Chapter 7: Chapter 6
"I thought you wouldn't want to after all this," Jimmy admitted, grabbing his bag from behind the counter.
"It’s literally the only thing I want in this whole fucking world right now," Gaz said, his emotions all on the surface after his outburst, the redness on his knuckles beginning to set in.
Jimmy felt the need to be as brave as Gaz just was. The silence of the kit room pressed in on him, heavy with the echo of violence and whispered history. He couldn't just slink out the back door. He looked at Gaz, who was flexing his hand, grimacing, watching him with an expression of fragile uncertainty. Before his courage could fail, Jimmy grabbed Gaz’s uninjured hand, his own fingers small and tight between Gaz’s thick, rough ones.
He pulled him towards the bar.
The walk through the corridor felt like a procession. Jimmy led, his heart slamming a frantic rhythm. Gaz followed, a solid, warm presence at his side, their linked hands swaying slightly between them. They pushed through the double doors into the clubhouse.
The low murmur of conversation died. Every head turned. Eyes, curious and judgemental, followed the trail of their joined hands. Tom was sat alone on a bar stool at the far end, a wadded-up bar towel held to his mouth. His usual cronies stood a good five feet away, pretending to examine the spirit bottles behind the bar, their backs a careful wall of studied disinterest. Blood was starting to soak through the cheap white terrycloth, a dark, blooming rose.
Jimmy’s legs felt like they were made of cold water. He could hear his own breathing, loud in his ears. He didn't stop until he was in the dead centre of the quiet room. Then he stopped. He felt Gaz tense, start to pull his hand back. Jimmy squeezed harder, halting him.
He turned to face Gaz, pulling him to him. Gaz looked down, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and incredulous hope. Jimmy went up on his toes, gripped the front of Gaz’s shirt for balance, and kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle library kiss, or a fierce kit-room claim. It was a statement. Soft, firm, and lingering, held just long enough for every watching eye to see the quiet, deliberate intimacy of it. A sob of trapped air escaped Gaz’s chest.
Jimmy broke the kiss and turned towards the room, his face burning, his voice trembling more than he would have liked.
“This man,” he said, his arm outstretched towards Gaz, “didn’t molest me.”
He paused, took a shaky breath, and pointed a single, unwavering finger directly at the hunched figure on the stool.
“But that man did.”
Silence. Not a glass clinked. Not a boot shuffled.
Tom stared, his eyes visible above the bloody towel, wide with a toxic mixture of shame and rage. For a second, Jimmy thought he might charge them. Instead, the fire in his eyes went out, replaced by a hollow, craven dread. He dropped the towel, revealing a split, swollen lip that was already turning purple. He scrambled off the stool, snatched his jacket from the hook, and almost tripped in his haste to get to the fire exit on the opposite side of the room. The metallic bang of the door slamming shut echoed like a gunshot.
Then, the murmurs began. A low, rolling wave of sound. “Fuckin’ hell.” “Did he just say his uncle did that?” “I always thought he was a dodgy cunt.” “You see Gaz’s hand?”
The bar came back to life, the volume of the chatter rising. Gaz went to move, to get them out of the centre of it all, but he was halted.
Two young players, lads Jimmy recognized from the under-21s side, one a shy, wiry winger and the other a solid flanker with acne scars, approached. They looked profoundly uncomfortable, unable to meet Gaz’s eyes directly.
The winger spoke, his voice almost a whisper, but the group around them had gone quiet again to listen. “Gaz… Jimmy… he, uh… he tried it with me after the Christmas do. Could barely stand. Kept putting his hand on me.”
“Me too,” the flanker added, staring at his boots. “Last season. In the bogs. Said he’d get me more game time. I told him to fuck off, but…” He trailed off, his meaning clear: he’d been scared to say more.
Gaz’s face hardened again, but this time into a mask of leadership. He placed a hand on each lad’s shoulder. “Alright. Cheers for saying that. You’re both brave as fuck for it. I’ll be speaking to management. It’ll be dealt with. Properly. Tom’s not welcome here again. You have my word.”
The players nodded, relief washing over their faces before they melted back into the crowd. But the brief interaction was the final straw for Jimmy. The adrenaline, the fear, the tidal wave of shared trauma, crested and broke. He felt light-headed, his skin prickling. The noise was too much, the eyes were too much. He wanted to be in a dark, quiet place.
