Chapter 4: Chapter 4
David toweled his hair, watching Jose pat himself dry with a kind of fascinated awkwardness, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his own body now that it had become a site of shared pleasure. “You wanna swing by your place?” David asked, leaning against the bathroom doorway. “Grab clothes, let people know you’re not dead in a ditch?”
Jose shook his head, the towel draped around his shoulders. “Nah. Texted my mom last night, said I crashed at a friend’s after the bar. She’s used to me being a hermit. As long as you can cover me, I’m good.” He grinned, that big, transformative smile. “I’m on an adventure.”
“Adventure it is.” David went to his dresser, rooting through folded clothes. He handed Jose a pair of black, stretchy boxer briefs. “These’ll fit. And try this.” He tossed over a polo shirt, a deep emerald green, one of his larger ones.
Jose pulled on the boxers—they hugged his thighs and ass snugly but with give, feeling surprisingly good. Then the polo. It slid on, the cotton soft, and it fit. Like, actually fit his shoulders and chest without straining. But to Jose, it felt like a second skin, hyper-conscious of the way it outlined the curve of his belly, the fullness of his chest. He tugged at the hem. “It’s too tight, man. I look like a stuffed sausage.”
David stood before him, hands on his hips. “You look incredible. Please, give it a try. Just for the walk. It’s gonna take time for you to get used to being comfortable in your skin. My job, right now, is to help you see what I see.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping, earnest. “And if anyone so much as looks at you sideways, I will see them off. Personally.”
A laugh bubbled out of Jose, nervous but touched. “What if they don’t come for me sideways? What if they come for me… forward? Because they want to play with my tiddies?”
David’s face went through a mock-serious transformation. He leaned in, his nose almost touching Jose’s. “Those tiddies,” he growled, the comic intensity perfect, “are mine.”
Jose’s heart flipped. He surged forward and kissed him, hard and smiling. “Good.”
David kissed him back, then broke away with a sly, considering look. “But… if you ever wanted someone to play with them… and were happy for me to watch…” He let the sentence hang, a flag planted in uncharted territory.
Jose blinked, shocked. Then a wicked, curious grin spread across his face. The idea sent a jolt through him, scary and thrilling. “Maybe,” he said, the word feeling dangerous and adult on his tongue. “But for now, I think I have enough on my hands.” He gestured between them, and they both laughed, the sound easing the last of the tension.
The city air was cool, the neighborhood bustling with Saturday brunch crowds. Jose felt hyper-visible. Every glance from a passing guy in a Patagonia vest or a woman in athleisure felt like a judgment on the polo shirt clinging to his torso. He walked slightly hunched, hands in the pockets of David’s loaned pants, which were mercifully loose.
“They’re all looking at me,” he muttered, eyes on the pavement.
David slid an arm around his shoulders, pulling him upright. “All I see are guys checking out your awesome rack, dude. Seriously.”
Jose gave him a doubtful side-eye but tried to follow his gaze. He forced himself to look up, to meet the world. They passed a table outside a cafe where two straight-appearing couples were sharing mimosas. One of the guys, clean-cut in a baseball cap, was mid-sentence when his eyes slid over Jose. They didn’t slide off. They stuck. He stared, just for a second too long, his sentence trailing away.
Jose caught it. Held the look.
The guy’s eyes widened. He blushed, a deep red creeping up his neck, and looked down quickly at his plate. His hand dropped below the table, making a subtle, furtive adjustment in his lap.
Jose stopped walking. He felt a dizzying rush, a cocktail of power and disbelief. He couldn’t help a slight, knowing smile. The guy saw the smile, flustered further, and took a hasty gulp of water.
“Holy shit,” Jose breathed, turning to David as they moved on. “You were right.”
“Told you,” David said, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re a fucking snack and they’re all hungry.”
They found a diner with cracked vinyl booths and the smell of strong coffee. Over eggs and pancakes, David said, “Gonna do some quick research,” and pulled out his phone, scrolling with focus. Jose didn’t ask. He just enjoyed the normalcy, the clatter of plates, the weight of David’s thigh against his under the table.
After paying, David led him not home, but to a bright, sterile pharmacy. He moved with a quiet purpose, picking up a blue rubber bulb douche and a large bottle of clear, water-based lube, placing them on the counter without a hint of ceremony. The cashier didn’t blink. Jose felt his face heat, but David’s calm was an anchor.
