Chasing Rainbows
The shop smelled like it always did at the end of a long day—hot metal, motor oil, sweat, and the faint sour edge of old grease that never quite washed out of the concrete floor. The big overhead fans were still turning, but they only moved the heat around. Jack wiped his hands on a rag that was already black with grime and glanced across the bay at Dylan.
Dylan hadn’t said much all afternoon.
Usually the guy was all easy grins and low, rough laughter, especially when it was just the two of them closing up. Today he’d been quiet. Tense. Shoulders tight under the faded gray work shirt that clung to his back in dark patches of sweat. Every time Jack caught his eye, Dylan looked away fast, jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn’t spit out.
Jack suspected why.
This was supposed to be his last scheduled day working alongside Dylan. Bill had already told him the regular guy was coming back next week, so Jack’s little side gig at the shop was ending. No more afternoons breathing in the same hot air, no more brushing shoulders in the narrow space between the lifts, no more watching Dylan’s thick forearms flex while he torqued something down.
Jack told himself he was fine with it.
He was lying.
He hated this. Hated how it was ending. Not with a clean break, but with this heavy, clumsy silence and both of them nearly out the door. It felt wrong. Like they were both pretending this whole thing hadn’t mattered, like it was just some summer job that was wrapping up and nothing more. Jack didn’t want to leave it like that. He wanted to say something—something that would make this feel less like it was just… over. But every time he tried to shape the thought into words, it slipped away from him.
He tossed the rag into the laundry bin and started wiping down the workbench, moving slower than he needed to. Behind him he could hear Dylan moving around—putting tools away, slamming drawers a little harder than necessary. The silence felt heavy. Loaded.
Finally the last tool clattered into its drawer. The shop went quiet except for the low hum of the fans.
Jack turned.
Dylan was standing by the big rolling door, one hand gripping the handle like he was about to yank it down and end the day. But he wasn’t moving. He just stood there, broad back to Jack, head slightly bowed. Jack could see the damp patch between his shoulder blades, the way his shirt stuck to the small of his back. The man smelled like work—salt and metal and that deep, masculine musk that always hit Jack low in the gut.
Dylan let out a slow breath through his nose. Then, still facing the door, he said it.
“…You don’t gotta head home right away, do you?“
His voice was low. Rough. Like the words had to fight their way out.
Jack’s stomach tightened.
Dylan finally turned. His face was flushed from the heat—or maybe something else. Eyes dark, uncertain. He rubbed the back of his neck, leaving a streak of grease on his skin.
“I got a couple cold beers at the apartment,” he said. “If you… if you wanna come over for a bit. Just to talk. Or whatever.”
He looked like he was bracing for Jack to say no. Like the invitation had cost him something to get out.
The shop suddenly felt ten degrees hotter.
Jack swallowed.
The rag was still in his hand, forgotten.
He could feel his pulse in his throat.
Dylan waited, jaw tight, eyes flicking away and back again like he couldn’t quite hold the look.
The moment stretched.
Jack opened his mouth.
“Yeah,” he said, a little too eagerly. “Yeah, I can come over.”
The words came out before he could second-guess them. Relief hit him so hard it almost made him lightheaded. At least now there was more time. At least now it didn’t have to end right here in the shop.
Dylan’s shoulders dropped a fraction, like he’d been holding his breath. He gave a short nod, almost to himself.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let me just lock up.”
Jack couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a tear in Dylan’s eye. He quickly wiped away one of his own.
—
They didn’t talk much on the drive over. The radio was on low, but neither of them really listened to it. Jack kept his hands on his thighs, glancing over at Dylan every so often. Dylan kept both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, jaw set like he was concentrating harder than he needed to.
Dylan’s apartment was small and plain, the kind of place that felt lived in but not really cared for. The couch was old and sunken in the middle, and the coffee table had a couple rings from old beer bottles. Dylan grabbed two beers from the fridge without asking and handed one to Jack before dropping down onto the couch beside him.
At first, they tried to talk.
