Part sixty-eight: Jeremy Edgar
The phone screen rippled with pale green light for a moment where it rested on the lawn. Harry Kane leaned over a little, sprawled on the grass where he had been trying to do some leg exercises as prescribed by his physio team. He couldn't suppress a little smile of recognition as the phone screen evanesced into life and, on top of a background photograph of his wedding day, rolled the notification: 1 new message, from Jeremy Edgar. His fond smile twisted a little to a smirk of mischief: it had been Eric's idea to adopt his two middle names as a little cover, though Kane hardly knew to what purpose. But Dier, bless his cottons, had become somewhat paranoid since his little picture message mix-up at the start of the month...
Kane straightened up and lifted his long muscular body off the sun-warmed grass, relaxed in the unseasonal warmth despite the quarantine conditions under which he was home. He picked up his phone and got to his feet, half-listening to the sounds of wife and daughters at the other end of their sizable garden.
He thumbed open the message: `hey harry, how's day 2 of isolation going??? Miss u crazy'
Harry typed in his response whilst idly wandering off the lawn and towards the house: `surviving lol... but miss u so bad too, more than can say in text!!!!'
The voice of Harry's wife drifted over the sweeping lawn of their garden, asking him to fetch drinks from inside. Without really looking up from his phone, he called his agreement and smiled, and wandered into the shade of their patio and the French doors into the big kitchen of marble. In his hands, the smartphone buzzed and glowed again: `u know what I'm really missing, right???'
Kane leaned against the kitchen counter, grinned to himself, and responded: no babe, u might need to remind me' He let out a throaty little chuckle and looked around the empty kitchen self-consciously, then went to the fridge to fetch some cans of flavoured water for the kids and beers for himself and the missus. Another little buzz, and Dier's new message: oh u kno, big boy, u fuckin kno!!!' Kane sniggered as he popped the lids on the two beer bottles, and fingered an answer into the message typewriter: `I wish I was in isolation with u, sexy'. He felt a pang of guilt at this half-true admission. It wasn't a lie, it was the truth, but then... he also loved his family, he loved his place here, man of the house, and he was in no rush to abandon that... You could love two people at once, right?
His phone flashed and vibrated: `if we were, id go down on u for hours xx'
Harry raised his eyebrows at this, and remained in the kitchen a minute more, suddenly a little flustered. It had actually been quite some time since Eric had sucked him off, truth be told; no complaints, but there was a clear dynamic in their sex life, and Kane was almost always content with that. After all, there were key differences in what he got from the woman in his life and what he could get... or give, to his beloved teammate. But still... something in the seedy promise tickled him with romance, the thought that Dier wasn't just missing being serviced, but was longing to please HIM, too. `You old softie,' the tall striker chided himself with another little chuckle, and he punched in his response.
`stop it. but soon. promise xx'
`can't cum soon enough u sexy beast :P'
He shook off the little flustered laugh and locked his phone screen, and slid into the pockets of his loose fitting jogger bottoms, feeling his stirring semi brush gently against the fabric as they shifted to this new weight in his pocket. He willed his mid-afternoon excitement away and put all of the drinks on a tray to take outside to the girls, forcing away the little frisson that Dier's messages had sparked, and the memory of the first time his lover had gone on down on him, in this very kitchen...
After their first time, on that warm night in Russia, things had been awkward for a while. The knowledge of what had gone on had weighed heavily on Kane to start with, and though he found himself staring idly over the room at Dier at various points, he had mumbled his way out of any conversation that began between them, throwing himself into his role as captain and spokesman for the disappointed England squad.
For several weeks of out-of-season break, Kane had dismissed the encounter as a strange one-off, a product of too much drinking and adrenaline and the crush of their World Cup exit, but nothing more. He had tried to dismiss the memory of it, because it was vague and blurred and drunken after all, though every inch of his skin could remember it with alarming clarity. The touch and feeling of it, if nothing more definite and narrative.
The problem was, as Harry had saw it at the time, that this silly incident hadn't just occurred with a random bloke on the national team, but someone he would play with regularly once the season resumed: in the dying weeks of that summer break, the England captain and goal-scorer had dreaded the pre-season training for Spurs, waking in the night feeling sick at the thought. He had made enquiries with his agent about a last-minute transfer, but the window was closed. By the time he turned up for the first pre-season training session of the 2018-19 season, he'd been anxious with foreboding about any reunion with Eric Dier.
