TITLE : All on a Summer's Day - Part Two
AUTHOR : Dave
PAIRINGS : Steven Gerrard, Jamie Carragher with reference to Emile Heskey
RATING : NC-17
DISCLAIMER : This is a work of pure fiction and, again, should not be misconstrued as the true sexuality of those involved. Fantasy purposes only.

Like Emile Heskey, Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher had the summer's afternoon free too. After training in the morning, the pair of them had lunched together at Gerrard's home before deciding they'd accompany each other on a jog through one of the woods on the outskirts of Liverpool. They had their own cars so drove separately, laughing as they kept on overtaking each other, though they had to be a bit careful; both had drunk quite a bit of alcohol during the lunch break.

Fortunately, the woods were not too faraway and soon they were both safely parked in the car park. They climbed out into the heat of the glorious afternoon sunshine and looked about them.

"Looks deserted," said Carragher.

"Good," said Gerrard. "Means we can get changed here without anyone seeing us." He opened the back door of his car and fumbled around in his kit bag, which he had dumped on the back seat, for the white vest and white running shorts he had packed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Carragher was doing the same and Gerrard's heart started to pump more fiercely as he slyly watched Carragher unzip the flies on his jeans and lift his T-shirt over his head.

Gerrard had had the hots for Carragher for a long time, ever since the first match they had played in together when Gerrard had been able to secretly check out Carragher bending over with the ball as he took a corner, allowing him to admire Carragher's tightly stretched arse. There was nothing quite so mouth watering, Gerrard thought, as the visual delights of a firm footballing arse encased in a tight pair of shorts. And, in a few moments time, both their arses would be on show in shorts and Gerrard's mouth filled with saliva at the prospect.

As Gerrard dropped his jeans and stepped out of his underpants, his momentarily exposed cock was already swelling into an appreciable erection. Quickly, he pulled on his vest and shorts; he very much wanted Carragher to get the message but was fearful of the consequences. Carragher was "all man", there was nothing whatsoever about him to even remotely suggest he might be interested in other guys.

Carragher, also naked for a few fleeting moments as he took off his jeans and boxers before pulling on his red running shorts and matching red vest, had indeed noticed Gerrard's semi hard-on. He had also noticed, not for the first time, that Gerrard was looking at him in "that way" again but Carragher, by his own admission, was strictly "a ladies man". Only last week, he'd picked some female up in a Birkenhead nightclub and gone back to her place; she'd been gagging for it and Carragher had been only too happy to oblige.

Even though he hated himself for finding the sight of Gerrard's cock fascinating, it wouldn't do to let him know that. "What the fuck you looking at?" said Carragher, thinking it best to seek refuge in outrage, as he threw his kit bag onto the back seat of his car and slammed the door.

"Nothing," replied Gerrard.

"Yes you were," said Carragher. "You were looking at my dick. What are you, a fucking faggot or something?"

"I just think you're a good looking bloke, that's all," Gerrard answered, lamely. He felt embarrassed now and was wishing the ground would open up. Maybe it would be better to just get back in his car and drive off home and have a wank in front of a porn video.

But Carragher suddenly became contrite. "I'm just teasing," he said, "I know you're not a poof. Come on, let's get on with some jogging before its time for tea."

Gerrard smiled, relieved that the usual atmosphere of laddish friendliness between them had returned. They set off along the main path of the woods, both men's arse cheeks working together within the confines of their skimpy shorts, Gerrard's white while Carragher had stuck to the famous and majestic Liverpool red, and they were soon deep in the woods, miles it seemed from anywhere and unaware that their team mate, Emile Heskey, had just driven up and was parking his car at that very minute. They had missed him by only a couple of minutes; by the time Heskey had locked up, Gerrard and Carragher were at least a quarter of a mile away, round a bend in the path and vanished from view of the car park.