Dylan asked when classes start again for Jack. Jack asked if he liked the neighborhood where he was living. The answers came out short and polite, like they were both trying to fill the space with something normal. Every silence that followed felt heavier than the last. Jack kept taking small sips of his beer even when he wasn’t thirsty, just to have something to do with his hands. Dylan kept shifting, one knee bouncing restlessly as he stared at the label on his bottle like it had something important written on it.
They were on their third beer when the conversation finally started to die completely.
Dylan had gone quiet again. He sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, rolling the bottle slowly between his palms. His shoulders were tight under his t-shirt. Every so often he’d take a breath like he was about to say something, then let it out and stay silent instead. Jack could feel it building — whatever had been sitting on Dylan all afternoon was still there, getting heavier by the minute.
Jack didn’t push. He just sat there beside him, the awkwardness stretching out between them until it felt like the whole room was holding its breath.
Finally, Dylan set his beer down on the coffee table with a dull clink. He didn’t look at Jack right away. He just stared at his own hands for a long moment, breathing slow and deliberate like he was trying to steady himself.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough.
“Jack…”
Jack’s stomach tightened at the way Dylan said his name.
Dylan didn’t look at him right away. He stared down at his hands, big and calloused and still faintly stained with grease even after washing up. He picked at a rough patch of skin on his thumb for a second, jaw working like he was still fighting with himself. Then he let out a short, bitter breath and reached for his beer again, draining what was left in one long swallow.
He set the bottle down harder than he needed to.
“I kept waiting for you to text me,” he said finally. His voice was low, rough around the edges. “After last summer. After what happened between us. I thought… I don’t know what the fuck I thought. That you’d say something. That you’d reach out. But you didn’t.”
Jack stayed quiet, heart starting to beat harder.
Dylan gave a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. “And then you come back out of the blue and don't say a thing, and you’re just… with Tyler. Like it was nothing. Like what we did didn’t mean shit.”
Jack jumped in quickly and a bit defensively, “Tyler is my best friend, Dylan. That's all. Yeah we do fuck, it's true. We did every day at college. But as close friends. Nothing more than that.”
A silence hung over them for several moments, both of them staring down, unable to make eye contact.
“Okay,” Dylan finally replied slowly. His voice was getting tighter. “But then I saw you coming out of the maintenance shed with those construction guys—” He cut himself off, shaking his head again like he couldn’t even finish the sentence. “Jesus, Jack.”
He finally looked over. His eyes were dark, angry, but there was something raw underneath it.
“That realization, what you were all in there for. That hit me like a brick.” Dylan said, voice cracking just slightly. “And all I could think was that you never even bothered to text me once. Not one fucking time.”
Jack felt the words hit him square in the chest.
He swallowed, trying to find his voice. “You didn’t know it, but I saw you too,” he said quietly. “With Rusty and Coop.”
Dylan’s expression shifted fast — defensive, almost immediately.
“Yeah,” he said, short and sharp. “You did.”
Jack hesitated, then pushed a little. “So it’s not just me.”
Dylan’s jaw tightened. He sat back against the couch, one arm slung over the back of it, but there was nothing relaxed about the way he held himself.
“It’s not the same,” he muttered, even though it sounded like he knew how weak that sounded. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, frustrated. “Rusty and Coop… they’re different. They’re not— it’s not like what you were doing with those guys in the shed.” He looked over at Jack, eyes flashing. “They’re kinda like Tyler is to you. They’re my friends. My best friends. More than that really—they've been mentors to me for years. They're…like uncles to me.”
He said it like he needed Jack to agree with him. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Jack.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
“Well…why does it matter to you what I do with other guys?“ Jack finally asked, a bit defensively.
Jack’s question hung in the air between them.
Dylan didn’t answer right away. He sat there with his jaw clenched, staring down at the coffee table like he was trying to decide whether to keep fighting or finally let it out. His knee had stopped bouncing. His whole body looked tense, like he was holding something back that was getting too big to contain.
Jack watched him, heart beating hard in his chest.
Finally, Dylan let out a shaky breath and dragged a hand over his face. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, almost like the words were being pulled out of him against his will.
