Witnessing his fascination on the days where I lost and the bike stayed parked in the driveway, I started to see the beach in a new light myself. My parents had always lived near the shore – Seatoun when Lindsey and I were at home, now here – so it was more of a background thing for me, nice to look at, mostly taken for granted – but now I was going down there daily, and god it was such a freeing place…
On the beach, I saw birds being birds, dogs being dogs, and people being people – everybody doing their own thing, in their own way, and it felt totally fine to take Quinn’s hand, link our fingers together as we walked. Nobody’s gonna harangue us while their wet Labrador’s jumping up on them because they’re not throwing the ball, I thought. Nobody’s gonna tell me they don’t need to see that kind of thing while they’re standing there in togs with their cellulite hanging out…
I was right. No-one we passed ever said anything other than a smiling ‘hi’. Quinn mostly didn’t see them, being so focused on searching for treasures at his feet. We never returned from an expedition without a handful of shells or sand dollars, and I was thinking about this one day as we were washing our feet with the hose before going indoors, recalling his growing little collection laid out to dry on the framing by the back porch, reflecting on how cute it all was, when he suddenly said;
“Jeremy? Can I fuck you?”
Wow. That was quite the pivot… “Sure,” I said. “Can I fuck you?”
He nodded. “Yup. But I asked first, so I’m going first.”
“Okay,” I told him, laughing a little. I actually thought that was kind of sweetly funny, but when I caught sight of his expression it was so predatory I started to wonder what I’d let myself in for…
I swallowed. “Um…when were you thinking?”
“Now,” he said, eyes boring into me, fixing me to the spot.
“I, um…now? I probably need to, um, have a shower and such…?”
The eyes released me, reluctantly. “Then go do it.”
I took a while in the shower, because I needed to do more than clean out. I needed to accustom myself to this new version of Quinn, who held his mouth in a tight straight line and issued orders, and also I needed time to get myself into the right headspace for what was coming…
Physically, I knew I could take him – he was solidly average size-wise, same as me. Mentally…yeah…I’d previously only been fucked when I decided that was on the menu for tonight and went hunting for it. Never because I’d been informed it was my turn – today, now. That was hot though, I admitted to myself. And the fact that he knew what I was doing at this moment, that he was right out there in the house, waiting for me to be done…that was a turn-on too…
Okay, I thought. Okay, I’m there…I can do this. Now.
I shut off the water and sketchily dried myself down, walking naked to the bedroom. Quinn was lounging against a wall in there, completely clothed, utterly at ease. The disparity between us, that was hot too…I got onto the bed on all fours, at the edge, facing away, ready and waiting for him to do what he chose, when he chose…
He came up behind me wordless as ever, laying his hand on the back of my ankle. All the way up to my shoulder he ran it, across and along the other side of my spine, over the other arse-cheek. Down the inside of my far thigh with his palm, up the inside of the near one with the back of the same hand – I felt the coarse hairs at the trailing edge against the thin skin.
The other hand – his watch hand – rested at my sacrum, warm like always, while his right explored at a constant measured pace. Up and down it tracked continuously, thighs and butt, his thumb occasionally grazing my taint, but never following further…almost an accident on the return journey to my inner thighs. With all the stroking, my skin was becoming over-sensitised, each pass of his hand across the jangling activated nerve-ends more and more intense…not painful, but pain-adjacent…
Oh god, I thought. Just fuck me already. Please. I’m ready. I can take it. I possibly even need it by this point…
I felt so exposed, even though he wasn’t touching me especially intimately – or maybe because he wasn’t. Just appraising my body neutrally, like I was a pedigree animal on a dais at a show, being scrutinised, assessed against a score-sheet…
What happened next was far from neutral. The steadying hand moved to my shoulder, his left foot planted itself on the mattress near my ribs. He reached underneath to grab my dick and balls – not hard, but…resolute, then he leaned forward all along my spine and bit into the scruff of my neck.
Finally. Finally. I shimmied in his grasp, loving the bony pressure of his wrist against my taint, the wider fleshiness of his forearm burrowed in my crack, trying to find more, more of that…apparently he didn’t want me wriggling. The pressure of his teeth increased with each attempt – eventually I stilled and instead breathed shakily in and out, held in place by the twin anchors he was imposing.
I don’t bottom all that often – generally I like to be in control, to be the one who makes things happen…but sometimes, just occasionally, I can get into not being in control. It stays conditional though. Lingerie-wearing? Sorry, nope. Slapping my balls about while you fuck? Double nope. There are limits to my submissive side and honestly I would have thought that biting me and digging in until I quit resisting and took it qualified as one of them…
I was already revising that idea fast as the pain receded and the dopamine took over, but when I was released and flipped quickly onto my back in a single motion, and the hand that had captured my junk fell heavy across my throat, possessive rather than threatening…I forgot the concept entirely. Quinn stared a hole in me as he gently squeezed, and in that moment at least I’d have done anything for him – anything.
He straightened up, stepped back, and slo-o-wly stripped under my gaze and out of my reach, before just as deliberately jacking himself a few times, then rolling on a condom. It was absolutely definitely done for effect, and it absolutely definitely sent my pulse spiking higher to realise that he wasn’t quite as unaware of his hotness as I’d imagined. He wasn’t in his own head about it all the time, but clearly he was plenty prepared to get it out and wave it around when the occasion demanded…
I half-raised and stretched out toward him, clawing at the air with my arms, but he shook his head – no. Instead he had me hold my legs up and out of the way and knelt down between them…
The problem with being on my back wasn’t that I could see him – I always liked seeing him. But it meant that he could see me as he worked me, fingers dancing at my entrance, lips and teeth worrying an already-sensitised area of inner thigh. He could see me. What he was doing to me. My reactions, my emotions – me.
I’d never found it easy to let myself be a piece of meat for a man, to become nothing, despite knowing the rewards were there if I managed it. But this…he was watching me so intently, cataloguing my reactions as he touched and teased and squeezed and eventually stood once more and hauled me to him, hooking my knees on his shoulders, taking careful note of what worked and what really worked, committing them to memory, because that was what he did – Quinn, who couldn’t afford to wing things and knew that about himself…