Chapter 8: Chapter 8
The silence in the hotel room was warm, a thick blanket woven from shared breath and the fading echoes of pleasure. Gaz’s bulk was a solid, comforting pressure against Jimmy’s side. Jimmy traced a fingertip over a faint, white scar on Gaz’s shoulder, the skin there rough and smooth all at once.
“So,” Jimmy began, his voice quiet in the dim light. “That. What you did… before.”
Gaz turned his head on the pillow. “The rimming?”
“Yeah.” Jimmy felt a flush creep up his neck, but he pushed through it. He was done hiding. “It was weird at first. Like I didn’t know how to interpret it. It was just this… intense feeling. Foreign.” He met Gaz’s gaze. “But you showed me how awesome it was. Even just that.” He swallowed. “So a cock must be something else again.”
A slow, predatory grin spread across Gaz’s face. “Oh, it is. When it’s done right.” He shifted onto his elbow, looming over Jimmy. “And now you know what it feels like, it’ll help you understand the point of doing it to someone else.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Gaz’s grin widened, crude and inviting. “Like me.”
The challenge hung in the air. A spark ignited in Jimmy’s gut, a flare of confidence that burned away his last shred of awkwardness. He didn’t hesitate. He moved with a decisiveness that surprised even himself, pushing Gaz firmly onto his back. Gaz laughed, a low, surprised rumble, but he complied, letting Jimmy maneuver him. Jimmy grabbed Gaz’s thick thighs, hoisting his legs up and apart. Gaz, understanding, reached down and hooked his own hands behind his knees, pulling them back towards his shoulders, exposing himself completely.
The sight was brutally intimate. In the cheap lamplight, Gaz’s hole was a dark, furled pucker amidst the dense, dark hair. Jimmy’s mouth watered. He remembered the devastating focus of Gaz’s tongue on him, the way it had unraveled his very sense of self. Now he knew why. He knew the purpose.
He didn’t dive in immediately. He leaned close, letting his warm breath ghost over the sensitive skin. Gaz shuddered. Jimmy watched, fascinated, as the muscle tightened then relaxed. He licked a slow, broad stripe from Gaz’s balls upwards, not quite touching the center. Gaz groaned, a sound of pure frustration. “Teasing little shit,” he muttered, his voice strained.
“You made me wait,” Jimmy murmured, his lips against Gaz’s inner thigh. He kissed the dense muscle there, then blew another cool breath. Gaz’s hips twitched. Jimmy smiled. He dragged the very tip of his tongue in a maddeningly slow circle around the rim, applying no pressure, just a hint of wet heat.
“Jimmy… for fuck’s sake…” Gaz begged, his knuckles white where he gripped his legs.
The plea unleashed something in Jimmy. He pinned Gaz with a look, then finally covered the fluttering hole with his mouth. He kissed it, open-mouthed and filthy, then speared his tongue inside. The taste was musky, clean sweat and skin and something uniquely, fundamentally Gaz. He fucked him with his tongue, shallow and deep, mimicking the rhythm Gaz had used on him. He felt the powerful body beneath him coil, tremble. Gaz’s curses were a beautiful, shattered litany. Jimmy ate at him, lost in the act, in the power of reducing this massive, commanding man to a writhing, pleading mess.
“Stop… Jimmy, stop,” Gaz finally gasped, his hands releasing his legs to push at Jimmy’s head. “I’m too fucking close. Need your cock. Need to taste you.”
Reluctantly, Jimmy pulled back, his chin slick. He scrambled up as Gaz shifted, pushing Jimmy onto his back. Gaz didn’t hesitate. He took Jimmy’s cock into his mouth in one smooth, devastating motion. Jimmy cried out, his back arching. The heat, the wet suction, the sheer skill of it—it was overwhelming. Gaz deep-throated him, his nose pressing into Jimmy’s pubic hair, his throat working around the head. Jimmy looked down, awe-struck. His own cock, thick and flushed, looked enormous disappearing between Gaz’s lips. He’d never thought of it as big—certainly not compared to Gaz’s monster—but seeing it like this, he realized it was. It was a proper handful. And Gaz was swallowing him whole, easily, where Jimmy had only managed the head of Gaz’s.
