“Aug-gustus. M-m-my real n-name is Aug-g-gustus. P-people s-started calling me M-m-mac ‘cause I always g-g-got stuck on m-my own name. And saying G-g-g-gus is r-really hard f-f-for me.”
“Augustus,” Quentin said, still holding Mac’s cheeks. “What a beautiful name for a beautiful man. You’re a good man, Augustus. A damn good man.”
Mac’s eyes spilled over. “N-no one has c-called me that in a l-l-long time,” he whispered.
Maybe there was more that needed to be said, but Quentin was done with words for now. Mac—no, Augustus, he corrected himself—had just revealed the most painful thing ever. Going to prison for something he had no part in was one thing, but knowing his dad screwed over everyone in his town? That was a mighty big burden for a young man to carry. Yet he’d done it. He’d been there for his mom, had held his head high, and had been working his ass off to pay off his father’s debts. No, he’d said enough to make Quentin understand.
“Baby,” he said, then dropped a soft kiss on Augustus’s lips. “If you were worried I’d see you differently, you were right. I do. You are the most honorable man I have ever met, and what you just told me makes me want to hug you and kiss you and do all kinds of things to you until we both run out of steam.”
Augustus licked his lips, his tongue reminding Quentin of all the places he wanted that wet heat. On his lips. On his nipples. On his cock… How would Augustus look with his mouth around Quentin’s cock? Or with the remnants of his cum in his beard? God, that was so fucking hot.
“Q-q-quentin.” Augustus licked his lips again. “I want to…”
“Tell me what you want, baby. What do you want us to do together?”
Augustus’s reply came on a deep exhale. “Everything.”
Words had never come easy to him, not since he’d finally started talking at age three—with that horrific stutter he’d never gotten rid of. Words were fucking hard, and even more so when he was stressed or emotional. And dammit, he was emotional right now.
Quentin had believed him. He’d never even hesitated in his reaction, had completely, one hundred percent believed him. It was beyond anything he’d dared to hope as a reaction when he’d finally confessed his shame. He was an ex-convict, way past the stage where he had to check in with a parole officer, but forever a convicted felon. And yet Quentin was still here, looking at him with patient, if burning eyes.
“Everything, Augustus?” God, he loved hearing his name from those perfect lips. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that.”
But he didn’t want to be. Didn’t Quentin get that? He just wanted to be with him, to make him feel good and feel good himself, to express whatever that big feeling inside him was that demanded to be let out. So he shook his head.
“Whatever you w-w-want.”
“It doesn’t work like that, baby. Or it shouldn’t. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe it does for you, but I keep waiting for you to take over, to take the lead.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“‘Cause you’re older and bigger, and I’m supposed to be the bottom, the weaker one.”
He heard the words, but none of them made sense. It was like Quentin was speaking a different language. “I d-don’t understand. You l-l-like to t-take charge. I d-don’t. What’s the p-problem?”
Quentin straddled him, bringing their faces so close he could feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes were kind as he spoke. “I know you’ve never been with a man, baby, but haven’t you thought about the logistics?”
The logistics of what? Oh. Wait.
Sex.
Quentin was talking about sex. Sure, it had crossed Augustus’s mind that one partner would have to receive and the other would give, but they could switch that up, right? Or was it custom to have one man doing the same position every time? That didn’t make sense.
“I s-s-still don’t understand.”
“Have you ever heard of the term twink?”
Augustus shook his head.
“Well, that explains it. I’m what’s known as a twink. Or at least, my body type is. Slender, boyish, on the smaller side.”
Huh, okay. That was new information, that men would be somehow classified based on their body type, but whatever. Augustus still didn’t get what that had to do with anything.
“Usually, generally speaking, twinks are expected to bottom.”
There was that word again: bottom. What did he mean by… Oh. It clicked. The bottom had to be the guy on the bottom, meaning the receiving partner. And the other guy would be the…
“And you, considering how big and strong you are, would be expected to top.”
Okay, then. Top and bottom. That made sense. But…wait. Because of their physical build, he was expected to top? Always? What the hell?
“Why? W-w-would it hurt otherw-w-wise?”
That seemed ridiculous. He’d expect it would hurt more the other way around, with the big guy on top and the much smaller guy on the bottom. Though their cocks were pretty similar in size. Fuck, his head hurt, trying to understand what Quentin wasn’t outright saying.
Quentin was biting his lip now, a highly uncharacteristic sign of uncertainty. Augustus didn’t like to see him this way, this insecure.
“P-p-please, Q-Quentin, what are you n-not telling me? I d-d-don’t understand.”
“Most guys I’ve been with wanted me to bottom. Only bottom. Men don’t like it when I’m bossy or try to take charge.”
It was like the sun broke through the clouds and everything was illuminated. It suddenly made sense to Augustus. This was Quentin’s shame, his personal trauma. He was sharing what was keeping him back from being with Augustus. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand what had possessed other men to let Quentin go because of…of that, but he was eternally grateful if it meant he had a chance with him. If Augustus’s past didn’t deter him and all that was holding Quentin back was this, well, that was an easy fix, now wasn’t it?
Augustus lifted both hands and caressed Quentin’s smooth face, his soft cheeks. God, he was so fucking beautiful. “I l-l-like it when you’re b-bossy. I l-like it a l-lot.”
His heart somersaulted when Quentin’s eyes lit up as if Augustus had just given him the most precious gift. “And if you w-w-want t-to, if you’d l-like to, you c-c-can t-top me. D-did I s-say that r-right? I w-w-would be h-happy f-for you to f-f-fuck me. P-p-please.”
Quentin’s eyes drilled into his as if he wanted to make extra, triple, super sure Augustus knew what he was saying, that there was no misunderstanding. So he let his eyes speak, allowed his eagerness and excitement to shine through.
“Oh, baby,” Quentin finally whispered, covering Augustus’s hands with his own. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”
Augustus nodded, smiling. “I know. C-c-can’t wait.”
Quentin took both their hands, then brought their mouths together. The kiss started soft, sweet. Augustus sighed into Quentin’s mouth as his tongue traced Augustus’s lips, then dipped inside and circled his mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. He put his hands on Quentin’s ass, scooted him as close as possible, then ran them over his smooth back, sneaking under his hoodie.