The living room smelled of pepperoni and jalapeños, the pizza box splayed open on Dale’s coffee table beside two sweating beers. Artie sank onto the couch, his damp thighs sticking to the leather. Dale tossed him a slice without looking, the cheese stretching perilously before Artie caught it between his teeth.
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the crunch of crust and the distant hum of Dale’s ancient fridge. Artie watched a drop of condensation slide down Dale’s beer bottle, tracing the path it would take if he licked it off. His throat went dry.
Dale caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Artie took a swig of beer to buy time, the bottle cool against his palm. “Just thinking.” He gestured at the pizza grease smeared on Dale’s forearm. “You missed a spot.”
Dale rolled his eyes but held out his arm anyway. “Better fix it then.”
Artie licked a slow stripe from Dale’s wrist to his elbow, savoring the salt and cheap pepperoni grease. Dale’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle. Artie smirked against his skin. “Still tastes like shitty pizza.”
“Then stop lickin’ me like I’m the goddamn menu,” Dale grumbled, but he didn’t pull away. Artie nipped the tender skin of his inner arm, drawing a hiss. The beer bottle clunked onto the coffee table as Dale twisted, pinning Artie back against the couch. Grease smeared between their chests, warm and slick.
Artie’s laugh died in his throat when Dale’s lips grazed his collarbone. The pizza box crumpled under Dale’s knee, forgotten. Artie’s fingers found Dale’s hair, still damp from the shower, and pulled hard enough to make him groan. “Bedroom,” Artie muttered against his temple. “Unless you wanna explain pepperoni stains on your couch to the guys.”
Dale’s teeth flashed in a grin before he stood, hauling Artie up with him. They left the pizza to congeal, their beers sweating rings onto the coffee table.
Dale’s bedroom was predictably sparse — a queen bed with flannel sheets, a dresser plastered with jobsite stickers, and a ceiling fan that wobbled when Dale kicked the door shut behind them.
Artie’s back hit the mattress before he could brace himself, Dale’s weight following hard. The scent of laundry detergent and Dale’s sweat filled his nose as rough hands yanked his boxers down. “Still clean enough for you?” Artie taunted, spreading his legs to let Dale settle between them.
Dale’s answering growl vibrated through Artie’s chest. He pinned Artie’s wrists above his head with one hand, the other tracing the trail of hair below Artie’s navel. “Too clean,” he muttered. His thumb pressed against Artie’s lower lip. “Gotta fix that.”
Artie sucked Dale’s thumb into his mouth, biting down just enough to make Dale’s pupils blow wide. The mattress creaked under their shifting weight, springs protesting as Dale rolled them over. Artie straddled him, knees digging into the flannel sheets, and reached for the nightstand drawer. It stuck halfway — typical Dale — but a sharp jerk sent it flying open, revealing a half-empty bottle of lube buried under loose change. “Optimistic,” Artie drawled, popping the cap one-handed.
Dale grabbed his wrist, flipping them again with a grunt. The bottle squirted cold between Artie’s thighs as Dale pinned him down. “Been optimistic since ‘02,” Dale muttered against his neck, fingers slicking up Artie’s ass with rough efficiency.
Artie arched off the mattress, the stretch burning deliciously after years of imagining it. Dale’s calloused thumb rubbed circles against his perineum, teasing. “Fuck —” Artie gasped when Dale’s knuckle brushed his prostate. The ceiling fan wobbled above them, casting erratic shadows across Dale’s shoulders.
Dale leaned down, kissing Artie slow and filthy, his tongue mapping the roof of Artie’s mouth while his fingers worked him open. The lube smelled faintly of coconut, incongruously tropical against the musk of their bodies. Artie’s heels dug into Dale’s ass, urging him closer. “C’mon,” Artie panted against his lips. “Ya don’t gotta be gentle.”
Dale nipped his jaw but slowed his fingers instead, pressing deeper with a twist that made Artie’s hips jerk. “Yeah, I do,” Dale murmured, curling his fingers just so. Artie’s groan vibrated between them, his fingers tightening in the sheets. Dale kissed down his throat, pausing to suck a love bite over his pulse — just shy of bruising — before continuing lower. His lips traced the line of Artie’s collarbone, his sternum, the salt-slick dip of his navel, until he reached the wiry thatch of hair at his groin.
