Page 11 of The Barn: Frost and Q

“You’re my boy. My love. My husband. I mean it.

” He could hear the truth of that in his own voice and that gave him strength and straightened him up a little more.

He wasn’t bullshitting. And he thought that Quentin heard that too, because Q almost smiled, those teeth sinking into his bottom lip and worrying it.

“All right, I believe you, Sir.”

“Good boy.” He stood, letting Q see the collar again, before he put the collar on his boy, buckling it carefully. He checked the tension, making sure that Quentin could feel it, but that it wasn’t pressing at all.

Quentin shivered, and Frost could see his boy’s nipples get hard underneath the tight T-shirt that he wore. Maybe Frost should have taken it off, but there was something deliberate about this. An acknowledgement that they were going to just sit there and experience this together.

And then he was going to touch.

He moved to stand behind the wheelchair.

No, he moved to stand behind Quentin; the chair was inconsequential. He focused on undoing his boy’s braids and then carding his fingers through the long hair to separate it from its hanks.

He enjoyed the quiet ritual of plaiting Q’s hair, and he took his time smoothing and then creating a single braid down the back.

Quentin rarely did that for himself, and Frost liked it because he could tug it, and move Q’s head around how he needed it.

And it was another signal that they were in the scene.

“I want you to talk to me, Q, and tell me what you’re feeling. There’s no reason to be quiet.”

“I—this is one of my favorite parts,” Q whispered. “This has always been one of my favorite parts.”

“For me as well. I love the way that your hair feels in my fingers. I love how I can smell you like this. And I like knowing that you wear your hair like this just for me.” He separated the thick hair out into three hanks and began to braid them. Over, under, over, under. “It’s getting long.”

“You know, I—when I woke up and it was gone. It hurt my feelings.”

“I can imagine. It was strange to see you without hair on one side for sure, and short hair everywhere else. It was odd, but good, because it means you lived. So, I’ll take it.

” It had been shocking, but not as much as the bandages and everything else there had been. Not even in the top ten of the shocks.

“Do you ever wish that I’d died?”

His fingers tightened in shock, tugging on Q’s braid. “What? No, never. Not even once.”

The thought made him a little queasy, and then he closed his eyes against the nausea, the panic, forcing his hands to keep braiding. Over, under, over, under.

He had to keep it together. This was a test, whether or not Quenton knew it—and he thought, maybe, Q did. His boy wasn’t stupid. Are you strong enough to go through this with me? Are you strong enough to be my Dom?

“Are you sure?” Q sounded curious and a little bit desperate, but not angry. Not even really sad. Just needy.

But needy was perfectly okay when they were in the middle of a scene. In fact, it was amazing, because it meant that Q was present with him right there, feeling everything and talking about it.

“I am one hundred percent sure. I admit, when you woke up—well even before you woke up when I first came to see you in the hospital, and you were hooked up to all the tubes, and the bandages were all over you, and they were telling me it was going to take another surgery, maybe two, and then they were telling me there was no way they could do the surgery, that it might kill you—I freaked out, but I promised myself right then and there that we were going to get through this together.”

“And then I came here and locked myself away. Is that what you’re saying?” Quentin’s voice shook.

“No. I’m saying that healing takes pathways that you don’t expect sometimes. Things take a turn, and you have to follow the road where it goes.” Corny, but true.

Quentin chuckled a little bit. “Are you sure that’s not a song?”

“Well, if it is, I’ve got the words all out of order.

” He finished off the braid and tied it with the little elastic that he had taken out of one of the many that Q had had his hair in before.

“All I know is that before I came in here tonight, I decided that no matter what, we were going to experience this together, and I was going to be your Dom again.”

“Okay. Fair. I just don’t want you to wonder what it would be like if I was gone.”

“I never wonder that.” Frost went for brutal honesty. “I wonder sometimes if you’d be better off without me. If maybe I should let you go. But I never wonder what this world would be like without you in it because I can’t imagine it.”

Whatever it was that Q heard in his voice, it worked, because he sighed, and his shoulders relaxed, his head lolling back on his neck. “I can live with that.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He ran his hand down the braid over and over, stroking, soothing. “Do you want me to rub your shoulders?”

Q thought about that for a moment, head tilting. “I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels good when they do it in therapy, and sometimes, it feels awful. It all depends on the nerves.”

“All right.” That was what he was looking for.

