by Willa Okati
He smiled at Billy, the expression neither false nor forced. “This is nice,” he said honestly, hoping that Billy would be able to read the nuances of his simple statement. “I like it here.”
Billy’s grin broadened. He ran a hand through his hair, tangling a bit on the magenta tips, and looked almost bashful. “You’re the first guy besides me to set foot in this place. I was kinda glad when I remembered never having brought anyone else up here. Wanted this to be a special place for us.”
The warm glow suffused further through Quinn. “Thank you,” he said, putting some of that gentle heat into his voice—again, without deliberate effort or in an attempt to win favor. “I’m glad you thought of this, then.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Billy ducked his head and reached for his knapsack. Quinn watched him as he moved, imagining the play of muscles underneath Billy’s sweatshirt, remembering how they felt under his own two hands. What hadn’t they done together? Very little. This was new…and surprisingly exciting. He found himself eager to see what Billy had stashed in his sack.
The first thing that came out was a thin ground blanket, gaudily checkered and stiff, but new-looking, as if Billy had bought it just recently for this very purpose. Billy unfolded the thing and frowned. “Looked bigger on the label. C’mon, give me a hand.”
Quinn reached out to help. Between the two of them, they got the small square of felt unfolded and spread roughly beside them. Billy nodded in approval. “Okay, next, food.” He produced two apples, harvest-red and rosy ripe, plus a small knife, and laid them on the blanket. “You hungry?”
Quinn chanced honesty again. “Not really. I suspect I may be working up an appetite in a bit, though.”
Billy hooted as if surprised. “Man, you really are coming along great.” He reached across to pat Quinn’s shoulder in approval. “Don’t change too much, though, huh?” he asked, smoothing the pat into a caress. “I kinda like you the way you are.”
Quinn felt himself turn pink. “I can’t imagine…” he began, then stopped himself. How could Billy like him the way he was? No, it couldn’t be.
“Try to,” Billy said, then leaned forward for a kiss. Quinn closed his eyes as their lips met, and for a change was the first to put out his tongue for a deeper embrace. Billy made a small noise that Quinn couldn’t interpret but opened up all the same. Quinn swept in, tasting the flavors of cigarettes and man, the combination unique to Billy himself, and loving them.
Billy pulled away with a grin. “Someone ate his Wheaties.” He leaned back neatly, bracing himself with his arms, and sparkled across at Quinn. “What else do you have cooking in that big brain of yours? Something I’ll like?”
Quinn bit his lip. He’d had a wild idea flash through his mind…something he hardly dared even think about…but why not? Billy would encourage him if he knew what was in Quinn’s thoughts, Quinn was sure, and if this was truly going to be one of their last times together, then he ought to make the most of it.
“I think so,” he replied, getting back up to his feet. “Billy, move over to the blanket, if you will?”
Billy chortled. “Okay. Gotta say I like this side of you.” He moved as directed, settling himself on the stiff fabric with another crunch of leaves. Leaning back again, he looked up at Quinn and tilted his head in curiosity. “Now what?”
“Now,” Quinn said, gathering his courage, “you start to sing. Anything you like, so long as it’s slow and…sexy.” He stumbled a bit over the last word, but got the syllables out. “Please.”
“I have a feeling I’m really gonna like this.” Billy twinkled at Quinn, then sat thinking for a moment. Finally, he began to vocalize an old jazz riff, something that made Quinn think of smoky clubs, vodka tonics and days gone by when everything illicit was a deep thrill.
Quinn took a deep breath and reminded himself that he wanted to do this. It was daring, but it felt good in his own mind to be this bold, this wild, this free. Billy’s lessons were sinking home, and he felt like he glowed with the new awareness of self. He’d take small steps, but confident ones.
And he hoped that Billy would understand the meaning behind what he chose to do. That Billy would know this wasn’t for just him, but for Quinn as well.
Billy continued to sing, patiently waiting for Quinn to begin. He had a broad grin on his face, as if he’d clued in to what was about to happen, but was content to let Quinn move in his own good time. Observing this, Quinn felt something inside him settle. Yes. It’s time.
