Part 381: New Year, New Starts
It had begun with a drunk text on Christmas Day, received by the 30-year-old striker in the heat of his family holiday: `Festive love, big man - missing you, H - Jeremy Edgar xx'. Kane himself was far away from their footballing world, making the most of the different culture in the Bundesliga - his first Christmas without a rigorous training schedule and Boxing Day fixture, his first Christmas too without the pressure of somewhat inevitable disappointment in a Tottenham Hotspur almost-ran season campaign. Time difference factored in, Harry's own Christmas Day was disappearing away at midnight, whilst his ex's must be in its half-tipsy prime - he re-read the message and overthought his response at length before the impatient voice of his wife summoned him into the crisp cool of their bedsheets, stood in his boxer briefs letting the air-con play against his suntanned skin.
It was not as if there had been silence and distance between Harry Kane and Eric Dier up to that message, not quite - the awkward coldness of their break-up was ancient history to them both, to a degree, and they had been close buddies at the point where the England captain finally took the plunge and quit the Premier League last summer. And yet they'd barely seen each other since that transfer, it was true, even with Harry's regular to-and-fro London visits, with his wife and kids still ensconced in their North London mansion. The messages and calls between the Hotspur pals had thinned after Harry began to settle into the routines and triumphs of German footballing life, and there was something surprising about a festive greeting from Dier that night.
It was the nickname that the tall honey-blond football hero found himself turning over though as he held his phone and heard his wife call his name through the expansive suite of their luxury accommodation - Jeremy Edgar'. It had been the bland name in which Eric's other number was saved in his phone during the height of their affair, the England defender's middle names turned into a fake identity as one of his business managers. It was a name that brought back red-hot memories of their intimacy, but also the skin-crawling awkwardness of where it was wrong - his wife sure that Jeremy Edgar' was disguising a woman, attacking him half-accurately about his adultery, and almost ending his happy marriage. Harry wasn't sure he'd said or heard Eric's middle names since that period, and there was something both chilling and fiery about reading them tonight.
`Coming,' the tall forward had called back to his missus, swaying a little on his bare heels, and scratching down the stubble of his shaved chest. He blinked at the message from Eric, and thought about how much his friend's life had changed in the past year or two - his old friend was married himself now, and had just announced his wife's pregnancy too. Harry had scolded himself over the possessive jealousy these developments stirred in his hypocritical heart, but back they came.
Miss you too,' he texted rapidly in one message, and then, Long time since I got a message from Jeremy Edgar lol', with a few spelling errors on the way. And then a third message after a moment's pause, `Merry Christmas, Eric, I hope you're having the best time, love you'. A sharp intake of breath as he thought about that last short phrase. He wasn't such a neanderthal that he couldn't profess platonic love to a male friend, despite his Walthamstow upbringing, and yet... it was hardly just that, was it?
That's how it had started, Eric Dier thought, but this is where it's come to - sat in a crowded treatment room at the Bayern Munich training campus, his hairy pecs adorned with sticky monitoring kit and a club photographer snapping away at every moment of his official medical and the various paperwork-turned-photoshoot meetings that made up a loan transfer day.
The Cheltenham-born footballer drifted through the medical and paperwork in the same daze that he'd taken the whole journey and process, still not quite able to believe he was exiting the club that had been home for so long. In a sense it had been a long-time coming, with European clubs like this registering their interest in him at several points during his slow fall from prominence at Spurs, Munich included; and yet in another sense it had been a whirlwind of decisions and discussions since Christmas Day, talking it through with his new wife, his supportive family, his agent, his friends. And Harry, with whom he seemed to have been messaging almost constantly in the three weeks since Christmas.
He'd found himself blushing slightly when Kane's name came up almost immediately in the press huddle at the airport this morning, the local media greeting him en masse as he touched down on German soil and travelled through the hoary morning to be poked and prodded in these medical exams. It was natural, he reminded himself, for the world to point out the obvious, he and Harry reunited on a team only six months after the first Spurs stalwart defected to Bavaria. It was obvious that journalists, and everyone else, would ask him how big a factor Kane had been in the move, and how he was feeling about playing once again with his old friend, longtime colleague, his national captain... Of course. And so why did the questions make him flush and chuckle and pull self-consciously at the fabric of his sleek black polo neck?
