Quentin has a problem, and he only has himself to blame- no, that’s not true. It’s partly Eliot’s fault for being stupidly well-endowed, and it’s mainly Penny’s fault for being an insufferable prick who loves making him miserable. And the evening had started so well.
Margo and Eliot hosted their usual Friday night party at the Cottage and Quentin had staked out his usual place in the window seat, notebook by his side. The mood was great- people were dancing, drinking, laughing. Eliot was doing tricks at the bar, looking as gracious as ever, and Quentin wasn’t the only one admiring him- though hopefully his heart eyes were less obvious- but he was the one Eliot caught looking. He grinned, waved him over, and Quentin held up his notebook as if that was a real reason to stay in his corner. Eliot cocked his head, clearly thinking of some way to get Quentin to move, and Quentin already felt giddy with it, had to work on not smiling, not giving himself away. But then two boys came up to Eliot, two boys he’s seen in his classes, and just like that he lost Eliot’s attention. He fell back into his seat and resolved himself not to look in Eliot’s direction for at least the next 30 minutes.
Things were looking up again when Julia plopped down next to him, a bright blue drink in her hand.
“You came! I thought you wanted to do... the thing? With the...” He waved his hand around and Julia nudged his shoulder.
“Well, the thing will still be there tomorrow, but you are moping in the corner of a party right now.”
“I’m not moping!” He shook the notebook in her face. “I’m doing important field work.”
Julia looked at him, one eyebrow raised. He put the notebook in his lap again. She sipped from her drink. “Oh, that is good.”
He made grabby hands. “What is it?”
“Don’t know.” She pressed the glass into his hands. “I’m not supposed to give it to you. Eliot said if you want one, you have to get it yourself.”
He grinned. “Good thing you don’t care for what Eliot says.” The drink tasted amazing- whatever was in it worked well together. It was nice of Julia not to want it back.
She stayed by his side for a while and he went back to watching Eliot flit around the room, being the perfect host and looking handsome. But then Kady came along, grabbing Jules to do who knows what, and he was left alone, an empty glass by his side. And Eliot was at the bar again.
It was time for a refill.
Eliot greeted him with a big grin. “Finally! I already thought the cocktail didn’t work.”
Quentin made a show of rolling his eyes. “Just make me another.”
“My, what fine manners you have!”
Quentin couldn’t help his smile but said as monotone as he could: “Please.”
Eliot gave him a little bow and winked. “As you wish.”
His heart reacted immediately, pounding fast in his chest. His cheeks burned. He hoped anyone noticing would blame that on the hot room. “What’s in it anyway?”
“So you can mix it yourself? I don’t think so. Now, come along.” He held the glass out of his reach when Quentin tried to take it, tutting softly. “You’ll get it when we sit down.” He herded him to the sofa in the middle of the room where Margo was already waiting and pushed him down next to her, settling on his other side. “Look, Bambi, who finally decided to honor us with his presence!”
Quentin pouted and grabbed the drink. “Was here the whole time.”
“Being a sad-sack in the corner doesn’t count,” Margo said, and Quentin spluttered.
“I wasn’t a sad-sack! I was doing a field study.”
Eliot shushed him. “It’s fine. All you have to do now is look pretty.”
He mumbled into his drink. Eliot petted him on his head consolingly and jumped back into the conversation he apparently had with Margo before. Something about an upcoming test, Quentin didn’t really care. Eliot kept him supplied with drinks and frequent touches, his arm found its way around his shoulders, and Quentin was content. The night could have ended like this.
And then Penny had to ruin it all. Quentin was too focused on Eliot’s thumb brushing along his shoulder and didn’t notice him stop by the sofa until Margo, Eliot and Penny were already deep in their discussion about sex. He subtly tried to sink into the sofa, hide behind his drink so he wouldn’t be pulled into the conversation.
But Penny still found a way to bring him into it.
“You can say that the silent ones are the kinkiest all you want, Coldwater is still a virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin!” Quentin said indignantly. It was stupid, of course, because there was no reason to be offended. Penny thought he was a virgin, so what? But then Eliot patted his head and protesting seemed like the right thing to do.
Especially when Eliot said, “See, Q is no innocent little flower”, sounding so proud that he couldn’t even feel embarrassed that they were talking about his sex life.
