WHO Quentin & Eliot •
WHERE Their apartment •
WHEN March 6th
Quentin tries to make cookies for Eliot, but things don't go as planned. Eliot decides he wants something else sweet.
Art by Mcgraw
WARNINGS Adult content NSFW
Yeah, so there was a reason why Quentin was only an infrequent visitor to the kitchen, and then he was only there for something prepackaged. The evidence for that reason was currently decorating the floor, the cabinets, the wall… the ceiling.
He stood at ground zero, flour and sugar and baking soda all over him, blinking in dismay at the carnage. "Okay… this didn't go as planned. At all."
Eliot walked into the kitchen and came to a halt. His gaze moved all around the room then fixed on Quentin who stood in the midst of it all. Suddenly he started laughing. A hearty real laugh. “Oh, Q, do I dare ask?”
He walked over and wiped some flour off the other's cheek. “Julia Childs you are not, but you get an A+ for effort. What exactly were you making?” Attempting to make. Eliot had no idea. Cookies or a cake perhaps with the sugar and flour that covered everything. “I’m glad you still have magic because this would be a real bitch to clean otherwise.”
Right at that second, as if to prove Eliot's point, a glob of dough fell from the ceiling onto Q's shoulder. He frowned at it before looking back at El with a put-upon sigh. "Cookies. To cheer you up." His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "And I made you laugh, so success? Kind of? At what cost, though. At what cost."
He tried to keep a straight face, but it was no use. “Awww, you were trying to make cookies for me. That’s so sweet.” Ridiculously sweet given it was a well known fact that Q wasn’t a wiz in the kitchen. “I’m okay. I promise. I appreciate the gesture though. And yes, you made me laugh and that’s always a win.” It felt good to laugh. “Now, magic it up, Mr. Magician.” He gave Quentin’s ass a smack as he walked by him. “I’m getting some wine.”
His outraged sound was completely ruined by the grin that had taken up residence on his face. "Okay, Mr. Bossy-Pants." Q rolled his eyes, but performed the series of tuts that restored the kitchen to its previous un-doughed state. He also fixed the mixer, which was where the problem had begun in the first place. It all fit back into place in a way that made Quentin sigh contentedly. "I really appreciate the fact that you appreciate the thought behind my ill-fated gesture. I was going for a couple of different kinds, but you see what happened with the first batch. What I should have done was gone with my first thought: warm cookie delivery."
“You have no idea,” Eliot said, then winked in Quentin’s direction. He took the wine from the fridge then took down two glasses and filled them each half way. “That’s a lot of appreciation going on.” He took a long sip and once more tried to keep from laughing. “Two different kinds? Very ambitious, Mr. Coldwater. I appreciate ambition.” He laughed then stuck his tongue out. This was silly and felt good.
“But…” He leaned back against the counter and fixed his gaze on Quentin. The kitchen looked better than before. For a brief moment he missed magic even more. This wouldn’t last. It simply couldn’t. “But I still have no cookies. Perhaps something else sweet….”
Q was so caught up in the warm feeling of Eliot's laugh that the last bit took several seconds to sink in. When it finally did, it left him gaping, brows rocketing toward his hairline before he closed his mouth and swallowed thickly. "Yeah? I, uh, think there's probably some miniature chocolates if you want those instead."
It's not that he was obtuse or anything, or even being willfully ignorant. More like he was testing the waters. He crossed to where El stood. It wasn't necessary to actually lean in that much—or really at all—to retrieve his own glass of wine, but he did it anyway. More to gauge the other's reaction than anything else. He was close enough to imagine the line of warmth so tantalizingly near but oh so far away. His sip was just as slow and intentional as everything else he'd done to this point. "Unless you have something else on your mind? I'm open to suggestions."
In any other circumstance Eliot might have been amused by Quentin’s reaction, but he too was testing the waters, dipping a toe in to see if they were warm and inviting or still on the choppy side and precaution was needed to proceed any further. “Mmm, no, I don’t think I want chocolate,” he replied almost nonchalantly.
The slow movements, leaning in close to take his wine glass and the question all sent a shiver down Eliot’s spine. He took in a breath and let it out quietly. One last sip of wine was taken before he sat it on the counter. “I was thinking you. You’re sweet.” He held Quentin’s eye, never the shy type, and to let him know he wasn’t just saying the words to tease or joke. Eliot had come to the conclusion the reason they’d fought so much before was because neither was willing to admit how they truly felt. They each had their own reasons, neither right nor wrong.
