[ If he had the wherewithal to wrack his brain for any logic in it, Tim would worry that the hard possessive edge to Quentin’s voice is unusual, coming from him, the very man whose openness and lack of possessive urge coaxed him into the idea of accepting multiple lovers in the first place. But the pieces of his brain that deal in logic and self-preservation have been shut off, replaced with more desire, more heat, moremoremore animal instinct overriding all else. And ’You’re mine’ isn’t a question, it’s not a negotiation. It’s a claim being staked.
It makes him so hard that it's a wonder there's enough blood to keep the rest of him upright.
Tim nods, furiously agreeing, and shoves his underwear down, the front smeared with so much pre that it's gone from white to transparent, until they fall around his ankles and he can really push back, press himself into the bruising grip of Quentin's fingers, the hard, hot line of his cock that should be inside him, why isn't it inside him-- ]
Hard. Please, Quentin.
[ Answering the question, for once, rather than gleefully submitting to what's been decided for him. ]
no subject
It makes him so hard that it's a wonder there's enough blood to keep the rest of him upright.
Tim nods, furiously agreeing, and shoves his underwear down, the front smeared with so much pre that it's gone from white to transparent, until they fall around his ankles and he can really push back, press himself into the bruising grip of Quentin's fingers, the hard, hot line of his cock that should be inside him, why isn't it inside him-- ]
Hard. Please, Quentin.
[ Answering the question, for once, rather than gleefully submitting to what's been decided for him. ]