'Poolside' - a story based on 'Mad Dogs' starring John Simm, Philip Glenister, Marc Warren, Max Beesley and Ben Chaplin. (Spoilers for Episode One)
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NB: Contains scenes of an adult nature.
Title: Poolside
(2/?)
Author: Edzel2 (with grateful thanks to my Beta, Jinxed)
Genre: ‘Mad Dogs’
Rating: Adult
Summary: Quinn has a late night visitor...
Previously.... ‘Thanks.’ Baxter clumsily dresses himself and Quinn tries to ignore the pull of disappointment in his chest as the other man’s tackle is tucked away and the zipper pulled.
‘I meant what I said, y’know,’ Baxter tells Quinn as they head unsteadily across the courtyard to the silent house.
‘I know you did. And I’ll take you up on it another night, when you’re not so rat-arsed.’
‘You’re on.’
Part Two:
‘Quinn... it’s me.’ The voice on the other side of the thick oak door is soft and as he opens it Quinn can’t make out Baxter’s features in the darkness of the corridor beyond but then he knows exactly who it is; has been expecting him.
‘Was wondering when you’d show up,’ Quinn says quietly as he closes the door gently behind the other man, who suddenly seems uncertain, on edge. He looks around Quinn’s room with clearly feigned interest, his eyes darting to Quinn and away again. It’s been over an hour since they stumbled to their respective rooms and he suspects that Baxter has been able to sleep with about as much success as Quinn himself, in spite of the quantities of alcohol both have consumed; which is to say, none at all.
‘Yeah... well I wasn’t going to but... I couldn’t sleep and I thought...oh, you didn’t...?’ Baxter sighs as Quinn goes to the en-suite to fetch a glass tumbler, into which he pours a generous measure of what smells like a good single malt from a bottle standing on the dresser.
‘Yeah, I did... let’s face it, Alvo’s got more than he can possibly drink in a month of Sundays in that bloody cabinet. And he did tell us to make ourselves at home. Here.’ Quinn places the tumbler in Baxter’s hand, pressing the shorter man’s fingers around it as if he fears he might drop it. Baxter looks down at his hand for a moment before bringing the glass to his lips and taking a generous mouthful.
‘Thanks. Not that I need any Dutch courage, y’know, but...’
‘I know. It’s your first time and you don’t know if you should be here at all. I’ve heard it all before, Bax – there’s nothing you can say that’ll surprise me.’
Baxter looks up at him as he hands the glass back – he looks ridiculously like a frightened rabbit, Quinn thinks; do I still want to do this? Too bloody right he does.
‘Really? You’ve done this before, then?’ Baxter watches the glass all the way to Quinn’s mouth.
‘Yeah.’ Quinn swallows, looking at Baxter all the while; he’s still standing in the middle of the room, draped in that ridiculous bright green robe and looking for all the world as if he’s about to run for it. All the quiet self-assurance he’d been so busily trying to project since they’d met at the airport is absent now and Quinn feels his stomach muscles clench in anticipation. Warmth pools in his groin and he makes a point of sitting on the bed and stares expectantly at Baxter. ‘Not that I do it a lot, you understand.... just now and then, when the mood takes me.’
‘Ah. I haven’t... I don’t... its only you, Quinn.’ The last is mumbled as Baxter drops his head, seemingly embarrassed by the admission.
‘Come ‘ere you daft sod.’
Baxter takes tentative steps towards the bed, stops. ‘I don’t mean... I’m not being soppy, Quinn. I just mean... I’ve never considered it with anyone else...’
‘I know. And it doesn’t matter.’ Quinn leans back and takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the growing ache in his groin; he has to let Baxter come to him.
‘Good. God, this is awkward. I need to... I dunno.’
‘You need another drink, my son, that’s what you need.’ Too late, Quinn realises that his phrasing could be patronising – but whatever it is, it seems to reassure Baxter because he gives another nervous laugh and finally steps forward to the bedside. He takes the proffered glass and empties it, puts it carefully on the nightstand and sits on the bed beside Quinn. He’s not wearing his glasses and stares at Quinn slightly myopically.
‘This is so surreal,’ he says quietly.
‘Yeah. Good, eh?’ Quinn realises that he is going to have to make the first move. He reaches behind him and flicks the bedside lamp off; instinctively knowing that Baxter will feel more comfortable in the semi-darkness of the moonlight now streaming in through the open window.
