Quinn's good to his word. He stops teasing Nicky quite as much—unless you count kissing me breathless as teasing Nicky—and things soon settle into a routine of sorts. I don't think Nicky ever gets fully comfortable with the situation, but he stops twitching and flinching whenever he sees us touching after a couple of weeks. He gets used to it, I guess, either that, or he finds it easier to avoid watching once I no longer feel the need to crawl into Quinn's lap constantly.
Don't get me wrong, there's still plenty of kissing Rob breathless and sucking Rob until he screams, and there's still plenty of fucking Quinn into a puddle of goo, but after a few weeks we are able to get behind closed doors for it—most of the time. Quinn also shows his good will by not discussing the deliciousness of various footie player's arses in front of Nicky and I am reasonably sure Nicky appreciates that more than anything else.
Quinn switches to a later shift as soon as he's able to. He still can't control which days he works and which he has off, but he can give me his schedule six weeks in advance and with a little bit of creative scheduling at the pub, we usually manage to get the same days off. It's not like we're stepping out or anything, well, unless you count a quick call down at our local as stepping out, but we do spend time together outside the bedroom. So help me god, Quinn is trying to teach me to cook.
It's good and I am in love, though I'd disembowel myself before letting Quinn find out about that one. Most important of all, I never sleep on my own anymore and I get plenty of nookie, even if the nature of our arrangement never gets mentioned again.
So yeah, it's all wine and roses and no trouble whatsoever and that must mean it's going to stay that way, right? Yeah, well, not with my blooming luck it doesn't. Or should that be not with my obnoxious twat of a lover it doesn't?
To give him some credit, it does take Quinn a few months to work around to the serious talk of even more serious changes. He doesn't just spring it all on me a week after we start shagging. Not because he doesn't want to, I reckon it's got more to do with him having the sense to realize that I'm still in panic-mode those first couple of months, ready to bolt at a second's notice. So he waits a few months until I'm reasonably comfortable with our arrangement and Nicky's up in Manchester visiting with Rosie.
With Nicky out of the way and unable to talk some sense into me, Quinn moves fast. He comes home one night carrying a stack of envelopes under his arm. "Hey, are you busy?" He asks darting in for a quick kiss.
"Apart from the scintillating entertainment that Coronation Street has to offer? No, not particularly," I reply.
Quinn fidgets a little—I don't think I've ever seen him fidget before; goodness me, I think he's nervous!—and then says, "look, don't take this the wrong way, but I've had some things sent to me at work."
"You got me pressies?" I virtually squeal—Jesus, I'm starting to sound like a chit.
"Well, not so much presents as..." Quinn really is uncomfortable, that must be a first. "Well, have a look for yourself," he finishes lamely and thrusts the envelopes into my lap.
I tear open the first one and a booklet falls out of it. Same with the next and the one after. "Quinn, these are prospectuses," I finally say.
"Yeah, graduate prospectuses," Quinn says hurriedly. "I wasn't sure what kind of philosophy you were interested in, so I got you a prospectus for each college at the University of London that offers a masters in philosophy."
I hand them back to him with a sigh. "It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture Quinn, but we've already talked about this. I can't afford it."
"There's student loans for tuition," Quinn replies, "and if, for some reason, you don't qualify for a loan, I could lend you the tuition money. It wouldn't be a gift. We could do it all proper like, with interest and everything. You could pay me back when you get a posh lecturing position somewhere. It'd only be for a year Rob."
I push up off the sofa and start pacing the room. "Right, but even without the tuition, I'd still need money to live off and I wouldn't be able to work much, not if I'm on a full-time course."
"I've thought about that," Quinn says taking a deep breath. I'm suddenly worried. If he's that nervous about telling me something it can't be good. "You could move into my room, that way you'd only have to pay for food and such like and that's possible with a part-time job."
"Quinn, I... I don't know what to say," I say quietly. Say yes! Say yes! The voice inside me is screaming. Ah, the pesky internal voice is back. I'd wondered where that one had gotten to over the past few weeks; it's been far too quiet as of late. Of course I should have guessed; after all, Rob being comfortable in his own skin is the eighth of the deadly sins. Hi voice! How've you been? Not been missing you at all really, glad you could stop by, now shoo! Get out of my head!
Quinn sighs. "It's not as if we ever sleep in separate rooms anymore," he points out. "If you've no rent to pay it's doable; it would be tight, but it'd only be for a year."
"Why would you want to do that Quinn?" I ask, because that's a really important question right now. I need not only an answer, I need the right answer. I know he's fond of me, he proves that every night—lets me pound him into the mattress and never even mentions reciprocation, not since that last chat we had a few months ago, just after I told Nicky; but if I am to consider this—really consider it—I need more than just fond. I'm old-fashioned when it comes to that. You don't just move in with someone unless it means something. Doesn't matter that I already know from everything he does, I need to hear the words. Please, Quinn, say the right words.
He shrugs. "You're my lover. I want you to be happy," he finally says.
Not the right words, Quinn. I thought you could do better than that, but maybe I'm just deluding myself. "That's not a good enough reason Quinn," I whisper and start heading towards my own room for the first time in... in I don't know how long.
"Rob, wait!" He calls.
I don't turn around. I can't. If I looked at him right now, I'm not sure I could hold it together, not sure I wouldn't start bawling—my eyes are kind of watery as it is—but I stop just short of the hallway.
I can feel the tension in the room, can feel Quinn getting up from the sofa and staring holes into my back, can feel him drawing himself together. Come on, Quinn, please, I need to hear you say it.
"I love you Rob. Is that a good enough reason for you?"
And this, Rob my boy, is your cue. This is where you tell him that you love him too. What, cat got your tongue? What cat? Well, yes, I know, that was a diversionary tactic. There is no cat. My tongue isn't working the way it should though. Bugger this. I spent months waiting for this moment and now I've got a bad case of stage fright. That's so me, innit? God forbid anything ever go smoothly. Idiot! Kiss him already before he changes his mind. That tongue must be good for something, right?
So I start moving fast. The faster I move, the less time I'll have to think and chicken out at the last moment. I zero in on the target—Quinn—and hurl myself across the room. Quinn's a big bloke, much bigger than I am, and pretty strong, but even he isn't strong enough for a full-force assault of Rob.
I jump him—there's no other way to describe it—and lock my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He staggers backwards under my weight and bangs full-force into the wall—ouch! that fucking hurts! my shins will be black and blue in the morning. I don't give a toss really though, I'm too busy licking his bottom lip seeking entrance.
His mouth opens slightly and I take his top lip between my lips and nibble on it gently for a moment before plunging my tongue into his mouth. He won't be able to hold both of us up much longer, even with the wall at his back for support, so I unlock me ankles and slowly let my legs slide down past his waist and thighs until my feet reach the ground on either side of his legs, never once letting go of his mouth.
I run my tongue along his teeth and his gums, then push past the teeth and caress his palate before letting our tongues do battle. I'm quite pleased when he moans into my mouth and I renew my assault, lips brushing against his with just a hint of teeth. I can feel his hard dick grinding into my hip and he's shaking. His hands fight their way into my hair and cradle my head, pulling it closer. Fuck he wants me, he wants me so bad!
I thrust my tongue back and forth into his mouth a few times, rough and hard, in an unmistakable simulation of a different kind of thrusting altogether, rubbing my own hard-on against his thigh. Well, yeah, I want him too—a lot. Then I snake my tongue around his and start coaxing and enticing his tongue towards my own mouth—I want Quinn to fuck my mouth. Jesus Christ, I want Quinn to fuck me.
I'm teasing and goading and his tongue slips past his lips and past mine and I latch onto it and start sucking for all I'm worth. Lips smacking together and teeth that are in the way but hardly noticed, and I'm sucking that glorious wonderful tongue and there ain't no way in hell I'll stop any time soon, not unless he makes me and I don't think he will somehow.
He's moaning louder now and shaking harder and grinding himself against my hipbone rapidly, violently. He pulls my head even closer, teeth smashing together, tries to get further into my mouth, and I suck harder. I tighten the iron grip of my arms around his neck, try to swallow his tongue. The moans turn to whimpers.
Then he is shuddering in my embrace, thrusting his tongue hard into my mouth as far as he can possibly thrust it while it is still attached to his body. I stop sucking quite so hard and run my own tongue along his, first one side and then the other, and then Quinn is screaming into my mouth. I feel his dick twitching sharply against my hip and then there is warmth and wetness spreading over my clothes.
Great god! I just made Quinn come in his pants!
I draw back slightly, gently nibbling his mouth, giving him some breathing space; god knows he needs it, if the way he's panting is anything to go by. He brushes his lips across mine once more and leans his head back against the wall, giggling softly. I'm laughing too. Well, it was the mother of all kisses, wasn't it? Hopefully left no doubt in his mind as to my feelings towards him, even if I'm too much of a sissy to say it out loud.
He grins at me sheepishly and motions to his wet groin still pressed into my hip. "Haven't done that in near-on fifteen years."
"Does that make it a bad thing?" I ask suddenly worried.
"Hell no! Best damn orgasm I've had in a good long while," he replies and then adds softly, "I really did mean what I said Rob."
"Me too," I sigh and lean into his chest. Ha! Good going there with the cop-out! Me too how cowardly is that?
Quinn's barely able to keep upright and leans heavily into the wall behind him. I'm not much better off, but I don't really want to move any either. I'm still molding myself to his body and he's stroking my back lazily and that's a good place to be as far as I'm concerned. I'm sure he can still feel my erection pressing into his thigh, because he keeps on jiggling his leg slightly, providing just a little bit of friction. Not enough to get me off, but enough to make me moan.
"Want me to take care of that for you?" He finally asks with a big grin plastered across his face.
