Work Text:
The Christmas party got out of hand. Of course it did, News at Six camera room Christmas parties are notorious. But Tim certainly did not expect to end up at Club 397 with Gerry and Dale, who’s already drunk before they arrive.
Concerned about Dale as they walk in, Tim says, “Hey, we should probably go out to the front bar. It’s a bit more private.”
“No, it’s all fine. I’ve come here many times. It’s discreet. I promise.” Gerry tries to convince him before leaving them at the bar, but Tim isn’t so sure.
It quickly becomes apparent that this was a bad idea. Dale has a shot and they’ve just walked in the door. When he immediately calls for a second, Tim knows something’s wrong. Dale’s trying to drown something in alcohol. “What’s going on?”
“To being single.” He holds the shot up in cheers and downs it.
That’ll be it. The Golden Couple, tarnished and broken. “Is that recent?”
Dale leans in. “Bet you thought it was inevitable. Didn’t you?”
So Dale is a mean drunk. Christ, it’s more charitable to pin the cruelty on the break up. It still hurts. “Now come on, come on.”
Gerry rejoins them and interrupts. “Some shots, gentlemen! Shots.” He places one in front of Dale, then offers one to Tim. “For you.”
The last thing this situation needs is for Tim to follow these two into further intoxication. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I—” he declines.
“For me.” Gerry drinks it instead.
Fucking Gerry, not helping the situation. It colours Tim’s estimation of the man, him not looking out for Dale when he’s this vulnerable. To encourage a mate—especially one so recognizable—to carry on like this in public, Gerry can’t be a good friend. Being seen in a gay bar is one thing, but making a scene as a messy drunk in a gay bar stretches the limits of discretion. Tim knows Dale’s not ready for this, not right now. If he’s going to explore being with men, he should do it when it’s an intentional choice and not a reactionary or impulsive one. Should do it when he’ll be able to remember the encounter. It’s time for Tim to see Dale home. If bloody Gerry who bloody dragged them here won’t look out for Dale, Tim will. “Dale and I are gonna go have a conversation outside. I think you need some—some air.”
“I’m good, I’m good.” Dale holds a hand up to dispute the necessity of leaving.
“Come on, Dale. You don’t want to do this here.” He takes Dale by the arm and urges him to follow.
“Tim—“ He eyes the men on the dance floor. Sweaty, close to one another, in varying degrees of exposed skin. The temptation to succumb to the beat and join the throng is intense.
“Another time, I promise.” Tim prompts Dale on with another tug on his arm.
I promise. Dale looks crushed but lets himself be led out of the club.
Out on the pavement, Tim tries talking sense into Dale. “I’m sorry about Helen, but this isn’t the way to deal with it. You’re in no fit state, you’ll do something you regret.”
“You don’t know anything about my regrets,” Dale all but spits out.
Tim rests a hand on his hip in frustration. “As it relates to all this?,” he huffs as he gestures to the door of the club. “I think I got an idea of some of your regrets last year. I have some of my own.” It was a shit idea to kiss Dale at Hotel Lincoln. He just got caught up in the moment, in the desire written so clear on Dale’s face it might as well have been lit up in neon lights.
Dale averts his eyes and looks into the distance, and Tim knows Dale understands what he means. “That was a long time ago,” Dale responds, swaying.
Fast on his feet to steady Dale by the shoulders, Tim is still trying to reach Dale’s better sense. “Maybe, but I think you need some time after Helen before you jump into something like this. You need a clear head, mate.” He softens his voice, going on, “And you need to be safe about it.” Dale reported that shit story on AIDS, but he’s never lived the reality of the danger.
That seems to break through to him. Disappointment returns to Dale’s expression joined by resignation. “But Tim—,” he looks back to the door. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he whines with his voice catching in his throat.
Well, that could mean any number of things. Heartbreak? Shame? “Feel like what?”
They lock eyes and Dale looks anguished. “Like I’m missing part of myself. I just want… I just want.” He places his hand on Tim’s neck, stroking his thumb over Tim’s jaw.
Christ, that lodges a pain of conflicting emotions in Tim’s chest. The touch is so tender and warm and sweet. It reignites the embers of Tim’s long-buried hope. All the same, he gently brushes Dale’s hand away. Dale isn’t in his right mind and Tim doesn’t much want to be the subject of his regret again when he sobers up. He also doesn’t want Dale’s affection if it means he’s just a bloke that’s there when any will do. Dale’s already hurt Tim so much. “Let’s get you home, Dale. You can do this when you’re not so raw, when you’ve had a chance to think things through. I’m gonna call a taxi. You stay right here, alright?”