It takes a while for his eyes to adjust but he feels the mattress dip and when he can finally see again, Baxter’s face is inches from his. ‘Hello,’ he says quietly, anything else he might’ve been thinking about saying lost as Baxter’s mouth clamps firmly down on his.
‘’Bout bloody time,’ he says when they finally surface for air. ‘I was beginning to think it’d have to be another hand job...’ he strokes his hand down Baxter’s chest and pulls the robe open. A quiet groan as he moves his hand downwards, trailing his thumb down the line of fine hair from Baxter’s navel to his groin. Before he’s got very far his wrist touches warm, damp flesh and he strokes down the length of Baxter’s cock, feeling the cool slickness of pre-come as it slides down the heated length.
‘Jesus....’ Baxter gasps.
‘Not quite,’ Quinn murmurs as he bends over to flick his tongue against the tip of Baxter’s cock. He yelps and Quinn hushes him.
‘Doesn’t bother me, Bax – but do you really want Alvo on your case in the morning?’
‘Let’s not talk about them,’ Baxter murmurs, and Quinn smiles as he feels the other man’s hand press against his boxers, hooking a finger through the slit in the fabric to stroke the head of Quinn’s cock.
‘Bloody hell,’ Quinn whispers. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m not going to last much longer at this rate. Must be the heat...’
‘Or the fact that we’re both desperate for a good, hard fuck,’ Baxter says quietly, and Quinn can tell by his voice that he’s grinning.
‘You got that right... do you trust me?’
‘More than I’d trust anyone else in this fucking madhouse,’ Baxter intones, his hips bucking against Quinn’s hand as the bigger man slowly palms his cock.
‘Okay. Gimme a sec.’
Quinn reluctantly pulls himself away from Baxter and tugs off his boxers, flinging them into the darkness and reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand to pull out a small tube of lubricant. He flicks the cap off and squeezes a measure into his palm, which he then swipes over the length of his cock. Two quick strokes up and down and he has to stop, teeth clenched as he tries desperately not to come. Baxter seems to understand and pulls his hand away, gulping as his own cock twitches in sympathy.
‘Okay,’ Quinn eventually says. ‘Assume the position,’ and now he’s grinning, almost giddy with the joy of what he’s about to do.
Baxter, for all that he’s professed never to have done this before, twists over so that he’s kneeling on the bed, and reaches back to pull himself apart.
‘S’okay... let me.’ Quinn makes sure that his index finger is covered and slides it along the perineum and teases before sliding in and pulling down and out. Baxter gasps and pushes back against him.
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell – do that again, will ya?’ When Baxter is excited his accents slips to the broader one of his childhood, Quinn notes with a smile. Not that he’s exactly ‘posh’ now, but he imagines that in the kind of circles in which an antique dealer would move, he might have to smooth out the accent a bit to cater to the snobbier element amongst his client base. Much as he himself has done on the podium, really... he realises that he’s about to push into Baxter without any warning and pulls back.
‘No, don’t stop, don’t stop... Jesus...’ Quinn realises that Baxter is right on the edge – it was like that for him, he remembers, his first time. The reality of what he’d so often imagined had been overpowering and he’d lasted all of two minutes. Well, they’ve got six days here so if he doesn’t get his turn tonight there’s always tomorrow.... with a sigh he thrusts into Baxter, groaning as the tight heat sucks him in, quivers around him. He rolls his hips and pulls slowly out before pushing back in again, and suddenly he can’t hold back, but presses himself against Baxter’s spine, reaching around him to fold his hand over Baxter’s right hand as the other man frantically slides his hand up and down his own cock, chest heaving and almost sobbing as he shudders and climaxes. Quinn pounds into him, feeling his balls drawing tight and the sudden tremor which tells him that he’s about to come – and he does, gloriously and almost painfully.
‘Thanks for that,’ Bax breathes in his ear later, when they’ve recovered their breath. ‘I didn’t know what to expect – but that was fucking fantastic.’ He rolls over onto his back, heedless of the sticky mess on his stomach, and within seconds he’s fast asleep, snoring softly.
‘Yeah... your turn tomorrow...’ Quinn murmurs with a quirk of his eyebrows. He falls back onto his pillow and wonders if he ought to rouse Baxter and send him back to his room. But before he can make a decision, he’s fast asleep.
TBC ......
