the distraction w/ quinn hughes
warnings: stressed!reader, minnesota! quinn, needy!quinn, light fingering, begging, cunnilingus, scent play (mentioned), hair pulling, hickeys, mirror sex (mentioned), improper use of the stanley cup (mentioned) i think that’s it!!
by the time quinn arrives home, it’s late. you know where he expects you to be by now, tucked up in bed with a kiss waiting on your lips, but for some reason you just can’t tear yourself away from you laptop. the curser taunts you as it flashes on the long-since abandoned word document, reminding you of just how little you’ve managed to complete in the time you’ve spent sitting here.
you don’t hear quinn when he enters the bedroom, too busy swimming around in your thoughts to pay attention to your surroundings. the thud of quinn shutting the bedroom door barely registers, and the sound of his jacket hitting the top of the dresser might as well have been silent altogether. you simply don’t notice him, and maybe that’s why you jump so hard when his hands make contact with your shoulders.
“shit!” you yelp, your head nearly spinning free from your neck as you glance over your shoulder at him. he lets out a soft chuckle, leaning down fully until his face rests next to yours, arms fully wrapped around you now. his grip is firm, but in a way that has you relaxing against him. it’s like a reminder that he is part of the real world, and just for a moment, your brain stops thinking.
“you look stressed,” he purrs into your ear. the sound is low and rumbly, and from that alone you can tell what sort of mood he’s come home in. when he presses a kiss to the junction between your neck and jaw, it only solidifies your suspicions.
the man is needy; a mood he seems to have been in a lot more since moving to minnesota. without the stress of being the captain of a losing team, you suppose you can understand it. he has more room in his brain to think about the things he’d do to you, not to mention the excitement of winning more often. sometimes you wonder if the trade was the best thing to ever happen to your sex lives.
right now, you wonder how on earth you’re ever going to get this finished with your boyfriend hanging from you like some sort of horny koala.
“i am stressed,” you reply with a sigh, “matthew hated my initial write up so now i’m fixing it, or trying to, anyway.”
quinn punctuates your sentence with another kiss to your neck, only this time his intentions are exponentially more clear. the kiss is open mouthed and lingering, the seconds silently ticking by as he gently suckles at the skin. when he pulls away abd eyes the love-bite with a pleased hum, you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. while you know quinn lacks restraint when it comes to his libido, this is a new low.
“he’s your new supervisor, right?” he murmurs against your neck, “what did he say about it? was it constructive, at least?”
and credit where credit is due, you suppose, at least quinn sounds concerned as he asks you these things, even if he does continue pecking up and down your neck between every sentence he speaks. the man can multitask, you suppose, flipping between horny and sympathetic at the flick of a switch.
you sigh as you lean into his warmth, letting the way his breath rhythmically hits your skin soothe you like the tick of a metronome. you match your breathing to his — one in, hold it, one out, repeat — and for the first time since getting home, you let yourself feel calm.
“he didn’t say anything,” you mumble, words becoming less rigid as you lean into the sensation of his hands on you. they dance up and down your arms, fingers trailing gentle patterns over the thick wool of your sweater. you’d put it on to keep yourself warm as you worked, but as your skin begins to heat up under his touch, you can’t help but think that you might not need it anymore.
“so how do you know he didn’t like it?” quinn whispers.
“the way he looked at it.”
there’s a moment of silence after your declaration as if quinn is letting the words sink in fully. he’s known you long enough to know how your brain works, but even then, the extent of your overthinking can sometimes catch him off guard.
“the way he looked at it…” quinn repeats slowly as you feel him press an amused grin to the column of your throat. there’s a rumble of laughter that rises from his chest and even though he tries to muffle it with a kiss, you can still feel it vibrating through his body. “you’re cute,” he adds, voice fond, “but you really do need to stop thinking so much.”
one hand abandons your arm, coming to rest on your stomach instead. quinn lets his fingers slowly walk themselves down until they reach the hem of your sweater, and then, with a rather pleased hum, they dip beneath. cold fingers come to rest upon the smooth skin that you’d been trying to hard to protect from the chill of the room and a shiver runs down your spine. you let out a rather upset sound, something akin to a wounded animal, as he runs ice-cold paths over your otherwise warm stomach, trailing further and further north until they reach your bare breasts.
you’d taken your bra off after coming home from work, hoping that the removal of a physical weight from your shoulders would somehow relieve the mental pressure you felt weighing you down. of course, it hadn’t worked, but it had made you a whole lot more comfortable as you made yourself at home in your desk chair. you weren’t thinking far enough ahead to wonder what the consequences of your actions might be, but as quinn rolls one of your nipples between icy fingertips, you really wish you had.
