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Four hours later, Grant pulled into the garage of his flat, exhausted. All he wanted was to lose himself in some mindless activity. Something fun and physical.
He should go to the gym.
He went upstairs, showered—for reasons he refused to examine too closely—and changed into his gym kit.
But when he got downstairs, instead of heading to the car, he started running. Just a few miles along the river, he told himself. It was dusk, and the sky was lit up with pink puffy clouds that filled him with the urge to run back for his camera, but he soldiered on.
And if his route took him past the scrap yard, so be it.
And if he heard music blaring out from Dare’s workshop, well, it would be rude not to send a little text. See if Dare fancied any company.
And that was how he found himself being hustled into Dare’s silver caravan, those large hands kneading his arse as he made his way to the little bedroom.
“Mmm, I’m glad you came back so soon,” Dare murmured before kissing his way down Grant’s neck. “And in easy-access clothing too.”
Grant shuddered with want as Dare’s hands proved just how easy access it was, pushing their way down the back of his trackie bottoms and grabbing his glutes. “Please,” Grant asked, not sure how to voice what he wanted. He had no practice with begging for this kind of thing, but he knew if anything would take his mind off the emotional trauma of the day, it would be Dare, forcing his way into places no man had ever been before.
“What do you want?” Dare asked, laughter in his voice. Bastard.
“You. Please. Just...do things to me.”
“Hmm, what kind of things do you mean? Oh!” Dare’s fingers insinuated themselves into Grant’s crack, making his nerves thrill. “Would you mean these kinds of things?”
Grant froze. “Not that.”
Dare moved his hand away, but that wasn’t what Grant wanted either.
His cheeks heated as he tried to explain himself. “I-I mean, I’m not ready to bottom. Not yet. But you could maybe try other things. You know, to see how it goes.”
“So you’re okay with a bit of arse-play?” Dare moved down to petting his hole, and Grant thrust back, making all manner of embarrassing noises.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dare gloated. “Right, then, these are going to need to come off. All the way. I want you naked from the waist down.” He yanked Grant’s trackie bottoms down, while Grant stepped out of his trainers.
“It’s cold,” Grant protested, shivering.
“Don’t worry. I’ll soon warm you up. But you can leave your socks on. Now get on your hands and knees. On the bed.”
Grant’s shivers didn’t subside as he got into position. If anything, they increased, and now he wasn’t sure if they were down to the cold or the fact he was entering uncharted territory. But he had nothing to be afraid of, did he? After all, he’d been the one in Dare’s position before, and he’d always made sure his partner thoroughly enjoyed himself.
It was all very well telling himself that, but there was something so exposing and vulnerable about offering himself up like this. What if Dare just jammed his cock into him? Did he trust him not to?
“God, you look gert lush like that. Fucking gorgeous.” When Dare’s touch finally landed on him, it wasn’t a blunt intrusion at his arsehole, but a gentle, firm caress to his cheeks. Grant whimpered a little and buried his face in the pillows, trying to hold back all the needy little sounds Dare somehow dragged out of him.
He gasped and jerked away when Dare’s fingers dragged inside his crease, and Dare seemed to get the hint, sticking to massaging him and giving a soothing litany of dirty talk.
“Yes, that’s it. Just chill out. I’m not going to hurt you. We’ll just play with toys. And maybe my tongue.” Dare kissed him then, at the base of Grant’s spine, and electricity zapped through his body.
There was more of that wonderful, slow massage then, and Grant succumbed to it, his muscles gradually relaxing. And then there was nothing, and Dare disappeared for a moment. There was the sound of doors opening and closing. “Dare?” Grant lifted his head and looked around.
Dare appeared to be rummaging through one of the built-in cupboards in the wall facing the bed. Cupboards that appeared to be crammed full of clothes and all manner of crap. Grant took it in, not really comprehending what was going on. “What are you doing?”
“Told you I was looking for toys, didn’t I?”
“You keep them in your office?”
“Ah, about that...” Dare gave him a challenging look, and suddenly it sank in. What Cecil had said about Dare perhaps living in the scrap yard.
“This is your home, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dare shrugged guiltily. “It’s not exactly luxury accommodation, is it? Wouldn’t blame you if you turned your nose up at shagging someone who lived in a caravan.”
Did he care? A few months ago, he might have, but things looked different these days. He didn’t particularly mind where Dare lived, so long as Dare was happy with his choice. Grant was about to argue just that, but then he figured actions would speak louder than words. He dropped his head down and wiggled his arse. “Do I look bothered?”
There was a loud guffaw. “No, not particularly. All right, then.” A slap landed on Grant’s backside. “Just give me a minute. I think I see the box I packed them in. Yes, that’s the one.”
While part of him desperately wanted to see what was in the box, Grant didn’t turn his head in case it proved too scary. Better to feel something without having made a judgement about how big it was and how much it would hurt. Yes, definitely better. He braced himself for the sensation of a toy pressing against him, but instead, Dare’s hand found his cock.
“Come on, don’t you go freaking out on me. I want you all desperate and begging me for some action. Hold on. I’ve remembered just the thing to help.”
Grant tried not to anticipate what was coming, but it was impossible not to imagine lubed fingers pressing into his hole. What he’d never have imagined, though, was a warm, wet sensation around his toes.
“What the fuck?” His leg muscles convulsed. “Get off me! Stop. Ticklish.” He didn’t want to kick Dare in the face, but it was going to happen if he didn’t stop nibbling on Grant’s toes. “I mean it. Stop!”
Dare did break off then. “I thought you enjoyed this.”
