For most of Quentin’s life, he hadn’t had to contend with schoolmates knowing about his birthday. He’d spared himself the humiliation of only Julia showing up to his birthday parties by simply having none.
Brakebills, however, had been a couple of months behind the outside world since the 1950s due to a camouflage spell that apparently no one had ever sought to correct. So, he found himself still in the spring semester well into summer, facing down finals on his birthday.
Julia would’ve known, but she hadn’t been accepted into Brakebills, so Quentin had spent the day attending classes, more or less ignoring that it was a significant date. Now he sat in the Physical Kids’ common room in the giant, comfy, mom-jeans chair sipping wine. Todd was talking to him, but Quentin wasn’t really listening, just inserting non-committal responses on the rare event Todd paused.
It was, as far as Quentin was concerned, a pretty perfect birthday. No one trying to sing to him or making him the center of unwanted attention. No gifts that he had to pretend he liked. He missed Julia, but he had to put that out of his mind. The only person he thought might figure it out was Alice, and she didn’t seem any more inclined to party than he did.
There were only thirty minutes left in his birthday. Quentin watched the clock with a growing sense of relief.
Then Eliot and Margo burst through the front door, laughing at something no one else would ever understand probably. As Quentin tried to avoid their notice, Eliot homed in on him and shouted, “Quentin!” He sauntered toward him like sex on legs, which was, as far as Quentin had ever been able to tell, just how Eliot ambulated, all long, slinky limbs, and propped his ass on the arm of Quentin’s chair to gaze down at him.
“So my Bambi and I were doing natal charts for all the cute boys, and we discovered that today is your birthday, so I told her we had to come wish you a happy natal anniversary.” Eliot was beaming like Quentin should be pleased by this.
“All the cute boys and you,” Margo corrected, beaming playfully as Quentin rolled his eyes.
Quentin glanced at the clock. So close. “Um, thanks.”
“So you did my chart?” Todd asked as Quentin finished his glass of wine and set it on a side table.
Margo looked at Todd. “No.”
Eliot clarified, “We only did the charts of people we wanted to bang,” and then gave Quentin one of the habitual leers he was always directing at him but which Quentin had never thought much of. “Margo voted against doing your chart, but I insisted. It turns out we’re extremely compatible.”
“You and Margo? Needed a chart for that, did you?” Quentin smirked, cheeks warming. It wasn’t entirely due to the red wine.
He looked over at Todd, who appeared devastated. Quentin gave him a sympathetic look while Todd avoided eye contact.
“I mean, sure, I’m more of a relationship type of guy anyway.” Todd sniffed.
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Margo said flatly.
“You and I, Quentin,” Eliot said like it was obvious. “And it’s your birthday, so you know what that means: Birthday blowie! The stars demand it.” Before Quentin could even process that, Eliot tugged at the hem of Quentin’s shirt. “C’mon, whip it out.”
“Whip what out?” Quentin sat up, slightly alarmed. It didn’t really seem like Eliot was joking.
Quentin looked at all the other students sitting around with their books, studying for upcoming finals.
Todd leaned in. “He means your dick.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that, Todd.” Quentin scanned around for a good means of escape. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a quick or easy way to get out of the mom-jean seat.
Margo stepped around the chair and leaned over him from behind, her hands on his shoulders. “And since our charts didn’t align, I’ll give you a birthday neck rub.”
“I… um… Thank you, but it’s really not necessary.” Quentin rocked forward to rise from the chair, but Margo pulled him back.
Eliot smiled at Quentin like he was unbelievably charmed and sank onto his knees to sit on his heels. He gazed up into Quentin’s eyes, his own sparkling with mischief or mirth or unlikely lust, and then he put his hands on Quentin’s knees, spreading them apart so Eliot could shift closer.
“Q, honestly, it’s a special day, and you deserve some birthday pampering. I am widely regarded to be Brakebills’ best cocksucker, and I want to bring all my considerable abilities to bear on you, tonight, right now, on your birthday. The stars indicate it’s a truly auspicious occasion.”
Quentin stared at Eliot, mouth agape. He felt strangely hypnotized by Eliot’s gaze and his smile. He had little doubt of Eliot’s prowess sucking cock, but he’d never really thought Eliot would want to put his mouth on Quentin’s cock, in particular.
Quentin’s body was definitely interested, and his mind was having considerable trouble coming up with reasons not to let Eliot do what he’d suggested.
