If you still take prompts: Quinn, who is totally into Jack's feet and discreetly rubs his cock against them while he has Jack's feet in his lap and massages them because he's such a good brother
You know what... sure. This kink is not my cup of tea but I'm feeling generous today ❤️ and it gives me an excuse to procrastinate studying ❤️ so here you go!! I hope this is kind of the vision you were after ❤️
As soon as Quinn and Jack get home from the rink, bone-tired after a long few hours of practice, Jack makes a beeline for the couch. He throws himself down onto the cushions, scrunches up his face, and whines, “Quinny. My feet hurt. Did we have to do three hours?”
Quinn just smiles. He joins Jack on the couch and promptly Jack slides his socked feet into his lap, meeting his eyes, all big and glassy and silently begging. “How else are you gonna break in your new skates, baby?” Quinn points out, stroking up and down Jack’s shin. Compared to previous summers, they’ve taken it easier this year, preferring to relax and recharge before the upcoming season rather than grind out on the ice every single day. That’s not to say they haven’t still been working hard—but on days like today, Jack’s just desperate for Quinn’s touch.
Jack grumbles and pouts, plush pink bottom lip pushing out, just a little. “Shut up,” he says, and pushes at Quinn’s thigh with his foot. “Rub my feet? Please?”
“Fine,” Quinn says, and blows a little kiss over at Jack. “You’re lucky I love you.”
He takes one of Jack’s feet between his hands and rubs at it, gently at first, then his movements grow firmer. He presses his thumbs into the tight spots, massaging all the tension out of his muscles, the pain sure to be melting away judging by the way Jack’s sighing contentedly and shifting to get more comfortable on the couch.
Inadvertently, when Jack shifts, his other foot nudges right up against Quinn’s cock, which, in response, twitches in interest and begins to fill out. Quinn grits his teeth and grabs Jack’s ankle, lifting his foot away and putting a stop to all that immediately. He takes a breath and wills his traitorous cock to calm down.
It’s just the friction, right? Quinn hasn’t gotten any from Jack in a few days, either, since they’ve had guests at the lake house and decided to wait until they’re alone to do it properly. He’s pent-up, and on-edge, and of course a little rub at his cock is going to make him hard, no matter where it comes from.
Quinn presses his lips together and goes back to work massaging some of the ache out of Jack’s feet. Jack keeps making these little sounds, sweet little sighs and tiny whines from the back of his throat, and all at once it hits Quinn just how badly he misses having Jack spread out underneath him, taking his cock, all gasping breaths of Quinn’s name. The thoughts certainly don’t do anything for his cock, either, because soon enough he’s full-sail in his shorts, right where—oh. Jack’s rubbing at it with his foot again, and when Quinn looks over at his face, he’s smirking, pretty eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You’re a perv, Quinny,” Jack says casually, decisively. He leans his head back against the couch pillows, satisfied, and rubs his foot against Quinn’s cock again, drawing a gasp from him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t—I’m not like that,” Quinn’s quick to protest, gruff. “Just—haven’t done anything for a few days. That’s all.”
Jack wets his lips. He sets a lazy rhythm now, grinding his foot gently, back and forth, along the obvious tent in Quinn’s shorts. “You don’t, like, want to fuck my feet or anything, right?”
“No,” Quinn insists, voice coming out a little shaky. He kind of can’t help letting the thought cross his mind, though. “That would be weird. And, like, gross.”
This is the worst. Quinn feels his cock twitching and throbbing, shameful pleasure coursing up his spine with every push of Jack’s socked foot against his cock. The friction is, admittedly, heavenly, and Quinn feels himself steadily leaking pre-come into his underwear, blistering heat pooling in his belly. He could come like this—and he shudders to even think about it.
Jack smiles. He keeps his eyes on Quinn, delightedly taking in the mental battle that’s written all over Quinn’s face. “Yeah,” he agrees, “it would be. Or if, like, you made me wear those stockings girls wear. That would be weird too. I’m glad you’re not into that.”
This fucker—! Jack knows exactly what he’s doing and it makes Quinn feel crazy with a mixture of anger and irritation but also searing arousal. Jack in sweet little tights, or fishnets, or even knee-high socks, playing innocent like he is now . . . the thought makes Quinn’s orgasm surge up on him in an instant.
He hardly has time to brace himself before he comes, hard, harder than he has in a long time, drawing a sharp gasp through his teeth and letting out his breath in a tight low groan. Jack’s working him over so nicely, nudging his foot against his lap in a way that’s on just the right side of too much.
When Quinn finally feels like he can breathe, he turns his head and aims a sharp glare at Jack, shoving his feet off his lap. “Don’t,” he says, in a tone he hopes is warning enough. “This never happens again.”
Jack gives him a smile, big and sweet, lashes fluttering innocently. “Sure,” he says, brightly, then catches his bottom lip between his teeth.
They both know that won’t hold true, anyway. When have those words ever meant anything to them in the past?
