Chapter 3: Chapter 3
David glanced over at Jose. “You can clean up in the bathroom,” he said, his voice raspy with unspent desire. “I’ve got some sweats you can borrow.”
Jose nodded, his mind still buzzing from the unfamiliar heat of another man’s skin against his. He slid off the couch, padding through the bedroom into the connected bathroom. It was bigger than he expected for an apartment this sleek, dominated by a large, deep tub. He found the washcloths in the drawer David had mentioned, the cotton soft and clean. The water from the tap was warm. He cleaned himself slowly, the act feeling strangely ritualistic, washing away the evidence of what had just happened but not the feeling.
In the living room, David finished rolling a neat joint. He moved to the bedroom, to his dresser, pulling out a pair of well-worn, grey sweatpants. He turned toward the bathroom door, which Jose had left wide open.
David stood in the doorway, silent.
Jose was at the vanity, naked, wiping the last damp traces from the dark thatch of hair between his thighs. He heard the shift in the air, felt the presence, and turned. He leaned back against the cool countertop, one ankle crossing over the other, making no move to cover himself. He just let David look.
And David did. His eyes travelled without hurry, a slow, appreciative catalogue. He started at the broad, soft plane of Jose’s chest, where a light dusting of dark hair curled around his pink, prominent nipples—they were soft-looking, the kind David wanted to feel tighten under his tongue. His gaze drifted down the gentle slope of Jose’s belly, the softness there that curved invitingly. Lower, to where Jose’s cock, tidy and thick, rested against a heavy set of balls. David’s own breath caught. He’d not seen it before, felt it, yes, but this was different. This was Jose offering himself, unashamed in the low light. David’s eyes kept returning to the fullness of Jose’s thighs, the way his body was all generous curves and warm shadows. It was a body built for comfort, for closeness, and David felt a deep, pulling hunger coil in his gut. He licked his lips, his own body responding visibly.
After a long, charged moment, David softly tossed the sweatpants. They landed in a heap at Jose’s feet. “You should put those on,” David said, his voice thick. “Or I swear to god, I will devour you right here on this tile floor.”
A genuine, surprised giggle burst from Jose. The sound broke the tension, replacing it with something warmer. He bent, the movement making his body shift in ways that made David’s fingers twitch, and pulled on the soft pants. They hung loose on his hips, pooling around his feet.
They settled back in the living room, the city lights now a sparkling grid beyond the windows. David lit the joint, took a deep pull, and handed it to Jose as he hovered nearby. He patted the space beside him. Jose sat, a careful inch away. Without a word, David slid his arm around Jose’s shoulders and pulled him in. Jose stiffened for a second, then melted, his head finding a comfortable niche against David’s shoulder. They passed the joint back and forth, the smoke mingling with the scent of their skin. The jazz curled around them, a saxophone sighing.
“Sooooo…” Jose finally murmured, exhaling a plume of smoke.
“So?” David echoed, his thumb stroking idle circles on Jose’s arm.
“So, you’re gay?”
David was quiet for a beat. “Maybe. Maybe bi. Or poly. Labels are… tight. I’m not against pussy.” He took the joint from Jose’s fingers. “Just… found something I particularly like.” He let the statement hang. Then, gently, “So, you’re…?”
Jose stared at the glowing tip. “I thought I was straight. I’ve only ever watched straight porn. And some trans porn, I guess. When I felt like I’d watched all the straight stuff.” He gave a self-deprecating snort. “I could have never imagined getting turned on by a man in that way. I mean, I envy men like you, but I never… until…” He trailed off, the memory of David’s hands on him moments ago flooding back.
David cut in, his tone firm but kind. “I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. Zero pressure. If you decide this is too much, we can forget about it. No harm, no foul.”
Jose turned his head, looking up at David. His brown eyes were serious. “There’s no way I’m ever forgetting this.” He took a breath. “And how will I know if I like something or not unless I try it?”
David held his gaze, then gave a slow, understanding nod.
