Quinn and Carrie slept for more than three hours, which felt like a luxuriously long time, given their current state of stress and exhaustion. Quinn was the first to awaken. It was mid-morning, judging by the quality of the light spilling into his bedroom window. He got up out of bed, turning behind him to fold a blanket over Carrie. He brushed her hair back off her forehead gently, and when she didn't stir, he went into the kitchen to scare up some nourishment.
He had just finished making black tea and toasting some bread, when he heard her waking. She rolled around and stretched, enjoying the feeling of comfort and quiet. It had been a long time since they had a break, and even though they both knew it was a short one, it was rest enough that it felt like a vacation.
Carrie sat up in bed and propped herself on a pillow. Quinn walked over to her, and handed her a buttered slice of toast, and a hot mug of tea. "I put sugar in it," he said.
"Good, that's what I like," she said, sipping it, eyeing him gratefully over the mug.
He sat cross legged on the end of the bed, facing her, and for a while, they just munched away at breakfast and sipped tea. Neither of them felt compelled to say anything. And God knew nothing work-related jumped to mind that felt more important than this rare moment of intimacy. It was the first time Carrie had felt decent in weeks. And he wanted her completely mentally alert for what he wanted to say next.
When they had finished eating, he took the plates and mugs back into the kitchen.
"I tried not to get crumbs in your bed, Quinn," Carrie joked.
"Good," he said, "Because you'd only be hurting yourself." He smiled at her significantly. She smiled back but said nothing else.
He sat back down on the foot of the bed, and looked at her.
"You awake? Feeling ok now?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Really good."
"Good," Quinn said shortly. "Because like I said, we have to talk. And I want your whole mind here with me while you listen. And, I want any answers you give me to be, well, careful." He was so nervous that he felt queasy. Even though she seemed so receptive, there was a chance that she'd hear him declare his feelings, listen to his proposal of exclusivity, and just laugh in his face. God, he hoped he had read her right. He didn't think he could take that.
"Okay," she said, expectantly, looking at him sideways. He was making this chat sound a little ominous. But then, they had had a heavy night.
"Carrie," Quinn began, "you say you won't forget what happened last night. And I believe you. But I want you to know there's a reason why we didn't…" his words fell off into quiet, not knowing how to finish.
"You mean, why you didn't make love to me?" she asked plaintively. "I wanted you to, Quinn. I could feel you wanted to. Why didn't you? I was thinking clearly last night." He almost couldn't look at her. Carrie at her most seductive, now literally was throwing herself at him. After all his fantasies, and so many years of feeling unnoticed and lost in the shuffle, here she was in his bed, asking "why not?" Jesus Christ. He felt like he might be going crazy.
"Because, Carrie, I'm not here for you to use, just to scratch an itch," he said. He saw her recoil and sniff, and realized he'd put it a little too bluntly. Oh, Quinn, you shithead, he told himself. Get this right. Damnit, it's the way he was made, though. The words just came out. He reached over, tried to soften what he meant to say. He put a hand on the ankle of her curled-up leg.
"What I mean is, if you and I… if you and I become... lovers, it won't be casual for me," he stammered out. "I can't make love to you one night, and then just turn it off the next. Because I don't feel casual about you. And I haven't for a long time," he stated.
He went quiet, and watched her. His eyes were intensely on her face, trying to read meaning there. God, her eyes were so huge, so blue. He thought she looked amazed. Whatever offense he had given by suggesting she was using him to scratch an itch, was now blown away by his statement, leaving something more like wonder. He could see it. He looked at her face, her golden hair hanging in glorious bed-fluff on either side of her sculpted cheekbones. He waited, because he wanted her to speak next.
"So what do you feel, Quinn?" she asked. She put her hand over his, down on her ankle, realizing how hard this was for him to say, knowing what amount of emotional currency it cost him to say it. Also, she realized that she was ready to hear it, and that she was dying to hear him open up.
