Henry's End Page 12

  Henry nodded. “Can I help you with something?”

  Pointing to the toaster, “Butter the toast. And how do you take your eggs?”

  “Over-easy.” Henry pulled the butter out of the refrigerator. “Where are the knives?”

  Quinn pointed to a drawer and turned back to the eggs. Smirking, “Over-easy. I’ll have to remember that about you.”

  “About me or my eggs?” Henry laughed.

  Quinn laughed. “Your eggs. The rest I hope to find out soon enough.”

  Henry looked at him and smiled. It was just so easy with this guy and everything felt so healthy and balanced.

  “What are you looking at?” Quinn plated the eggs and carried them to the table.

  “You, birthday boy, and thinking how easy it is to be with you.”

  Quinn’s eyes were his tell and the way he looked at Henry made Henry feel as if he’d better sit down at the table immediately before his knees buckled.

  “That’s how I feel, too. It’s like we’ve been hanging out for years. But then I think, I hardly know him,” he paused, “and Henry, I want to know everything.”

  I’m not going to stay a prisoner. I won’t be anybody’s slave.

  “I want you to know everything. A lot of it’s not pretty and for most of my life, no, make that all of my life, I didn’t even know how fucked up it was until everything happened about ten months ago, and then afterwards, I got into therapy. But even then I couldn’t see a lot of what my therapist was saying to me, because I had no frame of reference. And now I do. And what I want is so different than where I’ve come from.”

  Quinn nodded and remained silent as Henry bared his soul, laying out a vast array of ugly demons and dark moments, from his first encounter with Jimmy to his final showdown with Cody. Recounting his tale, he could feel the eggs coddling in his stomach as he prayed that Quinn would still want to let him into his life. Part of him wanted to hold back, but he knew if he did, it would eventually run him down and he’d wind up losing Quinn anyway, when the loss would be much steeper and more painful.

  When Henry finished, Quinn stood up from the table, turning away, his hand cupping his chin and the lower part of his face. Closing his eyes, Henry braced himself for what truly would be a walk of shame, out of Quinn’s apartment, and out of his life.

  Henry tried to read the look in those pale baby blue eyes behind the dark rimmed glasses when Quinn finally turned around. Disgust? Pity? Disappointment? Henry fought hard to keep his breakfast down.

  “From the first day we met,” Quinn began, his voice gruff, “you were just this incredibly likable guy. Easy-going. Quick to smile. Happy to lend a hand. It’s impossible not to be drawn to you, Henry. Your energy is so good. So positive.”

  Here comes the but. His throat closed.

  “So, the fact that you can still smile and have faith in the world after some of the cards you have been dealt, is incredibly admirable. It’s amazing that you’ve been functional and a generally healthy, balanced and successful human being is a testament to the resilience of your strength and goodness. Getting into therapy and what you’re doing with Yoga shows your commitment to leaving the shitty and unhealthy stuff behind and really working on moving forward.”

  Henry held Quinn’s gaze. The build-up and then the blow. He held his breath as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Slowly, Quinn walked to his side of the table. Standing right in front of him, Quinn extended his hand. Looking at Quinn’s outstretched palm, Henry was momentarily confused by the gesture, before realizing Quinn wanted him to take his hand.

  Leading him back to the couch, they sat in the same positions as the night before. But now everything has changed, thought Henry. Everything.

  “So, let me ask you something really personal.”

  “OK.” Henry was still holding his breath.

  “Have you ever topped? Or have you only ever bottomed?”

  “I’ve only bottomed.” Henry looked down, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  “So you’ve never been in a reciprocal relationship where your partner has made your pleasure the number one priority?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “This is going to be a mutually reciprocal relationship, Henry. Is that something you actually want?”

  Quinn was asking him if he wanted in. “Yes. It’s something I want. But even more than that, Quinn, I want it with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Henry nodded. “The other day,” Henry started to blush, “when Derek asked me to the party, he mentioned your partner, Terry, would be there. For a moment, I thought he was talking about a life partner and not a work partner. And just the thought that we would never be, made my insides physically hurt.”

