“I’m not trying to analyze you. More like I’m offering to help. Give you ideas if you want. Ways to make your solo time more fun.”
“A class in jerking off?” That got a laugh from Quill at last, deep and rich. “Does that come with hands-on demonstrations or is that extra tuition?”
“You want it to? You want to watch?” Owen tilted his head, taking in Quill’s reaction, his swift intake of breath, flared nostrils, and heated eyes saying he liked that idea. A lot. “I mean, with the lack of porn here, it would practically be a public service, giving you a show.”
“So noble of you.” The turned-on look still hadn’t left Quill’s face, and when he shifted closer, Owen had to restrain himself from giving a cheer. “Forget focusing on my boring tastes. I think you like showing off. Maybe it’s not that I’m a prude, but that you’re too kinky for your own good.”
“Oh yeah? Gonna teach me a lesson?” Owen wasn’t usually one for role-play but if Quill needed a certain context, he could be adaptable. And Quill wasn’t wrong. He could own having something of an exhibitionist streak. Eyes watching him got him almost as hot as touch.
“Thought you were the one doing the teaching.” There it was, Quill’s raspy laugh and warm breath close enough to tickle Owen’s cheek as good as a victory lap.
“I could. Happily. But...” Owen took a deep breath because it would be too easy to simply fall into sexy play without further thought. “How many days of not speaking am I going to have to pay for the privilege? I’m not saying I need after cuddles, but you not ignoring me would be a start. And I don’t want you beating yourself up either. I’d like to give you a fun little show because I think we could both use that, but not if you’re going to tell yourself that I took advantage or whatever.”
“I’m sorry.” Exhaling hard, Quill rolled his shoulders as if trying to rid himself of a heavy pack. “I’ve been an asshole since our...since we...”
“Got off gangbusters together?” Owen suggested.
“Yeah. That. I keep trying to be a damn professional where you’re concerned. And failing. And that leaves me angry at myself, not you. But you don’t deserve to be ignored just because I can’t keep my mind where it needs to be.”
“Quill.” Owen looped his arms around Quill’s neck, pulling him so that he was forced to meet Owen’s gaze. “Stop fighting yourself. Seriously. If nothing else, you’re going to injure something holding back so much. You’re allowed to be attracted to me. And you’re allowed to have some off-duty fun. So, why not go for it? Have a little fun with me and talk to me afterward. It’s not that hard.”
“That easy, huh?” Quill’s voice was even lower now, face closer.
“That easy,” Owen confirmed. Quill’s lips were a mere fraction of an inch away, but Owen wasn’t going to be the one to close the gap. He needed Quill to get over himself and choose this, choose him. Hell, choose himself. Quill deserved this, and Owen desperately needed him to see that.
“Fuck.” The war was clear in Quill’s eyes as was the moment he gave in, eyes shifting from icy to sapphire pools of desire. And when he claimed Owen’s mouth, it was worth all the wait, victory sweeter because this wasn’t only about distraction or the chance to show off. It was about what he wanted for Quill, the complex tangle of emotions he’d carried around for days now—hurt and frustration, sure, but also a level of caring he still wasn’t sure he liked.
Owen tried to put all that into returning the kiss, trying to let Quill know how much he appreciated his courage, how much he wanted him, not simply another orgasm. Quill might have started it, a harsh slide of lips and tongue, but he yielded beautifully, mouth softly parting as Owen took over, demanding everything Quill had to give right then.
Quill tasted good, like coffee and something sweet. Perhaps he’d been sneaking Owen’s chocolates. Owen smiled at that thought, chuckling lightly against Quill’s lips because this felt so damn right. Felt like everything he’d been craving for days now, but even better than his memories of their last kiss. Less urgent. More like they were sealing some unsaid bargain or like they had more than enough time for all the exploration they both needed. And explore they did, lips and tongues playing with well-placed nips and sucks that ramped them both up without tipping over into some frantic rush.
