by Beth Bolden
“Oh, Quen, it’s cute. Honestly. I bet Landon thinks it’s endearing. Right, Landon?”
Landon turns to Quentin. There’s apprehension in his eyes, but they fade as Landon gives him the warmest smile he can. “It’s fucking adorable,” Landon says softly and the rest of the fear disappears from Quentin’s face.
“You two are absurd,” Rory chuckles. “Gonna go make the rounds. Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“What wouldn’t he do?” Landon asks as they wander over to an appetizer station. He picks up a beef skewer and nibbles at it.
Quentin laughs. “Not much, honestly.”
He hands his drink to Landon and he holds their glasses while Quen fills their plates. Landon doesn’t even have to explain what food he wants, because Quentin is already two steps ahead of him. They head towards one of the tall tables scattered with candles.
“I had a feeling,” Landon confides across the table, enjoying Quentin’s conspiratorial smile in the candlelight.
“Hey, isn’t that Rory’s partner? Kimber, I think her name is?” Quentin subtly nods towards a tall, slender girl with blond hair that’s on her own, awkwardly standing at a similar table. “Maybe we should go talk to her.”
Landon ignores the pulse of disappointment that it won’t be just the two of them because she looks so very alone. He scans the crowd, but doesn’t see Rory. The decision is an easy one. He picks up his drink and Quen trails behind.
“Hey, you mind if we crash?” Quen asks softly and the girl’s gaze jerks up from where she’s been minutely examining the tablecloth.
“Um, no, of course not, but why?” Kimber stutters out.
Landon loves Quentin for so many reasons, but the big, reassuring smile he gives her is high up on the list. “There’s lots, but we’ll start with, I’m a huge fan,” he says. “Saw you swim in the Olympics in Rio a few years ago.”
Her own smile is swift and brightens her whole face. “You mean, you read the story about me and my mom,” she teases, suddenly looking nothing like the tablecloth-gazing wallflower.
“That too,” Landon inserts apologetically, because now that she’s brought it up, he can’t believe he forgot about it. Of course, that was the summer he was going out of his mind in Wisconsin, desperate to get out and do something with his life. He remembers reading about Kimber Holloway and her mother—the battle that had raged in the headlines, mother versus daughter, and the arguments over who should really be making Kimber’s decisions. At the time he’d been stupidly envious. A mother who wanted something for her child, while Landon’s mom didn’t seem to have the slightest interest or understanding in anything he did.
“You went to school, then?” Quentin asks, even as Landon is trying to yank himself back to the present, as far away from Wisconsin as he could get.
“I did.” She nods. “I went to Stanford. Graduated last year.”
“And now you’re doing Kitchen Wars,” Quen says.
“It seemed like a better idea than training for an Olympics I didn’t want to swim in,” she admits with a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She has kind eyes, soft and brown. Landon wants to like her, even if he doesn’t understand her. Even if they’re radically different.
“I have to tell you,” Quentin says, and Landon is a little confused how and when this conversation grew so serious. “But you inspired me to leave home and go to culinary school even though my parents couldn’t understand why I’d waste my time baking for a living.”
“I didn’t do anything special, but thank you,” she says graciously.
If Landon is being very honest with himself, he’s still envious of Kimber Holloway. Quentin might have mentioned his less-than-supportive parents, but he’s never told Landon this particular story. Of course, when would they have had the time? Their lives are crazy busy, they barely have time to take a breath, never mind for long, drawn-out confessions.
Landon isn’t proud of it, but he changes the subject. “You have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
Kimber shakes her head no, but Landon absolutely does not miss the way her gaze flits over the crowd and settles on a blond head that’s carrying two beers back from the bar. Rory is headed this way.
Well, Landon thinks, I’m not the only one with a big fat crush on their partner.
“Kimber!” Rory exclaims as he sets the second beer down in front of her. “Look who I found you with.” He’s flushed and Landon makes a mental reminder to definitely pick Quentin’s brain later about this matchmaking opportunity.