  The look in Quinn’s eyes melted him. No one had ever looked at him like that before. No one. It made him wonder if any lover had ever really seen him, if they’d ever looked past filling their own need with him merely as the vehicle.

  “Quinn, this thing between us. I know it hasn’t been physical yet, but every other aspect has been totally give-and-take. I haven’t felt like there’s been any power games or inequity in feelings. It’s just like we’ve been going down this road together, at the same pace.” Henry smiled and let out a deep breath. “It’s been really…” he paused, searching for the perfect word.

  “Right,” Quinn filled in the blank. “It’s been really right.”

  Henry nodded. “It’s been really right,” he repeated.

  Grabbing Henry’s hand, Quinn pulled him close, “C’mere, you. I hope you’re ready for something really different.”

  “I am.” There was a perplexed look on Henry’s face, as a thought took hold. “I deserve this. And I hope I deserve you.”

  “Come on,” Quinn stood and again extended a hand to Henry, leading him into the bedroom.

  Henry laughed, “So the birthday breakfast was just a ruse.”

  Laughing, Quinn nodded, as he unbuttoned the top button of Henry’s jeans and unzipped them. Slipping his hands under the waistband of his boxer-briefs, his big hands surrounded the cheeks of Henry’s ass as he pulled him tightly against his body.

  Quinn’s arousal poked at Henry’s groin and Henry let out a low moan at just the hint of it.

  “That’s how much I want you,” Quinn’s breath warmed his ear.

  Henry ran his cheek slowly across the sharp stubble of Quinn’s jaw, enjoying the rough scratch on his skin, “Consider me your birthday present.”

  “You know you are what I wished for.” Holding Henry’s ass firmly, Quinn ground himself against him.

  “I was hoping I would be.” Henry’s lips softly traced a line along Quinn’s jaw to his lips. Burying his fingers in his thick, dark hair, Henry found Quinn’s tongue, slowly stroking it, his cock growing harder with every stroke of his tongue.

  With a quick tug, they fell back onto Quinn’s bed, Henry landing on top. He knew that wasn’t an accident and that Quinn was being sensitive to triggers which the feeling of being restrained might have in his first time being intimate again.

  “Tell me what you want.” Quinn’s hands had not left Henry’s ass.

  “I want to see your gorgeous body naked.” Henry smiled down at him.

  “Well, then I think you should take my pants off.”

  Rolling off Quinn, Henry immediately felt a sense of loss as their bodies moved apart. With fumbling fingers, he undid his jeans. “I feel like a teenager, don’t you?”

  Nodding, “I do.” Quinn shimmied out of his jeans.

  “Commando.” Henry was wide-eyed at the surprise. “Damn, that is one fine looking cock you have.”

  “Did you expect anything less?” Quinn looked smug, showing off his healthy length.

  “No, and I’ve fantasized about it plenty,” Henry looked shy with his admission.

  Quinn turned to him and began removing Henry’s jeans so that they were both skin to skin, lying very close. “Tell me about your fantasies.”

  “I’m
living one right now, Quinn.” Henry reached out, softly touching Quinn’s shoulder and running a hand over the muscles he regularly watched pump iron.

  “Good. I want you to feel comfortable and secure, Henry. We have forever.”

  We have forever?

  This man wasn’t just about living out fantasies. He was about creating dreams.

  “Forever? Are you trying to give me blue balls?” Henry joked.

  Quinn smiled. His fingers mirroring exactly what Henry’s were doing to him. Their soft, tentative discovery of one another’s peaks and valleys, hidden coves and sensitive sinews was literally breathtaking.

  “I like learning how to touch you. Look what this right here does to you.” Quinn softly traced Henry’s quadriceps with an almost feather-like touch. As he reached the bottom, Henry’s cock twitched, jumping in response. Smiling, he did it again, eliciting the exact same response. Both men laughed.

  “Not exactly scientific, but I’m filing that one away under How to make Henry hard.”

  “Hmm, well, let me find one for my arsenal.” Henry slowly ran two fingers along the side of Quinn’s pec down to his ribs. Feeling him harden against his thigh, Henry smiled a self-assured smile. “Good to know.” He shook his head.

  “What about this?” Quinn traced Henry’s jawline. Twitch. “Filing that.”

