Part 260: Worth the Wait
He squeezed his callused palms against the handlebars and drove his powerful legs into action; his firm square jaw was clenched and damp sweat was already coursing over his temples and down the sides of his neck. The hi-tec exercise bike creaked and whirred beneath the weight of his 6ft2 body and against the power of his leg muscles, and a few feet to the right, two men stood and watched, one jotting things down on a clipboard and the other glancing up and down from his phone screen. Sweating it out on the exercise bike, Ross Barkley powered through the endurance test and tried to ignore the almost dismissive expressions of the two German fitness experts.
The bike session in the Stamford Bridge gym was the last in a series of tests and challenges that the 27-year-old Merseysider was undergoing this afternoon in West London, and it wasn't alone in making him feel like a piece of meat or livestock being weighed up and evaluated for market.
He'd been vaguely excited at first when the meetings were scheduled, calling him back from Birmingham and into the capital. With his future so unsure, the interest from Chelsea had been reassuring and optimistic. But upon travelling down early this morning and missing important training at his loan club, he had quickly picked up a different flavour for the day... there had been no grand meeting with Chelsea's new manager, just a series of his well-paid underlings, and the various physicals and skills assessments he'd undergone had taken place well away from the club's actual training grounds out in Surrey, no reunion with the teammates he missed.
Instead, he was being put through his paces in sterile fitness suites in the stadium itself, and grilled in a few dull clinics and offices: poked, prodded, assessed.
The time display on the control panel of the exercise bike switched from amber to red as he entered the final 30 seconds of work, straining his thighs and glutes to kick even more of his physical strength into the exercise and completing the exercise at full power. A little sound on the machine blared as he burst across the time limit and immediately slowed his pace, his chest heaving and sweat pooling inside the clingy Villa training garments on his body. The two men, close assistants of Thomas Tuchel, made vague murmuring noises and then backed away, speaking to each other in low German; Barkley was left alone on the device, still gripping the handlebars and sucking in deep breaths of cool gymnasium air.
When it became clear neither of the senior Chelsea coaches was going to say much more to him, he slid his warmed rump off the saddle and clambered down to aching feet on the gym floor, noting the little wet streaks of his own sweat left on the leather and dripped across the framework of the bike. He dragged one forearm across his brow and cheeks, surprised at how the last couple of drills had really taken it out of him, then glanced uncertainly at the older men in their tracksuits. Seeming to remember he was there, they paused and gave him an odd look.
`Er -- was that okay?' the tall awkward Scouser asked, patting at his tummy and chest through the tight Villa training shirt, rolling his shoulder muscles.
Instead of immediately answering, they conferred in sudden and quiet voices, then just nodded at him and the one with the phone out began to speak in gentle English, thanking him for his time and directing him to see himself out, not making full eye contact once. Ross blinked heavily and cast his eyes about for a spare towel to wipe his face with, beginning to realise that he wasn't even going to be allowed access to the stadium's changing facilities now that his testing was complete.
Minutes later, the Premier League footballer was stepping out into the faintly humid May sunshine of a London afternoon, thin tracksuit jacket pulled over his sweat-soaked top, skinny-fit trackies hugging his worn-out legs. Dazed, Ross descended the steps from the Chelsea stadium's public entrances, feeling a little taken aback by the odd way he had been handled all day -- everything had been so formal and detached, and there had been no discussion whatsoever of how he might fit back into the new Chelsea regime in the 21-22 season...
There was only one thing Barkley could infer from the cold handling by Tuchel's minions: there was no place for him in that regime, and a return to the London club was unlikely. He made a frustrated grunting noise and picked his way down the stairs, fiddling with the zip of his light jacket and adjusting the strap of the kit bag that swung at his side. There was only one explanation for the impersonal assessment he had just endured in there, from office to gym and back again: the Chelsea management were trying to decide exactly how much money they needed to offload him, especially after his underwhelming performances of late.
This in itself didn't overly upset Ross... he'd had some time to adjust to the way Frank Lampard had exiled him last year, and there had been a long phase where he'd comfortably assumed Aston Villa would snap him up on a permanent deal. That move looked increasingly uncertain, and his agent seemed to have nothing else for him but vague rumours about who may or may not be interested. The most likely outcome, the 27-year-old footballer was realising, was that he was gonna slip from one lacklustre loan period into another... and now the Scouser's main hope was that his next adoptive team would still be Premiership and not down into the lower leagues. Ugh.
When Ross had arrived here by taxi a few hours back, he'd been hit by fond nostalgia for the area and the exciting times that the place represented following his move here from Everton, brimming with optimism and potential; now, stumbling down the quiet pavement and glancing back up at the hulking arena, he just felt irritated that his Villa training had been disrupted. The Birmingham team were playing tomorrow night against his old team Everton and now his place in the match was probably left uncertain by his unavoidable absence!
