They chatted throughout dinner, Quentin noticing once again that Mac was getting freer with his speech.
“D-do you w-want to play a game? A b-b-board game?”
“Yes! Oh god, that’s perfect with the storm outside.”
Mac had started a fire in the open fireplace, the warmth enveloping Quentin. He breathed in deeply, the scent of the crackling wood completely new to him. It smelled like…like home, somehow.
“What g-game do you w-w-want to play?”
Mac opened a wooden cabinet, revealing dozens of board games. “Holy moly, that’s a lot.”
Mac’s face filled with sadness. “M-m-my mom loved t-to play them. She was s-s-sick and c-couldn’t walk well anymore, so we p-p-played lots of g-games.”
“What did she have?”
“MS. B-b-but the p-progressive kind. She p-passed away t-t-ten years ago.”
Quentin put his hand on Mac’s arm, the strong muscles tensing under his touch. He waited a beat, but when Mac relaxed, he left it there. “I’m so sorry, Mac. You guys were close, huh?”
“Yeah.” For a second it seemed as if he wanted to say more, but then he closed his mouth again. Quentin wasn’t gonna ask him about his dad. If he’d been in the picture, Mac would have mentioned him, so it seemed better to leave that topic rest.
He gave Mac’s arm another squeeze. “What’s your favorite board game?”
“I l-l-like them all.”
He’d have to pick, then. “Let’s play Ticket to Ride. I haven’t played that in, like, forever.”
Mac made hot chocolate with whipped cream, and they played until suddenly the lights went out. Lucy let out a frightened bark, but Mac shushed her with a single whistle.
Quentin sat frozen in his seat, his heart beating wildly. When Mac had warned him about the possibility of losing power, Quentin had conveniently forgotten how much he hated the dark. The faint light from the fireplace was their only light, and god, he despised it.
“I’ll s-start up the g-g-generator. Give me a few m-m-minutes,” Mac said. He got up from his chair and grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen counter.
“L-lucy, stay,” he told the dog and disappeared into the hallway. Quentin heard rustling as Mac got dressed. Then the front door opened and closed.
The wind was howling around the house. It had grown pitch-dark, nothing of the snow visible, but the radar Quentin had checked on his weather app not a half hour ago had shown it wouldn’t stop snowing for hours yet. It was so fucking dark, and what if the backup generator didn’t work?
In the distance, a loud snap broke through the silence. What the hell was that? What if a tree came down under the force of the wind and the snow and fell on the house? Where the hell was Mac, and why hadn’t that stupid generator kicked in yet? Quentin tried to breathe, tried to stay calm, but his heart beat faster and faster. He shouldn’t be scared of something so stupid as the dark. He wasn’t a child, for fuck’s sake.
It wasn’t even completely dark, since he still had the light from the fireplace, and he wasn’t alone because Lucy was right there. She trotted toward Quentin and nuzzled his hand. Was she sensing his distress?
He slid his fingers through her fur, then scratched her ears. “You’re a sweet dog, aren’t you? You look mean, but you’re a softie on the inside, just like Mac.”
Lucy answered by licking his hand, and it made him painfully aware of the level of his fears. He was such a wuss when it came to shit like this.
A loud rumble signaled the generator had started, but no lights came on yet. Shivering despite the heat from the fireplace, Quentin sat, his hand holding on to Lucy as if she was the one thing keeping him from going into a full-blown panic attack. She probably was, he thought wryly. How could he ever expect his sexual partners to take him seriously, let alone be in charge, when he was still afraid of the dark? When he couldn’t even cook and properly take care of himself like an adult?
“A-a-are you okay?”
Mac’s voice yanked him out of his disoriented, jumbled thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed Mac coming back in, too focused on not falling apart.
“I’m… Dammit…the dark, I don’t like the dark,” he managed.
Mac wordlessly brought over a couple of large candles and placed them on the table, lighting them quickly. “B-better?”
Quentin nodded, the band around his chest still too tight to breathe comfortably. Mac’s worried eyes studied him, and Quentin felt like the biggest loser ever. Any shot he’d had with Mac was certainly blown to hell now.
“D-d-do you w-w-want to b-b-be held?”
Mac’s stress showed in how much he wrestled with his words, but the meaning registered loud and clear with Quentin. “God, please, Mac. Tight.”
Mac sat down on the couch and gestured, and Quentin didn’t even hesitate. He all but dropped his dead weight on Mac’s lap, tears forming in his eyes when those strong arms came around him and pulled him close. He leaned his head against Mac’s chest, wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, and held on.
6
Mac held Quentin tight, feeling his tense body struggling to breathe normally. How the hell had he missed this when he went outside to start the generator? Quentin hadn’t said a word, but maybe he hadn’t been able to.
Mac knew all about fear, the crippling panic that could wreck your body and make it unable to do anything. He’d experienced it plenty of times when being forced to give a presentation in school, to say anything in public. One experience had been so bad he’d almost peed his pants. Literally.
Quentin’s breathing slowed down, but his body was still tense. Mac found his head with his left hand while keeping him close with his right and gently stroked his hair. Quentin had such beautiful hair, all wild and messy and so different, outside the norm—like Quentin himself. Not many men here wore a haircut like that, and Mac fucking loved it.
Lucy had been trotting back and forth, on high alert, sensing Quentin’s stress, probably. Now she settled at Mac’s feet, her body warming his cold feet. The rest of him was scorching hot, reacting to the sensation of having a man in his arms.
Holding Quentin was everything he had imagined—and then some. His cock had grown hard in seconds, but he made no effort to hide it. Apparently, he was gay or maybe bi. Either that, or he belonged somewhere on a spectrum of people who simply fell in love, regardless of gender. He’d read books, seen documentaries about things like this. But he’d never recognized himself in the descriptions until Quentin had walked into his life.
And he was fine with it. His life sucked in many, many ways, but this feeling, this overwhelming sensation of wanting to disappear into someone else, this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. His closet was already jam-packed with secrets and guilt. It did not have room to shove himself in.
And so he held Quentin, and he started humming until he felt his slender body respond by relaxing. Quentin rubbed his cheek against Mac’s chest—well, technically, against the thick hoodie he was wearing. Mac kept stroking his hair as he hummed, one mindless tune after another.
He knew exactly when Quentin became aware of the very hard cock under his ass. He shifted slightly, rubbing against Mac. Quentin’s breath caught, and then he moved again, more subtle but unmistakably putting pressure on a very specific spot.