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Brock could tell that Quinn was feeling better the next day, but he wasn’t going to just let things go this time. Keeping his distance and letting Quinn reach out if he needed someone had resulted in Quinn dropping alone in his shower. Brock wasn’t going to let that happen again. Thankfully, Quinn didn’t push back when Brock texted him about it after morning skate. All Quinn said was that he wanted to scene on a day they didn’t have a game. He didn’t want to play while wrung out from a drop, and he didn’t want to scene after a game, either, because then the thought of it would be hanging over his head the whole time. They decided on the day before the team left on its last road trip before the Olympic break. Brock wanted to do it sooner, but they had a game tonight, and he didn’t think he should push Quinn any more than this. Quinn was already out of his comfort zone, just agreeing to scene.
Thankfully, Quinn seemed fine during the game. He played great, actually. He was so confident on the ice, so self-assured, it was hard for Brock to reconcile that with the man he’d seen in Quinn’s apartment yesterday. The minute he had his skates on, all traces of shakiness or fatigue or timidness vanished, replaced by this fast, elusive skater who seemed shockingly observant and able to control play like no one Brock knew. Playing with him felt good, to be honest. It felt right. Like seeing someone in their natural habitat.
It only made him more determined to find a way to scene with Quinn safely, without a drop. Quinn had said, last night, that all he wanted to do was play hockey, and Brock believed that, without a doubt. He was going to find a way to make sure Quinn had whatever he needed to keep playing hockey if it killed him.
The next day, after practice, Quinn went back to Brock’s apartment with him. Quinn was tense, and Brock wished he knew how to help him relax. He had been learning quite a bit about Quinn recently, quietly cataloguing all of it, but none of it was helpful at the moment. He knew that Quinn relaxed when Brock held him, but he didn’t think Quinn would let him, yet. He knew that Quinn didn’t react well when Brock moved away from him while he was under. He knew Quinn responded well to clear, firm orders - he’d seen that at least twice. He knew Quinn went quiet when he reached subspace, which could be a problem, potentially. Well, not a problem, more of an obstacle. It meant Brock needed to be careful to talk things out before trying to put Quinn under, because once he did, he wouldn’t get much input from Quinn. Frankly, he was worried Quinn wouldn’t even safeword if he needed to, but if this was going to work at all, Brock had to give Quinn the benefit of the doubt at some point.
Brock guided Quinn to the couch, where he had decided their scene would take place. Brock would rather do it in his bedroom, but that seemed so much more intimate. He knew Quinn had only agreed to this because he didn’t have much other choice. He didn’t want to make Quinn more uncomfortable. This was just a simple, platonic scene between friends, just like he did with Boldy all the time. The fact that Brock wanted Quinn in his bed, and he could picture him curled up under Brock’s covers, safe, sated… Well, it was pointless, and Brock wasn’t going to let himself think about it. They were going to stay on the couch. Brock had already amassed a pile of everything he thought he could possibly need right next to the couch, so it was stupid to even imagine pulling Quinn back into his bedroom.
“So, um,” Quinn said, looking nervously around Brock’s living room, taking in the pile of aftercare supplies with a wary gaze. “Do… do you want me to kneel?”
“Just come sit with me,” Brock said. “We need to talk first.”
Quinn looked extremely nonplussed. “We talked already,” he grumbled, but he followed Brock to the couch and sat with him, a careful two feet away.
“Not about limits,” Brock said. “I know your safeword is red, but that’s all I know. I need to know what you like, what will take you down into subspace, and especially what I shouldn’t do.”
Quinn grimaced. “I go down easy, you don’t need to worry about that part. And the rest of it, it doesn’t matter. I’ll drop anyway, probably ninety-five percent of the time, no matter what you do. You know that already.”
“But there have to be things you know I should avoid,” Brock pressed. “Stuff that upsets you, that you’d never want.”
Quinn just shrugged. “I don’t know. Do whatever you want, Brock. It literally won’t matter.”
