Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing is, Tim likes Dale.

He knows not everyone does. His nervous energy and constant need to please tends to grate on people's nerves after a time, and he’s not exactly the most socially adept guy even he does get his anxiety under control.

But Tim likes him. Has ever since the very first day, when Dale had shaken his hand a little too enthusiastically before launching into a rapid spiel about the piece they had to film, and immediately followed it up with a panic attack.

It wasn’t exactly a meet-cute.

Still, something about Dale drew him in, and despite Tim’s promise to himself that he wasn’t going to mess around with straight boys anymore, his interest had quickly bloomed into a full-blown crush. Nothing that he ever planned on acting upon, just the kind that had him inviting Dale for a beer with the guys sometimes, or telling himself that he’d only put his hands on Dale’s broad shoulders to calm him down before a live cross.

Except then it became clear Dale wasn’t straight after all, and for one stupid, wonderful moment, high on adrenaline and the exhaustion of a long day, he’d let himself have what he wanted.

Which, unsurprisingly, ended with everything going to shit and Tim writing a resignation letter. His new job is confined entirely to a studio filming a particularly vacuous talk show. Safe and boring, just like the rest of his life.

Well, almost all of it.

People can say what they like about Dale, but the boy sure can kiss. It’s even better like this, tangled in the sheets of Tim’s bed with Dale’s shirt half open and his hips stuttering helplessly against Tim’s.

“Off, off-” Tim pants into his mouth, inelegantly shoving his shirt off his shoulders and leaving Dale to untangle himself as he rises on his knees to yank his own shirt over his head.

He immediately overbalances, which is fine, because it means he can get out of his jeans and underwear too, and he’s just kicking them away when he notices Dale has gone horribly still.

“Ah.” Dale says, eloquent as always.

So they’ve never actually gotten naked together before, and that’s a thing he probably should have remembered before stripping off. Come to think of it, he’s not totally sure Dale’s ever been naked with another man, and their history of a few quick handjobs when Dale turns up to his door and begs for his hands on his body don’t suddenly make that less of a big deal.

Tim’s fairly sure his usual move of teasing Dale about being a natural redhead will only work so many times, and this probably isn’t one of them.

“Dale? You still with me?”

He makes a strangled noise, looking up at Tim with a wide-eyed expression that has no right to be as sexy as it is. Then his gaze wanders, down the planes of his chest and stomach, and yep- Dale’s staring at his dick. Considering it’s one of the parts of Tim he has actually seen before, it’s a surprising choice, but then again, Dale has always been very goal-oriented.

“I want-” he starts, stopping to swallow and forcing his gaze back up to Tim’s face before the words spill out in a single rush of breath. “Iwantyouonme.”

Let it never be said that Tim isn’t a giving person. In fact, he’s all for this idea, and even more so when Dale reaches down to unbuckle his own belt and lets him yank his trousers and underwear off his hips.

“Oh fuck me.” Tim breathes. For one, Dale is stupidly, ridiculously well built, all broad shoulders and long lines down to a trim waist, and it’s an absolute tragedy all of this is hidden away under his shapeless suits. For another, he’s hard already, enough to be leaking where his dick is pressed against his abs, and it’s the prettiest damn thing Tim has ever seen.

The smear across his belly glints in the soft light of the lamp and Dale watches him warily, pupils blown so wide he can hardly see any of the blue left.

It’s a fucking terrible idea, but Tim can’t always be the responsible one, and before he’s even fully aware he’s decided to do it, he’s kneeling over Dale, and leaning in to drag his tongue through the mess.

“Oh my god.” Dale whimpers above him, accompanied by the soft thud of his head hitting the pillows, and he tastes like the early morning waves off Brighton Beach.

“You got tested right?” Tim asks somewhat hysterically, trying to think about anything besides how badly he wants to put his mouth back on Dale.

“Huh?”

“Tell me you got tested. You’re clean?” He’d been sure to have that conversation while they were both fully dressed and sober, and pressed its importance no less than four seperate times in the following days. If Dale says no he might just cry.

Dale nods quickly, back up on his elbows now with the stall in progress. “Yeah. Yes. I’m clean, I- ah-!”

The noise he makes as Tim licks a stripe up his cock is enough to send shivers down his spine. He wants more.

Getting it, it turns out, is ridiculously easy.

Dale is pliant under his hands, letting him manhandle him into position, legs slung over his shoulders. There’s just something about being squeezed tight between a man’s thighs as he works him over with his mouth, and Dale has such lovely toned thighs.

Dale whines as he laves attention on his dick, kissing from the base to the swollen head and humming happily as he sucks it between his lips. He tastes salt again, working his tongue against the slit and over the sensitive crown, and feeling a hand hover at the base of his skull, tentative.

The wet pop as Tim pulls off sounds obscene, and the look on Dale’s face is appropriately wrecked. “You can pull my hair if you want.” He grins, feeling his hand settling against the back of his neck, fingers twisting into the long strands. “Promise I’ll like it”

He works his way down slowly, letting Dale enjoy every last inch until he’s hovering on the knife’s edge of what his gag reflex will allow. The hand in his hair tightens, and he pauses a moment, waiting, hoping-

Gently, Dale’s hand pulls. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make an inch or so of cock slip from his mouth before Dale’s hips cant forward, already chasing the wet heat again. A ragged groan tears from his throat, and Tim hums in satisfaction, letting Dale use his mouth as he pleases.

It goes on like that for a good few minutes before he feels Dale shift, hears the sharp catch of his breath, and looks up to meet his wide, dark eyes.

He wonders how he looks to Dale, grinding against the mattress and drooling around his dick like it’s his favourite taste in the world. Maybe it is. Top ten at least.

