by SE Jakes
He’d met Lydia at the rehab hospital, proposed on the first night after he’d gotten there and she’d told him to “Stop whining and get the hell up out of bed.”
“She reminded me I still had a brain.”
“Did the doctors transplant that?” Con asked seriously, and ducked, narrowly avoiding a heavy slap to the back of his head.
“No. And by the way, you’re doing this road trip again next year. And I’m coming with you,” Scott informed them.
“Fine,” Con said, then pointed to Quinn and stage-whispered, “But princess over here doesn’t travel well.”
Quinn smiled. Mainly because he was already contemplating his revenge for later.
“Can you get up on a bar with those new, shiny things?” Con asked Scott, pointing at his prostheses.
“Watch me.”
Lydia heard that and instead of telling him to forget it, said, “I’ll meet you up there tomorrow night, baby. That’s a promise.”
*
Scott made some time to spend with both Quinn and Con alone. Con had gone first, out to lunch with Scott while Quinn hung out with his mom and his aunts.
Typically, that never went well, but his mom actually looked rested. All she’d been through in her life and maybe she finally had some peace.
After all her family had sacrificed—all she’d had taken from her—she deserved it. But he wouldn’t dare tell her that. She’d been an Army brat herself, and while she’d never really gotten angry that Quinn hadn’t taken up the family mantle, she wouldn’t let a bad word about the military come out of the mouth of any member of her family.
“You don’t like it, you can move somewhere you’ve got zero freedom. Then come back and tell me how bad you have it,” she used to say.
And yeah, she was right in many ways. But hell, it wasn’t that simple anymore. Probably never was. But he kept his mouth shut and let them feed him and fuss over him and treat him like some kind of celebrity because they’d seen him on TV.
“So, you and Con,” his mother said finally, when they had a moment alone.
His stomach tightened. “He’s been a good friend to Scott.”
She smiled a little. “To you too.”
“Well, I just met him, so…”
“I know you’re gay,” she said bluntly. “I know and I don’t care.”
“How?”
She frowned. “I’m a mother. Do you think you can finally stop running from us now?”
Quinn’s mouth opened, then closed.
“I know. I’m still supposed to be an idiot, the way all kids think of their parents. But you’re not a kid and you’ve taken this way too far, Quinn.” Her voice softened. “You had to come to terms with things. Not us. We were never not proud of you when you decided not to go into the Army. Took a lot of guts.”
He didn’t know what to say. Finally, he managed, “Thanks, Mom.”
She nodded, then repeated, “So, you and Con.”
He smirked. “You’re not having another wedding anytime soon.”
“Wiseass. Never say never. I see the way you look at him. See the way he looks at you, too.”
“You’re just in bride and groom mode—you’re seeing love everywhere.”
“I probably am, but that doesn’t mean what I’m seeing isn’t real,” she told him. “Don’t screw it up. I like him. Your father would’ve liked him. And Joe likes him.”
“Joe?”
“The guy I’ve been dating for two years.”
“Let me guess—former Army.”
“Who said anything about former? I don’t need a man hanging around underfoot all damned day,” she told him and he snorted.
Hours later, he was hanging out with Scott in Scott’s new house, which had been outfitted with special ramps and other equipment.
“Mom and the family went overboard.” Scott rolled his eyes but Quinn knew he was pleased.
“Where’s Lydia?”
“Can’t see the bride for twenty-four hours before the wedding—it’s bad luck. I told her I pretty much thought I’d filled my quota for a while, but she told me not to tempt fate. So I’m all alone tonight.”
Quinn sat across from him on the couch. Scott brought them coffee and pastries—that’s all people did around wedding time was eat sweets, he’d noticed—and then Scott sat and rubbed his thighs.
“You can take them off if you need to,” Quinn offered.
“Won’t freak you out?” Scott asked carefully.
“The old Scott would’ve wanted to do that.”
“True.” But he still hesitated.
“I’ve done some tattoos on vets—on their stumps,” Quinn told him. “A lot of them.”