Dale’s breath ghosted over Artie’s cock before he bypassed it entirely, spreading Artie’s thighs wider. His tongue swiped a slow stripe from perineum to hole, savoring the shudder that wracked Artie’s body. “Christ,” Artie choked out, his hips lifting instinctively. Dale’s hands anchored him, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as he rimmed him with broad, wet strokes. Artie’s cock leaked against his abdomen, untouched and throbbing, as Dale worked him open with his mouth — sucking, licking, teasing the rim until Artie was panting and writhing beneath him.
When Dale finally took Artie’s cock into his mouth, it was with agonizing slowness, his lips sliding down the shaft while his tongue pressed firm against the frenulum. Artie’s fingers tangled in Dale’s hair, not guiding, just holding on as Dale hollowed his cheeks and sucked him deep. The wet heat was almost too much after the teasing, and Artie had to grit his teeth to keep from thrusting up. Dale pulled off with a filthy pop, swiping his thumb over the cockhead to smear precum before leaning down to kiss Artie deeply, letting him taste himself on Dale’s tongue.
They rolled together, limbs tangling in the flannel sheets, Dale’s thighs pressing against Artie’s hips as they kissed. Artie could feel Dale’s cock heavy against his stomach, hot and leaking, and he reached between them to stroke him slow and firm, his thumb circling the slit with every upward twist. Dale groaned into his mouth, his hips stuttering forward into Artie’s grip, and Artie smirked against his lips. “That’s it,” he murmured, tightening his fingers just enough to make Dale’s breath hitch. “Take what you need.”
Dale pulled back, his eyes dark and hungry, and reached for the lube again. He slicked himself up with slow, deliberate strokes, his gaze locked on Artie’s face as he did it. Artie spread his legs wider, his cock twitching against his belly as Dale positioned himself between them. The first press was careful, almost tentative, but Artie arched into it, his fingers digging into Dale’s shoulders. “Easy,” Dale murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
Artie shook his head, his breath hitching as Dale pushed in deeper. “You won’t,” he gritted out, his thighs trembling. Dale paused when he was fully seated, his forehead dropping to Artie’s chest as he let them both adjust. Artie could feel every inch of him, hot and thick inside him, and it was almost too much — almost. He dragged his hands down Dale’s back, urging him closer. “Move,” he whispered against Dale’s temple.
Dale did, slow at first, rolling his hips in deep, deliberate strokes that made Artie’s toes curl. The drag was exquisite, each thrust hitting that sweet spot just right, and Artie arched into it, his cock leaking against his stomach. Dale’s breath was ragged against his neck, his lips brushing skin as he murmured Artie’s name like a prayer. Artie turned his head, catching Dale’s mouth in a messy kiss, their tongues sliding together as Dale’s pace quickened.
Dale shifted, lifting Artie’s thigh over his hip to sink deeper, and Artie moaned into the kiss, his fingers gripping Dale’s shoulders. The rhythm was perfect — steady, relentless, but never rough. Dale’s hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of Artie’s ribs, thumbing his nipples, palming the sweat-slick dip of his lower back. Every touch was intentional, worshipful, like he was memorizing Artie’s body after years of wanting. Artie could feel the tension coiling in his gut, the heat building with each thrust, but he didn’t rush it. He wanted this to last.
Dale’s mouth trailed down Artie’s throat, pausing to suck lightly at the hollow of his collarbone before moving lower. He took Artie’s nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiff peak until Artie gasped, arching off the mattress. Dale chuckled against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver down Artie’s spine, and moved to the other side, giving it the same attention. Artie’s hands tangled in Dale’s hair, holding him close as Dale worked him over with lips and tongue, his hips never stopping their slow, deep rolls.
When Dale finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen, his breath hot against Artie’s chest. He reached between them, wrapping his fingers around Artie’s cock and stroking him in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming — the steady, deep stretch inside him, the slick heat of Dale’s hand around him — and Artie’s thighs trembled with the effort of holding still. Dale leaned down, capturing Artie’s mouth in a kiss that was all heat and hunger, his tongue sliding against Artie’s as his hips snapped forward, driving a moan from Artie’s throat.
