Quill struggled to comply, every muscle straining from the effort of holding back so long, climax elusive even as he started the sort of purposeful rhythm that usually got him off. “Need...”
“That’s it. Whatever you need. Do it.” Owen was shameless, rubbing his chest while his other hand worked his cock, sinking lower into the couch, legs spreading wider. “Come on. Show me.”
Quill knew his own body well enough to have a clue as to what might tip him over, but his hands hesitated. Having Owen’s eyes on him was both a drug, intoxicating and addictive, but also nervy, making him hyperaware and reluctant. But then they locked gazes, and instead of judgment waiting to happen, all he saw was heat and passion and acceptance. Owen truly meant it—whatever Quill wanted was okay. Good even. Not breaking eye contact, he let his left hand skate lower, rubbing his balls.
“Uh-huh. Do that,” Owen encouraged, breath coming more ragged now. “Get yourself there.”
Right hand speeding up, Quill dragged his fingers lower to the sensitive skin behind his balls, to that spot right...
“Fuck. Fuck.” His rumble echoed through the room, and Owen’s moan joined his as Quill’s body finally allowed him to tumble over, orgasm smacking into him like a weak roof breaking under a blizzard, all his muscles giving way to slump in the chair.
His eyes opened just in time to see Owen go, hand a blur, whole body shuddering as he came all over his fist. And then Owen managed to make Quill’s cock give one last desperate twitch simply by licking his thumb. Fuck. He really was Quill’s filthiest fantasies come to life. And too damn bad he wasn’t in touching distance before Owen wiped his hand on his discarded shirt because he wanted a taste too, might have been bold enough to grab Owen’s hand.
Almost like he was reading Quill’s fanciful mind, Owen laughed, a post-orgasm sound Quill wasn’t familiar with, but Owen managed to look both self-satisfied and like he was having a whole amusement park’s worth of fun.
“Damn, that was...” Owen shook his head. “Something else. And don’t look now, but this is the part where we clean up and you don’t go getting awkward and we find some food. And we talk.”
The talk part sounded way too ominous but he’d promised no more ignoring, so he nodded. “Food sounds decent. I’ve got some salmon from summer in the deep freezer we could do for dinner.”
“It’s a date.” Owen’s dimples flashed brighter than a solar flare, and Quill had never been so thoroughly undone in his life.
A date. A date with Owen. With talking. Somehow he’d gone from being afraid that Owen wouldn’t survive the winter, to absolutely certain that he himself was doomed.
Chapter Fifteen
As it turned out, Quill actually could cook, even if he didn’t seem to like it. He had a certain competence handling the frozen salmon steaks that Owen found sexy. The mashed potatoes were from a packet and the peas canned, but Owen wasn’t going to complain. The food was hot, and a little garlic for the potatoes and some Italian seasoning for the peas, and Owen managed to disguise some of the blandness. Working together to make food was its own kind of satisfying as was Quill not shutting him out after the otherworldly orgasms.
Oh, Quill was still embarrassed and uncomfortable, as evidenced by his long pauses and tight body language. But he was making an effort, which was something, and Owen would happily take it over him retreating to his room.
“Can we have salmon again for Thanksgiving?” Owen asked as they finished up eating. Turkey wasn’t out of the question. They did have access to the grocery store in Wasilla and could also make a trip to Anchorage if the roads held up, but the oven was tiny and with only the two of them, even a breast might be overkill. “I think I can do a pie or something to go with it if you want.”
“Thanksgiving?” Quill blinked like Owen had suggested an expedition to Mars. “Haven’t done that in years. It’s a busy weekend here, and that wasn’t one of the holidays Hattie celebrated.”
“I know it’ll be busy, but I think I can squeeze in a pie.” Why Owen was suddenly into being domestic for Quill, he couldn’t say. “Got a favorite kind? Like what did your mom make when she was alive that you liked?”
Quill made a sour face. “Never said she was dead—sorry if I gave that impression. My father is though. And any pie that didn’t come with a big slice of family drama and fighting was fine by me but damn rare.”
