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show me the places where the others gave you scars

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"How's your head, baby?"

Quentin let his head roll against the back of the chair he was reclined in. "Mmm, sparkly," he said.

Eliot's chuckle was like rumbling thunder, rolling and bumping down over Quentin's spine and right into his dick. "Good boy. Can you show me your tongue, baby?"

Quentin had already done the rinse with the gross mouthwash, so he stuck his tongue out. Eliot patted it dry with a paper towel, already wearing the nitrile gloves.

Quentin was naked in a recliner in Eliot's apartment, which might as well be Quentin's at this point -- half his stuff was here. His cock was mostly hard between his legs, laying over his hip, but his daddy had assured him that that was okay, so he wasn't concerned about it. Eliot was shirtless in his boxers, his gorgeous body and all of his ink on display. Quentin couldn't see it, with his head tilted back and held in place by the clamp Eliot was now squeezing his tongue with, but he knew what it looked like without having to see. He hummed happily at the thought.

"Cute boy," Eliot murmured, picking up a needle. "Ready, sweetness?"

Quentin felt his little prick twitch, anticipating the pain he'd felt several times before. He couldn't speak, so he just looked up at Eliot, trusting and open.

"You're so beautiful, baby," Eliot said, and pushed the needle through his tongue.

Quentin squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, the pain making fireworks burst behind his eyes. He felt the movement of it as Eliot put the jewelry through, quick and efficient, still holding his tongue with the clamp.

"You're such a good boy," he said in a hushed voice as he finished. "You're so good, letting me mark you, you're such a good boy for Daddy. Does it hurt, baby?"

Eliot finally released his tongue, and he nodded. "Burns."

"Good." Eliot stripped his gloves off and bent over Quentin, stroking his hair back so gently. "You deserve to be hurt so good, don't you baby?" he asked, and kissed Quentin softly, careful to keep his mouth closed.

Quentin started to answer, but Daddy's hand ran over his cock, making him cry out. "Daddy," he whined.

"Yeah," Eliot purred. "Does it hurt good enough to make you come, baby?" he asked, hand wrapping more fully around his prick. "Want Daddy to stroke this tiny little cock until you come?"

Hearing those words used for it made Quentin want to shrink back into his shoulders, but the humiliation just made him harder, and he nodded. He'd always been at least moderately interested in little dick play, but Eliot had immediately figured out exactly how he liked it, and used it mercilessly ever since.

Eliot started to jerk him firmly, the stimulation riding the edge of too much. Quentin couldn't help whining, spreading his legs, squirming under him. His tongue was swelling up in his mouth from the trauma, the pain only increasing as the swelling put pressure on it, making his tongue sore all the way through. It was such an intimate sort of pain, so vulnerable. It made him feel like his every cell, like his very existence, was all turned toward Eliot. A purer high, a more powerful magic, than anything Quentin had ever experienced.

Quentin grabbed at his shoulders, and Eliot stopped stroking him just long enough to gather both wrists into one hand. With that grip, he pinned Quentin's wrists up over his head on the recliner, then wrapped the free hand around his dick again. Quentin made a soft, needy sound and melted into the chair like a happy puddle.

"Feel good, baby?" Eliot cooed. Quentin nodded frantically. "Yeah? Gonna make this pretty little dick come for me? You're so sweet and small, baby boy, it's perfect, your tiny prick fits so nice in my hand. Come on, baby, this is the only time tonight this tiny prick's gonna get to shoot for me, so make it a good one, yeah? Come so hard for me, baby boy, that's it."

Hearing that he was going on denial tonight was what made Quentin shake and arch, hips bucking a few times before he came. Eliot was talking him through it, praising him and coaxing him along, but Quentin's mind was on how he was going to feel in the morning. Eliot never put him on denial without making it last at least a few days, so he knew that at least for the long weekend he was going to be throbbing and needy and horny, nothing on his mind but cock, so eager to please his daddy. Denial did that to him.

"Good boy," Eliot purred happily, releasing his wrists to pet his hair back. "What a good, obedient boy I have, coming for me just when I tell him to. You're perfect."

He brushed his thumb across Quentin's mouth, and he opened it. Eliot did the spell to heal it, ending the swelling and any chance of infection in one go, then picked up the shorter jewelry, the jewelry he could talk and eat with as opposed to the long one that would let him swell up. Quentin opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out to let it be changed.

Eliot got it in place and then, unexpectedly, wiped his fingers against Quentin's tongue, still covered in his come. It started a moan out of Quentin and he closed his lips to suck them clean, still keeping his wrists over his head where Eliot had put them. Eliot chuckled at the whine he gave when those fingers slid out, then kissed him, deep and claiming. Quentin sighed out a soft whine against his mouth, kissing back happily.

"We better get the cage on that tiny little thing," Eliot murmured against his mouth. "Before you get to suck Daddy's cock and get all horny again. Stay here, baby."

Quentin nodded and settled back in the recliner, hands still up, sighing and tugging at the tongue piercing with his teeth. He clicked it back and forth across them, just playing with it. This was the sixth time Eliot had pierced his tongue like this -- they always took it out after a few days and spelled the hole closed, to prevent scarring. Quentin had discovered that, while the experience of actually having a tongue piercing was fine, more or less (that being the reason he'd taken it out before), the experience of getting his tongue pierced was far preferable. Especially when the piercer was his hot, dominant boyfriend.

He was startled out of his idle thoughts by the sound of the freezer closing. He knew what that meant. Quentin looked up in time to see Eliot coming around the corner holding the cage and looking innocent.

He seemed to spot the terror on Quentin's face and his own face fell. "Shit. You heard the freezer, didn't you?"

Quentin nodded mutely.

Eliot just shrugged. "Oh well," he said, coming toward Quentin again. "I wanted to see your face when it touched you and you realized it, but this is just as good. Legs open, baby."

Quentin brought his hand down to push at the lever on the chair so he could put the footrest down. He'd established early on that he liked to be surprised with little things like this. Certain surprises were nothing but food for anxiety; Eliot was under strict instructions to never, under any circumstances, throw Quentin a surprise party. But surprise little ways to hurt him, that just enforced in his mind that none of this was for him to worry about, that that was Eliot's job, that it was Quentin's rightful place to be subject to Daddy's whims. The lack of control was, in that way, soothing. For whatever reason, his brain found it easier to not worry about a lack of control when it was sexual, and to not worry about sex when it was out of his control.

He spread his legs, exposing his now-softened cock. Eliot spelled away the mess left behind, and started to fit Quentin's dick into the metal cage. He whined, covering his face with both hands. God, it would have been so good to feel this with no warning, but it was good anyway, the cold making him ache and spreading deliciously through his pelvis.