Jose slid off the couch. He knelt on the rug between David’s spread legs, his hands resting on David’s knees. A small, brave smile played on his lips. “Like, how do I know I hate sucking cock,” he said, the words deliberate, testing their weight, “until I’ve sucked a big, fat cock?”
David laughed, a shocked, delighted sound. “Fair point.” His hands went to his belt buckle, the click loud in the quiet room. He undid the button, the fly, and pushed his own pants and briefs down just enough. He was already half-hard, and as he took himself in hand, he grew fuller, longer. He was uncut, thick, a beautiful arch of dark caramel skin.
Jose reached out, his fingers hovering for a heartbeat before they made contact. The heat was the first thing that struck him, a living warmth that radiated through his fingertips. He curled his hand around the shaft, and the difference from his own was immediately, profoundly clear.
It was heavier, denser, a firm column of muscle and blood sheathed in skin that was paradoxically both smoother and tougher than his. He could feel the pronounced vein pulsing along the underside, a hidden river of life. Using his thumb, he gently pushed the foreskin back, revealing the slick, plum-dark head, and David’s whole body shuddered, his eyes sinking shut with a soft exhale.
Jose looked up, past his own hand, and took David in. He saw the defined ridges of his abdomen, each muscle a clean, carved shadow in the low light, trailing down to the sharp v of his hips. Dark, coarse hair thickened around the base of his cock, a contrast to the smooth, taut skin stretched over his hip bones. His chest was broad, the pectorals firm and defined, with full, dark nipples. This was a body built deliberately, through repetition and control, and Jose felt a wave of that old, familiar envy. But now it was mingled with something else, a sharp, pulling want to touch, to taste, to claim this beautiful, foreign territory as his own.
As his fingers explored, tracing the ridge of the head, David’s cock gave a sudden, twitching pulse. A clear, viscous bead of precum welled up from the slit, glistening. Without thinking, Jose leaned forward and dragged the flat of his tongue over it.
The taste was clean, salt and musk and something uniquely, profoundly David. It was slightly bitter, deeply organic, and it flooded his mouth with saliva. A dizzying thought occurred to him: he’d never tasted his own. He’d always been too ashamed, too quick to clean up. This was different. This made him want to drown in it.
“Fuck,” David breathed above him, his voice strangled.
Jose didn’t stop. He kissed the head, a soft, closed-mouth press of his lips. Then he licked a long, slow stripe from base to tip, his tongue exploring the silken skin of the shaft, the intricate folds of the foreskin. David’s hand came down to card through his hair, not pushing, just resting.
“Just like that,” David murmured, his voice thick. “No rush, man. You can stop anytime. Seriously.”
But Jose didn’t want to stop. The envy he’d carried for men like David crystallized into understanding. It wasn’t about wanting to be David. It was about this. This need. This desperate, hungry desire to consume and be consumed by that specific kind of strength. He remembered the stupid, drunken party trick from college, deep-throating a large banana to make his friends howl. He almost laughed right there, his lips pressed to David’s skin, for never connecting those dots. It took David’s quiet, certain hands to turn a shameful secret into a key.
After thoroughly kissing and licking the entire length, Jose thought about what he liked. He lowered his head and took one of David’s balls gently into his mouth, rolling the heavy weight on his tongue. David groaned, a loud, ragged sound that vibrated through the floor, and another generous string of precum leaked from his cock onto Jose’s wrist.
Encouraged, Jose nuzzled deeper, burying his nose in the dense thatch of David’s pubic hair. He inhaled deeply, the scent a potent cocktail of sweat, clean skin, and that dark, musky base note that was pure genitals. It made his head swim, his own cock throbbing in the borrowed sweats. He took another long, deliberate sniff, tracing his nose down to David’s taint, committing the earthy, intimate fragrance to memory.
David looked down, his expression a mix of awe and amusement. “You’re a sniffer, eh?” he gasped, hips giving a small, involuntary jerk. “You need to try poppers.”
With their eyes locked, Jose nodded. He smiled, a slow, wicked thing, and licked his lips. Then he took the slick head of David’s cock into his mouth.