They didn’t rush back. David, remembering Jose’s love of comics from the day before, took him to a specialty shop, a cave of nostalgia and vibrant new art. He bought Jose the next few issues in his series, and the guy behind the counter, a man with intricate sleeve tattoos, recognized David. “Hey, man, those ‘Fantastic Four’ issues you were asking about came in,” he said, ducking into the back. He returned with a plastic-sleeved vintage comic, which David pored over with a collector’s quiet joy. The normalcy of it, the sharing of their nerdy corners, settled Jose more than anything else could.
Finally, back at the apartment, the door clicked shut. The bag from the pharmacy and the comic shop hit the floor simultaneously.
They were on each other. No words. It was a collision of mouths and hands, a frantic relearning of textures after only a few hours apart. Jose fumbled with David’s belt; David already had his hands under the dreaded polo, pushing it up, his palms hot on Jose’s chest. They stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothes in a trail.
On the edge of the bed, David pulled back, breathing hard. His cock stood thick and urgent against his jeans. “Is it… okay if I get off first? Before we get into the, you know, butt stuff? I’m so wound up I don’t think I’ll last if we go straight there.”
“Yeah, of course,” Jose said, his voice husky. He dropped to his knees on the plush carpet, hands going to David’s hips. He nuzzled the coarse hair at the base of his cock, then looked up, a question in his eyes as his fingers found the button of David’s jeans.
But David gently pulled him up. “I have another idea.” His eyes were dark, full of a specific intention. “C’mere. Lie back.”
Jose obeyed, settling against the pillows. David knelt over him, straddling his hips, but instead of moving lower, he stayed up, staring down at Jose’s chest. He looked at it like it was a landscape, something to be charted.
Then he bent his head.
He didn’t kiss. He took Jose’s left nipple into his mouth, suckling hard, his tongue flicking the sensitive nub until it was a tight, aching peak. Jose gasped, back arching. David switched to the right, giving it the same relentless attention, biting gently, then soothing with his tongue. He was marking him, claiming the territory he’d joked about.
Then David sat up, gathering a thick pool of saliva in his mouth. He held Jose’s gaze and let it fall, a warm, wet splash directly onto the centre of his chest. Jose jerked at the sensation—startling, lewd, incredibly hot. David did it again, spitting a second time, then using his fingers to smear the saliva across the broad, soft plane of Jose’s pectorals, coating the dark hair, making his skin glisten under the afternoon light filtering through the window.
“Oh, god,” Jose whispered, mesmerized by the sight of David’s strong hands slicking over his body, a body he’d only ever hidden.
David reached for the bottle of oil from the nightstand—not the lube, but a simple bottle of coconut oil. He poured a generous amount into his palm, warmed it between his hands, and then began to massage it into Jose’s chest.
This was different. This was worship. His hands worked in deep, smooth circles, kneading the soft muscle and fat, his thumbs digging into the fleshy parts near Jose’s armpits, spreading the oil until every inch gleamed. The scent, faintly tropical, filled the air. Jose’s breath came in ragged pulls. His cock, lying heavy on his stomach, was fully hard, leaking onto his own belly.
“Now,” David murmured, his voice thick. “Push your arms and shoulders up. Back into the mattress. Arch your chest up for me.”
Jose understood. He pressed his shoulders down and lifted his pectorals, squeezing his arms slightly inward. The movement created a deep, soft canyon between his pecs, a smooth, oil-slicked channel.
David’s eyes burned with hunger. He shifted forward on his knees, positioning his cock at the top of the channel. He pressed the head into the warm, oily cleft, and Jose felt it—the heat, the solidity, a foreign pressure that was somehow deeply right.
Then David began to move. Slowly. A sensual, rocking glide of his hips.
Jose watched, utterly spellbound. His own body was the instrument. David’s cock, that beautiful, intimidating thing, disappeared into the valley of his chest, rubbed its way down with a smooth, wet sound, and emerged glistening at the bottom, only to slide back up. The friction was incredible—a warm, slippery, full-body caress. The weight of David bearing down on him, the visual of his own ample flesh being used for pleasure, short-circuited every neural pathway of shame he’d ever possessed.
