ƒ𝐚𝓃𝔡𝕣𝔞ᒪ (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thedashing) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valloic,@ 2021-08-03 10:51:00 |
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FANDRAL & ELIOT
(BACKDATED) JULY 29TH; FANDRAL'S COTTAGE Eliot and Fandral comfort one another over the most recent disappearances in the best way they know how. Eliot finds himself inspired and wants to create a new holiday, Fandral unknowingly forces Eliot to sort of confront his feelings for someone else.
⚠
NONE, REALLY.
It had been a day they were meant to have a sword lesson, just a normal Thursday, yet the list of disappearances that had gone out that morning had thrown a wrench into that completely. Fandral had lost Thor and Eliot had lost Margo, all in one fell swoop, and the two of them found comfort in one another. The magician had stopped by Torunn’s meadery before portaling over and Fandral had been… well, not in good shape. The shock of Thor’s disappearance had taken a while to wear off, melting into a grief he couldn’t explain. As had been pointed out to him — he didn’t lose Thor so much as now the other man was somewhere he could no longer be reached and in a sense it felt like he’d died. Gone beyond a veil that Fandral couldn’t pierce and where he himself was dead.
That was the aspect of it that he was struggling with the most. Beyond his own feelings that had developed for his longtime friend, Thor was now back in a realm where Fandral simply didn’t exist any longer. Back to a point where he’d been dead for years and where Thor would never know of what had happened between them here in this world.
A love lost before he’d ever truly had it, their relationship on what felt like rocky ground all because Fandral felt too much and couldn’t cope. He still didn’t know how he was going to cope.
There was no closure to be had.
So mead was had instead, and plenty of it. They drank, they talked, some tears were shed (at least from Fandral) before falling into bed with one another and their grief. They made love to one another like that could have been their last day together; passionate and desperate with perhaps an underlying sort of emotion neither of them were willing to vocalize.
It could have been their last day for all either of them knew. Promises of not leaving were not promises that could be kept in a realm like Vallo.
Late afternoon sunlight spilled in through his bedroom window and Fandral lay a bit further down in the large bed, his head resting gently against the lower part of Eliot’s stomach, eyes half-lidded from the blissful exhaustion he was feeling in that moment. “How are you feeling now?” he asked quietly, turning his head a bit to look up toward Eliot’s face.
Eliot combed his fingers through Fandral’s hair, slowly and methodically on repeat. His eyes stared into some starry distance he could not actually see. When Fandral spoke, Eliot frowned.
“I don’t know.”
The insistence that he was fine was gone. When Eliot tried to search his feelings after drinking and sex, he found just the dregs were left, inscrutable even to himself. Was he fine? It felt like Margo had been attempting to prepare him for this moment since his arrival. She’d told him everything she knew about home but not that she might disappear from this one. The insistence he learn to use a sword, that he make friends, that he should even go out and get a job.
Two out of three wasn’t so bad.
The entire while Eliot dragged his feet doing much of anything worthwhile. Maybe his subconscious had purposefully resisted Margo’s urging and advice. If Eliot still needed her, how could Vallo ever really send her away? But she was gone now and Eliot was untethered.
He snapped out of his thoughts, which started to remind him of every secret nook and cranny that stored pockets of his secret pharmacy. Eliot resisted the desire for now. Instead he looked down at Fandral and smiled. Just like that he was fine again.
“You?”
He could see that distant look in Eliot’s eyes and knew full well what was happening in his mind, even if he didn’t know the exact thoughts. It was a look he’d had himself off and on throughout the course of the day when his own mind would wander to thoughts of what could have been and how deeply he already missed Thor.
How much he regretted leaving their friendship the way it had been.
Oh, he was going to regret that for as long as he remained here.
“I do not know, either,” he replied quietly, giving him a small, half-smile that was tinged with sadness. But his eyes closed for a moment, content just then with the feeling of Eliot’s fingers combing through his hair. “Better for having you here with me, at least. That much I can attest to.”