Carefully timing himself with the slow, sultry rhythm of Billy’s vocalization, Quinn moved his hands up to the buttons on his shirt. One by one, he undid them, the cool air and sunlight striking his skin at the same time.
Billy changed his tempo to something with a deeper pulse and sat forward. He made a waving motion, encouraging Quinn to keep on going. Almost laughing at his own daring, Quinn did so. He untucked his open shirt and let it hang down around his legs, framing his groin. His cock, which had begun to swell, outlined in his pants.
Quinn reached down and stroked himself, rubbing through the layers of his khakis and boxer shorts. The touch felt surprisingly good—and equally freeing, as if he were shedding a layer of something heavy that had lain across his shoulders. He hadn’t been this bold in ages, but it was…wonderful. He caressed his cock harder and nodded to Billy.
Billy didn’t miss a beat of the song as he reached down and began to rub his own growing bulge. Quinn’s mouth all but watered at the thought of what lay behind his zipper. “Let me see,” he asked, amazed at his daring but delighted at the same time. “Lie back and pull it out.”
“Pull what out?” Billy stopped singing long enough to ask.
Quinn chose his words like jewels in a golden case. Each one glittered. “Your cock. I want to see.”
“All you had to do was ask.” Gracefully as an oversized cat, Billy stretched himself out on the blanket and ran a hand down his stomach. He pushed up his sweatshirt to reveal an expanse of honey-brown skin, and reached for the zipper on his jeans. Quinn paused in his own movements to watch, fascinated. Billy opened the denim and pulled his cock out, already more than half-hard, with no underwear in the way. As he started singing again, he began to jack himself off, fingers trailing up and down his shaft.
Quinn felt almost like he wanted to laugh. Not at Billy, not in a mean spirit, but for pure glee. God, but it was wonderful to be so free of cares. How had he lived for so long without giving in to these urges? Seeing and being seen. Touching and being touched. The simple joys.
He felt as if he’d been given a drink of water after passing through the desert. And for all this, he had Billy to thank. Billy, who could be counted on to take Quinn in his arms after Quinn had finished stripping, who’d roll him over onto his back, take supplies from that knapsack, and fuck him through the forest floor. God…Billy.
Quinn reached for his own zipper, fingers toying with the small tab. He laughed a little as Billy sang, feeling happy as he could be. The zipper slid down smooth as quicksilver. He reached for the waistband of his pants and boxers, ready to push them down.
“Quentin, what in God’s name are you doing? Stop that at once!”
Quinn’s blood froze in his veins. He knew that voice. Knew it all too well. Billy stopped singing and sat upright a little. He scowled darkly at the person behind Quinn. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Quinn’s hands fell to his sides. “Hello, Ms. Rife,” he said without turning. “What brings you out here this afternoon?”
“Quentin, really. You know my given name as well as your own. We are all but engaged, aren’t we? Call me Melissa.”
“Bitch-lissa,” Billy scoffed.
“Billy, don’t.” Quinn felt curiously calm. Everything in and around him had gone still, waiting for him to make his next move. “Don’t speak to her, please.”
“I’ll say what I want when I want when that woman’s come around to try and brainwash you again.” Billy’s eyes pled with Quinn. “I just wan
t to keep you safe.”
“I doubt that to be your intention. And put that—that thing away before I report you for public indecency.” Melissa’s tone was full of scorn. “What kind of game are you playing with my Quentin?”
“It’s not a game, Melissa,” Quinn said without ire. He refrained from turning around to face her. “Please don’t make a scene in front of my company.”
Melissa gave a sharp tch of startled irritation. “I have no intention of doing any such thing. Although I do also hope you have an explanation for this.”
Quinn heard a staccato thud, as if Melissa were tapping her shoe on the leaves. They went crunch, crunch, crunch as she increased her pace—a sure sign, he knew, of her growing impatience.
For his own part, he felt still as a waveless ocean.
“Well? Quentin?” Melissa demanded.
