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Even with the ceiling fan on, it’s impossible to feel the breeze of it beyond the thick cloud of humidity that’s settled over the region the past three days. Most houses in the neighbourhood don’t have an air conditioner that'll rattle the windows and wake the dead, and Din has been considering buying one the past few weeks. It’s his day off today. He has no intention of going anywhere or doing anything, not with how hot it is. He finds himself wishing he had put an offer on that house with a built-in basement rather than the modest ranch style he inhabits now. It's been mid 90s all week with no end in sight, but he's lived with worse when serving in Kuwait, and he's happy enough to leave all that behind, so he'll tolerate this.
What makes this heat so particularly unbearable is not the humidity or sun, per say, but rather his neighbour. His neighbour is another Vet, served in Vietnam until he had enough, and it's by some random chance of fate that they've found each other as neighbours. All Din had asked for when speaking to a real estate agent was that he needed a quiet place. A quiet place ended up being a cul-de-sac with a few other Vets nearby and they all understand each other well enough.
Vanth is his name in rank and file. Cobb to his friends, he had said when Din first moved in. A few years older than Din himself with a head full of more silver and gray, but it looks good on him, so does the beard, which Din has only been now getting out of the habit of shaving and being expected to maintain neat and tidy order.
Upon meeting Cobb when Din had first moved in, he had been working on a ‘67 Mustang, a nice baby blue in colour. “You a mechanic then?”
Cobb had smiled something pleasing and nodded. "Yessir, back on the field and here at home. Some days I feel like they're the only thing I can understand."
"I understand the feeling.”
And that had been that.
They maintain a friendly relationship and talk to each other once in a blue moon over the fence that separates their properties. Din will pull into his driveway on his motorcycle and Cobb will continue to work on repairing his classic cars well into the night and Din will try to sleep on a bed that feels too soft, and they'll continue on with their lives, just barely orbiting the other and passing each other in a facsimile of an eclipse.
Cobb’s the type of man that Din is all too familiar with but never had the chance to connect with. Too many missed opportunities or getting cold feet the moment they stepped out of base camp for a fumble and heard gravel being kicked. But it’s not like Din has a CO to tell him what he can and can’t do.
And as neighbours are wont to do, Din knows all about Cobb’s proclivities. He is obvious in his affection. He's got a gold hoop in one ear and Din has been privy to the people he's led into his house at night and on the weekends. Sometimes some of those men will be repeats and then Cobb will be alone with his cars and then cycle will start and Din will sit on his hands and think about where his life is headed in his small yet empty house and wonder. There's no one here telling him what he can and can't do. He has no one he needs to live for but himself so why doesn't he take the plunge? What if he's not Cobb's type? But then—
A heatwave settles over them. Cobb remains out in his driveway working on his next restoration practice without a shirt and these goodman cutoff jean shorts. Something that should’ve been left in the ‘70s, something Din can quite fondly recall from looking at some stud magazines back in the day—a few of which he found, once, in the forest behind his high school.
It seems as if it’s a momento Cobb carried with him into the present. From his living room where the curtains are fluttering in whatever breeze there is today, Din is able to see straight over to Cobb's driveway. He's able to see those long legs of his, much long now with how short those shorts are, cutting a crease along his ass cheek in a way that would get any girl catcalled on the street.
Does he know what he's doing now?
Din scoffs. Of course Cobb knows. He's doing it on purpose. But is he doing it for Din's benefit and Din's attention?
He considers his options. He can stare like a creep, like a peeping tom, like the nosy neighbour that he is and never act on his feelings or he can amble on over with some of the cold beers he has in his fridge and offer a drink on this hot day and talk about Cobb's latest project.That seems like the more normal option.
Din moves to his fridge. He's got nothing better than Heineken, but it's better than Coors and no one usually gives two shits when it's this hot anyway, so he grabs two bottles within one hand and heads on over, pausing only a little to slip on some sandals and head over in his tattered blue jeans and white tank top. It's too hot for much else. He can feel the heat rising off of the cracked asphalt of Cobb's driveway. He's got this shitty little radio playing classic rock hits that's likely blown out its bass. He clears his throat in a way of greeting as Cobb stands up, looks over his shoulder and smiles. He reaches for a drop cloth to wipe off his grease stained hands.