“Ah.” Owen had stepped in it again, and fresh sympathy for Quill’s younger self welled up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories. My family didn’t really do Thanksgiving either, although my mom usually did a nod toward the major US holidays. Presents on Christmas, that sort of thing. I wish your home had been more...peaceful. Do you talk to your family much now?”
“Siblings some. Birthdays and such. My middle sister always sends a funny card. But Mom went from kind of eccentric and tolerable to a bitter person after my grandpa and then my dad died. All those TV news channels all day long. Conspiracy theories and political shit.” The hurt in Quill’s eyes made Owen’s arms ache with the need to hold him. It sounded like for all intents and purposes he’d lost both parents, and that sucked. “My siblings and their kids look after her and let me know if money’s needed, but we don’t see eye to eye, if we ever did.”
“She doesn’t know, does she?” Owen kept his tone as gentle as possible, but Quill still tensed, getting up abruptly and putting his plate in the sink with a loud clatter.
He figured that was that, but then Quill surprised him by talking. “No point in her getting all agitated. JP—a college friend—he thought them knowing would be cathartic for me, whatever the hell that meant. Much as my grandpa helped my life and gave me a role model to aspire to and the outdoors to escape to, though, I knew his and my dad’s opinions on gay people all too well. Whole damn family was always on me to toughen up, stop being so shy, be a man, all that, even when I was getting the shit kicked out of me on the school bus by older boys. Said I wouldn’t have such problems if I’d just stand up for myself, stop acting like...”
“I’m sorry. They should have been the ones to stand up for you. You were just a kid.”
Quill’s eyes were distant as he leaned heavily against the counter. “That’s what JP said too. Said even if my dad was going to be an asshole about it, I needed to stop living two separate lives—one back home and one at college. Gave me an ultimatum. So when my dad came to Seattle on business, I figured I’d make JP happy and tell him.”
“And?” Owen could already sense that whatever had happened wasn’t good.
“We argued. Or rather, he screamed, same as he always did when pissed, only I was twenty-one, not nine, nowhere to hide, and finally I yelled back. First time I ever raised my voice to him. Like my grandpa, he’d always been this larger-than-life guy, the one I wanted to be like most in the world. Wanted to be respected like him, walk with his sort of confidence. All that kid stuff. But I finally said I wasn’t going to take his name-calling. He hollered at me some more before he collapsed. Massive heart attack.” Quill’s voice was flat, as empty as whatever sympathy Owen could offer. His expression was ashen, and Owen felt ill at having made him relive the memory.
“Oh, Quill. God. I’m so sorry.” Bringing his plate over to the sink as well, he stood next to Quill, trying to decide if a sympathetic touch would be welcome or not.
“Doctors said he’d been a ticking time bomb of clogged arteries, but I was the only one who knew the truth about what set him off.”
“That’s a huge burden to bear.” Owen couldn’t wait any longer, and he squeezed Quill’s arm. Not quite the embrace he wanted to offer, but he couldn’t not touch Quill then, not when he was so clearly hurting.
“Better to hold the secret than to lose the rest of them. Not that it ended up mattering much in the end. After he died, Mom’s attitude got worse, not better, and there’s just no point to bringing drama. Not when JP
and I still ended up...falling out. Nothing was ever enough for him. And it doesn’t make sense, telling her now. Not when I’ve got my life here, the job, and we’re not really part of each other’s lives now.”
Owen had already picked up on Quill’s massive aversion to conflict of any kind. And some of that was likely personality and some learned behavior from all these past wounds, but it still made his chest ache, thinking of him repeatedly hurt by family and this JP guy too.
“I’m so sorry. Fuck. That’s awful.” He had to touch Quill again, on the shoulder this time, not surprised when Quill didn’t move into the touch, but wanting to offer more than words all the same. “And your point of view is understandable, given all that. I’m lucky that my parents suspected I was gay even before I came out, made whatever peace they needed to with it, and have been relatively supportive since. They’ve defended me to some friends and relatives, and they’ve met all my exes. They’ve got my back. For you, it must suck not being able to be your authentic self with your family, even if they are kinda...suboptimal as far as families go.”