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Copyright Disclaimer: No infringement intended on any copyrights held by the original copyright holders of the images, characters, premise, etc. contained on this page. Created solely for non-profit purposes of entertainment.
Author: Edzel2 (with grateful thanks to my Beta, Jinxed)
Genre: ‘Mad Dogs’
Rating: Adult
Summary: Quinn has a late night visitor...
Previously.... ‘Thanks.’ Baxter clumsily dresses himself and Quinn tries to ignore the pull of disappointment in his chest as the other man’s tackle is tucked away and the zipper pulled.
‘I meant what I said, y’know,’ Baxter tells Quinn as they head unsteadily across the courtyard to the silent house.
‘I know you did. And I’ll take you up on it another night, when you’re not so rat-arsed.’
‘You’re on.’
Part Two:
‘Quinn... it’s me.’ The voice on the other side of the thick oak door is soft and as he opens it Quinn can’t make out Baxter’s features in the darkness of the corridor beyond but then he knows exactly who it is; has been expecting him.
‘Was wondering when you’d show up,’ Quinn says quietly as he closes the door gently behind the other man, who suddenly seems uncertain, on edge. He looks around Quinn’s room with clearly feigned interest, his eyes darting to Quinn and away again. It’s been over an hour since they stumbled to their respective rooms and he suspects that Baxter has been able to sleep with about as much success as Quinn himself, in spite of the quantities of alcohol both have consumed; which is to say, none at all.
‘Yeah... well I wasn’t going to but... I couldn’t sleep and I thought...oh, you didn’t...?’ Baxter sighs as Quinn goes to the en-suite to fetch a glass tumbler, into which he pours a generous measure of what smells like a good single malt from a bottle standing on the dresser.
‘Yeah, I did... let’s face it, Alvo’s got more than he can possibly drink in a month of Sundays in that bloody cabinet. And he did tell us to make ourselves at home. Here.’ Quinn places the tumbler in Baxter’s hand, pressing the shorter man’s fingers around it as if he fears he might drop it. Baxter looks down at his hand for a moment before bringing the glass to his lips and taking a generous mouthful.
‘Thanks. Not that I need any Dutch courage, y’know, but...’
‘I know. It’s your first time and you don’t know if you should be here at all. I’ve heard it all before, Bax – there’s nothing you can say that’ll surprise me.’
Baxter looks up at him as he hands the glass back – he looks ridiculously like a frightened rabbit, Quinn thinks; do I still want to do this? Too bloody right he does.
‘Really? You’ve done this before, then?’ Baxter watches the glass all the way to Quinn’s mouth.
‘Yeah.’ Quinn swallows, looking at Baxter all the while; he’s still standing in the middle of the room, draped in that ridiculous bright green robe and looking for all the world as if he’s about to run for it. All the quiet self-assurance he’d been so busily trying to project since they’d met at the airport is absent now and Quinn feels his stomach muscles clench in anticipation. Warmth pools in his groin and he makes a point of sitting on the bed and stares expectantly at Baxter. ‘Not that I do it a lot, you understand.... just now and then, when the mood takes me.’
‘Ah. I haven’t... I don’t... its only you, Quinn.’ The last is mumbled as Baxter drops his head, seemingly embarrassed by the admission.
‘Come ‘ere you daft sod.’
Baxter takes tentative steps towards the bed, stops. ‘I don’t mean... I’m not being soppy, Quinn. I just mean... I’ve never considered it with anyone else...’
‘I know. And it doesn’t matter.’ Quinn leans back and takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the growing ache in his groin; he has to let Baxter come to him.
‘Good. God, this is awkward. I need to... I dunno.’
‘You need another drink, my son, that’s what you need.’ Too late, Quinn realises that his phrasing could be patronising – but whatever it is, it seems to reassure Baxter because he gives another nervous laugh and finally steps forward to the bedside. He takes the proffered glass and empties it, puts it carefully on the nightstand and sits on the bed beside Quinn. He’s not wearing his glasses and stares at Quinn slightly myopically.
‘This is so surreal,’ he says quietly.
‘Yeah. Good, eh?’ Quinn realises that he is going to have to make the first move. He reaches behind him and flicks the bedside lamp off; instinctively knowing that Baxter will feel more comfortable in the semi-darkness of the moonlight now streaming in through the open window.