“Ms. Rife, I suggest that you turn around and walk out of this clearing.” Quinn’s hands went to his fly. He zipped his pants back up. Though it took some effort, especially as he could feel Melissa’s cold gaze burning a hole through his back, he remained in place, facing Billy. “Don’t listen to anything she says.”
“As if I would,” Billy snorted. He lay there exposed, his erection going down but his temper clearly up. “So, what? You heard a few rumors or something? Decided whoever-you-were-fucking wasn’t enough? Had to come back down here and try to get your Quinny-bear?”
“I never lost Quentin,” Melissa replied flatly. “We had a disagreement, yes. I never thought he’d do something quite this foolish, although I shouldn’t have put it past him. Our regime was very thorough.”
“Regime.” Billy made a disgusted sound. “So you were the one jerking his deprogramming strings?”
“I knew he’d had deviant urges before he embarked on a successful regime of therapy,” Melissa corrected. “However, he’d been clean for some time before we met. Quentin, turn around and look at me. Quentin, are you deaf? I told you to turn around.”
Quinn’s lips were going numb. “Ms. Rife, I’ve asked you once to leave. Please don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Quentin, you’ll make me genuinely angry if you don’t stop this nonsense at once. Turn around.”
“No,” Quinn heard himself say. “I’m staying right where I am, and you’re going to leave.”
“I most certainly am not. Quentin, you’re coming with me. I’ve reserved a room in the bed-and-breakfast where we stayed the last time I was in town—”
“Where you stayed,” Billy sneered. “He was home with me, getting fucked six ways to Sunday.”
“And your point is? He’s clearly slipped off the treads, but if you’re the only negative influence in his life I can easily turn him back around.”
“I do have a name, you know,” Quinn said quietly.
Both Billy and Melissa ignored him. Billy sat up, stuffing his cock into his pants and zipping them shut. “So you ride back into town, all set up on your high horse, and he’s supposed to wind himself back around your little finger? Nuh-uh, lady. He’s mine and I’m not letting go.”
“I had him first. He belongs to me.”
“I’m not a possession,” Quinn whispered.
“Yes, you are,” Melissa snapped. “You are a commodity. A valuable asset. A potentially distinguished professor of literature will make a fine husband for the successful lawyer I plan to become. An intended life partner I don’t intend to lose. I came down here to talk some sense into you. It wasn’t hard to find out where you’d gone. And when I heard the singing, I knew where to look. Quentin, turn around and face me at once.”
“No.”
“That’s right,” Billy said, getting to his feet. “The man’s mine, bitch. Give up. I win, you lose, and you go home now.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Run along.”
“Quentin, come with me.”
Quinn felt Melissa’s cold hand touch his arm. She took a firm grip and tugged. “My patience is not indefinite.”
“Yeah, I’d say it had a pretty short lifespan, given that you were fucking someone else just a couple months after Quinn came down here to teach.” Billy grabbed Quinn’s other arm. “Get out of here, cunt.”
“Quentin! Do you plan on standing there like a statue without defending my honor? Answer me at once. This person has just insulted me. What do you say to him?”
“The same thing I’ll say to both of you,” Quinn replied slowly before wrenching both of his arms loose. “I’m not a thing for you to own or trade. I’m a person.”
Melissa made a noise of surprise. “Quentin, be reasonable.”
“I am. For the first time in years.” Quinn took a deep breath, deeply shocked at his own behavior but unable to stop the words tumbling from his lips. How many years had it been since he’d listened to his heart, uninfluenced by anyone or anything else? “Go home, Melissa. You too, Billy. If you both don’t leave, I will.”
“Quinn…”
“Quentin…”
“I warned you,” Quinn said flatly. “Go to hell. I can’t—I won’t—”
Leaving his sentence unfinished, he turned and fled into the trees, tearing a rough path through the woods, leaving both of his anchors behind.
Flying without a safety net and terrified out of his wits.
* * * * *
Quinn didn’t get very far before he stopped, running just as long as he continued to hear raised, angry voices behind him. When he could hear nothing but birds, crackling leaves and his own heaving breath, he came to a stop. It wasn’t the exertion so much as the emotional turmoil that had him gasping for air.