“It’s okay to say dysfunctional. Or crappy. Not gonna insult me.” Quill washed the dishes with quick, efficient movements. “And as to authentic self or whatever you want to call it, that’s not who I...associate with. Put me in the high country in summer. Watching the northern lights in winter. Catching a big fish. That’s me.”
Owen’s back muscles tightened, both from the knowledge that Quill simply didn’t value connection and interpersonal relationships the way Owen did and from wanting—needing—to see more of that true self of Quill’s, wanting to see him in his element as much as possible.
“Assuming this storm lets up eventually, will you show me the lights?”
It took a moment for Quill to nod sharply, like he had to actually weigh his options, which made the nod that much sweeter, even before Quill spoke. “Yeah. I’ll pick a good night for it.”
“Thanks.” It felt weirdly momentous, like somehow they were agreeing to more than night sky viewing.
“I do get it.” Quill dried his hands with a dishtowel before turning to face Owen. “You with your good family and your big network of friends. Being out matters to you. And same deal with holidays and celebrations. You need that sort of thing.”
Owen didn’t disagree, but Quill sounded so sad that he didn’t argue it, instead pulling Quill into a hug. Maybe Quill still didn’t need the touch, but Owen sure as hell did.
“Right now what I need is you.” He didn’t promise to never need more, couldn’t lie like that even to make Quill smile. But he could hold Quill close, try to chase out a little of his darkness. “You, me, a long winter, and maybe some pie. It’ll be nice. Trust me.”
Quill inhaled and exhaled, slowly relaxing into Owen’s embrace. Not exactly hugging back, but not pulling away or merely enduring either.
“Pumpkin,” he said at last. His lips curved, almost a smile, and his eyes were far away. “I like pumpkin pie. Don’t want you thinking it was all terrible. Mom could make a nice pumpkin pie, and she always cut me a big slice, even if she was distracted by whatever that year’s drama was. There’s some pumpkin in with the canned goods, I think. If not, I can pick some up next trip to Wasilla. And there’s a small venison roast in the freezer, if that’s not too heavy for you.”
“I’ll try it.” Hell, Owen would try woodchuck if it meant Quill meeting him halfway like this. He hugged Quill tighter, wanting more than ever to give Quill some good memories. “It’s a plan.”
“You should sleep out here tonight if your room is still too cold.” Quill gently extricated himself from Owen’s embrace. Eyes distant, he seemed to be retreating on multiple levels, which sucked.
“Will you sleep out here too?” Owen tried to keep his voice light, not needy. He didn’t need them to jump to room sharing or something simply on the basis of a few hot kisses and pleasant meals, but not being effectively dismissed would be nice.
For a second Quill looked like he was about to shake his head, but then he nodded. “Guess I could. My room isn’t much better than yours. I’ll take the floor again.”
Ah. Not an invitation to snuggle, which was about as much as he’d expected. But still his muscles sagged. One step forward, four back in this dance with Quill.
“How about we play cards before bed?” If he wasn’t getting another round of orgasms quite yet, at least he could get some company.
“I can do that.” Quill gave him a tight smile.
Later, after a few rounds of cards in front of the stove with idle talk about the coming tourist snow season and him urging Quill to share winter stories, the companionship they’d built while cooking seemed restored, heavy talk forgotten. And as Quill gathered up the cards, bending close, Owen stole a kiss. A little fleeting thing that invited Quill to stay and linger if he wanted, but not demanding anything more than simply that moment. Mouth softening, Quill returned the kiss with a gentleness that made Owen’s eyes strangely itchy. But then he straightened, spreading out Owen’s bedding for him.
“Sleep well.”
“I will.” Owen managed to sound pleasant even through gritted teeth. Damn. He didn’t understand how a man could be so infuriating and so sweet at the same time. And he really, really didn’t understand how he could want him so badly. This wasn’t his usual pattern. He didn’t go for guys who were challenges, didn’t relish the emotional equivalent of thawing an iceberg with a hair dryer. And yet Quill had a way of making Owen want to try, made it so that he drifted off, not in frustration but to thoughts of how best to melt that solid block of ice around Quill’s heart.