"Well, howdy, neighbour," he says with the slightest lilt of a southern accent. Din doesn't remember where exactly Cobb said he'd been born and raised. Somewhere west Texas he said where the only way out was the military or hitchhiking to California.
Din tips his head. "Care for a drink?" he asks, holding up the beer and holding out his hand for Cobb to take one.
"Thank you kindly."
They both twist off the caps and take a long swig. Din tries not to look at the way Cobb's throat bobs as he swallows.
"It's a hot one out today," Din says. "Only thing to make it more tolerable is—"
"An ice cold beer and good company." He grins this sort of friendly thing that reminds Din of this one curious fox he saw out when camping in Nevada back when he was nineteen. It's odd, the things you recall in moments like this.
"What are you working on this time?" Din says, moving more towards the car and looking down at the engine.
"Oh, well, he's a classic. Old girl is a piece of history. Americana, if you will. A classic Chevrolet Chevelle from 1972, exact same car I first bought when I had the money." Cobb takes another swig and sets his other hand on his hip. Din finds his gaze drifting to somewhere south of his navel and the dusting of hair there.
"A he, huh?" It's the only thing Din's mind can track except for the musculature of Cobb's torso.
"Oh, he's temperamental like a twenty year old buck who just got kicked out of his home by his old man. He's a he for sure."
Din earnestly looks at the engine, taking in the new pieces Cobb has added and wired and screwed in. A lot of the car seems to be original yet but when Din straightens, he can see much of the interior will have to be replaced and fixed.
"How's he sound?"
"Like a little bitch who thinks he's hot shit, but I'll get him to where I want him."
Din hums and tucks a thumb into the pocket of his jeans and guzzles down his beer.
"What was the first car you bought?” Cobb asks, swallowing another mouthful before adding, “Or were you more of a truck guy?”
“Not exactly into trucks. My abuelo drove a Ford.”
"Where did you say you were from again?"
"I didn't. And New Mexico."
"Ah. Let me guess. El Camino."
Din smiles around the mouth of the bottle.
"It's all that was out there. My cousins loved those cars. There was this old airfield used during the war, I think, and, uh, afterwards it was shut down. So it had this nice landing strip that we converted into a race track. Wasn’t anything special, but out there the cops wouldn’t find us and impound our cars.” He spent a good amount of his childhood out in those hills among the scrub brush.
“So what do you drive now? All the way up here in the suburbs.”
"Not a Chevy."
"I see you out on that bike more than anything."
And to this Din takes only a slight offense because: "It's more than just a bike."
"Oh. Am I using the wrong word then?” He sets a hand on his chest. “My apologies.”
He's teasing Din, and Din decides to throw it out there that: "I do have a car."
"Yeah?"
"Well. more like a truck."
"Let me guess. Chevy?"
"Is there anything else?"
"Not if you want something that lasts. How come I haven't seen you drive it around?"
"Well, it's.” Din mulls over his words. “I think it’s a fuel, fuel pump problem.” He takes another sip of the Heineken.
Cobb's eyes just briefly flicker over Din's face and down to his chest. "Want me to take a look at it?"
"I mean, I won't say no to an extra pair of eyes."
"Well, then lead the way, sir."
They head back across the driveway to Din's house, to his detached garage with its sloping roof and mossy covered shingles. He bends at his knees, careful of his back to lift up the garage door and shove it back onto the track so it stays there. His garage pales in comparison to Cobb's, but it's functional, if a bit sticky at this hour of the day. His truck sits there on tires nearly threadbare. There are a few rust spots clinging to the hood of her and at the tailgate Din knows he'll have to address before holes start forming.
"Oh, now this is a looker." Cobb walks around the length of Din's truck, at the height of the truck bed and even bends to get a look at the wheel well before he stands and completes his circuit to come to the hood.
"Bought it when I came back Stateside," Din says, setting his beer bottle down on a nearly rotting work bench before opening the hood of it and looking inside.
