'Course Quinn and I have completely incompatible schedules. He's working early shifts from what I can tell, getting up at the crack of dawn and I, well, I work in a pub for chrissakes, most nights I don't get home too much before one in the morning. So Quinn crawls out of bed when the alarm goes off at five and I am barely sentient enough to acknowledge the fact and then when I do finally wake up around noon, I'm all edgy and worried because I've got an inkling—not for the first time in the past forty-eight hours—that I'm in completely over my head and don't have a clue what the fuck I am doing—apart from Quinn that is, but that's a little tentative right now. Oh, and all those pesky voices at the back of my mind, the ones I somehow acquired while being given my very first hand job ever by another bloke? Still there. They seem to have moved in permanently, thank you kindly.
I go to work eventually because it's something to do I suppose and, yeah, I kind of need the dosh. I'm distracted though because in the cold light of day I'm not entirely sure where I stand anymore; don't really know what's going to happen once I get home. I mean, if it were some skirt it'd be easy, right? All they want is love and relationships with a capital 'R' and they kind of go along with the sex because, well, it's part of the package deal. Not that I'm an authority on girls or anything—if Nicky could hear me right now, he'd be doubling over laughing his arse off. The point is, for all I know this was just a quick shag to take the edge off some because Quinn was horny and so was I and that's that: no strings.
I'm not saying that I want any strings, mind you; no strings are fine by me. I just want to know where I stand is all and that might actually entail something as outlandish as talking to Quinn and asking and, as any chit will tell you without hesitation, talking's not something us blokes are very efficient at. One might go as far as to say that we'd rather avoid anything that whiffs of talking in general and get straight down to either shagging or knocking the shit out of things, neither of which would be particularly helpful in clarifying my situation any, I'm afraid.
So I somehow blunder my way through my shift and have a couple of drinks to get up the bottle for—I'm not sure what for—and I return home at half past twelve and step into my dark room with the very cold and very empty bed and I don't like it one bit. I toss and turn for about twenty minutes trying to get comfortable, but that bed is still plenty cold and plenty empty and I really want another warm body to curl into.
It takes all my courage and, I suspect, each one of those drinks I've had this evening, to finally get up and quietly make my way into Quinn's room. He doesn't wake up when I get into bed with him, but he shifts over to make space and then I'm spooned against a warm, naked body and it felt so right, I never want to leave again. So much for not wanting any strings.
I hear the alarm go off punctually at five in the morning, but I don't budge—not much of a morning person in case you hadn't gathered. Eventually Quinn disentangles himself from the knot of limbs we've got ourselves into, presses his lips briefly to my temple, and then quietly gets dressed and leaves the room. I sleep on until it's time to get up, enjoying the lingering warmth of his body on the sheets.
Of course, once I do wake up I get rather busy doing that thing that according to the vicar should have made me go blind sometime around, oh, 1966 or so, to a nice long sequence of mental images of me sucking Quinn's dick and Quinn lying there legs around his ears in front of me and... you know, I'm pretty sure those were the kind of fantasies the vicar was talking about using choice descriptions such as 'hell' and 'damnation'. However, since his other prediction concerning the blindness proved incorrect—I have perfect eyesight, thank you very much—I'm willing to risk it.
Not that I could have stopped by the time I reach the end of that particular tangent, because the image of that young vicar who replaced old Reverend Bartlett the year I was sitting my O-levels is doing something rather interesting... Ah shit! I can't be wanking to images of the fucking vicar! Isn't that the eighth deadly sin or something? A ticket to hell in a handcart? Thank Christ I'm Anglican and can take a relaxed view of such things.
I quickly re-focus my mind to images of Quinn asking me to fuck him and then I'm coming and making rather a mess of the sheets and since they're already soiled I rather sheepishly wipe my hand on them as well before rolling over and having another nap.
And that's how it goes for a few nights, except I give up any pretense of bothering to go to my own room first and just head straight for Quinn's. There's no more sex. No shagging, no sucking, not even a bit of a hand job, there's just a sleeping body when I crawl in at night and a soft mouth kissing my temple before I wake up in the morning. And there's the box of tissues and the bottle of hand lotion that appear on the bedside table without comment after that first night. Oh, and fresh sheets.
Then, after a week, the alarm doesn't go off. Instead I am woken by a warm hand stroking me to hardness and a voice whispering, "want me to help you out today? I've got the next couple of days off."
"Too early," I mumble. "Need to sleep."
Quinn chuckles. "We've got to find you a job with more sociable hours. Why're you working at that pub anyways? Nicky says you went to uni."
"Did. Got a First from University College," I say while turning around. Still not opening my eyes though. Too damned early to wake up.
"You got a First from one of the premier colleges at the University of London? What the hell are you doing pumping beer?" Quinn asks kissing my shoulder.
"Philosophy. Not much I'm qualified for except teaching and for a lecturing position I'd need a masters and a masters costs money which I don't have, so pumping beer it is," I reply running my hands down his back to his hips.
"Do you want to get a masters?" He asks.
"Would like to yes, afford no. I'm skint enough as it is, so there's really no point talking about it," I mutter. "What's with all the questions, anyway? Too much talking, not enough sex. Time's awasting."
He grins at that, briefly, and then there's Quinn-tongue in my mouth, Quinn-hands everywhere and our groins are rubbing together most interestingly. It's been far too long since we did that. Alright, I know it's only been a week and before that I went without for several years, which is probably why I'm so randy now, got a lot of catching up to do.
Hard wet kisses, caressing hands on overly sensitive skin, and straining erections grinding into each other... want to do this all the time. Want Quinn all the time. Want to shag Quinn. No, want to make love to Quinn. Fuck! When did that happen? Congratulations Rob, this must be a new record of sorts. You lasted, what? A week? Then you went and fell in love with the flatmate. Can you say screwed? Because that's what you'll be before too long.
Wasn't so bad with Rosie, because she never reciprocated, never invited me to her bed. Wasn't so real that way. This is going to be so much worse once he gets tired of me. I'll still remember the shagging and the snogging and the petting and the curling up together afterwards and he'll still be living just down the hall from me but I won't be able to touch again. I'm so royally screwed!
It's even more important to make this good while it lasts now. Better than good. Need to accumulate a couple of years worth of wanking material now for when he's shagging someone else in this bed. Panicking? I'm not panicking. I'm being realistic. There's a difference.