When all of the formalities were over and his loan deal was complete, all of the photos taken and media content created, when Eric could finally get back into his own clothes and collect his luggage to head to the hotel, when he could check his phone for the first time since landing... there were about five friendly and encouraging text messages from the marginally older man, wishing him luck, asking what he thought of this and that, and reporting to him who he needed to befriend amongst the club personnel. In the taxi, Eric replied as fully as he could, and then shared the name and location of his booked hotel with the other Premier League export: `Do you fancy meeting for a couple of drinks?'
Tomorrow is game day,' came Kane's quick response, followed by a couple of sad-faced emojis - Eric was surprised at the extent of his own surprise and disappointment, and when he failed to respond immediately, Harry elaborated - Got to stay in and get an early night, bro'. Bro, eh. `No worries,' Eric replied lightly, lifting his bearded face to watch his new city whirr by through the tinted window. He put a little thumbs-up gif into the thread of messages and locked his phone, stroking his grey-blond facial hair and trying to relax.
Later, in the sprawling hotel suite the club was paying for, Dier looked askance at himself in a mirror wall, and felt a tremor of doubt - had he misunderstood the conversation that had spilled cautiously and euphemistically between them since Christmas Day? Had he read too much into the messages, the voice-notes, the invitations? Had he misconstrued the excitement, the potential, the insistence...? He turned away from his own brutally handsome reflection and got on with navigating the room service menu, trying not to worry - he was here for his career, he told himself, he was here because things at Tottenham had run their course, and as his agent kept saying, he was very lucky to strike a deal at a big club after such minimal play in the first half of the season. This was a bold new chapter for Eric Dier, flexible defensive midfielder and former England regular, just what he needed after his on-off prominence under a long line of unsuccessful Spurs managers. Reunion with Harry Kane was a social bonus, and nothing more.
Scoring his 90th-minute goal and tying the ribbon on their win against Hoffenheim, he couldn't help but stare up into the home stands and seek out the corporate section where the new signing would be positioned - somewhere up there, hidden by the floodlight glare, he knew that Eric would be schmoozing with club owners and sponsors, being paraded as the club's first bit of January business, and perhaps right now joining some enthusiastic applause for the many goals that the England captain was delivering to Munich.
Indeed, the 29-year-old grabbed him in a hearty hug when they were finally reunited in the home changing rooms, big heavy puffer coats over their respective clothing as the smartly dressed observer and the sweaty-kitted striker embraced, a lingering hug of celebration an closeness before Dier continued to be introduced to key players in the locker-room celebrations after the game.
Kane undressed slowly, basking in the triumphant mood of the sweaty room, but finding it hard to tear his eyes away from their new arrival. They followed Dier about the room, watching as he was led by his broad shoulders from one introduction to another - the newcomer had been expected to visit today's brief training for tonight's fixture, but apparently the powers-that-be had organised more media exposure instead, and so this was the first encounter between the squad and their defensive addition... and the first face-to-face reunion for the former Hotspurs in some time. Harry wanted to ignore the dirty kit that clung to his tall physique, the minor scrapes from an aggressive game, the banter and multilingual enjoyment of the others who were celebrating a 3-0 Friday night - there was so much he wanted to say to his friend, but he couldn't monopolise him and ruin these important first impressions for the arrival.
He had to hold back his excitement and undress, peeling kit away from toned muscle, taking the jokey praise of his nearest teammates, and eventually bare his whole body, ambling slowly to the showers with side-long looks at the other Englishman... longing for him to look this way in some special recognition, some acknowledgement of how fit and chiselled Harry was in his German chapter, somehow even more-so than back in London. Entering his 30s, Kane was thinking more and more about longevity and legacy, and how he could make sure the final act of his striker career was one that made him legendary. But Eric couldn't look this way and admire his towel-clad body, because he was being whisked away to meet more coaching staff, shepherded by an exec in a suit, and Harry had to move through into the wall of steam at the shower entrance, to wash away the dirt of a decisive victory.