“I need to go,” he whispered to Gaz, his voice cracking.
Without another word, Gaz’s arm snaked around Jimmy’s waist, pulling him tight into his side, a solid shelter against the storm of speculation. He marched them straight through the crowd, his presence parting the sea of onlookers. No one said a word as they walked out the front door into the cool night air.
In the car park, under the sodium-orange glow of the streetlights, Jimmy’s shaking started in earnest.
“Easy,” Gaz murmured, his arm still a band of warmth and strength. “Almost there.” He guided Jimmy to the familiar white van. The sliding door scraped open with a familiar groan.
"I wish I was taking you someplace nicer than my smelly old van," he joked, trying to lighten the thick, charged air. He climbed in after Jimmy and slid the door shut, plunging them into a shadowy interior that smelled of engine oil, hot plastic, and the ghost of their first time.
From the passenger seat, Jimmy looked over at Gaz, his profile outlined by the faint glow from the clubhouse lights. The words, terrifying and true, just slipped out in a quiet voice. "I don’t care where we go as long as you’re there."
Gaz turned his head. For a long moment, he just looked at him. Then he leaned over the gearstick, captured Jimmy’s face in his hands, and kissed him. It was a desperate, grateful, shuddering thing, as if Jimmy’s words were a lifeline he’d been thrown in a violent sea.
"Come on," Gaz said, his voice husky. "Let’s get going."
He started the engine, the van rumbling to life, and pulled out of the club car park. They didn’t drive far, just fifteen minutes down the dual carriageway to a sprawling, neon-lit service station. Gaz pulled into a parking bay and killed the engine.
“Alright, scavenger hunt,” he said, digging a twenty-pound note from his jeans. “Can you get us some grub? Crisps, chocolate, bottles of water, maybe some of those shitty sandwiches? I… need to sort something. Make a call.”
Jimmy nodded, grateful for a simple task. He took the money and escaped into the bright, impersonal fluorescence of the shop. He moved with a kind of delayed shock, picking things at random: salt and vinegar crisps, a large bar of milk chocolate, two bottles of chilled water, and the most expensive-looking pre-packaged sandwiches he could find—a prawn mayo and a ploughman’s.
When he returned, balancing his haul, he saw Gaz standing by the van, phone pressed to his ear. He was nodding. “…yeah, Barry, listen, it’s serious. No, I’m not here for hearsay. Two lads from the Colts have said something now. You need to call a committee meeting. Absolutely fucking banned. For life. I’ll put it in writing, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.” He listened. “Alright. Cheers, mate. See you next week.”
He hung up and turned. When he saw Jimmy, his whole posture seemed to relax. The grim task was done, for now. A small, real smile touched his lips.
“Success?” he asked, taking some of the bags.
“I got prawn mayo,” Jimmy said, as if it were a great achievement.
“Perfect,” Gaz said, chuckling. He looked happier. Lighter.
He drove them another ten minutes, turning off the main road down a series of increasingly anonymous side streets, before pulling into the car park of a low, two-story building with a flickering ‘Vacancies’ sign. The Midway Inn. It was exactly what it looked like: cheap, clean, and anonymous.
“Here,” Gaz said. “Better for talking. And… other things. More comfortable than the van.”
"I don’t mind the van, you know," Jimmy said, climbing out. "In fact, I kinda like it." It felt like a safe confession.
Gaz grabbed his own small duffel from the back and locked up. "Well, Jimmy, you have fun sleeping in there. I’m gonna sleep in the nice warm room."
"You’re planning on sleeping?" Jimmy said, a cheeky, nervous energy bubbling up inside him.
"Well, eventually," Gaz said, grinning back, a spark of that old fire returning to his eyes.
Inside, the room was bland and warm. Two double beds with cheap floral covers, a dark wood veneer desk, a kettle with a selection of teabags. Gaz dropped his bag and immediately pulled Jimmy into a hug. It was silent, long, and deep. Jimmy buried his face in Gaz’s chest, inhaling the smell of him, letting the solidity of his body ground him. After a minute, Gaz tipped his head down and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on Jimmy’s lips.