“Because I’m in love with you, Jack.”
The words landed heavy in the small room.
Dylan didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the floor, his shoulders hunched forward. “I’ve been in love with you since last summer. Maybe even before that, I don’t know. But after what happened between us… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I kept waiting for you to text, to say something, anything. And when you didn’t…” He let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “And then I come back and you’re with Tyler. And then I see you coming out of that shed with those guys, and I just—” His voice cracked. He shook his head hard, like he was trying to push the image away. “It’s been fucking torture, Jack. Watching you with other people. Knowing I don’t get to have you like that. Knowing you never even thought to reach out to me.”
He went quiet for a moment, breathing unsteadily.
Jack didn’t know what to say. The words sat heavy in his chest.
Dylan finally glanced over at him, eyes watery. Then he looked away again, like he couldn’t stand to see whatever was on Jack’s face. He turned slightly on the couch, angling his body away, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck like he was trying to hold himself together.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, voice defeated. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”
He stayed turned away, shoulders slumped, the fight gone out of him.
“Dylan,” Jack said softly after a long pause. “I didn't text you because right after that I went away to college. I was gone. And for what it's worth, the texting thing goes both ways, you know. You, uh…you do know that, right?“
Dylan shot him a quick look and then looked down.
“Yeah, of course I do. I wanted you to be the one to start. I wanted to know that you wanted me too. That I wasn't just…chasing rainbows.“ Dylan paused and then let out a soft ironic chuckle. “I guess that's exactly what I ended up doing after all,“ he choked out, his voice breaking. A tear quickly dropped down his cheek as he turned away.
Jack sat with those words for a long moment. Dylan stayed turned away, head in his hands.
“No,” Jack said finally, voice steady. “You haven’t been chasing rainbows.”
Dylan slowly lifted his head and turned to look at him, eyes wet and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
Jack held his gaze and gave him a small, genuine smile.
“I mean it,” he said softly. “You haven’t.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Dylan just stared at him, eyes glassy and uncertain, like he was afraid to believe what he was hearing. Jack held his gaze, heart pounding. Then, slowly, he reached out and rested a hand on Dylan’s thigh. The muscle jumped under his palm, but Dylan didn’t pull away.
Jack leaned in a little closer.
“I mean it,” he said again, quieter this time. “You haven’t been chasing rainbows.”
Dylan’s breath hitched. His eyes dropped to Jack’s mouth for a second, then flicked back up. Jack could see the war happening behind his eyes — hope and fear and years of wanting all tangled together.
Jack didn’t rush him. He just stayed close, thumb brushing slowly over Dylan’s thigh through his work pants.
After another long second, Dylan let out a shaky breath and leaned forward. Their foreheads touched first. Neither of them kissed right away. They just stayed like that, breathing the same air, the weight of everything that had been said still sitting between them.
Then Dylan turned his head slightly and pressed his mouth to Jack’s.
The kiss was soft. Careful. Like Dylan was still afraid he might be dreaming this. Jack kissed him back the same way, slow and steady, one hand coming up to cup the side of Dylan’s face. He could feel the roughness of Dylan’s stubble under his palm, the faint tremor in his jaw.
When they pulled apart, Dylan’s eyes were still wet.
Jack didn’t say anything. He just kissed him again, a little deeper this time, and let his hand slide around to the back of Dylan’s neck. Dylan made a quiet, broken sound against his mouth and finally reached for him, one big hand settling on Jack’s waist like he needed something to hold onto.
They stayed like that for a while — kissing slow and deep on the old couch, hands moving carefully over each other like they were both still getting used to the fact that this was real. Jack could taste the beer on Dylan’s tongue and something saltier underneath it. He didn’t care.
Eventually, Jack pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together again.
“Come here,” he whispered.
He stood up and gently tugged Dylan with him. Dylan followed without a word, letting Jack lead him down the short hallway to the bedroom. The room was small and dim, lit only by the streetlight coming through the blinds. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled from the night before.
Jack turned to face him again and reached for the hem of Dylan’s t-shirt. He paused, giving him time to stop this if he wanted to.