Eric stifled a yawn as he passed through the hotel reception - ridiculous really, he hadn't trained today or played in the game, and yet there was something exhausting about the huge transition that he'd experienced in the last 48 hours, leaving his comfortable London residence behind and sweeping into the south of Germany. He was tired out from cheerful chat, sometimes in strained language barriers, tired of smiling for pictures and of trying to remember names, and tired of novelty; he felt good and optimistic, but he was sure he'd be as tired at his training debut as the men who had just won 3-0 in the league.
Perhaps due to this weariness, Dier had no time for the chat of the man on reception, who was trying to relay an important message to him in stilted English; he politely waved away the matter and asked to be updated in the morning, not catching the older guy's uncertain phrasing, and moving on towards the row of gleaming chrome elevator doors.
Up on his floor, he stifled another yawn, and began undoing the zip of his overcoat, pulling a scar from about his furry neck. He fumbled in a deep pocket for the key-card into his temporary suite, wondering how easy it would be to find and choose a rental property so that his pregnant wife could soon join him, and slid it through the little groove to unlock the door ahead of him - he was over the threshold and throwing coat and scarf onto a nearby chair before he registered what the man at reception had been trying to tell him.
Momentarily there was something alarming about re-entering a hotel suite and finding it not empty, a figure stood with their back to him at the city-view windows, but now the 6ft2 football player found himself staring across the room at the tracksuit-clad figure of his regained teammate and friend, who had clearly been allowed access to the club-booked accommodation and then comfortably mixed himself a drink from the minibar. Eric raised his brows and smiled in dazed pleasure, letting out a breathy laugh and nodding a greeting at the surprise visitor.
I had to tip about 100 euros, but they figured it was fine to let another club player up here - it's not as if anyone doesn't know we're pals.' The other English import smiled almost apprehensively at him before taking a sip of his drink and nodding to the minibar. I'll make you one too?'
For a moment, Eric found himself falling into a bland familiarity - of course his mate Harry was up here in his hotel room, how many had they shared over the years as Spurs and England comrades? He laughed and nodded and moved slowly through the room, unzipping the front of the heavy-knit cardigan over his muscular torso and kicking his feet out of loose trainers, socks padding across the laminate floor and cosy rugs. Harry was angling for the well-stocked mini-bar to the left, and Eric moved close to join him there, as the North Londoner spoke in his thick accent: `Sorry I couldn't hang out last night, buddy, it was just cos of...'
Eric found himself interrupting brusquely, murmuring It's fine' in a quiet gruff voice, and then reaching out to stop Harry's hand as it reached for the vodka. They both paused there by the bar and he reached up, sliding his colder hand in against Harry's, and taking hold of the glass in it. We'll just share,' he said, taking a long sip from it, and then he put it down quite firmly next to him - `Or I'll taste it on you.' And he went in for the kiss, urgent and decisive, brushing their mouths together with gentle force - two 6ft2 hunks joined at the mouth, tongues meeting with a quiver of tense muscle, a snog that seemed to last as long as the huge gap since last they kissed.
When Eric ended the kiss and straightened his posture, they were both breathless. He looked seriously into the other man's face, and saw that he had misread nothing - Harry's bullet eyes were full of focus and desire, and he was already leaning in to take a second kiss, which Eric gladly gave him, pushing his tongue in and really tasting him, grabbing him by the arms, the shoulders. Breathless again, they held their faces close, and he growled his honest lust - `I've missed you a lot,' Dier admitted.
I'm so glad you're here,' came Kane's shuddering whisper, his voice heavy and manly, and yet then under his breath, We... we said we wouldn't let this happen...'