Penny had to go further. “Please, having quick in-out missionary under the covers doesn’t count.”
Eliot’s hand smoothed down his hair in a very soothing manner, feeling distinctly pitying and Quentin couldn’t have that, even though Penny was right.
“You don’t know shit, Penny,” he said. Eliot’s hand stopped.
“Is that so, Coldwater?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m sure my sex life is more varied than yours.”
“Oh?” said Eliot delighted, his fingers in Quentin’s hair massaging his scalp. Quentin tried not to preen.
“Oh?” said Penny skeptically and Quentin scowled at him.
“First of all, I had sex with women and with men.”
“That doesn’t make you special.”
Quentin scoffed and sank back into the sofa. “I thought assuming the sexual history of others was what we’re doing here.”
By now, Eliot had draped himself over Quentin so when he chuckled, voice deliciously low, it was right next to his ear.
Penny glared at him and changed his tactic. “Alright Casanova, what is your favorite position?”
Quentin’s thoughts raced. He’d seen enough porn, had enough fantasies that the question itself wasn’t hard. There were too many possible answers. Eliot’s breath puffed against his neck, distracted him. “Doing what?” he finally asked.
“So you admit that you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Penny said triumphantly.
Quentin shook his head. “Are you talking about favorite positions for anal sex? Doggy style is a classic for a reason. Blow jobs? On my knees is great for sucking dick and for getting your face fucked.” He could feel his face steadily heating up. Eliot’s wild laugh encouraged him. “Or you know when you lie on a bed and let your head hang down at the end so they can get really deep? I love that when I really want to feel it and just want to take it.” He could hear Margo cheer him on, see Penny’s gobsmacked expression, feel Eliot along the side of his body, touching his thighs, his shoulders, his hair. And his mind produced images of Quentin on his knees before Eliot, looking up, up, up, Eliot’s fingers on his lips, in his mouth...
Quentin cleared his throat. “So yeah, my favorite position doing what?”
For a moment he thought he’d won. But then Penny scoffed, expression smoothing out. “Please, you can’t even talk about having sex without glowing like a stoplight.”
“I think it’s cute,” Margo said. “You get the aesthetic of a blushing virgin with the experience of a well-traveled slut.”
Quentin glared at her. “Wow. Thanks, Margo.”
“What?” she snapped. “That was a compliment. If you want to take El’s dick, you’ll need the experience.”
“Now, now,” Eliot interrupted her. “You’re jumping ten steps ahead, Bambi. We don’t even know if he’s interested.”
Eliot wanted to have sex with him and thought Quentin wasn’t interested? “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked confused.
Penny held out his hands. “I’m not watching Coldwater hooking up.”
“Not with that attitude.” Eliot mustered him. “You would ruin any fun one could have.”
Penny stared at Eliot, shook his head, and left. Quentin thought he could hear him mutter something, but Eliot turning to him with a delighted grin was more important.
“Why didn’t you say anything? We could have been getting kinky months ago!”
Quentin wasn’t about to let this chance go by. He pouted, cheeks still burning, and said, “Oh, I wasn’t sure if you could hold up to my expectations and I’d rather not be disappointed.”
Margo cackled and Eliot grinned, his eyes dark and wild. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Quentin’s heart hammered in his chest. “What are you waiting for?”
Eliot was on him instantly, his mouth consuming him, and he gladly fell into it. He felt a small hand pat his head- Margo, must have been- but he was quite busy letting Eliot ravish his mouth and following his lead.
He doesn’t know how long they had been on the sofa making out before Eliot urged him up and they went up the stairs to Eliot’s room. Quentin pinched his arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He didn’t wake up, Eliot was still leading the way and they were doing this. All he needed to do was fake the experience he had claimed he had. Nothing to worry about.
Before he could freak out, they arrived in Eliot’s room. Eliot was kissing him immediately as if he never wanted to let him go. Quentin heard the door fall shut, the quiet click of the lock engaging, saw candles lighting up and then he didn’t care for anything but Eliot’s tongue in his mouth and his hands under his shirt pulling him close.
He startled when his knees hit the bed, not noticing that they had moved at all. He wanted to let himself fall, but Eliot held him up. “No clothes on the bed,” he murmured, and Quentin pushed him away, fumbling with his belt- he needed to get into the bed as soon as possible.