And then, to his shock, the dynamic was different. Dier barely looked at him. Gone were the faint, curious glances over meals or the funny little snatches of conversation in corridors, the crackling tension when left alone. Kane had been so convinced that the other man would desperately want to discuss (or repeat!) their tryst that the cold shoulder (and what shoulders they were) left him reeling, more sickened and confused than in the interim. This had gone on for about 10 days of pre-season hard work, really putting the 6'2 Londoner off his game. His shots were well off target, his focus was terrible, he even argued with several of the most mild-mannered Tottenham colleagues, completely out of character.
The day before their first game of the season had found him alone in the dressing room at the end of the day, having put an extra gym shift in to burn off some frustration. Just as he peeled off his training shirt, he'd become aware of the presence nearby, and looked over his bare shoulder. Eric Dier, alone, emerging from the showers, busy knotting the crisp white towel at his waist and looking equally surprised and perturbed to end up in this solitary confrontation.
Oh, hey,' Eric said in a low voice. Thought I was the last mug here.'
`Er, nope. I did some over-time in the gym.'
`Right, yeh.'
`Getting myself ready for tomorrow. I... haven't been... at my best.'
`Hmm. No. I've noticed.'
Tense silence then. Kane had felt irked, aware that it would be obvious to this bloke just what was eating at him, and throwing him off his football. He turned away from Dier, a scowl forming on his face, and began kicking off his trainers, sensitive to the gentle slap of wet feet approaching him from behind. He tensed, leant forward to reach for the neatly folded towel in his locker, then he felt it – one hand gently resting on the curve of his backside on top of the dark blue nylon of his shorts. He stopped, and felt the fingers gently trace the curve, and another hand reaching for his shoulder; where the blunt fingertips brushed the bare, sweaty skin, it sent shudders of long-denied excitement through his upper body. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. Eric's hand closed about one of his firm cheeks.
`I'd never forgive myself if I'd ruined Spurs' greatest weapon,' Eric said quietly. Harry didn't answer. He tensed up and stood stock still, and let the two wandering hands brush gently against him, squeezing his buttock through the shorts and curling up to stroke his shoulder then his arm, then-
`Ah, fuckin' hell,' snorted Dier, reeling back, both hands now clutching his face where Kane's elbow had struck. Harry stared in alarm as his teammate reeled back, fingers and chin smeared in blood. Shit. He'd moved forward then in a concerned panic but Eric had moved away, towel almost slipping from his waist, speckled now with drops of blood.
Get away from me,' the other tall, strapping footballer had shouted thickly, keep away... fuck's sake, I wasn't gonna... Shit...' Dier moved as far away as the large dressing room allowed and Harry stood in the middle, tensed up and guilty. He opened his mouth to speak but Dier shouted more at him, losing his cool. `You stupid cunt, that was not okay...' Kane felt hot with confused anger and panicked guilt. He backed off, grabbed the towel he had been reaching for, and disappeared as quickly as he could into the showers. He remained there for as long as he could make himself, just able to hear the slammed doors of Eric's departure over the rush of hot water. Tears of mixed emotion stung his eyes, though much of him tried to blame it on the shower gel or overheated water.
Eventually, he left the shower, pulled on fresh briefs and slim-fit jeans and a loose short-sleeve shirt, and stuffed the rest of his things into his bag. He rubbed one elbow gently, smarting from the blow it had made on poor Dier's face. Oh god. He left the changing rooms, and the training centre as a whole, in a hurry, that now-familiar sickly feeling settling in his stomach... Worse, rather than better, for the intense little confrontation. He almost stopped the car three times on the short drive home, thinking he might throw up. He was glad that the house would be empty today, his fiancée out of London for a couple of days. But as he pulled up on the driveway and took some steadying breaths, he got a shock: a second motor growled into the broad space at the front of the North London villa, and he recognised its driver all too well.
Harry got out of the car and stood in the space between the vehicles, readied for a fight. But when Eric clambered out of the far side of his own car, his face pale and a little blood stain still on his stubble, he looked utterly defeated.
`Are you okay?' Kane asked him gruffly.
`It fucking hurts,' Dier spat back bitterly.
`I'm sorry.'
`Yeah, well... me too.'
You shouldn't have-
`I know. I know.'
Kane took a long deep breath before asking his next question. Do you want to come inside? It's... I mean, it's just us.' Gulp. We can... talk.' He backed off and moved towards the doorway, nervously jangling the keys in his left hand. `Come in?'
Silently, Dier paced towards him, joining him on the doorstep. I just want things to be okay,' he said in a clumsy voice, and Harry noticed how swollen part of his lips was, not just his popped nose from the elbow jab. Eric's deep-set blue eyes were sad and worried. I want us to be okay,' he added in a little groan of a voice.