"All original?" Cobb asks before he gets a hand in and starts examining the heads of the spark plugs.
"As far as I know. Think it's . . . ‘84, ‘83 maybe. Guy I bought it off of didn't seem to know but I liked the look of it on the lot."
The truck is rust red in colour. He thinks his dad used to drive one like this back before he left for Korea and never came back. Call him sentimental, but it's always been easier connecting over fuel and metal than anything else. He looks at the long, lean line of Cobb's body then as he leans in over the engine, hands braced on the propped hood. Din reaches for his beer and finishes it.
"Mind turning her on for me?" Cobb asks, looking out from under his arm at Din. "I want to hear how she sounds."
"Course." Din moves around him, his hip skirting along Cobb's on the way until he gets in the front seat.
"You said it was a fuel pump problem?"
"I think so." Din flips down the sun visor in the front seat and the keys tumble into his hand. He inserts them into the ignition and gives a good twist.
The lights turn on, the battery is live, and the engine rumbles to life, and Din carefully watches the temperature gauge for the truck.
"Give her a rev?" Cobb says over the rumble of the truck. Din presses down on the gas and steadily watches the needle in the gage rise in a swift manner. He cuts it off before it'll shut down on him again and removes the keys.
"She was getting pretty hot under the hood there," Cobb muses and when Din leans out of the truck, he sees he's got his thumbs tucked into the belt loops of his shorts. "Seems like the fuel pump."
"Yeah, um." Din sniffs and steps out of the truck. "Bought the part for it last week." He moves to the work bench and picks up the box that has the replacement. "Just haven't had the time to put it in yet."
If Cobb cottons on to the ploy, he doesn’t say anything.
"Well,” he says, “no time like the present."
"Oh, I couldn't ask."
"Nah. It's the neighbourly thing to do." Cobb smiles. "Help me roll her out and we can get to work on her. Get her purring before night falls."
They get the truck out onto the driveway proper and Cobb moves to fetch his tools from across the way and help remove the old fuel pump. He's completely unbothered by the oil and grease that smears along his torso. Once, he wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and leaves another stain there, framed by strands of silver hair.
"Alright," Cobb says. "Give her a go now."
Din does as he's told and sits half on the driver's seat with one foot on the pavement and starts the engine. He revs when Cobb tells him too and keeps the truck there for a good thirty seconds before Cobb tells him to ease off.
"Now all you gotta do is take her on the highway and open it up a little."
"I might have to," Din says. "Thanks." He closes the hood and helps Cobb get his tools together. "Say. You doing anything tonight? Might be worth it to have someone with a keen ear to listen to her on the highway."
"Sure," Cobb says. "Wouldn't mind lending more of my expertise. Suppose I should clean up a bit."
“I’ll grab you in an hour,” Din says.
“I’ll be there.”
He watches Cobb’s retreating back and the lean cut of his figure that his shoulders make to his waist. He must’ve been a real looker twenty years ago—not that he isn’t now, but Din knows if they were in the same platoon, he’d never get anything done.
He turns back, eventually, and heads into his own house to clean up. He spends a healthy amount of time under the cold spray of his shower head. He's sure to scrub his body free of all the sweat and grit. He rubs the soap bar between his hands to work up a good lather before bringing it to his hair and tipping his head back into the spray and let the water pour over him. When he turns off the shower, he hears the pipes groan and writes it off for another day. The house was already old when he bought it. It'd be charming if it wasn't such a pain in the ass in the summer and winter months.
He towel dries his hair quickly before heading into his bedroom, tossing it and his dirty clothes into the laundry hamper in the corner. He pulls out a clean pair of briefs and a new pair of jeans, which aren’t as faded or frayed. From his closet, he draws out a light blue linen shirt that buttons up the front. It hasn't been ironed, but the wrinkles are not as prominent from the last time he wore it so it'll have to do for tonight. Besides, it's just a drive down the highway. Why should he fret about it?