Bending over a tree stump, he was noisily sick into the undergrowth.
When his stomach had stopped heaving, Quinn dragged a shaking hand across his mouth and wished for something to take away the sour taste of vomit. Mints. Did he have any mints in his pocket? A quick fumble proved that he did. Thrusting two into his mouth, he sucked hard on the pastilles until his mouth lost that metallic tang.
He needed to sit down. Stop his legs from shaking. Try to gather his wits about himself. Where, though? No place handy but the ground. Or wait…just a little further in. A fallen tree, its trunk round and rough, but a good enough place to rest. A few paces on shaky legs brought him to the spot he’d chosen. Using a branch for leverage, he sat down hard and sank his head into his hands.
Oh, God. How badly had he fouled things? But for Melissa to come back into his life…and for Billy to fight for him…why had it seemed wrong for Billy to claim him so boldly, when Quinn had been willingly giving himself to the man? Quinn didn’t understand. He felt as if he should have been standing next to Billy and telling Melissa to fuck off with just as much fervor.
Melissa. God, Melissa. If there hadn’t been a Billy, he would have jumped for joy to see her walking back into his life. He’d clung to her for so long, but once he’d seen her true colors—shocking, ugly colors—he found that he couldn’t blind himself once more to their stain. Melissa stood out like a dark and oily patch in his recent past.
And Billy? Billy had been a patch of clear blue sky. He’d felt so free and alive when he was with his fellow professor. Billy was the one Quinn wanted to be with, the man he’d been desperate to hold onto until Billy let him go.
Yet when Billy had claimed him, Quinn had been the one to flee.
Quinn ground the palms of his hands into his eyes, groaning as his vision filled with sparkles. What was going on? Why had he reacted the way he did? He didn’t understand in the slightest and doubted that he would.
But if he had a choice? If there was a way to go backwards in time, what would he do? Quinn rubbed harder, thinking. I don’t know. I couldn’t bear to have them both tugging at me like a rag doll, pulling as if they would tear me in half.
Billy is the one I want, not Melissa.
Or do I?
Quinn removed his hands and sat upright. Perhaps it wasn’t so much Billy that he wanted as he did a chance to be himself again. He’d been a fool when h
e was young, but did it necessarily follow that he would have continued to be foolish as he grew? What would have happened if he hadn’t gone into the deprogramming?
A life unlived folded out in front of Quinn’s mental vision. He would have been confident, easy and free, laughing at the excesses of youth while adjusting himself to being a confident adult. He had the feeling that if he’d stood his ground back then, he would be a much happier man now.
You can’t change the past. All you can do is look toward the future.
But what would the future hold if there was no Billy in it? No Melissa? No anchors, no rocks?
Quinn took a shuddery breath. He suspected he’d have no choice. He’d ruined his relationship with Billy, and the thought of going back to Melissa or any other female left him feeling cold and uneasy.
It felt frightening to think, but he had been right. He wasn’t a possession. He was a man, a full professor, and he should know his own mind. Not belonging to anyone didn’t mean he was all alone.
It merely meant that he had to find his own way. What that would be, he didn’t know.
But he could find out. Make his own choices. He could depend on himself.
And, by God, he would.
Quinn tilted his head to the side and listened. Still nothing beyond birdsongs and falling leaves. Perhaps Melissa and Billy had both left. He couldn’t return to the apartment, but he had enough for a night’s stay at a motel down in town. Perhaps several nights’ stay. He could begin looking for an apartment. Andy might not mind a roommate who’d keep quiet about certain visitors.
For the first time ever, the thought of facing life on his own terms didn’t frighten Quinn. He marveled at the notion, tested it from all angles, nearly poked it with a stick, and tentatively…tentatively…accepted it.
He could be his own man. And he’d start with finding his way out of the forest, back down the nature trails and off for the town. He didn’t need Melissa. He didn’t need Billy.
But God help him, he still wanted Billy. Even if he couldn’t have him anymore. Perhaps especially because of that.
