TITLE : Chapter 5 - Little Icecube
SERIES : Babysitting
AUTHOR : Zan
EMAIL :
PAIRING : Michael Owen/Jamie Carragher
RATING : NC-17
SUMMARY : The night after the events of Chapter 4
DISCLAIMER : None of this, bar the Youth Cup results which are LFC history, ever happened in real life. This is purely fictional blethering.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you to everyone who emailed me to say 'Where the hell's Chapter 5 of Babysitting?' and please accept my groveling apologies for its horrendous lateness. In fact, it was beta-ed ages ago (thanks to Fireborn!) but I've made the interesting discovery that there is nothing more embarrassing than editing your own smut so I confess that for a while there I was too chicken to take a look at it again! Speaking of which, if you're in any way offended by the idea of teenage friskiness it's probably a good idea if you backed out now. Come back for Chapter 6 will be more chaste, honest. When and if it turns up.
FEEDBACK : Yes please

*Jeezus! It's fucking freezing!*

Carra rolled over in bed, hoping against hope that this position would be more comfortable than the last one. For some reason no one could fathom, their hotel that night couldn't seem to get warm. Outside he could hear the November gale howling. In the bed next to his, Michael dozed fitfully, the sheets rustling occasionally as an involuntary shiver passed through him.

*Mikey's cute when he's asleep.*

*I did not just think that.*

But he had thought it. And if he was totally honest with himself, he'd been thinking a lot of other things besides. Ever since the first day of training, his thoughts had been wholly fixated on Michael. He cast his mind back to their argument before the game that afternoon, and its unexpected conclusion via Michael's right hook. He could remember the moment perfectly: the ache in his jaw; Mikey's fingers grazing his cheek as he held the ice-pack against the fast-forming bruise; the concerned look in the younger boy's eyes; and most of all, the single sentence that had kept tolling through his brain. *God, you're fucking gorgeous.*

The more he tried to shut them out, the more the feelings returned. He'd tried going out on the pull, but found to his horror that he was mentally comparing girls' looks to Michael's. And unfavourably at that.

Watching him in training was even worse. Watching him sprint, pass, shoot - all the while desperately telling himself not to be mesmerized by that little body. As for the showers - he just refused to let himself look. But even then, sometimes the bloody kid just got in his line of vision...and that occasional glimpse of damp, gleaming skin was enough to send his heart racing. Among other things - and those other things were the most frightening of all.

He was trying not to think about the dreams; of waking to find himself sticky with cum, still grasping his cock. Thankfully he could never remember the details. Even more thankfully, it had never happened on an away trip, in a room he shared with Mikey.

*And another thing - when the fuck did I start calling him Mikey?*

'What's that noise?' Michael had woken up. Carra glanced at him to see him sitting up in bed with his hair all winsomely tousled. He turned away to listen himself - from the corridor outside came the sounds of a not-too-distant argument.

'Dunno...sounds like the gaffer' he said, and then as Michael leapt out of bed to investigate, 'You're a right nosey little git, you know that?'

Michael grinned at him and scampered out of the room. Carra carefully tried not to notice the way his tight little behind moved inside his boxers.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling in dismay. It was wrong, he knew it. Of *course* it was wrong. So how come the dreaded chaperone duties were starting to become the highlight of his day? When they got back to Liverpool tomorrow that'd be the last he saw of Michael till the Christmas holidays. A couple of months ago he'd have cheered at the thought. Now...well, it'd be a relief, cos it was getting bloody tiring pretending to hate the sight of him, but the flipside of that was that in reality he was going to miss Michael. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why did he find himself looking at fit girls and thinking *Her eyes aren't as nice as Mikey's. Her smile isn't...*

He'd even gone to confession to try and scare himself out of it. But instead of giving him the usual 'you'll go straight to hell' routine, the priest had been sympathetic. Helpful, even.

'I know it's hard to understand, son . Why would the Almighty forbid what seems to you to be just an expression of love?' At this point it was only the fear of what his mam would do if she ever found out he'd talked back to a priest that had stopped Carra from saying that love had fuck all to do with it.