David expected hesitation, a quick retreat. Jose just swallowed him down, keeping his gaze fixed on David’s. David’s eyes widened in shock as Jose took another inch, then another, his throat opening with a practiced ease he shouldn’t possess. By the time Jose’s nose was buried in his pubic hair, David was repeating “fuck” like a mantra, a broken, breathless prayer.
Jose’s hands were busy, lightly pulling and massaging David’s balls, and the head of his cock was being rhythmically massaged by the tight clutch of Jose’s throat. It was overwhelming, too much, perfect.
“Jose, I’m—I’m gonna lose it,” David warned, his fingers tightening in Jose’s hair. “I’m coming.”
Jose didn’t pull off. He pushed further, holding eye contact, a thrilling, electric power surging through him. He was more elated, more utterly present, bringing David off than he’d ever been with the few women of his past. David’s breathing hitched, quickened into helpless gasps. His eyes rolled back, showing the whites, and he released with a choked-off cry, a flood of hot, salty cum pumping directly into Jose’s throat.
Jose held him there, swallowing steadily, until David was soft and spent, his body going lax against the couch cushions. After a long moment, Jose let him slip from his mouth with a soft, wet sound.
David opened one eye, squinting at Jose in the dim light. “First time, my ass,” he laughed, breathless and incredulous.
Jose sucked the last of David's spend from the tip of his cock, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “First cock,” he corrected, his voice a little hoarse. A genuine grin split his face. “It was a party trick with bananas. I never thought I’d use it any other way.”
They both laughed then, a loud, relieved sound that echoed in the tidy apartment, the tension transmuting into something warm and electric and new. Jose sat back on the couch, his body humming with a strange, liquid satisfaction. He stared at the ceiling, a dopey grin stuck on his face, trying to map the unfamiliar geography of his own feelings. David’s thigh was a solid warmth against his own. The air in the room felt charged, like the quiet after a thunderclap, full of ozone and possibility. He turned his head on the couch cushion and found David already watching him, a soft, unguarded expression in his dark eyes that made Jose’s breath catch.
The silence stretched, thick and honeyed. David’s gaze dropped to Jose’s mouth, lingered, then returned to his eyes.
“I should probably…” Jose began, his voice a raspy thing, the sentence trailing into the space between them. He didn’t move.
David leaned forward, closing that space. He kissed him.
It wasn’t like his previous kisses. There was no hunger-driven urgency, no exploratory hesitation. This was deep and sure, a slow claiming that made Jose’s entire nervous system short-circuit. David’s hand cradled the side of his face, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. Jose froze for a heartbeat, stunned by the softness of it, by the sheer romantic weight of a kiss that came after everything else.
Then he melted. His hands, which had been limp at his sides, came up to clutch at David’s bare shoulders. He let his lips part, let David set the rhythm—a slow, exploring dance of tongue and pressure. This was new. Girls had always expected him to lead, to be the aggressive one, and he’d always felt like he was performing a clumsy, unconvincing impression of a confident man. Being led, being handled with such deliberate care, sparked a low, thrilling current in his belly. His cock, spent and sensitive just minutes ago, gave a firm, interested twitch against his thigh. He took that as a very good sign.
David pulled back, breath warm on Jose’s wet lips. A thin strand of saliva, mingled with the faint, spent taste of himself, connected them for a second before breaking.
“We,” David emphasized, his voice gravelly with emotion, “probably should…”
He left the sentence hanging, a promise and a question. He stood, taking Jose’s hand and pulling him up. He led him not toward the door, but through the bedroom and into the en-suite bathroom. David opened a drawer, pulled out a sealed toothbrush, and handed it to him.
Jose grinned, a flutter of pure joy in his chest. He followed David’s lead.
They brushed their teeth at the double sink, elbows bumping, foamy mouths smiling in the mirror. Then David turned, unabashedly pissed into the toilet, and gestured for Jose to do the same. They stood side-by-side, crossing streams, and Jose giggled—a nervous, boyish sound—and David laughed with him, the room echoing with their shared, ridiculous intimacy. The laughter was edged with a vibrant, humming excitement for what might be next in this new situation.