We did,' moaned the 29-year-old, days now from his 30th birthday, agreeing and ignoring all at once - he grabbed at Harry's neck and kissed him on the mouth a third time, pushing their tall strong bodies together. But that was then.' He slid his arm about Harry's waist, really taking him in his arms, really exploring his mouth. I wanted to push everyone out of the way,' he hissed almost angrily. In the changing rooms, before - I wanted to drag you into the showers and have you. I saw you stripping off, teasing me, getting everything out. You big fucking sexy bastard.' He stared intensely into Harry's eyes, holding him back and delaying the next kiss. `I've been thinking about you every day since Christmas. Longer. Since you left England.' It was true, although a less riled and lusty Eric might have admitted it was less straightforward than that. But right now he had tunnel vision, and he didn't care about what they'd promised each other in the past - he was thinking about how amazing things had once been, starting in a hot Russian night during a World Cup of long ago.
You came here,' panted Kane, hands feeling up Eric's biceps through thick woollen sleeves, you really came here - for me? You came for me?' There was something so sexy in the new vulnerability of his voice and Eric nodded furiously. I did,' he promised. I came for you.' And now he relented, kissing again, holding him tight, letting Harry's body heat warm him against the German night he had travelled through. They held close and breathed against each other's lips, hearts thundering in broad chests. You're here,' Kane sighed, almost in disbelief, and Dier assured him sternly, I'm here, I'm yours again.'
Moving to the bed, Harry Kane didn't care a jot about all of the sensible promises he'd made to himself over the years since they'd last been together in this way - after all, he'd hardly been true to his chaste self-denial after he ended things with his `Jeremy Edgar', had he? How many football men had he wasted himself on in the long years without his boyfriend, after that affair closed? How many times had Kane debased himself for the excitement of teammates and even rivals, a slut for any horny lad on the Three Lions, and a gagging whore for a young Arsenal wannabe... the things he'd done for satisfaction, after throwing away a fierce secret love in a moment of panic! He'd regretted that break-up every day since he pulled the plug, and he'd hardly even hid it from Dier or himself.
Off came the Bayern Munich tracksuit top and the Nike t-shirt underneath, and he shivered and whined as Eric's bearded kisses travelled his bare shoulders and shaved pecs, he groaned as his nipples were licked and bitten, and he fell back heavily into the bed at the thrust and push of Eric's questing hands. Yes,' the record-breaking striker purred, oh yes, Eric...'
Here he was in Germany, out of his wife's gaze, those suspected affairs long buried, and trust rebuilt - and he was cheating again already, with his family duty out of sight and out of mind. None of it mattered, not compared to the need he felt here and now, and the beautiful fortune of having Eric back at his side!
He fought clumsily to strip Dier's body, yanking away the zip cardigan and then the grey tee below, wanting to run his hands over bulging muscles, loving how defined and bulky the defender felt, loving the natural hairiness of his chest and the trail on his tummy - he loved the heat of them both, grinding together and rolling across the bed, he loved the tickle and scratch of that viking-like beard coming back up his chest and neck and then locking lips with his, kissing long and deep.
Powering on top of his lover, Eric too was throwing away so many resolutions, in favour of a new year of rediscovery - it had come to him slowly, his longing for Harry, vivid memories surfacing on the night of the striker's goodbye party last summer, and simmering through the long autumn into winter. Things were complicated, there were a lot of different regrets and uncertainties, but a nostalgic craving for the England captain had risen through it all, turning from idle daydream into burning certainty between Christmas and New Year - and now here he was, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to the bulge in Eric's boxers, then taking his hard cock out and wrapping warm lips about the shaft - oh, god.
Grunts and pants sounded from each of them and Eric found himself becoming more forceful, more urgent - off came his heavy slate-grey jeans, off came the socks, off came it all, until both tall strong bodies were fully naked and tangled across the neatly made bedding. They could hardly stop kissing, pausing only briefly to exchange quick wet blowjobs, but so fixated on locking lips and wrestling tongues that their hard-ons could wait, thwacking together as they rolled and wrestled, Eric always coming out on top, dominating and pinning down the body of England's great goal-scorer, the Three Lions' secret sub.
