Category: Peter Quinn

A 24-Hour Stand…



 **Please pay little attention to the past/present tense faux pas – I’m not Hemingway after all… 😉

 He had 24 hours. Nazir was dead and he had 24 hrs. to
himself. Estes had given Quinn some time before “Operation Brody” was back in
effect. He had a whole day and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
That morning Quinn slept. He woke up at 10:00am and couldn’t remember the last
time he slept that late.

The only thing he had planned that day was to replace the
Sports-coat he lent Carrie. He wasn’t about to ask for it back. His afternoon
melted away. Later that night, after ignoring yet another text from Allie,
Quinn decided to go out for a drink. He never went out by himself
but having had little or no contact with anyone outside of the CIA within the
past few months, tonight he felt it necessary.

With no intention, other than to prove himself a human
member of society, Quinn left his apartment. There was a little dive bar off
237 that he would frequent but tonight, Quinn decided to visit a nicer
establishment. It was a cocktail bar, not usually his speed but as he
walked in, it was more relaxed than he anticipated, as was he. He ditched his
dull fatigue button down for a navy crewneck sweater and darker pants. The
lighting was quiet, the music was soft. He ordered a drink and then looked

He saw her sitting at the bar, and he never, well hardly
ever, just went up to women in bars. She sat alone, or at least he thought she
was alone. He watched her for a minute or two, saying goodnight to her girlfriend
who left, then turned and proceeded to nurse her drink solo. She didn’t seem to
be in any rush and appeared to enjoy the solace and the last sips of her drink.
Her shiny hair cascaded well over her shoulders and she had a sweet, heart
shaped face and pretty, warm smile. Quinn, from walking behind her, noticed her
small waist which melted into a beautiful round bottom perched on the bar
stool. There was something about her that made him think “this may be worth it”.  

Quinn saw a small space between this woman and the other
stool and moved to stand by it. She had no choice but to look up at him. When Peter
Quinn stands by you, you look up.

Quinn narrowed his eyes at her and saw her face was sweeter
than he first thought. “Hi”, Quinn murmured
to her. She focused her eyes up and noticed his face, She appeared to be taken
aback. “Hi” she whispered back. What do you want?” Quinn asked. “Excuse me?”, she replied with a skeptical smile. “A drink”, Quinn asked again, “I’d like to buy you a drink.” Her
eyebrows lighten and she smiled slightly at his awkwardness. “Oh, ok…”, she nodded with a shared
understanding of what’s happening. Maybe
a Margarita?”,
she smirked
at him as Quinn handed her the bar list. She could feel his eyes on her as she
read, she looked up at him and smiled, they looked at each other for a little
longer than two people would, they almost seemed to be soaking each other in.

Her name was
Bridget. She ordered a drink and they talked. About nothing really but Quinn
found out why she was there, a friend’s birthday, and why she was still out,
because she rarely went out so she figured to make it worth her while. “What are you drinking?”, she asked Quinn
noticing a drink already in his hand. “A
Sazerac… some bougie cocktail”,
he answered with a smile. “What’s in it?” she asked with curiosity,
as if the drink would reveal something of the man. ” Rye whiskey, some sugar, lemon peel and bitters I think…” Quinn
replied realizing that he was a little nervous. “Ooohh that is bougie”, she looked at him with some side eye, Quinn
smiled at her comment and she continued, “I
thought it was a shot at first, your hands are so big that when you hold that
glass it looks really tiny.”

He grinned at her
comment. This is flirting, he thought. It didn’t come natural to him but it was
nice to flirt with someone who wasn’t a senior citizen working at a donut shop.
Bridget, now margarita in hand, raised her glass to his to cheers. “I’ve had this margarita before, it’s good”,
she took a sip and looked up towards him.
“Would you say the best one you’ve ever had?”,
Quinn asked her. “Uh…no, maybe… I’m trying to think…”,
she stumbled over his question with a smile. “Well I know where to find the best margarita…”, Quinn
boasted with a smirk. “Ok”, she
entertained him, “Where is that?”

