Hold The Line: Inked 1

by SE Jakes

  Con was beginning to lose it. “Quinn…please.”

  “What? You’re going to show them all how much you love it? How you’ll come each and every time I share you.”

  “Fuck.” Con began to come, shooting over his stomach and chest, and Quinn hadn’t even attempted to make him hold back his orgasm. Quinn came right on his heels, Con’s ass milking him to satisfaction.

  And when he finally let Con collapse on the bed, and collapsed next to him, Con murmured, “Quinn?”

  “What, babe?”

  “I…would you? You wouldn’t…”

  “Share you? Only in these fantasies, and even then, I’d be taking care of you. Making sure you were safe. Consenting. Getting all the pleasure you crave and deserve.”

  “Jesus.” Con bit his bottom lip. “Sorry… Been a lot of trouble for you.”

  “No, you’ve been just what I needed.”

  Con stared at him like he might finally believe him. “My tattoo?”

  “I’ll work on it. You rest, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Con told him, and he did doze while Quinn inked. After an hour, Con raised his head sleepily. Quinn showed him the progress in the hand mirror. “Awesome.” Then, “I didn’t think you’d come when I called.”

  “As of this morning, I didn’t think so either.” He rubbed his knuckles along Con’s spine.

  “I’m so fucked up, Quinn. You should get in your truck and not look back.” Con didn’t say it with a dramatic flourish at all—wasn’t looking for pity. He was just laying it out there. “I read your letters.”

  “My letters?”

  “To Scott. He gave them to me. I didn’t get mail. Told him I didn’t give a shit but…” But the look on his face told Quinn he had. “Finally, I stopped protesting and read the damned things. So really, I’ve known you in person for almost two weeks, but really, I’ve been listening to your stories for years.”

  He rubbed Con’s back. “Then what happened?”

  “It’s just…fuck, you talked about owning, and my dad treated me…not like I was a son, but like I was property. Like I didn’t fucking matter.” Con’s voice had a hard edge. “But he told me I was with him. And then, when he was finished with me, he left me behind without a second thought.”

  Quinn exhaled. “We didn’t talk about what happens next.”

  “What happens is, I go back to war,” Con informed him. “My orders came through for Wednesday.”

  One week away. “I won’t talk about owning you.”

  “But you have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I really fucking like it, Quinn.”

  They were both giant puzzles, each putting the other’s pieces together on the jigsaw board, putting their lives, their pasts together so they’d have a map for the future. “Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “What else’s bothering you. Only way this will work, Con, in whatever form it’s going to.”

  Con looked surprised at that revelation, but not unpleased. “It’s just…I like being controlled, not used.”

  “And I like controlling and using you, but I think we’re looking at the word ‘use’ in two different ways. When I say use, I mean you’re mine to do what I want with, which ultimately means taking care of you. Always. Especially when you’re not taking care of yourself.”

  “So I have to pretend I’m weak to make this work?”

  “Never, Con. You should never have to do that for anyone.”

  “You never make me feel like that,” Con admitted.

  “I never will. That’s the beauty of it. I can’t control you by force. You have to give me your submission. It’s a gift, Con. I don’t expect it all the time and under all circumstances. You’re not built for that and frankly, neither am I. This is only a part of what I want with you.”

  Con nodded, but he was thinking hard. “No strings meant no getting hurt.”

  “Yeah, I’ve used that excuse for a while. Gerry’d be pissed at me for pulling it with you.”

  That made Con smile. “So he’d approve of me?”

  “More than.”

  “I realize that sounds really stupid, but it’s important.”

  “To me too, okay?” Quinn assured him. “But a lot of your no-strings shit comes from your dad. Do you know where he is?”

  Con lowered his cheek back down to the pillow. “No idea.”

  “When did he leave you?”

  “Yeah. I was fifteen. We’d been traveling sort of separately for a while.”

  “Fifteen? What the hell do you mean, traveling separately?”

  Con’s mouth tugged into a grim line for a second. “I had my Harley and a fake ID. We’d work together maybe once a month, make enough to live off until the next time we met up. And then we’d go our separate ways until I heard from him again. He’d only call when he needed me. He was training me, that’s what I told myself. But then weeks went by and nothing. After a while, I was checking in with missing persons, the hospitals and the morgue too around the last place we’d been. Finally, three months later he called. Told me that I’d passed his test and we were both free.”

  He paused. “I had seven hundred dollars, a fake ID, the bike and some clothes. That’s all I owned outright. Still is, although the bank account’s more substantial now.”

  This trip had reminded Con of some of the best—and worst—times of his childhood. Reminded him that he’d never wanted to settle in, showed him how uncomfortable he was about the possibility of falling for someone… How much he might actually crave it.

  “Con, baby, come here.” Quinn was the one who actually moved forward to collect Con in his arms. “I had a feeling it went something like that. For the record, your dad was an asshole for doing that to you. Didn’t deserve to have the title of father.”

  “He was preparing me. He stuck around for a lot longer than he thought he’d be able to,” Con told him, although there was nothing in his tone that said he was defending his father. “Trust me, I saw plenty of abandoned kids along the way. I wasn’t one of them.”