Barkley paused, clinging to the bag at his side, and he frowned moodily back at Stamford Bridge and the surrounding buildings that towered over him, wondering if it was time to give up hope on becoming a major player in Tuchel's Chelsea -- he needed to get back in touch with his agent today and pressure them to chase a permanent move, wherever it was! Was it better to just accept Championship football in exchange for regular starts...?
Lost in these thoughts, he hadn't noticed the sleek silver car pull up next to him, nor the rolling down window. The deep masculine voice that barked through it did catch his attention though, and the attacking midfielder whirled on the spot and stooped a little to look through the window. One hand on the wheel, Eric Dier grinned at him through the fluffy Viking blond of his short beard. Oi, Ross,' the other player called playfully, are you getting in or not? If I'm seen in these parts for too long, the transfer rumours will go CRAZY...'
There was a little click as the passenger door unlocked and with a surprised laugh, distracted Ross stumbled away from the pristine pavements and let himself into the other man's car, abandoning the shadows of the Chelsea stadium and swept away by the other reason he wished he was moving back to London.
I just thought you said you wouldn't be free,' the passenger grunted in his almost-stammering Merseyside accent, filling the front of the car with a rich cocktail of manly sweat and unsubtle aftershave. That's all. Obviously I'm dead chuffed to see you, erm. Why aren't you in training though, ey?'
Dier was parking up in a narrow side-street near the banks of the Thames, still grinning foolishly to himself. He chuckled a bit at his own daft antics, fiddling with the gearstick and then turning off the engine. With a nervous lilt of laughter in his voice, the England player explained to Barkley how he had faked a bad headache to escape Spurs training early and drive across the city from their North London training park. He was embarrassed partly because they were both such committed professionals who shouldn't be messing about with their training schedules, but even more so because he was never sure if his romantic gestures were too much for the earnest Scouser.
Outside the car, he led them quietly down the road and past the small coffee shack that was a favourite of his, buying the two cappuccinos that they would sip on the river's edge, and making small talk about his day. It was a sunny day but a chill wind whipped along the Thames and its banks, making him want to throw an arm about the other man's shoulders and shift closer in the public spot. Instead, he just supped his hot coffee and leant on the stone balustrade, listening as Ross narrated his Chelsea morning with awkward neutrality. It was obvious that he'd had a shit time there, though Eric did not share his naïve surprise -- he'd suspected pretty cynical motives when his close friend was called down to meet with the bosses, and done a bad job of joining in with the other footballer's optimism. It was easy for the Tottenham player to be suspicious and distrustful of a London rival like Chelsea, though, and his heart sank to hear Barkley try and hide his sadness.
But still,' Ross grunted now, leaning both arms against the stone, s'nice to see ya, lad.'
Eric nodded quietly, wrinkling his eyes with his big smile, and tilting the sobering coffee at him. I'm sorry it's just a quick drink,' he admitted. He'd been gutted not to be more able to invite Ross to his after the visit was planned, and he still worried that Ross was offended or unconvinced; the problem was that Dier's brothers had moved back into his London pad after an absence due to lockdown rules in the league, and the place was now a lot less private and discreet. That's why I had to get away from training,' he admitted ruefully, `because I couldn't let you pass through the city without seeing ya, heh.'
He wondered if he'd put this too strongly, but the sternly quiet other 27-year-old nodded back and gave him a searching look as if he wanted to say something more sweet in return. Ross paused and then started asking him about football instead, quizzing him on how training was going. Eric answered with his own awkward neutrality: he was hardly at the top of his game himself, and his bad luck at Spurs lately was something he struggled to bring up during times alone with Ross. Yes, he was getting back into the first team regularly again after a worrying absence, but he'd had a lot of criticism in the past few months, including from their fans.
Dier sighed and thought wistfully how talented they both were, but how their careers were currently dipping side by side. The dangerous question of whether they were just distracting one another entered his head, but only briefly. He had no real regrets about his feigned migraine and hurried drive down here to West London. Not standing here in the river breeze, side by side with the other well-built bloke, ruddy and sheened with the sweat of a hard day, his kit practically sticking to him. Barkley stopped speaking and seemed to realise he was being stared at with such longing.
`Wha'?' the midfielder mumbled.
I zoned out,' Dier said, nudging their elbows together through his own thicker hooded jacket. I was just thinking how bloody stunning you are, that's all.'
Barkley coloured and frowned and rolled his eyes. Leave it out, Eric.' He stared pointedly out over the river, slurping his coffee noisily and fumbling at the collar of his jacket with the other hand, pink-knuckled in the wind. He began to say something more on the dull topic of his train schedule back to Birmingham, but Dier cut him off. You are, you know?' he said in a flat but sincere voice. `Really fucking handsome, like some Greek statue or something. I could stare at you all day.'