Artie broke the kiss to gasp for air, his fingers tightening in Dale’s hair. “Fuck, right there —” His voice cracked as Dale’s cock brushed his prostate again, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Dale’s grip on him tightened, his thumb swiping over the head of Artie’s cock with every upward stroke, smearing precum down the shaft. The room was thick with the sounds of their bodies moving together — the slap of skin, the creak of the bedsprings, their ragged breathing — and Artie clung to Dale, his nails scraping lightly over his shoulders.
Dale shifted his weight, pressing deeper, and Artie’s thighs trembled around his hips. The angle was perfect now, each thrust hitting that sweet spot with unerring accuracy, and Artie’s vision blurred at the edges. Dale’s lips found his again, the kiss messy and uncoordinated, their teeth clacking together as Dale fucked him with slow, deep strokes. Artie could feel the tension coiling in his gut, the heat building with every movement, but he didn’t want it to end — not yet. He dragged his hands down Dale’s back, feeling the muscles flex beneath his fingers, and arched into him, desperate for more.
Dale’s breath hitched against Artie’s lips, his hips stuttering as he fought to keep his pace steady. His fingers tightened around Artie’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts, the rhythm maddeningly slow. Artie groaned, his head falling back against the pillows, and Dale took the opportunity to mouth at his throat, his lips soft against the damp skin. The contrast was dizzying — the gentle press of Dale’s mouth against his pulse, the relentless drag of his cock inside him — and Artie’s fingers twisted in the sheets, clinging to the last shreds of his control.
Dale pulled back just enough to look at him, his dark eyes searching Artie’s face. His thumb swiped over the head of Artie’s cock, smearing precum down the shaft, and Artie shuddered, his hips lifting into the touch. Dale’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was something tender in his expression, something that made Artie’s chest tighten. He leaned down, kissing Artie slow and deep, his tongue sliding against Artie’s as he rolled his hips in a long, deliberate stroke. Artie’s moan was swallowed by Dale’s mouth, his hands sliding up Dale’s back to pull him closer.
The pace was unhurried, each movement calculated to draw out every sensation. Dale’s cock filled him perfectly, thick and hot, hitting that spot inside him with every thrust. Artie arched into it, his thighs trembling around Dale’s hips, his fingers digging into the sweat-slick skin of Dale’s shoulders. Dale’s breath was ragged against his lips, his forehead pressed to Artie’s as he fucked him with slow, deep rolls of his hips. The room was thick with the sound of their breathing, the creak of the bedsprings, the slick slide of skin on skin.
Dale’s hands moved over Artie’s body with reverence, tracing the curve of his ribs, the dip of his waist, the swell of his ass. His thumbs brushed over Artie’s nipples, drawing a gasp from him, before sliding down to grip his hips. Artie moaned as Dale angled himself just right, the head of his cock dragging over his prostate with each thrust. Dale’s lips found his again, the kiss deep and lingering, their tongues sliding together in a slow, wet dance. Artie could taste the beer on Dale’s tongue, the salt of his sweat, the faint tang of his own precum from where Dale had sucked him off earlier.
Dale’s rhythm was relentless but never rushed, each movement calculated to draw out every ounce of pleasure. He fucked Artie with long, deep strokes, his cock filling him completely, the stretch just shy of overwhelming. Artie’s fingers clutched at Dale’s shoulders, his nails scraping lightly over the taut muscle as he arched into each thrust. The room was filled with the sound of their breathing, the wet slap of skin, the creak of the bed beneath them. Dale’s lips trailed down Artie’s throat, his teeth grazing the skin but never biting, his tongue soothing the faint sting before moving lower.
Artie gasped when Dale’s mouth closed over his nipple, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak before sucking gently. The sensation shot straight to his cock, already leaking against his stomach, and Dale chuckled against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver down Artie’s spine. He switched sides, giving the other nipple the same attention, his hips never stopping their steady rhythm. Artie’s thighs trembled around Dale’s waist, his breath coming in short, ragged pants. “Fuck, Dale —” he groaned, his fingers tightening in Dale’s hair.