"I deserve to hurt for Daddy," he whined behind his hands, the words spilling forth unbidden.

"Yes you do," Eliot agreed, locking the cage in place and grabbing Quentin's wrists to pull his hands away, leaning in to kiss him. "Because you love to hurt for Daddy, don't you?"

He whimpered and nodded.

"What do you say, baby?"

"Thank you for h-hurting me, Daddy," Quentin recited.

"Good boy," Eliot purred, and kissed him again. "Color, baby?"

"Green," Quentin said, unable to stop it from sounding like a moan. "Green green green green green."

Eliot chuckled, pulling Quentin into his chest for a hug. "Good boy."

Quentin made a noise and nuzzled up into Eliot's neck, mouthing at it, sticking his tongue out to lick against it so Eliot could feel the piercing. Eliot chuckled and sank a hand into his hair, tugging it to pull him back.

"Someone's angling to get punished before we go out," he said with a smirk, once he was looking at Quentin's face. "What do you think, baby? Should Daddy spank your little thighs for being a greedy boy?"

God, that would make the cage hurt like hell, making him throb in desperation to get hard without anywhere for the blood to go. "No Daddy," he said, shaking his head, only because he'd rather get it later, after they came home.

Eliot gathered him up close again, kissing his cheek, then whispering in his ear. "Daddy's gonna fuck your face now, baby," he whispered, close and intimate. "I've gotta take advantage of the pretty gift I just gave you, right? And then, we can get dressed and go meet Miss Margo. And if you're a very sweet boy at the club, Daddy will fuck your pretty pussy when we get home. Does that sound nice, baby boy?"

Quentin shivered and nodded, resisting the urge to try to find something to rut his caged cock against. The cage was still cold to the touch, the ache in his hips persisted, but it was definitely passing. Trying to rut wouldn't do anything, and he'd probably get in trouble for it.

"Good boy. Knees."

Quentin dropped to his knees and looked up at Eliot, mouth already open.

Eliot chuckled. "Eager boy," he said fondly, tugging the front of his briefs down until his pierced cock flopped out, already hard and glorious, the silver ring through the head shiny chrome and sticky with pre-come. "That's all for you, baby," he purred, dragging the head across Quentin's lips, letting him taste the wetness and feel the metal on his lips. "That's what you do to Daddy."

Quentin whined and kept his mouth open until Eliot cupped a hand around the back of his head and gently fed it to him, making Quentin shiver as his mouth was perfectly invaded. Eliot thrust shallowly while he took a big breath in, deeper and deeper and deeper until his magically-expanded lungs could hold no more. He breathed out a little, and Eliot took the signal to push deeper, the ring at the head of his cock tickling Quentin's throat, but he was well-trained. That thick cock pressed at the opening to his throat, then slipped past it.

"Mmmm, that slutty tongue makes me feel so good, baby," Eliot purred. "Doesn't it feel good to know that everyone who sees you will know you love sucking cock?"

Quentin's head was quiet now, nothing in his brain to worry about except the cock in his mouth, thrusting easy and slow, never pulling back enough that he felt the jewelry again. His eyes were open and unfocused on Eliot's stomach, the ink there blurred under his gaze. Everything about Eliot's ink was a combination of classic tattoo aesthetics and his own personality and style -- below his navel was a snarling wolf facing the viewer, but in his own organic, impressionistic style. Across his chest was a pair of symmetrical wings that stretched to the point of each shoulder, but instead of an angel they were dragon's wings, reptilian and tattered to suggest an ancient beast. Quentin was learning a lot about what classic tattoos were like just by osmosis, being in the shop and around Eliot's tattooed friends so much.

There was a soft slap to his cheek, not hard enough to really jar him with a cock in his mouth, but enough to get his attention. "Focus, baby," Eliot said, a little breathless. "I can feel teeth, you're getting lazy."

Quentin dropped his jaw to keep them further away, closing his eyes so there was nothing else but Eliot's cock in his throat. It had been there for a couple of minutes now, so he pulled back, panting a bit through his nose as he cycled air out and stroked it with his lips and tongue, bobbing his head, playing with the ring through the tip.

"Mmm, you can't wait to get Daddy in your pussy, can you? You're being such a good boy, working so hard, I know you're trying to get rewarded for it later. That's it, baby, suck Daddy's cock so good," Eliot sighed, giving tugs to Quentin's hair. "Mmm, do you want Daddy to make your throat sore? Make sure everyone you talk to at the club knows what you've been doing? Or do you want Daddy to come soon?"

"Soon," Quentin said, lips pressed against it, then opened his mouth and took it deep again. The ring made him tense this time, but Eliot's hand on the back of his head pressed down, helping him take it. It made Quentin's brain get happily quiet, and a quick swallow had Daddy's cock in his throat again. Unthinking, his hand went to his dick and found only the still-cool cock cage. He rubbed uselessly at it, then let his hand fall away.

"What a pretty boy," Eliot breathed out. He was thrusting faster this time, properly fucking Quentin's mouth, using his throat like any other hole. It seemed like only seconds before he was coming with a growl, shoving deep down Quentin's throat again. He was fine, his lungs holding plenty of oxygen still, so he just accepted it, eyes closed as he let Eliot spill deep in his throat.

Eliot pulled out slowly, making him shiver, and he opened his eyes to look up once it was out. Eliot was still panting, but he smiled down at him, rubbing his thumb across Quentin's lower lip.

"Feel good, baby boy?"

Quentin nodded happily.

"Good boy." He bent for a kiss, then straightened up. "Time to get dressed."

~

Fortunately, Eliot liked Quentin calm and spacey more than he liked him nervous and jumpy, so Quentin didn't have to dress in anything he wasn't comfortable with. He wore black, in deference to the sort of place they were going to, but there was nothing all that wild about the outfit. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. It was always warm in the club, so he didn't put anything else on top.

Eliot dressed darkly, too, in the same style Quentin had grown accustomed to seeing him in at the shop. He did some makeup first, applying eyeliner and concealer and mascara. His shirt was black and white pinstripes, and his tie was red, but the pants, waistcoat, and boots were all black. He caught Quentin looking, as he was buttoning the vest, and smiled.

Silently, he offered out one of his unbuttoned cuffs. Quentin hurried to help, bending his head over it with concentration as he did up one wrist, then the other. Eliot brushed his hair behind his ear when he was done, making him lean a little into the touch.

"Sweet boy," he murmured. "Ready for your collar?"