“Let’s dance,” Quentin murmurs to Landon. Landon can’t help but beam up at him. There’s a bunch of couples already on the floor, the room has filled up quickly while they were talking to Kimber. It’s easy to get lost in the crowd as Quen leads him.
It’s a slower jam and Quentin’s hands settle inexorably on Landon’s hips, warm and big and practically spanning his waist. Landon moves his hips a little experimentally and he can feel Quentin’s fingers dig into his jeans. It’s a heady feeling, knowing without a single doubt that as worked up as Landon is by Quentin, Quentin is just as worked up by Landon and at the end of the night, they’re going to go home and unleash all this pent-up energy in the bedroom.
If they make it home first, Landon corrects himself.
Quentin doesn’t have great rhythm but Landon more than makes up for it and it only takes a few moments for them to move together like they’ve never been apart. Landon throws his head back and groans a bit. He can feel Quentin’s breath hot on his neck, and when he brushes his lips across the nape, they’re even hotter.
The slower song segues into something faster and more intense and Landon twists in Quentin’s hands, facing him and running his own palms up Quentin’s shirt, feeling the insistent fluttering of Quentin’s heart. His eyes are intent, staring at Landon like he desperately wants to memorize every molecule of Landon’s mind and his body.
“You’re beautiful,” Landon murmurs, reaching up to catch just the corner of Quentin’s lips with his own. Quentin pulls back, startled and eyes growing wild.
“Not yet,” he mouths over the loud music. Landon thinks he understands. If they kiss now, there’s no way they’ll make it home. As it is, there’s about a ten percent chance it’ll happen, and Landon wants it all, wants way more than just a quick fuck in the bathroom.
Landon crowds right into Quentin’s space, can practically count the palest freckles on his nose. It still doesn’t feel close enough, but it’s going to have to do too. Landon tangles his fingers into the curls at the back of Quentin’s neck and smirks at the low groan he makes.
They take a break after another few songs to quench their thirst, and Rory shows up briefly at the bar to egg them into doing shots. Neither of them put up much of a fight, and then they melt back into the crowd.
They’re both definitely a bit tipsy and any compunction either of them seemed to have before about being too handsy has disappeared completely. Landon dimly realizes that he’s grinding against Quentin’s firm thigh and it feels so amazing he really can’t find it in himself to care. Quentin’s hands have crept lower and lower on his backside, until they’re hovering right over the curve of his butt. Landon wants it so much he doesn’t even care if anyone sees. He rises up and whispers right into Quentin’s ear. Pleads, practically. “Do it,” he purrs, and Quentin’s fingers bite down hard and unrelenting and Landon groans at how good it is.
“Good boy,” Landon says and settles back to watch Quentin’s reaction. It’s immediate and electric. His eyes blink once, then twice, and then there’s only one hand on his ass and the other is wrapped around Landon’s wrist and tugging him insistently to the edge of the dance floor and then heading towards a corridor.
Landon stops in his tracks, despite the grip that Quentin has on his wrist, when he sees the sign that indicates this is the direction of the bathrooms. Yes, his cock is hard and it’s been hard for way too long, but he isn’t so far gone that he’s willing to settle fo
r a quickie when he could have a nice long fuck in a bed.
“Wait,” Landon whines. And yes he does absolutely whine. “Not the bathroom.”
Quentin gives him a sweet, lopsided smile. “Not the bathrooms,” he confirms. “Rory’s office.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. It’s kind of not cool for Quentin to use his friend’s office for a hookup. But then, Rory did sabotage them today. Did nearly oust them from the competition. Landon decides the payback is just enough.
The ferocity of Quentin’s lust combined with that adorable smile is just about the last of what Landon thinks he can take. He’s appallingly grateful when Quentin types some numbers into a keypad next to an unmarked door and ushers them into a dark room. There’s the dark shadows of furniture and Landon has a split second to think it might be an office, before Quentin’s on him, hands reaching for his cheeks, holding him still and steady and at the perfect angle to kiss him deep and dirty.
