Chapter 6: Chapter 6
They moved to the mats. The rubber smelled of old sweat and disinfectant, a familiar gym perfume. "Alright, let's get pumped," Martin said, dropping to the floor with a grace that belied his demeanour. He assumed a perfect plank, then began his push-ups, each descent and rise controlled and deep, the muscles in his back and arms carving defined shadows under the fluorescent lights.
Rob assumed the modified position beside him, knees on the mat. His first few were shaky.
"You're doing great," Martin grunted between his own reps. "Seriously. Been thinking... I'd like to start you on some free weights next week. If you feel up for it?"
Rob pushed up, arms trembling. "Yeah?"
"Absolutely. You're doing so well already, Rob. Just your first week. Your cardio's improved, your form is good." Martin completed his set and rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand to watch. "Mostly."
He grinned and shifted closer. "Widen your hands a bit. Takes pressure off the shoulders." His fingers wrapped around Rob's wrists, sliding slowly up the length of his forearms to his elbows, adjusting the angle. The touch was electric, a current that had nothing to do with correction. "There. Now another. Come on, one more."
Rob lowered himself, straining. As he pushed up, Martin's hand slid from his elbow to the center of his back, fingers splaying, not just spotting but caressing the knobs of his spine through the thin blue vest.
"Fuck, Martin," Rob panted, collapsing onto his forearms. "A hardon doesn't exactly help with push-ups."
Martin laughed, a low, warm sound. "Let's fix that." Without ceremony, he reached into the waistband of Rob's shorts. His hand was warm and dry. He found Rob's stiff cock, gave it one firm, deliberate stroke that made Rob's hips jerk, then tucked it upward, trapping it against Rob's lower belly. "Better?"
Rob groaned, a mixture of pleasure and defeat, and fully collapsed to the mat, laughing into the rubber. "Am I not helping?" Martin asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence.
"Yes," Rob said, pushing himself back up to kneeling. "And no."
"Do you want me to stop helping?" Martin asked. The knowing smile was back, his eyes dark.
"I do not," Rob said, and turned to get into position for donkey kicks.
Martin kept a hand on Rob's ass the whole time. Not just groping, but also a firm, present palm resting on the curve of his left cheek as Rob lifted his leg, feeling the glute fire and burn. When Rob rested between sets, breathing hard, Martin did his own set of kicks, his shorts straining. "You just gonna sit there and watch?" he panted.
Rob took the cue. He moved beside Martin as he contracted, and placed his own hands on Martin's ass, feeling the powerful effort through the grey fabric. He manhandled the firm cheeks, squeezing in time with Martin's movements. "Easier... when someone's... helping," Martin grunted, his voice strained with effort and something else.
The lunges were the final exercise, and by then the pretence had fully evaporated. Martin stood close behind Rob, his front plastered to Rob's back, his hands on Rob's hips. "Deep," he murmured into Rob's ear as they stepped forward together. "Deeper."
Rob's thigh screamed in protest, but then Martin's hands slid up, under the loose vest, and found his chest. His thumbs circled Rob's nipples, rough and perfect. Rob moaned, the sound torn out of him, and the pain in his leg blurred, transformed into a different kind of burn. He sank lower than he thought possible, driven by the hands on his chest, the solid heat of the body fused to his back.
"We have to stop," Martin growled, his voice ragged against Rob's neck. "Before I lose my load right here." He pulled himself away, leaving Rob feeling suddenly cold and unsteady.
The cooldown stretches were a sweet, quiet agony. They sat on the mats, legs outstretched, reaching for toes. Finally, Martin wanted to finish with a deep hamstring and lower back stretch for Rob. "Lie down," he instructed, his voice softer now.
Rob lay on his back. Martin lifted his legs, pushing them gently but firmly over his head, folding Rob almost in half. "Christ, you're flexible," Martin said, surprised.
Rob laughed, the position exposing him completely, his blush spreading down his chest. "This is... a regular position for me."
Martin's hands were on his ankles, his own body leaning close. The thick bulge in his shorts pressed almost imperceptibly against Rob's tailbone. Rob, holding his own ankles now, felt Martin's grip shift. His hands travelled down from Rob's ankles, past his calves, settling on the backs of his thighs. Then, slowly, a thumb found the seam of Rob's ass, pressing against the damp fabric of the shorts, massaging the firm, hidden flesh of his taint.
A sharp, helpless groan escaped Rob. His hips pushed up involuntarily.
"Fifteen minutes, guys!" Ed's voice echoed across the empty gym. "The girlfriend wants me home by ten."