Openness. Honesty. “Why don’t I try for just a minute?

Just to touch you.” Frost put his hands lightly on Q’s shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath the skin, feeling the warmth of Q under his hands.

“I miss touching you. I’ve missed it so much.

I love playing chess with you, and I love sitting and watching a movie, but sometimes, I just want to hold you.

I want to hold your hand or touch your cheek, but I’ve let myself get all caught up in the worry and the stress of what happened to us before, and I forgot how to do it. That’s why we needed this.”

Quentin pondered it for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, it feels really good.”

“Now I’m going to rub a little bit. If it feels good, just let me do it. If it feels weird, give me the yellow. If it hurts, though, immediately give me your red. Understood, boy?”

“Yes, Sir.” Q’s agreement was immediate.

“Good boy.” He squeezed more gently than he really wanted to, less gently than he thought he should. He wanted to massage, and he knew what kind of pressure that needed, but he also knew that Q was going to have to tell him what his body could take on any given day.

Q stayed silent, and he didn’t tense up, so Frost thought that the pressure he was using was good. He dug his thumbs in a tiny bit, but not at the neck. Only just below the shoulder line. He wanted to keep it where it wasn’t immediately on the spinal column.

Quentin moaned some this time, his head dropping forward. “Oooh.”

“Is that a good oh, baby?”

“God, yes. When the physical therapist does it, it’s always to loosen me up after swimming or something like that. This is not the same at all.” Q shivered, rippling, and he could see the goosebumps rising up on the back of Q’s shoulder where the T-shirt pulled away just enough for him to notice.

“I’m glad.” Frost rubbed deeper, letting the pressure stay right where it was, giving them both the sensation that they needed, skin on skin on cloth, them breathing each other’s air, being in the same space.

The collar was no impediment to what he was doing; he stayed under it, and in fact, Frost was grateful for it because that way he couldn’t go too high and hurt the back of Q’s neck.

Frost let his hands slide over the front of Q’s shoulders and down his chest. He wanted to feel those tight little nipples through the T-shirt. He wanted to let Q remember what a sexual touch felt like too. Hell, he wanted Q right there with him as his cock hardened in his jeans.

“Your hands are warm,” Q whispered. “I love that. How warm you are. I was never cold when I was sleeping with you.”

This inclination to ask him why he was sleeping in a little closet in a twin-size bed when Frost had a king-size bed waiting for him was huge. But that question was not for this space.

Not for this time.

“Are your nipples hard for me?”

“They are.” Quentin grinned, the look wicked and joyous. “Too bad I’m cuffed, or I could take off my shirt and show you.”

His hands swooped down and fast as he could, he pinched both nipples hard, making Quentin gasp and arch, as he reminded, “Sir.”

“Fuck. That’s just right, Sir.”

“My good boy.” He twisted and tugged a little bit, letting the fabric rasp enough. Just enough to keep everything ripped up. He played for a few minutes, lingering and stroking, until Q was relaxing, and then he stopped, heading back up to the sweet shoulders and beginning to rub again.

He could see the line of Quentin’s cock in his jeans. It pleased him down to his bones.

“What if I can never kneel for you again?” Again, a little whisper, but he didn’t allow it to derail him.

“What if you can’t? We’ll find something else. There are a lot of subs who can’t kneel. Submissive doesn’t mean able-bodied. It doesn’t mean we don’t make accommodations. You do it for me.” That wasn’t even a question.

Q nodded, swallowing convulsively. “I’d do anything for you, Master. I would do anything you asked.”

“Good.” He kept rubbing, all the while holding back all of the things that he wanted to ask for. Come home with me, sleep with me, be with me. Let me love you like you deserve. Forgive me.

He focused on moving his hand in increasingly large circles. He moved over the nipples, down the belly, almost brushing that sweet cock, and then up the arms and over the shoulders. Big, slow, easy touches meant to soothe.

Within minutes. Quentin was almost purring, his eyes closed, his lips parted. The look was one of absolute hunger.

He didn’t interrupt with words. It was easiest to just let Quentin be in his body, and let the love that he had, that he felt, pour out through his fingers and his palms into that sweet wonderful body.

You have to meet people where they are.

He was never going to forget that. Never again. He had to meet Q where he was.

He tried to figure a graceful way to move from rubbing Quentin’s torso to rubbing his legs.

