Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Dave sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room. He wanted to be angry at the invasion of privacy, the fucking audacity of monitoring his search history. But the heat of Adam’s body against his, the desperate honesty in those wide eyes, stripped the anger right out of him. Without that invasion, they wouldn’t be here. Adam wouldn’t have been so sure.
“Look,” Dave said, his voice a low rumble. “Part of me wants to wring your neck for snooping. But the other part… shit. The other part’s just glad you did. Otherwise I’d still be down the hall, listening to your mom snore, hoping I’d imagined the whole thing in the mirror. And feeling even more frustrated and confused.”
Adam listened, perfectly still, his breath warm on Dave’s collarbone.
“I’d feel the same,” Adam whispered. “If it were me. I’m sorry. I’ll take… whatever punishment you think is necessary.”
Dave’s eyes glinted in the blue glow of the nightlight. A slow, understanding spread through him, hotter than embarrassment. “You want me to spank you, don’t you?”
Adam nodded, a quick, excited jerk of his head. No pretense. Just pure, eager want.
“Alright then.” Dave shifted, sitting up straighter against the headboard. “Over my lap. Now.”
Adam moved with a fluid grace that surprised Dave, arranging himself face down across Dave’s thick thighs. The grey briefs were a sharp contrast against his pale skin. Dave hooked his fingers in the waistband and peeled them down, just below the curve of Adam’s ass. He’d always seen the kid as a skinny thing, all angles and tailored shirts. But here, like this, his ass was surprisingly full, a soft, perfect handful. A part of the disguise, Dave realized. Another thing hidden from the world.
He spent a long moment just looking, then stroking. His calloused hands kneaded the flesh, feeling the tension there. Adam made small, whining noises, pleading wordlessly, pushing back into the touch. Dave could feel Adam’s cock, hard and trapped beneath him, pressing into his own thigh. His own dick, already rigid, twitched and leaked in response, a warm smear on his stomach.
Without warning, Dave pulled his hand back and brought it down in a sharp, crisp slap.
The crack was loud in the stillness. Adam cried out, a genuine yelp of surprise, and his whole body jerked. Dave felt Adam’s cock pulse against his leg, another bead of wetness soaking into the sheet.
Dave growled, something primal unlocking in his chest. He slapped again, and this time Adam’s cry melted into a long, shuddering moan. Pleasure-pain. Clear as day.
He found a rhythm, his hand falling again and again, the sound filling the room, the clinical space now charged with something raw and sweating. Adam’s skin bloomed from pink to a bright, furious red. His moans became fragmented, breathless. He was near senseless with it, lost in the sensation, his fingers clawing at the duvet.
Dave stopped. He hooked his hands under Adam’s arms and hauled him up, pulling him back into an upright position in his lap. Adam was pliant, panting, his head lolling back against Dave’s shoulder. A thin, glistening string of precum still connected the head of his cock to the wet patch on the sheets.
“You’re a bad boy,” Dave growled into his ear, his own voice rough. He wrapped a hand around Adam’s leaking cock and began to stroke, slow and firm.
“I’m the worst,” Adam gasped, a delirious grin spreading across his face. He shifted, straddling Dave again, but this time he knelt up, raising himself so his cock was level with Dave’s mouth. He looked down, his eyes dark and challenging. “What are you going to do with me, Daddy?”
A perfect pearl of precum welled from his slit. Dave moaned, the title and the sight short-circuiting his thoughts. He leaned forward and sucked the drop clean, the salty-bitter taste exploding on his tongue.
He looked up, meeting Adam’s gaze. His own inexperience felt like a tangible weight. “Teach me,” Dave whispered, the plea raw and honest. “Please?”
Adam’s grin softened into something more genuine. He carded a hand through Dave’s short hair. “Okay. Just… follow my words. Start with your tongue. Flat, right under the head. Yeah, just like that… fuck, yeah. Now wrap your lips around it, just the tip. Don’t use teeth. Never use teeth. Suck, gentle at first. Like you’re sucking the flavor out of a candy.”
Dave followed the instructions, clumsy at first, then with growing confidence as Adam’s breath hitched and his hips gave tiny, involuntary jerks.