The spell broke. Martin’s thumb stilled. They looked at each other, identical smiles of frustration and understanding on their faces. No words were needed.
They headed to the locker room, the air between them thick with unfinished business. The showers were quick, functional. They stood under adjacent streams, soap sliding over sweat-slick skin. Their cocks hardened and softened at their own pace, tired but responsive. There was no time, no suggestion of play, just the efficient scrubbing away of the workout. Yet every glance was a promise, every casual turn a display.
Dried and dressed in their street clothes, they met Ed by the steel back door. Ed was a man on a mission, jangling his keys. "Lock up behind you, Martin?"
"Yep. Go on, don't keep her waiting."
Ed gave a sharp nod and was gone, swallowed by the night.
The heavy door clicked shut, leaving them in the dimly lit alley behind the gym. The hum of the city was a distant thing. Martin leaned against the brick wall and they stood in a charged silence for a minute.
"Thanks," Rob said eventually. "For… the help. All of it."
"Don't mention it," Martin said, his eyes fixed on the cracked pavement. "I mean it about the weights. You're ready. You've got a good base. We'll start light, focus on form."
"I'd like that." Rob said with genuine gratitude.
"Hilary's away next weekend. Conference in Birmingham," Martin commented, trying to sound casual.
Rob stayed quiet, letting the information hang.
"Three days. Empty house." Martin finally looked at him. "It'll feel even more like a museum."
"Come over to mine, then," Rob said, the words out before he could second-guess them. "It's a shitty museum, but at least it's a lived-in shitty museum. We can… I don't know. Hang out. Not be quiet."
Martin's smile was slow, deep, and real. It reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. "I might just do that." He pushed off the wall. "Walk you to your car?"
“Yeah, sure,” Rob said, his voice a little too bright. They fell into step, the alley asphalt gritty under their trainers. The night air was cool, a relief after the gym’s humid closeness.
Rob’s words tumbled out in a rushed stream, a nervous dam breaking. “So the sativa dominant hybrid I’ve got in the second tent is really thriving with the new nutrient schedule, the leaves are this almost unreal green, and I’m pretty sure the yield is going to be insane. And this essay on symbiotic fungal networks, mycorrhizae, it’s actually getting interesting? Like, how trees talk to each other underground. It’s not a metaphor, it’s actual chemical signalling.”
Martin listened, his hands in his pockets, a soft smile playing on his lips. He nodded along, making quiet sounds of acknowledgement. “Sounds complex,” he offered, when Rob paused for breath.
“It is, but in a good way, you know?” Rob said, pushing his key fob. The rusty Honda Civic chirped, its interior light glowing a weak yellow. He leaned back against the driver’s door, the cold metal seeping through his thin jacket. “It’s just...fascinating.”
Martin stood in front of him, close enough that Rob could see the neat lines of his beard in the sodium-orange streetlight. A comfortable silence settled, but Rob’s heart hammered against his ribs. He didn’t want the night to end.
Martin shifted his weight. He looked like he was about to turn, to offer a final goodnight, when he stopped. He cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the pavement before meeting Rob’s again. “Listen. I’ve been thinking. What you said before, about never...you know. Been kissed.” His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “It’s a shame. With the right person, it’s...it’s an amazing feeling. For such a simple thing. You deserve to experience that.”
Rob’s breath hitched. “I hope to find someone,” he mumbled, the old script falling from his lips. “Just...no one ever seems interested.”
“Maybe,” Martin said, taking a half-step closer. “Maybe you just don’t know how to read the signs.”
He leaned in. The movement was slow, giving Rob every chance to pull away. His lips brushed Rob’s—a chaste, closed-mouth press, warm and surprisingly soft. Martin pulled back instantly, a flush visible even in the poor light. “Sorry. You probably don’t—”
Rob’s hands came up, gripping the front of Martin’s jacket. He pulled him back in.
This time, there was no hesitation. Their mouths opened, and the kiss deepened. Martin tasted of coffee and a faint mint from the gym. Rob’s mind emptied of everything—the plants, the essay, the insecurities—and filled only with sensation: the scratch of Martin’s beard, the solid warmth of his body, the confident slide of his tongue.
They stood there against the car for minutes, lost in the simple, profound exploration. When they finally parted, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together.
“Your first kiss,” Martin whispered.
“Yeah,” Rob said, a dizzy grin spreading across his face.
“And?”
“I loved it. It was perfect. Thank you.”
