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Darwin in February is the most brutal heat Tim has experienced, and he used to spend at least part of every school holiday in Thailand.
Not only is it oppressively hot, but they have to spend hours literally standing around, outside the prison and then outside some bloke’s house, because Geoff put on his safari suit and feels entitled to the interview everyone wants since he was best mates with Lindy Chamberlain’s solicitor six years ago. Dale has been reduced from producer to puppy, offering suggestions that get shot down like ducks in hunting season because Geoff bloody Walters knows best. Tim wonders if Dale would have managed to keep his spine if Helen was here instead. Maybe not, given what they all saw in the papers.
Tim was a little disappointed when Dale cancelled their comet watching to go to Geoff’s stuffy birthday party. He was even more disappointed when he saw the picture of Dale and Helen going at it like a couple of teenagers at a house party in Bogan River rather than two professional colleagues at Geoff’s stuffy birthday party. Tim knew he had no right to be upset. He’d fallen in love with plenty of straight boys before. Dale was clearly no different, but for a while, Tim thought he might be.
As a person with functioning eyesight, Tim was physically attracted to Dale from the moment they met. The feelings popped up weeks later, when he found Dale crying in the back of the van after an admittedly disastrous live cross. He tried to hide it when he saw Tim, blinking his eyes quickly to chase the tears away. Tim’s heart broke. He sat beside him, taking a chance by putting his arm around Dale’s shoulders. Dale didn’t exactly lean in, but he didn’t pull back.
Tim wanted to reach over and wipe the tears from his face. Instead, he said, “You think that was bad. I once filmed an interview with the mayor of Melbourne and forgot to press the record button.”
“What?” Dale looked horrified.
Tim laughed, because he could do that now. At the time he’d been ready to slit his own throat. “It was the first time he’d announced he was going for re-election, too. I thought Lindsay was going to have me stuffed and mounted in the newsroom.” He glanced over to see a watery smile on Dale’s face. Encouraged, Tim went on, “Happens to everyone, mate. You’ll get there.”
“Doesn’t seem like it some days.” Dale looked at him with those big blue eyes, and Tim’s stomach clenched. He longed to kiss Dale, but that was nothing new. He also longed to take Dale away, to keep him in some romantic tower where he could read all the news he wanted just for Tim and never have to worry about freezing up or tripping over the microphone cable on air or consistently mixing up the words “prostrate” and “prostate.” That feeling was new. And it was pretty fucking weird, if Tim was honest with himself.
He clapped Dale on the back and let him be. By the time they had finished packing up their gear, Dale seemed all right again. He shot Tim a look Tim chose to interpret as gratitude, and Tim smiled back at him.
Some time after that, Tim didn’t hesitate to catch Dale when he came in for an enthusiastic hug to celebrate the rousing success of his planetarium live cross. Tim only wished he could have held on a little longer.
He really should have sworn off Dale the moment the news broke about him and Helen, but Tim finds he can't let him go just yet. And when he looks up from the motel pool their second night in Darwin to see Dale looking earth-shatteringly beautiful in a pair of shorts and ratty T-shirt, Tim’s heart feels as full as it ever did.
“Can't sleep?” He half-expects Dale to turn around and walk away immediately. Instead, he comes to sit beside Tim, dipping his feet in the water.
“Too hot,” Dale says. “And Geoff is snoring in the room beside mine.”
“Wonder if he's wearing his safari suit,” Tim jokes. Dale gives him a secretive smile, like they're a couple of naughty schoolboys making fun of teacher, and Tim falls in love all over again. “I don't mean to tease you about Helen,” Tim says, after a moment's silence, because apparently he's a bloody masochist.
Dale’s smile fades. “We just got caught up in the moment.”
“But you like her, though?” Tim doesn't know why he's doing this to himself, pressing on this bruise over and over. His only excuse is that he keeps feeling something more from Dale, an interest Dale is maybe afraid to say out loud. Normally, Tim would run a mile from a closet case, no matter how sexy and sweet he might be, but he just wants Dale so much.
“We're friends,” Dale says.
Tim can see his blush even in the dark. “It's good to have friends,” Tim agrees. “Especially in this business.” There’s no hidden meaning to that, but Dale gets a look on his face like a spooked racehorse. Tim automatically wants to comfort him, but he keeps his mouth shut for once.
Tim isn't stupid. He knows how dangerous it is to play with men like Dale. There might be one in a hundred chance they let themselves relax enough to see that Tim is offering a very good thing, something they’ve secretly wanted for maybe their whole lives. There's a 99 in a hundred chance they go to the boss, tell them the queer's been harassing them, and then Tim’s out on his arse. No question of “well, did you seem like you wanted it?” or “you should take it as a compliment” the way there would be if it was a woman making the complaint. Which is another bloody disgraceful situation altogether, but not the one Tim currently has the mental capacity to worry about.