* * *
“I need a favor.” Quill meant the request about as nonsexually as one could, but Owen’s quick flash of interest and eager grin said that wasn’t how he’d heard it.
“Anything.” Leaving his oatmeal on the counter, Owen came to stand next to Quill by the coffee maker, close enough that their hips brushed and filling Quill’s nostrils with the scent of freshly showered Owen instead of his morning brew.
“Not that kind of favor.” Indeed, he was only asking in person rather than via note because it seemed politer and because after yet another cold night spent in the main room, Owen was up earlier than usual. Even Quill wasn’t a big enough jerk to leave Owen a list when he could just as easily tell him the day’s plan over breakfast.
“Darn.” Owen mock pouted, but Quill doubted he was that surprised. By some unspoken agreement, they’d kept their...extracurricular entanglement, such as it was, confined to nighttime hours. A little kissing. A few more jerk-off sessions. Owen hadn’t pressed for more than that, which frankly surprised Quill as he’d figured Owen would want to jump quickly to lots of nakedness and beds and all the things that happened therein. But he seemed content to take this...arrangement at Quill’s speed, which was nice.
Instead of escalating sex, there was something else happening, something rooted in hours of late-night conversations. He still couldn’t believe he’d told Owen about his dad. Not even Hattie knew that story. And since that night, he’d told Owen more about his childhood and growing up and JP than he’d ever shared with another human. Even the conversations about mundane things had a...weightiness to them. A significance that underscored whatever fun Owen managed to talk him into sexually. But none of those sexy times had happened during the limited daylight hours, for which Quill was grateful. And counting on that day.
“There’s a Girl Scout group coming up to snowshoe. They asked for a ranger-led talk. And I could handle it, but I thought maybe you’d like to come with me?” Quill had hatched the plan of involving Owen yesterday when the dread over public speaking started to gather in his gut. And then he’d come in to find Owen singing along with some pop tune while he cleaned and remembered how Owen, like Hattie, was a total people person. Hell, he’d probably love the chance to see a bunch of tweens and adults. And even though it meant admitt
ing his own discomfort, he couldn’t deny that having someone more social along would help.
“Need me to make sure you don’t overly scare them with avalanche warnings?” Owen grinned at him as he returned to his oatmeal bowl, taking it to the table. “Good cop versus bad cop? I can play that game.”
“Something like that. And you’ve become familiar enough with everything around here that I bet you can handle yourself with a tour about as well as one of our longtime summer volunteers.”
“Aww. Thanks for the compliment. And I get you. You’re not much on talking to big groups, right?”
“Not the most. It’s not that I’m shy—”
“You’re reserved. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Or being shy. But you’re allowed to be a big, strong, stoic ranger who also happens to be the silent type. It’s not a character flaw to not feel comfortable with crowds. And I’m happy to help.”
“Thanks.” Quill wasn’t sure he believed him about the rest of it. He had too many voices in his head telling him to get over himself, those childhood remnants of never measuring up, especially when dealing with unfamiliar or uncomfortable situations. Public contact was a part of the job, and he was fine one-on-one or in smaller groups. And maybe relying so many years on Hattie taking point with the big presentations had left him out of practice. Now he was begging favors from Owen, who admittedly did seem eager, but still Quill had those voices saying he should be able to manage.
“Tell me what they want to know about, and I’ll brush up on those areas before we meet up with them.” Businesslike Owen was back, grabbing the notepad and pen from the center of the table. Hell, he’d probably have a full outline of talking points by the time Quill left for his patrol. “We’ll let you talk risks, but I can do the welcome and all that.”
And sure enough, Quill headed off with an agenda for the talk in Owen’s neat handwriting and a promise to meet up with him in a few hours. Simply having a plan settled Quill down in a way that was both unfamiliar and comforting. Midmorning, he and Owen used their snowmachines to reach the lower parking lot, where they would meet the group and snowshoe with them around some of the easier terrain while they talked.
Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 14