Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Gaz had crouched behind the wooden counter, hidden from view, but the intensity of his gaze held Jimmy fast. When the first group of players shouldered in, joking about a missed tackle, Gaz put a thick finger to his lips. His other hand began to move.
Jimmy stood frozen, the shouts and laughter of the changing rooms a distant roar. Gaz’s fingers were deliberate. They travelled up the outside of Jimmy’s thighs, rough palms smoothing over the rough material of his trousers, leaving trails of sensation that made his skin prickle. They found his belt, the button of his fly, the zip. The sound was a scream in the quiet hum of the kit room—a long, slow rasp of metal teeth. Cold air kissed his stomach. Then, warm fingers, blunt and surprisingly gentle, dipped into his briefs and coaxed him out.
Jimmy’s cock, already half-hard from hours of stolen glances, sprang fully into the oppressive air. Gaz didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, his hot breath a gust against Jimmy’s exposed skin, and took him deep. The shock of that wet heat made Jimmy’s knees buckle; he braced his hands on the dusty countertop, knuckles white. Gaz’s head began to bob, a slow, practiced rhythm that hollowed his cheeks, each pull a dizzying rush of suction. He used his tongue to swirl around the head, tasting the first bitter-salt droplet. Then he took him deeper, until Jimmy felt the back of Gaz’s throat open up, a tight, velvety constriction.
Footsteps approached. Jimmy’s eyes shot open, wide with panic. It was Dai, the flanker, grumbling about a lost boot. He stood a foot from Jimmy, rooting through a pile on a nearby shelf. Gaz didn’t stop. He sucked harder, one hand reaching up to extract and fondle Jimmy’s balls, rolling them in a firm, possessive grip. The dual sensation—the blatant, secret worship of his cock and the dangerous proximity of his oblivious teammate—sent a violent, molten thrill through Jimmy’s core. He bit his lip, tasting blood, and stared blankly at a rack of mud-caked jerseys, praying his silence looked like concentration.
Dai found his boot and left. The respite lasted seconds before the door banged open again. Gaz, relentless, changed his technique, licking a long, wet stripe from root to tip before swallowing him again. Jimmy could feel his climax building, a tight, electric coil low in his gut. It was too much. Too public, too obscene. He needed to come, and he needed to do it quietly. His body began to tremble, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. He tried to think of anything else—the Dewey Decimal system, the smell of old paper—but his mind was filled with the image of Gaz on his knees, the slurping sounds, the phantom feeling of jockstrap elastic on his own tongue.
He couldn’t hold back. His orgasm tore through him, a white-hot seizure of pleasure. Desperate, he covered it with a harsh, barking cough, doubling over the counter as his body convulsed. He hacked, a poor imitation of a choking fit, while Gaz milked him with a final, perfect, rhythmic pull, swallowing every last pulse of his release.
When Jimmy opened his watery eyes, breathless and spent, the kit room was empty. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the low hum of the water heaters.
He looked down.
Gaz was still there, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a devious, triumphant grin lighting up his face. He smelled of sweat and Jimmy.
“What the fuck?” Jimmy asked, the words bursting out in a hoarse, half-hysterical laugh.
“Sorry, kit man,” Gaz said, not sounding sorry at all. He clambered out, his knees cracking. “Couldn’t help myself. You’re cute as fuck and I know you licked the dried cum from my jockstrap. So I wanted some too.”
The unexpected audacity of it cut through Jimmy’s post-coital haze. “I did not lick it out,” he protested, a defiant spark reigniting. He stood straighter, meeting Gaz’s gaze. “I put them on and came in them myself, then I licked it out whilst I milked out a second load.”
Gaz’s grin faltered, replaced by a look of genuine, surprised admiration. He stared for a long moment, his eyes wide. “Not quite the innocent little librarian then, I see. Good to know.”
They stood close in the cramped space. Gaz’s body heat was immense, a wall Jimmy could feel even through his clothes. His smell—grass, man, sex—was dizzying.
“So,” Gaz murmured, leaning in so close his lips brushed the shell of Jimmy’s ear. His voice was a low, conspiratorial rumble. “You might have a second load in there, then?”