“Yeah, I know. I saw your show. But when it’s family…”
“I can’t pretend it won’t hurt me on your behalf. But I don’t think I’ll faint.”
Scott smirked, then rolled his pants up, took the first prosthesis off and rubbed the stump. “Con made me show him how to take them on and off.”
“Of course he did.” Quinn moved to sit next to Scott. He stared at his brother as he reached for his wrist, pulled his hand away. “It’s all right, buddy. I’ve got you.”
Scott nodded, trying to blink away the tears.
Quinn brought his thumb up to brush the stray ones from his brother’s cheeks. “So damned brave, Scott. But you always were.” He looked down, studied the stump, careful not to touch the scars. He’d learned from the vets he’d worked with that it was weirdly numb there, and at the same time, still a little weirdly painful. “I can work with this.”
“Yeah? Gonna ink me all up? Make me look all tough?”
He looked up at Scott. “You definitely don’t need ink for that. You’ve always been a scary, ugly motherfucker.”
In truth, Scott wasn’t classically handsome—he’d shaved his head when he’d first gone into the Army and hadn’t looked back. His nose had been broken several times from high school football, and he was taller and bigger than Quinn.
He was also a goddamned gentle giant, and Lydia, in the short time he’d seen them together, seemed to get that.
“Bastard. Can’t all be TV stars like you,” Scott joked.
Quinn reached across Scott’s legs and loosened the second prosthesis. “Relax. Need some compresses?”
“Nah. Just the mug so I don’t burn the shit out of you if I fall off the couch.”
“You’ve done that before?”
“See the coffee stains on the floor?” Scott pointed out and yeah, Quinn did.
Stubborn with a capital S. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“More than,” Scott said. “Been a long road. Lots of unexpected shit. But I think you’ve had that experience for yourself lately.”
“Yeah.” He treaded lightly, had no idea what Con had told him. Scott knew he was gay. Knew about Gerry too and that hadn’t seemed to matter to him, although it wasn’t something Quinn talked about regularly in his letters. Those had been more about tattooing and traveling and that kind of stuff. Trivial shit, to someone trying to survive desert warfare, but he’d learned, growing up in the Army lifestyle, that’s exactly what most soldiers wanted to hear about.
“Don’t let him run.”
“Can’t stop him from military orders,” Quinn pointed out, hearing the surprising bitterness in his own tone.
Scott nodded slowly. “I know you feel the teams took things from you.”
“Feel? Let’s not make this seem like a purely emotional reaction, all right? Dad died. Joel died. You lost your legs. So the fact is, the Army’s taken a hell of a lot from us. I wasn’t interested in it—you made it seem like there was something wrong with me because I didn’t want to lay down my life for the Army.”
“I never wanted you to,” Scott admitted, almost looking confused at Quinn’s ire. “I used to pray you wouldn’t do it.”
“So why did you do it?”
“I wanted to. Always knew I wanted to, just the way I always knew you didn�
�t.” Scott smiled. “You’re special, Quinn. Really fucking different. And I don’t mean that because you’re gay.”
“You showed Con my letters.”
“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “He loved looking at the ink…and you.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I can keep writing him.” Quinn looked down at his hands, hoping they could get back to talking about fluffy wedding shit soon.
“I get that you’re angry at the military and you’re scared as fuck about what could happen to Con.”
“Can you blame me?” he shot back angrily.
“No. But you’re not admitting it.”
“Ah, Scott, I don’t want to do this.”
“Con runs,” Scott said firmly. “Personal life, not in his work life. I told you that he’s the best man to have by your side in a firefight—or anywhere else.”
Quinn nodded. “You did. You’re right—I can see that.”
Scott looked at him steadily. “He’d be the best man to be by your side.”
“I…”
“You’ll have to go after him, and let him come to you.”
“Right, easy enough,” Quinn said in his most sarcastic tones.