“Now, more. Take a little more in. Your hand, use it on the rest. Sync it up. In your mouth, down your hand. Yeah. God, yes. Now… when you feel ready, try to take it deeper. Your throat’s gonna want to gag. Just breathe through your nose. Relax your jaw.”
It was a clumsy, wet, incredible process. Dave focused entirely on the feel of it, the weight and heat of Adam on his tongue, the sounds Adam made. He managed half of Adam’s length before his gag reflex firmly protested. It was enough. Adam’s coaching dissolved into a stream of curses and praise, his hands tightening in Dave’s hair, his thighs trembling on either side of Dave’s torso. When Adam came, it was with a choked-off shout, his back arching, and Dave took it all, swallowing convulsively, licking him clean afterwards with a diligence that made Adam shudder through the oversensitivity.
After a moment of heavy breathing, Adam slid down. “My turn,” he murmured, his voice shot. He pushed Dave onto his back and settled between his legs, his eyes on Dave’s thick, veined cock. He didn’t rush. He nuzzled, licked the length of it, took Dave’s heavy balls gently into his mouth, all while looking up through his lashes.
Then he took the head into his mouth and, without any apparent struggle, sank down. And down. Dave watched, stunned, as Adam’s lips met the base of his shaft, his throat working around the girth. Adam held it there, his eyes watering slightly, then pulled off with a wet pop, gasping for air.
“How the hell…” Dave breathed.
Adam just winked, slick and debauched, and did it again. And again. His skill was obscene, practiced, and within minutes Dave was gripping the sheets, a roaring pressure building in his gut. “Adam, I’m gonna—”
Adam didn’t pull off. He took it, swallowing every pulse as Dave came with a groan that felt torn from his foundations. Adam milked him dry, then finally pulled back, licking his swollen lips, a trace of it escaping down his chin.
He crawled up, collapsing beside Dave, both of them wrecked and shining with sweat. After a minute, Adam propped his head up on a hand. “Jesus,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Are your loads always that… substantial?”
Dave felt a familiar, old shame flicker. “Yeah. Usually bigger, if it’s been a while. Most people… hate it. Makes a mess. It’s too much.”
Adam’s expression was one of pure, unadulterated joy. “Not me,” he said, leaning in to lick a stray drop from Dave’s sternum. “I fucking love it. I want all of it. As often as you can manage.”
Dave turned his head, disbelief warring with a dizzying hope. “You want five loads a day, minimum?”
Adam’s hand slid down Dave’s stomach, his fingers wrapping around a cock that was, impossibly, already beginning to stir again. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” Adam said, his wicked grin returning as he felt Dave harden anew in his grip.
Dave laughed, a rough, surprised sound that shook his chest. He let his head fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling where the blue nightlight cast watery shapes. The frantic energy between them was settling now, softening into something warm and stunned. Adam’s hand on him was just a comfortable weight, not a demand.
“You’re something else, kid,” Dave murmured, his voice scratchy.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want,” Adam said quietly. He withdrew his hand and rolled onto his side, facing Dave, his expression turning curious. “So, what actually happened last night? What brought you back here?”
Dave was silent for a long moment, the easy afterglow hardening into the old, familiar frustration. He watched the shadows on the ceiling. “We argued,” he said finally, the word tasting bitter. “Same old shit, just louder. She doesn’t get my drive. I don’t get her lack of one. But we never say that. It’s all masked behind… everything else. The towel on the floor, the dishes, the tone of voice. Petty, frustrating crap. We’d had some wine. I just couldn’t be trapped in that hotel room with all that silence.”
Adam listened, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Dave’s shoulder. “But you love her. You want it to work?”
“For sure,” Dave said, and he meant it. The answer came easily. “She’s amazing. When we’re good, it’s perfect. It’s just this one… massive, fucking lonely thing.”
“So talk to her,” Adam said, his tone practical. “Not about the towel. About the real thing. Suggest opening it up.”
Dave turned his head on the pillow, studying Adam’s face. “Open it?”
“Yeah. I tutor this guy, right? His girlfriend’s kinda asexual. He’s honest with her. She knows he has needs, he goes and meets them, no details. She’s cool with it. He respects her, she respects him. It’s just logistics.”