  “Does that work for you?” Henry stared into his eyes as he softly caressed Quinn’s jaw. His cock got rock hard. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. Prepare to have your jaw touched a lot.” Henry laughed, then added, “In public.” Leaning in, he followed the line his fingers had just traced with his lips, feeling Quinn shiver.

  Slinging a leg over Henry’s long limbs, Quinn pulled him against him, aligning his hard cock next to Henry’s, which had an immediate matching response.

  The involuntary groan from deep in Henry’s throat made Quinn pull him tighter as they rubbed against one another. “You feel so damn good.” Quinn’s teeth grazed Henry’s neck.

  “Quinn.”

  “Mmm,” he responded without raising his lips from Henry’s neck.

  “Touch me.” Henry knew Quinn would hold back every step of the way until given permission. “I need you to touch me.”

  He first felt Quinn’s finger tracing a line up the sensitive perineum between his ass and his balls.

  “Oh God,” he whimpered as Quinn’s hand gently cradled his balls, his fingernails lightly scratching them. He stayed there for a few minutes familiarizing himself with Henry’s body until they’d hardened into tight, large knots.

  Henry buried his face in the crook of Quinn’s neck as Quinn continued to explore. Finally his hand encircled his cock, traveling its length and back. His forefinger swept over the wet tip and then his hand left Henry’s cock altogether.

  Removing his face from the sheltered harbor of Quinn’s neck, he watched the glistening fingertip come up between their lips. Quinn’s eyes were locked in on his, smiling, challenging, daring. Slowly his tongue moved toward his finger, the edges of his lips curved into a smile. Henry took it as a challenge, his tongue slowly moving toward Quinn’s finger to meet his tongue. Arriving at the same time, the tips of their tongues both licked the glistening finger, and then Henry sucked it deep into his mouth.

  “Fuck, you’re killing me.” Quinn did not break eye contact as Henry continued to slowly suck in his finger.

  Pulling his slickened finger from Henry’s mouth, it made a popping sound and they both laughed.

  “I wonder how many popping sounds we can make?” Henry was amused.

  Quinn’s hand reached back down, slowly stroking Henry and cupping his balls. “Want to hear another one?” He smiled and then dipped his head down taking just the tip of Henry’s cock in his mouth. Keeping his lips taut, he pulled it out, creating a large popping sound, and both men laughed.

  As Quinn began to take Henry deeper, the rhythm of his sucking hastened, making Henry harden in his mouth. Closing his eyes, Henry threaded his fingers through Quinn’s hair and let himself go to the pleasure. There was no threat, no red flags. He could feel the pressure building as he was nearing release.

  “Quinn, stop.”

  Looking up at him quizzically, he stopped, wanting to ensure nothing was wrong.

  “I don’t want this to be just me. I want it to be us.” He wanted to give Quinn the reciprocal relationship he desired.

  Shifting his body and stretching out alongside Henry, Quinn went back to what he was doing, letting out a deep groan as Henry took him deep. “Damn, Henry. What are you doing to me?” Quinn pressed his hips toward Henry’s face, needing to be deeper in his throat.

  As Henry settled into a voracious rhythm, taking Quinn as deeply as he could, he realized Quinn was matching his pace and depth, just as he had mirrored his touch earlier. It was Quinn’s way of making sure he felt comfortable and safe and not going past what he could handle yet. Not only was he pleasing him, he was taking care of him as well.

  What Quinn Callahan could not see from his vantage point, as Henry Clark came in his mouth, were the tears in Henry’s eyes. For the first time in his life, Henry understood the potential of real love during a sexual act, and knew that for Quinn it wasn’t just sex, but a means of sharing and caring.

  It may have been Quinn’s birthday, but Henry was the one who received the gift.

  “Let me apologize in advance,” Quinn joked nervously. “But she has been relentless about having you join us for Sunday dinner for weeks now.”

  Henry just laughed as they approached Quinn’s mom’s house. “I loved your mom when I met her. She’s so real.” Henry held a bouquet of Stargazer lilies in his lap, Jeanne’s favorite flower.

  “Yeah, she’s real all right.” Quinn rolled his eyes as he navigated the car through the streets of an older housing development.