"If it isn't too much trouble," I grind out, only half-joking.
"No trouble at all," he says, leaning down to kiss me fiercely. "Want me to suck you off or would you rather I lean over the back of the couch there for you?"
I shiver slightly and close my eyes. "Make love to me?"
I do that every time," he smiles.
"Not quite what I meant Quinn," I mumble. "I want..." Shit, tongue's about to stop working again. You'd think that after almost twenty-nine years I'd have at least a semblance of control over it, wouldn't you? Come on Rob, be a man and say what's on your mind. "I want you to make love to me. Want you to do me." There, wasn't so hard, was it?
Quinn's eyes glaze over and I suddenly feel like the biggest most brightly-wrapped present on Christmas Day, or at the very least the unexpected present you find underneath the discarded wrapping paper on Boxing Day, the present what you all but forgot about in the general mayhem. "Are you sure?" He asks, his voice raw.
"As sure as I'm likely to get," I reply quietly. Yeah I'm sure; sure I want this, sure I want him. I want to give this to him, for myself as much as for his sake. I want him to be the first, probably the last too. That doesn't stop me from being scared shitless and more than a little apprehensive though. I'm allowed, aren't I? It's not everyday you ask somebody to relieve you of your virginity.
Quinn must see some of the fear written all over my face. "You don't have to do this, you know," he says. "I don't need it and I don't want it unless you really want it too."
"Believe me, I want it, have wanted it for a while now, I'm just..." I shrug. Isn't it funny how I can come away with a degree in fucking persuasive talking—because that's what philosophy is really—and still find myself struggling for words every time he looks at me? "Fuck Quinn, I'm allowed to be nervous, aren't I?"
"'Course you are," he says. "Just had to make sure."
"You'll do it then?" I ask.
"God yes," he half moans and I can feel his dick filling with blood once again somewhere around my hip bone. "Let's head to the bedroom though. I want to make this good. I'm going to make this so good for you Rob. I promise."
"I know you will," I say, pulling him closer for another kiss. He returns it eagerly and before I know what is happening, he stands up more or less straight and throws me over his shoulder, my arse up in the air and arms flailing wildly somewhere in the vicinity of Quinn's back. My hard-on is pressed to his chest in such a way that I can feel the pounding of his heart in my groin. I'm squealing like a girl.
"What the hell are you doing?" I sputter from my rather undignified position.
"What's it look like?" He laughs. "I'm doing the manly thing and dragging you off to my cave. I'd be doing it by your hair if you had any to spare."
"I am not going bald," I yell indignantly.
"'Course you're not," Quinn says in his humor-the-Rob voice and gives my arse a friendly pat before setting off for my room.
Once there, he deposits me on the bed and start taking my clothes off slowly, almost reverently. Then he quickly shrugs off his own clothes and lies down next to me, kissing me gently and tracing his fingers across my entire body, or at least all those parts he can reach while kissing me.
He's looking at me with such an open and vulnerable look on his face, I'm almost given to thinking that he's just as scared as I am. Oh grow up Rob! What's he got to be scared of? He's about to get where he's always wanted to go. Except... except, is that my imagination or are his hands shaking as they brush down past my hips? Fuck! His hands really are shaking.
"Quinn, what's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing's wrong, silly," he replies gruffly and darts in for another kiss.
"Quinn, two things," I say, "firstly, you're the lousiest liar it's ever been my misfortune to lay eyes on, and secondly, you're shaking. Tell me what wrong."
He sighs and rolls onto his back, pulling me with him until I'm half lying on top of him, my head on his shoulder. "So maybe you're not the only one who's a tad nervous about this," he mutters. "I'm abso-fucking-lutely terrified. I don't... shit Rob. I don't top very often. I know I promised to make this the best shag you've ever had and I want to, I really do, I want to make this good and I want it to be... memorable, but I'm not sure I can deliver on that promise."
"It is," I whisper kissing his chest. "It's already memorable because it's you."
Quinn grabs me hard and pulls, almost yanks, me on top of him so we are pressed chest to chest. Got myself a nice soft and warm Quinn-cushion to lie on. I let my legs slide to the mattress on either side of his thighs and rub my dick against his belly. He wraps one arm around my neck, the other around my waist, and pulls my face down for a long kiss: gentle at first and then harder, demanding, even more demanding than he usually kisses. Quinn is trying to take control.
It's an odd feeling really, because ever since I got halfway comfortable with our arrangement I have been the aggressor. Even before then he never pushed it. He may have initiated sex, but he never really dominated as such. Now he's taking charge though. He rolls me over onto my back and, with one hand still caught tightly behind my head, starts attacking my mouth.
I know the other hand is grappling for the lube on the bedside table. I can't see it, but I can hear him knocking over a few things. Then that hand is lazily stroking down my side and past my hip and pulling my leg out at an angle for better access. I know I asked for this, want it, expect it, but it's still a shock when his slippery finger pushes into my body without too much fanfare. Usually he only does this while he's sucking me off, when I'm so close to coming I hardly notice the intrusion. This is different, but strangely good all the same.
He thrusts his finger in quickly a few times, barely brushing across my prostate, and then the finger is gone again and I'm almost mewling at the loss. Yeah I want this, so sue me.
He's smiling into my mouth. "Not going to stop," he whispers, "just getting more of the slick."
His hand brushes across my hole again and this time he's pushing in two fingers. Even though he's practically dripping with lube, it takes me a moment to adjust. Fuck that's scary, innit? No way in hell is his dick smaller than those two fingers and they are a tight fit. This is so going to hurt. What the hell was I thinking? Oh yeah, something along the lines of, he really likes it when I fuck him into oblivion, so stands to reason that I would like it too. I'm such an idiot sometimes.
He doesn't move his hand for a few moments, just leaves it where it's at and kisses me breathless instead. By the time he slowly starts moving his fingers in and out, I'm not that uncomfortable anymore. Then he starts brushing his fingers across my prostate again and I start seeing stars. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. It feels nice. I note with a fair amount of detachment that he's started moving his fingers apart inside of me, started stretching me. I'm starting to breathe hard.
He kisses me once more for good measure, whispers "I love you," and dives down to suck on one of my nipples. I do believe I could get used to this given time. Except my time's about to run out, I think. He's thrusting his fingers rather roughly now. No more gentle teasing, but something that feels suspiciously like the build-up to the main course and I can feel his dick pressing into my side. He's quite looking forward to this, I think.
"Rob," he says quietly, "this is going to be much easier for you if you are on your hands and knees, but only if you want to."
"Easier?" I ask. Trust me to ask the really dumb questions. Trust me to ask a really fucking dumb question that I really don't want to hear the answer to, do I?
Quinn sighs. "It's your first time. No matter how well I prepare you there's going to be some..." Ooooh, a nice ominous pause there! Some what? Blinding excruciating pain? And how can I be so terrified and so turned on at the same time? "Some discomfort," he continues. "Nothing bad; if it's bad I'll stop, promise. It's a more relaxed position if you're on your hands and knees."
"Sounds reasonable," I say a touch more snippily than absolutely necessary. "Not as if I'm not going to be plenty tight already."
Quinn's fingers stop moving inside of me and he moves up so we are face to face. "Want me to stop? You can change your mind any time. Want to fuck me instead?"
I close my eyes. Shit. I didn't mean that. "I'm sorry," I mutter. "Didn't mean to lash out at you. I want to do this, I'm just... I'm scared, alright?"
"Okay. Just let me know if you want to stop," he says and his fingers pull out of me. I can tell from the slick-slab noise his hand is making that he's getting himself lubed up, so I roll onto my side and get onto my hands and knees, arse waving in the air.
He's behind me now. He's running his hands across my back and slowly stroking across my arse and I can feel something wet and hard and fucking huge nudging against my hole. "Remember, any time you want to stop Rob," he says quietly and then wet, hard, and fucking huge is pushing against my entrance.
Shit that hurts! How the hell can he enjoy that? More importantly, how the hell do women manage to push something the size of a melon out of... so not going to think about that! Concentrating on not feeling the pain instead. He's got the head of his dick pushed in now and I'm panting hard. He stops there, doesn't move at all for a bit, instead runs his hands over my back and my sides in slow soothing movements, mumbling, "shhhh, relax, worst bit is over now. Going to be real good in a minute."
I sincerely doubt it. Yeah, the stinging sensation is fading somewhat, but there's no way in hell this can get even within proximity of good. Jesus, he's been putting up with me doing that to him for how many months? He must really be in love. One of his hands moves around my hip and to my dick, which isn't all that hard anymore. Well, I don't blame it, would you?
He starts stroking it though and that does feel kind of nice, distracts me, so maybe it isn't so bad after all. It's only when Quinn's dick hits something sensitive and really nice inside me that I realize he's slid all the way in. Where did that moan come from? Did I just moan?
He leans over so his chest is resting against my back, never once letting go of my dick—thank God for small mercies!— and whispers with his mouth somewhere around my shoulder, "going to start moving now Rob. 's going to be so good. You'll see. Love you."
I wish he'd just get on with it. I don't know if I'll ever want to do this again. It's intense alright, I'm just not sure that it's the right kind of intense. 'Course my traitorous dick has decided it rather likes the attention, because I'm good and hard again. Then a couple of things happen at once: Quinn is pulling out a bit and when he thrust back in he hits just the right spot, that spot he was brushing his fingers over earlier that made me see stars. I see stars alright this time, but they're so bright and so intense I have trouble deciding whether I could possibly have been whacked upside the head with a cricket bat. At the same time I feel a wave of something—could be pleasure—shooting up my spine and Quinn pulls hard on my dick.