Martin chuckled, the sound low and warm. He gestured vaguely toward his own obvious erection straining against his chinos. “No need to thank me. Everyone won.” He sobered slightly, searching Rob’s face. “So? Does that satisfy your need?”
Rob looked at him, the want a physical ache. It went far beyond kissing now. The image of Martin’s cock, the real one, not the silicone ‘Marty’ back in his flat, filled his mind. His mouth practically watered.
“What is it?” Martin asked, his thumb stroking Rob’s jaw. “I can tell there’s something. You can say. I won’t be offended or anything.”
Rob took a shuddering breath. “I really want to suck your dick,” he blurted out, the words hanging in the cool air. “Like, really badly.”
Martin’s eyebrows shot up. Then a slow, delighted smile spread across his face. “Well. It must be my lucky night.” He glanced around the empty, dimly lit street. “Where, though?”
“Hop in,” Rob said, fumbling with the door handle.
They clambered into the back seat, the old springs groaning in protest. It was a cramped tangle of limbs in the dark. Martin wasted no time, shoving his pants and underwear down to his thighs. His cock sprang free, thick and already leaking.
Rob didn’t need guidance. He lowered his head and took Martin entirely into his mouth in one smooth, practiced motion.
“Holy fuck!” Martin gasped, his head thudding back against the seat. His hands flew to Rob’s head, not pushing, just holding on. “Christ, Rob… oh god.”
Rob worked with a hungry, focused rhythm. He used his tongue, his throat, every technique he’d perfected alone in his room. The reality was better—the heat, the weight, the salty taste of pre-come, the choked-off sounds coming from above.
“You’re… shit… you’re gonna make me…” Martin’s words dissolved into a strangled groan. His hips bucked up once, twice, and he came with a force that seemed to surprise even him, pulsing hot and bitter down Rob’s throat.
Rob swallowed, greedily, until Martin gently pushed him away, oversensitive. Rob came up smiling, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
For a second, Martin just stared at him, panting. “What the actual fuck, Rob?” he finally exhaled, a laugh mingling with his disbelief. “I thought you were a virgin.”
“I am,” Rob said, grinning wider. “But I’ve been sucking on dildos for years.”
Martin barked a loud, genuine laugh and pulled Rob up to kiss him, deep and tasting of himself. “So I did okay?” Rob asked, suddenly sheepish.
“You are a rare find, my boy,” Martin said, his voice full of wonder. He kissed Rob again, softer this time. “And thank you. That was the best blow job I have ever had. That experience will be replayed many, many times.”
“Any time,” Rob said, meaning it completely. “I really enjoyed it.”
“Don’t say ‘any time,’ Rob,” Martin chuckled, tucking himself away with a wince. “Or my dick would never leave your mouth.”
Rob leaned in, nuzzling his neck. “I can’t see the problem.”
They laughed together, the car filled with a warm, sated energy. Martin thanked him again, almost shyly, and said they should get going. Rob nodded, a profound sense of accomplishment settling in his bones. They climbed out, shared one more quick, smiling kiss, and got into their separate cars.
The drive home was a blur. Rob floated through unlocking his door, dumping his gym bag on the floor. He was unpacking his things, the scent of Martin still on his fingers, when the buzzer for the flat screeched.
He frowned, padding over to the intercom. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Martin’s voice crackled through the speaker.
Rob buzzed him up without another word, his heart starting that frantic hammer again. A minute later, a soft knock. Rob opened the door.
Martin stood there, still in his jacket, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I drove halfway home,” he said, stepping inside without being asked. “And I felt bad. Really bad.”
“Why?” Rob asked, closing the door.
“Because I got off,” Martin said, his eyes intense and fixed on Rob. “And you didn’t.” He took a step closer, his gaze dropping to Rob’s lips. “And I want to change that.”
Rob stood there for a second, the words hanging in the stale air of his flat. Then a slow, warm smile spread across his face. He didn’t speak. He simply turned towards the bedroom, taking Martin’s hand and drawing him in with him.
He flicked on the small salt lamp, casting the room in a dim, amber glow that hid the mess and softened edges. From the nightstand, he grabbed his dry herb vape, its ceramic mouthpiece still warm from earlier. He took a long, slow hit, holding the citrus-and-pine flavoured vapour in his lungs before passing it to Martin. As Martin inhaled, his eyes locked on Rob, Rob pulled his sweatshirt up and over his head, letting it drop to the floor.
Martin exhaled a plume of smoke, his gaze tracing the newly exposed skin. He handed the vape back and mirrored Rob, peeling off his own jacket and shirt, the fabric whispering against his skin. They stood looking at each other in the low light, the only sound their breathing and the distant traffic.