“Why are you still clothed?” he whined when he looked up and saw Eliot still fully clothed and put together, watching him.
Eliot chuckled and unbuttoned his vest, threw it over his desk chair, then unbuttoned his shirt. He cocked an eyebrow at Quentin’s mesmerized staring, and he flushed a bright red, looking away, concentrating on removing his own clothes.
He stumbled out of his trousers, got stuck in his shirt. But when he finally freed himself, he had the glorious sight of a naked Eliot right in front of him. Quentin let his eyes roam over his body, wanted to touch and run his hands through Eliot’s chest hair. Eliot took a step closer, and his gaze slid lower, over the firm stomach down to... He forgot how to breathe.
There was no way he could fake any kind of experience with that dick. Margo hadn’t exaggerated when she said he needed it. Eliot would know he lied, and he would probably only make a little fun of him, but that would be embarrassing enough, and it was all fucking Penny’s fault.
“Q?” Quentin’s gaze snaps back to Eliot’s eyes and he imagines he looks quite wild. “Second thoughts? You know we can stop any time. I'm not going to force you to do anything.”
Quentin swallows. “That’s not it.” He grins sheepishly. “But we might end up not doing anything after all.”
Concern and bewilderment war on Eliot’s face. Quentin’s face burns. It’s so fucking embarrassing but he just had to brag, hadn’t he?
“Your dick is huge,” he forces out. Stating the obvious.
Eliot looks down, strokes his dick once and looks back at Quentin. Quentin’s mind stops. No thoughts except that Eliot’s dick looks even bigger in his hand. He can’t stop looking. Eliot isn’t even completely hard. A cough. Quentin’s eyes snap to Eliot’s face, amused and questioning.
“I... might have- slightly- exaggerated earlier. About my experience. Possibly even greatly. And I don’t think...” He grimaces. “I don’t think it’s going to work?” He cringes but Eliot just laughs.
“Oh Q, my darling Q, never change. I don’t need to fuck your ass to show you a good time.”
He prowls nearer until there’s barely an inch between them. Quentin stares up into Eliot’s eyes, dark and promising. “Yeah?” he asks breathlessly. His mind can barely keep up. He doesn’t know what to feel anymore.
He focuses on Eliot. Eliot who grins and nudges him. He stumbles, falls on the bed right behind him. Eliot follows him, leaning on his arms to keep his weight off Quentin. Quentin can’t look away from his eyes. He exhales shakily. “Because I mean it. Most of the things I said are just things I jerk off to. Like, all of it. Everything after I’m not a virgin.”
Eliot nudges his nose against his cheek. “How about...” A kiss against his cheek. “We’re taking it slow.” Another kiss. “Do what you want.” Lips against his other cheek. “What you feel comfortable with.” A kiss against his forehead. “And if you like it and I like it.” He leans back a bit, looks into Quentin’s eyes. “We’ll repeat it tomorrow. Or the day after. Or when we’re both in the mood. Okay?”
Quentin nods, a tiny thing, and Eliot leans down, slotting their lips together. His hand finds its way into Eliot’s hair, grabbing the curls, and Eliot groans. Desire zings through his body, Eliot’s erection pressing against his hip. All thoughts leave his head, except one, insistent, demanding. He wrenches Eliot away by his hair.
“Please.” Eliot’s lips are so red, swollen. I did that. “Let me.” His eyes are so dark and deep. He could lose himself in them. “Let me blow you. Please.” He must look desperate. He certainly is desperate. “I need to suck your dick so bad.”
Eliot laughs breathlessly, nods. He rolls them around and Quentin is suddenly on top. “Go on, Q. I’m all yours.”
Quentin sits up. “I don’t...” He huffs frustrated. “I don’t know what to do.” Eliot grins grows wider, and he pouts. “Stop that. Don’t laugh.”
“I’m sorry, Q. You’re just too cute. The cutest. And it’s really not that complicated. Just don’t nibble on it.” He slaps his ass. “Up you go. Let Daddy get comfortable and he’ll help you, hm.”
Quentin sits up on his knees and Eliot scoots up, leaning comfortably against the headboard. He spreads his legs and nods to the space in-between. Quentin tries to make himself comfortable. Eliot looks like a king waiting to be pleasured and Q is the lucky peasant who gets to try. His gaze falls on Eliot’s dick again. It’s daunting. He wants.
