Rókus
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 5
Giants and Fawns
The week at work passed in a haze of unspoken tension. Rókus and Tomas were like two magnets with the same polarity, repelling each other with a silent awkwardness. Rókus would catch Tomas' eye across the garden, a fleeting glance filled with an unreadable mix of emotions, and then quickly look away, the guilt a heavy stone in his stomach. He ached to talk to him, to apologise for the night's events, to explain that he had never intended for any of that to happen.
Finally, on Friday afternoon, Rókus saw his chance. Tomas was putting away his tools, his back to the rest of the crew. Rókus walked over and stood beside him, the silence between them almost deafening.
"Tomas," Rókus began, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry about last weekend. About Laren... and everything. It was all a mistake. I didn't mean for any of that to happen."
Tomas turned to face him, his expression soft and understanding. "Don't apologise, Rókus," he said, his voice gentle. "It wasn't your fault. We were both... manipulated. It was a terrible situation, but I don't blame you."
Rókus was stunned. He had expected anger, rejection, or at the very least, a cold shoulder. But Tomas didn't seem to hold a grudge. He even went on to suggest that they go back to the club next Friday. "We can get a different taxi home," he said with a small smile.
Rókus couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. He thought he noticed a hint that Tomas was interested in him, a possibility that explained why he didn't feel bad about what happened. In the fog of his memory, Rókus clung to the vague recollection of them tangled up together, touching and kissing. Maybe Tomas felt the same way. Maybe in the midst of the chaos and the violation, they had found something between them that was real.
Friday night, Rókus met Tomas at their usual spot, and he couldn't help but notice Tomas' outfit. He wore a simple white T-shirt and tight jeans that clung to his body, highlighting his firm backside. Rókus mentally told himself to stop staring, but his body had other ideas. Tomas, catching Rókus' gaze, simply smiled, seeming to be in a very good mood.
Inside the club, they settled quickly into a comfortable rhythm. They had a few of their usual cocktails and danced together. Rókus, feeling a sense of security with Tomas, let himself go, laughing as they moved to the music.
Suddenly, Laren appeared. This time, he wasn't alone. "Rókus, Tomas," Laren said, his voice a low rumble. "This is Solan." Solan was as much of a giant as Laren, with a strong, muscular body and a tattoo snaking up his neck. He looked at Tomas and Rókus with a hungry look in his eyes, a smirk on his face that sent a shiver down Rókus' spine.
Tomas' suggestion took everyone by surprise, especially Rókus. "I don't remember too much from last week, but if you hold off on the drugs it could be good." He looked from Laren to Solan, then winked at Rókus, who felt a knot of confusion and excitement tighten in his stomach. He had no idea what Tomas was doing.
Laren, equally taken aback, quickly recovered. A glint appeared in his eye, the wheels turning as he imagined the possibilities. He readily agreed, and the four of them left the club.
Inside Laren's flat, the atmosphere was different from Rókus' previous visits. Without the haze of drugs, the air was charged with a clear, almost palpable tension. Laren went to the bar and poured a round of drinks. Rókus and Tomas watched him carefully, making sure he didn't add anything extra. After a few sips, the alcohol began to relax them, but they remained alert.
Laren and Solan moved with a synchronised purpose. They didn't need drugs to exert their dominance. As the conversation lulled, Laren reached for the hem of Rókus' T-shirt, and Solan unzipped Tomas' jeans. It was a silent agreement, a clear statement of intent. The boys, caught in the moment, offered no resistance.
The two giants began to slowly strip them, a predatory act disguised as a playful game. They removed the boys' clothes with a gentle but firm efficiency. Rókus' T-shirt was pulled over his head, and Solan peeled off Tomas' tight jeans. The two boys were soon left in only their boxers, their young, smooth bodies on display for the two older men. The air was thick with unspoken desire and the subtle power dynamics of the night.
The scene progressed with a slow, deliberate intensity, a stark contrast to the previous, drug-fueled encounters. Laren and Solan, both massive and confident in their power, moved with a synchronised purpose. The boys, now stripped to their boxers, found themselves on the large leather sofa, a willing audience to the two giants. It was a silent game of seduction and domination, and the boys, without the numbing haze of the pills, were fully aware of every touch and every glance.