“Christ, Gaz,” Jimmy breathed, his hands tangling in Gaz’s short hair.
Gaz pulled off with a wet pop, grinning up at him. “Told you you’d understand.” He went back down, his technique dizzying: long, sucking pulls, swirling tongue, tight pressure. Jimmy’s balls drew up.
“If you keep that up… I’m gonna blow,” Jimmy warned, his voice tight.
Gaz released him again, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Jimmy’s tip. “If I remember rightly,” Gaz said, his own breathing ragged, “you’ve got more than one load in the tank?”
A wild smile broke across Jimmy’s face. “At least three.”
“Fucking hell,” Gaz laughed, a hungry sound, and redoubled his efforts. His mouth became an instrument of pure, focused pleasure. The coil in Jimmy’s gut wound unbearably tight, then snapped. He came with a hoarse shout, pulsing into Gaz’s throat. Gaz swallowed every thick, salty wave, milking him until Jimmy was soft and spent.
Before Jimmy could collapse back, Gaz surged up and captured his mouth. The kiss was deep, possessive. Then Jimmy tasted himself—bitter, familiar—as Gaz passed a share of the spend into his mouth. The filthiness of it, the shared intimacy, sent a fresh jolt of electricity through him. They both groaned into the kiss, tongues sliding together, the taste of Jimmy’s climax a dark, erotic currency between them.
“I want your hole again,” Jimmy panted against Gaz’s mouth.
In answer, Gaz climbed over him, straddling his chest. He lowered himself, settling his weight until he was sitting fully on Jimmy’s face, his balls pressing against Jimmy’s chin. Gaz reached back and pulled his own cheeks apart, offering himself up. Jimmy’s world narrowed to the dark, musky scent, the taste of clean skin and lube, the feel of Gaz’s weight on him. He buried his tongue inside, fucking him deeply, greedily.
Gaz moaned above him, a raw, ragged sound. One of Gaz’s hands found Jimmy’s reawakening cock, stroking it back to full, aching hardness. Precum beaded at the tip. “Jesus H. Fucking Christ,” Gaz groaned, his voice vibrating through Jimmy’s skull. “Your cock is something else.”
Jimmy mumbled something, his words lost against Gaz’s flesh.
“What?” Gaz laughed, pushing down harder, grinding against Jimmy’s mouth. “Can’t hear you.”
Jimmy slapped Gaz’s arse—a sharp, stinging crack that made Gaz gasp and lift his hips slightly. Jimmy gulped air. “Maybe you should take a ride on it, then?”
Gaz’s eyes, dark with lust, met his. “Your wish is my command,” he growled. He lunged for the lube bottle on the nightstand, slicked his fingers, and prepared himself with quick, practiced movements before slicking Jimmy’s cock thoroughly.
Then he positioned himself, guiding Jimmy’s tip to his entrance. He lowered himself slowly, a controlled, excruciating descent. Jimmy watched, mesmerized, as his cock disappeared into Gaz’s body, inch by incredible inch. Gaz’s face was a mask of intense concentration, his powerful thigh muscles flexing as he took all of Jimmy. Once fully seated, he paused, letting them both feel the full, tight heat.
Then he moved. It was nothing like Jimmy’s frantic, inexperienced fucking in the locker room. This was a masterclass. Gaz used the full strength of his physique, rising and falling, rolling his hips, clenching and releasing his internal muscles. He controlled the depth, the angle, the speed, chasing his own pleasure while lavishing it upon Jimmy. He rode him like he owned him, and in that moment, he did.