  Taking it all in, Henry envisioned a young Quinn riding his bicycle around the winding blocks. “I’m trying to picture you here as a kid.”

  “It was a great neighborhood to grow up in. Lots of kids to play with, good local sports teams. My dad coached T-Ball.” Quinn’s eyes were shining.

  Feeling a pang of envy for his normal childhood, Henry smiled as he looked at Quinn’s profile. “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “Every day.” He appeared introspective. “These last few weeks, with you, I’ve just kept thinking how much I wished that he could have met you.” Quinn reached over and gave Henry’s hand a squeeze before announcing, “We’re here.”

  As they entered a 1970’s style ranch home, Henry’s senses were warmly greeted by the heady aroma of Jeanne Callahan’s ‘Sunday Stew’.

  As Henry handed her the lilies, she reached over and pinched her son’s solid upper arm, “I really like this boy, Quinny.”

  “Me too, Ma. A lot.”

  “So is this serious?” Jeanne Callahan did not have a shy bone in her body.

  Henry could feel the heat rise in his face and hoped no one was actually expecting an answer from him. Instantly he was relieved, when Quinn took care of it with an arm around Henry’s shoulder, pulling Henry close against his side, his beautiful smile beaming.

  Looking from one to the other, Jeanne smiled and turned to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’ve got cold beer in the refrigerator for you boys.”

  Following his mom, Quinn came back a few minutes later, carrying two Coronas with the limes already perched halfway down their longnecks.

  Handing the beer to Henry, they clinked bottles, smiling. “You want to see my bedroom?” Quinn had a devilish smirk on his face.

  “That’s a given.” Henry laughed, as he followed him down the hall.

  Behind the wooden door was exactly what Henry had expected. Entering a pale blue room, the color of Quinn’s eyes, they were greeted by a twin bed neatly covered with a navy blue quilt and sky blue pillows. Lining the cherry wood desk and bookshelf were trophy after trophy for track and swim team wins. As he walked around the room, bending down to see pictures of a young Quinn, it w
as impossible not to be transported back to the handsome cop’s youth. Lining the walls were music posters – Pink Floyd, Peter Frampton, Bruce Springsteen.

  The door squeaked as it closed and Henry heard the click of the lock. Coming up from behind, Quinn wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close, so that he could feel his hard-on.

  “Your mom’s here,” Henry protested.

  “Yeah, I know,” Quinn laughed, grinding his hard cock into Henry’s ass.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Pretend we’re teenagers.” Quinn pulled Henry down onto his bed.

  Reaching down, Henry gently rubbed the outside of Quinn’s faded jeans, making him even harder. Pulling him in by his shirt, Quinn reciprocated by taking Henry’s lower lip between his front teeth. The harder Henry rubbed, the harder Quinn bit, until both were in a state of pleasurable agony.

  Letting go of Henry’s lip, Quinn flipped onto his back, pulling Henry down on top of him, his hands sliding slowly over Henry’s ass and pressing his hips onto his sizable erection.

  “Is it bad that I want to fuck you in the bed I grew up in?” Quinn asked. They’d been easing into their physical relationship and hadn’t gone past hands and mouths.

  Henry shook his head. “Not at all. And if your mother wasn’t home…” Henry’s voice trailed off.

  “Yeah?” Quinn’s eyes were shining as he cocked his head to the side.

  Nodding, “Yeah.” Henry knew he was ready. Quinn Callahan had treated him with such care and respect that it would be a gift to give himself to this amazing man. A man who had a lot of power in his grasp and didn’t abuse it.

  Sometimes in just a moment you know something. Looking back you’ll always be able to pinpoint the moment that it happened – or that you finally realized that it had already happened. And it was that moment in Quinn’s childhood bed, with the heady aroma of Jeanne Callahan’s famous Sunday Stew permeating the air, that Henry Clark knew he was deeply in love and wanted to be Quinn’s. Forever.

  Pulling Henry’s head down for a kiss, Henry felt that Quinn sensed his revelation. “I want it, too,” he whispered into Henry’s ear, giving him the distinct feeling it wasn’t just sex to which he was referring.