Part 10







Quentin glanced at the man sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Chet was looking stoic, which told him how nervous his boyfriend was feeling about meeting his parents. He’d worn that same expression for the last few days at school, as he dealt with people’s reactions to his coming out and declaring that he was dating Quentin Yardsley, the flamboyant gay boy who’d kicked his ass. Most of the student body were shocked and bewildered both. Of course nobody was going to call him on it, since he was still big, muscular, and dangerous. But he’d received more than a fair share of odd looks, as well as people whispering about him behind his back. He took it all with a closed expression and a cold stare that dissuaded anyone from trying to make jokes at his expense or get in his face. 

Quentin felt bad for him. Chet had to deal with people being stunned about his sudden ‘about face’; whereas he himself had always been openly gay and everybody knew it on first sight. These were kids that he’d known for at least three years, who now had to look at him in an entirely new light. All in all, the football player was handling it quite well. He hadn’t lost his temper, although there was a tenseness to his stance that told Quentin that he was working hard not to lose it. He did whatever he could to soothe the savage beast, including lots of after school sex to help Chet unwind. Wow, the world’s hardest job, having sex with his uber gorgeous boyfriend. But somebody had to do it…

His eyes gleamed a little with sensual amusement. “Here we are!” he sang, pulling into the driveway of his house. 

Chet stiffened in this seat. He stared grimly at the sage green house with its wide white painted porch as though he expected it to open into a pit of Hell. Quentin fought back a giggle at his expression, not wanting to laugh at his boyfriend for being nervous. Chet would not appreciate it at all. He undid his seatbelt and got out of his car. “Come on,” he said, leaning down to look at Chet, “It’ll be fine, I swear. They don’t bite, and they really want to meet you.”

Chet glanced at him, then undid his own seat belt and got slowly out of the car. His hand lifted to smooth the front of the button-up shirt that he was wearing in lieu of a suit. Quentin came around and wound his arm through Chet’s. He gave a small tug, not that he could move his own personal man-mountain unless Chet chose to let him. “Come on,” he said again. 

Chet said nothing, but let Quentin guide him up onto the porch and to the front door. Quentin opened it and escorted his boyfriend into the front hall. “Mom, we’re here!” he called out.

His mother came out of the kitchen, a smile of welcome blossoming on her face. “Hello,” she said, coming toward them. “You must be Chet. Quen’s told us so much about you. I’m Janet, by the way. It’s really nice to meet you,” and she held out her hand to Chet.

He looked at it for a moment, a glint of something like panic in his caramel-colored eyes. Then he reached out and took her hand, enfolding it in his massive mitt. “Hello,” he said stiffly. 

Her smile widened a bit. “Welcome to our home, Chet,” she said. “Why don’t you and Quen go into the living room? Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay,” Quentin said. ‘Thanks, Mom. We’ll see you in a bit,” and he steered his boyfriend toward the living room, making a face at his mother over his shoulder. She had to clamp her lips shut over her laughter as she went back into the kitchen. 




They found his father sitting on the couch watching a football game. He looked up as Quentin said: “Hey, Dad. This is Chet. Chet, this is my dad Frank.”

“Hey, Chet,” his dad said, rising to his feet to come over and shake the football player’s hand briskly. “Nice to meet you. Quen tells me you play football, which is cool. I played in high school and college myself. As you can see, I was just watching a game now,” he nodded at the TV. “Vikings vs. Patriots. You want to watch while we wait for dinner to be ready?”

Chet looked relieved that he didn’t have to come up with a bunch of small talk to impress Quentin’s father. “Sure,” he rumbled.

“Sit down and I’ll get us something to drink,” Frank told him. “What do you want, Quen?”

“Some juice’d be great, thanks Dad,” Quentin replied. He urged Chet down onto the couch next to him. He promptly snuggled up to the big body, putting his arm around Chet and laying his head on the bigger boy’s shoulder. 

Chet gave Frank a rather wild-eyed look, as though he expected Quentin’s dad to be angry about this. Frank only smiled a little at him reassuringly, before he left the room in search of beverages for all of them while they watched the game. Quentin giggled. “Dad doesn’t mind if I snuggle my honey bunny,” he told Chet, who frowned at him for this cutesy nickname.

Quentin hid a grin, rubbing his nose against Chet’s shirt tenderly. Chet just shook his head and draped his own arm over Quentin’s shoulders possessively. He looked at the TV screen, seeing that the game was about a quarter over. Quentin remarked: “I love this game. Not the actual sport, you understand; but all of those huge studs running around in tight uniforms…a total drool-fest.”