Dylan didn’t stop him.
Jack lifted the shirt slowly, revealing the broad, work-hardened chest underneath. He ran his hands over Dylan’s stomach and up to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the faint smell of sweat and metal still clinging to him from the shop. Dylan shivered under his touch but stayed still, watching Jack with dark, vulnerable eyes.
Jack pulled his own shirt off and stepped in close again, skin to skin now. He kissed Dylan’s collarbone, then the center of his chest, right over his heart. Dylan’s hand came up and settled on the back of Jack’s head, fingers threading gently through his hair.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Jack gently pushed Dylan back onto the bed and climbed on after him, settling between his spread thighs. The second Jack’s hands hit the mattress, he noticed it.
The sheets were rough and stiff in places. The whole bed carried a heavy, lived-in smell — old sweat, motor oil, and the unmistakable sour-sweet edge of dried cum. There was one particular spot near the middle of the bed that was darker than the rest, yellowed and stiff with what looked like many loads that had soaked in and dried over time. Jack’s cock gave a hard throb in his shorts the moment he registered it. He loved it. The bed smelled exactly like Dylan — raw and masculine and unapologetically used.
Dylan didn’t seem to notice Jack’s reaction. He was too busy pulling him down into another kiss.
They made out slowly on the dirty sheets, hands moving with more purpose now. Jack leaned down and pressed his face into one of Dylan’s armpits. The smell there was stronger — heavy and musky from a full day of work. Jack breathed it in deep, then dragged his tongue slowly across the damp hair. Dylan let out a surprised little huff of laughter above him.
“Fuckin’ nasty,” Dylan muttered, but there was no heat in it. He sounded amused, almost fond. His hand settled on the back of Jack’s head anyway, holding him there for a few more seconds while Jack licked and sniffed.
Jack was still smiling against Dylan’s skin when he felt Dylan’s hand slide down and pop the button on his shorts. Dylan pushed them down along with Jack’s underwear in one motion, freeing his cock. The second it sprang free, Dylan made a low sound in his throat and wrapped a hand around it.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “Just as big as I remembered.”
He didn’t wait. He shifted down the bed and took Jack into his mouth in one hungry motion, groaning around him like the taste was something he’d been craving. Jack’s head fell back against the pillow as Dylan worked him over, slow and deep, one hand braced on Jack’s thigh. Jack could tell from the way Dylan was sucking him that the memories were hitting him hard — that one night last summer, the two of them in Jack's bedroom, the way Dylan had sounded when he came down his throat.
Jack let him have it for a minute, hips rolling up gently into Dylan’s mouth, before he finally reached down and tugged at his shoulder.
“Come up here,” Jack said, voice rough.
Dylan let Jack’s cock slip from his mouth and crawled back up the bed. Jack slid out from under him and moved down to the foot of the mattress instead. He knelt between Dylan’s boots and started working on the laces, untying them slowly. When he pulled the first boot off, a strong, concentrated wave of scent hit him — hot leather, sweat, and that deep, earthy musk that only came from a man who worked on his feet all day. Jack’s cock twitched hard against his stomach. He liked this smell too.
He pulled off the second boot, then peeled Dylan’s thick work socks down one at a time. Once both were off, Jack brought one of the socks to his face and pressed it there, breathing in deep for several long seconds. The fabric was still warm and damp. He didn’t care that Dylan was watching him do it.
Dylan just stared down at him, breathing heavier now.
Jack finally set the sock aside and climbed back up the bed. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Dylan’s work pants and dragged them down his thick thighs, revealing the jockstrap underneath. It was clean — or at least recently washed — but clearly well-worn. The fabric was faded and stretched in places, the waistband starting to fray. Jack leaned in and pressed his face right against the pouch, breathing in the warm, concentrated musk of Dylan’s cock and balls that had soaked into the fabric all day. He rubbed his nose along the length of it, inhaling deeply.
Dylan let out a shaky breath above him.
