
Above him, he felt Wayne’s entire body go into spasm, his legs trembling, his hips locked rigid as his cock bounced like a ball against the roof of Andy’s mouth, spurting out his come. The ring of muscle around Andy’s finger tightened like a vice; he waited until Wayne eventually gasped a long wail of what sounded like incredulity as well as orgasm, and his body slackened all at once, and then, gently, guided his finger out again even as he swallowed down the come that Wayne had pumped into his mouth. It took several gulps to get it all down; Andy licked his lips in relish. And then, yielding to impulse, he reached out and wiped his mouth on a fold of the sable coat. The fur was exquisitely soft on his lips; he wondered, with a rush of blood to the groin, what it would feel like wrapped round his cock—
Suddenly, Wayne dropped to his knees, his back sliding down the wall, more a collapse than a deliberate decision. Choking under the heavy coat that had flopped over him, Andy parted the folds and stuck his head out of the top. He was laughing, exhilarated by the sheer thrill of sucking off Wayne Burns – there was no denying the extra frisson of servicing the most famous English footballer currently playing.
But when he saw Wayne’s face, his laughter stopped dead.
‘What?’ he said, confused.
Because Wayne looked as if someone had hit him over the head. His cheeks were bright pink, he was breathing stertorously through his mouth, and, unless Andy was very much mistaken, his little piggy eyes were brimming with tears.
Andy caught his breath, wriggling free of the coat to sit next to Wayne. Instinctively, he took in his arms the man whose cock he had just sucked, cradling Wayne’s head on his chest.
‘What is it?’ he asked, absolutely baffled. ‘Is something wrong? I could’ve sworn you had a really good time...’
‘I did!’ Wayne sobbed into his chest. ‘That was fucking amazing! You’re fucking amazing!’ He raised a tear-stained face to Andy’s. ‘I just never – well, almost never did anything like that. I spend all my time with all these fit blokes – on the pitch, the showers, all their kit off, wandering round the locker room tugging on their willies, and I’m always so panicked about getting a stiffie, about them realising I want to fuck the lot of them...’
Andy stroked Wayne’s sparse reddish hair, kissed his mouth softly, then his eyes, kissing the tears away.
‘Do you not – I dunno, go to clubs, order in someone every now and then— ’
‘I don’t trust anyone,’ Wayne said miserably. ‘You know what it’s like. Every single guy I know who plays away’s been dobbed in by the slapper ’e cheated on ’is missus with.’
‘They’re the slappers just as much as the girls,’ Andy couldn’t help pointing out. ‘They’re the ones cheating.’
Wayne drew in a deep, shuddering breath and sat back against the cupboard wall. Wrapped in the black, inch-thick fur coat, he looked as if he was wearing a bear costume.
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m worse than them, cos I’m faking it. You know? I try to talk like them, sound like them, talk about chippies and slappers. Pathetic, isn’t it? And the mental part is, they all take the piss out of me cos I’m the only one not cheating on my girlfriend.’
‘Chantelle? Do you do it with her?’
Andy knew he ought to have put this question considerably more tactfully, but for some reason he was burning up with the desire to know the answer. When Wayne shook his head, the relief that ran through Andy was ridiculous. What’s it to me? I’ll never be alone with him again anyway... as soon as he stops venting, he’ll shove me away and call me a fag to make himself feel better...
‘Are you joking?’ Wayne’s small eyes widened as much as they could. ‘No way! I mean, she’s a nice girl and all, but I’d rather shag a—’ He caught himself, clearly not wanting to be rude. ‘Anyway, she’s a minge-diver. She and Corinne ’ave a thing going. I said to ’er once, if Patrice knew ’e could watch you and Corinne at it on a regular basis, ’e’d marry ’er like a shot.’
Andy was giggling with relief. A watery smile illuminated Wayne’s face, making him look very young. Andy blotted the last tears from his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Wayne reached up, took Andy’s hand and pulled it to his mouth, starting to suck each finger in turn. Andy moaned.
‘Tell me you’re going to do that to my cock,’ he pleaded, watching his dark fingers slide between Wayne’s pale, freckled lips with a shudder of excitement. ‘Tell me you’re going to suck me off, let me spunk in your mouth...’