He hopes Dale likes what he sees. And he must, because it’s barely thirty seconds before his eyes flutter closed, and Tim feels the muscle in his thighs tense, the gentle shudder that passes over him, and the low moan before-

His mouth floods with salt and he swallows eagerly, chasing the taste and sucking another spurt from Dale before he whimpers with over-sensitivity, pushing at his shoulders to make him stop.

Everything gets a little hazy after that. He looks up at Dale, takes in his mussed hair and flushed cheeks, the way his lips are bitten red and his eyes are so, so bright. He’s never seen him so undone before, it makes him feel feral.

He’s already painfully close, and once he crawls up Dale’s body and gets his cock aligned with the delicious hollow between his hip and belly, he knows it’ll be over fast.

“You are so fucking gorgeous-” He groans into Dale’s mouth, swallowing down the tremulous noise he makes upon tasting his own spend on Tim’s tongue. He feels his fingers dig into his back, an arm wrapping around one shoulder to hold him close. A knee bumping his ribs as he ruts against him and finally comes, shuddering, in long streaks up his belly to his chest.

It’s Dale’s hand, stroking a long line up his side, that brings him back to reality, warm and satisfied in the afterglow of truly excellent sex. He’s boneless, draped halfway across him, legs tangled together and his face buried in the sweaty crook of Dale’s neck.

“Was that… was it good?” He hears, and it’s endearingly innocent, coming from the guy who still has Tim’s come smeared across his abs.

Tim hasn’t been a virgin, in any sense of the word, for a long time. Not that it means anything, since virginity is a worthless heterosexual concept anyway, but he’s aware that for most people, first times mean something. Especially for someone like Dale.

“Perfect.” He says softly, running a hand across his flank, soothing him like one might a spooked horse. “This was great. You were great.”

“Yeah?” Dale asks, and when Tim shifts to look at him properly, His expression is unreadable, but he doesn’t have the familiar look of panic yet, and his breathing is still relatively even. He smiles shyly under the scrutiny, pulse picking up under Tim’s fingers.

“Yeah.” He whispers back, kissing him softly and feeling Dale’s hands slide up to experimentally tug at his hair again. Quick learner, that one.

They’re quiet for a long time, trading lazy kisses and a few giggles as Tim runs his fingers through the mess on Dale’s belly and accidentally discovers he’s ticklish. He’s just drifting on the edge of sleep when Dale shifts and makes a noise in his throat, something clearly on his mind.

“Tim?”

“Mmm?” He cracks an eye open, taking in the way Dale’s chewing his lip and feeling heavy inside at the knowledge that he doesn’t get to keep this. Soon enough Dale will run away again, consumed with shame until the next time the need overwhelms him. And Tim, idiot that he is, will keep letting him in. Dale may hate himself for needing it, but not enough to stop.

“Um. I was wondering-” He’s struggling out the words, and that more than anything wakes Tim up. How this man can so confidently sit at a desk and deliver the news in that voice that makes all the housewives of Victoria swoon, and still struggle with simple questions in the privacy of Tim’s bedroom, is a mystery.

“What is it?” He asks, hearing the slight raspiness to his voice, over-eager cock sucking finally catching up to him. Dale looks at him with wide eyes, licking his lips and swallowing, having apparently noticed the same.

“Did you- did you like it? Doing that?”

It’s a moment before it clicks into place, what exactly Dale’s asking.

“What, sucking your cock?” He asks, enjoying the way the crudeness makes Dale blush and squirm. He doesn’t seem to be able to respond, but the raw curiosity on his face is answer enough. “Course I liked it. Thought that was kind of obvious.” He gestures to the drying remains of his enjoyment on Dale’s skin.

Dale blinks in surprise. “Oh.”

Tim can tell where this is going. “You might like it too, if you ever wanted to try.” He says casually, noting that Dale somehow turns even redder.

“And you… would like that?” He answers slowly, voice thick with curiosity. Tim can practically see the gears turning in his head. He groans, shifting so he’s draped entirely over Dale’s body, the mess be damned. He’s not letting him get away from it.

“Dale, anything you want to try with me, I promise I’ll like it. Because you’re doing it.”

That earns a smile, a soft, shy thing that begs to be kissed, so he does. Dale is still very good at it, and Tim has no doubt at all those lips would be perfectly lovely put to other uses too, if he ever works his way up to it.

“I mean… maybe? Next time.” Dale murmurs against his lips, fingers curled in his hair. “Can’t promise it’d be any good, but…”

Tim wonders how often he’ll need to repeat himself, as if anything Dale could do would be any less than perfect. The poor thing doesn’t even seem to have realised the effect he has on Tim yet, that he couldn’t say no anymore even if he wanted to, that he’s probably more than a little bit in love with him. His head might explode if Tim told him that though.

Instead, he settles for a smaller truth. “I like you. No matter what you want to do, or not do.”

Dale smiles into his lips, and for now, he’s not running anywhere.

Chapter Text

There’s a lot Dale doesn’t like about himself. His tiny feminine waist, his too-blue eyes that always look like he’s on the verge of tears, the panic that seizes his lungs for a second every time he sees the live camera light flick on in front of him. But mostly, he hates the cruel little voice in his head that appeared somewhere between ‘think you can touch my son you fucking poof?’ and the disgusted curl of the officers lip as his mother arrived to take him home from the station. The one that hisses faggot and queer and fairy and has only ever completely disappeared when Tim puts his hands on him long enough to silence it in a roar of pleasure.

And he’s not asking for much, doesn’t want to come out or anything, not that he could. Because he’s still obligated to keep up the charade of a happy relationship with Helen for work, even though they broke up months ago. Because even if that weren’t the case, whatever this thing is with Tim isn’t exactly a relationship either. Because even if it was, even if he didn’t hate himself for needing it so badly, he isn’t ready for, may never be ready for, the whole world knowing.