Brock tried not to get frustrated. Quinn might not know what would make him drop, but surely he knew some limits, right? Some things that were definitely out of bounds? “That’s not exactly a lot of help,” Brock said gruffly.
Quinn glared down at the floor. “Oh, geez, I didn’t realize,” he muttered, and though the words were quiet, they were still biting.
“Don’t be a brat,” Brock snapped. “I’m trying to keep from hurting you, here.” He understood that this whole thing was difficult for Quinn, and Brock should be a lot more patient. The retort came out before he could swallow down his emotions.
Quinn reacted visibly to his tone, ducking his head lower. “Sorry, sir,” he said softly.
Just as it had the two other times Quinn had called him ‘sir,’ Brock felt a heat appear, unbidden, somewhere in his abdomen, possessive and pleased. He definitely didn’t like the way Quinn looked when he said it, though, like he was trying to make himself smaller. Any possessive pleasure was drowned out by the flash of guilt over putting that look on Quinn’s face. Without really giving it much thought, Brock reached over to Quinn and wrapped his fingers around Quinn’s slender wrist. Quinn had responded well to that, before, and it worked again this time. Quinn still didn’t look up at Brock, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction, and then relaxed a little more when Brock squeezed his wrist firmly.
He thought about telling Quinn that he didn’t have to use a title, even during a scene, if he didn’t want to. After a second, Brock decided not to bring attention to it at all. He didn’t want Quinn to misinterpret and think Brock was upset that he’d said it. Brock did like being called ‘sir’ during a scene, honestly, he just didn’t like that Quinn seemed to only do it when he was nervous, like a defense mechanism. It made him wonder, not for the first time, what kind of doms Quinn had scened with before.
“I’m sorry I snapped,” Brock said. “You didn’t deserve that.” Quinn was still staring down at his lap, though the longer Brock squeezed his wrist, the more the lines around Quinn’s eyes softened. Good, Brock thought, adding that to the list of things he knew worked for Quinn. He wasn’t sure if it was the touch, or the sense of restraint, though. He’d have to work that out later.
“What about bondage?” he asked when Quinn didn’t say anything else, trying to keep his voice neutral, so Quinn wouldn’t interpret any judgment in his words.
Quinn shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s probably okay.”
Not exactly a shining endorsement, but not a limit, necessarily. “What about pain?”
“I really don’t know,” Quinn said, finally glancing up at Brock, looking uneasy. “I don’t hate it. I’m a hockey player, I can handle pain. But I don’t know if it’ll make me drop. I don’t know what makes me drop, or I’d have figured this out before now. Things like that, bondage, or pain, or whatever else… they’ll be fine, one day, with one dom, and then on another day, it’ll be almost the exact same scene, and it’ll be the thing that makes me drop. Or… half the time, I don’t even know what sends me over the edge. I… I’m sorry.” He looked down again, miserable. His voice went quiet, like he might have been talking to himself. “This is why I originally didn’t want to do this. With you. I can’t help you do it right.”
That was so fucking heartbreaking, Brock didn’t know how to react for a moment. He wanted to pull Quinn to him, crush him into his chest, hold him there, and tell him everything would be okay. But he couldn’t promise that, could he? “Okay,” he said finally. “That’s okay. Just… is there anything you can tell me? Because once you go under, I don’t think you’re going to be able to tell me anymore.”
Quinn grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a criticism,” Brock reassured him. At least, he hoped it was reassuring. “It’s just what we’re working with. You go quiet when you get near subspace, and I don’t want to push you to talk when you’re like that.”
Quinn didn’t answer. He was looking down again, chewing on his lip. Brock would give anything to know what was going on in his head. It looked like a lot.
Brock decided to change tack a bit. “Forget about drops and limits for a second. Can you just tell me things you don’t like? Just… not your favorite?”
Quinn seemed to consider this for a moment. “I mean,” he said slowly, “some of the things I don’t like are things you’re not going to do anyway. Like, anything that might interfere with hockey, or mean I won’t play well tomorrow.”
Brock nodded and waited for Quinn to go on.