Jimmy felt his newfound confidence flicker under the intensity. His mouth opened but nothing came out. He cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. “Yes,” he managed, the word barely audible.
Gaz’s grin returned. “So, if I offered you a lift home in my work van,” he whispered, his breath hot and damp against Jimmy’s ear, “might you want to fuck that load into my arse?”
In one day? A blow job and a fuck? Jimmy’s mind was a chaotic storm of images—Gaz pinned beneath him, those powerful thighs spread, taking him. He’d never imagined this, not truly. The reality of it was terrifying, a vast, dark, delicious void. But he felt the stirring in his trousers, the low ache of a possible second erection fueled by adrenaline and pure, illicit thrill. He nodded again, dumbly.
“You have to tell me, kit man. Words. Consent is everything,” Gaz said, his tone playful but his eyes serious.
The reminder gave Jimmy a foothold. He remembered the feel of Gaz's underwear in his mouth two nights before. A strange equality clicked into place. “You didn’t ask for consent before you sucked my cock,” Jimmy blurted out, a nervous laugh threading through his voice.
“You taking my cock-stained underwear home to jizz over seemed like consent enough to me.” Gaz raised an eyebrow, daring him to disagree.
He didn’t. Jimmy smiled, shaking his head in wonder. He wasn’t complaining. Not for a second. He took a deep breath, the taste of leather and male musk filling his lungs. “Okay then. Yes, Gaz,” he said, his voice gaining strength. “I would like for you to drive me home so I can fuck your arse in the back of your van.”
“See?” Gaz’s face split into that wild grin again. He grabbed Jimmy’s hand and pressed it firmly against the prominent bulge in his own tight tracksuit bottoms. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”
The hardness, the sheer size of him, sent another jolt through Jimmy. He held his hand there for a second, feeling the life throb against his palm.
“See you in the car park in twenty, then,” Gaz said. Before Jimmy could react, Gaz leaned in and captured his mouth in a kiss—firm, tasting faintly of salt and of himself. Then he was gone, the kit room door swinging shut behind him, leaving Jimmy with the roaring silence and the scent of their shared secret.
He was still rearranging himself, his hands trembling as he fastened his fly, when Tom pushed the door open.
“Get enough kit sorted for the national team, did we?” Tom asked, scanning the disorder. “Let’s get you home.”
Jimmy’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Actually,” he said, trying to sound casual, “Gaz—um, one of the players—offered me a lift. Said it’s on his way.”
Tom’s expression shifted instantly. His knowing look held a flicker of something sharper. He clapped Jimmy on the back, a little harder than necessary. “Be careful with that one,” he said, a rough laugh in his voice that didn’t reach his eyes. “Proper animal. He’ll fuck you to death.”
Jimmy laughed, aiming for carefree and landing somewhere near awkward. But as he met Tom’s gaze, he thought he saw a shadow pass through his uncle’s blue eyes. A faint crease of disappointment, quickly masked.
An impulse, a new and strangely protective feeling, bubbled up in Jimmy. “I’m not doing anything tomorrow though,” he said quickly, stepping a little closer. The leather and aftershave scent of Tom was suddenly far more familiar than Gaz’s grassy musk. “If you want to hang out, or something?”
Tom’s face brightened perceptibly, the lines easing. “Yeah? I’ve got a job in the morning—late finish, by noon—but fuck-all after. Can’t go back to mine, though. Sarah’s… she’s got her book club.”
“That’s okay,” Jimmy said. A plan formed, simple and safe. “Mum and Dad are on a day trip off to the seaside. All day. You could stop by after… we could just hang out. Watch the... er... telly.”
The word ‘hang out’ seemed absurdly innocent, but the meaning hummed between them. Tom beamed, a genuine, open expression that made him look younger. His thumb brushed Jimmy’s cheek, a fleeting touch. Jimmy, emboldened by the entire afternoon’s surreal momentum, closed the remaining distance. He leaned up—it was still a stretch—and pressed his lips to Tom’s.