Because even if Dale wasn’t Dale News-at-goddamn-Six Jennings, he’d still be the same boy who was once told in no uncertain terms how wrong the way he feels is, and who’d crushed that whole part of himself down and pretended it didn’t exist. For twenty fucking years.

All he really wants is to be able to get face to face with Tim’s cock without freezing up. He’s spent months fantasising for hours until his mouth waters and his dick aches, only to have spooked at the thing itself like it’s some kind of dangerous animal that might tear him to shreds.

The worst part was how kind Tim was about it. Warm brown eyes and soft smile as he stroked his cheek and said “Next time eh?” while tucking away his long-since softened cock. And he certainly has no problem swallowing Dale down like he was born to do it, and clearly loving every second he’s tucked between his thighs.

Dale just wants to find out if maybe he could love it too, if only he could quiet the voice long enough. He wants to make Tim feel as good as he does and his apparently inability to do so is proving a significant irritant.

The hot, heavy pulse of bodies in time with the music doesn’t drown out all his doubts the way Tim’s hands do, but it’s a close thing. Especially with Tim pressed tight against him, hips swaying in time, and no-one giving them a second glance. It’s aching and sweaty and Samantha Fox is ringing in his ears, 

touch me, touch me now-

The fact that this dance floor is where he first gave into that desire isn’t lost to him. That had been a very different night, one he isn’t keen to repeat, even if it did end with Tim’s hands on him as he trembled and sobbed his way through one of the most intense climaxes of his life.

touch me, touch me, I want to feel your body-

He shudders now, meeting the firm roll of Tim’s hips against his and finding he’s not the only one affected by the proximity. The beat of the music throbs through their bodies and coils hot beneath Dale’s sternum, blood burning in his veins.

He needs to cool down. He needs to get his hands on Tim’s skin before he ignites.

Minutes later, Tim grunts as his back collides with the door of the bathroom stall and Dale’s mouth finds his, kissing eager and sloppy and tasting the beer he drank earlier.

“Dale-” he groans out a warning as his hands find his belt buckle, the clank of it opening loud even with the thump of the music still vibrating through their bodies. He’s hot and hard in Dale’s hand, damp with sweat and hips twitching against him like he can’t help himself.

Tim murmurs something about this being a bad idea, and he knows it’s true, but for once, Dale can’t find it in himself to care. He wants to do something foolish and dangerous that wouldn’t matter if he was anyone else. Giving Tim a handjob in a club toilet seems to fit the bill.

It’s as he’s licking his palm to make things easier and he gets the faint taste of sweat and man that something just… snaps.

He’s kneeling on the grimy floor before he’s even really thought about it, yanking Tim’s jeans and underwear down to pool around his knees and pressing his face to the warm sweaty crease of his thigh, hair tickling his nose and smelling so masculine it overwhelms all of his senses.

Tim makes a choked noise above him, hands flying to grab onto his shoulders. “Dale, you don’t-“

Whatever he planned on saying is lost in the white noise that fills Dale’s ears as he finally, finally, leans forward and gets his mouth where he’s wanted it for so long. And it doesn’t feel wrong, or dirty, or like something he shouldn’t be doing. It feels like something slotting into place.

It also feels like something that’s going to make reading the bulletin tomorrow a challenge if the steady ache already setting into his jaw is anything to go by. But he doesn’t care, he wants more of the weight on his tongue, the taste of salt and skin, the sound of Tim’s ragged breath above him.

A hand drops to the back of his skull as he slides down further, fingers twisting into his hair, and- oh. Turns out Tim had a point about the hair pulling. It’s not enough to hurt, but firm enough to be a delicious counterpoint to the slide of his lips against Tim’s skin.

Except- 

He’s not proud of the noise he makes as Tim suddenly pulls out of his mouth, breathing hard and twisting his free hand into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until Dale rises on unsteady feet.

“We need to get out of here.” He says, and he sounds wrecked. “Or everyone’s going to hear.”

Dale can’t help the little burst of pride in his chest, the acknowledgement that he did this to Tim. He’s the reason he’s flushed and wincing as he carefully tucks his still-hard cock back into his jeans. 

He’s the reason- 25 minutes later as he’s pushing Tim down onto his bed- that he lets out a noise so utterly obscene it makes Dale feel like he might combust. It’s rare they do this at Dale’s place, but it was closer, and given the proximity of Tim’s neighbours, apparently safer given the hour and how vocal he’s suddenly become. 

“Fuck, if you don’t-” he groans as Dale unceremoniously yanks his jeans from his hips again, watches him pull his shirt over his head and flop back against the rumpled doona, flushed and glassy-eyed and gorgeously naked.

Mine a voice in his head whispers, and it’s not the one he’s used to. It doesn’t follow it up with an insult or a twist of shame, it just pushes him forward, following the urge he has to touch and take, and make Tim call out his name.

But he also wants to revel in it, running hands up the length of Tim’s legs, from the shapely calves to the meat of his thighs, dusted with dark hair. He likes the shuddering breath that comes with his fingers tracing the crease between hip and body, and he follows the impulse he feels, sucking a bruise into the tender skin of his thigh and earning a hiss of pleasure in response. 

Fingers knot into the back of his shirt, and there’s something about that too, being fully dressed while this beautiful man is completely bare beneath him that sets him on fire again. When he looks up, Tim’s face only stokes the flames higher, the expression painted across his features one of complete rapture.

His leg, hooking around Dale’s back and nudging him forward helps too.

It’s easier, the second time. It’s also better, now that Tim isn’t trying to suppress any of the utterly filthy noises he’s making. Just the feel of Dale’s breath against him seems to set him off, cock so hard it looks almost painful, purpling at the head and leaking as Dale runs a finger up the length. 