Chet scowled at his words. “Glad to know that you’re a fan,” he growled.

A chuckle. “Jealous as ever, eh, big man? If it makes you feel any better, you’re the best-looking football player that I’ve ever come across. A total hunk. Nobody can hold a candle to you.”

Chet considered this. “Yeah, that does make me feel better,” he admitted, making Quentin grin at him. Then he leaned up and kissed Chet on the mouth, making him forget both his twinge of jealousy and the fact that they were in the living room of Quentin’s parents’ house…until a throat was cleared elaborately from across the room. Chet pulled away from his boyfriend, while Quentin only smirked at him with sparkling eyes. 

Frank came into the living room with three glasses in his hands. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said cheerfully. “But I come bearing the gift of moisture.”

“Thanks, Dad, I’m parched,” Quentin replied happily. 

“I can tell,” his father replied, his eyes twinkling. He carried the glasses over to the couch, while Chet just closed his eyes and tried to endure the embarrassment of having been caught making out with this man’s son on his couch. Quentin’s not-so-subtle amusement at his expense was irritating him more than a bit. Trust the little blue-haired torment to not feel any shame…since he was completely shameless. 

Frank handed both of them a glass, saying to Chet: “I hope that juice is okay with you, Chet. I wasn’t sure what kind of soda you’d like.”

“Its fine,” he said shortly, taking the glass. He couldn’t look Frank in the eye.

Frank exchanged amused glanced with his offspring over Chet’s slightly bent head. Then he took a seat further down the couch, sipping at his own drink a bit. He glanced sideways at Chet and Quentin, seeing that his son had draped himself up against his boyfriend’s side and was whispering in his ear. He smiled slightly. It was clear that his son adored this boy. That inclined him to like this Chet already, since he’d never known Quentin’s judgment about people to be off. 

Franklin Yardsley only wanted the best for his son. Quentin was a great kid, big-hearted and amazing. Even when he’d been little, he’d always wanted to help people or make them feel better. He could clearly remember watching a five-year-old Quentin comfort a crying neighbor girl who’d fallen off of her trike and had skinned her knees on the sidewalk. He’d even offered her his favorite toy to stop her tears, although the girl hadn’t really been interested in a plastic pirate sword. It was then that he’d known that Quentin was something special.

Just how special he’d turn out to be had only become clear to he and his wife a bit later. Quentin would sneak in and put on his mom’s make-up or wear her jewelry, and when they let him pick out his own clothes he went straight for the most flamboyant thing in the store. Realizing just how much trouble this might cause him as he grew up, Frank had enrolled the boy in a dojo near their house so that Quentin could learn to protect himself properly. He’d never envisioned that Quentin would become as good at tae kwon do as he actually had, and he proudly displayed the trophies that Quentin had won in a case for everyone to see. 

The only reason that Frank wished that his son hadn’t turned out to be gay was because he knew how hard life would be sometimes for Quentin. But he was as he was, and he’d support his son no matter what life path he chose. Including his choice of boyfriends. His eyes studied Chet’s profile. He thought about what Quentin had told him about this boy’s father abusing him. Anger sparked inside of him at the very thought. But he didn’t let any of it show on his face, because Quentin had asked him not to reveal to Chet that he knew about the abuse. It had cost Chet a good deal to tell him about it, and Quentin didn’t want Chet to know that anybody else knew lest he be upset and worry that Frank would pity or look down on him. Not that he ever would, of course, but he understood Quentin’s reasoning. Chet seemed a proud sort of person, who wouldn’t deal well with what he saw as pity rather than compassion. 

Aloud he said: “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

When Chet gave him a rather horrified look, he realized how the boy had taken that question. His lips twitched. “I mean in the game,” he said, nodding at the TV. 

“Oh,” Chet said. “The Patriots fumbled the ball.”

Frank met his son’s eyes, seeing the merry expression in them. He hurriedly looked away so that he wouldn’t start laughing. “Okay. Since I’m rooting for the Vikings, that works for me. What about you? Which team do you like?”

“He’s a Vikings fan, of course,” Quentin chirped. “Being as he is one himself…”

Frank laughed; he couldn’t help himself. Chet gave his boyfriend a sour look. “Yeah, I like the Vikings,” he conceded. 