Dale lifted his head, his lips swollen and glistening, and kissed Artie deeply, their tongues sliding together in a slow, wet dance. He shifted his weight, pressing deeper, and Artie arched off the mattress with a moan. Dale’s cock dragged against his prostate with every thrust, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, but Artie welcomed it, his hips lifting to meet each stroke. Dale’s hands roamed over his body, tracing every curve and dip, his touch reverent, like he was committing Artie to memory.
Artie’s breath hitched when Dale’s fingers wrapped around his cock again, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The rhythm was maddeningly slow, each movement calculated to draw out every ounce of pleasure. Dale’s thumb swiped over the head of Artie’s cock, smearing precum down the shaft, and Artie shuddered, his thighs trembling around Dale’s hips. “Fuck, Dale —” he gasped, his fingers digging into Dale’s shoulders. “I’m close —”
Dale’s lips brushed his ear, his breath hot against Artie’s skin. “Me too,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. His hips rolled forward, deep and deliberate, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside Artie with unerring accuracy. Artie arched into it, his back bowing off the mattress, his fingers twisting in the sheets. The tension coiled tight in his gut, the heat building with each thrust, until he was teetering on the edge, his breath coming in short, ragged pants.
Dale’s grip tightened around Artie’s cock, his thumb swiping over the head with every upward stroke, the friction just shy of too much. Artie’s vision blurred at the edges, his thighs trembling around Dale’s hips. He could feel Dale’s rhythm faltering, his thrusts growing uneven, his breath hitching against Artie’s throat. “Come on,” Artie gasped, his voice breaking. “Let go.”
Dale groaned, deep and ragged, his hips snapping forward as he buried himself to the hilt. His cock twitched inside Artie, hot and pulsing, and Artie arched off the mattress with a choked cry, his hot sperm spilling over Dale’s fingers in thick, white stripes. Dale’s name tumbled from his lips, half-plea, half-prayer, as Dale worked him through it, his strokes slowing but never stopping until Artie was wrung dry, his body limp and spent beneath him.
Dale collapsed onto Artie, his weight pressing him into the mattress, his forehead resting against Artie’s shoulder. His cock was still buried inside Artie, softening now but reluctant to part. They lay there, chests heaving, sweat cooling on their skin, the scent of sex and musk thick in the air. The ceiling fan wobbled lazily above them, stirring the humid air but doing little to cool them down. Artie’s fingers traced idle patterns over Dale’s back, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath his fingertips.
After a moment, Dale lifted his head, his dark eyes searching Artie’s face. He brushed a damp strand of hair from Artie’s forehead, his thumb lingering against his temple. “How long?” Dale asked, his voice rough, quieter than Artie had ever heard it. “How long you been thinkin’ about this?”
Artie’s breath hitched. The question hung between them, weighted with years of sidelong glances and half-stifled laughter in the break room. He traced the scar on Dale’s shoulder — the one from the busted scaffolding incident in ‘08 — before meeting his gaze. “Same as you,” he murmured. “Since before the acid spill.”
Dale exhaled sharply through his nose, his thumb still stroking Artie’s temple. “I knew it,” he muttered. “That day you handed me your spare shirt? Fuckin’ torture.” His hips shifted slightly, still joined, and Artie hissed at the oversensitive drag. Dale smirked but didn’t pull away, just pressed closer, his calloused palm sliding down to cradle Artie’s jaw. “Shoulda dragged you into the porta-potty back then.”
Artie laughed, the sound vibrating through Dale’s chest where they were pressed together. “Would’ve been a shitty first date,” he said, deliberately deadpan, and Dale pinched his side in retaliation. Artie caught his wrist, twisting their fingers together against the sweat-damp sheets. “But we got all weekend now. Longer, if you —” He stopped himself, suddenly aware of how thick his voice sounded. The unspoken offer hung between them: If you want me to stay.
Dale studied him for a long moment, his thumb brushing over Artie’s knuckles. Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed him — slow, deliberate, his lips lingering just long enough to make Artie’s pulse skip. When he pulled back, his gaze was steady. “Shower first,” he muttered, finally easing out of Artie with a wince. “Then I’m orderin’ more pizza. Extra grease this time.”