Quentin blushed and nodded. "Same pocket as always."

Eliot nodded and, with a gesture, Quentin could hear the side pocket of his messenger bag being unlatched. He didn't look away from Eliot, so he didn't see the collar until it settled in Eliot's hand. Quentin turned his back and pulled his hair off his neck without needing to be prompted.

It was just a simple necklace, really. A gold chain, the two ends of it connecting with a small O-ring in the front, to suggest the ring on a collar. But it was enchanted so only Eliot could find the clasp, once it was on. Quentin could put it on himself, if he wanted to, and he did sometimes when he needed the comfort, but only Eliot could get it off him again. Anyone else would only see continuous gold chain.

"You don't have to wear it," Eliot said, like he said every single time. "You can be mine without it."

It was a check-in, making sure he was okay with it. Sometimes even this small thing being out of his control was a little too much, and on those days, he was grateful. But tonight, he felt good. "I want to," Quentin said.

"Okay." Eliot kissed the back of his neck, then reached around in front to put it around his neck. He clasped it in place, then kissed again where the clasp must be. Quentin let his hair fall and reached up to touch it. The ring rested right in the hollow of his throat, like always.

"Shall we, then? Bambi's joining us tonight."

"Oh, cool," Quentin said. He still wasn't...completely sure how to act around Margo, but she'd stopped being actively hostile, and he was like...45% sure they were becoming friends.

Eliot helped him on with his coat, then put his own jacket on, and they left, heading for the subway. Eliot kept a firm hold on his hand the whole way, and as they stood on the train, Quentin leaned into him a little, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. Eliot just kissed the top of his head, keeping a hand on the bar.

The club was members-only, and expensive. The indulgence of it would be far too much, if Quentin's boyfriend wasn't a hedge with a really handy spell for ATMs. Apparently, most of the hedges in the city knew it and did it regularly, and the banks just chalked all this up to software glitches or accounting errors. It meant that Eliot could hand the woman at the desk a hundred dollars, for his own cover charge and Quentin's, without batting an eye, and that he'd promised to cover the hundreds in membership dues for Quentin's birthday.

They checked their coats, and Eliot took his hand again to lead the way inside. A quick glanced around and he waved to Margo at the bar, who hopped off her stool, pulling an obscenely short latex dress down toward her knees.

Greeting each other, Margo and Eliot kissed on both cheeks, then Margo turned to Quentin. "And how's your baby Q?"

Quentin hummed happily as Eliot wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I think he's pretty good," Eliot answered for him, sounding desperately pleased with himself.

"Sparkly," Quentin said, putting both arms around Eliot's waist. He grinned.

"Aww, he's so cute all subbed out. Speaking of sparkly, though. Open," she instructed, taking him by the chin.

Quentin knew what she wanted. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, letting her see the jewelry. Margo looked him over with a critical eye.

"It's off-center."

"What? No it's not."

Margo gave Eliot a 'seriously?' look, then looked at Quentin's mouth again. "Do this," she said, and pressed the tip of her tongue behind her top teeth. Quentin obeyed.

"See?"

Eliot let go enough to lean in and squint. "Oh. Well, whatever. He's taking it out at the end of the weekend, anyway."

Quentin felt a little shiver of pleasure go up his spine at Eliot saying it like that -- he was taking it out, end of discussion, he didn't get a say. Having decisions like that made for him felt so good.

He could see perfectly well in the dark club, thanks to the tattoo on his forearm, so he looked around. Eliot's ink-removal spell had been used on the girl on his back and the sword on his chest, and Quentin was still debating whether to keep the flogger, having about two months left to decide. The two he'd kept -- one because he really did want the magical effect, one because it was the one that had finally acquired him his hot boyfriend -- were still marks of ownership. Subtle ones, ones that he could explain away if they ever broke up. But they made his head pleasantly buzzy to look at and think about.

He sighed and laid his head on Eliot's shoulder again, and Eliot absentmindedly stroked his hair, most of his attention on Margo. Quentin wasn't really following the conversation, until he heard Daddy say his name.

"Hmm?" he asked, lifting his head to look up.

Eliot was smiling at him. "I said, Bambi wants to dance. Do you want to go dance with her?"

Quentin bit his lip. "Are you coming?"

"I wasn't going to."

Quentin's arms tightened a little and he put his head back down. "Then no. Sorry, Miss Margo," he added.

Margo was grinning hard. "Just want your daddy tonight, huh?" she asked, running a friendly hand down his back. "That's okay. Compromise: go check out the demos and then come find me?" she suggested, talking to Eliot again.

"Sounds good," he agreed, and kissed Quentin's head. "Come on, baby boy, upstairs."

Reluctantly, Quentin let go of Eliot's waist to take his hand and be led upstairs. The main floor of the club contained a bar and a dance floor. There was alcohol available, but there was a two drink limit. Bartenders marked Xs on your hands for each drink so there was no way to get around it. It was important, in a place like this, to know that no one had compromised consent.

The upper floors were the real attraction, though. There were two; the middle floor was full of places to do a public scene. People sometimes did shows and demonstrations too, and there was different furniture and equipment available that might be impractical for someone in a New York City apartment to own. The music from downstairs was audible, but much quieter, quiet enough that normal speech could be understood.

Eliot let go of his hand and brought his hand up to the back of Quentin's neck, running his fingers along the chain as he led Quentin along this way. "I'd love to do something in here tonight, if you're up for that, baby."

Quentin bit his lip, watching a naked woman be strapped to an X-shaped, leather covered thing. It had a name, but Quentin couldn't think of it, and it wasn't important. "I'm open to it," he said.

Eliot smiled and leaned down to kiss his cheek. As he pulled back, Quentin followed, turning into his chest. Eliot hummed and gripped his neck more firmly.

"Doing okay, baby?" he asked, soft, just for Quentin's ears.

"Um. Kinda?" He closed his eyes and buried his face against Eliot's chest.

"Little overwhelmed?" Eliot guessed.

Quentin nodded.

"That's okay, your head's been all soft for hours now. Perfectly natural for a sweet boy like you to get overwhelmed. Do you want me to bring you up a little?"

Quentin shook his head vehemently, both hands coming to clutch Eliot's vest.

"Okay, baby, that's okay," he said, clearly trying not to laugh. "Do you want to go to the top floor? We won't do anything, we can just relax for a minute."

Quentin sighed and nodded.

"Okay." Eliot kissed his cheek and gently pulled him back, until they could walk side by side. He kept his arm tight and comforting around Quentin's shoulder as they headed for the stairs.