Ross flushed a deeper red-brown and still stared away. `Well, no chance of that, I gotta go...'
Not yet, though,' Eric mused, letting his thoughts wander out loud. I mean, just cos that's the train you booked... mate, we aren't short of money. You can get another ticket if you miss it. Stay a bit longer, even if not overnight?'
Now Ross did glance at him, a cute little frame of cappuccino foam about his lips and stubble. But your brothers,' he mumbled, something in his voice suggesting he still wasn't convinced by that reason why he couldn't travel down and stay with Eric last night. I thought that...'
I wasn't suggesting you come back to mine,' Dier told him thoughtfully, seeing the brief flash of dismay before he finished the thought: There's other places we could go.' He smiled at the panicked excitement in Barkley's face but clarified, `Nothing so dodgy as a services car park, don't worry... I know the perfect place, if you've got the time to hang on. Fuck this coffee, that isn't what either of us really want, is it...?'
Quietly, the Villa loan player shook his head, and Eric let their arms brush a little more firmly. He took a long slug of the strong frothy coffee, licked its remnants from his lips, then glanced back over the road to where his silver car awaited them. In one deft movement he tossed the dregs of his coffee over the wall and into the broad river, then crumpled the cup in his fist, and moved promptly away. He dunked it in the nearby bin and strode across the quiet road, pleased by the scampering gait of the other guy's trainers as he scuffled after him and they approached the vehicle.
Ross sat awkwardly in the lofty entrance space of the Mayfair hotel, a real old-school place that looked like it had been converted from a fire station or something, all ornate sandstone and glossy furnishings. For his mate's discretion, the Scouser had a baseball cap pulled low at the front and a large newspaper in his hands, squatting in a low designer chair still in the manky kit of the day, waiting while Eric sweet-talked their last-minute booking. Apparently, the city slicker Tottenham player had a few connections with the owners and designers of the boutique hotel, had been confident that he could pull some strings -- though they were both high-profile sportsmen with massive salaries, Barkley still felt a certain awe at the urbane southerner and his cosmopolitan interests, cultured on the Portuguese coast in his youth.
Still, it didn't overly matter to him whether they were in some elite Mayfair venue or a seedy motorway budget hotel, he was just excited that he was getting to spend some time with Eric after all. He'd rang the other guy almost as soon as the Chelsea meetings were confirmed last week, glad of an official reason to be back in the capital and closer to the defender -- but then Eric had just mumbled at him about busy schedules and his more complicated living situation, and Ross had politely backed off, taking what he thought was the intended hint. He'd been expecting it for a while, really, hadn't he? After all, people seemed to lose interest in him a bit after a while, didn't they...? Lamps, Mount, his ex-girlfriend... he didn't seem to keep anyone's attention for as long as expected.
Their meetings had been rare and difficult to arrange, with the car park meetings often the most ambitious thing they could achieve -- tense, risqué fumbles in mutual locations in between the intense late-season obligations of their parallel clubs. Even as lockdown rules faded and the country returned to normal, both men found commitments to family and friends made it harder and harder for them to actually get away from the cities and see one another. Part of Ross had suspected that the Dier brothers had been moved back in to his pad as a buffer, or maybe didn't even exist.
But now he was waiting quietly in the background while Eric stood at an informal-looking reception desk, chatting and laughing with the man and woman behind it like they were old friends. It was a risk, Ross supposed, since the Spurs player had lied his way out of training, and was now being sighted checking into a city-centre hotel with no sign of a `migraine'. He tried not to think about that risk too much, it was his friend's problem, and he focused instead on his own presence, the thing that might raise bigger questions. He sat behind his newspaper and cap and waited for Eric to leave the desk and head away to the double-doors, Barkley's own kit bag dangling casually from his shoulder.
As he did so, Ross unfolded from his seat and marched silently after him, keeping his head low and not looking at anybody as he nipped through the doors and joined him in the quiet courtyard beyond. Ross waited for the inevitable questioning voice from a staff member asking who he was and if he was staying here, but nothing came, and once they had rounded a corner and were on the stairwell up into the posh hotel, Eric slowed and reached to stroke him on the wrist.
I tipped really well,' Dier said in a gruff whisper. Nobody will be asking any questions.'
Barkley found himself both excited and worried by this, reaching to take his own bag back and finding his pawing hands deflected chivalrously. `You sure? This place is swanky. I look like a right chav today.'
`Today?' jibed Eric with a wink.
Fuck off, posh boy,' he chuckled awkwardly back, feeling grimy and out of place here, wishing he could have showered at the club and changed into his own more casual clothing. He glanced up and down the stairs but quietly followed Dier onwards and off the staircase at the right floor, down a narrow corridor of obscure artwork, and finally through the numbered door into the ostentatious corner room that blazed with late afternoon light. Jesus,' he remarked, `this place is a right fuckin' palace, ain't it?'