Emotionally, it was a revelation. This part of his body, this source of lifelong insecurity—his “tiddies”—was being actively, passionately desired. It wasn’t just being tolerated; it was central to David’s pleasure. He was necessary. The act felt connective, intimate in a way that went beyond penetration. He was holding David, all of him, in the softest part of himself.
Physically, it was a storm of sensation. The oil made everything sleek and effortless. He felt the full length of David’s shaft, the pulse of the vein underneath, the teasing rub of the head against his sternum. The pressure was firm, satisfying, a deep massage from the outside in. His own nipples, sensitized from David’s mouth, tingled and pulled with every pass. A helpless, continuous moan was being pulled from his throat.
“Feel good?” David grunted, his rhythm steady, his eyes locked on where their bodies met.
“So good,” Jose gasped. “It’s… you’re so hot. I can feel… everything.”
David’s pace increased slightly, the slick, squelching sounds growing louder in the quiet room. He braced his hands on the bed on either side of Jose’s head, his biceps cording with the effort of control. He was fucking his chest, but his eyes were on Jose’s face, making sure he was with him, that he was loving it.
Jose was. He was lost in it. The ownership he’d felt in the shower was back, but softer, sweeter. He was giving David this. He was providing this pleasure with the very body he’d hated. The contradiction was so profound it felt like healing.
David’s movements became jerky, his breath hitching. “Jose… I’m gonna…”
“Do it,” Jose urged. “C’mon. All over me.”
With a sharp cry, David drove deep into the slick channel and held there. His body shuddered, and Jose felt the hot, liquid pulses against his skin, a series of spasms that painted stripes of white across his chest and collarbone. David collapsed forward, catching himself on his elbows, his forehead resting against Jose’s, both of them panting.
After a moment, David looked down. His release was stark against Jose’s oiled, heaving chest. He smiled, a tired, sated, beautiful smile. He swiped a finger through the mess and brought it to Jose’s lips.
Jose opened his mouth without hesitation, sucking David’s finger clean, tasting the salty, musky proof of what they’d just done. David kissed him deeply, tasting their shared pleasure. “Thank you,” he murmured against Jose’s lips, the words warm and sincere. “That was fucking incredible.”
He rolled off, swiping a hand through the cooling mess on Jose’s chest. “Okay. Next phase.” He sat up, his energy shifting to practical focus. “I’m gonna roll us a smoke. You should go use that douche we got. We’ll take our time.” He then headed to the bathroom and returned with a warm wash cloth, gently cleaning Jose's chest.
Jose’s stomach fluttered, the earlier boldness now edged with a fresh, specific anxiety. “Right. Yeah.”
“C’mere first.” David pulled the pharmacy bag onto the bed. They opened the douche box together, the instructions printed in stark, clinical blue. David read them aloud, his finger tracing the steps. “Yeah, just like that. Use lukewarm water, not hot. And hey,” he added, tapping his phone where he’d pulled up a forum earlier, “the internet says don’t go for perfectly clear. That’s a myth and it can dry you out. Just a couple of bulbs until it runs clean. The goal is comfortable, not sterile.”
Jose nodded, absorbing the information like a lifeline. “Comfortable. Not sterile. Got it.”
“Take your time. I’ll be right through here.”
In the bathroom, Jose’s hands trembled slightly. The process felt absurd, medical, deeply unsexy. The chill of the water, the strange fullness, the waiting. He followed David’s advice, stopping after the third bulb when everything ran clear. A part of him worried anyway, a low hum of what if it’s not enough, what if I ruin this. He washed up, splashed water on his face, and stared at his flushed reflection. Hopeful. He was hopeful.
He found David on the living room couch, a neatly rolled joint on the coffee table beside a lighter. The late afternoon sun slanted gold through the windows.
“All good?” David asked, his eyes soft.
“I think so. I hope so.”
David opened his arms. “C’mere.” Jose sank into the space beside him, and David pulled him close, tucking Jose’s head under his chin. He lit the joint, took a hit, and passed it. They smoked in a comfortable silence, David’s free hand roaming over Jose’s shoulder, his arm, the curve of his hip. Every touch was a reassurance.
“You smell like my soap,” David said, nuzzling his hair. “I like it.”