Jimmy gripped Gaz’s hips, feeling the sheer power there. He was completely passive, utterly ravished. Gaz’s head fell back, a sheen of sweat glistening on his throat. His rhythm became more urgent, less controlled. Jimmy felt Gaz’s cock, hard and leaking against his own stomach, jerk. A hot, wet splatter hit Jimmy’s chest, then another. Gaz had come, hands-free, his orgasm wrenched from him by the sheer complexity of the sensation. The convulsing tightness around Jimmy’s cock was the final trigger. He came a second time, a deep, pumping rush that left him gasping.
Gaz collapsed forward, a dead weight of muscle and satisfaction. Jimmy wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, taking his weight. They lay like that for long minutes, hearts hammering against each other.
Slowly, a familiar stir began again in Jimmy’s groin, still buried inside Gaz’s slack, warm heat. He couldn’t believe it. He gently rolled them, Gaz a pliant, groaning mass, until he was on his knees between Gaz’s spread legs, Gaz on his back, still impaled. Jimmy began to move again, shallow at first, then deeper. The sounds were obscene—wet, slapping, intimate—and they drove Jimmy on. He leaned down, stroking Gaz’s spent cock, which stirred back to half-mast under his touch. He fucked him through a third, shuddering orgasm for Gaz, a thin stripe of white across his own fingers, and then followed with his own third, a final, draining pulse that left him hollowed out and trembling.
They collapsed side by side, a tangled, sticky mess. Cum leaked from Gaz onto the cheap hotel sheet. They didn’t speak. Gaz pulled Jimmy into a lazy, tender kiss, his hand cupping Jimmy’s cheek. They touched each other’s faces, their shoulders, a quiet, mapping exploration in the aftermath.
Eventually, Gaz sighed. “Shower. Now. Before we stick to this fucking bed for good.”
The shower was a cramped plastic cubicle. Gaz pushed Jimmy under the lukewarm spray first, soaping him down with a rough, gentle thoroughness that made Jimmy’s eyes prickle with an emotion he couldn’t name. He returned the favor, washing the sweat and spend from Gaz’s powerful body, committing the landscape of him to memory.
They dried off with thin, rough towels and, by unspoken agreement, moved to the other, unused bed. The sheets were cool and clean. Gaz pulled Jimmy against him, his body a furnace at Jimmy’s back, an arm thrown heavily over his waist.
“Tomorrow,” Gaz mumbled into the back of Jimmy’s neck, his voice thick with imminent sleep. “We’re going out on a proper date. My treat.”
“Where?” Jimmy whispered.
“You’ll see.”
Sleep pulled Jimmy under, but not before a final, clear thought solidified in the dark: he was not just exploring his sexuality anymore. He was discovering Gaz. And he wanted to discover all of him.
The disorientation was a physical pressure behind his eyes, a weight of strange shapes in a dull, grey light. Jimmy’s mind scrabbled. Where was he? This wasn’t his narrow bed, his familiar ceiling with its hairline crack. His cheek was pressed against something warm, solid, rising and falling with a deep, rhythmic cadence. It was a chest. A massive one. The scent of cheap hotel soap and something deeper, muskier, uniquely male, filled his nose.
Then it all reconstituted itself: the dizzying cascade of flesh, the shocking rawness of their mouths, the sheer physical reality of Gaz. The memories flooded back, bright and visceral as a filmstrip behind his eyelids. A sigh, long and shuddering, escaped him. He cuddled closer, burying his face against the granite-etched pectoral, seeking its warmth. Gaz was still sleeping, his breath a steady, quiet tide. Just listening to it was a balm, a quiet miracle that soothed the humming anxiety Jimmy usually woke with.
His hands, independent of any conscious command, began a gentle exploration. They traced the terrain of Gaz’s chest, mapping the sharp contours of collarbone, the dense curves of muscle, the coarse, dark hair that arrowed down his sternum. He marvelled at the sheer hardness of it all, each ridge and plane so foreign from his own soft body. A familiar, sharp doubt pricked him. Why? Gaz could have anyone – sculpted, confident men who mirrored his own physical perfection. What was he doing with a soft, unfit, unsociable, anxious man whose pale belly swelled against the mattress?