Harry sighed and unlocked the door. Come in,' he said again, we can talk, and...'
Eric followed him over the threshold. `I'm not here to talk,' he blurted. Harry looked at him, again expecting violence, fearing but also desiring some retaliation for his own lashing out – but no, when Eric lunged at him now, it was for a... cuddle? Strong arms pulled about his torso and he was driven back into the wall of the porch by the force of the embrace. He grappled with the other man's body and gulped down air, then responded submissively as swollen lips brushed his and stubble tickled his chin. He melted into the wall under the force of Dier's body and accepted the aggressive kiss, allowing it to go on for a few delicious minutes. The two blokes almost tripped and fell amongst the tangle of discarded shoes and outdoor clothes, and then tumbled through into the main hallway. Dier's fingers tugged and tore at the buttons down the front of Harry's shirt; he in turn yanked and pulled at the other man's tshirt, and then finally they fell apart in the centre of the house.
We can't do this,' Harry said, close to fresh tears. I have a –`
I KNOW,' Eric roared at him, then lowered his voice. I know, for fuck's sake. I know this can't happen.' He rubbed at his face and looked distraught. `But how much do you fuckin want it?'
Harry stared at him, trying to find the words to deny this powerful question. Eric...' He thought about the intimacies at the World Cup. You can't do those things to me. I'm straight. I won't... I can't...' He shook himself and wiped the back of one hairy arm over his lips, pulling away the damp of Eric's lips upon them. `This isn't right, mate. This isn't us...'
`It's something,' Dier snapped, approaching him.
I won't suck your dick,' Harry snapped, defensively. He could still imagine the feel of it, big and clumsy against his tongue. I won't... you can't...' Raising his voice: `You should NOT have grabbed my ARSE... for fuck's sake, you...'
I don't fucking care about that,' Eric said passionately, I just need... you...' And as he pulled forward into him, he grasped one hand firmly to the front of Harry's pale blue jeans. Moving as one, they shuffled from the hallway onto the smooth tiled floor of the kitchen, which felt so public with its floor-to-ceiling windows out onto the pristine garden, and yet still he went on. Eric grabbed and squeezed and fondled at the bulge and leaned in, kissing Harry's neck and jawline rather than his lips. The striker grumbled and groaned and backed off but did not strike or push at the powerful body of his teammate as he stumbled into the kitchen until he was backing into the worktop. Finally, he brought his hands in and grabbed at Dier's thick shoulders and biceps, trying to pull him close and push him away in the same confused moment.
Oh Eric,' he panted, don't...'
Please,' the other man gasped, just let me...'
The short-sleeve shirt was torn fully open and the kisses descended, from his adam's apple to his chest, circling about one nipple. Hot, wet, clumsy. He arched his back against the marble counter, pulling further back, and feeling Dier's strong hands grappling at the waist of his jeans, finding his button fly, popping it open one at a time. His own hands hovered about those thick strong shoulders and found their way to the muscled neck and then the soft crop of pale hair, just as Eric's head descended the little trail of hair in the centre of his dulled six-pack, past his naval... Down went his jeans in a flurry of tugs, and then Dier was nuzzling at the front of his grey Armani briefs!
Oh buddy,' he whined, please... stop it, I have a fiancée and... ohhhh...' He closed his eyes and threw his head back as those strong lips found the shape of his semi through the fabric and playfully nibbled at his tip, `Ohhh... Eric...'
Shut up and let me do this for you,' pleaded Dier's voice, dragging down on those briefs. I need to...' Up he came, face to face, another hot wet kiss, and Harry trembled at it. `I messed up in Russia, man, I went too far... just let me do this, and...'
Harry nodded, desperate. Do it,' he moaned, just do it...'
Back down. Harry's cock stretched out between his legs, aching hard, and he cried out his pleasure as a thick flat tongue stroked its tip once, twice, thrice, ohhhh... He pulled his hands back to grip the marble countertop, needing to balance and support his lofty frame as this insane pleasure was gifted to him. Eric was lapping at him hungrily, eagerly, and then pushing his lips about the shaft and taking much of it into his mouth. He was so much rougher and greedier than any woman who'd ever blown it, and Kane could do nothing but yelp and gasp his enjoyment.
As the blowjob went on, he couldn't prop himself up against the counter with any solidity; he let go and scrambled downwards until he was sprawled on the kitchen floor, the shirt crumpled around him, staring down the length of his torso at the bobbing shape of Eric's head between his legs. He reached down and stroked at the short blond hairs, tickling the outline of the small ears, reached his fingers to knead the thick neck... on went Dier's slurping lips and kissing tongue, on and on...