Tom’s response was immediate and enveloping. His hands came up, cradling Jimmy’s face with a tenderness that hadn’t been there before, or perhaps that Jimmy hadn’t allowed himself to feel. The kiss was deep, slow, and searching; it tasted of beer and home. It was, in its own possessive way, a claim.
When Tom finally pulled back, his eyes were dark. He laughed, a low, affectionate chuckle, and tapped the tip of Jimmy’s nose. “Don’t forget who got here first, okay?” The words were teasing, but the sentiment was granite beneath them. “Now fuck off and have your fun. But be careful. Actually careful.”
And with that pragmatic, gruff concern hanging in the thick air between them, Jimmy finished up his work and headed out into the twilight, towards the car park and the rust-spotted silhouette of Gaz’s van.
Gaz was leaning against the side of the van, watching Jimmy walk towards him, a filthy smile on his face. The fading light carved the hard lines of his arms, crossed over his chest. “Alright?” Gaz asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet car park.
“Alright,” Jimmy responded, the word tasting like a lie and a promise all at once.
Gaz pushed off the van and moved to the passenger side, pulling the creaking door open with a metallic shriek. He gave a slight, mock-ceremonial bow. Jimmy clambered up into the seat, the vinyl cold through his trousers, and Gaz shut the door with a solid thud that felt final. The engine coughed to life, and they pulled out onto the darkening road. The silence inside the cab was strangely comfortable, thick with the scent of old rubber, grass, and Gaz’s particular sweat. Jimmy’s mind, however, was a frantic chorus. He’d agreed to fuck him. He’d never fucked someone before. The mechanics from porn seemed ludicrous now, a cartoonish pantomime. What if he got it wrong? What if he came too fast, or couldn’t stay hard, or Gaz laughed at his clumsy fumbling? The rejection would be a physical blow. Should he say something? Confess his virginity and ruin the mood?
“You sure you’re alright?” Gaz asked, his eyes on the road. “We don’t have to…”
“No,” Jimmy interrupted, too quickly. “I want to. It’s just…”
“It’s just you’ve never been with a bloke before,” Gaz said, nodding as if he’d solved a simple equation.
Jimmy took a breath that shuddered in his chest. “No, Gaz, it isn’t… I mean yes… no…” He forced the words out, staring at his own hands. “I haven’t been with a man but… I haven’t been with anyone.” He finished more quietly than he’d like, his body tensing for the sigh, the pat on the shoulder, the gentle letdown.
Gaz was quiet for a long moment, just the sound of tires on tarmac. “Well,” he said, pragmatic. “We’ve all got to start somewhere. My first time was fucking shit because I had no idea what I was doing and the bloke I was with did, but did fuck all to help. How about I give you a bit of an intro? Would that help?”
The surprise was a cool balm. Jimmy looked over at Gaz’s profile, the concentrated set of his jaw. This wasn’t the animal Tom described. This was something else. “Yeah,” Jimmy said, relief making him lightheaded. “That would help a lot.”
Gaz launched into a brief, shockingly matter-of-fact rundown. He talked about preparing a man to take a dick, the importance of a proper douche, not just a rinse. He described the clinical necessity of lube, the absolute need to start slow, to watch for reactions—a flinch, a hitched breath, a tightening of the shoulders. “And for Christ’s sake, if you’re fucking a bloke, find his prostate. It’s not fucking rocket science. It’s like a walnut a few inches in, towards his front. Rub it proper and he’ll see God.” He glanced over, a grin breaking through. “The rest, you can learn on the job.”
He turned onto a winding country road, then suddenly swung the van onto a secluded dirt track, parking beneath a canopy of whispering trees. He killed the engine. The world went dark and profoundly still. “Come on then,” Gaz said, undoing his seatbelt with a click that echoed.
Jimmy followed him as he climbed through a gap in the seats into the back. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, revealing a secret world. A full double bed dominated the space, neatly made with a grey duvet. A small kitchen unit with a sink and camping stove was bolted to the right, a TV and gaming console on the left. “Fuck,” Jimmy breathed. “I wasn’t expecting all this.”