Eliot loved Quentin. Nothing would ever change that. Nothing. Before Quentin could say anything, he leaned in to press his lips against the other's, his hand slid around his neck and pulled him closer deepening the kiss. It sent heat flooding through Eliot’s body, the touch so familiar, so intimate and something he had achingly missed.
Kissing Eliot felt exactly like falling in love all over again and coming back home after years of not being sure if he could or if he'd be welcome. Both had been gradual; he'd found himself in the middle of it—of home and love—without knowing when exactly things had changed. Not that it mattered, not that anything mattered when electricity was racing just under his skin and zinging up his spine. His head tilted back and his lips parted in offering and supplication. Quentin tasted wine and breathed in the delicate scents that clung to El's skin.
Even without knowing what, if anything, may have changed with Eliot and Matt, Q wasn't about to squander this opportunity. He'd wasted too many already. His hands flailed a tiny bit with indecision, not sure where they wanted to go first, then settled on the back of El's shoulders, going under his arms. He shivered, already close to being overwhelmed.
Eliot only broke contact when air was needed. For a long moment he looked into Quentin’s eyes before pulling him close into an embrace. One hand stroking over his hair as he nuzzled against his neck, senses flooded with familiar scents. To be close, this close with no uncertainty, no hurt or having to hide emotions felt so fucking good. There was still a tiny part of him that worried, but overall, this was so much more than he had hoped for because he had really given up hope that Quentin wanted more than a friendship.
Once more Eliot pulled back to look into the other's face. “You’re so beautiful, and I’ve missed you.” He tucked some hair behind Quentin’s ear and smiled softly. “Will you come lay naked with me? I don’t expect anything. If it happens, great. If not, it’s all good. I just want to feel you against me, hold you and be wrapped up in you.” He cupped his face and kissed him again. “Hmm, what do you say, Q?”
Hearing that low purr so close to his ear set Quentin's body ablaze, and that was before the request registered in full. He was so caught up in the familiarity of being in Eliot's arms when he thought he'd never get to do it ever again that when it finally did hit him he was left utterly speechless for long, long seconds. Probably enough to make El doubt Q's absolutely enthusiastic acceptance. His fingers flexed against Eliot's back, and he somehow found the last bit of space left between them as he pushed right up against him so he could pull him down into a breath-stealing kiss. It was there that he whispered against El's mouth, "God, yes, please. 'S been way too fucking long. Even if we don't wind up doing that."
There was a grin followed by a gasp when he was pulled against Quentin and then kissed so hard it radiated from his toes to the top of his head. He did like it when Q manhandled him a bit. It wasn't a side he saw often enough. That was neither here nor there though. "You never know what could happen." A devilish smirk pulled on his lips. And that was perhaps the best thing about it.
He reached for Quentin's hand and led them to his room, closing the door behind them. Eliot undressed and sat everything off to the side. Of course he made no bones about watching Quentin. Walking over to the bed he pulled down the blankets and slid in, then beckoned for Q to join him.
It was a minor miracle that Quentin didn't fall or sprain something in his haste to get his clothes off. They seemed to be fighting him at every stage of undress, but he finally emerged, flushed, hair a little bit of everywhere, and grinning at Eliot in a way he couldn't hold back at all. Any self-consciousness he might have felt in the early days was completely obliterated by fifty years of experience. He knew he didn't have a model's body, knew he'd never have El's long, lithe frame and the muscles wrapped around it. It didn't matter. For whatever reason, Eliot still wanted him. He'd stopped questioning it at least forty years back. But he'd never stopped watching whenever the other man got undressed—not that he'd had this kind of chance for what felt like a lifetime sometimes.
Q almost tripped over himself to slide into bed, and he didn't hesitate for an instant to skate his knuckles over El's side and then up his chest. He watched his hand for a moment, wonder evident in every inch of his expression, not bothering to hide a thing, and then looked up into Eliot's face. Emotion welled and tears threatened. "I really missed you."
Eliot couldn’t help laughing. “If I didn’t know better I might think you were drunk,” he teased. Together in the same bed. He took a moment to really let that sink in as Quentin’s fingers moved over his skin. Goosebumps rose up in their wake, sending little waves of need and lust through him. He moved his gaze to Quentin’s face, seeing the raw and real emotion etched all over it.