"We should talk some more," Gaz said, resting his forehead against Jimmy’s. "I need to clear the air before we do anything… fun."
Both men grinned, a silent understanding passing between them. Then Jimmy nodded solemnly. They kicked off their shoes and sat on one of the beds, backs against the headboard, knees up. They tore into the plastic packets and began to eat the heavily flavoured, processed food. The act of chewing, of sharing, felt grounding.
“My parents,” Jimmy started, swallowing a bite of prawn mayo sandwich that tasted of nothing. “When I first mentioned Tom was coming round to take me to the club, my dad went quiet. He just said, ‘Keep your wits about you.’ It wasn’t even a joke. There was something in his tone. And my mum… she gave this kind of tight-lipped smile, like she was remembering something bad. I think something happened. A long time ago. Maybe with my granddad, or… I don’t know. There’s a history there. One they don’t talk about.”
Gaz listened intently, sipping his water. When Jimmy finished, Gaz set his bottle down, his large hands fiddling with the cap.
“My turn,” he said, his voice dropping. “It was a few years back, before you were on the scene. After a match. Tom was… he was always generous with his gear, you know? Good kitted-out bloke in the clubhouse. He invited me back to his. Said he had some special stuff.”
He paused, his jaw working. “We smoked a joint. Strong. Tasted fucking weird. He gave me a beer. Also tasted off. Next thing I know, my head’s spinning but my cock’s… it’s like a steel rod. Throbbing. Like it was gonna explode. He’d spiked me. Viagra. A fucking horse dose of it mixed with the beer I reckoned after.”
Jimmy went very still, his food forgotten.
“I knew I liked men,” Gaz continued, staring at the faded pattern on the bedspread. “I’d messed about a bit. But this… I was out of my mind. Confused, hard as a brick, heart pounding. He was all over me. I didn’t… I couldn’t say no. Didn’t even know how. He sucked me for a bit, then he… he got on top. Rode me. For what felt like hours. My hips just moved on their own.It was brutal. Animal. And he… he’d prepped, or hadn’t, or… I dunno. Halfway through I could smell it. Shit.”
He shuddered. “He passed out after. I got up. My cock… it was still aching, and it was filthy. I stood in his shower, the water too hot, scrubbing and scrubbing, trying to get the smell and the… the feeling off me. I was shaking. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t right. He’d fucking used me. I felt… abused. I never went back. I avoided him. There was a bit of gossip he started after… about me being a predator… I think it was to cover his own tracks. But it died off fast. He did it so if anyone ever listened to me, they’d just think I was making shit up to get back at him.”
Jimmy’s throat was tight. He looked at Gaz, this huge, powerful man who carried a quiet, shameful bruise. He saw the young man he’d been in the shower, confused and soiled. Without a word, Jimmy shifted closer. He wrapped his arms around Gaz as best he could, pulling him in. Gaz, stiff for a moment, then collapsed into the hug, his big frame sagging against Jimmy’s softer one.
“It wasn’t okay,” Jimmy whispered fiercely into his shoulder. “What he did to you. It wasn’t okay.”
Gaz let out a long, shuddering breath, his arms coming up to encircle Jimmy, holding on as if he might drift away. “You too,” he mumbled into Jimmy’s hair.
They held each other for a long time in the cheap room’s quiet, the shared weight of their secrets a tangible thing. When Gaz finally pulled back, his eyes were clear again, the ghosts from his confession retreating. He ran a thumb over Jimmy’s cheek. “Fuckin’ hell.”
Jimmy managed a shaky smile. “That was a lot. We are many things, but boring isn’t one of them, are we?”
“Definitely not.” Gaz’s gaze flickered to his own knuckles, the skin split and angry-looking. “Christ, look at my hand.”
Jimmy took it gently, examining the damage. The violence of it was shocking, yet a part of him thrilled at the visceral evidence of Gaz’s protection. “That right hook was impressive,” he whispered, tracing the edge of the swelling. “You made a proper mess of his face. Should we be worried? About him coming for you? Or us?”
Gaz flexed his fingers, wincing slightly. “He’s a coward. He’ll lick his wounds and hide. But after what we just heard from those lads…? I think it might be time to get the police involved. Once I’ve got the club statement sorted, given them all the names. He shouldn’t be walking around. Not after what he did, the lies about you, what he tried with those lads.” A fresh resolve hardened his features.