So, hard desperate kisses and hands that are being maybe a little bit rougher than absolutely necessary, trying to mold themselves into his skin and leave a lasting impression. Then he presses the lotion into my hands. Yeah, I understand that: he wants to get fucked and I... I just want to be close, as close as I can possibly get.
It's messy. I spill more than I actually manage to slick onto myself, spill even more when I push two sopping wet fingers into him, but he's not complaining. He's moaning and kissing just as desperately as I am and soon—much too soon—I'm pushing into him.
I'm thrusting slowly and desperately all at once, my eyes firmly closed. Can't say anything to bollocks this up. Can't risk ending this before it's even started. Can think though. Can think to my heart's content. So I think on each slow and torturous thrust. Think, 'I love you.'
Afterwards we're lying there for quite a while, not really saying anything, but he hasn't booted me out of his bed yet, has he? So I guess that means I get to stay a little while longer. At least until I have to get up for work.
Thank god it's Sunday, early closing night, so I get home before midnight. Quinn and Nicky are still up and watching the telly. Nicky's sprawled in the armchair and Quinn is draped across one end of the couch, so I take the other, leaving quite a respectable distance between the two of us. Don't really want to though. I'm still remembering that glorious romp this morning: making love to Quinn, napping for a bit and then making love to Quinn again. If it were up to me and if we were alone, I'd be all over Quinn by now. Christ, I'm a soft tosser, aren't I?
I'm fidgeting, trying to unostentatiously inch closer to Quinn. Wonder how long it'll be before he notices. There, he's looking at me, eyebrows slightly raised; he's noticed. He doesn't do anything for a few minutes, just watches the telly, then he yawns dramatically and raises his arm to rest it on the upholstery. A move worthy of a teenager if I'm any judge. Still, that means that the path to his chest is clear. All I've to do now is get my head on there without being obvious about it.
So I pretend to nod off. Close my eyes and get very still indeed. Then I start leaning sideways until my head makes contact with Quinn's shoulder and I stay there. Nice shoulder. If only he could put his arm around me. Can't do that though, not without giving it away.
Eventually Nicky notices me. "Here, let me get him off of you," he says to Quinn. "Must have been one hell of a day for him to fall asleep like that."
"Not to worry," Quinn replies quickly. "He's not bothering me and I'd just as soon not wake him."
"Well, if you're sure he's not bothering you," Nicky says and goes back to watching the telly.
I keep my eyes shut, don't want to give away the game now, but Quinn is lightly stroking my arm, so I guess that means that Nicky isn't looking. He stops suddenly and then Nicky says, "I think I'll be turning in too. Sure you don't need any help with the tosser? He's quite heavy when he's out cold."
"I'm alright, gonna stay and watch the telly a bit longer," Quinn replies. "I'll wake him when I'm ready to go to bed."
"Rather you than me mate," Nicky says.
A minute or so later Quinn quietly says, "it's alright, you can stop pretending now, he's gone."
That's all the confirmation I need. I'm up like lightning and grabbing his face to thrust my tongue into his mouth. It's been eight hours at least since I've had a chance to kiss him. He returns the kiss, but much more hesitantly than I've come to expect—probably keeping an eye on the hallway—and when I come up for air, he breaks away and looks at me quizzically: "You were playing with fire there Rob."
"He didn't notice, did he?" I pout.
"Not today he didn't, but he's not stupid. You keep on falling asleep on my shoulder or accidentally touching me and he'll suss it out soon enough," Quinn says.
"Would that be such a bad thing?" I ask quietly.
Must be wearing the kicked-puppy look again, because Quinn pulls me in closer to his chest and kisses the top of my head. "This isn't about trying to hide you Rob, not ashamed of you," he whispers. "Think about this for a minute, alright? Are you prepared to face whatever reaction Nicky's going to come out with? Are you ready to be all out in the open, because once he knows, others are going to find out before too long and you don't know how they are going to react. I'm not the kind of girl you can take home to meet your mum over Sunday dinner."
"You're not a girl," I sigh. "You think Nicky'll take it badly?"
"You tell me, you've known him a lot longer than I have," Quinn replies.
"He's my oldest friend in London," I shrug, "but you're right, I don't know. I think he'll be fine with it, but I don't know. I'm a little out of my depth here if you hadn't noticed."
"Yeah I noticed," he chuckles. "You blush very prettily."
I can feel the heat start somewhere around my ears. Oh well, going to prove him right I guess. He's smiling though, rubbing his hands down my shoulders and back and looking about ready to pounce. "I don't want to hide, Quinn," I whisper.
"We don't need to hide," he says. "Let's try to be discreet though. No use rubbing it in people's faces. People are quite good at ignoring this sort of thing so long's they're not forced to acknowledge it. That alright with you?"
"I guess," I say, not really convincing myself any more than I am convincing Quinn. If it were up to me I'd be shouting it from the rooftops by now, shouting for all the world to hear that I am in love with the most brilliant green eyes I've ever seen and the hottest—alright, the only—arse I've ever had the good fortune to get up close and personal with. Doesn't really work like that though, does it? Quinn's been doing this a hell of a lot longer than I have and I'm sure he's very good reasons for wanting to keep us under wraps. Still hurts a little.
"Rob, look at me," he says, nudging my chin up. "I'm not ashamed of you. I'm not trying to hide you. I'm not just going to up and leave with no one the wiser. If you really want to tell, you can tell and I'll be standing right there behind you, but it's not going to be a picnic. There'll be things said that aren't pretty. There'll be a few friends that won't be friends after. There'll be a lot of... fallout."
"Don't want to decide right now," I say. "Can we just go to bed?"
"That we most certainly can," he smiles and takes my hand to pull me up off the sofa with him.
"Oh good," I leer. "I seem to remember somebody owing me a blowjob from a week ago."
That results in the required rreaction; Quinn virtually drags me to my room—it's closer than his—and is unbuttoning my trousers before the door is closed. He pulls them down roughly while pushing me up against the wall and then he's on his knees before me and running a rough tongue along the underside of my dick, closely followed by a hint of teeth along the sides. Christ that feels good!
He pulls back the foreskin and rolls his tongue around the head in a circle before sucking hard on the very tip. I groan and bang my head against the wall that's supporting me because my knees have suddenly turned to pudding. This is good; so very, very good. Seconds later it gets better. Quinn, bracing himself against the wall, his chest pressed into my knees to keep them from buckling, takes my dick in his mouth and swallows.