Eric took a few steps ahead, a fond smile on his face. `They always give me this room, it's my favourite,' he admitted, and the pleasure on his face was enjoyable as he drank in the tasteful suite and its huge windows out onto attractive Mayfair streets. Ross enjoyed watching his enjoyment, feeling a bit unsure if he was in any position to judge the décor or furnishings of the classy joint. He pushed the door shut behind them and went to inspect each view suspiciously, wondering if they weren't on as much show as the busying streets below. But then Dier was at his side, grabbing at the heavy blue curtains and dragging them to; problem solved.
The heavy rustle of the curtains darkened the room and made him smile uncontrollably at what they were bound to do in here, but he stepped back a bit self-consciously, glancing past the enormous white meringue of the bed and to the adjoining bathroom door. I'll get myself cleaned up,' he announced hoarsely, folding up the newspaper and removing the baseball cap, dropping both onto a table of flowers and ornaments. He moved towards his own bag, which Eric had placed in a dramatic armchair, and stooped to unzip it. Just a quick shower,' he added, struggling to get it open.
Mmm?' Eric's thoughtful murmur approached him from behind and he straightened up, looking over his broad shoulder at the approaching figure of the other burly athlete. Shower?' the Tottenham man asked in an eager little voice. `Nah, leave that.'
Ross spun slowly to face him, feeling the taut hug of his clothing and then Eric's hands stroke at his elbows and the edges of his biceps. `I'm sweaty as fuck,' he grunted.
Dier just nodded, patted the outside of his arms. `I know. Give us a kiss, will you...?'
With that, they were closer, Eric's arms sliding about his waist and their hard muscular chests meeting at the same time as their faces. Ross knew he must stink of sweat but it didn't seem to phase the fresh-smelling stud in his clean-pressed jeans and hooded jacket, cuddling at him and kissing him on the lips. Ross loved the way the soft hair of Eric's beard tickled at his own rough stubble, loved submitting to the strong hold of this man's arms. He stood there with a passivity that was quite new to him and shuddered with anticipation for everything that they would do.
Their lips rubbed and rasped at each other, and Ross slid his own hands under the sides of the jacket, feeling the tight soft tshirt against Eric's abs and pecs. He found the hardness of nipples beneath it and rubbed his thumbs on them, purring and growling into his lover's mouth, and pressing closer into him until their crotches were gently rubbing at funny teasing angles... and then Eric's hands weren't on his sides or his back but down to grab him by the arse, squeezing each round muscular cheek through the skin-tight nylon of his Villa trackies.
Eric knew he should be patient, should relax, should let Ross take his shower and feel comfortable... but since his first sight of Barkley on the Chelsea pavement, he'd been overcome with a lust for him that made their previous intimacies seem casual and bland. Perhaps he'd just not wanked in a few days too many, or it had been a particularly rough patch with the reviews of his football, but he'd never felt such urgent hunger for a lover like he did here in the darkened suite of his favourite hotel, discreetly tucked away in this favoured room.
Giving in entirely to the impatience and greed, Dier unzipped the other man's jacket with almost violent speed and then pushed it away and dragged up the tight training shirt, peeling it from the clammy tan muscle of six-pack and then chest, dragging it all up until it was off and he was shirtless. With both hands, he shucked away his own padded jacket and rolled up his tshirt, baring their bodies against each other, his own much paler than the mixed-race bronze of the Scouser. He felt Barkley stroke and grab at his pecs and the light dusting of pale hair there, closing his own arms about the sexy bloke and cuddling at him -- he kissed him on the side of his neck with a little fierceness, tasting the salty sweat of his skin and enjoying it.
He moved backwards towards the bed, pulling Ross with him by the forearms. He had always loved very hypermasculine partners who became a little softer and more pliable in his hands, and somehow the Scouser was becoming just that -- he retained his rugged fierceness, but his shy self-consciousness and willingness were so irresistible to Eric, even if they came with their own limits of inexperience.
With his back to the foot of the bed, Eric went down on his knees, shirtless in his pale jeans and white trainers. Kneeling there, he held Ross by the hips and kissed him on the tummy, snogging at the clammy skin down the centre of his six-pack, past his outie belly button and to his waistline. He hooked his fingers into the tight side-pockets of the skinny tracksuit bottoms and tugged them down -- as they slid across thick thighs, it brought Dier's eager face close against the loaded sports briefs inside, off-white and even more damp with perspiration. He heard Barkley's suppressed moan as he rubbed his bearded mouth against them and their heavy contents, shaping his lips about the form of a stirring cock. Ohhhh,' gasped the Chelsea export, ohhh man...'