Quinn was quiet again for a bit, but he seemed to be thinking, so Brock let him think. They had all evening, Brock didn’t need to rush anything. Eventually, Quinn spoke again, haltingly, without looking up at Brock. “I don’t… I don’t like when there’s, um. When more than one dom is around. I can’t even get to subspace. That’s, uh, that’s why I don’t - in the locker room, I never… I know the other subs do, and that’s fine, but I hate it. Too many doms, I can’t focus, I can’t relax…”
Quinn had started to hunch in on himself again, so Brock squeezed his wrist, and Quinn relaxed a fraction. Brock wanted to pull Quinn into a hug, but he held himself back. They needed to finish this negotiation before he let himself give into his instincts.
“But that’s, I mean,” Quinn continued. “It’s stupid, because you’re the only person here, so… I don’t have to worry about that.”
“No, I’m glad you told me,” Brock said quickly. “Thank you for telling me.”
Quinn looked up at Brock, and Brock wasn’t sure what Quinn saw on his face, but whatever it was, Quinn seemed to settle a little. He nodded once before looking back down at his lap. Brock stroked his thumb slowly over the soft skin on the inside of Quinn’s wrist, and Quinn closed his eyes for a second before continuing.
“And, um, I don’t like it when the dom leaves the room,” Quinn finished. That one, Brock already knew, but he was still grateful Quinn had said it. He was proud of Quinn, honestly. Talking about this stuff was obviously difficult for him.
Brock squeezed his wrist again. “Thank you,” he said softly. Quinn was still staring resolutely down at his own knees, his shoulders drawn into a taut line. Brock needed to get Quinn to relax before they started the scene, not just because it would go better for Quinn, but also because his own instincts saw a distressed submissive and demanded, insisted that he comfort him. “Can I hug you?” he asked, because holding Quinn had helped before. It wouldn’t be skin to skin, but hopefully it would still help.
Quinn gave a short nod without looking up. Brock let go of Quinn's wrist in order to wrap his arm around Quinn's shoulders and pull him in. Quinn curled into him, and the relief was instant. As soon as Brock had both arms around Quinn, who was soft and yielding against him, Brock’s instincts settled to a pleased hum. Quinn let out a shuddering breath, but then his shoulders relaxed and his breathing got progressively deeper. Brock thought maybe he should have offered to hug Quinn earlier, if it soothed him this much.
“How about this,” Brock said after a long minute. “Once you’re ready, and there’s no rush, but once you’re ready, I’ll have you kneel for me for a while. Just let yourself get used to it. I’ll touch you and talk to you, and maybe that’ll be enough to send you down. You said you go down easily. But if it’s not, that’s okay. If you need more than that, we’ll try some really simple bondage. Nothing hard. Does that sound okay to you?”
Quinn nodded easily, which reassured Brock quite a bit. He knew this whole thing was difficult for Quinn, and he was afraid of pushing too hard into something Quinn didn’t actually want. “Okay,” Brock said, unable to resist the urge to press a quick kiss to the side of Quinn’s head. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready, go ahead and kneel for me.” He grabbed a throw pillow from the end of the couch and dropped it on the floor between his feet, but kept his other arm around Quinn’s shoulders until Quinn pulled away.
“Yes, sir,” Quinn murmured as he moved off of the couch and down onto his knees, and this time there was nothing to dampen the way Brock’s dominant instincts took pleasure in hearing that. Quinn wasn’t tense, he didn’t sound chagrined, it didn’t sound like he was using a title just to placate a dominant. Brock still wasn’t sure if Quinn said it on purpose, or if it had just slipped out, but he let himself enjoy it this time.
“Good boy,” he praised the moment Quinn was settled between his feet. Just like that night in a hotel room in Florida, weeks ago, Quinn’s posture was textbook perfect, resting back on his heels, back straight, head bowed, hands folded loosely in his lap. He was so completely still that Brock wondered for a second if he was holding his breath.