I've never been deep-throated before. Thought it was a myth. Jesus H. Christ I have been missing out and I am so very, very queer after all. His throat muscles are working my dick and he's alternating between sucking hard and swallowing around my hard-on. How does he breathe like that?
He presses his chest harder into my knees and thighs and his arms disappear from around me for a few moments. Then one hand is fondling my balls while his throat continues to contract around my dick. Don't think I'll last too much longer like this. He's very, very good at what he does. I've got my eyes closed and my head is lolling against the wall and my hips are rocking into his mouth of their own accord.
Quinn nudges my legs apart slightly with his free hand. Then the fingers teasing my balls are moving further back, stroking that bit of skin just behind the sac. I moan involuntarily. I don't think I've ever realized what it means to be blown properly before. Then one finger travels further back and gently brushes across my hole. I tense for a moment–never had that done before–but that incredibly vacuum throat is still pumping my dick for all it's worth and my mind can't really cope with anything except the approaching orgasm at the moment.
I can't stop myself. My balls are drawing up and I'm starting to thrust harder into Quinn's mouth. As if on cue, his finger pushes into my body and a moment later hits something that makes sparks go off in front of my eyes; like the straw effigy being thrown into the flames on bonfire night. I think I howl. It is the most intense orgasm yet and my body practically shakes itself to ejaculation. The only thing keeping me upright is Quinn's chest pressed into my knees and his throat swallowing around my twitching weeping dick.
If I don't stop breathing so hard, I'll faint from the extra oxygen.
Quinn doesn't stop sucking though. Keeps right on going, not giving me a chance to grow soft. His finger slips out of my body again and then I hear him unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers down.
When he's sure I'm hard and going to stay hard, he slowly releases me from his throat, running his tongue along the underside of my dick from root to tip. Then he throws himself over the side of the bed arse about face and pants, "fuck me. Now."
I stagger over to the bed, to his arse waving in the air like some obscene totem pole, and the sight makes my dick twitch again. "Need lube," I groan, somewhat thankful that the gift of speech hasn't totally deserted me.
"You're covered in saliva, should be enough," Quinn pants. "Fuck me. Please?"
I moan. I'm not going to argue with that invitation. I part his cheeks with hands still trembling from the force of my earlier orgasm and shove my dick into his hole hard and fast. He moans and thrusts his hips back to meet me before I'm halfway in. Then I'm seated in that hot sweet arse and I totally lose it. I start moving hard and fast, holding his hips in an iron grip, and he's meeting me thrust for thrust.
This is fast and desperate fucking. Don't have any rhythm worth speaking of. Don't even have the presence of mind to move one hand to his raging hard-on and start tossing him off. Don't need to either. He's panting and moaning and grunting quite well without my assistance. Even though I've only just come I won't be able to hold on much longer. Love him. Love him. Love him. My mind is spinning.
His back tenses and then he's shaking like I shook a few minutes ago and his muscles contract to hold my dick in a steel vise, much like his throat contracted earlier. That's enough to push me over the edge again. I come with a wail and collapse on top of his back. We lie there panting, half on the bed and half off it for a few minutes, until he somehow finds the strength to crawl up and pull me with him. I mewl at the loss when my softening dick slips out of him.
He gathers me up in his arms though. Limbs entangled everywhere in a human knot on the bed. He's kissing my face and my neck, stroking shaking hands all over my torso and I hold on for dear life. Finally, when I've calmed down somewhat I say, "I think I'm bent after all."
"You don't say," Quinn chuckles. "What tipped you off? Was it the five o'clock shadow scratching against your balls while I was sucking you off or was it being up to the hilt in my arse and making me come just like that?"
Hadn't noticed that. Thought he just stroked himself off when he worked out I was too far gone to be of any assistance. "You came? Just from being shagged?"
He smiles, "yeah, it's possible when it's done right."
"Oh," I say, belly doing cartwheels because I guess that means I did it right. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he replies, nuzzling my neck.
"Promise you won't laugh?" I ask.
"Never laugh at you. Not when it matters," he says softly.
I bring up all my reserves of courage, but I know I'm still blushing when I say, "you've been letting me shag you... well, a few times... don't you want to, I mean, don't you..." Harder to say than you'd think, isn't it Rob? You're such a sissy sometimes. Can't even say it out loud.
Before I can try again, I've got Quinn-tongue in my mouth kissing me hard. When he finally leans back to catch some air, he says, "that answer your question? Yeah I want to shag you, want to shag you quite a bit."
"So why haven't you?" I ask quietly.
"Won't shag you until you ask me to," he shrugs. "Won't be putting my dick anywhere near your arse until you're sure you want it as much as I do and you've told me so."
Oh god. I'm getting hard again. I mean stamina is all well and good, but this is bordering on the ludicrous. You'd think I was fifteen instead of twenty-eight. Ah, look, Quinn's noticed. Well, he would, what with having seven inches of dripping dick pressing against his hip.
He starts stroking me languidly; enough to make me moan, but not enough to send me down the road to orgasm again. Then he buries his face between my head and my shoulder and whispers, "do you want me to fuck you?"
I whimper.
"Do you want to feel my dick inside you?" He continues. "Do you want to be fucked? Feel me slowly thrusting into your hot tight arse, hitting your prostate every time and making you see stars? All you have to do is tell me. I'll give you the best shag you've ever had. I'll make it so good. Make it everything you've been fantasizing about. Rob, do you want me to fuck you?"
No, I want you to make love to me, but that's not an option, is it?
"Tell me," he says huskily.
"Yes, no, maybe. If you want to. If you want to fuck me I want you to," I reply.
"Wrong answer," Quinn says harshly. "Not going to do it that way."
Shit. I just screwed that up, didn't I? Just starting to get comfortable with our whole situation and then I have to say something to fuck it all up. He's probably going to get up and walk out of here any minute now. Let's be realistic Rob, how long did you really expect him to wait? How long did you think it would take for him to come to the conclusion that you weren't going to spread your legs without being asked?
I want to though; want to a lot. Just haven't got my mind wrapped around the concept just yet. Want to, but can't. Not yet. 'Course that hardly matters at this point because I've already screwed everything up. So I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out everything, because I don't really want to be inside my own body for the next bit. Quinn lets go of my dick and shifts across the bed. Here we go: it's been real nice but it's time to move on. Fuck.