He took his hand and brought it to his lips kissing over the knuckles. “Me too. So much. I hope you know how much I love you.” Always had and always would. He shifted his hand away and used it to slide around Quentin’s neck drawing him in for a long sweet kiss. His lips moved down his jaw, over his throat and to his chest. “I want you so much,” he whispered.
"I know, I know." Q was barely sensible to what he saying, what he was replying to, not when he was trapped under Eliot's mesmerizing gaze and tantalizing touch. There really was nowhere else he wanted to be. He arched into every slide and press of lips, until his spine was practically bowed where he laid on his side. Having his fingers empty made them itch and twitch until they landed on El's shoulder and moved down his arm then back up again until they twined in his hair.
"I love you, too," he gasped, or more like moaned as his body came alive all over again in ways he thought had been lost to him forever. There was no asking about Matt at this point, not when there was a remote chance that doing so would stop this altogether. "And yeah—fuck, yeah, I want you right back."
Eliot bit at his lower lip to keep from grinning too widely and possibly chuckling. He still wasn't used to Q being so open about his wants and desires. Gone for the most part was the shyness and in ways, he missed it. He leaned in for another kiss then pulled back. "Hold that thought...err kiss." He grinned and moved to take lube out of the bottom drawer of the nightstand. It was sat on the bed where he could easily access it.
He then moved back to Quentin, but this time he straddled him and took hold of his cock, stroking it slowly. His other hand smoothed over the others stomach before his index finger began tracing patterns over the warm soft skin. Eliot was teasing in a way, but mostly he simply wanted to touch Quentin. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
The weight across his thighs touched off a dozen memories, but that was nothing to the moment Eliot's long fingers wrapped around him. He nearly cried out right then and there, and his shoulders writhed before he lifted himself on his elbows, but Q held it back. Despite the long, long months of going completely without, there was no way he was going off like some untouched virgin. This really wasn't the moment to reflect on the last time he'd had sex, and yet a flash of red hair and a teasing smile went through his head. He shoved the Poppy of it all from his head, and instead concentrated on the prickle of heat that started at his hairline and spilled down his chest and the line of electricity that went from his dick to the base of his neck.
"You. Just you. Just the impossibility of all this." His words came like a dam breaking. "Never thought we could be here again. Fuck, Eliot, don't stop. I know you said we could just lie here, but… I, uh, really miss having my mouth on you. Miss you being inside me. Can we do that? Is it—is it too much?"
Damn. Quentin so turned already was getting to him. He hadn't been touched but was hard as a rock, his cock throbbing and screaming for attention. A slow devilish smile slowly crossed his face. "You mean you want me to fuck you?"
He leaned down, took the index finger of his right hand and pressed it against Quentin's lips until he drew it into his mouth. "As much as I'd love your lips and mouth on my cock..." He pulled his finger from Quentin's mouth, sucked it into his mouth then slowly pulled it out. "I'd rather fuck you until you're moaning and writhing beneath me begging to come." He didn't know if Quentin was expecting something slow and gentle, but for his part, Eliot was far too turned on and in need.
Between the filth coming from Eliot's mouth and the tease of that finger pressing against his tongue and the lingering salt tang of his skin, Quentin was left with little other recourse than to moan brokenly. His head tipped back, throat exposed in offering and eyes hooded as he kept El in his line of sight. Those deceptively strong thighs were too tempting not to touch, so Q pressed his palms to them and rubbed soft lines up and down them, probably completely counter to the charge building between them. "Oh, god, yes. Please, please do that. And then—" He broke off and swallowed, suddenly shy and maybe a little uncertain. "And then you'll hold me? After?"
How could Eliot resist the beautiful throat being offered to him? Leaning down he nuzzled against warm skin, inhaling the familiar scent. Lips kissed over it and teeth gently nipped. Quentin's response made him smirk, but what he said next had Eliot pulling back to look at him, features softening. "Yes," he replied, caressing his cheek. "I will hold you whenever you want or need to be held." He pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Always."
Eliot had to shift and move to get lube from the bottom drawer of the nightstand, then moved back between Quentin's thighs. "You're so beautiful and sexy." He'd always thought so even when Q couldn't see it. He took some time to prep the other then slicked himself up and shifted up onto his knees. He teased Quentin's entrance, wanting so much more so he slowly began to push forward. The tightness was maddening in the best way as Quentin’s muscles twitched and gripped him. A low groan escaped him when at last he filled Quentin. Already his entire body was craving, needing more. “You okay?” Q’s comfort on every level was important to him. More So given this was their first time together in a long time.