The top floor was full of private rooms. You were allowed to have sex in them, though you might be fined for cleaning if you left a significant mess -- there was a monitor signing people in and checking rooms after, so they knew who had been where. Some of them had windows for being watched with more of a remove, but most of them were private. They also made nice chillout rooms, the music only a distant echo and the lighting dark.

Quentin kept his eyes on his shoes, feeling absurdly like he was going to explode out of his skin if he made eye contact with anyone. He heard Eliot giving his name and accepting a key that clicked against its keychain.

"Blanket?" the monitor offered. "No extra charge for it."

"I think so," Eliot said.

"There's water in the minifridge, too."

"Thank you."

Obviously, the monitor had recognized the signs of overwhelm on him. Quentin couldn't decide whether to feel good or bad about that, but Daddy was leading him along, so he decided it didn't matter. It was Daddy's job to think about things like that.

Eliot let them in to the room and urged Quentin toward the bed. It just had sheets on it, and pillows, but he kicked off his shoes and crawled on. Eliot had to untie his boots first, but he joined soon enough, spreading the blanket over both of them. He gathered Quentin up to his chest and Quentin settled against him.

"I don't. I can't. I don't know what. Fucking. Fucking words, I..."

"Shhhhh." Eliot stroked his hair. "You don't have to talk, sweetheart. Just relax with me."

"I don't know, I don't-"

"Quentin," Eliot said, an edge of firmness in his voice. "Unless you're telling me about an injury or safewording, I don't want to hear your voice for ten minutes. Understood?"

It shut him right up, and he nodded.

"Good boy." Eliot did a quick spell, since they were in private, that set a timer in the air.

Quentin sighed, looking up at the numbers ticking down, and turned into Eliot's chest again. It was probably the right move. He couldn't talk, he'd been tripping over himself, so Eliot had cut him off before he could work himself up too badly. Made a thing of it, made it another way for Quentin to show his devotion. Quentin sighed against Eliot's chest and closed his eyes. He hoped Eliot wanted to be with him for the rest of their lives, because he couldn't imagine trying to be with someone else, after Eliot had made him feel like this.

"You know," Eliot mused softly, "I don't know who told you you were bad at communication, sweetheart, but they were full of shit. I don't know if they were just really bad at understanding, or if they had some ulterior motive, but even when you can't talk, you always tell me what's wrong. You make it so easy to care for you."

Quentin wasn't allowed to speak, but at that, he couldn't help furrowing his brow and pulling back to look at Eliot. Was he crazy?

Eliot just kissed his forehead and gently pressed him back down. "All I ever have to do is pay attention. I knew you were overwhelmed because you were trying to hide. If I'd let you go a little longer you'd have covered your ears, too. If there was someone here who was upsetting you, you'd look at them until I found them." That was true, the time Alice had somehow been here, against all odds, with her new boyfriend, another Brakebills professor. "If you were hurt, you'd rub it and give me those big, pitiful eyes until I helped. You don't need words to make yourself understood, baby boy."

Quentin turned this over in his head. He supposed Eliot was right. He didn't do those things on purpose, but it made sense, when he was in distress, to do things to ease it. It made further sense that Eliot could reverse engineer those things and figure out what was wrong.

He still sort of thought that was more work than was fair to put on Eliot, like, mentally, but he wasn't allowed to voice that, or anything else. All he could do was huff a little and put his head down on Eliot's chest again.

"Daddy loves you, baby. You know that, right?"

It washed over him in a wave, and Quentin hummed a little before remembering that he had to be quiet, snuggling down against Eliot's body.

"Good," Eliot said, and Quentin could hear him smiling. "And taking care of you is how I show you that I love you," he said softly. "Can you believe that taking care of you feels as good for me as being taken care of feels for you? And that I feel honored by the trust you place in me to do it?"

Quentin wrinkled his nose. It was hard to imagine feeling as good as he felt if he had to make decisions. Eliot just chuckled.

"Well, that's because you're just a little boy, and you need someone to take care of you. But I promise you that it's true, and I'll keep telling you for as long as it takes you to believe it." He kissed Quentin's head again. "Now. I'm thinking we'll cuddle in here a little bit longer, until you feel better. If you feel up for it, we'll go meet Bambi and dance with her, but if you think that'll be too overwhelming, you can stay here and wait for me while I go get her, maybe on your knees, if you need to? And then I want to watch some people scene on the middle floor. And then, if you're up for it, I want to find somewhere down there to put you over my knee and spank you."

Quentin felt a shiver run through his body, and Eliot gripped the back of his neck again, leaning to whisper directly into his ear. "And when your ass is very red, and you're crying, and everyone has seen what a good boy you can be for me, I'll take you home. And I'll spank you again, to make sure it hurts when I fuck your pretty pussy. And you'll go to sleep needy and horny for me, with a well-fucked cunt and a caged-up little prick. Does that sound good, sweet boy?"

Quentin remembered just in time that he still couldn't speak, and nodded. He wanted to rut against Eliot's thigh, but the cage would make it useless.

Eliot chuckled and kissed his head again. "Good boy."

~

The ten minutes ended, and another ten minutes passed. Quentin didn't feel like talking anymore, so he just laid on Eliot, shivering as those deft fingers started to draw patterns over his forearms. Eliot told him he'd be so pretty with a sleeve or half-sleeve, and Quentin imagined a map of Fillory wrapped over his arm.

Eventually, though, Eliot felt he couldn't leave Margo waiting any longer, and he left Quentin in the bed with a kiss. Quentin sighed, rolling onto his back, and let himself lay there another minute, then got up to fold the blanket and put his shoes back on. He didn't want to risk feeling off-balance and bad, so he settled onto his knees on the floor to wait for Eliot to come back, head down and eyes closed.

He heard the door open, but didn't really move until a hand slid through his hair, and then only to arch into it, tilting his head back happily. He heard Eliot's content hum above him.

"What a good boy," Eliot murmured. "Miss Margo's here."

"Hi, Miss Margo," Quentin said.

"Hi there, puppy," she answered, and Quentin could hear her smiling. He opened his eyes to see her, and it looked affectionate, like he really was a puppy. "Still sparkly?"

Quentin nodded. "Are we gonna dance?"

"Nah, I had my fill," she said, waving a hand. Quentin noted an X on it, but not on the other. "We're gonna take in some shows."

Quentin nodded, still on his knees. Eliot stroked his hair again and bent to kiss his head. "How's the cage, baby?" he asked.

"Fine," Quentin reported. "Little pinchy when I kneel, but fine when I was up."