Gerrard and Carragher were two supremely fit young men in the throes of youthful beauty and, effortlessly, they carried on jogging for half an hour or more without a pause, working up a profuse sweat which was due just as much to the warm weather as to their athletic exertions.

Eventually, though, Gerrard slowed down; the booze he had consumed lunchtime was aching to be disposed of. He should have popped into that smelly cottage by the car park before they set off but Carragher had seemed so eager to get going that Gerrard had gone along with him, even though he could have easily caught Carragher up if he'd gone for a pee first.

"You OK?" asked Carragher, as he slowed down alongside Gerrard but continued jogging on the spot.

"Fine," said Gerrard, "but I need to take a piss." He moved away and wandered off the main path into the deep gorse-strewn undergrowth. The trees and bushes were particularly forest-like here so anyone could have a pee there - or anything else, come to that! - without being observed.

Carragher watched Gerrard walk off into the copse. Though he tried to avoid looking, his eyes kept straying to the visual delights of Gerrard's arse enclosed in his shorts. Carragher cursed himself; it was happening again. When on the pitch during a match, he could hardly keep his eyes off Gerrard and his lovely pert bum but hated himself for doing so. He liked girls, especially those who wanted his cock like that slag in Birkenhead a few nights earlier, and couldn't quite understand why he should find himself so tuned in to the visual delights of Gerrard's backside.

"Maybe I'm bi," Carragher mused silently to himself, as his eyes once more fell upon Gerrard's arse. "Whatever, I've gotta do something about this."

Carragher continued to watch as Gerrard walked further away from him, admiring the way the skin-tight shorts stretched fascinatingly across Gerrard's young buttocks, rubbing together as he walked, and accentuating his arse in all its beauty, the seam in the material of the shorts corresponding with the long narrow cleft that was Gerrard's arse crack. His bum looked just as great in white shorts as it did in the Liverpool red; it was patently obvious that Gerrard knew how to wear a pair of shorts, ensuring that they fitted him nice and snug to draw attention to his hind quarters and the fabulous legs that protruded from them.

Gerrard was still in full view of Carragher when he finally decided he had gone far enough into the copse and, without looking round, he reached inside his shorts and took out his cock, dangling his exposed member freely. Gerrard had a lovely arse and was not lacking in the cock stakes, neither. His cock was easily capable of swelling into a ten inch boner to rival anything that he had seen in the changing rooms, like big black Emile Heskey, for instance, who, unbeknown to either Gerrard or Carragher, was, at that precise moment in time, wanking off all alone in the cottage at the entrance to the same woods where they were now.

Gerrard held his uncircumcised cockmeat in his right hand, prior to emptying his bladder. He let his balls hang out the end of his shorts too, as he began to pee, the hot steamy piss tinkling softly as it splashed against the bark of a tree. The flow went on ceaselessly, proof that Gerrard had drunk far too much and shouldn't have been driving, and as he continued to watch, Carragher's excitement reached fever pitch.

Carragher pulled the waisteband of his shorts down over his pubes and reached for his cock. It was already hard and dismissing all his earlier fears and worries, plus, like Gerrard, he was a bit pissed, too, he slowly walked over to Gerrard, all the time his eyes focused on Gerrard's bum. As if for further courage, Carragher once again brought to mind the way Gerrard was always looking at him - what the fuck if they were gay or bi, lots of otherwise straight blokes enjoyed a bit of a hanky panky with other guys when the opportunity presented itself. Why should they, a couple of famous professional footballers, be any different?

Carragher crunched through the undergrowth towards Gerrard, the bramble and hawthorn bushes scratching against his knees and the backs of his bare legs but he hardly noticed in his desire to get close to his team mate. By the time Carragher was standing alongside, Gerrard had finished relieving himself but the air was still heavy with the pungent aroma of freshly produced piss.

The sun was still beating down and it seemed hotter than ever now, in more ways than one. Gerrard heard Carragher creeping up on him and, after gazing down at Carragher's hard throbbing cock, Gerrard looked up and smiled that gorgeous smile which he so often neglected by frowning too much of the time.