As they stood there, arms pulling each other closer, Quill’s kiss transformed, his quiet capitulation feeling less and less like a victory and more like a beginning. This wasn’t merely Quill letting Owen kiss him. Rather, this was Quill deciding to embrace the experience. Maybe not wholeheartedly, not yet, but there was a certain acceptance, a softness maybe, to the way that Quill gave himself over to the kiss. So much so that Owen entirely forgot about his sexy proposition, content to kiss and rub and see what came next, but eventually they both pulled back to breathe, foreheads resting together.
And apparently Quill hadn’t forgotten because he panted, “So...when does class start?”
“Class?” It took Owen a moment to catch up, and then he had to laugh at the rare lightness from Quill. “I like it when you joke. You should do it more. The world doesn’t have to be so serious.”
“Maybe not.” Quill was looking down at Owen’s groin when he said it, which made Owen snort-laugh again. Quill sex-drunk was almost too cute.
“You want a lesson? Now?”
Quill licked his lips taking a second before he slowly nodded. “Guess I do. God help—”
Cutting him off with a clucking noise, Owen put a finger over his lips. “Nuh-uh. No regrets. Remember?”
“Yeah.” Quill nodded more readily this time, but Owen still doubted whether Quill would be able to stick to that, but he was damn well going to try his best to make him silence that inner critic of his. “So...uh...you’re the expert here...”
Owen thought fast, trying to choreograph a fun scene on the fly. “My room’s too cold. At least we’ve got the stove in here.”
He didn’t add that he was a little afraid that Quill might bolt if they moved to a bed too quickly. Besides, it was much easier to let himself tumble backward onto the couch, grin up at Quill’s surprised face.
“Pull up a chair,” he ordered as he sprawled out on the couch. If Quill wanted a show, Owen was determined to give him a good one. Hell, Owen wanted to give him so much that the intensity of his churning emotions almost scared him, gave him pause as he pulled off his gloves. This wasn’t just some random hookup. Not a distraction. No, this was Quill, and Owen wanted to get it right in the worst way. And he might be the so-called sex expert here, but he was far out in uncharted waters, no clear plan forward, only him sinking deeper and deeper.
Chapter Fourteen
Quill didn’t give himself much time to think as he dragged one the dining chairs near the stove, placing it with a good view of Owen and the couch. He might never recover from his insanity in giving in to Owen, but if he was going to do this, he wasn’t going to do it by tentative half measures. And really, calling it giving in wasn’t fair. This wasn’t a case of Owen pressuring him into sex until Quill broke down. No, he needed to own his decision here. He’d kissed Owen. Again. He’d asked for this. Sure, Owen was willing, but the ultimate choice was on Quill, for better or worse, and he wasn’t going to blame Owen.
Instead, he tried to let himself enjoy the spectacle of Owen pulling off his fingerless gloves and arranging himself facing Quill, feet on the floor, legs spread wide, hands resting on his waistline, teasing by framing his package and looping his fingers through his waistband. He wore stretchy athletic pants, probably double layered if he was as cold as he’d claimed, and another Stanford sweatshirt, which he pulled off to reveal a short-sleeved San Francisco Pride T-shirt over a black thermal shirt.
The happy rainbow on Owen’s shirt reminded Quill yet again how fleeting whatever it was they were doing had to be. Owen had a life to get back to, one where he was surrounded by like-minded friends and act
ivities, experiences Quill couldn’t give him.
“Sorry. It might be too chilly even with the stove for a full-on strip tease.” Owen laughed, and its rich, musical tones washed over Quill, worked into all his empty, doubting places until he was chuckling too.
“We don’t need you turning into an ice cube for the sake of sex.”
“Oh, I dunno. There’s a lot I’m willing to tolerate for the sake of good sex.” Owen winked at him. “Now, on to Professor Owen’s Jerk It 101 class. The easiest way to change it up is toys, but you claim to not have a toy box, and I didn’t travel with mine.”
“I’ve never seen the point in going into a sex shop when I’ve got two working hands.” That and the embarrassment factor, but Quill didn’t mention how his hands went clammy at the thought.
“There’s this amazing thing called internet shopping now. You can order anything, and it comes in a little plain brown box. It’s magical. And hands are fine, but kind of boring. And fingers can’t reach everywhere, even if you’re super bendy, which I’m not.”
