Getting fucked over a bar in front of people wasn't, like, impossible. Like Quentin could see himself doing that someday. Maybe. You know. Like the normal amount of possible. Just not on this particular night.
Quentin followed him, waiting until the door was shut to get up in Caliban's space, get hands on him, running down his chest. Now he could answer the question.
"I need you to fuck me," he said, voice quiet, soft, but determined. "You can use my mouth or, or whatever. You can pull my hair, slap me, not let me come, whatever." He pressed his forehead against Caliban's chest, and his hands had run down now enough to hook into the waistband of his pants, gripping like he just needed to hang onto something. "Just make my...head empty."
Caliban smirks wider when that door closed and the other certainly seemed to followed exactly what he'd asked in telling him what the other was craving and needing from him in one of the backrooms of this bar. A hand reaches up to brush along the back of Quentin's head as that head pressed against his bare chest and his body leans forward into the other's touch, more than allowing him to explore what he wanted to do with those hands.
"My, that is quite the fun option.." And just like that his hand was going to curl into that long hair and tugged it back sharply because...well, why wouldn't he use that long hair.
"Then open my pants like a good little boy and find out what exactly you will be taking, sweet mortal.." He purred those words- his tone easily already taking the reign's from the other, making it less his choice and more what the Dominant expected. To have those thoughts narrow on Caliban rather than whatever they were already swirling around in on.
Quentin made a little noise when his head was pulled back, letting Caliban move him, eyes falling shut as he did. "Yes," he breathed out, stopping just short of calling the other 'sir.' He was probably going to, once they got going.
He took his hands back long enough to unzip his jacket and his hoodie and strip them off, letting them fall to the ground and leave him in a t-shirt. Then he dropped to his knees and started undoing those pants, obediently spreading the placket open and pulling out what was inside. His eyes widened a little at it, and he looked up at Caliban like he was checking if it was real, but he didn't seem put off. God, he was going to choke to death on this thing. (Not the worst way to go.)
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Quentin followed him, waiting until the door was shut to get up in Caliban's space, get hands on him, running down his chest. Now he could answer the question.
"I need you to fuck me," he said, voice quiet, soft, but determined. "You can use my mouth or, or whatever. You can pull my hair, slap me, not let me come, whatever." He pressed his forehead against Caliban's chest, and his hands had run down now enough to hook into the waistband of his pants, gripping like he just needed to hang onto something. "Just make my...head empty."
no subject
"My, that is quite the fun option.." And just like that his hand was going to curl into that long hair and tugged it back sharply because...well, why wouldn't he use that long hair.
"Then open my pants like a good little boy and find out what exactly you will be taking, sweet mortal.." He purred those words- his tone easily already taking the reign's from the other, making it less his choice and more what the Dominant expected. To have those thoughts narrow on Caliban rather than whatever they were already swirling around in on.
no subject
He took his hands back long enough to unzip his jacket and his hoodie and strip them off, letting them fall to the ground and leave him in a t-shirt. Then he dropped to his knees and started undoing those pants, obediently spreading the placket open and pulling out what was inside. His eyes widened a little at it, and he looked up at Caliban like he was checking if it was real, but he didn't seem put off. God, he was going to choke to death on this thing. (Not the worst way to go.)