Jack didn’t tease for long. He reached up, hooked two fingers into the side of the jockstrap, and pulled the fabric aside, freeing Dylan’s cock. It was already hard, flushed dark, and leaking at the tip. Jack didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and took it into his mouth, groaning softly around the thick weight of it as he sank down.
Jack didn’t hold back.
He took Dylan’s cock deep into his throat, nose pressed against the worn fabric of the jockstrap still pushed to the side. He held there for a few seconds, throat working around the thick shaft, before pulling back and focusing on the head. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive ridge, flicking over the slit to taste the steady leak of precum. Dylan groaned above him, one hand gripping the sheets.
Jack pulled off just long enough to wrap his hand around the base and stroke him while he ducked lower and dragged his tongue over Dylan’s balls. They were heavy and full, the skin slightly tacky with dried sweat. Jack licked them slowly, thoroughly, then took one into his mouth and sucked gently before moving to the other. All the while his hand kept working Dylan’s cock in steady strokes.
He kissed his way back up the shaft, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length before swallowing him down again. He repeated the cycle — deep throating until his eyes watered, pulling back to tongue the head, stroking while he licked and sucked on Dylan’s balls, then kissing up and down the shaft like he couldn’t get enough of it. Dylan was breathing hard now, hips twitching up into Jack’s mouth every time he sank down.
“Fuck, Jack—” Dylan’s voice was tight, strained. “I’m gonna—”
Jack didn’t pull off. He took him deep again and stayed there, throat flexing around him as Dylan came hard. Thick pulses flooded Jack’s mouth, hot and heavy. Jack swallowed what he could, but some still leaked out around his lips and down Dylan’s shaft. He kept sucking gently through it, milking every last drop until Dylan was twitching and oversensitive.
Only then did Jack finally pull off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at Dylan, eyes dark and hungry.
He didn’t give Dylan time to recover.
Jack hooked his hands behind Dylan’s knees and pushed his legs up and back, folding him nearly in half. Dylan let out a surprised grunt but didn’t resist. Jack dropped lower on the bed, settling between those thick, work-hardened thighs, and leaned in.
The smell hit him immediately — strong, masculine, and ripe. Dylan’s hole was musky from a full day of work, the scent concentrated and heady. Jack didn’t hesitate. He dragged his tongue over it in one long, slow lick, then did it again, groaning against him. The taste was just as strong as the smell. Jack pressed in closer and started eating him out in earnest, tongue working hungrily over the tight ring before pushing inside.
Dylan made a broken sound above him, one hand flying down to grip Jack’s hair as Jack’s tongue speared into his starfish, fucking in and out with wet, eager strokes.
Jack only lasted another minute eating Dylan’s hole out before the need became too much.
He pulled back, spit-slick and breathing hard, and shoved his own shorts the rest of the way off. His cock was flushed dark and leaking steadily. He spat into his hand, gave himself a couple quick strokes, and lined up. There was no slow push, no careful easing in. Jack drove his cock into Dylan in one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt in one go.
Dylan let out a sharp, guttural sound, back arching off the filthy sheets. Jack didn’t give him time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a brutal, punishing pace right from the start. The old bed creaked loudly under them, the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust. Jack fucked him like he was trying to break something open — hard, deep, and relentless, hips snapping forward with enough force to jolt Dylan up the mattress.
The room filled with the wet sound of skin on skin and the heavy, musky smell of both of them. Dylan’s jockstrap was still pushed to the side, the pouch dark with spit and precum. Jack kept one hand hooked behind Dylan’s knee, keeping him folded open, while the other gripped his hip hard enough to bruise. Every time Jack bottomed out, he ground in deep, like he wanted to climb inside.
Dylan was loud — groaning, cursing, gasping every time Jack drove in at that perfect angle. His cock was hard again, leaking steadily onto his stomach and the already stained sheets.
Jack was sweating hard now, drops rolling down his chest and dripping onto Dylan’s balls. The smell of the bed, the smell of Dylan’s pits and hole, the sheer filth of it all was driving him higher. He fucked harder, faster, chasing it.