Truly, even though he was wading through the sort of grief he hadn’t felt in a very long time, he was thankful for Eliot’s presence in his life, especially then. “I am grateful for you.”
“And I you,” Eliot said. He had different voices, different cadences at times. How he spoke to Margo was different than how he spoke as High King and to his subjects. In that moment it was more of the latter. Maybe it was the fact Fandral was Asgardian or from a realm that felt more in line with a fantasy novel like Fillory. Or, perhaps Fandral made him wish he was a far more noble version of himself. Eliot’s smile matched Fandral and for a while they were reflections of one another, having their own reasons to mope.
Eliot was struck with a thought.
He dramatically shifted positions, sliding out from under Fandral’s head without warning and nearly pounced the other, propping his hands on the larger man’s shoulders.
“If you knew you were disappearing and had twenty-four hours left, what would you do? What would be the most important things for you to accomplish right now?” Eliot stared intently at Fandral, his mind clearly turning over an idea as it began to develop.
The sudden change in position on Eliot’s part made Fandral let out a chuckle, amused by his burst of energy as he settled his head back against the pillow now. His hands came down and around to run along the sides of the other man’s thighs as he hovered over him, raising an eyebrow curiously at his question.
“Truthfully?” Fandral paused for a moment, letting a beat of silence fall between them as he considered his options. “I suppose if I knew that I was going to disappear, there are only a couple of other things I would want to do other than what you and I are doing right now.” That admission made his expression soften, offering him a gentle smile. “I would want to find someone to care for my horse; Firehooves will miss me and would need a friendly face around the stables. Then I would want to spend some time with Loki and Torunn. They are as close to family as I have here, so sharing a final meal and some mead with them both would be nice.”
His eyebrows furrowed then slightly, though more in an intrigued way than anything, and he cocked his head to the side a bit as he looked up at Eliot. “What about you?”
The magician’s eyes were focused on some far distant thought. If he were of a mind to actually answer the question in a much more straightforward way, his answer would have had part that sounded very similar to Fandral’s. Instead, as a non sequitur, Eliot said: “Create a new holiday.”
That was so much better than a party in Margo’s honor. This was something that would have a lasting impression, a legacy. “A day each year for Outlanders, to celebrate our place here, remember it could all just be temporary, and make sure each of us do that one thing we might have done had we’d known it was our last day.”
Eliot stood up on his knees. Any time he received such inspiration he had a tendency to get dramatic about it.
“It needs a name. Branding is important. This holiday needs the most perfect name so when people hear it they know exactly what it’s about. Like Mother’s Day, Bastille Day, Yom Kippur or Christmas. The name is important.”
And Eliot had a new thing to obsess over. He wouldn’t just throw his own party, he would be inspiring every Outlander on Vallo to be throwing their own holiday parties.
The enthusiasm Eliot had about his idea was making the sadness that he’d been feeling wane a little, his eyes looking up at the younger man, a smile on his lips. It was incredibly endearing to see how passionate (dramatic) he seemed over this.
“I know that there are a lot of holidays that get celebrated here amongst the Outlanders that are from various home worlds. It only seems fair that we have our own holiday here — something that is specific to Vallo and special.”
He went quiet for a moment and pursed his lips in thought, his hands loosening along his thighs, fingers trailing up over his skin and his hips idly, back and forth in slow movements. “Day of the Departed? Something that allows us to celebrate those who have also left this realm along with celebrating those of us still here…”
Eliot frowned. “Way too sad. No.” His expression softened slightly, not wanting to be completely dismissive of his boyfriend’s-- were they…? he’d dedicate the brainspace to this thought later-- idea. “Maybe as its own holiday. No, the point of this holiday isn’t to mourn. It’s to make sure that if someone we care about disappears, we have no regrets. We told them everything we wanted to say, did everything with them we wanted to do. Remind friends and family how much they mean to us.”