But deeper than the doubt, a new certainty pulsed. He knew. He felt it in the way Gaz had held him, in the way his big hands had been both rough and tender. Gaz absolutely liked him. Jimmy took a long, deliberate breath, drinking in Gaz’s scent – sweat, sex, skin – trying to sear it into his memory. He didn’t know the rules of this, how often such a night could possibly happen. He needed to imprint this feeling, this scent, for the inevitable nights back in his silent room, alone with his own hand. “Just in case,” he murmured into the warm skin, not realizing the words had slipped out. “Just in case this is the only one.”
A sleep-weary voice rumbled beneath his ear, the vibration passing through his cheekbone. “You’re gonna have to speak up, babe.”
Jimmy flinched. “Oh, sorry,” he whispered, mortified. “I forget I do that.”
A heavy arm wrapped around his back and pulled him upwards until their faces were level. Gaz’s eyes were still closed. He kissed Jimmy, a soft, sleep-warm press of lips. “Tell me what you were thinking.”
“Oh…” Jimmy began, the old instinct to deflect rising.
“No,” Gaz interrupted, his voice a low growl. “Don’t do that. Tell me.”
Jimmy sighed, the sound lost in the scant space between them. “No, it's just..."
Gaz’s lips curled. “Tell me or I won’t eat your ass out tonight.”
A laugh burst from Jimmy, sudden and bright. “Fine! But you’re going to–”
“No,” Gaz interrupted again, his eyes still shut. “Tell me.”
“Alright!” Jimmy growled, his own daring surprising him. He took another breath, the words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “I was thinking about why you like me. You’re this… sculpted, masculine man. The object of perfection for a lot of people, especially gay men, surely? You could have your pick. But you’re choosing me. I’m a soft, unfit, unsociable, anxious, underdeveloped man. I just didn’t think things worked like this.” He paused, braced for a dismissal, a patronising pat on the head, some inane comforting phrase.
Gaz was silent for a moment. Then he opened his eyes. They were the colour of slate in the morning light, clear and focused. “I get it,” he said, his honesty stark. “And you’re right. I could have a lot of guys. And I have had a lot of guys.” He shifted, turning fully onto his side to face Jimmy. The sheet pooled around his waist. “I’ve never been with a guy like you before. Always assumed someone like you would be too clingy, too desperate. That I wouldn’t be turned on by the… shape of you.” He reached out, his thumb brushing over the soft curve of Jimmy’s hip. “But here’s the thing. You don’t get to choose who you fall for. You don’t get to decide what your heart wants. Our brains are conditioned by other people, not by the truth. When I’m with you, I feel truthful. I felt it the first time I saw you in the kit room, all jumpy and neat. I just didn’t know what the fuck to do with it. Wasn’t sure you were even into guys.”
He moved closer, his gaze holding Jimmy’s. “And now I can’t imagine life without you. You turn me on more than any guy I’ve been with.” He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. “And I think it’s because you see beyond all of this.” He gestured at his own torso. “You aren’t attracted to me because of my muscles and big dick. I think if they went away, you’d still want me. I think I like you because of how you like me. And I think you like me because of how I like you. It’s a feedback loop.” A grin finally broke through. “That, and we’re now firmly trauma-bonded, I suppose.”
Jimmy stared at him, the words sinking in, eroding the bedrock of his insecurity. A slow, incredulous smile spread on his face. “So you haven’t given it much thought, then?”
Gaz’s hand shot out and grabbed Jimmy’s arse, hard. “Fuck. Off.” He said it tenderly, pulling Jimmy tight against him. Then he rolled, his full weight pinning Jimmy to the mattress, and started to kiss him in earnest. It was a deep, claiming kiss, tongues sliding together. Their bodies, naked and warm, rubbed against each other. Jimmy could feel Gaz hardening against his thigh, his own cock responding eagerly.
Gaz pulled his head back, breathing hard. “No time for a fuck, my sweet,” he said, glancing at the cheap digital clock that glowed 08:47. “Checkout’s at ten. But how about some hand action before we face the world?”