“Fuck— Dylan—” Jack’s voice was ragged. “Gonna cum—”
He slammed in one last time and stayed there, buried as deep as he could get, and unloaded. His cock pulsed hard, pumping thick ropes of cum into Dylan’s guts. Jack kept grinding through it, pushing every drop as far inside as he could, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He stayed locked there for several long seconds, breathing ragged, forehead pressed against Dylan’s calf.
Only when the last aftershocks faded did Jack finally pull out, slow and careful. A thick trickle of his cum immediately started leaking from Dylan’s stretched hole, running down onto the yellowed sheets beneath him.
Dylan didn’t even give himself a minute to recover.
The second Jack pulled out and flopped onto his back, breathing hard, Dylan was already moving. He shoved Jack over onto his stomach, then yanked his hips up until Jack was on all fours. Jack barely had time to brace himself before Dylan was behind him, one hand gripping his hip hard while the other lined his cock up and shoved inside in one rough thrust.
Jack gasped, arms nearly buckling. Dylan didn’t ease up. He fucked him with the same brutal pace Jack had just used on him — hard, fast, and mean, hips slamming forward with enough force to rock Jack forward on the bed. The old mattress creaked and shifted under them. Dylan’s hands were bruising on Jack’s waist as he held him in place and railed him, grunting with every thrust.
Jack dropped down onto his elbows, face pressed into the filthy sheets that reeked of sweat, grease, and old cum. Jack’s load from earlier leaked out of Dylan’s ass with every thrust, running down his thighs and combining with the stains on the sheets.
Dylan fucked him hard for a couple of minutes, breathing growing heavier, before he suddenly slowed. He didn’t pull out. Instead, he stayed buried deep, one hand sliding up Jack’s back to hold him down.
Then Jack felt it.
A hot, sudden rush flooding into him — not cum. Dylan was pissing. A strong, steady stream pouring deep into Jack’s ass, filling him up fast. It was a lot. Dylan didn’t seem to care that it was already starting to leak out around his cock and run down Jack’s balls, dripping onto the stained sheets beneath them. He just kept going, emptying his bladder inside Jack with a low, satisfied groan.
Only when he was finished did Dylan start moving again. He fucked Jack through the mess he’d made, the wet sounds even filthier now. Jack could feel it sloshing inside him with every thrust, some of it forced out around Dylan’s cock and running down his legs.
Dylan’s pace grew rougher, more erratic. His grip on Jack’s hips tightened.
“Fuck— Jack—” he growled, and then he was cumming. He slammed in deep and stayed there, unloading hard into Jack’s already flooded ass. Thick pulses of cum joined the piss already inside him, Dylan grinding in tight like he wanted to push it as deep as possible. He came for a long time, hips jerking with every spurt, until he finally slumped forward over Jack’s back, breathing hard against his shoulder.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was their ragged breathing. They stayed locked together for a long time after Dylan came.
Dylan’s weight was heavy and warm on Jack’s back, his cock still buried inside him, both of them breathing hard. Slowly, Dylan pulled out, and a thick mess of cum and piss immediately started leaking out of Jack’s hole, running down his thighs and soaking into the already ruined sheets. Neither of them cared.
Dylan rolled off and pulled Jack with him, turning him so they were facing each other. They collapsed into the filthy bed together, limbs tangled, skin slick with sweat. For a long while, they didn’t speak. They just held each other, trading slow, lazy kisses — soft presses of lips that lingered, then deepened, then broke apart only to start again. Jack’s hand rested on Dylan’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. Dylan’s fingers traced slow circles on Jack’s lower back.
Eventually, Jack was the one who broke the silence.
“I can’t give them up,” he said quietly, his voice rough from use. “My dad. My brother. The bond I have with them… it’s not just sex. It means too much. I can’t just stop.”
Dylan was quiet for a moment, still gently stroking Jack’s back. Then he let out a soft, surprised breath.
“You mean… you fuck your dad too?” He pulled back just enough to look at Jack’s face. “I thought it was only me.”
Jack gave him a small, tired smile. “No. I fuck both of them. My dad and my brother.” He paused, then added, “And your dad, too.”
Dylan blinked, clearly processing that. Before he could say anything, Jack continued.