OK, I've changed my mind—I'm allowed, aren't I?—there may be something to be said for this after all. My mouth is on autopilot again—so what else is new?—and decides to chime in, "fuck yes, do that again," I whimper. Who gave my mouth permission to speak exactly?
Quinn is chuckling softly against my shoulder. "What, this you mean?" He asks repeating the maneuver.
This time I very intelligently respond with something that sounds suspiciously like 'guh.' Well done Rob! The monkey of the year award goes to the pretty boy on his knees who's going to have the sorest arse north of Soho come morning.
Quinn interprets this as approval, because he starts thrusting in and out with a slow easy rhythm, taking care to hit that spot every time. It's good. It's really, really good—intense, but the right kind of intense—and I do believe I might want to try this again at a later point, not that I'm all that coherent anymore. I'm panting and moaning and seeing stars and my balls are drawing up to my body and I know I'm going to come any second now. No use in trying to hold it back.
I think I scream. Thank god Nicky's in Manchester, I don't think he'd be amused. I can feel the muscles in my back and my arse tensing with the force of my orgasm and Quinn's dick is twitching wildly inside of me. Shit, he's coming to, trying to hold back from thrusting into me hard, because we both know I'm not quite ready for the wild and careless fucking.
He shudders against my back and then slowly pulls himself off of me. He nudges me to lie down and slips out of me as we're moving to get comfortable. 'Course now that he's actually withdrawn, I'd rather he hadn't. Feel kind of empty without his dick inside me. He pulls me tightly to his body, wraps his arms around my chest, his legs around mine, and kisses his way up my shoulder and throat. He comes to rest just behind my head, so close I can feel his hot breath on the small hairs at the back of my neck.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
He hasn't said that in this context for a long time, not since the first time I blew him. Thing is, this time I know what it really means. It doesn't mean 'thank you for letting me shag you,' rather it means, 'thank you for trusting me enough to do this.'
"Hey are you alright?" Quinn asks after a while.
"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" I reply a little more abrasively than absolutely necessary.
He kisses the back of my neck again and pulls me even closer if that is humanly possible. "How was... I mean, did you like it?"
"It hurt. Quite a bit." I say softly.
"I'm sorry," he sighs. "It always hurts a little the first time. It won't hurt like that next time... I mean, if you want to try again, because you don't have to. You don't have to do this again if you don't want to."
"No, I want to," I say, surprising myself. I want to? Guess I do. "My mum always says to try everything at least twice, just in case you get it wrong the first time."
"She's a very smart woman," Quinn replies.
I turn around so I'm facing him and see that beautiful face and those green, green eyes. "I wish... I wish I could have seen your face though," I whisper. "Wanted to see your face, see the look in your eyes when you... Quinn, I want you to make love to me and I want to see your face while you're doing it."
He kisses me gently. "Next time, alright? Next time I'll face you. I wanted to see your face too. I wanted you to see how much I... but it was easier like that. I didn't want to hurt you."
"Now. Make love to me now," I say roughly. "I need to see your face while you're doing it."
He shakes his head. "Not tonight Rob. You want to go for another round, you can fuck me, but I'll not do you again tonight. You'll be plenty sore in the morning as it is."
"I'm already sore," I laugh. "Not much more damage you can do right now and I feel... empty. I bet that if I got up right now I'd have your come dripping down my leg, wouldn't I? Come on Quinn, I'm all ready and willing and as stretched as I'm going to get in the foreseeable future, just fuck me again."
He flinches at that. "And they say romance is dead," he says quietly. "What do you want me to say? Want me to agree with you? Yeah, you get up now and there's all sorts of things that are going to dribble out of your body. That what you want to hear?"
"I'm sorry," I mutter. "I just... I want to do this again with all of the good bits and none of the bad stuff and I..." Fuck. Who am I fooling? I don't even know what I want. Well, no, that's not exactly right. I do want to do this again, but I'm not sure why and I... most of all I want to see Quinn's face while he's inside me. Want to make sure he really loves me; want to make sure that I didn't just go through all of this for naught. Yeah, I have issues, doesn't everyone?
I move my hand down to Quinn dick, start stroking it back to life, start kissing his chest, licking his nipples into hardness. He's enjoying it too. I know he really held back earlier, for my sake more than for anything else. Yeah, he came in his pants an hour ago—and I'll have to stop gloating about that soon, within the next few days at least—and he did come while he was fucking me, but he really held back then. Probably wasn't much of an orgasm, was it, restraining himself like that? I want to make this good for him.
He's reluctant at first, but he's a bloke and sooner or later our brains switch off while our dicks take control of the situation—it's one of those advantages to being male. He pulls my face up to his and starts kissing me, hard tongue and hard mouth and it's good. I want to be kissed like that forever. He's good and hard again—well, so am I— and I figure he's about ready to go for round three, so I try to pull him on top of me.
Have I mentioned that he's a big bastard? At least six foot and fourteen stone? Well, he is, and he's got other ideas. "Rob, I already told you, if you want to have another go you can do me, but I'm not doing you," he sighs and flips us over so that I'm on top of him instead.
I try pouting. "Please?" Puppy-dog look. "For me? If you really love me, you'll do it."
That doesn't exactly have the expected results, that does. His brow knits and he looks at me with a mixture of incredulity and anger on his face. "If I really love you?" He thunders. "Shit Rob, what's gotten into you? Yeah, I really love you, but I'm not going to fuck you again tonight, are we clear on that?"
'Course now I'm getting prickly too. Mind you, I've been a rollercoaster of misplaced emotions ever since he walked in the door this evening. Knowing that doesn't mean there's much I can do about it though, not if my mouth has already decided on the proper course of action to take. "So that's it, is it?" I say without thinking much about what I am saying. "You got what you wanted from me, got to pop my cherry, and now that you've had yourself a little bit of virgin arse you don't want to come back for seconds. Not a good enough lay for you, was I?"
"Fuck you Rob!" Quinn snaps, teeth grinding together, arms that were caressing only a minute ago clenched into fists whose knuckles are turning white from the effort.
"That's what I'm trying to do," I say hotly and try to dive in for another kiss.
He turns his face away. Yeah, well, it was only a matter of time, wasn't it? They always turn their faces away sooner or later. It's not as if I expected this to be any different and if I'm honest with myself—and a little bit of honesty at this point wouldn't hurt—I expected this, didn't I? I knew that as soon as he got everything he wanted, as soon as I gave it all, he'd get bored. It's not as if anybody's ever wanted me around much, is it?
"I know what you're trying to do Rob and I'm not playing," Quinn says through clenched teeth, still facing away from me. "I'll not have you manipulate me into screwing you again tonight, so stop trying. I said no and I meant it."
I give up and roll off of him onto my back. I really screwed this one up good and proper, didn't I? "I think I want to be alone tonight," I say in a small voice.
"You must be fucking joking?" Quinn replies incredulously.
"No. Get out of my room," I insist.
"Fine," he says and then he's up and off the bed. Starts walking to the door not looking around. Doesn't stop to pick up his clothes either. Fuck, I've never seen anybody walk like that; like the walk to the gallows that is, but walking he is anyway. I hold it together just long enough for the door to slam and then I lose it, though quietly, start wallowing in self-pity. And why the hell are my eyes tearing up? I wanted him to leave, asked him to get out, didn't I?
I'm sore too. He was probably right about that. It wasn't a very good idea. I can still feel him inside me and I'm sore and I miss him already. I never really told him that I love him either; well, that at least is probably for the best—don't want to give him any more ammunition than is absolutely necessary—because I don't think he'll be back after this. Shit, I screwed up so badly.
I wonder what he's doing on the other side of that wall. He's probably relishing the thought that he finally got the straight boy to spread his legs for him and made him like it—yeah, I'm pretty sure about that at least, I liked it alright. Right Rob, you're being a complete and utter prat now. The way he was walking out the door, he's more than likely doing exactly what you I am doing. He's probably fucking miserable. This was supposed to be good and somehow I managed to turn it into a fucking fight and screw it all up.
He tried to make it really good, didn't he? Was more concerned with my welfare than getting his own rocks off. I can still feel him leaning down and whispering I love you's at the back of my neck and what the hell was I thinking? He loves me, I know he does, and he finally told me and I had to go and behave like a complete idiot. I don't want him to leave. I don't want to be on my own. It's time to go and apologize and hope he'll have me back.
I pull myself together and get up off the bed. I try my hardest to ignore anything between my legs while I walk to the door and then down the hallway to the closed door to Quinn's room. Usually I'd just go in, but I'm not sure I'm entitled to that just now so I knock instead.
"Yeah," he answers, his voice raw. Yeah, he's been... wallowing, or doing something fairly similar to it. Trying to hide it too, but his voice is sounding just a little bit too rough.
"Can I come in?" I ask, the door still firmly closed, and I don't even try to suppress the hitch in my voice. I'll be groveling, begging him to take me back in a minute, if that's what it takes. At this point trying to hide the fact that I've shed a few tears—alright, alright, bawled like a fucking infant—really seems a little bit too much effort.
"Sure," he replies after a few second. There are shuffling sounds behind the door. He's probably hiding the evidence, such as there is.
I push open the door. He's sitting on his bed wearing a pair of shorts and a faded old t-shirt, all very proper. I don't really give a shit that I'm still naked though, that's pretty low down on the list of concerns rights now. He's seen it all before, hasn't he? It seems much more important to figure out whether he'll take it all back, chip on the shoulder and all.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm really truly sorry. I don't know why I did that and why I said those things. I don't want to be alone Quinn."
"I'm not just some convenient hot water bottle, you know," he sighs. "I'm not just someone to keep your bed warm and be used as a fucktoy because you can't bear the thought of being alone. If I say I don't want to do something, I don't. End of story. I don't want to be manipulated into doing it and I don't want to be blackmailed into doing it."