Eliot hummed. "And you stayed on your knees anyway."

Quentin shrugged. "It's not that bad."

"You're a good boy. Why don't you crawl to the door for Daddy, and stand up in the hallway?"

Quentin felt his brain settle a little deeper into subspace and nodded. Margo stepped out of his way to let him out. The cage was feeling a little tight, some part of him aroused by the embarrassment, but mostly he felt soft and owned. He stood up in the hallway, and Eliot came to join him, followed by Margo. Eliot had the key to the room in his hand and Margo was carrying the blanket.

Once they'd returned everything, they headed back down the stairs. Quentin held Eliot's hand tightly, a little nervous that the well-lit and louder middle floor was going to be too much, but it wasn't so bad. Eliot pulled him in close and led him to where a curvy woman was bent over a spanking bench and being tied in shibari.

"I signed us up for a time slot in about an hour," Eliot whispered to him. "Over on the throne. Perfect to get you over my lap."

The throne was Eliot's favorite set piece, cleverly made without arms so it was easy to get someone in your lap. Quentin felt that it was perfect for the king Eliot obviously was. He nodded. "Okay. Can you still be Daddy, though?"

"Of course, baby boy," Eliot said, brushing his hair back. Sometimes, when they played in public, Quentin would call him something else, keep the other term more private for the evening, but he wasn't up for it tonight. He just needed his daddy, without any artifice or obfuscation.

"I brought some things along," Margo said quietly, so as not to interrupt the scene in front of them. The woman's domme was running a crop over the backs of her thighs now, making her twitch. "If you want to borrow anything instead of the club equipment. Unless you were just gonna use your hands."

"Hmm, what do you have with you?"

Quentin tuned them out, wanting to be surprised later. He leaned his head on Eliot's shoulder and watched the lady on the bench get a few sharp snaps of the crop to her back. He bit his lip in jealousy. He couldn't wait for that to be him, couldn't wait to show everyone how good he could be.

Before Eliot, public scenes were another thing he'd never have thought he'd do. But they'd tried it in front of Margo once, and it hadn't been so bad, and then in front of a few people, and now he was comfortable with it as long as the club wasn't too busy. The current compromise was that if it was slow enough that they could show up and reserve a spot within the time they were going to be there, it was fine; if they would have had to book in advance or it would be beyond the time they'd already planned, it was too busy.

There were one or two sets that were just too popular for this method to ever have a realistic shot at them, so Quentin was considering loosening the restrictions a little. Just for those sets.

"Sound good, baby?" Eliot asked.

"I wasn't listening," Quentin said honestly, eyes on the redness that was starting to rise on the woman's buttocks.

"Just wanna trust me, then?"

Quentin nodded, eyes tracking the domme now as she picked up a long cane.

"God, he really is perfect for you," Miss Margo said. "What a little pain slut."

"My favorite pain slut," Eliot agreed, kissing the side of Quentin's head and making him blush. "And such a good boy for his daddy."

Quentin turned into Eliot a little, leaning toward him, seeking his warmth and hold. Eliot held him tight and secure, making him feel safe as they watched the girl on the bench get worked over.

The scene ended when the girl gave a signal, and the domme pulled a curtain across to give them a moment of privacy to clean up. After that, Quentin and Eliot wandered around. Here was a woman tied to an x-shaped thing, here a man on his knees. Before Quentin knew it, Eliot was guiding him into the throne set.

"We're starting now, baby," he said, quiet and soft. "Feel okay?"

Quentin nodded. The throne set was Eliot's favorite, a whole three-sided room draped in red velvet, which was kind of a lot, but the throne itself was beautiful. Opulent and extravagant without being tacky or unnecessary, the chair was cleverly made with collapsible arms and a cushion at the feet.

"Do you want to kneel for Daddy?" he asked, and Quentin dropped to his knees without needing to be asked twice. "Good boy," Eliot murmured, and sat down on the throne. He looked perfect and incredible in his suit, sitting there, waiting. He arranged and settled himself, then lifted a hand to beckon Quentin closer.

Quentin crawled forward, head up and eyes on Eliot. He crawled until Eliot could cup a hand under his chin. "Tell Daddy what you want him to do to you," Eliot said.

Quentin licked his lips. "Hurt me."

"Is that all?"

Quentin closed his eyes and let his head sag into Eliot's hand a little, allowing him to take the weight of Quentin's head. "Yes," he said, knowing it was the wrong answer, but it was the only one he had. "Just hurt me, Daddy, I need it so bad. Hurt me, then take me home and fuck my pussy like you promised."

Eliot shifted a little in his seat, and Quentin opened his eyes in time to catch a glint in Eliot's eyes. "Come up here, baby, stand for a moment."

Eliot got his jeans undone, then started guiding Quentin to bend over his knee. There was a bar between the chair legs that he could hold onto for stability as Eliot brought his jeans down, but not his underwear. A hand rubbed gently over his ass, then smacked each cheek a few times. Quentin made soft, happy sounds. It didn't hurt much yet, but it was making him more sensitive, making him think about his ass. He shifted a little so the cage wasn't pressing into Eliot's thigh.

"We're gonna take your pants all the way off, baby," Eliot said. Quentin kicked his shoes off and let Eliot handle getting his jeans down and past his feet. He became aware that, because Eliot was left-handed, the flogger tattoo was showing to the audience. Quentin shivered a little, thinking of everyone seeing a mark his daddy had put on him.

"Mmm, you wanna show your ass to everyone so bad, don't you?" Eliot murmured, rubbing him again. A few light smacks again, warming up the skin, getting it used to touch and impact. "What a little slut you are. You want everyone to see your bare ass getting spanked by your daddy."

Quentin whimpered and squirmed, because Eliot was right. A harder smack came down, making Quentin grip the bar tight. It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough, he wanted the clean, pure pain of a really good spanking, leather on skin, and he couldn't help whining.

"Daddy," he pleaded. "Hurt me, please Daddy, you promised..."

"I did promise," Eliot agreed. "And Daddy never breaks a promise to his baby boy, so you know I'll do it, don't you?" He waited for Quentin to nod before hitting him sharply again, making him moan. "You love it when Daddy hurts you, don't you?"

"I deserve to hurt for Daddy," Quentin whined, the cage throbbing as his dick tried to get hard against it.

"You do," Eliot purred, rubbing his ass before hitting him again. "I'm gonna warm you up on a paddle now, baby."

Quentin nodded, and Eliot reached over to a discreetly placed table. Quentin could twist around and see that there were a few tools there, probably placed by Margo while he was distracted. He settled back down because it wasn't for him to worry about. Daddy had the tools he needed and that was all Quentin had to know.