“Well”, Quinn explained, “We’d have to
go to Mexico. Rosarito, Mexico. They put controy in it; it’s orange liquor,
lime juice shaken on the rocks, pretty tasty.”,
she narrowed her eyes at
him “Well that sounds really good”,
at that point she began to look him up and down.

“I’ll have to see when the next flight leaves”. Quinn’s own flirting game surprised him.
He’d been out of it for a long time and was pleased he still seemed to have
some semblance of charm. “Well I’m game”,
she smiled back at him. They clinked their glasses together and looked at each
other as they sipped their drinks. Quinn
sat down in the empty stool next to her, and after all of 35 minutes of small
talk, and more flirting, accompanied by some light touching, Quinn decided enough
time had gone by.

“Want to get out of
Quinn’s smile and gaze caused Bridget to exhale deeply. She looked at
him a bit surprised, but without any hesitance nodded and said “Yes. Now.” They smiled again at each
other and within minutes were off in a car back to her place.

She opened her front door and Quinn’s smile turned into a more
serious gaze. Then, with that same look of appreciation as before, they find
each other in a kiss. Her head is in his hands, they kiss now with a sloppy lust. Quinn
then pulls her head from his, they look at each other and she nods yes to him
and smiles. He quickly lifts her up around his waist, and she gasps. As she leans
in to kiss his neck, he looks around for the closest place to start. They go to
her sturdy kitchen table, he hastily sets her down and in a manic rush, it

Quinn reaches underneath her black dress and with urgency
takes off her underwear, at this same point she is unbuckling his belt, he
hitches up her dress and then quickly tears down his own pants and underwear,
he takes his hand and leads his dick into her with a warm, strong thrust, she
moans loudly in relief of his penetration. They stare each other in the eyes
and quickly smile, she gasps again, and he grunts. Her legs wrap around his
lower back and he pushes her knees up. Quinn drives swiftly and hard into her
and she holds on to the sides of the table as he does. They kept steady eye
contact as, like a rapid heartbeat, after just a few minutes or so, they
breathlessly come. They were both smiling while they softly laugh and kiss. “Shit”, Quinn whispered into her neck,
kissing her lightly there. She leans back to kiss him again, her tongue dipped
lightly into his mouth as his hands massaged her ass. They looked at each other
again. “I really don’t do stuff like this”,
she confessed with a small smile. “I
never do stuff like this
”, Quinn backed away a bit from the table to pull
up his pants. “Peter, this was great, I
she tripped a bit over her own words. “I’m not staying, it’s och…” Quinn said this with kindness as he leaned
in to kiss her cheek, “I know you have a
he told her with a nod. “I…What?”, she asked grimacing slightly. Quinn reassured her “I saw his shoes when we first came in, it’s OK”, he smirked towards her and she smiled back at him. “Well, it’s pretty complicated…”, she
added sliding off the table. Quinn reached around to hold her neck tenderly. “Oh trust me, I get complicated” he
said leaning in to kiss her once more.

Super hot!!🔥🔥🔥 For mature audiences only!

Thanks, @lizzyervs !!!

It makes me happy to think that he met a kind soul like Bridget and had some fun amidst all that drama. Sweet flirting game!

findmyrupertfriend: SPIES LIKE US From our fav…



From our favorite vid-maker, Upon The Wire! 

You must watch this on a daily basis! This makes me so happy!!!!!

lalalarrr: findmyrupertfriend: Quinn XL ︱ “T…



Quinn XLThe Yoga Play”

This was when I knew I loved him



A Comfort & Warmth

The morning Roya and her crew were busted, Quinn went on a coffee run. 

Christ he was tired. What a fucking night. After a phone call Quinn hadn’t expected, he now knew he was completely made by Saul and then to top it all off, the pressure from Dar Adal made him feel sick.