He smears a healthy serving of hair gel into his hair, trying to tame down the waves and curls that threaten to break loose in the heat and humidity. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and wonders if he should shave or not and decides to put the razor aside. He fiddles with his sleeves and decides it's too hot to leave them down so he rolls them up to the elbows and decides to button up most of his shirt, self conscious at the way his undershirt clings to his stomach. At the front door, he pulls on a pair of unscuffed, brown boots and double knots the laces before heading out to his neighbour's.
When he knocks on the door, he's met first with a hat. A Stetson, if he's correct about this. Cobb steps out with a hat on his head and a buckle on his belt with cowboy boots to boot. His shirt with quarter sleeves clings to his shoulders and biceps in a way that accents them nicely and Din finds it hard not to stare.
"Ready to go?" Cobb asks.
Din nods. "Uh, yeah. Um, nice hat."
Cobb grins and tips his helmet with his fingers. "Thank you kindly, neighbour."
Din gets the truck onto the road and Cobb settles into the passenger's seat, fiddling with everything that the truck has to offer, flipping down the sun visor, trawling through the glove compartment, testing out the fans and holding his hands to the vents to test the strength of them.
"Might want to replace the filter on this side," he says. "How's it on your end?" He leans over, his arm brushing up awkwardly against Din's as Din holds the steering wheel. He lets Cobb do whatever he wants until he leans back with a grunt. "Yeah, might want to replace both filters if you want to be able to breathe during a day like this."
"I'll add it to my list."
"How's that radio working out for you?" Cobb turns it on and fiddles with it until they get a signal. "Doesn't seem to be original."
"No, it was sold like that," Din says. "I think it might've been owned by a teenager."
"Baby's first car probably."
"Probably." Din turns onto the highway and they roll the windows down and let the miles pass in silence. Cobb leans his head back against the head rest and closes his eyes, letting the wind and music pass over him, and Din resists the urge to set his hand on his thigh.
He makes a turn off the highway, angling towards back roads for a bit until they happen upon a truck stop diner—one of those types that was likely much busier in the ‘50s before the bypass was built. It’s even got one of those signs that constantly rotates.
Din turns to Cobb and asks, "Bite to eat?"
"I wouldn't mind that at all."
They walk into the diner side by side and choose a booth next to the window where they can oversee the gas pumps. Din orders a plate of roast chicken with potatoes and too much gravy and Cobb goes for a classic American cheeseburger. Once the orders are in, Cobb removes his hat and sets it on the table before taking a sip from his Coke. Din then gestures to the hat, asking, “That a hobby for you?”
Cobb grins and purses his lips around the straw. “You could say that. I used to work on a ranch back in the day before joining the Navy. I was seventeen at the time and needed the work. The old man had a handful of cattle, but the majority of his business were city tourists looking to ride about some, so I’d lead them all on trail rides. But that came to an end when there was a drought. He decided to sell up and move out east to be closer to his daughter so.” He shrugs. "I always wanted to see the world, and they were recruiting at the time. But you never quite sign up for everything.” He locks eyes briefly with Din before looking out the window.
Din sits back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. As he crosses his ankles under the table, he bumps up against Cobb’s legs but neither of them move.
“I got in trouble for lifting a cop car,” Din says.
Cobb looks back and then grins. “You did not.”
He nods. “I was nineteen. I had no plans to go off to college and I fell in with a rough crowd.” He shakes his head at the memory of it. “Decided to do something stupid and I ended up in jail that night with a choice. I’d either go to jail for a misdemeanor, or the charges would be waived if I enrolled.” It had been made out to be such a better option. And considering his father’s sacrifice in Korea, he’d been given a pass and treated better than most other starved kids with no future ahead of them.
Some days he thinks he stayed too long there.
“That’s how they get you,” Cobb says. “Just another way to get a few more boys out there.”
Their meals are then served, and they both tuck in. The gravy has seeped into almost everything on Din’s plate, but he’s not going to complain.
After their meals, Din attempts to pay as a thank-you for the help this afternoon, but Cobb won't allow him. He throws a few bills on the table before Din can even object.
“You’re not arguing your way out of this, Djarin,” he says before donning his hat.
They end up leaving the waitress a hefty tip regardless and head back out onto the road.
"I know a place if you want to keep driving a bit," Cobb says.
"Sure."