“Great,” Frank tactfully started a discussion about the game with Chet, and Quentin fell silent and let them get on with it. He didn’t know that much about football, in spite of the fact that his dad watched it a lot. He occupied himself with snuggling up to Chet, letting his hands do a little naughty roaming. He was thoroughly enjoying getting to spend time with his two favorite men in the whole world. He finally excused himself to go and see if his mother needed any help in the kitchen, and the two men were cheering some play or other as he left the room. He grinned to himself at this sign of male bonding.

He entered the kitchen, seeing his mother fussing over the London broil and red-skinned potatoes that she was making in the oven. “Mother dear, do you need me to help with anything?” Quentin asked as he walked over to hug her from behind.

“No, Quen, everything is going fine,” she told him, patting his hands fondly. “How's it going out there?”

“Dad and Chet are watching a football game together. Being all manly and whatnot,” Quentin said.

She laughed. “That’s good. I love manly men, don’t you?”

“Oh, definitely,” Quentin agreed, moving to lean against the counter next to her. “So big, so strong, so testosterone laden…” he went on.

She grinned. “I love the smell of testosterone in the morning…” she remarked, doing her best Brando. 

“Actually, having Chet around will be good for Dad. I know that he sometimes wishes that I were more normal,” Quentin said thoughtfully after a moment.

She hurried to reassure him. “Oh, Quen, that’s not true…”

He waved a hand at her. “It’s okay, Mom, I know he loves me. But now he’ll have someone to talk about all of these manly things with that I couldn’t care less about,” he told her. “It's like I’m a girl bringing home her boyfriend. It works for me, because I want Dad to have someone to share his interests with. And I want Chet to have a real father figure for once. If my two favorite guys get along, I’ll be happy as a clam.” 





Dinner was ready. When Quentin went to convey this information, he found his father and his boyfriend yelling enthusiastically at the TV screen as though the football players on it could somehow hear them. His lips twitched as he called loudly: “Hey, guys! Sorry to interrupt, but Mom says that its time to eat. She also said that you can Tivo the rest of the game and watch it after we’re done eating, Dad,” he added, pointing a stern finger at his parent.

Frank grimaced as he stood up. “She knows me too well,” he told Chet ruefully. He picked up the remote and set the Tivo to record the rest of the game so that he and Chet could finish watching it later. 

Quentin, meanwhile, went over to take Chet’s hand and tug him to his feet. “Hope you’re hungry, because Mom made tons of food,” he told his boyfriend.

“I am,” Chet replied simply.

“Great. This way,” he looped his arm through Chet’s and led the bigger boy out of the living room and into the little formal dining room that opened off of the kitchen. He and his mom had set the table and served the food, which looked and smelled delicious. He could see Chet sniffing appreciatively, and he smiled to himself. 

His mother looked up when they entered the room. “Oh, hi boys. Chet, why don’t you sit here?” she tapped the top of one of the chairs pulled up to the left-hand side of the little dining table. “And Quen, you sit next to him, of course,” she went on as she put a big serving spoon into the casserole dish of red-skinned potatoes.

Chet did as he was told, pulling out the chair and gingerly settling down on it. Quentin could hear the frame creaking a bit, so he wasn’t surprised that Chet was being so careful. He slipped into his own chair and promptly put his hand on his boyfriend’s big thigh, letting his fingers trace up the firm muscle under the fabric of his pants. He received a not-too-friendly look from Chet for this action, which made him smirk a bit as he squeezed lightly with his fingers. He knew he’d pay for this later, which thought excited and titillated him. Chet’s punishments tended to include him being fucked hard and roughly, just the way he liked it. That’s of course why he invited them so very often…

Quentin’s eyes sparkled at this naughty thought as he father entered the room. His wife received a peck on her cheek as he said approvingly: “It smells great, honey. You’re the best cook ever.”

She smiled at him, patting the front of his shirt in a gesture that Chet recognized. Apparently that’s where Quentin had picked it up. “Flatterer,” Janet said. 

“Hey, the truth isn’t flattery,” he protested as she pushed him toward his seat at the head of the table. 

She snorted genially. “Now I remember why I married you,” she said. “Anyway, get to serving, Frank. I’m sure these boys are starving.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he said, saluting her before picking up a carving knife and serving fork and attending to the perfectly cooked London Broil resting in a glass pan nearby. He was deft with the knife, cutting off a big piece and looking at Chet. “Give me your plate,” he told the football player. 

Chet held out his plate, and Frank slid the piece of meat onto it. “Help yourself to everything else,” he told Chet cheerfully.