"I know and I'm sorry," I say seconds away from getting all watery again. "I... Christ, I know I was being a prat, but... but I love you and I don't think I've told you that yet."
"No, no you haven't," he sighs and then smiles. "Alright, close the door, you must be freezing, better get you in bed before you catch your death."
I don't need to be told twice. I give the door a good kick and practically dive for the bed. Next thing I know, I'm snuggled up warm and safe with Quinn's arms wrapped around me. He never does take his clothes off again, but it doesn't matter all that much I suppose, just as long as he is there with me.
"Rob," he says just before I close my eyes for the night, "next time you tell me to get out, I won't come back this easily."
I wake up more than usually disoriented. I'm not a morning person at the best of times—Quinn will vouch for that—but this morning isn't going shape up as one of the better ones. My eyes are swollen and my lips are dry and cracked, my body is sore in all the wrong places and I feel like a complete and utter idiot. Quinn's still lying spooned up against me wearing the clothes he went to sleep in last night. He's awake too—I can feel it—though he hasn't said or done anything to indicate he's awake. I can tell at any rate: you just don't spend nights together for months on end without getting intimately familiar with somebody's breathing patterns.
Fabulous. Where does that leave me? With a lover who's too afraid of my repeating last night's extraordinary performance to let me know he's awake? With a boyfriend who thinks—Christ I have no idea what he thinks, but it can't be good. I totally blew it, didn't I? I threw the tantrum to end all tantrums and I'm not even sure what it was about in the cold light of day.
I am suddenly profoundly grateful that the first time around—the first time I lost my virginity—was in the parking lot of a Tesco's a few minutes short of midnight. It was hurried and cold and not all that good, but at least I didn't get the chance to totally lose it and scare the living daylights out of the poor chit in question. What was her name now? Sarah, went by Polly, that was it. It probably wasn't all that good for her, now that I think of it.
I pushed up her skirt and pulled her knickers out of the way and just went for it, right up against the wall of the supermarket. I wasn't all that bothered with whether she was ready or not, too busy getting my own rocks off, and it didn't last long, all of ten seconds and that was that. It must have hurt her though, not that she said anything.
When I looked at myself later at home in the loo, still all flushed from the rush of that hot and wet orgasm, there was a lot of dried blood about. It scared the shit out of me. Yeah, I was aware of the mechanics, of the fact that there was supposed to be blood, but it didn't really sink in until later that night. I didn't quite realize beforehand that I would actually force my way through part of her body with my dick. I don't think I realized until last night just how terrifying a concept that really is. I still don't rightly understand how come the chits aren't traumatized for life by the entire experience.
Quinn wasn't like that though. He waited until I practically begged him to fuck me and tried to make it good—so good—and he really didn't deserve what I threw at him afterwards. He did everything he could possibly donto make it the best damn experience of my entire life and I went and made a mess of it.
"It wasn't really real until last night," I say quietly, knowing that Quinn is listening. "I mean, yeah, we were making with the nookie and everything, but it didn't really, didn't truly, hit home until last night. That scared the living daylights out of me."
"And now?" He asks.
"Dunno," I shrug. "There's plenty to be scared of still. There's being scared of what will happen next. I'm still half-crazy with fear that you'll change your mind and leave me high and dry and even if you do stick around I'm scared to death of what will happen later."
"I'm not going anywhere Rob, not until you tell me to," Quinn sighs.
"Yeah, but even so, eventually one of us will go, right? I mean, even if we have the best of possible... affairs, eventually nature will take its course," I say.
"Can't beat the devil at his own game Rob. There's no cure for dying, but we're talking forty years from now. Don't you think we should be trying to make it through the present first?"
I turn around; look at that beautiful face, those beautiful eyes that are just a little bit redder than usual this morning and that just brings out a deeper shade of green in the irises. "There's other things too. Like what my mum will say when I introduce you to her, the look on her face when she realizes that it'll be a cold day in hell before she'll see any of those grandchildren she keeps on gabbing about... didn't have to think about that until last night, because it wasn't real."
"But it's real now? Just because I shagged you?" Quinn says, question as much as statement.
"I liked it. Like isn't really strong enough a word. Even with the hurt I couldn't get enough of it, didn't want it to stop—not really—wanted to do it over and over again until either my heart or my arse gave. Kind of drove the point well and truly home that did."
Quinn's eyes are clouding over with lust while I'm talking. I do believe we've discovered a little kink there, Rob my lad, he seems to like the saucy talk. I wonder whether I am up to testing that theory.
I look straight into his eyes and start talking in a low voice, quietly yet urgently. "Feeling your dick inside me Quinn, that was real, realer than anything else I've ever felt. Yeah, it hurt a little to begin with—alright, it was fucking painful, don't give me that look—but it was good too. Got you closer to me than I ever thought possible. I could feel ever change in your heartbeat by the throbbing of the veins in your dick, could feel you crawling inside me."
Quinn moans. Yeah, I'm pretty sure we've discovered a kink the size of Antarctica there. Keep on talking Rob. "Christ you were so big Quinn, I thought you were going to split me in two before the night was out. Thing is, the bigger you got, the harder you got, the harder you were pushing into me, the better it got. If you'd gone on just a little longer without touching me, I would have come even without being tossed off. Was half-ready to towards the end, manual assistance or not."
Quinn hands are running up and down my body of their own accord. I don't think he's noticed yet that he's kneading my arse. "Every time you hit that spot that makes me see stars, I thought I was going to pass out from sheer pleasure," I continue. "Scared me half to death. I couldn't understand—still can't—how something can hurt so much and still be so fucking good I'd never want you to stop again. I couldn't understand how I could possibly want you to fuck me deeper and harder and never ever stop."
Quinn's grinding his hard-on into my hip now. Fuck, he's turned on. I never realized I could do that to him just by talking. "I didn't want it to stop Quinn, but at the same time I was relieved as fuck when it was over. Doesn't make much sense, does it? Then, when you actually pulled out, I couldn't believe the loss. I felt so empty without a hard dick inside me. It felt so fucking wrong and I panicked. I couldn't think of anything 'sides wanting that dick back in my arse. Still do."
Quinn whimpers. I take a deep breath, he's as ready as he's going to get. "Quinn, will you fuck me again please?"
"Oh bugger!" Quinn groans.
"Yes, me," I quip. "Bugger me please?"
Quinn laughs, rubbing his dick against my belly. "Not what a meant but yeah, if you really want to."
"I'll tie you to the bed if I have to," I grin. "One way or another I'm getting fucked this morning."
Quinn moans and his eyes roll back in his head. Ooooooh, another kink! I'm on a roll today, I am. I wonder how many more of those he's got hidden away in that head of his.
"If you keep on talking like that," he says through clenched teeth, "I'll be finishing before I get a chance to get anywhere close to your arse."
I brush my hand over the growing wet patch on his shorts. "Twice in less than twenty-four hours?" I ask. "One would think you'd have learned a little bit more self-control than that at your age, coming in your pants like some adolescent schoolboy..."
"Trying desperately not to come in my pants again," Quinn grinds out. "You're not really helping."
"Wonder why," I chuckle. "Was it anything I said? Was it all that talk of tying you up?"
Quinn's dick jerks underneath my hand and he moans. Score. "Quinn, would you like me to tie you up and have my wicked way with you?"
"Please," Quinn whimpers and then stops to throw a worried look at me. "Don't have to of course, but I am not averse to the idea."
I brush my hands across his chest, barely touching his nipples, run my mouth up his throat and across his chin until I reach his mouth. I kiss him gently, don't want to push him too far right now, he's close enough as it is. "You got anything I can use," I ask when I break the kiss.
"There's a box underneath the bed, 's got handcuff in it and a few other things..." Quinn says weakly. God I better stop teasing him for while, he's hanging on by the skin of his teeth—barely.
I climb over him, careful not to touch him in any way that'd set him off and sit down on the rug in front of the bed. I pull the box out from under the bed and open it. He wasn't lying,; there's handcuffs in there alright and a whole host of other items. I whistle unintentionally. "Fuck Quinn, where did you get this stuff?"
"Soho," comes the deadpan response. "You can use anything you like."
"Shit, I don't even know what half this stuff is for," I say and I know I'm blushing fiercely. Fine, so I have a pretty good imagination: I can guess what most of it is for—doesn't mean I've ever seen it before. I randomly pick up an item. "What's that?"
"Nipple clamp," Quinn grins.
"And this?"
"Cock ring," he says without thinking.
"And those are good for?" I prompt. Just call me inexperienced boy over here—what? You hadn't guessed that what with my amazing romantic history of unrequited love and one-night stands in supermarket parking lots?
"Those delay or—depending on how tight they are—prevent orgasm," Quinn shrugs.
I juggle one in my hand absent-mindedly, thinking hard about the possible scenarios the adult film behind my eyelids is providing at absolutely no charge to the viewer. Right. I think that might be doable. I grab the cuffs as an afterthought. "Alright lover, little change of plans over here," I say huskily. "I'm feeling experimental and you are the guinea pig."
Quinn groans as I climb back onto the bed and shimmies out of his shorts and t-shirt before I can so much as tell him to lose the clothes. I snap one cuff closed around one of his wrists. "Arms up to the headboard," I rasp.
He gives me a million-quid smile and moved his arms up to the head of the bed. I quickly thread the chain of the cuffs around one of the bedposts and snap the second cuff shut around Quinn's other wrist. There's no way he can move much, even if he wanted to. Then I kiss him fiercely for a few moments before I move my mouth to within a fraction of his ear and whisper, "going to put that cock ring on you in a minute Quinn. Want to know what I'll do then?"