They drive on some back roads for a while where there's hardly any traffic. Cobb manages to find a crooning country station on the radio and sings along.
“My mama liked listening to Hank Williams exclusively,” he says, stretching an arm back along the seats. “Guess I still got an ear for those old crooners like him.”
Din feels his hand on the back of his neck, toying with the errant curls that have escaped the hair gel at the back. Din keeps his hands on the steering wheel and heads further west into the setting sun. Eventually, Cobb's directions take them to an overlook of a drive-in movie theatre.
"Thought these places went out of business," Din mumbles.
"Eh, there's some old timers out there that like the experience. Turn off up there."
They make a turn just past the entrance to the drive-in that leads to a little hill overlooking the entire ordeal. Din puts the truck into park and takes the keys out of the ignition. They have a look at the drive-in theatre screen itself, but Din doubts they'd be able to hear much at this height.
"You been out here much?" Din asks.
"Periodically."
"You take a lot of studs up here after fixing their car?"
Cobb grins. "Only the cute ones."
Cobb doesn't move his hand much from the back of Din's neck and for a few moments, they sit in silence, watching as the movie begins on the screen, some 80s ski flick if Din is remembering right, but he doesn't have much of a mind for movies these days. But it seems Cobb can call all the shots.
"This one plays a lot on late night," he says. "Those raunchy resort flicks up in the mountains."
"You sound like you're a fan."
"I'm a fan for when the hunks work their way out of those tight little ski suits they wear. But until then, this film's good for nothing except necking until some broad pulls her tits out."
“I never understood why people liked watching these sorts of films.”
“It’s something to have a good laugh at while you’re getting your partner off. Say. When you were deployed, did you ever get in trouble for sneaking in some contraband?"
Din keeps his eyes on the screen down below and sets a hand on Cobb's thigh. He rubs along the inseam of his jeans. "No. Not directly. Though one of my mates. He snuck in some sort of porno from East Berlin. No one spoke a word of English and the women were . . ."
"Hairy?"
Din nods. "Wasn't exactly my speed, but the whole squad got into shit and my CO made us run laps in full gear for it."
Cobb snorts. "Asshole. Wasn't the first, won't be the last." He leans in, sneaking his hand further into Din's hair and nuzzling up against him. "That ski movie doing it for you? Can't hardly get your eyes off of it." He chuckles softly.
Din turns his face towards him. This up close, he can get a better look at the mole beneath Cobb's left eye. He removes his hand from Cobb's thigh and cradles Cobb's face, smoothing his thumb along the beauty mark.
"Maybe it's because you haven't given me a reason yet."
"Oh, hush. Thought I was supposed to be the smooth talker here."
He guides Din by the back of his head, and Din gets a pleasant whiff of Cobb's cologne before he presses his lips over Din's. Din is quick to part Cobb's lips and lick along his teeth and work a groan out of him. With the windows open, a pale breeze passes through, cooling Din's heated body by only a fraction. He raises his other hand to tangle with Cobb's hair and twists his body to get more of him, to feel more of him.
"Should've brought your car," he says against Cobb's lips. "Would've had an easier time."
"What? And you don't have a blanket in the back of your truck here?"
"Here. Just." Din reaches under the seat and finds the handle and slides back as much as the truck cabin will allow so he can haul Cobb over his lap. "Good?"
"You're making all my high school dreams come true." Din grunts and cups Cobb's face with both hands to kiss him once more.
Din has always appreciated the way another person feels beneath his hands. The rasp of Cobb's trimmed beard against his palms. The sharpness of his hips when he brings his hands down. There's a firmness to him that Din could never find with the women he had been with in the past before he discovered what pleasures he could have with another man. It's not that he doesn't think women are all too delicate for men, at least not the women Din had been with, but Din has a strength he wouldn't want to put upon a woman, but a man, however, one willing enough to sit here and grind against his lap and not see some brooding damaged veteran, well, Din knows exactly what he wants.
When Cobb snakes a hand between their bodies and set it against Din's groin, he pulls back with a smile, eyes dark. "This just for me, or does the ski flick really get you going?"