Eliot dropped back down on his stomach, stopping himself from crashing into Fandral with his hands planted on either side of the man, and kissed his mouth fully before lifting himself back up.
“I’m going to need a committee. A special holiday committee. Choose the day, name, messaging, greeting cards. All of it.”
He couldn’t help the way he was admiring Eliot, smiling as he talked, and realizing that he really, truly adored this man in a deeper way. “Talk about having no regrets, hm?” Fandral grinned then and when the other man fell forward but managed to catch himself, he let out a short bark of a laugh that was almost instantly muffled by the kiss. He smiled against his mouth, leaning up into the kiss to deepen it a little as it lingered.
As it broke away, he brought one hand up to gently comb his fingers back through Eliot’s hair. “Whatever you need, my darling, but I do think this is a brilliant idea. A good way of celebrating one another and making sure that we spend our time in this world willing to tell each other how we feel.”
Which made him pause for a moment before he leaned up, pushing himself into something of a sitting position, before he pressed his lips to Eliot’s again. His hand cupped at the back of his head to hold him there and he smiled, slowly breaking the kiss after a few moments.
How ironic that he wanted to tell him how he felt — that there was a love there he hadn’t expressed to him yet at this point, but couldn’t bring himself to say. How would Eliot react?
Oh, to Hel with it.
“Surely you know how it is I feel for you, yes? That I adore you and love you.”
Eliot blinked. The L word had that effect on him. Emotional vulnerability was not one of the magician’s strengths— in large part due to the terrifying relationship Eliot had (or didn’t, really) with his father. His guard had to be let down gently, in steps.
And it was with some terror Eliot realized he didn’t want to fuck this up. That, the longer his lips moved but words didn’t come out, Eliot was, in fact, fucking this up. He started to panic slightly. Not because he didn’t care about Fandral very deeply, it might have even been love, certainly the love as a friend. But expressing that so easily as Fandral did? Did Fandral mean love love or were they good friends that fucked each other?
Fuck. Eliot willed himself to say something. Anything.
When he did, the words jumbled out at 60 miles per hour: “I want you to be my boyfriend.”
There. Oh thank Christ, he said something.
“Not just dating. Not just friends with benefits. Boyfriends. Not exclusively. I think we’re both on the same page there and with people disappearing and possibly reappearing… I want to be able to introduce you to other people as my boyfriend. Um, I don’t know if Asgard has that sort of thing or what dating and courtship look like where you’re from…”
Mild panic crept back into Eliot’s face. Did boyfriend sound too juvenile to a thousand-plus year old alien-slash-god-adjacent person?
Fandral gave him a broad, truly content smile and even laughed softly under his breath as the words spilled from Eliot’s lips almost too fast to be understood. At least, perhaps, by normal ears.
There was nothing about the situation that he felt like the other man was fucking up -- his confession hadn’t been intended to be reciprocated; he understood well enough how much Eliot struggled with vulnerability. That simply had never really been the case for Fandral and with the subject of the conversation being what it was, he felt it an appropriate time to bring those feelings to light verbally.
“We generally refer to one another as partners, lovers, etcetera. But I am perfectly happy with you calling me whatever it is you wish.” The hand that had been cupping the back of his head came around to caress his cheek, thumb brushing sweetly over his skin. “I do rather like the sound of being Eliot Waugh’s boyfriend.”
Fandral grinned then and leaned forward to catch his mouth in another kiss, something eager and actually brimming with happiness. The day had started so sour, and while his heart still ached for the loss of Thor, knowing that he would need time to process that grief he felt deeply, he felt happy in that moment.
Eliot’s eyes lit up, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
Eliot returned the kiss greedily, fingers threading through Fandral’s hair. He broke the kiss briefly. “Well I’m not suggesting you get it tattooed on your ass but it does have a nice ring to it,” he teased. Fandral’s boyfriend. It had an equally nice ring. Eliot showed his approval in more kisses.
Well, that comment made him snort softly in amusement, but he grinned against Eliot’s lips and returned the kisses with fervor.