“Now try to relax.”
And he tries to relax his shoulders, but they remain stiff, only growing tenser the more attention he pays them. He could cry. He probably would cry if it weren’t so humiliating. Eliot sighs. This is it. Chance wasted, you remain a loser, Quentin, bye bye, see you tomorrow.
But Eliot says nothing of the sort, just pulls him in and kisses him. It’s sweet and patient and Quentin kisses back. Eliot’s hands massage his shoulders and Quentin melts. A hand finds its way back into his hair, tugging relentlessly, and he whimpers. He can feel Eliot’s pleased little hum against his lips. And then his hand is getting tugged between their bodies and he’s touching Eliot’s dick. Just with his fingertips at first, tentative. It’s like touching his own dick, hot and soft to touch but hard at the same time, just thicker. That realization is comforting- he knows how to handle a dick, adapting shouldn’t be too hard- and his hand grows a bit bolder, thumb swiping over the head and smearing the precum. “Fuck, you’re big,” he murmurs.
Eliot kisses him and it’s rough and hot and for a moment he forgets the dick in his hand. He rectifies that by stroking it from the head to the base and there is so much. He says so out loud, against Eliot’s lips.
Eliot groans. “Look at it, Q.” It’s as much a suggestion as it is a command. He obeys. The sight punches the air out of his lungs. He cannot look away. Eliot’s dick is beautiful. His hand looks smaller, just by the sheer size of it. He twists his hand on the upstroke and watches transfixed as it twitches. Eliot’s head is right beside his, his breathing labored and loud in his ears. “Just like that. You’re doing so good. See? It’s just waiting for your pretty little mouth. Do you want that?”
Quentin whimpers. Of course he wants it. Right now. He blinks and suddenly he’s lying between Eliot’s legs. Up close, his dick is even more intimidating. His stomach falls. This was a bad idea. He’s just going to humiliate himself and... A hand slides in his hair, pulling his head back. Eliot shushes him and he frowns. He didn’t say anything, did he?
Eliot’s fingertips flutter over his face, smoothing down the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Did you ever give a blowjob before?”
Quentin shakes his head, then nods. “I- I tried with a dildo. Not much! Just... I didn’t...”
“You wanted to know what it’s like,” Eliot purrs, eyes going hungry and dark. “To know how it feels to have your mouth filled.” Quentin swallows and nods. His mouth is going slack. “Believe me, baby, the real thing is so much better. I’ll guide you, yeah? Tell you what I like.”
Quentin nods again, gaze falling on the dick right in front of his nose. His fingers are still curled around it. He leans forward, breathing directly on the tip and Eliot groans. I’m doing that. I’m giving him pleasure. It’s a heady thought, that he has that power. He looks up again. Eliot nods and tugs encouragingly on his hair. “Come on, give it a lick.” And Quentin does. It’s just across the tip, there and gone. He still tastes the salty precum. He wants more. He leans in again and licks from the base of Eliot’s dick to the head, paying special attention to that spot right below the head and gets rewarded by a curse, Eliot’s hand tightening in his hair.
He does it again. And again. Praise drips from Eliot’s lips, filling him with warmth and his cock throbs against the sheets.
Eliot was right. This is so much better than trying top 10 deepthroating tips on his dildo. Eliot’s groans from above, his encouragements. The concentrated smell of him. The warm cock in his hand and its musky taste. The salty precum on his tongue.
He’s mouthing along Eliot’s dick, jacking it slowly. He is stalling. It’s not as if Eliot is hurrying him along, he at least seems to be happy with everything he’s currently doing. Quentin tries to ignore his fears- that he will just embarrass himself, that he will be bad at it, that Eliot will kick him out. He breathes in deep. He is completely surrounded by Eliot’s smell; he lets it ground him.
Another breath in. He takes the head into his mouth. It stretches his lips and Quentin is in love. He moves his tongue against it, presses against the frenulum. Eliot’s shuddery exhale is the most beautiful thing he could imagine hearing right now.
He lets the head glide out of his mouth, licks across it, then takes is deeper, until it fills his whole mouth. He needs more, but he gags when the head nudges at his throat and tears spring into his eyes.
Eliot tugs him back, only the head remaining in his mouth. He whines confused, blinking up at Eliot as well as he can. His sight is blurry and Eliot’s fingers wipe tears from his cheeks. Oh.