Except they were in the middle of a crowded room, and Quentin didn’t particularly want everyone to watch him get blown. “Is this for a spell? I mean, why? And… everyone is in here?”
“Aww, he’s shy, El. I told you he was a shy boy.” Margo rubbed Quentin’s neck, which admittedly felt really good. Her thumbs moved to his shoulder muscles and pressed a tight spot that made him groan embarrassingly loud, which only caught the room’s unwanted attention.
Margo crooned, “A screamer. I guess I owe you ten bucks.”
“Mm, I’m telling you, I had a feeling about this one,” Eliot told Margo, gazing right past Quentin and up into her eyes like they were still soulmates even when Eliot was actively attempting to suck Quentin’s dick. They exchanged a look, and then Eliot refocused on Quentin.
It hit Quentin hard, when Eliot’s attention zeroed in on him, when the full weight of those big hazel eyes pressed into Quentin’s overheated skin. The tops of his knees burned like fire where Eliot’s palms rested, and when Eliot flexed his long fingers, stroking Quentin’s lower thighs, it was almost too much to bear.
Then, smiling wider, predatory, Eliot murmured, “Relax, Q. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to do this since I saw you. Honestly, it’s my pleasure.” The last word was a purr, filthy, and it felt like everyone was watching now, just waiting to see what would happen.
“But everyone will see my dick.” It was the quietest and whiniest protest Quentin had probably ever mounted. It sounded weak even to his ears.
Margo bent down to Quentin’s ear. Her soft brown hair brushed over his cheek until she flipped it away. “Not the way Eliot does it. They won’t see shit. Look at that big mouth, all the way down his throat.”
Quentin shivered, rendered absolutely speechless as he gazed helplessly into Eliot’s eyes. Then he looked anxiously around as Margo let out an annoyed sigh.
“All right, everyone out.” She stood behind Quentin, clapped her hands to get the room’s attention, and then flicked her wrists. “You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. We have a shy birthday boy, and none of you have earned the right to a live sex show tonight. Out.”
“Thank you, Bambi. Magnificently done,” Eliot said as almost everyone stood and shuffled out with various mumblings of protest and dissent.
No one directly confronted Eliot and Margo though. Who would dare?
Todd, however, hung back, like he didn’t realize he was probably included in Margo’s order to decamp.
Eliot’s gaze shifted from Quentin to Todd, narrowed, and Eliot asked, “Did Quentin invite you to watch him get off? If something telepathically meaningful just passed between you, then mea culpa, but otherwise, Todd, vamoose.”
“And you,” Margo said, pointing over Quentin’s head. “In the cubby. You think I don’t see you, dickwad? Out.”
Todd’s eyes widened as he jumped up. “No, I mean. I just thought… you know, we were talking and…”
Quentin looked up at Todd and then at Eliot, who was still caressing his thighs with his thumbs as if he knew letting up might return Quentin to his senses. “Um, no Todd. I don’t really… um…you can go?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Todd smiled at them, gave an extremely awkward little bow, and then headed off with the student from the cubby.
Margo sighed and returned to rubbing Quentin’s shoulders, which made Quentin tense right up again.
“Um, Margo? Shouldn’t you…um?” She smelled so good, though, like the vaguest hint of a citrusy perfume. Maybe it was the argan oil she used in her hair.
“Shouldn’t I what?” Her lips brushed against the shell of his ear, and all Quentin could do was whimper and close his eyes. “You want me to go, or you want me to help?”
“What?” Quentin gasped. She moved her hands to his nape and caressed her thumbs over the tense muscles at the base of his skull.
“I’m just joking, Q. That’s Eliot’s present. This is mine. You want me to stop?”
“No.” Quentin trembled as Eliot started working his way up.
“I didn’t think so,” Margo whispered. “Good boy.”
“He is a good boy,” Eliot agreed as his hands skated up Quentin’s thighs to grip his hips and tug. Quentin gasped as Eliot manhandled him farther down the chair and then reached for his belt with a secretive little smile. “If I undo this—” he tugged on Quentin’s belt buckle “—are you going to have a big gay panic, or are you going to let me blow your…mind?”
“No? Yes?” Quentin stared at Eliot in confusion.
“Don’t give him too many options. You’re going to scare the boy.” Margo kissed Quentin’s temple and started massaging down his arms. “Yes or no. Do you want Eliot to suck your dick?”