That morning Peter Quinn woke up with his sleeping bag on the floor. He must have kicked it off during the night and not realized. He woke up at 5:30am, almost 2 hrs. before his alarm was supposed to go off. “Fuck it” he thought and clambered out of bed. Quinn slept shirtless the night before with a pair of fairly worn grey jogger pants, he now regretted that choice as he was already sweating, but it easily could have been a cold sweat from a shit night’s sleep. Even sweaty, he still smelled good. Peter Quinn’s smell was consistent. It was pure; clean clothes, clean sweat, an understated scent of his deodorant, and sometimes he might smell a little smoky, but not this morning.

After a quick shower he mindlessly dressed in his uniform as of late – navy pants, a dull, fatigue linen button down and his worn pair of loafers where the back almost didn’t exist.

It wasn’t even 7am and he was out the door. In much need of his 1st(of many) caffeine fixes of the day, Quinn was headed towards the Tim Horton’s off Massachusetts Ave. He didn’t have a “go to” coffee place, but there was something special about this Tim Horton’s that brought him in more frequently than other coffee chains. And she was standing behind the counter.

“What’ll it be gorgeous?”… Donna, thank God for her. Donna, who Quinn was fairly certain was older than Tim Horton himself, greeted him the usual way. Donna had to be at least 70. Her over processed blond hair was always up, her blood red nails curled around the buttons on the register and the way she peered over her glasses at Quinn always made him smile. “Morning” he said flashing his dimples at her. “Oh my God this face”, Donna exclaimed talking with her hands, “I could look at that mug all day”. Quinn laughed and ordered four coffees, three with milk, one black for himself. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint it but there was something about this older woman, who obviously had lived a life well before his existence, well… there was something about her that brought him comfort, a comfort and a warmth he couldn’t quite figure out.

Quinn waited for his coffee.

His eyes still felt heavy as he stood at the counter. Deep in thought, a squeal shook him out of the sleepy trance he was in. To his left a young boy, 4 years old – if that- just dropped what looked like a hot chocolate all over the floor of the Tim Horton’s entrance. The young boy became hysterical, as any child would dropping the liquid gold that is a hot chocolate. From the corner of his eye, Quinn watched his mother dip down to him. She comforted this little creature as if his dropped hot chocolate was understandably the worst thing that has ever happened to a human. Quinn’s heart felt tight and he was brought back to his phone conversation the night before. Taking another quick glimpse at this crying boy, Quinn realized that he would be around his son’s age. Did his boy do things like this? Did he cry over a spilled drink? Or was he tougher than that? Did he suck it up, knowing he’d get another one?

Will I get to see you again this week handsome boy?” Donna asked in a sing song voice, interrupting Quinn’s thought. “Of course you will” Quinn smiled at her and walked out with his tray of coffee.

As he arrived at headquarters he handed off the coffee. One was for Saul, who was unappreciative as usual when Quinn placed it in front of him.

Quinn was in work mode now. He let any thought he had from the night before, or even from this morning dissipate quickly, as he often did. He pushed through that tight feeling and realized his loafers felt soggy and shapeless. As he watched the footage from Roya Hammad’s condo entrance, Quinn thought to himself “Maybe it’s about time… I invest in a pair of boots.”

That pulled so many heart strings. Love Donna. What’s wrong with me that I enjoy watching Quinn waiting for coffee?

Taking a stab at it…



Quinn and Carrie questioned Brody and Brody broke. Before the Roya watch truly begins, Quinn went home. The following is what happened back at his apartment…

Quinn arrived back at his studio apartment well past 9:00pm.
It was two days since he’d been back there and what a fucking two days it’d
been. Mathison blew the entire Brody operation, then he had to pull off a
top-notch acting performance while putting a knife through a man’s hand. In
addition to all the other bullshit, he had the shawarma shits the past 12 hours
and was just now feeling better.