Jose turned his face up, and David kissed him, a slow, cannabis-tinged kiss that melted the last of the nerves into a warm, buzzing anticipation. David’s hands grew more possessive, kneading the flesh of Jose’s belly under his borrowed shirt, cupping his pec. Jose leaned into every touch, a silent plea for more.
When the joint was a smoldering roach, David stubbed it out. He stood, taking both of Jose’s hands, and pulled him up. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Back in the bedroom, David’s movements were ritualistic. He spread a dark blue towel across the foot of the bed. He placed a pillow on the floor beside it. “Okay,” he said, turning to Jose. “Let’s get you ready.”
He undressed Jose slowly, peeling off the polo and boxer briefs with a reverence that made Jose’s breath catch. He kissed every new inch of exposed skin—the soft shelf of his shoulder, the dip of his navel, the inside of a wrist. When Jose was naked, David knelt and took his softening cock into his mouth, not to arouse, but to welcome it. He suckled gently until it began to thicken again, then pulled off with a wet pop.
“Lie down here, baby. Right on the edge.”
Jose complied, his heart hammering against his ribs. The towel was soft against his back. David stood, quickly shedding his own clothes, his cock already thick and curving upward. He knelt on the pillow on the floor, his face level with Jose’s ass.
For a long moment, he did nothing but look. He spread Jose’s cheeks gently, his thumbs holding him open. Jose felt the cool air of the room on a place that had never felt air before. He shivered.
“You are so beautiful here,” David said, his voice a low rumble. “Seriously. Just pink and perfect.” He leaned in closer, and Jose flinched, expecting contact. Instead, David just exhaled, a soft, warm stream of breath that made the muscles there clench and flutter wildly. “Look at that,” David whispered, awed. “It’s like it’s saying hello.”
Then he leaned in and licked, a broad, flat stroke from his tailbone to his taint.
Jose cried out, a shocked, strangled sound. The sensation was nothing he could have imagined—intensely intimate, foreign, and electric. David did it again, slower this time, his tongue firm and wet.
“Oh my god,” Jose moaned, burying his face in his crossed forearms.
“Tell me how it feels,” David murmured, his breath hot against him.
“Weird. Good. Really wet.”
“We like wet,” David said, and licked a tight circle around the furl of muscle before spearing his tongue against it. “We love a wet pussy, don’t we?”
The crude, adoring word sent a jolt through Jose. “Yes,” he gasped. “Fuck, yes.”
David dove in. He ate Jose’s ass with a single-minded hunger, his tongue plunging and circling, his lips sucking at the sensitive skin. The sounds were obscenely wet, sloppy and loud in the quiet room. Jose’s concerns about mess evaporated under the sheer onslaught of pleasure, a deep, radiating heat that seemed to connect directly to his cock, which dripped steadily onto his stomach. He was a symphony of incoherent moans, his hips pushing back helplessly against David’s face.
“You taste so clean,” David groaned, coming up for air, his chin glistening. “You taste like you. I could do this for hours.” He went back in, using his thumbs to spread Jose even wider, licking into him with a relentless, wet devotion.
The pressure built in a way Jose didn’t recognize, a fullness that wasn’t just physical but neurological, a live wire connected to his core. David curled his tongue, pressed it deep, and sucked hard.
Pleasure detonated. It ripped through Jose with no warning, a seismic wave that had nothing to do with his cock. His body bowed, a raw, guttural shout torn from his throat as his hole convulsed around David’s tongue. A hot spurt of cum shot from his dick, painting his own stomach.
The feeling of Jose pulsing around his mouth, the sight of that small, spontaneous orgasm, was David’s undoing. “Shit, Jose, I’m—” he managed, before his own body seized. He jerked back, his hand flying to his cock, and with three rough strokes he was coming, thick white stripes landing across Jose’s trembling, wet hole.
David didn’t stop. Panting, he leaned right back in, licking through his own spend, mixing it with the slickness already there, circling Jose’s oversensitive rim. Jose whimpered, a broken, beautiful sound, his body twitching with every pass of David’s tongue.
Finally, David rested his forehead against Jose’s thigh, both of them breathing like they’d run a mile. “Wow,” he puffed.
