Page 9 of The Barn: Frost and Q

Eight

Q uentin was just settling in on the couch when the knock came at his door.

“Shit.” He grabbed his phone and pressed his little camera button. “What?”

“Hey, Q, buzz me in.”

Frost. Dammit. And he knew Quentin didn’t have to come to the door to open the lock.

Maybe he should just give the damn man the code.

He tapped it out on the phone, and the door swung open. Frost came in with a leather overnight bag. Monogrammed. Lord.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“Oh, grrr.” Frost set his bag down, then plopped on the couch with him. “Well, you see, I have been the recipient of a couple of TED Talks of late.” Frost rolled his head, that hazel gaze boring into his.

“Yeah? What about? Alaska water gardening? How to avoid grizzly bears?”

“Ha-ha. No. About getting what I want. About giving you what you need.”

He caught his breath. Cleared his throat. “And what is it that you want?”

“To be with you. To be your husband again. Your Dom again.”

He started to shake his head, but Frost put a hand on his thigh. “Hear me out.”

He licked his lips. “I’ll try.” Was that his voice? All hoarse? “So what’s your plan?”

Frost dug into his black jeans, pulling out a coin. “So I’m spending the night. If you don’t want me in your closet, I can sleep on the floor next to you. But as for how we entertain ourselves, we’ll flip a coin.”

His heart was beating harder than the wings of a pissed-off loon. “Chess or movies?”

“Nope.” Frost gave him a long, slow grin. “Heads, we fuck like bunnies. Tails, we do a scene.”

Oh God. Panic shot through him, but so did a longing so deep it almost made him double over. “I—I can’t.”

“Why not? If you think I don’t want you, then you’re wrong.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Frost stared at him, those gold and green eyes glinting. “So you don’t want me?”

“Will you stop putting words in my mouth?” Quentin shouted. “I didn’t say that either.” Frost was just making him nuts. He wanted to run, but he had nowhere to go. No damn fair.

“Well, what are you saying, baby?” Frost waited, that patient air he always had as a Dom coming out. Butthead.

“I’m saying I don’t know if I can do it!” His voice rose on every word. “I’m saying I’m scared!”

He didn’t get pity or even sympathy from Frost like he expected. He got a nod, acknowledging his words, but the rest was all determination.

And he was terrified he would disappoint his husband. Quentin never wanted to do that.

“You can be scared. I’m still not hearing your words, boy. You know. If you’re scared, you can bring it on, lay it on me. I’ll take care of your fears.”

Q stared at him. Talking. He was going to talk about it, about how scared he was? He didn’t think so.

Quentin just didn’t know if he could face this whole thing with Frost again.

The whole situation hurt too much. What if they got in the middle of this scene, and he was in his headspace, and he fell or something happened with his legs, and Frost freaked out, and then he was fucked?

It just didn’t work. It was safer this way.

Everything was safer this way.

Frost looked at him and waited with this endless fucking patience.

He glared over, giving Frost his best stink-eye. “I hate it when you do that. I hate it when you just look at me. I don’t want you to look at me anymore. What if I want you to leave? Would you simply go?”

Still nothing. Frost sat here and watched him.

“I want you to get the fuck out. I want you to go away, leave me alone, and just forget about me. Won’t you do that? Won’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” He could remember once upon a time when he would get a swat for every single curse word.

There had been days he was just looking for attention, for Frost’s focus, finding the filthiest, awfulest things he could say just because he needed it so bad.

Now he was never going to get it again.

“I’m going to call security.”

Frost just sat there, one eyebrow arched. Like, what are you gonna do, call them on the boss?

“I could. I could call them and tell them that you’re a bastard.” Because it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to lie and say what? That his Frost hurt him? Harmed him in some way? He couldn’t do that.

Frost still never spoke, letting him babble. And then he got embarrassed, because who wanted to be the one who couldn’t just leave it well enough alone.

“Why are you doing this? I don’t want this. I can’t do it. I can never be what you need again.”

Frost scowled and shook his head, but he still never answered. Not when Quentin cursed roundly, or when he told Frost this was all his fault.

Finally, Quentin just started screaming.

Just screaming at the top of his lungs, pouring all of his energy into making a sound that magnified his hurt.

It felt so good to just cry out for all of his fury, his pain, his fear.

It had been building up, so awful, like an injury that had gotten full of pus and needed to be lanced.

Too many days had been so bad, and he hurt so horribly, and he needed Frost to hear that.