Wayne’s face was bright pink at the dirty talk.
‘I really want to,’ he said, his voice blurred by Andy’s thumb, which he was licking like a lollipop. ‘But I might not be as good as you – I ’aven’t done it that much—’
The admission had cost him a lot to make; he was pillar-box red by now.
‘Pretend it’s an ice cream,’ Andy said, leaning back, dragging down another fur coat, sprawling on it, widening his legs, raising his knees; deliberately, he started pulling on his cock with one hand, cupping his balls with the other. ‘Pretend I’m a Magnum, and you’ve got to lick it all up till it’s gone...’
‘Fuck, this is like being in a porn film,’ Wayne said devoutly, heaving himself up, divesting himself of the sable coat with a huge effort, and kneeling over Andy. ‘God, you’ve got such a big dick—’
‘Suck it all,’ Andy said, watching Wayne’s face, how red it got with the sex talk, how eagerly he was licking his lips as he bent over Andy. ‘Suck my big dick and swallow every last drop...’
Andy could tell that Wayne wasn’t that experienced by the combination of keenness and tentativeness with which he handled Andy’s penis. Right now, he really is a puppy, Andy thought, propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch Wayne kissing his cock with the same wet, slightly sloppy, completely charming kisses with which he had been covering Andy’s mouth some minutes ago. The sight made something in Andy melt, a warm tenderness engulfing him, this internationally famous footballer, whose posters covered millions of Kensington fans’ walls worldwide, whose skill on the pitch was considered a gift from God, now, inexpertly, but with great concentration, trying to deep-throat Andy’s cock.
Andy reached out a hand and stroked Wayne’s head, running a finger round one of his small round ears, caressing his neck; encouraged, Wayne redoubled his efforts, and Andy started to pump his hips up, fucking Wayne’s mouth.
‘Yeah, take it all,’ he murmured. ‘Take it all and drain me dry... yeah, that’s good, that’s so good, suck me hard now, suck me really hard, make me come—’
It was the point of no return. Andy’s slightly curved cock was fully engorged now; he’d have loved to last for ages, to have Wayne suck it as long as possible, to feast on the sight of Wayne Burns going at his dick as if it really were an ice cream. But his balls were tightening, his arse was too: he was going to shoot, there was nothing f
or it, he couldn’t hold out a second longer, the pressure was too much: he groaned deeply, and, with sheer delight, he let himself go, heat streaming out of his cock, feeling like a bowstring arching and snapping back, driving the arrow of his dick so deeply into Wayne’s mouth that he gagged on it—
The door of the fur closet swung open.
Fuckit, fuckit, fuckit! Andy thought desperately, sperm shooting into Wayne’s mouth as muffled footsteps sounded on the carpet, and a man’s voice said something in Russian, a higher, fluting woman’s voice answering him in the same language.
There was nothing either Andy or Wayne could do but keep going. Wayne was swallowing desperately, his eyes bulging with the effort; he looked like a white, freckly tree frog. Andy’s lips were clamped shut to make absolutely sure that not a peep escaped him, that no sound made by him would betray the lovers’ presence. He kept his hips rigid; only his cock still moved, pumping away, shooting its hot load into Wayne’s mouth, as the woman came down the aisle between the coat rails, paused, started pushing hangers to one side...
We’re right at the back of the room, Andy told himself in utter panic, his head spinning. Nobody would hang their coat right back here; it would be near the door, where she could get to it easily.
But what if she’s blown away by all the amazing furs? What if she starts having a nose around, trying some on, seeing what’s here?
Ah, fuck—
His cock was drained now. Wayne eased back fractionally, licking the last drop from the tip, his expression a comical mixture of satisfaction and fear. The woman took something off a hanger; Andy managed to ease the side of his head around the coat hanging next to him. At least it’s a dark brown mink, he thought with wry humour. She won’t notice me against it sticking out like a sore thumb.
It was Zhivana Fyodorova, pulling on a white chinchilla coat, belting it around her tiny waist, stick-thin even in its fur wrapping. She took down a matching hat from the shelf above and settled it on her head. Andy was just relaxing in the assumption that she was all done, when she paused, pivoted on her slim kitten heel, and came quickly towards him and Wayne.
Bad Angels Page 32