“Dale-” Tim chokes out, lifting his hips from the mattress seemingly without any conscious decision to do so. “Please-”

A choked noise punches out of his chest as Dale wraps his lips around the head, sucking gently and rewarded with the taste of salt blooming across his tongue. He feels Tim’s hips twitch underneath him and savours the shout he gives as he swirls his tongue, fingers twisting into the doona cover in the corner of his vision.

It’s a blessing that Tim is vocal enough to make it absolutely clear about what feels best, letting Dale experiment with lips and tongue and the barest hint of teeth until he’s figured out exactly how to draw out a full symphony of sounds from his throat.

Still, there is one more thing Dale wants, and as if he’s read his mind, Tim obliges. 

“If you just press- behind-’’ He groans deep as Dale slides his fingers back, presses into sweaty skin as instructed. He has no idea what he’s doing but it seems to be working for Tim as he lets out an absolute litany of filth and pushes down against him, the motion of his hips rapidly falling out of rhythm.

Dale manages to pull off just as Tim’s back arches, bowed perfectly as he gasps out something in a language Dale doesn’t understand and comes on his face. It’s almost shocking, feeling the wet ribbons hit his cheek and chin, staining his lips and dripping back down onto Tim’s belly.

Suddenly he understands how Tim had been so worked up that first time, just from sucking his cock. He’s got a hand on himself almost as soon as he’s licked the taste from his lips, content to jerk himself off, but for Tim panting “Up, up-” and wrapping a hand around his bicep, pulling until Dale follows.

He’s near boneless beneath him, but he manages to shift Dale so he’s pressed up against his body, sliding through the warm space between his sweaty thighs, with just the right amount of friction to hover on the edge of too much.

Despite having come already, Tim seems to enjoy it, making soft, pleased little noises with each roll of Dale’s hips. But it’s on a particularly deep thrust, as the head of his cock slides back and nudges between his ass cheeks, that he sighs like a cat that got the cream, and Dale proceeds to come all over his ass. 

“You right there?” He asks some time later, as Dale finally surfaces from his post orgasmic haze and finds that yes, he’s still pressed against his body, slick with his own spend.

“I-” he tries, searching for words and finding none. Instead he makes an inelegant noise he thinks sums up the jumble of emotions he feels, and settles for collapsing with his face pressed into Tim’s armpit, filling his head with the scent of musk and man.

“It’s like that sometimes.” Tim agrees, voice sweet as syrup as he strokes his hair indulgently. “Give it a few minutes.” 

Dale does eventually come back to himself enough to ease their bodies apart and wrinkle his nose at the mess. Tim for his part doesn’t seem to mind at all, stretching out and smirking as he takes in Dale’s rumpled clothes. He’s still entirely dressed, but for his softening cock hanging from open trousers, and he feels hot all over again, like he could go for a second round if not for his traitorous body.

Instead, he settles for stripping to his underwear, cleaning the mess from his face with his discarded shirt and taking his place beside Tim, apparently still perfectly content lying in the wet spot. His eyes are closed now, lips slightly parted and chest rising slowly as if sleeping, though of course he’s not.

He’s beautiful, relaxed in post-orgasmic bliss in a way Dale has always enjoyed seeing in his partners. Though, none of them looked quite like this.

“You’re thinking too loudly.” Tim tells him, eyes sliding open again. “You need to talk about it?”

“Maybe?” The voice in Dale’s head is still mercifully quiet, though who knows for how long. “With Helen, I- I never liked it that much?” He wishes he felt guiltier about that. He’d always wondered why it didn’t do much for him when it logically should have, but he thinks maybe he’s starting to realise why that might have been.

Tim’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Not even a little bit? I thought you-?”

“No. I mean, I liked it. Or I guess I liked that she liked it? I liked the noises she made. You make them too. I mean obviously not the same noises but-” He cuts himself off, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’m making this awkward aren’t I?”

Tim pulls him in, kisses him softly before rolling to rather inelegantly drape himself over Dale, the warmth of his skin sinking down to his bones.

“You just told me you enjoy getting your partners off right after you made me come so hard I forgot English for a minute. That’s so not awkward.” 

Maybe he’s right. “I think… I might like doing that again.” Dale says quietly. No stepping back from that, no pretending it’s not a man he’s taking to bed when he’s had his cock in his mouth and thoroughly enjoyed it. He can already feel the self-loathing rising up at the admission, though for now at least it laps gently at his feet, rather than crashing over him.

“Well.” Tim says, his voice heavy with fond amusement as he tucks his face against Dale’s neck. “Practice makes perfect.”

Chapter Text

There are rules to this thing they do. Unspoken rules that Tim counts off in his head every time they press their bodies together and the lust threatens to overwhelm him.

He doesn’t call Dale his boyfriend (he’s not), he doesn’t say he loves him (he does), and he doesn’t repeat a single word uttered inside the hushed confines of a bedroom, no matter how beautiful Dale looks (very.)

But most importantly, he does not, under any circumstances, touch Dale’s ass. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he really, really does. It might be the closest thing he’s ever seen to perfection on this earth. But he also knows a hand too far down Dale’s spine will make him freeze, and that his tongue sliding too far back along the seam of his balls will have him squirming away. It’s the last line of defence Dale has, he last place he can draw a line in the sand to keep the shame from overwhelming him.

Tim wishes he could just wipe it all away, but he knows better. Half a lifetime of guilt can’t be cured through sheer force of will, nor a truly ridiculous amount of sex, no matter how good it is. It takes time and patience, which thankfully Tim also has in spades. Every tiny step forward Dale makes is another piece of himself he gets back, and he’s entitled to take all the time he needs to reassemble himself into a new shape.