Stop,' Harry panted, I'm going to... to...'
Eric lifted his face, his mouth slick with spit and pre-cum. `I'm not stopping. Feed it to me.'
The dirty grunting line was enough to drive the England captain over the edge: no sooner ad Eric's lips descended upon his quivering erection then eh was emptying his balls. He yelled out his orgasm, echoing about the empty kitchen, and he fed his thick spunk to the greedy mouth in his crotch. As Eric's head lifted again, he saw his own juices mingled with dried blood in that dark blond stubble, and the needy look in those bright blue eyes.
`Oh god,' Kane murmured.
Now you get it,' Eric muttered, pulling his way over his body until his face hovered inches in front of Harry's. Now you get how much I've needed you, man.' He wrapped an arm behind Kane's shoulders and leant in on top of him. `Do you understand?'
`I understand,' Harry whispered, and they kissed. He tasted his own salt on those sore lips.
I'm sorry,' Dier muttered. I'm sorry to ruin your perfect life, but...'
Shush. Don't speak.' They kissed again, and as they did, Harry reached one trembling hand down to the front of the other man's jogging bottoms, finding the shape of his thick boner where it rested. He stroked and grabbed at it while their teeth and tongues clashed. Eric, I've never done anything like this before,' he said, frightened.
`It doesn't matter... We can learn together.'
`When you fucked me in that hotel garden...'
I hurt you, I'm sorry-
`No. No... You... You woke me up. God...'
`I need you, man, I need you BAD.'
Then have me,' Harry pleaded, losing control of himself. I'm... yours.'
Eric pulled away from him and for a moment, he feared he'd gone too far, said too much, especially since he had no fucking idea what he was saying anyway. But no, he was pushed back against the hard flooring, and Eric was straddling his chest and reached into the front of his Spurs branded joggers, and out came that thick cock. Spent from his own orgasm, he lay there, staring up at the strong-bodied man sat over him. He slowly lifted his hands to rest on the tensed thighs, and then he opened his lips and let his tongue sneak out, anticipating the shower of love.
Eric had gone red in the face. The veins in his neck and temple bulged. His hand went back and forth in violent strokes. A gurgling cry sounded his climax, and Harry shut his eyes nervously as the drops of spunk spilled down. Some hit his warm bare chest, but most of it arrived in a messy splatter across his face, on his tongue and lips and his long nose. He tasted it, swallowing down the wet mess in his mouth, then licked around his mouth for more. `Oh yes,' he moaned, tasting the sour load, feeling like he'd really accepted something more profound in doing so.
Eric climbed off him, and then they both lay on their backs for a moment, before the other guy began pawing at him. Half instinctively, and half guided by those strong paws, Harry turned away on his side, and felt the hot body of his Tottenham teammate pull in against him, big spoon. For someone who had spent his life a tall, powerful alpha male, that cuddle made him feel a special intimacy that no other relationship had. He'd felt the same indistinct thrill out in the tropical plants of that hotel garden, he realised, pushed up against a plaster wall with a damp finger exploring his crack... Submission to this lad was an intimacy that no heterosexual fuck had ever reached in Kane's experience, as much as he had loved a series of women, and still loved his fiancée...
His wife, now. The memory had returned to him, later on in the night, as he tidied things up in the kitchen. He stared down at his socked feet, at the flooring where they had spooned for almost an hour after their explosive orgasms, before retreating to the marital bed: it was the one time they had ever done anything in this house, he reflected, having quickly seen the dangers of such behaviour. And Eric lived alone, after all.
He turned back to the sink and switched off the hot tap, leaving the dinner dishes to soak in the bubbly pool of heat. He moved away from the kitchen units, dug his hands into his jeans pockets, and strolled to the windows to look out on the garden, this tiny kingdom they were to occupy until the government said otherwise.
`Harry.' He half-turned at the sound of his wife's voice, seeing her emerge from the hallway, clearly finished putting the girls to bed now. He paused at the intense expression on her face, and felt a flash of concern: was she getting ill? Was one of the kids? No, not that, but... In her hand was his mobile phone, squeezed tightly. He let his jaw drop open, and stepped away from the windows.
`Harry,' she said again, tense and accusing.
`Honey...?'
`Tell me this isn't what it looks like.' She was fire and ice all at once.
Babe, what are you-
`Tell me!'