Brock slid his fingers into Quinn’s hair, slowly carding through the mess of unruly waves. Quinn barely moved, subtle enough that anyone watching wouldn’t have thought he reacted at all, but Brock could feel the way Quinn leaned into his touch. “You like that?” Brock asked with a soft smile. “I know you like being held. You like when I pet your hair? When I hold you like this, too?” He tightened his fingers in Quinn’s hair, not nearly tight enough to hurt, just enough to hold on, so Quinn couldn’t move his head without tugging on the hair himself.
Quinn started to nod, but then stopped himself as the motion started to tug on his hair. He swallowed, then said, so quietly, “Yes, sir. I like it.” He leaned his head into Brock’s hand again, more obvious this time, and his eyes slid closed in what looked like pleasure.
“Good boy, so good,” he said again, loosening his grip to scratch Quinn’s scalp gently. When Brock had thought about this moment, having Quinn on his knees again, in Brock’s own apartment rather than some impersonal hotel room, he had mostly thought about how he could keep Quinn safe and what he would do if it went wrong and Quinn dropped. He hadn’t thought about - or perhaps hadn’t allowed himself to think about - how much he would like it. God, Quinn was beautiful like this. The way he leaned into Brock’s touch, the way he obviously soaked up the attention like a plant in a drought soaking up the first drops of rain… Quinn’s eyes were still closed, he was breathing deeply, and he had this look of utter calm on his face. The idea that Brock could make him look like that just from a few touches and a little praise was heady, like a drug. It wasn’t like Brock hadn’t had subs on their knees for him before, but this felt different. Quinn’s trust felt all the more precious, because Brock knew that it was more difficult for Quinn to give.
Something touched his ankle, and Brock managed not to startle. He looked down and saw Quinn slowly wrapping one hand around his ankle, just above the sock where he could touch Brock’s skin. Quinn’s touch was so light, tentative, and after a second he pulled his hand away. “You can touch,” Brock assured him. “It’s okay. You can touch me.” Quinn’s hand returned to Brock’s ankle, holding on more firmly. Brock smiled down at him, and his hand moved down from Quinn’s hair to cup the back of his neck. “I know touch is important to you,” he said softly. “Here, lean against me. Relax, Quinn.” He carefully tugged Quinn until his head was laying on Brock’s thigh, his whole side pressed against Brock’s leg.
Quinn let out a breath and blinked up at Brock, and Brock could see the haziness in his eyes, the way the pupils had dilated and weren’t quite focused anymore. “You’re already going under, aren’t you,” he whispered, almost in awe. Quinn had been telling the truth, he went down easy. Maybe it was because he found subspace so rarely, his body was desperate for it? Regardless of the reason, it was gorgeous. Quinn was gorgeous like this, so pliant and trusting. Maybe it was just his instincts reacting to a sweet submissive at his feet, but Brock wanted nothing more than to protect this. He wanted Quinn to be able to have this all the time, whenever he wanted. Quinn deserved to be cared for and protected, and Brock desperately needed to be the one who gave that to him.
“So beautiful,” he murmured as he pet Quinn’s hair. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
Quinn sighed softly and turned his head to nuzzle the inside of Brock’s thigh, and suddenly Brock was feeling something other than awe and gratitude at the sight of Quinn’s submission. Quinn wasn’t just beautiful, he was… well, he was hot. And Brock wanted more than just kneeling from him. He wanted a lot more. Quinn hummed softly as he pressed his face into Brock’s thigh, and Brock’s mind flashed with all the other lovely things he could do with Quinn’s mouth. Other images came to mind, too, like stripping Quinn naked and kissing down his chest, the way Quinn would probably go boneless, blissed out… he imagined what Quinn would look like after he came. Fuck, he wanted to see that so bad. But not today. Quinn had agreed to let Brock help him find subspace, but nothing else. Brock didn’t even know if Quinn was into guys, sexually.
Brock could feel his dick starting to show an interest in the proceedings, so he forced his mind away. He wanted to adjust himself in his briefs, but he didn’t want to draw Quinn’s attention to his arousal. It wasn’t Quinn’s problem, and it wasn’t part of their scene. Brock would just have to control himself. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, to try to get a hold of himself.
