Goddess, was Quentin actually stripping for him?

Laurence bit his lip and kept his hands behind his head. If he let them out he might be overcome with the urge to touch Quentin sooner or later, and that was the exact opposite of what he’d promised, so he buried them and pressed his head back to hold them still.

Quentin was hot as hell, and the guy refused to believe it. Laurence could see the quick breaths he took as they fluttered his throat, his stomach, even as he slowly pushed his pants down his scarred thighs and kicked them aside.

Laurence sucked on his lip and let out a little groan of appreciation to encourage him.

He wasn’t expecting this. He didn’t know what to expect, but that was why he’d placed everything in Quentin’s hands for now. Laurence had been through rehab enough times to have some idea how to support those more traumatized than himself, but he’d been hoping to get home and do some reading to see if there were things he could do better.

He had to trust Quentin’s self-awareness now. He had to let Quentin lead the way, and hope that it did no harm.

Fuck, he was so damn hot, though. Slender like a willow branch, and twice as flexible, he always seemed somehow bigger than his body, like a tornado trapped in a mason jar. The faint light which breached the edges of the blinds made the lines of his scars gleam like silk threads.

They didn’t define him. They weren’t who or what he was. Quentin wasn’t his scars. He wasn’t his demons. He wasn’t his fears.

He was bigger than all those things. Better than them.

Pure, despite all which had tried so hard to sully him.

Quentin climbed onto the bed and straddled Laurence’s ankles, then placed his hands on Laurence’s shins and slowly, softly, slid them up toward his knees.

Laurence let his eyes drift closed briefly, until those supple, nimble fingers reached his thighs, when he made himself open them again and look down. He wanted to watch.

Quentin played his skin like the virtuoso he was. His touch was alternately light and firm. It brushed so faintly across his thighs that only his hairs felt it, and then it came down to squeeze before it drifted to stomach-tingling lightness and the gentle graze of fingernails down the insides of his thighs.

Laurence gasped. He bucked. His cock bounced and swelled. He felt his balls tighten.

Quentin hadn’t even done anything yet!

Those hands danced across his hips and stomach as Quentin writhed up his legs. He felt the heavy touch of Quentin’s cock as it shimmied over his legs and then settled against his own, and Quentin leaned over him as his hands continued up Laurence’s chest almost idly.

Laurence gazed up at him, at the level of concentration on his face. There was something deeply humbling to see this man lose himself on Laurence’s body the way he did at the piano, to see him so dedicated to his art that it was impossible for him to hide his passion behind the veneer of British stiff upper lip he usually displayed.

Only Laurence got to see this, to experience it, to know that this man whose passion ran so deep saved it solely for him.

He raised his chin as Quentin came closer, and was ready for him when those soft, pillowy lips pressed against his.

The kiss was light and tender. Quentin’s breath seeped past it, and he took Laurence’s in turn as his hands slid up into Laurence’s hair and his elbows planted either side of Laurence’s head.

There wasn’t the weight to pin Laurence down, but Quentin didn’t need it. For all his light touches and gentle motions, he was fully in control, with little more than a brush of his fingers here, a press of his cock there. Like steering a dance partner.

Laurence’s lips broke into a smile as he remembered how Quentin had led him in their first dance together, on the deck of a megayacht. Quentin was drunk as skunk, utterly unaware of Laurence’s hesitant but growing feelings toward him, and had taken full and confident control in front of hundreds of partygoers without a care in the world for what they might have thought of him for it.

Quentin tipped his head aside, then raised it, and smiled down at Laurence. His eyes sparkled bright and clear. “Something amuses you?”

Laurence laughed softly. “I was just thinking back to that time when you took me to a fancy party and we danced.”

Quentin laughed with him. “We should do it again sometime. Sober,” he added. He trailed his lips across Laurence’s cheek, towards his ear. “Would you like that?” His words were little more than a breath against Laurence’s skin. “I’ll choose where we go, what you wear, how you style your hair. I’ll dress you up, show you off, and then take you home and make you mine.”

His words wiped the smile from Laurence’s face.

Laurence felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and his lips fell apart. He was suddenly aware of every breath Quentin took, every press of his cock against Laurence’s, every slip of his fingers over Laurence’s scalp.

Quentin’s lips closed around his earlobe and he sucked softly while his hands closed around Laurence’s curls and began a slow, insistent tug.

“Goddess,” Laurence gasped. “Quen, please!”

He didn’t know what he wanted. He was just damn sure he needed more.

Something dark flashed across Quentin’s gaze as he drew his head back.