Rob reached for a fresh bottle of poppers from the drawer. He broke the seal, brought it to his nose, and took a sharp hit in each nostril. The chemical rush was immediate, a hot wave of dizziness that made the room tilt pleasantly. He passed the bottle to Martin and, while Martin inhaled, Rob pushed his joggers and briefs down, stepping out of them.
Martin screwed the lid on with a precise click, his eyes dark and wide. He removed the rest of his own clothes, letting them fall in a heap beside Rob’s. They returned to looking at each other, both swaying slightly with the convergence of weed and amyl.
Then Rob whispered, the words rough and quiet. “Worship me.”
Martin closed the space between them in one stride. He took Rob’s face in his hands, their cocks clashing, and kissed him deeply. It wasn’t like the kiss in the alley. This was hungry, consuming. Martin’s tongue explored Rob’s mouth with a frantic devotion, licking at his lips, his teeth, before tracing the line of his jaw down to the sensitive hollow beneath his ear.
He kissed and suckled at Rob’s neck, his stubble a delicious abrasion, then moved to his earlobe, taking it gently between his teeth. His hands were everywhere, smoothing over Rob’s shoulders, cupping the full swell of his pecs, thumbs rubbing circles over his nipples until they peaked into hard, aching points.
Rob groaned, his knees going weak. He pulled Martin towards the bed, falling back into the pile of pillows so he was half-reclining. Martin climbed over him, a solid, hairy weight, and continued his worship without pause.
He kissed his way down Rob’s sternum, spending long minutes on his chest, his mouth hot and wet. Then he moved lower, his journey deliberate. He took one of Rob’s feet in his hand, licking the arch, sucking each toe until Rob squirmed and giggled breathlessly. Martin kissed his way up Rob’s inner thighs, his beard tickling the sensitive skin, moving with a slow, torturous intent.
He nuzzled Rob’s balls, breathing in their musk, then took one gently into his mouth, sucking and licking with a focus that made Rob’s back arch off the bed. Then he moved to Rob’s cock, licking along the shaft from root to tip before taking the head into his mouth.
Martin had no experience, his movements awkward and overly wet. It was perfect. Rob delighted in every clumsy, eager suck, every graze of teeth, every noisy, sloppy sound. He moaned, he groaned, he giggled helplessly into the crook of his own arm.
“Fuck, Martin… yes…”
Martin latched back onto a nipple, sucking hard as Rob fumbled for the fresh tub of Albolene on the nightstand. Rob slicked his own cock, his hand moving in slow, tight pulls. He guided Martin’s hand to replace his own. “Just like that,” Rob panted.
Martin didn’t rush. He stroked with a firm, consistent rhythm, his mouth still working on Rob’s chest, his eyes watching Rob’s face intently. Rob was soon whining, his body tensing, his toes curling. “I’m close, I’m so close…”
On a whim, Martin leaned into Rob’s ear, his voice a gravelly, possessive growl that bypassed all thought. “I can’t wait to worship your hole with my tongue and cock.”
Rob lost it. A sharp, choked cry was torn from him as his body seized, shaking through a powerful, draining orgasm that seemed to pull light from the edges of the room. Martin held him through it, stroking him gently until he was oversensitive, then soothing his trembling flanks with broad, calm hands.
They lay there breathing, Martin holding Rob against his chest, until Rob’s breathing evened out. Then, drawn by the hard, throbbing heat still pressed against his hip, Rob began to move down Martin’s body, emitting soft, needy whines.
Martin started to say, “You don’t have to…” but then his cock was deep in Rob’s throat, and all protest became a shattered groan. He gave into it, his head falling back.
Martin reached over to the nightstand, fingers brushing the poppers bottle. He brought it to his own nose, took a searing hit, and then pressed the open vial against Rob’s nostril as Rob worked his cock. Rob inhaled sharply, the double rush of chemicals and deprivation making his throat relax, his mouth become a wet, perfect vacuum.
Martin laid back, one hand stroking Rob’s hair, the other clenched in the sheet. “So good,” he slurred. “Your mouth is a miracle.”
It wasn’t long before Martin’s balls tightened, a boiling heat rising. He came with a guttural shout, pulsing into Rob’s mouth. Rob moaned around him, swallowing diligently, sucking down every last drop until Martin gently pushed him away, oversensitive.
Martin gathered Rob into his arms, pulling the duvet over them. The pair of them were boneless, a tangled heap of spent flesh and fading chemicals. Within minutes, the rhythmic sound of their breathing deepened into sleep.