If it’s possible, Dale’s face falls further. Tim’s got to hustle.
Dale’s entered the lethargic phase of alcohol over-consumption by the time Tim gets him into his apartment. Tim can’t just leave him at the door like this, barely able to stay upright. He walks Dale toward the bedroom, rolling his eyes at finding himself in this position, back here in Dale fucking Jennings’ apartment under these circumstances after all this time.
There’s a change of plans when Dale groans and covers his mouth like he’s going to puke, and Tim redirects them to the toilet in a hurry. They just make it, blessedly avoiding a mess. “There you go, get it all out,” he soothes, rubbing Dale’s back as he’s hunched over retching. Tim’s internally cursing himself—he’s got to be the biggest fool in Victoria to be helping out the man who kissed him like he was an oasis in the desert in the same minute he grabbed him by the collar and sneered in disgust. But if Dale doesn’t have Helen anymore, and he sure as hell doesn’t have Gerry, who else does he have? And when it comes down to it Tim still cares for Dale and his wellbeing. In silence, Tim pours out mouthwash then passes it to Dale; while he’s swishing Tim prepares the toothbrush.
They reach the bedroom, Dale with an arm slung around Tim’s shoulder for support. Dale slumps down onto the bed and Tim helps him out of his shoes, watch, tie, and… belt. Bloody hell. Dale’s pulling up his shirt to free it of his waistband, but he’s too uncoordinated to manage so Tim swears under his breath and lends a hand. Precious few inches of Dale’s abdomen are exposed in the effort and Tim’s kicking himself for the way it makes his heart rate pick up. Getting it free, Dale looks to Tim expectantly. Will this torture never cease? Tim gives Dale a hard look and proceeds to unbutton the shirt. Christ’s sake that enough due diligence done.
“Let me get you some water.”
Yes, almost two fucking years later, Tim’s still got a soft spot for Dale somewhere deep inside him. It’s ridiculous, as he chastises himself every time it’s dredged up. He’ll always want Dale to succeed, want the best for him, but it was too much working so close after Russell Street. It probably wasn’t his brightest idea to have gone to the Christmas party—something tugged at him, though. Sure, he told himself it was to see Ross and the old crew. But there was a possibility Dale would be there and maybe that excited him a little bit. Get it together, Tim.
He returns from the kitchen with a glass. “Here you are, have a drink. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
Dale gulps down most of the water and presses the glass back into Tim’s hand.
“Good. Now get some sleep and you’ll feel better tomorrow.” As Dale lies back, all Tim’s frustration evaporates. Dale promptly closes his eyes and is well on his way to unconsciousness. With him lying there looking like that, so bloody handsome and at last at peace, Tim’s heart doesn’t stand a chance. He knows Dale will recover from this setback, he’s got a tenacity that Tim has always admired. And just maybe, if his interest tonight to enjoy himself in a gay bar is a sign of what’s to come, maybe there’s positive change on the horizon for Dale. Or, Tim supposes, that line of thinking is as likely to be naive optimism. Will Dale ever embrace what he wants—without the regret, without being pissed beyond coordination?
It’s very late and Tim expects that Dale might not appreciate a man being seen leaving his apartment at this hour. Standing in the living room, he exhales a sharp breath through his nose, grabs a small blanket off the back of the couch, and settles in to kip here.
He manages a few hours of restless sleep and slips out before Dale rises.
Three and a half weeks pass and Tim’s got a lube packet and a condom in his front pocket as he heads to Club 397 in his usual Saturday night routine. One never knows, he thinks.
Acquaintances greet him as he walks in and Tim takes his time proceeding to the bar to stop and say hello. He orders a shot of vodka, throwing it back it in one smooth motion while scanning the dance floor. There’s a couple heads already turning his way with interest. One of the men approaches him—a sun-kissed brunette with thick glasses and tight jeans—and Tim meets him halfway. They dance together, moving their bodies to the beat.
Two songs in, the man asks Tim if he wants a drink and with a bright smile Tim agrees. He learns the man’s name is Jimmy. A handsy bloke, but Tim doesn’t mind. Just the opposite; he responds in kind, standing flirtatiously close, touching Jimmy’s arm as they speak. He just might have company when leaves tonight.