It takes a while for his eyes to adjust but he feels the mattress dip and when he can finally see again, Baxter’s face is inches from his. ‘Hello,’ he says quietly, anything else he might’ve been thinking about saying lost as Baxter’s mouth clamps firmly down on his.
‘’Bout bloody time,’ he says when they finally surface for air. ‘I was beginning to think it’d have to be another hand job...’ he strokes his hand down Baxter’s chest and pulls the robe open. A quiet groan as he moves his hand downwards, trailing his thumb down the line of fine hair from Baxter’s navel to his groin. Before he’s got very far his wrist touches warm, damp flesh and he strokes down the length of Baxter’s cock, feeling the cool slickness of pre-come as it slides down the heated length.
‘Jesus....’ Baxter gasps.
‘Not quite,’ Quinn murmurs as he bends over to flick his tongue against the tip of Baxter’s cock. He yelps and Quinn hushes him.
‘Doesn’t bother me, Bax – but do you really want Alvo on your case in the morning?’
‘Let’s not talk about them,’ Baxter murmurs, and Quinn smiles as he feels the other man’s hand press against his boxers, hooking a finger through the slit in the fabric to stroke the head of Quinn’s cock.
‘Bloody hell,’ Quinn whispers. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m not going to last much longer at this rate. Must be the heat...’
‘Or the fact that we’re both desperate for a good, hard fuck,’ Baxter says quietly, and Quinn can tell by his voice that he’s grinning.
‘You got that right... do you trust me?’
‘More than I’d trust anyone else in this fucking madhouse,’ Baxter intones, his hips bucking against Quinn’s hand as the bigger man slowly palms his cock.
‘Okay. Gimme a sec.’
Quinn reluctantly pulls himself away from Baxter and tugs off his boxers, flinging them into the darkness and reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand to pull out a small tube of lubricant. He flicks the cap off and squeezes a measure into his palm, which he then swipes over the length of his cock. Two quick strokes up and down and he has to stop, teeth clenched as he tries desperately not to come. Baxter seems to understand and pulls his hand away, gulping as his own cock twitches in sympathy.
‘Okay,’ Quinn eventually says. ‘Assume the position,’ and now he’s grinning, almost giddy with the joy of what he’s about to do.
Baxter, for all that he’s professed never to have done this before, twists over so that he’s kneeling on the bed, and reaches back to pull himself apart.
‘S’okay... let me.’ Quinn makes sure that his index finger is covered and slides it along the perineum and teases before sliding in and pulling down and out. Baxter gasps and pushes back against him.
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell – do that again, will ya?’ When Baxter is excited his accents slips to the broader one of his childhood, Quinn notes with a smile. Not that he’s exactly ‘posh’ now, but he imagines that in the kind of circles in which an antique dealer would move, he might have to smooth out the accent a bit to cater to the snobbier element amongst his client base. Much as he himself has done on the podium, really... he realises that he’s about to push into Baxter without any warning and pulls back.
‘No, don’t stop, don’t stop... Jesus...’ Quinn realises that Baxter is right on the edge – it was like that for him, he remembers, his first time. The reality of what he’d so often imagined had been overpowering and he’d lasted all of two minutes. Well, they’ve got six days here so if he doesn’t get his turn tonight there’s always tomorrow.... with a sigh he thrusts into Baxter, groaning as the tight heat sucks him in, quivers around him. He rolls his hips and pulls slowly out before pushing back in again, and suddenly he can’t hold back, but presses himself against Baxter’s spine, reaching around him to fold his hand over Baxter’s right hand as the other man frantically slides his hand up and down his own cock, chest heaving and almost sobbing as he shudders and climaxes. Quinn pounds into him, feeling his balls drawing tight and the sudden tremor which tells him that he’s about to come – and he does, gloriously and almost painfully.
‘Thanks for that,’ Bax breathes in his ear later, when they’ve recovered their breath. ‘I didn’t know what to expect – but that was fucking fantastic.’ He rolls over onto his back, heedless of the sticky mess on his stomach, and within seconds he’s fast asleep, snoring softly.
‘Yeah... your turn tomorrow...’ Quinn murmurs with a quirk of his eyebrows. He falls back onto his pillow and wonders if he ought to rouse Baxter and send him back to his room. But before he can make a decision, he’s fast asleep.
TBC ......
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Copyright Disclaimer: No infringement intended on any copyrights held by the original copyright holders of the images, characters, premise, etc. contained on this page. Created solely for non-profit purposes of entertainment.