Spring Break comes up on them fast, and Quentin decides to finally go help out Margo with a problem she’s been having in Fillory. Eliot loves his Bambi more than life, but he’s on a one-year therapist-suggested hiatus from Fillory, and he intends to keep it.
It’s a little harder to do, though, when both of the people he loves are there and he’s not.
“Keep me updated on the timeline,” Quentin says, picking up his duffle that includes a care package Eliot made for Margo. “Don’t let me stay more than five Earth days. I want to spend at least some of the break with you.”
Eliot pulls Quentin into his arms, breathing in the scent of him. Five days is nothing. He can check in with his clients and get some work done on his side projects. He’s not codependent at all.
“I’ll miss you,” Quentin says, craning his neck to kiss him. Eliot doesn’t say it back, but he pours enough feeling into the kiss that he thinks that Quentin knows.
He makes it a whole day in the silence of his own apartment before making an appointment with his therapist.
Dr. Winter is an old queer magician with a PhD in both Psychology and Empathic Magic, and Eliot may have stuck with him solely for the way he talked about ‘80s Pride during their first session.
Today’s exploration into Eliot’s psyche starts off with a recap of his boring-ass day, but quickly delves into his relationship with Quentin.
“I told him I loved him the other day, and it came out sounding like I was a bad actor in a stage play, even though it’s one of the truest things I’ve ever said.”
“How did Quentin react?”
“I mean, he said it back, but we’d just had some pretty amazing sex, and he’s also incapable of sounding anything but genuine when he’s feeling things, so.”
“So he didn’t have any trouble believing you.”
“No, but. There was the aforementioned mind-blowing sex.”
“What about it was mind-blowing?”
“Why Dr. Winter, looking for tips?”
He shoots Eliot an indulgent smile. “Boy, you may be able to talk to me about something I don’t know, but I am far from needing any tips.”
“He’s been really into edging lately,” Eliot says, a smile forming on his lips just thinking back. “I’m really into making him wait. He does so good for me.”
“So you’ve incorporated a power exchange into your sex life.”
Eliot blinks. He’d really only been bragging about his boyfriend, but. “Sure, yeah. Not like all the time, though. Just when he wants it.”
“And what about what you want?”
Eliot shrugs. “I’ve always been game for anything he wants to try. It’s no sacrifice on my part; he’s got some pretty good ideas.”
He watches Dr. Winter make a note aside from his normal notebook-or-whatever. “I’m going to send you contact info for a colleague of mine. He’s been a Dom for over twenty years. I’ll get in touch with him first, I’m sure he’ll be willing to help you with any questions you might have.”
Eliot’s eyebrows shoot up. “Thanks, but--it’s nothing that serious.”
“I’ll send you his info anyway,” Dr. Winter says, like maybe he can sense Eliot’s heart racing. “Your choice whether you want to use it.”
Eliot stares at the email on his phone when he receives it the next day. The guy’s name is Dan. What kind of name is that for a Dom? Dom Dan? Sounds fake.
Anyway, Eliot is not becoming a Dom. He’s not into pain, for one, and also that’s far too much responsibility.
The rest of the session with Dr. Winter had been good, though. He let slip the word ‘deserve’, and was made to list out all the things that he thought Quentin deserved from their relationship. His answers were half-serious, half-silly, ranging from “my cock, whenever he wants it” to “my undivided attention, when he’s ready to talk through a problem”. He should have predicted the doc turning the list back on him, but it was always easier to think about Quentin’s needs than his own. Surprisingly, everything on the list could apply to him too, even the one about Eliot’s cock.
They also talked about how Eliot couldn’t sit still in an apartment without Quentin around. They weren’t, apparently, as co-dependent as he’d feared - “if you were, you would’ve prioritized going with Quentin over staying out of Fillory for your own mental health.” And talking about it helped him realize he had plenty of stuff to do that didn’t revolve around Quentin.
So on the fourth day, he goes to see a movie (a thriller that Quentin would’ve hated, but at least it would’ve made him all clingy), does some shopping (maybe getting Quentin a few things), checks in with a few clients (the Sanderson wedding is coming up soon; he needs to make some follow-up calls for them), and generally manages not to miss Quentin too much until well into the evening.
He sends the messenger bunny to let Quentin know four days have passed, and gets the quick reply back: Okay, thanks.
To his surprise, though, a couple more messenger bunnies follow. I’ve been practicing, says the first one, and Eliot tilts his head as he considers what that might mean. The second bunny provides clarity, Holding back for you.
“Fuck,” he says aloud, then puts the bunnies in the guest room so he can have a good jerkoff session to the thought.
After taking the edge off, he sends the bunnies back. That’s amazing, Q, and How long?