They’ve made it halfway through their beers when Tim spots Dale across the dance floor. He does a double take, incredulous. He’d known there was a good chance that Dale, once he sobered up, would pretend that night here before Christmas had never happened.
Arms in the air, Dale dances carefree and uninhibited—it takes Tim’s breath away. Then he notices that Dale is not alone. Christ, look at that. Tim tries to play it cool.
Dale actually came back here. The thought has Tim’s pulse thundering in his ears. If Dale’s here… He must have been sincere that night, buried under his acting out in pain. Tim can deny neither his curiosity nor Dale’s allure.
Working up his nerve, he downs the rest of his beer in one go and makes a curt apology to Jimmy who wears his disappointment plain. Tim wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans then heads for Dale.
Their eyes meet as he nears, and Dale’s mouth falls open. He says something to his dance partner that Tim can’t hear before the man shifts his attention to someone else.
Dale’s Adam’s apple bobs as he closes the distance between him and Tim. Rather than trying to talk over the loud music, Dale keeps dancing and nods his head in a shy, uncertain gesture for Tim to join him; together they move to the booming synth.
”You are an obsession / I cannot sleep / I am a possession / Unopened at your feet.”
The two orbit ever closer as the music plays.
Either the gravitational pull of their mutual attraction is too much to resist or the music has cast its spell because Dale at last touches Tim. He cradles Tim’s face with both hands and runs a thumb over the corner of his lip and mustache. Unlike the last time they were here at Club 397 together, Tim doesn’t decline the touch. And it’s not like when they had their hands on each other at Hotel Lincoln either—to be in a place like this, Dale has to have developed some self-awareness, some honesty with himself about what he’s after. No, this time, Dale is showing interest impossible to misread or dismiss.
”My need to possess you has consumed my soul / My life is trembling, I have no control.”
Tim loops his arms round Dale’s shoulders and threads his fingers in Dale’s hair at the back of his head. He’s keen to grab Dale’s arse but is afraid to frighten him off, that Dale would change his mind about this.
”I will have you / Yes, I will have you / I will find a way and I will have you.”
Their bodies brush as they move, consumed by the music and one another. Tim’s cock begins to harden in this proximity. Utterly captivated, his mind is fogged with desire as the beat thumps.
”Who do you want me to be / To make you sleep with me?”
The song ends and they continue dancing to the next and the next. They’ve lost all sense of time passing when Dale leans in close, the hot, shallow breath on Tim’s sweating neck making him shiver, and suggests they move to the bar.
Dale orders two shots of vodka that they cheers and knock back. Tim can see that Dale’s pupils are blown out in obvious arousal, but he’s clearly still got his wits about him, thank Christ. Not hammered like last time. Dale is not the type to ever be at ease; however, tonight the unease looks to simmer low under the surface, calmer, like maybe he’s been here since Christmas. Like maybe he knows what he wants.
With a familiar clap to Dale’s arm, Tim jumps in. “Surprised to see you here,” he says happily and a little out of breath, though the good cheer is edged with trepidation. This still feels unreal. “Didn’t think you’d be back.”
“I’ve had some time to think about it. It’s just—,” Dale bites his lip, looking to the floor then meeting Tim’s eye again and smiling. “It’s time for me to try other things.”
Dale has to know how seductive that was, right? “You don’t say? Good on ya then. This is… this is a big step.” Tim claps his palm to Dale’s arm again and gives it a squeeze as his stomach does a somersault and his face lights up. “I’m happy for you.”
As Dale presses nearer he grasps Tim’s shoulder and responds speaking directly into Tim’s ear, eliciting a shudder. “I’m tired of lying to myself.”
Tim battles with his reservations. Making a move on Dale backfired spectacularly before. But on the other hand, Dale is here in a gay bar appearing to have acknowledged his desires, choosing to touch him out of all the men in this place. And despite everything, being near Dale continues to make fire shoot up his spine.
Lust hangs thick in the air between them. Impulse takes over from Tim’s uncertainty. He closes the centimetres separating them, brushing his nose along Dale’s, their breath mingling. When Dale doesn’t recoil, only bores his eyes into Tim’s more intently, Tim presses a delicate kiss to Dale’s lips. Dale doesn’t hesitate this time. He licks across Tim’s lower lip and Tim opens to him. Thinking with his cock rather than his brain, Tim grabs Dale by the waist and cants his hips into Dale’s.
