“Oh, god,” Quentin managed, his hand flying to his mouth. “Oh, baby… Do you realize what you’re doing, what signal you’re giving me? I’m… Augustus, are you sure about this?”
He nodded.
“Do you like it when I’m dominant?”
Suddenly the word he’d been searching for before came to him. Submissive. That was what he felt, what he wanted. Not inferior to Quentin, not less, but submissive by choice.
Dominant.
Submissive.
Wait, what was Quentin asking, exactly? Augustus knew jack shit about BDSM or whatever it was called, but he’d come across some porn that had seemed intimidating. And some of it had gone on his hell no list instantly.
But when he looked into Quentin’s eyes, none of that mattered. He wasn’t exactly sure what Quentin was asking and if he fully understood where Quentin would lead him, but dammit, he would follow. He had never felt like this, had never imagined he could feel like this, and it was all because of this man. He trusted him with everything he had.
“Yes.” His voice rang out clear, no stutter this time.
Quentin bit his lip. “Augustus, do you understand where I’m going with this? I’m not just talking about being bossy or telling you what to do.”
Augustus nodded. “You w-want to d-d-dominate me.”
“Oh, god, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”
“T-t-tell me.”
Quentin blazed a trail with his index finger across Augustus’s face, starting at his left ear, then lifting his chin higher and touching him everywhere. “I don’t know, honestly. All I know is that I get such a thrill out of watching you submit to me.”
He took Augustus’s hand, placed it on his cock, which was hard as iron. “You feel that? That’s what you kneeling for me does to me. I have so many dirty things running through my head, but I don’t know if you’re ready for this, for me. Hell, I don’t even know if I can do this.”
His knees were starting to hurt, but no way was Augustus changing position now, not when he knew how it affected Quentin. “W-w-why not?”
Quentin caressed his hair. “I’ve never done this before, not more than an occasional spanking and tying someone up with faux fur cuffs.”
“B-b-but you w-want to do m-more.”
“Fuck, yeah, so much more. But I never thought anyone would let me. I’m not exactly the type to be a Dom, you know.”
A Dom. He’d said it. Quentin wanted to be a Dom. No, not just a Dom, Augustus’s Dom. He let the word roll around in his brain, imagined himself being tied up, to a bed maybe? Quentin could…
An image filled his mind, of Quentin making him suck his cock. He’d be down with that. And spanking, maybe? He always liked to pinch himself when he jacked off, create that mix of pain and pleasure that made his release so much more intense.
He could get those nipple piercings for Quentin to play with and maybe even some piercings elsewhere. Or another tattoo. His tattoo and piercing artist had warned him when he got his first ink that it was addictive, and he’d been dead right.
“Where did you go, baby?” Quentin asked with a laugh in his voice. “I just watched your eyes go all dark and intense.”
“I w-w-will let you. T-t-together. We’ll both l-learn.”
Quentin’s smile transitioned into a look of wonder. “How did I ever get so lucky to meet you?” he whispered. He bent over and kissed Augustus, a fierce, fiery kiss that promised much more. “My first request: make us some food. Please. I’m fucking starving.”
Quentin watched silently as Augustus prepared them dinner—even though it was way past dinner time already. His heart was still racing, his mind so overexcited he had trouble focusing. What the hell had just happened? How was it even remotely possible that a man like Augustus wanted this and with him, little Quentin.
Baby Q, his friends had called him in high school because he’d always been the smallest and the guy with the babyface. The contrast with his best friend, Noel—six foot three and built like a damn tank—hadn’t done him any favors either, though their friendship had been everything. Hell, more than one teacher hadn’t believed him when he’d said he was in high school. At first, he hadn’t minded because he figured he’d outgrow it, but when he’d been a senior and had still looked like he was twelve, he’d gotten frustrated.
Then college had happened, including a series of short-lived relationships with guys who were attracted to him because of his body type and the expectations that came with it. Your ass was made to be fucked, he’d been told more than once. Apparently, the fact that he had a dick too wasn’t interesting. Sure, they’d jack him off, and he’d had some decent blow jobs, but more often than not, he was the one expected to be on his knees, offering up whatever orifice they requested.
He hadn’t truly understood why that bothered him so much until he’d met Justin. Justin had been a six-foot-three muscled, tattooed bear of a man—everything Quentin loved. He’d also been into kinky stuff, and that had been a new experience. At first, Quentin had loved letting Justin experiment with him, but he’d soon discovered he had a problem. He was the one who wanted to do the spanking and the tying up and the doling out punishment, not to receive it. When he’d finally mentioned it to Justin, his boyfriend had laughed him out of the room.
Justin had been scathing in his parting comments that Quentin had better forget about the idea of being a dominant or even of topping. No one will ever look at you and think I wish that guy would fuck me. Trust me, every gay man alive wants a piece of you…but not that piece. They want your ass, not your dick. Those cruel words had broken Quentin’s heart.
Of course, that had been the end of his relationship with Justin, but he’d still hoped the guy had been wrong.
He’d met some guys who were willing to let him try something, but they’d all been twinks like him. Total fuckboys who just wanted to have a good time and were happy to don a pair of pink faux fur cuffs if that got them laid. Quentin wanted more. He wanted so much more. He’d dreamed of it until he’d lost hope and had told himself to forget it.
Now it seemed he’d found it, though it was still hard to believe Augustus meant what he’d said. Did he truly understand what he, what they were getting into?
A hand landed on his neck. He jerked. “D-d-don’t fret. We’ll f-figure it out,” Augustus said, then kissed Quentin’s head.
Quentin’s heart warmed. He was such a sweetheart, such a kind, tender man. “I know, baby. What are you making for us?”
“Homem-made m-mac and cheese. It’ll b-be done in a m-minute.”
“It smells delicious. I’ll set the table.”
Being here with Augustus was homey, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to be here, together. He’d never felt this familiarity with anyone else, maybe because he’d always felt the need to keep his mask on. With Augustus, he could be himself.
“D-d-do you w-want to tell m-me about your f-f-father?” Augustus asked when they’d started eating.
Quentin nodded after only a short hesitation. As much as he wanted to talk about the other stuff, about Augustus kneeling for him and where to go from there, they had to take it slow. Hell, they were already going at breakneck speed, considering they’d had sex within two days of meeting for the first time. For Quentin, who’d done the hookup scene for a while, it wasn’t that big a deal, but with Augustus, everything was different. This was not a hookup, no wham-bam encounter. This had the potential of being more, of developing into something worthy of big and scary words. So they’d talk about stuff first. Stuff that mattered, like their past.