For a heartbeat, Laurence’s arousal faltered. Had he pushed too far? Said something he shouldn’t? Stumbled into a trigger he didn’t know about?

Quentin dipped his head for another kiss, but this time it was more forceful. He pressed hard, and his tongue invaded Laurence’s mouth, head tilting to the side so that he could dominate Laurence’s mouth completely with his own.

Laurence writhed and groaned deeply into Quentin’s mouth. The hands in his hair pulled so firmly that a trickle of pain skittered across his scalp, and his knees twitched up off the bed in response.

“You are so beautiful,” Quentin whispered against his lips.

Laurence squirmed. His chest heaved as he panted with the strain of being so tormented. “I love you,” he whimpered.

“Mm. I know.” Quentin’s smirk was thoroughly wicked, and he began to wriggle his hips up over Laurence’s stomach, then onward up his chest. His back arched as he pulled away, until he was upright, and the tip of his glistening cock fell against Laurence’s lips.

Laurence opened his mouth and gazed up, doing everything he could to beg for permission to go further without saying a word.

Quentin wasn’t waiting, though. He leaned over and tilted his hips, pushing in past Laurence’s teeth, over his tongue. His hands returned to Laurence’s head, cradling it, lifting it from the pillow to get a better angle.

Laurence closed his lips around the shaft and gazed up at Quentin as he suckled. He was damn good at this and he knew it. Goddess knew he’d had more than enough practice, but to do it for someone who held his heart in his hands was something else.

Quentin filled his mouth. Fingers returned to Laurence’s hair, pulling his head up further so that Quentin’s dick slid down his throat.

He gasped for breath before he couldn’t take another.

Quentin’s gaze was on him, attentive, meticulous.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Oh Goddess, he’s so fucking hot.

Heat crashed through him, spiraling out from his mouth and down his chest. It tingled his gut and made his legs jerk. He pushed his feet against the sheets so that he could hold his head up for Quentin to fuck his mouth, and the stretch made his arms ache.

He felt utterly helpless, and Quentin hadn’t even resorted to telekinesis. The position he was in alone was enough to keep him completely at Quentin’s mercy. Quentin’s knees had pinned down the pillow around his arms, his cock was cutting off Laurence’s air, his fingers sent delicious spikes of torment over Laurence’s scalp.

Quentin withdrew just long enough for Laurence’s lungs to refill, and the sudden rush of air made him dizzy.

Hard.

Desperate.

Quentin drove into him, using Laurence’s mouth to pleasure himself, not once looking away from Laurence’s features. Not even as sweat trickled down his forehead. Not as his hips quickened and his breaths came hard and fast.

Not even as he let out a howl and emptied himself into Laurence’s eager, waiting mouth.

Laurence swallowed with greed, holding Quentin’s softening prick with his tongue as he hurried to devour his gift.

His senses were sharpening already, as though scales were falling from his eyes, mufflers removed from his ears. He could see Quentin as though it were bright as day, see the quivers of pleasure ripple his skin, feel the gentle easing of his hold in Laurence’s hair.

Goddess, had these weeks without sex dulled his senses this much?

Quentin eased himself out, leaving a trail of wetness over Laurence’s lips. He slipped down Laurence’s body, his arms shaking a little with the effort of keeping himself upright, and he bent double to trace weak, breathy kisses down Laurence’s breastbone, over his belly button, and down his treasure trail.

Then his mouth was on Laurence’s cock, slow and gentle, and Laurence cried out in need.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Being used, pinned down, fucked roughly, had pushed him so close to the edge that he couldn’t delay it even if he’d wanted to. Quentin’s head bobbed, his hands splayed across Laurence’s hips, and Laurence gave himself over to the orgasm which would not be held back.

He came. It exploded out of him and left him a mewling, feeble mess of limbs and sweat. He came hard, his body wracked by the force of it, and the thrumming of his cock dominated his whole world for a moment that stretched out into eternity before it snapped back and threw him back down onto the bed, spent and hollow, muscles too weak to hold his limbs in place.

Air rasped in his throat as he gasped and flopped. He could hear everything, feel everything.

He was alive.

He was whole.

And he was exhausted.

Quentin fell by his side and kissed him, and Laurence tasted the salt of himself on Quentin’s lips. Then they lay together, saying nothing because nothing needed to be said, and their breathing fell into slow, steady synchronization.

As he drifted off to sleep, Laurence idly wondered how exactly to tell Quentin he wouldn’t mind if Quentin pushed him a little further next time.