Jimmy nodded enthusiastically, his heart pounding. Gaz’s smile was wicked. He spat into his own palm, the sound crude and thrilling, and reached between them. His big, calloused hand wrapped around both of their cocks, squeezing them together. Jimmy gasped at the contact, the slick heat, the sight of his own pale, thick shaft pressed against Gaz’s darker, heavier one. Gaz began to stroke, a rough, fast rhythm that had none of last night’s teasing finesse. This was urgent, pragmatic, a fast charge towards a shared peak.
“Look at that,” Gaz grunted, his forehead pressed to Jimmy’s. “Our cocks together. Fucking beautiful.” He increased the pace, his fist a tight, demanding channel. Jimmy’s hips bucked, his hands gripping Gaz’s broad shoulders. The sensations overwhelmed him—the friction, the weight of Gaz on him, the raw visual. He came first, with a sharp cry, his release painting strips across both their stomachs. Gaz followed seconds after, adding his own thick pulse to the mess, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.
He collapsed onto Jimmy, crushing him, then rolled off with a groan. “Right.Up. Now. Sprint to the shower.”
The second shower was even more frantic. They washed each other quickly, efficiency overriding sensuality, though Gaz still swatted Jimmy’s arse and Jimmy stole a kiss under the spray. They dressed in fresh clothes from their overnight bags. Gaz threw his few things into his duffel bag, while Jimmy folded his neatly. They were at the reception desk, returning the key at two minutes to eleven.
They were at the reception desk, returning the key at two minutes to eleven. The clerk, an older man with tired eyes, didn’t glance up from his newspaper as he took the plastic key fob. The automatic doors hissed shut behind them, sealing away the room and its kaleidoscope of revelations. The morning air outside the Budget Inn was a bracing slap of diesel fumes and damp concrete, the industrial estate humming with a mundane Monday reality that felt galaxies away from the sweaty, neon-lit universe they’d just occupied.
Gaz’s van, a battered white Transit with “G. EDWARDS – PLUMBING & HEATING” stenciled on the side, waited in the lot. It was utterly, comfortingly normal. Jimmy slid into the passenger seat, the vinyl warm from the weak sun. Gaz started the engine, and the familiar diesel rumble felt like a return to something, though everything had fundamentally shifted. He pulled out onto the ring road, the hotel shrinking in the wing mirror.
“How's your stomach?” Gaz asked, glancing over.
“Empty,” Jimmy admitted.
“Proper breakfast soon,” Gaz promised, shifting gears. “Can you wait a bit?”
“How long’s a bit?”
“Maybe forty minutes.”
Jimmy’s stomach growled audibly, a long, low complaint. Gaz laughed, a rich, easy sound that filled the cab. He reached behind his seat without looking, his hand emerging with two bottles of cold water and a crinkled pack of beef jerky. “Here we go. Something to tide us over. I know a great place for breakfast where we’re going.”
“And where are we going?” Jimmy asked, cracking the water and drinking deeply.
“The place where I was born,” Gaz said with a grin, not giving away anything else.
He drove, heading east, the city gradually shedding its skin for scrubby fields and pockets of woodland. Jimmy gulped down water then started on the jerky, the salty, tough meat a temporary anchor. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was spacious, allowing the enormity of the last eighteen hours to settle within them. Gaz turned on the radio to a classic rock station, the volume low.
“So,” Jimmy said after a while, balling up the jerky wrapper. “School. Were you a terror?”
Gaz barked a laugh. “Understatement. I was a little shit. More detention than actual lessons. Got my GCSEs, just. Grades were piss poor. Never saw the point.” He drummed his thick fingers on the steering wheel. “Thought adulthood would be one long laugh with my mates. Getting pissed, causing trouble. Simple.”
“What happened?”
“The trouble got less funny. Arrested more than a few times. Fighting, mostly. Shoplifting once, which was fucking stupid.” He sighed, the memory darkening his features for a moment. “My mum had enough. Kicked me out at seventeen. Lived in this van for a bit, actually. Before I renovated it.”