Quinn stilled, and Brock looked back down at him. Quinn was… well, he had noticed Brock’s reaction, and he was staring at the bulge in Brock’s pants. Fuck, Brock thought. “Quinn,” he started, but didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to make Quinn uncomfortable.
Quinn swallowed visibly. Then his hand was lifting towards Brock’s shorts. Touching Brock. Even though two layers of fabric, Brock’s whole body responded to that touch,every part of him lighting up, eagerly anticipating more.
But he couldn’t. Quinn was fully in subspace, and he wasn’t talking anymore. Quinn couldn’t consent to this, not when he was already floating. Brock caught his hand and pulled it away, then pushed it down, trying to be so, so gentle. “Not- not right now,” he stammered. “We didn’t talk about it. So we’re - we’re not going to do that.”
Quinn’s gaze dropped immediately to the floor, and he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. He took his other hand off of Brock’s ankle, as well, putting both of them back in his lap, like they had been when they started. Fuck. He had been so relaxed, but now he was curling in on himself.
“I’m sorry,” Brock said, then felt completely stupid, because apologizing made it sound like he was taking away something that Quinn wanted, and he had no idea if Quinn would actually want anything sexual to happen between them, when he wasn’t floating in subspace.
That must have been the wrong thing to say, because Quinn’s shoulders curled up, his posture hunching, no longer that picture-perfect kneeling position. “Quinn, it’s okay,” he tried, reaching for him again, but Quinn flinched away the moment Brock touched his hair.
The warm confidence that had been filling Brock drained away, any arousal completely vanishing, replaced by a sick, churning acid. Idiot, he thought. In all that talk about limits and plans, he hadn’t even thought to bring up anything sexual. He had assumed this was purely platonic, at least on Quinn’s part. But he hadn’t actually said that, and what was the point of all that goddamn negotiation if Brock was still going to make a misstep like this?
“Can you look at me, Quinn?” Brock kept his tone soft, hoping he could pull Quinn back into the submissive headspace he’d been in. It had only lasted a few minutes, but it had been so beautiful to see. He threaded both hands into Quinn’s hair, because Quinn liked being touched. Quinn didn’t lean into it this time, though, and he didn’t lift his head to look at Brock. His skin felt cold and clammy under Brock’s fingertips. “It’s alright, Quinn, you’re okay,” he tried. He tilted Quinn’s head up towards him. Quinn’s eyes were distant, unfocused, but it didn’t look like the soft haze of subspace. Now he just looked hollowed out.
After a moment, Quinn flinched again, and this time Brock didn’t even know what had caused it. He could feel Quinn start to tremble in his hands. Whatever subspace Quinn had found was completely gone, and he was well over the edge of a drop.
As much as it was horrible to watch, and as much as it made Brock’s stomach hurt, Brock wasn’t panicking this time. He had known that Quinn might drop, more likely than not, and he was prepared. Brock shifted so Quinn wasn’t between his feet and then slid off the couch so he was sitting next to him on the floor. Quinn had hunched over further, curling down over his own knees like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. Brock slid an arm under Quinn and tugged him over, fully onto his lap and pressed against his chest. “You’re okay, Quinn,” he murmured as he situated the sub so that he could lay his head on Brock’s shoulder. “You’re okay, I’m right here, I’ve got you.”
Quinn’s arms were folded up between his chest and Brock’s, but after a second Brock felt Quinn’s hand grip his shirt tightly. It was more of a reaction that Brock had gotten the last two times Quinn had dropped, so he took it as a good sign.
“There you go, good boy,” he said as he held Quinn securely with one hand and rubbed circles on his back with the other. “That’s good, hold on to me. You’re safe here.”
Quinn took a shaking breath that turned into a wet sob, and he turned his head towards Brock to bury his face in Brock’s shoulder as he started to cry. The sound cut Brock open and scraped him raw, but even then, he was sure it was a good thing. Quinn had been silent during his previous drops. If he was reacting, turning towards Brock, and making noise, it surely meant he was already coming back out, right?