Dave let the idea sit there. It felt alien, and yet it clicked into place with a solid, logical thud. It wasn’t cheating. It was an arrangement. A solution. “That… makes a staggering amount of sense,” he admitted, a slow hope unfurling in his gut. “I can’t cheat. But I’m sure as hell not giving this up now.”
He leaned over, found his phone in the pocket of his discarded jeans on the floor. The screen lit up, showing several unread texts from Emily. He kissed Adam, hard and sincere, a mash of lips and gratitude. “Thank you.”
He pulled on his boxers and padded out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Adam lay still for a minute, then swung his legs out of bed. He moved through a familiar routine: securing the popper bottle, placing the dildo in a basin of soapy water, wiping down the silicone with a dedicated cloth. He sprayed a fine citrus-scented mist into the air, erasing the scent of sex and sweat. The room was restored to its cold, ordered state in minutes.
The shower in his ensuite was already running, steam fogging the glass door. He stepped under the hot spray, letting it sluice over his sore, well-used skin. The door opened a moment later.
Dave slid in behind him, the space suddenly crowded with his bulk. The water plastered Dave’s grey chest hair flat. “How’d it go?” Adam asked, not turning around.
“We’re going to talk. Meeting her at that artisan coffee place downtown in an hour.” Dave’s hands settled on Adam’s hips, his thumbs stroking the bruises he’d left earlier. “I said I had a solution. That I want us to work. She said it helped, knowing that was my starting point.”
“And in the meantime,” Adam said, a sly lilt in his voice as he glanced back over his shoulder, “you’re going to fuck her son senseless?”
“No.” Dave’s voice was a low rumble against Adam’s ear. He turned Adam gently to face him. “Right now, I’m going to enjoy pleasuring her son. Gently. Thoughtfully.”
He kissed him then, not with the hungry desperation of before, but with a deep, exploring patience. The water cascaded over them, a warm curtain sealing them in. Dave’s lips were soft, moving slowly against Adam’s, his tongue tracing a languid path. His hands, those big, rough builder’s hands, moved over Adam’s back with a new reverence, learning the shape of his shoulder blades, the dip of his spine.
He kissed the hollow of Adam’s throat, the line of his collarbone, his mouth leaving a trail of heat that the shower spray couldn’t cool. He took his time, kneeling in the tub, his hands smoothing over Adam’s thighs, his hips, before taking him into his mouth with a slow, devoted focus that had Adam gripping the wet tile, his head falling forward with a quiet sigh. It was worship, not conquest. Dave worked him with a gentle, relentless patience until Adam came with a shuddering gasp, his cries lost in the drumming water.
After, Dave just held him, both of them breathing heavily under the spray. “I’m gonna walk to the café,” Dave said, his lips against Adam’s wet hair. “Clear my head.”
He stepped out, toweled off, and dressed in the clean clothes he’d fetched from his room. He left without another word, the ghost of his touch still on Adam’s skin.
Three hours later, Adam’s phone buzzed on his pristine desk. A single thumbs-up emoji from Dave.
Adam rolled his eyes, a smile tugging his lips. Such a dad. He tapped back the old man emoji—bald head, big mustache—and set the phone aside.
He turned to his laptop, pulling up the half-finished essay for his third "tutoring" student. He'd come to Adam on Trent's recommendation, saying he'd heard Adam could help with his college work and... other things. This was Ben and Ben liked to piss on people. During their first session, Ben opened up, saying his girlfriend would never let him even try, she wouldn't even do butt stuff. Adam told him he was in the right place and after being covered in Ben's warm, salty piss, and taking Ben's load in his ass, he'd sent him off with a smile in his heart, an essay in his hand and a much lighter wallet.
A soft thump from the ceiling made him freeze. Movement. Voices, muffled and melodic—his mother’s laugh. He stood, listening. The distinct click of the basement door opening upstairs triggered the small, green LED bulb by his own doorframe. It flashed once, a silent alarm.
He moved quickly. He quickly scanned the room, making sure all his paraphernalia was stowed and smoothed his clothes into their usual neat perfection. By the time the footsteps descended the stairs, the room was in its usual state of minimalist calm, the only smell the faint citrus of the cleaning spray.
“Adam? You down here, love?” His mother’s voice was light, happier than he’d heard it in weeks.
“Yeah, Mum.” He turned, arranging his face into its usual polite neutrality.
