Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Time unspooled in a warm, syrupy drift. Rob floated back to awareness on the slow, steady rhythm of Martin’s breathing, the solid heat of him pressed along Rob’s back, a heavy arm draped possessively over his waist. The sage-green walls of his new room held the fading afternoon light like a secret.
Martin stirred, his beard scratching gently at the nape of Rob’s neck. “You awake, boy?”
“Yeah.” Rob’s voice was thick with sleep and spent pleasure. He wriggled closer, moulding himself against Martin’s body. “Just… floating.”
“Good.” Martin’s hand splayed over Rob’s stomach, a warm, grounding weight. “You okay? That was… intense.”
Rob turned in the circle of his arms, facing him. Martin’s accountant’s face was soft, unguarded, the usual lines of control smoothed away. Rob traced one with a tentative finger. “I’m more than okay.” He swallowed, the emotion welling up suddenly, a tide he couldn’t hold back. His vision blurred. A hot tear escaped, tracing a path down his temple into the pillow.
Martin’s expression shifted instantly to concern. He cupped Rob’s cheek. “Hey. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
Rob shook his head, a wet, hiccupping laugh escaping him. He smiled through the tears, squeezing Martin’s hand. “No. God, no. The opposite.” He took a shuddering breath. “It’s just… I never thought this would be possible. Any of it. I thought I’d just… be alone. That no one would ever look at me and see… this. See someone they wanted to hold after. Someone they wanted to make feel good.” He blinked, more tears falling. “Even if you hadn’t done any of the other stuff—the gym, the flat, all of it—just this… just you wanting to be here, like this… I’d be this happy.”
Martin’s own eyes glistened. He pulled Rob into him, crushing him against his chest, his face buried in Rob’s blonde hair. “Rob,” he murmured, the word vibrating through his body. Then, softer, raw, “I love you.”
Rob went very still. The words hung in the air between them, immense and fragile.
Martin pulled back slightly, searching his face, a flicker of panic there. “I don’t know how that’s possible after a week. It’s insane. But I feel it. I feel you.”
Rob reached up, wiping his own tears, then Martin’s. A profound calm settled over him. “I feel it too,” he whispered. “I love you, Martin.”
They kissed then, a slow, deep communion that tasted of salt and certainty. It was Rob who broke it, a practical, nagging thought surfacing through the haze. “Your wife,” he whispered against Martin’s lips. “The text. The work trip.”
Martin sighed, the real world seeping back in at the edges. “I know. She’s… we’re friends. It’s complicated. But this…” He gestured at the space between their bodies. “This I need. More. I don’t know how it works yet. I just know I’m not leaving this.”
“Don’t think about it right now,” Rob said, his voice firm. He kissed Martin’s chin. “Just be here. We’ll figure the rest out. I have zero expectations. Of your time, your attention… I just want you when you can be here.”
“You’re not getting rid of me now,” Martin said, a possessive growl lacing the promise.
“And I don’t want to,” Rob answered, sealing it with another kiss.
A loud, simultaneous gurgle echoed between their stomachs. They broke apart, laughing.
“Okay, even love needs fuel,” Martin said, swatting Rob’s backside. “We’ve got time before the gym. Let’s eat.”
They pulled on shorts, moving around each other in the new space with a comfortable, silent synchronicity. Martin pulled two plastic containers of prepared salad—chicken, quinoa, roasted veggies—from the pristine fridge. They ate on the new sofa, legs tangled, watching some inane travel show on the new TV, not really seeing it. The simple act of sharing a meal felt more intimate than anything that had come before.
After, Martin gave him the tour of the stocked kitchen. He opened cupboards brimming with rice, pasta, tins of tuna, healthy snacks. He pointed out a line of supplements: fish oil, vitamin D, a premium multivitamin. Finally, he hefted a large tub of protein powder. “This is for after the gym. One scoop, water or milk. It’ll help your muscles repair and grow. My boy isn’t going to need for anything,” he said, his voice low and full as he came up behind Rob, wrapping his arms around him. Rob felt the hard, insistent pressure of Martin’s cock, already thickening again, pressing against the cleft of his ass through their thin shorts.
A spark of pure, wanton electricity shot through Rob. He reached back, his hand sliding down Martin’s thigh until he found the firm outline. He squeezed. Without a word, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his own shorts and pushed them down. Then he turned in Martin’s arms, deftly freed Martin’s hardening length from his trousers, and guided the slick head back to his own entrance, rubbing it against him with a focused hunger.
Martin groaned, surprised. “Again? You’re insatiable.”
“You made me this way,” Rob panted, pushing back. “Now fuck me.”
Martin didn’t need more invitation. He reached for the bottle of olive oil on the counter, slicked himself generously, and guided his cock into Rob with one smooth, relentless thrust. Rob braced his hands on the cool quartz, his head dropping forward as Martin filled him, the stretch a breathtaking, familiar welcome now. Martin set a deep, punishing rhythm, his hands coming around to knead and pinch Rob’s chest, rolling his nipples until Rob was moaning with each thrust, a thin string of precum dripping from his own cock to patter on the new floor.
“You don’t have to cum,” Rob managed, his voice shaky. “If you want to save it for later.”
Martin’s rhythm hitched. He leaned over, his breath hot in Rob’s ear. “I have so much fucking cum in my balls I could do this five times a day. I’m not saving anything.”
The image, the visceral promise, sent a full-body shiver through Rob. He cried out, pushing back onto Martin desperately. The slap of skin grew faster, wetter.
“I’m getting close,” Martin warned, his voice tight.
