Chapter 10: Chapter 10
The softening edges were apparent to Rob after his second pull on the joint. Dale had coached him in how to approach it, and having smoked a cigarette with him earlier in the week, he didn’t find the smoke a problem. Now, lolling together in a pile on the futon, Rob felt blissfully at ease, yet also humming with a vibrant newness. His hole pulsed and thrummed with a warmth and awareness of use, a sensation he couldn’t have dreamed of feeling before arriving at Amy’s family home. Now he never wanted to live without it. And he didn’t have to.
Rob rolled towards Dale, the two having finished the joint, their eyes half-lidded and heads light, and cupped his face, bringing it to face his own. Dale slowly leaned forward and their lips met, slowly pulling them into a trance-like state of mutual oral pleasure. Dale pulled them both into a seated position facing each other, continuing to lavish attention on each other's mouths, their hands beginning to roam over each other's bodies.
Rob loved feeling the soft muscles of Dale’s hard-working body, the hair of his chest, the points of his sensitive nipples. Everything felt amplified. The texture of Dale’s skin was a topography he could read with his fingertips, each scar and freckle a story.
Dale’s hands worked lower on Rob, smoothing over his rounded belly, moaning at its fleshiness, one hand moving up to his chest, the other travelling down, under his balls, to stroke Rob’s taint and hole. Rob was unsure if his hole might be sore or resistant to more attention, but one featherlight touch from Dale and his eyes fluttered closed, the sensation dominating his mind. It wasn’t pain. It was a deep, resonant ache, a welcome throb that seemed to glow from the inside out.
Rob’s hands slid towards Dale’s cock, thickened, but far from hard.
Dale pulled his head back, breaking the kiss with a soft, wet sound. “Mmm. Time for reinforcements, I think.”
He went back to the same cabinet he got the weed from and came back with a foil pack of blue pills and two bottles of water. Rob downed half of his bottle immediately, unaware of his dry mouth until the cold liquid hit his throat.
“What’s the deal with those?” Rob asked, nodding at the pill Dale was popping from its blister pack.
“Insurance,” Dale said, swallowing his with a gulp of water. “Little blue helpers. They don’t put the desire in, but they make sure the equipment is ready when the desire shows up. Blood flow. Makes everything down there… supercharged. For a few hours.”
He offered Rob one. “You can have a whole one if you want. It can do funny things, though. Stuff you wouldn’t expect. Can help engorge other fleshy parts, too. Like your rectum. More blood flow there means more sensation. Maybe even makes it feel… plumper. More alive.”
Rob considered it, the weed making the decision feel both monumental and trivial. “I’ll try half.”
Dale walked over to his workshop, coming back a moment later with two precise halves. Rob took his, dry-swallowing it before chasing it with more water. The two men returned to their sexual explorations, Dale’s hand quickly moving back to Rob’s pussy.
They intertwined themselves, propping each other up, as Rob stroked Dale back to life and Dale stroked Rob’s hole, his fingers easily slipping inside. Between the weed and the touching, Rob’s mind became blank. A pleasant, white static. He was a collection of sensations: the scratch of chest hair against his nipple, the sure press of fingers inside him, the heavy, growing weight in his own hand.
When Dale asked, his voice a low hum against Rob’s neck, “You think you’ll be okay to go another round, gorgeous?” Rob didn’t answer with words.
He pushed Dale back onto the futon, a clumsy, determined move. He climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. Dale’s cock, now fully rigid from the pill, stood thick and curved against his stomach. Dale grabbed the bottle of lube and quickly slicked himself and Rob's sphincter. Rob positioned himself above it, looking down into Dale’s blown, hungry eyes. He lowered himself slowly.
The entry was different. His body, still loose and used, welcomed Dale easily, but the sensation was exponentially richer. The blue pill was doing its work. His own flesh felt swollen, hyper-sensitive, each millimeter of stretch a distinct and glorious event. He felt more alive there, throbbing even more, a warm, engorged clasp around Dale’s girth. He sank down until he was fully seated, a soft, deep groan escaping them both.
“Oh, fuck, baby,” Dale breathed, his hands coming to rest on Rob’s hips. “You feel that? You feel how full you are?”
Rob could only nod, his mouth open in a silent gasp. He began to move.
It wasn’t the frantic pounding of before. This was a slow, undulating grind. Rob rocked forward and back, side to side, a lazy figure-eight with Dale anchored deep inside him. He placed his hands on Dale’s chest for balance, his fingers splayed over his pectorals. Dale’s hands wandered up Rob’s soft sides, over the curve of his belly, thumbs stroking the underswell of his chest.
Time dissolved into the rhythm of their bodies and the catching of their breath. The garage was their entire universe, cloaked in shadow and the scent of sex and cannabis. Rob rode him with a stoned, focused laziness, chasing the subtle, building pressure against his prostate with tiny adjustments of his angle.