Artie watched him pad toward the bathroom, his broad back flexing under the dim bedside lamp. The sight of him — all muscle and scars and that damn sway in his hips — sent a fresh curl of heat through Artie’s gut. He stretched, wincing at the pleasant ache between his legs, then grabbed Dale’s discarded flannel from the floor and shrugged it on. The fabric smelled like sawdust and sweat, clinging to his skin in a way that shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was.
The shower kicked on, steam already creeping under the bathroom door when Artie nudged it open with his shoulder. Dale stood under the spray, head tipped back as water sluiced through his salt-and-pepper chest hair. Artie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Forgot how to work the taps, old man?"
Dale cracked one eye open. "Forgot how to walk, princess? Took you long enough." He reached out, snagging Artie's wrist to drag him under the water. The sudden heat made Artie gasp — Dale had cranked it near-scalding, just shy of unbearable. Dale's chuckle rumbled against his back as he crowded him against the tile, soap-slick hands sliding down Artie's sides. "You're wearin' my shirt," he murmured against Artie's neck.
Artie tilted his head to give Dale better access. "Yours smelled less like cheap lube." The retort lacked bite, especially when Dale's thumbs dug into the knots along his spine. He groaned as tension melted under those calloused hands.
Dale smirked against his shoulder. "Liar. You just like smellin’ like me." His fingers trailed lower, kneading the sore muscles of Artie's ass where they'd pressed too hard against the bedframe earlier. Artie hissed but didn't pull away — the sting blended too well with the heat of the water and Dale's mouth on his nape.
Their hips slotted together naturally, Dale's half-hard cock nudging Artie's thigh. Neither moved to escalate it yet; just stood there breathing in the steam and each other. Artie tilted his head back against Dale's shoulder, watching water droplets cling to the silver hairs on his forearms before getting washed away.
Dale reached past him for the soap, working up a lather between his palms before dragging them down Artie's chest. His touch was different now — less urgent, almost proprietary — as he mapped the terrain of Artie's body like he was memorizing it for future reference. Artie let his eyes fall shut when those hands carded through his chest hair, thumbs brushing nipples still sensitive from earlier.
"You missed a spot," Artie muttered when Dale's hands skimmed past his hips. Dale snorted but obediently palmed Artie's cock, his grip loose and teasing. Artie's breath hitched, but Dale just swiped his thumb over the head before continuing downward to soap his thighs, chuckling at Artie's grumble.
The water turned their skin slick, heat radiating between them where Dale pressed against Artie's back. Dale's beard scraped Artie's shoulder as he nosed along his damp neck. "Still sore?" he murmured, fingers ghosting over the faint red marks where the bedframe had bitten into Artie's skin.
Artie rolled his shoulders, leaning into Dale's touch. "Worth it." He turned in Dale's arms, catching the way steam curled around Dale's smirk like some half-assed halo. Up close, the shower had washed away the day's grime but left the creases at the corners of Dale's eyes — the ones Artie had spent years watching deepen when he laughed at some dumb jobsite joke.
Dale's soapy hands slid up Artie's ribs, thumbs brushing the dark hair dusting his chest. "Are you gonna return the favor or just stare all night?" he challenged, flicking water from Artie's beard.
Artie snatched the soap, working up a lather with deliberate slowness. He started at Dale's shoulders — those broad, familiar slopes he'd watched flex under sweat-damp shirts for fifteen years — digging his thumbs into the knots from hauling steel beams all week. Dale groaned, head lolling forward as Artie's fingers found the old injury near his scapula, the one from the '13 crane incident.
"Still tight here," Artie murmured, pressing deeper. Dale hissed but didn't pull away, his breath hot against Artie's collarbone. Steam curled between them as Artie's hands slid lower, tracing the water-slick trail of hair down Dale's stomach. He lingered at the top of Dale's thighs, smirking at the way Dale's cock twitched against his hip.
Dale grabbed Artie's wrist, guiding his soapy hand where he wanted it. "Quit fuckin' around," he growled, but his grip lacked conviction. Artie chuckled, wrapping slick fingers around Dale's cock with deliberate slowness. The groan Dale let out vibrated through Artie's chest as he worked him with long, twisting strokes, thumb swiping over the head every few passes.