'We cannot understand all God's intentions. We must just obey Him.'

And that was it. Three Hail Mary's and try to keep your hands to yourself. He didn't *want* understanding for fuck's sake. He wanted someone to tell him that he was sick and wrong and had to stop.

Because he didn't think he had enough willpower to stop on his own.

Michael crept back into the room. 'It was the gaffer' he said, 'With the hotel manager. Apparently the heating's broke and they can't fix it till morning. He's trying to get our money back.'

'Shit, you mean we've got to sleep in this fridge all night?' Carra looked a little more closely at Michael. The kid was shivering non-stop now as he went to get back into bed.

*Does lookin' after him include not lettin'im get hypothermia? How'm I s'posed to do that?*

There was an obvious answer to the question.

They weren't doing that. He couldn't believe he'd even *thought* that. It was *sick*. Sick and dangerous.

And yet...

It wasn't like he was doing it voluntarily. It was just being practical. Nothing was going to happen. He didn't *want* anything to happen.

*Although if yeh did, yer not gonna get a better opportunity, are yer?*

Before he could stop himself, Carra had flung back his own sheets and said 'C'mon. Get in here.'

'What?'

'It's the only way either of us are gonna keep warm tonight.'

Michael hesitated for moment, then came around and slipped in beside him.

Carra gave a hiss of indrawn breath. 'God, you're like a fucking icecube...' He rubbed Michael's frozen limbs to try to get some warmth back into them. Michael for his part had burrowed as close to Carra as possible, instinctively moulding himself to every source of body heat he could find. Gradually he felt Michael return to something like normal temperature; soon the only very cold parts of him were his fingers and toes, and the tip of his nose where his face was buried in Carra's neck.

With the immediate task of preventing Michael from freezing to death accomplished, his brain could concentrate fully on the fact that the person he'd been obsessing about for weeks was snuggled against him in bed. The hand which had been rubbing Michael's back slowed to a gentle stroke.

*I could stop now. I could move so we're side by side not wrapped round each other and that'd be the end of it.*

But the hand carried on stroking. On every upstroke Mikey's T-shirt would ride up a little way, until after a minute or two he touched bare skin on the downstroke. Oh god, Mikey's skin. Silky smooth and impossibly soft. And he knew there was no way he'd ever stop of his own accord.

*He'll stop me. If he doesn't like it, he'll just move my hand and we'll say no more about it.*

He stroked Michael's bare back with the flat of his hand, bit by bit pushing the T-shirt up even further. Mikey wasn't stopping him. He must have *noticed*, because pressed this close he could feel Mikey's heart beating against him, and it had definitely sped up a little. But he wasn't stopping stop him. And then when Carra's fingers started to stray towards his hip, Michael shifted a little, not too much, so it looked like a natural movement. But enough to give Carra access to his front.

*Oh god. Oh fuck. He likes this. Oh fuck. Oh god.*

Slowly, hardly daring to believe it, he slid his fingers down across Michael's belly. He thought he heard him say something and stopped to listen - but no, nothing. He carried on his exploring, and this time he heard it properly: a soft little murmur of approval.

*He *really* likes this.*

Carra was suddenly glad that Michael's movement had had put a little more distance between them, so they weren't pressing so close together anymore. He didn't think Mikey would have been so relaxed if he could have felt the bulge of Carra's cock, now rock hard and straining to be released. Or would he? Was Michael hard too, he wondered. He desperately wanted to find out, but decided it might be a bit sudden to go diving into the lad's shorts.

*Fuck, you're seriously thinking about touching his - *

What was he doing??? He pointedly directed his hand the other way.

*Tits. That's the answer. He'll have no tits and I'll be turned off and I'll never want to do it again.*

Fat chance. The feel of Mikey's soft skin over hard muscle was incomparable to copping off with a girl, but no less exciting. And besides, Michael had some perfectly serviceable tits of his own, that when stroked and squeezed made him make that little murmuring noise again. That noise that seemed to be hotwired directly to his own groin. It was no use - his hand was moving downwards again almost against his will.

