He could’ve skipped his cock and gone to his legs, but he didn’t want to. The need inside him was getting hard to ignore, and Quentin had to feel the same. He nuzzled his legs, the crease between his thigh and his balls that always smelled like…like sweat and arousal and him. It was Quentin’s essence, and he licked it up, breathed it in.
Quentin’s wet cock was painting his cheeks and his hair with precum, but he didn’t care. He wanted his smell all over him. Hell, if Quentin wanted to take a piss on him right now, he’d take it, and that had never been a kink he’d been fascinated by in the least. He just wanted to be as close to him as possible.
Quentin’s cock tasted salty, sweaty. He licked the head, humming in pleasure when he got the first taste. His own cock throbbed. God, he was so excited at the prospect of burying himself inside Quentin. He took Quentin’s length into his mouth as far as he could, and Quentin let out a low rumble of approval. Augustus’s hands cradled Quentin’s balls, gently rolling them in the same way he’d loved to play with his own. Before Quentin had shown him real pleasure.
He licked a stripe up his cock, then nuzzled his balls. They fit perfectly into his mouth, he’d already discovered, and Quentin loved it when he sucked on them. Especially when he fingered him at the same time.
Lube, he needed lube.
As if Quentin could read his mind, he stretched out and grabbed the lube from the side table, then threw it next to Augustus onto the couch. “You’re gonna need that, baby.”
Yes, he would. He took a moment to slick up his fingers. Quentin could multitask like a pro, and Augustus would barely even notice when he lubed up, but he wasn’t quite that handy yet. When his fingers were nice and slick, he got back to Quentin. He held him with his left hand now, moving with slow, steady strokes at the top of his dick. Meanwhile, his right hand was fumbling to get access.
Quentin pulled up his legs, and there it was, that pretty pink hole. Everything on him was smooth and gorgeous, and so was his hole. Delicate, almost like a flower, and Augustus approached it with care. He was gentle when he pushed, but Quentin let him in with ease.
God, he was tight. Warm and velvety soft. Augustus swallowed, and his cock twitched in anticipation. Quentin’s moan as he sank his middle finger deep inside him spurred him on. He thrust it a few times, then switched it for his thumb. That, too, slid in easily, and the sight of Quentin’s greedy hole swallowing his digit whole was so arousing he had to let go of Quentin’s cock and grab his own. He squeezed firmly until his balls stopped throbbing.
Two fingers were no problem either, and Quentin rocked against his hand. “Curl your middle finger a little… God, yes, there. Oh, fuck…”
He pumped him deep, finding that spot inside that made Quentin push back his ass, then jerk away as if hit by a jolt of electricity. “Ugh,” he moaned. “I need your cock…”
It was too soon. He hadn’t loosened him up properly. “It w-w-will h-hurt.”
“Augustus.”
He looked up and met Quentin’s eyes, full of love and heat. “I like that pain. I trust you.”
Oh, the weight of that statement. The gravitas of the situation was staggering, and he was soaring. Quentin trusted him.
He squeezed out some extra lube and coated his cock. His first time with a man. No matter what would happen, he would never forget that his first time hadn’t been sex. It was making love to the man he loved.
He clumsily found a position that would work. Quentin waited for him with patient eyes, his legs pulled up, that pink star beckoning Augustus. He held his own cock and pushed in, first gently, then harder when it wasn’t enough.
“Oh!” He slipped in, then almost automatically stopped.
But Quentin wrapped his legs around him. “Don’t stop. Fill me, baby. All the way.”
Augustus obeyed, sweat pearling on his forehead as he sank inside him. God, he was so fucking tight. So perfect and warm and snug. Quentin’s face showed a flash of pain, and his eyes widened as Augustus sank in deeper, harder until he couldn’t go any farther.
Quentin’s mouth had dropped open in a wordless O, a place where pain and pleasure were indistinguishable. Augustus knew that place well, and his belly went weak as Quentin breathed through it, then met Augustus’s eyes, and whispered, “Fuck me hard. Hard, baby, you hear me?”
He looked like an elf, but he was anything but fragile. The first few thrusts were awkward as Augustus tried to find the right rhythm, but then he had it, and he snapped his hips and drove inside him. Something else took over from his rational mind, something primitive and wild. It wanted Quentin, and it yearned to obey the command to take him hard.
He plunged in, withdrew, and slammed back in. Quentin’s fingers bruised his hips, his ass, his shoulders, but Augustus didn’t care. His ears roared, his vision became hazy, and all he knew was the reality of him and Quentin, the two of them, one flesh.
Quentin cried out, wailing and moaning and making sounds Augustus had never heard from him, but none of them said no. None of them said stop or red or anything like it. And so he plowed on, but he had to grab his base when he came too close, and he waited a few seconds. Quentin looked at him impatiently, then in understanding, and he smiled.
“You’re perfect, baby,” he said, and the words flooded Augustus.
He’d never been this in tune with someone else, this close. He was so aware of Quentin, of his smooth, sweaty body underneath his, of his frantic heartbeat that he could feel thud against his fingers, of his green eyes, which saw inside him. He was perfect. They were perfect.
“I love you,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue as smooth as they had sounded in his head. Tears welled up in his eyes because for once, his brain and his mouth had gotten the connection right. The one time that it really mattered, he’d been perfect.
Quentin’s smile was everything, and when Augustus thrust back inside him, it was slower, softer. He laced their hands together, then lowered his mouth in an almost kiss. The air grew tender, kind, and with each slide, their breaths mingled. Their bodies connected. Their eyes locked. Their hearts beat in sync.
The violent storm inside him calmed down to one big wave that built and built, rising higher and higher until he couldn’t hold back anymore. His body burned, ached, his balls tightening so viciously he struggled for breath. And then he let go. He rode the wave, adrenaline and pleasure keeping him going, thrusting, shoving, squeezing every last drop out until he crashed and drowned.
Something hot and wet splashed against his stomach, and Quentin’s grunt mixed with his own desperate moan. Their exhausted bodies melted against each other, boneless and satisfied.
Quentin loved him.
Augustus fell asleep with a smile on his face and Quentin’s cum all over him.
28
The next morning, Quentin helped Augustus in the junkyard. Not so much because Augustus needed the help, but the thought of not being with him these last days they were together was just unbearable. Augustus seemed to either understand or feel the same because he kept giving Quentin things to do. Small things, meaningless things, but tasks that kept Quentin near him.
Not that Quentin had any doubt left about Augustus’s feelings for him. For a while now, he'd known Augustus loved him, even if he'd never admitted it to himself or had brought it up. But the tender way they had made love the night before, how Augustus had looked as he took him, had been everything.