Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction and in no way implies anything whatsoever about the footballers involved.
If you enjoy this story, please email and let me know at edintorrent@gmail.com
It had been a long, tiring day for Anders Svensson; his team, Sweden, has just been knocked out of the European football Championships by Russia, and he hadn't played particularly well. His team-mates had tried to console each other after the game, but each and every one of the realised that they just hadn't been up to the challenge. They had the oldest aged team in the championship, on average. Svensson was one of the young guys. Russia, on the other hand, were the youngest team in the competition, and looked as if they would be a good match for Holland, the tournament favourites, in the next round.
Svensson decided he would drown his losses at a local bar. He'd go to one of the numerous old-style pubs that seemed to be everywhere around the team base- quiet, full of old men with no stupid screaming girls trying to fuck him. His good looks almost guaranteed that happening in every other bar he visited. Hopefully this one would be different. Yes, a quiet pint. Exactly what he needed.
He strolled in to the bar, head down, and grabbed a seat at the bar, where a friendly barmaid got him a pint of Hoegarden in a tall, frosty glass. Furtively, he scanned the room. Just as he has expected: a couple of old men. No girls. Excellent.
A few gulps of beer later, Anders was surprised to see Arshavin, Russia's star player, come in to the bar. Svensson noticed that Arshavin entered just the way he had not five minutes ago- head down, straight to the bar. He sat almost opposite Svensson, and ordered the same drink- Hoegarden. Svensson caught the Russian's eye and gave him a friendly nod. Arshavin nodded back, and rose from his seat to come and sit with the Swede.
"Hey Anders, sorry about the defeat... still, I think the better team won, no?"
Svensson couldn't disagree, and he didn't: "Yeah, that cool, man. You were the better side. I'm tired of all the old guys... maybe we'll get some younger guys like you by the time the World Cup comes around!"
The two players laughed and drank their beers in unison. Svensson glanced at Arshavin. He had always thought he Russian was a hot guy. Arshavin caught the Scandinavian's eye and their gaze met, fixed for a few seconds. Just a few seconds longer than it normally would with the other straight guys, thought Svensson. He felt that familiar stirring in his pants- he had always been very easily aroused. He remembered once, after a Premiership match, he had got a hard-on in the showers. The other guys made fun of him for a week about it!
A few drinks in, the two players were getting on famously. Arshavin was buying the beers; he jokingly said that he could afford it from his bonus money. Svensson had laughed, knowing that Arshavin was on £50,000 per week at Zenit St Petersburg anyway!
During the drinks, Svensson was sure he picked up signs that Arshavin was maybe after more than a friendly drink with him. The Russian constantly touched him with his knee, with his arm. Their eyes met constantly, and for seconds at a time. Svensson's hard-on remained, pushing against his tight, fashionable jeans, making a clear outline of his cock. He was sure Arshavin had noticed. The biggest giveaway, however, was Arshavin's own erection- which was even clearer to see than Svensson's, as the Russian player was wearing loose tracksuit trousers. Svensson kept glancing at the sizeable tent that was on show, and more than once did Arshavin catch him doing so.
After another beer, Arshavin got up and announced he was "going for a slash". Svensson quickly looked down at his crotch as he rose, and the telltale sign of the Russian's excitement was still there. Arshavin grabbed at his engorged penis in order to rearrange it and hide it's presence.
A minute later, Svesson rose and also went to the bathroom. He had butterflies in his stomach, his head was spinning, not from the beer, but from the anticipation of what might happen next. Entering he room, he saw Arshavin at the urinal. He walked over and stood at the urinal next to him, and removed his cock, which he had managed to get down to a more normal size. Unconsciously, he glanced left at Arshavin's cock. He could scarcely believe his eyes: the Russian was slowly wanking off his rock hard cock. Svensson nearly fainted with excitement as Arshavin looked up at him, leaned in and gave him a firm kiss, his tongue entering the Swede's willing mouth exploring it. Svensson's cock stiffened up immediately. Arshavin pushed Svensson back, in to the nearby cubicle and locked the door.
The two continued their passionate kissing, their hands exploring each others toned, hard bodies. Svensson was delighted to feel Arshavin's firm chest, his tensed arm muscles and his perfectly sculpted arse. Arshavin, on the other hand, had gone straight for the opposition penalty area – Svensson's hard cock. He gently wanked it off, causing Svensson to groan with pleasure. They moved their bodies together, and Arshavin joined his cock with Svensson's and wanked them off together, which filled both men with ecstasy.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the keen Arshavin was the first man to go down. Finding what room he could in the small cubicle by sitting on the toilet, he popped Svensson's hard cock in to his mouth, which was wet from the extended kissing session that had just occurred. Svensson's leaned his head back in pleasure- the Russian was an expert cock-sucker. He worked his was up and down the Swede's sizeable shaft, using his hand also, whilst cupping his balls in his free hand. Svensson leaned to the right in order to check out Arshavin's cock, which he knew he'd soon be sucking on. It was rock hard. Arshavin looked up at Svensson just as he was checking out his cock. Smiling, he made his erect penis jerk a few times. It slapped against his rock hard six-pack, making an audible thwack. Svensson drooled in anticipation.
It wasn't long before Svensson felt the familiar "about to cum" sensation. He motioned at the eager Russian to stop: it was his turn. Arshavin gave the Swede's balls and final lick and stood up, his penis touching Svensson's lightly on the way up. Svensson, knelt down immediately, engulfing the Russian's hard cock in his mouth. Arshavin ran his fingers through the Swede's blond hair, which turned them both on even more.
Svensson was sucking for all he was worth. He knew his fellow footballer was enjoying this, as he could feel his buttocks clenching with pleasure and he could hear his quiet groans. The Swede had a trick or two up his sleeve. He ran his tongue lightly round the rim of the Russian's bell-end, which caused him to shudder with delight. It only took a couple of those before Arshavin pulled on Svensson's hair, forcing him away from his cock. "I'm gonna cum soon", whispered the Russian.
Svensson stood up again, and took his friend's cock in his hand, and started to jerk it quickly. Arshavin did the same, and the two kissed and jerked frantically. After a minute or so, they both started to slow in unison, and all of a sudden they both came, once again in unison. Both players looked down hungrily and shot after shot of cum spurted out of their rock hard dicks, splashing up on to their chests, which were wet with perspiration. After what seemed like an eternity, the ejaculations stopped, leaving both players now wet with glistening cum, which ran down their chests like rivulets of rain on a windscreen. They kissed, passionately.
"That was amazing" breathed Svensson in to Arshavin's ear.
"Fucking brilliant", agreed Arshavin with a grin "fucking brilliant!"
The two players emerged from the toilet, grabbed their coats and left together. The barmaid, who knew exactly was was going on, laughed to herself. "Boys will be boys!"