Chapter Twenty
The kiss was slow and sweet, and unlike anything Quill had ever had before. With most of their kisses, Owen seized control quickly, but this time, he seemed content to simply sink into Quill, let the moment drive them, let the music sweep them away. Owen tasted sugary and familiar—the taste that Quill couldn’t remember not craving. He hadn’t been lying earlier when he’d said that he couldn’t believe it had been only a few months of friendship. It felt so much longer, as if they’d had decades together, the sort of connection he’d never had before, never even realized he was missing, and the kiss reflected all of that. Even if talking were easier for him, he doubted he could put his emotions into words, so he put it all in the kiss. Gratitude. Longing. Desire. Need.
Eventually the CD ended with a click, leaving them there in the silence, clinging to each other.
“Damn.” Owen broke away first, looking up at Quill with shining eyes. “That was...”
“Yeah.” Quill tightened his hold on Owen, not ready to let go, not yet.
“Guess that’s one way to say Happy Holidays.” Owen nuzzled in to Quill’s neck. “Merry Christmas, Quill. Tell me I get to unwrap you next.”
“Yeah.” Quill’s voice was gruff, want that he’d had for days now building inside him. “We can do that.”
“Excellent.” Tugging Quill in the direction of the couch, Owen gave him a dirty smile, one that went straight to Quill’s dick.
“Not that.” Quill stopped him. Need welled up in him, but it didn’t make it any easier to speak.
“Shower?” Owen’s head tilted. Damn it. He was always so solicitous of Quill’s boundaries, so careful not to push further than Quill was comfortable going, but he also wasn’t a mind reader. Quill really was going to have to spell this out.
“Bed.” He reversed their linked hands, pulling Owen towards his room. He’d never invited Owen in before, but the last few times he’d slept in here and not in the warmer common room, loneliness and longing had blanketed him, made him toss and turn. He’d never been curious about sleeping next to another person before, only done it a handful of times with JP thanks to roommates and dorm rooms, and indeed he’d been a little apprehensive about sharing his space like that. But slowly, what used to make his back muscles tense had transformed to arousal at the thought of Owen in his bed, Owen all night long, Owen completely naked at long last. Owen making Quill’s filthiest fantasies come true.
Anticipation had a happy shiver racing up his spine, but Owen must have read his shudder wrong, pausing to squeeze Quill’s hand. “Would my bed be easier? And we don’t have to do anything new or different. All the things we already know we love are fine by me.”
It was the way Owen said we that gave Quill fresh courage. This was Owen. Owen who made sex fun, Owen who was always up for anything but was not demanding, Owen who genuinely liked it all from sweet to messy and all the dirty destinations in between.
“My room is fine. I want to have sex,” he said in a rush.
“Oh?” Owen’s eyes went wide but wary. “We’ve had plenty of sex, so you mean fucking, yeah?”
“Yeah.” God, Owen really was going to make him get specific.
“Okay. Okay.” Owen nodded, eyes still guarded. “Like I said, sometimes my post-surgery nerve endings don’t cooperate, but we can try. I’m game for trying for you.”
Fuck. Of course Owen, like most of the damn planet, would assume Quill meant that he’d like to top.
“Not that.” Both his cheeks and throat were flaming hot. “Want you to fuck me.”
“Oh, yeah.” Eyes going from wary to hot and feral, Owen’s eagerness was exactly what Quill had been hoping for, and he had to grin back when Owen beamed at him. “Way better idea. Merry Christmas to us. You have supplies?”
“Bought some last time I was in town,” he mumbled. He’d been thinking about this for weeks now, couldn’t get the images out of his brain along with his deep certainty that it would be different with Owen. Better. No feeling terrible after. Every time they had sex was good, and the crushing loneliness he’d often associated with hookups was a distant memory. And this was Owen, who seemed to genuinely love all aspects of sex. He wasn’t going to make Quill feel bad for wanting this.
Indeed, Owen had a bounce in his step as he followed Quill into his room. Despite his inherently curious nature, Owen didn’t spend a long time looking around Quill’s space. Although honestly, there wasn’t a ton to see. Double bed on the far wall, thick brown comforters that were more practical than fashionable, stuffed bookshelves lining the walls—reading being his one indulgence—everything else in the room chosen for durability and space-saving design. But he didn’t have much time to contemplate the room from Owen’s point of view because Owen was back to kissing him intently while he pulled up Quill’s shirt.
“If I promise to keep you warm, can we get all the way naked?”
“That would be the point.” Quill had to tease him. “Kinda hard to fuck otherwise.”
“True, true.” Owen had them both undressed and under Quill’s covers in short order, fast efficient moments that still managed to ramp Quill up from nothing more than glancing touches and the sight of Owen’s clothes on his floor. He didn’t get nearly long enough to study Owen’s nude body either, the miles of smooth golden skin, those defined arm and chest muscles and swimmer’s shoulders and back with a high, tight ass. He’d seen him in the shower a few times as well, but he was never going to get tired of looking at that gorgeous body.
But even without the visual, having all that bare skin pressed against his under the covers was unspeakably hot. Somehow, in his fantasies, they always headed straight to the fucking, but he should have known that Owen would want to take his time, kissing for a long time, keeping to his promise to warm Quill up with long strokes of his broad hands.