He moans. I guess coherent speech isn't an option at the moment as far as he is concerned. "Going to fuck you so hard you'll be seeing stars into next week," I continue. "Going to bend your legs over my shoulders and pound you into the mattress until I come in that hot sweet arse of yours, but I won't let you come. I'll drive you straight to the edge and beyond, but that ring'll keep you from coming, won't it?"
Quinn shudders. "And then?" He moans.
"Then, when I've spent myself inside that impossibly tight arse of yours we'll switch around for a while. Turnabout's only fair, innit? Gonna ride you Quinn. Gonna wait until you're as desperate as you'll ever be, rock-hard and begging for release and I'll take you. Ride you achingly slow. Take you as deep as I can possibly take you. Gonna have you fuck me until I come again just from having your dick inside me, no touching myself, and then, when I've come again, when I feel like I'll never walk again, then maybe, maybe if you're good, I'll let you come too."
I ignore Quinn's needy whimpers and fasten the cock ring tightly around his dick and balls while his legs are thrashing about the bed.
Quinn is whimpering and panting something fierce, hardly able to keep his eyes open. I figure I'd best give him a little bit of time to calm himself before the main event and that suits me just fine, I've to get ready myself. I grab the lube from the bedside table and lean back against the wall, spreading my legs wantonly in full view of him.
I'm already hard, so I don't waste much time slicking myself up, a few strokes of lube-sodden hands is all I allow myself. Then I squeeze some more lube onto my fingers and slowly brush them across my balls and further down, keeping my eyes on Quinn's face the entire time. I slowly circle my fingers around my hole, which is still a little sore and slightly swollen from last night and—judging from the noises Quinn is making—a sight to behold indeed.
A little bit more lube—I think I'm starting to appreciate the fact that there can never be too much of the slick stuff—and I'm tentatively pushing the tip of my finger inside myself. Thank god I'm rather flexible. Quinn's breath hitches and his eyes are clouding over even more, if that is possible. I slowly start pushing my finger into myself, watching Quinn's face. "Like what you see?" I ask.
He grunts. Yeah, he likes that alright. His hips are jerking off the bed in tandem with my finger moving in and out of my arse. I pause to squirt some more lube over my hand and then I'm thrusting two fingers inside myself fast and hard. Quinn whimpers and I'm starting to pant a little bit myself. "Fuck Quinn, can't wait to have you again. Want to fuck you so badly. Want you to fuck me," I moan.
"Then sodding well get on with it already," he almost screams and spreads his legs wide.
I won't be told twice. I pull my fingers out of my body and quickly slick them up some more before thrusting them hard into his. There's no time for long and gentle preparation. I wiggle them about a bit for a few moments, just to make sure he's reasonably lubed and won't be hurt, and then I'm lining up my weeping dick with his hole and plunge. It's a triple somersault into that hot and impossibly tight arse of his. We moan in unison.
I push his legs up so far his knees are touching his shoulders. I guess I'm not the only one who's flexible around here. Then I start pounding—yeah, pounding, there's really no other word to describe what I'm doing. This isn't gentle, this isn't lovemaking, this is pure unadulterated fucking and he loves it. Grunts and moans and whimpers and tries to move his legs back even further to get me in closer when I'm already balls-deep.
"Fuck Quinn, so tight, so hot, not going to last long," I rasp.
Quinn grunts something that could mean 'harder,' not that he's capable of speech anymore. I think that's what he says though, so I just let go, lose control completely. I thrust into him with abandon, jerky movements more reminiscent of plunging daggers into unsuspecting bodies than they are of mating. I don't give a damn about anything much except the building orgasm at the base of my spine.
That's not entirely true actually. I do give a damn about making good on my promise of driving Quinn to the edge and beyond. I'm doing my hardest to get him there. I pant obscenities at him inbetween fervent bouts of plunging deeper into his body, whisper endearments as I quicken my pace, shout 'I love you' as I spill myself inside him. I have been wanting to do that for months now, but until today I only ever screamed those words inside my own mind.
I collapse on his chest for a few moments, breathing hard and trying to collect myself. I can feel Quinn's drooling dick digging into my tummy and I know that at least half the mission's accomplished: he hasn't come yet. I pick myself up from my Quinn-cushion and look at that angry almost-purple so-fucking-huge-I-almost-panic-again hard-on. Except, even with the fear coiled tight in my belly, my own dick is already twitching back to life at the thought of riding that monster.
I spare only a moment to slick some of the slippery stuff over Quinn's raging erection and then I move to the side and push his legs back down onto the bed. Right Rob, if you're going to do it, there's no time like the present, I chide myself.
Quinn looks at me through the haze of desire and clears his throat hard. "You don't have to," he grunts. "Can just pull me off. I'd be more than happy with that."
I shake my head. It's like that old story about falling off a horse, innit? You fall off and you get straight back on to show the horse who's master—and possibly conquer your own fear of falling again. I position myself astride Quinn, one knee planted firmly at each side of his hips and firmly grab the base of his dick, angle it up just so. Then I slowly lower myself upon it.
I wince slightly at the sting of the renewed breach—Christ I hope that pesky virginal tightness will wear off soon!—and Quinn tries to pull back, but the mattress is in the way. "Maybe we should wait a day or two," he groans, even as I impale myself on him.
"No, 's good, just give me a minute to adjust, yeah?" I grind out.
He stops moving and I will my body to relax around him, start moving slowly up and down, savoring the friction. I lean down to kiss him, then move on to nibble on one of his ear lobes. "Tell me how that feels for you," I whisper hotly.
"Christ, you keep talking like that and I'm gonna come, cock ring or no cock ring," he moans and wiggles his hips just enough to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
"That tight enough for you lover?" I groan.
He's starting to whimper uncontrollably now, hips jerking wildly towards me. "Please Rob, please, want to come," he groans.
I raise myself, just high enough to grab the cock ring, unfasten it and pull it off in one jerky movement and then I'm plunging all the way to the base of his dick again. He howls. A few more quick and angry thrusts and he's thrashing against the mattress and shooting inside me, dick twitching madly, and he screams—I've only ever heard the like of it once before, watching feral cats mate outside my bedroom window in Southend. I have a feeling I'll be wanting to hear that scream quite a bit from here on.
I collapse onto his sweat-slicked chest, try to meld myself to his body, panting hard and feeling his dick grow soft inside my arse. I feel satisfied and utterly, utterly fucked and I think I could get rather used to this after all.
I can hear the thump-thump of Quinn's heartbeat slowing down, feel his chest ceasing to heave as his breathing grows calmer, feel his dick softening and slipping—don't really want that last bit to happen, but it's unavoidable, innit? I tense a little and try not to move, want to draw this out as long as is humanly possible.
After a long while Quinn clears his throat. "Rob, it's not that I don't enjoy your post-coital endeavors to squash me flat underneath yourself and I'm really not complaining about the after-sex clinginess—I rather like that bit—but, uhm, I'm still cuffed to the bed and I'd rather you untie me before you go to sleep."
"'m not going to sleep, just resting a little. I'm not quite finished yet," I say, rubbing my hard dick against his belly enticingly. Yeah, I'm still hard—or is that again?—well, he did comment upon my receding hairline last night, didn't he? I read somewhere what premature hair loss is a sign of high testosterone levels, so I've an excuse after all. Hang on! What the hell am I thinking? I am not losing my hair!
"So undo the cuffs and I'll take care of that for you," Quinn chuckles.
"You won't need hands for what I've in mind for that," I reply suggestively and raise myself up from his chest a bit as he finally slips out of me completely. "In fact, I was thinking of taxing that vacuum mouth of yours."
Quinn moans and then shudders slightly. "Rob, nurse here. I may be crazy about you, but if you think I'm sucking you off considering where your dick's just been, you've got another thing coming. They do teach us the fundamentals of hygiene in nursing school, you know."
I hadn't thought of that, I suppose. It's easily fixed though. I get up off my warm Quinn-cushion and say, "be right back, don't even think about moving."
Quinn rolls his eyes and gives me a look and if that look isn't patented yet, by rights it should be. "Yeah, right," he mutters rattling his arms about a bit, "and where the hell would I be going with a cast-iron bed frame cuffed to my wrists?"
I don't even favor that with a response, just crawl off the bed and start heading into the hallway at speed. Have I mentioned yet how glad I am that Nicky's in Manchester? No, well I am, considering that I'm traversing the hallway buck-naked on my way to the bathroom. Once there I quickly fill the sink with warm soapy water and run a washcloth over my not-so-dangly-at-the-moment bits just long enough to make sure I'm at least reasonably clean. Then I'm back to the bedroom like a bat out of hell.
Thanks to the raging hormones—or maybe aforementioned testosterone levels and my overactive imagination—I'm still good and ready for another round. I get back on the bed, perch over Quinn's chest and say: "Had a wash. That good enough for you?"
He nods, speechless again.
"Going to fuck your mouth Quinn," I rasp hotly. "Going to thrust into that hot vacuum-mouth and come down your throat. How's that work for you."
Sweet Jesus yes," Quinn moans. "Please."
I crawl up his chest until my knees are on either side of his head, keeping my dick just ever so slightly out of reach of Quinn's mouth. His head bobs up involuntarily, but his movements are still restrained by having his arms cuffed to the bed above his head. Gonna make him work for it a bit.
"What do you want Quinn?" I ask with difficulty. I'm so hot it won't take much to set me off.
"You Rob," he replies almost instantly. "Want you. Want you to fuck me. Please Rob, fuck me."
He does beg so prettily, doesn't he? He's all hot and flushed and begging to have my dick rammed down his throat. God I love that man. No more games, my self-control is dwindling as it is. I brace my arms against the headboard and lower my groin to within inches of his mouth. I watch as his tongue snakes out and wets his lips, watch as he tentatively licks a drop of come off the tip of my dick with that hot wet tongue of his.