He gently pulled his hand back, letting it rest on Jimmy’s thigh. “Speaking of impressive…” he said, a familiar smirk returning. “Your two-man pride parade back there was pretty fuckin’ spectacular. I felt like I was in a film.”
“It was a bit dramatic,” Jimmy admitted, a flush of heat creeping up his neck. “But I guess we both have a touch of drama about us.”
The two men chuckled, the sound loosening the last knots of tension in the room. The relief was palpable, flooding the space between them. “I think that confirms it,” Gaz said, shaking his head with a kind of amused wonder. “I think we might actually be gay.”
“Well, shit,” Jimmy said, the laughter bubbling up freely now. “I wasn’t sure when I had my dick in you, but now we’ve added a heavy dose of melodrama to our public lives, I think that confirms it.”
Their laughter tangled together, bright and unexpected in the bland little room. It tapered off into comfortable silence. Jimmy shifted, the physical awareness of Gaz’s hand on his leg suddenly acute. The emotional purge had left a strange, hollowed-out space that his body was rushing to fill with something else.
“I don’t want to rush anything,” Jimmy said, the words careful. “But I am weirdly horny. Is that fucked up?”
“Yes,” Gaz said, his thumb beginning a slow circle on Jimmy’s inner thigh. “But you aren’t the only one.”
He leaned in and captured Jimmy’s mouth. This kiss was different from all the others. It wasn’t exploratory, or desperate, or declarative. It was slow and deep and knowing, a deliberate transfer of heat from one body to the other. Jimmy sighed into it, his hands coming up to grip Gaz’s biceps, feeling the solid flex of muscle. When Gaz pulled his head back, his pupils were wide and dark.
“So,” Gaz breathed, his voice a low rumble. “Do you know what you want from this?” He paused, his eyes searching Jimmy’s. “Like, do you know if you’re a top or a bottom or..?”
Jimmy blinked, the specific terms both shocking and thrilling in Gaz’s coarse, gentle voice. He’d only ever thought in images, in feelings—the slick slide of his cock, the fantasy of being filled. Putting a name to it was terrifyingly real. “I… don’t know,” he admitted. “What are you?”
“Vers,” Gaz said, without a hint of awkwardness. “I do both. And I enjoy both a lot. But only if the person I’m with enjoys it, if that makes sense? It’s about the other person, their body.”
A connection clicked in Jimmy’s mind. “So you take… if the guy likes to give. And you give… if the guy likes to take?”
A slow, approving smile spread across Gaz’s face. “That’s it, Sherlock,” he said, and Jimmy felt a stupid rush of pride.
Jimmy leaned in, his forehead touching Gaz's again, his next words softer. “I mean, I’d have to try it to really know. What I want. But… I think I want to at least give it a go. Taking it, I mean. See how it feels.” He pulled back to watch Gaz's reaction. “I definitely like to give,” Jimmy blushed, the admission feeling like handing Gaz a vital, fragile piece of himself.
“Oh, I know you like that,” Gaz said, his smile turning wicked. “And you’re fuckin’ good at it. Blowing my mind in my own van. Christ.” He brought Jimmy’s hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “But taking it is different. It can take a while to really get to the good stuff. I didn’t really love it until I understood it. Like how good it feels to get eaten out. All the… prostate stuff. The sweet spot. If some guy is just shoving it in for his own pleasure, driving into you like a jackhammer… that’s not for me.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy muttered darkly, the ghost of shame lingering. “That sounds like someone we both know.”
“But, enough of him,” Gaz said, the name dissolving the momentary shadow. “And more of you. Of us.” He inhaled, as if gearing up for a speech. “I was thinkin’...”
“Careful,” Jimmy interrupted, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’ll really hurt yourself.”
“Fuck off,” Gaz retorted, so fondly it made Jimmy’s chest ache. He pushed on. “I was thinkin’ we should both prepare. Clean out. And rather than just fuck, we play around a bit more. Take our time. I can show you some butt stuff, proper-like, and you can see what you think. No pressure. And…”
“Yes.” Jimmy didn’t let him finish. The word was firm, clear. “I want that.” He looked at Gaz with unabashed admiration. “Do you know how good you are at communicating this stuff? I wouldn’t know how to say any of what you just said.”