“And Tyler… it’s the same with him. We’ve been best friends. Fucking is just… how we say good morning sometimes. It doesn’t take anything away from what we have. It’s just part of it.”
Dylan was quiet again, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his arm tightened around Jack’s waist. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then let out a long breath.
“I get it,” he said finally. His voice was low, honest. “I can’t give up Rusty and Coop either. Or my dad.” He turned his head to look at Jack. “Me and my dad… we crossed that line, and we can’t go back to the way things were before. I don’t want to. It’s not just sex with them either. It’s something else. Something that matters.”
Jack didn’t look surprised. He just nodded, his thumb brushing slowly over Dylan’s chest.
They were quiet for a little while longer, the only sound in the room their breathing and the occasional drip of cum and piss still leaking out of Jack onto the sheets.
Eventually, Dylan spoke again, softer this time.
“I love you,” he said. “That’s not gonna change just because we fuck other people. I don’t want to own you. I just… want you. However I can have you.”
Jack leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep.
“Same,” he murmured against Dylan’s lips. “This is about love. Not rules. We can fuck whoever we want. As long as we come back to each other.”
Dylan nodded, forehead resting against Jack’s.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “That works for me.”
Dylan was quiet for a minute, still lazily tracing his fingers along Jack’s spine. Then he spoke again, voice low and thoughtful.
“Rusty and Coop… they’ve got the same kind of thing going on. Been that way for nearly twenty years now. They fuck other guys, but they do it together most of the time. As a couple.” He let out a small breath. “It’s worked for them. Really well, actually.”
Jack let out a soft huff against Dylan’s chest.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
Dylan pulled back just enough to look down at him, eyebrows raised. Then he laughed — a real, surprised laugh that rumbled through his chest.
“You know?” he repeated, still chuckling. “Of course you fucking know. Jesus.” He shook his head, amused. “How the hell do you already know about Rusty and Coop?”
Jack just smiled against his skin, not answering.
Dylan was still grinning when he spoke again, his voice dropping into something a little more teasing.
“Well, since you already know everything… you should see their basement dungeon sometime. You’d be amazed. Or maybe scared, I don’t know.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “They’d be very happy to, uh… introduce you to it. Both of them. Together.”
Jack lifted his head, meeting Dylan’s eyes. There was a spark of curiosity there, but he didn’t look away.
Dylan’s hand slid down to rest on Jack’s ass, fingers brushing over the mess still leaking out of him.
“Just something to think about,” Dylan murmured against his lips. “No pressure. But… they’re good guys. And they know how to treat someone right.”
Jack didn’t answer right away. He just kissed Dylan back, letting the idea settle between them in the dark.
They stayed like that for a long time after, kissing between quiet words, the mess on the bed and between their legs cooling against their skin. Neither of them moved to clean up. They just held each other in the dark, the weight of everything finally out in the open between them.
Finally Dylan suddenly shifted.
“Believe it or not,” he muttered, starting to climb out of bed, “I have to piss again. Must’ve been all those beers.”
He stood up, naked, and started walking toward the bathroom. Jack watched him go for a second, then sat up fast.
“Me too,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and following.
Dylan stepped into the small bathroom and lifted the toilet seat. Before he could do anything else, Jack moved past him and stepped into the shower stall instead.
“No,” Jack said, looking back at him. “In here.”
Dylan paused, hand still on the toilet seat, clearly confused for a moment. Then understanding clicked in his eyes. A slow smile spread across his face.
Without a word, he stepped into the shower with Jack and closed the glass door behind them.
Jack dropped to his knees on the tile floor, looking up at Dylan. He reached out, took Dylan’s soft cock in his hand, and gently pointed it toward his own face. Dylan let out a low breath, one hand resting on the wall above Jack’s head for balance.
A moment later, the stream started.
It came out strong — a thick, hot golden arc that hit Jack square in the face. Jack didn’t flinch. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him, feeling it splash across his cheeks, his forehead, and down his chest. Some of it ran into his mouth. He opened wider, taking the stream directly onto his tongue, gulping down what he could while the rest poured down his body and pooled around his knees.