It’s been a week, the first answer comes, then, But I’ve been good.
“You guys are far too involved in our sex life,” Eliot tells the bunnies before sending his reply. You’re doing so great. It’ll be worth it.
Coming home tomorrow, says a solo bunny this time. Eliot sends it back with the truth: Can’t wait.
It’s barely daybreak when Quentin shakes him awake. “Oh, hello,” Eliot mumbles, his lap suddenly full of Quentin.
Quentin, still decked out in Fillorian casual wear, leans down into his space and says a quick, “Hey,” before capturing Eliot’s mouth with his, sleep breath be damned.
Eliot stretches and lets himself come awake slowly, with Quentin’s weight settled across his legs and chest. He almost wishes he’d thrown off his briefs before falling asleep, so that he could feel his cock hardening against a fully-clothed Quentin.
“I missed you,” Quentin says, rubbing his clothed cock against Eliot’s hip as if to prove it.
“So I’ve heard,” Eliot says, trailing his fingers lightly over Quentin’s groin. “Over a week, huh? You must be dying for it.”
Quentin bites his lip and tries to push into Eliot’s touch, but Eliot pulls his hand away.
“You’ll have to allow me a minute or two. Someone woke me up from a dead sleep.” Quentin’s look is murderous. “You can always strip for me, if you want to move things along.”
Quentin looks eager then, and he hops up out of bed, already pulling at the hem of his shirt.
“Slowly, though,” Eliot prods him. “Let us both savor it.”
Quentin doesn’t listen at first, giving his shirt a good yank and tossing it aside. “You know I’m not sexy at this.”
Eliot rolls his eyes. “I know nothing of the sort. I’m not too fond of that attitude, either. Why would I want to fuck someone I didn’t think was sexy?”
“I’m not saying I can’t be sexy ever, I’m just saying, I’m not good at the whole, you know, strip-tease thing,” Quentin says, putting exaggerated air quotes around ‘strip-tease’.
“You never know until you try.” Quentin huffs, and Eliot just laughs. Yeah, this is working for him. “Why don’t I help you out?”
Quentin still looks a bit petulant, but Eliot can see the interest light up his eyes.
“Undo your ties, but keep looking at me,” Eliot begins. Quentin fumbles at first and darts a look down to check one of the knots holding his pants up, but he scrambles to look back up per Eliot’s request. Eliot feels a little thrill at that. “Good, keep doing that. Why don’t you tell me some of the things you’ve been thinking about, while you’ve been… practicing.”
“I mean, you, mostly.” Quentin bites his lip. He glances down again, fingers clumsy over the other tie at his waistband. Eliot is about to remind him to look up, but Quentin does it before he can say the first word. “Pretty much like this, except, y’know. Without the underwear. Looking at me.” He licks his lips. “Touching yourself.”
“Good,” Eliot says, sliding a hand over his own dick both for the spark of friction and for the way Quentin’s eyes track the movement feverishly. “Now turn around and push your pants down over your hips.”
Quentin does as he’s told, revealing his pert ass in the grey boxer-briefs that Eliot is fairly sure are Quentin’s favorites.
“Mm, yes. Let them drop, and lean forward a bit.” He allows himself another massage over his own cock as Quentin complies, the underwear clinging to him just right as he bends forward. “Perfect. You can kick them off.”
“Eliot,” Quentin whines, straightening, his hands balling into fists at his side.
“What is it, baby? You wanna touch yourself? Wanna touch me?”
“Please.” The word comes out like a prayer.
“Soon, baby. So soon. I wanna see you first. Go on, push the band down next, only in the back this time.”
Quentin runs his hands under the waistband of his boxer briefs, starting from the front before sliding back. Eliot’s pretty sure he’s looking for a chance to touch his cock, but the touch would’ve been so fleeting it can’t have been satisfying. What is satisfying is seeing Quentin’s ass revealed, the elastic of his underwear clinging below his cheeks, while Quentin moans and tries to push into the pulled-taut fabric in the front.
“Turn around for me now. That’s it.” Quentin’s lower lip is looking swollen from where he’s been biting it. Eliot licks his lips in anticipation of biting it himself. “Now push them off, I wanna see what’s been waiting for me.”
For all of Quentin’s posturing, he looks just like Eliot’s every wet dream dragging his boxer briefs down over his erection, holding it down until it springs free and stands up against his belly. He stumbles a little trying to pull them the rest of the way off, and Eliot feels his chest constrict with longing.
“Come here and help me now,” Eliot says.
Quentin returns eagerly, his hands going for Eliot’s briefs without hesitation. He pulls the elastic band with one hand, reaching inside with the other to grip the length of Eliot’s cock.
“Mm, yeah,” Eliot encourages. “See how hard I am, just from watching you? Told you that you were sexy.”
