R. A. Padmos

Ravages

Manifold Press

Published by Manifold Press

Text: © R A Padmos 2011

Cover image: © Fesus Robert | iStockphoto.com

E-book format © Manifold Press 2011

For further details of titles both in print and forthcoming see:

manifoldpress.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-908312-00-6

Proof-reading and line editing:

Thalia Communications

thaliacomm.net

Editor: Fiona Pickles

Characters and situations described in this book are fictional and not intended to portray real persons

or situations whatsoever; any resemblances to living individuals are entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

To my wife, but she’s probably going to say something like: “I didn’t do anything.”

So many individuals deserve to be thanked for their encouragement, their willingness to put up

with my doubt if I was the right person to write this story and their patience in what was at times a

very slow process. I don’t want to hurt anyone by accidentally forgetting a name, so: you know who

you are.

A very special thank you goes out to Joanne Morris for her generous sharing of her knowledge

of all things football, her red pen before I even dared to present the manuscript to a publisher, and for

giving me the Steve Gavan song.

And thank you, people at Manifold Press for taking a chance with this story.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

Author's notes

About R. A. Padmos

Chapter 1

Steve knows he looks like an idiot. A very, very happy idiot, with a smile that stretches from

one ear to the other and eyes that probably shine much too brightly. There’s a spring in his step like he

won a competition he doesn’t remember having entered. He thinks he even smells differently, like

he’s two men at the same time. He wears the heady richness of Daniël’s scent like an exclusive

fragrance.

People stare at him while he’s walking from the pub where he had shared a pint with a couple

of mates, and that’s not because they recognise him from the matches on TV or because he’s one of

the faces on the poster above the bed of their ten-year-old-son. No, the reason is that silly smile on his

face. He’s absolutely certain of it.

To be past his thirtieth birthday and for the first time having felt a man inside him makes his

head reel. There had been no rational reason for him to make such a fuss about it, more so because

Daniël has been enjoying the experience several times a week for the past six months and it’s not like

Steve has to beg for it, either. But what can you do?

Daniël hadn’t pressured him for it, reassuring him time and again that sex was great between

them. And it is great, every aspect of it. Of course, they have to be careful when they’re in the public’s

eye, the world of professional football and its fans not being known for its open and generous outlook

towards gay men, but as soon as they’re alone, they shake off all restraint. On occasion they allow

themselves a sleep-over and there’s no better way to start the day than having a sexy Dutchman to take

care of Steve’s morning erection by using that talented mouth of his. Or to be invited to Dan’s

apartment and have a quickie while dinner is keeping warm in the oven. Best of all are the long hours

that seem so fleetingly short, they spend in bed doing just about anything that’s physically possible

and wanted by the both of them. The sheer beauty of looking into Daniël’s eyes while fucking him

with such intensity – it feels like he’s losing his self wholly, only to come back even more complete.

This one thing however he had never allowed, even when Daniël asked it in such a seductive

voice he had felt his heart turn and all he could have said was a clear yes. But he hadn’t said yes. Not

until last night.

A certain someone got really lucky last night, he thinks, and it’s our little secret. He’s not even

sure why he changed his mind, what gave him the courage to turn on his stomach, his legs wide and

inviting, to say: “Please, Danny.”

Daniël, being the tall boy that he is, and being in proportion in all aspects, had been somewhat

intimidating even though Steve had taken that beautiful monster more times in his hand and mouth

than he’s able to count. Despite Daniël’s endearing care and patience, there had been pain, but not

nearly as much as he had anticipated, and all of it had been due to his inability to surrender to his own

need. The eight-year age difference was not just a number in some aspects of their relationship.

It made him admire his lover even more for being so free and open with his desire to be taken

by his man. The easy honesty of it all. Trusting Daniël had come naturally to him. Trusting himself to

just let it all happen and see what comes next was a different story. He had been overwhelmed by the

force his own emotions, still never doubting he was safe. Daniël had, with no words spoken about it

during or after, guided him through the storm, to finally let him rest at the welcoming shore of his

body.

It will take time before he can enjoy being fucked even remotely as much as Daniël does, who

begs for Steve’s fingers when his dick is too exhausted to be coaxed into action yet again, but he is

looking forward to the next time. Most importantly, it hasn’t changed how he thinks about himself.

He’s able to look in the mirror and be happy with the man he has become.

It’s theirs, the excitement and the sweetness of it all, the short looks during the match and the

shared smiles during training. They’re still learning to find a way to deal with the reality of playing

for a Premier League club while being lovers, six months being such a short time. Their relationship

has no public face, it doesn’t know about romantic dinners at that nice little Italian place and it

doesn’t flirt in the dressing room. They always arrive at Three Graces Park for training in separate

cars. They never isolate themselves from the others during parties and celebrations. No one needs to

know. And no one’s going to know.

It hadn’t been love, or even lust at first sight, nearly a year ago. Before that, there was

appreciation for the young talent, the newly acquired fellow defender. The boy, for what Steve saw

was a boy and all the word implies, had simply been one of the items on manager Arnaud Degaré’s

shopping list. Daniël Borghart, Francesco Moreschi, Dag Jensen, Ray Portland and Neil Miller: the

young dogs had found each other instinctively. Impatient, eager, loud, and with a surplus of energy.

Fast friends, but also learning there is the starting Eleven, there’s the bench and there’s everyone else.

Steve had noticed pretty soon that Daniël was ready to fight for his spot. He wanted to play matches

and right from the first minute too, whenever possible. He hadn’t come over all the way from his

Dutch town to this city in the North of England to watch the game from the side line.

Soon Steve also saw intelligence, a feeling for the game that couldn’t yet compensate for