Chet hesitated, clearly still feeling a little nervous. Quentin accepted a piece of meat from his father, winking slightly at his parent as he did so. Then he reached out and grabbed the big spoon in the pan of potatoes and scooped up a big helping, proving to be just as deft as his father as he neatly set the scoopful of potatoes onto Chet’s plate. “There,” he remarked blithely. “Do you want some asparagus, Chet?”

Chet frowned at him a bit, but nodded instead of replying. Quentin’s lips quivered as he picked several perfectly-done stalks of asparagus out for Chet, and added them to his plate. After that, he also set several homemade dinner rolls on it as well. Frank and Janet watched this little by-play with amusement and interest, seeing Chet’s reactions to being served by his boyfriend. Janet came to collect a piece of meat for herself, whispering: “Quen’s got him wound around his little finger already, I see.”

He grinned at her. “Seems to me that its history repeating itself,” he replied softly. “Since you had me whipped almost from day one.”

She gave him a mock-severe look. “What a thing to say about your wife, Frank Yardsley,” she said sternly.

He leaned over to kiss her lightly. “You know I’m not complaining, honey,” he told her. “I love being whipped.”

She rolled her eyes but tenderly patted his cheek before carrying her plate away to her seat at the foot of the little dining table. Quentin had served himself by now as well, and the two boys were sitting down. Frank got himself some food while they all waited, then he sat down and looked at Chet and Quentin. “Let’s eat,” he said happily.

Quentin promptly dug in, and seeing him eating made Chet pick up his fork and knife and begin eating as well. The first bite of meat into his mouth made a slightly astonished look spread across his face, and he chewed with the expression of a man who’d just discovered his own personal Nirvana on his face. 

Quentin glanced sideways at his boyfriend, and had to hold back a little snort of laughter. It pleased him greatly to see Chet eating real food that had been cooked with him in mind. His poor boyfriend could stand some pampering, that was for sure. He sincerely doubted that Chet’s lush of a mother had ever made him a homemade meal, let alone one that tasted so good. His mom was a great cook, and he savored his own meal silently. Nobody said anything at first, as they concentrated on their meal. It was only after the bulk of the food had disappeared from their plates that Janet spoke up.

  “Chet,” she said, making him glance up from his nearly empty plate with a little start. 

“Uh, yeah?” he sounded almost panicked, which made Quentin’s face contort as he fought not to laugh loudly. 

Janet smiled at him. “Did you like it?” she asked, nodding at his plate.

“It was great,” he said fervently.

“I’m glad. Have seconds. A young man like you needs to keep his strength up,” she said in a motherly tone of voice.

Chet looked uncertain about this directive, but Frank laughed and forked up another piece of meat. “You’d better do what she says, Chet,” he remarked drolly. “You wouldn’t like the alternative, believe me.”

His wife sniffed as he urged Chet to hold out his plate and receive the piece of meat. “Listen to him talk that way about me,” she said, shaking her head. “Can you believe it? As though I’m an ogre or something,” she said, eyeing her husband. His eyes twinkled at her as Quentin giggled. 

Chet clearly didn’t know what to say to this, but Quentin saved him from having to reply by starting to fill his plate again. “Eat up,” he said, sounding so much like his mother in that moment that Frank chuckled and Chet gave him a rather wild sideways look. 

Chet began to eat again, clearly thinking that that was the safer alternative to trying to protest. Quentin plopped down in his chair. Janet said: “How was school today, Quen?”

“It was okay. Kind of boring, actually,” he told her with a grimace.

She sighed. “And here I thought I’d raise a little scholar,” she said sadly. 

He grinned at her. “I’ve always said that I’m probably a changeling, Mother Dear,” he teased her.

Frank began to laugh as he sipped at his coffee. “I’d buy that theory,” he agreed. 

Quentin nodded as Janet gave them both the look their statements deserved. “Yes, I’m definitely a Fairy Princ…ess,” he said drolly.

Frank almost choked on his coffee, and Janet began to laugh as well. “Quen, you are silly,” she told her son affectionately. 

“I try my best,” he agreed, fluffing his blue hair idly.

Janet turned her gaze on Chet. “I’ve got to say, Chet, that you must be a decidedly remarkable young man. Anyone dating my son would have to be,” she added.

Quentin stuck his tongue out at her as Chet gave her a rather perplexed look. “I agree on the ’remarkable’ part, Mom, but you make it sound like Chet has to have the patience of a saint or something to put up with me,” he said. 