Landon whimpers into Quentin’s mouth. He can’t help himself. Kissing Quentin always feels like a sensory overload, but after the last few hours, his nerves are already strung so tight. Quentin’s lips short-circuit them completely, leaving Landon limp and mindless, touching Quentin wherever he can, fingers coasting over smooth muscled planes of his back, tangling in his hair, moaning without a single care for anyone who can hear as Quentin rips his mouth away from Landon’s and instantly attaches it to his neck.
Their desperation feels a bit reminiscent of the first time they slept together, when Landon thought he might explode if he wasn’t able to touch Quentin, but now that he knows just how miraculous they are together, his need only feels greater.
Landon hopes that Quentin might feel the same way. The way his mouth coasts up his neck, nibbling on the tendon, tasting him, and his hands roam over every inch of him, Quentin certainly seems to want him just as much.
Quentin lifts his head and his voice is so rough, Landon’s knees actually wobble a little. “Turn around,” he says, and it’s not a request. With anybody else, Landon might protest that he’s not some little twink to be manhandled around, thank you very much, but with Quentin, it just feels natural. Like he’s somehow unlocked something inside Landon that he never thought he even wanted.
So he turns around, pressing his hands on the flat wooden surface of what must be a desk. Quentin practically growls and Landon nearly growls back as he feels Quentin’s hands go up to bracket his hips and he feels Quentin’s mouth bite his butt through his jeans.
If Landon can stay upright, it’s going to be a miracle.
“Beg,” Quentin says. It’s not so much of a demand as before, there’s a tiny bit of wiggle room there, in his voice, and Landon knows that if he wanted to, he could take it. Or he could give in and beg the way he wants to and Quentin wants him to.
In the end, it’s one of the easiest choices Landon has ever made. He begs.
“God, please, Quentin,” he whines, “make me feel good. Make me come.”
Quentin’s hands reach around, unbutton and unzip his jeans, and slide them down to his ankles. Landon whimpers. He thinks he knows what’s coming and it feels like both a nightmare but also a fantasy.
“This okay?” Quentin asks, his voice so low, Landon can barely hear it. That might also have something to do with the fact that Quentin’s pulled down his pants and he’s kissing and licking and nibbling the curve of Landon’s butt. Worshipping it, really.
“Yes,” is all Landon can get out.
“Your ass . . .” Quentin groans against his skin.
Landon’s hands clench the desk edge so he won’t just slide down onto the floor, a puddle of mush.
And then Quentin uses those big warm hands to spread his cheeks and Landon feels the first tentative lick of his tongue and thinking isn’t an option anymore, Landon can only feel.
There’s the gentle roughness of his tongue as Quentin slides it across the wet clench of his hole, the dizziness when he screws it in, opening him up. Landon thinks he must black out a little when Quentin slides a wet finger through his crack and teases mercilessly against where his tongue is buried. It’s too much and Landon sobs a little, overwhelmed and in love and not even sure he’s speaking words anymore. There’s just tiny whimpers and moans and sounds that might have been English at some point, but he’s long lost the thread. He only needs Quentin. Quentin’s what makes sense of this world. Quentin’s lips and his tongue and his fingers.
Quentin bumps him and his cock, beyond painfully hard, hits against the edge of the desk and Landon nearly screams. It hurts and it feels good, feels amazing, even. If only because he got some friction finally.
The finger delves deeper into him, hitting his spot and Quentin chuckles at Landon’s moan. “Yeah, baby,” Quentin murmurs, “gonna make you feel so good.”
“More,” Landon manages to get out between sobs. “Yeah, more.”
“Gonna come from my fingers and my tongue,” Quentin croons, more of a statement than a question. Landon remembers the pleasurable sting of his cock hitting the edge of the desk and just nods, even though there’s no possibility Quentin could see him. Quentin will know. Quentin always knows.
Another finger, insistent on his rim, tracing where he’s already split open. Quentin soothes its entrance with spit and laves of his tongue. “Yeah, you like that,” Quentin announces, so smug when Landon cries out at how good it is.