“Stealth van life, mate,” Gaz said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’m still technically at my parent’s but fuck that, you know?” Jimmy smiled and nodded, the confession bonding them in the dark. Gaz pulled a curtain across, sealing them in a cosy den, and flicked on a string of battery-powered fairy lights. They cast a soft, magical glow over the confined space.
Then Gaz pulled him close. Their first kiss in the van was different from the one in the kit room—slower, deeper, without the threat of discovery. Gaz’s mouth was warm and insistent, his tongue exploring Jimmy’s with a lazy confidence. Jimmy felt himself responding, his hands coming up to grip Gaz’s thick shoulders. He was amazed, utterly lost in the sensation that two men now wanted him, that his soft, hidden body was the cause of this hungry attention. Gaz guided him, sometimes taking control with a forceful plunge of his tongue, sometimes softening, letting Jimmy lead, inviting him to explore the warm cave of his own mouth. It was a dizzying education in texture and pressure.
Gaz broke the kiss long enough to yank Jimmy’s t-shirt over his head. Jimmy reciprocated, fumbling with the hem of Gaz’s jersey. When it was off, Jimmy froze. Gaz’s torso was a topography of hard muscle and dark ink, a gym-forged masterpiece that gleamed in the fairy lights. A sudden, familiar shame washed over Jimmy, his own soft chest and rounded stomach feeling obscene in comparison. He crossed his arms instinctively.
But Gaz’s eyes weren’t on his own reflection. They were fixed on Jimmy. His gaze was pure, unadulterated hunger, tracing the curve of Jimmy’s pectorals, the slight swell of his belly. He didn’t look disappointed. He looked ravenous. One calloused thumb rubbed roughly over Jimmy’s nipple, making him gasp. “I’m gonna suck those tits right off,” Gaz growled, his voice thick and dark.
He bent his head and sealed his mouth over Jimmy’s left nipple, sucking hard, his tongue lashing the peak. The sensation was electric, a direct, shocking line to his groin. Jimmy cried out, his fingers tangling in Gaz’s short hair. Gaz bit down gently, then soothed with his tongue, before moving to the other side, giving it the same relentless worship. His hands were everywhere, squeezing the soft flesh of Jimmy’s sides, his arse, pulling their bodies together. Jimmy could feel Gaz’s erection, a formidable heat against his own, through their layers of clothing.
“Get these off,” Gaz muttered, popping the button on Jimmy’s trousers and shoving them and his briefs down in one rough push. He did the same with his own trackies, his thick cock springing free, heavy and already leaking. He pushed Jimmy back onto the bed, following him down, their bodies aligning skin to skin. The feel of all that powerful muscle and hot flesh against his own softer form was intoxicating. Gaz kissed him again, a messy, biting kiss, as he ground his hips down, their cocks sliding together in the sticky friction. Then he broke away, his breathing ragged. He rolled onto his back, the fairy lights casting shifting shadows across the dense muscle of his abdomen. He hooked his hands behind his knees and pulled his legs apart, opening himself up completely in the dim glow.
“Want a taste of this?” Gaz asked, his voice rough. He nodded downward, his expression somewhere between a challenge and an invitation. “Go on, then. Get your face in there.”
Jimmy’s breath caught. The sight was stark, obscene, utterly compelling. Gaz’s hole was a dark, furled knot nestled in coarse hair. A desperate eagerness, hot and urgent, flooded Jimmy’s veins. He remembered the clinical coldness of porn, the detached focus on a woman’s pussy, the occasional, baffling shot of a tongue probing a man. Theory vanished. This was humid, musky reality. He didn’t hesitate.
He shuffled down the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs, and positioned himself between Gaz’s powerful thighs. The scent was immediate—salt, skin, clean sweat, and something deeper, essentially male. He lowered his head.
“Easy now,” Gaz instructed, his voice a low thrum. “Don’t just jam your tongue in, you madman. Kiss it first. Lick around the outside, get it wet.”
Jimmy obeyed. He pressed his lips to the tight ring of muscle, a shy, closed-mouth kiss. He felt it twitch under his touch. Emboldened, he dragged his tongue in a slow, broad circle around the perimeter, tasting skin. Gaz sighed, a heavy, satisfied sound. “Yeah, like that. Now get it proper wet. Use your spit.”