A faint, self-conscious shrug moved Gaz’s massive shoulders. “It’s the only way I know,” he said. “Though it feels like it puts people off more than not. They want the fantasy, the effortless shag. But the reality of sex, the nuts and bolts, the awkward bits… learning someone, showing someone how your body works… that’s what gets me going. It’s shit without the talking, in my experience.”
“You’re amazing,” Jimmy said, the words heartfelt and simple.
Gaz grinned, a predatory flash of teeth. “Keep your compliments for when I’m running you through with my fat cock, handsome.”
He swung his legs off the bed and went to his duffel bag, rummaging. He pulled out a small, discreet wash-bag. Unzipping it, he produced a blue silicone douche bulb with a slender, blunt-nosed nozzle. He held it up. “Right. Biology lesson. You follow my lead.”
He went into the bathroom and Jimmy heard the tap run, the sounds of him filling the bulb. He emerged a moment later, the bulb sloshing. “Okay. This is always necessary, especially if you want to really enjoy it. Some blokes just put a condom on and say fuck it, but that's not for me. And for a first proper go-around, it saves a lot of anxiety. For everyone.”
Gaz talked Jimmy through the routine. Empty yourself first. Clean up. Then lube the nozzle and squirt about half of a bulb this size. Only clean out the rectum, not your entire digestive system. Keep refilling and doing that until it comes out clean. If you're on your 6th try and it still isn't clean, it isn't the day for it.
Gaz went first and was back out in just a few minutes. The douche was clean and ready for Jimmy when he entered the bathroom. It wasn’t invasive. It was a strange, full feeling. He followed Gaz's instructions and squeezed the bulb. Warm water flooded Jimmy’s rectum. He gasped. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, just intensely odd—a deep, internal warmth blooming inside him.
“Hold it for a minute, if you can,” Jimmy repeated to himself, pulling the nozzle free. Jimmy clenched, feeling the water slosh inside him. Jimmy let the water and whatever else was inside him evacuate with a noisy, watery rush. He repeated three more times until he was confident it was all clear. He flushed, washed his hands, and stared at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed, his eyes wide. He felt clean. Prepared. He didn’t feel a single trace of the disgust Tom had left behind; this was different. This was for him, for them.
When Jimmy came out, Gaz looked serene. “A necessary evil. Done.”
Now, both naked, they faced each other. The mood had shifted. The anticipatory tension was thick and sweet, untainted by anything else. Gaz didn’t rush. He took Jimmy’s hand and walked him to the bed, easing him down so they lay facing each other. He started with his mouth. He kissed Jimmy’s forehead, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, then finally his lips.
Then lower. He kissed the soft skin of his neck, lingering over his Adam’s apple. He nuzzled into the sparse hair on Jimmy’s chest, circling one nipple with his tongue, then the other, until they were hard, pebbled peaks. Jimmy writhed, small gasps escaping him. Gaz worked his way down the soft curve of Jimmy’s belly, kissing the swell of it, his tongue dipping into his navel.
Jimmy’s cock lay thick and leaking against his stomach. Gaz ignored it. He trailed a line of kisses along Jimmy’s hip bone, down the crease of his thigh, behind his knee. He turned him gently onto his stomach. Then he started again at the nape of his neck, kissing a blazing trail down his spine, over the soft mounds of his arse.
Gaz’s hands settled, warm and wide, on Jimmy’s buttocks. He gently spread them. Jimmy tensed, every muscle locking. He felt exposed in a way the douching hadn't achieved.
“Shh,” Gaz murmured, his breath a hot wash against Jimmy’s most intimate skin. “Relax, handsome. This is just for you. Just to feel.”
Then Gaz’s tongue was on him. Not on his hole, but around it. Slow, deliberate circles on the sensitive skin of his perineum, the tight furl of muscle itself. The sensation was shocking. It was wet, impossibly intimate. A high, thin sound escaped Jimmy’s throat.
“Alright?” Gaz asked, pausing.
“Yeah,” Jimmy managed, his voice strangled. “It’s… yeah.”