Emily appeared, her smile warm but edged with a hint of self-consciousness. “I just wanted to… well, thank you. For talking to Dave.”
Adam tilted his head. “About?”
“Oh, you know.” She waved a hand, stepping fully into the room. “Giving him that idea. To open things up. It’s a bit weird, discussing this with my son, but… he told me it came from you. From a chat you had.”
Adam kept his expression soft, concerned. “I just want everyone to be happy.”
“And we are! Or, we will be. It’s like a pressure valve released.” She stepped forward and hugged him, a tight, earnest squeeze. “Come upstairs. Let’s have a proper chat.”
A cold thread of anxiety wound through his gut. Had Dave said something? Been too specific? He followed her up, his mind racing through plausible denials.
Dave was already at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of him. He looked up as Adam entered, and the smile he gave was broad, warm, and utterly paternal. There was no trace of the man who, hours before, had been on his knees in the shower. “Adam,” he said, his voice a friendly rumble. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks for being so supportive, son,” Dave continued, glancing at Emily. “Really going deep with me on it. Means a lot.”
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. A current passed through the air, invisible to Emily. Adam gave a small, humble nod. “Of course.”
“Actually,” Dave said, leaning back in his chair. “Been talking to your mum about another idea. My boss has been on me for months to get an assistant on site. Someone to handle logistics, orders, the paperwork I hate.” He spread his hands. “Thought maybe you’d be interested. Get you out in the world a bit, open you up to some new experiences.”
Come be my bitch at work. The subtext was a physical touch, a promise whispered in the space between Dave’s words. Adam felt it land, hot and specific, in the pit of his stomach.
He let the silence stretch, frowning slightly as if considering a complex problem. He could feel both their eyes on him. “I… I have my tutoring schedule,” he said tentatively, his voice meek. “But… maybe I could rearrange some of my students? Fit it all in?”
Another glance. Dave’s eyes glinted. “That’d be great. We could work around it.”
Emily clapped her hands together, her delight filling the kitchen. “This feels like it’s all going to work! I’m going to make us a celebratory dinner. You two work out the details.” She bustled towards the fridge, effectively dismissing them.
Dave stood. “Let’s go plan downstairs, yeah? Quieter.”
Adam led the way back to his basement sanctuary. The door clicked shut, sealing them in. The air changed, charged and still. Without a word, Adam guided Dave to the rug in front of the low sofa. He pushed him down, arranging him so his head was propped back against the seat cushion.
Then Adam removed his own pants, folding them neatly over the arm of the sofa. He lowered himself, positioning his body over Dave’s face, settling his weight until he felt the warm, wet pressure of Dave’s tongue. A shuddering sigh escaped him.
He picked up his phone from the coffee table. “Okay,” he said, his voice assuming a calm, businesslike tone even as he ground down gently. “Let me just… make some calls.”
Dave’s hands came up to grip his hips, holding him there. Adam scrolled, hit a contact, put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Mrs. Daniels? It’s Adam. I’m so sorry, but I need to reschedule Ben's session this week… Yes, evening would be perfect, thank you for understanding.”
He made the next call, and the next. He negotiated, apologized, rearranged. All the while, Dave worked on him with a devoted, hungry focus, the sounds soft and wet. Adam’s breath hitched only once, during a particularly difficult negotiation with Trent, who wanted to keep his usual schedule. He muted the phone, let out a sharp gasp, then unmuted and closed the deal.
Six students. All moved to evenings and weekends. He set the phone down.
He looked down. Dave was still working slavishly at his pussy, rubbing his own thick cock through his jeans with a frantic, desperate rhythm. Adam leaned forward. He unbuttoned Dave’s jeans, unzipped them, and pulled his cock free. It was already leaking, straining against his stomach.
From a small, hidden drawer in the coffee table, Adam retrieved a bottle of lube. He slicked Dave’s cock thoroughly, the cold gel making Dave hiss. He poured more into his own palm, reached behind himself, and prepared with a few efficient, practiced fingers.
Then he positioned himself, guiding Dave’s tip to his entrance. He paused, looking into Dave’s face, watching the anticipation twist his features. Adam sank down in one slow, inexorable motion, taking every thick, impossible inch until he was fully seated.
