Page 18 of The Barn: Frost and Q
“Tell me how you really feel.” Fuck him, that hurt on a cellular level. He wasn’t a liar. He was just tired.
And worried.
And he didn’t know what to do.
He’d never been who he was right now. His whole world had changed, and Quentin didn’t know how to make things right.
“How I really feel? Jesus Christ, asshole, I feel like you’re denying yourself something that you want, and like you’re denying Frost something that he wants. And I feel like the simple fact is you two found each other in this whole fucking wide world. You found each other; you fell in love. You’re still in love. If you just let that go to hell, then you’re both stupid motherfuckers. Because some of us are looking for it every goddamn day.” Boone’s face was tense, expression serious, the lean whipcord body tight with emotion. “Work your shit out. Q. Work your fucking shit out with him. You two are my fucking heroes. Don’t let this go because you’re in a goddamn wheelchair.”
He sat there, the fork dangling from his fingers, his mind spinning, his heart cracking down the center. “I’m scared, man.” It was easier to tell Boone than it was anybody else. “I’m so scared. He doesn’t—He treats me like I’m glass, and every time he looks at me, there’s just guilt. I want him to look at me like…like I’m the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen. Like I’m goingto take over his world, and he can’t wait to turn me inside out. I think that’s gone. I’m fucking terrified that it’s gone, and I’m going to have to watch him fall in love with someone else from the cameras.”
Boone sighed and shook his head. “Oh, honey. I’ve seen how Frost looks at you. He wants you like breathing. Eat your pie; your ice cream is melting.”
He nodded. “There’s no reason to waste a perfectly good piece of pie. Not for something silly like love.”
“You got that shit right.” Boone offered him a grin. “Now brainstorm with me. What do you reckon is in Tug’s boxes?”
“I don’t know, but if Frost had to get involved, that means they were expensive.”
“Well, yeah. Tug does love to spend Frost’s money.”
He had to laugh at that as he licked ice cream off his fork. “Tug loves to spend everyone’s money.”
Somehow, though, he felt…better.
Lighter.
Maybe less in his own head.
And he was totally ready for tomato soup and grilled cheese.
Seven
“Tug, you are a genius.” Frost looked at the custom bondage gear that Tug had brought up for him, stroking the inside of one cuff. It was the softest damn thing he’d ever felt, and he grinned hugely, imagining it around Quentin’s wrist.
Tug studied his fingernails, lips pursed. “I know. I’m amazing, buddy. Just ask me.”
He chuckled, giving his friend an ironic eyebrow lift. “You’re also modest.”
“Yep. And shy and retiring.” Tug’s bright green eyes glittered like naturally grown emeralds. “So this fits the bill?”
“You know it does.” There was a wide padded collar with D rings embedded in it. The cuffs. A blindfold… God, just the thought of using that on Q made his cock start to harden…
“Good deal. I got the quick release like you asked for,” Tug put in.
“They’re perfect.” Frost had done his research. Both on the internet, and in correspondence with Carson’s friends, who were coming up this weekend. He thought he had a handle on Dom-ing someone who had limited mobility.
In theory, anyway.
In practice, he knew he had a lot to figure out, chief of which right now was getting Q to agree to doing a scene.
But if they were going to stay together, he needed to do this. Carson was right. Being a Dom was who he was, not just a fun thing he did on the weekend. It was who he was, and he and Q had grown together as Dom and sub, really finding a good place.
Before the accident.
A lot of it was his fault. He just felt so damn guilty. He didn’t give a shit that Q wasn’t the same; he was alive and that was all that mattered to him. But Quentin had been an athlete. A smoke jumper. A guy who worked out six hours a day when he was on the job and waiting for a call.
And now…he wasn’t.