“I’m gay,” Tim hears himself say artlessly, after a prolonged silence. Normally he would build up to it, dance around it a little, but he's sure Dale already knows. He needs to have it out there in the open so there can be no plausible deniability, no way Dale can claim he had no fucking clue, mate.
Dale turns redder still. He doesn’t look at Tim, but he doesn’t instinctively move away, either. “That’s none of my business.”
Another long pause, broken only by the gentle swishing of the pool water around their feet.
Is he worth losing your job over? Tim asks himself. He thinks of how happy Dale was at the planetarium. He thinks of what he would give to be the one who makes Dale feel like that all the time, or at least to be the one who takes away enough of the anxiety and self-doubt to make Dale see himself the way Tim sees him.
“It could be your business,” Tim says. “If you wanted it to be.”
And there it is. Tim braces himself for a punch, which will be followed by the most awkward workday in history, which will be followed by getting called into Lindsay’s office for a private chat the moment they arrive home. But at least I won’t wonder what might have been, Tim thinks, trying to look on the bright side. Dale continues to not look at him.
“I’m going back to my room,” Dale says, at long last. He stands, dripping water onto the pool deck. “Good night.”
It’s not the best outcome, but it’s sure as hell not the worst. Maybe that’s the thing with extreme closet cases, Tim thinks. They’re so deep in denial, they won’t even acknowledge a man made a pass at them, let alone report it. Tim is about to get up himself when Dale reappears.
“Twelve.”
“Sorry, mate?”
Dale takes a breath so deep, he could go diving for pearls. “Is my room number. Room twelve.”
What do you want me to do with that, love? Tim doesn’t ask. He just nods, and Dale disappears again.
Tim’s not sure whether he should be leaping for joy or bursting into tears. He decides to remain neutral. He returns to his room, waits for exactly fifteen minutes, folds a strip of condoms into his pocket just in case, and goes to knock on Dale’s door.
He reckons it’s even odds whether Dale will open it, but he does. He looks terrified. So terrified that if it were anyone else, Tim would be the responsible one and leave him alone. His otherwise highly developed sense of responsibility seems to disappear whenever he’s near Dale. I just can’t help myself is a weak excuse, but Tim can’t.
He approaches slowly, like Dale is an injured bird and not a fully grown, extremely well-developed man. Tim wonders whether he should make a calming noise, but since he can’t think of anything appropriate, he just smiles. There’s a chainsaw sound from beyond the wall that he assumes is Geoff snoring in the next room.
“No wonder his wife’s such a bitch,” Tim says, aiming for humour. “Poor woman never gets a night’s rest.”
Dale’s expression turns from abject horror to the naughty schoolboy grin again, and Tim mentally thanks Evelyn Walters for the help. He doesn’t really think she’s a bitch. He doesn’t know her.
“Something happened,” Dale says suddenly. The grin is gone. “A long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Shit. Tim’s mind goes to all the bad things that could happen to a guy like Dale, things that would scare you away from something you wanted so much. Tim feels like a prick for still wanting to fuck him, but he really, really does.
“Okay.”
This room is insanely hot. Worse even than Tim’s. He’s only been here a minute or two and there’s already sweat running in rivers down his back. Dale’s hair is damp, darkened and curling up at the ends. “How do I know I can trust you?” Dale sounds like he’s asking the question of himself more than of Tim.
Tim replies anyway. Because I love you. “Because I’ve always got your back, mate. You know that.”
Dale says nothing, but he takes a step forward, then another. He stops in front of Tim, who stands there until he realises Dale is waiting for him to act.
After what he said, Tim would rather Dale take the lead, but some guys just can’t do it. It doesn’t surprise him to learn Dale’s one of them. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. Tim’s never been this nervous with a man, and that’s counting his first time, but Dale’s clearly being very brave. Tim’s got to do his bit, too. He closes the gap and touches his lips to the corner of Dale’s mouth.
It’s ridiculously chaste, the kind of kiss he could give his old auntie if it was just an inch to the left. Dale doesn’t move, so Tim doesn’t either. Next door, there’s a cough and a sputter, and the sound of Geoff clearing his throat. Tim would have expected that to send Dale running, but he stays where he is, sweating against Tim’s tightly pressed lips, hands at his sides and eyes wide open.
Geoff resumes his snoring almost immediately. As soon as he does, Dale’s arms come up, wrapping around Tim like an octopus, and he slides his tongue into Tim’s mouth like an eel.