“It does have a nice ring to it,” he agreed quietly after pausing the kisses briefly to speak. Then he kissed him again, chuckling against his mouth before he sat up further and rolled them over with a laugh. He was careful, of course, to not put the whole of his body weight onto the magician beneath him but he loved that they were allowing themselves this moment when everything had felt so heavy and sad earlier in the day.
This was absolutely a wonderful and needed change of pace.
After a few long beats of kissing (truthfully, he could have kissed him for the rest of the week and been more than pleased), Fandral let out a content sort of noise as he brushed his lips over his throat and neck, sliding down to stretch himself along Eliot’s side. His arm and leg draped over him though without much thought other than how comfortably happy he was.
“May I ask you something?” he inquired thoughtfully, his voice almost hushed in a way. Before Eliot really had a chance to respond though, he asked, “what of your feelings for Quentin?” Fandral tilted his chin a bit to look at Eliot, that smile still on his lips. The question was innocent enough as far as he was concerned.
Eliot let out the smallest grunt with the weight of Fandral’s limbs. The Asgardian was substantially heavier, as if his muscle and skin were made from metallic strands that explained the physics of his durability and weight. Once he adjusted, Eliot held onto Fandral’s arm over his chest.
It was mentioning Quentin that caused Eliot to pause. Combined with the weight of Fandral’s body against him Eliot was almost literally trapped.
“What about them?” Eliot said. He was satisfied with that response. It was casual. Not too defensive. Feelings? Ha! Alright, feelings were nice. Eliot just viewed them not too unlike a house spider. As long as said feelings didn’t bite he allowed them to peacefully coexist with him, but it didn’t make him a fan.
“Subject change,” Eliot announced before Fandral could answer that, “where should we get dinner tonight?”
What about them?
Fandral raised an eyebrow in curiosity at that. He’d announced a subject change but he wasn’t quite ready to let it drop. Instead he smirked softly and pushed himself up to rest his head against his hand, though to be kinder (he’d certainly noticed the grunt), he slipped his leg off of him and tucked it against his side instead.
“I can answer that in a moment,” he said with a chuckle. “What about them? I saw the way you were with him at Margo’s party,” he remarked softly. The arm draped over his stomach moved enough so that he could brush his fingers against his neck lightly.
“And then there was Quentin’s birthday itself…”
That thought hung in the air for a moment, but he leaned over and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I am merely wondering how long it has been that you’ve been in love with him.”
Pause.
“As for dinner, I feel that perhaps with our new relationship status that maybe I ought to cook something for us? I have steaks and such that I can fix, if you want.”
Quentin Coldwater was a sore subject for the magician. In his future he was both alive and dead, depending upon the timeline. None of that was present on Eliot’s face, who instead presented a very calm and serene expression on his face.
“Steak sounds lovely;” Eliot said. If he thought he could get away with simply not acknowledging Fandral’s observations, he would have. Eliot and Fandral were having a nice moment. Which meant Eliot didn’t want to ruin it either by talking about it or ignoring it.
“As for Q, I think it’s best not to dwell on what is or isn’t. What might or might not happen…”
Eliot had a perfect customer service smile on his face. Firm and just shy of apologetic.
He understood Eliot’s way of dodging the topic and he nodded a little, not wanting to press the subject anymore. Instead he leaned forward and allowed his lips to push a gentle, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “All I will say further is that if you are concerned at all about what may or may not happen, I think that should you choose to pursue something, he would be willing. You are better at concealing your feelings than he is.”
That made him chuckle softly and he pressed another kiss to his lips, this one more fully against his and smiled into it. It only lingered for a few moments before he broke it and moved, pushing himself up to sit back on his haunches as he looked down at the younger man.
“I am going to go start marinating the steaks and then take a shower. If you’d care to join me, you’re welcome to.”
Eliot held the pleasant expression on his face, returning Fandral’s kiss, choosing not to challenge anything the other man said at all. He remained in bed, watching Fandral get up to go shower, understanding he was a lucky for having the Asgardian’s affections.
