Page 28 of The Barn: Frost and Q
Not for this time.
“Are your nipples hard for me?”
“They are.” Quentin grinned, the look wicked and joyous. “Too bad I’m cuffed, or I could take off my shirt and show you.”
His hands swooped down and fast as he could, he pinched both nipples hard, making Quentin gasp and arch, as he reminded, “Sir.”
“Fuck. That’s just right, Sir.”
“My good boy.” He twisted and tugged a little bit, letting the fabric rasp enough. Just enough to keep everything ripped up. He played for a few minutes, lingering and stroking, until Q was relaxing, and then he stopped, heading back up to the sweet shoulders and beginning to rub again.
He could see the line of Quentin’s cock in his jeans. It pleased him down to his bones.
“What if I can never kneel for you again?” Again, a little whisper, but he didn’t allow it to derail him.
“What if you can’t? We’ll find something else. There are a lot of subs who can’t kneel. Submissive doesn’t mean able-bodied. It doesn’t mean we don’t make accommodations. You do it for me.” That wasn’t even a question.
Q nodded, swallowing convulsively. “I’d do anything for you, Master. I would do anything you asked.”
“Good.” He kept rubbing, all the while holding back all of the things that he wanted to ask for.Come home with me, sleep with me, be with me. Let me love you like you deserve. Forgive me.
He focused on moving his hand in increasingly large circles. He moved over the nipples, down the belly, almost brushing that sweet cock, and then up the arms and over the shoulders. Big, slow, easy touches meant to soothe.
Within minutes. Quentin was almost purring, his eyes closed, his lips parted. The look was one of absolute hunger.
He didn’t interrupt with words. It was easiest to just let Quentin be in his body, and let the love that he had, that he felt, pour out through his fingers and his palms into that sweet wonderful body.
You have to meet people where they are.
He was never going to forget that. Never again. He had to meet Q where he was.
He tried to figure a graceful way to move from rubbing Quentin’s torso to rubbing his legs.
There really wasn’t an easy way to get from one side of the wheelchair to the other, so he just stopped trying. He walked around to the front of the wheelchair and sat down on the coffee table, without losing the mood, the need to touch. He started on Quentin’s thighs. Then he moved up to his hips, around to his cock, and back down to his knees and the big circles again, watching closely. He knew that Q didn’t have nerve problems in his legs—really it was a balance issue with his brain so this shouldn’t hurt—but he watched intently to make sure that this was just pleasure.
Just warmth and joy.
Quentin’s expression never really changed. He stayed right there in that soft, sweet moment of bliss.
For his part, Frost was riding that high, man. He was riding it hard. Just from this, just from touching, running his hands halfway down Q’s calves, then back up. Sometimes touching the sweet belly, sometimes his hard cock. It didn’t matter.
This was about this rhythm, this touching, and Frost was over the goddamn moon. Maybe?—
Maybe he was supposed to be meeting himself where he was too.
“I love you.” The words were soft and well meant. “I love you, Sir.”
“I love you too, baby boy. More than anything. You’re all mine.”
“Yours.”
He slowed his touches. “Are you comfortable? Anything asleep? Anything not working the way that you want it to work, that it needs to work?”
“I wish I hadn’t worn my jeans. My belt buckle is kind of, you know. And then there’s the zipper. I think my cock may have a permanent indentation.”
He chuckled softly. “Should I let it free, your poor cock?”
“That’s up to you. I just want to be right here with you now with this.”