Jimmy watched the landscape blur past. “I still live with my parents,” he said quietly, the admission feeling juvenile.
“Wish I could,” Gaz replied, and the simplicity of it held no judgment. “My mum’s place isn’t easy for me. Bad memories. I was a nightmare to her. A proper nightmare.” He paused. “You get on with yours?”
“Yeah. Really well. They’re… understanding. Of my limitations.”
“What limitations?”
“The anxiety. The way I can just… lock up sometimes in a crowd. How tired I get from just… talking to people all day at the library. How hard it is to explain that just existing in public is a fucking marathon some days.” The words poured out, more frank than he’d ever been with anyone.
Gaz was quiet for a full minute. “I haven’t noticed any of that,” he said finally, his voice thoughtful. “But I’ll keep an eye out. You have to tell me, though. If you’re struggling. So I can learn. So I don’t make it worse.”
The offer was so practical, so devoid of pity, that Jimmy’s throat tightened. “Okay,” he managed.
“Anyway,” Gaz continued, lightening the tone. “I was lucky. Got an apprenticeship with a plumber. Old bloke called Ray. Hard bastard, but he knew his stuff.”
“He straightened you out?”
“You could say that. He was good at teaching. For keeping me focused.”
Jimmy heard the shift in his voice, a roughened affection. He turned in his seat to look at Gaz’s profile. “Why do I feel like there’s more to that than you’re telling me?”
Gaz coughed, a faint blush visible on his neck. “Ok, fine. He had unusual techniques.”
“And did those techniques involve his cock inside you?” Jimmy asked, the boldness from the hotel still thrumming in his veins.
Gaz laughed, startled. “Maybe. Yes. And my cock in him.” He shot Jimmy a fierce grin. “But it fucking worked, mate! Look at me now. My own plumbing business. Steady. No arrests in a decade.”
“Hey, I’m not judging,” Jimmy said, grinning back.
“Yes you are, you little fuck. But I would in your shoes, so…” Gaz laughed again, and the tension broke. The sign for a coastal village appeared, and Gaz signalled, turning off the main road.
They arrived at a quiet village, not far from the sea, and a quaint cafe that advertised breakfast. It was busy but they managed to find a small table for two in the corner, by a window with a lace curtain. Gaz ordered them both a full English, with tea and toast.
The cafe was a bubble of cheerful noise—clattering cutlery, the hiss of a coffee machine, the chatter of elderly regulars. Neither man was sure if they should show affection in public, but their knees found each other beneath the small table. They played footsie, a secret, smiling contact amidst the mundane clatter of plates.
Gaz wanted to know what interested Jimmy, what he did in his spare time. “That doesn’t involve greasing up my cock, you mean?” Jimmy asked, whispering over the chipped rim of his teacup.
Gaz almost choked on his tea. “Well, maybe we can talk about that more later,” he laughed, wiping his mouth. “But what about, I dunno, books? You work in a library, books must be a thing, right?”
Jimmy laughed heartily. “Books must be a thing? I want that on a t-shirt.” He stirred his tea. “Yeah, I love to read. A lot of history. Sometimes historical fiction. Then high fantasy and biographies.”
Gaz frowned. “Biographies?”
“People’s life stories,” Jimmy explained. He launched into telling him about Mata Hari, the dancer and spy he’d been reading about recently, her fabrication, her performance, her eventual execution. He spoke with quiet passion, detailing the way history could dissect a constructed identity. He expected Gaz’s eyes to glaze over.
Instead, Gaz listened, his forehead creased in concentration. He asked questions. Why did she do it? Did anyone believe her? Was she actually a good spy? He was taking it in, not just humouring him.
When the colossal breakfasts arrived, steaming and greasy, they focussed on the food. Their feet hooked together more firmly under the table. Jimmy felt a surge of something so potent it threatened to undo him—not just desire, but a sense of being known, and liking what was known. He loaded his fork with egg and bacon, the flavours bursting, the morning sun through the lace curtain painting a warm, dappled light on Gaz’s hands.