Eric wanted the dick for real, but now he did slow himself, kissing and nuzzling at the big bulge whilst stroking the hips and muscle, kneeling for his brute and savouring every breath of his musty odour. Ross was slipping his fingers clumsily through the tufty crop of Eric's hair and onto his neck and shoulders, not quite massaging, but trying his best to show real affection. Eric stuck out his tongue and rubbed it ferociously against the fat head of the semi until it was much stiffer and really straining at the taut white fabric. He was practically drooling as he lowered his head to kiss the inside of the thighs instead and then back up to the belly button.
God,' breathed Barkley, I'm gonna cum in my pants.'
`Fucking hell, don't waste it,' Dier hissed reverently, stroking and patting the solid mass of his thigh muscles and staring up the curved physique to his charming rugged face of worried pleasure. He licked his lips slowly to drive him wilder, then leaned in and flicked his tongue back against the hard shape a few times, making Barkley whine at length.
Onto the bed,' he said in quiet instruction, pulling himself upright and dropping backwards onto the fluffy white of the duvet. He pulled himself onto it with his arse at the edge, and instantly Ross began to respond with that newly acquired obedience, stroking his knees and bending... No,' Eric grunted for him, grasping at his hands and shaking his head, `it's not my turn. Come up onto the bed...' He pulled at the hands, encouraging Ross not to kneel down before him but to climb up instead, bringing his bare knees onto the bedding at either side of his waist, kneeling over him. And Eric prised at the sides of those briefs and yanked them down, lying on his back with his midriff straddled -- the big thick meat sprung free and swung eagerly side to side, fat low balls hanging at its base.
Ross panted and swayed, finding his balance and edging his knees forward, propped upright over the prone form of Eric's body. He seemed surprised and ecstatic that he was going to get sucked properly, and Eric knew he had the skills to justify this eagerness. But still, it wasn't actually what he wanted most. He stroked and encouraged those monster thighs, guiding Ross further forward until he was kneeling right over his chest, his hard dick hovering just above where Eric's face lay. Eric grinned, his own dick rigid inside his jeans and boxer briefs, but he began to gyrate his body to wriggle further up the bed, and Ross did the same, almost toppling sideways at one point -- soon Dier was lying back against the nest of pillows and Barkley could lean forward to grip the headboard as he began to angle his sweaty prick down for a tasting...
`More, move forward,' was all Eric growled at him, and he reached around the thighs to the big smooth buttocks behind, pulling on them... dragging Ross forward so he was leaning heavily into the frame and wallpaper. The heavily swinging cock passed Eric's face by, and so did the swinging balls, and he got to the real treat... he parted and squeezed those glutes at the same time and brought his stud into a seated position on his face, allowing him to poke his tongue up and run it against the sweat-ripe crack.
Barkley's knuckles tightened and he gripped the dark metal frame ahead of him, tensing forward into the strength of his bare arms, gasping out an ugly sound of delight as Dier's tongue coursed between his cheeks. The strong grip of the defensive player's hands squeezed at each big buttock, pushing him into better position and then licking him aggressively from below -- fuck! The wholesome handsome Cheltenham boy was burying his tongue in his sweaty arse, and Ross pictured the damp smears on the seat of the exercise bike that had now been swapped for that bearded face.
Ross held his tense position, holding onto the headboard and keeping his thighs wide apart, knees digging into the pillows, arse perky and huge and slapped a bit by Eric's strong white hands. But he pulled down, dragging the arse lower to get at it, and Ross responded by pushing down, sitting himself more comfortably onto his man's face, gasping in throaty bursts of noise. `Fuckin' hell lad,' he uttered, rocking forward and then pushing back with his arms, guided and steadied by the way Eric helt onto his arse and legs.
He could feel the strong wet push between his cheeks and against the damp curling hairs of his crack, then against the throbbing nervousness of his ring. He loved this, had loved it when dirty Frank did it to him in a St James' Park changing room, but far more so when Eric had gone down there once before -- but because that time between them had ended so badly, he'd never dared to even hint that he might want it again. He loved that Dier seemed to understand his needs enough to initiate it, and he was thrilled at the dirty eagerness with which his unshowered body was being enjoyed. Still, he couldn't help but clench a bit and hold back, unsure if he should be liking this rimming quite so much, and scared of giving himself over properly to the handsome bugger.
But Eric's tongue was magic on him, soothing and pleasuring and relaxing. Ross threw his head back with a yowl of delight as his hole responded to the attention and his buttocks unclenched at the stroking touch. His thighs spread more and he let go of the headboard, sitting back and steadying himself. He felt Eric's craggy brow and fluffy hair tickle the bottom of his ball-sack and the droop of his hard-on, felt the wiggle and twist of the face beneath him as Eric licked more of his crack and then returned to poke his tongue at his hole in wet little jabs that made him whimper and feel like he might start leaking spunk any second.