"Carrie," he said, his voice trembling a bit, "What I feel is… if you reach out to me, and open up those floodgates, then I'm going to make love to you. And when I do, there's no closing that door back up again. I won't be able to stop having those feelings for you. I can't say that I'll be able to control myself, do you understand? If this breaks loose," he said, gesturing to indicate his head, his heart, his erection, "It doesn't all just go back the way it was," he finished.
He looked barely controlled. He was trembling with passion. She was ready to throw herself into his arms, but she could see he still wasn't done talking.
"If you and I are… together..." Quinn said, "then I can't have you with anyone else. I won't be able to tolerate it. I want you very badly; Carrie Mathison, but I won't share you." He was looking down at the bedspread, seemingly embarrassed by his passionate declaration. "I've been dedicated to you for years, in other ways, and now…"
Carrie had heard enough. She didn't say anything, but crawled over the bed, and got into Quinn's lap. She put her arms around his shoulders, kissed him on the neck below the ear. His arms came around her, tight and quick. He had always been there for her. She understood how terribly possessive he must feel about her, and felt she had to reassure him. As far as she was concerned, there really was nobody else she'd be interested in. But he didn't have any way of knowing that.
"Finish saying it, Quinn," she said. "Say it all." She felt him lift her whole body, and turn her, so she was straddling his seated form. She wrapped arms and legs around him then, and felt him speaking into her ear. His voice grew quieter, shaky, and she did not miss the fact it felt like he had a heat-seeking missile in his shorts.
"If you want me, you get all of me. And I want the same back from you," he said, caressing her back. Her chin dug into his shoulder, her hot breath down the back of his t-shirt distracting the hell out of him. "I don't need you to say you'll marry me, or make any other kinds of promises. We don't know enough about our futures to say that. Just say…" he trailed off, then reached around and got himself a soft handful of her hair, pulled her back where he could see her. "Just say you'll be mine," he said. "Say you'll be mine, Carrie, and I'll make everything else happen for you, I promise." He tugged at her glorious mane, gave himself access to her throat, and kissed her in the hollow there.
"Oh, Quinn," she sighed, as his lips started working their way down her neck. "I don't want anyone else," she said.
"Carrie, there's something else, after that, I promise to... do more, and talk less," he murmured into the hollow of her throat.
Her eyes shut, already feeling light as a feather, almost high, from Quinn's arms around her. His tremulous words were about to be set aside for a much more visceral experience, and she was ready. My God, how long had he been repressing this? He must have inhibited so much feeling, so much desire. How had hidden it? Or had she simply been blind?
He pulled her back, making sure she could see his eyes, which were now lit with liberated fire, and almost navy blue with lust.
"I want to warn you. Once I start, you might not be able to stop me," he cautioned.
"I won't want you to," she said.
He smiled wickedly, and then pushed her back onto the bed, lay on top of her, crushing her with his weight. "If you're sure," he said, breathlessly.
"Yes," she said simply.
Now Quinn was done being careful. His lips met hers, and everything he had just said went from statement to promise. His desire was a flood so intense that felt almost like rage, a mental spasm. She was blown away by the power of his feeling, and it struck her again how restrained he had been the night before, because he certainly wasn't controlled now. Not at all, she thought, feeling his hands go under her shirt, squeeze her breasts briskly, greedily.
Inside the apartment, the time for words was over. Carrie found herself loose and abandoned out into the heart of a hurricane, with the eye right in the middle of Quinn's bed. He had pressed her back into the soft coverlet, and avidly felt around under her clothing, but only for a moment. Then he grunted, the sound a man might make at the beginning of a long marathon, and began disrobing her impatiently. There was no more talking, and he hadn't been kidding about her not being able to stop him. His long-suppressed passion had simmered over, and he raged and fumed at every item of clothing between them, not stopping until they were both completely naked. Then he sat back up, kneeling, and picked Carrie up under the arms, lifting her like she weighed nothing. His prick stood up below her like the branch of a tree, and she sucked in her breath as she dangled there.