Dier didn't care for a second about any of the other men who'd had their hands on his man in the years since they parted - those jealousies were long-abandoned, and the possessiveness he'd once felt for the big beautiful man he'd deflowered had matured. If anything, time and experience had made Harry a better lover - had he always been such a good kisser, or so tactile and confident? Had he always known how to grab it like that, to stroke it like this, to kiss right THERE? They were different men now, years later, but the passion was every bit as hot as he remembered, from the first time to the last - and every tear he'd shed when dumped was washed away by time and distance.
Kissing and wrangling, body to body, he reached powerfully across Harry's back, kneading across his spine, across the muscles, and then pulling his fingers down, heading past the waist, grasping one soft-haired buttock, prising them apart, tapping fingertips into the crack that he'd explored before anyone else. Harry's legs were parting instinctively beneath him to give him better access, letting him rub and push his fingers there, pressing down him and kissing his throat. `You're mine,' the ex-Hotspur growled desperately.
`I'm yours,' England's manly captain whimpered back, as ready as always to offer himself entirely to a powerful dominant force - was there a single other lad who'd fucked him where he hadn't briefly or indulgently wished and imagined it was Dier instead? Surely not - and he'd embarrassed himself several times trying to rekindle this once they were friends again, and regretted it every time, cooled and warned by Eric's steadfast moving on. But not tonight, not here in Munich!
On his back, long striker legs wrapped upwards, he groaned and relaxed as Eric's fingers entered him, spit-lubed thrusts into his arse, its first attention in too long - he wanted the big cock, but he needed this first, and he just moaned and gasped for Dier's touch, writhing on his back and lifting and parting his thighs more, making it easier, following every grunted command until he was being roughly fingered and Eric was kissing the centre of his chest as he hunched forward to frig his muscular bum.
Oh god,' Kane shouted, two of Dier's fingers sliding firmly in and out of his hole, his moaning only quietened when they kissed again, bodies aligning. The fingering stopped and he gasped for air, and he felt the thicker pressure on his ring. Yes,' he whined, scratching blunt fingernails down the pale smooth skin of Eric's back, `oh yes, I need you inside me...!'
Yes,' was all Eric could groan in his ear, seeming completely overcome by exertion or pleasure, but driving on - Harry stayed as relaxed as he could, letting him in, contorting beneath him and feeling himself open, feeling inch after inch enter and occupy him, until they were still and interlocked, Eric's cock deep into him for the first time in forever, and lips brushing clumsily in hot quick breaths. Oh yes, ohhhh yessss.'
Eric held it, let that moment linger, just feeling the muscular grip on his manhood, just feeling the satisfaction of being together and inside him, and then he began to roll his hips, clench and unclench his muscular glutes, work up a rhythm, slow at first, but quicker, quicker, heavier, heavier - fucking Harry Kane into the bed with loud squeaks of the bedsprings, powering into him as he had before, even the first few times when his man was nervous and new, bent over in Russian hotels, sweating profusely. Eric fucked with the force of his long anticipation, fucking the arse he'd watched walk away when Harry left London for Munich, fucking him with all the frustration and need of a top who hasn't fucked a man since the wedding ring slipped onto his finger.
Like a machine, the 6ft2 hunk ploughed his man, slamming into him fast and hard, dripping sweat on him from his face, his biceps, his hairy chest, just pummelling his arse so hard that he'd be limping at training - Eric was desperately claiming his man, his territory, his reunion, taking Harry for his own all over again, and loving the wild cries and unrestrained pleasure of Harry's unthinking voice.
Fucking hell,' moaned Eric, mounting gradually towards the peak of his pleasure, both of them just panting and swearing and locking intense lusty eye contact. He slowed, temporarily thinking to delay his orgasm, but the slower rhythm just felt even better, for him and for his bottom, and soon he was shuddering and grimacing, and almost screaming out his God yes!' before emptying his balls, shooting inside the striker - and tensing his six-pack as Harry's wanking cock rubbed furiously at it before making a mess against the pale muscle, slicking spunk against his navel.