The whiplash is nearly enough to give him vertigo, but Tim’s not about to argue. He rides the wave as Dale pushes him back onto the bed. Tim lets one hand roam up under the sticky T-shirt to palm at Dale’s smooth, clammy back. Tim’s cock, which is extremely interested in this sudden turn of events, springs up. Tim tries to angle it away. Kissing doesn’t mean fucking, and he doesn’t want to push Dale too far. Dale doesn’t seem to mind. He presses himself against Tim, his own hard-on already leaking a spot onto his shorts. Oh, you beauty, Tim thinks fondly. I knew you had it in you.
Tim would like nothing more than to have it in him, but this is fine, too. Amazing. He slips his other hand beneath the waistband of Dale’s shorts. Wrapping his hand around a cock that feels ramrod hard and deliciously big, Tim is rewarded with a groan so loud, it strikes immediate fear in his heart. If they’re able to hear Geoff, then Geoff is, obviously, able to hear them.
“Shh, sweetheart,” Tim murmurs. The endearment might be too much, but Dale nods frantically, his hand finding Tim’s cock over top of his shorts.
It’s extremely hot, in all senses of the word. They’re sweaty past the point of sexiness, and Dale’s not even touching his dick directly, but Tim can’t imagine anything more perfect. When Dale can’t seem to keep quiet any longer, he kisses Tim deeply, letting Tim swallow up all of his wonderful noises. A fraction of a second later, Dale shudders and Tim’s hand is suddenly sticky. Moments after that, Dale pulls down Tim’s shorts with such unexpected fervour, it takes only a few strokes of his soft, gentle hand for Tim to be coming harder than he has for a very long time.
Dale collapses on top of him, his face buried in the side of Tim’s neck. He’s heavy, but there is no way Tim would ever push him off.
“Holy moly,” he hears Dale mutter, after a while. It’s quite possibly the least alluring and most Dale-like thing he could have said. If Tim wasn’t head-over-heels for him before, he certainly is now.
Dale rolls to one side. Tim’s not sure whether Dale wants him to leave. Some guys like to be alone after, especially if it’s the first time. Others really don’t. Tim waits, reaching over to take Dale’s hand. When he hears a sniffle, he turns to look at him.
Dale is staring at the ceiling. “I’m not crying.”
It’s clearly a lie. “It’s okay.” Tim hesitates. “Mate” sounds stupid, given the circumstances. Dale had been amenable to “sweetheart” earlier, but things can look different after an orgasm. He settles on the most insipid solution possible. “Dale. I get it.” He might not exactly in this case, but he has a general idea. This time, Tim allows himself to brush the tears off Dale’s face.
“You’re so kind,” Dale says. His eyes shine brightly in the dark. Next door, Geoff is still snoring away. Tim wants to invite Dale to his room, just so he can get some sleep. “I can’t be your boyfriend.”
Tim allows himself to imagine it. Dale, coming to his house, meeting his family. His sisters would tease Tim for his affinity for handsome white boys, while fanning themselves dramatically behind Dale’s back. His mother would never call Dale anything other than Tim’s “friend”, but she would treat him the same as her other sons-in-law. Making her best dishes when they come over–which would probably make Dale’s eyes water even if she cut the spice level in half, as she would certainly do–never forgetting Dale’s birthday, inviting him to Hat Yai to meet her relatives. It’s a lovely dream.
“It’s okay,” Tim says again. He wants to tell Dale he can talk to him. He can tell him about whatever shit he’s been through that’s clearly hurting him even now, but Tim knows he can’t pressure him. “Friends, right?”
Relief flows off Dale in waves. “Friends.” He sighs. “Thank you.” He leans over. To Tim’s delight, he gives him a quick, friendly kiss on the cheek. Tim takes that as his cue to say good night.
When they meet up the next morning, Geoff looks well-rested and Dale has dark circles under his eyes.
“I’ve got a good feeling about today,” Geoff tells them, based on, as far as Tim can see, absolutely nothing. Geoff’s livid when they get to Parry’s to find a dozen other vans camped around the house, and even more livid when they watch the car leave without so much as a glimpse of Lindy Chamberlain inside. He barely speaks to them on the way to the airport, and starts ordering drinks as soon as they board the plane.
“So much for the safari suit,” Tim whispers, sliding into the seat next to Dale’s. It’s a temptation he doesn’t necessarily need, but he’s had a long day. He deserves a little treat, he thinks.
Which is why, when Dale falls asleep ten minutes into the flight, his head sinking until it rests on Tim’s shoulder, Tim doesn’t wake him up until they start their descent into Melbourne.