“I don’t know. You looked pretty flexible earlier,” Quill teased, not quite sure who this lighter version of himself was. “And uh...you don’t seem like the toy type.” Hot as the image was, he had a hard time picturing Owen fucking himself with some colorful toy. “Thought you’re more take-charge.”
“You mean I seem more toppy?” Fingering his waistband, teasing Quill with a flash of bare skin, Owen grinned like Quill had aced some quiz. “I am. Love to be in charge. But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of switching it up. And prior to the cancer, I liked prostate play on my own a lot.” Making a face, he exhaled hard. “But surgery fucked with my nerve endings, and they haven’t been the same. Hence not traveling with my toys.”
“That sucks,” Quill said, because Owen did seem sad about his body’s changed reaction. But he couldn’t help his brain flitting to JP and the way he’d scoffed at backdoor play in general and fucking specifically. And he reached for an old JP-ism to reassure Owen. “Plenty of people don’t fuck, though. It’s not the end all and be all of sex.”
“Says you.” Owen shook his head, laughing again. “Fucking is awesome. And I didn’t say it was out of my repertoire entirely, especially topping. I’m not going to let cancer take that from me too. Anyway, back to jerking off.”
“Yeah.” Able to sense that Owen didn’t want to dwell on cancer and what it had done to his body, Quill leaned forward, stopping the pretending that he was disinterested in the proceedings. “Show me what you’ve got, Teach.”
“You’ve got it. Toys are great and so is playing with different lubes and slick things—oil, lotions, warming lubes, all that. You like it wet?”
“Yeah, but it gets things messy.”
“And that’s what showers are for.” Owen pushed his waistband down, giving a tantalizing glimpse of his sharp hipbones and patch of hair. “Your homework assignment is to test out oil versus lube versus lotion and report back which you like best.”
“There’s homework?” Heat rushed to Quill’s cock, which loved this idea more than his logical brain, which had always been a little appalled at the dirtiest of his private desires. But Owen made it seem like those urges were normal. Good even. He had a way of talking about this stuff as if there was nothing Quill could confess that would shock him, and that was refreshing. Freeing even.
“You know it. I’m gonna demand a full reporting over breakfast.” Owen’s head tipped back, exposing the long column of his throat as he worked his waistband lower, letting his cock spring free. Quill had felt it before, seen it briefly in the firelight, but this was his first good look. Thick and meaty, it had an intriguing curve as it stretched up his belly. About as long as Quill’s own cock, but with a more pronounced oval, uncut head and thicker base. Quill’s mouth watered and he almost called a stop to this game so that he could go touch, but Owen continued before he could give in to the impulse. “So without toys or lube experiments, that leaves my favorite lesson in this whole course. Edging. And you’re not going to convince me that you’ve never played around with that, sorry.”
“I’m not unfamiliar with the concept,” Quill admitted, voice primmer than he liked. Maybe someday talking sex would get as easy for him as it was for Owen.
“Good.” Owen’s eyes fluttered shut as he fisted the base of his cock, giving it a long, leisurely pull before releasing it to tug up his shirts, revealing more of that flat stomach, which he stroked. “I like to touch everywhere. Make my cock wait. Same as how when I’m with a partner, I like to touch them all over, get them all worked up before I worry about me.”
Gulping because his body wouldn’t mind that kind of attention, Quill squeezed his knee to avoid reaching for his own cock. Not yet. He wanted to see what Owen had in mind more than he wanted relief. And Owen had pegged him correctly—he did like watching, something about the novelty and dirtiness of watching another man jerk it turning his crank big time. When one of Owen’s hands dipped under his shirts, rubbing his chest, a needy sound escaped Quill’s lips.
“Show me.”
“Yeah.” Owen pushed his shirts higher, showing off...
“You’re pierced.” Quill could feel his eyes shooting wide, cock now an almost painful throb.
“And you’re cute when I surprise you,” Owen countered, looking down at the twin flat bars running through his flat, tawny nipples. “Present to myself when I got my MBA. Like I said, I’m into making my solo time more fun. And playing with these definitely counts.” Flicking one, Owen moaned low. “Yeah, like that.”