Dave’s eyes rolled back, a low, gut-deep groan tearing from his throat. His hands scrabbled at Adam’s thighs.
Adam began to move, a slow, rocking ascent and descent, setting a perfect, punishing rhythm. He placed his hands on Dave’s broad chest for leverage, his own head falling back as he focused on the feeling of being utterly, completely filled. “This,” Adam gasped, the word punctuating a hard downward thrust, “is your new office.” Dave could only groan, his hips bucking up to meet each fall, his hands gripping Adam’s ass hard enough to leave marks. They moved together in a rough, sweat-slicked rhythm that had the sofa squeaking in protest against the concrete floor, a frantic counterpoint to their stifled sounds.
Afterwards, they lay tangled on the rug, breathing the cool, citrus-tinged air. Adam traced a finger over the fresh bruises on his own thigh, a satisfied smile on his lips. “You start Monday,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Wear work boots. And boxer briefs, not those loose grandpa shorts.” Dave just chuckled, a deep, spent sound, and pulled him closer.
An hour later, they returned to the kitchen. Adam moved with a slight, deliberate stiffness. He’d asked Dave, in a low whisper by the basement door, to push the large, heavy silicone plug into him. To keep Dave’s load there. Adam knew that every time he shifted in his chair or coughed lightly during dinner, Dave would know why, and he found that knowledge intensely hot, a secret circuit humming between them under the table.
Emily placed a casserole dish in the centre of the table. “Dig in, boys.” They ate with easy chatter about Dave’s upcoming work week, about Emily’s book club. Dave’s hand rested secretly on Adam’s knee through most of it, a warm, massive weight that made Adam’s skin prickle. Whenever Emily got up to refill water or fetch bread, Adam’s hand would dart over, rubbing Dave’s crotch through his jeans, teasing him, keeping him semi-hard throughout the meal. The normalcy of the scene was a sharper thrill than any of his solo rituals had ever been.
That evening, the house settled into its usual quiet. In his sterile bedroom, Adam was prepping for his nightly ritual. His phone lit up. A text from Dave, upstairs in his new, separate room: Was going to head down but I don’t want to overcrowd you.
Adam smiled. He positioned his hardening cock against his neat desk, placed a freshly rolled joint and a small bottle of poppers beside it, and took a picture. The dim blue light gleamed on the silicone. He sent it.
Dave was in the basement within moments, closing the door softly behind him. His eyes were dark with want. But Adam wasn’t just going to give it to him on a plate. “Strip,” Adam instructed, his voice calm. “Sit on the desk chair.” Dave obeyed, shedding his clothes with a rustle, his cock already full and attentive. Adam produced two soft silk ties from his drawer. He guided Dave’s hands behind the chair back, looping the tie around his wrists in a loose, simple knot. Another tie secured his ankles to the chair’s front legs. Not tight. Dave could writhe and struggle, could even pull free if he needed. But Dave just watched, his breathing deepening, willing and up for anything.
Adam took a black sleep mask from his pillow and slipped it over Dave’s eyes, plunging him into darkness. The loss of sight was immediate, profound. Dave’s other senses roared to life. He heard the whisper of Adam’s feet on the floor as he circled. He flinched when cool, slick lube dripped onto his left nipple.
“Stay still,” Adam murmured. His fingertips, gentle and precise, began to circle the nub, spreading the lube, teasing it to a tight peak. Dave sucked in a breath. Adam leaned close, his breath hot in Dave’s ear. “Open.” He placed the crutch of the joint between Dave’s lips and lit it. “Inhale. Deep.”
Dave obeyed, drawing the smoky sweetness into his lungs. The THC blossomed behind his eyes, softening the edges of the world. Adam took the joint back, took a drag himself, then set it aside. Dave heard the click of the popper bottle cap. A chemical, pungent scent filled the air beneath his nose. “Now,” Adam commanded.
Dave inhaled sharply. The rush hit his brain like a silent, velvet explosion, a dizzying surrender that melted his muscles into the chair. Every touch became magnified. Adam’s mouth, hot and wet, closed over his sensitized nipple, sucking and licking until Dave was moaning, his hips pushing up against nothing.