But sometimes… sometimes a little push is exactly what Dale needs.

Tim is pinned beneath the man in question, a hand splayed low on his back, urging the movement that keeps dragging their cocks against each other. It’s a hot, sweaty mess and on any other day he’d be perfectly content to finish that way, rutting against each other in his bed like teenagers. God knows Dale deserves all those experiences he didn’t get to have in his youth and denied himself for so long after that. 

But there’s something about the way his fingers slip incrementally downwards with each thrust, until he can just feel the swell of Dale’s ass under his fingertips, plush and lovely. It has him thinking things he really shouldn’t. 

And Dale isn’t freezing or pulling away. If the way he surges up to kiss him is anything to go by, he’s enjoying things a very great deal. 

So Tim throws caution to the wind, and slides his hand down, getting a handful of Dale’s ass cheek and using it as leverage to push their bodies even closer. 

Dale squeaks. Actually squeaks, like he’s been stuck with a pin. But his hips don’t stop rolling. If anything they push a little harder, his mouth hot against Tim’s. So that’s something.

They’ve gotten a lot further the other way around, Dale making up for his lack of experience with delightful enthusiasm after Tim dirty talks him enough to wear down whatever mental wall he’s built up. He also has lovely big hands, and the look of raw hunger on his face when he’d found Tim’s prostate with one long spit-slick finger has replayed in his fantasies for weeks.

But he’s never let Tim get even close to returning the favour until now. It makes him feel stupid and reckless, wondering how far he can push things, and he lets his hand slide again, just enough to dip into the cleft between Dale’s cheeks. For a single, horrifying moment he stills and Tim is certain he’s about to seize up again, apologies ready on his tongue, when-

Dale whines and pushes back into his hand.

It’s a lot, and it’s enough that there’s no denying what this is now, as he slides carefully through that warm space, feeling the opening of Dale’s body flutter against his fingertips. 

“Yeah?” He asks, and wonder of wonders, Dale nods, his breath coming in shaky pants. His eyes are big and dark, and he moans softly as Tim moves his fingers again, pressing up behind his balls until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Ah!” The shocked noise of pleasure that rips from Dale’s throat is music to his ears. It’s only improved by how he whimpers and squirms, pushing back against Tim’s fingers and chasing the pleasure in a way he’s never quite seen him do before.

“What-?” He gasps, and Tim can feel him leaking steadily between their bodies.

“Your prostate.” Tim supplies with a laugh. “Now you know why I wanted your fingers.”

Dale moans directly into his mouth as he kisses the words away, twisting a hand into his hair. It only serves to spur Tim on, wondering just how far he can push Dale while he’s got him so open and wanting. 

“Will you let me try something?” He pulls their mouths apart to ask, wetting his lips with his tongue and noticing the way Dale’s eyes focus on it. “I want to get my mouth on you.”

It’s taking a risk, Dale might be okay with fingers against him, but who’s to say how he’ll react to a tongue? It’s a different experience, far more intimate than anything they’ve done so far, and very possibly still too much for Dale to handle.

But Tim wants, and Dale is nodding shakily, so he’s not about to pass up the opportunity now it’s presented itself.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, and I’ll stop.” He says, waiting for Dale’s nod of understanding before he rolls them, landing between his legs and working his way down his body. 

Dale’s skin is all gooseflesh, his breath quick but steady as Tim pushes his knees up and out, earning a sound of surprise as he folds him almost double and lowers his mouth to press wet kisses down his cock and balls. Don’t overthink it Dale, just let me make you feel good.

There’s also no opportunity he won’t take to get his cock in his mouth, and it only takes a few minutes for Dale to relax again, loose-limbed against the mattress and sighing as Tim pulls off, only reacting with mild curiosity as he works his way backwards.

“What are you- oooooh” Dale breaks off into a moan, thighs flexing under Tim’s hands.

The first swipe is perfunctory, the flat of his tongue dragged from tailbone to perineum. It’s enough to let Dale adjust to what’s happening to his body, to let him say no if it’s too much. He doesn’t say a word.

The second swipe is targeted, hot and wet, swirling against the tight furl of muscle and ending with a sucking kiss that draws an animal sound from Dale’s throat. 

This is when Tim makes the mistake of looking at him. Glancing upwards to take in Dale’s wrecked face, parted lips and the colour high on his cheeks, and then down to the spit-shiny pink of his hole. It’s gorgeous and obscene and makes him want nothing more than to get his tongue back there as soon as possible. 

Apparently Dale likes it fast, if the way he digs his heel into Tim’s shoulder blade and babbles words of praise are anything to go by. He’s tight -like a virgin Tim’s mind readily supplies- but already loosening around his tongue, when-

Dale giggles.

It’s not exactly the sound anyone wants to hear when they’re tongue deep in someone’s ass, and the the fact it breaks off into a ragged groan doesn't really make it better. 

Minutes later, it happens again, the muscle flexing and relaxing against his tongue and then Dale suddenly shifting and trying to stifle laughter into the back of his hand.

“You right there?” Tim asks, abandoning the work at hand to look up Dale’s body. He makes quite the picture, bent double and face pink, with the corners of his lips twitching into a smile he’s doing a poor job of holding back. “Is it not good?”

“No! I mean yes, yes, it’s good, it’s so good, it’s just-” Dale has the good sense to look embarrassed as he mumbles out the next sentence in a hurried rush “It'sjustyourmoustachetickles”

“Sorry?

“Your moustache? It um, it tickles? Sometimes?”

Tim can’t help but laugh. He leans his cheek against the back of Dale’s thigh, keeping him pinned in place as he rubs his moustache thoughtfully. “It does? So do I need to shave it or-“

“No!” Dale interrupts him, face somehow turning even pinker. “Don’t shave. I like it.” 

