Chapter 17 #2
Joel had just finished three concerts in Indianapolis, Indiana.
Quentin was in St. Louis. There were a few weeks left in the regular NHL season, and then the Playoffs would begin.
Joel had been following the season closely, something he had never done before, and he found that it was interesting.
He at least liked watching Quentin play and was proud of his ability to talk about Quentin’s games afterward.
He had noticed that Quentin’s mood often depended on how a game went.
He was quieter when the games went poorly, or they lost, though it never made him negative or unpleasant.
The attitude shift was subtle. Joel appreciated that Quentin was mature enough to handle his emotions in that way and that Quentin didn’t let a bad game totally derail his mood.
Joel flew from Indianapolis to St. Louis to see Quentin. He flew secretly; only Harlan and Shivonne knew where he was going, and he didn’t tell them why. Surely they suspected.
He took a private car to the hotel where Quentin was staying and went in through the back door, Shivonne having discreetly handled his entrance. He paid her not to ask questions.
Boston had won the game against St. Louis, and Quentin had informed Joel that most of the guys were out celebrating or already asleep in their rooms. Quentin had gotten a room to himself, and on a different floor from his teammates, so they would have some privacy.
Joel was careful in the elevator and the hallway, a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. He wore nondescript clothing and kept his head down. He went to the ninth floor, found Quentin’s room, and knocked quietly.
Quentin was shirtless and smiling when he opened the hotel door. He smelled like shampoo and soap, and his hair was damp. He wore black sweatpants and nothing else.
Joel’s stomach did a now-familiar dance when he saw Quentin. Quentin pulled him into the hotel room, shut the door, and kissed him deeply.
They kissed for a while, holding each other, with Joel’s back to the wall.
Each time he kissed Quentin, it felt more right.
And every day, or week, that he went without kissing Quentin felt longer, and worse.
They hadn’t asked for exclusivity, and they hadn’t asked for anything beyond mutually-satisfying sex, but Joel wasn’t blind to his own emotions.
He knew there was something else growing in his gut, or in his heart.
He was doing his best to ignore it. He told himself it was just the natural side effect of being physically intimate with someone repeatedly.
Any feelings he might have for Quentin would surely be passing.
The feelings would leave him eventually, and he could focus solely on the sexual aspect of their relationship.
Quentin broke apart from the kiss and brushed a thumb along Joel’s cheekbone. “I missed you,” he said.
Joel felt a little melty inside. “I missed you, too,” he whispered. It was true. He had missed Quentin and missed him badly.
He needed a shower, so he used Quentin’s hotel shower. When he was done, he walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Quentin was already sitting on the bed in his underwear, smiling at Joel.
Joel returned the smile, and then he dropped his towel.
He loved it when Quentin took control. Quentin was good at it.
He was firm and directive, dominant without being domineering.
His dominance came from the force of his own presence and the directness of his desire.
Joel never felt like he was surrendering his agency when he submitted to Quentin.
In fact, it made him feel powerful, knowing the effect he had on Quentin.
He was permitting, allowing Quentin to dominate him, and that in itself was a form of power.
He crawled onto the bed and kissed Quentin’s calf.
Quentin eyed him lustfully, raising his foot and bringing it to Joel’s mouth.
There was a silent command in his eyes, and Joel obeyed, taking Quentin’s foot in his mouth, sucking his toes, kissing the sole of his foot, massaging the calf.
He repeated the process with Quentin’s other foot, and Quentin nodded approvingly.
“Good boy,” Quentin murmured.
The hockey player had his thick cock in his hand, and he was stroking it lazily.
Joel stretched out between Quentin’s legs, his shoulders bracketed by Quentin’s strong, hairy thighs, and took Quentin’s thick cock in his mouth.
It was so large that it hit the back of his throat without even being fully in his mouth.
He loved the taste of Quentin’s cock, loved how its size stretched him to his limits.
He loved how there was an element of danger in taking the cock, and he always felt silently and privately accomplished after deep-throating Quentin, or bottoming without a lot of warmup or lube.
Quentin murmured sweet, dirty praise as Joel sucked his cock. Quentin’s hands played absently with Joel’s hair, and Joel looked up with soulful eyes at Quentin as he licked a pearl of precum from the tip of Quentin’s cock.
“So fucking perfect,” Quentin whispered. He pulled Joel to him and kissed him fiercely, biting softly on Joel’s bottom lip. “Get on your back,” he commanded softly.
Joel flipped over onto his back, and Quentin slid a pillow under Joel’s lower back. Joel held his legs back, and Quentin knelt behind him, spreading his ass cheeks and admiring his ass.