Dale inhales sharply as he instantly zeros in on the exhilarating dual sensation of Tim’s lips and erection pressing against him. Pulling back, Dale’s insides are warring between fear and naked longing. He messed things up with Tim so many times before and doesn’t want to mess it up again. A loaded pause later, adrenaline decides him. He takes Tim by the hand and walks off while Tim follows in a daze, unquestioning.
Rational thoughts desert Tim entirely when he realizes they’re not headed back to the dance floor but to the toilets. Fuck. His cock jerks in his jeans.
It’s dark in here too, and Dale steers them into a stall with urgency. Though it’s dingy and cramped, Tim could not care less. While he’s still fumbling to lock the stall door behind him, Dale is already on him, crushing their lips together and hard cock insistent against Tim’s thigh. They take each other by the face with both hands, desperate to get a taste as they share a ferocious kiss, deep and filthy from the start.
Tim tucks his thigh between Dale’s legs and grinds on him, pushing Dale up against the stall divider. Dale chokes back a whimper as he bucks against Tim. Over the music he can hear other men grunting rhythmically in a stall farther on and it only makes him hotter under the collar.
Dale hears it too. He puts his lips to Tim’s neck—sucking on the warm skin, licking seductively up to the ear. Then, he squeezes Tim’s arse encouraging him to rock into Dale with more force. Tim emits a low grunt, trying to both push back into Dale’s hand and grind on him harder.
It’s not enough for Dale.
Tim gasps as Dale fondles his clothed cock. Extreme arousal speeds Tim’s movement as he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans, lowering the zipper with tremulous hands. Dale wastes no time reaching into Tim’s boxers and taking hold of his cock.
His legs wobble, threatening to turn to jelly, and Tim throws an arm out to brace himself. Can this be happening? But then he knows it is when he feels up Dale. Nothing he’s ever fantasised about this man has felt this good. And Dale feels huge—he rocks into Tim’s touch.
“My god!,” Dale exclaims in a barely contained whisper.
Tim steadies himself on his feet and hurries to free Dale’s erection. Succeeding, he savors the low, throaty noises that escape Dale’s lips as Tim pumps his length. They’re getting into rhythm when Dale shifts and the slick heads of their cocks make contact. Tim keens obscenely and bucks into Dale’s fist. “Oh, fuck me, ah!”
Dale moans into the crook of Tim’s neck where his face is buried then leans back to pin Tim with a look. Quietly and with all sincerity he says, “I mean, if you want?”
Tim’s breath hitches. It was just an expression. However… “God. Fuck. Yeah—Yeah, if you want to.” Fuck fuck fuck, yes, fuck, please.
Dale feels Tim spurting pre-cum in his hand at the thought. He nods decisively, still sheepish to put words to the desire but unwilling to resist or refuse it. “Let’s get out of here.”
They tuck themselves away and readjust their clothing. Tim makes a call for a taxi on their rushed exit from the club. They’ve tried to collect themselves as they stand at the kerb waiting, but they can’t help making eyes at one another.
When the taxi finally pulls up, Tim gives the driver his address. The ride takes longer than it has any right to.
They arrive at Tim’s apartment and he is clumsy with his keys. With the door closed behind them, they’re all over each other again, Dale pinning Tim to the wall and tonguing into his mouth, hot and demanding.
Yanking it out of the waistband, Dale makes quick work of unbuttoning Tim’s shirt. Dale moans into Tim’s mouth as he ghosts fingertips over his mesh undershirt, now completely, gloriously revealed.
Flattered, Tim’s lips twist into a satisfied smile. He searches for any sign of uncertainty in Dale’s face as he reaches for Dale’s belt. He stalls with the buckle. “At any point, just tell me if you want to stop.”
Dale rests his forehead against Tim’s and holds him close by the back of the neck. “Tim. I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time. Please don’t stop now.” And he sounds like he might just die if Tim does.
He unzips Dale’s trousers and lets them fall to the floor. Dale rocks against him, but makes a noise of discontent and gropes to relieve Tim of his belt and jeans.
They’re a bit tighter than Dale’s trousers so Dale kneels to the floor, pulling them off and helping Tim step out of them. He promptly finds himself face to cock, strained in the fabric of Tim’s boxers.