It's almost more than I can take. With a whimper I thrust my hips towards his waiting mouth. His lips are parting, mouth opening wide, even as I push into that hot wetness and he moans around my dick. I thrust hard—almost too hard—a couple of times, pull back and thrust again and he's starting to suck. There's a reason I call it a vacuum-mouth. He relaxes his throat and starts swallowing around my dick and I howl, forgetting to thrust altogether.
I just let him suck and work his throat around my hard-on. I'm already so close, this won't last much longer. My arms are straining a little supporting my weight and I start sliding them down the headboard to where his cuffed wrists are rattling wildly against the bedpost. Brush my hands across his palms and lace my fingers into his. He grabs them tightly.
Then I'm howling and coming hard—even harder than I did before—into his tightening throat. He swallows convulsively and keeps on swallowing until I've totally spent myself, continues to lick my softening dick until it's cleaner than it's ever been.
With the last of my strength I unsnap the cuffs around his wrists, withdraw from his mouth, and scoot down until I'm pressed flat to his chest, my legs at either side of his hips. Our hands are still locked together tightly. I kiss him hard, tasting myself on his tongue and then bury my face in the crook of his shoulder.
"That it then?" He asks almost plaintively. "You're going to cling for a while now?"
I let go of his hands and try to shove my hands around his neck and behind his shoulders, try to press my body further into his. It's not an answer as such, but the best one by far he'll get out of me while I'm incapable of speech. He gets that, I think, because he wraps his arms tightly around my shoulders and presses his lips to my throat. "Want to stay like this forever," he whispers.
"Me too," I mumble hoarsely trying to tighten my grip on Quinn's body.
I doze off for a while and wake up to Quinn stroking my back. "Morning again," he smiles, "had a good nap?"
"Mmmmm," I mumble. "Have to do that more often."
Quinn throws his head back dramatically, slaps the back of his hand against his forehead like some femme fatale in an old black and white film. "Christ, don't tell me I've created another bottom!" He exclaims flamboyantly.
I can't resist asking, "what if you did?"
He nuzzles my neck and replies, "I suppose I would sacrifice myself and fuck you until you're thoroughly sick of getting fucked."
"Hmmm, that's love, that is," I chuckle. "You'd go to the hardship of doing me just to keep me happy, never deriving a moment's pleasure for yourself, would you?"
"Assuredly," he says with a completely straight face—how can he keep a straight face like that?—and then he kisses me again. "Though I think I might be able to derive a little bit of pleasure from it, provided I close my eyes and don't think about what I'm doing too hard. You know, the old story, lie back and think of England..."
"It's a good thing then that I've plans of fucking you into next month, innit?" I quip. "I think I've got a bit of a mission here..."
"Oh?" Quinn says.
"Yeah," I grin. "Got a little self-destructing memo. Something along the lines of, my mission, should I choose to accept it, is to uncover every little kink you have."
He laughs at that. "You've made a pretty good start there Rob, I'm starting to think you've got quite a few kinks yourself."
"Trust me, nobody was as surprised about that as I was; that's the second part of the mission, find out just how big a pervert I really am," I grin.
"You're not a pervert Rob," Quinn says more seriously. "Not if it is something I want you to do."
"I know," I say. "It's still kind of frightening. Enjoying something so much and never knowing that I would enjoy it. Makes me wonder what else I would enjoy if given half the chance... don't push me on this Quinn, alright? I'm still getting used to this entirely new facet of myself."
"Got it," he laughs. "I won't mention the spanking then. Not a word."
I swat his shoulder playfully and turn my face before he can see the blush spreading from ear to ear. Thing is, in spite of the embarrassment, my dick is twitching slightly at the thought of it. It's probably best not to dwell on that. There's only so many new experiences I can absorb at any given time and I've had my quota for the week I think.
I stay there, resting my head on Quinn's shoulder for a while. I guess we should move eventually, if only to have some breakfast, but I'm comfortable and I want to drag this out for as long as I can. I've a nagging suspicion I've forgotten something too and I spends some time wondering what it is. Then I remember. "Quinn," I start tentatively. "When you asked me to move into your room yesterday, would you have asked me even if going back to uni had nothing to do with it?"
He thinks about that for a moment; really thinks, which is good. If we are to consider it, I'd much rather we went in with our eyes wide open. "Yeah," he finally says. "Yeah, I would've. Maybe not last night, maybe not so soon—didn't know how you'd take it and I figured you'd have taken it a whole lot worse if there hadn't been a damn good reason to bring it up, but I wanted to. Still do. Still want you to share my room as well as my bed, even if you decide not to go back for that masters."
"I... I'm flattered and just a little terrified and also incredibly happy, but I'll have to think it over for a few days, alright? It's a big step," I say.
"You can take as long as you want Rob, I'm not going anywhere," he replies and pulls my head up. "Not going anywhere unless you ask me to," he says and reaches out to kiss me. The kiss is long and hard and demanding and leaves me breathless. It also leaves me with little doubt that he means what he says. This is it: that forever-after thing that fairy tales go on about. Thing is, I'm still not certain I believe in forever after and I'm damn sure I don't believe in fairy tales.
"Hey, what're you thinking?" Quinn asks after a while. I guess I must have been drifting off there.
What was I thinking? That maybe, if this is forever after or as close as someone like me can get to forever after, I should start treating it as if it were. We're way beyond shagging, aren't we? If Quinn were a chit... yeah, well, things would have been fairly different a while back, but Quinn isn't a chit, is he? Wouldn't want him to be at any rate.
"Quinn, can you take a few days of hols?" I ask.
"Sure, what do you have in mind?"
"I want you to come to Southend with me," I say hurriedly before I can change my mind. "There's someone I should like you to meet."
"Who would that be?" He asks quietly.
"Me mum."
Quinn doesn't so much put in for his hols as he spends most of the next day trading shifts rather than doing whatever it is nurses usually do—I've never thought to investigate that too closely, blood and I just do not see eye to eye. Heh, a pun, how droll. Yeah, I'm avoiding the subject at hand. Surprised? The words had barely crossed my lips before I thought better of what I was suggesting, but by then it was too late. Quinn had already agreed to come to Southend with me.
While he's busy trading shifts, I spend most of the day alternating between giddiness and panic before going to work. Work does keep my mind of the impending doom somewhat, because pumping beer can be quite relaxing in a way. Plus, there's a rather nice pub brawl I find myself in the midsts of about half an hour before closing time and a few fists to the face are rather distracting. So's the split lip and the beginnings of a nice little shiner I'm sporting by the time I let myself into the flat.
Quinn waited up for me. He does most days now, curled up in the armchair in front of the telly half-asleep. I've a feeling he doesn't really like staying up that late—he's kind of a morning person no matter what shift he works—but he really detests going to bed without me. He says the bed is too big and empty. I get that, not as if I managed to close my eyes the first time I tried to sleep on my own again. Yeah, and that night probably isn't something I should be dwelling on too much right now. Not because of what we did—I'm glad of that—but because of the fight after. Don't really want to remember that and sure as hell never want to repeat it.
He looks up at me sleepily as I enter the sitting room and then he's up and crossing the room in a heartbeat. "What happened to your face?" He whispers even as he runs his fingertips across my bruising lid.
"A little altercation over whose club is better, 's all," I say, trying not to flinch at his touch—shit! my face hurts. "Got caught in the middle trying to break things up. 's nothing that won't heal in a day or two."
"You ought to put some ice on that," Quinn mutters and drags me into the kitchen. There's no ice in the box as such, but he does liberate a packet of frozen peas and presses it to my face.
"Fuck that stings!" I grind out.
"Here, let me see your lip," he says, ignoring my outburst. Gentle fingers are probing my mouth, feeling my jaw—would I be a complete pervert if I admitted that even though it hurts like hell, even though there's the aftertaste of blood in my mouth, when I feel those fingers against my lips I get the urge to suck them? I would, wouldn't I?
"Don't think anything's broken and it doesn't look like too deep a laceration," Quinn says all business—remind me never to shack up with a nurse again; the clinical detachment to injury is something else entirely—and then adds, "don't think you'll be needing any stitches."
"Told you it's just a couple of scratches," I reply testily.
"Yeah, scratches you could do without," he mutters. "Keep those peas on your eye for ten minutes at least. That should help with the swelling."
He walks back into the sitting room and I follow him. I curl up on the sofa leaning into his chest. My face is still throbbing and I've got a bit of a headache coming on. Hah! That'll be a first, won't it? No Quinn, can't shag you tonight, I've a headache! Thought it was only sad, middle-aged women on the telly who said that. You learn something new every day, don't you? Mind you, it's quite nice lounging here, leaning heavily against Quinn. He's soft in all the right places, though he wouldn't thank me for saying that.
"I traded some shifts today," he says quietly. "Got all of next weekend off; from Thursday until Monday."
"That was fast," I remark dryly.
"Yeah well, I figured..." He doesn't finish that sentence. I'm fairly sure I know what he figured at any rate. He figured I'd change my mind again—well, so I have, at least ten times today already—figured I'd get cold feet. Thing is, no matter how much I'd like to change my mind, I've got a little insistent voice in my head what says I can't. He'd never forgive me. I told him I wanted him to meet my mum and by God he'll meet her; doesn't really matter whether I'm really prepared for introductions just yet.
The peas are starting to soften against my face, turning into mush; I've an idea I know what we'll have for tea tomorrow. I'm getting tired too. With the kind of day I've had, I am more than ready to go and just curl up in a warm bed with a Quinn-cushion and if that makes me a sap, well, then I'll gladly be called a sap. I just took hell of a kicking, so I'll be forgiven for wanting some tenderness in return.
