tl;dr (i_am_tl_dr) wrote,
tl;dr
i_am_tl_dr

Possessiveness

Title: Possessiveness
Characters: Quentin Kinley and Tyler Jordan Graham
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1005
Notes: So... this will come back in a later story... but the references the boys are making in this story are about the three-week period after they watched Magic Mike during which Tyler Jordan came to the conclusion that he needed to perfect his striptease and lap dance skills, for Quentin's benefit. And then kept making jokes about becoming a stripper. Because it would be easier than construction. (It would. And he'd make BANK doing it, too.) But it's not allowed.

Timeline: September 2014


“Are you wearing my hoodie?" Quentin paused as he came into the apartment, then dropped his backpack and walked up to Tyler Jordan, looking him up and down with a distinctly hungry gaze.

"...maybe?" Tyler Jordan looked shifty. "You let me wear it once, that's permission, right?"

"It doesn't fit you, you know," Quentin pointed out, plucking at his shoulder. "You're way broader in the shoulder than I am."

"That's not a hard bar to clear," Tyler Jordan said, and Quentin scowled at him. "I'm not teasing! You're lithe. And I like how snug it fits. It's like wearing a hug. And it smells like you."

"I'm going to steal yours back."

"Go ahead. You look cute in my clothes." Quentin's scowl deepened, and Tyler Jordan laughed and pulled Quentin into his arms. "It's true. Cause they're clearly not your style and they're a little too big for you and I just really like seeing you wearing my things."

"That's weird," Quentin muttered against Tyler Jordan's shoulder.

"Please, it's not any weirder than you liking to leave marks on me. It's... mm." Tyler Jordan bit his lip and hesitated.

"What? Say it."

"I don't know how to say it without weirding you out."

"I already think you're weird. Say it."

"It's like a mark of ownership. You wouldn't wear my clothes if you didn't want to be mine." He expected Quentin to push back against the word, but Quentin just wrapped his arms tighter around Tyler Jordan's waist and sighed against his neck.

"You're the one wearing my clothes right now," he murmured.

"I am. And I am yours. And I don't care if everyone knows it. I like being yours." Tyler Jordan wrapped a lock of Quentin's hair around one finger and tugged gently. "So I might as well steal your clothes and flaunt it."

"You do look good in tight things." Quentin ran his hands over Tyler Jordan's upper arms with a definite possessive air to the action. "Not as good as you look naked, but I definitely don't want anyone else seeing you naked."

"Are you sure? I really think I could make a career out of stripping."

"No way. Stick with music and construction."

"You just want me to stay blue-collar and strong..."

"Nah. I just don't want you considering sex work as a viable life choice. Cause I don't want anyone else getting to touch you. You know I'm possessive."

"I know," Tyler Jordan agreed. "I like it, too. The way you touch me when you see someone else checking me out. You're not subtle at all."

"You get checked out a lot," Quentin said. "Because you're super fucking hot. I have to stop anyone from getting any ideas about you."

"Well, you can't do anything about the band's fangirls," Tyler Jordan laughed.

"I'm not threatened by the fangirls, they don't get to touch you. But if you went professional as a stripper I'd be threatened by the thousands of people who'd be drooling over you." Quentin reached up to curl his hand around Tyler Jordan's throat, fingertips teasing the nape of his neck. "I'd have to leave marks all over you to prove you're mine, and that's not very professional."

"Oh, cause you know what's professional for a stripper?"

"Well, I wouldn't want a lap dance from a stripper with bite marks all over him."

"Keep lying to me, you were happy enough to get one every day after we watched Magic Mike..."

"You're not a stripper. You're my boyfriend. Of course I want a lap dance from you with my bite marks all over you."

"You better, cause you never stop leaving them on me."

"I'm not even sorry. You encourage me when I'm leaving them."

"Goddamn right I do. Like I'm going to complain about you putting your mouth all over my body. Please." Quentin nuzzled against Tyler Jordan's neck and scraped his teeth over the skin, and Tyler Jordan tipped his head back with a pleased hum. "You could leave a few more," he suggested. "And I think you have a few that need refreshing."

"Oh, yeah, you think? They're practically gone, you've been neglecting me."

"Bite your tongue. I don't neglect you."

"Neglecting to bite me, then. You've been too nice to me."

"That's because you haven't told me you want me to be not nice to you," Tyler Jordan said. "Is it one of those nights again? You know you have to ask for it if you want me to not be sweet."

"You're too good-natured," Quentin said fondly. "You don't even pretend to be mad any more. And that's not really what I want tonight anyways."

"No? Just a little friendly nibbling?"

"Reasserting my possessiveness." Tyler Jordan's hands framed Quentin's waist and Quentin looped his arms around Tyler Jordan's neck and curled one leg around his, practically twining them together. "Since you're so willing for everyone to know you're mine. And I'm just as much yours."

"Oh, well, if that's all you want..." Quentin wasn't quite as skinny as he'd been before they met, but it still took almost no effort for Tyler Jordan to lift him. "I guess I better live up to my side of these boyfriendly duties and bite the hell out of you," he purred, and Quentin laughed and clung tighter to him.

"If you want. You know. No pressure or anything. It could be one-sided biting."

"No no no. Accusing me of neglecting you and then playing it off? Uh-uh. You're getting bitten first, and bitten well." Tyler Jordan carried him into the bedroom and set him down on the bed, and Quentin grinned up at him.

"All right. But either take all your clothes off, or leave my hoodie on while you do it. You look good in my things."

"Told you so!"

“Actually, you know what? Take your clothes off and then put the hoodie back on.”

“Oh, really. Anything you want, lemon drop.”
Tags: quentin kinley, tyler jordan graham
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