Dale let him lead, his own hips making minute, upward rolls to meet Rob’s descents. His eyes never left Rob’s face. “Touch yourself,” Dale murmured, his voice rough. “Let me watch you feel good.”
Rob obeyed, his hand wrapping around his own cock. The sensation was shockingly vivid. Every stroke was a lightning bolt connected directly to the deep, internal massage Dale was providing. He whimpered, his rhythm faltering.
“That’s it,” Dale coaxed. “Just feel it. Let it build.”
And it did. It built not like a sudden storm, but like a tide, rising slowly and inexorably from the base of his spine. His grinding became more urgent, less controlled. Dale’s hands tightened on his hips, guiding him now, setting a slightly faster, deeper pace. The focused pressure inside him became a brilliant, constant thrum.
“Dale… I’m gonna…”
“Come on, then,” Dale growled, his own control straining. “Give me the first one. Let it go.”
Rob’s prostate orgasm crashed over him without the violence of the first time. It was a deep, rolling wave of pleasure that unspooled from his core, radiating outwards, turning his limbs to liquid. He cried out, a long, shuddering sound, as his cock jerked in his hand, spilling small amounts of precum over Dale’s stomach, the amount comically small compared to the waves of pleasure flooding through Rob. He clenched involuntarily around Dale, milking him, his internal muscles fluttering in a rapid, possessive rhythm.
Dale hissed through his teeth, his head thrown back. “God, yes. Squeeze me just like that.”
He didn’t stop moving. He kept rocking up into Rob, through the shuddering aftershocks, until Rob was sobbing with oversensitivity. But the weed and the pill blurred the lines, transmuting what might have been too much into a different, deeper kind of ache. The pleasure didn’t fully recede. It plateaued, a sustained, humming note of bliss.
Rob slumped forward, bracing himself on Dale’s chest, panting. Dale wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, still buried inside him. They stayed like that for minutes, connected, sweating, coming down and not coming down at all.
“You,” Dale whispered into his hair, “are a miracle.”
He began to move again, a slow, deep resurgence. Rob, boneless and pliant, let himself be moved. Dale rolled them carefully, never slipping out, until Rob was on his back and Dale was over him, cradled between his legs. Dale kissed him, deep and slow, as he began to thrust in earnest.
This was different again. Purposeful. Dale was chasing his own peak now, but he was taking Rob with him. He angled his hips, drilling with a steady, profound precision into Rob’s supersensitive spot. The renewed pleasure was shocking, a bright, insistent coil winding tight in Rob’s gut all over again.
“You’re gonna come again,” Dale stated, his voice guttural with effort. “I can feel you tightening up. Your little pussy is getting hungry again. Isn’t it?”
Rob could only nod, clutching at Dale’s shoulders, his heels digging into the small of Dale’s back. The coil wound tighter, tighter, a glowing wire of pure sensation. Dale reached between them, his hand slick with Rob’s earlier spend, and fisted Rob’s cock. Two strokes was all it took.
The second prostate orgasm tore through him, a silent, breathless event that locked his body in a rigid arch. His vision whited out. He felt another, smaller pulse of fluid from his cock, but the real explosion was internal, a silent, seismic event that left him trembling and raw.
Dale saw it on his face, felt it in the vicious, gripping clench around his cock, and it broke him. With three final, brutal thrusts, he slammed home and roared, his release flooding Rob’s channel, a hot, endless pulse that seemed to go on and on, filling the exquisite, throbbing emptiness.
He collapsed, his weight a solid, welcome anchor. They were a mess of sweat, cum, and lube, stuck together, breathing in ragged unison. The high was still there, a soft blanket over everything, making the aftermath feel like a dream.
After a long while, Dale carefully pulled out. Rob winced at the sudden emptiness, a cool, dripping sensation. Dale shifted, sliding down Rob’s body. He didn’t go for a towel. He gently pushed Rob’s legs up and apart, and leaned in.
Rob felt the warm, wet lap of Dale’s tongue, cleaning him, tending to him. The intimacy of it, in the stoned, post-coital haze, was more devastating than anything that had come before. A fresh tear leaked from the corner of his eye and vanished into his hairline.
Dale finished and moved back up, gathering Rob against him. He pulled a soft, warm blanket over them both.
Outside, the world continued, unaware. Inside the garage, wrapped in scent and shadow and the sound of their slowing hearts, there was only this. Rob nuzzled into the junction of Dale’s neck and shoulder, inhaling the musk of sex and safety.
“Don’t let me go,” Rob mumbled, his words slurred with exhaustion and drugs.
Dale’s arms tightened. “Not a chance.”