Gently, he spread his fingers over the bulge at the front of Michael's shorts, amazed that someone who'd been so cold a moment ago could suddenly generate such heat. No murmuring this time: as the palm of his hand rubbed against the outline of Michael's cock the little lad yelped out loud.

'Shhhh! D'you wanna wake the whole team?'

'Sorry.' It was the first thing he'd said since Carra had invited him into bed.

'Don't talk.'

*Don't talk, don't put the lights on, and for the love of god don't try to kiss me and maybe I can pretend none of this is really happening.*

He traced the shape of Michael through the material, running his fingers up and down the shaft.

*Heh. Not bad for a midget.*

He turned his attention to the swell of the lad's balls, cupping and rolling them in his fingers. Mikey gripped his shoulders and buried his face in Carra's neck again, making a strangled 'mmmnnhh' sound in the back of his throat. Somehow knowing that he was desperately trying to keep quiet was an even bigger turn-on than if he'd been thrashing around and moaning loudly.

As Carra moved his hand back up, he felt the wetness where Mikey's pre-cum had soaked through his boxers. He rubbed his finger across the tip of him curiously, at which Michael gasped, grabbed his wrist, and frantically tried to direct Carra's hand inside his boxers. Clearly he'd had enough foreplay.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he insinuated his fingers under Michael's waistband. A little too slowly - Mikey wriggled impatiently and tried to pull his shorts down. Carra slapped his hand away.

*Horny little bastard.*

His hand closed around Mikey's shaft, and gave it an experimental stroke. The texture of it fascinated him: the contrast between the hard core and the velvety-soft skin that moved so pleasingly over it. Mikey was oozing pre-cum almost continuously now, and Carra used his thumb to rub it over the sensitive head, the way he liked doing to himself. More strangulated whimpers, each one seeming to make his own dick even harder. As he began to stroke him in earnest, using long, steady strokes, Michael put a hand over his, directing the speed he liked best.

For a few minutes they just lay like that, Carra slowly wanking Michael and listening to his soft sighs and gasps. It was brilliant. Or at least it would have been, if there hadn't been a voice at the back of his head saying *You're touching another bloke's dick. YOU. ARE. TOUCHING. ANOTHER. BLOKE'S. DICK.* Then something happened to silence even that.

Little icy-cold fingers were pushing into his shorts.

Carra was astonished - it had never occurred to him that Mikey might reciprocate. But there was the unmistakeable sensation of a little hand gripping his shaft, reminding him how achingly hard he'd become. And then the little hand started to stroke, while another little hand pushed Carra to continue his own action where he'd stopped in his surprise. It was difficult to get back into a rhythm, partly because they kept getting in each other's way, but mostly because even the tiniest movement of Mikey's hand was making him see stars. The taboo of doing this with another lad, the very thing that had repulsed him earlier was now making him hornier than he'd ever. He was concentrating so hard on his own pleasure that when Michael shifted position, pulling down his boxers a little, he didn't understand what was going on.

*How'm I supposed to pull you off if you bend down like that? Anyone'd think you were going to...ohhh...fuck...*

He put his hand down to confirm that he hadn't imagined the sensation of a warm little tongue licking around his cockhead. But no - his fingers instantly tangled themselves in Mikey's close-cropped hair. And then those soft lips were locked around him and he broke the vow of silence he'd made only moments before.

'Oh Jesus...you're sucking me...'

And it wasn't like he'd never gotten head before, but this...this was a boy. This was *Mikey*. The heat of his mouth as he plunged down on Carra's swollen cock just accentuated the bite of the cold air on wet skin as he withdrew.

Knowing he couldn't last long, he reached back into Mikey's shorts, pulling at him faster as his orgasm neared. Then Michael moaned around him, and the vibrations this set off just sent him over the edge. He tried to pull Michael off him but the lad held fast, And then he was cumming, and he could feel Mikey's throat move as he swallowed. A moment later, he felt the first warm spurts of cum on his hand. He milked the last few drops from Michael's cock in a daze, rubbing the boy's cum into his skin as he felt that little tongue lick him clean.

Too tired to even think about what they'd just done, he pulled Mikey upright and wrapped his arms around him. For the first time all night, he felt warm.