  “But you were, Con. In here.” He rubbed Con’s temple gently. “What did he prepare you for?”

  “Survival.”

  “Life’s about so much more than that,” Quinn murmured, and Con had only begun to glimpse the barest hint of that serving with Scott…and more of one these days with Quinn.

  “When Scott got hurt, and I took the time…it was because Dad called me. For help. Hadn’t heard from him in years and I still dropped everything and ran.”

  “What did he need?”

  “A car. Which necessitated a co-signer there in person. Said it was the least I could do for him.” Con laughed, but even to his own ears, it was filled with disbelief and pain.

  “What did you do?”

  “I wrote him a check so he could buy the fucker outright. Then I told him not to call me again. I changed the phone number I’d been using since I was fourteen. That was it. I already use a different last name. The Army doesn’t give out my records, so…”

  “You have a family, Con. Your team.”

  “Different. That’s work.” Quinn didn’t argue and finally, Con admitted, “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Always am, baby.”

  *

  At the endearment, Con’s expression went soft. “I guess we’re both running from truths.”

  “We were, yes. Until tonight.”

  “When we ran toward each other. That’s something.”

  “Sure is.”

  “You don’t like military men much.”

  “I like my brother enough to make this trip,” Quinn pointed out. “But no, I’m not crazy about the military. Lots of rules. They wanted me in to tame me.”

  Con shook his head. “Military’s never tamed anyone I know. It’s just…fuck, I went in so broken. Still am. Feel like I’m always holding myself together, hanging on by a thread—a really thin one. I keep expecting it to break but it just stretches and bounces back.”
He sighed. “There were times when I was younger that I wished it would break. But…”

  “It didn’t. You made it for a reason.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “You’ve saved lives,” Quinn said. He paused, not sure if he should say the next thing he felt, but couldn’t stop himself. “Maybe it was for me, Con.”

  Con’s neck jerked in his direction. “What have I done for you?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  But no, Con obviously wasn’t kidding him, and he looked really damned angry. “I don’t need you to make fun of me.”

  “Con, come here. I’m not.”

  “I don’t have to follow your rules out of bed,” Con lashed out as he stood next to the bed, and yes, he was so fucked up. Beautifully so.

  “You don’t have to follow them in bed, either, but you do,” Quinn said quietly. Calmly. “Before you, I was going through the goddamned motions, okay? I wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t laughing. You gave me back my joy. And I don’t give a shit how corny that sounds or how little you believe me.”

  Con drew in a few short breaths. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

  “How about believing it?”

  Con shook his head, less a no then a “How the fuck do I wrap my mind around this?”

  And Quinn let that stay put for the moment. “I’d like to work on your arm more. Unless you’re too sore?”

  Con snorted. “My arm’s the least sore part of me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‡

  “One more night,” Quinn said, trying to keep the regret from his voice as Con threw his bag into the back. The Harley was still tucked under the tarp of the truck, as they’d spent the day and part of the night in bed, with Quinn working on Con’s tattoo. They’d both caught up on some much needed sleep and eaten some room service food to pull them through the next part of the drive.

  When Con went to get into the passenger’s side of the truck, Quinn shook his head and urged him into the driver’s seat. “Come on—you like to drive fast?”

  Con smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Go ahead.” Quinn got into the passenger’s side and turned on the scanner that would alert them to police. It was two in the morning and these back road highways were seemingly dark and deserted.

  This time tomorrow night, they’d be in New York. Now, they were still far enough away to pretend they still had plenty of time together.

  Who says you don’t, the little voice in Quinn’s head asked as Con pulled onto the highway, but Quinn shook that thought off in favor of giving Con what he needed right now instead.

  Quinn knew Con was driven by his baser needs, and Quinn could give him that, easily, with no judgment. He slid his hand across Con’s lap, watched the man’s hands tighten on the wheel.

  He tugged on the button of Con’s jeans. When it popped open, Con said, “Quinn,” with a subtle warning in his voice. One that Quinn ignored in favor of tugging down Con’s zipper and working to free his cock from its confines.

  Con groaned, low in his throat, and he shifted to allow Quinn access. Quinn stroked Con even as he directed Con with, “Faster.”

  “I should be telling you that,” Con muttered, but he obeyed, brilliantly, eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, and thoroughly enthralled with Quinn’s hand on his cock. The faster Con drove, the faster Quinn stroked, alternating his gaze between Con’s face, the speedometer and the thankfully empty road that unfolded in front of them.

  “Quinn?”

  “You can come. Slow it down after you do.” And Con did both, his breathing harsh, fingers wrapped tight around the wheel. He came hard, his body bucking visibly, shaking against the thrust of the car’s power.

  Finally, he pulled off the road into a secluded space. Put the truck in park, climbed over the gear shift and straddled Quinn.

  “Up a bit—want to clean you,” Quinn instructed.

  Con obeyed, went up on his knees, whipped his shirt off and jeans down. Quinn grabbed his hips, leaned in and licked his belly slowly, watching Con the entire time. Cleaning, holding him up as Con whimpered, an echo out the window into the still of the night.