The first blow of a paddle had Quentin whimpering and wanting to beg for more, but he tried not to. Eliot had made it quite clear he was going to go at his own pace. Quentin just kept his head turned toward the back wall, not ready to see if they had an audience yet or how big it might be.

"Feel good, baby?" Eliot asked, rubbing his clothed ass with the paddle. "How's the cage?"

"Hurts," Quentin whined. "Throbby."

"Good boy, that's exactly what it should be doing. That means you're being a good boy for Daddy."

Quentin sighed and let that wash over him, push his brain deeper under the water. Nothing else mattered because he was a good boy. That was all he needed to worry about, and it felt nice on his brain. He gave a happy little wiggle in Eliot's lap.

Eliot chuckled. "Good boy. Feeling warm?"

Quentin nodded. Eliot gave him a few more hits, then slowly started to pull down the back of his boxers. Quentin let out a needy little whimper, lifting up so Eliot could pull them down more easily.

"Needy boy," Eliot murmured, but he tugged them all the way down, let them fall to his knees. "Oh, look at you, baby," he purred, rubbing a hand over the warm, sensitive skin. "You're so pink and pretty for me." Cool leather rubbed against his ass, then gave him a light smack. Quentin couldn't seem to do anything but pant, letting his head hang.

"Color, baby," Eliot prompted.

"Green," Quentin said easily, and got a harder hit as a reward.

"Good boy," Eliot murmured, and gave him a few good ones, medium strength, but quick succession. Quentin couldn't help moaning at the last one, squirming restlessly in Eliot's lap.

"Shhh, be still, baby," Eliot said. "Tell Daddy what you want, sweet boy. Loud."

"Spank me," Quentin said, at normal volume, then swallowed hard and tried again. "Spank me, Daddy!" This time, it was loud enough for anyone standing nearby to hear.

"Good boy," Eliot praised, starting to deliver hard, rhythmic smacks. The first dozen or so were torture, just turning him on and making the cage hurt more. But then his mind settled into it and the pain in his dick was just more of Daddy making him feel good, every hit making him whimper and shiver. Eliot kept it up for a minute or two, then stopped, and his hand rubbed over Quentin's sore, hot ass, cool in contrast.

"Color?" Eliot prompted.

"Green," Quentin moaned. "I can take it Daddy."

"Yes you can, you're a good boy." Eliot was clearly done teasing, giving him the same hard, rhythmic blows with the paddle that made Quentin feel so good. He finally dared to open his eyes and turn toward the audience. He didn't expect anyone to want to look at him, but they'd gathered quite the crowd, and not a few of them were staring with obvious envy. Quentin just moaned and let his head drop, letting Eliot's smacks rock him against that leg a little. He was going to be sore, and that was what he wanted.

"Don't stop, Daddy," Quentin whimpered, gripping the bar on the chair hard. "Don't stop, don't stop..."

Eliot paused, so he could hear Quentin without the sound of leather on skin. "Did I hear stop?"

"Don't stop," he moaned, and realized he should switch to positives. "Keep going, keep going, Daddy, please..."

"Good boy," Eliot said, giving him a few more hard smacks, then stopping again. "You're pretty red, baby. You're gonna get bruisey if I keep it up."

As much as Quentin loved a bruised ass, it would be better to save that for later in the weekend. He let out a sad little whine.

"Let's count off the last ones. Ten?"

Quentin nodded. Ten was enough to make him feel it, but probably wouldn't push him over into injury.

"Count each one, baby, I'll help you if you forget. You're doing so good for Daddy."

"I wanna-mmh! One...I wanna be good Daddy," he moaned.

"You are, baby, you're so good."

"Daddy! Two..."

"That's right, baby. Tell everyone my name."

"Daddy, Daddy, you're- three!"

"Breathe, baby."

"Nghhhh...four..."

"I can't wait to fuck your pretty cunt when we get home, baby boy."

"Five...I want it Daddy..."

"Halfway, sweetheart."

"W-will you...nnh! Six."

"Will I what, baby?"

"Seven! Will you...I want..."

"Tell Daddy what you want."

"Eight...I want...I want you to fuck me soon Daddy."

"Not until we're home, baby, you know that."

"Ah, nine! Daddy!"

"Last one, baby. Breathe."

The last blow was the hardest yet, a good, solid smack across both cheeks that had Quentin crying out again.

"T-ten...Daddy..."

"What a good boy," Eliot murmured, gentling him back onto his knees between Eliot's legs. Quentin was acutely aware that his ass was to the audience as Eliot pulled him close and kissed him hard, that everyone could see how thoroughly spanked he was.

"Fuck me Daddy," Quentin whimpered against him as he pulled back. "My...um, my, my pussy wants you so bad, please..."

"Mmm, no baby," Eliot cooed. "Don't worry, you're gonna get it so good you see stars when we're home. Do you want to go and relax for a little bit? Or should we go straight home?"

Someone in the crowd behind wolf-whistled, which made Quentin feel objectified, but in the best way. Later, he'd be annoyed that someone intruded on the scene even in that minor way, but right now he had no shell, no armor, there were only things that were making him feel good and things that didn't matter.

"Home," he whined, leaning in and rubbing his face against Eliot's chest. "Home, Daddy, please."

"Okay, baby. You're gonna have to put your pants on for that."

Quentin shivered at the thought of fabric abrading his oversensitive skin, and nodded.

"Good boy. Shorts first."

Quentin nodded and stood, shaky, using Eliot's shoulders for balance. Like he was a little kid, Eliot leaned down to arrange Quentin's boxer briefs and pull them up.

"Mmm, it's a good thing we've got this cage, isn't it baby?" Eliot purred. "Or everyone could see what a slutty little boy you are."

Quentin realized he was a little wet in the cage, his body producing pre-come even without having an erection. If he were soft he'd have a little room in it, but he was trying to get hard, so he was filling it up, skin pressed to the holes in the metal meant to allow for airflow and cleaning. Eliot leaned down and, before Quentin could react, licked over the open tip of it, making Quentin cry out again.

"Mmm. You taste so good, baby," Eliot purred, then tugged his boxers the rest of the way up and gave the cage a little pat. Quentin whimpered again, but Eliot was helping him into his jeans now, and he had to concentrate on that.

He didn't know if anyone tried to bother them as they left the set, Quentin was pretty zoned out, nose pressed into Eliot's throat. Eliot was doing an admirable job of walking, with the boner he had.