“i can help, if you want?” he says, voice surprisingly innocent for a man currently toying with your body like it’s his own personal possession. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh pinch before letting go, clearly satisfied in the gasp he pulled from you. “distract you a little, take your mind off of whatever look you though you saw matthew give you,” his hand begins to move south one more, lingering for a few seconds at your naval, but ultimately ending up at the waistband of your sweats. one finger dips beneath, and then a second, “just say the word, baby, and make sure you can’t think about anything but me for the rest of the night.”
his finger stay where they are, close enough to your core to make your brain short circuit, but far enough to make it clear that he won’t give them to you without you asking. it’s one of the skills he has mastered over the course of his dating life; how to make your girl just as needy as you are 101. after all this time, you figured you’d have become immune to it, but alas, not this time.
“quinn,” you state his name, hoping the exasperated tone in which you say it is enough to hide the fact that you’re working impossibly hard to keep your hips from bucking. the way he practically giggles into your ear tells you that it’s not; a fact that doesn’t exactly surprise you, “i really need to finish this!” a final hail mary that even you aren’t convinced will work. between the waver in your voice and the wet patch in your panties, your words hold about as much weight as a dandelion seed in the wind.
“i can eat you out,” he bargains as he moves his fingers marginally closer to your core, this time dipping beneath the lace of your panties, “been wanting to celebrate the win with something sweet. i was tempted to stop for DQ on the way back, but i figured i had something better at home.”
your breath seems to catch in your throat as his fingers move inch by inch, slowly getting closer and closer to where a puddle of desire awaits his touch. your eyes squeeze shut as you try to keep your head above the water as a tidal wave of desperation threatens to wash over you.
“there’s a pint of cookie dough ice cream in the freezer.”
“you know that’s not what i want.”
finally, the tip of once of his fingers grazes against your clit and you let out a gasp of surprised pleasure. the movements are slow and calculated, tempting, but not quite enough to give you what you’re avoiding asking for. as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again, his digits once again trailing south until he reaches the slick wetness pooling at your hole.
“not what you want either, is it, baby?” he chuckles as his fingers work themselves up and down your slit. they drag through your folds effortlessly, smearing around the evidence of your desire as if he’s a detective laying out the murder weapon in front of a killer. it’s a sign to confess, a silent way of saying ‘i already know, so you might as well just say it.’ and like a killer who’s been caught with blood on his hands, you realise that you have no other choice but to fold.
you suck in a shuddery breath, letting it out with a keen so full of want that you’re almost disappointed when quinn doesn’t take it as the confession he so clearly wants. the sound holds so much desire within it, that you’re certain there’s no need for all those extra, humiliating words, but quinn does nothing, and so the sound you let out this time is one of dismay.
“what was that?” he croons into your ear, “i don’t speak ‘whine’, baby; you’re going to have to tell me what you want in english, hm?”
“you,” you say quietly, almost turning around and strangling him when he comes back with:
“what, baby? i didn’t quite hear you.”
“i want you, quinn!” you insist, adding on a small ‘please?’ for good measure.
for a moment or so, you’re not sure if it’s worked. he pulls his hand from your sweats and stands up properly, wiping off his wet fingers on the soft baby pink fabric. it leaves a dark patch that you can’t help but stare at for a second or two, but your attention is quickly drawn away from it when the office chair you’re sitting in turns a swift 180, your back now facing the desk, quinn standing directly before you. there’s a smirk on his face, like he knows he has you exactly where he wants you.
“sweats off,” he instructs, and you lift your hips to comply almost immediately. your hands inch them down your thighs, hooking them over the bend of your knees, and letting them drop to the floor, the whole while your eyes never once daring to break the contact they have with quinn’s. “panties next,” he says, and you do the very same, kicking both your sweats and underwear to the side once you’re done.
the air of the bedroom is cold against your wet folds, but just as you’re about to squeeze your thighs together, quinn steps between them. carefully, he lowers himself to his knees, resting his arms atop the smooth planes of your thighs. his hands come to settle just by your cunt, and when his thumbs move to spread your folds, there’s no escaping your fate. your face heats heats up as he stares at your most private area like a man starved. with parted lips and a heaving chest, he inches closer and closer until his breath hits the sensitive skin and you shudder in his grasp.
