obvious lack of experience that comes with playing dozens of matches at a certain level, but it made

him pay attention when the boy got into action. It had pleased him when Daniël started to ask

questions. Why Steve had done what he had done during the most recent match. How he managed to

see things seconds before they actually happened. How he, not being a fast player, ended up at the

right place at the right moment more often than could be explained by statistical chances. The gaffer

gave him a place with the starting Eleven in a majority of the games, which must mean he was doing

something right. He wanted to learn that too. And although Steve had never been one to use three

words if two were enough, Daniël got him talking all right; about the skills of their trade and about

keeping the long hours on the training pitch and in the gym. About how defenders learn a different

language than those whose whole job it is to recognise that one defining chance to score. “We not only

have to see them, we also have to anticipate what they’re going to see.” And at Dan’s thoughtful

frown: “When in doubt: go full in and hope for the best.”

During the friendly against Sparta Rotterdam, two weeks before the start of the season, Steve

had been directed to the bench halfway the second half because of potential problems with his left

hamstring and for Daniël, it meant his first chance to prove himself during a match. That’s when it

happened. And it happened so calmly, so gently he was surprised he even recognised it for what it was.

But it also prevented panic. It was simply an emotion among so many others. He could deal with it and

still do his job to the full.

He recognised and ignored it, concentrating on the team’s performance on the pitch. Or at least

he made a brave effort not to give Daniël more attention than the others. With limited success, but

who is strong enough to go against his own, all too human heart?

He’s grateful for what is happening to him, although he is the first to admit he doesn’t

understand it to the full. He knows he’s a good team-mate, proud to know his work for Kinbridge

Town hasn’t gone unnoticed during the past five years. He’s thankful for his matches with the Irish

national team. It all proves he’s not without some talent. He tries to be a decent human being,

blemishes on his soul and all, knowing that he has to share some of his prosperity, time and modest

fame for other reasons than because it looks good in the local media. But why this tall, good-looking,

freckled, eight-years-younger guy from Holland insists on specifically having him, will remain a

riddle for the time being.

Steve knows he isn’t one to turn heads. He doesn’t have the appeal of youth, not even when he

was young. But then, he was never really young to begin with. Just a regular guy who happens to be

fairly good at a certain game; more of a hard worker than anything else, is how he assesses himself.

‘Dependable’ is the main word they use in the Kinbridge Chronicle when they mention him in reviews

about the match, and perhaps not without reason. But he doesn’t think there are a lot of teenage girls

writing their undying devotion to him in whatever teenage girls are writing in nowadays. That gushing

of affection is reserved for the cute ones, like Francesco Moreschi and Daniël Borghart.

He saw them once, Moreschi and Borghart, sitting on a bench in the changing room, heads

close together, listening to some, without a doubt, awful heavy metal band on Daniël’s iPod. So young

and heart-wrenchingly beautiful they had looked. He had already been attracted to Daniël at that time.

Who was he fooling … He was so much in lust with the boy he used him as inspiration to his daily

jerk-off session, no matter how embarrassed it made him feel, and so much in love it broke his heart

to realise that if Daniël would go for another man, it would likely be Francesco. Their striker, who

scores simply because he sees no reason not to. The boy, who makes family men on the stands blush

by simply waving at them, and who looks like he could easily break, but still returned from his

vacation in Spain with a tattooed angel that covers most of his back. Youth for youth. Beauty for

beauty.

It didn’t prevent him from having one of the most intense orgasms of his life that same night,

while fantasizing in great detail about Danny fucking ‘Cesco. Sliding his long, fat cock in and out of

the tight arse, while grasping the girlish pretty hair. Sweat-slick, perfect bodies. Freckles and ink.

One day, he’ll tell Daniël about that fantasy. Even being absolutely sure he doesn’t want it to

happen in reality, it could make for some nice inspiration.

Only two days later, Daniël kissed him for the first time. He tasted like boy turning into man,

like sweets and beer. It was a good kiss, one he eagerly received and happily returned. But it did leave

one question.

“What about Moreschi?”

“Francesco?”

“That one, yes. Unless there are other members of the Moreschi family contracted to play for

Kinbridge Town when I wasn’t paying attention.” The uncertainty about where he stood with Daniël

made him using far too many words to ask a simple question.

“I’m trying to get into your pants. Why should we talk about Francesco Moreschi?” Suddenly a

realisation seemed to dawn upon the boy, and it made him look lost and vulnerable. “I wish he

wouldn’t keep that hair so long. It makes people want him.” He sighed in defeat. “It makes you want

him.”

“I don’t want Francesco Moreschi. I want you, Daniël Borghart.” Steve still remembers how he

began to smile at that moment, because it had become so blindingly clear then. “And you want me.”

Thinking about their first time is like remembering the dozen goals he has scored in his nearly

thirteen years as a professional player. Or, better even, it makes him feel like when he prevents an

opposing player from finishing an attack in a spectacular manner and without being booked, the crowd

singing his praise in a thundering song of affection and admiration. He can’t imagine he will ever get

tired of the feeling of Daniël stretching out on top of him, covering him with inches and inches of

perfect skin, holding him with strong arms, being heavy with muscle and bone, but he can easily take

it. And there’s just as much chance of him not wanting Danny to kneel before him, opening the jeans

to get Steve’s cock out and take it between those sinful lips, as him not wanting to be part of the

starting Eleven against one of the big clubs.

He’s good company too, more so than Steve perhaps had expected. His taste in music leaves a

lot to be desired and still Steve easily spends hours watching him dance to a tune that really isn’t

danceable at all. Just as easily he sits quietly, pretending not to watch how Daniël reads, his face

betraying a deep concentration, then, suddenly, there’s a smile, because he becomes aware of Steve

observing him. Food tastes so much better if eaten in the company of someone who digs in with such

enthusiasm it makes Steve laugh out loud. He even likes it when Daniël goes out to a nightclub or a

rock concert with the other young guys, because when the boy returns, he’s always, literally always,

greeted by him with a smile that tells Steve everything he could possibly want to know.

Daniël doesn’t expect him to talk when he doesn’t feel up to it; he never asks what Steve is

thinking when he’s quiet and withdrawn. Like he understands that sometimes it’s easier to pull Daniël

close and kiss him in a way that, for the moment at least, expresses more about what he wants to say