Quentin was peripherally aware of Miss Margo's voice, of having his coat pulled around his shoulders, of the rumble against him as Daddy talked. Of strong hands rubbing his upper arms and lips kissing his forehead.

"Baby," Eliot was saying softly. "Baby, you need to come up a little. Not all the way, but we need to walk to the subway. Come back to me, Quentin, just a little."

Quentin sighed and snuggled a little harder into Eliot's shoulder, but hearing his name was starting to work.

"Let me know when you're with me, Quentin, and we'll start walking. We're gonna get home and get you in bed and then I'll put you down as deep as you want, Quentin, I promise."

Quentin shivered at that. "Promised to fuck me."

"I will. I'd tell you how I'm going to, but it would just get you down again, huh? Come on, baby, we gotta walk."

Quentin sighed again and gave Eliot a squeeze, but he could feel the ground under his sneakered feet again. "I'm okay."

"Good. How's your ass? Good to walk?"

"I mean, it'll hurt, but, you know."

Eliot chuckled fondly. "Pain slut," he said, and kissed Quentin's head again. "Come on," he said, taking Quentin's hand as he pulled away.

Fortunately, Eliot kept contact between them the entire way home. Holding his hand to tug him into a hug and then sliding his hand down Quentin's arm to take his hand again. The pain was a little more obtrusive, more annoying, when he was less brainless, but like Eliot said, he was a pain slut at any level.

It seemed like way too long and also no time at all before they were inside Eliot's apartment again. He locked the door and did the chain, then put up the wards. Quentin was expecting some kind of a breather, but Eliot was on him immediately.

"You were so good for me, baby, you're amazing," Eliot was murmuring, hands under his jacket as he backed Quentin up toward the couch. His ass hit it and Quentin hissed. "Yeah?" Eliot asked, and pulled away long enough to turn Quentin around and bend him over the couch. A few quick, hard blows with his hand came down, the other hand keeping him pinned on the side of his face.

"Daddy," Quentin moaned, sticking his ass out the best he could. Eliot was doing a handy job of putting him back down quickly.

"Hot little slut," Eliot breathed out. "I can't get over how hot you are. God, and I'd spank your cock if not for the cage, I guess I've just got to make do."

This was followed by several more strikes with his hand, making Quentin twitch and moan against the couch. It was over his pants, but his ass was sore and sensitive enough that it only blunted the touch down to pleasurable range.

"I want you so subbed out the only words you know are your safe words and Daddy," Eliot breathed. "And then I'm gonna fuck your pussy so hard, baby, I want to hurt and stretch that little hole. Your pussy's gonna feel so incredible on my cock, sweet boy."

"Fuck my pussy Daddy," Quentin begged, rutting fruitlessly against the edge of the couch. He knew nothing was going to give him any pleasure but Eliot's touch, and that was on purpose.

Eliot spanked him a few more times, then pulled the back of his pants down, spanking his bare ass hard. These blows hurt like hell, making Quentin cry out, and he wondered dizzily if he was capable of coming in the cage just from being hit.

He heard the faint sound of magic being done, and then fingers touched his hole, wet with magical lube. He shouted again as Eliot slid two fingers in easily, then went up to a third without much trouble. His legs were shaking, he'd have fallen if he wasn't bent over the couch for support (and god, wasn't that a thought, standing in the middle of nowhere with no support, getting the life fingerfucked out of him).

"Yeah? You like when Daddy fingers your pussy, baby?" Eliot murmured, working a fourth finger in and making Quentin make a choked noise. "What do you think, baby? Can this greedy pussy take Daddy's whole hand?"

Quentin felt a full-body shiver wrack him and wondered again if he was about to come like this, but before he could find out, Eliot pulled his fingers out and let him up. "Bedroom," he ordered, eyes flashing with desire. Quentin kicked his shoes off without untying them and hustled to the bedroom, leaving his jacket on the floor between here and there. He started to struggle his shirt off, then started on his jeans.

"That's good, baby, get naked for Daddy. I want you naked all weekend, so I can get my cock in you whenever I want, does that sound good, baby?"

Quentin nodded eagerly as he kicked his jeans away and started on his socks, then his underwear. Eagerly naked, he crawled up onto the bed on his stomach and stuck his ass in the air.

"Good boy." A hard slap came down on one cheek, making Quentin twitch and moan. "Ready for Daddy to make it hurt more?"

A desperate nod against the bed, and Quentin could hear a drawer opening. He looked over to see Eliot pulling off his jacket and his tie, leaving the waistcoat for now and rolling up his sleeves. Quentin let his eyes roam over the revealed tattoos for a moment, then huddled down again when Eliot reached into the nightstand drawer. He wanted to be surprised.

Eliot didn't give him much warning, just touched where he was going to hit with the paddle before he swung. He wasn't hitting hard, this was meant more to wake up the pain that was already there than to inflict more, but every hit made Quentin's body jerk. Eliot had promised to make it hurt before he was fucked, and he was keeping that promise well.

"Here," he said after a few moments, pulling Quentin's hand up and putting the paddle in it. "You take over for me while I get undressed."

Eager, Quentin got his knees up under himself and reached back. He didn't have the angle to hit himself all that hard, which was good, but he still smacked at his own ass the best he could, whining into the pillow.

"Roll over, baby, I wanna see your face while I fuck you."

Quentin obeyed, dropping the paddle on the bed. "While you ruin my life, more like."

He immediately felt guilty, unsure where snark could possibly be coming from at this point, but Eliot grabbed his wrists and pinned them on either side of his head. "That's right, baby," he purred. "I'm gonna ruin you for any other cock but mine, and you can't do a damn thing to stop me."

Quentin just whined and moved his hips like he was seeking friction. "Please, Daddy, please fuck me..."

Eliot kissed him hard, keeping his hands pinned. He was gloriously naked now, bare chest to Quentin's, skin to skin, the contact making Quentin shiver after so long with both of them clothed. He felt cold when Eliot pulled away to get the lube. "Legs up, baby," Eliot ordered.

Quentin lifted his legs up, hands behind his knees, feet leaving the bed, exposing his ass where it was still wet with the magic lube and stretched out. They both preferred the real stuff, but apparently Eliot had been too desperate to get something up his ass to wait. (Quentin wasn't complaining.)

"Mmm, your delicious little thighs, baby," Eliot murmured, bending to bite the inside of one. He knelt up between his spread legs, already spreading lube down his cock. Quentin whined a little, feeling his dick try to twitch inside the cage, and Eliot made a soothing sound, scooting forward a bit to rub the head of his cock against Quentin's hole.

"Beg," he ordered.