There really wasn’t an easy way to get from one side of the wheelchair to the other, so he just stopped trying.

He walked around to the front of the wheelchair and sat down on the coffee table, without losing the mood, the need to touch.

He started on Quentin’s thighs. Then he moved up to his hips, around to his cock, and back down to his knees and the big circles again, watching closely.

He knew that Q didn’t have nerve problems in his legs—really it was a balance issue with his brain so this shouldn’t hurt—but he watched intently to make sure that this was just pleasure.

Just warmth and joy.

Quentin’s expression never really changed. He stayed right there in that soft, sweet moment of bliss.

For his part, Frost was riding that high, man. He was riding it hard. Just from this, just from touching, running his hands halfway down Q’s calves, then back up. Sometimes touching the sweet belly, sometimes his hard cock. It didn’t matter.

This was about this rhythm, this touching, and Frost was over the goddamn moon. Maybe?—

Maybe he was supposed to be meeting himself where he was too.

“I love you.” The words were soft and well meant. “I love you, Sir.”

“I love you too, baby boy. More than anything. You’re all mine.”

“Yours.”

He slowed his touches. “Are you comfortable? Anything asleep? Anything not working the way that you want it to work, that it needs to work?”

“I wish I hadn’t worn my jeans. My belt buckle is kind of, you know. And then there’s the zipper. I think my cock may have a permanent indentation.”

He chuckled softly. “Should I let it free, your poor cock?”

“That’s up to you. I just want to be right here with you now with this.”

“No more wanting the blindfold.”

“No. There’s no ick on your face. No worry. You look like my Dom.”

That made him growl with satisfaction. He couldn’t promise it would always be that way. They had a lot to work through. But right here, right now, in this space, that was the perfect thing to hear.

He reached down to unbuckle Q’s belt, then unzip his jeans as carefully as possible. No pinching. No ruining the moment with pain of any kind if he could help it.

Not that kind of pain, anyway. “Now it can breathe some, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Q’s breath started to come in pants, and his cock stuck up, hard and red and damp at the tip.

Perfect.

“Okay, stop me if anything gets too intense.” He ran his hands up Quentin’s torso, pushing up the shirt so the soft material caught under his arms. He didn’t bunch it up too much, just got it above those pinkish brown nipples.

Frost touched them, rolling them between his fingers lightly, then pinching them quickly enough that Q grunted and bucked a little for him.

“Sir!”

“Is that a good Sir , boy?” He knew it was. He’d seen that cock dance a bit for him. But he wanted the words.

“Yes. More please, if you want, Sir.”

“If I want it. That’s right. I can see you want it, boy.

” He twisted a little, not wanting to tighten up Q’s muscles too much.

He knew there was a fine line between pleasure and a muscle spasm when someone was recovering, and he and Scott had talked extensively about how muscles could be weird when they atrophied, how nerve centers could go haywire.

“I want to make you come, Q. Have you stroked off recently? Have you given yourself pleasure?”

“No.” Quentin all but whispered it.

“Why not? Does it not feel good?” Orgasms could cause headaches…

“Because my orgasms are for you, Sir.”

Frost damn near came in his pants. As it was, he hurried to open his jeans to let his cock free.

“Oh.” Q moaned for him. “I would suck it for you, Sir.”

“Not this time, baby boy. This is about seeing you come. If you’re very good, I’ll jerk off and come on your chest.”

Quentin whimpered, then licked his lips. “I’m very close, Sir.”

“Good.” He reached for that cock, ready to wrap this one up so they could enjoy the afterburn. He stroked, using his other hand on himself, letting Q watch.

“You’re allowed to come whenever you’re ready, boy.”

Q’s hands opened and closed, fighting the cuffs, and he tensed, his hips lifting up. He cried out, and spunk flew up, his orgasm so damn beautiful.

Frost waited until each last spurt happened, then stood, jerking himself roughly until he shot all over Q’s chest, even getting a little on his chin.

“Thank you,” Quentin gasped. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome, boy.” He stroked Q’s hair until their breathing calmed, then released the cuffs and collar, stroking the skin, checking for marks or issues.

“Can we—Can we have a shower?”

“Anything you want, baby boy. This is about you.” And it would suit him, too. Damn well.

The big question still up in the air was where they would sleep.

But this was a huge win. And Frost was willing to take them one at a time.