Dylan watched him the whole time, breathing heavier now.
As the stream started to taper off, Jack leaned forward and took Dylan’s cock into his mouth, sealing his lips around the head. He swallowed the last of it straight down his throat, sucking gently until nothing was left.
When he finally pulled off, Jack stood up. His body was wet and glistening, piss still dripping from his chest and cock. Without hesitation, he took his own dick in hand and aimed it at Dylan.
Dylan didn’t move. He just stood there, smiling faintly, and let Jack do it.
Jack let go, and a strong stream of piss hit Dylan’s stomach first, then traveled up his chest. Dylan closed his eyes and tilted his head forward slightly to let it splash onto his face, opening his mouth to drink what he could catch while the rest ran down his abs and dripped from his cock. Jack kept going until he was empty, then stepped in close and kissed him, slow and deep, both of them soaked and tasting each other on their tongues.
When they finally made it back to the bedroom, Jack stopped at the edge of the bed and let out a low whistle.
“Jesus,” he said, looking at the absolute state of the sheets. “We kinda destroyed it.”
Dylan let out a short laugh.“Yeah, well… I really needed a new one anyway.”
Jack climbed onto the bed and glanced back at him with a smirk.
“Maybe now you’ll finally put on clean sheets, too.”
Dylan didn’t answer right away. His eyes had dropped lower, fixed on Jack’s feet as he settled onto the mattress. Jack had soft, shapely feet — smooth skin, high arches, and neatly kept toes. Dylan stared at them for a second like he’d just noticed something he couldn’t look away from.
Instead of getting into bed the normal way, Dylan knelt down at the foot of the mattress. He gently took one of Jack’s feet in both hands and brought it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his toes. Then another. Jack watched him, surprised but not pulling away.
Dylan’s kisses turned slower, more deliberate. He kissed each toe individually, then opened his mouth and took the big one between his lips, sucking gently. His tongue dragged along the underside before he moved to the next toe, licking and sucking with quiet focus. Jack’s cock gave a twitch against his thigh.
Dylan didn’t stop there. He kissed his way down to Jack’s sole, pressing his lips to the soft skin and dragging his tongue along the arch in one long, slow lick. He did it again, slower this time, like he was savoring it. Jack let out a shaky breath, his cock already starting to fill out again.
By the time Dylan finished with the second foot — kissing, licking, and sucking until both were shiny with spit — they were both rock hard.
Dylan finally climbed onto the bed, but instead of settling beside Jack, he swung around and straddled him in a 69. Jack didn’t hesitate. He reached up, grabbed Dylan’s hips, and pulled his cock down into his mouth at the same time Dylan took him in.
They sucked each other with quiet hunger — no teasing this time, just deep, wet, passionate strokes. Jack could taste the faint remnants of piss and cum on Dylan’s cock and didn’t care. He took him as deep as he could while Dylan did the same to him, both of them moaning around each other’s shafts. The room filled with the wet sounds of their mouths and the occasional muffled groan.
It didn’t take long.
Dylan came first, hips jerking as he flooded Jack’s mouth with thick pulses of cum. The feeling of it hitting the back of his throat pushed Jack over the edge right after. He came hard down Dylan’s throat, both of them swallowing and sucking through it until they were spent and twitching.
Dylan carefully pulled off and turned himself around. He crawled up Jack’s body until they were face to face again, then leaned down and kissed him.
Jack opened his mouth immediately. Dylan pushed the load he’d been holding onto Jack’s tongue, and Jack gave it right back. They kissed slow and deep, passing the cum back and forth between them in a long, messy snowball that lasted several minutes. Neither of them rushed it. They just stayed there, trading it lazily with their tongues, swallowing a little at a time until there was almost nothing left.
When they finally broke the kiss, both of them were breathing hard again, foreheads resting together.
Dylan let out a soft, satisfied sound and nuzzled against Jack’s cheek.
“Stay the night,” he murmured.
Jack didn’t even have to think about it.
“Yeah,” he whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
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