The bar was loud, but the corner booth was l dark enough that Quinn could pretend he wasn't bored. He stirred the melting ice in his glass with a finger, scanning the crowd with half-lidded eyes. Another night, another place. Same meaningless flings. Same predictable rhythm.
He didn't do second rounds. Never bottomed. Never even thought about it. That was just... not who he was.
So when the stranger slid into the booth across from him- uninvited- Wade didn't bother looking up at first.
"You look like someone who's bored of being in control," the stranger said.
That voice- low, smooth, a little gravel like fresh whiskey- that made Quinn glance up.
And he stared.
The man was striking. Not beautiful. Not pretty. Commanding. Wide shoulders, lean build, dark eyes that didn't flicker. Confident without trying. The kind of presence that said sit, stay, and your body listened before your mind caught up.
Quinn smirked. "You into psychoanalysis or just arrogant?"
The stranger leaned closer, breath warm against Quinn's cheek. "I'm into people who pretend they don't want to be touched the way they need."
Quinn's cock twitched.
He blamed the whiskey.
They didn't even make it back to Quinn's hotel. The man had a place a block away and Quinn followed like gravity pulled him. No name exchanged. Just glances, footsteps, breathless silence.
The loft was high-ceilinged and dim. A leather couch, a wall of windows overlooking the city, the smell of something deep- incense, cedar, sweat.
The moment the door shut, the man pressed Quinn against it.
Hard.
Quinn gasped.
A mouth crashed into his- hungry, sure, not asking. Quinn kissed back with heat, hands gripping hard. But when he tried to flip their position, the man didn't budge.
"Not this time," the stranger whispered into his mouth.
Quinn froze, breath caught.
"What?"
The man smiled with his teeth. "I know what you're used to. I don't care."
And then Quinn was being handled.
Not tossed or manhandled- but gripped, possessed. The stranger's hands slid up his thighs, pulling Quinn's hips forward until their bodies ground together. That friction hit Quinn up like fire.
He should've pushed back. Snarked. Walked.
But he didn't.
His heart pounded.
Clothes came off slow- tension rising like coiled wire. Quinn's shirt peeled away. The stranger's hands roamed like they already knew the shape of him. A mouth on his neck made Quinn tilt his head back with a soft, surprised groan.
Then the stranger bit his collarbone- just enough to claim.
And Quinn... liked it.
"What's your name?" he rasped.
The stranger grinned. "Call me whatever you want when you're begging."
Fuck.
Quinn's knees nearly gave out.
On the bed, Quinn tried to retake control- tried to push the stranger down and ride out the friction.
But two strong hands gripped his hips flipped him effortlessly.
"I said" the man breathed into his ear, hot and slow. "not this time."
And before Quinn could think, his wrists were pinned above his head.
He thrashed once- but the man just held tighter. Not cruel. Not rough.
Firm.
Safe.
Dominant.
"Let go," the man said. "You want it."
'I--" Quinn started, but then fingers slid between his thighs, teasing, pressing where he was already hot already aching.
He moaned- high and broken.
"Fuck."
"You sound beautiful." the man murmured.
Lube was warm on skin. Fingers worked him open slow deliberate, one at a time- stretching, coaxing, making Quinn gasp, arch, pant.
It was new. Intense.
And when the man finally pushed inside- deep, thick unrelenting- Quinn cried out. His back arched legs trembling.
It was too much. Too good.
His pride melted with every roll of the man's hips every low groan against his neck.
"You're taking me so well," the man whispered. "Look at you. All that swagger... gone."
Quinn whimpered.
He'd never needed anyone like this before ever been fucked so slow. So deep. So full. Hands dragged down his chest. Teeth grazed his shoulder. Kisses pressed into sweat-slick skin.
The stranger knew what he was doing- knew how to keep Quinn right on the edge panting, trembling, begging without even saying a word.
Then-
"Kiss me," Quinn whispered, desperate broken.
And he did- hard and deep, their mouths crashing as their bodies moved in sync. Qiunn came untouched, gasping the stranger's name- Alec, he whispered in that moment of surrender, like a secret- and felt his whole body go limp.
Alec followed seconds later, pressing deep, a low groan rumbling against Quinn's skin like thunder.
They laid there in silence.
Quinn's body buzzed, sore and stretched and completely wrecked.
He hadn't been dominated.
He'd been undone.
And as Alec lit a cigarette beside him, passing it without a word, Quinn took it in shaking fingers and smirked.
"I hate you," he murmured.
Alec leaned over, kissed his jaw.
"No, baby," he said. "YOU hate that you love this."
Quinn exhaled. Slow.
And didn't disagree.