Oh god,' he murmured, muttering out word after word, lots of Oh mate', and Fuck, buddy', until the pleasure got too much for his rugged bravado, and the true affection was spilling out of his sweaty lips: Oh baby, oh god I love it, it feels so good, oh yes...' Rasping Scouse groans of ecstasy.
A wave of delight rocked his body and the tall muscular lad hunched forward, grabbing again at the headboard with such force that it rattled and knocked against the wall. He felt beads of sweat drop from his face against the mass of pillows, saw how swollen and veiny his hard-on looked; he longed to reach down and touch it but he knew he should resist, knew he should just give himself over to this treat, oh fucking hell.
Yes,' he rasped weakly, yesss, babe...'
Eric's face pushed up the pillows a bit and suddenly his mouth was on the balls instead, licking and then sucking them from below, then moving to the cock itself. But he didn't abandon all attention to the arse, sliding a single finger across the wetness he'd left whilst he began to lick and kiss at the shaft and bulbous head. Ross, holding the frame, just stared down with an open mouth and streaks of perspiration marking his face, neck, chest. Eric didn't say anything but his icy blue eyes communicated his fierce passion, his face blotchy and his facial hair damp. He edged the single finger into that wet hole and this time Ross did not react badly, feeling his eased hole open against the exploring digit; he just gasped out and groaned. Don't worry,' growled Dier's voice, in between wet kisses to the insides of his thighs and then returning to lick his balls, I won't go too far.' He slid his finger in a little more, then pulled it out, then seemed to shift again, and suddenly he was beneath once more, holding the thighs and pushing his face between the big cheeks. Ross just sat back, relaxing his arse onto his face, taking the tonguing.
It was such overwhelming pleasure that he didn't feel like he could take much more of it, his cock might actually blow up! He pushed back from the frame, pulling his wet bottom away from his man's face, tumbling sideways with a strangled laugh, chest heaving and body slippery with sweat. But as he landed on his side and turned to move, his legs were grabbed and pushed up, and Eric was back at it, his big muscular back visible as his face dropped below the privates and he kissed his gooch and then lower. That tongue! Again! Oh fuck! Ross howled indiscreetly and bit at his own lip.
Tongue, then finger again. Dier was up a little, spitting onto the head of his cock and then running a thumb around his glans, looking wild with lust. Don't worry,' he said once more, gently poking at the virgin hole, just one, and I'll not push too far?'
Barkley found he couldn't answer yay or nay, he was just convulsing with the enjoyment, and he wanted to never leave this big white bed or this swish room. He just wanted to hide in here forever on a fourth floor over Mayfair, naked and excited with the Tottenham defender. Eric fingered him very carefully and closed his mouth over his cock, sucking the top few inches in brief wet laps. Ross lifted himself onto his elbows so he could see it happen, and locked eyes with the beautiful fucker as he lifted off the cock, lips wet and open.
It's okay,' Eric said breathlessly. You just tell me what you enjoy. I won't push you. I won't try to-`
I want it,' Ross urged him in a reedy voice, only knowing it as he said it, and gulping in a mad breath as soon as the words were out there between them. I want you to.'
Dier panted and caught his breath, more than a little shocked at the rabidness of his enjoyment of the sweaty bloke in front of him, still a little inexperienced at giving such a rimming. He blinked but kept his eyes locked on the big honest face, trying to make sure he understood what he was hearing. Locked in his pants, his dick ached and yearned. `You want me to...'
`Fuck me,' Barkley said, not without difficulty and fear.
`You're ready?' the Spurs man asked in a shaky whisper.
`I j-just want you,' came the shaky reply.
Eric paused a little more then backed off. He rose up on his knees and reached down to start unbuckling the thick belt. Ross remained on his back, his big legs apart to show off his large cock, low balls, shiny wet arse. It was such a gorgeous sight in the dim light of the room that Eric wanted to leap off the bed and turn every fucking lamp on, but he thought the shadows might be helpful for his nervous first timer. Kneeling in front of him, he undid his jeans and then pushed both them and his dark grey boxer briefs down, letting out his thick tool that jutted from the neat crown of trimmed pubes. He stepped off the bed to push them down properly then peeled one sock and the other. Laughing, he reached over and removed the sweaty gym socks from the other man's feet too, then climbed onto the bed with him, both now fully naked.
Ross moved on him, his eyes full of worry, but his mouth opening and coming to suck on Eric's cock. He gasped appreciatively and stayed on his knees, stroking the short slick hair on the top of his head and running the other hand down his spine, feeling the hot sweaty muscles of his back. He didn't let the blowjob get going, easing him off it and pulling him up into a cuddle, both men tottering on their knees and clinging to each other.