  “Quinn, Christ.” He threaded his hands through Quinn’s hair as Quinn watched him. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

  “Exactly what you need.”

  Quinn saw the change in Con’s eyes, that the weight, the veracity of Quinn’s words, nearly did him in. For a long moment, Con simply breathed and finally he managed, “I don’t…you don’t like me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You don’t like my job.”

  “I don’t like it for me, Con. I respect the hell out of anyone who steps up and does it.”

  “You would’ve been a great military man,” Con reasoned.

  “I know. But I would’ve missed out on too much.” Quinn swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to do it because everyone else did. Hell, seemed like they all felt it, you know? But I didn’t.” He rubbed Con’s arm, gently over the healing tattoo. “This is what gets me going. Ink. Bikes. Fast cars.”

  “And ordering guys around.”

  “The military makes you do it wearing clothes.”

  Con grinned. “Most of the time.”

  “Sweetheart, we can play soldier anytime you want—I’d like to fuck you now, though. And then we’ve got several more hours of driving to do.”

  Con’s eyes flashed wickedly before he crawled into the backseat. “Let’s go—we don’t have all night.”

  “Gonna pay for your bossing.”

  “I know. Hurry.”

  Quinn smiled and joined Con in the backseat.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‡

  The next morning they rolled into the hotel that Scott had booked them in for the wedding. It was the first time either of them would see him since the accident…at least in person. There’d been pictures and Skype and of course, phone calls, but that wasn’t the same as seeing him.

  “Nervous?” Con asked Quinn. “Because I sure as fuck am.”

  “Yeah,” Quinn admitted.

  “Can’t believe it took my wedding to get you two assholes to come see me. The sacrifices I make for you.” Scott’s voice rang from behind them and both men turned to see him standing there.

  Standing there.

  “Fucker’s still quiet. Didn’t know they made those in stealth mode,” Con grumbled, pointing to Scott’s prosthetics before he closed the space between them and hugged the shit out of Scott.

  Quinn’s eyes filled with tears—and fuck, people were staring but he didn’t care. He just stepped back and let them have their moment. Scott was wiping Con’s cheek, and his eyes weren’t exactly dry either, and they were talking earnestly. Seriously.

  And then Con moved away and it was Quinn’s turn to hug his brother. He might not have come home from war in one piece, but he was home. “Thank God,” was all he could say.

  “God had nothing to do with it,” Scott joked. “I’m too mean to die.”

  “Yeah, right.” He pulled back and stared at his younger brother. It was amazing how none of the damage touched his face. He’d seen pictures, knew there was some scarring on his chest, but beyond his legs having to be amputated above the knees, Scott was fully functional. A freak of nature accident with freak of nature injuries, one of the doctors had called it, Scott told him.

  Quinn had a new appreciation for freaks of nature. “Well, we made it. Your itinerary helped us pull off a good trip.”

  “And you brought me what I wanted,” Scott added. “I guess you decided doing it together was the best way.”

  “What are you talking about? You told us to take the trip together.”

  Scott stared at him steadily. “No. I told you to bring my best friend home.”

  Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Right. And I brought you Con. And you told Con…”

  “To bring my brother back.” Scott smiled, way too fucking pleased with himself. “You brought yourselves to me. Sor
ry, but it’s not my fault you misinterpreted it.”

  “Son of a—” Con started from over Quinn’s shoulder. Because both Con and Quinn had assumed…

  Brother. Best friend.

  Their roles were ingrained in their heads…but Scott thought of them differently. And in reality, Scott’d made them think differently about themselves.

  “I can’t believe you pulled this off,” Quinn muttered.

  “I lost my legs, not my brain,” Scott said wryly. “I was lucky. And shut the fuck up if either of you don’t believe that.”

  “I see the therapy’s helping with the anger issues,” Con murmured.

  “Fuck your anger issues,” Scott shot back. And then they laughed.

  “I thought grooms were supposed to be drunk and hitting on strippers the night before their wedding, not lecturing men who drove cross-country to see them,” Con reminded him.

  “We can get drunk, but dude, we don’t like the same kind of strippers,” Scott joked.

  Quinn patted Scott on the shoulder. “Don’t remind yourself of what you’re missing out on. We’ll just take you to the straight bar and get you drunk.”

  “To the bar,” Scott agreed.

  *

  The groom actually ended up taking care of them. Quinn and Con, out of relief, both drank more than they should’ve. The next morning, Scott made them coffee. Breakfast. Took charge the way he always had. Still bitching and moaning though, and this time he gleefully got to add, “Now they’re making the cripple look after them,” when he introduced them to his fiancée and soon-to-be wife.

  They spent the majority of the day getting fitted for tuxes. Con met Scott and Quinn’s mom and various other family members until the whole thing seemed like a blur.

  Scott took it all in stride, but it couldn’t be as easy as he made it look—Con knew that. There’d been a lot of pain—physical and emotional—and there’d be a lot more, he was sure. But Scott had always been centered on what was important. Friends. Family. Love.