Dale meets Tim’s gaze with an intensity that’s magnetic as he puts fingers to the waistband and slides them under. Tim nods his head eagerly and Dale slowly pulls the underwear down, mouth agape in bliss as Tim’s cock springs free.
Enveloping Tim in his hand, he leans in to press his nose into the thick brown curls at the base of Tim’s cock. The scent has heat already percolating in his lower belly. With a shaky breath, he sits back on his heels and strokes Tim’s stiff cock, struck by the realness of him, of actually getting to touch him like this.
Dale’s been to Club 397 twice in the intervening weeks, but never screwed up the nerve to take someone home. There was only an awkward, hurried fumble in the toilet. He was sure to be safe though—he had got tested and brought a condom just in case.
The few men he danced with, Dale’s mind was elsewhere, circling always back to Tim. Dale has yearned for this and felt guilty for it. Has in the dead of night dreamed about sucking Tim’s cock, fucking him. Or having Tim inside him. He never got that far with Adam. But now here they are and it’s surreal. It’s thrilling. And disaster hasn’t struck.
He slides back Tim’s foreskin and swirls his tongue around the swollen head, teasing at the weeping slit before taking him in his mouth. Tim is warm and heavy on his tongue and he tastes even better than he smells.
”Dale! Oh, f—“ Tim cuts himself off, biting his lip when Dale takes him deeper. He’s leaning against the wall for support, but his legs are starting to tremble.
Just then, Dale reaches behind Tim to take a handful of arsecheek, causing Tim’s hips to stutter and breaths to become hectic and shallow.
Emboldened by Tim’s response to his efforts, Dale finds Tim’s arsehole, rubbing over the tight muscle as he bobs his head. “Jesus!,” Tim cries out. “Stop, stop, or I’m gonna—“
Before his knees can buckle, Dale pulls off him with a wet pop, lips beautifully pink and glistening. Tim is still reeling from the brain-melting blow job as he pulls him to his feet and kisses him fiercely, steering them towards the bedroom. Along the way, they awkwardly shed Dale of his boxers and both of them of their shirts, determined to part their lips as little as possible.
Over the threshold, Tim steps back to take in Dale’s magnificent, mesmerising cock. In all his dirtiest dreams he couldn’t imagine how exquisite the reality would be. More breath than words, Tim murmurs reverently, “You’re beautiful, Dale.”
Dale advances toward him, chest heaving and stroking his cock. “I want you so bad.”
Hearing those words from this man sparks all of Tim’s nerve endings. He brushes back some of Dale’s hair, and Dale turns his head fondly into the touch before Tim reaches simultaneously for his cock and arse. Replacing Dale’s hold on himself, Tim revels in the weight of Dale in his hand as he pumps his fist leisurely. He swipes his thumb over the slick head and raises it to lips to have his first taste of Dale. Salty and rich and musky. He slides to his knees needing more.
He looks up and Dale’s biting his lip and reaching hesitantly for Tim’s curls. Tim takes Dale’s hand and settles it on the back of his head then hungrily takes Dale into his mouth, swallowing as far as he can. Crying out, Dale’s soft hold on his head tightens. Tim presses his tongue into the vein on the underside of Dale’s cock as he bobs back up and pauses to lave at the head indulgently. “I swear to god, Tim, if you want me to fuck you—“ Dale pants, his voice gone gravelly.
Tim releases him and steps back toward the bed. “I very much do.” Climbing on and reclining back, he never takes his eyes off Dale, who follows with a hungry look and straddles him.
His cock painfully hard as he takes them both in hand, Tim moans with the sensation of their friction washing over him. He palms them in a needy, clumsy way, never taking his eyes off Dale’s.
Dale rolls his hips with Tim’s strokes and can’t keep his hands off Tim. He uses one arm to support himself as he feels over Tim’s chest, pausing to play with one nipple and grazing over the hair, tracing its path down lower and lower. In response, Tim grabs a fistful of Dale’s perfect arse, blunt fingernails digging in.
Dale runs his thumb over Tim’s lip again and gasps when Tim sucks it into his mouth, licking and sucking and nipping with his teeth. “Ah, ahh!” Dale is on the edge all too soon and pulls back out of Tim’s grasp.
Tim looks confused, but not for long.
“Where’s your… you know….” Ridiculously, as they’re here cocks-out, Dale can’t bring himself to say it.