She contrived to look innocent. “Well, Quen, if the shoes fits…” she said, her voice quivering with laughter.

Quentin folded his arms elaborately over his chest as Chet glanced at him with a mingling of puzzlement and wariness on his face. “I see how you are,” the blue-haired boy remarked to his insouciant parent in exasperation. “Thinking such a thing about your own child. Should I go and get a wire hanger now?”

Janet began to laugh helplessly as Chet’s brows drew together. The football player looked from her to his boyfriend, clearly out of his depth here. Quentin leaned toward him and whispered: “Its just a joke we have going on, Chet,” he explained soothingly to his baffled boyfriend. “Mom likes to pretend that I’m an awful child, and I return the favor by pretending that she’s the actress Joan Crawford. There’s a book and a movie called Mommy Dearest about how awful Joan was to her adopted daughter. Don’t worry. She adores me and I adore her. We’re just having fun.”

Chet looked enlightened, and he relaxed a bit in his chair. Clearly he’d been thrown by their conversation, probably because he had no idea what a good mother/son relationship looked like. Janet said: “No wire hangers tonight, Quen. We’re having Black Forest cake instead. Your favorite.”

Quentin beamed at her. “Have I told you lately how fabulous you are, Marmee? Chet and I will clear the table,” he said, glancing at his boyfriend. “And rinse the dishes. We have to do our part in thanks for this amazing feast. Right, Chet?”

Janet smiled at them both. “Thank you, boys. I appreciate it. Frank, don’t you dare go back and watch that game just yet!” she said as her husband began to rise from his seat. “You’re going to stay put, have some dessert, and talk to Chet.”

He sank back down, looking sheepish. Quentin began to gather up plates and dishes, stacking them in Chet’s arms. He then loaded his own arms, and they managed to take most of the fishes and plates into the kitchen in one trip. “So,” Quentin said as he carefully tipped his stack into the sink so that he could rinse them off, “What do you think of my parents so far, Chet?”

His boyfriend stood still so that he could retrieve the stack of plates and dishes in his arms. He considered Quentin’s question. He said slowly: “I didn’t know…”

Quentin glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t know what?” he asked curiously.

“That parents like them existed,” Chet went on, shrugging uncomfortably. 

Quentin smiled. “Well, they’re rare beasts, and I know it,” he replied. “I also try to appreciate that fact whenever I can, since I know that most kids end up with parents who are more like…well, yours…than mine. But I warn you,” held up a finger and pointed it sternly at Chet, “That you are in terrible danger, Chet. If you’re not careful…Mom and Dad are going to adopt you whether you like it or not,” he added merrily, his blue eyes laughing. “They already like you a lot. It’s inevitable, really, so you’ll just have to accept it and go with the flow.”

Chet looked bemused at his words, which made Quentin fight back a chuckle as he finished setting the dishes in the sink. This evening was going even better than he’d hoped it would. 





Quentin could see that Chet was completely uncomfortable talking to his mother, so he decided to save his poor boyfriend. He looked at his parent, communicating to her silently. Janet was both quick and perceptive, and she nodded slightly to tell him that she approved of his plan to extricate poor Chet. He leaned forward and spoke: “Hey, Dad? Why don’t you and Chet go and finish watching the game together? Mom and I will clean up and join you. Okay?”

Frank looked hopefully at his wife. She smiled at him. “Go ahead, honey. Take Chet and watch the game.” she made shooing motions with her hands at her spouse. 

Frank got quickly to his feet, looking at Chet. “Shall we?” he said, and the younger man looked faintly relieved as he got up out of his own chair to follow Frank into the living room. 

The two men departed in haste, leaving Quentin and his mother sitting at the dining room table. Mother and son exchanged laughing glances. “Manly men,” he remarked with a grin.

Her eyes were twinkling. “Yes, definitely. Anyway, that was a good thing you did, Quen. Your poor boyfriend is so nervous around us, especially me…I feel bad for him. Its better if he relaxes around your father.”

Quentin nodded. “Chet has no idea how to act around normal parents,” he told her. He paused, then added slyly: “Or you guys, either!”

Janet giggled. “Hey, I resemble that remark. Let’s get the dishes done and then go and watch the obligatory football game with our men. The things we do to make them happy…”

Quentin laughed as he began to collect dessert plates off the table. “Yes, but its mostly worth it,” he replied merrily.

She snorted. “Mostly,” she agreed dryly. 