The problem wasn’t that Quentin wouldn’t return Eliot’s love. The problem is that, if given the chance, Quentin would. Eliot didn’t know what would hurt more, continuing forward until the day one of them disappeared and he’d be left wondering if Quentin died or not, or to keep one another at arm’s length and appreciate what they had. Eliot had a lifetime of memories with Quentin. Not clear ones, but the vague impressions he had were beautiful.
When Fandral left the room, Eliot collapsed on the bed and stared listlessly at the ceiling.
That was the aspect of it that he was struggling with the most. Beyond his own feelings that had developed for his longtime friend, Thor was now back in a realm where Fandral simply didn’t exist any longer. Back to a point where he’d been dead for years and where Thor would never know of what had happened between them here in this world.
A love lost before he’d ever truly had it, their relationship on what felt like rocky ground all because Fandral felt too much and couldn’t cope. He still didn’t know how he was going to cope.
There was no closure to be had.
So mead was had instead, and plenty of it. They drank, they talked, some tears were shed (at least from Fandral) before falling into bed with one another and their grief. They made love to one another like that could have been their last day together; passionate and desperate with perhaps an underlying sort of emotion neither of them were willing to vocalize.
It could have been their last day for all either of them knew. Promises of not leaving were not promises that could be kept in a realm like Vallo.
Late afternoon sunlight spilled in through his bedroom window and Fandral lay a bit further down in the large bed, his head resting gently against the lower part of Eliot’s stomach, eyes half-lidded from the blissful exhaustion he was feeling in that moment. “How are you feeling now?” he asked quietly, turning his head a bit to look up toward Eliot’s face.
Eliot combed his fingers through Fandral’s hair, slowly and methodically on repeat. His eyes stared into some starry distance he could not actually see. When Fandral spoke, Eliot frowned.
“I don’t know.”
The insistence that he was fine was gone. When Eliot tried to search his feelings after drinking and sex, he found just the dregs were left, inscrutable even to himself. Was he fine? It felt like Margo had been attempting to prepare him for this moment since his arrival. She’d told him everything she knew about home but not that she might disappear from this one. The insistence he learn to use a sword, that he make friends, that he should even go out and get a job.
Two out of three wasn’t so bad.
The entire while Eliot dragged his feet doing much of anything worthwhile. Maybe his subconscious had purposefully resisted Margo’s urging and advice. If Eliot still needed her, how could Vallo ever really send her away? But she was gone now and Eliot was untethered.
He snapped out of his thoughts, which started to remind him of every secret nook and cranny that stored pockets of his secret pharmacy. Eliot resisted the desire for now. Instead he looked down at Fandral and smiled. Just like that he was fine again.
“You?”
He could see that distant look in Eliot’s eyes and knew full well what was happening in his mind, even if he didn’t know the exact thoughts. It was a look he’d had himself off and on throughout the course of the day when his own mind would wander to thoughts of what could have been and how deeply he already missed Thor.
How much he regretted leaving their friendship the way it had been.
Oh, he was going to regret that for as long as he remained here.
“I do not know, either,” he replied quietly, giving him a small, half-smile that was tinged with sadness. But his eyes closed for a moment, content just then with the feeling of Eliot’s fingers combing through his hair. “Better for having you here with me, at least. That much I can attest to.”
Truly, even though he was wading through the sort of grief he hadn’t felt in a very long time, he was thankful for Eliot’s presence in his life, especially then. “I am grateful for you.”
“And I you,” Eliot said. He had different voices, different cadences at times. How he spoke to Margo was different than how he spoke as High King and to his subjects. In that moment it was more of the latter. Maybe it was the fact Fandral was Asgardian or from a realm that felt more in line with a fantasy novel like Fillory. Or, perhaps Fandral made him wish he was a far more noble version of himself. Eliot’s smile matched Fandral and for a while they were reflections of one another, having their own reasons to mope.