In response, Rob pulled his hips forward, letting Martin slide out. He turned, dropping to his knees, and looked up at Martin. His soft chest formed a pale, inviting valley. He took Martin in his hands, pressing the throbbing shaft between his pecs, looking up with dark, determined eyes. “Fuck my titties, Daddy.”
With a guttural sound, Martin obeyed. He thrust between the soft warmth of Rob’s chest, his gaze locked on Rob’s parted lips. It was rough, frantic, and over in less than a minute. Martin’s release came in hot, white stripes across Rob’s lips, his chin, his neck and chest.
For a moment, they both just breathed, the only sound their ragged gasps and the faint hum of the fridge. Then Martin pulled Rob to his feet and began to lick him clean, his tongue slow and thorough, savoring the taste of himself on Rob’s skin. When he was done, he kissed Rob, deep and searching.
“Now,” Martin said, smacking Rob’s oil-slick backside firmly. “We’ve definitely worked up an appetite. Time to go lift some actual weight.”
The scent of olive oil and sex still hung in the air as they pulled their clothes on, a secret perfume beneath their fresh outfits. The drive to Ironclad was quiet, charged with the kind of silence that sits between people who have said too much and not enough all at once. Rob watched the streetlights strobe across Martin’s focused profile, the words I love you humming in his veins like a second heartbeat.
Ed noticed the two men arriving together at the gym, now empty and officially closed, as agreed. He leaned against the front desk, arms crossed, a knowing look softening his weathered face. “I thought so,” said Ed, with a wicked grin.
“Thought what?” Martin said, mock indignation in his tone as he let the side door close behind him.
“I can smell it on the pair of you,” Ed said, laughing, a low, rasping sound. “That post-fuck glow. It’s practically a haze.”
Rob blushed but grinned, the embarrassment fleeting under a wave of pride. He grabbed Martin’s hand, the gesture bold and new, and dragged him toward the locker room. “C’mon, we’re burning daylight.”
Inside, Martin pulled out another outfit for Rob from his gym bag. The shorts were a dark, compressive spandex, but this time he’d included a thin black thong. “Try these,” Martin said, his voice casual though his eyes were dark.
Rob stepped out of his sweats, his earlier boldness mingling with a flutter of self-consciousness. He hooked his thumbs into the thong and slid it up his legs, the narrow strip of material a shocking contrast against his pale skin. He turned, posing over his shoulder, his hands on his hips. The fabric disappeared into the cleft of his ass, framing it.
Martin made a choked sound, his hand going automatically to the front of his track pants where a thick, urgent hardness was already forming. He was almost drooling, his gaze fixed, hungry and approving. Rob giggled, the sound bright in the tiled room, and shook his ass a little before sliding the spandex shorts on. The material hugged him, supportive and revealing, and he marveled at the sight. His body, in this light, under this gaze, felt like a possession to be proud of. This was more thanks to Martin’s attentions than a single week of being in the gym.
The vest was mesh, black and loose, barely covering his chest. His nipples, peaked and pink, were visible through the gaps. He knew Martin was showing him off, curating him, and he loved it.
The gym floor was a cathedral of silent iron. They started on the bikes, facing each other, resistance set low but enough to get the blood moving. Their gazes locked, a current of pure sexual energy arcing between the machines. Rob’s hand drifted up, his fingers toying with his own nipple through the mesh, pinching lightly. Martin mirrored him, his breath hitching as he watched Rob’s face. Sweat beaded on Rob’s upper lip first, a clean salt smell cutting through the gym’s stale air.
After fifteen minutes of this silent, sweating provocation, Martin moved them to the weights. “Your first time lifting,” he said, his voice reverent. “We go slow. We listen.”
He showed Rob the basics for the main muscle groups, his hands guiding Rob’s posture on the lat pulldown, the chest press, the leg extension. His instructions were clear, patient, focused on form over ego. “Start with the pin at the bottom. We want your body to understand the movement, not just strain against a number.” Rob focused, the mechanical process a welcome anchor for his buzzing nerves. He loved watching Martin’s own workout more, though.
Once Martin felt Rob was confident on a machine, he moved to his own routine nearby. Rob loved that he could openly watch Martin puff and strain, the veins in his forearms cording, his shirt clinging to the sweat on his back. Rob’s hand drifted to the front of his spandex shorts, palming himself through the fabric, knowing Martin would love catching him in that worship. They kept most of their focus on the work, a simmering promise of what came next lending a fierce efficiency to every rep.
Once they were done and back in the locker room, slick and spent from legitimate exertion, Rob grabbed his small black bag. “Just need to attend to something,” he said, a coy look over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom stall.
Martin realized he was freshening his ass for the coming session, and the anticipation was a sharp, sweet ache in his gut. They showered quickly, a business-like rinse under lukewarm water, their hands avoiding temptation by mutual, trembling agreement.
They thanked Ed on their way out. “Save some for Saturday,” he called out after them, laughing. “I still need my goon bros!”
“We won’t leave you high and dry,” Rob called back, the phrase feeling wonderfully apt. “Don’t worry.”
As soon as the flat door closed behind them, the careful control shattered. They were tearing at each other’s clothes, desperate, mouths clashing together in a messy, breathless kiss. Fabric ripped; Martin’s t-shirt gave way with a sound like splitting paper.
Rob broke away, scrambling to the new coffee table where his stash box sat, now a bizarre artifact in the refined room. He pulled out a thick, veined silicone dildo, a bottle of poppers, and a pre-rolled joint. “Meet Marty,” he panted, holding up the dildo. “He kept me company.”