He awoke to the lightest sensation: lips tracing the shell of his ear, a calloused thumb stroking his cheek. A warm breath followed. “Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Dale murmured, his voice rough with sleep. “The garage floor’s gonna leave dents in us forever.”
Rob blinked. The world swam into focus—the dim garage, the smell of sex and weed now mingling with the cool hint of evening air through a cracked window. His body was one deep, resonant ache. Every muscle felt softened. Every place Dale had been felt luminous. “What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dale said, kissing his jaw. “But we should shower. Feel human again. Then I’ve got a surprise.”
They helped each other stand, limbs clumsy and weak, laughing softly when they swayed together. Rob felt exposed, walking nude through the dim house, but Dale’s hand was firm on the small of his back, guiding, owning. The staircase seemed impossibly long. Each step sent a pleasant, jangling reminder through his well-used core.
Upstairs, the shower stall filled with steam. Dale adjusted the temperature before pulling Rob inside. The water was a shock of heat on his chilled skin. Dale took the soap, working up a lather in his palms. He started at Rob’s shoulders, his movements methodical and tender, kneading the tension from muscle. He washed Rob’s chest, his belly, smiling as his thumbs circled his navel.
Rob reached for Dale’s soap, returning the favor. He mapped the terrain he’d only felt in the dark—the solid plane of Dale’s stomach, the thick thatch of hair, the strong, bowed legs. They kissed under the spray, a light press of lips, tasting clean water. Their smiles were irrepressible. A silent, radiant understanding passed between them, more intimate than the sex.
They dried each other off with big, soft towels. Rob was just running his through his hair when the doorbell chimed, a sharp electronic trill.
“Ah, right on time,” Dale said, grinning. “That’s dinner. My treat.” He pulled on a pair of grey sweats, leaving his torso bare. “Come down when you’re ready. No rush.”
He padded downstairs, his bare feet quiet on the steps.
Rob stood in the steam-filled bathroom, looking at himself in the fogged mirror. His reflection was a blur. He hesitated, the old reflex gripping him: cover up. Find a shirt. Hide the softness. The thought felt distant, like someone else’s rule. He pulled on a pair of his own sweatpants. He left his chest, his belly, exposed.
Walking downstairs topless felt like stepping off a cliff.
The air was cooler on his skin. At the bottom of the stairs, the aroma hit him like a physical force: baking dough, rich tomato, savoury herbs. Pizza. Underneath it, the mouthwatering scent of crispy, fried chicken. He followed it, ghost-like, into the kitchen.
The counter was a glorious spread. Two large pizza boxes sat open, one with pepperoni, the other loaded with vegetables. A red-and-white bucket of chicken sat beside them. A cardboard container spilled cheesey garlic bread bites, strings of melted cheese glistening. Two glass bottles of proper Coca-Cola, condensation beading on the glass, stood sentinel.
Rob’s stomach growled audibly. He rubbed a hand over his bare belly, his mouth flooding with saliva. The instinctive shame followed—a quick glance up, an apology ready on his lips.
Dale was leaning against the opposite counter, watching him. He wasn’t looking at Rob’s face. His gaze was fixed on Rob’s stomach, where Rob’s hand still rested. Dale’s own hand was rubbing slowly, deliberately, over the prominent bulge in his sweats. He was already hard again, the outline unmistakable.
“You gotta stop teasing me like that, son,” Dale said, his voice low and dark with amusement. “Rubbing your perfect little belly. Or I may as well just leave my dick in you. Save us the trouble.”
Rob’s embarrassment evaporated, replaced by a warm, daring flood of ownership. He dropped his hand from his stomach and met Dale’s hungry stare. “And that’s a problem because?”
Dale’s laugh was a sharp, delighted bark. He crossed the room in two strides, pulling Rob into a fierce, one-armed hug, kissing his temple. “You’re a fucking quick study. Get a plate. Let’s destroy this.”
They ate at the kitchen counter, shoulders touching. Dale kept his arm around Rob, his fingers idly tracing circles on Rob’s bare shoulder. They tore into the food with a voraciousness born of physical exhaustion.
“I cannot eat peas,” Rob said around a mouthful of chicken. “Texture’s all wrong. Like little mushy green bullets.”
“For me, it’s liver,” Dale said, shuddering. “My dad loved it. Smelled like death and pennies. The only food I ever outright refused.” He took a huge bite of pizza. “Best meal you ever had?”
Rob thought, licking grease from his thumb. “There’s this tiny ramen place in the city. You queue for an hour. The broth is…it’s like drinking a cloud made of pork. It’s religious.”
“We’ll go,” Dale said, simply. “I’ll drive us. Make a weekend of it.”
The statement hung there, huge and promising. Rob just nodded, his throat tight, and took another bite.
“Alright,” Dale sighed eventually, stacking empty boxes. “I’m in a food coma. Wanna just…crash? Watch something stupid? Your pick.”
