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