“Yeah,” Jose agreed, his voice wrecked.
David got up, fetched a damp cloth, and cleaned Jose’s stomach with tender care. He lit another joint from the nightstand, took a hit, and passed it to Jose, who took it with a shaking hand. They shared it lying side by side on the bed, the high softening the intense aftermath into a hazy, golden glow. David’s hand never stopped touching, stroking Jose’s flank, his hip.
“Still with me?” David asked softly.
“More than ever,” Jose whispered.
When the second joint was gone, David’s eyes were dark with renewed intent. He helped Jose roll onto his stomach, arranging the towel beneath his hips, placing a pillow under them to lift his ass. He poured lube, warming it in his hands, and began to massage the tight ring of muscle, his touch infinitely gentle.
“Just this for a while,” David said, pressing the pad of his thumb against the entrance. He worked it in slowly, a minute fraction of an inch, letting Jose’s body swallow it. Jose exhaled, pushing back against the strange, insistent pressure. David added more lube, then a finger, crooking it gently. The spark was immediate, a bright, internal flash that made Jose gasp.
“There?” David whispered.
“Yeah. Right there.”
David scissored his finger, stretched him with a patient, rhythmic cadence. He added a second finger, the burn a sharp stretch that melted into a breathtaking fullness. He brushed that spot again, and Jose’s cock, which had softened, began to thicken once more against the pillow.
“I’m ready,” Jose breathed. “Please, David. I want you.”
David positioned himself, the blunt, slick head of his cock nudging against Jose. He leaned over, blanketing Jose’s back, his mouth near his ear. “You set the pace. You take me. Just push back when you’re ready.”
Jose pushed.
The initial penetration was an overwhelming invasion. It burned, a stinging stretch that forced the air from Jose’s lungs. He froze, fingers clutching the duvet.
“Breathe, baby,” David coaxed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. “Just breathe into it.”
Jose exhaled, and as he did, his body relaxed incrementally, accepting more. The burn receded, transmuted into a profound feeling of being filled, utterly and completely. He pushed back again, taking another inch, a low moan escaping him.
“That’s it,” David praised, sinking deeper with glacial slowness. “You’re taking me so good. So perfect.”
When David was fully sheathed, they both stilled, joined. Jose felt impaled, owned, and more connected to another human being than he’d thought possible. David began to move, a shallow rocking that ignited nerves Jose didn’t know he had. Each withdrawal and thrust brushed that electric spot inside him, building a coil of pleasure separate from his dick.
“Oh, god, it’s—it’s happening again,” Jose warned, his voice tight.
“Let it happen,” David grunted, his rhythm steadying.
The second anal orgasm crashed over him, a deep, internal convulsion that milked David’s cock and left Jose shuddering, his own dick leaking helplessly.
David shifted them then, pulling Jose up onto his hands and knees. The new angle was deeper, more commanding. David held Jose’s hips, his thrusts growing longer, more purposeful. The slap of skin filled the room. Jose looked back over his shoulder, saw the fierce concentration on David’s face, the sweat sheening his torso, and it pushed him closer to the edge.
“Need to see you,” David rasped. He guided Jose onto his back again, pulling him up the bed, and slid between his legs, pushing them back toward his chest. He entered him again in one smooth, deep stroke, and this position felt infinite. David’s weight pinned him, his kisses swallowed Jose’s cries.
The third peak built like a tide, unstoppable. It wasn't a shock this time, but a cresting wave of raw sensation that tightened every muscle. Jose came with a sob, his cock pulsing between their stomachs, stripes of white painting his own heaving chest.
The feeling of Jose constricting around him, the desperate, hungry clenching, shattered David’s control. With a final, driven thrust, he buried himself as deep as possible and came, a hot, liquid rush that Jose felt inside his very core. David collapsed atop him, both of them slick and spent and breathless.
They lay tangled in the wreckage of the towel and sheets for a long time, the only sound their slowing heartbeats. David carefully pulled out and curled himself around Jose, his nose in his hair, an arm thrown possessively over his waist.
No words were needed. The exhaustion was total, a pleasant, weighted nothingness. Jose felt the faint, internal ache and the sticky evidence on his skin, and instead of shame, he felt a profound, settled rightness. He was here. He was this. And he was, unmistakably, David’s.