Q was an absolute mess. Of sensations. Of ragged gasps for air. Of thoughts. So many thoughts. Despite literally having just seen it, he'd forgotten the actual feeling of having Eliot inside him, the sting and the stretch and the fullness that eclipsed them both as El slid home. Because that's absolutely how this felt. Like home. He tried to find words beyond the shallow nod, but mostly he was afraid of the flood that might come out if he tried. His hands held Eliot's shoulders in a loose grip that he knew would turn to grasping and clinging as soon as the other really started to move. "Yeah," he gritted out, shaky and trembling. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. So good."
And then, because he could also be a cheeky asshole, he found it somewhere inside himself to smirk. "Shouldn't you be trying to make me beg?"
God, it was good. Just being inside Quentin, connecting like this. Something he had come to believe would never happen again. “Yes, I know I am,” Eliot said with a cheeky grin. Teasing, but something he would so say. The others' hands on him were perfect and only added to everything he was feeling.
Eliot started a slow and steady rhythm. Long strokes of his hips stretching, feeling going deep. He couldn’t help laughing. “Do I need to make you beg?” He arched an eyebrow, grinning once more. It was tempting to make Quentin beg, really beg. However, now being here, in the moment, he only wanted to make them both feel good. Eliot focused back on Quentin’s face and smiled as he rocked his hips forward harder, faster.
That was another element that Quentin had practically forgotten, but now came roaring to the forefront of his thoughts: Eliot's ability to make him laugh even if they were right in the middle of things. He couldn't manage more than a winded chuckle, and he was still smiling when El really started to take him apart. After that, however, he only had breath enough to utter an honest and staccato, "It wouldn't take much," before it all devolved into panting gasps and whimpering moans. Finding the kind of flexibility that he'd undoubtedly regret later with sore muscles and leg cramps (totally worth it), Q moved his lips and lifted his legs to wrap around the other's waist and dug his heels into the back of El's thighs. "Fuck, El, I'm already close!"
God, he loved Quentin. So honest, so sweet, so everything. Eliot leaned in for a kiss needing to feel those warm soft lips as he fucked Quentin. The whimpers, groans and sounds coming from the other only added to the lust and need that coursed through him. A loud and wanton moan came from Eliot when he felt legs wrap around him. “Fuck!” He panted harshly and angled his hips, thrusting hard and sharp to find that sweet spot in Quentin that would make him completely shatter.
“Me, too…fuck…” So close that he suddenly felt his body tense then shudder as he came hot and hard, filling Quentin. A series of expletives followed by Quentin’s name came from him, hips still rocking, his body shuddering as he rode out his orgasm.
God, that combination of feelings. The fireworks from that wonderful bundle of nerves, and then the twitch and pulse of Eliot emptying inside him. Quentin whimpered his way through the latter, teetering right on the edge, trapped between their bodies where the friction was delicious but not quite enough. But then one more lazy thrust hit his prostate, and it tipped Q right over. He came with a filthy groan that filled the narrow space between them, back arched until only his head and shoulders were actually on the bed.
He collapsed a moment later with a deep sigh and blinked his eyes open, only to find them stinging and wet at their corners. "Oh, my god." Quentin had to laugh at himself even as he wound his arms around Eliot's shoulders and tried to coax him closer. "Please tell me I didn't just crymax."
Watching Quentin reach the point of no return was hot, so fucking hot. The back arch though? Delicious. Sexy. Telling. He gently laid against Quentin relishing the warm arms around him. “Umm…well, I think you did.” Eliot chuckled then stole a few kisses. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are when you’re all hot and flushed like this? I love it.”
Eliot laid his head on Quentin, listening to his breathing even out and his heartbeat even out. He loved the man and knew he was lucky. Not everyone was given a second chance. After a few minutes of quiet he sighed contently. “Do I have to move?”
If he hadn't been joyfully penned down, Q might have squirmed under the compliments. As it was, he was settled and happy, yet still had to point out: "And have I ever told you that watching you come has been living rent free in my head for fifty-odd years? You don't get to judge me when I tell you that I've taken it out a time or two when I was alone with my own hand."
