14. Chapter Thirteen #2
Joe slumped back with a snort of amusement, head tilted back against the headrest of the driver’s seat.
The bare length of his throat, all taut, lightly tanned skin and tendons, drew Quentin’s eye.
He followed the line of it down to the open collar and the shadows that made Joe’s clavicles look sharp and biteable.
“You know, you could help out and feed the drama,” Joe said dryly. “I feel like I’m the only one self-sabotaging here sometimes.”
Quentin leaned back in the chair. It wobbled under him as he shifted his weight, the springs creaking.
“I could try,” he said, and hesitated as he ran through a quick shortlist of ideas. He picked out something he’d heard Annette’s asshole married boyfriend say once when they’d flown together. “It’s up to you, but relationships are like sharks. If they don’t move forward, they die.”
He waited.
Joe straightened up in the seat and frowned at Quentin.
“Yeah,” he said, the word drawn out slowly over his tongue. “I take it back. I don’t like that.”
Quentin nodded and reversed course, “...but I love you, and I trust you’ll make the right call. For everyone.”
There was a beat as Joe stared at him.
“I…take your shirt off,” he said.
Quentin hitched an eyebrow toward his hairline. “I thought it wasn’t that sort of call,” he protested, already halfway through pulling his shirt, undershirt tangled in with it, up over his head.
“It is now,” Joe said, his voice vaguely muffled by the starched cotton around Quentin’s ears. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Quentin pulled his arms out of the sleeves, the buttons on the cuffs scraping the backs of his hands, and tossed the shirt behind him onto the bed. He slouched down in the chair, faux-leather sweaty against his back, and his hand down his chest.
“Are you going to…” he asked as he idly dragged his thumb over his nipple, sharp little shudders of pleasure pinching through his chest.
“No,” Joe said. “I’m still in public, and a teacher. But that doesn’t mean I can’t watch. At least, I can if you move back.”
Quentin braced one foot on the floor and pushed the office chair back until it banged into the base of the bed. It wasn’t quite a full-length image, but it covered all the relevant areas.
“Do you want to direct?” he asked.
“No,” Joe said. “I want to see what you like.”
Quentin ran his hand down his chest and trailed it over his stomach. The trail of short, dark hair scratched against his palm. He dipped his fingers under the waistband of his trousers and spread them, the tips of his fingers skimming the tender skin of his groin.
The image on his tablet wobbled suddenly as Joe reached for the phone and moved it off the steering wheel. Quentin laughed, a quick, breathy hitch of amusement, as he watched the repositioning.
“It’s my show,” Joe said. “If anyone else wants one, they put the work in to find their own hot pilot.”
“I can give you a list to pass around.”
Joe laughed. “That would make me popular at daycare drop-off,” he said. “I could use it as currency for sleepovers.
Quentin flicked the top button on his slacks open. The zip gave a little, with a rasp of metal on metal.
“I’ll get started on that,” he said. The zip slid down more as he worked his hand down. “Does it matter if they’re married or not?”
Joe bit his lip, eyes glued to Quentin’s hand. His ears gave his brain a nudge after a moment, and he blinked.
“Um, not always,” he said, then narrowed his eyes as he thought about that. “But for future reference, it would to me.”
Huh.
Future.
That was a nice word. Quentin could work with that.
He pulled his zipper down the rest of the way and hitched his hips up so he could shove black trousers down enough to free his erection.
The material creased over his thighs, crotch pulled tight, as he spread his legs.
A quick glance at the tablet confirmed the important parts were still framed as he wrapped his hand around his cock.
The familiar weight of it settled against his palm, heavy and hot. He rubbed his thumb over the raised vein on the side, the pulse of blood steady against the pad. The muscles in his ass quivered at the prickle of pleasure that twitched along his nerves.
“Noted,” he said. “No daycare hookups for future me.”
It wasn’t that he was naive. He knew that every…or, at least, most…of the married flight crew with a hook up in every airport had started their marriage with the intent of being a good husband. Even if everyone else had known they wouldn’t be.
He dragged his hand down his cock. The skin creased under his grip, the head slick with pre-come and twitching in time to his ragged breathing.
Quentin bit his lip and shifted his weight forward on the chair, one knee cocked up as he lifted his heel off the ground.
The waistband of his trousers dug in across his thighs.
It just seemed inconceivable that he’d ever want anything or anyone more than he wanted this with Joe. And he got it. The kids and the debt and the grief were going to need navigating, but all that was what made Joe into Joe.
Quentin didn’t know if he’d have even felt the same about a Joe who had time to cut his hair and didn’t have a toddler on his hip. It would be a whole other person.
He paused at the top of a stroke and swiped his thumb over the head of his cock to smear the precome over the tight, flushed flesh. The flick of a callused index finger against the thin band of the frenulum made him hitch a breath at the zing of heat that clenched his thighs and stomach.
On the screen, Joe shifted and bit his thumbnail as he watched, his cheeks flushed enough that Quentin could pick out the color even in the low light.
“God, you’re hot,” Joe groaned quietly.
That made Quentin gasp softly to himself as his body thrilled in reaction.
No matter what, he’d still want to fuck him. Obviously. But he might not have loved him.
The idea hurt somewhere obscure and tender in Quentin’s chest. He’d never really expected to have this.
Not even as new and careful as it was. That wasn’t false modesty.
He’d never had any problems with hookups and one-night stands, even FWBs worked for a while.
But he wasn’t easy to get along with, to stick with.
Except with Joe, he could be. Somehow. He made it easy to be nice to him.
It made this something he didn’t want to lose. But that was a nebulous idea to hang onto as heat flushed through his muscles and his taint felt strung like a wire between ass and balls.
The pace of Quentin’s strokes picked up, his fingers tighter around the shaft and rougher, as the need that cramped his balls nudged his desire to perform aside.
His breath caught ragged and sharp in his throat as he bit his lower lip and leaned back.
Even though his attention was on Joe, he could see himself—just about—on the screen, too.
His body was stretched on display, long and lean with sweat slick on the ridged muscles of his abdomen. The muscles in his thighs were knotted into thick cables under pale skin, and his cock was slick and rigid in his hand.
It wasn’t a bad view, if he did say so himself. He hoped that Joe was enjoying it. He seemed to be, his eyes dark and his lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched.
“Will you do something for me?” Joe asked suddenly.
Quentin lost the rhythm of his strokes for a moment, his fingers going lax, as he glanced at the tablet.
“Anything,” he promised, his voice scratchy and strained as it left his throat. “What do you want?”
“I want to see you come.”
Quentin took a quick, hiccup of breath as everything in his body ratcheted itself tighter in response to that rough-voiced request. He swallowed the stickiness in his throat and adjusted his grip on his ache-hard cock.
“I can do that,” he said as he started to stroke his hand roughly along his cock.
Quentin arched his hips up into down-stroke, fucking the slick grip of his fist. The knots in his muscles tightened, the dull burn of strained fibres and need twitching under his skin, as the heavy throb of pleasure in his gut sank into his balls like a weight.
He breathed raggedly as he dragged himself to the crest of orgasm, his eyes focused on Joe’s face as he came–wet and sticky-between his fingers.
He sagged back into the chair as the release made his muscles turn to jelly and wiped his hand on his stomach. Come beaded on the short, dark hair that scruffed down the center of his abdomen.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
“You have an early start,” Joe protested. “It’s a long drive. You don’t want to—”
“I do,” Quentin said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”