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I'm not going to let anything happen to you.

[ there's a simmering in his veins, a tingling on his tongue that makes him dive back in, drink hot and hard and heavy from tim's mouth, messy and noisy, daring to suck at his tongue when the other man even tries to catch his breath.

he hums low and hungry, leaning his weight into tim and gripping so tightly at his ass, spreading him open and allowing his hips to slot into place, grinding his hardening dick up against the clothed seam of him, dragging him harder down into every roll of his hips. ]

You're mine to keep safe. [ a possessiveness he doesn't understand right now, fueled by the sweet candy taste of tim on his tongue. ] I'll help you, but I'm afraid I can't fuck you yet. Not with all of these clothes in the way.

[ he rolls his hips again, fingers likely bruising in how tightly he squeezes at tim's ass, bringing him down on him again and again. ] Go on - tell me how you want to be fucked, sweets. Or shall I surprise you?

[ 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. ]

[ hard tim says and the air leaves his chest. it's good - tim begging, tim wanting him, and all he wants in turn is to relieve the pretty man he has pressed into the door, the pretty man who needs him. the pretty man he wants nothing more than to keep safe from anyone who may make ill use of these moments.

and tim asks so he cannot deny him - instead he buries his face in against tim's neck, sucking a purpling mark into the crook there. it's a distraction, though, especially with tim's sticky underwear hitting the floor between their feet. it means that the next thrust of his hips is a messy slide between the meat of tim's ass, the leaking, flared head of his own cock catching on his hole and sliding past. ]

Hard? Is that right, sweets?

[ he licks a lewd line along tim's neck, mouth moving to his nape, his shoulder blade. ]

You don't want me to get you nice and ready for me? [ he reaches for tim's front again, ignoring the aching line of his dick but instead reaching under and cupping his sac, giving an appreciative squeeze. another roll of his hips, this time getting himself in position, applying the barest hint of pressure against that fluttering ring of muscle. ]

[ Tim can feel him sliding between the muscle, teasing him. The brush of his cock against his hole frustrates more than it satisfies, an impatient grunt rumbles from low in his belly, and he juts his ass out to meet it, to take it the way he wants to. Needs to. Tim's back arches, making himself as appealing as possible because if he doesn't feel Quentin inside him in the next ten seconds, he might just pass out.

Bracing himself against the door with one hand, he spits into the other, and reaches behind him to smear it against his hole. It's a haphazard job, just so Quentin doesn't have any excuse not to fuck him. ]

I'm good.

[ Pressing his balls into his hand, and his ass back into him. He's good. ]

[ seeing tim so desperate and furious for him does something to the temperature of quentin's blood. he laughs, low and appreciative at the lewd way tim readies himself. he gives another appreciative squeeze of his balls and then begins to slowly roll his hips forward. he won't give him the punishing, harried fuck he's promised yet - instead he goes slow, slow, slow. he watches every inch of him sink into tim, hand sliding from deep between his thighs to carefully pet over the hard line of tim's dick. ]

So good.

[ he leans forward, mouth against tim's nape. ]

This what you wanted? [ and he bottoms out suddenly, deeply, letting his hips press flush and hard against tim's ass. ]

[ It's barely readying, just enough so that he has something wet to press his cock on as he pushes into him, painfully slow. It would be perfect, in any other mood, even with the sting of under-preparedness. But now, even though he whimpers, even though his fingers claw at the wall to steady him until there's paint beneath his fingernails, it doesn't feel like enough.

Tim whines, pushing himself back on Quentin's cock, and forth into his hand, rocking with frustrated tears in his eyes. He chokes back a sob and answers. ]

More.

[ it's impossible to keep his dick from throbbing with want as tim fucks himself back on him and then into the circle of his fist. but who is he to deny him more - and as tim drives his hips back he meets them with his own, a hard and rough snap that makes skin slap and chokes a heady groan from him. ]

You asked so nicely.

[ he squeezes his hand around tim, stroking from his sac, from root to tip before his sticky hand joins one on tim's on the door. the other to tim's shoulder, gripping hard and stabilizing himself as he begins to set a punishing pace, his breath coming in little pants and gasps. ]

And you're taking me so well.

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