`You're sure?' he demanded quietly but firmly.
Ross couldn't say the yes but he nodded feverishly. Eric kissed him uncertainly on the lips, not wanting to upset him after having kissed him elsewhere, but the Scouser took the kiss well and then they snogged properly. H-h-how do we do this?' Barkley asked once their lips broke apart, lowering his face quite submissively. What's best?'
Eric stroked one of his cheekbones and tweaked his nipple. `We'll take it slow. I don't want to hurt you. But god, I really really want you, Ross. Like fucking mad.' These earnest words seemed to be exactly what the Scouser needed to hear, some of the fear going from his face, and one eager hand reaching down to tease and tug Dier's own boner.
As gently as he could, controlling that impatience, Eric took control. He guided him onto his back, both of their bodies beaded with sweat now and streaking it against the pristine white. He held himself over him, legs and dicks rubbing, reaching down and leading a series of slow kisses. Then he kissed down his neck and onto his chest, and took his cock in one hand. The other he slid between the cheeks, finding the wet tight hole and rubbing it until he could slide the finger back into him.
He began to frig him, pushing more of that finger inside, lifting up and flexing his arm and chest, maintaining eye contact and slowly, ever so slowly, jerking him off. He realised just how horny Ross was and had to stop this, feeling how close he was; instead, he tickled and rubbed his balls, and edged a second thick finger inside his ring. Gasps of pleasure confirmed this was okay, but he knew it would be a lot for the inexperienced lad, so he took it slowly and carefully, ready to give up at any moment if Barkley looked too uncomfortable or tensed up again. But he was being allowed in, sliding two fingers into him then pulling back, stretching him ready... Oh god. Eric's patience was being sorely tested by love and lust, he just wanted to be in him.
`I'll go easy on you,' he promised, hearing the unsexy worry in his own voice, but too besotted to be careless. He pushed his hands up to the top of the thighs, lifting and parting the legs more, and then eased himself forward. He and Ross stared intensely at each other whilst he angled his dick into the narrow opening. Eric shifted his large strong body forward by fractions of inches, letting go of the spread legs and sliding forward as the thick head of his cock tested the taut ring. But sure enough, the rimming and fingering had done its job, and Dier moved gradually inside him, lowering against him until, so slowly, they were in a masculine missionary position. The big Barkley legs closed about his sides and that erection was rubbing against his abs. He and Ross were kissing, heads pressed into the pillows, and his cock was buried to the hilt in the man he loved.
It burned, but it also felt like nothing else he'd ever experienced sexually. He'd rarely dared to imagine what it might actually feel like, but he'd long remembered the nervous excitement of Eric's finger on that first aggressive misunderstanding -- and now he knew. He felt the weirdest satisfaction in opening up to him, stretched and accommodating, close and connected like no shag he'd ever experienced.
For a while, they lay just like that, not really moving: Eric's cock inside him, it felt like all of it but for all he knew it was only a couple of inches; their bodies touching and interlocking; their lips grazing in whispered kisses. Sweat making their muscles oily and gliding against each other, the bedding damp beneath the roil of their big muscular forms. Dier asked him if it was okay and he moaned a loving yes, baby' against his bearded cheek. At that, Eric began properly, pushing a little deeper then moving his hips. With each gentle jab of his equipment, Ross let out hollow breaths, pulling his arms about the breadth of Eric's back, clinging more tightly to him. Still okay?' Dier was asking him, and he couldn't find his raspy Scouse voice to respond, but he kissed and bit at his neck, and scratched his fingernails on the white skin of his back. That, it turned out, drove the other 27-year-old wild.
Soon Dier was really fucking him, and Barkley just held on, wincing when the burn intensified and he wasn't sure if he could take it, then relaxing again as Eric kissed and stroked him and moaned into his ear. Yes,' the sexy sophisticated man growled to him, you feel SO GOOD, you beauty... mmm.... Ross, fuckkk... oh yes... mmmm...'
Barkley couldn't help but let out a gurgling noise of pain when it became too much for him and instantly the thrusts stopped. He could hear the loving worry in the whispering growl. `Too much? Do you want me to stop? Sorry, babe...'
Gruffly, finding his voice, Ross reassured him. It feels amazing,' he told him, but... shall we try a different position...? Ey...?'
He felt Eric's kisses flutter down his chest and then abs as the hunky top retreated. His arse throbbed and stung but he relaxed his limbs and allowed himself to be flipped onto all fours, arse in the air. Eric's patience seemed to have been replaced again with a mad rush, because he was spitting and fingering and then pushing his prick back in, doggy style. Ross grimaced at the entry pain and then tried to relax and find the comfortable waves of heaven that he'd begun to feel on his back in missionary. Eric was rushed and frantic and again he couldn't hold in the sounds of discomfort, making him slow and become more stroking and affectionate. Dier's body leaned over his back, close over him, kissing his neck and the back of his ear. Sorry, sorry,' he huffed, I don't mean to-`
It's okay,' Ross told him, just keep doing it like that babe...'