Warm slippery hand back on my dick. What the... "Quinn, what're you doing?"
"What's it look like? Getting you ready for round two, er, three in your case," he replies gruffly. "Unless you don't have the energy that is..."
"I thought... I mean, you said 'wrong answer' and I thought..." best not to finish that sentence. Don't know how to anyway.
The hand stops what it's doing and then I've good a big bundle of Quinn on my chest, lips pressed against mine, tongue seeking entrance. Can you come from just a snog? Because if you can, it'll be all over in a few seconds.
He breaks the kiss and takes my face in his hands. "Look at me Rob," he says.
I force my eyes open.
"I am not going to run out on you because you aren't ready for the next bit. 's not my style. I don't rape anyone and I don't coerce anyone into doing something he doesn't want to do. I don't want a piece of meat, I want a lover."
He stops there quite suddenly. I don't think he meant to say that last bit out loud. Excuse me while I go and bounce around the room for a bit. He wants a boyfriend. Do you have any idea how long it's been since anyone has told me they wanted me—me!—as a boyfriend? Don't know how to put that into words, so I do the next best thing and stick my tongue so far down his throat I think I can feel his tonsils. Hope that's answer enough.
Somewhere there, while our tongues are doing their own thing, his hand returns to my dick and spreads some more of the slick stuff and then there's hot, hot Quinn surrounding me. He rides me. Achingly slow and desperately hard all rolled into one. He never lets go of my lips and his hands are touching everywhere, pinching a nipple here, stroking an arm there, never leaving my body for a minute. His hands are making love to me. His mouth is making love to me. His arse is making love to me.
I come screaming into his mouth. He never lets go of me. Soft touches and gentle kisses and when I've calmed down a little bit, he reaches down and pulls himself off for a few minutes until he comes on my belly. Doesn't let go. Doesn't move. Just collapses on top of me. He's still kissing me when I fall asleep.
Unusually, I am the first to wake up the next morning. I start kissing Quinn until he wakes up too. There are things we need to talk about.
I take a deep breath. Best to just get it out in the open. "I have to tell Nicky, Quinn."
"Sure that's a good idea?" He asks kissing my cheek.
"No, but..." shit, this is much more difficult than I thought. "Look, I know we can't exactly go and make out under Nelson's column, but we live here and so does he. I want to be able to touch you in my own flat. I want to be able to kiss you when you make me breakfast and I want to be able to sit on the sofa with you without having to pretend I'm asleep."
Quinn nods. "Fine, it's your call. Now, did you mention something about me making you breakfast?"
"Fry-up?" I grin.
Next thing I know we're sitting in the kitchen digging into plates piled high with eggs and sausage and beans. Nicky comes in, pours himself a cup of coffee and gets a plate. Then he sits down opposite me and starts eating.
"What the hell were the two of you watching on the telly last night?" He asks after a few minutes. "Sounded odd."
Quinn quirks an eyebrow at me. When I don't say anything he just shrugs and replies, "some foreign film. Was pretty odd, now that you come to mention it."
Shit. He really did mean it when he said it was my call. He isn't going to tell Nicky, is he? Leaving that to me. I really don't want to do this, but if I don't, if I allow Quinn to fib now, I'll never find the bottle to tell Nicky and I have to. Have to tell him before we get caught up in a lot of lies and deceptions.
I take a deep breath. "We weren't watching the telly, Nicky."
Quinn surreptitiously places his hand on my thigh underneath the table. I gratefully put my hand on top of his and hold on, fingernails cutting crescents into his skin.
"We weren't watching the telly, we were..." come on Rob, out with it.
"You were what?" Nicky asks, fork halfway between the plate and his mouth.
I meet his eyes and say, "we weren't watching the telly, we were fucking."
The fork clutters to the floor. I'm pretty sure that if Nicky were capable of unhinging his jaw, it'd hit the plate any second now. Quinn squeezes my hand tightly. After a pregnant pause, Nicky pushes his plate away and stands up from the table. He doesn't say a word, just stalks out of the kitchen and a few seconds later we hear his door banging shut.
"Didn't think you were actually going to go through with it," Quinn says quietly.
"Me neither," I whisper, my throat closing up.
I really don't know how I expected Nicky to react. I was prepared for shouting, laughing, disgust, anything but this. I am suddenly very aware of what Quinn said last night, about how, once I told, some friends wouldn't be friends anymore and I am terribly afraid that I've just lost my oldest friend.
Quinn pulls me into his arms. He's ruffling my hair, pressing my face to his chest and making soft humming noises, trying to reassure me. I'm shaking. Trying hard to keep it together. "Could have been worse," he says after a while. "Could have been a whole lot worse. This isn't so bad."
I don't know how long we sit there. Eventually, I hear Nicky's door opening and then he's standing in the doorway, looking tense. "Alright, I'm ready to talk," he says. "Quinn, give us a minute, would you?"
Quinn nods minutely and gets up. Looks like I'm on my own for the next bit too. Nicky's leaning against the doorframe and doesn't budge when Quinn walks past him. He doesn't come into the kitchen either though. Just stands there waiting until we hear the door to Quinn's room close. Then he favors me with an icy stare and says, "so you haven't gotten any in what, must be three years now, and you got so desperate you decided to play arse-on-call for Quinn?"
"Not the one getting fucked Nicky," I say quietly. All of a sudden little details like that seem to be very important.
"'Course not, should have guessed that," he says coldly. "He's a nurse; taking it up the arse probably comes with the uniform. So you finally got to dip your wick. Congratulations."
"Nicky-"
"Don't Nicky me," he shouts. "God you must be gagging for it. Can't even get up the energy to pick up some bird in a bar or, if all else fails, get yourself a whore? Jesus fucking Christ, we're how far from King's Cross?"
"Don't want a whore," I whisper.
Nicky's glaring at me. "No, you just have a thing for the flatmates, don't you? First Rosie and now this? Rob, just because you're living with them, don't mean you're under any obligation to shag them as well."
I close my eyes and lean back in my chair. Feeling faint all of a sudden. "It isn't just about sex Nicky."
"What's it about then? Poor little Rob want a boyfriend?" He asks sarcastically.
"Yes."
"Is he?" Nicky asks taken aback.
"I think so," I reply. "I hope so." I take a deep breath. Time for the really difficult question. "Do you want us to leave?"
"Would you?"
