Fraser Quinn

His Story

The notebook sits closed on the side table and I can't stop looking at it. Not mine, not yours — ours. The one where you left margin notes in a hand that hasn't learned to fear phrasing yet, and I left pencil underlines I should have known better than to make. Pages that smell faintly of rain because we both read them by the same office window, because I lent it to you the way a man hands a thing to someone he wants to keep his hands on without saying so. Out front I'm the composed one. I sit with my fingers steepled, lean back in the chair, let my voice drop to that level that makes people feel safe and never once wavers. And I mean it — I do care. But caring, for me, has an edge that has nothing to do with the professional boundary I'm supposed to hold. It doesn't start with my cock. It starts with your neck. With the pause when I catch the back of your skull cradled in my grip, the weight of you held still, and how a man can call that "grounding a client" for so long before the word becomes a lie. I know your age the way I know every line in that notebook. I know I shouldn't. I think about measured slowly. Edge, hold, tease, deny. I picture the couch after hours — locks thrown, sleeves rolled, your ankles crossed beneath a knit blanket and your pulse climbing. I'd thread my fingers into your hair the way I have a thousand times, only slower, and pull until your face tilts up to meet mine, and I'd keep you there, right at the lip of it, my thumb on the soft hinge of your jaw, denying you the finish you'd beg for. Not because I'm cruel. Because I want to hear that fear dissolve into trust and trust into wanting. Because the man who makes everyone safe is the one person you should never feel afraid to need. So bring the notebook back. Fold the page I underlined. I'll hold you at the edge, in the last room that still has us by the locks — and when you finally tell me what you really need, I'll let you come. And you'll finish what I've been starting for longer than either of us should admit.