"First, I'll have you," he breathed, savagely. "Then, next time, I'll make you come." He raised her, her legs open, over his swollen organ, which had been hard and at the ready through the entire conversation. "And the next time, and the next," he groaned. Her mouth was open, astonished, to find that he was going to enter her already. He immediately pressed her folds onto his cock, forced her down hard, not even checking to see if she was wet, as if he owned her, body and soul. She was already so aroused that he didn't hurt her, though she gasped at the feeling, the roughness of it. He felt huge, and she was completely filled. She grabbed at Quinn, accepting the storm of his passion, like she was a drowning swimmer, and he, the lifeguard come to save her. Maybe he was.
"Q-Quinn..." she moaned. Before a moment passed, he was all the way inside her, she sitting down completely on his cock, which was so rigid and ready that he felt like a piece of firewood about to split her in two. His head came down and he bit her neck, seeming to want to feed on her beauty, and she cried out helplessly. Carrie was terribly vulnerable against the size of him, against the strength of his built-up lust, and she understood his warning, now. But she didn't want to stop him, even if she could have. She was speared on him, being fucked, and felt completely weightless in his arms. His mouth finally let go of her neck, leaving an even pink love-bite there, and then he began using the strength of his arms to move her up and down on his cock.
"Now, Carrie," he said, voice unsteady. "Now, you're mine. I get to have you. And you get to see what it's like to be well and truly fucked. I've been waiting…and wondering… at how tight you'd feel," he moaned. He bounced her in his lap, each thrust going as deep as possible, so she could feel his balls hitting her ass on each downstroke. His hand went down and his thumb found her clitoris, pressed the hood to the side, pressed it up and down, finding her rhythm again, as he had the night before. "I remember, this is what you like, isn't it," he breathed. He fucked her sitting up, lifting her up and down on his prick with one strong arm, while the other hand worked her center. She felt out of control already, and the heat was only building.
She had had no idea he felt this strongly about her. He was overwhelmed, ecstatic. He made her feel so desirable and so loved. This is what it had all meant; she understood now, all his shadowing, all his new door locks, all the late night phone calls. He kissed her neck again, soothing the bitten spot, and then began to moan her name. He found he couldn't hold back, and before she even came close to climaxing, his orgasm burst over him, and he poured himself into her. He didn't pull out, but held her down tight, pressing her onto his softening prick. Still keeping a slow rhythm. He buried his face in her neck, and held her down, constrained. He wouldn't let her go.
"Carrie, you're mine," he sighed.
She kissed him on the shoulder, waiting for him to release her. But he didn't. He lay her on her back without removing himself, and before a minute or two went by, he was hard again. And began to thrust.
"My God, Quinn," she laughed, tears in her eyes, "Are you 18 years old?" She couldn't believe it, but yes, he was hard as a rock again. He had her on her back now, she wrapped her legs around his waist and soon after that, he began to move inside her body at a different pace. He was deep within, but moving much slower, twisting his hips and looming over Carrie's trembling white form, as if he meant to fuck her forever, keep her for himself as a private pleasure.
"I'm not so young. It's just you, Carrie. I've been waiting so long to touch you. I won't be able to stop, you see?" He kissed her lips, his tongue moving slowly too, entering her, her mouth being ravaged by his in the same way - and at the same pace - that his cock was ravaging her pussy. She opened herself, gave herself to him. Moaned into his mouth, as he fucked her. His right hand came around again, and he used his fingers to work her, pulsing her quivering labia, making her even more wet for him, though she was already soaked from their first time.