Scott laughed. “Con and easy should never be used in the same sentence or the earth might explode. But you know what he needs. At least I thought you might, but—”
“He needs a soft place to land,” Quinn said quietly. “And someone he wants to get to…enough to attempt the landing. Even if it’s tricky as hell.”
Scott swallowed hard, “Yeah, I guess…hell, I guess we all do. Some of us need to crash-land.”
“You’ve always been like that. And you found your soft place.”
Scott smiled. “She’s amazing, Quinn. I’d go to the ends of the earth for her.”
Quinn pictured Con in his mind. “I know the feeling.”
“Thing is, Con won’t make any promises. Not when he still has a tour left,” Scott explained. “Doesn’t mean he’s not wishing you would, you know?”
Quinn didn’t ask if that’s what Con told him, or if Scott was speaking from his own experiences. Didn’t matter. And while Quinn accepted that Con wouldn’t make promises, for the first time he realized it didn’t mean he couldn’t make one of his own.
Chapter Sixteen
‡
Quinn didn’t slide into bed with him until the early morning hours. Con figured he might actually end up staying with Scott, and he’d been okay with that…but missing the hell out of Quinn. So much so that he’d actually wedged himself against two pillows.
“Are these supposed to be me?” Quinn murmured.
Con felt his cheeks flush in the dark. “Maybe.”
“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.”
“Flattered, I think,” Con managed. He turned over in Quinn’s arms and kissed him. And then he couldn’t stop kissing him…long, slow kisses as they remained wrapped up in bed together, with the early morning hours before the dawn stretched out ahead of them.
Kisses that promised to scare the hell out of Con—maybe out of both of them.
And when Quinn finally rolled him, pinning Con, there was no submission necessary. The domination didn’t matter—all that did was Con’s hot skin on his. It was a long, slow grind that matched the kisses as their bodies moved in tandem.
With Con opening up to him. For him.
Quinn sucked his nipples, feeling Con’s sharp intake of breath, urging him on.
Con’s ankles locked heavily on Quinn’s lower back and ass, and the mattress wasn’t complaining as Quinn pumped harder, needing to get deeper.
*
Hours later, Quinn was showered and ready with his tux on. Ready for the big show. He was the best man, sharing the honor with Con, so they had roles to fill.
Con stepped out of the second room in the hotel—why Scott was still bothering with that, Quinn didn’t know—but he was in his Army dress blues, with his medals and holy fuck, was Quinn glad he didn’t have to attempt to hold back a reaction, because he definitely couldn’t have.
“Guess you’re a sucker for a man in uniform,” Con teased, his voice a rough gravel running along Quinn’s already sensitive skin with that sting of pain which made the pleasure so much more memorable.
There was so much feeling. Quinn tried to blame the occasion, the pomp and circumstance, the tradition, for such an emotional response…but in reality, it had nothing to do with Scott and Lydia and everything to do with Con.
Everything.
Quinn’s hand brushed over the medals on Con’s chest, reminders of non-tangibles, like bravery. Danger. His throat tightened. When he met Con’s eyes, they were full of confusion and a little stony. Frightened, even, an emotion Con didn’t show often.
Yeah, Con felt it all too, and, like Quinn, wasn’t sure where to put it or how to deal with it.
You’re supposed to know this shit. Be able to calm him.
He wrapped a hand around the back of Con’s neck. “You look perfect. My man in uniform.”
“Yeah?” Con asked.
“Have no doubt that you’re my date tonight,” Quinn growled. Because that was comforting and non-threatening, didn’t extend into the future…even though Quinn realized he wanted it to.
“I can accept that.”
“No choice.” Quinn tugged him close. “Mine.”
*
“Yeah.” Con’s throat was dry—he could barely get the word out. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe Quinn’s “Mine” proclamation…so he really couldn’t let himself answer it. Instead of trying any further conversation, he let Quinn propel him toward the door, into the car, getting ready to go to the ceremony. The reason they’d made this trip in the first place.
But hell, the trip had turned into so much more. Evolved into something Con could never have predicted. Had Scott? Or was this just something he’d thought could work?