“Take it slow,” Eliot murmurs, petting his cheeks, so gentle. “You’re doing so well.” His thumb traces Quentin’s bottom lip, spread around his cock. His eyes grow dark. Quentin flicks his tongue and gets treated to the sight of Eliot baring his neck, moaning deep. “Just like that.”
Quentin loses himself in his task, working towards his only goal: making Eliot come. He doesn’t try to take him down his throat again, just lets it fill his mouth- and he could hold it there for hours and be happy, but it’s not about him, so he gives it his all. It gets messy fast, his mouth producing so much saliva it slides down Eliot’s dick. It makes jacking off Eliot easier where he cannot reach with his mouth yet, a nice wet slide.
He makes it an experiment, varying his strokes, letting Eliot’s words guide him, avoiding the things that make him hiss in pain and doing again what makes him curse and praise him. And Eliot lets him try all these different things, only guiding him with his words, the hand in his hair only petting, the other roaming across his face, his shoulders, his neck. He feels powerful. And all the while he never stops hungrily sucking the dick in his mouth, flicking his tongue around the head every time he lets it glide out until only the head keeps his lips spread.
His other hand slides down, behind Eliot’s balls and he presses against his perineum. Eliot’s grip on his hair tightens, his hips making short, aborted thrust when he keeps up the pressure, massaging his prostate from the outside. He swallows, the head nudging against his throat again.
“Shit, Q, I’m going to come.”
Eliot is tugging on his hair, trying to pull him away. He twists his head, blinks up at Eliot, cock still in his mouth. Eliot is not taking this away from him. He earned it. And Eliot’s grip loosens, patting the back of his head. His hips stutter and Quentin holds them down. Eliot’s answering groan goes straight to his dick.
“Go on then,” Eliot says, strained.
He did that. He gave Eliot this pleasure. And he will see it through. One hand still lies on Eliot’s hip, gently pressing it down. His other is curled around the base of Eliot’s cock, the part he couldn’t fit. Not yet anyway. But he will, someday. He sucks on the head, then takes it deeper until it fills his mouth completely. He swallows, hears Eliot moan. He wants more.
He relaxes his throat and slides deeper. It enters his throat and he gags, so much bigger than the dildo he tried it with. Eliot curses, again and again, and it feels so good. He feels Eliot's tensed muscles under his hand, holding back, not wanting to choke him. He would let him. Gods, being at his mercy would be... His hips move against the bedspread, the friction heavenly on his dick. He could come like this.
He concentrates on Eliot instead, moving up, focusing on the head and tasting the precum, then moving down again until he gags and further, his lips against his hand at the base of Eliot’s dick. He holds it there, closes his eyes against the tears wanting to fall.
Eliot’s legs tense up, his hand grips Quentin’s hair again and then he’s coming with a quiet groan. Quentin pulls back, only the head remaining in his mouth, and lets Eliot spill across his tongue. He swallows.
“Fuck, come here.” Eliot pulls him up so he sits on his lap, and he whimpers, his mouth left empty, Eliot’s taste still on his tongue. Eliot kisses him, tongue and all, grip still tight on his scalp. His dick is so hard he cannot think of anything but wanting to come. It touches Eliot’s stomach, and he moans helplessly. “You want to come?” Quentin nods, desperate, whining. “Yeah? Want me to put my mouth on you, suck you off?”
He shakes his head. “No. Want... Want you to tell me...” He breaks off, hips thrusting forwards, cock sliding along Eliot’s stomach.
“Tell me, baby. What do you want?”
Everything is slick and sweat and Eliot’s breath is hot on his neck and he called him baby and he never wants it to end.
He pushes out breathlessly: “Tell me what we can do next time. What you want to do next.”
Eliot’s hand curls around his dick. “Oh baby, there are so many things I want to do with you.” His other hand grips Quentin’s ass, squeezes. A finger slides between his cheeks, resting on his asshole. “You ever played with your ass?”
Quentin nods, and the finger slowly pets his rim.
“I’m going to rim that pretty little ass of yours until you are loose and wet.” Quentin thrusts into Eliot’s hand and it tightens its grip. “And then I will put my very nice and long fingers inside you and I’m going to play with you until you come.” He moans, sees it so clearly in his mind. “And then I’m going to eat you out again because I just can’t get enough. And you will come again.” Why isn’t Eliot fucking him already? The finger on his rim is maddening, slowly pressing inside until he opens up for more, then letting up and petting him again. “And if you behaved yourself and didn’t complain, I will sit you on my cock and you will ride me until you come a third time.”