Then it all stopped. The touches vanished. Dave was left in a void of sensation, just the hum of the laptop fan and the distant beat of his own heart. He squirmed, the silk ties tightening slightly. “Adam…”
“Waiting is part of it,” Adam’s voice came from across the room, conversational. Dave heard the flick of a lighter, the slow exhale of smoke. The anticipation was its own exquisite torture.
This became the pattern for what felt like an endless, perfect age. Adam would return, feeding him weed, holding the poppers under his nose, sending fresh waves of disinhibiting heat through his blood. Then the exploration would resume. Adam’s mouth on his neck, his teeth grazing the tendon. His tongue tracing the shell of Dave’s ear, discovering a shiver that went straight to his cock. He lavished attention on Dave’s other nipple, pinching and pulling until it was as swollen and sensitive as the first. He licked a long, slow stripe up the inside of Dave’s thigh, avoiding his aching cock completely, then blew cool air on the wet trail.
Adam discovered everything. That a slow, firm rub just behind Dave’s balls made his whole body tense. That a whisper of fingertips along his inner forearm was almost ticklish, but done while Dave was high on poppers, it felt like a lightning bolt. He found Dave was neutral about his feet being touched, but loved having his armpits gently scratched. And the bodily fluids—when Adam spat onto his nipple, then licked it off, Dave groaned like he’d been struck.
He loves it, Adam thought, his own cock straining against the jockstrap he had put on before Dave had arrived. Loves the mess, the wetness. Just like me. He made a mental note to try piss with Dave in the shower soon. But not now.
For two hours, Adam edged and licked and sucked, mapping Dave’s massive body like uncharted territory. He’d bring Dave to the trembling brink with his hand, then stop, sitting back to smoke and watch Dave struggle against the bonds, his cock weeping and desperate. Adam was in a sexual frenzy himself, his own neat composure unraveling, but he held the line. This was about control. About study.
Finally, Dave let out a raw, guttural sound. He strained, the muscles in his arms corded, and with a sharp grunt, he pulled his hands free from the loose knot. He tore the blindfold off. His eyes were wild, pupil-blown, face flushed. He didn’t speak. He grabbed the bottle of lube from the desk, slicked himself with one rough stroke, and pushed him face-up onto the bed.
Adam offered no resistance. He just pulled his legs back. Dave entered him in one forceful, knowing thrust, sheathing himself fully in the heat that had been prepared for him all evening. Adam cried out, a sound of pure relief, his fingers clutching the duvet. He could take it. And he loved it.
Dave pinned Adam’s legs back over his head, folding him almost in half, and worked his hole with deep, punishing strokes. He added first one, then two slick fingers alongside his cock, stretching Adam further, marveling at the give, the hungry clutch of his body. He was impressed, and unbearably turned on.
“Fuck, you’re deep,” Adam gasped, his voice shattered. Dave’s rhythm was becoming frantic, his breath hot on Adam’s neck. His fingers pumped in and out next to his shaft, stretching the ring of muscle wide. The orgasm built in Dave like a dam about to break.
It was then Adam hissed the filthiest thing yet into the rumpled sheets. “Might be time… for Daddy to fist me soon.”
These words. This specific, shocking image. It shattered Dave’s control. He pulled out just as his climax erupted, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum all over Adam’s groin and chest, coating him in the substantial load Adam so coveted. The sight of Dave's release painting his willing, stretched body triggered Adam’s own. He fisted his cock, the extra slick from Dave’s cum making his hand glide, and he came with a choked sob.
They collapsed, a tangled, sticky mess. After a long while, Dave traced a finger through the cooling spend on Adam’s skin. “Were you serious?” he asked, his voice gravel. “About the… fisting?”
Adam turned his head on the pillow. His eyes were clear, focused. “I’m always serious when it comes to sex. But I need more preparation for that. Specific toys. Time.”
Dave nodded, understanding completely. He looked around the blue-lit room, then back at the peaceful, wrecked young man beside him. “Is it okay if I sleep here? Me and your mum… the separate rooms thing. I just… I don’t like sleeping alone.”
Adam didn’t answer with words. He simply cuddled into Dave’s side, wrapping his slender limbs around the larger man’s torso, his head on Dave’s shoulder. He was asleep within minutes, breathing deep and even. Dave held him, surrounded by the scent of sex, weed, and citrus cleaner, and fell into the deepest, most untroubled sleep he could remember.