Rob eyed him. “As long as you don’t hate superhero movies.”
“Seen a few. Enjoyed them,” Dale said, shrugging. “Explosions. Nice suits. Not exactly high art, but fun.”
“Good,” Rob said, standing and stretching, his belly protruding softly. “Or this might have ended right here and now.”
The open-handed slap to his ass was swift, firm, and sent a jolt of pure delight through him. “Cheeky,” Dale growled.
Rob giggled, the sound high and free, and skipped ahead into the dim living room. He flopped onto the large sofa, grabbing the remote. Dale followed, sinking down beside him.
“Okay, so,” Rob began, firing up the streaming service. “We have to start at the beginning. Which, technically, is The Incredible Hulk with Edward Norton, but everyone kind of ignores that. The proper launch was Iron Man. Sometimes watching them in chronological order is more fun, but for a first-timer, release order is the only way.”
Dale stared at him, a slow smile spreading. “You have a system.”
“It’s a universe,” Rob corrected, earnestly. “It all connects. Post-credit scenes matter.”
“Christ,” Dale laughed, pulling Rob’s legs across his lap. “Alright, professor. Hit play. Educate me.”
As the screen lit up with the roar of guitars and the desert sands of Tony Stark’s first convoy, Rob found himself watching Dale’s face more than the screen. He saw the slight raise of an eyebrow at the humor, the focused gaze during the cave scenes. During the first suit test, Dale leaned forward.
“Okay, that’s cool,” he admitted.
They talked through it, Rob explaining the significance of S.H.I.E.L.D., Dale asking surprisingly astute questions about the weapon’s ethics. Rob felt a different kind of pleasure, sharing this piece of himself that had nothing to do with his body, and finding it welcomed.
As the credits rolled on Tony Stark’s world-changing press conference, Rob felt blissfully full—of food, of contentment. A slow, warm buzz still hummed in his veins from the earlier weed. He turned his head on the cushion to look at Dale. “Can we… have a little more? Of the smoke?”
Dale studied his face, then smiled. “Sure. You get us drinks. I’ll meet you on the back porch.” He leaned in, kissing Rob deeply, a slow tangling of tongues that tasted of Coke and garlic. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
Rob fetched two tumblers and the bottle of good whiskey Dale had shown him earlier. The night air on the covered porch was cool, a relief on his bare skin. He poured two fingers into each glass just as Dale returned, holding two freshly rolled joints.
They settled on the outdoor sofa, a thick blanket pulled over their legs. Rob curled into Dale’s side, his head on his shoulder. Dale lit a joint, took a pull, and passed it. Rob sipped the whiskey, its fire trailing down to meet the rising smoke. The silence was effortless, filled with the chirp of crickets and the soft crackle of paper burning.
They passed the joint, sipped whiskey. The high this time was a gentle fog, softening the edges of the house, the trees, the world.
“You ever think,” Rob began, his words floating slightly, “about how weird it is that we’re all just… collections of atoms? That my atoms are here, and yours are there, and right now they’re… overlapping?”
Dale chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest under Rob’s ear. “Deep. Mine’s simpler. I think about how people walk around with all this… potential for connection locked inside. And most never find the key.”
“You think I was locked?”
“I think you were in a room you’d been told was the whole house,” Dale said softly, his fingers stroking Rob’s hair. “And someone had closed all the blinds.”
Rob swallowed. The metaphor landed with perfect, stoned clarity. “You opened the windows.”
“You kicked the fucking door down, Rob,” Dale corrected, his voice thick. “I just handed you the axe.”
They talked like that for an hour, the conversation spiralling from the cosmic to the absurd to the painfully personal. They talked about childhood fears, unrealised dreams, the quiet agony of feeling invisible in a room full of people. The drugs stripped away the final layers, leaving a raw, honest communion that felt as intimate as sex.
A deep, comfortable tiredness began to pull at Rob. He nuzzled closer, his hand splayed on Dale’s stomach. “Before you leave me to sleep,” he mumbled, “can we… I just want to feel you again. Not like before. Just… touch. Be close.”
Dale’s arm tightened around him. He took the final pull from the joint and stubbed it out. “Leave you?” he murmured into Rob’s hair. His tone shifted, becoming decisive, solid. “You’re coming to bed with me. I’ve already set it up. The loft conversion. It’s made up for guests. It’s ours tonight.”
Rob’s heart swelled, a sudden rush of sheer, unadulterated joy that momentarily stole his breath. He tilted his head up. In the porch light, Dale’s eyes were clear, certain.
“Yeah?” Rob whispered.
“Yeah,” Dale said, standing and pulling Rob up with him. He kept hold of his hand, leading him back through the quiet house, up the second staircase to the secluded loft. A large bed with fresh sheets awaited them, under a skylight full of stars.