All air rushes out of his lungs at the want he feels, and he clings to Eliot’s shoulders just to keep upright, and Eliot’s finger is still petting along his rim and Eliot’s hand is still stroking his dick. He can’t watch, hides in Eliot’s neck instead and surrounded by his scent he shudders through his orgasm, biting into his shoulder to keep his voice down.
Eliot strokes him through it until he is growing soft, hissing at the overstimulation. He cannot move, draped over Eliot, all his muscles limp. Eliot does something with his hands, murmurs something and the come on his stomach disappears.
He starts laughing, choppy and a bit hysterical, and Eliot presses tiny kisses into his shoulder, his hands smoothing down Quentin’s back. Time seems to stand still. He nuzzles into Eliot’s neck, breathing him in. Should he say thank you? Ask how he feels? Wait until Eliot says something?
But Eliot doesn’t say anything, just hums and slides down, so that they lie on the bed, Eliot on his back and Quentin snuggled against his side. Eliot’s fingers dance over his shoulders, feather-light, just as Quentin’s fingers run through his chest hair. His bite stands out in stark contrast against Eliot’ shoulder. He should probably feel something else than pride seeing it. He cannot be bothered to care.
Silence settles over them. It's nice, easy. Calm.
Never could he have imagined his evening ending with the best sex he ever had. With Eliot. Because Eliot wanted him. And he said they could do it again. He hides his grin in Eliot’s chest. Knowing Eliot, it will somehow still get better, even when he can’t imagine how.
So long as Eliot didn’t lie. He doesn’t think he did, because why should he? But...
"Did you mean it? When you said we could do it again?" He looks up at Eliot’s face, wills him to face him and waits impatiently.
Eliot lifts his head and blinks down at him. He’s grinning. "After that orgasm? Baby, you couldn't keep me out of your bed if you tried."
Quentin smiles back. Eliot twists his head and for a moment he thinks he is going to kiss him. Eliot’s lips press against his forehead instead. It's sweet. Friendly. Quentin lays his head on Eliot’s chest again, frowning. It’s not what he wants. Well, no, that’s not true. He does want to be Eliot’s friend, enjoys it, and it has nothing to do with the fact that Eliot isn’t interested in steady relationships because that’s fine. He probably doesn’t have time for one any way, with Brakebill’s full schedule. But he just gave Quentin an earth-shattering orgasm by talking dirty and stroking him a few times and Quentin likes to think he didn't do too shabby a job with his blowjob either, so he really deserves more than a friendly forehead kiss.
Quentin crawls up Eliot’s body and stares at him. Eliot just looks amused and slightly curious and expectant, and Quentin wants to change that right now. He leans down and kisses Eliot on the mouth. Eliot’s lips are curling against his in a smile and there is quite a bit of teeth involved but it's a much more fitting kiss for the situation. Eliot’s hand is in his hair again, tugging and pulling. He likes it there. He suspects that Eliot likes it there too. And then he loses himself in the kiss and Eliot’s warm body under his. He's growing hard again, can feel Eliot’s dick plumping up against his leg, but their kisses become lazy, Eliot going back to petting his hair.
Eliot hums. "What brought this on?"
Quentin frowns, shrugs. "Wanted to." His hips roll against Eliot’s side without thinking. He groans. "Can I..?"
Eliot tightens his grip on his hair again, pulling it tight, and he can't help himself, rubs his cock against Eliot. It’s too much and it’s not enough. Eliot’s other hand grabs his ass and pulls him against his body encouragingly.
"So beautiful, Q. If you could see yourself...” He stops with a growl, needs to gather his composure. “Already ready to go again for Daddy, hm? So good. Where have you been?” Quentin pants against Eliot’s shoulder. He can’t stop staring at his bite. He marked Eliot. “See how well you fit against me? Come on, I know you need it."
Quentin whimpers high in his throat, helpless against the pleasure filling his body. "El..."
"I’m here, baby."