"You about ready to go to bed?" I ask.
Quinn nods and we get up and make our way to his bedroom. I'm so tired, I barely manage to take off my clothes and crawl into bed. He undresses more slowly, takes the time to place his clothes in a neat little pile on the dresser and then stops to pick up mine from the floor. Then he's in bed next to me, warming my entire body. It feels nice. This is the reason I can't wait to get home at night.
He clears his throat. "It's alright if you've changed your mind," he says. Only I know it's not. He's trying not to let on, but I can tell it really bothers him.
Don't know who he thinks my mum is, really. She's just a little old lady in Southend, which is as close to the end of the world as you're likely to get in England. So why would he care so much about meeting her? That's one of those really stupid questions, innit? 'Course he cares about meeting her. She's my mother. You take a chit home to meet your mother it means you're serious—as serious as you're likely to get before there's the calling of the banns and church bells. Not that that's likely to ever happen with the two of us.
Strange, that thought no longer leaves me paralyzed with fear; it leaves me feeling quite empty instead. Fuck I've got it bad, haven't I? Yeah, so I've decided that I'm in for the long haul, traditions be damned, and that means that parental approval has to be worked into the equation somehow. God, I hope she'll like him! It's not that I need her to treat him like a son or anything, I'd settle for her liking him well enough to invite for Sunday dinner.
"No, we'll go," I finally say. "We'll make a weekend of it. It'll be nice, well, as nice as Southend'll get. It's a terrible place, you know. Old-time sea-resort with none of the attractions of one."
"It's where you grew up," Quinn mumbles into my hair.
I laugh. "Yeah and left without a second look back as soon as I could. It's a hell-hole."
"It's home," he says softly.
"It is that," I reply. "It'll always be that."
"Rob," he says quietly, "what will I be while we're there, your flatmate or your lover?"
Ah fuck! Well, I knew it was only a matter of time, didn't I? Still, I didn't exactly look forward to that question. Yeah I know what my answer should be, but that doesn't mean it isn't a struggle. Why the hell can't he ask easy questions for a change? Well, easier questions than that at any rate. I've waited too long.
"I see," he says quietly.
"Quinn..." I'm practically whining. There's only one way to salvage the situation and I haven't the balls for it.
"I understand," he says and that's a barefaced lie. Oh, he might understand on a purely intellectual level, but I know he's screaming inside. Give me some credit, would you? After all those weeks, those months, I can tell when he's hurting. Still can't do anything to stop the pain though. Well, I could if I had some spine, but I think we've established by now that I don't.
"Quinn, I..." great managed an extra-word this time. Monosyllabic, but still, it's one more word than the last time around, innit? Let's hear it for oratorical boy.
"You don't have to explain anything," he sighs. "It's not as if I've gone out of my way to announce you to the world. I understand."
"That's not what I meant," I say hotly, even as he is drawing away from me. "I'm not... look, I don't like hiding any more than you do, but there's people who wouldn't understand."
"I know," he replies calmly. "I haven't talked to my parents in a decade, or close enough as makes no difference. I understand, believe me I do. I'll go as the flatmate and play nice with mum and I'll keep my hands off you the entire time we're there."
He settles back into the pillow. One of his hands is still somewhere on my hip, but this is the farthest he's ever been from me while we were lying in the same bed. He can claim he doesn't care, he might even be able to convince himself, but I'll never buy it. Don't really want to buy it either.
"I don't want you to keep your hands off me, not here and not in Southend," I say quietly.
"What would you have me do then Rob?" He asks exasperated. "Wait until mum goes to sleep and sneak into your room like some criminal? Sorry, but that tune came to an end a while ago. I'll not have you make me feel dirty for being your lover."
Ouch. That hurt. Ironically, that sounds an awful lot like what I was thinking when he was balking at telling Nicky what was what. I'm a hypocrite, aren't I? I managed to get it all out in the open with Nicky but I'm afraid of confronting my own mother. 'Course there was a little less at stake with Nicky; he might be my mate and my oldest friend, but if things hadn't worked out, well... it's different when it's your mum. It's that old story about blood being thicker than water.
"No sneaking," I say firmly, surprising myself. "If I can't bring myself to spill in front of my mother I shouldn't be..."
"So no sex at all then," he says dryly. "Fine, I can do that. I've done it before and it shouldn't be much of an issue for you either, seeing as you managed for a few years without before I corrupted you good and proper."
I do believe he's getting outright insolent now. There is really no reason he need use that tone of voice. I don't blame him though; I'm not exactly the model for adult behavior at present, am I?
"Quinn, please try and understand this," I say. "I want her to like you, alright? I want her to meet you and I want her to like you before I bring up the subject of just what it is we do behind closed doors."
"She might not," he interjects. "She might decide that she hates me. What'll you do then? Cut me loose?"
"Fuck no!" I almost shout. I spin around fast to take his shoulders in an iron grip, run hard, desperate kisses along his jaw. "I don't need my mother's approval to know how I feel. Jesus fucking Christ Quinn, I'm pushing thirty. Do you really think I'd let her lead me about by the apron-strings like that?"
"You tell me," he says coldly. "You're the one who's worried about bringing the lover home."
"Not so much worried as thoroughly terrified," I mutter.
"Same fucking difference," he replies. "Maybe this whole weekend is a bad idea to start with. Maybe we are a bad idea. If you're not man enough to admit that whatever we've got is real, then maybe we shouldn't keep on deluding ourselves. 's not as if this is going to last much longer that way."
Shit. I really screwed up again, didn't I? Yeah, so what else is new? Hi, my name is Rob, my favorite pastime is tearing my lover's heart out whole. I'm a complete and utter bastard and Quinn deserves better than this, always has. I've no idea why he's been putting up with my moods and foibles this long. I've somehow got to make him understand how much he means to me. I've got to make him understand how much I want this to go right.
"Quinn, can we just go there and have a normal dinner with my mum?" I ask. "Just you two getting to know each other and general pleasantness of an entirely non-sexual nature?"
"Already told you, I'd do it," he replies.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't finished, was I?" I sigh. Say this now Rob and there won't be a ticket out—you'll be forced to see it through to the end. I surprise myself again. I start talking fast before I really have a chance to think things over too closely. "We'll have a pleasant evening, you'll get to know each other a bit and then, when it's time to go to bed, you'll come to bed with me. No lies. Won't need much by way of explanation. We'll just go off to my room together. Will that work for you."
He never answers me as such, but I do believe a mouthful of Quinn-tongue is a rather positive response, innit?
The train journey from Liverpool Street Station to Southend is just over an hour; it feels like an eternity though. No matter how many times I've done it, no matter how sure I am I could do it in my sleep, today's totally different because I've got Quinn sitting in the seat opposite me. Within five minutes of the train pulling out of Liverpool Street I'm so highly strung you could use me for a violin.
Quinn's really made an effort too. He's wearing a fucking suit. I don't think I've ever seen him wearing a suit before. 'Course I'm sitting here with him in the rattiest oldest clothes I own next to a bag filled to the brim with my dirty laundry. What? I'm going home; it's a ritual of sorts. Mum'd start to worry if I didn't arrive with a month's worth of washing.
I fidget and twitch and generally behave like a five-year-old the entire journey and Quinn just sits there with a slightly pained look on his face. I'm starting to wonder whether he'll change his mind and get off the train before we reach Southend at this rate.
"Rob, will you relax already?" He snaps about forty-five minutes into it all. "You keep on worrying like that and you'll have a full-blown coronary before I'll ever meet your mum."
"Sorry," I mutter and make a valiant attempt to calm myself. It lasts all of five seconds, maybe ten.
"Look," Quinn sighs, "you don't wanna say anything, that's fine. I can bunk in the spare room for a few days. Won't think any the less of you."
"No," I reply. "No, I can do this. Just promise me..."
Promise me what? That you'll always be there if my own mother disowns me? Great, I'm getting delusional now. There ain't nobody who's ever stood by me like my mum has and here I am expecting Quinn to stick around forever just in case she won't. Oh yeah, I can really see that happening, can you?
Then the train pulls into Southend Central and I think I might be having that heart attack any second now. A couple of minutes from now I'll be introducing my lover to my mother and shit! I'm starting to panic again. Quinn sees it—well, he's had some practice at recognizing the look, hasn't he?—and surreptitiously brushes his fingers across the back of my hand as we wait for the train to come to a stop.
"It'll be fine," he mouths at me as I haul my bag of laundry off the train. I wish I could believe him.
Then there's mum. She insisted on picking us up from the station when I told her I was bringing a friend. I dunno why really, it'll just mean there'll be the three of us squeezing into a taxi rather than just Quinn and me. I guess she thought it the proper thing to do or else she didn't trust me to find my way back to the house I've known for twenty-nine years. Well, yeah, I've been known to behave like a complete idiot on occasion, but still, you'd think she'd trust me to make it to the fucking house I was raised in, wouldn't you? Can you tell I'm nervous as fuck?
"Mum, this is Quinn," I say ever so lamely by way of introduction. "Quinn, my mother."
"Pleased to meet you Mrs. Simmons," he says and actually bows a little. Jesus fucking Christ, make a man feel inadequate, why don't you? He actually bows a little, London brogue slipping away to be replaced by something distinctly upper crust. I never knew he had it in him. It makes me feel like the provincial Essex boy I am.
Mum blushes a little at that. Well, yeah, I would too. I don't think she's ever had anybody treat her like this, leastways not since she was a young woman. "Oh, please Quinn, call me Nora," she stutters.
It's like that all the way out of the station and in the taxi home. Quinn's making with the polite small talk, practically charming the knickers off my mum. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was into older women. Ah fuck! I didn't just think that. That's me mum!