I shrug. "If you asked us to. I don't want to, but I will if you ask."
He sighs and takes a couple of steps into the kitchen. Still not coming anywhere close to the table, but he is inside the kitchen. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since that night we went out on the piss together."
"Fuck Rob, do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?" Nicky thunders.
I laugh an entirely humorless laugh. "No, not really."
He looks at me silently for a few seconds, then he asks point-blank, "are you in love?"
"Yes," I say without hesitation.
"Is he?"
I shrug. I have no idea, do I? It's not exactly something I can slip into the post-shag conversation. "I hope so."
"You are going to get so royally screwed," Nicky says matter-of-factly. "I just want to state that for the record. You are in so deep, god only know how you'll ever dig yourself out of it again."
I'm getting angry myself now. "Don't you think I know that Nicky? I mean, here I am, twenty-eight, an abject, abysmal failure with the ladies, and in waltzes Quinn and seduces me. Not exactly how I planned things to work out. Can't really help getting hard every time I look at him though, so I'm thinking that just maybe that's a hint that I'm bent."
"Or maybe you're just desperate," Nicky says coldly. "Can't get a leg over with a chit so you've decided to settle for the next-best thing short of a blow-up doll."
"No," I reply rather forcefully. "Believe me, if it were just the shagging I'd have gotten my fill by now and I'd left it there with no one the wiser. This is more. I've never... shit Nicky, it's never been like this with any girl."
He purses his lips. "That's the problem though, ain't it? He's not a girl."
I've noticed," I shrug. "Believe me, I'm not exactly looking forward to all the shit that's going to come flying my way before too long either."
"Yeah and don't come crying to me when it all goes pear-shaped," Nicky mutters. "Fine. Do whatever you want. You want to start shagging blokes, who am I to stop you? Just don't ask me to approve, because I don't."
"Not asking you to," I say quietly. "This isn't about you, you know."
"You can say that again!" He replies emphatically. "Look, I don't like it, but it's your business. We're cool."
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Yeah, whatever. Let's skip the hugging and making up part though. Don't think I can do that right now," he says. "Go and do... whatever it is the two of you do. I want to finish the rest of my breakfast before it gets any colder than it already is."
I walk out of the kitchen in a haze; barely keep it together while going down the hallway. Don't even stop by my door, just head straight for Quinn's room. He's sitting on his bed when I open the door, nods slightly in acknowledgement, but doesn't get up. I shut the door and lean against the wall next to it. I close my eyes and start shaking uncontrollably again. "Hold me please."
He's up like a shot and I am lost, trying to meld myself into his bones. "Shhhh. It's over now," he mumbles into my hair.
I'm still shaking, my voice much too raw. "He said..." Can't finish that sentence, can't possibly repeat most of what came out of Nicky's mouth. Don't even want to think about whether I've used similar words in the past, because I'm fairly certain I have.
"I heard. The shouted parts at least," Quinn says softly.
"It's always going to be as bad as that, innit?" I ask with my face still pressed to his shirt.
"No Rob, it's going to be worse," Quinn replies calmly. "That wasn't bad, not by a long shot. He came and talked to you, that's more than my own father ever did. So he said some not so very nice things, but he's still talking to you. He's still prepared to share a flat with you. That's really better than you could have hoped for."
"I'm so sorry," I whisper.
"What for?" Quinn asks.
"I... he said... it wasn't right what he said about you and I didn't say anything..." I stammer. Need to get this out. "I... I said you weren't doing me and he... he said you wouldn't, being a nurse and all... and I... I didn't say anything. Fuck! I didn't say anything."
"It's just a job description Rob," Quinn says quietly.
"But he... he thinks-"
"Then let him think," Quinn mutters. "He wants to think that a nurse's uniform turns you into a queer, fine, let him think that. Makes it easier for him to sleep at night because he'll never wear one of those, so he's safe, isn't he?"
"He said... oh god... he thinks I am shagging you because I'm too lazy to go down to King's Cross and get myself a whore," I sputter, "because I haven't... because I'm not putting out."
"Why do you care what he thinks?" Quinn asks kissing the top of my head.
"Because..." shit, don't know how to say it. Why are the words so damn difficult when I need them to be easy? "Yesterday, when you were..." OK Rob, if you can do it, you can fucking say it, stop being so squeamish and start talking. "Yesterday when you were sucking me off and you started fingering me, that was good. For a while there I really wanted you to... but then when you asked, I... I want it to be good for you, I want to... I just... Quinn, how long are you really going to wait? What if he's right? What if I can't..."
Quinn lets go of me and punches the wall with a frustrated howl. "Shit Rob, I keep on forgetting how new you are to... look, let's sit down, there's things we really need to talk about."
He leads me over to the bed. I lie down on my side and stretch out one arm for Quinn to join me. He raises an eyebrow but lies down next to me, saying, "alright, I'll lie down with you, but we're not going to make with the nookie, we're going to talk about sex instead."
I blush, dark crimson spreading from my ears on out over my entire face and Quinn smiles and kisses the tip of my nose. "Rob, if you're old enough to have sex, you're old enough to talk about it. That said, you are very cute when you're blushing."
"Cute enough to shag rather than talk about... stuff?" I ask hopefully.
"Yeah, but I'm going to practice admirable self-restraint and give you the queer sex-talk instead, you know, the one what they don't give you in school," he chuckles. "Fact is, there's some blokes that have never been with a woman but have never gotten fucked either and don't want to. Now I'm not saying that it's common, because most blokes will do both the fucking and the getting fucked even if they have a preference, but it happens.
"The last bloke I was seeing didn't ask me to fuck him once in near on three years and that was just dandy with me, because I like getting fucked more than I like doing the fucking. And that doesn't make me any less of a man. I can still be aggressive as hell and I can hit on somebody until they cave and go to bed with me and I can call the shots while we're there. All it means is that I'm directing the action with a dick up my arse. Nothing more."
Can you die of embarrassment? Because if you can, I may be fatally wounded right now. "But it can't be, I mean...."
Quinn sighs. "Yeah it can. As far as I am concerned getting fucked is better and what's more it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's sex Rob, and it's good and I like it and I haven't met that many queers who didn't. It's not an indicator of masculinity or anything else: it's a stupid het hang-up that you've got to get over. Yeah I like fucking on occasion just as much as the next bloke, and I'd like to do you at least once, just so you can say you've done it and can decide for yourself whether you like it or not, but if you decide you don't want that, I still want you. So long as the sex is good for both of us I don't need to fuck you in order to be blissfully happy."
