Date: Thu, 13 May 2021 20:06:11 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads Part 260

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.



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