"Please fuck me Daddy," Quentin moaned. It was a sign of how deep he was that he didn't hesitate or stumble at all. "Please fuck me I need your cock so bad, Daddy, please..."

"Fuck you where, baby?" Eliot asked, voice gone rough and raspy.

"Fuck my pussy Daddy please, fuck my pussy, fuck my cunt Daddy please I need you up my cunt please please..."

"Tell me why we call it that, baby."

Quentin groaned aloud, thumping his head back against the pillow. His whole body was buzzing with need and he could feel Eliot's piercing, the hard bump of the warm metal, teasing his hole over and over as Eliot just rubbed against it. "Cause that's how you use it," he moaned out, toes curling. "Pussies get fucked and we should call it what it is, that's what you use it for so we call it- mmh!"

Eliot had taken pity and pushed inside him, wiping all words from his brain. "Daddy," he moaned out, fingers digging into the backs of his own legs.

Eliot grabbed hold of his legs, brushing his hands away, and guided them up over his shoulders. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard baby, I can't help it, I can't wait," he breathed out, starting a punishing pace. He paused to adjust the angle a little, and then every thrust was sending lightning down Quentin's thighs and up his spine.

"Daddy...Daddy...you...Daddy you can't, s'too good, you gotta..."

"You know how to make me stop, baby," Eliot murmured. "You gonna say it?"

Quentin shook his head emphatically, freed by the knowledge that he could beg for whatever he wanted to beg for and Eliot wouldn't give it to him. Not unless he really fucking meant it, and he could trust Eliot to know the difference. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, letting his mouth run as much as it needed to.

"Daddy stop, Daddy stop...I'm gonna, you're gonna make me...you're gonna make me come Daddy..."

Eliot just laughed. "Silly boy, you know you can't come in the cage. You're gonna go to sleep all hard and needy and throbbing for Daddy, won't that feel good?"

Quentin made a keening sound and squirmed. He'd never come in the cage before, so Eliot had every reason to say that, but Quentin's legs were shaking and he couldn't talk anymore, he could only twitch as Eliot drove into that spot inside him over and over. He got a brief respite when Eliot paused, letting go of his wrists only to gently move them to the sides of the pillow. Quentin got the picture and grabbed on tight, and Eliot shifted, giving himself more leverage to fuck harder.

Quentin couldn't talk, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. Shakily, he thought that Eliot was literally fucking him blind. "Daddy," he gasped, fingers squeezing the pillow and eyes squeezing shut. A hand ran over his hair, smoothing it back, as Eliot made a soothing noise.

It was his own fault, really. He got lazy because the cage was supposed to prevent this. But apparently his body could be pushed beyond the limits that the cage put on it. Quentin didn't even realize he was coming until he was halfway through it, shouting and bucking, hole squeezing hard on Eliot's cock as come spurted from the cage. It might have been the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, leaving him boneless and shaking in its wake.

"Holy shit," Eliot breathed.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. Quentin kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see Eliot's face.

"Baby." Eliot reached out and stroked his hair again, but Quentin flinched away a little. "Baby, can you look at me?" Feeling tears sting behind his eyelids, Quentin didn't answer. "Baby, I'm not mad, you're not in trouble, I promise. Quentin. Sweetheart, that was so fucking hot, it's okay, I should have listened when you said you were gonna come."

Finally, Quentin chanced cracking his eyes open. They felt wet, but Eliot smiled at him, and it was like warmth on a cramped muscle, making him relax into the bed again.

"There's my boy," Eliot said warmly, stroking his hair. "You're still really deep, huh?" Quentin just blinked at him. "That's good, baby. Do you remember what to say if you don't want something?"

Quentin blinked again, and it took a second, but he spoke. "Fillory."

"Okay, that's perfect, baby. Do you want Daddy to finish in your sweet pussy, baby, or are you too sensitive now?"

Quentin wrinkled his nose a little, and Eliot nodded and pulled out. Quentin sighed, relieved, as Eliot crawled up the bed.

"That doesn't mean you're done, baby," Eliot said, settling with his knees on either side of Quentin's shoulders, angling forward until his cock nudged at Quentin's lips. "Go on."

A shiver ran through his whole body. "Daddy," he murmured, then opened wide for Eliot to just slide right in. He shivered at it again and started sucking, eyes closed as all his focus narrowed down to this. To the hard metal rubbing over his tongue, too big to catch on his own piercing and big enough to make him feel the weight, to the hot flesh and the salt on his tongue. His own come cooling on his stomach, fucked out of him not only without touch but while he was in a cock cage, made him shiver. Holy shit, he came in the cage. Holy shit, holy shit.

Eliot grunted, a hand tightening in his hair as he shoved his cock deeper for a moment, down Quentin's open and willing throat. The pain in his scalp tingled pleasurably, making him feel it in his tired little cock. He sighed contently when Eliot finally pulled out, eyes drifting closed, feeling as content as he ever had in his life.

"You're a good boy," Eliot murmured, smoothing his hair down. "My sweet boy." Quentin felt Eliot's fingers dragging through the mess on his stomach, and then felt them press against his lips. Quentin let out a soft sound, tired but turned on, and opened his mouth for them, feeling his cheeks tingle with a blush as Daddy fed him his own come. He sucked them clean, and Eliot swiped through the mess again. Quentin's blush deepened as he realized Daddy intended to carry on this way, making him clean it all up with his mouth.

When his stomach was just tacky, Eliot leaned down and kissed him, mouth fitting carefully, almost reverently over his. Quentin sighed against him, sleepy and happy.

"You make my head feel good, Daddy," he sighed softly when Eliot pulled back, eyes still closed.

There was a little bit of a pause, but Quentin was too...everything, to analyze it. "That's good baby. I'm gonna use a spell to clean you up inside the cage, and then we can sleep, baby, okay? Denial is starting tomorrow, instead, so you might wake up with Daddy inside you, is that okay, baby?"

Quentin thought of taking his boyfriend's massive cock up his ass before he'd formed his first coherent thought of the day and then not even getting to come from it. It made him shiver, and he nodded.

Eliot kissed him again. "Good boy." He did the spell, then pulled the blanket over them both and pulled Quentin into his chest, stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

~

I'm thinking about it again.

You are the worst friend on the planet.

I'm gonna do it, Bambi. I can't not anymore.

Do NOT buy that boy a ring. It's barely been six months.

I don't have to GIVE it to him yet. I'm just buying it. Also it's been eight months.

Please. You'll be drafting the speech the second you click confirm order. Idiot.

Do you not think he'll say yes?

Of course he'll fucking say yes.