"Nicky-"
"I don't give a rat's arse what Nicky thinks," Quinn interrupts. "I wouldn't touch Nicky with a ten-foot pole, or, to put it another way, if he and I were the last two blokes on the face of the earth, I'd likely swallow my pride and start fucking girls instead."
I have to laugh at that. "You'd better not let Nicky hear you say that, he'd be mortally offended," I grin.
"Don't give a toss, he could do with getting dressed down a notch or two," Quinn replies. "I am with you because I fancy the arse off you. I want to be with you and I want you to be comfortable and if that means you're going to shag me into oblivion for the next couple of years, I'm just fine with that, so will you please stop worrying. If and when you decide you want to give it a try, I'll be more than happy to oblige, but whether or not I stick around has nothing to do with whether or not you decide you'd like to get my dick up your arse."
"Will you stick around?" I ask hesitantly.
"If you'll have me," he replies. "Told you last night what I want is a lover. I want you, complete with annoying habits and morning hair. Wouldn't be you otherwise."
Hey, I don't have any annoying habits," I pout indignantly.
"You steal the duvet," he grins and then he's kissing me, passionately and gently all at once. When he finally breaks the kiss I am gasping for air and he is smiling. "Going out on a limb here and putting myself in serious danger of losing the queer-badge, but I reckon I'd better do this the old-fashioned way to make sure we're on the same page," he says. "Rob, would you like to be my boyfriend?"
"Think I'd like that. A lot." I respond.
"Good. Fancy watching the cricket for a while?" He asks.
"Thought you weren't too fond of cricket," I reply.
"Oh I'm not," Quinn says winking, "but Nicky is and, call me evil, I want to see how much I can make him squirm."
So Quinn and I end up sitting on the sofa watching the cricket on the telly. More accurately, Quinn is sitting on the sofa; I am sitting on his lap, or near as makes no odds. I am quite aware that this hardly makes me a contender for the masculinity award of the year, but damn it, indulge me until the novelty of having a lover other than my right hand has worn off a bit. Quinn's indulging me alright; he's got his arms wrapped around my waist, my head leaning on his shoulder, and he's playing with the fingers of my left hand. Nicky is sitting in the armchair and steadfastly ignoring us. His fixed stare on the telly is almost painful to watch.
Quinn leans down and nips my neck and when I turn my head to kiss him, he waggles his eyebrows at me. "Do you know what I like most about cricket?" He asks in a loud voice.
I decide to play along. "What's that Quinn?"
"It's the balls. They're so big and red," he says suggestively.
Nicky twitches noticeably.
"Hmmm, you're right," I agree in the most serious tone of voice I can muster. "I'd never thought about it before, but they really are very big and quite an interesting shade of red. 'Course if I remember correctly, they're also quite hard."
They are indeed Rob," Quinn says winking at me. "I should know, I played cricket when I was a lad. Look, see how Botham is rubbing that ball against his thigh?"
"He should be careful," I remark, "he'll soil his trousers that way."
I rub my own hand over Quinn's thigh. "Oh I shouldn't worry about that," he sighs, "his trousers are quite soiled already."
"Yes, I've often puzzled why cricketeers insist on playing in white," I say huskily. "It's not as if it stayed virginal for long, what with all the exertions of the game."
"No, cricket is not a virginal sport, is it?" he replies. "All that rubbing of balls and batting soon leads to hard breathing-"
Nicky practically howls as he bolts up out of the armchair and strides to the door, not looking at either Quinn or myself. The door slams behind him and then we hear the front door of the building slamming too and Quinn starts howling with laughter. I join in gleefully.
We sit there laughing, tears running down our faces. Eventually, when my belly stops quaking I turn to Quinn and gasp, "you are evil. He'll never be able to watch cricket again without thinking about us shagging."
Quinn grins, pulls me up close to his chest again, and pouts, "but you enjoy my being evil Rob, and I simply adore you when you have your wicked way with me."
Quinn lies back on the sofa, his head against the armrest, still laughing softly. I crawl on top of him and rest my head on his chest, get myself a human cushion of the Quinn variety.
"Got any other bright ideas for making Nicky squirm?" I ask after we've caught our breath.
"Matter of fact I do," Quinn replies, smiling suggestively. "I reckon we can christen the kitchen table while we're at it. Make sure he finds out about it too. He'll never eat in there again."
"That, Quinn, is truly heinous," I laugh and then lunge in for a quick kiss. "Tempting as that may sound though, I've got to start getting ready for work."
"Call in sick," Quinn says quickly.
"Can't, not sick," I reply.
"Sure about that?" He asks. "Here, let me see your tongue."
I humor him and stick my tongue out at him. He gently sucks on it for a moment before scrutinizing it closely and making 'uh-oh' noises. Then he snakes one hand between our bodies and starts squeezing my balls. "I don't know Rob," he says. "I'm fairly sure I can see some unusual coloring to your tongue there and your glands are kind of swollen."
"Aren't you supposed to check the glands in my throat?" I ask.
He raises one eyebrow and starts pouting alarmingly—oh god, Quinn can pout! There goes free will. "Who's the nurse?"
"Quinn..." my token protest dies at the look on his face.
"Call in sick and I'll show you how to make toad-in-the-hole," Quinn grins.
I laugh. "You're going to make toad-in-the-hole for tea?"
"Sure." he shrugs, "I've decided to liven up the menu a bit. Tonight's toad-in-the-hole, then coq au vin tomorrow and bangers and bash the day after. Nicky won't know what hit him."
My pupils cross slightly at the images dancing in front of my eyelids. "Quinn, why are you suddenly so bent on making Nicky squirm?"
"He made you uncomfortable, didn't he?" Quinn growls. "Made you feel rotten because you're shagging me instead of some chit?"
"I guess," I nod.
"Well, Nicky's about to learn that nobody messes with my boyfriend," Quinn says quite menacingly. "Nobody hurts you. Nobody makes you feel inferior because you're with me. I'll have their hides if they do."
Ah. Puddle-time. At least I think I'm melting. That's almost a declaration of love, innit? Him saying that nobody hurts me without feeling the wrath of Quinn? Wonder whether there's enough time to get naked before I need to get dressed for work. Probably not. 'Course, I could always be late...
"My knight!" I sigh with a huge grin on my face.
