Date: Thu, 19 Jun 2008 22:34:45 +0100
From: Steven Jones <edintorrent@gmail.com>
Subject: Euro 2008 fun

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction and in no way implies anything
whatsoever about the footballers involved.

If you enjoy this story, please email and let me know at
edintorrent@gmail.com

It had been a long, tiring day for Anders Svensson; his team, Sweden, has
just been knocked out of the European football Championships by Russia, and
he hadn't played particularly well. His team-mates had tried to console
each other after the game, but each and every one of the realised that they
just hadn't been up to the challenge. They had the oldest aged team in the
championship, on average. Svensson was one of the young guys. Russia, on
the other hand, were the youngest team in the competition, and looked as if
they would be a good match for Holland, the tournament favourites, in the
next round.

Svensson decided he would drown his losses at a local bar. He'd go to one
of the numerous old-style pubs that seemed to be everywhere around the team
base- quiet, full of old men with no stupid screaming girls trying to fuck
him. His good looks almost guaranteed that happening in every other bar he
visited. Hopefully this one would be different. Yes, a quiet pint. Exactly
what he needed.

He strolled in to the bar, head down, and grabbed a seat at the bar, where
a friendly barmaid got him a pint of Hoegarden in a tall, frosty
glass. Furtively, he scanned the room. Just as he has expected: a couple of
old men. No girls. Excellent.

A few gulps of beer later, Anders was surprised to see Arshavin, Russia's
star player, come in to the bar. Svensson noticed that Arshavin entered
just the way he had not five minutes ago- head down, straight to the
bar. He sat almost opposite Svensson, and ordered the same drink-
Hoegarden. Svensson caught the Russian's eye and gave him a friendly
nod. Arshavin nodded back, and rose from his seat to come and sit with the
Swede.

"Hey Anders, sorry about the defeat... still, I think the better team won,
no?"

Svensson couldn't disagree, and he didn't: "Yeah, that cool, man. You were
the better side. I'm tired of all the old guys... maybe we'll get some
younger guys like you by the time the World Cup comes around!"

The two players laughed and drank their beers in unison. Svensson glanced
at Arshavin. He had always thought he Russian was a hot guy. Arshavin
caught the Scandinavian's eye and their gaze met, fixed for a few
seconds. Just a few seconds longer than it normally would with the other
straight guys, thought Svensson. He felt that familiar stirring in his
pants- he had always been very easily aroused. He remembered once, after a
Premiership match, he had got a hard-on in the showers. The other guys made
fun of him for a week about it!

A few drinks in, the two players were getting on famously. Arshavin was
buying the beers; he jokingly said that he could afford it from his bonus
money. Svensson had laughed, knowing that Arshavin was on £50,000 per week
at Zenit St Petersburg anyway!

During the drinks, Svensson was sure he picked up signs that Arshavin was
maybe after more than a friendly drink with him. The Russian constantly
touched him with his knee, with his arm. Their eyes met constantly, and for
seconds at a time. Svensson's hard-on remained, pushing against his tight,
fashionable jeans, making a clear outline of his cock. He was sure Arshavin
had noticed. The biggest giveaway, however, was Arshavin's own erection-
which was even clearer to see than Svensson's, as the Russian player was
wearing loose tracksuit trousers. Svensson kept glancing at the sizeable
tent that was on show, and more than once did Arshavin catch him doing so.

After another beer, Arshavin got up and announced he was "going for a
slash". Svensson quickly looked down at his crotch as he rose, and the
telltale sign of the Russian's excitement was still there. Arshavin grabbed
at his engorged penis in order to rearrange it and hide it's presence.

A minute later, Svesson rose and also went to the bathroom. He had
butterflies in his stomach, his head was spinning, not from the beer, but
from the anticipation of what might happen next. Entering he room, he saw
Arshavin at the urinal. He walked over and stood at the urinal next to him,
and removed his cock, which he had managed to get down to a more normal
size. Unconsciously, he glanced left at Arshavin's cock. He could scarcely
believe his eyes: the Russian was slowly wanking off his rock hard
cock. Svensson nearly fainted with excitement as Arshavin looked up at him,
leaned in and gave him a firm kiss, his tongue entering the Swede's willing
mouth exploring it. Svensson's cock stiffened up immediately. Arshavin
pushed Svensson back, in to the nearby cubicle and locked the door.

The two continued their passionate kissing, their hands exploring each
others toned, hard bodies. Svensson was delighted to feel Arshavin's firm
chest, his tensed arm muscles and his perfectly sculpted arse. Arshavin, on
the other hand, had gone straight for the opposition penalty area –
Svensson's hard cock. He gently wanked it off, causing Svensson to groan
with pleasure. They moved their bodies together, and Arshavin joined his
cock with Svensson's and wanked them off together, which filled both men
with ecstasy.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the keen Arshavin was the first man to go
down. Finding what room he could in the small cubicle by sitting on the
toilet, he popped Svensson's hard cock in to his mouth, which was wet from
the extended kissing session that had just occurred. Svensson's leaned his
head back in pleasure- the Russian was an expert cock-sucker. He worked his
was up and down the Swede's sizeable shaft, using his hand also, whilst
cupping his balls in his free hand. Svensson leaned to the right in order
to check out Arshavin's cock, which he knew he'd soon be sucking on. It was
rock hard. Arshavin looked up at Svensson just as he was checking out his
cock. Smiling, he made his erect penis jerk a few times. It slapped against
his rock hard six-pack, making an audible thwack. Svensson drooled in
anticipation.

It wasn't long before Svensson felt the familiar "about to cum"
sensation. He motioned at the eager Russian to stop: it was his
turn. Arshavin gave the Swede's balls and final lick and stood up, his
penis touching Svensson's lightly on the way up. Svensson, knelt down
immediately, engulfing the Russian's hard cock in his mouth. Arshavin ran
his fingers through the Swede's blond hair, which turned them both on even
more.

Svensson was sucking for all he was worth. He knew his fellow footballer
was enjoying this, as he could feel his buttocks clenching with pleasure
and he could hear his quiet groans. The Swede had a trick or two up his
sleeve. He ran his tongue lightly round the rim of the Russian's bell-end,
which caused him to shudder with delight. It only took a couple of those
before Arshavin pulled on Svensson's hair, forcing him away from his
cock. "I'm gonna cum soon", whispered the Russian.

Svensson stood up again, and took his friend's cock in his hand, and
started to jerk it quickly. Arshavin did the same, and the two kissed and
jerked frantically. After a minute or so, they both started to slow in
unison, and all of a sudden they both came, once again in unison. Both
players looked down hungrily and shot after shot of cum spurted out of
their rock hard dicks, splashing up on to their chests, which were wet with
perspiration. After what seemed like an eternity, the ejaculations stopped,
leaving both players now wet with glistening cum, which ran down their
chests like rivulets of rain on a windscreen. They kissed, passionately.

"That was amazing" breathed Svensson in to Arshavin's ear.

"Fucking brilliant", agreed Arshavin with a grin "fucking brilliant!"

The two players emerged from the toilet, grabbed their coats and left
together. The barmaid, who knew exactly was was going on, laughed to
herself. "Boys will be boys!"