The rest of the evening flew by after that. Janet and Quentin sat on the couch and occasionally rolled their eyes at each other as their men folk ignored them in favor of the football game. Chet did a lot more talking with Frank than he had with Quentin’s mother, as they discussed plays and lamented over the occasional fumble. It was nice to see his boyfriend so animated, and Quentin amused himself by just watching Chet rather than the game. Finally it was over, and the two men were psyched because their team had won. Quentin shook his head as he looked over at Chet. “We’d better get going,” he told his boyfriend. “We should get you home before your carriage turns into a pumpkin.”

Chet eyed him for this remark, but he only grinned and winked. Frank said: “Thanks for coming to dinner, Chet. You’re welcome here anytime, especially to watch football with me. My wife and son think I’m a freak for wanting to spend hours watching sports. It’d be nice to have somebody to watch it with.” he held out his hand, and Chet took it.

Janet smiled at her son’s boyfriend. “Yes, you’re definitely welcome here, Chet. Frank has tried to get me interested in football, but I profess to being bored out of my skull by it. So you’d be doing me a favor, too, if you come over and watch the games with Frank.”

He hesitated, then said slowly: “I’d like that. I’ll come.”

They both beamed at him as Quentin patted his arm possessively. “I’ll be sure to drag him over here again,” he said merrily. “But for now, its time to tuck him into bed. Come on, Chet.” 

Chet looked at Quentin’s parents. “Good night,” he said.

Good night, Chet. It was really nice to meet you,” Janet said, obviously meaning it. 

“Good night, Chet. Thanks for watching the game with me,” Frank said sincerely. 

Quentin led his boyfriend away out of the house. “See? That wasn’t so bad,” he remarked as they got into his car together. “They didn’t try to eat you or anything.”

Chet nodded. “Your parents are really nice people,” he said quietly.

Quentin smiled at him as he started the car. “I know, aren’t they? They’re the best. That’s why I wanted you to meet them. I just knew that you’d love them…and that they’d love you, too.”

Chet gave him a skeptical glance as he backed out of the drive. “You think that they loved me?” he asked, sounding disbelieving.

Quentin nodded. “Of course they did. Nice as they are, they wouldn’t have been so kind to somebody that they didn’t like. Dad likes to have someone to talk football with, but if he’d hated you he wouldn’t have been so interested in watching the game with you. And he certainly wouldn’t have asked you back to watch another one with him. You’ve made his list of people he really likes, Chet. And Mom practically tried to mother you to death, so I know that she likes you too.”

Silence from the passenger seat. Then, to his surprise, a big hand reached out and settled on his thigh just above his knee. His breath gasped out of his chest as Chet said somberly: “Thank you, Quen.”

“For what?” he asked, trying to ignore the raging hard-on that was now making him decidedly uncomfortable at the crotch. 

“Everything,” Chet replied intensely. 

“Well, you’re welcome,” Quentin gasped, “And I can think of a few ways that you could show your appreciation, big man.”







“Ahh!!!” Quentin cried out deliriously, clinging to Chet’s big form monkey-like as the football player held him up and thrust into his body at the same time. Chet stood in the middle of the bedroom and used his two big hands to hold Quentin’s lithe form as he fucked his boyfriend relentlessly. Their mouths met feverishly as he continued to hammer into Quentin’s writhing body, their tongues slicking together as Chet drove into him with such force that it felt like a piston was pummeling him. 

Quentin threw his head back, his fingers closing hard in Chet’s broad shoulders. His nails cut into the skin as his mouth opened wide to take in any air at all. His blue eyes were glazed and blank. This was pleasure beyond pleasure, in some other realm altogether. The hands on his buttocks were pulling them apart to make him more open for Chet’s ruthless fucking, and the fingers had closed hard enough to leave bruises. With a breathless wail, he curled forward and sank his teeth hard into the side of Chet’s neck, practically gibbering as he felt his orgasm break over him like a tsunami. 

The pain of his teeth closing in the skin, as well as the treacherous tightening of those velvet internal muscles, finished Chet off as well. He made a choked sound in his throat as he pulled Quentin down on himself one last time, his big body shuddering as he came. 

Quentin lay panting on his shoulder, unable to move or speak. God, that had been amazing! He draped himself over his boyfriend, laying his cheek contentedly on the bare, sweat slick skin. He never wanted to move again. He just wanted to stay here like this, reveling in the sleek power that was his magnificent lover. Maybe in a hundred years or so, they could take a shower together. For now, though, there was no other place that he’d rather be in the whole world.  




Go to Part 11