Quinn was still trembling as he cried into Brock’s shoulder, so Brock reached over to the pile of supplies he’d set out on the coffee table and pulled down a blanket. He had known he wouldn’t want to leave Quinn’s side even for a moment, and now he was grateful for the forethought. He draped the blanket around Quinn as best he could, then wrapped his arms around him again and squeezed him tight. Brock kept up a stream of comforting words in a low voice, hoping it would help ground Quinn, and settled in to wait out Quinn’s drop.
He kept thinking about the way Quinn had flinched when Brock had told him no. Was that what had made him drop? Should Brock have let Quinn… what, blow him? Would Quinn have avoided the drop if Brock let him do whatever he’d been trying to do? All Brock knew for sure was that he had screwed up. But he could fix it next time. He could do better, plan better. If Quinn let him try again.
The first time he’d helped Quinn through a drop, in Florida, they had both fallen asleep, so it was hard to say how long it had taken for the drop to fade. A few days ago, in Quinn's apartment, it had taken most of an hour for Quinn to come back up. This time, within five minutes, Quinn had stopped shaking, his breathing had evened out, and his skin felt warm again with no sheen of cold sweat. His hand was still fisted in Brock's shirt, but other than that his body seemed to have lost its tension. Brock knew it made a big difference that he was here to catch it the moment Quinn started to drop, instead of walking in on the aftermath much later. But even so, this felt like progress. They hadn't gotten through the scene without a drop, but they had gotten through the drop quickly.
“When you can, try to tell me how you're feeling,” Brock said softly. “There's no rush. We can stay like this as long as you want.”
Quinn nodded against Brock’s shoulder, which was comforting because it confirmed that Quinn was up from the drop enough to understand him, but it still took Quinn another minute to be able to speak. “I'm okay,” he mumbled eventually. “Don't wanna move. If… if that's okay. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Brock soothed. “I said we could stay like this as long as you want, and I meant it.”
Now that Quinn had calmed again, and Brock was sure he was back out of the drop and safe, some of the warmth in his chest started to return, the same warmth that had filled him when Quinn had started to slip into subspace. It felt good to have Quinn in his arms, relaxed and trusting. It satisfied a deep, core dominant urge to have successfully cared for a submissive. It wasn’t perfect, it was marred by the still-fading nausea he had felt when Quinn had started to drop, but still felt like a soft light was glowing inside of him, gentle but persistent.
Eventually, Quinn’s grip on Brock’s shirt loosened, and Brock took that as a sign that he was back to himself, at least mostly.
“I'm sorry,” Quinn said quietly into the collar of Brock’s T-shirt, and Brock was surprised enough that he pulled away just enough to look at him.
“For what?” He tried to keep his voice mild, so that Quinn wouldn't misinterpret his surprise as judgment. “You haven't done anything to be sorry for.”
“I know I'm difficult. I know you… you wanted it to work this time. I'm sorry I dropped, and you had to take care of me again. …I know it's not what a dom wants out of a scene, I know it ruins it for you.” Quinn wasn't pulling away from Brock, at least, but he wasn't looking at him, either. Brock wished Quinn would look up, so he could see what was on Quinn’s face.
He didn't know what to say at first. He kept thinking that there was a difference between making something difficult and having difficulties, but he wasn't sure how to explain. “Quinn, you're not… you're doing really well, okay?” he said finally. “You're… you're doing something that is really hard for you, really challenging, but you're doing it anyway, because I asked you to. Do you know what that does for a dom? The idea that you're working so hard to try to be good for me? It's…” It made Brock’s blood sing, it made his dominant instincts croon and preen.
Quinn finally looked up at Brock. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion, but he didn't say anything.
Brock lifted a hand to touch Quinn's cheek, so softly. He wanted to do more, he wanted to kiss that wrinkle between Quinn's eyebrows until it smoothed out, but he controlled himself. “I guess I can't speak for how other dominants feel,” Brock said slowly. “And I know I'm not, you know, the most experienced. But for me… anyone can submit when it's easy, you know? Anyone can trust me to take care of them when there's no risk. And it's still meaningful, because they're still trusting me not to do anything they wouldn't like, but… this is different. Quinn, you…” There was a note of awe in his voice. It was difficult to find the words for what he was feeling. “It means something to a dom, to me, to see you trying to trust me when it isn't easy.”
