Page 26 of The Barn: Frost and Q
“They are for me. You’re bound because I want you to be. I’m not going to do your feet this time, because I need to know moreabout your comfort level with your legs.” He knew certain nerves were damaged, and that nerve damage could cause pain. So he would take that slow.
“O-okay.”
“And like I said, I think no blindfold this time. But I do want to try something else. Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes, Sir.” Quentin was watching him more avidly now, his interest clear.
So, Frost went back to his bag, pulling out a padded collar. Not the kind of sleek, going-out collar Q might wear all day for him. No, this was leather, with soft padding like the blindfold, and with a D ring at the front to clip things to.
Q watched him, lips parted, his body going back on alert.
“Are you worried?”
“No, Sir. Not the way you mean. I know it won’t hurt.”
“So, are you worried it will mean too much?”
“Maybe.” But the words weren’t coming out again, not even yellow.
“So tell me about it.” This scene was about feeling their way, not about nipple clamps or spreader bars or spankings. This was about finding tools they could use. About starting almost fresh. At least with Dom and sub.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Start with the truth, baby boy.”
Quentin inhaled deeply. “Collars are big. They mean something to me. They mean things like forever and—I’ve missed you. I don’t want you to put one on me unless you mean it. I don’t want to wear it unless you mean it. And I’m scared that you’ll change your mind.”
Damn, that hurt. Like deep down, it panged in the pit of his gut, but he couldn’t argue with it.
Because he had given Q reason to worry. He’d never ever felt more helpless than when he’d heard that Q had been shot in thehead. Not when he’d discovered Q had been taken. Not when they’d gotten the ransom note. Never. He’d never felt so helpless and so ashamed and so angry.
This wasn’t the place for that though, because the simple fact was, he did mean it. On the very deepest, cellular level, he meant it. “You’re mine, boy.”
He realized suddenly, one of the weird things he was going to have to figure out was that it was really a challenge to do eye level with Q in the chair. He either had to sit or squat in an incredibly awkward and thigh-murdering position or lean over and lean on the chair arms and basically loom over Q. That was good to know.
He went for crouching.
“You’re my boy. My love. My husband. I mean it.” He could hear the truth of that in his own voice and that gave him strength and straightened him up a little more. He wasn’t bullshitting. And he thought that Quentin heard that too, because Q almost smiled, those teeth sinking into his bottom lip and worrying it.
“All right, I believe you, Sir.”
“Good boy.” He stood, letting Q see the collar again, before he put the collar on his boy, buckling it carefully. He checked the tension, making sure that Quentin could feel it, but that it wasn’t pressing at all.
Quentin shivered, and Frost could see his boy’s nipples get hard underneath the tight T-shirt that he wore. Maybe Frost should have taken it off, but there was something deliberate about this. An acknowledgement that they were going to just sit there and experience this together.
And then he was going to touch.
He moved to stand behind the wheelchair.
No, he moved to stand behind Quentin; the chair was inconsequential. He focused on undoing his boy’s braids andthen carding his fingers through the long hair to separate it from its hanks.
He enjoyed the quiet ritual of plaiting Q’s hair, and he took his time smoothing and then creating a single braid down the back. Quentin rarely did that for himself, and Frost liked it because he could tug it, and move Q’s head around how he needed it. And it was another signal that they were in the scene. “I want you to talk to me, Q, and tell me what you’re feeling. There’s no reason to be quiet.”
“I—this is one of my favorite parts,” Q whispered. “This has always been one of my favorite parts.”
“For me as well. I love the way that your hair feels in my fingers. I love how I can smell you like this. And I like knowing that you wear your hair like this just for me.” He separated the thick hair out into three hanks and began to braid them. Over, under, over, under. “It’s getting long.”
“You know, I—when I woke up and it was gone. It hurt my feelings.”