Quentin leans down and kisses him then, his tongue fucking into Eliot’s mouth and letting Eliot know just how worked up he is. As Quentin pulls blindly at his briefs, Eliot lifts his hips a bit so that they easily slide further down his legs. As soon as the material is out of the way, Quentin shifts to rub their exposed cocks together.
Eliot pulls out of the kiss and stills Quentin’s movements with a hand on his hip. “So eager,” Eliot rumbles against Quentin’s ear.
“God, I’m so hot for you, please touch me.”
“After how good you were, putting on that little show for me? I’m going to give you everything you want.” Eliot tugs the lobe of Quentin’s ear into his mouth; Quentin shudders at his touch. “On your back for me.”
After a few moments of shifting, Eliot takes his place atop Quentin; his heart races as he takes in the scene before him. Quentin’s skin is warm, almost overheated, everywhere they’re touching. Quentin is so turned on he’s practically incandescent. Eliot’s fingers itch for a camera to capture this moment in time, but he doesn’t think a picture would do it justice. He takes a moment to appreciate Quentin’s candor about edging, because there’s something so good about knowing Quentin is waiting for him. It’s entirely possible he could tell Quentin to come right now and he’d do it, without Eliot even touching him. But Eliot really wants to touch him.
He trails his hands over Quentin’s chest, smiling when Quentin shifts toward the touch. He leans down to lick over a nipple, then suck on it a little as Quentin utters a gasp of pleasure. He repeats the action on the other side, which gets him an even louder response. He leaves a hand on one nipple, pinching just a little, as he shifts his body further down and licks Quentin’s cock sloppily from root to tip.
“Eliot, please,” Quentin whines. “I haven’t come in eight days.”
“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” Eliot says, sliding his hand over to pinch the other nipple. “Just a little longer.”
He shifts focus then, gripping Quentin’s cock firmly at the base, one hand above the other to encircle Quentin’s full length. Quentin fucks up into his fist futilely, as Eliot maintains his grip, withholding the friction he’s seeking.
“I’m going to give you my mouth,” Eliot explains. “It’s going to feel really good, but I want you to wait for me to squeeze your hip, and then I want you to come for me. Can you do that?”
Quentin licks his lips. His chest is heaving and he’s red all over, looking more turned on than Eliot has ever seen him, and still he nods, agreeing to wait as Eliot has asked.
He moves one hand lightly, carefully, to rest over Quentin’s hip, and with the other he circles just his finger and thumb at the base of Quentin’s straining erection. “I bought you a cock ring,” Eliot says. His eyes flick up to meet Quentin’s. “For next time. Would you like that?”
Quentin’s eyes are wide and wild as he nods again.
Eliot fights against a frown, shifting his focus for a moment to reach out and tug Quentin’s bottom lip out from under the vice-like grip of his teeth. “Talk to me, Q. I want to hear you.”
“Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just-- I’ve been fantasizing about this all week, and I don’t want to ruin it by running my big mouth.”
“I’m a fan of your big mouth,” Eliot says, returning his hand to Quentin’s hip. “I consider it one of your better features, which is saying something.” Quentin doesn’t look like he believes him. “Why don’t you give me a sample of Q’s inner monologue while I work? Make it good for me so I can let you come.”
He moves into a good position, holding Quentin’s cock and pausing with his mouth a breath away from the head. He flicks his eyes up to Quentin’s expectantly and waits.
“God, okay,” Quentin says, releasing and re-fisting the sheets. “Um, well, I’m really kind of psyched about the cock ring, not gonna lie, that’s probably not surprising but--” he gasps as Eliot sucks him down, “--um! It’s just really fucking cool that you, like, god, that you want what I want, or at least, that you’re willing to try.”
Eliot rubs along his hip, a movement that can’t be confused with the signal but hopefully shows his encouragement. He loves the sound of Quentin’s voice, especially when he’s turned on. He’s going to have to think of more rewards for talking during sex in the future. For now, he moves his mouth slowly over Quentin’s cock, making him feel good without letting him tumble over the edge just yet.
“How are you so good at making me feel good? Fuck,” as he pushes his hips up, up, seeking friction, but Eliot pulls off and takes his hand off Quentin’s hip. Not yet. “Sorry, I know, sorry,” Quentin continues, and after a moment, Eliot goes back to work, satisfied. “Jesus, I love to be good for you. Fuck. I hope that’s okay, like. You do so much for me, and it just feels so good to know what you want from me and then be able to do it. I know it’s, like, a lot probably, but--”
Eliot shifts down from teasing the head and opens his throat, taking Quentin to the back of his throat and squeezing his hip, hard.