Owen kept it playful too, rolling from their sides to Quill on top, erections rubbing together as the kissing got deeper and more urgent. The newness of having Owen in his space melted away, along with the awkwardness of asking for the sex, leaving only hot, intoxicating desire coursing through him. Right when their thrusts started to get more purposeful and Quill was close to begging him to get on with it before he came too soon, Owen flipped them again. He straddled Quill, covers around his shoulders as he sat up enough to trace circles in Quill’s chest hair.
“Tell me how you usually like it. What makes it good for you? Fingers okay?” Owen continued to play, hands dancing over Quill’s nipples, distracting him from his rising embarrassment from the question, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever gotten before, at least not like this. Owen’s tone was genuinely curious, eyes kind, not judgmental. And if Quill was going to do this, was going to let himself have this fantasy, he might as well go all in.
“On my stomach. And fingers are good. Been...uh...a while,” he mumbled before he turned to dig the condoms and lube out of his nightstand. His brain echoed with JP’s trademark sneer, the way he’d always gone on about how anal, particularly in certain positions, was degrading. Shaking his head to free it from those voices, he told his past to fuck off. Owen had already shown him several times over that not everyone was JP with his opinions and idiosyncrasies about sex. And whatever other past experiences he’d had no longer felt relevant either. This was blessedly new, a giving partner, one who seemed to want nothing more than to make Quill feel good.
“Fabulous. Flip.” Owen gave him a last tweak of his nipple before rolling off Quill and shoving at his shoulder. “And get comfy. I’m planning to take my time.”
He wasn’t lying either, starting with rubbing Quill’s shoulders, something he’d done any number of times since he’d first given Quill a massage in the kitchen, all those weeks earlier, but it felt different now, more laced with anticipation, more designed to ramp Quill up with little kisses and drags of his short nails. He worked his way lower, rubbing Quill’s lower ba
ck, all the tension he carried there easing as Owen worked him over, and by the time Owen progressed to massaging his ass, he was in a pleasant, almost sleepy, half-drunk state, one where it was easy to spread his legs, give Owen more room to work.
When Owen bent to pepper his back and ass with kisses, Quill was too relaxed to tense, even though he kind of knew where Owen was heading with this. Hell, if he was truly honest with himself, he’d thought about this while he’d showered before dinner, wondering if he’d get up the courage to invite Owen into his bed. While he hadn’t been rimmed before, he’d had a feeling given Owen’s love of all things oral that it was in his repertoire and had let himself fantasize about it more than a few times. And Owen didn’t disappoint, wiggling backward on the bed, licking and biting at Quill’s ass cheeks before settling in to tease his crack. It was wet and hot and—
“Fuck.” He moaned low when Owen’s tongue connected with his rim for the first time, so much better than any furtive late-night fantasy.
“Yeah. That’s it. Let me have my fun,” Owen said before resuming his onslaught, licking and teasing, alternating broad swipes of his tongue with pointed little flicks.
And if this was truly fun for Owen, then Quill was content to let him have it all he wanted, because damn. The sensations were almost overwhelming, one on top of the other, nerve endings singing. It was weird too, being this turned on but not on the verge of orgasm either. More like he wanted to wallow in the pleasure, bathe in it, let it go on and on.
And it did, Owen ramping up his attack every time Quill moaned, seemingly rewarding him for not holding in his groans until a steady stream of nonsense was spewing from Quill’s mouth.
“Yeah, yeah. Like that. Please.”
“Fuck. You’re so damn hot when you beg.” Owen moved back, and the sound of foil crinkling and lube being opened echoed in the small room. His fingers were cool and slippery against Quill’s rim, rubbing and teasing before pressing in. When Quill fingered himself, he always went straight for two fingers, too impatient to go slow and loving the friction and burn of two at once, and somehow Owen seemed to know that, finding the perfect mix of stretching and insistent pressure as he worked his fingers in deeper.
“God.” Quill was legitimately gasping for air now, sucking down oxygen as Owen’s deft fingers robbed him of the power to do anything other than moan. “Now. Please now.”
“Oh yeah.” Withdrawing his fingers, he pushed Quill’s knees up, kneeling behind him and rubbing his cock up and down Quill’s crack, a delicious tease.
“Please.” Quill kept his torso low, loving the drag of the sheets against his aching cock.
“Ask me again. Tell me what you want,” Owen demanded, voice low and rough.
“Fuck me.” The words came so much easier now, especially now that Owen was asking for them, no intent to demean or humiliate, just two incredibly turned-on guys who both wanted this. Needed it even.
“Fuck, yes.” Owen pushed in slow, giving Quill lots of time to adjust. The position created a tighter angle than when Quill did himself on his back or side, but he welcomed the pinch and burn, the all-encompassing sensations of being penetrated. Breathing deep, he tried to memorize the feel, so different from fingers, so full. His chest expanded with the breath, oxygen reaching newly created spaces as he let go of years and years of tension, totally gave himself over to this, over to Owen. No more judgments. No more holding back, denying himself something this good.