“beautiful,” he whispers, “you smell so sweet, too. i should start taking your panties on roadies with me, baby. i’d probably cum embarrassingly quickly if i was breathing in your smell while i jerk off,” quinn huffs out a laugh to himself as he nuzzles his nose against your mound, just half and inch away from your throbbing bud, “i’d bring them back for you, covered in jizz, hold them to your nose while i fuck you raw, make you smell me the same way i smelled you.” he lets out a shaky breath as if the thought alone is enough to make him let go, “fuck, baby, you’d take it so well, hm?”
and you nod, even though he’s far too focussed on your pussy to notice. it’s not like he was looking for an answer, though. that fact is made clear as day when he licks a stripe up your folds, silencing any other thoughts you might’ve had. you let out a moan when his tongue makes contact with your clit, the warm, wet muscle paying extra attention to the little bud of pleasure before he pulls back once more.
you watch him for a moment as he sits there motionless, simply staring at your pussy like it’s something magical. his gaze briefly flicks up to meet yours, and he looks hungrier than you’ve ever seen him before, like keeping himself from devouring you there and then is somehow the most difficult thing he’s ever done. you gulp as his eyes shift back down, knowing that he won’t be able to keep his desire contained for much longer.
tonight, you’re going to feel all the benefits of this trade ten times over. the energy and passion he had lost over the past year is finally back, and in your mind you can’t help but thank matt boldy for scoring the winning goal. it’s down to him, after all, that you’re about to receive the best head of your life.
“you ready?” he asks, “you remember what to say if you want me to stop?”
“penalty,” you say softly, rolling your eyes at the stupid safeword the two of you had come up with. you’d suggested stanley, originally, but according to quinn it felt like bad luck; ‘i don’t want to be overly superstitious, but i ever want to fuck you in front of the reflection of the cup, i first need to respect the cup.’ honestly, the idea alone of watching yourself getting fucked in the reflection of something your boyfriend had worked so hard for made it easy for you to go along with it…
“good girl,” he purrs as he bumps his nose up against your aching clit, “so good for me, hm?” you whine out in agreement as he presses a barely-there kiss to your inner thigh.
it’s the final hint of softness before he lets his restraint snap.
a gasp pulls itself from your chest as he dives in, pressing his tongue flat against your weeping cunt as his nose sits snugly between your folds. he laps at you like this is his only source of water. like you’re an oasis in a desert, the only source of hydration for miles around. fingers dig into your thighs to keep you open for him as he takes everything your body has to offer, and he moans in thanks as he swallows it down.
your own sounds harmonise with his, soft whimpers layering over guttural sounds of pleasure so seamlessly that the royal harmonic orchestra would probably be jealous of how beautiful it sounds. it’s rhythmical, his groans keeping time between the lewd slurping and the soft silence of him pressing kisses to your clit. you could listen to this forever, the sound of quinn taking his sweet time between your thighs, slowly pushing you further and further to that edge he so badly wants you to reach.
“so good,” he growls, breaking up the rhythm you had let yourself grow accustomed to, “fuck, could stay down here all day if you let me.”
you flush at the declaration, your hands finding his hair to keep him from moving too far away from where you so badly need him. it’s your own silent way of saying, ‘so stay there!’ and by the way he returns to your centre with such passion, you can tell that he understands.
he works at you in the way he knows you love, alternating between lapping at your core and toying with your clit with soft kitten licks that make you mewl. your thighs have been shaking for a while now, not that you noticed over the pleasure building up within you. you’re almost thankful for the way his hands pin you to the chair so tight; no doubt your hips would be twitching with desire if he were to let you go.
“m’close,” you mumble as you feel the knit begin to tighten in your stomach, and you can’t help but say, “please, quinny,” as if he’s ever made you bed for your release before. that’s how bad you want it right now, willing to ask so politely for it as if he doesn’t want you to cum just as badly as you do.
“let go, then,” he says, mouth still pressed firmly to your skin, “let me have it, baby. come on.”
and with one final flick of your clit, the knot snaps and you feel yourself tumble into the depths of pleasure. quinn keeps up his ministrations, working you through it as the waves wash over you, leaving you gasping for air. the feeling of his tongue against you is so good that it’s all you can focus on.
and then just like the flip of a switch, its over, the pleasure leaching into overstimulation in a way that has you tightening your grip in his thick locks. he doesn’t pull away when you give them a tug, so you let out a keen. quinn chuckles and shakes his head.
“you know the word, baby,” he says, plain as day, “you want me to stop, you say that word,” his eyes open, shooting up to meet your own, “but i think you can give me one more, can’t you?”
