A Shift
NC-17Warning: M/M Slash.

Introduction: This was a writing challenge - no names so the reader guesses which characters are being used. Can you?



Perhaps it was the liquid gold of the late afternoon sun or the shared satisfaction of a day’s toil and a job well done that got things started, set the scene and the flavour for the dusk’s delights, but something changed everything. An accidental touch or a more deliberate one (they were not to remember) shifted the air from high-five, backslapping camaraderie, to a tender celebration of all they had become to each other.

Two down with the flu, one simply AWOL and the other headed for home long before, they had remained to finish the job, working against the clock, ignoring the grumble of their bellies and the arid parch of their throats. They muttered their indignation at gouged knuckles and grimaced as their backs screamed in protest at their labour, but then it was finished. Their customer more than happy, they stood shoulder to shoulder, grinning and blinking into the sun as they waved him on his way. Money in the bank.

It felt good to be out of the baking heat. Even though the sun now drooped in the sky and had marked the end of the working day, sending everyone else in the district home, the air was still hot and dry. They discarded filthy sweat-soaked work clothes, blinking in the dry dusty gloom at the back of the shop, where the air was sharp with the scent of metal and hydraulic oil, and there, they plunged oily, salty arms under the cold water flow. They washed, wincing as detergent and sweat irrigated their cuts and sympathized with breathy laughter at their shared predicament.

Nakedness didn’t do it, nor did lust, although when the one watched the other take his first welcome pull on the reward of his cold beer, his breath was momentarily stilled. He observed the taut, tilted throat, morphing with every swallow, the icy bottle leaking condensation in rivulets onto and off of his chiselled chin. He was beautiful, no doubt, golden and sun-kissed rather than sun-bred, like him, but there it was - a moment’s kindness after a flinch from a newly discovered nick in his flesh.

He took his hand, turned it over in his own two...then kissed the cut. Their breathing stopped. One forehead rolled against the other, defeated, surrendering. Deep, liquid black eyes, saying, ‘this is how it is,’ hopeful blue ones, imploring as his quiet, tremulous words offered their plea...

“ Touch me? ”

He nodded, a rumble resonating in his chest as his large hand went to the other’s crotch, pressing and squeezing the developing erection through the thin cotton of his boxers, but he knew that his eyes revealed too much and felt too vulnerable to let them linger, so he closed them again. His head dipped, surrounding the flesh around a roughened pink nipple with his generous mouth, pressed his teeth against it hard enough to test resistance then moved a thick, wet tongue from side to side over the bud.

“Fffuck, yes.” The gasp was almost silent but it was deafening in its celebration, the relief, the culmination of hopes and needs. Only when his hand invaded the confines of his boxers, and pumped the weight of his bare cock with a broad, sure fist, did the screaming begin in earnest.

His own cock ached to be touched as the other man gulped at the air, grasped at his head and his shoulders, begging to be owned. He went for the opposite nipple, biting and sucking as his free hand groped for one of the other man’s and shoved it to his crotch. The eagerness in the fumbling was a reward in itself but his own gratitude and his relief at being touched forced a great and triumphant roar from him.

They fell against the hood of his car and sprawled over it but neither let go of the other, although one trusted enough and was hungry enough to be on his back beneath the other and this time, their gazes locked. No more hiding. Their movements slowed, hips rocked and hands stroked. Kissing was the strangest part, the gentlest, most intimate part of what they were doing. This was what scared them, but they did it anyway, tasting, testing, finding familiarity and bliss.

When they came, though, they were quiet, neither knowing if this was the norm for the other and they would never ask. It was enough to share the shimmering abyss and to hold the wonder of another self as it pulsated with life in an eruptive spasm, hot, thick and livid and it stayed between their bodies, mingling with their sweat as their hearts pounded at odds, chest against chest, until the night’s chill prickled them into movement.

They put on clean but tired clothes, inserting trembling limbs into them, asking each other, not ‘where did that come from?’ but ‘what took us so long?’

END



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