David stepped out of the last of his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Jose shucked off the borrowed sweatpants. Naked again, but it felt different now. It felt uncomplicated.
Without a word, David led him to the bed. He pulled back the dark duvet and guided Jose down, then slid in beside him. He didn’t arrange them for sex. He simply pulled Jose into his chest, wrapping strong arms around him, tucking Jose’s head under his chin. Jose snuggled into the solid wall of him, inhaling the scent of, sweat, sex and David’s particular musk. The last knot of tension in his shoulders unravelled. The deep, even rhythm of David’s breathing beneath his ear was a lullaby. They were both asleep within minutes.
Jose awoke in the deep, black quiet of the night. Disoriented, his mind was a fog of half-remembered dreams and unfamiliar warmth. His head was pillowed on something firm yet yielding. David’s stomach. The events of the evening reassembled themselves in his groggy brain—the van, the bar, the couch, the taste, the kiss.
As his eyes adjusted, the shape in the gloom directly before his face resolved. David’s cock, soft and thick, lay against his hip, already filling slightly with the blood of sleep. It was just… there. An intimate, sleeping part of the man holding him.
Jose shifted minutely, his lips now level with the tip. Without thinking, guided by a hazy, voracious curiosity that felt half-dreamt itself, he leaned forward and took it into his mouth.
It was already half-hard. He licked the slit, tasting sleep and salt, and felt it stir and swell against his tongue. He sucked gently, just the head, his mouth lazy and wet. David’s cock responded eagerly, thickening to full, impressive hardness, and a bead of pre-cum welled up, coating Jose’s tongue.
David began to stir. A low, sleep-soaked groan vibrated through his torso. His hand came down, not to push Jose away, but to gently stroke the line of his jaw, his thumb tracing the stretch of Jose’s lips around him.
Encouraged, Jose added a hand to the base, slick with his own saliva, and began a slow, coordinated rhythm. His mouth worked wetly on the swollen head while his fist stroked the solid shaft. He lost himself in the texture, the weight, the helpless way David’s hips began a tiny, unconscious thrust.
“Jose,” David sighed, his voice thick with sleep and pleasure. His fingers tightened gently in Jose’s hair.
That was all it took. David’s breath hitched, his stomach muscles clenched under Jose’s cheek, and his release painted the back of Jose’s throat in hot, urgent pulses. Jose swallowed everything, his own body humming with a distant, satisfied echo of pleasure. He cleaned David meticulously with his tongue until he was soft again, nuzzling into the damp thatch of hair.
Then he simply replaced his head on David’s stomach, a contented sigh escaping him. David’s hand never left him, stroking slow, absent circles on his back until Jose’s breathing evened out and he fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The grey light of a cloudy dawn was filtering through the blinds when Jose woke again. He was still draped over David, who was awake, staring at the ceiling, his hand still making those slow circles on Jose’s skin.
Jose didn’t move. He luxuriated in the solid heat of him, in the novel feeling of being a weighted blanket for someone who seemed to welcome the load. The hazy memory of the night, of his own bold, sleepy mouth, played behind his eyes.
“Morning,” David rumbled, his chest vibrating under Jose’s ear.
“Hey,” Jose murmured back. He dared to tilt his head up. David looked down at him, his expression soft, but there was a question in his eyes. Jose answered it by sliding up his body and kissing him, tasting their shared sleep. It was chaste, but it held all the confusion and wonder of the last twelve hours.
David broke the kiss, his hands coming up to frame Jose’s face. “You good?”
Jose nodded, his nose brushing David’s. “Yeah. I’m… really good.” He meant it. The usual chorus of self-recrimination was silent. “You?”
David’s thumbs stroked his cheeks. “Trying to figure out if I dreamed the part about the banana.”
Jose laughed, the sound bursting out of him, bright and clear in the quiet room. He collapsed onto David’s chest, his laughter shaking them both.
When it subsided, a comfortable quiet settled. Jose traced a random pattern on David’s pec. “So. Today’s Saturday.”
“It is,” David agreed.
“No deliveries.”