Quentin almost preferred the ambiguity of how Eliot had phrased it. He wasn’t even feeling a gay panic so much as a this is all very sudden panic, but this hardly seemed like the time to explain that. He took a deep breath, centering himself, really asking himself the question of what he wanted or didn’t want.
Gazing at Eliot, Quentin nodded. “Yeah.”
Eliot’s bright smile crinkled his eyes at the corners, turned them into shadowy, glittering slits, and he rose up on his knees to brush his lips against Quentin’s like a question, inviting more without demanding it. Quentin wasn’t really sure what game Eliot was playing, but being kissed was nice, and he parted his lips as he leaned in.
Margo released his arms and returned to massaging his shoulders but lightly, seeming to all but retreat.
Then Eliot was kissing Quentin more deeply, hot tongue sliding into Quentin’s mouth, gliding alongside his own, making Quentin’s toes curl in his shoes. Eliot’s fingers moved over his crotch, unfastening his pants, spreading the unzipped fly to expose Quentin’s underwear, but Eliot just kept kissing him and kissing him, teasing and nipping and pressing closer until his stubble burned against Quentin’s chin.
With Eliot kissing him like that, Quentin brought his hands up to cup Eliot’s face light as a breath, worried he might remind Eliot who he was kissing, and it might make him stop. Plus, he wasn’t sure what the protocol was supposed to be. He hadn’t kissed another man like this before.
What he did know was that it was probably going to leave a rash, but he couldn’t really make himself care about that right now. It was his birthday, right?
Behind him, Margo played with his hair and traced his neck, generally being sweetly encouraging but not really joining in.
Eliot nuzzled into Quentin’s hand, kissing his palm, and then returned to his lips, moaning softly like he was really getting into it. Then his hand was inside Quentin’s underwear, skin on skin, fingers skillfully pulling Quentin’s cock free of the waistband. Quentin made a startled noise into Eliot’s mouth, but Eliot just swallowed the sound and stroked Quentin’s cock.
His hand was so much bigger than Quentin’s own, and it engulfed Quentin’s shaft, snug around so much of it at once, and his thumb played with the divot in the underside of the head that was so sensitive, and then Eliot whispered, “Remember, Q: Just relax. Happy birthday, gorgeous.”
Without giving Quentin time to respond beyond drawing in a sharp breath, Eliot was sitting on his heels again, his dark curls obscuring Quentin’s lap for just a moment before he turned his head to the side and gazed up at Quentin, making eye contact as he wrapped his lips and tongue around Quentin’s cockhead.
“Shit!” Quentin couldn’t believe this was happening. He started to drift outside his own body. But then, inside his body was a great place to be right now.
He stared down at Eliot and then flopped back on the chair as he tried to keep from losing it too fast.
Margo looked down at him and smiled, tenderly sliding his hair from his face. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? No pressure, Q. Virgin like you, you’ve already lasted longer than I thought.”
“Not a virgin!” Quentin protested and tried to sit up more to look down at Eliot. It was hard to believe Eliot was doing this. That he’d want to.
And it felt amazing. Quentin grabbed the chair, pulling at the arms while he watched.
“Grab his hair; he loves it,” Margo whispered.
Quentin frowned and looked at her, then down at Eliot for confirmation.
Eliot grinned around Quentin’s cock, gazing up at him from under his lashes, and sucked him deeper, necessitating Quentin to gather Eliot’s hair from his face if Quentin wanted to watch. Then, as if Quentin needed more encouragement, Eliot reached for his hand and guided it from the chair’s arm to the back of his head and patted it there. It was remarkably gentle, like he knew how close Quentin was to freaking out, like he knew Quentin needed Eliot to be patient with him.
Margo rubbed Quentin’s shoulders, breathing softly against his ear. “There you go, you’re doing so well.”
Quentin slid his hand through Eliot’s hair, mussing it a little, and then he tightened his fingers, giving it a little tug. Eliot moaned, which just about undid Quentin. He tugged a little harder, stiffening his grip to hold Eliot’s head in place, and started moving his hips with the rhythm.
Quentin wasn’t going to last very long. He moaned softly, trying to stay quiet out of respect for all the students not getting birthday blowies.
“Go for it, birthday boy,” Margo urged. “I put a muffling charm on the room. Let him hear you.”
It was strange but kind of sexy to have Margo in his ear directing him. It helped Quentin to know what he should do. So he relaxed and let himself make all the noise he wanted, directing Eliot how he wanted, and it was all turning into too much. He shuddered, trembling with the need to come.