Eliot was struck with a thought.
He dramatically shifted positions, sliding out from under Fandral’s head without warning and nearly pounced the other, propping his hands on the larger man’s shoulders.
“If you knew you were disappearing and had twenty-four hours left, what would you do? What would be the most important things for you to accomplish right now?” Eliot stared intently at Fandral, his mind clearly turning over an idea as it began to develop.
The sudden change in position on Eliot’s part made Fandral let out a chuckle, amused by his burst of energy as he settled his head back against the pillow now. His hands came down and around to run along the sides of the other man’s thighs as he hovered over him, raising an eyebrow curiously at his question.
“Truthfully?” Fandral paused for a moment, letting a beat of silence fall between them as he considered his options. “I suppose if I knew that I was going to disappear, there are only a couple of other things I would want to do other than what you and I are doing right now.” That admission made his expression soften, offering him a gentle smile. “I would want to find someone to care for my horse; Firehooves will miss me and would need a friendly face around the stables. Then I would want to spend some time with Loki and Torunn. They are as close to family as I have here, so sharing a final meal and some mead with them both would be nice.”
His eyebrows furrowed then slightly, though more in an intrigued way than anything, and he cocked his head to the side a bit as he looked up at Eliot. “What about you?”
The magician’s eyes were focused on some far distant thought. If he were of a mind to actually answer the question in a much more straightforward way, his answer would have had part that sounded very similar to Fandral’s. Instead, as a non sequitur, Eliot said: “Create a new holiday.”
That was so much better than a party in Margo’s honor. This was something that would have a lasting impression, a legacy. “A day each year for Outlanders, to celebrate our place here, remember it could all just be temporary, and make sure each of us do that one thing we might have done had we’d known it was our last day.”
Eliot stood up on his knees. Any time he received such inspiration he had a tendency to get dramatic about it.
“It needs a name. Branding is important. This holiday needs the most perfect name so when people hear it they know exactly what it’s about. Like Mother’s Day, Bastille Day, Yom Kippur or Christmas. The name is important.”
And Eliot had a new thing to obsess over. He wouldn’t just throw his own party, he would be inspiring every Outlander on Vallo to be throwing their own holiday parties.
The enthusiasm Eliot had about his idea was making the sadness that he’d been feeling wane a little, his eyes looking up at the younger man, a smile on his lips. It was incredibly endearing to see how passionate (dramatic) he seemed over this.
“I know that there are a lot of holidays that get celebrated here amongst the Outlanders that are from various home worlds. It only seems fair that we have our own holiday here — something that is specific to Vallo and special.”
He went quiet for a moment and pursed his lips in thought, his hands loosening along his thighs, fingers trailing up over his skin and his hips idly, back and forth in slow movements. “Day of the Departed? Something that allows us to celebrate those who have also left this realm along with celebrating those of us still here…”
Eliot frowned. “Way too sad. No.” His expression softened slightly, not wanting to be completely dismissive of his boyfriend’s-- were they…? he’d dedicate the brainspace to this thought later-- idea. “Maybe as its own holiday. No, the point of this holiday isn’t to mourn. It’s to make sure that if someone we care about disappears, we have no regrets. We told them everything we wanted to say, did everything with them we wanted to do. Remind friends and family how much they mean to us.”
Eliot dropped back down on his stomach, stopping himself from crashing into Fandral with his hands planted on either side of the man, and kissed his mouth fully before lifting himself back up.
“I’m going to need a committee. A special holiday committee. Choose the day, name, messaging, greeting cards. All of it.”
He couldn’t help the way he was admiring Eliot, smiling as he talked, and realizing that he really, truly adored this man in a deeper way. “Talk about having no regrets, hm?” Fandral grinned then and when the other man fell forward but managed to catch himself, he let out a short bark of a laugh that was almost instantly muffled by the kiss. He smiled against his mouth, leaning up into the kiss to deepen it a little as it lingered.