And Eliot does. He pulls him where he wants him, and Quentin follows, eyes closed, his whole body hyperaware of all the places their bodies touch. He is clutching at Eliot’s shoulders, and Eliot kisses the life out of him. His hips stutter, but the hand on his ass nudges him, again and again until he moves. Eliot is fully hard by now. There is the fleeting thought that he should give Eliot a hand, gone as quick as it came, and he comes, pleasure whiting everything out, Eliot the only thing keeping him on earth.
When he becomes aware of his surroundings again, Eliot is still kissing him.
He must have moved them because Quentin is lying on his back with Eliot on his side beside him, one hand playing with Quentin’s hair, the other stroking along his side soothingly. It's grounding, helps him get his breath back. The kisses are relaxed and without tongue and his whole body grows heavy with satisfaction. He hums, contend, ready to deepen the kiss again, but Eliot leans back, and he makes an unhappy little noise.
Eliot boops him on the nose. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you used magic to get me to go again."
And Quentin had been sated, his body ready to relax and sleep, but... well. "Can I blow you again?" Just the idea makes his body grow hot.
Eliot laughs under his breath. "Who would have thought you’d be such an insatiable little minx."
He grabs Eliot’s dick, feels the smooth skin, its hefty weight. It filled his mouth so perfectly, so fully... "Please?" His pupils must be blown wide.
"How could I resist your pretty face?" Eliot cocks his head, considering.
Please let it be another position.
"You want to try something different?"
Quentin nods immediately. "I want to try it all," he blurts out and sees Eliot’s eyebrows rise.
"In one night?" He shakes his head and Eliot smiles at him, soft and fond. His heart turns into mush- another moment where he forgets that he is not supposed to be in love with Eliot. "Good thing we already said we would do it again then."
Quentin nods again, stuffing the thoughts of being in love back into a dark corner of his mind. He has Eliot’s dick in his hand, he really has more important things to think about.
"Great, so what I’d like to try now," Eliot says, fucking Quentin’s hand once, twice before stopping. Quentin grabs him more confidently, stroking him a few times before concentrating on the head. Eliot’s voice is satisfyingly strained when he resumes talking: "Because you've been in control the last time, what would you say if I fucked your face instead?"
Want zings through him, surprising him with its sheer power, and he's nodding wildly. "Yes, yes, yes, please."
"That's right, just let Daddy do all the work while you look pretty.” Eliot sits up and musters him. “Are you comfortable?"
Quentin must make some affirmative noise because Eliot is moving, dipping down for a quick kiss, before sitting across his chest, weight on his knees.
"You look so pretty for me," he murmurs. He smiles. "If it's too much, just hit me, yeah?"
Quentin nods breathlessly, staring up at Eliot. Eliot’s knuckles brush his cheek, another soft gesture that should seem out of place but isn't and he loves Eliot so much. And then Eliot takes his dick in hand and Quentin has to raise his head to look at it.
Eliot tuts, hand sliding in his hair again, holding him in place. Nowhere to go. His muscles relax. "Now, now. Do I have to spell it out? You take what I give you. But you couldn't help but to take a look, huh?"
Quentin flushes a bright red, tries to stop his impatient whine. "Please. You said..."
"I know what I said. But I also said that you would take what I give you. Nothing more and nothing less."
The authoritative tone, what it means- it goes straight to his dick. It shouldn't be possible, surely. Not after the two most intense orgasms of his life. Maybe Eliot broke his dick. He can't find it in him to care. Would Eliot really make him wait? He glances up and Eliot looks at him, question clear in his eyes. Quentin nods as good as he can, pulling against the grip on his hair. Eliot grins, sharp and dangerous, and tugs his head in position again. Quentin has the best view on his dick, hard and red and pulsing. There's precum at the tip. Quentin licks his lips. He hears Eliot’s chuckle but can't tear his gaze away.
"Are you hungry?"
"I know, baby. But you're greedy and you could stand to learn a bit of patience."
And then that beautiful dick is right in front of his mouth, and he goes to lick it.
Eliot frowns disapprovingly. "What did I say, Q?"
He has to repeat his question for Quentin to register that he is supposed to answer when all he wants to do is suck the dick right in front of him. "I take what you give me?" His voice is wrecked already. They haven't even started yet.