"Shut up." He kisses him again. He sets his hands against the swell of Cobb's ass and moans the fact that he didn't wear the jean shorts out though he understands why he wouldn't. The small cabin of the truck makes it impossible to do anything more than grind some and kiss some.
And when Din gets too tired of not being able to push up or get anymore of Cobb, he breaks apart and says, "Your place or mine?"
"Had enough?" Cobb's teeth flash in the low light. But he slides off into the other seat while Din fumbles for the keys to get the truck running. "Take me home, baby."
The highway at this hour is quiet, so Din takes advantage of the empty roads and speeds down the open lanes, getting home fifteen minutes quicker than normal. Cobb isn't any help either, daring to get a hand on his groin again and not leave him alone.
"If we were riding on my motorcycle, I'd crash us by now," he says.
"Lucky me you drove the truck tonight then, huh?"
They head back to Din's place. It's a moot point of where they end up that night. At least Din had the hindsight to shell out for a good bed when he first moved in.
"Got some rubbers with you? I don’t take it bare anymore." Cobb asks, taking care to sit down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots.
"Yeah." Din stretches up along the bed for his nightstand and rifles around the mess inside for three condoms. He even finds his half used bottle of lube and tosses it into a communal pile before working the buttons off his shirt.
"Is it worth it?" he asks.
Cobb twists. "What is?" He sets his boots aside.
"The boots. You don't find them a bit cumbersome?"
Cobb grins. "I'll have you know that there was this one bull I was with. And he was a bull in every sense of the word. He quite liked the boots."
"As long as they don't snag on my sheets."
"I'll set them aside just for you then."
Watching Cobb undress is not much of a show with how punctual he's being about it. Would rather skip to the main event and Din can't blame him. He likewise shimmies out of his jeans, pushing them down off his hips along with his briefs and socks. The whole bit. All he's got left is the white tank top he wore under his shirt and to leave it on feels silly. Cobb is already here with him.
Why would he run if he saw the bit of softness at Din's stomach?
He takes it off and tosses it aside, just in time to see Cobb whip off his belt. He has his back turned to Din for now as he removes his clothes and sets it all in a pile in the corner of the room. Then he removes his jeans. The peak of it Din had seen this afternoon did not do justice to the pale freckles that cover the expanse of it. Navy, Cobb had said. He wonders if Cobb had ever sunbathed in the nude while he was on duty. He knows what those Navy boys like to get up to in their spare time. It was no secret among their ranks.
Din sets his hands on his stomach as Cobb turns about and joins him on the bed.
"Hope you didn't get too lonely without me," he says as he straddles him.
"You're the only thing I could look at."
Cobb lays his whole weight down on Din to capture his mouth. Din can hold him, Cobb's long and lean and bird boned from the feel of him, and, God, Din had missed the feel of another person’s body. The pressure alone sates something deep in the dark of him. Cobb kisses like he's drowning and Din is the surface he's desperate to reach. It's almost difficult to keep up with him, to give him all the air he's looking for.
He shifts and Din can feel the heavy weight of his cock resting against his hip and he wonders what it would feel like inside him, but with how Cobb's moving, pushing him into the bed and rutting into the soft give of his lower stomach, he bets he's angling for something else tonight.
"What do you need?" Din murmurs into the corner of Cobb's mouth.
“Just a little to ease the way." Cobb grunts, leaning away to reach for the lube and tosses the condoms at Din's chest. “If you would be so kind." The crooked smile makes Din's stomach flip pleasantly.
As Cobb takes the lube over his fingers, Din works open the condom with care. He might only have these three here in the house—it’s been a while since he brought someone home—and he doesn’t intend on ripping one here and now. He takes himself in hand, strokes himself off a handful of times before he can roll the condom down.
Cobb has arched back to work two fingers into himself. He does so with a sense of practiced ease, if a bit stiff now with age. He makes quite the sight, all taut muscle and weathered skin, the dusting of gray body hair only enhances the view. Once the pinch of Cobb's eyebrows smooths, Din holds himself at the base and stays steady as Cobb eases himself down. It takes him a handful of hip rolls to work all the way down, and then he’s seated in full, his cock perked up nicely and rosy at the head.