He moved in slow until he was completely within her, pressing on her innermost boundary, and stayed deep. He was still for a moment, just pressing down on her clit with his fingers. His cock and hand stayed motionless on her nether lips in a way that made her want to yelp, to wiggle, make him continue stimulating her. He wouldn't be influenced, though she did call out a few times, nearly begging. Instead he stopped her mouth with kisses, and continued to govern the pace of their movement together. Moved his lips to her ear, and her hair, whispered comforting things to her. "Soon, but not yet, baby," he sighed. She could feel his love in those words, those kisses, she could feel everything he had said was true. He would not be able to stop feeling like this at anyone's convenience, and this was no itch being scratched. He might possess her, but he belonged to her, too.
Their second round was unhurried, more gentle, even a little indolent as Quinn restrained the pace. He did not want to come too fast, he did not want to pull out of her, he did not want it to end. He brought her right up to the edge, then, sensing the change in her breath and her voice, he stopped touching her with his fingers, and just went back to the slow fucking and stillness he'd been at for most of the session.
She finally started to beg him to be more vigorous, finish her off, and he took the cues from her body, stopped his dreamy pace and started to stroke into her harder. They hadn't moved out of their original man-on-top position, and she was lucky she was flat on her back, because when her orgasm took her, all the blood left her head as she shuddered and cried out. She saw the world turn gray and fill with stars for a minute, the only reality in her world, Quinn's lips and his cock.
She made a high sound that he didn't recognize as a word, he had made her come hard, so hard. His body was still working inside of hers, and her orgasm brought his on again. He filled her, filled her to overflowing with himself, forcing her to so much pleasure that she didn't remember her name, except that he kept whispering it in her ear.
"My Carrie," he whispered. She sighed. He was finally going soft, had relaxed his body down into hers on the silky bedcover. He appeared to be getting ready to get off of her, and pull out, but she reached down and held onto his bottom. Pushed him back in, kissed him on the lips, nearly crying with the emotion of it all.
"Not yet, not yet," she sighed. He was still for another minute and just lay there, feeling her vagina squeezing him as her orgasm tapered off and left her breathless. She had felt, tasted and smelled every bit as good as she had in all of his dreams and fantasies. She was willing, and understood his love for what it was. He reluctantly slipped out of her, lay to one side, one of his hands stroking her hair.
"It's ok," he whispered, kissing her cheek, and near her ear. "We'll do it again. And again," he said.
She gave a sort of sobbing sigh, and said, "I didn't know, Quinn." He understood what she meant. He had been so controlled over the years, she couldn't have known just how deep his feelings ran. She turned and pressed her face into his shoulder, and he held her close, just like that, for a long while.
Finally, he made himself get up. He brought his damp towel to the edge of the bed, and parted her legs while she watched him dreamily. He reached down and cleaned her body off, lovingly wiped his seed off her pussy and the inside of her thighs, moving gently. At some point he hit a sore spot, a place where her opening was raw from his vigorous attention, and she sucked in her breath. Setting the towel aside, he knelt next to the bed, pulled her body to him, and inspected her pussy lips closely. She flushed with desire and embarrassment, as he looked at her, face inches away from her privates, and his fingers touched her there, exploring. "I made you sore," he said, regret in his voice. "I'm sorry."
A tear rolled down her cheek at the look on his face, his disquiet at her minor sex injury, their intimate posture, the concerned angle of his head. The fact that he was madly in love with her was as clear as the sunlight flowing in the window. She felt a rushing in her heart, too, something huge, something everlasting.
"It's ok," she said. "I liked it."
He stopped his examination. Standing up, and pulling back the covers, he helped her into the bed.
"We could both use some more sleep," he said, getting in next to her.
"Quinn, what happens now?" she asked.
He turned her on her side, facing away from him, and held her close, the way she liked. She mixed her legs and feet with his, and pressed her bum back into his cock, which though soft, moved slightly as if it could be called back to duty immediately.
"This is why we talked before I made love to you, Carrie. What do you think happens?"
"I think we have a mad love affair," she said, honestly.
"That's right," Quinn said. "It's been my dream, you know."
Carrie was beginning to realize it had been her dream, too, and she almost got the words out. But not quite, because a moment later, she slipped back into a deep, satisfied sleep.