“Nope.”
Jose took a breath. “You wanna...”
David’s hand, which had been tracing lazy circles on Jose’s back, stilled. He shifted, his body rolling with a deliberate slowness that pinned Jose gently to the mattress. He looked down at him, the morning light sketching the sharp planes of his face in grey and gold. “I wanna return a favour,” David murmured, his voice sleep-rough and earnest.
Then he was moving, sliding down the bed with a fluid grace that left Jose momentarily stranded in the cool space he vacated. David buried his face in the junction of Jose’s thigh and groin, covered by the bed sheets. Jose giggled, a nervous, ticklish sound that dissolved into a sharp intake of air as David’s mouth found the outline of his cock through the cotton.
The giggle died in his throat. This was different. Nighttime, hazy from weed and surprise, was one thing. This was morning. This was deliberate. David nuzzled him, his nose and lips applying a firm, knowing pressure that made Jose’s cock swell involuntarily. A soft, pathetic sound escaped Jose’s lips as the blood rushed south, his body responding before his mind could arm itself with its usual defences.
David hooked his fingers into the hem of the sheet and pulled it down, freeing him. The cool air was a brief shock. Then David’s mouth was on him, all at once, and the world contracted to a single, wet point of heat.
Jose’s back arched off the mattress. His hands flew to David’s head, his fingers sinking into the short, coarse hair, but he didn’t push or guide. He just held on.
It was nothing like he’d ever experienced. With women, it had felt transactional, a hurried prelude he often had to gently request, feeling like an imposition. It was tidy, restrained, a technicality to be completed. This was a consumption. David took his smaller cock in deep, his throat opening around the head with an ease that made Jose see white at the edges of his vision. There was no hurry. David worked with a focus that was entirely for Jose's pleasure, it seemed, a dedicated exploration of texture and taste.
A low, continuous groan vibrated from David’s throat, the sensation traveling straight up Jose’s spine. One of David’s hands slid up Jose’s trembling stomach, his palm rough and warm. He found Jose’s left nipple, pinching and rolling the soft nub between his fingers until it drew tight and aching. The dual sensations—the devastating wet heat below, the sharp, electric pleasure above—short-circuited Jose’s ability to think.
His hips jerked off the bed, a helpless little buck. David didn’t pull away. Instead, he went perfectly still, his mouth a tight, welcoming seal. He held there, letting Jose thrust gently into the wet cavern of his mouth, his tongue a flat, constant pressure underneath. David’s other hand moved to Jose’s right nipple, mirroring the attention, twisting and plucking until Jose was mewling, his thighs shaking.
Jose forced his eyes open, looked down the length of his own body. The sight that greeted him unraveled him completely. David, muscles coiled in concentration, his cheeks hollowed. And David’s own cock, thick and flushed, jutted out from his body, dripping a steady, clear string of precum onto Jose’s thigh with every slow, surrendering pulse. David was leaking for him. David was getting off on this, on him.
A ferocious, possessive hunger roared to life in Jose’s gut. This was it. This unapologetic, mutual wanting was the missing shape he’d never known to search for. His hips began to move with more purpose, finding a rhythm against David’s still, accepting mouth. He was fucking his face, and David was loving it, his moans of pleasure choked and greedy.
“David… I’m close,” Jose gasped, the words strained and thin. “I’m gonna—”
David didn’t stop. He doubled down. His mouth became sloppy, wildly wet, saliva dripping down Jose’s shaft and over his balls. He slurped and sucked with a frenzied devotion, his hands kneading Jose’s chest, urging him on. He was demanding it, pulling it from him.
Jose came with a strangled cry that sounded like it tore something loose inside his chest. His body locked, every muscle seizing as the pleasure ripped through him, wave after blinding wave. David sucked hard, swallowing every pulse, his throat working around him until the last, twitching spurt was drawn out.
He didn’t let go until Jose was soft and oversensitive, then licked him clean with a shocking tenderness. David surged up the bed, his body covering Jose’s. He captured Jose’s mouth in a deep, open kiss.