Quentin grinned up at him. “Every time,” he said. “It’s pretty every time.”
And then Joel was lost to pleasure as Quentin ate his ass.
It was one of Quentin’s specialties, and one of Joel’s favorite things.
Quentin always spent plenty of time warming up Joel’s hole.
He fucked Joel with his tongue and his fingers, teased Joel’s balls, the sensitive skin of his taint, the tender insides of his thighs.
He was attentive and borderline feral. He spat on his fingers and slid two of them into Joel’s hole, and Joel breathed through the stretch, allowing the muscles of his rim to relax around Quentin’s fingers.
Quentin added a dab of lube to his fingers and then inserted a third finger.
The stretch was tight, an intense pressure that bordered on painful, but it was delicious.
“Fuck,” Joel whispered. “Keep going.”
“Patience.”
Quentin began to fuck him with his fingers, massaging the inside of Joel’s hole, stretching his rim, and flexing his fingers, bending and curling them to stimulate Joel’s prostate. Joel stroked his cock, closing his eyes and enjoying the intense pleasure that filled him.
He sucked in a breath when Quentin added a fourth finger. Quentin didn’t have small hands, and the stretch was intense.
“Too much?” Quentin asked.
“No. It’s a lot, but it’s good.”
Quentin was slow, deliberate, and careful as he used his fingers to fuck Joel’s hole. Joel felt himself relax, welcoming Quentin’s hand. He was ready for Quentin’s cock.
He adjusted his position a bit as Quentin smoothed lube along his large cock, with one of Joel’s legs over his shoulder. He kissed the side of Joel’s foot and then lined his cock up with Joel’s hole. He was slow at first, pushing inside of him, and Joel relaxed to welcome Quentin’s cock.
“Don’t go slow,” Joel begged. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
Quentin plunged into him. Joel cried out at the brief flash of pain, though the pain quickly went away and was replaced by pure, intense pleasure. He felt filled to the brim, ready to overflow, and it was perfect.
Quentin fucked him hard, thrusting into him so hard that their bodies slapped loudly together.
He was rough, hot, and dominant, positioning Joel how he wanted him.
Joel loved it. He would do whatever Quentin needed and wanted, because that was exactly what he wanted, too.
It brought him great pleasure and satisfaction, knowing that he was fulfilling Quentin’s commands, following his rules, meeting his wishes.
He lay on his stomach as Quentin lay on top of him, fucking him into the mattress.
He knelt on his hands and knees while Quentin pounded into him from behind.
He rode Quentin as Quentin hammered into him from below.
He bounced with his head tipped back, grunting and gasping and in deep, deep pleasure.
He was almost surprised when he came. It was so sudden, while he was riding Quentin and Quentin thrust so deeply into him that he lost the ability for words, and then he was bursting, cum shooting all over Quentin’s chest, neck, and face.
Some got into Quentin’s open mouth, and Quentin grinned devilishly, licking his lips clean.
“Your turn,” he whispered, and hugged Joel tightly to him while he grunted and bred Joel.
When they were done, Joel collapsed next to Quentin. Their torsos were smeared with Joel’s cum, and Quentin’s cum leaked from Joel’s hole.
“I’m a mess,” he said, laughing and gasping for air.
“You’re my mess,” Quentin said.
The words hummed in Joel’s mind. He thought about them.
He didn’t think Quentin had meant anything by them, aside from a sweet, throwaway comment.
But there was a truth to those words. He was Quentin’s mess, in a way, and Quentin was his.
The thought frightened Joel, which warmed him at the same time.
It was nice, and it was foreign, to think that he belonged with someone, even if that belonging came with no strings attached to it.
They showered together, and Quentin ordered food to the room. Joel would spend the night and leave early in the morning. As they lay in bed together, Joel told Quentin about Ariadne’s upcoming lawsuit. He explained her situation and how Troy Whitman was a piece of scum.
“I hope everything works out for her,” Quentin murmured, playing gently with Joel’s hair.
“I do, too. She’s a good person. I think I might testify, if needed. Whitman has never been my producer, but I’ve interacted with him enough to know that he’s scum.”
“Keep me updated on that,” Quentin said.
Joel promised he would. There were ties between them, now. Though they had no expectations beyond sex, a friendship or a relationship of some sort was building between them. Joel didn’t know what to call it, and he decided not to think about it.
Still, as he drifted off to sleep, curled against Quentin’s side, his thoughts kept returning to dreams of an impossible future, where he and Quentin weren’t confined to secret hotel rooms.