It all starts when Eliot notices the pattern.
“I don’t wanna come yet,” Quentin sometimes says, and, “Stop, you’re gonna make me come.”
Tonight, it’s, “Wait, wait, I’m getting close.”
“Jesus, Q.” Eliot tilts his forehead against Quentin’s and feels the sweat slide between them as he stills the motion of his hips. Stilling with his cock fully seated inside Quentin isn’t the worst scenario, but he’d kinda been working toward something. “Sometimes I think you don’t even wanna come.”
“I do! God, no, I absolutely do, it’s just--it feels so good if I can hold it back for a while. Draw it out.”
A switch flips in Eliot’s brain. He’s been reading Quentin all wrong. Pushing when he should have been nudging.
He resumes the movement of his hips, just shallow strokes to get them moving again. He trails a finger, feather-light, over Quentin’s cock where it stands up against his belly. “I can help with that. Make it last. Is that what you want?”
“God,” Quentin says, tossing his head back and straining his hips toward the too-soft touch of Eliot’s finger. “Yes, please.”
“Tell me when you’re close, okay? I’ll make it good for you.”
Quentin nods. “You always do.”
Eliot flips through his mental catalog of Touches Quentin Likes, and every time it looks like he may be closer to the edge, he switches things up, moving from Quentin’s cock to a different form of stimulation. He gives some attention to all of Quentin’s hotspots, including his nipples, his neck, his bellybutton. All the while, he fucks him steadily, knowing that if he gets himself too worked up, he won’t be able to focus on what Quentin needs.
“How are you feeling?” Eliot asks, his voice rumbling, after another few minutes pumping Quentin’s cock and then moving off. This whole thing is getting to Eliot way more than he would’ve expected.
“Amazing,” Quentin says, his voice a bit breathless. He paws at Eliot’s sides. “I want you to come.”
And that’s almost all it takes, Quentin’s affirmation that Eliot has, in fact, made it good for him. He pulls out until only the head of his cock is inside Quentin’s ring of muscle, then slides back in, repeating the motion at increasing speeds until his hips are pumping a rhythm of their own.
Quentin’s moans fueling him, Eliot grabs at Quentin’s cock. “You ready to come? Yeah? Come for me, baby.”
Quentin’s pleasure gets tangled up with his own, the two of them shouting so loud it reflects back off the sound-dampening wards as they grab at each other and come and come.
When Eliot comes back to himself enough to be more than a useless lump on top of Quentin, he finds Quentin looking back at him, a smile on his face and his eyes bright with tears. “How do you always know what I need?” Quentin asks.
“It helps when you tell me,” Eliot says, and wipes a tear away from Quentin’s eye. Quentin gives a little self-deprecating laugh. “I know, easier said than said.”
“Exactly,” Quentin says, and kisses Eliot sweetly.
“Let me go get something to clean us up.” Eliot presses a kiss to the corner of Quentin’s eye before standing. He opts for a soft washcloth today, instead of any form of magic. It just feels more appropriate.
He wipes the tear tracks from Quentin’s face first, leaning in to kiss his cheeks. He repeats the action as he cleans his way down Quentin’s chest, leaving kisses where the cloth has just been. After he cleans Quentin’s soft cock carefully, he places one kiss to the head, thrilling at the way Quentin jerks in response.
He’s less careful about cleaning himself up, more just making sure nothing is going to get sticky or uncomfortable. Satisfied, he gets back into bed and pulls Quentin into his arms.
“You’re spectacular,” Quentin says. “Have I told you that lately?”
“It never hurts to be reminded,” Eliot says, grinning. “You’re pretty amazing yourself, you know.”
Quentin wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know about that.”
“Hey,” Eliot admonishes, swatting at his arm. “Don’t you dare insult my boyfriend.”
“You’re right. Your boyfriend is pretty cool.”
“Well, I didn’t say ‘cool’.”
“Fine, fine,” Quentin says, laughing. “Your nerdy boyfriend has been known to get a few things right, on occasion.”
“Better, but we’ll work on that.”
Quentin presses his grin into Eliot’s shoulder before shifting it to a kiss.