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Lasting Impressions

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

Edging becomes a regular thing that they do. Not all the time, but often enough. Sometimes they plan ahead, Eliot clearing half of his day to keep attention on Quentin just enough to have him teetering on the edge for hours. Other times, they’re just fooling around before one of them suggests that they try to drag it out a bit more.

They’ve been having a lazy evening, Quentin tucked into the corner of the couch with a book while Eliot sits next to him and watches an episode of Outlander. When the episode ends, though, Quentin shows no signs of stopping his reading, even when Eliot leans over to press kisses into his neck.

“You’re not as distracting as you think you are,” Quentin says, turning the page.

Taking that as a challenge, Eliot shifts gears a little. He urges Quentin out of his curled up position so that his feet hit the floor, and then he goes for his fly. He massages his hand steadily over Quentin’s cock--which is already a step away from soft, Eliot notes--while he goes back to nip at the pulse point in Quentin’s neck.

Still, Quentin says, “I’m still going to finish this chapter.”

He’s egging Eliot on, but it’s more fun than frustrating. Eliot decides to take the bait, growling against Quentin’s ear before moving to the floor and yanking Quentin’s pants and underwear down several inches.

He proceeds to give Quentin one of his sloppier blowjobs, taking his cock into his mouth over and over without care for how much he drools in the process. It’s not long before he hears Quentin curse under his breath, and he doesn’t hear the turning of pages again.

“You’re such a shit,” Quentin says, both hands sliding into Eliot’s hair, which means the book has officially been set aside.

Eliot hums the best apologetic noise he can manage with a cock in his mouth, then gets a tug on his hair for his trouble. “Whatever, just don’t stop,” Quentin says.

So Eliot doesn’t, listening for Quentin’s little sharp breaths to cue into what he’s in the mood for as he works his cock.

“Okay, now stop,” Quentin says a bit later. “I really wanna kiss you.”

“Oh, so now you wanna kiss me,” Eliot says, helping Quentin the rest of the way out of his pants and underwear.

Quentin’s kiss is filthy, licking at the wetness around Eliot’s mouth before licking inside. They separate just long enough to get rid of their shirts before leaning back into the kiss. Eliot transitions easily to fisting Quentin’s cock, twisting at the head on the occasional upstroke, but Quentin reaches out to stop him before long.

Eliot smiles. “You want me to draw it out?”

“Can we?” Quentin asks, as if Eliot has ever refused him.

Eliot makes a considering noise, and then, as if he hasn’t been thinking about this for weeks, he asks, “What if I just… told you not to come? Could you do that?”

Quentin breathes in sharply, and his cock twitches in Eliot’s hand. “I could try.”

“I don’t want you to try,” Eliot says, encouraged by Quentin’s response. “I want you to wait.”

“Fuck, okay, just, hang on,” Quentin says as he pushes Eliot’s hand away to grasp the base of his cock.

“That’s it.” Eliot skims a hand down Quentin’s chest. “You can be good for me.”

“Oh fuck,” Quentin says, and his knuckles whiten where he’s gripping his cock, trying to hold off his orgasm. Eliot can do nothing but watch in delight. “Okay, just--yeah. I can.”

Eliot knows that it’s not that simple, that he’ll have to pay close attention to Quentin’s responses to help him keep that promise, but he loves the fact that Quentin got on board with him that quickly.

He stands up from the couch to strip the rest of the way, taking his time when he sees Quentin’s eyes on him. “Stretch out on your stomach for me.”

He pumps his own cock as he watches Quentin do as he asks, amazed by this man and how perfect he continues to be for Eliot.

Once Quentin settles, Eliot straddles his legs. He starts by running his nails down Quentin’s back, not hard, just enough pressure to scratch an itch. He takes it from Quentin’s little mm that it feels good, so he does it again, this time continuing his way over Quentin’s ass.

He summons some massage oil from a nearby shelf and gets to work, massaging the kinks out of Quentin’s shoulders and smoothing his way down his back. He’s working his thumbs over Quentin’s ass, thinking about spreading him, when he catches a downward thrust of Quentin’s hips against the couch cushions.

“Q,” he admonishes. “If this couch gets to see you come before I do, I am not going to be happy.”

“Sorry,” Quentin whimpers, shuddering a little. “I’ll be good,” he says, then buries his head in his arms as if to hide from what he just said.

“I know you can,” Eliot says warmly. He wets his thumb with more oil, spreading Quentin open and circling the pad around the rim of his hole before dipping inside. A high whine escapes Quentin, muffled by the couch. “Hey, come on, I want to hear you,” Eliot says, rubbing his free hand encouragingly over Quentin’s side.

“Feels so good,” Quentin says, turning his head and settling again.

“Yeah? You ready for my fingers?”

“Honestly not sure,” Quentin says, laughing. “But I want them.”

Eliot slicks up his middle and ring fingers. “Tell me if it gets to be too much,” he says, starting slowly with just his middle finger. He sees Quentin bite his lip from where his head’s still turned, but he stays still as directed. After giving Quentin time to adjust, he adds the second finger, noticing Quentin’s breath quicken.