Jose stiffened in surprise for a half-second. Then the taste hit him—his own spend, salty and musky, mingled with David’s saliva. A startled noise of delight vibrated in his throat. He kissed back, hungry for it, lapping at the taste of himself in David’s mouth. It was primal, shockingly intimate, and he loved it more than he could have ever predicted. He was almost annoyed at his past self for never having the curiosity to try.
They kissed for a long time, sharing the taste, their hands roaming over shoulders and backs and hips. Jose’s hand wandered down, his fingers brushing David’s still-hard, still-wet cock. David caught his wrist gently, moving the hand away to rest on his own hip.
He pulled back just enough to smile, his lips swollen and shiny. “As fun as trading orgasms all day sounds,” he said, his breath puffing against Jose’s cheek, “I’d like to do more than that.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Jose said, his voice wrecked.
David chuckled softly. “Let’s get showered. Go for a walk, get some actual breakfast. Clear our heads, fuel up first.” He brushed a thumb over Jose's lower lip. “Then we can see.”
“And more orgasms after?” Jose asked, his tone comically, hopefully earnest.
David laughed, a full, rich sound. “There better be,” he said, glancing down at his own neglected erection, “or I’m blue-balling myself for no damn reason right now.”
He slid out of bed and pulled Jose up, leading him by the hand to the bathroom. They brushed their teeth side-by-side again, but this time Jose felt no shyness, only a giddy domesticity. He hip-checked David playfully, getting a smirk around a mouthful of foam.
David finished first. “C’mon.” He opened the glass door of the large, tiled shower stall and turned the dial. Steam began to billow. “I always wondered why I needed a shower this big in a one-person apartment,” he said, guiding Jose inside. “Now I know why.”
The water was perfect—hot and needling. They stood facing eachother under the spray. David squeezed body wash into his palms and reached for Jose. Jose did the same, mirroring him. They started silently, soaping each other’s fronts. Jose’s slick hands glided over the carved planes of David’s chest and shoulders, down the valleys of his armpits, the dense hair there. David’s hands moved over the soft slopes of Jose’s belly, his thick chest, his own armpits, down to his groin.
Both of them were hardening again under the slick, clinical-turned-sensual touch. They rutted gently against each other’s soapy hands, sliding, but made no move to take it further, just enjoying the shared stillness and building ache.
David turned him around gently, pulling Jose back against his chest. He pressed his front to Jose’s back and reached around, soaping his shoulders, his back, his sides, his cock pushing into Jose's lower back. He kissed the nape of Jose’s neck, finding a sensitive spot that made Jose shiver. David’s strong hands kneaded the flesh of Jose’s behind, washing with a thoroughness that felt devotional.
Then David pulled back slightly and turned Jose back to face him. They watched each other as David's hand, slick and seeking, slid down the cleft of his ass. A single, soap-slicked finger traced a slow, curious circle around his hole.
Jose gasped, his forehead pressing against David's shoulder. He’d never considered this, not really. The idea had always been wrapped in layers of taboo and vague, clinical fear. But the sensation—the gentle, circling pressure, the unfamiliar intimacy of the touch—sent a bolt of pure, uncomplicated pleasure straight to his already-thickening cock. A low moan escaped him, muffled by the shower spray.
David stilled his finger. They rinsed under the waterfall, the suds spiralling down the drain. He angled Jose's face up towards him again, his expression open, searching. “Looks like we might have a plan for when we get back,” David said, his voice barely audible over the water. “If you’re up for it. Zero pressure. You can change your mind at any point, even after we start. That’s the rule.”
Jose looked at him, water streaming down his face. The fear was there, a small, cold knot in his stomach. But it was outgrown by the want, by the trust David had meticulously built with every kiss and touch. “I wasn’t sure,” Jose said, his voice serious, steady. “But now I really want to. I just… I don’t know what to do.”
David’s smile was a thing of profound gentleness. He leaned in, kissed his forehead. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. We’ve got all day. We’ll go slow.” He turned off the water. The sudden silence was loud, filled only with their breathing and the drip from the showerhead. “Step by step.”