`Like this...? Mmm...'
`Like that, ohhhh yes...'
Ross rested himself against one strong arm and reached the other down for a left-handed wank, his balance wobbling as Eric's pace picked back up and he thrust heavily against his big round bottom. No sooner had Barkley began touching his own cock than he could feel himself about to blow. He winced and whined, reluctant to let go and climax, wanting to just melt into the sensation of being fucked for the first time. But the pleasure was too deep and powerful and he couldn't keep his hand off himself. OH FUCK,' he roared as his meat spewed creamy white onto the sheets and Eric continued to pound at him. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck...'
His own hand was pushed away. Eric was reaching around now, tugging on his cock to prolong the peak of his enjoyment, while really pushing deep into him. Ross collapsed forwards, face and chest against the bed, rubbing sticky cum on his six-pack and pressing Eric's hand down there with him. He was lying flat on his front with Eric on him and in him, kissing at his neck, cock staying buried in his arse.
Sorry,' he found himself mumbling, I didn't mean to finish...'
Mmm,' Dier groaned into his ear, it's okay baby... my turn now, huh?'
Eric pulled back gently, easing his girth out of the exquisitely tight hole, then applying one hand to it instantly. He rose up on his knees and watched as Ross shakily turned over onto his back to look up at him. His cock still oozed with a little frothy cum, stiff and high, but most of his load was smeared across the lean muscle of his tummy. He looked completely exhausted and stunned, but still totally beautiful. Eric knelt over him and jerked himself powerfully until he knew he was really close. Then he shuffled forwards, inverting their positions of earlier to some extent. He stopped over the broad chest and jerked his cock inches over the rugged face, staring intensely down. Ross was silent and brooding, staring up at him with wide eyes and thin lips. Eric's breaths grew deeper and huskier until, at last, he was emptying his balls, dumping streaks of his cum across the bronze skin and stern features.
His cock ached and stayed rock hard, just like Barkley's, and he carried on wanking it, then reached behind him to wank the other man's, playing idly with both fo their lingering erections. As he did, he watched trails of his juice ooze down the cheeks and over Ross's strong chin. Neither man said anything, just huffing out their manly breaths.
Eric spoke eventually, only when he could feel both of their dicks become rubbery and reluctant. Now you can shower,' he whispered with teasing authority. And we can both scrub up.'
Nervous chuckles passed between them as first he and then Ross climbed from the bed, locking and unlocking fingers and shooting each other admiring glances of disbelief. Eric could not believe what actually occurred. He had almost abandoned the notion of fucking this incredible man, but now he had broken in him and got what he wanted. Far from quenching his lust for Barkley, it felt like just the beginning. In the doorway to the bathroom, he grabbed and kissed him from the side, cuddling at him and nuzzling into him.
`Wha's that for?' Ross grunted at him, as if something momentous had not just happened.
Nowt,' Eric returned, matching his dismissive tone but also slapping him gently on the arse and brushing past him to switch on the shower and let it heat up. Their semi-hard cocks bounced and flopped and their muscular torsos gleamed with sweat and smears of cum as a light flickered on overhead. He fixed Ross with a curious look. Does it hurt?'
Barkley gave him an ironic smile then looked down between them at the sizeable piece between his legs, even now it was deflating. `What do you think?'
`But... you liked it?'
I think you could tell that I did,' was the coy answer. And... erm... what about you?' Eric was so surprised by the stupidity of this question to him that he wasn't even sure what Ross meant for a second. Did you like it?' the Liverpudlian asked him. Was I... okay?'
Eric laughed openly, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in close, the two of them stood naked by the emerging steam of the shower. You nobhead, you were amazing,' he gasped quietly. That was... Wow. I mean... fuck, wow. You're sure you're okay? It wasn't too much? I didn't mean to go so...'
`It felt... crazy. Good crazy.'
They cuddled and hugged and beside them the hot shower blared. Eric held his arms about the other man's leaner body and they rocked back and forth very gently on their bare feet over the cool tiles, enjoying each other's sweaty muscles before they would slide in and rinse clean beneath the blast and soap. `I just hope it was worth the wait,' Ross chuckled with that wary shyness that made his laddish physicality so completely intoxicating.
Eric kissed him on the cheek and pushed him gently aside under the water, joining him in the steam and rush of it and interlocking their fingers properly at their side as they were consumed beneath the cascade. `More than,' he promised truthfully, and pulled him in for a wet snog, the hot water closing about them and blasting their powerful bodies clean.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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