To hear that he didn’t actually blame Frost, that had been a lie, but he needed Frost to believe in him still.

He needed Frost to listen.

Finally, like anything huge and earthshaking, it ended.

He slumped down, praying that he didn’t just fall on the floor. He didn’t, because Frost’s arms were right there, wrapping around him and holding on tight.

“Feel better, baby boy?”

He nodded, because he did, even if his head hurt. “I might live.”

“Good. Good.” Frost rocked him, letting them float for a minute.

“You make me so crazy,” he whispered. “Nobody makes me as crazy as you do.”

“Hopefully, nobody ever will.” Frost kissed his forehead. “Don’t think that I’ve changed my mind. I’m still going to flip this coin.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“You know how to stop this.” Frost met his eyes, that hazel gaze a little too bright. “Don’t think I don’t understand. You haven’t used your safe words. Until you do, I’m not going to stop. The power is in your hands.”

“I don’t want the power.”

“That’s why you have it, because you can just float and let me drive.”

“What if?” What if everything went to hell? What if Frost decided he didn’t love him anymore? What if?—

The coin was tossed up in the air, and it turned and turned, catching the light. As soon as it hit the top of one of Frost’s hands, he clapped his hand over it so it didn’t fall. “Which one do you want it to be, heads or tails?”

“I don’t know,” Quentin said, his mouth dry as dust. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, Frost. I can’t do a scene. I’m afraid I’ll scare you.”

Frost blinked at him, but the expression on his face was obviously surprised. “What?”

“I can just see it. You’re being all Toppy, and it’s being wonderful and everything that I wanted, and then one of my legs spasms, or my hair moves a certain way and you see the bullet hole.

You touch something that’s weird and doesn’t feel like it used to.

You freak out, and it’s all guilt and sadness, and I’m stuck there needing you so much and knowing that I fucked it up. ”

Frost paused, and he could see his lover, his Dom, giving that the serious consideration it deserved.

“Okay, so here’s the thing. I can’t guarantee there won’t be the occasional weirdness.

I can’t tell you I won’t want to talk about things afterward, to see where we both are.

But I will tell you this. If you let me love you, or if we have a scene, I can promise I will be your lover and your Dom, and I will not freak out. ”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I’ve made up my mind. This is what I want. I want us to try to be an us again. I want you. Just as you are now.” Frost tipped his chin up so he couldn’t turn away. The coin balanced on the other. He couldn’t look. “So, no matter what we find together, I won’t lose my shit.”

“I don’t think I could bear it if you did,” he whispered.

“Then I won’t. I can give you what you really need, Q. And that’s not for me to leave.” Frost stroked his lips. “Look at the coin, baby boy. Tell me what it is.”

He finally tore his gaze from Frost’s. “It’s heads.”

He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. It might be harder just to make love. And Frost was trying to make him understand that he could say what he really needed.

“Can it be tails?” he asked, his voice shaking.

Frost’s gaze sharpened, as if to say, Now we’re getting somewhere. “Of course it can, baby boy. And I have a suggestion. But I want your honest opinion.”

“Okay.”

“I want to bind you to your chair.”

He blinked hard, rapid-fire thoughts running through his head. Okay, he wouldn’t have to stand or lie down on the bed in an uncomfortable position or worry about a bench or something. And he did love bondage. But then—“Yellow.”

Frost sat back so they weren’t touching. “Talk to me, baby boy.” Because yellow meant pause, I need to talk. And it had come right to his lips.

“It would be more comfortable physically.”

“But?”

“But it would be like admitting that I’m dependent on the chair.”

“Okay. And why does that give you pause?”

“Because I want to be—I don’t know.” His voice was rising again, and Frost took his hand.

He got up off the couch and moved to the wheelchair.

“Breathe. Slow. I’m in no hurry. You don’t have to choose your words so you don’t upset me. Just be honest.”

“Because I want to be able—I’m more recovered than that. Not better than that. There’s nothing wrong with the chair. Seriously. It’s a tool. And a lot of people live amazing lives while using that tool. But I feel as if I’m a bit of a liar sitting in it.”

“Because you can walk?”

“Yes.” Was that crazy?

“But just because you can stand and walk unaided at times doesn’t mean you might not always need the chair at times, too. Or maybe you won’t. But that doesn’t freak me out. And it doesn’t make you weak or a fraud.”

He searched Frost’s eyes and only saw truth. “Okay. Then I’ll greenlight it.”