Lydia’s sisters were matron and maids of honor, and Con and Quinn escorted them down the aisle, before the music swelled and it was Lydia’s turn.
Scott stood proudly. The new prosthetics made it impossible to tell what had happened to him, but Con knew Lydia wouldn’t have cared. He could tell from the second he’d met her, and seen them together.
It was pretty much perfect, although a lot of it was an emotional blur. Later, after some food and drink, he could relax next to Quinn for a while.
“This was a great wedding,” Quinn said.
“Definitely,” Con agreed. He clicked his tumbler of Scotch to Quinn’s, and they both nodded, then drank, ice clinking. Con didn’t want to drink much tonight, mainly because he didn’t want to be numb at all when he was with Quinn. For the first time, Con actually wanted to feel…he wanted to feel everything Quinn gave to him, be it pleasure or pain.
Now, he stared at Quinn for a long moment before telling him, “I want to get out of here.”
Quinn sucked down the last of his Scotch, then said, “Are you asking, or telling?”
Con cleared his throat. “Asking. And telling.”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth lifted. “How many of those have you had?”
“This is it. And it’s half water, along with the ice.”
“Any particular reason?”
“You.”
Quinn’s brows rose…and then he handed Con his drink. Con took a sip and noted that Quinn’s drink was the same watered down consistency as his.
*
Quinn took his tie off, pulled it through his collar, and then did the same to Con’s. He took a few moments to unbutton Con’s shirt carefully, ease it off his shoulders.
He directed Con onto the bed, then pushed down between his shoulder blades, forcing Con onto his elbows. Only then did he use the ties, winding them around Con’s wrists and then the headboard.
“I didn’t bring any of my toys,” he explained. “I do have cuffs you wouldn’t be able to get out of, but somehow, I think this is harder for you.”
Con glanced up at him, his eyes gl
ossy with lust. His body was flushed with anticipation. His tongue darted out to touch the corner of his mouth and Quinn leaned in and kissed him hard.
And then he walked away and rifled through his bag. “Oh. I guess maybe I did bring a few things.” He heard Con curse under his breath and he laughed softly. “That reaction just makes me want to use them even more.”
“Figures,” Con muttered as Quinn walked back to the bed with the flogger and the vibrating plug. He trailed the strands of black leather along Con’s back and down his ass and Con stiffened.
“Talk to me,” Quinn ordered. “And look at me.”
Con looked over his shoulder. “I’m freaked out.”
“Me too,” Quinn admitted. “But I can handle you.”
“Then fucking handle me,” Con said defiantly.
“Head down,” Quinn commanded, and Con did as he asked. “Safe word?”
Con paused for a long moment and then murmured, “Everything about you is safe for me, Quinn. Just know that, okay?”
Quinn almost lost it, right then and there, forced himself not to untie Con and just make love to him.
But hell, what he was about to do was making love to Con, in the way Con needed. “Thank you.”
“Safe word’s apple. Because I know you’ll keep asking.”
Quinn saw the fruit basket from the hotel staff on the table, the apples visible, and smiled. “You need me to stop for any reason, you use it, Con. I won’t be mad. I’ll be mad if you don’t use it if you need it.” With that, he lubed the plug and pushed it inside Con, easing it in and seating it before turning it on.
“Fuck.” Con buried his head in the sheets, the ties straining against his forearms.
“Don’t move,” Quinn said. Con’s hands fisted but he didn’t move again, even as Quinn turned the vibrator’s power up.
He heard Con’s soft whimper in response—all that stimulation and nowhere to go. He caressed Con’s ass with his hand lightly before he brought the flogger down expertly.
*
The first strike of the flogger came fast—unexpected—and Con wasn’t able to hold back a hiss. He was trying desperately not to move as the leather strands licked his skin like hot fire.
“Don’t come,” Quinn told him sternly, although Con swore there was an edge of laughter in his voice. He was enjoying the fuck out of this…and hell, so was Con. All this pushed buttons he didn’t know he had.