As it broke away, he brought one hand up to gently comb his fingers back through Eliot’s hair. “Whatever you need, my darling, but I do think this is a brilliant idea. A good way of celebrating one another and making sure that we spend our time in this world willing to tell each other how we feel.”
Which made him pause for a moment before he leaned up, pushing himself into something of a sitting position, before he pressed his lips to Eliot’s again. His hand cupped at the back of his head to hold him there and he smiled, slowly breaking the kiss after a few moments.
How ironic that he wanted to tell him how he felt — that there was a love there he hadn’t expressed to him yet at this point, but couldn’t bring himself to say. How would Eliot react?
Oh, to Hel with it.
“Surely you know how it is I feel for you, yes? That I adore you and love you.”
Eliot blinked. The L word had that effect on him. Emotional vulnerability was not one of the magician’s strengths— in large part due to the terrifying relationship Eliot had (or didn’t, really) with his father. His guard had to be let down gently, in steps.
And it was with some terror Eliot realized he didn’t want to fuck this up. That, the longer his lips moved but words didn’t come out, Eliot was, in fact, fucking this up. He started to panic slightly. Not because he didn’t care about Fandral very deeply, it might have even been love, certainly the love as a friend. But expressing that so easily as Fandral did? Did Fandral mean love love or were they good friends that fucked each other?
Fuck. Eliot willed himself to say something. Anything.
When he did, the words jumbled out at 60 miles per hour: “I want you to be my boyfriend.”
There. Oh thank Christ, he said something.
“Not just dating. Not just friends with benefits. Boyfriends. Not exclusively. I think we’re both on the same page there and with people disappearing and possibly reappearing… I want to be able to introduce you to other people as my boyfriend. Um, I don’t know if Asgard has that sort of thing or what dating and courtship look like where you’re from…”
Mild panic crept back into Eliot’s face. Did boyfriend sound too juvenile to a thousand-plus year old alien-slash-god-adjacent person?
Fandral gave him a broad, truly content smile and even laughed softly under his breath as the words spilled from Eliot’s lips almost too fast to be understood. At least, perhaps, by normal ears.
There was nothing about the situation that he felt like the other man was fucking up -- his confession hadn’t been intended to be reciprocated; he understood well enough how much Eliot struggled with vulnerability. That simply had never really been the case for Fandral and with the subject of the conversation being what it was, he felt it an appropriate time to bring those feelings to light verbally.
“We generally refer to one another as partners, lovers, etcetera. But I am perfectly happy with you calling me whatever it is you wish.” The hand that had been cupping the back of his head came around to caress his cheek, thumb brushing sweetly over his skin. “I do rather like the sound of being Eliot Waugh’s boyfriend.”
Fandral grinned then and leaned forward to catch his mouth in another kiss, something eager and actually brimming with happiness. The day had started so sour, and while his heart still ached for the loss of Thor, knowing that he would need time to process that grief he felt deeply, he felt happy in that moment.
Eliot’s eyes lit up, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
Eliot returned the kiss greedily, fingers threading through Fandral’s hair. He broke the kiss briefly. “Well I’m not suggesting you get it tattooed on your ass but it does have a nice ring to it,” he teased. Fandral’s boyfriend. It had an equally nice ring. Eliot showed his approval in more kisses.
Well, that comment made him snort softly in amusement, but he grinned against Eliot’s lips and returned the kisses with fervor.
“It does have a nice ring to it,” he agreed quietly after pausing the kisses briefly to speak. Then he kissed him again, chuckling against his mouth before he sat up further and rolled them over with a laugh. He was careful, of course, to not put the whole of his body weight onto the magician beneath him but he loved that they were allowing themselves this moment when everything had felt so heavy and sad earlier in the day.
This was absolutely a wonderful and needed change of pace.
After a few long beats of kissing (truthfully, he could have kissed him for the rest of the week and been more than pleased), Fandral let out a content sort of noise as he brushed his lips over his throat and neck, sliding down to stretch himself along Eliot’s side. His arm and leg draped over him though without much thought other than how comfortably happy he was.