Jimmy coated the area, lapping at it like a man dying of thirst, his own arousal a hard, aching weight between his legs. The texture was fascinating, soft yet resilient.
“Okay,” Gaz murmured, his voice dropping. “Now push your tongue in. Just the tip. Like you’re spearing an oyster.”
Jimmy focused. He pressed the pointed tip of his tongue firmly against the center. He felt resistance, then a yielding, a sudden give as the muscle relaxed and allowed him entry. The inside was impossibly hot. He pushed forward, an inch of his tongue slipping into that clenching heat. He pulled back, then pushed in again, a shallow, wet invasion. Gaz groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through Jimmy’s skull.
“Fuck, Jimmy. Now suck on it. Gently. Make it puff up for me.”
Jimmy sealed his lips around the outer ring and sucked, pulling the flesh into his mouth. He felt it swell under the pressure, becoming fuller, more pronounced. He released it with a soft pop and dove back in with his tongue, fucking the hole with short, steady strokes, coating the inner channel with his saliva.
Gaz’s hips began to roll in a slow counter-rhythm. “Right,” he gasped, his tone shifting from instructor to needy participant. “Enough. Need you inside me now. Lube’s in the drawer.”
Jimmy pulled back, his face slick. Gaz leaned over, yanked open a small drawer beside the bed, and pulled out a half-full bottle of clear gel. He popped the cap and squeezed a generous amount into his palm. His other hand wrapped around Jimmy’s cock, his grip firm and sure. He stroked him slowly, thoroughly, coating every inch from root to tip with the cool, slippery substance. Jimmy bit his lip, his eyes rolling back at the sensation.
Gaz then reached back and slid a slick finger inside himself with a practiced ease, working the lube in with a few circular motions. He withdrew his finger and, without missing a beat, fisted his own cock, slicking it with what remained on his hand. Then he fell back, pulling his knees to his chest, presenting himself utterly. “Come on,” he said, his voice raw with want.
Jimmy was rock hard, any fear of failing utterly forgotten. He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against that wet, loosened entrance. He pushed forward, but Gaz’s hand shot out, stopping him.
“Fingers first, remember?” Gaz said, his eyes dark. “Start with one. Get the feel of it.”
Nodding, Jimmy pressed a single lubed finger against him. It slid in much easier than his tongue had, sinking to the knuckle in that incredible heat. He crooked it, exploring. Gaz’s breath hitched. “Good. Now two. Stretch it for yourself. Gently, now.”
Jimmy added a second finger, working them in together. The tightness was breathtaking. He scissored them gently, feeling the muscle give. Gaz’s head tipped back, his throat working. “Alright,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Alright, enough. Fuck me, stud. Properly now.”
Jimmy pulled his fingers free and lined himself up again. This time, Gaz didn’t stop him. He pushed. The head of his cock breached the outer ring, a tight, insistent pressure that gave way to a slow, burning slide. He sank deeper, inch by incredible inch, swallowed by a clinging, molten heat. Gaz’s face was a mask of intense concentration, his jaw clenched, his breath held. Then he exhaled, long and slow, and his body seemed to melt open beneath Jimmy. “Yeah,” Gaz whispered. “That’s it. All the way.”
Jimmy bottomed out, their bodies flush. He stayed still, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the sight of Gaz beneath him. Then Gaz began to move, a subtle roll of his hips. “As soon as you're ready, mate. Fuck me.”
Jimmy pulled back and pushed in again, finding a rhythm. It was awkward at first, his thrusts too shallow, his angle wrong. He was all concentration, a scowl of effort on his face. Gaz seemed to relax into it, his body accepting each stroke. “Angle up a bit,” Gaz guided, his hands on Jimmy’s hips. “Towards my front. You’ll know when you find it.”
Jimmy adjusted, driving upwards. And then he knew. A bump, a distinct walnut-shaped contour inside that silky channel. He rubbed over it.