Laren knelt in front of Rókus, his gaze intense, and slowly slid down Rókus' boxers. Solan did the same to Tomas, their hands moving with a practiced, assured ease. The boys were now completely naked, their young, smooth bodies on full display. Laren and Solan began to play with them, their hands exploring every curve, every dip, every inch of the boys' bodies. There was no rush, just a deliberate, tantalising exploration that built the tension in the room.
The giants then reached for a bottle of lube. They covered their hands with the slippery liquid and began to prepare the boys. Laren worked on Rókus, his fingers finding their way around and into him, a gentle but insistent stretch. Solan did the same to Tomas, his movements equally precise and calculated. The boys, feeling the sensation, tightened up, but a low word of command from Laren and a gentle touch from Solan made them relax.
With both boys prepped and ready, Laren and Solan moved into position. They laid the boys out on the sofa, side by side, their backs against the cushions. Laren positioned himself over Rókus, and Solan over Tomas. As they moved to take their prizes, the boys' eyes met. In a moment of shared understanding and a strange sense of comfort, Tomas leaned in and kissed Rókus, a long, deep, and consuming kiss. As the well-endowed Solan took him, Tomas was in Rókus' arms, and they clung to each other as their first experience of a real physical connection, in the middle of a scary experience, brought a new level of confusion and feeling.
The evening in Laren's stark but plush apartment wore on until the climax was reached. Solan, his body slick with sweat, let out a deep moan as he drove into Tomas. A moment later, Laren shot into a ravaged Rókus. Both boys had powerfully climaxed, their bodies shuddering with release, a hot mess of their own semen streaking across their bellies and chests just before their giants.
The night concluded in a languid haze. The four men were sprawled across the sofa, their bodies tangled in a mess of limbs. Tomas shifted, rolling onto his side to face Rókus. He leaned in, kissing him with a deep, consuming passion. Unlike the kisses of the night before, this felt different—it felt real.
The moment was interrupted by Laren, who clapped his hands together. "Alright, boys, time to go." He tossed their clothes onto the sofa. "Get dressed. The taxi's on its way."
Rókus and Tomas, their bodies still humming with the night's events, went to the bathroom. They showered together, a quiet, shared moment of cleansing. The warm water washed away the sweat and the scent of the night, but not the lingering feelings. As they waited for the taxi, they stood in the living room, a strange intimacy having been forged between them. Laren and Solan, now dressed and looking as composed as ever, were sipping drinks.
They said a warm goodnight to the boys. As the boys walked out, they exchanged a fleeting look of victory. They had won, they thought. Laren and Solan felt something similar, they had taken what they wanted, and they had gotten away with it.
Rókus and Tomas got into the taxi. The ride was silent for a moment, the city lights streaking past the window. Then, Tomas turned to Rókus, his voice soft but clear. "My place is just a few blocks away. You could come back with me."
"Yes," Rókus whispered softly, and Tomas gave the taxi driver his address.
The cab pulled away, leaving them on a quiet, tree-lined street. They walked in comfortable silence up the stairs to Tomas' studio.
Inside, the room was small but tidy, a testament to efficiency. Tomas pulled down the fold-up bed, which took up nearly all the space, and threw a soft duvet over it.
They undressed slowly, their movements unhurried and full of a quiet understanding. They didn't speak, but their eyes said everything. Each piece of clothing that fell to the floor felt like a layer of their past being shed. When they were both naked, they climbed into bed, and Tomas pulled Rókus close.
They fell into each other's arms, their bodies fitting together perfectly. It was a different kind of embrace, one of comfort and safety rather than lust and domination. They kissed, long and deep, their lips tracing the contours of their faces, their hands exploring each other's bodies with a newfound gentleness. They hugged, their bodies tangled together in a secure cocoon. And as they did, the lingering fear and trauma of the past two weeks began to melt away. They fell asleep in each other's arms, the city lights a distant hum outside the window.
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