“But if it tickles, how can I-?” He nods suggestively, Dale might just combust if he actually uses the word rim. 

To his credit, he only squirms uncomfortably for a moment. “It’s not- it’s not bad ticklish?”

Tim smirks, wondering if Dale’s aware of the power he just handed him. “Oh, well in that case.” 

He turns his head to press a kiss to the crease of Dale’s thigh, making sure to let his moustache brush against the sensitive skin. The muscle trembles beneath his cheek, but Dale only makes a soft noise and stays perfectly still. 

“I’ll just get back to it then?” He smirks, dropping down to exhale a hot breath against Dale’s hole and watching the shivers ripple across his skin. 

“Fuck- please!” Dale actually whines, his body rolling towards Tim’s mouth as much as he can manage from his position pinned beneath his hands. His breath turns ragged as he works his tongue in as deep as it can go, and there’s no mistaking the sound of Dale’s hand smacking hard against Tim’s headboard. 

There’s something lovely about knowing exactly what Dale Jennings sounds like when he’s about to come.

Tim finally takes pity on him, reaching up a hand to wrap around his cock and feeling just how wet he’s gotten, the slide easy with how he’s steadily leaking all over himself. It takes barely a few strokes before Dale’s thighs clamp tight around his head, shaking through his climax. 

In the minutes afterwards, as Tim sets his legs back on the bed and massages feeling back into them, he can’t help but appreciate it’s the calmest he ever gets to see Dale. He never looks this relaxed any other time, his features tense even in sleep, and Tim feels a deep sense of satisfaction at the knowledge he was the one to give that to him.

“Did you-?” Dale asks blearily, because that’s another thing. He likes knowing Tim enjoyed himself too, and he seems far less ashamed of it than he used to be.

“Oh, I already finished.” Tim grins. He’d barely lasted past Dale coming, making a thorough mess of himself and not caring a bit, though he’d cleaned them both off before curling up beside Dale. “Don’t worry about me, love.”

Dale hums in satisfaction, and he’s quiet for several long minutes before Tim feels the telltale stiffening that comes with him starting to overthink things. He’d expected it really, getting anywhere neat Dale’s ass was always going to come with this particular issue. The damaged kid is still alive and well inside him.

Tim knows, has always known, that he had it fairly easy as far as coming out goes. He was terrified of course, but his parents were accepting, always welcoming any guy he brought home, even if they didn’t quite get it. His mum knows about Dale too, always telling him how she saw ‘your young man’ on the news, how he looked so handsome and his voice was so smooth, easy for her to understand with her limited English. He knows she’d like nothing more than for Tim to bring him home to family dinner and put the label boyfriend on him, even if the chances of that ever happening are next to none. It’s nice though, being able to talk to her about it, knowing she won’t breathe a word to another soul.

He also knows Dale hasn’t had any of that in his life.

Speaking of, Dale is getting fidgety, his fingers tapping restlessly on the mattress before he turns, his eyes big and blue and endless as he studies Tim’s face.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Tim asks, deciding to rip off the Band-Aid rather than let Dale stew in whatever worries are currently rolling around his head.

“Do you- do you like this?”

Tim doesn’t try to hide his confusion. “I thought we already covered this? Yes, I liked eating your ass or I wouldn’t have done it.” 

Dale turns a delightful shade of pink. “I don’t mean that.” He chews his lip. “I mean, this. Us.” He waves a hand around, trying to encompass the whole messy thing that they do, that they are.

Which is… surprising. Dale’s never given any indication that he even thinks about them outside the time they actually spend together. Or that he even considers there’s a us to think about.

“What’s brought this on?” Tim asks, dodging the question. There’s no reason to open that can of worms if they can avoid it, and he doesn’t particularly feel the need to spill his guts and watch Dale run away from him again.

“It’s just… I’m not your boyfriend or anything like that.” Dale says. “Sometimes I think- you deserve better than this.” His voice drops, barely above a whisper. “You should have someone, a- a boyfriend, or-”

Tim cuts him off. “Okay, first, I get to decide what I deserve. And second, do you really think if I wanted something else I wouldn’t have stopped this by now?”

Dale’s eyes are huge, his face unreadable as Tim lifts a hand to stroke feather-light over his cheekbone. He plows on. “I’m here because I want to be. Whatever we are, I’m fine with it.” I love you, you idiot remains unspoken, hanging heavy in the air between them.

Dale doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Look, if I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know. But right now, we’re fine, everything’s fine.” Tim assures him, before breaking the tension with a grin. “And you’re killing the afterglow.”

That makes a smile twitch at the corner of Dale’s mouth. “Sorry.” 

He’s moving again, pulling Tim’s arm over his chest and shifting so their legs are tangled together, a many-limbed creature in the centre of the bed.

He’s remembered, Tim realises, how much he likes doing this afterwards. He can’t help it, he’s always been tactile, and he gets cuddly after sex. But up until now, Dale has merely accepted it, rather than initiate it. It makes something catch in his throat, and he tightens his limbs a little more, making sure Dale feels every inch of their bodies pressed together. If he can’t say the things he feels, then there are plenty of other ways to make sure this man knows he’s always wanted here.

“Mmm. You’re forgiven.”

Chapter Text

In the end, it’s the obituary that finally breaks him. Not the exhaustion of having dragged himself out of bed at 5am, not presenting the bulletin on his own, not having to narrate the devastation of a Scottish town with cool indifference. It all comes down to that damn obituary, 

He barely absorbs the words, brain fuzzing out into static as he realises what he’s reading.