"That too. I prefer lover though," he replies quietly. "Call in sick Rob, please. Want to go back to bed and shag you silly."
Part of me wants to. Except... except he said exactly the right thing closely followed by the wrong words. Called me his lover and then said he wanted to shag me silly—not make love. There's a difference, however minute. Would have called in sick if he'd said it differently. As it is, I'm having a tough time disentangling myself from his embrace.
"Can't. Got rent to pay and dosh to earn," I say getting up from my Quinn cushion, "but I'll shag you silly when I get home tonight, if you want me."
"Always want you," he leers. "Got to work tomorrow morning though. Can't stay up too late."
"Then go to sleep early, I'll wake you when I get in," I wink. "I'll do all the hard work. All you'll have to do is lie back and think of England."
"Fuck Rob!" He moans and I can see his dick twitching even underneath the layer of denim.
"Later," I grin and then I'm out the door hoping like hell that the chill outside is sufficient incentive for my raging hard-on to take a raincheck for the time being.
I get home late and for the first time I don't actually have to sneak into Quinn's room. Feels damned good. I quietly take off my clothes and on a whim I crawl under the duvet at the foot of his bed and up his body until I reach his groin. He's naked. Well, he knew I was coming in, I suppose, and I did promise to shag him silly, did I not? I lightly touch his dick, stroking softly, just enough to get it half-hard while he is still asleep. About to give your lover a wake-up call he won't forget in a hurry, Rob, are you?
I do believe I am; Rob plus all the pesky voices at the back of Rob's head are in agreement on that account. I slowly run my tongue up the underside of his dick, feel it twitching beneath my mouth, and then pull back the foreskin and run my tongue around the head before starting to suck gently. Quinn tastes quite nice actually; didn't have the presence of mind to notice that the first time I blew him, too nervous. He's all warm and soft though, like silk or brushed cotton, with just a hint of soap and something that tastes of Quinn. Tastes of Quinn's tongue and Quinn's skin and Quinn's sex. I'm not nervous anymore. I can't really believe it's only been a few days and I can't even imagine ever giving this up again.
I move down a bit and take each of his balls into my mouth, sucking in turn. He moans. He likes that.
Then I'm back to his dick. I take him into my mouth as far as I dare and then pull up again, angling my face so me teeth are lightly scraping against one side of his dick, which is hard as steel by now, then repeat the procedure on the other side. When I get back to sucking on just the head, Quinn moans louder. That's all the encouragement I need. I start going faster, taking him as deep as I can into my mouth and then pulling almost completely away, sucking and teasing with my tongue.
"Rob, so good," he moans. He's awake then. Well, I would be too with a raging hard-on like that.
My fingers are digging into his hips hard enough to leave bruises. God, I want him so much. Love him so much. Need to show him how much.
One of my hands detaches from his body with difficulty, blindly reaches for the floor and grapples for the lube. Can't find it though, not without letting go of that wonderful hard dick, and I've no intention of doing that any time soon. Instead I improvise; reach out my hand until it touches his face and then start thrusting my finger slowly into his mouth. He sucks it in eagerly, running his tongue around it, mirroring my tongue on his dick.
He almost whimpers when I finally withdraw that finger from his mouth and bring it back down to his groin. Wonder whether I can make him see the stars I saw when he was fingering me. I want to blow his mind.
I slowly rub over his hole a couple of times before pushing my finger in, never once letting up on working his dick, trying to find my way to that place. Going to make him see stars.
"Crook your finger up a bit," he pants. Good, he knows what I'm about; a little assistance never hurt. A week ago that would have panicked me. It doesn't anymore. Funny how quickly things change, innit? So I do as I'm told, and Quinn's hips jump off the bed in response. Yeah, I think I've figured it out. God I love getting that kind of reaction out of him.
Pants interspersed with moans now. His body is tensing up and I know he'll be ready to come any minute now. The thought of swallowing no longer makes me nervous, just makes me harder. I wonder if I can... yes, I do believe I can, I think to myself moments after I swallow the head of his dick.
Quinn wails. If Nicky is home, he'll be waking up right about now. My throat continues to swallow convulsively around Quinn's dick and his arse is contracting around my finger in tandem. I can feel his come hit the back of my throat somewhere, but it's an afterthought really. I'd already decided to swallow this time.
When his dick stops pulsing I slowly draw back my mouth, running my tongue along the length of it. His body is still shaking wildly beneath me with the force of his orgasm. I kiss my way up his belly and his chest, run a lazy tongue up his throat and chin until I reach his mouth and move in for the kill. His hot wet tongue doing battle with my own, followed by teeth gently nibbling on my lips and clutching hands tangled in my hair.
"Liked that, did you," I smile when he finally lets me come up for air.
"Christ, who did you practice on?" He asks, still out of breath.
"Oi, lad with a steep learning curve over here," I reply with mock indignation. "That was good then, was it?"
"Not good," he says, "fucking fantastic."
"Yeah, I think you might have woken Nicky though, screaming like that," I grin.
"Good. Care to make some more noise?" He asks.
"What did you have in mind?" I respond.
"Anything you want, absolutely anything you want," he whispers huskily.
I grin. "Think you could give me some pointers on how to improve my technique?"
"Oh yeah, I think that could be arranged," he replies and then he's flipping me over onto my back, using a knee to spread my legs and that hot wet Quinn-tongue starts travelling down my throat and onto my chest.
His hands are everywhere, stroking and kneading and caressing wherever the tongue isn't. His mouth latches onto my nipples, one after the other, and sucks them hard until I moan quietly. He moves on, licking a path down my belly, then following the curve of my hips, before lightly flicking his tongue across my hard-on. He runs his tongue around the head of my dick in lazy circles for a few seconds, then runs it down the underside of my dick, over my balls and all the way back. My turn to whimper.
He takes each ball into his mouth and sucks them gently, nipping and licking just hard enough to drive me crazy. Then he's got them both in his mouth and is trying to swallow them by the feel of it. Christ, he's good! He starts stroking my dick with his hand while lavishing his tongue's attention all over my sac.
"Pull your legs up to your chest," he says breathlessly.
I do as he says and then his tongue is moving behind my balls and... I tense slightly; no tongue's ever gone there before.
"Relax," he whispers, "you'll like this."