“Oh, hold on.” Cobb reaches back, almost twisting some and Din feels him clench down as he grabs his stetson and perches it on his head just so. "You ever been to a rodeo?" he asks, all teeth in his smile.
Din feels his heart thump. "Not in a while."
"Well congratulations, you got front row seats."
For a moment, Din can do little but watch with rapt attention as Cobb circles his hips with a smoothness he's never once managed for anything in his life. He thought the hat would be a silly gimmick, but Cobb is true to his word, putting on a show and riding like it's his job.
“You . . . ever ridden then?” Din asks, his mind aflame with all too much at once, fixing his hands to Cobb’s waist and work his feet up to get some leverage.
“Rodeo?” Cobb says, splaying one hand upon Din’s sternum and keeping him there. “Yeah. When I came back. Needed something of an adrenaline rush. Oh. Fuck. ”
On a particularly hard thrust up, Cobb laughs with breathy delight, his blunt nails scrabbling into Din’s chest as Din grips every tighter to his hips. He wonders if he’ll leave bruises, wonders if Cobb would like that, and thinks about the look of finger shaped marks peeking up from the low ride of those shorts.
He can’t remember the last time he’s enjoyed sex as much as he is now. It’s has always been a tumultuous affair for Din. It's a need for his body. Need for pleasure. For physical contact, but rarely is it more than that. He'll see it to its completion, but in these moments, he's a tool. He's a tool for his partner to fuck himself upon which Cobb does with gusto.
"You're so goddamn thick."
It's also made easier that Cobb seems incapable of shutting up once he gets going and this allows Din to focus on the physical nature of their coupling. He rides Din hard, thrusting down on his pelvis and moving among with the sloppy haste of Din's thrusts, and it's certainly not nice, nothing good to look at. Certainly not like that porno that Din's squad got busted for. It's the type of sex one could expect after a heatwave.
There are moments when Din tips his head back, fingers digging into what fat there is at Cobb’s hips, and lets his eyes close. Cobb rides him better than anyone else Din has slept with, and he keeps up quite a good pace until he moans, a high pitched and needy thing before leaning back on one hand and reaching for his weeping dick. Din comes back to the moment and bats Cobb's hand away.
"Let me."
"Oh, yes, yes, yes."
While firmly seated on his dick, Din jacks Cobb off with a sense of efficiency. No room to play about but to simply get the job done. He watches as Cobb's abs clench and his shoulders tense before he squeezes down tight around Din's cock and comes all over Din's hand and belly.
"Let me just . . ."
But Din already knows what he needs to do and rolls Cobb onto his back and pushes his legs up before fucking into him a handful of times before his balls tighten and he comes. He presses himself in deep once more and remains there for a time before he grows soft and pulls out. He stretches out next to Cobb on the bed, They refrain from touching, too sticky from the heat to tolerate it.
They lie there, barely touching, catching their breaths and waiting for the sweat to cool on their skin before they decide their next moves. The first thing Din does is remove the condom with little preamble. He rolls it up in a tissue and tosses it aside in the waste bin.
"You know," Cobb says, bending up one leg and leaving the other stretched out flat. "I wouldn't mind a cuddle after that, but what I'm hoping for more is a cold shower after an event like that."
"I'd go with you, but I don't think we'd fit."
Cobb laughs and rubs his face.
"I'll get you a towel."
They keep their showers short and perfunctory, habits left over from their lives abroad. Din yanks off the blankets and leaves the bed bare for them both to lie against with a bit of distance between them. Din lies contently on his back, his hands folded over his stomach. When he feels a light touch at his side, he looks over. Cobb trails his fingers along Din's ribs, and they do little more than look at each other.
"You should take me on that cycle of yours some day," Cobb says.
"I should. You ever been on one?"
"Other than these small motorized bikes a world over, nah."
"I'll show you how."
"Gonna let me ride bitch with you?"
"I already have."
It's worth it to hear Cobb snort and pinch his side.
"Ow." Din curls in and rubs his skin. "If I'd known you'd be so ornery."
"Oh you haven't seen nothing yet, honey."