They're talking though, which I guess is the one saving grace to the entire fiasco. He's asking her questions about being a grade school teacher and listening politely; you'd think it was the most interesting job in the world. Mum, on the other hand, seems quite enamored with the idea of him being a nurse, seems to think that wanting to help the sick is quite a calling. I'm feeling more inadequate with every minute that passes.
We get to the house and mum is all business. "Rob, why don't you be a dear and show Quinn into the sitting room?" She asks. "You can start a fire too, it's getting cold. I've just a few things to take care of in the kitchen and then we can have tea." I nod. There's no use in arguing about anything, is there, not that I'd want to. "Quinn, make yourself at home," she continues. "Rob will get you anything you need. I won't be a moment."
I almost drag Quinn into the sitting room, push him down in the armchair and start building a fire in the fireplace. "You want a drink?" I ask distractedly.
"That'd be nice," he whispers right up close to my ear. "I'd like some Rob too, if I may?"
Fuck! I didn't even notice him getting out of the chair. Noticed even less that he was standing so close, another inch and he'd be all over me. Maybe it's me that needs the drink. Funny thing is, even with mum in the kitchen one door down, I'd like nothing better than to throw myself onto him, rut like a couple of animals in front of the fireplace. I shiver slightly at the image. "Later," I rasp. "Mum-friendly dinner first, remember?"
"I think she likes me," Quinn grins and steps back slightly to give me some space.
"Yeah she does," I shrug. "What about you? What do you think of my mum?"
"She's lovely," he smiles. "Know where you get it from now. You have her eyes."
Before I have a chance to categorically deny that I look anything like my mum, she calls us to tea. I lead Quinn into the dining room and watch his eyes bulge out. If it wasn't love at first sight between him and mum, he's done for now; I can tell by the look of rapture on his face.
Mum looks at him nervously. "It's alright, isn't it? You do like steak and kidney pie, don't you?"
I have to chuckle at that. "It's only his favorite meal in the world mum," I grin. "I hope there's enough for seconds."
"What kind of host do you take me for?" Mum asks slightly taken aback. "Of course there's enough for seconds, and quite possibly thirds and fourths as well. Also, there's spotted dick with custard for pudding."
Quinn barely suppresses a moan. Yeah, it's love at first sight between those two. We eat and mum and Quinn are chatting pleasantly with each other. I don't say too much, too busy eating and having a pint of stout or two—I need something to put my nerves at ease.
The alcohol does have the desired effect in a way; by the time we go back to the sitting room I'm half-ready to curl up and go to sleep. Mum sits down on the sofa and picks up her knitting, while Quinn has a seat in the armchair and actually has the nerve to start asking her about knitting patterns. Good grief, he's really overdoing the playing nice with mum bit, isn't he?
Not that I care at this point. The beer I had worked wonders and all the tension is flowing out of my body leaving me feeling drained and sleepy. I lie down on the rug in front of the fireplace and curl myself up into a fetal position. I used to love lying like this in front of the fireplace when I was a lad. I close my eyes and relax. I guess to mum and Quinn it might look like I've settled in for an after-tea nap. I'm awake though, listening to their chatter.
They talk about nothing of consequence for a while, then there's a long pause and I wish I could see what's going on, I'm too boneless to open my eyes though. Finally mum clears her throat. "So tell me Quinn, how long have the two of you been... friends."
I almost jump up off the floor in surprise. That pause before 'friends' was just a little bit too long; even I, clueless as always, could tell that much.
"That obvious, is it?" Quinn asks quietly. Now would be a really good time for the floor to give and swallow me up whole.
I can hear mum's intake of breath even above the crackling of the fire. "The look in his eyes when he thinks no one is watching," she says softly. "He's a good lad Quinn, I don't want to see him hurt."
"It's the farthest thing from my mind," Quinn replies equally softly.
"Do you love him?' She asks.
Yeah, and that's where the whole pretending I'm asleep gig ends. I jerk up off the floor with a shout. "Mum!"
She turns her head slightly to look at me. "You're my son Rob, I'll love you no matter what."
Quinn moves fast, is off the chair and next to me on the floor before I can so much as think of a response. He's got one hand on my shoulder, close enough for comfort and reassurance, but not so close as to make a spectacle of us. When he speaks, he's talking to me as much as he is answering her. "Yes."
Mum doesn't say anything for a few moments, but she nods never taking her eyes off Quinn. Then she puts down her knitting and says, "it's late. Stay up as long as you want. Rob knows where everything is if you need anything. Just be sure the fire is out before you go to sleep. I'll put an extra pillow into Rob's bed."
"Quinn, what just happened?" I ask when the power of speech finally returns to me.
"I think we got your mother's blessing," he replies.
He's still not touching me any more than the hand on the shoulder, which was there even before mum left the room; he's trying not to invade my space and shit, I'm really starting to sound like a chit now, aren't I?
"Oh."
Quinn's smile is slowly starting to fade. "I thought that was what you wanted," he says.
"I did, I just didn't think..." what exactly did I think? I've no idea. I just didn't expect this.
"Do you want me to leave for a while?" Quinn asks quietly. "I could go for a walk or something."
"You're going to go for a walk? In Southend? After closing time?" I can't help but laugh at that. He's a real city boy, isn't he? "Quinn, it's Southend, alright? There's fuck-all to do once the pubs close and remarkably little to do before that, unless you enjoy helping dear old grannies across the street."
"Never mind," he sighs. "You know what, I think I'll just go to bed and wait for you to get it out of your system."
"Get what out of my system?" I ask, the irritation plain in my voice.
"Whatever's crawled up your bum and died there," he snaps. "Where's the spare room? Actually, never mind, I'll find it myself."
He gets up to leave. "Upstairs, second door to the right," I say before I can stop myself. What the hell am I saying? "Quinn, hang on, I thought you were going to... I mean, I thought we'd decided that you'd be sleeping in my room."
"Not while you're in a mood," he mutters.
"So you're going to go and kip on the sofa each time I'm in one of my moods once we're sharing a room?" I ask rather flippantly.
He spins around and looks at me with those big green eyes like I've grown another head. God, I remember why I fell for him in the first place—it's those eyes. "What did you just say?" He stammers.
"I asked what you'll do when I'm in a mood once we're sharing a room," I repeat slowly. That'd the best he's going to get. I hope it's enough.
It must be enough, because before I know it I'm flat on my back in front of the fire with Quinn-tongue in my mouth and Quinn-hands running all over my body. Yeah, I think he got the message loud and clear and fuck me sideways, I think I've just agreed to move in with him. Wonder what Nicky'll say.
Not that I'm in any position to think coherently right now. Quinn's kissing me hard, the fingers of one hand grappling with my fly quite desperately, hard dick jabbing into my hip. Fuck, two more seconds of this and we'll be coupling on mum's sitting room floor and even with her approval, I'm not quite sure I'm ready to defile the sanctity of the British parlor just yet—Christ, I'm full of shit sometimes! Still, I'd really rather not fuck in my mother's sitting room.
"Quinn, upstairs now," I pant when he lets go of my mouth long enough for me to get a word in edgeways. He doesn't say anything, just grunts a little—I do believe I might have fallen for a caveman here if the grunting recently is any indication—and then he just grabs me by the waist and picks me up bodily—yeah, caveman alright. There are advantages to being not-so-very-tall and oh-so-very-lanky apparently.
We'll have to have words about this later on. There's something distinctly unmasculine about being thrown over Quinn's shoulder and carried into the first available bedroom whenever the opportunity arises. What does he think I am? A sack of potatoes? 'Course, there's something to be said for my dick rubbing against his chest all the way up the stairs. "First door on the left," I moan quietly.
He pushes open the door with his other shoulder and throws me none-to-gently on top of the bed. Then he's working on my fly again. Not that I'm objecting much at this point—well apart from slapping his hands out of the way so I can unbutton the goddamn dress shirt he's wearing. Did he have to wear something with that many buttons?
We manage to undress each other eventually, more or less. I've a feeling we're both still wearing our socks, but it's quite possible to fuck like rabbits while wearing socks and there really isn't any erotic way of disposing of them. You know, that old story, oh hang on darling, let me bend down and take my socks off first. Actually, come to think of it, he'd probably like that, wouldn't he? Especially if I did it so he got a good look at my arse.
Ah well, he's half on top of me now, furiously fucking my mouth with his tongue, and I think it's safe to say that the moment for the enticing removal of Rob's socks has passed. Next time. It's getting hard to concentrate all of a sudden too, what with Quinn's hand having latched onto my dick and giving it a few good pulls. You know, it's really true, that bit about men not being able to think with more than one head at any given time. It probably best to just save the energy and not even try.
"Want to fuck you," Quinn pants. "Please?"
I pull back a little. We haven't done that since... well, we haven't tried that again. He's been more than happy to let me pound him into the mattress, but he hasn't asked and I haven't offered. Funny thing is, now that I actually think about it, the mere idea sends shivers of anticipation down my spine. "Yes," I whimper.
Then it all becomes disjointed in my perception of time. There's a hot hand rubbing across my dick which seamlessly, it seems, turns into slick, wet fingers and then... it doesn't hurt this time, not even a little; it feels absolutely right instead. There's slow, shallow thrusts—Quinn trying not to rock the creaky bed any more than absolutely necessary, no doubt—and his mouth never quite leaves mine.
With our bodies pressed this close together and skin to skin, there really isn't enough room for either one of us to touch my dick—but there doesn't need to be; it's suddenly enough that we are here together and that it is right somehow. I come without any help at all and he follows me seconds later to collapse on my chest, still kissing me fiercely.
I think I just might have gotten lucky and found myself forever after after all.
© KJB 2002-2003.