Quinn was staring at him, wide eyed and completely still. Brock was struck, again, with the urge to kiss him. He told himself that now wasn’t the time. Quinn had just come up from a drop, and he was alone with a dom in the dom’s apartment - he would feel too pressured to do whatever Brock wanted. So Brock let out a breath, pushed the feeling away, and tried to change the subject.
“You came up from your drop faster, this time,” he said. “Maybe that’s progress? Maybe next time, you’ll come back up fast enough that you’ll slip right back into subspace. That can happen, right?”
Quinn got a faraway look in his eyes, and then, to Brock’s dismay, moved off of Brock’s lap to sit on the floor beside him. At least Quinn didn’t go far, Brock tried to console himself. It didn’t help much.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe next time,” Quinn said as he settled with his back against the couch. He was only inches away from Brock, but they weren’t touching at all, and it was awful. “I guess that’ll be in March, probably.”
“March?” Brock blinked at him. It wasn’t even February yet.
Quinn shrugged. “Yeah, because the Olympics are almost here, and you know…”
“You absolutely cannot play in the Olympics without scening,” Brock said, his voice growing hard. He was not going to allow that. “The level of attention and pressure we’ll be under, the whole country watching - you’ll need to go under more while we’re over there, or it’ll eat you alive.”
Quinn looked up at him, bemused. “Yeah, no, I know, I just meant… Well, Jack will be there, so I’ll be fine.” He paused and then added, “My brother Jack.”
That took the wind out of Brock’s sails. “Yeah, I figured you meant your brother, not, like, Eichel.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You scene with Jack?”
Quinn shrugged again. “Yeah. Just easy stuff. He lets me kneel for him when I need it, and that’s usually enough.”
The thought of not scening with Quinn again for nearly a month was echoing in Brock’s mind. He hated the idea of waiting that long. But if Quinn would rather have Jack take care of him, who was Brock to argue? “And you go under, for him?” he asked, needing to make sure. “Not just, like, skimming the surface and calling it good?”
“I mean, I go under pretty easily,” Quinn said. “You saw that just now. But no, it's not just skimming the surface. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine with Jack.”
Quinn seemed so confident about it, so different from how he normally talked about subspace. “So… you don't drop, with him?” Brock asked.
Quinn shrugged. “No, I don't, but, I mean, he's my brother. I've known him since he was born. So it's different.” He looked over at Brock, frowning softly. “I know what you’re thinking. If it’s possible for me not to drop for Jack, then it’s possible with you, too. And… maybe. Maybe. But it’s been this way since I was a teenager. If I kneel for Jack or Luke or my mom, I’m fine, but anyone else, I drop.”
Brock thought it was notable that Quinn specified since he was a teenager. Maybe that meant he hadn’t always been this way. Or, maybe he just meant ‘since I started scening,’ since people didn’t come into their need for dominance or submission until adolescence. Brock decided not to push for now. As much as the idea of going a whole month without seeing Quinn on his knees felt unbearable, it would be stupid to make a fuss over it. Quinn would be taken care of, and that was what was really important here. It sounded like Jack could take better care of Quinn than he could, anyway. His stupid dominant ego would have to suck it up.
Brock let the topic drop and went back to giving Quinn aftercare. Quinn seemed to think he was being overly solicitous, but at least he didn’t argue. He was patient - though with the occasional huffed sigh - as Brock insisted that he drink an entire Gatorade, and have some snacks, and sit on the couch with him for a while to watch a pointless TV show. It was hard to be certain, because, like always, Quinn didn’t say much about what he was thinking, but Brock got the impression that Quinn enjoyed being doted on, though he would never admit it. Privately, Brock started making plans for after the Olympics, when he could try this again.