He closed and locked his apartment door, kicked out of his driving
loafers while looking around the place. All was the same. Nothing had moved,
nothing had changed. He had such a knot in his gut, but it wasn’t the bad Greek
food. He figured after a solid sleep he’d feel better. He still couldn’t believe
the turn of events. Sure, Carrie was able to pull a confession – with his help
of course- but the whole thing made him sick. The way she fawned over Brody,
the man was a pathological liar. She had
to have seen that.

Quinn undressed making sure to add the clothes he had on to
the wash. The olive blazer he hadn’t really worn and could probably get a
couple more uses out of. HIs shirt, however, was still damp with sweat. Naked, he
pulled on a pair of loose fitting grey shorts and a white t-shirt then grabbed a
beer from the fridge. As Quinn finished off the burrito he picked up earlier, another
lump in his stomach formed knowing he’d have to be back at their headquarters in
about 8 hours. Quinn’s phone buzzed and he ignored the text from Allie, a cute
brunette nurse down at Sibley Memorial. His mind drifted back to work. At least
now with Roya they had someone to watch, somewhere to look, but the whole plan
felt dirty to him. Christ, he thought
to himself, to call Carrie Mathison a piece
of work would be an understatement.

He downed another beer and around 11:00pm, after brushing his
teeth, he went to lay down on top of the sleeping bag on the bed. He was a side
sleeper, sometimes stomach. He moved to his right side and tried to close his
eyes. He felt restless still as he moved to his stomach. The tightness he felt
through his shorts prevented him from turning all the way over. Quinn breathed
a heavy sigh and sat up. He walked across the room to grab his dusty tablet and
the Lubriderm he kept in his green backpack. He hoped he’d be able to sleep, but
more so to relax after he rubbed one out. Yes. Peter Quinn masturbated. He jacked
off, he beat his meat, he flogged his log. He usually did so during his morning
shower but tonight felt somewhat necessary.

Quinn propped up, leaning against the wall and found his way
onto pornhub. He typed in his go to search, “big ass” – for yes, Quinn was an ass man. He usually was able to knock
it out easily as his libido, alone or with someone, was never an issue. As he scrolled
through the options his indifference and indecisiveness made him feel a bit
uneasy. Nudging down his shorts past his thighs Quinn felt it necessary to
filter his search, peering through the choices the only adjustment he made was
checking off the category of “blond’…


For mature audiences.

I am glad that finally some mentions Quinn brushing his teeth and sorting his laundry. And I learnt so many new expressions here!



What Quinn Did…

To the zero followers I have, and to the 5-10 followers I may have one day, please take all that I am about to write with a grain of salt. A thick, chunky grain of pink himalayan salt.

I often think Peter Quinn. And by often, I mean every waking hour of every waking day. I think about Quinn the hero, Quinn the lover, but I also think about the Peter Quinn we never got to see.

Yes, I imagine the exiting bits about his past personal relationships, his secret black op missions, and of course, his relationship (or lack there of) with Ms. Carrie “I’m always scoffing” Matthison. But I’m also obsessed with the Quinn we never had a chance to see. What did Quinn eat? What did he watch on tv? Where did he buy his business-casual neutrals?

Those questions and hopefully more will be answered in “What Quinn Did…”

That screams “Write fic” to me, Lizzy! I am here for it.


Happy Birthday @inchbyinch68 ! Your present is here:

Off To Camp, Part II

findmyrupertfriend: In Rupert’s Words2014 Join…


In Rupert’s Words

Joining the cast of Homeland was a baptism of fire. It was like being the new boy at school. Everybody had made their bonds. Everyone knew whose jokes to laugh at and whose to ignore. I stood behind the monitors looking at Carrie and Brody and all the rest of them I had been watching on TV. And then someone says, “Go on, your turn,” and you have to step into the middle of it in front of millions of cameras. It was daunting as f***.

This changed my life.



You find it here.

Sorry it took me a while but to make up for the delay it’s a loooong chapter.

findmyrupertfriend: Peter Quinn ‖ Ernest Donov…


Peter Quinn ‖ Ernest Donovan 
↳ “Whatever you need.”

requested by Frangi

God, he breaks my heart. 💔