“May I ask you something?” he inquired thoughtfully, his voice almost hushed in a way. Before Eliot really had a chance to respond though, he asked, “what of your feelings for Quentin?” Fandral tilted his chin a bit to look at Eliot, that smile still on his lips. The question was innocent enough as far as he was concerned.
Eliot let out the smallest grunt with the weight of Fandral’s limbs. The Asgardian was substantially heavier, as if his muscle and skin were made from metallic strands that explained the physics of his durability and weight. Once he adjusted, Eliot held onto Fandral’s arm over his chest.
It was mentioning Quentin that caused Eliot to pause. Combined with the weight of Fandral’s body against him Eliot was almost literally trapped.
“What about them?” Eliot said. He was satisfied with that response. It was casual. Not too defensive. Feelings? Ha! Alright, feelings were nice. Eliot just viewed them not too unlike a house spider. As long as said feelings didn’t bite he allowed them to peacefully coexist with him, but it didn’t make him a fan.
“Subject change,” Eliot announced before Fandral could answer that, “where should we get dinner tonight?”
What about them?
Fandral raised an eyebrow in curiosity at that. He’d announced a subject change but he wasn’t quite ready to let it drop. Instead he smirked softly and pushed himself up to rest his head against his hand, though to be kinder (he’d certainly noticed the grunt), he slipped his leg off of him and tucked it against his side instead.
“I can answer that in a moment,” he said with a chuckle. “What about them? I saw the way you were with him at Margo’s party,” he remarked softly. The arm draped over his stomach moved enough so that he could brush his fingers against his neck lightly.
“And then there was Quentin’s birthday itself…”
That thought hung in the air for a moment, but he leaned over and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I am merely wondering how long it has been that you’ve been in love with him.”
Pause.
“As for dinner, I feel that perhaps with our new relationship status that maybe I ought to cook something for us? I have steaks and such that I can fix, if you want.”
Quentin Coldwater was a sore subject for the magician. In his future he was both alive and dead, depending upon the timeline. None of that was present on Eliot’s face, who instead presented a very calm and serene expression on his face.
“Steak sounds lovely;” Eliot said. If he thought he could get away with simply not acknowledging Fandral’s observations, he would have. Eliot and Fandral were having a nice moment. Which meant Eliot didn’t want to ruin it either by talking about it or ignoring it.
“As for Q, I think it’s best not to dwell on what is or isn’t. What might or might not happen…”
Eliot had a perfect customer service smile on his face. Firm and just shy of apologetic.
He understood Eliot’s way of dodging the topic and he nodded a little, not wanting to press the subject anymore. Instead he leaned forward and allowed his lips to push a gentle, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “All I will say further is that if you are concerned at all about what may or may not happen, I think that should you choose to pursue something, he would be willing. You are better at concealing your feelings than he is.”
That made him chuckle softly and he pressed another kiss to his lips, this one more fully against his and smiled into it. It only lingered for a few moments before he broke it and moved, pushing himself up to sit back on his haunches as he looked down at the younger man.
“I am going to go start marinating the steaks and then take a shower. If you’d care to join me, you’re welcome to.”
Eliot held the pleasant expression on his face, returning Fandral’s kiss, choosing not to challenge anything the other man said at all. He remained in bed, watching Fandral get up to go shower, understanding he was a lucky for having the Asgardian’s affections.
The problem wasn’t that Quentin wouldn’t return Eliot’s love. The problem is that, if given the chance, Quentin would. Eliot didn’t know what would hurt more, continuing forward until the day one of them disappeared and he’d be left wondering if Quentin died or not, or to keep one another at arm’s length and appreciate what they had. Eliot had a lifetime of memories with Quentin. Not clear ones, but the vague impressions he had were beautiful.
When Fandral left the room, Eliot collapsed on the bed and stared listlessly at the ceiling.