-passed peacefully at home on December 18th, 1988, Aged 37 years. He is survived by his partner, Adam. A service to be held at-

The newsprint creases under his hands, smudges as a tear splats against the delicate paper. He didn’t even know the man, and here he is, crying at his dining table for him.

But you know Adam. A voice whispers inside his head. You know he doesn’t deserve this.

He’s pushed away from the table before he’s even consciously thought about it. He needs to move, he needs to get out of this house, he needs.

Half an hour later, Tim’s face is soft as he opens the door, wordlessly folding Dale into his arms and holding him tight as he quietly breaks down.

“Bit of a day for you eh?” He says later as he plies Dale with hot tea and Anzac biscuits, penance for having pried the whole messy story out of him. “What with Helen off and everything.”

“She needs the break.” Dale says, smiling a little at the thought of her attempting to holiday, stretched out on a beach somewhere and hating every second of it. “Apparently she rang Lindsay from her hotel insisting she could be on the first flight back.”

Tim laughs at that. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” He reaches from his place sprawled sideways on the couch beside him to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Dale’s ear, looking at him fondly. “You were great though.” His hand drops, fingers running along the deep turquoise of his tie. “Looks good, matches your eyes.”

“It’d look better on the floor.” Dale blurts out, and promptly feels his face heat in embarrassment over his outburst. He’s not the kind of person who ever says such things, but something about Tim’s warm eyes loosens his tongue.

“Is that so?” Tim asks innocently, but his fingers are at Dale’s throat now, pressing sweetly against the bruise he’d left there a few days before.

No-one else would have noticed it, not with Cheryl’s dab hand with the concealer, but Dale knew. The delicious throb of pain has him right back in Tim’s bed, hickey fresh on his skin and Tim grinding himself down on three of his fingers, stretched and aching and somehow still begging for more, Dale, please-

Dale inhales sharply, arousal flooding his body at the memory. He’s so tired, it’s been a long, emotional day and all he wants is for Tim to touch him until he forgets why it’s a terrible idea. He wants to press their bodies together and lose himself in it. He wants to hear Tim moan out his name again like he did that morning.

His mouth tastes sweet, the echo of the biscuits they’d eaten earlier, and he makes such a contented noise under Dale’s lips that without thinking he clambers into his lap, chasing more of it.

“Well hello.” Tim smiles, letting Dale curl his hands into his hair and kiss him soft and sweet. He feels like finally standing on solid ground, warm and then hot as their kisses grow deeper, hips rolling together and the hard press of his cock against Dale’s ass.

It’s even better when they tumble sideways on the couch, caught up in a tangle of limbs and cushions and Dale pinned under Tim’s body. He loves the way his hips are forced to splay wide to accommodate him, hard and lean and undeniably masculine. 

It’s perfect, and he lets his hands roam greedily over Tim’s back, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. He wants more. He wants to be able to press Tim into his bones, to tattoo him on his skin, to keep him tucked under his breastbone for all the days when it gets too much. He wants to be filled wth him, overflowing with it. Suddenly, very clearly, he knows what he wants.

“Fuck me.” He gasps into Tim’s mouth, and it feels right. Except Tim freezes, wrenching their lips apart to stare at him in shock. “Please?” Dale adds. It doesn’t help.

“We’ve never done that.” Tim says slowly. “You haven’t even- you know it’s not like, something you have to do right? Some guys never do.”

Dale blinks in confusion. “I know that.” He says in a small voice. “I want to.”

Tim is silent for a long moment, eyes searching his face for something and apparently finding whatever he was looking for, as he exhales shakily and leans in to catch Dale’s lips. 

“Well I’m definitely not gonna fuck you on the couch. Come on.”

He lets Tim lead him to his bed, lets him slowly undress him like he’s something to be treasured and push him back into the pillows. It’s easier than breathing, and he trusts Tim with this, trusts he’ll take care of him. 

Soon there’s lube everywhere, smeared over Dale’s thighs and ass and making the sheets and the pillow shoved under him stick to his skin as he squirms under Tim’s hands. It’s slippery and awkward and not exactly high on his list of sexual experiences thus far.

There’s also really no way to prepare himself for having something in his ass. Tim’s fingers have always looked delicate before, holding up cameras and bulky equipment. But now, even with what has to be half a bottle of lube easing their way, they feel huge, and Dale cannot figure out what the appeal is. He knows Tim enjoys this, he’s seen with his own eyes as he’s come all over himself just from Dale’s fingers, but he doesn’t understand how. With two inside him he just feels uncomfortably stretched, and Tim’s other hand on his dick is a decent distraction, but not enough. It’s not like when Tim uses his tongue, and how that makes his body hum and throb until he can hardly stand it. Until it very much is.

With the very small part of his brain still online now that Tim is relentlessly stroking his prostate, Dale suddenly understands what all the fuss is about. It’s even better than it feels from the outside, the pleasure sharper and more defined. He can feel himself reacting to it as Tim adds a third finger, rolling his hips against Tim’s palm as he tries to get him deeper, the stretch only making it sweeter.

The only downside is it has to stop.

“No, don’t-” Dale whines as those wonderful, magical fingers slip free of his body, and he’s struck with the new and entirely foreign sensation of being empty. But Tim is busy opening a condom which is sufficiently distracting, because it also means his very pretty cock is directly in Dale’s eye line.

He makes an embarrassing needy noise, which has Tim kissing him and saying “Shh. I’m going to fuck you now,” hitching his knee up over his shoulder, and searching his face as his body folds beneath him. Making sure Dale is still here, that he still wants it, that he feels it. And boy does he feel every second of it, twisted up like a pretzel with Tim’s cock pressed against his ass. That part is pleasant, the tease of pressure lighting up his nerves as Tim slowly rocks his hips forward and breeches his body.

