It's Really All Queliot in the End
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“Be my guest,” Quentin says. He wants to press his face into his pillow, but he’s a grown-ass man, and he can face a—a—lover. A lover? A fuck buddy. Best friend with deepthroating benefits. (And of course James can take Quentin’s dick all the way to the back of his throat with ease. He’s just average, not big. Like James.)
Eliot clears his throat.
“Nothing,” Eliot says. He’s really not going to sink to this particular low. It would be impossible to explain that he’s not insecure; he’s just curious.
“It’s not nothing,” Quentin snarks, a cheeky little grin appearing on his face.
Eliot kisses his dimple. “It definitely is.”
“Look,” Quentin says, starting to laugh. “You’re not the only person in the world with a big dick—”
“That’s not what I was going to—”
“You didn’t invent big dicks, Eliot.”
“Oh my God. I wasn’t going to—”
“You have nothing to worry about. James isn’t in Fillory. So you’ve got the biggest cock of anyone in Fillory that I’ve fucked.”
Eliot scoffs. “I wasn’t going to ask about your sports-econ boyfriend’s dick.”
Don't let the summary fool you. This is tender AF.
- Part 2 of the Quames agenda