He’s never told Quentin, he couldn’t possibly know, but rimming always overwhelms him so completely and so easily, and he can come so easily from having his ass played with. Somehow Quentin must know this because he just expects Landon to come and so Landon does, the pleasure hot and insistent as it hits him hard. He spurts into his pants and clenches down tight around Quentin’s fingers.
“So good,” Quentin says with a rewarding little pat on his cheek. “Always good for me.”
Landon’s knees would give out then but Quentin must know because he’s right there, bracing him from behind. With a start, Landon realizes that Quentin’s pants are down too and his cock is out, hot and heavy and pushing up against Landon’s bare ass.
“Gonna let me come all over you, won’t you, baby,” Quentin murmurs and again it’s not even a question and Landon doesn’t even care. Just feels blissed out from his orgasm and wants Quentin to feel as good as he does right now.
Quentin’s cock slides so easily into his crack, wet with saliva and pre-come and all it takes is a few thrusts and Quentin’s coming all over his shirt, the splatters hot and gooey on his bare skin.
“Fuck,” Quentin swears, his voice low and trembling. He holds Landon there for a moment, come everywhere and then gently pushes him forward, making sure Landon’s hands are grasping the edge of the desk. “Hold on and I’ll clean us up.”
He must know where the tissues are because he’s back in a moment with handfuls of them and efficiently and quickly cleans them up.
Quentin’s hands reach out and carefully unhook Landon’s from the edge they’ve been gripping. “You’re all good,” he says, and his voice is lighter. Happier. Like whatever they’ve done has made Quentin as relaxed as it’s made Landon.
Landon pitches forward a little and buries his face in Quentin’s neck. He can’t believe they just did what they did in Rory’s office and he didn’t protest even once. He can’t even comprehend of how much Quentin just makes him forget everything he’s ever cared about. His world narrows so completely whenever they’re together, it’s almost frightening.
“I know, I know,” Quentin soothes, stroking his back with long, calming motions.
“I’ve never,” Landon says, regaining a bit of his strength and pulling back so he can look into Quentin’s eyes, “I’ve never done that before. Something like that.”
Quentin’s expression is solemn and careful. “Did you like it?”
Landon’s smile is wry, he knows it is. “I think it was obvious I did.”
Quentin reaches up to stroke Landon’s cheek. “Landon, all I care abo
ut is if you know you liked it.”
“I did,” Landon confesses, and it doesn’t feel nearly as hard as he thought it might be.
“I get a bit out of control with you, I think,” Quentin says softly.
There’s love burning in the back of Landon’s mouth. “I do with you too.”
Landon thinks he might say it, thinks he is nearly to the point of opening his mouth, as foolish as it might be, when Quentin pulls him close, wraps his arms around him and the spell is suddenly broken. Landon doesn’t feel so compelled to confess his love if Quentin’s eyes aren’t trying to tempt it out of him.
Landon and Quentin are puttering around Landon’s apartment the next afternoon, the day lazy and slow, consisting of them eating cereal in bed, taking a long, hot shower together, and then promptly returning back to bed to snuggle, when Landon’s phone rings. He doesn’t really want to answer it but it’s Ian’s special ring—he programmed it when Landon kept ignoring his calls. Landon doesn’t want to tell him that “Call Me Maybe” doesn’t really convince him any more to answer it, but the shrill blast certainly makes Ian tougher to ignore.
Ian forgoes a greeting and steamrolls right into the business at hand.
“You and Quentin are doing a big interview this week,” Ian says. “One of the biggest morning shows in LA.”
“Great.” Landon doesn’t even bother sounding enthused. He isn’t the biggest fan of interviews in general, and morning show interviews are typically awful—full of fluff and nothing of substance.
It hits him then; not only is he not going to have to falsify something exciting, he’s not going to have to lie about how good his love life suddenly is. He perks up right as Ian lets out a frustrated groan.
“No. You’re the only pair that was selected to do this interview,” Ian enunciates. Slowly. Like Landon hasn’t been doing this for years.
Landon is a bit stunned. He knew they were doing well in the competition, despite not having a win under their belt, and he knows they’re probably pretty fun to watch, but the only pair.