Fuuuuck,' he moaned, and Oh Eric', whined Harry.
Kane had a lazy semi within about two minutes of his orgasm, and he played idly with it as they lolled on the bed under the covers, chatting quietly in snatches and then pausing the conversation to gently kiss. Dier asked him repeatedly if he'd been too rough and hard, if he'd hurt him, if it had felt ok - and all the 30-year-old could do was repeatedly tell him how perfect every moment had been, how it had been everything he wanted and needed, and how he was ready to go again as soon as his lover was.
Tottenham's great departed striker was in a euphoric state, experiencing a dazzling shock at how reality had lived up to fantasy. He hadn't exaggerated Eric's prowess in his memories at all, and being fucked by him was truly incredible. He felt like if he got up from the bed, he'd be floating, his whole body just felt wiped out and weightless at the same time. His hole stung, but the mild pain just reminded him of how it felt to be penetrated and used by this glorious brute in his arms, who sighed quietly and nibbled on his ear.
Only a full bladder eventually dragged Harry out of this cuddle, naked and giggly as he left the bed and went to piss from his semi-hard prick. Coming back to bed, he stared lovingly at the sprawled man, at his rugged face and beard, his bared manly chest, his bulging arm strength - the outline of his legs and bulge under the covers. Harry stood there and toyed with his semi, grinning delightedly at him, and regretting nothing. It didn't matter what had happened in the past, the decisions they'd made - they were back together, and safely here in Germany, away from everyone else they knew. This was a new year, a new start, a new togetherness for the two Munich Hotspurs.
Kane slid back into bed with him, kissing his chest and his neck and his jawline, and happy now just to cuddle against him and ignore the swell of his eager cock, happy to wait until the other stud was ready for round 2 - they had the rest of the season stretching ahead of them, after all, all those hotel room nights, and it was open secret that Bayern were keen to make the loan a permanent move if their new defender could prove himself soon enough. And in his euphoric mood, Harry saw no doubts on that - he knew how talented and hardworking his perfect man was, and he would do everything he could to use his influence on the signing, just as he had on the loan decision. A player of Harry's international status could have quite a lot of influence in the Bundesliga, he was finding, certainly more than he'd ever wielded at Tottenham somehow. Yes, he thought, I'm here to stay, and now so is `Jeremy Edgar'.
The 29-year-old Lisbon-raised stud sighed and murmured with a similar sense of bliss and arrival, happy to lie here and be hugged and stroked by someone who knew him this well, someone he trusted so comfortably, someone who could make him feel this good so quickly and easily. He was more tired than Kane, but he supposed it was the 3-0 adrenaline versus his overwhelming travel fatigue and experience of newness - and the fact that he'd put every muscle into pounding his striker, doing all the physical work in the sweaty perfection that had brought them both to climax.
Yep, Eric felt happy too, felt weightless and satisfied, felt sure that he could make his mark in the Bundesliga and turn a short-term loan into a permanent transfer, closing the page on his Tottenham era. And having Kane here at his side, so literally, just made it all feel safer and instantly more homely...!
This was what he'd wanted, he thought quietly, taking his turn to climb quietly from the bed and go for a piss, lingering in the bathroom and staring at his muscular reflection. This was what he'd come here for, he could admit to himself, as great an opportunity as he knew it to be. And he wasn't dumb enough not to suspect Kane's involvement, Kane's approval, Kane's lobbying for him at this end - his ego could cope with that, knowing how little he'd been playing in the past year.
Bayern Munich with Harry Kane, his new chapter, his new direction, his new challenge! He was happy about it, he was sure of that, and all the happier for the frantic fuck that had felt so bloody good. He was sure of everything, and as sure of the decision to fuck his lover as the decision to sign for Bayern Munich. So, he asked himself, staring his blue eyes down in the mirror, if all that's true...
...why are you stood here thinking about Ross fucking Barkley...?
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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