“Of course.” Tim scrambles for his bedside table and digs inside for the bottle of lube and condoms stashed there. “Yeah, here.” He props himself on his elbows with a realization. “H ave… Have you ever done this?,” Tim asks. It might be Dale’s first time having anal sex, he might not know how to prepare.
“Oh, um. Well, I’ve done it to myself.”
Christ, that’s so hot he’s about to burst with anticipation. Somehow Dale is blushing even more. “Okay, great, you know what to do then. Just take it slow and easy to start, yeah?” Dale nods.
Tim curls his legs up and envelops his own leaking cock in his hand again while Dale pours some lube into his palm and gives himself a single stroke. Then Dale has one hand on the back of Tim’s thigh and uses the slick one to graze down from Tim’s balls, over his perineum, to his arsehole. They’re each breathless as Dale traces circles there and Tim continues pumping his fist. They lock eyes—Dale can see the need in Tim, but he asks anyway: “Is this okay?”
Tim arches his back into Dale’s touch. “It’s more than okay,” he assures, coming undone. “Please, Dale.” Dale lowers his head to kiss Tim’s inner thigh and slowly pushes a finger inside. Tim bucks his hips. “Fuck, yes!” Oversensitive, he lets go of his cock to claw at the sheets.
As he fingers him inch by inch, stretching him open, Dale feels Tim relaxing. By the time he works in a second and then a third digit Tim is writhing and fucking himself on Dale’s fingers. “I’m ready. Please, now, I need you in me now,” he pleads. His clutch on the bedding is so hard his knuckles have gone white.
Tim’s raw desire sets Dale’s body aflame. He sits back on his heels and tears into the condom foil. Tim looks divine, sweaty and hard and open for him. Rocking his hips up into the air, Tim impatiently urges Dale on.
Dale rolls the condom on and lubes up his cock anew. Lining himself up and nudging his head at Tim’s hole, he says appreciatively, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought of you just like this, Tim. You are stunning.”
The words elicit a resonant moan. Eyes dark and pupils wide, Tim’s mouth hangs open as Dale sinks into him, feeling the way his cock stretches him further. “There you are, just like that,” Tim croons between deep breaths while adjusting to Dale’s size.
The fire of Dale’s arousal melts him from within and he has to stop once he’s fully buried in Tim’s tight heat, pelvises flush. He’s incredibly sensitive and breathing raggedly.
“Dale?”
“I’m good, I’m good, just give me a moment. You’re so tight.“ He hums deep in his throat. “You feel so good.”
It takes all Tim’s willpower to not move his hips before Dale is ready. He spills some lube into his own palm and strokes his cock as Dale acclimates.
But then Dale is ready, and he’s thrusting into Tim, supported by one hand to the mattress and the other holding one of Tim’s thighs wide as he rocks into him in a slow, steady rhythm.
“You like that?,” Tim asks, knowing full well the answer. He can feel how well Dale is enjoying himself. He wants to hear it.
“Mmm, yeah,” Dale rolls his hips, basking in the sweet feeling of being inside Tim.
“Yeah? Show me how much you like that.” Tim pulls Dale’s head down to his to kiss him savagely, muffling a broken moan as Dale picks up speed and rails him hard on each rapid stroke. The lewd slap of Dale’s balls against his backside has a simmering heat rising in Tim’s gut. “Fuck, Dale,” he draws the name out, “that’s good, fuck that’s so good.”
Without warning, Dale shifts position and manages to hit Tim’s prostate, pounding it again and again.
Biting back blasphemies, Tim relishes the assault, but it’s not long until he scrabbles away from the intense stimulation before it can make him come. Dale’s cock slips out and Tim pivots to take firm hold of Dale and roll them over so he’s straddling on top. In one swift motion he reaches behind to get Dale’s cock back in him and starts riding.
“Oh, God!,” Dale exclaims as Tim takes control. The unexpected switch is a revelation. Dale drinks in the sight of Tim’s sweaty skin gleaming in the dim light. The vision of Tim’s unbridled pleasure, the sound of their bodies meeting as Tim slams himself down on his cock—Dale gasps, hips bucking, holding on to Tim. “Holy —You’re—I don’t think I’m going to last.”
Tim thumbs over Dale’s jawline and clutches him tighter with his thighs. “No, that’s good. You’re good. Come for me.”
The words go straight to Dale’s core. His guttural cries of ecstasy fill the air as his whole body tenses and his back bows.