As if to ram the point well and truly home he starts licking in earnest, running his tongue over my hole and back to my balls, over and over again. Feels good alright. Whatever doubts I had are quickly disappearing with each slow lick of that tongue. Helps that he's still stroking my dick too.
When I'm so hot I am briefly—very briefly!—contemplating asking him to just get it over with and fuck me already, he takes the plunge and pushes his tongue inside of me. Jesus fucking Christ! That's even better than the finger the other day. All hot and wet and soft. Oh I am so very, very queer and I'm moaning. Quite loudly.
He starts thrusting his tongue in and out, pulling my dick for all he's worth, and I'm losing it quickly. I desperately try to resist the urge to push down, impale myself upon that tongue. Wouldn't work really, since my dick is fighting me for control of my hips and it's trying desperately to push further up into Quinn's hand. Can't do both at the same time, more's the pity.
I can feel my balls tightening, drawing up to my body; I'm gonna come any second now. Suddenly, just before I'm about to go over, Quinn moves like lightning and his hand is replaced with that hot, hot vacuum mouth that swallows me down whole. I scream too. I quite possibly thrash about the bed a bit. I almost pass out for a second. That was the single most intense orgasm yet—and yes, I know I keep on saying that, but it's true: each one is better than the last and they're all much better than any I've ever had before.
He waits for my dick to stop twitching and then slowly licks it clean before crawling back up my body and curling himself around me. I'm still panting when he rolls us over onto our sides, spoons up behind me, and mumbles something into the hair at my neck. Can't be sure, but that sounded an awful lot like those words I've been wanting to hear.
Before I can ask though Nicky's banging on the wall between his room and Quinn's and we hear muffled shouting, "are you lot quite finished yet? Some people need to get up early to go and sign on."
That kind of kills the magic, doesn't it? I don't think he'd repeat it now, even if I had the balls to ask and I don't. I just close my eyes and go to sleep.
Because of our truly screwed up schedules, Quinn gets to go to work the next morning but I've got the day off. I sleep in and then do some shopping, some reading, and some bumming around the house waiting for him to get home already. Nicky's parked in front of the telly most of the day, as per usual, and I'm watching it too when Quinn finally comes in.
He kisses me full on the mouth, tongue action and everything in front of Nicky. Don't think he's been that blatant before, not that I'm complaining. Nicky flinches slightly, but keeps his trap shut. After I've been sufficiently greeted and left more or less breathless, Quinn points at the shopping bags sitting in the hallway and asks, "wanna join me in the kitchen to cook tea?"
"You mean, you'll cook and I'll feel you up while you're cooking?" I grin. "Think I can do that."
"Watch it, or you might just get roped into doing some chopping or something," Quinn laughs and starts walking into the kitchen.
Yeah, I get to feel him up some while he's happily chopping away. I also get roped into doing some of the chopping. He'd picked up a chicken and a bottle of wine and is stewing the cut-up chicken pieces in the wine with some onions and things of a vegetable nature. I tried to protest the use of vegetables, but he stuck his tongue so far down my throat I found it impossible to talk. So I guess there may be some carrots in there somewhere.
Eventually Nicky is drawn into the kitchen by the wafting smells of booze and meat—well, he's a bloke, what d'you expect? It's instinct—and asks, "smells good, what are we having?"
"Coq au vin and spotted dick for pudding," Quinn replies nonchalantly, "with custard, of course, couldn't have spotted dick without custard. Now, I like my custard kind of gooey, how about you Nicky?"
Nicky pales slightly and mutters a "pardon me" before leaving the kitchen in a hurry. I'm almost feeling sorry for him.
"Hope he doesn't spew up," I say turning to Quinn, "he looked quite peeky there."
"Yeah, that's because he wouldn't eat last night either. The thought of toad-in-the-hole was a little bit too much for him. Looks like he'll be passing up dinner today as well," Quinn says dryly. "Just means there's more for us. Thing is, it really isn't coq au vin; that takes way too long to cook. It's really just chicken stewed in wine..."
"Quinn, how long are you planning on doing this?" I ask.
"Until I stop being furious I expect," he answers and turns back to stirring the pudding batter.
We're leaning against the counter getting a little busy while keeping an eye on the chicken and the pudding when Nicky clears his throat in the doorway a few minutes later.
"This isn't going to go away any time soon, is it?" He asks quietly.
Quinn steps up behind me and wraps his arms tightly around my waist. "Not unless Rob changes his mind, no. I'm in for the long haul."
Nicky looks at me almost pleadingly. I shake my head slightly. "Sorry Nicky, this isn't a phase."
"Look, I'm trying to be cool with this, I really am, but you aren't making it easy," Nicky mutters.
"Try harder," Quinn snaps back, his arms tightening around my waist.
"Quinn..." I mumble and favor him with what I hope is a pout. Seems to be working.
"Alright," Quinn sighs. "Have your say Nicky."
Nicky takes a deep breath. "I know I said some not so very nice things yesterday," he begins. "You caught me off-guard. That was a lot to take in in one go. I've known Rob for what, ten years? We've been rooming together for nine of those years and I'm supposed to just accept that he's queer all of a sudden? After he's been hopelessly in love with just about every unattainable girl I can think of?"
"I've got something real here, Nicky," I say quietly and lean back further into Quinn's chest.
Nicky looks at me strangely for a moment and when he starts talking again it isn't so much a question as a statement. "You're happy."
"Yeah I am," I reply without even having to think about it.
"I'll try, alright?" Nicky sighs. "I'll try harder, but please, can you try not to rub my nose in it until I get used to the idea?"
"Not going to stop kissing and touching in front of you because it makes you uncomfortable," Quinn says harshly, "but we'll stick to public levels of decency. That's the best offer you're going to get out of me."
"That's all I'm asking, that, and can you please start cooking normal food again?" Nicky replies.
Quinn laughs. "Would it make you happier if I called today's tea stewed chicken bits and pudding?"
"Yeah, actually it would," Nicky replies. "Want me to set the table?"
Quinn nods and takes hold of my hand, pulling me over to the stove with him. When he's sure that Nicky can't hear him over the bubbling pots, he leans in close to my ear and whispers, "we just won that round Rob. Queers 1 : Nicky 0. Can't help but enjoy a good match, can you?"
I don't say anything, just turn my head ever so slightly and kiss him as if the world depended on it. Not entirely sure that that kiss falls into the category of public levels of decency, but Nicky doesn't say a word, just continues setting the table.
© KJB 2002-2003.