And that's all he was going to say about that, because it had literally been months since he'd a) been with anyone and b) had time for anything more than a perfunctory shower session. Quentin pretended to think about it as his fingers wove through El's soft and now slightly damp curls, then relented with a low, warm chuckle. "You do not. In fact, I would prefer if you didn't, but on your own head be it when we have to pry ourselves apart in an hour or two."
“I get to laugh though,” he chuckled. “You’re so damn cute I want to eat you up with a spoon. How I’ve missed this, missed you.” Eliot wasn’t always so good with the emotional stuff, but with Quentin it was different and had been from the start.
“Mmm,” he practically purred when fingers threaded through his hair. “You had to throw in that last part, didn’t you?” He sighed. “Besides I said I would hold you and I want that very much.” With a groan he shifted and gently pulled out. “I’ll go get a washcloth.” Not that he wanted to, but they were both messy. After cleaning himself up he brought a washcloth and towel to Q so he could clean up. When finished Eliot set them aside then slipped back into the bed and pulled the cover up. He looked to Quentin and held open his arms. He really really needed this.
Even though pragmatism ruled the day—at least in that moment—Quentin still found himself missing Eliot immediately after he'd left the bed. It was a silly feeling that lingered all through him coming back and Q cleaning himself up, not dissipating until he had gravitated back into El's arms. There, he did his best impression of an octopus, insinuating his arms and legs all around, tucked in tight. His lips brushed the long line of the other's throat, and he nuzzled the underside of his jaw. "I love you. And not only because you just fucked my brains out. I mean, that's a pretty significant factor, not gonna lie, but it's just a factor. Hey, um—can I ask you something that might make you mad?"
Thanks, intrusive thoughts.
“Just like a clinging spider monkey,” Eliot teased gently. Secretly he loved how Quentin now felt like a second skin, so close. He wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly for a moment before relaxing, fingers slowly moving over his smooth backside. He chuckled and shook his head. It faded away though. “You just told me you love me and now you want to ask me something that might make me mad?” He chuckled again. “Only you, Q. Yeah, you can ask me anything.” He had nothing to hide. At least he didn’t think he did. No, definitely not. Point being he had no idea what Quentin would ask that might make him mad.
All it took was that sharp hug juxtaposed with the hand smoothing across his skin to make Quentin consider abandoning his question altogether, but there was a part of him that had to know. And he was so very, very, very ashamed of that part. "Have you, um, have you done this with Matt? Yet?"
Eliot smiled and dropped a kiss on top of Quentin’s head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve given him a blow job and he’s sucked on me. This is his first male relationship. He’s…” Should he say it? “He’s a bit intimidated by my size.” Which Eliot could understand. “It will happen when it’s meant to. For the record, I’m not mad. You can ask me anything about me and him. I know we all need to talk. I know this is probably strange and, well, everything for you.” He paused for a long moment, thinking. “Thank you for being so understanding. I can’t begin to know how you feel, but that you’re still here and love me means so much to me.”
Asked and answered didn't mean satisfied at all. Far from it. However, Q's body was doing its best to remind him of just how long it had been since sex had happened with it, so that the physical exhaustion was finally catching and slowing his thoughts down. "I'm trying not to be jealous," he confessed, cheek pillowed against Eliot's collarbone. "I really am. But I've got to admit that I'm a little glad I got there first. That can't be very flattering on me."
His hold on Quentin tightened a little. “I wish you didn’t feel jealous, but I get it. I would if I were you. But I’m a jealous bitch when it comes to you, so.” No shame in admitting the obvious. He chuckled lightly. “It’s not unflattering, it’s honesty and that’s important between us even more now. You know, Q, no one could ever be you. You’re special, my Q, my first real love.” Look at him being all mushy, but still honest. “Promise me we’ll talk about all this soon. I don’t want to lose you over anything.”
Every eye blink was coming slower and slower. Quentin knew soon they wouldn't open at all. At least until later. Possibly for a less hurried round two. Unlike Matt, he was very, very happy to take on Eliot's size in any way possible. Lifting a hand, he took hold of the other's chin and gently pulled it around so Q could kiss him. "I promise, El. I can't lose you again, either. I just can't. It's too hard."
The kiss was reaffirming and Eliot relaxed further. “You won’t lose me ever again. I promise.” It was a promise he would keep no matter what. “Sleep now, beautiful.” He felt the exhaustion and tug of sleep. “I love you, Q.” Eliot closed his eyes and soon after drifted asleep with the man he loved in his arms.