He wasn’t surprised to see Mikkel responded well to his mildly domineering attitude. All too often, Quinn found older men preferred their young paramours to wither and whimper in their presence. To feign awe at their partner’s clearly dominant demeanor. Young lovers were easy. Lively and bursting at the seams with energy, prone to succumbing to lazy manipulations from experienced minds. Quinn, however, subscribed to none of those stereotypical May-December tropes. It was all simply too boring, too expected. Mikkel was leading the waltz, but Quinn was determined to interject a few impressive steps of his own.<br/><br/>Plush lips parted, leaving way for a symphony of appreciative moans as Mikkel explored the sensitive cavity with his fingers. Quinn was left trembling, lean thighs quivering as the surgeon moved between them. A stark gasp leapt from Quinn’s mouth as talented digits pressed against his prostate, eliciting a series of lusty whines.<br/><br/>“You torture me,” he complained, though a smile was visible beneath the aural layer of faux disapproval. “Didn’t you take an oath when you became a doctor? To help those in need? Do no harm, all that romantic nonsense? Can’t you see how you harm me now?<i>I need you.”</i><br/><br/>Gyrating his hips, Quinn found his own pleasure at the tips of Mikkel’s fingers. He imagined it was minimal compared to what euphoric sensations would consume him when the doctor finally took him as he so desperately craved. A defiant hand, which had so readily taken Mikkel’s wrist as its own, had settled now at Quinn’s groin, dragging shaking fingers along an engorged shaft. It was too difficult now to pretend Mikkel rendered him anything less than a lecherous, needy doppelganger of himself. Splayed out before his lover like an appetizing dish, it only made sense to dress the meal to make it that much more appealing.