His cock bouncing between them as he drives himself down harder, faster, Tim fucks like the filthy sounds coming from Dale have to be the most arousing thing he’s ever heard.
With a final thrust, Dale lets out a strangled groan and shudders through his release, coming deep inside Tim and filling the condom.
Tim’s thighs quiver in exhaustion as he climbs off Dale and sits back—pumping his cock with renewed fervor, he’s so close to climax. He squeezes his eyes closed as he teeters on the edge. “Oh, fuck, yes, yes!—,” he pants and is interrupted by Dale removing his hand as he takes hold of Tim instead. Tim looks down in time to see Dale flopped over face down, arse in the air, swallowing his cock.
The sight sends white-hot waves of blinding pleasure crashing over him. Loud and unashamed moans emanate deep from his chest as he succumbs and pulses in hot streaks down Dale’s throat, riding the intense aftershocks until he stills and Dale pulls off.
Discreetly stowing the used condom under the bed to be dealt with in the morning, Dale collapses beside Tim, both gasping for air.
They lie there covered in sweat catching their breath for long minutes. Tim breaks the silence first.
“I’m sorry.”
Dale is entirely confused and laughs in disbelief. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”
“I should’ve asked, I don’t know how you feel about, um, swallowing.”
“I’ve, uh, I’ve been curious to try, actually. You taste amazing, Tim.” At that, Dale rolls over to kiss him, and Tim can taste himself on Dale’s tongue.
”Fuck,” Tim mutters in wonder. He tenderly brushes Dale’s sweaty, matted hair back from his brow and then his own.
Looking so completely and thoroughly satisfied, Dale smiles. “Yeah.”
They nestle closer and soon both are asleep, knocked out by the force of orgasm.
The next morning Tim wakes to find the bed beside him empty, but Dale’s shirt is on the floor so he must be around. Tim dons some fresh boxers and shorts and heads to the kitchen where he finds Dale sipping tea in his underwear. He’s reading an old magazine, hair mussed adorably, when Tim walks in.
“G’day.” He leans on the doorframe and Dale looks up.
“Oh, good morning. Tea?”
“Ooh, yes please. Would you like some toast?”
“That’s a great idea.”
Dale busies himself fixing Tim his tea while Tim toasts the bread. After he’s grabbed the jam Tim takes a seat at the table with Dale. They sit quietly with their cuppas.
“So,” Tim lets the word hang in the air before barreling on. “About last night. It was—,” he exhales sharply in awed appreciation, “It was ace.” A hint of pink colors Dale’s cheeks as he smiles shyly. “But I have to ask… What does this mean for you? If word gets around you’re hanging around Club 397, they’ll take you off the desk or, hell, sack you.” It’s blunt, but Dale must already know this.
“You’re right. I’m not going to advertise it, you know how that goes. But if it does come out, well, maybe you can give me some tips about who to talk to about work in doco. I meant what I said last night—I’m tired of lying to myself. It was past time to stop ignoring half of who I am… And it’s been more than I could have hoped.”
“That’s incredibly brave, Dale. I really am happy for you.” He leans in continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s worked out for me anyway.”
“It took me long enough. I’m sorry for everything, Tim. I’m sorry about what happened the day of the bomb in Russell Street. I’m sorry I denied what it meant to me. I’m sorry I was the reason you left News at Six.” His voice lowers. “I’ve wondered since the comet about what it’d be like to be with you. I’ve always been too afraid to face it.”
Christ, since the comet? All these missed opportunities, but at least they’re here now. And now that the moment has arrived, Tim never wants to let it go. To let Dale go.
Dale looks unsure of how Tim might respond and Tim can’t fathom why. It was earth-shattering sex. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. If you’re interested and ready to give something between us a shot, so am I… You know bloody well how I feel about you. I never could shake it. There’s something about you, Dale.”
Dale releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Yeah. Yes, I want to try with you. Properly.” Cradling his tea, he clears his throat and with a cheeky smile he goes on. “D’you reckon you’d like to have another go this morning?”
Tim’s grin lights up the room. He can’t believe he’s this lucky—somehow, Dale wants him. Not as a one-night stand. Not as a rebound. Not in a drunken stupor. His chest tightens at the thought. Tim’s cock is already starting to rise to attention as he caresses Dale’s hand where it’s wrapped round the mug. “Dale, I would like nothing more.”