Gaz returned, his tongue flat and firm now, licking a broad stripe over his hole. Jimmy jolted. Gaz’s hands held him steady. He did it again, and again, until Jimmy’s clenched muscles began, incrementally, to unspool. The wet heat was alien, but it wasn’t scary. It felt… attentive. Then the tip of Gaz’s tongue pressed, not forcing entry, but probing the tight ring. It was a teasing, maddening pressure.
Gaz lifted his head slightly. “It should just feel nice. Ticklish, maybe, at first. That’s all. Breathe.” He did something impossible then. He pressed his mouth fully against him, and gently, slowly, pushed his tongue inside.
It wasn’t like the nozzle. It was alive, soft, and searching. The first breach made Jimmy cry out, his fingers clawing at the bedspread. Gaz held him there, his tongue working in shallowly, then retreating, licking, then pushing in a little deeper. The rhythm was hypnotic. A deep, hidden coil of pleasure, one Jimmy never knew existed, began to thrum low in his belly.
“Oh god,” Jimmy groaned, burying his face in the pillow. The sensation was indescribable—a direct line of pleasure from his arse to the root of his cock, which was now painfully hard, drooling onto the sheets beneath him. Gaz’s tongue delved deeper, exploring. It was filthy and profound. No one had ever been there. Gaz hummed against him, the vibration sending a new, shocking tremor through Jimmy’s entire nervous system. His hips bucked, pushing back instinctively, seeking more of that incredible, wet friction. Gaz chuckled, the sound vibrating deliciously, and doubled his efforts, his tongue fucking into him with slow, firm strokes.
After an eternity of this, Gaz pulled away, leaving Jimmy feeling suddenly empty and cold. He turned Jimmy over onto his back. Jimmy’s face was a wreck of pleasure, his eyes glazed. Gaz loomed over him, his own cock full and heavy, the head glistening.
“Saw you eyeing this earlier,” Gaz said, a hint of that old swagger back, but softened. He settled on his knees beside Jimmy’s head. “If you want it. If you don’t, no worries. Just go at your pace.”
Jimmy looked up at him, at the thick, veined shaft presented to him. The memory of his van, of being in control, flashed in his mind. This was different. He was being given it. He pushed himself up on his elbows. Tentatively, he reached out and took Gaz’s cock in his hand. The heat of it, the sheer weight, made his mouth water.
He looked up at Gaz, who nodded encouragement. Jimmy leaned forward and licked a stripe from the base to the tip, tasting the clear, salty pre-cum. The taste was musky, masculine, and entirely Gaz. He wrapped his lips around the head, taking just the plump crown into his mouth.
“Christ, that’s it,” Gaz sighed, his hand coming to rest gently in Jimmy’s hair, not pushing, just resting. “Use your tongue. On that little ridge underneath.Yeah. Just like that.”
Jimmy hollowed his cheeks and sucked, exploring with his tongue as instructed. The feedback was immediate; Gaz’s cock twitched against his tongue, a bead of more fluid leaked out. Jimmy took a little more, relaxing his jaw as he remembered Gaz telling him in the van. He bobbed his head, shallowly at first, then deeper as his confidence grew. The feeling of Gaz filling his mouth, of the coarse hairs at the base tickling his nose, the low groans from above—it was an intoxicating power.
“You’re a natural, you beautiful little bastard,” Gaz rasped, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust. “Just… pace yourself. No rush.”
Jimmy lost himself in the rhythm. Sucking, licking, swallowing Gaz deeper. He loved the low, guttural sounds Gaz made, the way his fingers flexed in his hair. This wasn’t a transaction. This was a sharing, a giving of pleasure with his mouth. It felt honest. It felt like them. After a while, Gaz gently pulled him off.
“Too good,” he panted, lying down beside Jimmy and pulling him into a fierce kiss. Jimmy could taste himself on Gaz’s tongue, a tangy, intimate mingling.
They lay tangled, catching their breath. Gaz’s hand slid down, his fingers ghosting over Jimmy’s slick, spit-wet hole, which was still tingling and loose from his tongue.
“So how was the tour?” Gaz asked, his voice a low rumble by Jimmy’s ear. “Your arse seems to have enjoyed the guide.”