Gaz’s reaction was instant and violent. His whole body arched off the bed, a choked, wordless shout tearing from his throat. His eyes flew open, wide and unfocused. “There! Fuck, right there!”
The power of it, the pure control, surged through Jimmy. He did it again, aiming for that spot with each thrust. Gaz began to unravel beneath him, his composure shattering into guttural moans and fragmented curses. The sight, the sounds, the tight, wet friction—it was too much. Jimmy’s climax gathered, a tight, electric coil in his balls. He tried to hold it, to keep chasing that sound from Gaz’s mouth, but it was useless. With a broken cry, he drove deep and came, his body seizing as he spilled into Gaz in hot, pulsing waves.
He collapsed forward, his weight on his hands, panting. Shame, hot and immediate, washed over him. “Shit. Gaz, I’m sorry.”
Gaz’s eyes were closed, his breathing labored. He gave a weak, dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t… don’t worry about it. Christ. Good… good first go.” He patted Jimmy’s side, a signal to withdraw. “I’ll finish myself off. It’s fine.”
Jimmy began to pull out, but as he did, he felt it—his cock, still half-hard, still intensely sensitive but fiercely alive. The idea formed, clear and decisive. He wasn’t done. He pushed back in, a slow, deliberate re-entry.
Gaz’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, you’re fucking joking.”
“No,” Jimmy said, his voice low. He started to move again, a slower, deeper rhythm than before. He knew the angle now. Each long, dragging thrust was aimed with precision, brushing over Gaz’s prostate with unerring accuracy.
This time, there was no frantic race. This was about watching Gaz come apart. With each inward stroke, Jimmy wrapped his hand around Gaz’s thick, leaking cock. He stroked him slowly, in time with his thrusts, a perfect, synchronized counterpoint.
Gaz stopped speaking. His vocabulary dissolved into raw, open-mouthed gasps. His hands fisted in the sheets, his biceps corded. His back bowed, every muscle taut. He was a creature of pure sensation, being fucked into a state beyond thought. Jimmy watched, mesmerized by the transformation, by the power thrumming in his own hips and hands.
The change in Gaz’s breathing was the only warning—a sharp, rhythmic hitch. His cock swelled in Jimmy’s hand, pulsing. Then he came, a soundless cry tearing from his lips as his release streaked up his torso in thick, white ropes. The convulsive clenching of his hole around Jimmy’s cock was the final trigger. Jimmy’s own second orgasm ripped through him, a deep, shuddering aftershock that left him trembling and spent.
He slumped down, careful not to crush Gaz, their sweat-slicked skin clinging together. After a moment of stunned silence, he whispered into the hollow of Gaz’s shoulder, “Sorry about the first one. I couldn’t hold back.”
Gaz’s eyes were closed, his chest heaving. He let out a low, breathless laugh. “Fuck off.”
“What?” Jimmy said, feigning offense.
“That second one…” Gaz panted, a dreamy, ruined smile on his face. “Fuck my life… that’s the best sex I’ve ever had, mate. So you can fuck off with your apologies.” He turned his head, opening one eye to look at Jimmy. “How much cum have you got in there exactly?”
“Enough,” Jimmy laughed, the sound rich and full in his chest.
“We might have to test out how much exactly sometime,” Gaz said, laughing but meaning it.
“So, there’s going to be a next time?” Jimmy asked, a little coyly.
“Honestly, mate,” Gaz chuckled, “I might never let you leave this van.”
“Oh no,” Jimmy said, in mock despair. “That sounds awful.”
Both men laughed, the tension dissolving into exhausted, sated warmth. Jimmy gently pulled out and they tangled themselves together, naked on the bed, facing each other. Gaz pulled a rough blanket over them. The fairy lights glimmered above like stolen stars.
“So,” Gaz asked, his voice already thick with sleep, “how was your first time?”
Jimmy grinned. “In the words of one of the hottest men to have ever lived,” he declared, “fuck off.” He nudged Gaz with his knee. “You know it was amazing. Better than I could have ever expected.”
“Yeah,” Gaz said, his mouth curling into a sweet smile. “I did know that.”