He tugged at Eliot’s hair to let him know. Then tapped his shoulder, signaling more frantically that he was going to release.
Eliot looked up at Quentin, heavy-lidded and impossibly seductive, and just smiled, lips stretched wide around Quentin’s spit-shined shaft, and he suckled harder, as if in challenge. He looked so wicked, and delighted, and like there was nowhere he’d rather be than knelt at Quentin’s feet with Quentin’s dick in his mouth.
Then Eliot slid both his hands under Quentin’s shirt and up his chest, blunt fingernails raking down his skin, a frisson of unexpected sensation.
“Oh my god.” Quentin’s body tightened, balls drawing up at the exquisite heat all around him. He put his hands over Eliot’s, keeping them on his chest. He couldn’t help but love it. The attention, the release, the big hands on him. “Fuck.”
He curled forward as he came into Eliot’s mouth, shouting with how amazing it felt. Eliot swallowed around him, throat working around Quentin’s sensitive head with pressure and rippling and… His brain shorted out, everything dissolving into shadows and light and the blood-red insides of his eyelids as he came and came, Eliot taking everything with the happiest little moans, like this had been the plan all along.
It took a while for Quentin to come down from that unanticipated high, and Eliot just licked him clean and then twisted his hands under Quentin’s to thread their fingers like none of this was at all unusual, like they just held hands and exchanged bodily fluids all the time. Then Eliot gave Quentin’s hands a final sort of little squeeze and started setting Quentin in order, tucking his spent cock back into his underwear with the kind of tender care generally reserved for newborns and zipping him neatly back up.
As Eliot buckled Quentin’s belt, he looked up at him all swollen-lipped filthy smile and tossed his head in an attempt to brush his mussed curls from his eyes. “Happy birthday, Q,” he said finally, voice raspy from Quentin’s cock in his throat a minute ago, which was just unreal.
“Um. Thanks.” Quentin’s face was hot and wet from the sweat he’d broken out in, and he was suddenly very self-conscious about the whole thing. “That was um… really… a, um… a good present?”
Margo squeezed Quentin’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “You’re fucking right it was. The best present you got.”
“Only present.” Quentin tried to sit up but was too boneless to do that, so he just flopped back. “But I mean…wow.”
Eliot looked pleased, as if that was the right response, and leaned in to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to Quentin’s crotch right through his clothes like that was a thing a sane person would do. Then Eliot stood and cradled Quentin’s cheek in his palm, looking down at him fondly. “We can do it again sometime, if you’re into it. Maybe we could take you to a belated birthday dinner after finals. We’ll have a lot to celebrate then.”
As if seeking approval, Eliot glanced to Margo.
“Oh please, Quentin’s buying dinner after finals. It’s a thing; it’s going to happen.” Margo got up and strode around to wrap her arm around Eliot, leaning into him.
“Um, yeah. We can—We can dinner. Um, but can you um… I don’t think I can get out of this chair by myself now.” Quentin looked up at Eliot with pleading eyes.
Quentin wasn’t sure how he felt about doing this again. He’d enjoyed it. Obviously, he’d enjoyed it a lot. Eliot was startlingly compelling.
They could play it by ear. Quentin rubbed his hands on his pants to make them less sweaty before holding them up entreatingly.
Eliot tucked his chin atop Margo’s head and then kissed her hair, something passing between them that Quentin didn’t really understand. Then Eliot released her and took Quentin’s hands, smiling now only with his eyes, lips pursed with something like amusement as he helped Quentin lurch to his feet.
Then, startling Quentin, Eliot drew him into a hug much like the one he’d given Margo, chin on top of Quentin’s head, arms around his torso, squeezing him comfortingly as Eliot rubbed his hands up and down Quentin’s back. After a beat, Eliot pulled away and reached for Margo’s hand. Together they walked toward the stairs.
“Good night, Quentin,” Eliot called after him, blowing him a kiss.
Quentin watched them go, still feeling that hug, the surprisingly perfect weight of Eliot’s chin atop his head, and looked at the clock. Midnight.
“Yeah, goodnight. Um. See you tomorrow.” Quentin grabbed his glass to refill his wine to take with him to his room.
As he poured, he heard Margo say to Eliot, “All right, I guess he’s kinda cute.”
Quentin blushed and chuckled to himself, warm with afterglow. Maybe birthdays weren’t so bad.