"That's right." Eliot sounds satisfied. "So behave yourself. I know it's hard, but I also know that you can do it." The words settle on him like a blanket, filling him with warmth and safety and love. He can do it. He can be patient. For Eliot. And so he endures when Eliot moves his dick along his lips, precum smearing across his cheeks and lips. He is vibrating with anticipation and excitement while praise rains down on him. And when Eliot finally says "Lick," his tongue darts out, licking across the head. He moans.
"That's it," Eliot groans, hips jerking forward, his dick dragging across his cheek. It's filthy and Quentin loves it. "Open your mouth, baby, come on. Just like that." And finally the head of Eliot’s dick glides between his lips. "Your damn mouth." Eliot’s knuckles graze his cheek, a touch there and gone, and Quentin looks up, sucking on the tip. Eliot moans. "Your mouth was made to be fucked." Quentin groans at that. It seems right. Or maybe his mouth was just made to be fucked by Eliot. Eliot thrusts forward, more of his dick sliding into Quentin’s mouth until he is nearly in his throat and Quentin has to take it. He can close his eyes and fall into Eliot’s hand and just focus on making it good for him.
His mouth is finally blessedly full. Eliot thrusts gently between his lips, never attempting to thrust into his throat even though Quentin wants him to. But it's not about what he wants, is it? Eliot is just using him for his own pleasure. His dick is valiantly trying to grow hard again, and he squirms and grabs onto Eliot’s thighs, so he doesn't touch himself.
Eliot chuckles. "Want more, hm? Think you're ready for that?"
Quentin whines and hopes Eliot understands. He's been ready since Eliot sat down on top of him.
"Remember, when it's too much, hit me. Relax your throat."
Quentin barely has time to do so before Eliot thrusts forward and his dick slides into his throat. He gags, but Eliot just pushes further. He gags again; Eliot hums pleased and pulls out of his throat just to push in again. And again, he ignores Quentin's gagging, and it’s exactly what he fantasized about. His head is held securely by his hair, but the rest of his body is trying to get closer, to burrow his nose in the curls at the base of Eliot's dick and to get some stimulation on his own. His fingers dig into Eliot's thighs desperately.
It's different, having his face fucked like this compared to being in control. He doesn't have to second guess himself if he is doing it right because Eliot will make sure he's getting off. And he can concentrate on the sensation of Eliot's dick between his lips, in his throat, of having his mouth filled so completely like Eliot’s dick is the key to complete him.
Taking him in his throat gets easier quickly, Eliot still fucking him almost lazily, always holding him a few seconds when he's down his throat. He still hasn't taken him completely, can see the skin relatively spit-free taunting him.
And then Eliot really fucks him without warning, without holding back. Quentin flies. His face is a mess, drool running down his chin, tears flowing from his eyes. He gags on the next thrust, feels every inch of Eliot down his throat. Eliot holds him there before slowly, inexorably pushing the last few inches down his throat. His nose is burrowed in the curls at the base of Eliot's dick, and he inhales in amazement. He did it.
Eliot is coming, shaking and holding him in place, and Quentin lets himself fall into the pride of pleasuring Eliot.
But then Eliot pulls back and he starts protesting- he doesn't want to go back to reality yet, likes it in this weird fuzzy place. Eliot shushes him and kisses him and that's alright too.
Magic washes over him and an Eliot-shaped blanket settles over him and over that a normal-shaped blanket. He blinks his eyes open. Eliot smiles at him, soft and amazed and proud.
"There you are."
"Where else should I be?" he murmurs. His voice is absolutely ruined.
Eliot's hand tucks back a strand of hair on his cheek. He stares at his strangely empty hand. Were they holding hands before? He looks to his other hand. It’s entwined with Eliot’s.
"You were a bit out of it."
"Sorry." Closing his eyes would be nice. Looking into Eliot's brown eyes is nicer.
Eliot laughs disbelievingly. "Do you have any idea how amazing you were? You have nothing to apologize for."
"Hm." Is he smiling? He must be smiling. He feels like smiling. "I'm happy I made you happy. Always want to make you happy." Sleep. Sleep would be nice too.
Eliot chuckles. "You're still pretty out of it..."
"Know what I'm saying," he mumbles. "Just tired. Shh. Talk later."
His eyes close. He feels Eliot laughing softly, hears the murmured "you always make me happy", feels the soft kiss on his forehead. It's nice. Cozy. He hums happily and holds on to Eliot's hand. Just so he won't drift away.