He began to step forward but she gestured for him to stop, furious. Tell me the truth,' she demanded, and then she held the phone up, her features lit blue by its screen. Of course, she knew his PIN, he knew hers, they always had. He had never thought to alter it. But... Miss you like crazy,' she quoted in a shrill voice. `I WISH I WAS IN ISOLATION WITH YOU...'
Oh god,' he exclaimed, and took faltering steps forward. Honey, it's just a-`
`Jeremy fucking Edgar?' she railed, as they came face to face.
Oh shit, oh fucking shit. Harry had feared this moment for the best part of two years. Outed, exposed, ruined, and... He mumbled his way through the things he could say, but what the hell could do anything to quiet this righteous anger in front of him? He'd ruined everything, and...
Jeremy!' she cackled. For fuck's sake, Harry, who is she?' SHE? Who is this slut?' She stared at the messages again. Go down on you for hours... oh for fuck's sake, Harry, you absolute shit. Who is this whore calling you "big boy"?'
He wilted and drooped. His horror was laced with relief. Of course, why should she suspect that Jeremy Edgar was a bloke?! He bit back his gasp of joy at her incomprehension and remembered how deep the shit he was still mired in really was. He grabbed her arms gently and looked at her with pleading in his eyes. `She's no one,' he said instantly.
Some girl at the club?' his wife demanded fiercely. I scrolled back... `see you at training, babe'... god, who is she? I can't believe this. I cannot believe it!' She pulled away from him, grunting her anger, and he followed her through the kitchen, struck by his own stupidity and risk-taking, immediately betraying Eric in his mind: this was what mattered, just this, his marriage, his family. Nothing else came close.
Yes,' he panted, reaching for her arm again, desperate to hold her and make things better. Baby, it's nothing, just... this girl working at the club... I don't know what I was thinking, I just... Oh god... It's over, it's over already, I just... Please...'
Don't you dare talk this rubbish to me. Don't you DARE.' She whirled on him, fixing him with an intense stare. I am not an idiot, Harry. I will not be treated as one. Tonight, you sleep on the sofa – don't interrupt me, you fucking twat – tonight, you sleep down here, you are not touching me until... until...' She curled her rouged lip and leaned in closer. `First thing tomorrow, you call your agent.'
`What? Honey...'
You call your agent,' she repeated, emphasising every syllable. You are out of Tottenham Hotspur the SECOND this quarantine is over. I know there's been talk. I know there's been offers. You are getting the fuck out of that club and away from this... this... WHORE!' She burst into tears then, tears she had clearly been containing since making her discovery. She collapsed into his arms and he fought back tears of his own, but he muttered her the promises he knew he needed to make.
It's over,' he promised. It's over, she's nothing, she's just... Of course, of course. I'll speak to the office tomorrow. I'm out of there. It's over.'
I don't care where we go,' she sobbed, but WE GO... fuck this city, fuck that club...'
`Yes, anywhere, please. We can forget her. Move on.' He held her, felt her wracking sobs, and cursed himself and every bad decision that had got him here to this moment. Every illicit meeting, every sly look, every dirty secret... those stolen kisses in Russia under the influence of alcohol and the taste of victory... that blowjob here in this kitchen, and the tentative nights of fucking that had slowly began t follow it... those risqué moments in the training ground, silly and rushed, and their discovery by that fucking kid... All of it. He regretted it all. This, right here, was all that mattered.
Miles from London, in his old childhood bedroom at the big country home of his family, Eric Dier was trying to find sleep. He tossed and turned in the creaky old bed in just a pair of baggy pyjama bottoms, and repeatedly gave in to the temptation of checking his phone. Social media gave nothing but smug selfies and virtue signalling, and his inboxes remained empty of new communication. He sighed, turned over again, pushed his face into the pillow.
Then the phone on the bedside table pinged.
He flung himself over in the double bed, tangled in duvet, and leaned his body over, reaching one bare arm of muscle over to snatch up the phone once more, unlocking it and letting its glow light the midnight gloom of his bedroom. He squinted his dry eyes at the screen and tapped on the `new message' icon to load it up – from Harry, oh yes – and then read it. In a matter of seconds, he went from restless excitement to crushed defeat. He stared at it, digesting each word.
Very slowly, he lowered the phone in his hand, and let it slide out onto the mattress; it slid across the silky sheets and thudded to the wooden floor of the room.
He turned over again, and struggled for a comfortable position.
He shut his eyes, but the hazy glow of the phone screen was imprinted on his lids:
`eric. it's over. she knows. sorry'
He pulled the duvet around him, pressed his head into the pillows, and cried.