“--fuck, but you make it so good,” Quentin gasps, his voice going high pitched as he allows his hips to move, fucking up into Eliot’s mouth and shooting down his throat. His monologue devolves into moans of pleasure that make Eliot’s cock twitch, so that he can’t help but reach down to fuck into his fist as he continues to work Quentin through his orgasm.
It’s unbelievable, how long Quentin seems to come, his whole body shaking and bending towards Eliot. Eliot feels a warm glow in his chest as he finally pulls off Quentin’s cock, proud to have done this. He stretches out to lay next to Quentin, resting his weight on one hip and happily accepting the kiss Quentin gives him.
He continues to work his hand over his cock slowly, appreciating the little noises and movements Quentin makes as he feels the aftershocks of his orgasm. When they break apart, Quentin whines a little, suddenly, and puts a hand on Eliot’s wrist. “You wanna take over?” Eliot asks.
“Yes please,” Quentin responds, a warm smile spreading across his lips. He licks his own hand enthusiastically before reaching down to grip Eliot’s cock.
“It’s ridiculous that you don’t know how hot you are,” Eliot says. “Now keep talking to me while you get me off.”
“Mm, can I kiss you again? First?”
“I suppose,” Eliot says, mock indulgent, before meeting him halfway. The mood of Quentin’s kiss has already shifted in the last thirty seconds, less desperate and more languid, as his pleasure has started to mellow him out.
Eliot likes that he got him there. Especially since it seems to have made Quentin eager to please, if the very competent handjob is anything to go on.
“You’re so hot, El, it drives me crazy,” Quentin murmurs, resting his head next to Eliot’s on the pillows. He twists his hand on the upstroke in a way that makes Eliot gasp and tilt his hips up. “Seriously, I didn’t know orgasms could be this good, before you. Sometimes I’ll just be going through a normal day, and then I’ll think of you, and just like that I’m hard. It can be embarrassing.”
Eliot laughs even as his heart seems to move funny in his chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, you’re fucking distracting,” Quentin says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. Eliot takes a deep breath, trying to settle the feeling in his chest. He’s not ready to come yet, but his body is electrified, thinking of Quentin unable to control himself at thoughts of Eliot. For a moment, it’s almost overwhelming. Oblivious to the weirdness in Eliot’s head, Quentin continues to stroke him and keep up the commentary. “Especially lately, god. I love it when you order me around, like, in the bedroom or whatever. Don’t do it when we’re in company, please. God, I might not be able to help myself.”
Eliot hears a whine escape his throat before he can stop it. The thought of Quentin doing anything Eliot asks, no matter the context, is an unbearably hot one.
“You like it too, right? It’s not just me?” And then, just when Eliot’s starting to feel his orgasm drawing ever closer, Quentin’s hand stills.
“Fuck, Q. Yes, I like it. Now get me off before I resort to humping the bed instead.” He fucks up into Quentin’s somewhat-loose grip, and Quentin snaps out of it.
“Right, sorry. Are you sure this is what you want? I can suck you off--”
“I’m so close, Q, just jerk me off and keep talking.”
“Oh,” Quentin says, tightening his grip once more. He works up a quick rhythm that has Eliot right back where he’d left off, heat spreading through him as he fucks into Quentin’s fist. “Really? You like to hear me that much? Fuck, that’s hot. I don’t get it, but it’s super flattering. I could read to you, sometime, if you want. Not that you necessarily want to hear me when we’re not fucking, I’m just saying, I like to read and it’d be great to share it with you.”
Eliot grunts and grips at Quentin’s hip as his balls draw up, and then he’s coming, shouting, drowning out whatever Q is saying about reading to him as he’s overcome with white-hot pleasure. He’s a little embarrassed to have shown how obviously sexy he finds the idea of Quentin reading to him, but maybe Quentin won’t think much of it. Mostly he doesn’t care either way, because Quentin is back, and he wants Eliot more than ever. Eliot’s gonna make him talk through every orgasm from now until the end of time. Fuck.
Quentin meets him in a lazy kiss as he comes down. Eliot pulls him close so that their bodies are flush against one another. The funny feeling in Eliot’s chest is still there, but he ignores it in favor of savoring the sweetness of Quentin’s kisses.
Eventually, though, his body is relaxed enough that he starts yawning, the exhaustion of being woken up settling back in.
“It’s still pretty early,” Quentin says, glancing at the clock. “Maybe we should get some sleep. Okay to spell us clean?”
Eliot nods, thinking that that’s usually his job, but Quentin is already going through the motions. The chill settles over him as Quentin reaches for the comforter, pulling it up and over the two of them.
Eliot drapes his arm over Quentin as he turns around and fits his back against Eliot’s chest. Damn it all. Eliot’s going to have to contact Dom fucking Dan.