“Fuck.” Quill released the word on a huff of air.
“You should try it.” Offering him a very dirty smile, Owen continued to toy with his nipples, which made his cock leap against his stomach.
“Think I’ll leave that to you.” Quill had no desire to pierce anything on his body, but damn if he didn’t want to play with Owen’s little bars, see if he could make him jump even more.
“It’s a game. See how long I can go. Probably gives me more stamina.” His eyes sparkled with dirty promises that made Quill shift on his chair. “Get your cock out. Give me some motivation here, not that you in your uniform isn’t inspiration enough.”
The back of Quill’s neck heated. Going from watching to active participant both made his pulse thrum and his insides wobble, natural modesty at war with his cock’s need for something more than fabric to strain against. In the end, hands shaking, he complied, copying Owen by undoing his pants enough to shove them to mid-thigh, more out of a need to see what Owen would do next than to show off himself. Once he had his cock out, he gave in to the urge to stroke.
“Nuh-uh.” Owen shook his head, mock censure making his eyes narrow. “None of that. Wait until you can’t stand it another second.”
“Close to that,” Quill growled.
“Good.” A clear drop of fluid appeared on the tip of Owen’s cock as he continued his nipple play, and he swiped his thumb across his tip, gathering it up. Then, like something out of Quill’s most pornographic dreams, he sucked the thumb into his mouth, making a show out of swirling his tongue around, noisily getting it damp and shiny.
“Fuck.” Even without a hand on it, Quill’s cock twitched and throbbed.
“Told you. I like it slick.” Owen proceeded to give his other fingers the same treatment. And damn did Quill ever want. He’d been blown before, but he had a feeling he’d never had anything quite like Owen and his deliciously filthy try-anything mind.
“Touch your cock.” He had a feeling that Owen would ignore the request, operating on his own timetable, not Quill’s, but the need to see Owen come kept building up, an urgency he’d never known before.
“In a minute.” Owen rubbed his wet fingers over each nipple, and a legit whimper wiggled loose from Quill’s chest. Giving Quill an arch smile, Owen gestured toward Quill’s cock. “Now you can stroke. Slowly.
Lightly.”
Given that he was across the room, Owen probably wouldn’t be able to tell the tightness of Quill’s grip, but he still followed orders, barely grazing his cock with loose fingers.
“Oh yeah.” Finally, finally, Owen brought his hand back to his own cock, stroking like he intended to make it last until New Year’s. Each pass of his hand seemed to take an eon, lifetimes for Quill to get lost in watching his face and reactions, drowning in lust but rooted to the spot, powerless to do more than let Owen direct him with little comments. “Slow down... Don’t touch the head... Mmm... Rub underneath... Yeah, like that...”
Filthy words, a steady stream of gasps and moans and orders that spoke to some deep need in Quill’s chest, made him fall into an almost trancelike state, chilly room fading away, falling night and snow outside ignored, hard chair digging into his thighs inconsequential, everything tunneling down to watching and listening to Owen. His balls ached, but orgasm danced just out of reach, body apparently intent on waiting for Owen’s permission.
Each reaction from Owen was sexier than the last—the way his face scrunched up on a faster stroke, the way his biceps and abs strained when he moaned, whole body engaged in the business of pleasure.
“Show me how you get close,” Owen demanded. Quill’s throat was too dry to remind him that he was supposed to be the teacher, not Quill, and besides his hand was already speeding up. His thighs clenched, tension coiling tighter. Almost.
“Stop. Back it off.” Owen demonstrated, letting go of his cock to touch his stomach and chest.
“Yeah.” Fingers trembling, Quill did the same. He wasn’t the begging type, but damn if he didn’t have to keep biting back whines and demands. And then Owen flicked his nipple again. A flash of silver, and a low sound Quill didn’t recognize came from his mouth. “Please.”
“Oh fuck yeah.” Owen had apparently been waiting for Quill to break like that because his hand returned to his cock, strokes more deliberate now. “Get there.”
Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 13