"So," Gerrard said, making no attempt to hide his own hard-on from the enthusiastic eyes of Carragher, "you're a fucking faggot, as you so charmingly put it, too."

"I don't know," Carragher said. "What I do know, though, is that you, Steven handsome Gerrard, are a very attractive man," he finished, as he began fondling Gerrard's arse through the latter's shorts. Carragher had never touched up another man's arse before but he was delighted to discover how nice and supple Gerrard's bum felt to his touch.

Gerrard sighed contentedly as he felt Carragher running his hands all over his arse. "That feels really good, Jamie," he said. "Don't stop."

"Don't worry, Stevie lad," Carragher replied. "I can't." And they both giggled like a couple of childish teenage schoolboys.

Carragher's misgivings had been completely forgotten, he'd been denying himself all this man pleasure for years and, as Gerrard continued to moan, Carragher smiled happily as he ran his fingers up and down the delectable cleft in Gerrard's arse at the point where his crack fizzed out at the base of his curvy butt cheeks.

Gerrard loved showing his bum off and having it played with and for Carragher's benefit he leaned forward slightly and, bringing his right arm round his back, began to stroke his own arse through his shorts, drawing even more attention to it. Carragher relinquished his hold but continued to gaze steadfastly at Gerrard's wondrous curves, both their mouths drooling and their cocks full of pre-cum, thick and juicy.

"What a fucking fantastic arse!" Carragher almost screamed and without thinking about it any longer, he buried his face in Gerrard's sumptuous behind, breathing in its manly scent.

"It's the best arse in the world," replied Gerrard, who was not known for his modesty.

Somehow, Carragher managed to pull his face away; Gerrard's bottom looked great in shorts but now he wanted to see it in all its naked glory. "Why don't you take your shorts off and let me see it undraped," Carragher implored.

Gerrard needed no further invitation and didn't even reply as he quickly pulled his shorts down, stepping out of them and exposing the full beauty of his bare arse for Carragher's appreciative eyes.

"Fucking hell," said Carragher, "its fantastic."

"You like it?" asked Gerrard, huskily.

"I don't need to answer that," Carragher replied.

"Take a look at this, then," said Gerrard and, slowly, he spread his cheeks allowing Carragher and unobstructed view of his open arsehole.

"Why don't you lick it?" Gerrard asked.

Carragher wanted to, very much so, but had never rimmed anyone before. But before he had a chance to ponder, Gerrard had managed to grip Carragher's head and propel it towards his hole and before Carragher even realised what he was doing, his tongue was in and he was rimming Gerrard with gusto.

"Oh yeah, that's it, Jamie, lick my arse!" Gerrard said, lasciviously. "Stick your tongue right in my hole."

"You like me licking your arse?" Carragher said, full aware of the answer.

"I love it," said Gerrard. "Just don't fucking stop. Not yet, anyway."

Carragher grew more and more surprised with himself just how much he was enjoying licking Gerrard's arse and the previously untapped sensations that it awakened in him. It was fabulous that they were having hot man sex right out in the open air, unscreened by walls, and where anybody could walk by at any time and catch them in flagrato. But that all added to the excitement.

"This," Carragher said, knowing for certain now, "is going to be a summer's day to remember."

"One of many, I hope," replied Gerrard. "But don't talk anymore. Just keep right on licking."

As Carragher continued to rim him, Gerrard began to wank his cock which was hanging down between his legs but not too robustly; he didn't want to shoot his load just yet. It had taken him a long while to get Carragher all to himself; he'd been hoping something might have happened at home that lunchtime before they set out for the woods, but Gerrard had decided not to chance it. The timing hadn't been right then, it was all wrong. But it was perfect now and the last thing Gerrard wanted to do was sod it up by cumming too soon. After all, things were only just beginning ...

On to Part 3