A cock is bigger than fingers. Too big. There’s no way it’s going to fit inside him, every nerve lit up as he’s stretched and filled and finally, finally, Tim stops, hips tight against Dale’s ass. 

“Breathe.” He whispers, one large hand stroking up Dale’s side as he sucks in a ragged breath, willing his body to relax against the intrusion. He lets out a whimper between his teeth without meaning to, and Tim’s eyes go wide. “Am I hurting you?” He asks, hips pulling back, which is somehow worse.

“Stop! Don’t, give me a minute-” Dale pants, because it doesn’t hurt, not really. The drag actually felt kind of nice under the sharp edge of too much, and now that Tim is holding still, the stretch of being filled isn’t so bad either, it’s just a lot. 

He wants to be kissed though, reaches up to pull Tim down and into his space, pressing their mouths together and letting himself get lost in the deep ache of being as close as he can possibly get to another human being. It takes several long minutes, but it’s enough.

“Slow, okay?” He focuses on breathing as Tim nods shakily, starting to move his hips forward again. He must have the patience of a saint, because if it’s this intense for Dale, he can’t imagine what the hot clench of his ass must feel like for Tim. Were the situation reversed, he’s pretty sure he’d already be coming his brains out.

As it is, he’s pretty sure he won’t last long. It just feels too good, too much. Tim’s hips roll slowly, forcing choked-off little noises out of him every time they meet, and the hot drag feels it’s like burning him up from the inside out.

Tim murmurs against his jaw, his voice breathy around words spoken in what Dale now knows to be Thai. It sounds reverent, and Dale clings to him, fingers digging into his shoulders and the meat of his triceps. There are hands on his waist and his hip and his thigh and he feels adored, pleasure rolling over him in waves that are growing closer and closer together.

The second Tim gets a hand between them to wrap around Dale’s cock, it’s all over. He arches up, lungs struggling to take in enough air as he shivers and comes over his fingers in long spurts.

Tim groans, and his hips are faster now, chasing release. It’s almost on the edge of too much, Dale trembling and overstimulated, but he doesn’t want him to stop. And just as quickly, it’s over, Tim shuddering and pushing deep, before sinking bonelessly down, spread over Dale like a blanket.

Minutes pass, maybe hours. Dale strokes wordlessly at Tim’s sides, sticky and trying to press it all into his memory, exactly as they are now. The curl of Tim’s hair tickling against his nose, the smell of sweat and sex, their breath coming in unison. 

Eventually, Tim groans softly and peels their bodies, vanishing the condom to places Dale chooses not to think about and returning with a damp cloth to clean them both off. Then he quietly arranges them both so he’s spooned against Dale’s back, an arm curled around his chest and pressed close to all the places Dale feels ever-so-slightly flayed open. The lights are off and the heat of the day has finally subsided, the steady drone of cicadas blending with the sound of Hunters and Collectors playing in the neighbouring flat. And you will throw your arms around me...

But something’s wrong. He feels fantastic of course, warm and boneless and like he could lie here under Tim’s weight forever. But there’s something restless under his skin, and he doesn’t know what it is. He tries cataloguing all the sensations in his body, Tim pressed warm against his spine, arm slung around his waist. The intimate press of his now softened cock against Dale’s still pleasantly aching ass. The tickle of his breath at the back of his neck.

And it hits him all at once. It feels wrong, because it feels right. The voice in his head that would usually be roaring by now is quiet, and now that he thinks about it, has been quiet for a while. No words of hatred hissing inside his skull, no roiling disgust in his gut that would usually send him fleeing the warmth of Tim’s bed.

He still feels sombre about the bulletin, the funeral notice, but there’s nothing else there. His main emotion is contentment. He’s happy here, warm and freshly fucked and wrapped in the arms of the man he-

Oh shit.

Well. 

“Hey, Tim?” He’s about to do something either very smart or very stupid. Tim makes a noise of acknowledgement against his shoulder. Close enough.

“Do you- would you want to maybe have dinner sometime? With me?” It sounds awkward. It feels awkward. 

Tim’s face pulls away from where it was comfortably pressed into his shoulder, arms tightening around his middle. “Dinner?” He asks.

“Yeah. Like a date?” He can almost see the line of Tim’s face if he turns his head, but it’s not enough to puzzle out what he might be thinking. 

He hasn’t let go of Dale though.

“Oh, really?” He laughs softly. “Don’t you think we’re a bit past that now?” It’s not an answer.

What Dale wants to say is I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. What he actually says is: “I know it’s not just sex for you.” 

He’s known it for a long while now, though only with certainty after Tim had looked at him with warm eyes and called him love and hadn’t even noticed himself doing it. “I know you wish it was more.”

“Dale.” Tim doesn’t say his name, so much as exhale it against his shoulder blade. “Do you even know what you’re saying?” His voice sounds ragged, and Dale wishes he could see his face, but he’s afraid if he moves Tim will let go of him.

“I want us to be more.” He says, and he can’t keep the note of hope from his voice.

“Okay.” Tim sounds skeptical. “Just for the record, I’m not saying no. But I am saying, we just shared something intense together, and for you especially… when you do something like that for the first time, it stirs up a lot of emotions. I want you to be sure you mean it, and it’s not just the orgasm talking.”

Dale bites his lip. He does it mean it, but he can grudgingly accept Tim may have a point. “Alright.”

He feels Tim chuckle softly, the vibration in his chest where they’re still pressed tight. “Ask me again in the morning, yeah?”

Dale does. And this time he gets to see Tim’s face light up as he smiles and says “I’d like that. But just so you know? I don’t put out till at least the third date.”

(It’s a lie, they end up missing the reservations for their second date, but eating Chinese food together in the hazy afterglow is pretty much perfect anyway.)