The shower spray sluiced between them, turning the soap into a slick sheen that made Artie's grip glide effortlessly. Dale's hips jerked forward into his fist, water droplets catching in his silvering chest hair as his breath came ragged. Artie watched, fascinated, as Dale's eyelids fluttered—the same way they had years ago when Artie handed him that ice-cold Gatorade after the rooftop incident in '09.
"Christ, Art —" Dale's calloused hand clamped over Artie's wrist, stilling him. His pupils were blown wide, steam curling around his gritted teeth. "Not like this."
Artie smirked, twisting his grip just to watch Dale's thighs twitch. "What, gonna cum already?" He dragged his thumb through the bead of precum at Dale's tip, spreading it slow. "Thought you had more in you, old man."
Dale's growl sent heat straight to Artie's gut. In one motion, he spun Artie against the shower wall, pinning his wrists above his head. The tile was cool against Artie's back, a stark contrast to Dale's fever-hot skin pressed flush against him. Water sluiced between them as Dale ground his cock against Artie's thigh, his breath ragged against Artie's ear. "You wanna test that theory?"
Artie's laugh came out strangled when Dale's teeth grazed his pulse point. He flexed against Dale's grip, loving the way those work-roughened fingers tightened around his wrists. "Prove me wrong," he challenged, arching into Dale's body.
Dale's answering growl vibrated against Artie's throat as he released one wrist to slick his fingers between Artie's thighs. The first press was rough, no preamble — just two thick fingers curling deep as Dale's mouth crashed over Artie's. The taste of steam and sweat filled Artie's mouth as Dale worked him open with ruthless efficiency, his thumb circling Artie's rim in teasing counterpoint.
"You're still loose," Dale muttered against his lips, the words half-lost in the shower's echo. His fingers crooked deliberately, dragging a punched-out groan from Artie's chest. "Fuckin' perfect." Water sluiced between them as Dale wedged his thigh between Artie's legs, lifting him effortlessly against the tile. Artie's nails scraped against the shower wall as Dale lined up, the head of his cock catching on Artie's rim with delicious pressure.
Artie gasped when Dale pushed in, the stretch bordering on too much after earlier. Dale froze, his forehead pressed to Artie's shoulder, his breath ragged against wet skin. "Move," Artie demanded, biting Dale's earlobe. "C'mon, old man —" The insult dissolved into a moan as Dale obeyed, rolling his hips in deep, measured thrusts that made the shower door rattle.
Water sluiced between their bodies, turning Dale's thrusts slicker, hotter. Artie braced one foot against the shower bench, angling himself to take Dale deeper. The new position made Dale groan, his fingers digging bruises into Artie's hips as he fucked into him with slow, deliberate rolls of his pelvis. Steam fogged the glass around them, the bathroom air thick with the scent of sex and cheap shampoo.
Dale's beard scraped Artie's shoulder as he muttered filthy praise against his skin — how tight Artie felt, how good he looked split open on Dale's cock. His voice was rough, wrecked, and Artie twisted his fingers in Dale's wet hair just to hear him gasp. The water turned cooler as the heater struggled to keep up, but neither noticed; their bodies burned hotter where they were joined, every slap of skin echoing off the tile.
Artie's thighs trembled with the effort of staying upright, his muscles still loose from earlier. Dale's grip tightened on his waist, holding him steady as his thrusts grew uneven. "I'm gonna cum inside you," Dale growled, the words punched out between breaths. "Is that what you want?" Artie could only nod, his throat too tight to speak, his cock leaking against his abdomen where it was trapped between their bodies.
Dale's rhythm fractured completely then, his hips jerking forward with rough abandon. Artie gasped at the sudden fullness, the way Dale's cock pulsed inside him — hot and twitching — before warmth flooded his core. Dale groaned into his neck, a ragged, broken sound that sent shivers down Artie's spine.
The water turned icy without warning, shocking them both back to reality. Dale cursed, fumbling for the tap while still buried inside Artie, his movements clumsy with oversensitivity. Artie laughed breathlessly, sagging against him as the spray warmed again. "Real smooth, old man."
Dale nipped his shoulder in retaliation, finally easing out with a wince. They stood there breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together under the spray. Artie traced the scar bisecting Dale's collarbone — the one from the '11 rebar incident — before smirking. "Shower sex. Real original."
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