“What on earth gave you that idea? I hate having my feet touched.” Grant curled up and grabbed his toes tight, protecting them from any further attempts at foreplay.
“That little fucker,” Dare said slowly, with grudging respect. “He went and fooled me good and proper.”
“Who did?”
“You old bit of stuff. You know, your cute twink.”
“You’ve been getting sex tips off Mas?”
“I wasn’t asking for them. I just like shopping there, and naturally the conversation turned to you.”
“Naturally.” Grant wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Dare and Mas swapping notes behind his back. “What else did he say?”
“Oh, nothing of interest to you. Anyway, forget about Mas. I want you to be thinking of me.” Dare pushed down on Grant’s shoulders. “Now eat pillow, bitch.”
“Piss off,” Grant said, but at least he was laughing again now.
Not for long, though. Not when Dare’s hands pushed his cheeks apart and a warm, wet tongue found its way to another incredibly sensitive part of his body. Oh God. Now he understood why rimming them had always turned his partners into a puddle of lust. It made him want to squirm away and push back shamelessly at the same time. Almost unbearably intimate, but the sensation was so good. Every rasp of Dare’s stubble across his cheeks only heightened the motions of his tongue. A tongue that was now stabbing inside Grant like it owned his arse.
And right now, he wouldn’t mind Dare owning his arse in every way. He rocked back against him, unable to stop the desperate sounds from pouring out of him. Dare seemed to understand just how close he was, though, as he took hold of Grant’s cock and began pumping in time with his licks.
“Thought you were going to use some toys,” Grant panted in an effort to reclaim some control.
“Don’t think you need them,” Dare growled, and the vibrations shot right into Grant’s balls.
Grant couldn’t have held back his orgasm if he’d wanted to. It rushed over him, firing bliss down every last nerve ending. He collapsed into the wet patch, and then Dare was over him, his thick cock grinding into the crease of Grant’s arse. It felt dangerously close to penetration, especially when he nudged against Grant’s hole at the bottom of every stroke, but Grant didn’t have the energy or the inclination to protest right now. If Dare wanted to fuck him, he could do it.
He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when Dare convulsed and cried out, shooting over Grant’s back.
They lay there for a while, panting, and the feeling of a heavy body pinning him down was surprisingly comfortable. Comforting, even, for reasons Grant couldn’t begin to explain.
Dare eventually stirred. “You can stay the night, if you want.”
Did he want? A part of him certainly did. The lazy, sated, blissed-out part of him said “absolutely.” But the rational part of his brain reminded him that it would mean sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress, and things could get awkward in the morning. It wasn’t like passing out here when drunk. Staying here when sober meant something else entirely. Something he wasn’t sure he was ready for just yet.
Although he was starting to think he’d like to be ready.
“I’d better go,” Grant said. “Got a heap of things to be getting on with tomorrow.”
Dare rolled off him, and they lay facing each other. Dare was frowning. “But it’s Sunday.”
“That doesn’t mean anything in my line of work. I’ve been out of the office for the past couple of weeks and there’ll be a pile of stuff to catch up with. Cecil will expect me to have at least familiarised myself with it all by Monday morning, even if I don’t find time to deal with everything. And then there’s some client lunch Cecil’s arranged, which I have to show my face at.”
“Your boss really takes the piss, you know that? I can’t believe you don’t get a proper weekend.”
“It’s just the way things are. And the money makes up for the long hours.”
“Does it crap. Money can’t give you your life back. All that wasted time. You know what my dad said when he was lying in hospital, coughing his guts up? He said he wished he hadn’t worked so hard. Wished he’d spent more time hanging out with me and Jase when we were kids.” Dare’s chuckle was bitter. “Course, he went and spoilt it all by saying he reckoned then I wouldn’t have turned into a shirt-lifter, and Jase... Well, Jase wouldn’t have ended up like he did. But still, I don’t reckon there’s anyone who lies there at the end and says ‘I wish I’d made more money and bought more stuff.’ Doesn’t happen, does it?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Grant hadn’t yet been near death. Three of his grandparents had already died by the time he was born, and the other died very discreetly in a nursing home. Grant hadn’t even found out she’d been ailing until it was too late for a deathbed visit. But then again, maybe his father had tried to tell him and he’d been too busy to listen properly.
Dare was someone who listened. For all his belligerent, cocky attitude, he did make time for people, that much was obvious.
Maybe Dare was a better man than Grant was. The thought was sobering. That someone with hardly any money who lived in a caravan could be superior to Grant in the ways that really mattered.
“What would you do, if you didn’t have your job? If you could do anything in the world with your life?” Dare asked him.
Grant thought hard. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, you must have some idea. Surely at some point you’ve thought something else sounded like a fun way to spend your time.”
“What about you?” Grant countered. “What would you do if you didn’t have this place?”
“I always fancied a little place by the sea. Maybe be a fisherman or a potter or something.”
“You’re into pottery?”
“Never tried it. Never tried sea fishing either, but I used to love dangling a rod into the river when I was younger. Course, round here you mostly catch beer cans and rubber johnnies, but it was still a buzz.”
“So it’s just a pipe dream,” Grant said.
“Nothing wrong with dreaming. It’s what keeps us all sane.”
As Grant walked back home, Dare’s words circled round and round in his head. Was he really a man with no dreams? He’d always had plenty of goals, but dreams were something else, by the sound of it. Was that what was wrong with his life? Why he’d never been happy? He’d always blamed that on the whole being-a-gay-man-in-a-straight-marriage dilemma, but he didn’t have that excuse any longer.
Perhaps he needed to start dreaming. The trouble was, he didn’t know where to begin.