And good was a vast understatement, especially once Owen’s broad cock connected with his prostate, angle perfect, pressure exquisite.
“That. That. More.” Quill’s hips started rocking back on their own, urging Owen deeper and faster.
“So hot. So good.” Owen’s praise and moans mingled with Quill’s own, a symphony of arousal that he never wanted to end. For once in his life, he wasn’t chasing orgasm as efficiently as possible, instead simply letting himself ride the ever-cresting wave of good feelings. He’d seen Owen’s stamina working out in the snow, and he put all that into fucking, taking his time to reduce Quill to nothing more than a babbling heap of nerve endings, one unerring thrust at a time.
“Quill. God. Can’t...” Owen’s voice was ragged, at odds with the precise slide of his hips, and listening to him come undone was possibly even sexier than the fucking. His muscles tensed as Owen moaned, that elusive climax suddenly barreling toward him.
“Think I’m gonna...” He couldn’t keep his amazement out of his gasp.
“Get there. Please.” Owen’s thrusts lost some finesse, which only ratcheted up Quill’s desire, physical proof that this was affecting Owen as much as him.
“Yeah, yeah.” The combo of friction against the sheet and pressure in his ass was almost enough, everything he’d ever thought that fucking could be and so much more than even those fantasies. Like swinging out on a rope swing, closest thing he’d ever had to flying, and part of him didn’t want to let go of the rope, wanted a little more time in the air before the drop. But his body had other ideas, especially once Owen shifted his weight, working a hand under Quill’s stomach. His fingertips brushed Quill’s dick, not enough room to stroke. Simply that limited contact had Quill making a sound he didn’t even know he was capable of, a low, keening whimper of pleasure as he came.
“Yes. Oh my God. Yes.” Owen thrust hard and fast, moans changing to the gulping sounds Quill always associated with him about to come. Even before Quill’s cock and ass had finished pulsing, Owen was collapsing on him, a warm, beautiful weight. “I’ll move. Promise. Someday.”
“No hurry.” Quill’s words came out rough, throat rawer than he’d realized. He should be embarrassed, how he’d moaned and carried on, but right then, he couldn’t summon any shame. Only person who he cared about was right here, breathing equally hard, and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to berate Quill for his loss of control. In fact, Owen kept dropping little kisses against Quill’s shoulders, murmuring muffled words of praise.
Eventually Owen did move, Quill’s ass protesting his withdrawal, body missing his warmth as Owen took care of the condom before sprawling next to Quill. He was sticky in multiple places, would probably need to change sheets before sleeping for real, and his ass along with other muscles would be feeling that tomorrow. In short, he was an exhausted mess, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier.
“Give me a minute and then I’ll help you clean up.” Owen yawned. “And I don’t have to sleep in here.”
“Yeah, you do.” Quill reached over and squeezed Owen’s arm. “Stay.”
God, had he ever meant a single syllable so completely? The request seemed to echo though every emotional place he’d opened up that evening, a new sort of need, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before. An almost spiritual ache. Stay. I need you to stay.
* * *
Owen needed to stay. Right here, in this bed, possibly forever. Like spring could come and he’d still be here, not quite recovered from the cataclysmic shift that had happened inside his brain that evening. And it wasn’t just the sex, which had been world-altering good in and of itself, but also the presents, the dancing, the sheer excess of feelings that had been building all day. All month maybe. He couldn’t even say when it had started, only that he was here now, in this place where he couldn’t remember ever not feeling this intensely for Quill.
He’d had boyfriends before, including ones he’d deeply liked. But nothing had ever made him ache quite like this. A boyfriend before had been something to work into his life, slot into the space in his existing life he made for socializing, not something to build around, the cornerstone of a life he hadn’t even known he’d wanted. He’d always sworn that he wouldn’t change for love, that he wasn’t about to rearrange himself and who he was for another person. And he’d believed that love, if and when he found it, should come easy, not have to be worked for like grades or a job or a fitness goal. He wasn’t he
re to run a relationship triathlon where the outcome was anything but guaranteed.
Except...
Maybe he was. He’d been goal oriented his whole life, but so much of it had been other people’s goals—parents, siblings, friends, society at large. Then he’d transferred that energy to his bucket list, his own goals for the first time, but still nothing had felt as right as lying here next to Quill did. He’d never wanted anything the way he wanted Quill. Hell, he even wanted Quill more than he wanted sleep, not wanting to waste these precious moments.
Despite the late hour, his pulse still galloped, he was wide awake, and his legs moved restlessly against the sheets as he watched Quill stretch and settle.
“Cold?” Quill pulled the pile of blankets more securely around them. They’d showered and put on pajamas in deference to the chilly air earlier, then remade the bed with clean sheets like a couple who had been doing domestic tasks together for decades. He’d half expected Quill to change his mind about sleeping next to each other after the sex coma wore off, but either Quill was still riding the sex high or the evening had affected him as deeply as it had Owen because he certainly seemed like a changed guy, all cuddly and solicitous.
“A little.” Like his own, Quill’s room was colder than the common space, but mainly Owen wanted the excuse to burrow deeper into Quill’s side. And Quill took the hint, gathering him close.
Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 19