He’s sliding them in and out slowly when Quentin’s hips give a sharp jerk as he rubs against the couch again.

“Sorry,” Quentin says before Eliot can even call him on it. “I can’t help it, I can’t keep still.”

“It’s okay,” Eliot assures him, resting a hand at the top of his back where his shoulder blades meet. He pulls his fingers out and sits up, taking his weight off Quentin. “Sit up for me, on your knees. That’s it,” he says as Quentin moves, “lean forward and hold the armrest? Very good.” He slides his fingers inside again, and when Quentin’s hips jerk, he doesn’t find that friction he had before. “You’re going to earn this orgasm.”

Quentin whimpers, fucking himself back on Eliot’s fingers.

“You want another?” Eliot asks.

God yes,” Quentin says, breathless.

More oil, and then he’s pushing three fingers inside. Quentin takes it so well, every time. Eliot can’t wait to get his cock inside him. But first, he has to make sure Quentin is ready, and with every movement of his fingers, he can tell that Quentin is getting close to coming.

He moves carefully, trying not to do anything overstimulating, but this wouldn’t be the first time Quentin came from his fingers alone. Once he’s satisfied that Quentin is ready, he pulls his hand away and summons a condom.

“Eliot, please, I’m not gonna make it,” Quentin says, reaching his hands back toward Eliot’s thighs and squeezing.

“Shh, you’re okay, you’re doing great,” Eliot says, sliding his cock along Quentin’s ass with just the slightest bit of pressure. He places his hands on Quentin’s chest to hold him still, pressed up against Eliot. “Just breathe.”

They breathe together for a minute, in, out, as Quentin’s grip eventually slackens, in, out, and Eliot rocks slowly against the cleft of Quentin’s ass. He kisses the shell of Quentin’s ear. “I’m going to put my cock inside you,” he says softly, right against Quentin’s ear, “and you’re going to feel so lovely and full, and then I’m going to let you come, and it will be so worth it.”

Yes,” Quentin says, his voice shaking enough to make it a multi-syllable word.

He slips the condom on, hands shaking the slightest bit where he’s glad Quentin can’t see. He lines up the head of his cock with Quentin’s hole before saying, “Breathe with me.” He inhales loudly and watches Quentin match him, then pushes in slightly before the exhale. Again, they breathe in together, Eliot moves, then they breathe out. “You feel amazing, Q, keep going,” he says, and they continue until Eliot can go no farther.

He clutches Q to his chest again, the two of them still matching their breathing even though they’re otherwise still. “Please,” Quentin says again, and Eliot kisses the back of his neck.

“I’m going to fuck you now. You can come whenever you’re ready.”

It’s a relief for both of them when Eliot starts to move, with Quentin free to succumb to his orgasm and Eliot knowing he got him there. Eliot doesn’t think he’ll last long, especially when Quentin shouts his name and starts to come. “That’s it, you did so good for me,” Eliot says, and Quentin moans even louder.

He gets lost in a haze of desire after that, fucking his cock into Quentin fast and sure alongside Quentin’s encouraging noises. The emotional buildup of the evening seems to crash over him in waves as Quentin takes him so perfectly, pushing back into every thrust. He slows his rhythm when he feels his orgasm building, wanting to feel every second of it. Quentin grabs at his thigh again, mumbling something about making it good for him too, and that’s what sends him over the edge.

It’s too good, sometimes, with Quentin. Better than Eliot deserves. He takes a deep breath before pulling out, then finds himself repeating the sentiment out loud.

To Eliot’s surprise, Quentin laughs as he turns over. “I was just thinking the same thing, but about what I deserve.” At Eliot’s frown, he continues, “I know, this is the part where you tell me not to insult your boyfriend.”

Eliot leans in to kiss him soundly. “Maybe we both have some stuff to work on.”

He pulls Quentin on top of him on the couch after he returns from disposing of the condom and spells them clean. He can think of nothing better after an amazing round of sex than his arms full of a sated, pliant Quentin. He pulls the blanket down from the back of the couch; the spell always leaves them a little chilly.

“So, that may have beaten our personal best,” Quentin says, resting his hip next to Eliot’s so that he can lean into him. “Top five for sure.”

“For sure,” Eliot agrees. He pushes Quentin’s hair back from his face gently, loving the way his eyes flutter shut at the touch. “You were incredible.”

Quentin bites his lip on a smile. “I liked it. A lot.”

“Good. Me too.” He tilts Quentin’s chin up to kiss him, but he pauses when their eyes meet. Quentin’s gaze is full of such warm affection, it’s almost unsettling to Eliot, who for the longest time never expected anyone to love him longer than a weekend. “I love you,” he says. He wishes it didn’t sound like a revelation every time he said it, but Quentin doesn’t seem to mind.

Instead, Quentin seems to light up from within, his happiness visible as it flows through him. “I love you too, El, so much,” he says, and places his hand over Eliot’s heart as he kisses him.

And Eliot vows to himself that he’ll keep doing everything he can to deserve it.

Chapter Text

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.